The storm had passed, but the sky still looked bruised — gray clouds hanging low over Seoul like a city holding its breath.
Dae-Sung zipped up his jacket and stepped out of the apartment. Every move felt rehearsed — the habit of someone who expected ambush at every corner. He took the long route to school, cutting through narrow alleys where neon lights flickered over puddles.
He wasn't going there to study.Not today.
Inside his bag were no books — only gloves, a knife, and a compact earpiece Ha-Rin had built from scrap parts.
They had found something — a data exchange point at an abandoned warehouse near Mapo Bridge.A drop-site used by The Crimson Network.
Ha-Rin's message from last night still replayed in his mind:
"Meet me after classes. No uniforms. No hesitation."
She was already waiting when he reached the riverside. She wore all black — her hair tied back, her eyes calm and unreadable. In the reflection of the Han River, she looked like someone born for shadows.
"Ready?" she asked.
He nodded. "You sure about the intel?"
Her fingers brushed the edge of her earpiece. "The feed came from a darknet channel I infiltrated last month. If we intercept the drop, we'll know who's handling their Seoul operations."
"And if it's a trap?"
"Then we improvise."
She smiled faintly — a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
They reached the warehouse at dusk.Rust and decay covered the walls like old scars. Every sound echoed — the crunch of glass beneath boots, the distant hum of the bridge above them.
Dae-Sung crouched near a shattered window. Through the dust and darkness, he saw two men carrying cases inside. Not ordinary gangsters — these ones moved with military precision.
"Body language screams training," he murmured.
Ha-Rin adjusted her lens. "Government ties, maybe."
His jaw tightened. "Or former soldiers turned Network dogs."
They slipped through a side entrance, using the sound of rain dripping from pipes to mask their steps. The air inside smelled of oil, old metal, and something acrid — gunpowder maybe.
In the center of the warehouse, crates marked INSTITUTE PROPERTY – BIOSECURE lined the floor. A man in a gray suit oversaw the loading process, phone pressed to his ear.
Dae-Sung whispered, "That's Kim Joon-Tae. Former intelligence officer. Disappeared five years ago."
Ha-Rin's eyes widened. "He's supposed to be dead."
"Looks like The Crimson Network recycles their ghosts."
They crept closer, staying behind stacks of barrels.Ha-Rin tapped into the local feed using a portable device. Her fingers moved with surgical precision, the soft glow of code flickering across her face.
"Two minutes," she said. "I'll mirror their transmission logs."
Dae-Sung's heartbeat matched the rain hitting the roof — steady, sharp, controlled.Until one sound cut through it — the metallic click of a gun being cocked behind them.
"Don't move."
A man in black armor stood behind them, silencer aimed at Dae-Sung's head. His uniform bore the Network's crimson serpent insignia.
Ha-Rin froze. "How did—"
"Thermal sensors," the guard said. "You kids thought this place was abandoned?"
Dae-Sung moved faster than words. He ducked, grabbing the man's wrist, twisting it until the weapon dropped. The guard lashed out with a knee, but Dae-Sung blocked and slammed his elbow into the man's throat.
The scuffle drew attention.
Voices shouted from deeper inside the warehouse.
"Ha-Rin, get the data!"
She didn't argue. Her screen blinked red — 90%, 95%, 100%. "Got it!"
"Then run!"
She bolted toward the exit, boots echoing on the concrete. Dae-Sung followed, turning just long enough to grab the pistol from the fallen guard. Bullets tore through the air as more men rushed in.
One grazed his arm, another shattered a pipe above them. Steam filled the room, turning everything into chaos.
They burst through a side door, sliding down a wet slope toward the riverside. Ha-Rin stumbled, but he caught her wrist before she fell into the water.
Behind them, the warehouse lit up with red lights — alarms blaring.
"Shit," she hissed. "They're jamming the signal. I can't upload the data."
"Then we move fast."
They sprinted under the bridge, hiding behind concrete pillars. Rain began to fall again — light at first, then harder, drumming against the metal.
Ha-Rin checked the device. "The files are encrypted. But I saw something — project name: Bloodline Protocol."
Dae-Sung frowned. "What does that mean?"
"Not sure. But it referenced genetic data—" She stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening as realization hit.
"What?"
"The Network's tracking bloodlines connected to specific genetic markers. Yours might be one of them."
He stared at her, chest heaving. "You're saying they're watching me because of my DNA?"
"Not just you. Maybe your entire family."
The air between them grew colder.
Dae-Sung clenched his fists. "Then we find out who's behind it."
Before she could answer, a bullet struck the pillar beside them — sparks flying.
"Run!" he shouted.
They dashed through the rain, weaving through traffic as black SUVs roared down the road. The chase spilled into the backstreets — neon signs, puddles, the blur of headlights.
Dae-Sung led her into a narrow alley, ducking behind dumpsters. The sound of engines faded, replaced by the steady rhythm of rain.
Ha-Rin leaned against the wall, panting. "They shouldn't have found us so fast. Someone tipped them off."
He looked at her sharply. "Are you saying it was me?"
"No," she said quickly, but her tone wavered. "I'm saying they knew our route. Like they'd predicted it."
Dae-Sung's mind raced.Director Oh.The surveillance camera from the gym.The hidden envelope.
Someone was playing both sides.
He punched the wall, hard enough for his knuckles to split. "They're not just hunting us — they're using us."
Ha-Rin reached for his hand, wrapping it in a cloth from her pocket. "Then we change the rules."
He looked at her, her face streaked with rain and exhaustion, yet fierce.
"Do you trust me?" she asked.
"I don't trust anyone."
"Good," she said. "Then you'll survive."
That night, they hid in an abandoned train yard. Freight cars rusted under the moonlight; graffiti marked the walls like forgotten prayers.
Ha-Rin spread out her laptop and began decoding the files. Lines of code reflected in her eyes, her expression a mix of focus and fear.
Dae-Sung sat nearby, cleaning his pistol, silent except for the steady click of metal.
Minutes passed. Then she froze.
"What?"
"There's a classified tag here… tied to the National Biotech Division."
He looked up. "Government?"
"Yes — and the project leader listed is…" She hesitated. "…Professor Yoon Myung-Soo."
His breath caught. "Your father."
She nodded slowly. "He's alive."
Silence.
Dae-Sung stood. "Ha-Rin, if he's alive—"
She slammed the laptop shut. "Don't. I'm not ready to believe it yet."
He studied her trembling hands. "You're scared."
She met his eyes. "Wouldn't you be? The man I thought was murdered might be the one creating weapons for the people who destroyed both our families."
The wind howled through the broken windows, carrying the echo of distant sirens.
He sat beside her. "Then we find him — and we find the truth."
Ha-Rin looked at him, eyes glimmering in the dim light. "You sound like you care."
"Maybe I do."
She smiled faintly, sadness and warmth tangled together. "Then promise me one thing, Dae-Sung. Whatever happens next… don't lose yourself to revenge."
He didn't reply. Because he knew — revenge was the only thing keeping him alive.
Outside, headlights flickered at the edge of the yard.
Unmarked cars. Silent movement.
Ha-Rin's laptop pinged — unauthorized signal detected.
"They found us again."
Dae-Sung cocked his pistol, his voice calm but cold. "Then let's make them regret it."
The first agent stepped into the open — rifle raised.
Dae-Sung threw a smoke grenade, the area filling with gray haze. Shadows moved in flashes — kicks, gunfire, grunts.
He ducked under a swing, countered with an uppercut, grabbed the attacker's gun midair, and fired twice. Another came from behind; Ha-Rin hit him with a metal rod, sparks flying as it connected with the man's helmet.
She moved like she'd been trained. Fast, precise, no hesitation.
"You've done this before," Dae-Sung shouted.
"Long story!" she yelled back.
Within minutes, only silence remained — broken by rain hitting steel.
Bodies lay unconscious.
Ha-Rin knelt beside one, pulling off his mask. "They're not Network soldiers."
"Then who are they?"
She turned the badge toward him — National Security Bureau.
Dae-Sung's eyes widened. "Government agents… working for the Network?"
"Or trying to cover it up," she said grimly.
The truth was getting darker by the second.
They stood under the faint glow of the train yard lights.
Dae-Sung looked at the crimson smear of blood on his sleeve. "No matter how deep this goes, I'm not stopping."
Ha-Rin looked at him — at the anger, the loneliness, the fire.
"Then neither am I," she said.
The wind carried away their words, but something stronger had already formed between them — a bond forged not by comfort, but by war.
Above them, thunder cracked again, distant yet promising.
The storm wasn't over.It was just waiting for them to step deeper into it.