Nari didn't move.
Didn't tremble.
Her eyes lifted toward him, slowly, and a smile—
a hysterical, bright, terrifying smile—
broke across her lips.
— Go on then. Try it.
Her voice vibrated, unstable, almost… excited.
It was like a spark hitting gasoline.
He slammed her against the wall.
Hard.
Very hard.
His ragged breathing mixed with hers.
One hand on her neck.
The other already sliding under her skirt, grabbing, groping, trying to tear the fabric away.
Nari felt panic rising—an old panic, childlike, womanlike, victimlike—
but above it, she felt something else.
A fire.
A black fire.
A devouring fire.
One part of her screamed.
The other laughed.
She searched for something.
Anything.
A weapon.
An exit.
A way out.
Her eyes landed on the desk.
On a pair of scissors.
A shiny blade.
Cold.
A promise of justice.
A promise of blood.
The boss murmured against her ear:
— Since you're quitting… I might as well enjoy you first.
The sentence snapped in the air.
Something snapped inside her.
For one second—just one—the world seemed to freeze in front of her.
And in that brutal halt, something rose.
Old.
Ancient.
Buried for years.
A memory she had always refused to look at.
A man's hand — not this boss, another, long ago — resting on her thigh when she was only ten.
The fear in her throat.
The silence forced upon her.
The shame she'd swallowed.
The stifled laugh of that man whispering: "Don't act so fragile."
And she, motionless.
Frozen.
Mute.
She had let it happen, out of survival.
Out of helplessness.
Out of fear.
And that day, something had died inside her.
She had buried it.
Deep.
Very deep.
Under years, under habits, under the "good girl" mask she had been forced to wear.
But tonight…
That old version of herself rose like a ghost, like a beast awakened.
And she understood — in her chest, in her bones, in her blood — that this rage wasn't new.
It had never disappeared.
It had simply waited.
Waited for a breath.
Waited for a spark.
Waited for him.
Sion had struck the match.
The boss had poured the gasoline.
The flame had been burning all along.
With a feline, instinctive, animal movement—
Nari reached out.
Grabbed the scissors.
Felt the metal in her sweat-slicked palm.
And without thinking,
without hesitating,
without breathing—
she drove the scissors into the boss's thigh.
The blade sank in.
Easily.
As if his flesh were nothing but warm butter.
The scream that tore from his throat ripped through the room, a primal, animal, deranged scream,
the kind you only hear in the woods, at night, when a beast is being slaughtered.
Blood gushed out.
Hot.
Thick.
Bright red.
It splattered the floor.
The walls.
Nari's hands.
She watched him stumble back, fold over, eyes bulging in shock—
and she…
she smiled.
A wide smile.
Wild.
Shining.
Almost innocent, almost childlike…
but completely insane.
She stepped forward, eyes locked on him.
— You filthy disgusting old pig.
A whisper.
Sweet venom.
Then, in a slow, precise, almost sensual gesture—
she pulled the scissors out.
A spray of blood erupted.
The boss screamed again, high-pitched, broken, pathetic.
— STOP HER! he bellowed, collapsing to his knees, trembling hands pressed to his thigh.
Nari stepped back.
One step.
Then two.
The scissors dripping blood in her hand.
She inhaled deeply.
A breath.
A breath of freedom.
A shiver ran through her.
The kind of shiver that slides up the spine when life tears your skin open to make you reborn.
She looked down at him — pathetic, gasping, pleading.
— You'll hear from me, Nari! he whimpered.
She burst out laughing.
A real laugh.
Clear.
Crystalline.
Mad.
Without another word, she opened the door and walked out of the office,
the scissors still dripping blood in her hand,
a trail of red droplets falling behind her like scattered petals.
And no one dared stop her.
No one.
The elevator rose slowly, each jolt making the scissors tap against Nari's thigh,
a little metallic cling echoing in the shaft like the sound of her own frantic heart.
Her reflection in the steel panel…
It was her.
But not her anymore.
The dried blood on her torn shirt,
the strands of hair stuck to her temples,
the red smear at the corner of her mouth,
her fever-bright eyes—
she looked like a woman torn from a forbidden film,
a woman you only meet at the edge of an abyss,
a woman just born through violence.
And the truth hit her, overwhelming:
She felt alive.
More alive than ever.
When the doors opened, she walked down the hallway like an apparition.
Her steps left behind a red trail, almost artistic, almost beautiful.
Sion's apartment door was ajar.
A cold, white light carved a rectangle across the floorboards.
She walked in.
There, in the living room, Sion was standing with a file in one hand and a coffee in the other, Daewon in front of him, clearly in the middle of a discussion.
Both men turned at the same time.
And the air tore open.
No words.
No movement.
Just their eyes.
Daewon, first, went pale.
A mask of shock.
His lips parted, unable to produce a single sound.
Sion, meanwhile…
Sion didn't move.
His pupils narrowed.
His breath cut short.
His coffee slipped from his fingers and shattered on the floor, brown splashing across the white tiles.
What he saw in front of him…
Nari.
But not the docile Nari, not the lost, fragile, hesitant Nari.
No.
A woman with a torn blouse hanging on by a single thread, revealing too much skin, too much truth.
A woman with tangled hair, stuck with sweat and blood.
A woman whose hands were still dripping red, the blade of the scissors sticking out of her pocket like a warning, a signature.
A woman who had just killed a part of herself to be reborn.
Sion stepped forward.
Then another step.
Then he started running.
— Nari…?
His voice cracked.
He grabbed her by the arms, turned her around, searched for a wound, a cut, a blow, anything—
his fingers trembled.
Trembled.
Daewon stayed frozen, as if looking at a creature straight out of an urban legend.
— Who hurt you? Hm? Who?!
Sion's voice rose, rough, almost animal.
His hands ran over Nari's shoulders, her face, her ribs, checking again and again if she was whole, alive, real.
But she…
She looked at him.
And she smiled.
A huge smile.
A bright smile.
A delirious smile.
A smile that had nothing to do with pain anymore.
— It feels good, she suddenly shouted, her voice sharp, dazzling, a laugh bursting from her lips.
And that laugh…
It was terribly pure.
Dangerously free.
Too bright for this world.
A laugh of rebirth.
Sion stared at her.
For a long time.
His golden eyes burned with an almost violent intensity.
His breath stopped.
A shiver ran down his shoulders, something between fear and ecstasy.
Daewon looked away, uncomfortable, as if witnessing something intimate, forbidden.
Sion stepped closer.
Very slowly.
Then he murmured, in a low, deep, vibrating voice:
— This new Nari… she turns me on so much.
His fingers slid along her jaw, caressed the line of her neck, and stopped on a fresh bloodstain.
He smiled.
A slow smile.
Cold.
Fascinated.
— You're beautiful.
Not a compliment.
A statement.
A worship.
The tension exploded between them, brutal, carnal, electric.
Nari stepped forward.
Just one step.
And the whole room twisted around them.
The world became silence.
The world became breath.
The world became the two of them.
— Sion… she murmured, her voice hoarse, worn, still vibrating with adrenaline.
— Look at me.
He looked at her.
Like a man stares at a fire he wants to kiss even if it means burning alive.
He reached out a hand, placed his thumb on her lower lip, wiping away a smear of blood.
His thumb stayed there, trembling slightly.
— You're mine, he whispered.
— Since always, she answered.
And there, in that living room smelling of cold cigarettes, spilled coffee, and fresh blood…
Two monsters recognized each other.
Two souls bound themselves together.
Two fires ignited.