The siren was so thunderous it felt like it could rupture eardrums. Everyone in the studio clapped hands over their ears and crouched low.
Seizing the confusion, the host and staff bolted toward the exit—right as the ceiling collapsed. Two staffers and the host were smashed by large, heavy chunks and buried under the debris. It must have made a hell of a crash, but even that was swallowed by the siren, turning it into silent mime.
To make matters worse, the fire sprinklers malfunctioned and started dumping water. Chaos in an instant.
Even the staff who were supposed to be in charge panicked. The staff struggling to grab Park Geonwoo suddenly sprinted out of the ring to save their own skins, forgetting him and the Sailors entirely.
“Jiwon, get out. Now.”
Kim Yunho shouted toward Jiwon, who was still inside the tube, reaching out a hand and flicking his eyes to the mass of staff surging toward the exit.
Han Seoho and the others finally started moving that way too.
“What are you doing? Not going?”
He should go.
But he had someone to bring.
Standing in the middle of the tube, Jiwon fixed on Park Geonwoo, who was staring up at the ceiling.
“Fuck, why is he like that?”
Yunho jittered, eyes bouncing between the exit and the ceiling. With the main exit’s ceiling down, it looked like other sections were about to drop in turn.
The falling materials powdered into dust. Mixing with the sprinkler water, the floor turned into a slick gray mud pit. A mud festival for real.
“Go first. I’ll bring Geonwoo hyung.”
Jiwon shouted this to Yunho and forced himself to his feet, slogging toward Geonwoo with his mud-caked body.
“Fuck it, I’m out.”
Yunho barked and ran for the exit.
Jiwon wanted to run too, but the mud made it impossible. Meanwhile the sprinklers seemed to break further—water dumped from the ceiling like a cloudburst, and he could barely see.
There was no time. Ceiling panels were dropping faster.
Get out. Get Geonwoo.
That was all in his head.
What the hell kind of building collapses like this?
He had the absurd thought that with all the money poured into them, they could’ve at least built the place right, and called # Nоvеlight # out to Park Geonwoo.
“Hyung! Geonwoo hyung!”
Useless under the siren.
Touching him would probably set him off again, but this wasn’t the time to care.
Hit a pressure point, disable him, haul him out.
He was about to hurl himself at Geonwoo—still staring up—when his vision went black.
Jiwon slammed into the mud.
A blackout. Pitch-black, not a hand’s breadth visible. He couldn’t wait for his eyes to adjust. Every second counted. Crawling through the muck, he groped for Geonwoo.
He’d been right here.
“Kim Jiwon.”
The sudden voice made him flinch.
Geonwoo was in front of him. Close enough that Jiwon could feel his breath—kneeling, maybe.
“...Hyung?”
Jiwon reached out. Geonwoo seized his hand, hard. Startlingly strong.
“You knew, didn’t you?”
Geonwoo whispered in his ear.
Even through the numbing noise, the words landed clean.
“Who told you?”
The voice was grim.
Staring into the glint in Geonwoo’s eyes felt uncanny—Jiwon found him truly unfamiliar.
“Hyung...”
“Don’t believe them. All lies. I’m the only one who knows the truth.”
“What is?”
As the dark eased, Jiwon began to make out his silhouette.
“You know. You know what I’m talking about.”
Cryptic.
“What do I know?”
“Anyway, it’s not that.”
Now Jiwon could see more than a silhouette; he could make out features.
“And about a minute ago—sorry. I misunderstood. You’d never do that.”
Geonwoo grinned.
Still talking nonsense, he let go of Jiwon’s hand. He opened both palms like to show them—and shoved Jiwon as hard as he could.
Off balance—he almost ate mud but caught himself with an arm.
“Ugh!”
Bad luck—he’d put out his injured right arm.
Pain spiked and he rolled in the muck, clutching his elbow.
Before he could recover, fingers seized his hair. His face plunged into the mud water. He thrashed, clawing backward to grab the hand in his hair, but everything was too slick. He slipped free.
Why are you doing this?
No time to ask. His face slammed into the mud again. He couldn’t breathe; the pressure was so crushing it felt like his face was being flattened.
They say you can drown in a bowl of water. This was deep enough to submerge a face, and if the other man meant it, it could kill. And it wasn’t water—it was dirt. Soft mud.
Panicking, he sucked in, and mud surged into his mouth and nose. Foreign matter blocked his airway.
He really thought he’d die.
Water would’ve been kinder.
Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm!
Clamping down on panic, he twisted with everything he had and tore his head up. He dragged in a huge breath. Air came with mud through nose and mouth.
Geonwoo regripped Jiwon’s hair like he meant to rip the scalp off, then with both hands shoved Jiwon’s head down again. Jiwon held his breath—he’d expected it.
He thrashed for a count, then went limp on purpose. He prayed the trick he’d used when Number 11 towel-assaulted him would work on Geonwoo too.
Just as he thought he might actually die, the grip at his scalp loosened. Not gone, but loose enough to try something.
He was wrong.
The instant he started to lift his head, Geonwoo growled, “Die, you fucker,” and dropped his weight on him. Straddling Jiwon’s back, he mashed Jiwon’s face down with everything he had. His nose felt like it was caving in. Terrified he’d break the bridge, Jiwon turned his head—but it was still mud.
He couldn’t think.
He fought to live—but this time, nothing worked.
There was nothing to grab.
Both of them were naked, and Geonwoo’s body was shockingly slick.
His hands caught nothing—nothing but silk-soft mud.
Fuck.
Jiwon laughed as he faded.
He hadn’t thought he’d die this stupidly. And at his hands, of all people.
Like an idiot—revenge, what a joke.
Sergeant Yun, trust no one. Friendship? Great. Allies? Sure, necessary. But not there. Put big money down, even a saint will sell you out. If someone says, I’ll throw in a few thousand more, be my guy—who says no? So think only of yourself. Your own skin, period. You’re solid, but you’re too soft, and that scares me.
Detective Kim Gyeongseok’s last advice rang in his ears.
Foolishly, Jiwon had believed in friendship. Sought someone to be on his side.
He’d considered other people’s safety alongside his own, even after being warned not to.
It was how he was made. That was Yun Jiwon’s nature—he couldn’t help it.
He’d never imagined the temperament everyone praised would deliver him to the worst possible end.
It felt empty.
Was it like this for Kim Jiwon, too?
Different circumstances, same blindsiding death—maybe Kim Jiwon felt this way as well.
After six years living in filth because of a bad brother, when he decided on suicide over a single misstep—did he feel this same emptiness?
If he’d known he’d die like that, he wouldn’t have suffered for six years.
He would’ve ignored his brother, his parents, and lived how he wanted.
Did he regret like that?
Jiwon thought of his father, who had always been on his side. He pictured his mother, left alone in this world. And finally—him.
His little brother filled his head.
Born of the same womb, raised together—and yet a stranger. The source of every disaster that struck their once-happy family—and yet a brother he couldn’t help but love.
For the first time, Jiwon regretted choosing revenge.
He shouldn’t have gone to Detective Kim Gyeongseok.
He shouldn’t have made his brother’s and father’s deaths identical with his own.
He should have lived his life instead...
What was a dick worth? What was manhood, that he jumped into something so dangerous, beyond his depth?
Instead of marrying the girlfriend who never left his side through the ICU, what did he think he’d gain by choosing revenge?
Why did he do it?
Up to the brink of death, Jiwon regretted.
Not the happy memories—what flashed by were the last two years undercover.
He was fading when—
Air suddenly entered his nose and mouth. His head lifted from the mud.
Gulping like an animal, he flipped onto his back, bracing for the next hit. No one was there.
Hff—hah—hff.
He panted so hard he barely recognized the sounds as his own, then broke into hacking coughs. Tears, snot, spit—every fluid smeared with mud. He tasted dirt on his tongue.
Eyes barely open, breath ragged, he still searched for Park Geonwoo—ready for another attack. But the man who’d ridden his back and smashed his face into the muck lay flung in a corner of the tube.
What happened?
Only then did the flashlights and the sight of black combat boots and black gloves enter his vision.
Security?
They’d have masks, of course. He tried to lift his head to see who—but his body jumped as he was hoisted up. A masked figure in black scooped him effortlessly over his shoulder.
Jiwon coughed and let himself hang on the man’s back.
He felt no warmth, but the physical contact alone calmed him. Park Geonwoo couldn’t attack him now.
Feeling safer, Jiwon worried about Geonwoo as they carried him out. If this had been Number 11 or Number 9—fine. But Geonwoo was the opposite. He’d treated Jiwon better than anyone. For a man to flip in a few hours—there had to be a reason.
Geonwoo lay spread-eagled, laughing like a madman. Debris and water hammered down from the ceiling, and he convulsed with laughter. Even with his face submerged in mud—he laughed.
No—he cried. Park Geonwoo was crying.
Left like that, he’d die. Someone needed to help him.
Jiwon tapped the security guard’s back.
Eyes barely open, he pointed toward Geonwoo.
“Help him!”
He shouted.
He yelled and thrashed so the guard would hear.
The guard seemed to turn that way—then kept going.
Did he not hear? Jiwon tried to hit him again—but, thankfully, he saw four other guards, flashlights cutting the murk, jump into the tube. They grabbed Geonwoo by his limbs, binding him as they lifted.
Whether he struggled or not, Jiwon couldn’t tell.
He was too exhausted. He let his eyes close and his body go limp.
A boom louder than the siren hit just as they cleared the exit. Jiwon’s eyes flew open; the guard carrying him stopped and looked back.
In Jiwon’s sightline, the four guards with Geonwoo collapsed to their knees.
We barely made it.
Their bodies said as much.
The siren cut out at the same time. All the sounds it had swallowed flooded in—snappish shouts, howls.
Jiwon drifted. He had no strength left to worry about anyone else.
He closed his eyes again. Grit made his eyelids scrape; tears kept leaking. He coughed up mud, sniffling.
They weren’t tears of relief.
Precisely, they were tears of regret.
Escape. If I can, I’ll escape.
It was the first resolve that rose in his mind.
When the Hide-and-Seek starts, escape.
Gwak Chan’s voice came next.
When the Hide-and-Seek starts, come to the Counseling Room.
Then Director Kim Hansoo’s imperious order rang, third—and he chose to ignore it.
Live.
He would never forget the disaster that befell him and his family—but live anyway.
If possible, live ordinary. Live faithfully, the life given to him.
The resolve flickered. Could he really live without revenge?
No—could he even get out alive?
Only now did Jiwon truly think about survival.