A month crawled by in Haneul.
The city outside their apartment window never slept, not out of ambition, but out of paranoia. Sirens came and went. Motorcycles screamed down the streets at 3 a.m. Fistfights broke out below their building like clockwork, almost comforting in their predictability.
Inside, though, everything felt still.
Sang-ho stood in the center of the dim living room with his hands on his hips, staring at the two people he trusted most, minus Vlad, who was who-knows-where doing who-knows-what in Seoul.
The air was stale with the smell of cigarettes and takeout that nobody bothered throwing away.
Tae-min lay sprawled across the couch like a ghost of himself. His hair had grown long enough to drape over his face like a curtain, hiding expression, emotion, everything. He breathed, but barely. His chest moved like it was tired of the motion.
Soo-jin leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, quiet and cautious like always. He never liked making the first move. He preferred reacting to chaos rather than creating it.
Sang-ho exhaled.
"Alright," he said, rolling his shoulders once, twice, before clapping his hands together. "We've been sitting on our asses long enough. We need to talk about what's next."
Tae-min didn't move.
Soo-jin lifted a brow. "Next as in…?"
"As in surviving, genius." Sang-ho gestured broadly. "Chairman Seo didn't burn down our lives just to forget about us. The guy put a bounty on our heads. A big one. The kind that makes stupid people feel brave."
Soo-jin looked away, jaw tight. "We barely dodged gangs in three towns on the way here."
"Exactly." Sang-ho pointed at him. "So unless you want to keep living like hunted rats, we need money. We need safety. And we need a plan."
Silence.
Then, unexpectedly, Tae-min spoke, his voice muffled beneath the curtain of hair.
"Not drugs."
Sang-ho blinked. "What?"
Tae-min didn't lift his head. "I heard you two talking about it yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that." He raised a limp hand from the couch and let it flop back down. "We're not selling drugs. If we start pushing that poison, I'm gone."
Sang-ho sighed. "It was just an idea, man. Relax."
"It wasn't a good one."
Sang-ho nodded, conceding. "Fine. No drugs."
Soo-jin cleared his throat. "We could offer protection. Haneul is crawling with small gangs and shop owners who need muscle."
"Mmm," Sang-ho hummed. "But that puts us in the open too fast. Chairman Seo's bounty hunters will hear about it in a week."
They continued throwing ideas around, like information brokerage, bodyguard work, forging documents, each one dismissed with a bored flick of Tae-min's wrist or a quiet objection from Soo-jin.
Until eventually, the room fell silent again.
Sang-ho clicked his tongue. "We need something smart. Something we can hide behind."
Tae-min didn't move for a long time.
Then, slowly… something sparked behind that curtain of hair. A glint of life. Or madness. In this world, the difference didn't matter.
He sat up.
His hair fell over half his face, but Sang-ho could see his eyes now, tired, empty, but awake.
"What about a gambling den?" Tae-min murmured. "And a fight club in the back."
Sang-ho froze.
Soo-jin blinked. "…What?"
"A gambling den," Tae-min repeated. His voice was flat, but steady. "And a fighting ring. Underground. Quiet. Cash only. This city has no ruling family. No chairman. No organization strong enough to control everything. It's chaos." He lifted his gaze. "Chaos means opportunity."
For a moment, Sang-ho stared.
Then he burst into laughter, loud, genuine, belly-deep laughter that echoed off the stained apartment walls.
"Oh my god," he wheezed, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "That's… that's brilliant. Holy hell, Tae-min, look at you. A month of being dead inside and suddenly you come back with a masterpiece."
Tae-min shrugged, hair falling again like a curtain. "It's just an idea."
"It's a good idea," Sang-ho insisted, pacing with excitement. "Gambling means steady money. Fighting means bigger money. And we control everything. Entry fees, bets, protection fees, the whole thing."
Soo-jin looked uneasy. "It also means danger. If the local gangs find out…"
"That's the point," Sang-ho cut in. "We're not trying to be saints. We're trying to survive."
Soo-jin pinched the bridge of his nose. "Still, a fight club? People can get seriously..."
"No graphic details," Tae-min muttered dryly. "We get it."
Soo-jin glared at him, but it softened quickly. It was the first sign of life he'd seen from Tae-min in weeks.
Sang-ho stopped pacing. "We'll do it."
Soo-jin sighed. But after a long moment, he nodded. "Fine. If we're doing this… then we're doing it properly."
"Damn right." Sang-ho clapped once again, energized. "Step one: We need a location. I'll meet with a real estate agent tomorrow, someone who doesn't ask stupid questions."
"Money?" Soo-jin asked.
"I'll handle that," Sang-ho said confidently, tapping his pocket where he kept his emergency stash. "We don't need much upfront. Just enough to rent a shabby building no one cares about."
"Step two…" Tae-min whispered.
Sang-ho grinned. "We need a front man."
Soo-jin folded his arms. "Definitely not me."
"Oh absolutely not," Sang-ho snorted. "You look like you're guilty even when you're just breathing."
"And you?" Soo-jin shot back.
"Please," Sang-ho scoffed. "I'm on wanted posters from here to Seongrim. I can't even buy toilet paper without someone recognizing me."
Their eyes drifted to the couch.
Tae-min raised an eyebrow. "…Why are you looking at me?"
"You," Sang-ho said simply, "are perfect."
"For what?" he deadpanned.
"To be the legal owner of our 'innocent, completely lawful and definitely not criminal at all' gambling establishment."
Tae-min stared. "…You're joking."
"Nope," Sang-ho grinned. "No record. Clean face, well, hidden by all that hair, but still clean. You look different now. No one in Nampo or Seongrim would recognize you even if you walked right up and slapped them."
Soo-jin nodded reluctantly. "He's right. And you've always had a way of talking politely when you want to. Government offices like polite people."
Tae-min slumped back on the couch. "I hate this idea."
"But you like living, right?" Sang-ho asked.
"…Fine," Tae-min muttered. "I'll be the cover."
"Good man." Sang-ho grinned. "We'll get the permit under your name. The front will be something boring, like a gaming café or a pool hall."
"And behind the locked door in the back…" Soo-jin finished quietly. "The real business."
The three of them exchanged a long look.
This wasn't just a plan.
It was the beginning of something else. Something dangerous. Something that would either save them…
…or ruin them even more.
Sang-ho stretched his arms over his head. "Alright, gentlemen. Tomorrow we start making this happen."
Soo-jin turned off the kitchen light. "Let's hope this doesn't get us killed."
Tae-min lay back down on the couch.
But for the first time in months…
He wasn't lifeless.
His mind was spinning, fast, chaotic, alive.
Something inside him whispered that this plan might actually work. That maybe, just maybe, they could build something of their own instead of running forever.
Outside, Haneul raged on, sirens, shouts, engines, fights. But for the three men in that cramped apartment, a strange sense of direction finally settled in.
Not hope.
Hope was too fragile.
But purpose?
Purpose was sharp enough to cut through the dark.
Tomorrow, everything would begin.