Luca stepped out of the guest house where his professor was staying, the door clicking shut behind him. The warm glow of the study faded instantly, replaced by the sharp night air of Stuttgart. His project was finally complete. Everything was ready. At last, things were moving in the direction he wanted.
It was already past 9 p.m. The residential street was quiet—too quiet. Most windows had gone dark, and only a few scattered street lamps lit the empty sidewalks.
He took barely ten steps before a prickle crawled up the back of his neck.
Something was wrong.
Luca slowed, his brows knitting together as he glanced over his shoulder.
There. A figure about twenty feet behind him. Dark clothing. Hood pulled low. Their footsteps too soft, too calculated.
Not a coincidence.
His heartbeat sharpened. Not fear yet—just instinct, honed by months of tension and pressure surrounding his project. He tightened his grip on the bag slung across his shoulder and quickened his pace, steering toward a livelier street where neon signs and late-night cafés still flickered awake.
A second glance was worse.
The figure had closed half the distance.
And their pace matched his exactly.
His body reacted before his mind fully caught up.
Run.
Luca exploded into a sprint, cutting sharply into a narrow side street. The sudden burst of movement triggered a response behind him—the footsteps sped up, pounding the pavement with predatory determination.
His breath came out in sharp bursts. He hadn't run like this in ages—not with panic nipping at his heels. Everything else vanished.
Not his apartment.
Not his past.
Not Seo-in.
Only the sound of someone hunting him and the weight of his project against his ribs.
He veered into another alley, trying to shake the pursuer, but the footsteps grew louder—closer.
He risked a glance over his shoulder.
A mistake.
The hooded figure was almost on him.
They lunged. Luca jerked away, his shoulder slamming painfully against the brick wall, but he managed to keep his balance.
"Who are you?!" he shouted, voice raw with adrenaline.
Silence stretched for a split second.
Then the hood lifted—just enough for the dim streetlight to catch familiar eyes, familiar cheekbones.
Luca's stomach dropped.
"Morty? What the hell—?"
Morty stepped closer, a twisted grin spreading across his face. "Oh, come on. You didn't think we'd let you walk away with that precious project, did you?"
Luca's hands curled into fists. His mind burned with realization.
Aileen.
That meeting in Berlin.
The pressure.
Her sudden shift in tone when he rejected her.
The subtle threat that followed.
Of course.
"So you're the one tailing me?" Luca spat. "Pathetic."
Morty shrugged lazily, as if this were all just a game. "Aileen sends her regards," he said—right before lunging again, this time straight for Luca's bag.
Luca moved on instinct, pivoting sharply to shield the bag with his body. "Not happening," he growled. "You're not touching this."
Morty grabbed the strap, yanking hard. Luca staggered backward, refusing to let go.
Not now.
Not when he was so close.
Not after everything he sacrificed.
Summoning every ounce of strength, Luca drove his knee into Morty's stomach. Morty choked, doubling over. His grip loosened—just enough for Luca to rip the bag back.
He stumbled a few steps away—
Then something sharp brushed the side of his neck.
A sting.
A prick.
Barely anything at all.
But his vision warped instantly, colors stretching into smears.
The world tilted sideways.
No. No, no, no—
His knees buckled.
Lights blurred.
Morty's voice reached him through a thick haze, distant and distorted.
"Aileen said not to let you get away."
The ground rushed up to meet him.
And then everything went black.
***
The world returned in fragments—shadows first, then shapes, then pain. Luca's head throbbed like someone had packed it with wet sand. His thoughts dragged, refusing to line up. He blinked slowly, the car's interior swimming into focus.
Upholstery. A rearview mirror. The faint hum of the engine.
He was in the back seat. Bound. Disoriented.
And Morty was calmly driving in the front, illuminated by the dim glow of the dashboard.
A cold wave passed through Luca's chest.
Stay awake. Stay sharp. Think.
But thinking was slow—sluggish. Every time he tried to gather his thoughts, they dissolved like fog. His body slumped against the seat, his wrists burning from the tight cable ties.
He inhaled deeply, trying to force clarity into his mind—
And instead, a memory shoved its way in.
Seo-in.
Not because he wanted it.
Not because he missed her.
Because his mind, in its weakened state, had no defenses left.
Her face flickered behind his eyelids—her smile in lamp glow, her voice soft, her hand slipping into his.
A warmth he could no longer afford to remember.
His jaw clenched.
He'd cut her out. Buried her. Needed her gone.
But now, tied, drugged, and helpless against his will, her name hit him like a punch to the sternum. A reminder of what he'd already lost—what he'd thrown away.
And the worst part was the truth twisting inside him:
He couldn't go back.
He had made sure of that.
The car jolted over uneven road, snapping him back.
Good. Focus.
His eyes swept the interior—noting what he could use. No fire hydrant. No dramatic weapon. But the seatbelt buckle beside him? The metal latch?
That could cut skin. Maybe even plastic.
His fingers twitched toward it—
But Morty suddenly sped up, the city lights smearing past the window as the car barreled toward the outskirts of Stuttgart.
What was he even fighting for?
His project?
His degree?
A future that felt emptier than ever?
His breath fogged the window. His pulse hammered.
Another uninvited memory crashed through him—Seo-in laughing under streetlights the night they got lost, squeezing his hand and whispering, "We'll figure it out."
A lie now.
A life that no longer existed.
His eyes hardened.
He wasn't going to die here.
Not like this.
Not at their hands.
Even if he had nothing left, he would still fight.
He lurched forward without warning, slamming his bound shoulder into the back of Morty's seat.
The car swerved violently. Morty cursed, yanking the wheel.
"You insane little—!"
Luca didn't stop.
He braced his tied hands against the seat and kicked—hard—at the driver's side door. The impact jolted the car sideways. Tires screeched. The whole world tilted as they careened toward a metal road divider.
In the half-second before impact, Luca's mind burned with one thought:
Survive. No matter what.
The crash hit like a thunderclap.
Metal crumpled. Glass cracked. The world spun in white noise.
When the vehicle shuddered to a stop, both men were injured but alive. Luca barely lifted his head before Morty yanked the door open, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him onto the cold asphalt.
Luca hit the ground with a wet grunt, pain roaring through his ribs.
Morty didn't waste time.
He tore open Luca's bag.
Shoved through pockets.
Found the USB.
Luca lunged—too slow, too weak.
Morty slammed a fist into his jaw.
Then another.
Then a kick to the ribs that stole his breath.
When Morty finally retreated, clutching the stolen USB, Luca lay bleeding on the side of the empty road—like discarded trash.
The taillights blurred through his swollen vision, shrinking until they disappeared into the dark.
His project—his only leverage—was gone.
For a long moment, he didn't move.
Just let the cold wind cut through him.
Let the reality settle like shattered glass inside his lungs.
No project.
No future.
No Seo-in.
Nothing left.
Except one tiny, stubborn ember.
No. Not yet.
He forced himself up, trembling violently.
Fumbled for his phone.
Found it cracked, barely working.
He dialed the only number he knew might still pick up.
Even after everything he had done.
Ye-rin.