Something hard slammed into the back of his skull, and his vision exploded into stars.
"Ugh—!" Beom-ki gasped as he stumbled forward, his body collapsing to the ground, his limbs suddenly feeling like lead. Pain shot through his head like a bolt of lightning, and his vision swam, blurry and unfocused. The impact had knocked him off his feet, and now he was lying face down on the cold, gritty rooftop, his gun slipping from his hand, spinning across the floor out of reach.
Groaning, Beom-ki tried to push himself up, his muscles screaming in protest. But before he could get to his knees, he saw it— the feet of someone.
Polished, mirror-black shoes, so clean they glinted even in the faint rooftop light. The scent of expensive cologne filled the air, strong and unmistakable. It wasn't overpowering, but enough to make an impression—smooth, refined, like whoever this was had a taste for the finer things in life.
Beom-ki's heart raced in panic. No... not now.
He struggled to push himself up, to get a grip on the situation. But before he could even fully register the pain in his head, a strong hand clamped down on his arm. The grip was iron-tight, and before Beom-ki could react, his arm was wrenched back violently, twisted at an unnatural angle.
"AAAGHH—!" Beom-ki cried out in agony as his arm was nearly torn from its socket. He gritted his teeth, trying to pull free, but the force holding him down was too strong, too fast.
And then, with a sickening thud, his face was smashed into the gravel.
WHAM!
His cheekbone hit the ground hard, the jagged stones cutting into his skin. Pain exploded through his face, and for a second, Beom-ki thought he might black out. His vision swirled again, the stars returning, and blood pooled in his mouth from where his lip had split on impact. He groaned, trying to gather his thoughts, but the pain was blinding, overwhelming.
"Ugh... fu—" Beom-ki tried to curse, but the words barely left his mouth before another crushing blow pinned him even harder against the rooftop floor.
Whoever had attacked him had no intention of letting him up. His arm was twisted painfully behind his back, his face pressed into the cold gravel. He could barely breathe, the weight of his attacker forcing the air from his lungs.
Beom-ki squirmed, trying to wriggle free, but the grip on him only tightened. He felt the heel of one of those polished black shoes dig into the small of his back, pinning him down with ease, as if he were nothing more than an insect.
Who the hell was this guy?
He could feel the cold night air stinging the open wounds on his face, mixing with the taste of copper from the blood in his mouth. His mind raced, desperate for a way out, but the situation was dire. His gun was out of reach, and the attacker was too strong—too fast.
Beom-ki groaned as his arm was roughly yanked behind his back, the cold, metallic clink of handcuffs snapping tightly around his wrist. His body instinctively jerked at the sudden restraint, but there was no use—his free hand was now locked to a piece of exposed metal piping on the rooftop, trapping him completely. The sharp pain of the metal digging into his skin sent a surge of frustration and panic through him. He struggled, tugging against the cuffs, but they didn't budge.
"Damn it!" he hissed under his breath, the taste of blood still lingering in his mouth from the earlier assault. His entire body was sore, aching from the impact of his face being smashed into the gravel, but the pain was quickly overshadowed by the anger boiling inside him.
He could hear the attacker moving, the sound of boots scraping against the rough surface of the rooftop. For a moment, it felt like time slowed down. What the hell was happening? He hadn't even gotten a good look at the guy. The figure who had attacked him seemed almost ghost-like, moving with such speed and precision that Beom-ki couldn't make sense of it.
And then, the attacker straightened up.
Beom-ki felt the weight shift slightly, but before he could even consider trying to push himself up, THUNK! The polished shoe came down hard on his face, grinding his cheek into the rough gravel beneath him. The pain was sharp and immediate, his already bruised skin screaming in agony as the sole of the shoe pressed down mercilessly, forcing his face further into the cold rooftop.
"Ugh—!" Beom-ki groaned, his voice muffled by the ground, the pressure almost unbearable. He could feel the small rocks digging into his skin, could hear the blood pounding in his ears. His eyes fluttered open, only to be met with the blurry sight of darkness, the gravel, and his own helpless state. His mind raced. How had it come to this?
The attacker, however, seemed completely unfazed. In fact, he appeared to be enjoying it. The heavy, unyielding foot stayed firmly pressed against Beom-ki's face, ensuring he couldn't move an inch. The humiliation of being pinned like this only added to the fire burning in Beom-ki's chest.
He strained against the handcuff again, muscles tensing, trying to pull free, but the metal was unforgiving. Every movement sent a wave of pain shooting through his arm, but he wasn't about to give up. Not yet.
Through the fog of pain, Beom-ki heard a faint rustling. His attacker was doing something, but he couldn't see what. The pressure on his face made it impossible to lift his head, and all he could make out were the vague movements of the man standing over him.
And then... he heard it.
A chuckle. Low, dark, and mocking, it escaped from the attacker's lips—a sound filled with cruel amusement. The kind of laugh that made Beom-ki's blood run cold.
Beom-ki grit his teeth, anger flaring as that chuckle echoed in his ears. This guy was toying with him.
Then something fell to the ground with a soft thud near his face. Through the pain and haze, Beom-ki forced his eyes to focus. What was that?
There, lying on the ground beside him, was a tobacco stick—but not just any ordinary cigarette. No, this one was intricately designed, the wrapper adorned with golden patterns of dragons curling around the length of the tobacco. The detailed craftsmanship was unmistakable, making it clear that this wasn't some cheap, everyday smoke. It was a symbol. A calling card.
Yaroslav.
Beom-ki's heart skipped a beat as he realized what it meant. This wasn't just some random attack. It was a message.
The weight pressing down on his face suddenly lifted, and Beom-ki gasped, pulling in a ragged breath. His cheek throbbed with pain, and he instinctively tried to move, but the handcuffs kept him chained to the pipe.
The attacker said nothing more. The sound of footsteps echoed softly across the rooftop as the figure stepped back, retreating into the shadows.
Beom-ki grunted, trying to get a glimpse of the man through his blurred vision, but all he could make out was the silhouette of his figure, tall and imposing, disappearing into the night. The man's movements were smooth, almost graceful, as if he had all the time in the world. And then, just before vanishing completely, the attacker let out another low chuckle—cold and sinister—before the sound of his boots faded into the distance.
Beom-ki lay there for a moment, panting, his head spinning. The pain was dulling now, but the realization of his situation was all too clear. He had been beaten, humiliated, and left handcuffed to a rooftop with nothing but a designer tobacco stick as a warning.
His mind raced, trying to process what had just happened. Yaroslav—the name echoed in his thoughts like a drumbeat. He knew this was only the beginning. This man... this monster wasn't going to stop. Yaroslav was playing a game, and Beom-ki had just been forced into it, whether he liked it or not.
Slowly, painfully, Beom-ki tried to sit up, his body still aching from the assault. His hand tugged at the handcuff, the cold metal biting into his skin. He needed to think, needed to figure out how to get out of this mess. The tobacco stick still lay on the ground beside him, its ornate designs glinting in the faint rooftop light like a twisted token of fate.
Beom-ki clenched his jaw, determination flaring in his chest despite the pain.
This wasn't over.
Not by a long shot.
Beom-ki's mind raced as he scanned the dimly lit rooftop, desperate to find anything that might break him free. The chill night air seeped through his clothing, the cold metal of the handcuff biting into his wrist, reminding him of how trapped he was. Every second felt like an eternity, and he knew time wasn't on his side. He had to stay calm and think, no matter how dire the situation seemed.
That's when he spotted it—a glint of metal on the ground, just a few feet away. A key. His eyes widened in a mix of disbelief and hope. How had it ended up there? He almost laughed at the absurdity of it. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, a hint of exasperation lacing his voice. But he wasn't about to question his luck.
Beom-ki's gaze flickered back to his bound wrist, then down to his foot. If he could just reach it… Without hesitation, he shifted his body, bringing his legs around to stretch toward the key. One by one, he loosened the laces on his boot, slipping it off with practiced ease. The cold rooftop surface pressed against his bare foot, a stark reminder of his vulnerability. No time to think about that now. He flexed his ankle, his eyes never leaving the key, focusing on the sliver of metal that could mean the difference between freedom and capture.
Stretching out his leg, he curled his toes, straining to reach. His muscles tightened, and he bit his lip, pushing himself further, feeling the tension pull up his hamstring. His fingers clutched the rough asphalt as he edged closer, determination radiating from every fiber of his being. Years of physical training had made him flexible, but this was different. Now, every movement had to be precise, controlled.
"Nghh... mhmm, got it!" he murmured as his toes finally brushed against the cold metal. He tightened his grip with his toes, wincing slightly at the awkward angle, but he held on, pulling the key ever so slowly toward him. His heart raced, the anticipation building with every inch he dragged it closer.