Kang-joon didn't wait for Kim Sang-hoon to answer. The moment the heavy glass door hit the wall, his body moved on instinct—a desperate, frantic coordination born from years of dodging the shadows of his own past.
"Hey! You there!" one of the men shouted, his voice cutting through the mindless hum of the gaming rigs.
Kang-joon bolted. He didn't head for the front entrance; he knew the layout of these basement dens. He shoved past a row of startled teenagers, his shoulder clipping a monitor, and dived into the narrow corridor leading to the emergency exit behind the kitchen.
Behind him, he heard the heavy thud of boots and the clatter of a chair being kicked aside. He burst through the rear door into the freezing night air of the alleyway. The smell of rotten trash and salt hit him instantly, but he didn't stop to breathe.
He ran.
