The Seoul subway at 11:30 PM was a liminal space, filled with tired office workers and the smell of rain-drenched wool. Kang-joon sat in the corner of the last carriage, his face buried in his hoodie. Every time the doors slid open, he felt a jolt of electricity shoot up his spine.
He clutched his phone in his pocket. JH_Law_99. For ninety-six lives, the word "fan" had meant a data point. It was a vote, a scream in a crowded arena, a digital number that determined his survival. He had never thought of a fan as a person with the sheer audacity to challenge a police investigation for a stranger.
His phone buzzed. He pulled it out, shielding the screen.
JH_Law_99: [I'm at the back entrance of Building 15. The security guards here are mostly students on part-time shifts, they won't recognize you. Just hurry. I think someone followed me from the library.]
