Jae-hyun collapsed the moment they returned to the safehouse.
His wounds were worse than he let on—deep lacerations on his ribs, bruises down his spine, and a jagged knife cut along his collarbone. Ha-eun didn't waste a second. She rushed him into the underground infirmary, where only dim lanterns and the hum of an old generator lit the stone walls.
"Lie down," she ordered, her voice tight with panic.
"I'm fine—"
"Don't argue with your doctor." Her glare was fire. He obeyed.
She worked in silence, hands trembling only slightly as she disinfected and stitched his wounds. Blood soaked her gloves. Sweat glistened on his skin. But he didn't flinch—not once—only watched her with those storm-dark eyes.
"You saved me again," he murmured.
She paused, fingers hovering near his chest. "You would've died if I hadn't followed you."
"I told you not to come."
"And I told you I wasn't leaving you alone."
Their eyes met. There were no masks now—no power games, no pretenses. Just him, broken and bleeding. And her, terrified and holding him together.
"You're different when you're hurt," she whispered.
"More human?"
"More honest."
He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. "Then maybe I should get stabbed more often."
She laughed once—soft and raw—and leaned into his touch. "Don't joke about that."
"I'm not." He exhaled. "You make the pain feel like it's worth something."
For the next three days, Ra-hee rarely left his side.
She cleaned his wounds, changed his bandages, made him drink soup even when he complained, and scolded him for trying to get out of bed too early. Jae-hyun, used to leading armies and commanding fear, now surrendered to her care like a stubborn child trapped in a soldier's body.
"You're the only one who dares to nag me like this," he said on the second day.
"And you're the only patient who thinks 'rest' means plotting gang strategy in bed."
Despite everything, they laughed. For the first time since she met him, Ha-eun saw the boy beneath the monster—the tired, fractured man who never had a chance to be soft.
At night, she'd sit in the chair beside his bed, wrapped in one of his jackets, listening to the rain tapping against the old stone roof.
"You've seen the worst of me," he said once, voice barely above a whisper. "Why are you still here?"
She turned to him, her face half-lit by candlelight. "Because even monsters bleed. And somewhere beneath all that rage, you've got a heart that still knows how to love."
Jae-hyun closed his eyes. "What if I lose you someday?"
"You won't," she whispered. "Not if I can help it."
On the fourth day, a letter arrived.
An encrypted message delivered by a courier Jae-hyun trusted with his life. He read it, eyes scanning quickly, jaw tightening with every word.
"What is it?" Ra-hee asked.
"They're regrouping," he said darkly. "The remnants of Jin's loyalists. They're calling themselves Crimson Dawn. Planning something big. I need to act."
"Jae-hyun… you're not healed."
"There's no time."
She grabbed his wrist. "Promise me you won't rush into another war."
He looked at her, torn. "I can't promise that."
Her voice cracked. "Then promise me one thing—whatever happens next, don't shut me out again."
He hesitated. Then nodded slowly. "You're not just part of this anymore, Ra-hee. You're… the only thing keeping me human."
She kissed his knuckles. "Then don't let your humanity die."
That night, as Ra-hee slept beside him in the narrow bed, curled into his side with her head against his shoulder, Jae-hyun stayed awake.
He stared at the ceiling, replaying the letter in his mind.
Crimson Dawn is preparing to strike. Seoul. Within the week.
He would have to go back. Return to the city that made him. Face ghosts he thought he'd buried. Risk everything—not just his life, but hers.
As he watched her breathing slowly beside him, he made a silent vow.
If this ends in blood, it won't be hers. I'll protect her. Even if it kills me.
Because in a world of betrayal and scars, she was the only vow he still believed in.
To be Continued...