Chp 1: The Coldest Night in Seoul22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJRCU0p2ITv
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Kang Joon's breath fogged in the cold night air. His boots splashed through a puddle, the water dark and murky beneath the flicker of neon signs overhead. Seoul never really slept — the streets pulsed with life, but here, in the back alleys, it felt different. Quieter. Forgotten.
The distant hum of traffic echoed, blending with the buzz of a broken streetlight. It flickered above him like it was on its last breath. Joon barely noticed. His mind wasn't here. It was with Min-Jae.
His younger brother's voice still rang in his ears, the last call they had. Jae had sounded off — shaky, nervous. He never talked like that.
"Hyung... if anything happens to me — don't trust anyone."
Joon had laughed it off then, telling him he was being dramatic. Now, his gut twisted with regret. Min-Jae wasn't picking up anymore.
A week. Seven days of nothing. No calls. No messages. Joon had checked their apartment, his brother's usual hangouts, even pestered the few friends Min-Jae kept. All dead ends.
The cops didn't care. Another missing college kid? They'd filed the report and moved on. But Joon knew his brother. He wasn't the type to just disappear.
A muffled noise broke the silence. Joon's head snapped up.
Further down the alley, past an old convenience store with a flickering sign, he saw movement. A figure, half-hidden in the shadows.
"Hey!" Joon called, his voice low but sharp.
The figure bolted.
"Shit."
Joon didn't think — he ran.
His boots hit the pavement hard, the slap of his steps echoing. The alley twisted and turned, tighter and darker the deeper he chased. Whoever it was, they knew the paths better than he did. Joon's lungs burned, but he pushed forward.
A rusty chain-link fence loomed ahead. The runner didn't stop — they vaulted over it like it was nothing. Joon hit it full force, the metal rattling as he climbed. His hands slipped, but he didn't let go.
He landed hard on the other side, his knees screaming in protest. The alley opened into a deserted street, lit only by the glow of a convenience store sign across the road.
Empty. Whoever it was, they were gone.
Joon swore under his breath. He turned to head back — and froze.
Something caught his eye near the fence. A small object, half-buried in the dirt.
He crouched down and picked it up, his heart hammering in his chest.
It was Min-Jae's phone.
The screen was cracked, dirt smeared across it, but it buzzed weakly in his hand. One notification blinked through the broken glass.
Unknown Number: "Stay out of this."
Joon stared at the screen, his throat tightening. His hand curled into a fist around the phone.
They had Min-Jae. And whoever they were, they just made a mistake.
Joon wasn't going to stop until he got his brother back — or buried whoever took him.
The streets of Seoul felt colder now. The city's neon glow bounced off the wet pavement, casting eerie reflections in puddles. The hum of distant traffic was background noise, but Joon felt disconnected from it. Like the city wasn't real anymore.
He tucked Min-Jae's phone into his pocket, his grip tightening around it like it might disappear. His mind raced. He needed help — not the cops. They wouldn't do anything. He needed someone who wouldn't ask too many questions.
Woo-sung.
They hadn't spoken in over a year, but Woo-sung knew these streets better than anyone. If someone had Min-Jae, he'd hear about it.
Joon's legs ached from the chase, but he pushed through it, walking fast. The streets blurred past him — convenience stores, neon signs, late-night food stalls. The smell of fried chicken and tteokbokki hung in the air. His stomach growled, but food was the last thing on his mind.
When he reached the garage, it looked worse than he remembered. The metal shutter was halfway down, the light inside barely visible. Oil stains covered the concrete outside, and the smell of gasoline hit him hard.
He banged on the door. "Woo-sung! Open up!"
Silence.
He banged again, harder this time. "It's Joon!"
A muffled curse came from inside. The shutter groaned as it lifted, and Woo-sung squinted at him from under the harsh fluorescent light. He looked older, more worn down than Joon remembered — like life had been chewing him up.
"Joon? What the hell are you doing here?"
"I need your help." Joon didn't waste time. He pulled Min-Jae's cracked phone from his pocket and held it up. "He's gone. This is all I found."
Woo-sung's expression darkened. He stepped aside without another word.
The garage was just as grimy inside. Tools were scattered everywhere, and an old car sat in the corner, half-gutted. A single fluorescent light buzzed overhead.
Woo-sung leaned against the workbench, arms crossed. "Start talking."
Joon exhaled sharply. "He called me a week ago. Said something was wrong. Then he vanished. No sign of him. No calls. Nothing. I chased someone tonight — found this." He held up the phone again. "It was in the dirt, near the river."
Woo-sung stared at the phone like it might bite him. His jaw tightened.
"What did the message say?"
"'Stay out of this.'"
A beat of silence hung between them.
"Shit," Woo-sung muttered. He ran a hand through his hair. "Joon, if someone's telling you to back off, they mean it. Seoul's underworld doesn't play games."
"I'm not backing off." Joon's voice was steady. "Not until I get him back."
Woo-sung studied him for a long moment, then sighed. "Alright. I'll ask around. But you owe me."
Joon nodded. He didn't care what it cost. He wasn't losing Min-Jae.
___________________________________________________
The night air bit harder as Joon stepped out of the garage. The streets seemed louder now — laughter from a nearby bar, the distant rumble of a bus, the faint click of someone's lighter sparking to life. It all grated against his nerves.
He needed to move. Standing still felt wrong. Min-Jae wasn't standing still.
Joon cut through a narrow street, his boots scuffing the wet pavement. His mind ran faster than his feet. Woo-sung would ask around, but that wasn't enough. He needed more. He needed answers now.
He took a sharp turn into another alley — a shortcut toward the old market district. It wasn't the safest route, but Joon didn't care. Fear wasn't something he had room for anymore.
He barely made it three steps before a figure stepped out from the shadows.
"Hey, man." The voice was low and greasy, like the sound of tires rolling through sludge. "You look lost."
Joon didn't slow down. He moved to step past him, but another man blocked the other end of the alley. This one was taller, leaner, with a scar cutting through his eyebrow.
Joon exhaled through his nose. A shakedown. Of course. Seoul's backstreets were crawling with guys like this — desperate, angry, or just plain bored.
"Not interested," Joon muttered, his voice low and even.
"See, that's the thing." The first guy stepped closer. Joon caught a glimpse of metal in his hand — a box cutter. "We're not asking."
Scar-Eyebrow chuckled from behind him.
Joon's heartbeat didn't quicken. His hands didn't tremble. He wasn't scared.
He was pissed.
The man lunged. Joon moved faster.
He sidestepped, slamming his forearm into the guy's wrist. The box cutter clattered to the ground. Joon didn't stop. His knee drove into the man's stomach, folding him like a broken chair.
Scar-Eyebrow cursed. Joon heard the footsteps, felt the shift in the air — he turned just in time.
The punch grazed his jaw. It stung, but Joon barely registered it. He grabbed the guy's arm and twisted. Scar-Eyebrow shouted in pain as Joon slammed him into the brick wall.
The first guy was wheezing on the ground, barely getting to his knees. Joon stepped over him.
"I'm not lost," Joon said coldly. "But if you want to keep walking, I suggest you stay down."
Neither of them followed when he walked away.
Joon's knuckles throbbed by the time he reached the old market district. The streets were quieter here, but the smell of street food still lingered — grilled meat, garlic, and something fried.
Min-Jae loved this place. He'd drag Joon here every weekend, even when they didn't have money to spend. He always found a way to talk the vendors into giving them extra fish cakes or a bigger portion of kimbap.
The thought made Joon's throat tighten. He shook it off.
He wasn't here for memories.
Joon found the place he was looking for — a bar tucked into the side of a convenience store. The sign was half burnt-out, leaving only the word "Myeong" glowing weakly.
He stepped inside.
The place was exactly as he remembered — smoky, dim, and filled with people who didn't want to be found. The smell of old beer and stale cigarettes hit him first.
Joon scanned the room. He spotted him immediately.
Young-Dae.
A low-level fixer, but one with connections. Joon hated him — but Min-Jae once said Young-Dae owed him a favor. That was good enough.
Young-Dae sat at a corner table, nursing a glass of soju. His leather jacket looked more expensive than the place deserved. A girl sat next to him, leaning on his arm, half-asleep.
Joon didn't bother with pleasantries. He walked straight over and dropped Min-Jae's broken phone on the table with a clatter.
Young-Dae blinked, startled. Then he looked up. Recognition flickered in his eyes, followed by annoyance.
"Joon? Thought you were too good for places like this."
Joon didn't blink. "Where's my brother?"
Young-Dae leaned back in his chair, a smirk curling on his lips. "How the hell should I know?"
"He's missing," Joon said through gritted teeth. "Someone sent this." He tapped the phone. "Don't act like you haven't heard something."
Young-Dae sighed, rubbing his temple like Joon was an inconvenience. "Missing doesn't mean dead, Joon. People go missing all the time. Especially when they owe the wrong people money."
Joon's stomach twisted. "Min-Jae doesn't owe anyone."
Young-Dae's smirk didn't fade. "Everyone owes someone."
Joon slammed his fist on the table. The girl startled awake, muttering something before stumbling away.
"Don't screw with me, Dae." Joon's voice was low, steady, dangerous. "If you know something, you tell me. Now."
For a second, Young-Dae looked like he might push back. But then his eyes flicked to the phone again. His smirk faded.
"I heard something," he muttered, voice quieter now. "Couple of days ago. Word on the street is someone's moving kids. Smart ones. They vanish, and no one talks."
Joon's heart pounded in his chest. "Who's moving them?"
Young-Dae shook his head. "No names. No faces. Just a word." He hesitated, like he didn't want to say it.
"Golgotha."
Joon frowned. "What the hell is that?"
Young-Dae swallowed hard. "A place. A person. I don't know. But people who ask too much about it..." He glanced around the bar. "They don't come back."
Joon stared at him for a long moment.
"Neither will Min-Jae," he said quietly, "if I stop now."
Young-Dae exhaled slowly. "You're gonna get yourself killed."
Joon didn't answer. He picked up the broken phone and turned to leave.
He paused at the doorway.
"If you hear anything else..." Joon didn't look back. "You call me."
Young-Dae didn't respond. Joon didn't wait.
The streets felt emptier than before. Colder. The name stuck in his head like a splinter.
Golgotha.
He didn't know what it meant yet. But he would.
Min-Jae was out there somewhere — scared, hurt, waiting.
Joon wasn't stopping. Not until he tore this city apart to find him.
And whoever took his brother?
They were going to wish they never did.
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End of Chapter 1
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