"Footsteps Behind Us: The Last Chance"

The three of them kept running until Erin, who was leading their escape, suddenly changed direction and headed toward a train station. Catching their breath amidst the bustling crowd, they realized they might look suspicious. Erin quickly signaled Ryuen and Nam Gyeol to board the train in front of them.

The three of them rushed into the train, slipping into the dense crowd just as the warning chime for the closing doors rang through the carriage. Ryuen, towering and broad-shouldered, struggled to squeeze inside. The space was too tight, and the doors were about to shut.

With no other choice, he shoved the person in front of him—recklessly, without hesitation. The force of it sent the young woman stumbling forward, but it was enough. Ryuen managed to slip inside just as the doors slid shut behind him.

The train lurched forward. The woman turned, her face twisted in irritation. But the moment her eyes landed on him, the anger drained away, replaced by a flicker of fear. Ryuen was massive—his presence alone was suffocating, like standing in the shadow of a wild beast. His sharp, piercing gaze locked onto her, and for a second, she forgot how to breathe.

She quickly turned back around, clutching her bag tighter. The rhythmic clatter of the train wheels against the tracks filled the carriage, a mixture of harsh noise and an odd sense of tranquility. The three of them stood in silence, finally catching their breath.

For the first time in a long while, they felt something close to peace.

=

Somewhere else. Another time.

-

Takada was training. Or rather, he was being forced to train.

His frail body was pushed beyond its limits, beaten down by merciless drills under the watchful eyes of the White Knight instructors. His limbs trembled, muscles burning from exhaustion, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

He had done fifteen push-ups—an impossible feat for someone like him. His arms felt like they no longer belonged to him, his mind fogged with pain. He paused. Just for a second. The whip cracked through the air.

A sharp, searing pain exploded across his back. The force of it sent him sprawling onto the cold ground, a strangled gasp escaping his lips.

"Keep going!" The instructor's voice was sharp, unrelenting. "You don't deserve the luxury of rest."

Takada bit down on his lip. Blood pooled in his mouth. He had nothing left—no strength, no will—but he had no choice. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself up. His arms shook violently as he pushed against the ground, his entire body screaming in protest.

One more. Just one more, His vision blurred. His head spun Then—his body gave out.

He collapsed, face-first into the dirt. The world tilted. A metallic taste filled his mouth, and he barely registered the warmth of blood dripping from his nose. Foam bubbled at his lips, his body convulsing from the strain, Then, darkness.

Hours passed, When Takada finally regained consciousness, pain was the first thing he felt. A dull, unbearable ache throbbed through every inch of his body, his limbs too heavy to move. He could hear voices, but they were distant, muffled—as if he were underwater, Then, a familiar voice cut through the haze.

"Takada. Get up."

He recognized it instantly. The instructor. The woman who had pushed him past his limits time and time again.

"I... I can't..." His own voice was barely a whisper, weak and broken.

"You will." The instructor's tone was void of sympathy. "If you want to survive in this world, you must keep going."

Takada clenched his fists, anger and helplessness swirling inside him. He didn't want this. He didn't want to be trapped in this endless cycle of pain, of suffering. He wanted to be free, but freedom was an illusion. He knew that now.

Taking a slow, painful breath, he forced himself onto his knees. His muscles screamed, his vision swam, but he ignored it all. Because weakness had no place in this world, And he wasn't ready to die.

Takada barely had time to register the pain before a boot slammed into his ribs, flipping him onto his back, "You're pathetic," the voice above him sneered. Through hazy vision, Takada looked up and saw her—the woman who had haunted his every waking moment for as long as he could remember.

Xiang Jie Julen stood over him, her arms crossed, eyes cold and calculating. She was tall, her figure lean yet powerful, built from years of combat and discipline. Her beauty was striking, but it was the kind of beauty that inspired fear rather than admiration. Beneath the sharp angles of her face, her dark eyes burned with unyielding authority.

Her long, jet-black hair was tied in a severe ponytail, and her combat uniform—dark gray with the emblem of the White Knights on her sleeve—was pristine, untouched by the dirt and blood that stained Takada's own body.

"You lasted fifteen push-ups. Barely." Her voice was smooth, but there was nothing soft about it. "Is that all you can do, Takada? Have I wasted my time on you?"

Takada clenched his fists against the cold earth, his entire body shaking. He wanted to shout, to tell her he wasn't some mindless soldier, that he didn't want this life. But words wouldn't come. Only the raw, aching pain in his bones remained.

Xiang Jie sighed in disappointment, then crouched beside him, gripping his chin with cold fingers and forcing his face upward. "Look at you," she whispered, tilting his head slightly as if inspecting a broken doll. "Weak. Defenseless. You wouldn't last a second outside these walls."

She released him with a shove, standing back up. "Get up." Takada didn't move. the moment of hesitation cost him. A swift, brutal kick slammed into his stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. He gasped, curling into himself as fire spread through his ribs.

"Did I stutter?" Xiang Jie's voice was sharper this time, a dangerous edge slipping into her tone.

Takada wanted to tell her he couldn't move. That his body had nothing left to give. That if he pushed any further, he might actually die. But he already knew what her response would be, "Then die." The words weren't spoken, but they might as well have been, Takada gritted his teeth, dragging in a ragged breath.

"I won't die here. I won't give her that satisfaction." With every ounce of willpower he had left, he forced his arms under him, trembling as he pushed himself onto his hands and knees. His vision swam. His stomach twisted. His lungs burned. But he was up.

Xiang Jie watched him with unreadable eyes. "Slower than before," she noted. "Pathetic. Again."

Takada swallowed the bile rising in his throat,The training would never stop. Not until he could fight. Not until he could kill. Not until every weakness had been stripped from him. Xiang Jie turned away, her voice carrying over her shoulder.

"One day, you'll thank me for this."

Takada doubted that. but he had no choice, He braced himself. And the training continued, until he loses his mind then he breaks. Darkness wrapped around him like a heavy, suffocating blanket, Takada's eyes fluttered open, 

his body sluggish, his mind drifting between wakefulness and exhaustion. The pain came first—dull, aching, like a hammer had been taken to every inch of his bones. His breath was shallow, his ribs tight with the weight of fatigue.

The air was damp, thick with the scent of rusted metal, sweat, and something bitter—something that smelled like blood. His fingers twitched, brushing against the cold, rough ground beneath him. Stone. He was no longer in the training fields.

Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the dim light. The ceiling above him was cracked and water-stained, the faint flicker of a dying bulb casting long, eerie shadows. A set of thick iron bars loomed in front of him, rusted and stained from years of neglect.

Then, he saw it. The plaque on the cell door, 

"PUNISHMENT"

A hollow, sinking feeling settled in his gut.

Panic tightened in his chest. He tried to push himself up, but his body refused to obey. His arms trembled, his muscles screaming in protest, and he barely managed to roll onto his side before a wave of dizziness crashed over him.

That's when he noticed—he wasn't alone.

In the far corner of the cell, hunched against the cold stone wall, sat another boy.

His knees were drawn to his chest, his thin arms wrapped around them like they were the only thing keeping him together. His head was bowed, messy dark hair falling over his face, but Takada could still make out his hollowed cheeks, his sickly pale skin. He was just like Takada—frail, starved, barely holding on.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Takada didn't dare,

His throat felt dry, raw, like sandpaper. Fear coiled in his stomach, gripping his lungs. He wanted to ask where they were, how long they had been unconscious, what would happen next—but the words refused to come.

The boy shifted. Slowly, he raised his head, revealing a pair of weary, sunken eyes—eyes that had seen too much, suffered too much. He studied Takada in silence, his gaze unreadable, before reaching into the pocket of his tattered uniform. His thin fingers trembled as he pulled out something small. A scrap of bread, stale and hardened from time.

Takada's breath hitched when the boy extended it toward him.

His stomach clenched. His body screamed for food, but his mind screamed louder. "Is this a trick? A test? If I take it, will someone come in and punish me?" He hesitated, The boy's hand remained outstretched, patient, unwavering. He wasn't forcing Takada to take it. He was offering.

Takada's fingers twitched, then—slowly, hesitantly—he reached out and accepted it. The rough, dry crust scraped against his palm, but he clutched it like it was the most precious thing in the world. Lifting it to his lips, he took a cautious bite. The bread was tasteless, like chewing on hardened dust. But it was food.

It was kindness.

"...T-Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

The boy rested his head back against the wall, exhaling quietly.

"Don't thank me yet," he said, voice hoarse, cracked. "You don't know what's coming."

A cold chill crept down Takada's spine. His grip tightened around the tiny piece of bread as he forced himself to swallow. He wanted to ask what the boy meant, but deep down, he already knew. This wasn't mercy, this was a warning.

"…What's your name?" Takada finally managed to ask.

The boy's gaze flickered to him, as if deciding whether it was worth answering. Then, after a long pause, he spoke. "Yoba Inu." The name settled in the silence between them, heavy with something unspoken.

Takada clenched his fists. He wanted to say something, anything. But what was there to say? They were both trapped. Both broken. Both drowning in a fate they never chose. So instead, he leaned his head back against the wall, breathing in the cold, stale air, for now, that was enough because they were still alive.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.

Takada sat motionless, his back pressed against the cold stone wall, his fingers still curled around the tiny scrap of bread. He had already eaten it, but he held onto the memory of it—onto the small kindness Yoba Inu had given him, kindness was rare here.

He stole another glance at the boy beside him. Yoba Inu barely moved, his frail body curled in on itself as if trying to disappear into the darkness His breathing was slow and shallow, his eyes distant, staring at something Takada couldn't see.

Takada hesitated. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he spoke.

"H-How long have you been here?"

Yoba Inu didn't answer right away. His fingers twitched, and for a moment, Takada thought he would ignore him. But then, his lips parted. "I don't know," he murmured. "Days. Weeks. Time doesn't matter in this place."

Takada swallowed hard that answer terrified him. Yoba Inu turned his head slightly, his sunken gaze locking onto Takada's. "You're new, aren't you?"

Takada gave a small nod. A ghost of a smirk flickered across Yoba Inu's lips, but there was no humor in it. "I could tell. You still look like you think you'll get out of here." The words sent a chill through Takada's already freezing body, Something about the way Yoba Inu said it—so hollow, so final—made it clear.

People didn't leave this place. Takada hugged his knees to his chest, his stomach tightening. "Why are we here?" Yoba Inu leaned his head back against the wall, staring up at the cracked ceiling. "of course Punishment," he said simply. "For being weak."

Takada clenched his jaw. He already knew that, but hearing it out loud made it feel more real. More permanent. The instructors had always told him that weakness was a sin. That failure had consequences. But being thrown in a cell—left in the dark, starving, alone—this was worse than he ever imagined.

His body still ached from the training, from the way Xiang Jie had pushed him past his limits until his mind shut down. Xiang Jie, Her name alone sent a shudder through him. She was the reason he was here. The reason he had collapsed, the reason he was labeled as "Punishment." He could still hear her voice—cold, sharp, unforgiving.

"You don't deserve the luxury of rest."

Takada clenched his fists He hated her. But at the same time, he feared her more than anything. "She put you here, didn't she?" Yoba Inu suddenly asked and Takada frozes. "W-Who?"

"That woman," Yoba Inu said, his voice barely above a breath. "Xiang Jie."

Takada's mouth went dry. He didn't have to ask how Yoba Inu knew, They all knew. Takada lowered his head. "She… she left me unconscious in the field." Yoba Inu let out a dry chuckle, a bitter, broken sound. "Yeah. That sounds like her."

Takada turned to him, eyes widening. "You know her?"

Yoba Inu finally shifted, turning his head to face Takada fully. For the first time, Takada saw something deep in his gaze—something raw. Something that looked an awful lot like a scar that never healed.

"She trained me too," Yoba Inu said, voice tight. "A long time ago."

Takada stared at him, his heart pounding. He wanted to ask more. He wanted to know how long Yoba Inu had been suffering under Xiang Jie's rule, what she had done to him, how he had survived. But before he could speak, the sound of heavy boots echoed down the hall. Takada stiffened.

The footsteps grew louder, closer. Metal clanged, keys rattled. Then— A shadow loomed outside their cell, Takada's breath caught in his throat as the figure stepped into the dim light.

A tall woman stood before the bars, her arms crossed over her chest, her presence suffocating. Her uniform was pristine, her black hair tied back into a tight ponytail. Her sharp eyes scanned the cell, cold and assessing, before landing on Takada.

Xiang Jie.

Takada felt his entire body lock up. She didn't speak right away. She simply stared at him, her expression unreadable. Then, her gaze flickered to Yoba Inu, and something—something unreadable—passed behind her eyes.

"Both of you," she finally said, her voice even, almost bored. "Stand up." Neither of them moved. Takada could barely breathe. His legs felt too weak, too shaky, but he knew better than to disobey. Yoba Inu, however, didn't even flinch. He simply stared up at her, his expression blank, like he had already accepted whatever was coming.

Takada swallowed, forcing himself onto his feet, even though his body screamed in protest. Xiang Jie tilted her head slightly, watching them both with sharp, calculating eyes. Then, she took a step closer to the bars, her gaze locking onto Takada.

"You collapsed," she said flatly. Takada felt his throat tighten as she said it in such venomous tone and the he whispered. "I-i.." Xiang Jie exhaled through her nose, unimpressed. "Pathetic." The word cut through him like a blade.

She shifted her gaze to Yoba Inu. "And you," she murmured. "Still alive, I see." Yoba Inu didn't respond. His expression didn't change. Xiang Jie smirked. It wasn't an expression of amusement—it was something colder, something cruel.

"Let's see how long that lasts," she said.

Then, she turned on her heel and walked away, her boots clicking against the stone floor. Takada let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Yoba Inu didn't move, didn't react. He simply lowered his head, his fingers digging into his arms.

Takada wanted to say something—anything. But what was there to say? Instead, he sat back down against the wall, his heart still racing. He didn't know what Xiang Jie had planned for them. But he knew one thing.

Whatever it was, it wouldn't be mercy. The silence between them lingered long after Xiang Jie's footsteps had faded. Takada felt his pulse slowly steady, but the weight in his chest remained. He had never been this close to her before—not in a way where she spoke directly to him, judged him like he was nothing.

His fingers dug into his sleeves.

"She's terrifying, isn't she?"

Takada flinched at Yoba Inu's voice. It was quiet, almost emotionless, but something about it made Takada look at him. Yoba Inu hadn't moved from where he sat, but his hands were clenched into fists, his knuckles stark white in the dim light.

Takada hesitated before nodding. "S-She is." A bitter chuckle left Yoba Inu's lips. "It gets worse."

Takada swallowed hard. "W-Worse?" Yoba Inu exhaled slowly, then leaned his head back against the cold stone wall. "She doesn't just train people. She breaks them." The way he said it—flat, resigned—sent a chill down Takada's spine.

"She's been doing this for years," Yoba Inu continued. "Tearing down people like us. Weaklings." His fingers twitched. "She'll turn you into something else, whether you want it or not."

Takada hugged his knees to his chest. His mind replayed everything—Xiang Jie's stare, her voice, the way she barely even acknowledged them. He wanted to tell himself Yoba Inu was wrong, that he could survive this without losing himself.

But he wasn't sure.

"W-What did she do to you..?" Takada found himself asking, his voice barely above a whisper. Yoba Inu was quiet for a long time. So long that Takada thought he wouldn't answer. Then, Yoba Inu's shoulders shifted, and he exhaled sharply. "Everything."

Takada didn't push. He wasn't sure if he even wanted to know. Instead, he let the silence stretch between them again. But this time, it felt different. Less suffocating. "…You remind me of myself," Yoba Inu said suddenly.

Takada blinked. "H-huh how..?" Yoba Inu tilted his head slightly, his tired eyes scanning Takada. "When I first got here, I was like you."

Takada frowned. "L-Like me?" Yoba Inu smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Scared. Shy. Pathetic." Takada flinched, his grip on his arms tightening.

Realizing Takada's discomfort Yoba Inu sighed. "I'm not saying it to be cruel. It's just the truth." He turned his gaze back toward the ceiling. "I was afraid to talk, afraid to fight back. I thought if I just listened, if I just did what they wanted, it would all stop."

Takada swallowed the lump in his throat. "D-Did it?"

Yoba Inu's eyes darkened. "No."

A knot twisted in Takada's stomach. Yoba Inu let out a quiet breath. "But I survived. Barely." His voice dropped lower. "You should, too." Takada wasn't sure what to say to that, For the first time, he realized that Yoba Inu wasn't just another prisoner. He was a warning. A glimpse into what Takada could become if he wasn't careful.

The thought made his chest tighten Before he could speak, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed again. Takada stiffened, The metallic clank of keys. The sharp click of a lock. Then—the cell door creaked open.

Two guards stood at the entrance, their expressions unreadable. One of them jerked his chin toward them. "Get up."

Takada and Yoba Inu exchanged a glance before slowly rising to their feet. The guards didn't speak as they stepped aside, silently ordering them forward, Takada's legs felt stiff, his body still aching from exhaustion. But he moved anyway, trailing behind Yoba Inu as they were led down the dimly lit corridor.

He didn't know where they were going. But as he walked, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning. And that terrified him more than anything.

The hallway stretched endlessly before them, lined with cold, unfeeling steel doors. The air was damp, thick with something Takada couldn't name—fear, desperation, hopelessness. His steps were sluggish, his body screaming for rest, but the guards didn't care. They marched forward, dragging both him and Yoba Inu along like cattle being led to slaughter.

Takada tried not to look at the walls. He tried not to think about what was behind the other locked doors. He knew better now. Yoba Inu walked beside him, silent. His eyes, dull and distant, were fixed ahead, as if he had already accepted whatever fate awaited him.

Then, without warning, a rough hand yanked at Takada's arm.

"This one goes here," a guard muttered. Takada's breath hitched as another guard grabbed Yoba Inu. Their grips were bruising, their intentions clear. They were being separated. Panic shot through Takada's veins like ice water.

"No—" His voice was weak, cracking under the weight of exhaustion. "Wait—"

Yoba Inu barely reacted. He only let out a tired exhale, as if this was something he had already expected."This is where we say goodbye, huh?" His voice was quiet, almost mocking. But Takada heard something beneath it. Something hollow.

Takada wanted to say something—anything—but before he could, the guard shoved him forward. He stumbled, his body protesting every movement, but he couldn't fight back. And then—

"BANG"

The sound ripped through the corridor, deafening. for a moment, the world stood still, Takada froze. The guard gripping him tensed Then, he heard it. The sound of a body hitting the floor. Slowly, almost unwillingly, Takada turned his head.

Yoba Inu was on the ground, motionless. Blood pooled beneath him, staining the cold, lifeless floor. His body twitched once—just once—before going completely still. His face was turned slightly toward Takada, his eyes still open. Empty.

Takada's breath left him in a choked, soundless gasp.

"No... No, no, no—"

His entire body seized with terror. The air around him vanished, his thoughts shattering into nothing but raw, unfiltered panic. His mind screamed at him to run, to fight, to do something— But he couldn't move. The world around him blurred, spinning out of control. His legs felt weak, his chest tight with something unbearable. His ears rang, drowning out everything else.

Then—rough hands yanked him forward.

"Move." The guard's voice was sharp, impatient.

Takada barely registered the pain as his arm was jerked violently. His body moved, but his mind was still trapped in the moment before. In the sound of the gunshot. In the sight of Yoba Inu's lifeless eyes.

His legs felt like they weren't his own as he was dragged forward, away from the body, away from the blood. He didn't know how long they walked.

By the time they shoved him into his room, the walls felt smaller, suffocating.

The door slammed shut behind him.

Takada stumbled forward, then collapsed to his knees.

His hands trembled as he stared at them, at his fingers—clean, untainted—when they shouldn't be. There should be blood. His hands should be covered in it. His body curled inward, shaking. His breath came in sharp, uneven gasps. His mind replayed the moment over and over again.

"BANG." The gunshot echoed in his skull. "BANG." Yoba Inu's body falling beside him. "BANG." Empty eyes. Takada pressed his hands over his ears, but it didn't stop. He was still there. Still trapped in the moment, Still drowning in fear.

Takada's body could no longer withstand the crushing weight of fear and despair. His vision blurred, his limbs turned to lead, and before he could process what was happening, everything went black. His body went limp in the guard's unforgiving grip, his consciousness slipping away like water through trembling fingers.

The guard barely reacted. With no effort or care, he hoisted Takada's lifeless form as if he were nothing more than an empty sack of discarded waste. There was no hesitation, no sympathy—only cold efficiency.

Step by step, they disappeared into the shadows of the corridor, swallowed by the endless darkness that stretched before them. And just like that, Takada was gone, lost to the abyss of the unknown.

-"To Be Continued.."