Fate in the Rain

Ghosts on the Mountain

The streetlamp’s glow cast jagged shadows across the service road, the hum of the drone overhead a relentless pulse in the midnight air. Kang Min-jae’s heart slammed against his ribs as he crouched behind the maintenance truck, Soo-jin’s hand tight in his, her breath shallow with fear. The man in the dark coat stood mere meters away, his g*n glinting like a promise of violence. But it was the woman beside him—her sharp features, her cold smile, her voice calling his name—that froze Min-jae’s blood. Min-jae. You should’ve stayed in your lane. The words clawed at memories he’d buried, memories of a life he’d fought to leave behind.“Who is she?” Soo-jin whispered, her voice barely audible over the drone’s whine. Her eyes searched his face, wide with confusion and a flicker of betrayal.Min-jae’s throat tightened, his mind reeling. The woman’s face, older but unmistakable, dragged him back to Incheon, to a time when he was a boy of twelve, his mother’s frail hands clutching his as she whispered warnings about her. Lee Soo-kyung. The woman who’d worked for his mother’s employer, a shadowy figure tied to the debts that had crushed their lives. His mother had died in a hospital bed, her last words a plea for Min-jae to run, to never look back. He’d thought Soo-kyung was gone, a ghost from a past he’d escaped. But here she was, on Namsan Mountain, hunting him.“Min-jae,” Soo-jin hissed, her grip tightening. “Talk to me.”He swallowed, forcing his voice steady. “Someone from my past,” he said, his eyes locked on Soo-kyung’s silhouette. “She knew my mother. It’s… complicated.”Soo-jin’s brow furrowed, but the drone’s light swept closer, cutting off her reply. The man in the coat stepped forward, his g*n steady, his voice low and commanding. “Come out, both of you. No need for this to get messy.”Min-jae’s mind raced. The service road was a dead end, flanked by dense trees and a steep drop. The truck offered temporary cover, but the drone’s red eye pinned them like prey. Soo-jin’s burner phone, still in her hand, vibrated softly—a call from her Busan contact. She silenced it, her eyes meeting Min-jae’s, a silent question: What now?“We run,” he whispered, his voice firm despite the fear clawing at him. He pointed to a narrow path winding through the trees, barely visible in the moonlight. “There’s a trail down the mountain. It leads to Yongsan. We can lose them in the city.”Soo-jin nodded, her jaw set. She stuffed the USB drive and papers into her backpack, her movements quick and precise. “Stay low,” she said. “They won’t shoot if they think they can take us alive.”Min-jae wasn’t so sure, but there was no time to argue. He grabbed her hand, and they bolted for the trail, the drone’s hum surging as it followed. The man in the coat shouted something, his footsteps pounding behind, joined by Soo-kyung’s sharp commands. Branches snapped under Min-jae’s sneakers, the air thick with pine and damp earth. Soo-jin stumbled, her cap falling, but Min-jae pulled her up, their breaths syncing in the frantic rhythm of escape.The trail twisted steeply, the city’s neon glow flickering through the trees. Min-jae’s lungs burned, but he didn’t slow, his mind locked on survival. Soo-jin’s hand in his felt like an anchor, grounding him even as his past roared back to life. Soo-kyung’s presence wasn’t a coincidence—she was tied to the Chois, to Soo-jin’s world, and somehow to him. The realization hit like a punch: his mother’s warnings, her death, the debts—were they connected to Choi Enterprises?They reached a clearing, the trail opening onto a quiet Yongsan street, the distant hum of Itaewon’s nightlife a faint promise of safety. But the drone was relentless, its light cutting through the darkness. Min-jae spotted a cluster of food stalls, their tarps flapping in the breeze, and pulled Soo-jin toward them. “Under there,” he said, pointing to a cart piled with crates. They slid beneath, the scent of grilled meat and sesame oil masking their ragged breaths.The drone hovered above, its light sweeping the stalls. Footsteps slowed, then stopped, the man in the coat’s voice cutting through the night. “They can’t have gone far. Check the alleys.”Soo-kyung’s voice followed, colder, sharper. “He’s smarter than he looks, but he’s still a rat in a trap. Find them.”Soo-jin’s hand tightened on Min-jae’s, her eyes wide in the dim light. “Your mother,” she whispered. “What did she have to do with that woman?”Min-jae’s chest ached, the memories raw. “My mom worked for a loan shark in Incheon,” he said, his voice low. “Small-time, but ruthless. Soo-kyung was his fixer—handled collections, threats. She came to our house once, when I was a kid. Mom said she was dangerous, said to stay away. After Mom died, I thought I’d left it all behind.”Soo-jin’s face paled. “And now she’s with my father’s people. Min-jae, this isn’t random. They know about you.”He nodded, the pieces clicking into place, each one heavier than the last. “Your father’s empire—it’s bigger than you said, isn’t it?”She hesitated, then nodded. “The documents in Busan… they’re not just about bribes. There’s more—names, connections, things I didn’t want to tell you yet. I was trying to protect you.”“Protect me?” His voice was sharp, frustration bubbling up. “I’m running from guns and drones, Soo-jin. I need the truth. All of it.”She looked away, her eyes glistening. “I will,” she said. “When we’re safe. I promise.”The drone’s light moved away, the footsteps fading. Min-jae peered out, the street quiet except for the distant clatter of a late-night vendor. “We need to move,” he said. “The KTX leaves tomorrow night. Where do we go until then?”Soo-jin pulled out the burner phone, her fingers trembling as she typed a message. “My contact in Busan—he has a safe spot in Seoul. A guesthouse in Hongdae. We can lie low there until the train.”Min-jae nodded, though doubt gnawed at him. Soo-kyung’s reappearance wasn’t just a threat—it was a warning that his past and Soo-jin’s present were tangled in ways he didn’t understand. They slipped out from under the cart, blending into Yongsan’s shadows, the city’s pulse a faint comfort. The guesthouse was a risk, but so was everything now.Hongdae’s vibrant chaos greeted them an hour later, its streets alive with street performers, neon signs, and the thump of K-pop from open-air bars. The guesthouse, tucked in a narrow alley, was a modest hanok with paper screens and a small courtyard. A man in his forties, wiry with a scar across his jaw, met them at the door. “You’re late,” he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. “I’m Han. Get inside.”Inside, the guesthouse smelled of cedar and tea, its warmth a stark contrast to the night’s chill. Han led them to a small room, its floor lined with ondol heating. “Stay here,” he said. “No calls, no noise. I’ll get you to the station tomorrow.”Soo-jin thanked him, but Min-jae’s eyes lingered on the man’s scar, his guarded demeanor. “You trust him?” he asked once Han left.“He worked for my father,” Soo-jin said, sinking onto a mat. “He quit after he saw too much. He’s the one who told me about the safehouse in Busan.”Min-jae sat beside her, the folder still in his bag, its weight a constant reminder. “And Soo-kyung?” he asked. “If she’s with your father, what does she want with me?”Soo-jin’s eyes met his, heavy with guilt. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But if she’s tied to your past, it means my father’s been watching you longer than I thought. Min-jae, I’m sorry.”He wanted to be angry, but her voice—raw, pleading—disarmed him. He reached for her hand, their fingers intertwining. “We’ll figure it out,” he said. “But no more secrets, okay?”She nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. “No more secrets.”As they sat in the quiet, the city’s hum filtering through the walls, a sharp knock broke the silence. Han’s voice came through the door, urgent. “We’ve got a problem. Someone’s here. And they’re asking for you, Min-jae—by name.”