The 1ms Killer
1011 Words
[PARK JI-EUN]
I ran.
I didn't skip or strut like an idol on a runway. I scrambled backward out of the bathroom, my silk slippers sliding on the marble, and slammed the heavy door shut between us.
My back hit the wood, and I slid down to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest.
My heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to bruise my ribs.
I closed my eyes, but the image was burned into my retinas.
The steam. The water running down his back. And the scars.
They weren't just scars. They were a roadmap of violence. There were puckered circles that looked like bullet holes. Long, jagged ridges where skin had been flayed open. It looked like someone had tried to dismantle him piece by piece, and he had just stitched himself back together out of spite.
"He's not a bodyguard," I whispered to the empty hallway, my voice trembling. "He's a war."
I should have been terrified. I should have been running to Seo-Yeon to tell her we had a monster in the East Wing.
But as I sat there, tracing the pattern of the wood grain on the door, a strange, feverish heat spread through my stomach.
I remembered the way his eyes looked through the glass. Dead. Dangerous. Possessive.
Get out.
His voice had vibrated right through my bones.
I bit my lip, tasting the metallic tang of fear and something sweeter. The "pretty boys" in the industry were safe. They were boring.
Whatever was behind that door was lethal. And for the first time in my life, I didn't want to be safe. I wanted to see the wolf again.
[KANG JIN-WOO]
I dried off aggressively. The adrenaline from the shower intrusion was fading, leaving me just annoyed.
I pulled on a pair of grey sweatpants and a fresh black t-shirt. I didn't bother with shoes. The marble floors were cold, but I preferred being able to move silently.
I grabbed my battered gaming laptop from my duffel bag. It was a heavy, military-grade brick of a machine that had survived three desert deployments.
It was 1:00 AM. Time to test Clause 14B of my contract.
I walked out of the guest suite and headed toward the main living area. The penthouse was dark, lit only by the ambient glow of the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
I expected silence.
Instead, I heard the frantic, rhythmic clicking of mechanical keyboard switches.
Click-clack-click-clack.
I followed the sound to the sunken living room.
A figure was huddled on the massive white sofa, surrounded by a fortress of empty energy drink cans and tablet screens.
Park Min-Ji. The Gamer.
She was wearing an oversized hoodie that swallowed her whole, illuminated by the harsh blue light of a laptop screen. She was typing furiously, her eyes darting across lines of code reflecting in her thick-rimmed glasses.
I stopped behind the sofa. I made no sound. I controlled my breathing.
She didn't turn around. She didn't flinch.
"You have heavy footsteps for a ninja," she said, her voice flat and bored. "And you're blocking my Wi-Fi signal. Move."
[PARK MIN-JI]
I didn't need to turn around to know he was there. I could smell the change in the air pressure. And the soap. He smelled like expensive sandalwood and danger.
I was running a Level 5 background check on "Kang Jin-Woo."
I had access to police databases, interpol red notices, and even the shadow servers of the dark web.
Result: NULL.
Nothing. Just tax records for a BBQ restaurant for the last three years. Before that? A black hole. A void.
Nobody has no data. Even ghosts leave digital footprints.
Unless someone erased them perfectly.
"You're a ghost," I said, finally spinning my chair around to face him.
He loomed over me in the dark. Without the suit, he looked even bigger. The scars on his arms were visible even in the dim light.
"I'm the help," he corrected, his voice deep and uninterested.
He walked past me, completely ignoring my accusation, and sat on the coffee table. He opened his ancient, brick-like laptop.
"What are you doing?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. "If you try to install malware on our network, I will brick that piece of junk before you can hit 'Enter'."
"Speed test," he grunted.
He hit a key.
I glanced at his screen.
Ping: 1ms.
Down: 10Gbps.
His stoic, scary face cracked. Just a fraction. The corners of his eyes crinkled. It was the look of a man finding water in a desert.
"It's real," he whispered reverently.
I blinked. Was the scary assassin... excited about the internet speed?
"You..." I squinted at him. "Do you game?"
He didn't look up. He was already launching Shadow Verse, a high-skill tactical shooter.
"Top 500 Global. Rank 1 Korea Server for three seasons," he muttered. "Now shut up. I have to calibrate my mouse sensitivity."
My jaw dropped slightly.
'Ghost_KR'? The legendary sniper who never joined voice chat and destroyed entire squads solo?
"You're lying," I scoffed. "You look like you struggle to open a PDF file, Boomer. There is no way you have the APM (Actions Per Minute) for Shadow Verse."
He stopped.
He slowly turned his head to look at me. The air in the room got colder. His eyes, which had been warm looking at the speed test, were now icy.
"1v1," he said softly. "Rust map. Snipers only."
"Excuse me?"
"If I win," he gestured to my stash of energy drinks, "you stop trying to hack my background history and get me a grape soda."
I scoffed. I was QueenSlayer99. I didn't lose to boomers in sweatpants.
"And if I win?" I challenged, crossing my arms.
He leaned forward. The predator was back.
"If you win, I'll tell you where I got the scar on my neck."
My breath hitched. The scar that ran into his shirt collar. The one I had been staring at.
"Deal," I said, pulling my laptop closer. "Prepare to get wrecked, old man."
- Writer
