The Captain and the Wind

The Fugitive

Captain Ryu Jun moved through the forest like a ghost, his training overriding the storm of fury and betrayal in his heart. Every snap of a twig sounded like a gunshot to his heightened senses. He was a fugitive in his own country, a wolf hunted by the very pack he had led. The weight of his rifle, once an extension of his duty, now felt like the brand of a traitor.

He had to get to Yuna. Choi’s trap was sprung; the noose wasn't just around his neck, but hers as well. The ISB would be coming for her, using her as the final piece of "evidence" to seal his fate. The thought of Choi's cold hands on her sent a fresh surge of adrenaline through his veins.

He avoided the main paths, sticking to the treacherous, rocky game trails he’d memorized over a decade of patrols. The freezing air seared his lungs, but he welcomed the pain—it kept him sharp, focused on survival. He replayed the ambush in his mind. Choi’s smug face. The confusion in his men’s eyes. He hadn't just destroyed Jun's career; he had shattered the loyalty of a c***k unit, turning patriots into outlaws to serve his own ambition.

After two hours of brutal pace, he reached the overlook above the village. Crouching in the tree line, he used his field glasses to scan the tea house. His blood ran cold.

Two black ISB sedans were parked outside. Figures in dark coats stood at the doors, questioning a terrified-looking Mrs. Oh. They were here. He was too late.

A cold, tactical calm descended over him. Panic was a luxury that got you killed. He needed a new plan. He couldn’t approach directly. He needed eyes inside, a distraction, and an exit.

He circled around, moving toward the back of the tea house, where the kitchen vented steam into the cold air. His mind worked through the variables. He had one advantage: they were looking for a desperate man charging in blindly. They wouldn't be expecting a calculated surgical strike.

He found a vantage point behind a woodpile. Through a grimy window, he saw into the kitchen. His breath caught.

Yuna was there, on her knees, scrubbing the floor. Her head was bowed, but he could see the tense line of her shoulders. She was playing her part, the simple, cowed village girl. But he saw the way her knuckles were white as she gripped the scrub brush. She was terrified, but she was fighting.

Lieutenant Choi Gwan walked into the kitchen, his polished boots stepping carelessly on the wet patch she had just cleaned. He circled her slowly.

“Get up,” he commanded.

Yuna slowly rose to her feet, keeping her eyes downcast.

“Look at me,” Choi said.

She lifted her head. Even from a distance, Jun could see the defiance she was trying to mask with fear.

“Your… cousin,” Choi spat the word, “has committed treason. He attacked his own men and fled. He is a traitor to the state. Where is he?”

“I do not know, sir,” Yuna whispered, her voice trembling convincingly.

“I think you do,” Choi said, leaning in close. “I think he’s coming for you. A man like him, sentimental. It’s his greatest weakness.” He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You are the bait, little fox. And when he comes, I will skin him alive in front of you.”

Jun’s finger tightened on the trigger of his rifle. It would be so easy. One shot. Through the glass. End the threat right now.

But it would also end any chance of escape. The gunshot would bring the entire squad down on them. It was a suicide move, not a rescue.

He needed to draw them away.

He moved silently back into the trees, heading for the old lumber mill on the village's northern edge. It was a tinder-dry structure, long abandoned. He pulled a survival match from his waterproof pouch. A desperate, destructive plan, but it was the only card he had to play.

Five minutes later, a column of thick, black smoke began to rise from the direction of the mill. He heard shouts from the tea house. The ISB men, trained to respond to chaos, were distracted. Two of them broke away from the perimeter and ran toward the smoke.

It was now or never.

Jun slipped back to the woodpile. The kitchen was now empty except for Yuna, who was peering out the back door at the commotion. He risked a low whistle.

Her head snapped around. Her eyes widened in shock and panic when she saw him. He gestured frantically for her to come.

She didn’t hesitate. She darted out the back door, and he grabbed her arm, pulling her into the cover of the trees.

“Jun! What’s happening?” she gasped, her breath fogging in the cold.

“No time,” he grunted, pulling her deeper into the forest. “Choi set a trap. My unit… they think I’m a traitor. They’re here for you.”

They ran, Jun setting a punishing pace, half-dragging her over the uneven ground. He could hear shouts behind them now. The distraction had bought them seconds, not minutes.

“Where are we going?” she panted, struggling to keep up.

“East. To the mine. To Min-gi.” He glanced back at her, his expression grim. “The life you knew is over, Yuna. From this moment on, we are both ghosts.”

Behind them, the shout w

ent up. “They’re in the trees! After them!”

The hunt was on.