The Line Between Us: Part II

Chapter 11: End of the Tyrant

Darkness pressed heavily over the night.

Inside a shuttered hanok, Joon-seok hung unconscious, his wrists lashed to the thick roof beam, the muscles in his shoulders stretched tight under his weight, his head lolling forward, chin pressed to his chest. Blood matted his hair and traced a dark line down his temple, his body swaying faintly with every shallow breath.

His weapons were gone. Only his torn, dirt-stained khaki uniform and worn boots remained, the last traces of a soldier.

For a moment, there was only stillness.

Then—a flicker of movement stirred in his hand. Joon-seok’s fingers twitched, his eyelids shuddered, and a grimace of pain cut across his face. Slowly, he forced his eyes open.

He found himself hanging, his feet kicking at empty air as his body swayed. He looked up—and saw his wrists bound tightly above him.

“젠장…”
(“Shit...”) he muttered under his breath.

He strained against the bonds, twisting his wrists, but the knots held fast—unyielding.

His gaze darted around the dark room. The overhead bulb was dead, leaving the space drowned in shadow. Pieces of rusty iron spikes jutted from the cracked wall, their sharp points glimmering in faint streaks of moonlight that filtered through gaps in the roof. Furniture lay overturned and broken, and the air reeked of damp wood, rust, and stale rot.

“여기서 나가야 해,”
(“I have to get out of here,”) Joon-seok said, his voice steady and determined.

Gritting his teeth with a guttural groan, he heaved himself upward, every muscle straining as blood and sweat mingled at his temple and traced down his cheeks. His arms burned with the effort, his chest rising in ragged gasps.

Finally, his head reached the height of the beam. He leaned closer, forcing his face toward the bindings.

He bit down on the rope, the rough fibers scraping his lips as he tore at the knot—desperation fueling every bite, every pull, as if survival itself hung on loosening it.

Outside...

Min-jae walked slowly across the living room, each step measured, deliberate.

Both of his hands were pressed against the back of his neck, while behind him, Do-hwan leveled his rifle at his head, unwavering.

“쭉 앞으로 가라!”
(“Straight ahead!”) Do-hwan commanded, his voice sharp and unrelenting.

Do-hwan gave a slight nod toward the door at the far edge of the room.

“저 문으로 들어가라.”
(“Go through that door,”) he said.

“거기 네 놈을 놀라게 할 게 있다.”
(“That’s where your surprise is waiting.”)

A faint smirk tugged at his lips.

Min-jae glanced over his shoulder, a mixture of worry and anger etched across his face.

“준석이한테 뭐 한 거야, 이 개새끼야?!”
(“What have you done to Joon-seok, you bastard?!”)

Do-hwan pressed the rifle tighter against Min-jae’s head, jaw clenched.

“아직 아무것도 안 했어… 이 개새끼야.”
(“I haven’t done anything to him… yet, you fucking bastard,”) he said slowly.

“내가 원하는 건… 그 놈 앞에서 먼저 너를 죽이는 거야, 그 다음에 그 놈도 죽일 거다.”
(“What I want… is to kill you in front of him before I finish him off.”)