The moment Baeksan's boots hit the cracked concrete, the air around him shifted, heavy with tension and expectation, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
The girl pressed against his chest, still unconscious, her weight a fragile anchor, and he didn't so much as flinch. Every scream from outside, every frantic curse, every desperate plea from those still trapped in the chaos became a distant drumbeat to him. His focus was absolute, unbroken.
Then, like a strike of lightning cutting through the tension, a pop-up materialized in the air before his eyes, glowing harsh and unforgiving:
---
The Hunt of Kim Baeksan Initiated.
Reward: Maximum Incentive. Status: Legendary.
---
System...
For a heartbeat, no one moved. And then everything collapsed.
A roar of unrestrained greed erupted from the crowd. Eyes widened, mouths twisted with avarice, limbs moving with frantic, uncontrolled energy. Even those who had taken refuge in the supposed safety of the zone now surged forward, drawn by the promise of reward, ignoring all rules, all reason.
"Did you see that?" one man shouted, voice cracking, the words sharp and frantic. "Maximum reward! This… this is everything! We take him down, and it's ours!"
"No!" another bellowed, tugging at anyone who hesitated. "Don't let him get away! He's ours! If we don't claim him, someone else will!"
The girl shifted slightly against Baeksan's chest, mumbling, her small voice breaking through the din. "Is… is this… like some… story? What is happening?" Her eyes fluttered open, blinking rapidly, confusion and fear etching her features. "This… it's insane… can't… can't we just—"
Baeksan's grip on her remained firm, unyielding. He didn't answer. He didn't acknowledge the screams, the shouts, the chaos building around him like a storm ready to tear the city apart.
His eyes scanned the flood of people rushing forward, the mixture of fear and greed in their movements, and the faintest shadow of a dark, controlled wrath curled in his chest.
"They're coming!" someone screamed, nearly on top of him, a man clutching a crowbar with knuckles white as bone. "Move, or we take him ourselves!"
Another, older, herded behind him, voice trembling with barely-contained panic, yelled, "Your chance at glory! Don't let him—don't let him survive!"
Baeksan's eyes narrowed, sharp and piercing, as he adjusted his hold on the girl, shifting slightly to prepare for the inevitable. Every step forward became a rhythm, a pulse.
Every inch gained was calculated, precise. He didn't panic. He merely walked, carrying the weight of the girl and the gravity of the moment like a blade in the night, ready to strike if anyone got too close.
The crowd didn't hesitate. Hands grabbed, fists swung, some threw stones, others used whatever they had in desperation. The air was thick with shouts and curses, a chorus of greed and fear melding into one unstoppable tide.
"Get him! Don't let him escape!" one man shouted, dragging his friend forward. "If I don't get this reward, I swear I'll—"
"—I'll kill him myself!" another cut in, brandishing a metal pipe, eyes wide, pupils dark with obsession.
Baeksan's stride didn't falter. He barely flinched as a rock bounced off the concrete near his foot, sending sparks of dust into the air.
The girl muttered something incoherently, half scared, half exasperated, shaking her head. "Seriously… is this… are we…"
He gave her a small, measured adjustment, keeping her safe against his chest. Her hands gripped at his arm instinctively, a silent acknowledgment of the trust she had no choice but to place in him.
The swarm of people pushed harder. "Move! He's right there! Don't just stand—do you want him to escape?!"
"Stop holding her back!" someone yelled, pointing at the girl, anger laced with fear. "Step aside! He's the target! You're only slowing us down!"
Baeksan's dark eyes flicked toward her for a fraction of a second, unreadable, and then back to the surge of humans rushing toward him.
He adjusted his weight, his kyokushin stance subtly shifting, feet grounded, shoulders poised, the girl safe against him. His body moved with the precision of someone who had long since internalized survival to its most ruthless degree.
"Everyone… just… just look at what you're doing!" a man screamed from the front of the mob, voice shaking with anger and disbelief. "You're letting yourself get carried away! You think you can claim him? He—he's not a man you can take like that!"
"Shut up!" another shouted, louder, the sound cracking. "If he's alive, he's ours! Do you want the reward or not?"
The crowd surged again, a wall of human desperation and greed. The closer they got, the more reckless they became. Their cries mixed with the girl's soft protests and Baeksan's silent, dark aura. He didn't dodge lightly.
His dark, controlled calmness acted like an invisible shield, a magnet that drew their movements into predictable patterns.
"They'll never understand," the girl whispered, voice trembling but filled with an odd defiance. "They… they don't even see you. They only see the reward… the prize… they're blind..."
Baeksan's jaw tightened imperceptibly. His steps remained deliberate. He put the girl on the ground with a sad expression on his face. "Focus," he murmured, more to himself than to her, though the weight of the words carried a quiet finality. "Survive. Move forward."
A man lunged suddenly from the left, desperation and greed combusting into movement. His hands clawed toward the girl.
Baeksan shifted instantly, dark energy coiling around his presence. A single motion, controlled, and the man was knocked off balance, sprawling into the concrete with a grunt.
Another screamed, swinging a metal rod, but Baeksan's posture didn't change. He pivoted ever so slightly, the girl shifting against him, and the rod missed by inches, crashing into the concrete with a metallic screech.
"Why… why aren't you fighting back?" one of the mob shouted, confused, fear cracking his voice. "Why… why are you just walking like that?"
Baeksan's gaze lifted to meet the man's, dark and hollow, and in that instant, the man's voice faltered. The girl's fingers clutched at his arm, whispering, "They're… crazy… why… why won't they just stop?"
A chorus of shouts rose again, louder, more frenzied. "Grab him! Don't let him walk! We deserve this reward!"
Baeksan's mind remained locked, internalized, calculating. Each step he took, each movement measured. The weight of the girl in his arms, the chaos screaming around him, the greedy crowd pushing in from every side—they were nothing but obstacles in a single, straight path forward.
A new pop-up flickered briefly in the air above the crowd:
---
Hunt Progress: Extreme Risk Detected.
Crowd Aggression Level: Maximum.
Recommended: Survival Priority Engaged.
---
The crowd roared in response, the words only fueling their frenzy. "Did you hear that?! Extreme risk! That means the reward is bigger! Now we take him!"
"They're not listening..." the girl muttered, panic lacing her voice as she tapped his chest lightly. "Look at them, look! They—oh gods, they're insane!"
Baeksan's gaze, still dark and hollow, didn't leave the path forward. The crowd surged, punches and claws swinging, stones and debris flung recklessly, the girl's small voice calling out warnings and protests, and yet he moved like a shadow slicing through the chaos.
Every step forward brought new screams, new threats, and the pop-up glow hovered like a sun over the madness:
---
Reward Potential Increased.
Target: Kim Baeksan.
Time Remaining: 9:31:14.
---
The world was a symphony of greed, fear, and desperation, and Baeksan walked through it silently, unyielding, carrying the girl and the weight of their survival. Every shout, every curse, every blind swing of desperation met with his calm, dark precision.
And as he moved, the girl's soft voice—half exasperation, half fear—kept repeating beside him, echoing over the chaos, "Are… are we even… in a story? Is this… really happening?"
Baeksan didn't answer. He simply kept moving forward.
Baeksan's feet pounded against the concrete, each step a calculated strike through the chaos, and the crowd around him flinched instinctively. Their screams rose like a tide, desperate and frenzied, but they were nothing more than a background hum to him, a chorus of fear and greed that barely registered.
Every hand that reached toward him, every body that tried to intercept, was met with precision—an invisible strike here, a subtle shove there, sending them sprawling as if thrown by the very air itself.
"Stop him! Someone do something!" a man shouted, voice cracking with panic, fists shaking in fury. "He can't just walk past us! He's—he's not human!"
Another, older, clawed at the ground, trying to leap in front of Baeksan. "Do you hear me?! Stop! You can't—he can't just leave them!"
But Baeksan didn't falter. His dark eyes scanned the chaotic scene, measuring distances, calculating trajectories, and with the smallest flick of his hand, a man went flying, slamming into the steel railing with a groan. Another fell backward, hands clutching at his face, blood trickling where an invisible strike had grazed him.
The girl's voice, panicked but alive, broke through the din. "Baeksan! Hurry! They're—they're insane! Don't—don't stop!" She tried to shift against him, to point at the mob, but he tightened his grip subtly, her weight pressing into him like an anchor, grounding him in the moment.
"They—please! Someone help us!" another voice called, the fear in it sharp, raw, yet meaningless to him. "We're begging! Pity us! Don't just—"
Baeksan's expression didn't change. He didn't look back. Every syllable, every desperate cry from the mob was swallowed by the dark storm coiling in his presence.
With one fluid motion, he closed the distance between himself and the girl, lifted her lightly onto his shoulder, and adjusted his stance, moving faster, lighter, like a shadow slipping through the crowd.
The people in front of him screamed even louder now, fists pounding the air, objects flying—rocks, bottles, debris—every desperate attempt to slow him down met with his unflinching, invisible precision. A man swung a metal pipe, only for it to crash harmlessly against the ground a second later, Baeksan already a step ahead.
"You monster! Look at what you're doing!" someone bellowed, panic twisting their voice. "Stop! They're—don't you care about them?!"
Another joined in, voice trembling, laced with both fury and pleading. "Why? Why won't you show mercy? You could help, but you just—just walk! Don't you feel—"
Baeksan's dark gaze swept across them briefly, hollow and unnerving, and the words faltered in the throats of those who spoke. There was no fear, no hesitation in him, yet no cruelty either. Just inevitability.
Every desperate lunge, every raised arm, every attempt to intervene was either deflected subtly, sent sprawling with an invisible force, or avoided entirely as he wove through the swarm.
The girl whispered, still clinging to him, "They… they're going to—are they really going to stop at nothing? This… this is insane. How can they all just…?" Her voice cracked, a shiver passing through her. "We… we can't… I can't even—"
Baeksan adjusted his grip slightly, pressing her closer, as if transferring the weight of his calm, silent determination to her.
His movements didn't slow; the dark storm in his eyes remained fixed forward. He shifted his foot, a subtle pivot, sending a group of three scrambling back, stumbling over one another, shouting, cursing, pleading.
"Wait! We're… we're begging you! Don't! Don't just—he's just a man! Don't hurt him!" a voice rang out from the mob. "Stop! Please, I'm begging you!"
The girl's eyes widened, half from fear, half from the chaotic energy, but she didn't fall. She whispered through clenched teeth, voice tense with frustration and awe, "Baeksan… you're… you're terrifying, but… somehow… somehow I'm sure you can do this. Protect me, no... us."
Another wave surged toward them, and Baeksan's dark eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. Each stride forward became a dance of control, a calculated path through chaos.
Hands reached, rocks flew, voices screamed, and yet he moved forward, untouchable, unwavering, the girl secure on his shoulder, her small frame trembling but held firmly, protected.
A man fell directly in front of him, clawing at the concrete, screaming for pity, screaming for mercy, and Baeksan shifted his weight subtly—one invisible push sent him sprawling into the crowd behind, no sound but the thud of impact.
Another reached with a knife, and the blade swished harmlessly past as Baeksan pivoted lightly, maintaining the girl's safety, her whispered protests a faint echo in his ear.
"You… you monster!" one finally shouted, voice cracking, anger and fear merging into raw desperation. "How can you just… just do this? They're humans! They're… they're begging you!"
Baeksan's lips barely moved, a single, almost inaudible whisper, more to himself than them: "Move forward."
And so he did.
Every desperate plea, every thrown object, every frenzied lunge met with precise, silent force, clearing a path through the chaos. Each step, each calculated motion, was a message—silent, unwavering, darkly righteous.
The girl's small whispers, her soft gasps, her shifting weight reminded him of the stakes, the responsibility, but nothing could pierce the armor of focus he carried.
As they moved, the screams reached a crescendo, the sounds of pleading, shouting, cursing, and fear a relentless tide crashing against the dark wall of his presence.
And yet, Baeksan walked, silent, precise, relentless, carrying her onward—forward—through the madness, untouched, unstoppable, a dark, unflinching force moving through a sea of desperation.
Every punch he delivered invisibly, every obstacle he avoided, every life he disrupted in the mob's frantic grasp of greed and fear—each was a note in the symphony of survival, a testament to his control, his power, and the inevitability of the path forward.