The man in the black suit and glasses leveled the gun at Jaewon's temple, his expression cold, detached—as if this were just another mundane task. His finger rested lightly on the trigger, indifferent to the life he was about to extinguish.
"I'm not Jaewon!" The boy's voice cracked, raw with desperation. Tears streaked his dirt-smudged face, his limbs bound so tightly that the ropes bit into his flesh. He writhed against his restraints, but the coarse fibers only dug deeper, mocking his helplessness.
A humorless smirk curled the man's lips as he took a deliberate step forward, his polished shoes clicking against the concrete floor.
"Yes, you are. I have your picture and ID right here." He tapped the folder tucked under his arm with his free hand, never breaking eye contact. "You should've learned by now—debts left unpaid lead to places like this."
"I SWEAR I'M NOT HIM!" The boy's scream echoed off the damp walls, a final, futile protest.
The gunshot was deafening. A flash, a spray of crimson, and then—silence. The boy's body slumped forward, his last denial still hanging in the air like smoke.