Yeonhyo opened Luhan’s apartment door and washed her hands; took a bowl from the kitchen and filled it with something that Luhan don’t know—and she took something—like a medical tool from her car. She came to Luhan who’s sitting on his couch.

“Why are you being so nice?” asked Luhan.

“Because I want to,” said Yeonhyo. “I’ll clean this scar first,” she took some cottons and she shed two sheds of alcohol on it and then placed it on Luhan’s stabbed hand.

“!” he shouted.

“Shut up, idiot. You’ll be okay.” She replied and she bite her own lips—moving the cotton around the scar. “If I don’t do this, you’ll have some infections that can make your hand rot. Let me do this or I’ll let your hand rot?” she asked and stopped moving the cotton—glanced at Luhan.

“Okay. But stop pushing it too hard!”

Yeonhyo begun doing it again—she moves the cotton around the scar and after the bloods and the dusts has been cleared—she threw the cotton away. She took her kit and she got a bottle of ethacridine lactate—Rivanol—the common name. She did the same with the cotton, but this time she’s using the rivanol instead of alcohol.

“Who are they?” asked Yeonhyo.

“Two living s,” replied Luhan.

“K,” replied Yeonhyo—she took one cotton and placed it on Luhan’s stabbed hand and wrapped it with a bandage. “Feel better?”

Luhan nodded. “Thanks.”

Yeonhyo didn’t reply and went to the kitchen—washes some kits she used.

--

Luhan felt guilty because he asked Yeonhyo to quit her work which made her looked a little bit angry—then she helped him with his painful hand. And he felt guilty because with that kind of hand he can’t drive properly. He has Yeonhyo beside him—and he felt like just using her for a while then leave.

“Are you cooking?”

“No, I’m washing my clothes,” replied Yeonhyo—she stirred the soup inside the pot.

Rude, she’s back.

“Tomorrow is our wedding,” said Luhan.

“I’ll sleep in my mansion,” she replied. “You stay here, I’ll call the wedding organizer to pick you up here. It’s okay, your hand needs some rest. Don’t be too tired, chicken soup for you and also kimchi—I’ll place it here. Just heat it up with the microwave, okay?” she smiled and grabbed her car key. “I’ll leave now—your car key is in your room.”

“T-thanks,” said Luhan. It’s the first time for him to say that word—therefore he’s not that type of person that likes to say something to praise a person after helping it. “Take care.”

“Call me if you need something,” said Yeonhyo awkwardly.

“Yoh!” said someone—he broke through the door. It’s Tao with his gangs. “Are you okay, Luhan? Eits, Yeonhyo-ah! Don’t leave, please? Luhan needs you.”

Luhan needs me? No.

Yeonhyo sat on her couch. “So what’s with the Chinese guys?”

“We killed him,” said Chen—he his own lips. “You know, I loved his screams and begs when we’re going to shot his ing head. He’s your father’s enemy, Luhan. And there’s still lots of them out there, searching for you and thirsty for your blood and your father’s blood. They want to kill your company.”

“Who cares about that ing company?” replied Lay. “Even Luhan—he don’t give a to his company. That damnit company.”

“I haven’t met my dad,” said Luhan. “He’s gone, I think.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I called his phone, no answer,” said Xiumin. “Yeonhyo-ah! How’s the President’s son?”

“He’s a little spoiled brat—he’d like to say that he’s rich and no one can be as rich as him. He said that I’m a peasant and he said I made too much rules. If I were him, I’d rather choose the rules than being murdered and chopped,” she replied. “And he can’t eat street foods.”

“Jokes!” said  Xiumin. “He can’t? Such a spoiled brat. You have to teach him how to shoot with guns and pistols, also how to hunt with bows and arrows.”

“I will,” she replied. “But we have to wait until the situation get worser.”

“I heard that someone attacked the server again, Yeonhyo. And he’s getting closer to the President’s mansion.”

“And I have to teach that spoiled brat to survive in wilds if I’m going to bring him away from the people and isolate him from people. It’s hard, he’s stubborn though he’s smart enough for a spoiled brat.”