"He chased me and he wouldn't stop."

⌈ M i y e o n ⌋

"Be safe!" my workmate shouted before I left.

I think it was around 4AM when I got off from work that day. It was a stereotypical and cinematic night: it rained like hell and the streets were empty. Half of the streetlamps blinked like it would have been a disco. As usual, I didn't have an umbrella. My coal black hair was tied on a soaking wet and messy ponytail. I tried to light up my last cigarette, but the rain didn't want me to smoke.

Be safe... I repeated that line in my head over and over again. Usually Seoul was safe. There were hundreds of cops around the city 24/7 and most of the time at least a couple of other people walking on the streets. Those days were different. Since I worked in a small and ragged bar in the outer district of Seoul, our customers were mostly underground criminals and other oddballs. Week after week, day after day they were talking about this new, reborn mafia. Some people said they were just dealing drugs like any other gang these days. But this already grey and not-so-well postured man told that they weren't just pushers but something no one would ever expect. Usually that man was quiet: he only ordered three cans of beer and then he sat at least six hours alone in a corner without saying a word.

My shoes, black leather Converse All Stars were at least as soaked as my hair. I heard every single on of my steps since the water splattered under my shoes. Suddenly I remembered something.

It was about a week before that day. I got off from work as usual around 4AM. The weather wasn't even windy or rainy at all. The sun was rising slowly. I was only a few meters from my home, a decrepit block of flats, when suddenly a young man appeared in front of me.
- You must be Bang Miyeon, am I right? he asked with a low, almost whisper kind of voice. I froze for a moment. He knew where I lived for sure and he knew my name. My glance moved from his head to his toes and back. He was half-a-head shorter than me, around 170cm. His black hair was carefully brushed back with tons of gel. He wore a clean, brand-new black suit. I definitely perceived a gun in his inner pocket.
- Yes, unfortunately I am, I said with a bit more intense voice than usual. He grinned.
- Fortunately, I can offer you something to make your life better than this, his grin felt dirty. I looked so deep into his eyes that I almost could feel him having a dark, emotionless soul. He handed me a pitch-black business card. It had only a few random words.
- I bet you aren't a gardener, are you? I smelled somethi