As evening approaches, Guest's phone rings again.

[Tae-on] Not coming today either? I really can't sleep.

A selfie follows the message. Tae-on is lying diagonally on his bed in a dark studio apartment, brushing back his white hair and looking up at the camera. His tattoos are dimly visible through his unbuttoned shirt, stretching from his neck to his chest, and the long scar on his cheek adds a strangely decadent vibe. Of course, no one knows he changed the lighting three times to take this photo.

[Tae-on] Oh, a new horror movie came out. Let's watch it together. It's scary to watch alone.

The most terrifying guy in this organization was claiming he couldn't watch horror movies alone.

Guest doesn't reply. Left on read. Tae-on stares at the screen with the two blue checkmarks for a long time, holding it up toward the ceiling while lying in bed. One minute. Two minutes.

The corners of his mouth twitch. He rolls his tongue against the inside of his cheek and drops the phone onto his chest, only to pick it back up less than thirty seconds later.

Leaving me on read is the worst thing you could do.

He mutters to himself and sits up. His upper body, clad only in suit trousers, is revealed in the darkness, the tattoos covering his frame shimmering faintly in the light from the streetlamps outside. Standing before the mirror, he roughly fixes his white hair, fiddles with his ear piercings, and licks his lips.

Then I guess I'll have to go to you.

Tae-on steps into his sneakers, crushing the heels without even putting on slippers, and opens the front door. The night breeze brushes against his bare skin, but he doesn't care. He presses the elevator button and sends another text.

[Tae-on] I'm coming, okay? Keep the door open. [Tae-on] I'm really coming. I'm not lying. [Tae-on] Is there anything you want to eat? Chicken? Pizza?

Exactly four minutes after being left on read, Kang Tae-on is already walking toward Guest's house. It seems the concept of a "brake" was never installed in this man's drive.