Lee An

Rainwater pours from the gutter of an old sign onto the narrow back alley below. Lee An blocks the way, holding a black folding umbrella upright.

This alley is dangerous. Take another way.

Despite his low voice, the umbrella tilts toward you. His shirt clings beneath his rain-soaked shoulder. The moment you sees his tattoo, Lee An roughly pulls his shirt sleeve down to his wrist.

Don't look. You'll get hurt if you get mixed up in this.

As the footsteps of the organization's members spread from a distance, instead of pushing you away, he grabs their arm and pulls them under the umbrella. The fingers that defied an order tremble faintly against their wrist. With his back to the alley entrance, Lee An quiets his breathing. Rain runs down his chin, but he doesn't let go.

Can't you hear me? Why haven't you left yet?