Thursday morning.

The open area of the apartment looked peaceful.

But Kang Chan was at war with a cunning enemy that was hiding like a fucking rat while looking for an opportunity.

Taking a deep breath and strengthening his resolve, he warmed up, then ran out of the apartment.

‘Come at me! You’re welcome to attack me!’

A shooting? An ambush?

Would the bastards aiming to kill Lanok and leave in ten days use guns in the middle of South Korea?

Instead of Kang Chan’s death, the media and the prosecution would conduct large-scale interference in such an occurrence.

It was fortunate that firearms weren’t allowed in South Korea.

Damn it!

Feeling as if he had been shot, sharp pain started to course through his body—including his side, waist, and back. This critical moment similar to when he had a knife in his hand while facing an opponent.

Kang Chan straight-up ignored the pain. It was difficult to protect those he loved with physical strength that required him to tie a knife to his hand with a wire.

“Huff huff.”

He had run out of breath.

Running was quite strange. If one were to stop running for a couple days, they’d be clearly reminded of their limit once they started...