INSANE (michaeng)

CHAPTER 1

MINA

The forest is quiet tonight—eerily so. Not even the crickets dare to sing. The moon filters through the canopy above, casting fractured beams of light across the clearing. Pine needles crunch softly beneath my heels as I step forward.

In the center of the clearing, tied to an old wooden chair, sits a man. His hands are bound tight behind him, ankles lashed to the chair legs. A filthy sock covers his head like a blindfold, soaked in sweat and spit. He's trembling.

Around me, my men stand silent and still, cloaked in black. They know not to speak when I'm working.

"Let me go! Please—let me go!" the man cries, voice cracked and raw from screaming into fabric.

I raised one hand, sharp and deliberate.

"Remove it," I command.

One of my men steps forward and rips the sock from his head. The man blinks into the dim light, eyes wide, face ghost-pale beneath a layer of grime and panic.

"You!" he shouts hoarsely. "Who the hell are you?! Let me go!"

I didn't answer. I just take a slow, deliberate step forward, letting my heels punctuate the silence.

"How does it feel?" I asked, tilting my head, voice like silk. "Being tied up in the middle of nowhere—completely powerless?"

He grits his teeth, rage flaring behind the fear. "What do you want?"

I shrugged slightly, smile curling. "What do I want?"

He thrashes in the chair, ropes creaking. "Answer me, damn it!"

"Let's play a game," I murmur. "I want something from you... guess it. It starts with the letter H."

I see it click in his mind. He freezes. The rage in his eyes gives way to something darker—recognition.

"Oh," I whisper. "You know it, don't you?"

"No!" he shouts. "No, no, no—I didn't do anything to you! I don't even know who you are!"

But I see it—the guilt blooming behind his eyes.

I pull a knife from the inner pocket of my suit jacket. It's slender, beautiful. A Japanese carbon steel blade, honed to a perfect edge. I run my thumb slowly along the flat of it.

"Beg," I said softly.

His lips tremble. Tears begin to stream down his face.

"Please," he sobs. "Please, don't kill me. I swear—I won't say anything. I'll disappear. Just let me go. I'm begging you."

I lowered my voice to a whisper. "Is that it?"

Suddenly I felt the heat rising up in my throat. My vision blurs. The pain claws at my chest like something alive.

"Why?" I screamed. The word echoes. "WHY?!"

Tears sting my eyes. "I saw everything," I whispered, my voice cracking. "Everything you did to me. Every fucking lie. You said you loved me. You made promises."

He lowers his gaze to the dirt. "Let's just break up."

That's it?

I slapped him. Once. Twice. The sound cracks the air.

"Fine," I hiss through clenched teeth. "Then let me return the favor—I'll break your heart too."

His expression shifts to confusion, maybe even disbelief. He doesn't understand what's coming.

I stabbed his arm.

His scream rips through the forest.

I leaned down, watching his body tremble. "That hurt? Good for you."

He's sobbing now, face twisted from the pain. "No—no more, please!"

"Hold him," I command. My men obeyed without a word.

I placed the tip of the blade to his chest, just above the sternum, and press.

"This is what you gave me," I say coldly. "Now I'm giving it back."

My goal tonight is simple.

I want his heart.

---

Blood still clings to my skin as I step into my penthouse. The smell of iron is familiar now—comforting, almost. I peel the stained suit off and toss it into a sealed bin for incineration. The blade, now cleaned and gleaming, returns to its velvet-lined drawer.

He didn't actually hurt me. That's the truth. He just happened to be the one I chose.

Killing is a habit of mine. It makes me feel alive.

My phone rings. I glance at the screen. My secretary.

"Yes?"

"Just a reminder, ma'am—you have a meeting tonight."

I glanced at the clock. 7:34 PM.

"Understood."

I hang up.

---

8:00 PM – Nayeon unnie's Café

By eight, I'm seated at my usual table in Café, tucked into the far corner near the frosted windows. The place is nearly empty, as expected. A quiet hum of jazz plays overhead, and the scent of dark roast and cinnamon hangs in the air.

The baristas know better than to bother me. My Americano arrives exactly as I like it—black, hot, strong.

I sip and check my phone. No new emails.

"Minari!"

I looked up.

It's her. Nayeon unnie.

She walks in briskly, her smile warm and genuine—two things I'll never be.

She slides into the seat across from me.

"How's your day been?" she asks, eyes soft.

"Fine, just a little stress."

She frowns playfully. "Ya! Don't burn yourself out. You look pale."

"Copy."

We laughed, and for a moment, everything feels light.

But it never lasts.

I bid her goodnight and head out. I have another meeting—this one less friendly.

---

I changed again—black tailored suit, gloves, holster. I check my reflection in the full-length mirror.

A silent pistol rests beneath my arm.

At midnight, the client arrives. He's nine minutes late. Unacceptable. He steps out of a black SUV, flanked by two men. They all look nervous.

"This is it," I said, as my men open a silver case and lay out the product—high-grade, pure, and priceless.

He inspects the goods, then nods to his man, who hands me a briefcase.

"Twenty-five million, as agreed."

"Pleasure doing business, Miss Myoi," he said.

I don't answer.

Words are cheap. My time isn't.

---

I drive home through the city's empty arteries, streetlights flickering over wet pavement. A low fog clings to the ground.

Tomorrow is waiting.

---

Edited >>>>>>>

Have a good day and always eat on time!

As I tell my students, once you open up that curiosity door, anything is possible.
- Scott Clarke