𝑃𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑜𝑛 / 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑔

S2 ch 61

The slope was steep, but Rafayel didn’t hesitate. He dropped to his knees and half-skidded, half-climbed his way down to where the wreckage and bodies lay. His breath was ragged, the panic in his chest twisting his insides into knots.

His eyes locked on Jiwon first.

The blood on his temple. The way his chest barely rose.

Rafayel stumbled toward him, dropped to his knees, and cradled Jiwon’s head like he was glass.

“No no no— look at me, Jiwon, breathe, please—stay with me.”

Bang Chan shoved Rafayel back. “Don’t touch him! You don’t get to play savior now!”

Rafayel’s eyes snapped up. “He needs a hospital. Now. I have a jet. I have people. He’s mine—”

“He’s not your property!” Hyunjin snapped, stepping between them.

“But he’ll die if you delay any longer!” Rafayel barked, his voice shaking. “So will Jisung. And none of you can take them to a public hospital. You know what happens if the police get involved. You’ll all be arrested or worse.”

Chan cursed under his breath. “He’s right… fuck, he’s right.”

Felix’s voice was ice cold. “And what? You want us to just hand Jiwon back to you like nothing happened? You think we’re gonna trust you?”

Jisung coughed—wet and ragged—blood spattering his lip. His voice came out like a dry whisper, dark with pain.

“Bullshit... just shoot me already…”

“Don’t say that,” Minho said quickly, dropping beside him, brushing his bloodied hair back. His voice trembled. “Don’t ever say that.”

He leaned down and kissed Jisung’s forehead, whispering, “You’re gonna be alright, baby. We’re gonna get you out of this. I promise.”

The group fell into silence, the weight of helplessness suffocating them.

Bang Chan’s hands were bloodied from trying to stop the worst of the bleeding, but even as a doctor, he knew this was beyond him. Broken ribs, internal hemorrhaging, spinal trauma—he could stabilize but not save. Not out here. Not alone.

Chan looked up, jaw clenched. “...We don’t have a choice.”

Rafayel stepped forward. “There’s a private hospital. It’s underground. Mafia-funded. No police, no questions. The best trauma surgeons in the world. I can get them there. Now.”

“Swear to god,” Jeongin growled, “if this is a trap—”

“It’s not.” Rafayel’s eyes locked on Jiwon’s face. “It’s the only damn way to save them”

With no time left, they agreed—tense, reluctant, but united by one thing: they had to save them.

Within minutes, the helicopter appeared over the ridge, its blades thundering through the air. Two black ambulances pulled in from another direction. Armed medics in sleek, dark uniforms poured out, no insignia, no hesitation. These weren’t government EMTs. These were mafia medics—silent, efficient, fast.

They loaded Jiwon and Jisung onto stretchers, working quickly with oxygen masks, IV drips, neck braces. Jiwon didn’t stir once. Jisung groaned in pain as the stretcher lifted.

Minho never let go of his hand.

“Stay with him,” Chan ordered. “Felix and I are going with Jiwon.”

Rafayel followed, his coat sweeping behind him, his face pale and unreadable. No one said a word to him.

The helicopter roared as it lifted off the ground, carrying the broken bodies of two boys—one who tried to run from love, and one who raced to protect it—toward a place where life and death hung in the balance.