"Damn it… *you!*"
Song Ukchan, who had been lunging like a madman, finally hesitated.
But he still couldn't accept the reality of a knife stuck in his thigh. With vacant eyes, he looked back and forth between the bleeding wound and Seoryeong's calm face.
"What did you just do to me?"
"Forgot?" Seoryeong's voice was ice. "If a colleague commits sexual harassment, what steps should I take?"
"Ugh—*damn* you! Are you crazy?!"
"The one who's truly crazy is you." She tilted her head slightly. "But I didn't hit any vital nerves."
"What?"
"But this isn't enough."
As she suddenly moved to pull the knife free, Song Ukchan's attitude immediately changed. His face twisted in panic. "Don't pull it out—*don't pull it out!*"
Seoryeong nodded as if relenting.
Then, calmly, she withdrew her dagger.
And plunged it into the other side of his knee.
"――!"
Song Ukchan's mouth opened wide, but no sound came out. He just clutched his knee, his body trembling violently, the veins in his neck bulging and taut. Blood gushed from his torn thigh muscles, staining the snow beneath him in spreading crimson.
"Humans feel fear in unpredictable and illogical situations."
Seoryeong's tone was conversational. Almost educational.
"You learned that during recovery training, didn't you? So, to turn the tables—" She crouched down, meeting his terrified eyes. "—I have to do *this.*"
"…"
"You broke the rules. But I didn't." Her smile was cold. "I'm going to use you as a tool and win this game."
Seoryeong picked up the rock that had been weighing down the waterproof tarp. She thought it would be easier to move Ukchan if he was unconscious.
As she hesitated, Song Ukchan suddenly lunged again with a distorted face, cursing—
"You **bitch**—!"
But his legs were already immobilized, and he could only swing his arms like whips, trying to grab her.
Reflexively, Seoryeong slammed the rock into his forehead.
**Crack.**
"Damn… you…"
Song Ukchan continued to curse until his eyes rolled back and he slumped forward.
Supporting his falling weight, Seoryeong touched the tip of his nose—almost tenderly, for no clear reason. A strange lightness bloomed in her chest. She smeared blood from his torn forehead all over his face, painting him in crimson streaks.
Then she stepped on Ukchan's half-erect groin and stood up.
That morning felt **refreshing.**
---
*Crunch. Crunch.*
Every step left a red trail on the snow.
She dragged the bound Song Ukchan behind her like she was pulling a sled, continuing to move forward. The weight of a grown man was significant, but she could still handle it on her own.
"Hmm… hmm… hmm…"
Seoryeong hummed softly, tightening her grip on the rope, walking through the deep snow with steady purpose.
In both her pockets, she had already stored the snare wire and the matchbox she had modified herself. The bag given by the instructors as survival gear had now been completely transformed into **murder equipment.**
_Didn't everyone play like that in elementary school?_
Making launchers from mechanical pencils and rubber bands. Throwing erasers with clothespins. Shooting marbles with slingshots made from clothes hangers.
Seoryeong used to prank older kids at the orphanage that way—and fight endlessly.
Finally, she arrived at the right spot. She stretched her stiff shoulders and looked around.
No signs of anyone else.
Silence.
Seoryeong tied Ukchan's unconscious body to a tree trunk, then gagged his mouth with a bundle of twigs she had previously wrapped in cloth. By then, the area around the tree was stained with blood—a dark halo spreading through white powder.
**Bang—!**
Seoryeong raised her hand and lit the flare.
The sound was like a gunshot, causing nearby birds to scatter in panic. The reddish light shot sharply into the air, but the falling snow obscured its reach—it was hard to tell how far the signal could be seen.
She stepped back into the shadows.
And waited.
---
"Hey! This guy's been stabbed!"
"Song Ukchan! Song Ukchan, wake up! *Who did this to you?!*"
As soon as they heard the sound of the flare—something that should **never** be heard—three or four cadets immediately ran toward it. They paused for a moment, seeing Ukchan's bloodied state, but quickly began administering first aid.
"Damn it… who's the bastard who did this!"
They pressed on his wounds to stop the bleeding and removed the cloth from his mouth. One of them, while cautiously looking around with a tense expression, said softly:
"Hey… isn't there someone else here besides us?"
"What?"
"Otherwise, who lit this flare? This guy's hands and feet are all tied up."
"…"
A silence colder than the snow immediately enveloped them all.
*Be careful too.*
Meanwhile, Seoryeong—hiding behind a fallen tree—continued to calmly play with her matchbox.
_The outcome of a battle isn't determined by the number of casualties,_ she thought, _but by who is enveloped by fear first._
That's why spreading fear was so effective.
The heavy snowfall that blurred visibility only added to the eerie atmosphere.
"Don't say such creepy things!"
"Damn, you're such a scaredy-cat, aren't you?!"
"If you're holding a weapon, show some proper resolve!"
"I'm telling you—there's something else in this forest besides us! Either a crazy person, or something *else!*"
*Jingle. Jingle.*
At that very moment, both the cadets administering first aid and Seoryeong in hiding froze simultaneously.
Through the blizzard, a large figure slowly emerged at the edge of their vision.
Seoryeong felt a cold chill crawl down her spine. She immediately held her breath.
*Thud. Thud.*
The footsteps were slow. Confident. Terribly unsettling.
Seoryeong immediately realized that the person she had been waiting for had finally arrived.
However, as the figure fully appeared, her mouth suddenly went dry. The immense tension made her hands tremble slightly.
---
"Who **dares** to wake the instructor this early?"
Lee Wooshin made no attempt to hide his annoyance at his morning sleep being disturbed.
From out of nowhere, he wore a rock-patterned camouflage coat, with a thick hood made of twigs and straw like a blanket concealing him. His large frame looked even more massive beneath the layered branches, making him appear like something out of legend—**a yeti come down from the mountains.**
In addition, he wore a white balaclava that covered his head and neck, leaving only his pale face visible—more like a moving statue than a human.
Upon seeing Song Ukchan, Lee Wooshin took off his sunglasses.
His sharp gaze swept over the unconscious cadet's bloodied face and the blood-stained snow, and his brow furrowed deeply. His expression shifted—completely alert now.
"Who dares to treat my cadets like this?" His voice was low. Dangerous. "Playing around like trash?"
"Instructor!"
As the cadets called out in panic, Seoryeong also stood up—deliberately ruffling her previously neatly tied hair. Her face was prepared too, smeared with Song Ukchan's blood in strategic streaks.
She gasped for breath and stumbled out from behind a pile of snow.
"Ugh…"
Her steps were unsteady, as if she might fall at any moment.
"Please…" Her voice broke. "…save me…"
"Oh, *crazy*—what is that?!"
"It's… over there."
"Huh—you… Han Seoryeong?!"
A cold wind blew. Silence enveloped them.
The cadets stared with wide eyes at their colleague in such a miserable state.
_You once said victory depends on how low you can drop the enemy's guard, didn't you, Instructor?_
Seoryeong weakly raised her hand and pointed in the direction she had come from, tears streaming down her face. Her hand was covered in blood.
"There's… a bleeding man over there." Her voice trembled. "The killer ran away."
She collapsed into the snow.
The cadets hurriedly caught her—and immediately ran in the direction she indicated. They would surely follow the remaining trail of blood for a while, chasing ghosts through the trees.
Seoryeong then looked at Lee Wooshin, who had been standing motionless the whole time.
Snow fell from the camouflage branches covering his shoulders. The twigs that had been still now shed their load of white powder as he shifted his weight.
"You."
Lee Wooshin finally pulled down his balaclava, as if his body had just softened.
His black hair, flattened by the hood, looked slightly disheveled from the cold wind. Snowflakes caught in the dark strands.
"That's blood…"
He approached slowly, his face furrowing again.
In the middle of the blinding white expanse of snow, Seoryeong couldn't take her eyes off Lee Wooshin's figure—so striking with his dark and gray aura. Although the other cadets had similar hair color, he was **different.**
He looked like a painting standing on a white canvas.
It made Seoryeong's heart pound. Made her breath quicken.
_A man who seemed like the ruler of a winter castle—_
However, Seoryeong banished that feeling immediately.
She slipped her hand into her pocket.
*Quickly. Joyfully. The most direct way.*
She wiped the grief-stricken expression from her face—and **leaped** toward the man.
"Dragging that bastard all the way here was so hard!" she exclaimed, throwing the matchbox she had prepared toward his shoulder.
The matchbox looked insignificant.
But it was perfect for creating a sudden, deafening explosion.
"――!"
She had attached the striker strip from the matchbox to the heads of the matches using medical tape. When thrown against a hard surface, the match heads would rub against the striker strip, igniting the flame and triggering a small explosion from the released gas.
Although it looked like a child's toy, it was a makeshift weapon that produced an **incredible** explosive sound.
**Bang—!**
As expected, the branches covering Lee Wooshin's body immediately caught fire.