CHAPTER 171: CHAPTER 171: THE ROOFTOP GAUNTLET

The night air was sharp and cold, biting at their skin as Lin, Keller, and Min-joon crouched low on the rooftop. The dust from the collapsing building still hung over the city block like a choking shroud. Sirens in the distance wailed faintly, but they weren’t for them. This was Jin’s stage, and every sound, every shadow, felt orchestrated to his will.

Lin’s chest heaved as he steadied his breathing. His body screamed for rest, but his mind was sharper than ever. He couldn’t let fatigue win now. Not when Jin was watching. Not when every rooftop could become a killing ground.

"Sniper!" Min-joon hissed suddenly, pointing toward a construction crane barely visible through the fog of dust.

The crack of a rifle split the air a half-second later, and a bullet slammed into the concrete inches from Keller’s boot. The three of them ducked, pressing flat against the rooftop.

"Shit!" Keller snarled, dragging his rifle close. "They’re herding us again, Lin. We can’t sit here like ducks."

Lin pressed his palm flat to the rough surface beneath him, trying to feel the vibrations of movement. "No—they’re pushing us toward the eastern block. Away from the streets. They want us higher."

"Higher?" Keller spat, his voice edged with raw frustration. "What the hell does that bastard want us on rooftops for? To watch us fall like bugs?"

Min-joon shivered, sweat rolling down his temple despite the cold. "Maybe he wants us visible. Easier for the snipers."

Lin didn’t answer. His eyes swept the skyline. The glow of Seoul stretched endlessly, neon lights blinking like indifferent stars, but here on these rooftops the world felt silent, hunted. He didn’t have time for Keller’s anger or Min-joon’s fear. He needed a path forward.

Another shot cracked—this one closer. Sparks flew from a metal pipe just above their heads.

"Move!" Lin ordered.

They sprinted low across the rooftop, Keller covering the rear with short bursts from his rifle. Bullets snapped through the air, one grazing Min-joon’s sleeve and tearing fabric. He stumbled but Lin’s hand clamped around his arm, dragging him back into motion.

The edge of the building loomed ahead, and beyond it—another rooftop, just barely a leap away. A five-story drop yawned between them.

Keller’s eyes widened. "You’ve got to be shitting me."

Lin didn’t slow. "It’s this or death."

The sniper fired again, the bullet shattering a chunk of concrete at Lin’s heel. Without hesitation, Lin sprinted, planted his foot on the ledge, and launched himself into the void. For an instant, gravity clawed at him, pulling him down into the abyss—but then his boots hit hard rooftop, knees bending to absorb the impact. He rolled, came up in a crouch, and spun back toward the others.

"Jump!"

Min-joon’s face was pale, but he forced himself forward. He ran, pushed off, and barely cleared the gap—his hands slapping down against the edge as his body dangled. His legs kicked wildly above the streetlights far below.

"Lin!" he cried.

Lin grabbed his wrist, pulling with every ounce of strength until Min-joon scrambled up, panting, eyes wide with terror.

Behind them, Keller ran, leapt, and landed hard with a grunt that sent cracks spidering across the tarpaper. He rolled, came up on his knees, and snarled. "Next time, you warn me before the suicide jumps."

Lin ignored him. Another bullet whined past, smashing into a rooftop antenna nearby. The sniper hadn’t lost them yet.

"Keep moving," Lin ordered.

They darted across the rooftop maze, climbing over air-conditioning units, ducking behind ventilation shafts, and leaping narrow gaps. Each rooftop felt like a battlefield designed by Jin himself—angles of fire carefully considered, escape routes turned into death traps.

Min-joon stumbled again, nearly losing his footing on loose gravel. Keller caught his arm roughly, shoving him forward. "You slow us down again, kid, I swear—"

"That’s enough," Lin cut him off sharply. His tone brooked no argument. "We stay together or we die together. End of discussion."

Keller’s jaw clenched, but he fell silent.

They reached a rooftop with a raised garden—abandoned, weeds sprouting from cracked planters. Lin signaled for them to take cover behind a low wall.

The sniper fire stopped.

The silence was worse than the bullets.

Lin felt it immediately. "He’s repositioning. He’s not just chasing us—he’s guiding us."

Min-joon’s eyes darted nervously around. "Guiding us where?"

Before Lin could answer, a faint click sounded beneath his boot. He froze. Slowly, he lifted his foot, revealing a thin wire stretched across the rooftop. A tripwire.

Keller swore under his breath. "The whole damn place is rigged."

A low voice crackled suddenly from a hidden speaker mounted on the rooftop’s far corner. Jin’s voice. Calm, cold, precise.

"You’re doing well, Lin. Better than I expected. Most rats don’t make it this far."

The three froze. Min-joon’s breathing grew shallow, Keller’s eyes burned with fury.

Jin’s voice echoed, bouncing between rooftops. "Every step you take, I see. Every choice you make, I already accounted for. But still you climb, still you fight. Tell me, Lin—how far will you go before you realize the rooftops only end one way?"

Lin’s fists clenched. He refused to give Jin the satisfaction of a reply.

The tripwire at his feet glowed faintly red. A timed arming light.

"Down!" he shouted.

They dove as a controlled explosion tore through the rooftop’s far side, flames licking the sky. Debris rained down, scattering across the tar and gravel. The blast wasn’t meant to kill them—it was meant to corral them. Herd them higher, closer to Jin’s chosen stage.

Keller coughed through the dust, fury in his eyes. "He’s playing with us. Like toys."

"Not toys," Lin said grimly. "Pawns."

They pressed forward, weaving through the rooftop jungle. The jumps grew longer, the pathways narrower, until finally they found a sliver of refuge—a collapsed stairwell leading into the shell of a half-constructed building. They ducked inside, hearts pounding.

For the first time in what felt like hours, the gunfire ceased. The city’s night sounds returned faintly, like a memory—distant traffic, the hum of neon, the whisper of wind.

Min-joon slumped against the wall, his chest heaving. "I can’t... keep this up."

"You can," Lin said firmly, crouching in front of him. His eyes locked onto Min-joon’s, steady and unyielding. "Because you don’t have a choice. Not until we’re clear."

Keller stood at the opening, watching the rooftops beyond. His voice was low, dangerous. "Clear? You think Jin’s going to just let us walk out of here? No. He’s not trying to kill us, Lin. He’s testing us. And I’m done being tested."

Lin’s jaw tightened. Keller wasn’t wrong. Every explosion, every sniper shot, every taunt—it was orchestrated. Jin wasn’t trying to end them. He was measuring them.

And that was more dangerous than any bullet.

As the dust settled, Lin noticed something glinting near the stairwell. A small, metal case. Too clean, too deliberate to be debris.

He approached slowly, crouched, and flipped it open.

Inside lay a single black playing card. The Ace of Spades. On its surface, etched in silver, was a single word:

"Worthy?"

Lin’s heart pounded. Jin had left it for him. Not for Keller. Not for Min-joon. For him.

The rooftop hunt wasn’t just survival. It was recruitment. Or worse—an invitation.

He slipped the card into his pocket, his expression unreadable.

Outside, the wind howled between the rooftops, carrying Jin’s laughter through the hidden speakers, low and cruel.

The game was far from over.