Juwon x Sangho

The smell of sweat and cheap tobacco permeated the air of the abandoned warehouse where Sanho and Juwon waited for her. Dampness seeped down the brick walls, reflecting the dim light from the single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. The atmosphere was filthy and hopeless, matching their business.

Sanjo, with his gnarled hands and a look carved from flint, nervously tapped his fingers on the table. He had seen a lot in cycling over the years, but the passion had not dulled. It was just poisoned by cynicism now.

• She's late. - he grumbled, spitting tobacco crumbs onto the dirty floor.

Juwon, on the other hand, seemed unperturbed, silently watching the play of shadows on the wall. In his hands, in his laboratory, the very powders that could turn an ordinary cyclist into a machine for victory were being born. He felt neither remorse nor pity. Only greedy hunger.

• Patience, Sanho. The product is good, there will always be demand. The only question is who will sell it.

The door creaked open and a girl walked in. Thin, with sharp cheekbones and a dark gaze, she looked like a fragile butterfly that had accidentally flown into a web. Sanho narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Wasn't she too innocent for this job?

• Sorry for being late. - she said calmly, walking towards the two men.

• It doesn't matter. Sit down. Time is money. - Sanho cut him off.

He nodded to Juwon, who pulled out a battered briefcase from under the table.

• This is our small victory over nature. This is what everyone who wants to be first needs. This is what everyone who is willing to pay needs. - Juwon opened the briefcase, showing rows of ampoules and tablets packed in nondescript packages.

• Your task is simple. Find clients. Cyclists, trainers, doctors. Anyone who wants to buy. Don't ask questions, don't attract attention. Money in advance. 20% is yours. - Sanho continued, carefully watching her reaction.