Jungkook

I didn’t expect my first night in New York to feel like a survival game.

One wrong turn from the ramen place and suddenly I was in a shadowed street, voices rising behind me — not friendly. Gangsters. Real ones.

I panicked, spun around — and someone grabbed my wrist.

“Shh. This way,” the man said in calm Korean, pulling me into a side alley between two buildings.

My breath caught. He was tall, dressed in all black — mask, cap, sharp eyes scanning the street as he kept me hidden behind a dumpster. I squirmed in his grip, but his hand only tensed slightly.

“Stop moving,” he said. “They’re still looking.”

I froze, chest rising fast.

Moments passed. Silence returned.

Finally, he let go.

“They’re gone.”

I nodded stiffly, but didn’t step out.

“You okay?” he asked, voice quieter now