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Hal, who gave him a job without asking questions. Matt, who handed him a phone so he wouldn’t be alone. Ken, who watched his back without being asked. Snowy, who listened to him about his mother and conversed in his native language.

Jun had spent months believing he was the kind of person things happened to. The kind who watched, who followed, who showed up too late. But that wasn’t what happened here. He’d driven a getaway car through downtown LA with two screaming strangers. He’d walked into a drug lab and walked out with evidence. He’d earned a con man’s trust and reported every detail back to people counting on him. He’d held the wheel every time someone needed him to.

The boy who drew Snorlax alone in the dirt had become someone people called back for.

For the longest time, Jun believed Ruki had made him that. That every good quality he had was borrowed—reflected light from someone brighter.

Without Ruki, he was just the quiet kid who couldn’t speak English. The one who followed. The one who shaped himself into whatever the people around him needed so they’d have a reason to stay.

He’d done it his whole life. With Ruki, he became the loyal sidekick. With Alex, he became Connor: someone tougher, blonder, less breakable. With Covey, he became the obedient driver. With everyone, always, he became whatever version of himself felt least likely to be left behind.

But lying in the trunk, stripped of every mask, Jun couldn’t perform for anyone. There was no one to shape himself for. No one to keep up with. And the person left over—the one underneath all of it—was the one who had driven through downtown LA on instinct. Who had walked into a drug lab alone and kept his nerve. Who had looked Covey in the eye and negotiated for information instead of money. Who had told Kana about Ruki not because she asked, but because he chose to.

Those weren’t things Ruki taught him. Those weren’t things Alex pushed him into. Those were Jun.

Maybe that’s what Ruki saw in the schoolyard all those years ago: not the kid who couldn’t speak English, but the kid who caught the ball anyway. Jun had spent years trying to become someone worthy of Ruki’s attention. He never considered that Ruki might have been paying attention because Jun was already enough.

The tears came. Not the panicked, choking kind from before. These were quiet. They soaked into the blindfold, and he let them.

If this was the end—if whatever waited outside that trunk was the last thing he’d ever face—Jun knew what he’d say to Ruki. He’d tell him about all of it. The gas station, the garage, the crew that became something like a family. The car chases, the hot pot, and the girl who spoke his mother’s language. He’d tell him that Alex still bleached his hair because of what happened in high school, and that he was still impulsive, and still loyal, and still couldn’t say how he felt without punching something first.

And then he would bow his head and say the thing he’d carried since the day the news flickered across his kitchen TV:

I’m sorry I didn’t do enough to make you happy.

But maybe for the first time, he’d also say:

I think I finally found out who I am. And I think you knew before I did.

***

Jun’s eyes snapped open as his head bounced against a hard edge. Then another. A rhythmic thudding—his body dragging over what felt like stairs, each step jolting through his neck. Blood rushed to the top of his skull, hot and pounding. The drugged fog was thinning—not enough to think clearly, but enough he felt everything.

His blindfold slid off his face. But it didn’t matter. It was still dark. Dust clung to the sweat on his forehead and hair. His eyes tried to focus, but the world kept sliding.

The dragging stopped. The surface under him changed—wood now, creaking. His body was hauled upright and dropped into something hard. A chair. His wrists screamed as the bindings caught against the seat back. The drug kept the worst of the pain at a distance, but he could feel it pressing closer, like a tide coming in.

Footsteps paced back and forth. A familiar male voice repeated “come on” like a broken record. Chemical fumes singed the inside of his nostrils, so sharp they drilled straight into the base of his skull. His eyes streamed. When the swarm of black dots receded and his vision adjusted to the dark room, dim moonlight pouring from a window nearby. Jun realized he’d been in this room before, though he couldn’t place which one.

Luis. Jun didn’t need to see his face. His frantic pacing, muttering, and nervous energy bouncing off the walls were enough. He stopped short near a table. Luis’s fingers drummed against it, his foot tapping the floor in a jittery rhythm.

“Hey!” The man squeaked a little too loudly, then cleared his throat. “Fuck… uh… It’s me. I kept calling you but, uh, anyway, I’m at the farm.” An awkward pause. “Where do you keep the extra dope? It’s not in the room you usually work in. I need it now, because The Host needs more. So… call me back!”

Luis slammed his fist on the table. He dug into his pockets, pulled something out. A flick. A sizzle. The first curl of cigarette smoke threaded into the chemical air. Luis grumbled something under his breath. Footsteps came closer, then stopped.

The dull throb in Jun’s skull was sharpening into something that had teeth. Every point of pain—his ribs, his wrists, the side of his head—was waking up and screaming. It hurt so much, but he didn’t care anymore.

“Where’s your phone?” Luis muttered. Then he sighed, the smoke clouding Jun’s dried-up eyes. “Fuck. What the fuck am I doing?”

Luis crouched and shoved his hands into Jun’s pockets, rummaging through both sides. Jun held his breath, his heart pounding wildly in his ears at the sudden violation. Cigarette ashes dropped onto his jeans, singeing tiny holes through the fabric and leaving hot pinpricks on his thighs.

Luis swore and checked his own jacket. “Fucking finally.” He pulled Jun's phone out of his back pocket and started tapping away. He took another drag. “What’s your passcode?”

Jun said nothing. Because if he opened his mouth, the only thing coming out would be spit aimed at Luis’s face. He swallowed the impulse.

“You better not bite.” Luis held the phone in front of Jun’s face and pulled his gag down. The screen flashed to life in the dark room, immediately pinging a notification. Luis looked at the phone and scoffed. “Who the fuck is Robin?”

Jun’s chest tightened. Robin. He tried to inch closer to the screen, but Luis pulled the phone back.