Something popped under him. A rib, maybe. He heard a wheeze.

Raine rolled off the man and got onto his knees. He was exhausted. And his shirt felt oddly heavy, like it was wet. He looked down. It had a hole, and a palm-sized part of it really was wet. He touched it and looked at his fingers. It was blood. Part of him didn’t think it was real. He didn’t feel any pain.

The knife. Where’s the knife? His eyes widened, and his gaze shot to the mugger, who was still on the floor, groaning and holding his side. Raine snatched the knife. Then he grabbed his duffle bag, which was lying in reach, and used his towel to tie up the man’s wrists.

Raine wanted to get to his feet, but his legs gave way the moment he tried.

“Hello!” he called out weakly as he crawled away from the mugger. He leaned on the wall of the apartment building and pressed his hand to his wound. “Anyone? I need some help here. I’m kinda bleeding.”

There was no response. His voice was too quiet, and he had trouble speaking much louder. He dialed 911. He had a hard time keeping his eyes open as he did so. They closed on their own after the first ring. He didn’t have the strength to open them again. His body relaxed.

I’m not even losing much blood. Why am I so tired? What if the guy wakes up and kills me in my sleep? Fuck.

Then he fell into unconsciousness.

. . . .

“I’d give that an A minus.” Song Hyun-woo waved his hand, and one of his subordinates put out the dream candle.

Ava snorted. “It was a B at best.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not the recruiter.” Song Hyun-woo held his cigarette to his mouth and inhaled.

“He got stabbed like an idiot. He could have ripped out the dirtbag’s shoulder with a kimura and gotten out without a scratch.”

Song Hyun-woo exhaled a cloud of smoke. “That can be learned.”

Ava frowned and moved a half-step away from him to avoid the smoke.

“He did what he could with the tools he had, the things he knew. He’s never had a minute of instruction in catch or jiu-jitsu before, and it’s been a year since he’s wrestled at all. Have realistic expectations.”

At Song Hyun-woo’s order, one of his subordinates approached Raine, dressed his wound, picked him up, and started carrying him to a black minivan.

“Kim Jun-seo, take Reed,” Song Hyun-woo said.

“Yes, sir.” A square-jawed Korean man easily picked up Reed, the mugger. Meanwhile, Kim Jun-seo’s two subordinates grabbed Raine’s belongings and cleaned up the drops of blood on the ground.

“Well, you said it was an A-minus,” Ava said. “So we’re poaching him, right?”

“No. Hall will practically lose his mind if we do,” Song Hyun-woo said calmly, taking another puff of his cigarette.

Ava stared at him in surprise. Then anger. “Then what the fuck did we just spend all that time and energy on?”

“Watch what you say, girl,” Kim Jun-seo said with a glare.

Ava glared back at him. Song Hyun-woo spoke before they started squabbling. “Roberts from yesterday filled our last spot for foot soldiers. It isn't worth the trouble to snatch Williams until he shows the potential to be a leader.”

She snickered. “This guy? He has all the charisma of a sewer rat. He’s a washed-up Wall Street dog who drinks all day, every day. A foot soldier is all he could ever be.”

Song Hyun-woo sighed. “You have a lot to learn.”

Ava shrugged.

“In any case, Hall will test him thoroughly. We should see what happens. Kim Jun-seo, have someone keep an eye on him. Hall will definitely use the Takeuchi girl’s visit as a way to test him.”

“Yes, sir,” Kim Jun-seo said.

“She’s supposed to come next Wednesday, right?” Ava asked. “Why are rich people so fond of wasting money? She’s flying over 2,000 miles for just a vacation.”

“The date isn’t certain. Hall will try to throw us off,” Song Hyun-woo said. He took another puff of his cigarette. “And the Takeuchis aren’t spendthrifts. The test won’t just be for the candidates; it will also be for the girl. She’s never been in California, let alone L.A, and she’s never been given so much freedom.”

“Freedom?” Ava laughed.

“Yeah. It might seem ridiculous to us, but for a Takeuchi, she’s getting a great deal of freedom.”

They left the alley and dumped Reed next to Raine in the trunk of the minivan. Kim Jun-seo got in the driver’s seat, while Song Hyun-woo and Ava sat in the back. Kim Jun-seo’s subordinates entered a black sedan nearby.

“Wait, but if the banker shows any promise, Hall will value him more,” Ava said suddenly.

“Yes, so what?” Song Hyun-woo asked, extinguishing his cigarette with an ashtray.

Ava stared at him with narrowed eyes, trying to figure out if she was at the butt of a joke she didn’t yet understand. “You're the one who said Hall will lose his mind if we poach the banker. But it'll be worse if the banker shows promise. Hall would obviously guard him more closely.”

“Yes.” Song Hyun-woo smiled. “So what?”

. . . .

Sunlight stabbed his eyes through his eyelids. Raine groaned and turned. He looked at his window through half-open eyes. Why the hell are the curtains open?

He rolled off the bed and stumbled to the window to close the curtains. Everything hurt—his legs, his arms, his stomach, his head, his back. Especially his head. After closing the curtains, he yawned and flopped back onto his bed. He wanted to go back to sleep, but there was something on his stomach that annoyed him. It was constricting. He patted his stomach.

What’s this? He sat up and lifted his shirt. He stared at the gauze around his stomach. When did I get this? Damn, did I get wasted last night? No, hold on.

He massaged his temples and tried to remember what happened. Memories came back bit by bit. He remembered everything up to when he’d tried to call 911. Then he’d blacked out. What happened after that?

He wanted to check the time, so he looked around for his phone. He couldn’t find it. He turned on his laptop instead and saw that it was seven, far earlier than he was used to getting up, which partly explained why he felt like garbage. His cousin Jordan was probably still home. Raine washed up and left his room. He heard the faint sound of a guitar’s strumming from the room opposite his. He knocked, and the strumming stopped.

“Raine?” Jordan asked.

“Yeah. Do you know what happened last night? How did I get back? I can’t remember anything.”

Jordan opened the door. He scratched his head. “Not surprising. You got carried home by your friends. They said you got mugged. It was pretty shocking, honestly. You were out cold. According to them, it was from exhaustion.”

Raine frowned. None of the friends that would have done that for him were in California. “Did they say anything else?”

“Well, they said they called the cops. After you visited the hospital, you got questioned for a bit, but that was it.”

Raine blinked. Wait, hospital? They covered the fee?

“Oh also, the mugger was arrested.”

“Uh...okay. What did they look like?”

“Who, your friends?” Jordan asked. Raine nodded. Jordan had a confused look on his face but still answered, “They looked Korean. One girl, one guy. Probably Korean-Americans, since they had American accents.”

“Odd.” Extremely odd, more like. In fact, kind of horrifying. The only Korean-American friend Raine had was a grad student in Chicago.

Jordan shrugged. “Anyway, I’m going to work now.”

“Alright.” Raine was waiting for something along the lines of ‘Are you feeling okay?’ but instead, Jordan went into his bathroom, came out with his electric shaver in hand, grabbed his backpack, and headed out briskly.

“Take care. See you,” Raine said.

“See you.”

Raine smiled wryly as he heard the front door close. He headed to the kitchen to get coffee.

He poured water into an electric water boiler. As he waited for it to heat up, his mind replayed scenes from the previous night. Throwing the mugger. Seeing blood on his shirt. Calling 911 and feeling so tired that he fell asleep. That last one bothered him the most. If the police arrived as his supposed friends had said, he should have woken up in a hospital, given his wound.

The water was boiling. He poured it into a cup, grabbed a packet of instant coffee, dumped the contents into the cup, and added some milk. All the while, he was thinking about the mugging.

With the cup of coffee in his hands, he went into his room. He sat at his desk and leaned back.

If he’d really gone to a police station for questioning, he would have remembered it—not to mention visiting a hospital. The two who’d carried him home clearly lied, but for what reason?

He spent a while thinking through it, but there wasn’t much to work with, especially since he hadn’t even seen the ones who’d carried him. They didn’t want the police to know about the mugging and meant Raine no harm; that much was obvious. But beyond that, his thoughts started going in circles. He groaned in frustration.

All this thinking made him want to drink, but it was painful to even imagine going out with his aching body. There was no beer in the apartment either. Raine rarely bought a can without opening it immediately. His roommates either didn’t drink or only drank outside.

Screw it, I might as well do something productive. I’m not dead, and that’s what matters. He opened his laptop. He was going nowhere in trying to find out what happened, and it was stressing him out.

With a part of his mind lingering on the mugging, he read articles on the New York Times and Bloomberg and looked through financial statements, taking notes as he did so. Click, read, scribble, click, read, scribble. He did 30 minutes of that and was getting sick of reading about Bolstridge. He was confident that its stock would tumble. But since the money from Levin still hadn’t hit his bank account, he couldn’t do much more than analysis.

Over another half-hour, he continued to work while distracted by the mugging, which felt like a fog blanking his mind, keeping him from thinking clearly.

He heard a familiar buzz. It came from his duffle bag, which was lying on the ground next to his door. His roommates probably dumped it there after getting it from his supposed friends. He got up, went to the bag, and rummaged through the side pockets.

He guessed that the message was from Levin. The phone vibrated again. He soon found it, as well as his wallet, which was a pleasant surprise. His fake friends were rather considerate.

He flipped his phone open. The messages weren’t Levin’s. They were from Raine’s bank.

The money from Levin had hit the account of Raine’s (one person) company.

“Yes! Fuck yes!” Raine threw his arms into the air in celebration. Then he leapt onto his chair and went to work. His number one priority was getting puts on Bolstridge. Then he got puts on Dale & Castor. Then he bought calls on gold. He spent most of the remaining money on government bonds.

When Raine finished his buying frenzy, he sent $250, the payment from Levin, to his personal bank account and spent it all on paying off his credit card debt. But it didn’t do much to cut down the $5,000 he owed, a figure that quickly dulled his excitement.

His phone rang suddenly. He closed his laptop and flipped open his phone. It was Levin. Raine answered the call. He was ready to thank Levin again for the investment and the job, but before he could say a word, Levin spoke.

“Hey Raine, there’s been a change of plan.” Levin sounded a tinge annoyed. “It’s not bad news, by the way. Well, actually, it depends on how you see it. It’s more like inconvenient news than bad news.”

“Okay, what is it?” Raine asked. “You can just say it.”

Levin sighed the kind of sigh only a working adult could heave. “Sora’s coming tomorrow.”