The Kojima stared at the unresponsive Jichang. One moment they had been locked in a violent exchange, fists and feet flying—the next, the King of Seoul had suddenly stepped back, creating distance between them like some invisible wall had snapped into place.
He frowned.
His gaze shifted sideways, catching a glimpse of his elder brother, who was still fighting off both kids.
"At least he's doing better than me," he muttered under his breath, ashamed of his own performance.
Jichang, meanwhile, stood still—too still. His eyes were glazed, his posture unreadable. But he wasn't unconscious.
His mind was elsewhere.
He stood once again in the ruins of that broken wall, the fragmented memory vivid like it had just happened.
'I did it?' he thought, staring down at the crumbled debris under his feet.
He hadn't realized he'd even been in a trial. It felt like fragments of a dream—disjointed, otherworldly—but it all made sense now. There was a lesson buried deep in those visions.
The threshold of strength.
He now understood what it truly meant. That barrier... it wasn't something external. The fight, the strength, the drive—it had always came from within.
His focus snapped back to the present.
The Kojima he had been fighting was several meters away, distracted, his eyes still fixed on his brother.
Jichang lowered his gaze to his hands. Something was different.
They felt heavier. Stronger. Hardened. The scars etched into his knuckles from years of brutal training—punching trees, boulders, and even steel—shimmered faintly. It wasn't just physical. It was deeper.
He didn't realize it yet, but his eyes were glowing now—a deep, predatory red. His pupils had narrowed, slitted like a snake's.
He raised his head slowly.
"I'd advise you not to get distracted from our fight," he said coldly, brushing dust from his suit with an elegant flick.
Behind him, Jagyeon finally rested. Curled up and peaceful, maybe even dreaming.
Jichang's lips twitched in amusement—but only for a second.
Then, all focus returned to the Kojima.
The man looked worn, his body sagging slightly from exhaustion. Small cuts marked his arms.
"It's about time we ended this," he said, his voice still dripping with pride.
But he could feel it. The kid—no, the monster—standing across from him was evolving with every breath. Power was rising like a wave behind his presence.
At this rate... the brat might actually reach the wall.
Better to kill him before he gets that far, he thought, darkly.
The Kojima snapped into stance. His entire body tightened as he dropped low into the classic Kudo posture. His hands clenched into fists, his eyes now shining with a mystical purple hue. A sign of his mastery.
He had trained that technique to perfection. Blood. Sweat. Years of it.
'I will end this now.'
WHOOOSH.
He vanished. His body dissolved into wind, tearing through the air like a ghost. He reappeared at Jichang's side with flawless precision.
'First Generation or not... you've earned my respect. But now, join your friend in defeat.'
His leg snapped upward in a vicious roundhouse kick—one perfected through thousands of hours of Kudo drills. The wind shrieked around it.
But Jichang wasn't idle. He'd been preparing, anticipating this very attack.
He hadn't seen the man move—not with his eyes. But with his instinct. His intuition.
He raised his arm, redirecting the kick with precise hand-blade technique.
'It's easier now,' he thought in shock. 'Far easier.'
Jichang's eyes locked onto the opening—the micro-gap created by the redirection. It was all he needed.
Time to end this.
He lunged in.
"How did yo—" The Kojima couldn't finish.
BAM.
Jichang's palm slammed down on the man's face, crushing him into the ground with staggering force. The sheer momentum embedded the Kojima head-first into the concrete.
BOOM.
The ground exploded beneath them. The shockwave rattled the entire battlefield.
Taesoo, Gongseob, and even the other Kojima snapped their heads in that direction.
'What the hell was that?'
Gongseob's jaw dropped. "Yo… Snake? You powered up mid-fight? Or was the other brother just weak?"
The second Kojima, seeing his sibling brutalized, roared in fury.
"How dare a mere First Generation—" he hissed, vanishing with blinding speed.
But Jichang didn't flinch.
He couldn't see him. Not yet. But he could feel the intent. He could predict the path.
Jichang struck with pinpoint precision, his palm slicing forward in the direction of the incoming threat.
The Kojima felt a chill down his spine as he neared.
'That's… mastery. No… impossible!'
He barely ducked beneath the incoming strike, flipping away to create distance.
Jichang, unaware that he missed, continued the strike and drove his palm into the earth.
BOOM.
The explosion left a deep, 15-meter crater—branches flying, leaves ripped clean from the Banyan tree nearby.
Even Taesoo was shaken.
'That wasn't even a direct hit? That was just the shockwave…'
He glanced at the crater—its edge nearly reaching the Shaman, who now sat pale-faced and sweating bullets.
But nobody cared about him.
"You…" the Kojima said slowly, his face pale, "You've attained Strength Mastery… haven't you?"
Jichang didn't even blink.
"Yes."
Taesoo and Gongseob walked up beside him. Taesoo cracked his knuckles, grinning.
"Well then," he said. "I guess your time's up, Japanese."
Three Kings now stood against one.
The balance of the battle had shifted.
Meanwhile…
Apollo sprinted through the woods, away from the gang.
He had no interest in the Shaman, nor in waiting around for some dramatic twist. He had one goal—and his gut told him it was close.
'They'll probably botch it anyway. None of those guys scream "hero,"' he thought, scratching the back of his neck.
His feet pounded the forest floor, dodging trees, leaping roots. His eyes scanned everything.
'Where is he?'
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
A steady sound echoed through the woods—deliberate, sharp. Rhythmic.
Apollo smiled.
There wasn't a single real Lookism fan that hated the guy.
Some called him the GOAT.
Others just called him a legend.
His pace quickened.
"Guess it's about time I meet the Anti–James Lee."
.......