[Ian Park – POV]
The fog that had shrouded the island for centuries began to lift—not literally, of course. The sea mist remained thick, wrapping our home like an eternal veil, but in my heart, it had begun to part. I was now 18.
Four years. Four years of pain, training, blood, and silence. Four years since I made a promise to myself beneath that cherry blossom tree, watching Jinyoung's tiny hands cling to mine as our youngest brother, Sangcheol, took his first breath. I had watched them grow. And while the island nurtured us, I bled beneath its soil.
I trained under the moonlight and sunlight. Alone at times, and other times under the grueling guidance of my mysterious grandfather's subordinates—men who didn't speak unless necessary, whose eyes looked like they'd seen entire dynasties fall.
Every martial art. Every form of combat. I devoured them all.
Muay Thai under a one-eyed Thai war vet who could paralyze a tiger with his elbow.
Boxing with a silent American who once sparred with ippo in another dimension.
Capoeira from a Brazilian monk who spoke to spirits.
Taekkyeon, Hapkido, Judo, BJJ, Sambo, Krav Maga, Kali... even obscure assassination techniques once passed only through military ghosts in the underworld.
But it wasn't just human martial arts.
I mastered Park Family's internal techniques—forgotten by the world but passed only through blood. The Whispering Pulse, the Nine-Lock Veins, and my favorite: the Void Palm, a strike that stops an opponent's heart not through force, but vibration. Only those with the pure Park lineage could unlock it.
And I did.
Now, I stood at the shore, salt mist brushing against my jawline, a duffel bag over my shoulder. I wore a sleek black suit tailored from Park Group's luxury textile division—stitched with graphene silk, resistant to bullets, fire, and envy.
Behind me stood my father—the current patriarch—calm, tall, and wrapped in robes only those within the Park Bloodline dared to wear. Next to him stood Grandfather—his long hair silver, eyes sharp and young despite his age. A man who once crushed the Yamazaki Clan's elite with his bare hands in his prime… and now merely sighed at the world's foolishness.
"It's time," Father said, arms crossed, "You will go to the mainland, Ian. Begin the arms trade we never touched. It's your path now."
"Understood," I replied, bowing slightly.
Jinyoung, now 6, clung to my coat. "Hyung... you'll come back, right?"
I bent to his level, ruffling his hair gently. "I will, little brother. I'll bring you a mountain of toys and maybe a real tiger."
He sniffed. "Real tiger…? Can I ride it?"
"You'll ride it into battle someday." I winked.
Behind them, Sangcheol, only 5, waved shyly. His black hair, short and spiky, danced with the breeze. A mole beneath his left eye gave him a strangely mature aura. I often wondered what kind of man he'd grow into—he was quiet but always observing. One day, I knew… he'd shock the world.
--
I sat inside my chamber one last time. My three core summon units—Biotech elites—knelt before me.
Each of them had undergone countless wars, battle-hardened and reborn through ancient Park biotechnology. Soldiers enhanced through gene tuning, combat memory transplantation, and cybernetic reinforcement. They weren't mindless clones—they were veterans, war artists, each fluent in every firearm and tactical maneuver ever conceived.
"Are you certain you wish to bring only us?" the unit leader asked.
"Yes. You three are my shadow," I said. "The Park elders have their own men. I will rely on my summons alone. It's time they feared my name, not just the blood I carry."
As I stood, my room's inner wall lit up with holograms—intel, maps, targets. I had acquired secret contacts within three continents, all through encrypted Park Group backdoors. The arms business awaited.
--
Father stood beside Grandfather, watching me board the jet.
"He's become terrifying," Father muttered, eyes narrowed. "Even more than I was at that age."
Grandfather chuckled, a gravelly, ancient laugh. "Terrifying? He hasn't even shown the tip of the Park iceberg yet. He hasn't tasted betrayal. Or war."
Father grunted. "Are we… doing the right thing? Sending him out now?"
"Young blood needs the world to scar them," Grandfather replied. "Only then can they decide if they'll become legends… or monsters."
He looked down at the younger two boys.
"And those two… they'll have their own fates."
--
Somewhere in Seoul...
Old names stirred in the shadows. The Fist Gang… whispered like folklore. Yamazaki Clan operatives… noticed changes in weapons flow. Someone new was rising.
And then the whispers came:
"A Park… has entered the world again."
"Not the elders… a new one. Young. Dangerous."
"Name?"
"Ian Park."
Gapryong Kim sat in a quiet dojo, staring at an old scroll. His face stoic, a cup of tea untouched beside him.
Tom Lee entered behind him. "There's movement… from them."
Gapryong's eye twitched slightly. Not in fear. Not in worry.
But in interest.
"So," he muttered. "The island opens its door. That boy must be something special for them to act."
Tom Lee grinned. "What do we do?"
Gapryong rose slowly. He didn't need to stretch; his body hadn't dulled a bit. He looked toward the mountains, wind pushing his robe.
"We watch. And if needed… we guide."
His voice was calm. But it thundered with fighting power.
--
As the private jet cut through the sky, I stared out the window, eyes reflecting city lights on the horizon.
The world was vast. Dangerous. Bloody.
Good.
I cracked my knuckles.
Let them see me.
Let them fear the name: Ian Park.
The Heir of Shadows.
The Young Lord of the Park Bloodline.