The air at Incheon's docks stank of fish and diesel, the kind of smell that clung to your soul. Fog rolled in thick, muffling the creak of cranes and the distant hum of ships. I stood at the edge of the pier, my trench coat flapping in the damp wind, watching the silhouettes of my men unload crates under flickering sodium lights. Kang Min-jae, the White Dragon, didn't show up to these deals in person anymore—not unless it was big. And this? This was a multi-billion won shipment, enough to tip the scales in Seoul's underworld.
Park Jin-woo, my logistics guy, shuffled up beside me, nervous as always. "Boss, everything's on schedule. Triad's happy, payment's cleared."
I didn't look at him. My eyes were on the crates, on the men, on the shadows that moved wrong in the fog. "Good. Keep it that way."
Then it happened. A glint of metal from the warehouse roof. The crack of a gunshot. Pain exploded in my chest, hot and sharp, and the world tilted. I hit the wet concrete, blood pooling under me, Jin-woo's panicked face hovering above. "Boss! Boss!" His voice faded as more shots rang out, my men scattering like roaches. Betrayed. Someone had sold me out. My last thought, as the fog swallowed everything, was simple: I'll gut you for this.
I woke to the sound of a shrill voice and the smell of boiled cabbage. "Oppa, get up! You're gonna make us late again!"
My eyes snapped open. I was sprawled on a thin mattress in a cramped room with peeling wallpaper. A flickering fluorescent bulb cast harsh light on a cluttered desk, a cracked mirror, and a pile of laundry that looked like it had lost a fight with a dumpster. My chest didn't hurt. No blood. No docks. Just a tiny girl with pigtails glaring at me, hands on her hips.
"Sun-hee?" I croaked, my voice high and reedy, like I'd sucked helium. I sat up, and the world felt… wrong. My hands were small, soft, not the calloused fists that had broken noses across Seoul. I stumbled to the mirror and froze. Staring back was a scrawny kid, maybe thirteen, with messy black hair and a face that screamed "bullies' favorite target." Lee Do-hyun, some nobody from Mapo. Not Kang Min-jae, the White Dragon.
"What the hell?" I muttered, grabbing at my throat. Even my curses sounded like a cartoon character.
Sun-hee, my—his—little sister, rolled her eyes. "Language, oppa. Eomma's already at the market, and I'm not getting detention because you overslept. Move it!" She tossed a crumpled school uniform at me, the navy blazer and tie looking like they'd been ironed with a brick.
I caught it, my brain spinning. I'd run a drug empire that spanned Gangnam to Itaewon, orchestrated deals that made cops sweat, and now I was… what? A middle schooler? In a body that couldn't even reach the top shelf? I pinched my arm. It hurt. This was real.
"Fine," I growled, shoving my legs into the too-tight pants. The uniform was a nightmare—starchy, small, and riding up in all the wrong places. I looked like a sausage stuffed into a child's costume. Sun-hee snickered as I wrestled with the tie. "Keep laughing, kid, and I'll sell you to the ajummas downstairs."
She stuck out her tongue. "You're so weird today."
Weird didn't cover it. As we shuffled out of the apartment, down creaky stairs past nosy neighbors gossiping about "that poor Lee family," my mind raced. Betrayal. Gunshot. Death. Now this. Reincarnation? Body swap? I didn't know, but I knew one thing: someone had taken me out, and Park Jin-woo's shifty eyes at the docks were suspect number one. If he'd climbed the ladder after my "death," he'd be running my empire now. My empire.
The Mapo streets were a far cry from Itaewon's neon glow. Crumbling buildings leaned together like drunk old men, laundry lines sagging across alleys. An ajumma selling tteokbokki waved at me. "Do-hyun-ah! Study hard today!" I forced a smile, wondering how many kneecaps I'd broken in my past life to deserve this.
At school, things got worse. Hong Middle School was a concrete box with faded posters and kids who smelled like instant ramen. I slunk into Class 2-3, hoping to blend in while I pieced together a plan. Step one: find out if Jin-woo was behind the hit. Step two: track down my hidden accounts—tens of millions of won stashed in offshore banks. Step three: take back what was mine, preferably without getting grounded for missing curfew.
But blending in? Not a chance. The second I sat down, a girl with a sharp bob and a class president badge—Kim Hae-rin, my brain supplied—marched over. "Lee Do-hyun, where's your math homework? You're on thin ice with Teacher Park."
I stared at her, my thirty-something crime lord brain short-circuiting. Homework? I'd orchestrated heists, not algebra. "Uh… ate it," I said, defaulting to sarcasm.
The class erupted in laughter. Hae-rin's eyes narrowed. "Cute. Detention if it's not on my desk by lunch."
Great. Day one, and I was already a delinquent. I leaned back, scanning the room. Kids whispering, passing notes, planning some petty cheating scheme. Amateurs. Their sloppy methods offended me more than their morals. Back in the day, I'd have had them running decoy routes for a real operation by now.
The bell rang, and as we shuffled to first period, my phone buzzed. A cheap burner, not the encrypted one I used to carry. A text from an unknown number: Heard you're back, White Dragon. Stay dead, or you'll wish you were.
I froze in the hallway, kids bumping past me. Jin-woo? Someone else? My lips curled into a smirk. Whoever it was, they had no idea who they were dealing with. I might be stuck in a kid's body, but I was still the White Dragon. And dragons don't stay down.