The night was thick with rainclouds, the kind of sky that pressed low and heavy on Seoul's neon veins.
Seong Min walked alone, his stride steady though his ribs still burned from Tom Lee's fists. His uniform collar was buttoned sharp, hiding the bruises along his neck. The White Tiger Job Center wasn't far now—just a few more blocks, a few more breaths.
And yet, the city never let him walk in peace.
White Tiger Eyes
From the rooftop above, a plainclothes man lifted his binoculars. His jacket was unmarked, his hair cropped military-short, his presence blending into the skyline. Only the faint whisper of his radio betrayed him.
"Target sighted," he muttered. "Jinyong Go. King of Seongnam. He's moving with a circle of men. Looks like… confrontation imminent."
The words carried fast, faster than any alley fight could break.
Minutes later, in a dim office deep inside White Tiger's Gangnam hold, Tom Lee leaned back in his chair. A cigarette smoldered between his fingers, ash falling lazily into an overflowing tray. His lips curled into a grin.
"White Tiger has eyes everywhere," he murmured.
The recruit at his side shifted uneasily. "Boss… should we send backup? If Jinyong Go is moving personally—"
Tom waved him off, smoke curling from his nose. "No. Let it play out."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes glinting with feral amusement.
"If the brat folds here, he's worthless to us. If he survives—even broken—then maybe Charles was right."
Tom chuckled, low and sharp. "Let's see how far he can crawl."
The Golden Watch
The alley Seong Min entered was narrow, a spine of cracked pavement framed by sagging fire escapes. Neon lights flickered above, buzzing like flies.
And waiting in the center was a man dressed like no street thug.
A fitted black suit, pressed and spotless despite the grime around him. Box-framed glasses glinted under the weak glow, and a golden pocket watch ticked quietly in his palm. His hair was slicked neatly to the side, his smile cold as steel.
Jinyong Go. King of Seongnam.
He wasn't alone. Half a dozen men flanked him, each one marked by the stiff posture of soldiers, not delinquents.
When Seong Min stepped into view, Jinyong snapped his watch closed with a soft click.
"You've been making noise," he said smoothly, his voice carrying the weight of a man who had nothing to prove. "White Tiger… Tom Lee. And now mine,."
His eyes narrowed behind his glasses. "You took what belonged to me. That kind of insult can't go unanswered."
Collision Course
Seong Min stopped three paces away, his violet eyes steady.
"You mean the Dog Pound," he said quietly.
A ripple passed through Jinyong's group of people
low chuckles breaking the silence. But none of them stepped forward without his order. They all knew—the King didn't share his stage lightly.
Jinyong's smile thinned. "Dog Pound? That was their nickname, not their title. They were mine. Strays that survived because I allowed it."
He adjusted his glasses, the golden frame catching the flicker of neon. His voice hardened, each word weighted. "And you—some nobody who isn't even First Gen—thought you could just walk in and leash them yourself?"
One of his men couldn't restrain himself. He stepped out, shoulders broad, fists already rising. "Boss, let me—"
"Stand down," Jinyong said without looking.
The man froze, sweat rolling down his temple. A single order from the King carried more weight than his anger.
Jinyong tucked the pocket watch neatly into his coat, his polished shoes clicking against the cracked pavement as he stepped forward alone. His presence filled the alley, suffocating and calm all at once.
Seong Min didn't move. His stance was tight, measured. His body screamed protest from Tom's beating, but his eyes—those violet eyes—never wavered.
"If you wanted them," he said evenly, "you should have protected them yourself."
For the first time, Jinyong's smile cracked into something sharper, darker.
"Not bad," he murmured. "You even sound like him…"
His gaze sharpened, studying Seong Min's eyes. "But no. You're not the same. Not ruthless enough. Not yet."
He slipped off his suit jacket with one smooth motion, folding it over his arm and handing it to one of his men. The movement was elegant, deliberate—like a teacher preparing to discipline an unruly student.
"Let's test it," Jinyong said, rolling his sleeves. "Let's see if you can stand where the real ones stood."
The First Exchange
Jinyong moved first.
Despite the suit, despite the age, his speed was frightening. His fist cut through the air with the weight of a hammer, aimed directly for Seong Min's sternum.
The air itself seemed to bend around the strike, the kind of punch that could fold a man in half.
Seong Min's Eye of Insight flared. The world slowed just enough for him to shift, forearm snapping down to meet the blow.
CRACK!
The impact rattled his bones, numbing his arm from wrist to shoulder. His ribs screamed in protest, Tom Lee's earlier beating echoing through his body. But he didn't let himself fold.
Planting his heel, he twisted his hips and fired back—a brutal hook aimed at Jinyong's ribs.
BAM!
The suit-clad King took the blow, absorbing it with only the faintest grunt. His body shifted, controlled, as though he had already expected it.
Then his lips curled faintly."Good bones. But bones break."
His knee shot up like a piston, aimed squarely for Seong Min's chin.
Seong Min caught it with his forearm, but pain lanced through his already battered ribs, forcing him back a step. He hissed sharply, chest burning.
Jinyong didn't press immediately. He simply adjusted his glasses, eyes glittering behind the frame."Still standing. Interesting."
The Push
This time, Seong Min moved first.
His stride was sharp, decisive—one step into Jinyong's space, a straight jab aiming for the King's jaw.
But Jinyong didn't flinch. His palm cut upward, parrying the strike with surgical precision, and in the same motion, his other hand speared into Seong Min's stomach like a steel rod.
THUD!
Air exploded from Seong Min's lungs. His body doubled, vision swimming white for a split second.
The underlings behind Jinyong smirked, but none dared laugh aloud. They could see it clearly—the fight wasn't child's play. This wasn't Vasco's reckless brawling. This was a clash between conviction and seasoned power.
Seong Min staggered but forced his feet to root. He swung again, this time with a low kick sweeping for Jinyong's leg.
The King stepped aside with surgical grace, letting the strike scrape air before answering with a backfist that snapped across Seong Min's cheek.
Blood sprayed from his lip. His head rocked to the side, but his eyes—those violet eyes—snapped back instantly.
Jinyong's brows lifted ever so slightly."…You really won't fall."
From the White Tiger office, Tom Lee exhaled smoke in a slow curl. The voice on the radio crackled faintly.
"They're still going, boss. The kid's holding out… longer than expected."
Tom's grin widened, feral and pleased. He tapped ash into the tray, eyes gleaming."Good. Let him bleed. Let him crawl. If he survives this, then maybe…"
He leaned forward, voice dropping."Maybe Charles wasn't wrong."
The Breaking Point
Seong Min's back slammed against the damp alley wall, the impact rattling his already bruised ribs. His breath came ragged, every inhale scraping against fire. Blood trailed from the corner of his lip, dripping onto the cracked concrete.
Jinyong didn't rush. He adjusted his golden pocket watch, the faint ticking filling the silence."Already faltering? Typical. You've got heart, but heart without control is wasted."
He stepped closer, polished shoes echoing softly. His presence pressed down heavier than fists.
Seong Min forced his eyes up, violet light flickering faintly. His hands trembled, but his stance refused to fold.
Eye of Insight — Activate.
Time didn't slow. Not really. But motion sharpened—like every detail had been carved into glass. The angle of Jinyong's footwork, the twitch in his shoulder before a punch, the fraction of a second where his guard dipped.
Patterns. Openings. Threads.
Seong Min saw them.
The Wall Break
Jinyong's fist snapped forward—another piston strike aimed to bury into Seong Min's ribs.
This time, Seong Min's body moved before his mind caught up. His forearm cut down at the perfect angle, redirecting the blow. His heel twisted, hips snapping, and a counterpunch rocketed straight into Jinyong's solar plexus.
BAM!
The King staggered half a step back, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose. For the first time, surprise flickered across his face.
Seong Min didn't stop.
His fists blurred—jabs, hooks, low kicks flowing together seamlessly. Not raw haymakers, not desperate swings. Technique. Sharp. Efficient. Fast.
Each strike came faster than the last, his body burning but adapting, his Eye of Insight dissecting and refining in real time.
Jinyong blocked the first few, parried the next, but then—
CRACK!
A straight shot slipped through, clipping his jaw. His head snapped to the side, and a thin trail of blood trickled from his lip.
The underlings froze, eyes wide. Their King—hit clean.
Jinyong steadied himself, glasses sliding back into place. Slowly, he touched the blood at his lip, then chuckled low."…So that's it. You're learning as you fight. Fast."
His grin sharpened, dangerous."You really do resemble him. But your eyes… your eyes are different."
The Body Breaks
Seong Min's fists blurred in a storm—jab, hook, kick, pivot. Each one flowed cleaner than the last, his Eye of Insight dissecting Jinyong's guard with frightening precision.
For a moment, the alley belonged to him.
BAM! His strike rocked Jinyong's ribs.
CRACK! A counter clipped his chin.
The King of Seongnam grunted, lips curling into something darker, but he didn't falter.
And then—Seong Min's ribs screamed.
The old damage from Tom Lee's fight roared awake, white-hot pain ripping through his chest. His knee buckled mid-step, and his fist slowed half a beat too late.
Jinyong seized the gap.
THUD! His elbow slammed into Seong Min's side, right where the bruises were deepest.
The world flashed red. Seong Min's breath tore out in a ragged gasp, knees nearly giving out. His technique wanted to move—his body refused.
He coughed blood onto the pavement.
"Too much, too soon," Jinyong said calmly, brushing his suit sleeve. "Your body's screaming while your eyes keep pushing. That's not strength—that's suicide."
He advanced slowly, voice dripping with condescension."You've got talent. You even made me bleed. But you're still just a boy playing at being a King."
The Strain of Awakening
Seong Min staggered, clutching his ribs, his violet eyes flickering.
The Eye of Insight kept showing him paths
—perfect slips, flawless counters, angles that would carve through Jinyong's guard like paper.
He saw them all.He understood them all.And his body refused.
Every time he tried to act, his ribs screamed, his legs dragged half a beat behind. His technique was awakening too fast, too sharp, for a body still broken from Tom Lee's fists.
WHAM!Jinyong's knee drove into his stomach, folding him over.
CRASH!A follow-up strike hurled him against the alley wall. Plaster cracked, dust raining down his shoulders.
Blood filled his mouth. His breath came ragged, each inhale like knives in his chest.
Still, his violet eyes never dimmed.
Jinyong adjusted his glasses, calm as ever. "This is what separates us. A King doesn't just see the path—he walks it. You're a shadow playing soldier."
Seong Min spat red onto the ground, his voice hoarse but steady."…If I'm a shadow… then you're the wall I'll break on the way forward."
The Final Exchange
Jinyong's smirk thinned. "Brave words."
He surged forward, pocket watch glinting in his hand before vanishing into his coat. His fists lashed like hammers, precise and merciless.
BAM! BAM! BAM!Each blow dug deeper into Seong Min's body, threatening to finally crumple him.
But Seong Min's eyes burned brighter. His mind screamed moves faster than his body could obey, but he forced them anyway.
His left arm shot up, barely deflecting a crushing hook. His foot twisted wrong, ankle screaming, but it placed him in just the right line.
And his counter landed.
SMASH!A violet-eyed straight punch crashed into Jinyong's jaw, whipping his head sideways.
The King staggered two steps, blood glinting at the corner of his mouth.
Gasps erupted from his entourage. None of them had ever seen their leader rocked like that—not from a boy half his age.
Jinyong steadied himself, tongue brushing his split lip. And for the first time, his eyes lit—not with disdain, but interest.
"...Not bad," he admitted. His voice was calm, but edged with something sharper. "You even resemble one of them. But your eyes—they're different."
Seong Min's body shook, every nerve screaming collapse, but his fists remained raised.
This wasn't a victory. Not yet.
But he had forced the King of Seongnam to acknowledge him.
And for someone still standing on broken ribs, that was enough to tilt the board.