The warehouse loomed, silent and heavy, the kind of silence that warned of violence waiting inside.
Dog Pound lieutenants lingered by the rusted doors, shifting nervously. Their eyes darted to their leader's bandaged ribs, the bruises still dark on his skin.
"Boss… are you really okay to fight?" one asked carefully.
"You're not recovered yet," another whispered. "Going in there now… it's suicide."
Seong Min's violet eyes didn't flicker. His expression was cold, unyielding.
Without a word, he pushed the doors open and stepped inside.
The warehouse swallowed him whole. Shafts of moonlight cut through broken windows, dust swirling in the pale beams.
And then, from the far end, a shadow moved.
Jinyong Go.
The King stepped forward into the light, massive shoulders rolling, fists scarred and heavy. His grin was wide, sharp, but his eyes were predator's eyes—focused, gleaming with amusement.
"So you came," he said, cracking his neck. His voice was low, rumbling, each word vibrating in the air. "Gun's twin. The boy who fought me half-dead and still stood."
He spread his arms slightly, inviting. "That day, I held back. Tonight, let's see your real worth."
Seong Min lowered into his stance, knees bent, arms loose. His violet gaze sharpened.
The Eye of Insight burned.
Lines of movement spread across Jinyong's frame—the heavy arcs of his fists, the shift of weight in his legs, the raw power behind his center. A brawler. A man who crushed resistance by enduring pain and returning it double.
Seong Min exhaled slowly.
The fight began.
Jinyong moved first.
For a man his size, he was fast—too fast. His fist swung like a wrecking ball, the air cracking with its force.
Seong Min tilted his head just enough, the strike tearing past his ear. He countered instantly, elbow snapping up into Jinyong's jaw.
Crack!
The King's head snapped sideways. For a heartbeat, silence.
Then Jinyong grinned, blood glinting on his teeth. "Good."
His knee surged upward, slamming into Seong Min's ribs. Pain flared white-hot.
Seong Min gritted his teeth, twisting with the impact instead of breaking against it. His arm snapped down across Jinyong's thigh—a sweep.
The King staggered half a step.
Seong Min pressed forward, fists flying—hook to the ribs, palm strike to the chest, knee aimed for the chin.
But Jinyong's massive hand clamped onto his arm like iron.
"Not bad," Jinyong rumbled.
Then he yanked Seong Min forward and drove his forehead down.
Thud!
Blood sprayed from Seong Min's brow. His vision rattled, his knees threatened to buckle—
But he stayed upright.
Still standing.
Jinyong roared and swung again, his fists raining down like sledgehammers. Each strike shook the concrete, each miss cracked the air.
Seong Min weaved between them, ribs screaming with every twist. A heavy blow caught his shoulder, spinning him sideways into the wall. The concrete cracked.
Dust showered down as Seong Min pushed himself off the wall, spitting blood. His eyes burned sharper.
He eats blows to deal blows. No finesse. But that means… openings.
Jinyong charged, a wild overhand descending.
Seong Min ducked under, twisting low. His fist slammed into the King's ribs. He felt the give—bone shifting under the impact.
Jinyong grunted, his grin faltering—then exploding into laughter.
"That's it!" he barked.
His arm swung wide, clubbing across Seong Min's jaw. The impact spun him, sending him skidding across the floor. Blood dripped from his lip.
Still, he rose.
The tempo shifted.
Seong Min darted in close, cutting at weak points with scalpel precision. A hook to the liver. An elbow to the temple. A knee angled into the solar plexus.
Each strike landed.
But Jinyong endured them all. His body rocked, but his fists swung back like steel hammers. One smashed into Seong Min's side, rattling his spine. Another slammed across his back, forcing him down to one knee.
The King loomed, grinning down. "Stay down."
Seong Min spat blood, pushing back to his feet, violet eyes blazing. "Not yet."
He surged forward, headbutting Jinyong squarely in the nose.
The King's head snapped back, blood spraying.
And then Seong Min drove his knee into his jaw.
Wham!
The giant reeled, stumbling for the first time.
Seong Min pressed, fists flying—hook, hook, elbow, knee. Each strike punctuated by his ragged breath.
But Jinyong roared, powering through, his fist slamming into Seong Min's gut. Air burst from his lungs. A follow-up uppercut cracked against his chin, sending him staggering.
Both men bled. Both men swayed.
Neither fell.
Minutes blurred into chaos.
The warehouse echoed with fists slamming flesh, bones cracking, breath tearing through throats. Dust rained from the ceiling with every impact.
Seong Min's body screamed. His ribs burned, his knuckles split, his brow dripping crimson.
But his violet eyes never lost focus.
Every step forward was defiance. Every strike a refusal to bow.
Jinyong laughed through blood, his strikes as heavy as thunder.
The fight raged, neither giving, neither surrendering.
Until finally—
Both men staggered back, their chests heaving, the floor beneath them cracked and stained with blood.
Jinyong wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His grin remained, though his breaths were ragged.
"Stronger than I thought," he said. His voice was low, almost respectful. "If you recover fully… you might even surpass me."
Seong Min spat blood onto the cracked floor. His chest rose and fell like a storm, but his gaze was unwavering.
"Surpass you?" His voice cut sharp. "I'm not here to surpass you."
He straightened, shoulders squared despite the pain, violet eyes blazing.
"I will stand at the peak."
His words rang heavy, undeniable.
"Not just above you. Above all of you. Every King. Every fighter. I won't be another name in history. I'll be the one who writes it."
The warehouse fell silent.
Jinyong's grin faltered. Then it widened again, sharper, more dangerous.
"…Good."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Interesting. Very interesting."
Turning, he strode into the shadows, his laughter echoing like a war drum. "Live long enough, boy. I want to see if you mean it."
The doors groaned open.
Seong Min stepped out, bloodied but unbowed. His violet eyes gleamed cold, unshaken.
The Dog Pound froze.
"He… he's still not recovered," one whispered."And still… a draw," another muttered, awe heavy in his voice.
The whispers spread, quick and hushed.
Jinyong Go is the past.Park Seong Min is the future.
The legend shifted that night.
High above the city, Tom Lee leaned back with a cigarette, reading the fresh report. A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
"A draw with Jinyong Go," he murmured. "Even injured."
Gun stood by the window, the glow of his cigarette faint against the glass. His reflection looked amused, dangerous.
"If he heals," Gun said quietly, "he won't just rival Kings. He'll make new ones."
Tom chuckled, shaking his head. "And Charles thinks he can control that."
Gun exhaled smoke, his smirk sharp as a blade. "We'll see."
✨ End of Chapter 59 ✨