The Dog Pound headquarters reeked of cigarettes and stale ramen. The smell clung to the walls, soaked into the cracked leather couches, and drifted through the low-hanging haze of smoke. No one dared complain. The atmosphere was too heavy, too charged.
Lieutenants crowded around the long table, their heads bowed, their voices hushed but laced with awe.
"He fought Jinyong Go again … and didn't lose.""Still injured, too. His ribs aren't even healed yet.""A draw… who else can say that?"
One man's voice wavered, caught between admiration and fear. "He'll be a King one day. No doubt."
The words hung in the smoke, daring contradiction. None came.
At the head of the table sat Seong Min. His ribs were tightly bound under his shirt, bruises still blooming across his torso, but his posture was steady, unyielding. The violet gleam in his eyes cut through the haze, sharp as glass.
He didn't bask in their whispers. He didn't need to.
"Report," he said, voice calm but carrying an edge that silenced the room.
A lieutenant stood quickly, sweat dampening his brow. "Collections are up. Smaller crews west of Gangseo pulled back after hearing the news. They don't want to risk a fight, Boss."
Another chimed in, his hands shaking as he flipped through papers. "Even the street thugs are saying it now… that you're untouchable."
The whispers swelled again—untouchable, rising King, future.
Seong Min's hand closed the ledger with a sharp snap. The sound cracked through the tension like a gavel. Dozens of heads jerked up.
"I'm not here to be a King," he said evenly.
The words landed like a stone in still water. Ripples of shock spread across the room.
Every lieutenant froze. Some gaped. Some blinked rapidly, unsure if they'd heard correctly.
But Seong Min leaned forward, his gaze sweeping across them like a blade.
"I'll be more."
The declaration cut deeper than any fist. A shiver rippled through the lieutenants. Some lowered their heads in respect, others in fear, but none dared speak.
One man, braver—or perhaps dumber—than the rest, swallowed hard and forced a laugh. "Boss… with all due respect, higher than a King? That's impossible."
Seong Min's violet eyes fixed on him.
The man faltered instantly, his forced laugh choking in his throat.
"Impossibility," Seong Min said coldly, "is just the excuse of men who never dared."
The lieutenant dropped his gaze, shame burning his cheeks.
No more questions followed.
When Seong Min rose, his footsteps echoed down the hallway like judgment itself. The room remained silent long after he left, the weight of his words pressing down on every chest.
At J High, the air was lighter, but no less sharp.
Students filled the corridors with chatter, their voices buzzing as they dissected the new school year.
"Duke got bumped to Class A!""Oliver's debut stage was insane!""Lasol's still stuck in A. Guess they can't keep up."
The PTJ scandal—the idols, the dirty contracts—was already fading into background noise. The Stalker's arrest was just another rumor buried beneath fresh gossip.
But for Daniel Park, every whisper felt like a blade.
His perfect body sat stiff in class, face calm, posture straight, but inside his chest the memories clawed at him. His ugly body—tucked away, hidden—still remembered the ropes cutting into his wrists, the wild eyes of the Stalker, the knife gleaming under dim light.
And worse than that, Crystal's voice still gnawed at him.
Pathetic. Weak. You're nothing like him.
Those words echoed louder than the gossip around him, louder than the laughter, louder than the chalk scratching across the blackboard.
When classmates leaned over, grinning too wide, eyes gleaming with curiosity, he wanted to vanish.
"Hey, Daniel, is it true you were there?""They say that girl wanted to marry you. Is that real?""Man, what a freak. You've got the worst luck."
He forced a faint smile, shaking his head, pretending not to hear. His hand under the desk trembled until his nails dug crescents into his palm.
The laughter around him burned worse than bruises.
Across the room, Crystal Choi's eyes lingered on him.
She saw the way his shoulders hunched when questions came. The way his fake smiles cracked at the edges. The way his hands trembled when he thought no one was looking.
Weak. Pathetic.
Her lips curved faintly, but it wasn't kindness—it was a cruel smirk.
Her thoughts shifted, inevitably, to Seong Min.
She remembered the studio: Aru shivering in a blanket, grown men broken on the floor, and Seong Min moving like a blade through all of it. She remembered his violet eyes—cold, merciless, unshaken.
And then White Tiger HQ.
The way he had grabbed her wrist. Firm, unyielding. Like she wasn't Charles Choi's daughter, just another obstacle in his path.
The way his hand had pressed against her face, tilting her chin, his eyes boring into hers without fear or deference.
The memory made her pulse spike, a warmth curling in her chest before she strangled it down.
Her father's warning whispered in her mind: Don't get interested.
She turned her gaze back to her notebook, her expression composed. But the memory of his touch lingered like a ghost she couldn't shake.
Daniel Park? He couldn't even stand against words.
Compared to Seong Min, he was nothing.
Elsewhere in the city, another storm brewed.
The docks reeked of salt water, oil, and rust. In a narrow alley, five men lay scattered across the ground. Their faces were swollen, noses bent at wrong angles, teeth shattered and glinting in pools of blood.
A broad shadow loomed above them.
Logan Lee.
His jacket clung tight to his heavy frame, the muscles beneath it bulging with every breath. His knuckles were raw, split open, blood dripping down onto the cracked pavement. His grin was wide, cruel, and merciless.
One thug whimpered, trying to crawl away.
Logan caught him by the back of the neck and slammed him into the wall. The man sagged instantly, blood painting the bricks.
"You call this a fight?" Logan sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Pathetic."
Another tried to rise, trembling on broken legs. Logan stepped forward, his boot crashing into the man's ribs with a sickening crunch. The thug wheezed and collapsed, gasping for air.
The others didn't move. They couldn't.
Logan rolled his shoulders, muscles rippling under the streetlight's glow. The adrenaline hummed through him, intoxicating.
Every punch, every scream, every broken bone was proof. Proof that he was back. Proof that he was stronger than before.
He tilted his head, grinning down at the wreckage he'd left behind.
"This city forgot," he muttered, low and dangerous. "But I'll remind them."
His laughter echoed down the alley as he walked away, heavy footsteps fading into the night.
The next afternoon, J High spilled into the streets in a rush of laughter and chatter. Students jostled one another, swapping jokes, plans, and complaints.
Daniel walked beside Vasco, wearing his ugly body. His steps were heavy, dragging, each one weighted with thoughts he couldn't shake.
"You've been quiet lately, Daniel," Vasco said cheerfully, stretching his arms. "You sure you're okay?"
Daniel forced a nod. "I'm fine. Just… tired."
Vasco grinned, oblivious. "Man, I hope we run into some punks. It's been way too boring."
Daniel tried to laugh, but it came out flat, hollow.
Then the crowd ahead shifted.
The noise dimmed. Whispers spread. Students muttered, stepping aside, their bodies moving almost instinctively to clear a path.
A massive shadow fell across the street.
Logan Lee stepped forward, his presence swallowing the noise around him.
Broad. Heavy. His grin cruel, eyes locked directly on Daniel's ugly body.
Daniel froze. His heart plummeted. Memories slammed into him—the fists, the lockers, the endless humiliation, the helplessness that had defined his life before all of this.
His throat constricted, but the word escaped anyway, trembling.
"…Logan."
Vasco blinked, looking between them. "Wait… you know this guy?"
Logan's grin widened, teeth gleaming under the sun.
The street fell silent, tension coiling like a noose.
Only Daniel understood the nightmare that had just stepped back into his world.
✨ End of Chapter 62 ✨