(Narrated by a voice that's equal parts James Bond and your favorite bartender—charming, sharp, and the kind of person you'd trust to defuse a bomb or pick the perfect karaoke song.)
Let me set the scene: Seoul, five years ago. Picture a fight club so underground, even the rats down here carry business cards. Neon lights flicker like they're allergic to commitment, and the air smells like regret and kimchi fries. Front row? A bunch of billionaires in tailored suits, sipping whiskey while they bet on people's lives like it's the stock market. Classy crowd.
Enter Ji Soo-jin—freelance spy, martial arts savant, and the only person alive who can make a stab-proof vest look like haute couture. Tonight, she's playing "medic" to infiltrate this den of bad decisions. Why? Because her little sister Yoo-jin bet her "you can't last a week without kicking someone." Challenge accepted.
Soo-jin's scouting the back rooms when she spots it: a fridge full of vials glowing like TikTok rave props. Ah, yes. Nothing says "ethical science" like a bioweapon that doubles as a nightlight. She pockets a sample, because obviously, and snaps a photo. Her text to Yoo-jin: "Found your birthday present. It's definitely returnable."
But here's the thing about evil lairs—they're terrible at hospitality. Two goons burst in, built like refrigerators and just as bright. Soo-jin sighs, cracks her knuckles, and delivers a spinning heel kick so flawless it'd make a K-pop choreographer weep. Goon #1 goes down. Goon #2? Let's just say he'll be chewing through a straw for Christmas.
She's halfway to the exit when the PA system crackles. "Congratulations, Miss Ji!" booms a voice slicker than a used-car salesman. "You've won tonight's main event!" The crowd roars as steel gates slam shut. On the jumbotron: a live feed of the ring, where a hulking figure paces, eyes glazed like he mainlined Red Bull and existential dread.
Soo-jin smirks. "Should've brought confetti."
The fight's a blur of fists, sweat, and a truly concerning number of teeth on the floor. She's holding her own—until he lunges. His punch misses her jaw but shatters the wall behind her. "Note to self," she mutters, ducking a haymaker, "serum = steroids for supervillains."
In the final seconds, she fakes a leg sweep, grabs his arm, and—crack. The guy's elbow now bends in a way nature definitely didn't intend. The crowd falls silent. Soo-jin bows, because drama is free.
Then the lights cut out.
When they flicker back, the guy's standing. His eyes glow toxic green. Ah, Soo-jin thinks. Right. The nightlight serum.
What happens next isn't pretty. Let's just say the video they livestream to Yoo-jin later—set to "Another One Bites the Dust", because villains have zero originality—ends with a close-up of Soo-jin's bracelet clattering to the floor. Inside? A microchip taped under a fake gemstone. Classic big-sister move: even in death, she's one step ahead.
The screen fades to black. Text flashes: "YOUR TURN."
And somewhere out there, Yoo-jin cracks her knuckles.