Chan-Sik didn't come back empty-handed.
The clan house door creaked open just after midnight. Min looked up instinctively, fingers still hovering over the keyboard. MC ORCA was sprawled across a chair, half-asleep. Hye-Jin glanced up from a notebook. Sung-Woo paused mid-sip.
Chan-Sik stepped inside, jacket dusty, eyes alive.
"I found one," he said.
The room snapped awake.
"Where?" Min asked.
"Eunpyeong," Chan-Sik replied. "Not a building. Not a hall. Open field. Old factory land by the hills. Portable generators. LAN-only. One night."
Something shifted in Min's chest. "A street match?"
"A party," Chan-Sik corrected. "Games. Betting. Spectators. People who matter watching."
MC ORCA sat up. "Red Pulse territory?"
Chan-Sik shook his head. "Neutral. For now."
Hye-Jin frowned. "Then why haven't we heard about it?"
Chan-Sik's mouth curled slightly. "Because entry isn't public."
He reached into his jacket and tossed something onto the table.
A flyer, handwritten, smudged with grease.
NO KEYBOARD. NO GAME.
Min blinked. "That's it?"
"It's not just any keyboard," Chan-Sik said. "It's proof. Ticket. Stake. You lose, they keep it. You win, you leave with your name."
MC ORCA whistled softly. "So… what's the catch?"
Chan-Sik's eyes darkened. "We need one."
Silence settled over the room.
"There's a shop," Chan-Sik continued. "Old tech dealer near the rail line. Rips people off. Hoards gear folks can't afford to lose."
Min understood immediately. "And he has keyboards."
"Good ones," Chan-Sik said. "Pre-breakdown stock. Mechanical. Untouched."
MC ORCA cracked his knuckles. "And he doesn't give discounts."
"No," Chan-Sik said. "He gives problems."
They piled into Chan-Sik's car—a relic that barely qualified as functional. The engine rattled as they drove a few blocks before Chan-Sik eased into a side street and killed the lights.
"There," he said.
The shop looked more like a storage unit than a business. Steel shutters hung half-lowered. A flickering sign buzzed overhead, letters missing. Inside, faint light revealed shelves stacked with monitors, motherboards, cables, organized chaos.
MC ORCA adjusted his jacket. "In and out."
"You touch nothing but the keyboard," Chan-Sik said, hands steady on the wheel. "No heroics."
MC ORCA smirked. "When have I ever…"
Chan-Sik shot him a look.
MC ORCA sighed. "Right. In and out."
He slipped from the car and disappeared into the shadows.
Chan-Sik stayed behind the wheel.
Waiting.
Minutes stretched thin.
The shop door creaked open. Voices drifted out, muffled, tense. Chan-Sik's grip tightened on the steering wheel.
"What's going on?" Min asked, concern creeping into his voice.
"We need that keyboard," Chan-Sik said calmly. "Trust him."
A shout.
Something crashed.
Chan-Sik leaned forward. "That's him."
MC ORCA burst from the shop, sprinting.
"Go!" he yelled.
Chan-Sik slammed the accelerator.
MC ORCA dove into the passenger seat just as something clattered against the trunk. The car lurched forward, tires screaming as they tore down the street.
Behind them, the shop owner's shouting dissolved into the night.
MC ORCA laughed breathlessly, pulling something from under his jacket.
A keyboard.
Old. Heavy. Worn smooth.
Min's future.
Chan-Sik exhaled slowly. "Give you trouble?"
MC ORCA shook his head. "Same scammer he's always been."
Chan-Sik nodded. "Good."
The car vanished into the darkness, engine rattling, headlights flickering.
In Eunpyeong, generators waited to be powered on.
And somewhere in a quiet field, a place had already been made for Min—whether he was ready or not.