The building didn't look like much.
That was the point.
Tucked between older structures, half-hidden by neglect and time, the headquarters sat like a forgotten tooth in the city's jaw. No sign. No guards. Just worn concrete and windows clouded with dust.
"This is it," I muttered.
I stood across the street for a moment, staring at it.
Gapryong Kim had stood here once.
Laughing.Yelling.Dragging monsters inside and calling them family.
"…You really left a mess, teach."
I crossed the street.
Each step felt heavier than the last—not from fear, but from inevitability. The closer I got, the clearer it became.
This place hadn't been abandoned.
It had been left behind.
I reached the door and pushed.
It creaked open.
Inside, the air smelled old—sweat, iron, smoke, memories. Training mats lay stacked against the wall, cracked mirrors reflecting a taller, colder version of myself back at me.
And somewhere inside—
Baekho.
Or whatever was left of him.
I rolled my shoulders and stepped in.
"Alright," I said quietly. "Let's see what the past wants to tell me."
The door closed behind me.
The moment I stepped inside, the air changed.
It wasn't quiet.
It was tense.
Old tension. The kind that never really leaves a place once it's soaked in blood and loyalty. The building smelled like sweat that never washed out and cigarettes smoked years too late. Cracked mirrors lined the walls, reflecting men who should've stayed dead in history books.
Pre-Gen.
They turned toward me one by one.
No surprise.
Not curiosity.
Edge.
The kind you only see in men who survived an era by learning to bite first.
I stopped walking.
Brows raised.
Hands relaxed at my sides.
"Easy," I said calmly. "I was sent by Tom Lee. I'm here to meet Baekho."
They didn't listen.
Didn't believe me.
Didn't care.
Two of them rushed me at the same time.
I twitched.
My fists moved before thought.
BOOM. BOOM.
Two punches. Clean. Heavy.
Both men collapsed instantly, skulls bouncing off the floor as their bodies went limp.
I stepped over them without looking down.
"…Figures."
The deeper I walked, the worse it got.
More men.
More resistance.
Pre-Gen fighters poured in from side rooms and hallways, barking orders that didn't matter anymore. They came in waves—old techniques, desperate power, bodies moving out of habit more than purpose.
I beat them aside.
Left.
Right.
Elbow.
Knee.
A man went down clutching his ribs. Another skidded across the floor after eating a straight to the jaw. Someone tried to grab my back—I spun and drove my elbow into his temple.
CRACK.
He dropped.
The floor filled with groans.
Breathing.
Fear.
I raised my fist again—
BOOOM.
Blocked.
My punch slammed into something solid—too solid.
I looked up.
My eyes widened.
Then my mouth split into a grin so wide it almost hurt.
"AHHH—BAEKHO! HOW YA BE—"
CRACK.
His punch smashed into my mouth mid-sentence.
My head snapped back as my body flew through the air, slamming into the wall hard enough to spiderweb the concrete behind me.
Dust rained down.
I slid to the floor.
"…Tch."
I pushed myself up slowly, wiping blood from my lip with my thumb and looking back up at him.
Brows raised.
Baekho stood there like a wall that had decided to breathe. Broad. Scarred. Eyes sharp with a weight that hadn't dulled with time. He looked exactly like a man who had carried Gapryong Kim's orders without ever questioning them.
"How did you get here, Bouya?" he asked, voice firm, controlled.
I flicked a cigarette from my pocket and tossed it at his face.
It bounced off his cheek.
He twitched.
"That geezer Tom Lee," I said casually. "I was looking for Jinyoung. Trying to investigate who killed the old man."
For the first time—
Baekho's eyes softened.
Just a fraction.
He let out a slow sigh, shoulders dropping slightly.
"…Get up," he said. "Then come."
I grinned, pushing off the wall.
"See?" I muttered. "Could've just said hi first."
I followed him deeper into the headquarters.
Into the past.
Into answers that had been waiting too long.
We sat across from each other in a room that hadn't changed in decades.
A low table sat between us, its surface scarred by cigarette burns and old knife marks. The lights overhead flickered faintly, casting uneven shadows across the walls. Around us, the headquarters felt restless—men shifting, voices low, the building itself uneasy with my presence.
Baekho poured a drink.
Didn't offer me one.
Didn't need to.
I leaned back in my chair, arms resting loosely at my sides, eyes never leaving him.
He studied me for a long moment.
Then scoffed.
"You left Ulsan," he said. "That's a first. The boss couldn't get you to move back then, and now you come charging in like an idiot."
I twitched.
Not outwardly.
Just enough.
"I came," I said calmly, "because there are too many inconsistencies with the old man's death."
Baekho didn't interrupt.
Good.
I leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on my knees, eyes locking onto his.
"Why weren't you at the funeral?" I asked. "I searched. But I didn't find a single one of you bastards."
My tone stayed controlled.
Measured.
"You and your people," I continued, "are giving me the wrong picture, Baekho."
The air shifted.
Baekho's eyes narrowed.
The room seemed to lean inward.
"Are you trying to accuse me of something, Bouya?" he asked, voice low and firm.
I met his gaze without blinking.
"Is there something to be accused of?"
Silence.
Then—
Baekho sighed.
Long.
Heavy.
"No," he said quietly. "I wasn't with him the night he died. He told me he had to look into something. Said he felt his time coming."
My brows drew together.
I leaned back and let out a slow breath.
"That geezer told me the same thing," I muttered. "Said his time might come. I didn't think he meant it literally."
Baekho closed his eyes.
Another sigh.
"The 0th Generation has been going through a transition," he said. "You and your First Generation have already established a stronghold in this era."
I nodded slowly.
"Yeah," I said. "And even then, there are kings of my generation that've been hunted and eliminated out in the countryside."
I exhaled.
"Right now, only a few of us remain."
Baekho's jaw tightened.
"Same goes for you, Pre-Gen guys as well," I continued. "After my confrontation with Tom Lee, he gave me—nothing concrete—but reasonable cause to believe Elite is moving in the shadows. Eliminating Pre-Gen fighters now that the old man's gone."
Baekho's fingers tightened around his glass.
"If that's connected to First Gen kings being removed from the board," I said, rubbing my temple, "I don't know yet. My theory on Elite isn't solid, but it's there."
The glass shattered in Baekho's hand.
Liquid spilled across the table.
"…That's probably the reason," he said quietly.
My brows shot up.
"Probably?" I started.
Baekho opened his mouth to explain—
SHNK.
A blade punched through his chest from behind.
Time snapped.
Baekho staggered forward with a sharp gasp as blood spilled across his shirt. He twisted violently, grabbing the attacker's arm and smashing his fist backward.
CRACK.
The man flew off him and collapsed.
We were on our feet instantly.
The room exploded into chaos.
Men screamed.
Steel flashed.
Pre-Gen fighters rushed in—some aiming for us, others throwing themselves in front of Baekho to shield him. Knives came from every direction.
Baekho roared.
"BOUYA—GET OUT OF HERE! THIS ISN'T YOUR CONCERN!"
He charged forward despite the wound, swinging wildly, driving men back with raw fury. Another blade sank into his side.
Then another.
I moved—
Someone lunged at me.
I grabbed him and slammed his body through the wall.
BOOM.
Another rushed me—I elbowed him down and kicked him away.
I pushed toward Baekho.
Too much blood.
Too many bodies.
Too much noise.
Someone grabbed my arm.
I turned—
One of the men who'd rushed in earlier to protect us. His face was pale. Shaking.
"COME ON," he yelled. "WE'VE GOT TO GO!"
I grit my teeth, eyes locked on Baekho's position.
I tried to move forward—
Another blade flashed.
More bodies piled in.
I couldn't reach him.
"…Damn it," I snarled.
I let myself be pulled back.
Out.
Down the corridor.
Away from the screaming, the blood, the man who had just been stabbed for knowing too much.
The last thing I saw before the door slammed shut was Baekho still standing—
Still fighting—
Still yelling my name.
Then the night swallowed me.
"Move—move, Bouya!"
The hand yanking me forward was iron-strong despite the shaking in it. I stumbled once as we burst out into the rain-soaked street, boots skidding across wet pavement.
I turned my head instinctively.
The building.
Gapryong's old headquarters.
Lights flickered inside like a dying pulse. Shadows crashed against windows. Screams—muffled now—still clawed their way out into the night.
Baekho was in there.
Still fighting.
"Damn it—!" I snarled, trying to twist back.
"No!" the man barked, dragging me harder. "This way!"
He shoved me toward a parked car, already running.
That was when I recognized him.
"…Bakgu?" I breathed.
Bakgu Noh.
One of the few Pre-Gen men, but I remember him as the old man's driver.
"Get in!" he shouted.
I hesitated for half a second too long, eyes locked on the building again.
Guilt slammed into my chest.
Then Bakgu slammed the door shut behind me.
The engine roared.
The car peeled away from the curb, tires screaming as we shot down the street. I twisted in my seat, staring through the rear window as the headquarters shrank into the distance.
Blue lights began to bloom at the edges of the road.
Sirens.
Police.
Reporters wouldn't be far behind.
"…Baekho," I muttered.
The word tasted like rust.
They found him before sunrise.
That was how fast it spread.
By the time the news broke, the story was already being packaged neatly—gang-related violence, internal dispute, unknown assailants. Cameras showed the building sealed off, officers ushering men in body bags past flashing lights.
Baekho was pronounced dead at the scene.
Multiple stab wounds.
No suspects.
No names spoken.
I stood in a quiet parking lot hours later, rain still clinging to my coat, fists trembling.
I turned on Bakgu so fast he flinched.
"WHY?" I roared, grabbing him by the collar. "Why did you drag me out?!"
He didn't fight back.
Didn't even raise his hands.
"I could've reached him!" I shouted. "I could've—"
My voice cracked.
My grip loosened.
"…I left him," I whispered.
My chest tightened violently.
I bent forward, hands braced against my knees as something hot burned behind my eyes. My breath came in ragged bursts.
"I left him to die," I said hoarsely. "I don't— I don't understand. None of this is mixing. Nothing lines up. Everything's changing too fast—"
Bakgu grabbed me by the shoulders.
Hard.
"Enough," he snapped. "Shut up."
I froze.
"Listen to me," he said, eyes fierce despite the fear still lingering there. "You breaking down right now won't bring him back. And it won't stop what's coming."
I looked up slowly.
Rain dripped from my hair, down my jaw.
"Stop what? Tell me what's coming," I choked out quietly. "Tell me who did this."
Bakgu hesitated.
Then nodded.
"It had to be Elite," he said. "All of it. The timing. The purge. Baekho was getting silenced right when he was about to explain everything no one is as precise as Elite when it comes to that."
Something inside me snapped.
Pure hatred surged up my spine.
I turned and drove my fist into the concrete wall beside us.
BOOM.
The impact cratered it instantly, cracks spiderwebbing outward as dust exploded into the air.
I stood there breathing hard, shoulders rising and falling like a beast barely leashed.
"…I knew it," I muttered.
I stepped away from the wall and started walking.
Not toward the city.
Toward the open fields beyond the road, wet grass bends under the rain. Each step felt heavy, but clear—like my path was finally carving itself in stone.
Bakgu followed a few steps behind.
After a long silence, I stopped and glanced back at him.
"…Thanks," I said quietly. "For saving me... and for confirming my theory."
He nodded once.
"Now you know who you're really fighting."
I looked out into the dark fields, rain soaking into black fabric, conviction burning hotter than it ever had.
"…Yeah," I said. "And now he knows I'm coming."