The fortieth floor of the Kang Commercial Tower.
It wasn't a boxing gym; it was a luxury showroom. A polished wooden floor without a single scratch, heavy bags made of black Italian leather, and a ring surrounded by white velvet ropes, its massive glass windows overlooking the sprawling neon sea of Seoul. There was no smell of sweat here, only the scent of expensive air fresheners.
Kang Sung Joon was in the middle of the ring. Wearing brand-new red gloves, he was hitting focus mitts held by a massive personal trainer. Sung Joon's strikes were fast, but they lacked weight and balance. He was playing, not fighting.
He stopped punching when the glass elevator doors opened.
Ji Hun walked in. His dark coat and pale face looked like an ink stain in this pristine white room.
Sung Joon waved the trainer away. He stepped down from the ring, panting lightly, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a small towel. He walked over to a glass fridge and pulled out a bottle of mineral water.
"It took you two weeks to realize Han Jae Won's collar is choking you," Sung Joon said, taking a gulp of water. "I told you he sees you as a tool. Now, you're here."
Ji Hun didn't approach. He stood at a distance from the ring.
"Your father made a deal with the head of Taeyang Chemicals," Ji Hun said in a flat voice, ignoring Sung Joon's entire display. "An underground proxy match. Winner takes the Yeongdeungpo district."
The water bottle stopped in Sung Joon's hand. The arrogant smile slowly faded from his face, replaced by a cloud of suppressed rage.
He didn't know. The father had bypassed him entirely, striking a deal with Han Jae Won to solve the neighborhood problem the son had failed to handle.
Sung Joon threw the bottle onto a leather chair.
"That fucking old man," Sung Joon whispered through his teeth. "And Han Jae Won offered you to be my father's fighter. They want to steal the project from my hands to prove I'm incompetent."
Sung Joon turned back to Ji Hun. His eyes were now gleaming with a malicious idea. He took two steps closer.
"Perfect," he said in a cunning tone. "You will step into that ring, Ji Hun. But you won't fight for my father. You will take the hits. You will drop to the canvas and lose the match. I want to see the look on my father's and Han Jae Won's faces when the neighborhood slips through their fingers because of a failed fighter. And then, I'll step in and buy the district my way."
Ji Hun listened in silence.
Sung Joon was asking him to lose. If he lost, Han Jae Won would release the match-fixing video and destroy his reputation. If he won, Han would demolish the coach's house.
But Ji Hun didn't blink. He didn't correct Sung Joon's plan.
"Han Jae Won's men are watching me," Ji Hun said coldly. "If you want me to play this game, I need a place to train where they can't reach. A place to disappear until the day of the match."
"This place is yours." Sung Joon raised his gloved hands, gesturing to the entire luxury gym. "No one dares come up to this floor without me. I'll provide everything you need."
In the corner of the room, away from the direct lighting, a small red glow flared.
Kang Ha Eun.
She was sitting on a leather sofa in the dark, legs crossed, smoking her thin cigarette in silence. Ji Hun hadn't noticed her presence until she moved.
She stood up slowly and walked toward them, smoke slipping from her lips.
"You're naive, brother," Ha Eun said without looking at Sung Joon. Her eyes were fixed on Ji Hun. "A man comes to you after having his dignity wiped in the alleys for two weeks, and you think he will simply agree to step into a ring to take a beating and lose again?"
Sung Joon's jaw tightened. "What do you mean?"
Ha Eun stopped in front of Ji Hun. She was very close, scanning his eyes looking for that void she had seen in the concrete skeleton. But she didn't find the void this time. She found a deaf wall.
"He doesn't intend to lose, Sung Joon," she said in a faint voice. "Look at his eyes."
Sung Joon laughed mockingly, not taking his sister's words seriously.
"As long as he ruins my father's deal, I don't care what's going on in his head." Sung Joon turned toward the elevator. "I'll leave the keys. Start training."
He stepped into the elevator, and the glass doors slid shut behind him.
They didn't speak. The sound of the descending elevator gradually faded, leaving behind a silence as heavy as lead. Ha Eun heard his breathing in the vast room, and he felt the smoke of her cigarette drifting between them like a transparent barrier.
She crushed her cigarette in a glass ashtray. She didn't ask about his plan; she was too smart to need an explanation.
"The keys are on the table," she said in a voice devoid of any sympathy, and turned to leave.
Ji Hun slowly took off his dark coat and tossed it onto the nearest chair. Underneath, he was wearing a gray cotton shirt.
He grabbed a roll of boxing hand wraps and began winding it slowly around his hand. The sound of the rough fabric scraping against his skin was the only thing cutting through the silence.
Every wrap around his knuckle reminded him of the video. With every knot of fabric, he felt Han Jae Won tightening the collar around his neck. Then, for a brief second, the suffocating smell of ammonia from his mother's old uniform flashed in his memory.
"The rival company..." Ji Hun said in a gravelly voice, pulling the wrap tight around his wrist. "Is Taeyang Chemicals."
Ha Eun's footsteps froze before she reached the elevator. She remembered the background check she had read about him perfectly. Taeyang wasn't just a rival real estate company; it was the factory that had poisoned his mother's lungs to death.
She turned to look at him slowly.
Ji Hun wasn't looking at her. He had already climbed through the white ropes into the center of the ring. He stood there under the bright lights, staring into the empty space. He didn't take a fighting stance, and he didn't throw a single punch in the air. His hands hung loosely at his sides, then slowly, he tightened his wrapped fingers until his knuckles whitened, turning into solid fists.
He stood perfectly still, letting the silence of the cold room press against his shoulders.