Twenty years later.
"Chagi, do you have a meeting today, son?"
"No, sir."
"Then come home with me."
"Yes, sir."
A senior police officer approached his son, who held a lower rank, asking the same question he did every day. The two father and son in their police uniforms, dignified despite the difference in age and rank walked out of the police headquarters together with confident strides.
The younger officer's uniform fit perfectly, the muscles beneath it clearly defined. Broad shoulders, a straight back, long slender legs, and a slightly raised chin he walked with long steps toward the designated parking area without paying attention to the gazes or greetings from anyone around him.
The father was a senior superintendent. Though only fifty years old, he had the tall and sturdy build of someone who exercised regularly. The son was a newly appointed inspector. His build was not as large as his father's slightly shorter and smaller in frame. His face resembled his mother's, but he was assigned to serve in the Gangnam District.
Everyone in the station was familiar with this father and son. Superintendent Choi Yong-gi had built his reputation twenty years earlier by suppressing the largest tattooed mafia gang during one of the most chaotic periods in the city's history.
It was an era when villains dominated the capital and corruption ran rampant among officials, eventually leading to a major turning point. In the end, the mafia regime was successfully dismantled, and he rose through the ranks at a relatively young age because of his achievements.
Of course, such a great change did not come without a price. It demanded the loss of many precious things even the warm and loving family he once had.
From a once perfect family a capable father, a beautiful and kind mother, and two adorable sons only half of them remained.
No matter how much people praised the good deeds he had accomplished in the past, when his only remaining son stepped into a career in the police force, countless rumors began to follow. The son, who had once suffered severe trauma and had a long history of medical treatment, had managed to pass the police entrance examination with surprising ease. Because of that, many people began whispering that his father must have used his influence to pull his son into the force, being overly protective and keeping him too close.
But how could he not watch over his son so closely?
When his youngest son had developed a deep aversion one that could trigger panic attacks.
to something called a tattoo.
A black sedan made in South Korea slowly drove out of the Gangnam Police Station, moving carefully along the road. The early evening air was cool, with a gentle breeze during the season when the leaves changed color. Along the roadside stood towering buildings and large shopping malls, with trees in scattered shades of red, yellow, and orange. The atmosphere after work was something the two of them had grown used to.
Inside the car, the scent of aromatherapy filled the air, helping them relax. Soft international music the kind the son liked played quietly throughout the drive.
The fair-skinned young man leaned his head against the seat, turning toward the window to watch the nighttime scenery pass by without saying a word.
His father focused on the road ahead, his gaze stretching into the distance. Occasionally, he glanced carefully at the mirrors on both sides.
"Chagi, what would you like for dinner?"
The father finally spoke when the sleek car came to a stop beneath their large apartment building.
"Whatever you want, Dad."
The son replied as he picked up his bag and coat, walking ahead toward the elevator to return to their apartment just as he did every day.
"How about fried chicken?"
"Yes."
Such short, simple conversations spoken in calm, emotionless voices had become something both of them were used to without even realizing it.
Ever since the past had completely changed the lives of the Choi family, the cheerful ten-year-old boy who once smiled brightly and chatted endlessly was gone.
The father who used to tease his sons with affection and take the family on outings everywhere was gone as well.
All that remained were two people deeply wounded in their hearts, living only to fulfill their duty to serve the people upholding the oath they once made until the very end of their lives.
…
On the other side of the capital, deep within Gangnam District and far from the main roads, there remained an old village that still preserved its original layout rows of single-story houses standing close together across a wide area. It was a special community designated by the government for low-income residents, elderly retirees, and former prisoners who could hardly find employment anywhere else.
People in this community survived by doing the kinds of jobs no one else wanted from heavy manual labor to collecting trash to sell. Life there was truly hand-to-mouth. Even though they paid only a small amount in exchange for having a place to sleep, the government had already marked the area as a "red landmark," waiting for the day it would be cleared away to make room for a new urban development project.
Hidden from public attention, this place had been left to survive on its own by the tides of society. No one reached out to help not even with basic necessities like food or medicine. It existed almost like a different world entirely, in stark contrast to the glamorous image of the capital city, Seoul, which was praised as one of the world's leading cities.
Though the village appeared ordinary and faded so insignificant that few people even mentioned it, let alone dared to step inside hardship often forged people who were determined and strong. Sooner or later, someone would rise from the mud, refusing to surrender to the judgment of others, striving for a life they truly wanted instead of remaining trapped where they were.
Being pointed at and told what he had to become was never an option for someone named Park Yeobo.
The twenty-five-year-old man stood 195 centimeters tall and weighed about 70 kilograms. His long arms and legs, along with his large, rough hands and feet, were the result of working hard since childhood.
His sharp, intimidating features were shadowed by dark circles beneath his eyes from too little sleep. He was one of the residents of this place, known as Hanbokgi Village.
His unfriendly appearance and thuggish demeanor had become his trademark. Rumor had it that he was a subordinate of a former tattoo-covered mafia figure named Jang Saja.
The man living next door was an old friend of Park Komi the father of Park Yeobo. They had shared hardships together in the outside world long before Yeobo had even been born.
The rumor that he was connected to the mafia had been passed down from an incident twenty years earlier. The elderly man was once part of that circle a master tattoo artist who had inked the bodies of many powerful figures in the underworld. His work was renowned for its extraordinary skill, the craftsmanship of a true master.
That was also the reason why his father and the quiet uncle had come to live here. They could no longer remain in the city. In those days, anyone with tattoos was automatically branded as a mafia member or a murderer. Because of that prejudice, they chose to settle in this community a place where no one paid attention to them.
The old man was a solitary person who rarely socialized with anyone. As the boy grew up, his father began drinking more and more out of stress over making a living. Sometimes he was harassed by government officials. Some days he would come home from work, and some days he would not. Yeobo had no mother, and no matter how many times he asked his father about her, the man would never answer. Uncle Saja never said a word about it either.
One day, the boy secretly climbed into the house of his father's friend and began drawing pictures on the walls. When the old man discovered him, it sparked a heated exchange between the stubborn child and the veteran tattoo artist. From that day on, such quarrels became a regular occurrence and the relationship continued that way until the present.
Although the bond between the neighbors of different generations was often chaotic, everyone in the area said the same thing: the two of them cared for each other more deeply than a real father and son. The one who fed the boy, gave him water, taught him how to draw, and eventually taught him the art of tattooing while the child was left alone at home was none other than Uncle Jang Saja.
After Yeobo entered school as required by law in South Korea, he eventually finished high school. Later, he attended weekend classes to pursue a bachelor's degree, barely graduating with passing grades. He had never been particularly bright or academically inclined since childhood. Studying and academic subjects never interested him. The only thing he truly excelled at was art.
The money that supported his education came from Uncle Jang the tattoo artist who continued to raise the grown boy. In him, the old man saw a reflection of his own younger self.
Then one day, as if fate had finally taken pity on a dreamer who wanted nothing more than to work in a tattoo shop and someday open one of his own, Yeobo stumbled upon a notice purely by chance…