Kangbuk Samsung Hospital.
The emergency center was still chaotic. Hospital beds lined the corridors, nurses weaving through crowds, doctors' voices cutting through alarm sounds. Someone was coughing, someone else groaning. The smell of disinfectant was thick enough to choke on.
The scene shifted to the inpatient ward.
Joe Yabuki stood at the payment window, pulling out his wallet from his pocket.
The old woman stood beside him, hands clutching her apron. "Young Joe, let me pay. This is all because of me—"
"No need." Joe cut her off, handing the money to the staff inside the window.
"But your injuries—"
"I said no need."
The old woman opened her mouth but ultimately said nothing more.
Joe counted the remaining money in his wallet. Rent money, medicine money—all of it going toward medical expenses.
He closed the wallet and stuffed it back in his pocket.
'Whatever.'
He had no hope left anyway. Now he just wanted to burn once, like he had in the ring during his prime, and turn to white ash.
He closed his eyes and could hear distant roars. People cheering for him, shouting his name.
He opened his eyes. Those sounds vanished.
Glory, power—nothing remained.
Joe turned and walked toward the exit. The old woman followed behind him.
"Young Joe, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault for dragging you into this."
"It's not your fault."
"But—"
"Stop."
The old woman fell silent for a moment, then spoke again. "Then at least let me treat you to a meal. As thanks."
Joe stopped and looked back at her.
The old woman pressed her palms together, head lowered. "Please. Otherwise I can't forgive myself."
Joe sighed. "Fine."
They'd just reached the hospital entrance when someone called out to the old woman.
"Ma'am!"
The old woman turned around and froze when she saw who it was.
A young man in his early twenties, wearing a tracksuit, grinning brightly.
"It's Woo-jin." The old woman smiled. "What are you doing here?"
Hong Woo-jin walked over and pointed to the person beside him. "Came with my friend to see a doctor."
Standing next to him was another young man, right cheek wrapped in bandages. He looked somewhat tense but still forced out a smile.
"Hello, I'm Kim Geon-woo."
The old woman nodded. "Hello."
Hong Woo-jin looked at Joe, curiosity in his eyes.
Joe said expressionlessly, "Joe Yabuki."
Woo-jin paused, his smile stiffening slightly.
'This guy doesn't say much.'
He turned back to the old woman, smiling. "We were just about to head to your restaurant for some spicy stir-fried pork."
Geon-woo nodded but said nothing. He was similar to Joe—not very talkative—but also different. Joe didn't want to socialize; Geon-woo was just shy.
The old woman's face darkened.
She hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. "Then... let's go together."
She turned to Joe and grabbed his arm.
Joe tried to pull away, but seeing the determination in the old woman's eyes, he gave up.
***
They soon arrived at the restaurant.
Glass littered the floor, tables and chairs scattered everywhere, menus torn off the walls, pots and dishes from the kitchen strewn about.
Woo-jin stopped in his tracks, eyes wide.
"What... happened here?"
Geon-woo froze too.
'Just like Mom's bakery.'
His fists clenched.
Woo-jin turned to the old woman. "Ma'am, what happened?"
The old woman sighed and recounted everything from last night.
Smile Capital, the contract trap, nine thugs.
After listening, Woo-jin turned to Geon-woo. "Geon-woo, wasn't it Smile Capital that destroyed your mom's shop too?"
Geon-woo nodded, face grim. "Same contract."
Woo-jin cursed under his breath, then looked at Joe.
Honestly, Joe didn't look like someone who could fight. Not tall, thin build, and constantly shaking.
But the old woman said he'd taken down nine men alone.
Woo-jin found it hard to believe.
He looked at Joe again but still couldn't see anything special about him.
The old woman interrupted his thoughts. "Woo-jin, sit down for a bit. I'll go cook."
Woo-jin quickly waved his hands. "Ma'am, after all this, you're still going to cook—"
"Yes." The old woman's tone was firm. "What happened has happened. I can't rewind it. I don't want to keep dwelling on yesterday."
Woo-jin opened his mouth, finally sighing. "Alright."
The old woman went into the kitchen. Woo-jin and Geon-woo started tidying up the tables and chairs.
Joe joined them.
Geon-woo noticed Joe's hands would shake from time to time, making even simple tasks like arranging tables seem difficult.
'Parkinsonism?'
As a boxer, Geon-woo quickly guessed Joe's condition.
But he said nothing.
After a while, the restaurant looked somewhat presentable.
The old woman brought out three plates of spicy stir-fried pork and set them on the table.
The three sat down and began eating.
Woo-jin and Geon-woo started chatting, topics ranging from boxing to recent training.
Joe didn't join in, just ate silently.
Woo-jin suddenly turned to him. "Mr. Yabuki, do you practice martial arts? You look like a boxer."
Joe looked up at him. "Used to."
"Oh." Woo-jin nodded. "So now—"
"Don't anymore."
Woo-jin realized he'd asked something he shouldn't have and quickly changed the subject.
After a while, Woo-jin's phone rang.
He glanced at the screen and stood up. "Sorry, I need to take this call."
He walked out of the restaurant.
Geon-woo also stood. "I'll step out too and call my mom."
Joe sat there alone, continuing to finish what was on his plate.
He stood up, pulled money from his pocket, set it on the table, then turned and left.
The old woman was busy in the kitchen and didn't notice him leave.
***
When Woo-jin and Geon-woo returned to the restaurant, Joe was gone.
"Ma'am, where's Mr. Yabuki?"
The old woman poked her head out from the kitchen, looked at the empty seat, and froze.
"He... left?"
Woo-jin walked to the table and saw the money there.
"Didn't even say goodbye."
Geon-woo looked toward the door and stayed quiet for a moment.
"He probably has his own things to deal with."
***
On Seoul's streets, Joe Yabuki wandered aimlessly.
The sky had darkened, streetlights flickering on one by one.
He didn't know where to go.
All these years, he'd been searching for a cure, but now that hope was shattered.
His money was gone too. He couldn't even afford rent.
He stopped, looking at a convenience store by the roadside.
A TV inside showed a boxing match—two young fighters throwing punches in the ring, the crowd roaring.
Joe stared at the screen, hands in his pockets.
'I used to stand there too.'
He turned and kept walking.
The night wind was cold. His hands still shook.
But this time, he didn't stop.