Three weeks passed in a blur of steam and soap suds. Min-jun's life was a cycle of torture. He wasn't lifting weights or practicing karate; he was scrubbing, folding, and delivering laundry across the roughest neighborhood in the city.
"Master, my back is breaking," Min-jun wheezed, carrying four industrial-sized bags of linens up a flight of stairs.
"Don't call me Master, it's creepy," Kang shouted from his lawn chair. "And keep your center of gravity low! You're walking like a drunk penguin. If a gust of wind hits you, you'll fall over and ruin the silk!"
Min-jun adjusted his stance, his muscles screaming. He didn't realize it yet, but the constant weight-bearing and the specific repetitive motions of "The Kang Method" were reshaping his frame. His slouch was disappearing, replaced by a lean, explosive tension.
One afternoon, three thugs walked into the laundromat. They were low-level collectors for the Iron Fang gang, the same group that Aegis Corp used for their "dirty work."
"Hey, Old Man," the leader growled, kicking over a basket of clean shirts. "Protection money is due. And who's the new brat?"
Min-jun froze. His instinct was to cower. To apologize. To be the doormat.
"He's the new cleaning lady," Kang said, not looking up from his newspaper. "Min-jun, the floor is dirty again. Clean it up."
The leader laughed, reaching out to slap Min-jun's face. "Yeah, clean it up, kid."
In the past, Min-jun would have taken the hit. But as the hand swung toward him, something strange happened. The world seemed to move in slow motion. He saw the shift in the thug's shoulder, the gap in his balance—exactly like the wrinkles in a stubborn tablecloth.
Without thinking, Min-jun's hand shot out. He didn't punch; he grabbed the man's wrist and twisted, using the exact motion he used to wring out heavy towels.
CRACK.
The leader screamed, dropping to his knees. His wrist wasn't just held; it was locked in a grip that felt like industrial pliers.
"I spent four hours washing those shirts," Min-jun said, his voice dropping an octave. A cold, dark energy flickered in his eyes. "Pick them up. Now."
The other two thugs pulled out pocket knives, but Old Man Kang just turned a page in his paper.
"Careful, boys," Kang chuckled. "He's still grumpy. He hasn't had his nap yet."