He lay on a surprisingly comfortable hotel bed, the crisp sheets a stark contrast to the grimy alley he'd just left.
The crumpled bills from the thugs, enough for this temporary reprieve, felt foreign in his hand. He wasn't used to such easy money, nor to the sudden, unsettling quiet of a private room after the chaos of the streets.
The distant city hum was a welcome change, a dull backdrop to the storm brewing in his mind.
His thoughts raced, dissecting the events of the past few hours. The ease with which he'd dispatched those men, the sheer, effortless brutality of Gun's body, was both exhilarating and terrifying. "This is... something else entirely," he muttered to the empty room, flexing a hand. He was a weapon, honed and lethal, a stark departure from the ordinary life he remembered.
The knowledge of his past, combined with this newfound power, felt like an unfair advantage in a game he was now forced to play. A game he was, surprisingly, beginning to welcome. The initial fear that had gripped him was slowly being replaced by a cold, calculating ambition. This wasn't just a second chance; it was an opportunity to rewrite the rules, to sculpt this world to his liking.
He needed to establish a foothold, and quickly. Building an empire like the four major crews, as the original Gun had done, felt inefficient, a waste of precious time in this new existence. This world already had established power structures, pre-existing mafias and gangsters..
"Why build from the ground up when I can just take over?" he mused, a slow, predatory smile touching his lips. He would acquire them, bend them to his will, and use their existing networks to his advantage. The thought, which would have been a mere fantasy in his past life, now brought a predatory glint to his unsettling eyes, knowing that with this power, it was well within his grasp. His immediate goal wasn't just survival; it was dominance.
He envisioned a vast network of controlled organizations, funneling resources and information directly to him. He wouldn't be a mere gang leader; he would be the unseen hand, pulling strings from the shadows, manipulating the very fabric of Seoul's underworld. His knowledge of future events, of the strengths and weaknesses of key players, would be his ultimate leverage. "Knowledge is power," he whispered, the old adage taking on a terrifying new meaning in his current state.
He spent the rest of the night exploring his limits. He moved with a fluidity he'd never possessed, each muscle responding with instantaneous, almost violent force. He practiced the basic movements he remembered from the manhwa, surprised by how naturally they came to him. It was as if his muscles had a memory of their own, a terrifyingly efficient combat instinct.
He didn't touch the mirror. The air alone fractured the glass. He stared at the fracture line, a web of shattered glass spreading from the point of impact. "...This body could kill someone with a missed punch," he breathed, a genuine thrill, dark and potent, coursing through him. This wasn't just strength; it was a deep, intuitive understanding of how to apply force, how to break, how to dominate. He found himself experimenting with different stances and angles of attack, feeling the explosive potential coiled within him. "With this strength, I could erase threats before their brains registered danger." He paused. "And they'd never even know it was coming."
The sun began to peek over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. He knew the time for quiet introspection was over. The city was waking, and with it, the opportunities and dangers of the world around him. He had a plan. Cha Dushik. The name echoed from memory—a man destined to fall to Ijin Yu. But right now, he was still useful. "Let's start there," he muttered. "One piece at a time."
He checked out of the hotel just as the first rays of morning light touched the city. The hotel receptionist blinked at the sunglasses but said nothing. People made assumptions. He let them. Gun walked, his destination not yet clear, but his purpose absolute. His path led him through quieter backstreets, the lingering chill of dawn still in the air.
He needed to observe and get some leads if he wanted to catch the bigger prey. He was a hunter now, and Seoul was his hunting ground. Every shadow, every distant sound, every fleeting face was a potential piece of the puzzle.
Then, a sound. A muffled cry, followed by harsh whispers, drew his attention to a narrow, shadowed alleyway. He paused around the corner, his senses immediately on high alert.
Peering into the gloom, he saw them: a group of masked girls, their forms indistinct in the pre-dawn light, surrounding a lone high school girl. Her uniform was disheveled, her face streaked with tears.
"Well, the events just took a very, VERY interesting turn," he thought .
….
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