[POV: Ian Park – Age 18]
The night sky stretched across Busan like black silk, and the wind carried the scent of the sea. My convoy drove through an empty tunnel near the edge of the port city. The route had been cleared in advance. My men ensured it. Every intersection was blocked, every streetlight timed.
But I could feel it.
We weren't alone.
"Sir," Asura said quietly over the comms. "Unmarked motorcycle trailing us since 18:17. Military-grade silencer on the engine. They're good."
"Let them follow," I replied, leaning back in my seat. "They're not here to kill me. They want to be seen."
Three minutes later, the motorcycle pulled ahead—cutting us off with precision. The rider wore a matte-black helmet and biker gear with no symbols. No noise. No panic.
They simply dismounted, walked to the middle of the road, and dropped a small silver case on the pavement.
Gunwoo, in the Audi behind us, stepped out first. He picked up the case, opened it, and scanned the contents.
His expression didn't change—but I noticed how his hand tensed around the handle.
When he brought it to me, I already had a hunch.
Inside was a single black invitation card.
Handwritten in calligraphy. Blood-red ink.
"To Ian Park, heir of the Fog-Cloaked Lineage. We remember the Island. The Underground remembers you."
Signed at the bottom:
"Tom Lee."
I closed the case.
The underworld… was stirring.
[POV: Tom Lee – ? years old]
In a dimly lit room buried beneath Seoul, I sat across from an old relic.
His name wasn't spoken anymore. He was a 0th Generation survivor. One of the forgotten men. A fossil. But a fossil with bite.
"The Park Boy's moved," I said.
He chuckled without humor. "They always move when it's time. Fog doesn't stay still forever."
"You think he's ready?"
The old man's eyes, clouded with cataracts, locked onto mine like daggers. "He's a Park. He was born ready."
[POV: Ian Park]
Tom Lee.
I'd heard the name whispered by the elders—usually followed by silence or warnings. A ghost of the Pre-Generation era. A fixer. A manipulator. A man with hands in every pie, every war, every family feud.
What did he want with me?
The next day, I returned to the penthouse—an off-island base leased under another one of our holding firms. Asura handed me a dossier. Inside were profiles.
Names I'd seen scratched onto old dojo walls.
Yamazaki Jun – Japan's military-trained brawler with connections to rogue ninja clans.
Choi Moon-Ki – The former 0th Gen a lunatic now hiding as a temple monk.
Cho Yoonsik – An underground boxer, rumored to have gone toe-to-toe with Gapryong Kim… and survived.
The past was returning. Not as shadows.
But as players.
[POV: Gapryong Kim – Late 20s]
In a community gym outside of Seoul, I corrected the footwork of a teen struggling with basic boxing stance.
"Your balance is your foundation," I said, adjusting the boy's knee. "Don't chase strength. Chase form."
Someone approached. One of my old contacts. He didn't speak. Just passed me a photo.
I stared.
Ian Park.
The Park Family was moving again. And the last time they did… nations shuddered.
"Should I be worried?" I asked quietly.
The man shrugged. "If anyone can keep him in check… it might be you."
I looked at the kid I was training.
No.
I wasn't going to fight the Park heir. Not yet.
I'd test him first.
[POV: Jinyoung Park – Age 6]
"Hyung's going to fight some bad guys someday," I told our house servant while throwing tiny punches into the air. "And he's going to win!"
She laughed. "He's your brother. Of course he will."
But I wasn't so sure.
The names I was hearing… were monsters.
Was even my hyung strong enough?
[POV: Ian Park]
Late that night, as I sat alone in the penthouse's study, I reviewed the scrolls passed down by my grandfather.
They weren't just documents. They were manuals.
Martial arts long lost to history. Arts practiced by special forces, assassination cults, and imperial guards. Even the hidden styles banned during wartime.
I had spent the last four years mastering them all.
Taekkyeon and Hapkido.
Muay Thai and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.
Krav Maga and Systema.
Kyokushin Karate.
Samurai Kenjutsu and Shaolin Iron Body.
Even Spetsnaz Gun Kata and Army CQB systems.
Each one etched into my muscles. Burned into my reflexes.
I wasn't just a businessman.
I was a walking arsenal.
A storm disguised in silk.
End of Chapter 10