Kang Minjun woke up to the sound of someone arguing with a refrigerator.
"How can we be out of eggs? I bought thirty yesterday!"
A cupboard slammed.
"Unbelievable."
Another cupboard opened.
"Minjun! Did you eat all the eggs?"
Minjun opened his eyes.
For several seconds, he stared at the ceiling, trying to remember why he was sleeping in a room considerably smaller than the walk-in closet of his previous penthouse.
Then the memories returned.
The explosion.
Rob.
Three wishes.
Reincarnation.
And a second life in the world of Lookism.
He smiled.
Still here.
That was reassuring.
He had half expected to wake up in a hospital, discover he'd been hallucinating, and find Lee Taesung standing beside his bed complaining about medical bills.
Instead, he was seventeen years old again.
And apparently suspected of stealing eggs.
"MINJUN!"
"I'M AWAKE!"
"THAT DOESN'T ANSWER MY QUESTION!"
He laughed.
"No, I didn't eat your eggs!"
A pause.
"Then where did they go?"
"Have you checked the refrigerator?"
"OF COURSE I'VE CHECKED THE—"
Silence.
Minjun waited.
A moment later, his mother's voice returned, considerably quieter.
"Never mind."
He burst into laughter.
Some things, apparently, were universal.
Even across different lives.
After washing his face, Minjun stood before his bedroom mirror.
His appearance still required some adjustment.
In his previous life, he'd been a handsome man in his late thirties, with a broad frame, several scars, and the kind of expression that made strangers instinctively lower their voices.
His new body was different.
He was taller than he'd been at seventeen in his original life, standing at approximately 187 centimeters. His shoulders were naturally broad, his waist narrow, and his muscles possessed an unusual density beneath otherwise smooth skin.
His face was almost annoyingly attractive.
Sharp jawline.
Straight nose.
Dark eyebrows.
Clear skin.
And a pair of eyes that seemed considerably more mature than the rest of his appearance.
Minjun examined himself.
"Well, at least Rob didn't make me ugly."
He ran a hand through his hair.
Then frowned.
His hair was a mess.
He tried pushing it backward.
It fell forward again.
He tried parting it.
That somehow made him look like a university student preparing for a job interview.
"Terrible."
Eventually, he settled on a slightly messy middle part.
Good enough.
He opened his wardrobe.
Most of the clothes were ordinary.
Black jeans.
White T-shirts.
A few hoodies.
Two school uniforms.
Several jackets.
Nothing particularly expensive.
Minjun selected dark jeans, a fitted white shirt, and a black overshirt.
He glanced at the mirror.
"Acceptable."
Then he noticed his phone.
Several notifications were waiting.
The first was from Park Hyunwoo.
Hyunwoo: Don't forget today.
Hyunwoo: 2 PM.
Hyunwoo: Hongdae arcade.
Hyunwoo: And don't disappear halfway through like last time.
Minjun raised an eyebrow.
Apparently, the previous Minjun wasn't particularly reliable.
He typed a response.
Minjun: Relax. I'll be there.
The reply arrived almost immediately.
Hyunwoo: Who are you and what have you done with Kang Minjun?
Minjun chuckled.
Minjun: He's unavailable. I'm his more handsome replacement.
Hyunwoo: So nothing changed?
Minjun: Careful. I might cancel.
Hyunwoo: PLEASE DON'T. Jisoo will kill me.
Minjun paused.
Jisoo?
He searched his new memories.
Kim Jisoo.
Seventeen.
Former classmate.
Long black hair, sharp eyes, excellent grades.
Apparently, she and the original Minjun had known each other since middle school.
They weren't dating.
But their relationship had been somewhat complicated.
Minjun frowned.
He could remember conversations between them.
Arguments.
Shared lunches.
A few moments that suggested she might have liked him.
Or perhaps she'd simply enjoyed insulting him.
Teenagers were difficult to interpret.
He typed another message.
Minjun: Why would Jisoo kill you?
Hyunwoo: Because she specifically asked if you were coming.
Minjun smiled.
Interesting.
He put the phone away.
He had a few hours before the gathering.
And he intended to spend them learning more about his new surroundings.
A City Worth Understanding
Seoul was familiar.
Yet unfamiliar.
Minjun had lived here for much of his previous life, but the city he remembered belonged to a different reality.
Many streets looked identical.
The same convenience stores.
The same subway stations.
The same crowded intersections.
But there were differences.
Some businesses had different names.
Certain buildings existed in locations where he'd remembered empty lots.
And the political and corporate landscape contained several organizations that had never existed in his original world.
HNH Group, for example.
Minjun had spent nearly an hour researching the company the previous night.
Charles Choi's corporate empire.
On the surface, it appeared to be an expanding business conglomerate.
Its public records revealed investments in entertainment, construction, technology, and other industries.
Nothing particularly unusual.
But Minjun knew better.
He remembered enough of Lookism to understand that Charles Choi was far more dangerous than an ordinary businessman.
The man possessed connections to exceptional fighters, criminal organizations, and secrets surrounding the previous generations.
Minjun had no intention of approaching him.
Not yet.
In fact, he preferred that Charles Choi remain completely unaware of his existence for as long as possible.
There was a difference between confidence and stupidity.
And announcing himself to one of the most calculating men in the setting before establishing any resources would be stupid.
He continued scrolling through his phone.
The Four Major Crews were harder to investigate.
Unsurprisingly, criminal organizations did not maintain convenient public websites listing their leadership structures and territorial boundaries.
Minjun could find scattered reports about teenage violence, extortion, illegal businesses, and police investigations.
But most of the information was incomplete.
He wasn't particularly concerned.
He had spent twenty years gathering intelligence in his previous life.
He knew how to distinguish useful information from rumors.
More importantly, he understood that reliable intelligence usually came from people.
Not websites.
He would eventually need contacts.
Informants.
Business owners.
Students.
People who understood the neighborhoods from the inside.
But that could wait.
For now, he had a simpler objective.
Explore.
At 10:30 a.m., Minjun left the restaurant.
His mother stood behind the counter, preparing ingredients for lunch.
"Where are you going?"
"Out for a walk."
"You're meeting your friends later, right?"
"Yes."
"Don't come home too late."
"I won't."
"And eat something!"
Minjun glanced toward the enormous breakfast he'd finished less than an hour earlier.
"Mom, I just ate."
"That was breakfast."
"Exactly."
"It's almost lunchtime."
He stared at her.
She stared back.
Minjun laughed.
"Fine. I'll eat."
"Good."
He stepped outside.
Then paused.
The morning air was cool.
Traffic moved steadily along the main road.
Students walked in groups, laughing and checking their phones.
An elderly man swept the pavement outside a small grocery store.
Everything seemed perfectly normal.
Minjun slipped his hands into his pockets.
Let's see what this world has to offer.
He began walking.
The Limits of Strength
An hour later, Minjun found himself standing outside a small boxing gym.
A faded sign above the entrance read:
IRON FIST BOXING CLUB
The building looked old.
Its windows were slightly dusty.
Several posters advertising amateur boxing tournaments covered the entrance.
Minjun stopped.
He could hear punches striking heavy bags inside.
A familiar rhythm.
Leather against canvas.
Shoes scraping across the floor.
Someone shouting instructions.
He smiled.
Now this brings back memories.
In his previous life, he'd spent countless hours inside gyms like this.
Boxing had been one of the first skills he'd learned after entering the underworld.
His first coach had been a retired amateur fighter who smelled permanently of cigarettes and cheap coffee.
The old man had possessed a simple philosophy.
"Keep your hands up, your chin down, and stop trying to look cool."
Minjun had ignored the final instruction.
Frequently.
He pushed open the door.
A small bell rang.
Inside, approximately a dozen people were training.
Two teenagers sparred inside a ring.
Several others worked heavy bags.
A middle-aged man with thick forearms stood beside the ring, shouting corrections.
"Jab! Don't reach!"
One teenager threw a punch.
"Your feet! Watch your feet!"
The teenager stumbled.
The coach sighed.
"Are you trying to box or fall down stairs?"
Minjun chuckled.
The coach turned.
"Can I help you?"
"Just looking around."
"Interested in joining?"
"Possibly."
The man examined him.
"Ever boxed before?"
"A little."
The coach's gaze moved across his shoulders and arms.
"You look athletic."
"Thank you."
"What's your name?"
"Kang Minjun."
"Choi Sangho."
They shook hands.
Minjun immediately noticed the man's grip.
Strong.
Callused.
The grip of someone who'd spent decades working with his hands.
Sangho gestured toward the gym.
"First session's free. You can try it if you want."
Minjun considered the offer.
He had intended to spend the day exploring.
But testing his abilities against someone with actual martial arts experience would be useful.
"Sure."
Sangho nodded.
"Good. You have training clothes?"
"Not with me."
"We've got spare equipment."
He pointed toward the changing rooms.
"Go get changed."
Ten minutes later, Minjun stood before a heavy bag wearing borrowed shorts and a black training shirt.
His hands were wrapped.
Sangho stood beside him.
"Show me your jab."
Minjun raised his guard.
He considered how much strength to use.
His new physique was extraordinary.
A full-powered punch might destroy the bag.
Or worse, damage his wrist against equipment that wasn't designed for someone with his physical capabilities.
He decided to begin gently.
He extended his left hand.
Thump.
The bag moved.
Sangho nodded.
"Again."
Minjun jabbed.
Thump.
"Again."
Another jab.
Sangho watched his movement.
Then frowned.
"Where did you learn boxing?"
Minjun smiled.
"An old gym."
"Which one?"
"Long story."
Sangho examined him.
"Your form is excellent."
"Thank you."
"But you're holding back."
Minjun raised an eyebrow.
"Am I?"
"Obviously."
Sangho crossed his arms.
"You're barely putting any weight into your punches."
Minjun considered that.
Then nodded.
"Fair enough."
He increased his power slightly.
His next jab struck the bag.
BANG!
The heavy bag swung violently.
Sangho blinked.
Minjun caught the bag before it could swing back.
"Better?"
The coach stared.
"How much do you weigh?"
"About eighty-five kilograms, I think."
Sangho looked at the bag.
Then back at him.
"Do that again."
Minjun smiled.
He threw another jab.
The bag snapped backward.
This time, Sangho took a step closer.
His expression became serious.
"Interesting."
Minjun lowered his hands.
"Something wrong?"
"No."
Sangho examined him.
"How old are you?"
"Seventeen."
The coach went silent.
Then slowly smiled.
"Kid."
"Yes?"
"Have you ever considered competing?"
Minjun laughed.
"Not seriously."
"You should."
Sangho pointed toward the ring.
"Your technique is clean, your balance is excellent, and you've got ridiculous power for your age."
He paused.
"But I'd like to see how you move against someone."
Minjun glanced toward the ring.
One of the teenagers had just finished sparring.
The boy looked approximately nineteen.
Tall.
Lean.
Experienced enough to move comfortably around the ropes.
Sangho followed his gaze.
"That's Han Doyun. He's been training here for four years."
Minjun nodded.
"Good fighter?"
"One of my better students."
Sangho smiled.
"Want to try a light round?"
Minjun considered the question.
He didn't particularly want to embarrass someone who was simply training.
But he was curious.
"Sure."
A Small Demonstration
Han Doyun was not pleased.
"Coach, seriously?"
Sangho handed him a pair of gloves.
"One light round."
Doyun looked toward Minjun.
"He's a beginner?"
"Something like that."
Doyun sighed.
"Fine."
Minjun stepped into the ring.
The canvas felt familiar beneath his feet.
He rolled his shoulders.
Adjusted his gloves.
And looked toward his opponent.
Doyun raised his guard.
"Don't worry. I'll go easy."
Minjun smiled.
"Appreciate it."
Sangho rang the bell.
Doyun approached cautiously.
He threw a jab.
Minjun slipped outside it.
A second jab followed.
Minjun moved again.
Doyun frowned.
He threw a one-two combination.
Minjun avoided both punches with minimal movement.
His body seemed to know exactly where to go.
He could perceive the trajectory of each attack almost before it began.
Not through supernatural foresight.
Through observation.
Shoulder rotation.
Weight distribution.
Foot positioning.
Muscle tension.
Every movement revealed information.
And his mind processed it effortlessly.
Doyun increased his pace.
Jab.
Cross.
Left hook.
Minjun slipped beneath the hook.
He stepped backward.
Doyun stared.
"Are you going to throw anything?"
Minjun smiled.
"Would you like me to?"
"Obviously!"
"Alright."
Doyun raised his guard.
Minjun threw a jab.
He deliberately reduced his speed.
Even so, the punch slipped between Doyun's gloves.
Tap.
The glove touched his forehead.
Doyun blinked.
Minjun withdrew.
"Again?"
Doyun's expression hardened.
He stepped forward.
Minjun threw another jab.
Tap.
This time, Doyun attempted to counter.
Minjun shifted his head slightly.
The counter missed.
He tapped Doyun's forehead again.
The watching students began laughing.
Doyun's face reddened.
"Stop messing around!"
Minjun's smile faded slightly.
"You're right. Sorry."
He had been enjoying himself.
But there was no reason to humiliate the boy.
He lowered his pace.
Allowed Doyun to establish his rhythm.
Blocked several punches.
Then demonstrated a simple combination.
Jab.
Cross.
Pivot.
Left hook to the body.
He stopped the final punch an inch before contact.
Doyun froze.
The opening had been perfect.
He hadn't even realized Minjun had created it.
Sangho rang the bell.
"Enough."
Doyun lowered his gloves.
For several seconds, he stared at Minjun.
Then bowed.
"You're good."
Minjun smiled.
"So are you."
Doyun shook his head.
"Don't patronize me."
"I'm not."
Minjun removed his mouthguard.
"Your jab is sharp. Your footwork is decent. But you commit too much weight when throwing your right hand."
Doyun frowned.
Minjun continued.
"That's why I kept slipping outside your combinations. You couldn't adjust quickly enough."
Sangho nodded slowly.
"He's right."
Doyun looked between them.
Then sighed.
"Great."
Minjun laughed.
"Don't look so miserable. You've got a good foundation."
Doyun examined him.
"Where the hell did you learn to fight?"
Minjun smiled.
"Here and there."
After the sparring session, Sangho invited him into the small office beside the ring.
The coach poured two cups of water.
"You're not a beginner."
Minjun accepted his cup.
"No."
"How long have you trained?"
Minjun considered the question.
Technically, he'd trained for several years in his previous life.
But explaining that would be difficult.
"A while."
Sangho leaned back.
"I've coached fighters for twenty-three years."
Minjun nodded.
"And?"
"I've never seen someone your age move like that."
Minjun smiled.
"That's flattering."
"I'm serious."
Sangho studied him.
"Your timing is extraordinary. Your movements are efficient. And your physical strength…"
He shook his head.
"I don't know what kind of training you've done, but you've got something special."
Minjun remained silent.
Sangho continued.
"If you're interested, I'd like to train you."
Minjun raised an eyebrow.
"Train me?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because talent like yours shouldn't be wasted."
Minjun looked toward the ring.
The students were still training.
Some laughed.
Others practiced combinations.
Doyun was working on his footwork, apparently taking Minjun's advice seriously.
Minjun smiled faintly.
He liked this place.
It reminded him of his first boxing gym.
The atmosphere was honest.
People trained because they wanted to improve.
Not because they were trying to impress a criminal superior or secure a position in an organization.
Just fighters.
Working hard.
"Maybe," Minjun answered.
Sangho nodded.
"Think about it."
He handed Minjun a business card.
"You're welcome here anytime."
Minjun accepted it.
"Thanks, Coach."
As he stood to leave, Sangho added something.
"One more thing."
Minjun turned.
"Yes?"
The coach smiled.
"Next time, don't hold back quite so much."
Minjun laughed.
"I'll try."
He didn't mention that even his strongest punch during the session had used only a tiny fraction of his actual power.
Some things were better left unsaid.
Hongdae, 1:52 p.m.
By the time Minjun arrived in Hongdae, the streets were crowded.
Music drifted from storefronts.
Groups of students gathered outside cafés.
Street performers entertained passing pedestrians.
The neighborhood possessed an energy that reminded him of his younger days.
He checked his phone.
Hyunwoo: Where are you?
Minjun: Outside the arcade.
Hyunwoo: Which entrance?
Minjun looked around.
There were two entrances.
Minjun: The one with the giant cartoon bear.
Hyunwoo: Stay there.
A moment later, someone shouted.
"MINJUN!"
He turned.
A teenager with messy brown hair was waving enthusiastically.
Park Hyunwoo.
He was slightly shorter than Minjun, with an expressive face and the kind of energy that suggested silence was physically uncomfortable for him.
Beside him walked another boy.
Tall.
Thin.
Wearing glasses.
And behind them were two girls.
One had short brown hair and a cheerful expression.
The other possessed long black hair, sharp eyes, and an unmistakably unimpressed expression.
Kim Jisoo.
Minjun recognized her immediately.
Hyunwoo approached.
"Dude!"
Minjun smiled.
"Hyunwoo."
The boy stopped.
He examined Minjun.
Then frowned.
"Wait."
"What?"
"Did you get taller?"
Minjun laughed.
"Did I?"
"You definitely got taller."
The boy with glasses nodded.
"Actually, he does look different."
Hyunwoo pointed toward Minjun's face.
"And why do you suddenly look like a celebrity?"
Minjun shrugged.
"Good sleep."
"That's bullshit."
"Language."
Hyunwoo stared.
Then burst into laughter.
"Okay, what happened to you?"
Before Minjun could answer, the girl with short brown hair stepped forward.
"Hi, Minjun!"
He searched his memories.
Choi Yuna.
Friendly.
Talkative.
Apparently a close friend of Jisoo.
"Yuna. Good to see you."
She blinked.
Then smiled.
"You too."
Finally, Minjun looked toward Jisoo.
She stood with her arms crossed.
Her expression was difficult to read.
"Hello, Jisoo."
She examined him.
"You're late."
Minjun glanced at his phone.
1:54 p.m.
He raised an eyebrow.
"I'm six minutes early."
"You're usually twenty minutes late."
"Then you should be impressed."
She narrowed her eyes.
"Did something happen to you?"
Minjun smiled.
"Why does everyone keep asking that?"
"Because you're acting weird."
"Maybe I've matured."
Hyunwoo snorted.
Jisoo looked him up and down.
Then said something unexpected.
"You look better."
The group fell silent.
Yuna slowly turned toward her.
"Oh?"
Jisoo's expression changed.
"I mean—"
Hyunwoo grinned.
"Jisoo?"
"Shut up."
"You think Minjun looks handsome?"
"I said he looks better!"
"That's basically the same thing."
"Hyunwoo."
"Yes?"
"Run."
Hyunwoo immediately stepped behind Minjun.
"Protect me."
Minjun laughed.
"You're on your own."
The group burst into laughter.
Even Jisoo eventually smiled.
And as they entered the arcade together, Minjun realized something.
He was enjoying himself.
Genuinely.
No business negotiations.
No dangerous enemies.
No need to calculate how much loyalty someone could be purchased with.
Just ordinary teenagers teasing each other.
It was a surprisingly pleasant change.
The Arcade Challenge
Twenty minutes later, Minjun discovered that Park Hyunwoo possessed an extraordinary talent.
Unfortunately, that talent was losing money at arcade machines.
"HOW?"
Hyunwoo stared at the screen.
His character lay defeated.
Again.
Minjun stood beside him.
"That's your fifth loss."
"Don't remind me."
"You've spent twelve thousand won."
"I KNOW!"
Minjun examined the fighting game.
Two characters stood on opposite sides of a digital arena.
The controls were simple.
Movement.
Punches.
Kicks.
Special attacks.
Hyunwoo looked toward him.
"Think you can do better?"
Minjun smiled.
"Probably."
Hyunwoo handed him the controls.
"Fine. Show me."
Minjun selected a character.
The match began.
He examined the controls.
Then moved.
His first attempt was clumsy.
He pressed the wrong button.
His character jumped unexpectedly.
Hyunwoo laughed.
"HA!"
Minjun frowned.
"Interesting."
He tried again.
This time, he observed the game's mechanics.
Attack ranges.
Recovery frames.
Movement speed.
Combo timing.
His mind began identifying patterns.
Within thirty seconds, he understood the basic system.
His character moved forward.
A quick combination landed.
Then another.
His opponent attempted to counter.
Minjun blocked.
Punished.
And finished the round without taking another hit.
PERFECT.
Hyunwoo stared.
"What?"
Minjun smiled.
"Beginner's luck."
The next round began.
Minjun won again.
PERFECT.
Hyunwoo slowly turned toward him.
"You're cheating."
Minjun laughed.
"How?"
"I DON'T KNOW!"
Yuna approached.
"What's happening?"
Hyunwoo pointed accusingly.
"Minjun's secretly a professional gamer!"
Minjun shook his head.
"Hardly."
Jisoo examined the screen.
Then looked toward him.
"You've played this before?"
"No."
She narrowed her eyes.
"You're lying."
Minjun smiled.
"Would I lie to you?"
"Absolutely."
He laughed.
"Fair."
They continued playing.
Minjun deliberately avoided dominating every game.
He had no interest in turning a friendly afternoon into a demonstration of superiority.
Instead, he enjoyed the competition.
He lost a racing game to Yuna.
Won a basketball shooting contest against Hyunwoo.
And discovered that Jisoo was terrifyingly good at rhythm games.
She defeated him three times.
Each victory made her increasingly smug.
"Again?" she asked.
Minjun stared at the screen.
His score was excellent.
Hers was absurd.
He shook his head.
"No."
Jisoo smiled.
"Giving up?"
"Recognizing superior talent."
She blinked.
Then laughed.
"At least you're honest."
Minjun grinned.
"Occasionally."
A Familiar Name
Around four in the afternoon, the group left the arcade.
They stopped at a small café.
Hyunwoo immediately began complaining about how much money he'd lost.
Yuna laughed at him.
The boy with glasses, Lee Donghyun, quietly checked his phone.
Jisoo sat beside Minjun.
For several minutes, they spoke about school.
Their upcoming transfers.
Teachers.
Exams.
Ordinary teenage concerns.
Then Donghyun mentioned something that caught Minjun's attention.
"Did you guys hear about what happened in Gangbuk?"
Hyunwoo looked up.
"What?"
"Another fight."
"That's not exactly news."
"No, this one's different."
Donghyun turned his phone toward them.
A short video played.
Several teenagers lay unconscious on a street.
A crowd stood nearby.
The footage was shaky.
Minjun examined it.
"Who did that?"
Donghyun shrugged.
"Apparently some guy from God Dog."
Minjun's expression remained unchanged.
But his attention sharpened.
God Dog.
One of the Four Major Crews.
The organization associated with Johan Seong.
Hyunwoo frowned.
"Those guys again?"
Yuna looked concerned.
"Isn't God Dog dangerous?"
Donghyun nodded.
"That's what people say."
Jisoo sighed.
"Why are teenagers running around acting like gangsters?"
Minjun smiled faintly.
"Some people have unusual hobbies."
She glanced toward him.
"Don't tell me you're interested."
"Interested in what?"
"Fighting."
Minjun considered the question.
"Depends on the circumstances."
Jisoo narrowed her eyes.
"Minjun."
"What?"
"Don't get involved with those people."
He looked toward her.
She seemed genuinely concerned.
He smiled.
"Relax. I'm not planning to join anyone's gang."
That much, at least, was completely true.
He had no intention of joining another person's organization.
Hyunwoo laughed.
"Imagine Minjun joining a gang."
Yuna giggled.
"He'd probably get kicked out for arguing with the leader."
Minjun chuckled.
"Probably."
Jisoo shook her head.
"You're all idiots."
The conversation moved on.
But Minjun quietly remembered the name.
God Dog.
He wasn't ready to involve himself with the Four Major Crews.
Still, their existence was becoming more tangible.
They weren't merely fictional organizations anymore.
They were real.
Their actions affected real people.
And sooner or later, their paths would cross.
Minjun looked out the café window.
The streets of Hongdae were crowded with ordinary people.
Somewhere beyond them, an entirely different world existed.
A world of powerful fighters, ambitious leaders, and criminal organizations competing for influence.
He smiled faintly.
One day.
But not today.
Today, he was enjoying coffee with friends.
The Boy in the Alley
At 6:17 p.m., the group began heading home.
Yuna and Donghyun left first.
Hyunwoo departed shortly afterward, complaining that his mother would confiscate his gaming console if he missed dinner.
That left Minjun and Jisoo.
They walked toward the subway station together.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then Jisoo glanced toward him.
"You really are different."
Minjun smiled.
"You've mentioned that."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
She looked ahead.
"You used to be quieter."
"Did I?"
"And you always seemed annoyed about something."
Minjun considered that.
The memories he'd inherited suggested that the previous Kang Minjun had been a somewhat withdrawn teenager.
Not unfriendly.
But distant.
Perhaps he'd been struggling with something.
Perhaps he'd simply been going through an ordinary adolescent phase.
Minjun couldn't know.
He only possessed the memories, not the emotions that had originally accompanied them.
Jisoo continued.
"But today you actually seemed happy."
Minjun looked toward her.
"Is that a bad thing?"
"No."
She hesitated.
Then smiled faintly.
"It's nice."
For a moment, Minjun didn't answer.
He had spent much of his previous life surrounded by people who complimented him because they wanted something.
Money.
Promotions.
Protection.
Influence.
Jisoo's words were different.
Simple.
Genuine.
He smiled.
"Then I'll try to stay that way."
She glanced at him.
"Good."
They reached the subway entrance.
Jisoo stopped.
"This is me."
Minjun nodded.
"See you around."
She hesitated.
Then asked, "Are you free next weekend?"
Minjun raised an eyebrow.
"Possibly."
"Some of us might go out again."
"Some of us?"
She looked away.
"Maybe."
Minjun smiled.
"Send me a message."
Jisoo nodded.
"Okay."
She descended the stairs.
Minjun watched her disappear into the station.
Then chuckled.
Seventeen again.
He had forgotten how complicated ordinary teenage relationships could be.
He turned toward the street.
And nearly collided with someone.
A young man stood directly in front of him.
He was approximately eighteen, with dyed brown hair, a silver earring, and a black jacket.
Two other teenagers stood behind him.
Minjun stopped.
The young man examined him.
"You're Kang Minjun?"
Minjun raised an eyebrow.
"Depends who's asking."
The boy smiled.
"Someone who heard you caused trouble yesterday."
Minjun's expression remained relaxed.
Ah.
The three teenagers from the alley.
Apparently, they'd complained to someone.
He glanced toward the two boys behind the newcomer.
Neither looked particularly impressive.
But the young man in front possessed a noticeably better stance.
His shoulders were relaxed.
His weight balanced.
And his eyes remained focused on Minjun's center rather than his face.
At least this one knows how to fight.
Minjun smiled.
"Trouble?"
The young man nodded.
"You beat up some friends of mine."
"Did I?"
"Three guys. Near a restaurant in Mapo."
Minjun chuckled.
"Oh, those idiots."
The young man's smile disappeared.
"Careful."
Minjun slipped his hands into his pockets.
"What's your name?"
"Baek Seongho."
"Nice to meet you, Seongho."
The young man frowned.
"You're not taking this seriously."
"Should I?"
Seongho stepped closer.
"Those guys said you humiliated them."
Minjun tilted his head.
"They tried to rob a student behind my mother's restaurant."
Seongho paused.
For a moment, his expression changed.
"Rob?"
"Yes."
Minjun watched him carefully.
Seongho looked toward his companions.
"Those idiots told me they were attacked for no reason."
Minjun laughed.
"Well, that's embarrassing."
Seongho rubbed his forehead.
"Unbelievable."
One of the boys behind him spoke.
"Hyung, are we still going to—"
"Shut up."
The boy immediately fell silent.
Minjun examined Seongho with renewed interest.
He had expected another mindless confrontation.
But this young man appeared capable of reconsidering his position when presented with new information.
That was a useful quality.
Seongho looked toward Minjun.
"Sorry about that."
Minjun raised an eyebrow.
"That's it?"
"What?"
"No dramatic threats? No demands for revenge?"
Seongho stared.
Then laughed.
"Would you prefer those?"
"Not particularly."
"Good."
He extended his hand.
"Baek Seongho."
Minjun shook it.
"Kang Minjun."
Seongho's grip was firm.
His hands possessed the calluses of someone who trained regularly.
Minjun noticed.
"Boxing?"
Seongho blinked.
"What?"
"You box."
The young man looked surprised.
"How'd you know?"
"Your hands."
Seongho glanced down.
Then smiled.
"Three years."
"Not bad."
"You train?"
"A little."
Seongho chuckled.
"That's what everyone says before beating someone up."
Minjun laughed.
The atmosphere relaxed.
Seongho glanced toward the street.
"Listen, those three are idiots. I'll deal with them."
"Appreciated."
"But…"
Minjun raised an eyebrow.
Seongho smiled.
"I am curious."
"About?"
"How strong you are."
Minjun examined him.
There it was.
Not hostility.
Not revenge.
Curiosity.
The kind of curiosity shared by people who genuinely enjoyed fighting.
Minjun smiled.
"Maybe you'll find out."
Seongho laughed.
"I'll take that as a challenge."
"Take it however you like."
The young man stepped backward.
"See you around, Minjun."
"Likewise."
Seongho and his companions walked away.
Minjun watched them disappear into the crowd.
Then looked toward his hand.
He had noticed something during their handshake.
Seongho possessed genuine physical conditioning.
His grip was strong.
His posture was disciplined.
And unlike the three teenagers from the previous day, he didn't appear interested in bullying weaker people.
He might be worth getting to know.
Not necessarily as a subordinate.
Perhaps simply as a friend.
Or a sparring partner.
Minjun smiled.
This city is full of interesting people.
He continued toward the subway.
A Quiet Decision
By the time Minjun returned home, the restaurant was preparing to close.
His mother stood behind the counter.
She looked up when he entered.
"You're back."
"Miss me?"
"Terribly. The dishes have been asking about you all evening."
Minjun laughed.
"How touching."
Hyejin smiled.
"Did you have fun?"
"Actually, yes."
"Good."
She examined him.
"You look happy."
Minjun nodded.
"I am."
For a moment, she seemed surprised.
Then her expression softened.
"I'm glad."
He helped her finish cleaning.
They spoke about the restaurant.
About his upcoming school transfer.
About whether he needed new clothes.
And about a customer who had apparently attempted to pay for lunch with an expired gift certificate.
It was an ordinary evening.
And Minjun enjoyed every minute.
Later, after his mother went upstairs, he remained in the empty restaurant.
The lights were dim.
The tables were clean.
Outside, the streets had grown quiet.
He sat beside the window.
His phone lay on the table.
He opened a notes application.
Then created a new document.
Future Plans
He stared at the blank screen.
In his previous life, he had built an organization by reacting to circumstances.
He'd needed protection.
Then money.
Then territory.
Eventually, he'd needed enough influence to prevent stronger organizations from swallowing his own.
This time, he could plan from the beginning.
He typed three headings.
1. Understand the environment.
2. Establish financial independence.
3. Find trustworthy people.
He considered adding a fourth.
4. Build an organization.
Then paused.
An organization was not something that could be created simply by announcing its existence.
A gang required people.
People required reasons to follow.
And those reasons needed to be stronger than fear.
Minjun understood that better than most.
He deleted the fourth heading.
Instead, he added a note beneath the third.
Don't recruit people simply because they're strong.
He leaned back.
A powerful fighter who lacked loyalty could become a liability.
A loyal subordinate without ambition might never develop.
And a talented individual who couldn't cooperate with others could destroy an organization from within.
He wanted people who possessed more than physical strength.
Intelligence.
Ambition.
Character.
A willingness to grow.
He smiled faintly.
This is going to take time.
And that was fine.
He had no reason to hurry.
His body was already extraordinary.
His martial talent surpassed anything he'd ever possessed.
And his previous life's experience gave him an enormous advantage in understanding people and organizations.
The foundations were there.
Now he needed to build upon them.
He closed the application.
Then noticed a message.
An unfamiliar number.
Unknown: Yo. It's Baek Seongho.
Minjun raised an eyebrow.
Another message arrived.
Seongho: Got your number from one of the idiots. Hope you don't mind.
Seongho: There's a boxing gym near Hongdae. You should come sometime.
Minjun smiled.
Minjun: You inviting me to train or fight?
The reply came immediately.
Seongho: Both?
Minjun laughed.
Minjun: I'll think about it.
Seongho: Don't take too long.
Minjun: Impatient?
Seongho: Curious.
Minjun placed the phone down.
Then looked out toward the dark street.
Somewhere in Seoul, powerful organizations were continuing their operations.
Money was changing hands.
Fighters were training.
Territories were being contested.
And the machinery of the Four Major Crews continued turning.
But Kang Minjun was not yet part of that world.
He was simply a seventeen-year-old teenager helping his mother run a restaurant, spending time with friends, and occasionally meeting interesting people.
For now, that suited him perfectly.
Because he understood something that many ambitious young fighters never learned.
An empire built too quickly could collapse just as quickly.
But an empire built upon strong foundations could survive even when its enemies united against it.
Minjun smiled.
He had no intention of becoming another temporary king.
When he eventually stepped into the underworld, he wanted to build something that would last.
And when that day came, the existing powers of Seoul would discover that a new contender had entered their world.
Not a reckless teenager seeking fame.
Not a subordinate desperate for recognition.
But a man who had already ruled an underworld once.
And intended to do it again.