The sound of breaking glass interrupted Kang Minjun's breakfast.
He looked up from his bowl.
His mother had gone still behind the counter.
Outside the restaurant, three men stood beside a fallen delivery motorcycle. One held a metal pipe. Another was arguing with the young delivery driver, who was desperately trying to retrieve his helmet.
The third man kicked the motorcycle.
"Didn't we tell you to stop delivering here?"
The driver flinched.
"I don't work for the restaurant! I'm just—"
The man struck him across the face.
Minjun placed his chopsticks down.
"Mom. Who are they?"
Hyejin didn't answer immediately.
That was answer enough.
"Mom."
She sighed.
"They've been causing problems for some businesses around here."
"How long?"
"A few weeks."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"Minjun, please don't get involved."
He stood.
"Have they threatened you?"
Hyejin looked away.
Minjun's expression changed.
Not dramatically.
There was no sudden explosion of anger.
The warmth simply disappeared from his eyes.
"How much?"
"Minjun—"
"How much are they demanding?"
She hesitated.
"Five hundred thousand won a month."
He nodded once.
"Alright."
He walked toward the entrance.
Hyejin caught his wrist.
"Don't do anything stupid."
Minjun looked at her hand.
Then at her worried expression.
He smiled reassuringly.
"I won't."
It wasn't a lie.
He had no intention of doing anything stupid.
He intended to solve the problem.
The man holding the pipe was laughing when Minjun stepped outside.
"Next time, tell your boss to pay attention to where he sends his drivers."
The delivery worker struggled to his feet.
His lip was bleeding.
Minjun approached.
"Is the motorcycle yours?"
The driver blinked.
"Uh… yes."
"Can you still ride it?"
"I think so."
"Good. Take it around the corner and wait."
The man with the pipe turned.
"Who the hell are you?"
Minjun ignored him.
He helped the driver lift the motorcycle, checked that its wheels turned freely, and pointed toward the intersection.
"Go."
The driver hesitated.
Then hurried away.
The three men stared.
Their apparent leader was a stocky man in his late twenties with a shaved head and a thick gold chain.
He stepped forward.
"Hey, kid. I asked you a question."
Minjun finally looked at him.
"You're collecting protection money from this street?"
The man's expression shifted.
"What's it to you?"
"My mother owns that restaurant."
Minjun pointed behind him.
"So I thought I'd introduce myself."
The man grinned.
"Then tell your mother her payment's overdue."
Minjun glanced toward the metal pipe.
"What's your name?"
"Why?"
"So I know what to call you when you apologize."
For a second, nobody spoke.
Then the man laughed.
"Did you hear that?"
His companions joined him.
The leader stepped closer.
"Listen, pretty boy. Go back inside before you get hurt."
Minjun looked at the man's right hand.
Then at his feet.
A heavy stance.
Poor balance.
A slight hesitation in the left knee.
He had already finished assessing him.
"Last chance," Minjun said.
The man's grin vanished.
"What?"
"Leave this street. Don't come back. And tell whoever sent you that the restaurant is no longer paying."
The man swung the pipe.
Minjun caught his wrist.
The impact stopped dead.
The man's eyes widened.
He tried pulling away.
Nothing happened.
Minjun tightened his grip slightly.
A sharp cry escaped the man's mouth.
The pipe fell.
Before it touched the ground, Minjun struck him once in the abdomen.
THUD.
The man's feet left the pavement.
He flew backward and crashed into a stack of plastic crates several meters away.
The crates shattered.
Silence followed.
Minjun stared at his own fist.
He had deliberately restrained himself.
Still too much.
One of the remaining men charged.
Minjun stepped forward.
A short palm strike landed against the attacker's chest.
The man stumbled backward, struck a parked van, and collapsed.
The third man froze.
Minjun turned toward him.
"Your boss."
The man swallowed.
"W-what?"
"Who sent you?"
"Kim… Kim Gwangcheol."
"Where can I find him?"
The man hesitated.
Minjun took one step forward.
The answer came immediately.
"An underground billiards hall! Near the old market!"
Minjun nodded.
"How many men?"
"Maybe twenty!"
"Armed?"
"Some of them."
"Good."
The man stared.
Good?
Minjun picked up the fallen metal pipe.
He examined it.
Then casually bent it.
The steel curved beneath his fingers.
The man's face drained of color.
Minjun dropped the ruined weapon.
"Take your friends to a hospital."
The man scrambled to obey.
Minjun watched him drag the unconscious attacker away.
Then he turned.
His mother stood in the restaurant doorway.
She had seen everything.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
"Minjun…"
He approached her.
"Are you alright?"
She stared at him.
"How did you do that?"
He glanced toward the broken crates.
"Training."
"Training?"
He smiled faintly.
"Quite a lot of it."
Hyejin looked unconvinced.
But before she could question him further, Minjun gently guided her inside.
"Lock the door for now."
"Where are you going?"
"To make sure they don't return."
Her face tightened.
"No."
"Mom—"
"No. You've already done enough."
Minjun stopped.
He could see genuine fear in her eyes.
Not fear of him.
Fear for him.
He understood it.
And he wasn't going to dismiss it.
He placed both hands on her shoulders.
"Listen to me. I'm not going to start a fight in the middle of the street."
That, at least, was true.
"I'll handle this properly."
Hyejin searched his face.
"Promise me you'll come home."
Minjun's expression softened.
"I promise."
The Man Behind the Collections
The billiards hall occupied the basement of an aging commercial building.
Minjun arrived forty minutes later.
He had changed into dark trousers and a black jacket.
Before leaving, he'd called Seongho.
Not for backup.
For information.
"Kim Gwangcheol?" Seongho repeated over the phone. "Yeah, I've heard of him."
"What do you know?"
"Runs a small crew around the market. Extortion, illegal gambling, that sort of thing."
"Connections?"
"Nothing major. He claims to know people from the Four Major Crews, but everyone says that."
"How many fighters?"
"Maybe fifteen or twenty. Why?"
Minjun smiled.
"Business."
"Minjun."
"Yes?"
"Don't tell me you're going there."
"Alright. I won't tell you."
"YOU—"
Minjun ended the call.
Now, standing before the basement entrance, he examined the building.
One staircase.
One emergency exit.
Security cameras near the entrance.
He noticed two men smoking beside a parked car.
Both watched him descend.
Neither intervened.
Inside, the hall smelled of cigarettes and stale beer.
Six billiards tables occupied the main room.
Several men were playing.
Others sat around a television.
At the far end, behind a glass partition, a large man wearing a patterned shirt was counting money.
Minjun approached the counter.
A young employee looked up.
"Can I help you?"
"I'm looking for Kim Gwangcheol."
The employee hesitated.
"Do you have an appointment?"
"No."
"Then—"
"Tell him Kang Minjun is here."
The employee frowned.
"Who?"
"His collectors visited my mother's restaurant this morning."
The employee's expression changed.
He glanced toward the glass partition.
Then hurried away.
Minjun waited.
A moment later, the door opened.
Kim Gwangcheol stepped outside.
He was a heavyset man in his thirties with a thick neck and several expensive rings.
Two muscular men followed him.
Gwangcheol examined Minjun.
"You're the kid who beat up my men?"
"Yes."
The direct answer seemed to surprise him.
Gwangcheol laughed.
"You've got balls."
Minjun smiled.
"I've been told."
"Do you know whose territory you're standing in?"
"Yours, apparently."
"Then you understand you've made a mistake."
Minjun glanced around.
Several men had stopped playing billiards.
Others were slowly approaching.
He counted eighteen.
Not including Gwangcheol.
Convenient.
He returned his attention to the gang leader.
"I have a proposal."
Gwangcheol stared.
"A proposal?"
"Stop collecting money from the businesses around my mother's restaurant. Return what you've taken this month. And find another way to earn a living."
For a moment, Gwangcheol looked genuinely confused.
Then he burst into laughter.
The surrounding men joined him.
Minjun waited.
Eventually, Gwangcheol wiped his eyes.
"Kid, you're hilarious."
"Thank you."
"Unfortunately, I don't like jokes."
He nodded toward his men.
"Break his legs."
Two men moved immediately.
The first swung a wooden cue.
Minjun caught it.
He pulled.
The attacker stumbled forward.
A knee struck his stomach.
He folded.
Minjun turned and drove an elbow into the second man's jaw.
The man dropped unconscious.
The entire exchange lasted less than two seconds.
The room fell silent.
Minjun released the cue.
It clattered onto the floor.
"Anyone else?"
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then Gwangcheol shouted.
"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?"
The room erupted.
Overwhelming
The first four attackers rushed him together.
Minjun moved.
Not quickly by his own standards.
But to the men watching, he seemed to vanish from his original position.
A fist struck one man's ribs.
Another received a kick to the thigh that dropped him instantly.
Minjun caught a third attacker by the collar and threw him into two others.
They crashed through a table.
Wood splintered.
Someone swung a chair.
Minjun ducked.
The chair shattered against a wall.
He stepped inside the attacker's guard and struck his chest with an open palm.
The man flew backward.
Three meters.
Then four.
He struck a sofa and rolled onto the floor.
Minjun exhaled.
Still holding back.
His body felt extraordinary.
Every movement was effortless.
Every attack appeared painfully slow.
He could identify the opponents' intentions through their posture before they committed to a strike.
And his strength…
It was almost frightening.
He hadn't activated Sovereign Instinct.
There was no need.
These men simply weren't capable of challenging him.
A knife flashed.
Minjun's expression sharpened.
The attacker lunged.
Minjun caught his wrist.
Twisted.
The knife fell.
He struck the man's forearm with two fingers.
A sharp crack echoed through the room.
The attacker screamed.
Minjun kicked him aside.
"Don't bring knives into fights you can't win."
Another man approached from behind.
Minjun turned.
A single punch landed against the attacker's stomach.
The man collapsed.
Then silence.
Eighteen men.
All defeated.
The entire confrontation had lasted less than a minute.
Minjun stood among the wrecked tables.
His clothes were undamaged.
His breathing remained steady.
He hadn't even broken a sweat.
Gwangcheol stared.
His mouth hung open.
"What… what are you?"
Minjun looked toward him.
Then smiled.
"Your new problem."
Gwangcheol stumbled backward.
"Stay away!"
He reached beneath his shirt.
Minjun saw the movement.
A weapon.
His expression hardened.
Before Gwangcheol could draw it, Minjun crossed the distance.
He seized the man's wrist and slammed it against the wall.
A folding knife fell from his hand.
Minjun struck him once across the face.
Gwangcheol collapsed.
Minjun crouched beside him.
"Now."
He spoke calmly.
"About my proposal."
Gwangcheol trembled.
"I'll stop! I swear!"
"Good."
"I'll return the money!"
"Excellent."
Minjun leaned closer.
"But we're going to make one thing clear."
Gwangcheol nodded desperately.
"You don't own this neighborhood. You don't own the businesses. And you certainly don't own the people living here."
Minjun's smile disappeared.
"If I hear that you've threatened another shopkeeper, I won't come here to negotiate again."
Gwangcheol swallowed.
"Understood."
Minjun stood.
Then looked around the room.
Several men were conscious.
All were watching him.
He addressed them.
"Anyone who wants to leave this crew should leave tonight."
Nobody spoke.
"Anyone who wants to continue working for him…"
He glanced toward Gwangcheol.
"…should consider whether he's worth following."
Then Minjun turned and walked toward the exit.
No one tried to stop him.
Outside, the evening air felt refreshing.
Minjun slipped his hands into his pockets.
He had finally tested a little more of his strength.
And the results were clear.
Ordinary gangsters weren't opponents.
They were obstacles.
The real challenges lay elsewhere.
Gun Park.
Goo Kim.
James Lee.
The First Generation Kings.
And the exceptional fighters scattered throughout Korea.
He smiled.
Those were the people he wanted to encounter eventually.
But today's events had revealed something else.
The local underworld was disorganized.
Small crews preyed upon businesses without meaningful resistance.
Their leaders relied on intimidation rather than competence.
And their members followed whoever appeared strongest.
It was an inefficient system.
One he could exploit.
His phone vibrated.
Seongho: WHERE ARE YOU?
Seongho: Tell me you didn't go there.
Seongho: Minjun.
Minjun called him.
Seongho answered immediately.
"YOU IDIOT!"
Minjun held the phone away from his ear.
"Hello to you too."
"Did you go to Gwangcheol's place?"
"Yes."
A pause.
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Then what happened?"
Minjun glanced toward the basement entrance.
"He's retiring from neighborhood collections."
Silence.
Then:
"What?"
Minjun smiled.
"Come to the restaurant tomorrow. We need to talk."
"About what?"
"Something I've been considering."
Seongho hesitated.
"Which is?"
Minjun looked toward the street.
For the first time since reincarnating, his ambition felt less like an abstract plan.
He had seen the weakness of the local organizations.
He had tested his strength.
And he had identified someone who might be worth bringing into his future.
He wasn't going to spend months pretending to be an ordinary teenager while opportunities passed him by.
He had already built an empire once.
This time, he possessed the power to do it far more efficiently.
"Seongho."
"Yeah?"
"How would you feel about building something of our own?"
There was a long silence.
Then Seongho laughed nervously.
"You're not talking about a boxing gym, are you?"
Minjun smiled.
"No."
He looked toward the illuminated streets of Seoul.
"I'm thinking considerably bigger."