The bus rattled as it crossed the Han River, its engine coughing like it might give out at any moment. Min sat by the window, backpack at his feet, watching Seoul rise slowly from the haze.
The skyline wasn't what he remembered.
Lights were fewer now. Buildings stood darker, quieter. Billboards that once screamed advertisements were reduced to bare metal frames, rust crawling up their spines. The city felt restrained like it was holding its breath.
Mapo.
The bus hissed as it pulled to a stop. Min stepped onto the pavement, the concrete solid beneath his feet, though his legs still felt unsteady.
Mangwon dong greeted him with ghosts.
For a moment, Min felt like he didn't belong here anymore. Like he was trespassing in a memory that no longer wanted him. But MC ORCA's words echoed in his head even if the world's bleak, Mapo will always be there for you.
The feeling in his chest was bittersweet. Familiar streets warped by time. Corners he knew by heart, now scarred and rewired.
As he walked, Min's fingers tapped unconsciously against his thigh. Not from cold but muscle memory. APM. The rhythm of micro and macro returning on its own.
No one noticed.
That was fine. He didn't want attention.
The streets were narrower than he remembered, cluttered with patched cables and scavenged generators humming behind locked doors. Storefronts had changed names or vanished entirely. Some windows were boarded up. Others glowed faintly, powered by jury rigged electricity.
Electronics were currency now.
Hackers, techies, anyone who still understood machines they fought quietly against government control, trying to piece together rogue systems. LAN parties survived because they didn't rely on networks. Just wires. Just people.
Min walked slower.
That alley where they'd once run cables across rooftops.
That corner store where Jae Hwan bought instant noodles for everyone after all night sessions.
That PC bang burned out. Stripped clean.
His chest tightened.
Then he saw it.
The old clan house.
From the outside, it looked dead, another abandoned building wedged between apartment blocks. But Min noticed the details instantly: a faint hum behind the walls, a cable disappearing into a storm drain, a single dim light flickering behind a curtained window.
Someone was still here.
Min stopped at the door.
MC ORCA stepped past him and opened it.
"Relax," Orca said quietly. "You're not a stranger here."
Inside, they moved through a narrow hall and into the kitchen.
"Min," Orca said, lowering his voice, "the world's different now. Mapo's changing. And Red Pulse…" He paused. "They're pushing hard. We're losing influence."
Min cut him off. "Where's Ji Ho?"
Orca sighed. "Last I heard neutral. Didn't want to be a Warlock without you. But he's still around."
"If I'm doing this," Min said firmly, "we need him."
"You got it," Orca nodded. "I'll find him. But first someone wants to see you."
"Someone?" Min frowned. "Again?"
Orca motioned him forward.
The living room opened up tables packed with electronics, tangled cables crawling like roots across the floor. A couch faced an old TV. Someone sat there, relaxed, like they owned the silence.
"Kid," a rough voice said. "Took you long enough."
Park Chan Sik.
Older now. Grayer. Beard thicker. Eyes sharper. He wore a battered jacket with the Warlocks insignia stitched back on faded, but intact.
Min froze.
"You're… alive," Min said.
Chan Sik snorted. "Barely. Stay away from the windows."
The clan house was a shadow of its former self and somehow stronger for it.
Only two PCs remained, scavenged parts held together with tape and stubborn faith. Cables lined the ceiling like veins. A generator thumped steadily in the back. The air smelled of dust, solder, and burnt plastic.
But it was alive.
Two figures looked up from a table, young, tense, unfamiliar.
"…That him?" one whispered.
Chan Sik nodded. "Yeah. That's Jae Hwan's little brother."
The room went quiet.
"I didn't know this place was still…" Min started.
"Standing?" Chan Sik finished. "Barely. Hongdae's mostly Red Pulse now. Mangwon's shrinking every month. We move gear. Stay hidden."
Min swallowed. "Where is everyone else?"
Chan Sik's jaw tightened.
"Gone. Some quit. Some vanished. Some switched colors."
A pause.
"And some… didn't make it."
Min looked down. "This is my fault."
"No," Chan Sik said. "What happened to your brother, that was Red Pulse. What came after was fear."
"They're stronger now," Min said.
"They are. Organized. Political. They're not just a gang anymore."
"And the Warlocks?"
Chan Sik met his eyes. "We're a name. Unless you change that."
He gestured to the two younger members.
"Kim Hye Jin. Strong sense of justice. Plays like she's fighting for someone every match."
"And Lee Sung Woo. Calm. Analytical. Thinks five minutes ahead."
"They joined after you left," Chan Sik said. "They stayed."
Min exhaled slowly. "I haven't touched a computer in a year."
Chan Sik placed something on the table.
A keyboard.
Worn. Keys are smooth.
Jae Hwan's.
"We kept it," Chan Sik said. "Didn't feel right letting it go."
Min realized his fingers were moving again.
Chan Sik smiled faintly. "You don't have to play today. Or tomorrow. But Mapo needed to see you walk back in."
Min hovered his hand over the keys.
The hum.
The glow.
The memory.
"I'll stay," Min said.
Chan Sik nodded. "Good. We'll move when the time's right."
Outside, Mangwon dong slept uneasily.
And somewhere in Hongdae, Red Pulse ruled unaware that the ghost they buried had finally come home.