Chapter 9: When the World Tests Its Boundaries
Pressure always looks for weak points.
When it doesn't find any, it creates them.
The incident started small—too small for anyone important to care at first. A mid-tier crew from the outskirts pushed into another group's territory near the river. Words turned into fists. Fists turned into knives. By the time the police sirens echoed through the streets, two people were in the hospital and one name had started circulating in whispers.
Not mine.
That was new.
The name belonged to a First Gen remnant who'd stayed quiet for years. Kang Do-hyun. Power level around the high eights—dangerous, but not untouchable. Strong enough to dominate normal delinquents, not strong enough to challenge monsters like Gun or Goo.
He was testing the water.
I felt it the moment he stepped back into the city. Not his strength—his intent. It spread like oil, thin but persistent, touching places it shouldn't.
Gun heard about it that same night.
"He's reckless," Goo said, reading the report. "But not stupid."
"People who come back after hiding are never stupid," Gun replied. "They're desperate, or they believe something changed."
Goo's smile faded slightly. "And something did."
James Lee crossed Do-hyun's name off a mental list of irrelevancies. If the man wanted attention, he'd get crushed by the existing structure. But James noted one thing—the timing. Too precise. Too coincidental.
Charles Choi didn't ignore it.
He summoned intermediaries, adjusted funding, let the conflict expand just enough to see who reacted. If a force existed that influenced the city without moving, then agitation would reveal it.
The city twitched.
Daniel Park felt it as tension in the air. Fights broke out faster. People were angrier. The fragile calm cracked, just slightly. He found himself stepping in more often, pulling people apart, taking hits he didn't need to.
He lost again.
But he stood up faster this time.
Vasco noticed. Zack noticed. Even Jay's eyes lingered longer than usual.
They were all growing.
So was Kang Do-hyun.
He crushed a local crew in under ten minutes, leaving them alive but broken. A message, not a massacre. Word spread fast—too fast for comfort.
That was when he crossed into my path.
Not by accident.
He waited near the river, posture loose, eyes sharp. When I approached, he smiled like someone greeting an old rumor made flesh.
"So you're real," he said.
"Yes," I replied.
He laughed quietly. "They warned me. Said the city got heavier. I didn't believe them."
He stepped closer.
The restraint responded instantly—not loosening, but aligning. The air thickened. Do-hyun's smile faltered for a fraction of a second, instincts screaming louder than pride.
"You're strong," he admitted. "Stronger than they said."
"Leave," I told him. "This isn't your era anymore."
He clenched his fists, veins standing out. For a moment, I thought he'd push it.
Then he stepped back.
Not in fear.
In understanding.
"…I see," he said softly. "So that's the boundary."
He turned and walked away without another word, and the city exhaled again.
No fight.
No spectacle.
Just a line drawn without ink.
Elsewhere, Gun felt it—sharp, undeniable.
"So it can say no," he muttered.
Goo grinned, eyes bright. "Now that's scary."
Daniel Park slept deeply that night, unaware that a war he would one day face had just been postponed.
I watched the river flow under moonlight, hands in my pockets, expression calm.
The world had tested its boundaries.
It had found them intact.
For now.