The phone vibrated.
HJW:
*Come to me.*
*Address. Mangwon district — Mapo.*
The neighborhood was working-class in a way unlike anywhere Ji Hun Min had entered since coming to this world. Crammed small restaurants. Old neon signs flickering exhaustedly. Smells of grilled meat drifting from open doors despite the cold.
People here walked with the slowness of the tired. No one seemed in a hurry.
He found the place—a small tavern in the side alley. A heavy wooden door. A steam-covered window.
He entered.
Han Jae Won in the furthest corner.
On the wooden table before him—bottles. Three at least. Empty.
His hand gripping the neck of a fourth.
Ji Hun Min stopped in his tracks for a second.
He had never seen him like this. Every time he had seen him, the man was whole—calm in a way that didn't resemble human calm.
Now—something had broken in his eyes. And hadn't been fixed.
"Sit."
Ji Hun Min sat.
Silence.
Han Jae Won drank. Set the bottle down with a sound heavier than necessary.
"You're going to fight an upcoming match." He said it slowly—as if the words scratched his throat. "For Kang's son."
Ji Hun Min waited.
"Kang Jae Won."
The name.
In his head—Kang Ha Eun's sentence in the café:
*I have a brother. If you're not with me, don't be with him.*
He said nothing.
Han Jae Won raised his eyes to him.
"You know him?"
"I've heard the name."
Han Jae Won looked at him. A long look.
Then turned his face away.
"Don't get closer to him than the job requires."
"Why?"
Han Jae Won drank. Set the bottle down.
"He moves people." A pause. "When the game ends—you disappear. Or you are disappeared."
Ji Hun Min looked at him.
"And you?"
Han Jae Won didn't answer immediately.
Looked at the bottle.
"I know where I stand."
He took out an envelope. Pushed it across the table.
Ji Hun Min opened the file.
A photograph. Notes in small handwriting.
*Park Sung Jin. Twenty-eight years old. Fighter—but not in the official ring. Entered this world four years ago. His style follows no school. Savage. Fast. Doesn't stop.*
Then at the bottom:
*A record full of brawls. Harassment cases. Charges of crippling assault. All closed.*
Ji Hun Min looked at the photograph.
An ordinary face. But his eyes don't look at you. They look right past you.
He closed the file.
"And who protects Kang Jae Won if he loses?"
"His father's name."
Silence.
"This world—isn't about winning and losing. It's about who owns the name that inspires the greatest fear."
Ji Hun Min looked at the empty bottles.
"Why are you drinking?"
Han Jae Won looked at his hand.
The bottle in it.
He didn't answer.
Ji Hun Min stood.
Looked at the scattered bottles. Then at Han Jae Won's face.
A silence that asked for no answer, but understood everything.
"Go." Han Jae Won said it without raising his head.
Ji Hun Min looked at him for a second.
Then walked.
The door closed behind him.
Han Jae Won remained alone.
Looked at the bottles on the table.
Counted them.
Then drank.
A sound at the door.
Han Jae Won didn't turn. He knew the footsteps.
Inspector Shin Jae Ho.
His dark grey coat. His hair white at the temples.
"You're in a miserable state."
Han Jae Won didn't answer.
Shin Jae Ho pulled out the chair.
Turned to the female owner. Signaled with two fingers.
She brought two bottles. Set them down. Walked away.
Shin Jae Ho opened his bottle. Didn't drink immediately.
"Did you find out who leaked the information that day?"
Han Jae Won looked at him.
"I'm not certain."
Shin Jae Ho looked at his glass.
"Kang's son."
Silence descended on the table.
"The dog that bites its father won't spare strangers."
Han Jae Won looked at the bottle in his hand.
Didn't drink.
Just looked.
Shin Jae Ho asked nothing more.
They drank.
In silence.
The morning came cold.
Ji Hun Min left early.
Walked the streets of Mapo before heading to the gym. The air was biting. An old man sweeping in front of his door with a daily, unchanging motion. Sweeping dust that would return tomorrow. The motion of a man who has no other choice.
Ji Hun Min watched him for a second.
He too had no choice.
He continued his walk.
The file in his head—an ordinary face. Eyes that don't look at you. That look right past you.
The gym.
Ji Hun Min and Yoon in the ring. Light sparring—the shoulder still reminding him of its presence.
Baek Sung Chul was absent.
For the first time since the raid.
Ji Hun Min looked at his empty corner.
Yoon noticed the look. Didn't stop hitting the bag.
"Don't ask."
Ji Hun Min didn't ask.
Minutes later—the sound of shoes cutting across the rubber.
Kang Ha Eun.
A light beige coat. Hands in her pockets.
"Hello."
Ji Hun Min looked at her.
"Hello."
Yoon placed his gloves on the rope. Walked to the corner.
Kang Ha Eun looked at his face.
"Are you sick?"
"Why?"
"Because you said hello." She smiled. "Is this Ji Hun?"
He didn't reply.
"Go take a shower. We're going out."
When he came out—she was waiting by the car.
"Get in."
He looked at her car. Then motioned with his head toward the lamppost.
"I have a motorcycle."
"You'll come back to it."
He got in.
The car moving through the streets of Mapo. She was driving. He was looking out the window.
"You're going to fight a match for my brother."
"I know."
"Don't forget what I told you."
"I'm not interested in him."
Kang Ha Eun looked at the road.
"We'll see."
The restaurant in the Mangwon district.
Small. Crowded. Smells filling the place.
When they entered—the owner looked up. Bowed immediately.
Didn't say anything. But his eyes carried a trace of respectful terror. He pointed to an isolated table in the back.
Kang Ha Eun sat as if she owned the place.
Ji Hun Min sat across from her.
"How do you know this place?"
"Is there a reason I shouldn't?"
She looked at him.
Added nothing.
The food arrived without them ordering.
They ate.
No sound but the scraping of chopsticks against plates. A charged silence. As if every bite delayed something that had to be said.
Kang Ha Eun set her chopsticks down.
Looked at him. The look that precedes the scalpel.
"I was reminded of your mother."
Ji Hun Min stopped.
Didn't blink. Didn't move a muscle. But his shoulder throbbed.
She waited.
Wanting him to get angry. To justify. To break so she could see what was inside.
Then—with complete calm:
"I am dead."
Kang Ha Eun looked at him.
The word dropped like a stone.
She said nothing.
Kept looking. Realizing that this weapon was cold on the inside.
They ate until they finished.
In the car—she dropped him off where his motorcycle was.
Before he opened the door—she turned to him.
"You broken thing."
She said it as a fact. An observation. Not an insult.
Ji Hun Min stopped. His hand on the door handle.
The word didn't hurt him, because it was too precise. Precise as an undeniable diagnosis.
He looked at her for a second.
Didn't deny it.
Then opened the door. Got out.
He got on the motorcycle.
The street ahead of him. Seoul's spring was beginning to show—trees blooming on both sides of the road. People his age walking, laughing, running. Filled with something he couldn't name.
He wasn't.
He started the motorcycle.
And rode away.