Incheon Port. Cargo Dock No. 4.
Thick fog swallowed the harbor lights, and the smell of salt mixed with stale oil filled the air. Miles away in the deep waters, the lights of a luxury cruise ship glimmered, waiting for its guests from the underworld.
Ji Hun stood in silence, wearing his dark coat, watching the black waves crash against the concrete pier while Manager Choi finalized the clearance papers with the port guards.
There were no goodbyes, no words of encouragement. Choi finished the paperwork, turned to Ji Hun, and gestured toward the small boat that would take them into the heart of international waters.
Ji Hun turned and stepped toward the boat, leaving the city lights behind his back.
***
An hour later. The bowels of the cruise ship.
The vibration of the massive diesel engines surged through the steel floor, straight up to his bare feet.
He sat alone in a cramped storage room in the bowels of the ship, sailing quietly in the dark international waters off the coast of Seoul. Where there are no laws, and no police.
There were no boxing gloves, no referees. He wore black sweatpants, his bare chest reflecting the coldness of the steel surrounding him.
He grabbed the roll of cotton wraps and began winding it around his knuckles.
With every wrap, he pulled the rough fabric tight, securing his wrist, covering the old bruises. In that silence, broken only by the hum of the engines and the waves crashing against the hull, the smell of diesel faded, replaced by an old sensory memory sneaking into his breath.
When she returned from the factory late at night, her clothes carried a nameless smell. Something pungent, caught between ammonia and hot iron. He hated that smell as a child, burying his face in her coat, not understanding where it came from.
Now, he knows its name.
He tied the final knot around his left wrist.
The heavy metal door opened. Manager Choi appeared in the doorway, wearing his elegant gray suit that contrasted sharply with the filth of the storage room. He didn't say a word. He looked at Ji Hun's wrapped fists and simply gave a slow nod toward the dark corridor.
Ji Hun stood up. He walked down the narrow steel hallway, following Choi's steps.
With every step, the sound of cheers grew louder, until they reached a massive door that opened into a vast cargo hold in the heart of the ship. Harsh yellow floodlights hanging from the metallic ceiling hit him.
It wasn't a sports ring. It was a hexagonal cage made of thick steel pipes and heavy chain-link fencing.
The contrast was breathtaking. Above this rusted cage was a panoramic glass balcony belonging to the ship's luxury upper deck. Behind the soundproof glass stood men in tuxedos, holding crystal glasses and smoking cigars.
Up there, where the smell of blood couldn't reach, Chairman Kang and the head of Taeyang Chemicals sat to bet on the future of the Yeongdeungpo district.
But Ji Hun didn't look up at that balcony. His eyes were fixed on the center.
In the middle of the steel cage stood Baek San.
He was more massive than he appeared in the photos. A block of dense muscle and skin covered in chemical burn scars and old stab wounds. He wasn't bouncing or moving his feet like a boxer. He stood perfectly still like a brick wall, his massive hands wrapped in black tape, his thick neck unmoving.
Ji Hun slowly stepped into the cage.
The chain-link door was shut behind him, and the sound of a metal padlock snapping closed was heard.
There was no bell to signal the start. There was no referee to separate them if one fell.
Baek San raised his dead eyes to Ji Hun. He didn't look at his face; his gaze immediately dropped to Ji Hun's left shoulder—the weak point, the joint that had been dislocated before.
Ji Hun took one step toward the center. The ship swayed slightly with the waves, but his feet didn't tremble. He didn't raise his hands to cover his face in a classic boxing stance. He left his fists slightly lowered, tightening his knuckles until they whitened under the wraps.
The smell of ammonia and hot iron filled his head, and burned his lungs.
The wait didn't last long.
Baek San lunged forward. It wasn't the movement of an athlete; it was the rush of a concrete block whose cables had snapped. He didn't aim his strike at Ji Hun's head. He swung his massive right hand like a hammer, aiming directly for the dislocated left shoulder.
Ji Hun didn't retreat. He didn't try to block the strike; blocking would have broken his arm. He dropped his body under the arc of the massive arm and pushed his weight forward.
Baek San's forearm scraped against Ji Hun's neck, a rough friction that sent drops of sweat flying, but Ji Hun was already inside his guard.
Ji Hun unleashed a straight right, throwing his entire body weight behind it, bare-knuckled, crashing directly into Baek San's ribs.
*Crack.*
The sound of bone hitting bone echoed in the cage. It was a strike that would have dropped any professional boxer to the canvas.
But the monster didn't take a single step back. He didn't even blink.
Baek San looked down at Ji Hun, whose fist was still buried in his ribs, and smiled.