Workers Headquarters
Eugene sat on the sofa, his face wrapped in bandages, his right hand encased in plaster.
Mandeok sat across from him, leaning forward with a heavy sigh. "This time, we lost completely."
Eugene said nothing.
"None of our contingencies worked," Mandeok continued. "We were outnumbered and outsmarted."
A smile crept across Eugene's face. "Don't worry. This loss won't be in vain. We've gained an opportunity."
Mandeok frowned. "What opportunity?"
Eugene's smile widened. "An opportunity to finish off all our enemies at once. We just have to sit back and watch them destroy each other." He leaned forward slightly. "I've already sent someone to retrieve it. As long as I have it in hand, Charles Choi can do nothing."
Mandeok shook his head. "What about Daniel Park and J High? They've destroyed the 4th, 3rd, and 2nd affiliates. They'll surely come for the 1st affiliate too. The newly formed 5th affiliate only has Lee Dosoo and Ji Changyong—Eli Jang and Warren Chae have betrayed us. On top of that, White Tiger Job Centre turned traitor as well."
Eugene's face darkened. Then the smile returned. He pulled a folded list from his pocket and handed it to Mandeok. "Check out these names. I've heard great things about them."
Mandeok took the list and read the names in silence. Then he nodded. "Okay. But will they be enough?"
Eugene leaned back, his smile deepening. "Don't worry. We still have that thing at the 1st affiliate."
---
Chungcheong
Night had fallen.
A bike tore through the muddy roads, its headlight slicing through the darkness.
Baki Hanma gripped the handlebars, his body low and streamlined against the wind.
Eighty miles—normally a journey of an hour and a half, maybe two—melted away in sixty minutes flat.
He'd reached his destination.
As Baki throttled down a winding stretch, something moved ahead in the darkness.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Heavy, uneven footsteps.
An old man stumbled into view, huffing and running as if death itself were at his heels.
Baki squinted. The darkness swallowed most of the figure, but as the old man passed beneath a flickering street lamp, recognition struck.
Bakugo.
The same old man Jichang had been helping.
An eerie feeling crawled up Baki's spine.
He squeezed the brakes. The bike skidded to a halt, kicking up mud and gravel.
"Old man!" Baki called out.
Bakugo whipped around, eyes wide with terror. His chest heaved, sweat pouring down his weathered face.
"You—" Bakugo gasped. "You're that boy—"
"What happened?" Baki's voice was sharp. "Why are you running?"
Bakugo doubled over, clutching his knees. "Charles... Charles Choi..."
The name hung in the air like poison.
Baki's jaw tightened. "Explain. Now."
Bakugo straightened, his voice trembling but urgent. "We were planning to expose him—Charles Choi's involvement in Gapryong Kim's death. We sent everything to the press. All the evidence. But the press..." He spat the word like venom. "They're in his pocket. They handed it all over to him."
Baki's fists clenched.
"Charles found out I was here in Chungcheong," Bakugo continued, his voice breaking. "He came to kill me. But Jichang—Jichang stopped him. He's fighting Charles right now."
The words hit like a lightning strike.
"Get on," Baki ordered, his voice cold and deadly.
Bakugo scrambled onto the back of the bike.
VROOOOM!
The engine roared to life. Baki twisted the throttle hard.
The bike exploded forward, mud spraying in its wake.
"Hold on." Baki twisted the throttle further. The speedometer needle buried itself past 120.
Trees blurred into black smears. Wind tore at their clothes like claws. The old man's ragged breathing hammered against Baki's back.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
A familiar sound echoed through the night.
"Gunshots!" Bakugo wheezed, his gnarled fingers digging into Baki's shoulders. "That's definitely Jichang's gun—but the first three shots are blanks!"
Baki's eyes narrowed.
Three blanks.
Which meant the fourth shot would be real.
Within seconds, Baki reached Bakugo's house. He squeezed the brakes. The bike skidded to a halt, kicking up mud and gravel.
The door hung open. He saw Jichang sitting with his back against the wall, his complexion pale as death. He pressed a hand against a wound near his stomach, but blood still flowed profusely.
As Baki stood frozen in shock, Bakugo rushed past him.
He crouched down beside Jichang. "Jichang! I'm here, Jichang!"
But Jichang's condition was critical. He barely muttered, "Old man..."
Baki snapped out of his daze and rushed inside. The whole house was blacked out. In the darkness, Baki felt a presence, but he couldn't see anything.
Jichang looked up at Baki. "You... finally came..."
He barely raised his hand and pointed behind Baki. "Behind you..."
Before Baki could turn, he sensed cold metal pressed against his skull—a pistol.
Charles Choi's figure, half-shrouded in darkness, half-illuminated by pale light, stood behind Baki, pressing a gun against his head.
"What's this? I didn't expect to find you here." Charles's voice was calm, almost conversational. "Doesn't matter. Since you came here, you can't leave."
Charles pressed the trigger.
In that instant, Baki activated Death Concentration. His reaction speed and reflexes surged to their maximum.
In a microsecond, Baki's body moved. He elbowed Charles in the stomach, disrupting his aim. Baki tilted his head and the gun fired simultaneously. The bullet grazed through Baki's skull, leaving a trail of blood.
Charles fired multiple times in that split moment. Baki barely dodged them all.
Finally, the bullets ran out.
Baki rarely feels anger. Every time he fights, he fights for fun. But today, for the first time, Baki doesn't plan to enjoy this fight.
Baki turned toward Bakugo. "Old man, take Jichang and get to a hospital. Keep pressure on his wounds. And don't worry about what happens here. I'm going to purge a rat tonight."
Bakugo nodded slightly, quickly hoisted Jichang onto his back, and rushed away.
Charles watched them leave. Then he turned to Baki, his face serious. "Baki Hanma, also known as the Ogre by the folks of Cheonliang. You're not a King from the 1st generation. So why do you intervene?"
Baki walked slowly toward Charles. His six-foot-four-inch frame of pure muscle overshadowed Charles completely. A demonic smile appeared on Baki's face as his hair fluttered. "A rat like you shouldn't question me."
At that moment, Charles threw a jab at Baki.
CRACK!
The jab connected with Baki's jaw—a strike so fast it seemed to materialize from nowhere.
Baki's head didn't move.
Not even an inch.
Charles's eyes widened. His fist trembled against Baki's face, still pressed against the point of impact.
Impossible.
The strike had connected perfectly.
And Baki hadn't even blinked.
"Weak," Baki said, his voice dripping with disappointment.
His hand shot out.
WHUMP!
Fingers wrapped around Charles's throat like a vice.
"Gkkh—!"
Baki lifted him off the ground with one hand. Charles's feet kicked uselessly in the air, his hand clawing at the iron grip cutting off his windpipe.
"You should have stayed in your lane," Baki said, his voice flat and cold.