Jinyong walked into a martial arts school. The place was loud. Kids shouting. Feet hitting mats. The thud of punches. A couple of instructors moved between groups, correcting stances, showing them how to hit harder.
He stood there for a second, watching. The place wasn't fancy. Old mats. Cracked walls. But the passion was real.
A woman noticed him. She walked over, trying to look confident, her muscles showing through her shirt. She stopped in front of him, arms crossed.
"Can I help you?"
"I'm looking for a woman," Jinyong said. "Zhu Song."
Her eyes narrowed. "What do you want with her?"
"I'm offering her a job," he said. "I'll pay her well. Her old boss recommended her. But it's not tied to them, I assure you. Not the cleanest job, but not the dirtiest either."
"She said no."
Jinyong sighed. "Come on, Miss Song. You haven't even heard of the offer."
"You said my former boss. That's enough for me. Whatever you call it, it's still connected. And I already have a job. Here."
"It's a security job," Jinyong said. "Part-time. Training required for a bit, but it's flexible."
She gave a short laugh. "Training? You want me to train again? I'm the one teaching here."
"For a martial artist, you sound pretty sure of yourself," Jinyong said. "Are you done learning already? Are you a master now?"
"Of course not," she said, annoyed. "I'm just not interested. I'm busy helping these kids."
Jinyong looked around. "This place looks… repairable."
She frowned. "Hey, these kids need this. They already get pushed around enough. We do most of it for free."
"Really? That's generous."
"It's not me," she said. "It's the owner. I just help out."
"I see." Jinyong rubbed his chin, thinking. "Do you know who I am?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Should I?"
He smiled and offered his hand. "Jinyong Keum."
Her eyes widened a little. "Keum? As in Keum Enterprise?"
"That's the one."
"I knew you looked rich," she said. "Didn't know you were that rich."
"My father's company is starting a new branch," Jinyong said. "Security work. Still early stages. I'm looking for people to build it from the ground up. People who obviously have some kind of combat training."
"That's why you're here?" Zhu said. "You're recruiting? Still not interested."
"I'm not done talking yet," Jinyong said. He looked back at the kids. "We're only hiring non-benders."
That made her blink. "A security company made up of non-benders? Who's gonna hire that?"
"Fair question," he said with a small smile. "But we've been working on new tech. Tools that can even the field. That's why I'm confident. It'll give people like us a boost of self-worth along the way using it. That we're not lesser than benders anymore."
Zhu tilted her head. "Really?"
"Really," Jinyong said. "You're an ex-triad. A non-bender. You've fought benders before, haven't you?"
She smirked. "You could say that."
"Then you get it," Jinyong said. "I want to show that non-benders can fight back. That they can protect themselves. That the gap's not as big as everyone thinks now that technology is evolving rapidly."
Zhu crossed her arms. "Sounds noble. Still not interested."
"Fair enough," Jinyong said with a short laugh. "Maybe your students, then. I'll pay them."
She frowned but didn't answer.
He snapped his fingers suddenly. "Actually. Can I talk to the owner for a minute? Got an idea."
Zhu gave him a look. "Stay here. I'll get them."
Jinyong smiled, watching the kids spar again. "Take your time."
—
"What?" the old man blurted, almost knocking over his chair. His eyes went wide. "You want to sponsor us with that amount of money? I—what do you want from us, Mr. Keum? This is so sudden."
Jinyong stayed calm, hands resting on his knees. "I just want to develop talents, Master. Miss Song told me about you. How you built this place to give kids lessons to defend themselves. I respect that."
Zhu stood behind him, arms crossed, looking just as confused as her boss.
"All I ask," Jinyong went on, "is that once in a while, you recommend a few older students. Working age. Disciplined. I'll train them to prepare for the job, pay them well, and make sure they're treated right."
He laid it out for them again. The plan for the company. The focus on non-benders in a security-based company.
The old man finally sighed. "So you're trying to hire the best ones."
"Pretty much," Jinyong said, smiling. "I offered Miss Song a job, but she wants to stay here. That's fine. Still, I want your students to have a way up. Real jobs. Good pay. Benefits. And it's all legal. No back-alley work. No triad stuff. The security force will be strong enough that even the triads will think twice before touching them."
The old man frowned. "Sounds like a private army to me."
"In some ways, yeah," Jinyong admitted. "But we're not running hits or burning warehouses. We'll handle VIP protection, security contracts, maybe some cooperation with the police. Real work. Everything above board. I can't just send your boys and girls to wreck some of our competitors."
He leaned forward, still smiling. "So? You in? If you say yes, I can make the call right now. Maybe send a crew to fix this place up while I'm at it."
The old man walked to the window, looking out at the half-broken dojo. The kids outside were still training. He took a breath.
"I started this school to teach, not to make money," he said quietly. "But… you're offering my students a future. I'd be a fool to say no." He turned back and nodded. "I accept."
Jinyong stood and shook his hand. "Thank you, Master. I know this visit came out of nowhere. But I'm glad you gave me a chance."
Zhu watched in silence, her brow slightly furrowed. She couldn't tell if this was a good thing or the start of something bigger.
—
When the lawyers came to seal the deal, Jinyong sat back, watching the kids train. Some of them kept sneaking glances at the men in suits signing papers.
Zhu walked up to him, arms crossed. "What are you getting at?" she asked. "Master said yes because you gave him too much to refuse. Who gives that kind of money away for free?"
"To me, that amount is nothing," Jinyong said. "And you're right not to trust me. That's good. But this isn't free. It's an investment. I can't just hire random non-benders. I need a system. A place that connects all my future employees. This school gives me that."
"Still sounds like a front," she muttered. "A private force pretending to be a security company."
"I told you. It is," Jinyong said. "Most of what we do will be above the table."
"Most," she repeated.
"One thing about running things like this," Jinyong said, eyes on the kids again, "it's never clean. Sometimes you have to do something you don't like. I just want a way to protect ourselves when that happens. I'm being honest with you. Take it how you want."
Zhu looked at the students. A small girl was struggling with her stance, her leg shaking under the weight. Another boy helped her up, smiling. The sight softened her expression for a moment.
"When I was their age," she said quietly, "I had no one like that. The streets taught me to hit first or end up face down. Master gave me something better than that. I don't want these kids learning the same lesson I did."
"I'm not trying to turn them into rampaging murderers or bullies." Jinyong said.
"Maybe not," she said, turning back to him. "But I know the kind of world you're trying to build. You said it yourself. Give these kids an idea that they are not lesser than benders. That kind of hope is dangerous. And if it's truly realized, it's even more dangerous."
"I think I can give people like us a chance for a future," Jinyong said.
That hung in the air for a moment, long enough for her to glance back at the kids again. She sighed, rubbing her neck.
"If I don't go with you," she said, "they'll go without guidance. And you'll fill their heads with whatever you want." She looked him in the eye. "So fine. I'll join you. But I'm watching. If you use my students for dirty work, I'll pull them all out. You'll still pay me though."
Jinyong laughed. "That's your way of watching me? You're not the smartest, are you?"
She flushed. "Go to hell. You hiring me or not?"
He offered his hand, still amused. "Welcome to the team, Miss Song. Training starts next week."
She looked at his hand, then shook it firmly. "Next week it is."
—
A week later, Jinyong arrived at the new training facility, a few hours outside the city. It wasn't much—just a few prefab buildings on a patch of dirt—but it would do. He carried a duffle bag and walked into one of the halls.
Inside, a group was already there. Most were young, late teens, early twenties. Zhu was among them, arms crossed again, watching him like a hawk. The rest looked excited. Maybe to learn something new. Maybe just for the paycheck.
"Good morning," Jinyong said. "You're all early."
"Pretty weird place you got here," Zhu said. "Didn't have the money to build a proper one, rich boy?"
"I'm your employer now, Miss Song. Be nicer," Jinyong said, dropping the duffle bag. "This will do for now. It's meant to simulate real combat terrain. Everyone, stand up."
The group straightened. They looked capable, fit from years of martial arts training.
"I'm sure you know this training is for your job at my company," Jinyong said. "In the next six weeks, I'll teach you a new kind of fighting. One that needs not just muscle, but also brains and teamwork."
"You're training us?" one of them asked.
"Have a problem with that?" Jinyong said. "What's your name?"
"Ping."
"Well, Ping," Jinyong said, "didn't you hear me? You're learning something new. Something that doesn't involve punching or kicking. Right now, only I know how to do it. So you'll stick with me. Or do you think I'm just a rich guy who throws money around and never fights?"
Ping hesitated, then said quietly, "No."
"Only no?"
"No, sir."
Jinyong smiled. "Here, there's no master and student. But I'm still your boss. Call me sir, or just Jinyong. Any other questions?"
Silence.
Jinyong hummed, unzipping his duffle bag. He reached in and pulled out a handgun, holding it up for everyone to see.
"You know what this is?" he asked.
They all shook their heads.
"You're going to learn how to use this in the next week or so before we move on to more advanced things," he said. "This is the so-called great equalizer. A hand cannon. A firearm. Whatever name you like."
He turned the weapon in his hand, letting the sunlight catch the metal. "This is why I'm confident in hiring only non-benders for my company. Because with this, it doesn't matter who you are. Bender, non-bender, same thing. You aim, pull the trigger, and that someone is going down. Understood?"
A few exchanged uneasy glances. No one spoke. They just straightened up, trying not to show their nerves.
"Good," Jinyong said, standing up. He walked toward the door and pushed it open. "Follow me."
They followed him outside into the open field. A line of wooden dummies stood in the distance, roughly man-shaped. Tables had been set up with tools, boxes, and extra targets.
"A gun needs ammunition," Jinyong said, pulling out a magazine and showing it to them. "Every gun's different. Some carry more bullets, some less. When this is empty, you reload with another cartridge."
He slid the magazine back into place with a satisfying click. "Like I said before: simple. Aim. Pull the trigger."
He lifted the handgun, lined it up with a dummy, and fired.
The gunshot tore through the silence like thunder. The students flinched back, some covering their ears. Birds shot up from the trees nearby.
"W-What was that?" one of them stammered.
Jinyong chuckled softly. "It's loud," he said. "Scares people who don't know it. Makes it bad for stealth, but that's the trade-off."
He set the gun down on the table, before putting a few spare magazines next to it. "Alright. Try it."
The group hesitated. Nobody wanted to be the first.
Zhu rolled her eyes, stepped forward, and picked up the gun. She mimicked how he'd held it earlier, adjusting her stance, both hands on the grip.
"Good," Jinyong said. "Everyone else, watch how she holds it. Go ahead, Miss Song."
Zhu took a breath, squinting one eye as she aimed. Then she pulled the trigger.
The blast echoed through the field again. She blinked, surprised, her arms trembling slightly.
"Wow…" she muttered. "It pushes you too."
"That's called recoil," Jinyong said. "When you fire, the force throws the gun back. If you want to be good with it, you learn to control that. Fight around it. Next."
One by one, they stepped up. Some aimed too high. Some closed their eyes when they shot. The noise made them flinch, curse, laugh nervously. But slowly, they started getting used to it.
Jinyong swapped out guns, showing them different types—revolvers, rifles, shotguns. Each one heavier, louder, meaner. He explained how each worked, when to use them, what to avoid.
Hours passed. The air filled with gunpowder and echoing cracks. Smoke curled above the range, drifting into the trees.
By the end of the day, their hands were sore, their ears ringing. But they hit more than they missed. And Jinyong could see it, their fear was gone. Replaced by excitement.
He stood there, quiet, as the sound of gunfire echoed again and again.
For a moment, he almost smiled.
Because deep down, he knew, there was no going back now.