FALLEN KINGS - CHAPTER 3 The Edge of Breaking
A BANDONED UNDERGROUND FACILITY — 10:47 PM
The night had a texture to it—thick, oppressive. Like breathing through wet cloth.The facility wasn't designed for comfort. Bare bulbs buzzed overhead, flickering in patterns that made shadows dance wrong across concrete. Water dripped somewhere in the darkness. A constant, maddening rhythm. Drip. Drip. Drip. The smell was industrial decay: rust, mold, old sweat soaked into concrete that had seen too many desperate people pass through it.Five bodies sat in a loose circle on the cold floor. Nobody spoke.The silence wasn't peaceful. It was the heavy, suffocating quiet that comes before executions. Before wars. Before the moment when everything changes and can never go back.Gun Park sat with his back against a support pillar, one leg stretched out, the other bent. His cigarette had burned down to ash between his fingers, forgotten. He stared at nothing, but his mind was a machine that wouldn't shut off. Calculate. Analyze. Find the angle. But every calculation led to the same endpoint: death. Every analysis showed the same pattern: overwhelming force. Every angle revealed the same truth.They were outmatched in every measurable way.His jaw clenched. The pain from where Baki had thrown him was settling into his bones—not the sharp pain of fresh injury, but the deep ache that told him something fundamental had shifted. He'd been thrown before. Defeated before. But this was different. This wasn't losing to someone slightly better. This was discovering that the entire scale of power he'd been operating on was just... wrong. Like finding out the ocean you'd been swimming in was actually just a puddle.Across from him, Goo Kim was moving. Not pacing. That would require too much energy. Just shifting. Restless. His hands would clench into fists, then relax. Then clench again. His breathing was uneven. The chaos that usually defined him—the thing that made him dangerous, unpredictable—had turned inward. It was eating him alive.Goo's thoughts spiraled. Run. Fight. Laugh. Scream. Do something. Anything. But every action felt pointless. For someone whose entire life had been built on the philosophy that chaos could overcome order, the discovery of a force that chaos couldn't touch was existential horror.If unpredictability doesn't work, what am I?Daniel Park's small body sat cross-legged, perfectly still, but the stillness was artificial. Forced. Inside, both his conscious small body and his unconscious perfect body—sleeping in Gangnam, kilometers away—were screaming. The foresight had finally quieted, but the silence after prophecy was somehow worse than the warnings.It meant they'd moved past the point where warnings mattered.What happens if they destroy one body? Daniel thought, and the question made his hands tremble. Does the consciousness survive in the other? Or do I die twice?Johan Seong's eyes were half-closed, but his copying instinct was still active. Even now. Even exhausted. He was copying everyone in the room—Gun's tactical desperation, Goo's chaos turned inward, Daniel's existential fear, Vasco's simple determination, Baki's sad certainty.Copying so many emotional states simultaneously was like being pulled in five directions at once. Disorienting. Nauseating.But Johan couldn't stop. Because if he stopped copying, he'd have to face his own emotions.I built my entire identity on being able to copy anything. Learn anything. Become anyone. But I can't copy fifty years of discipline. I can't copy a lifetime of fighting gods.So what am I?Vasco was the only one who seemed almost calm. His massive frame was covered in bruises, but he sat with his back straight, breathing deliberately. In. Out. In. Out. He'd learned long ago that when the mind couldn't process something, the body could carry you.Just breathe. Just exist. One moment at a time.But even Vasco's simplicity couldn't fully shield him from the weight.I promised I'd protect people. My crew. My friends. But how do you protect anyone when you can't even protect yourself?The door opened.Everyone's body tensed—not into fighting stances, but into the instinctive coil of prey sensing a predator. Baki entered, carrying a tray with five cups of water and some rice balls. Simple food. Survival food.He set the tray down in the center of their circle and sat across from Gun.Nobody reached for it. Nobody moved.Baki didn't push. He just sat there, his presence somehow both comforting and terrifying. The way a doctor might sit beside a patient before delivering a terminal diagnosis—compassionate, but unflinching.Finally, Gun spoke. His voice was rough, like he'd been screaming, though he'd been silent for hours."Tell me the truth," Gun said. His eyes met Baki's directly. "Not the philosophy. Not the hope. The truth. What are our actual chances?"Baki didn't answer immediately. He looked at each of them in turn, weighing something."Against my father?" Baki said quietly. "Zero. You will not survive a direct confrontation with Yujiro Hanma. Not now. Not in a year. Not in ten years."The words hit like physical blows."Against his division heads?" Baki continued. "Individually? Also zero. Each one has spent decades perfecting their craft. They're not just strong. They're complete. Mind, body, and will aligned in a way that takes most people a lifetime to achieve."Goo laughed—a harsh, broken sound. "Then what the fuck are we doing here?""Surviving the first encounter," Baki said. "That's all. If you can survive the first time they come for you—if you can force them to take you seriously instead of just crushing you immediately—then you buy time. And time means training. And training means growth. And growth means possibility.""Possibility isn't the same as probability," Gun said."No," Baki agreed. "But it's better than certainty. And right now, certainty is death."Daniel's small body finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "My foresight... it shows me burning. Both bodies. Everything burning.""Foresight shows you probability," Baki said gently. "It doesn't show you will. If you fight the way you've always fought—if you rely on the same techniques, the same strategies—then yes, you burn. But if you become something different..." He trailed off."Different how?" Johan asked. His copying eyes were locked on Baki, trying to understand something that couldn't be copied."By breaking," Baki said simply. "By letting go of who you think you are and discovering who you could be."Vasco reached for one of the rice balls. His movements were slow, deliberate. He ate in silence for a moment, then spoke."When I was a kid," Vasco said quietly, "I was weak. Really weak. Other kids beat me up all the time. And one day, my dad told me something. He said: 'Strength isn't about not falling down. It's about standing back up.'"He looked at his hands—massive, scarred, powerful. "I got strong. Really strong. Strong enough that almost nobody could knock me down anymore." His voice cracked slightly. "But today, I got knocked down. Hard. And for the first time in years, I remembered what it felt like to be weak."Vasco looked up at Baki. "Is that what breaking means? Remembering what it's like to be weak so you can learn to be strong again?"Baki's expression softened. "Yes. Exactly that."Gun finally reached for the water. The cup felt heavy in his hands. "How does it start? The breaking?""Tomorrow at dawn," Baki said. "We'll begin with the fundamentals. I'm going to test each of you individually. Find your limits. Not the limits you think you have—the actual ones. The places where your body wants to quit, where your mind screams to stop, where every instinct tells you to give up.""And then what?" Goo asked, his voice hollow."And then we'll push past them," Baki said. "Again and again. Until your body learns that those limits were lies. Until your mind accepts pain as information instead of warning. Until your will becomes something that can't be broken by force."The dripping water seemed louder now. Drip. Drip. Drip. Like a countdown.Johan's hands were shaking. "What if we can't? What if one of us... breaks completely?"Baki didn't look away. "Then that person dies. And the rest keep training."The brutality of that statement hung in the air. No false comfort. No reassurance. Just truth.Daniel's small body drew his knees up to his chest. "I have two bodies. If one breaks—""Then you have one left," Baki said. "And you keep fighting with that one.""That's not—" Daniel's voice broke. "That's not fair.""No," Baki agreed. "It's not. Nothing about this is fair. My father built an empire on the backs of people who thought martial arts was about honor and fairness. He crushed them all because he understood something they didn't: survival has no rules. Victory has no honor. There's only what you're willing to endure."Baki stood slowly. "Get some rest. All of you. In six hours, we start. And once we start, we don't stop until either you've broken and rebuilt yourselves, or you're dead."He walked toward the door, then paused."One more thing," Baki said, not turning around. "My father's network will send scouts first. Before the actual attack. They'll observe you. Test you. Try to measure your strength so they can send the appropriate force to crush you.""When?" Gun asked."Already happening," Baki said. "Someone's been watching this facility for the last thirty minutes."Everyone tensed."Don't bother looking," Baki said. "They're professional. You won't see them. But they're there. Counting you. Measuring you. Reporting back." He finally turned to face them. "Which means you have even less time than I thought. They'll come within forty-eight hours instead of days.""Two days," Goo breathed."Two days to become something they can't immediately crush," Baki confirmed. "Two days to break and rebuild. It's not enough time. It's nowhere near enough time. But it's all you have."He left, the door closing behind him with a sound like a coffin sealing.The five sat in silence.Gun looked at the others—really looked at them. At Goo, whose chaos had turned to fear. At Daniel, whose dual nature was now a vulnerability instead of an advantage. At Johan, whose copying couldn't reach the places they needed to go. At Vasco, whose strength had been proven insufficient.And he saw himself reflected in their eyes: a tactician whose tactics meant nothing against overwhelming force.We're not ready, he thought. We'll never be ready.But the alternative was surrender. Was slavery. Was watching everything they'd built burn while they knelt before a tyrant."Six hours," Gun said quietly. "We should sleep."Nobody moved.Because sleep meant vulnerability. Sleep meant letting go of control. Sleep meant trusting that they'd wake up tomorrow and still have the will to face what was coming.But eventually, exhaustion won. One by one, they lay down on the cold concrete floor, using their jackets as pillows, their weapons as comfort.Gun was the last to close his eyes. His final thought before sleep took him was simple, terrible, and true:Tomorrow, we learn what breaking feels like.
OUTSIDE THE FACILITY — DARKNESS — 10:58 PM
A figure watched through night-vision goggles. They'd been there for exactly forty-three minutes, completely undetected.Five targets. Movement patterns indicated Seoul district standard. Skill level: minimal.The figure pressed a button on their communications device."Confirm: Five targets. Threat assessment: Minimal. Recommend: Single division head deployment. Time frame: Forty-eight hours."A voice crackled back through the static: "Acknowledged. Oliva is en route. Arrival: Thirty-six hours."The figure smiled in the darkness. Oliva. The Unchained. The man who could lift cars and bend steel.Being sent to crush five street fighters.It would be over in minutes.