The night was still.
Neon lights from Nampo's backstreets flickered across the windshield as Vlad drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily near his gun. Tae-min sat in the passenger seat, staring out at the quiet city. His mind still buzzed from the chaos of the warehouse. It wasn't the blood or the bullets that stayed with him, rather, it was the silence after. The feeling of power that came with surviving.
Then his phone buzzed.
A single message from Sang-ho: "Head to my apartment. Now."
Vlad glanced at the screen and gave a short chuckle. "He never texts unless it's serious."
Tae-min nodded. "He wouldn't, unless something's burning."
They drove through the dim-lit streets until they reached the high-rise near the docks. Sang-ho's place was on the twelfth floor, a place he rarely invited anyone to. Tae-min and Vlad exchanged a look before knocking twice.
The door opened almost immediately.
A smell hit first, a smell of smoke, iron, and alcohol. Then they saw him.
Sang-ho sat on the couch, sleeves rolled up, blood spattered across his white shirt. Not his blood. His expression was calm, but his eyes were burning with something darker, exhaustion mixed with satisfaction.
On the floor near his table lay a few bloodied rags and a bucket of water tinted red. Tae-min didn't need to ask.
"Sit," Sang-ho said simply. His voice carried a tired weight, the kind that came after a long interrogation.
They sat.
"He talked," Sang-ho said, lighting a cigarette. "The client that set you up. He didn't make it long, but he talked."
Vlad leaned forward. "And?"
"It wasn't just him. That warehouse was a test run," Sang-ho said, exhaling smoke that drifted toward the ceiling fan. "Someone in the Association tipped the Red Pins off about our schedule. They knew where you'd be, when you'd arrive, even how many men I sent."
Tae-min frowned. "So someone inside the Jinho Association is feeding them."
"Exactly."
Silence followed, heavy but charged. The city hummed faintly below the window, distant and meaningless compared to the weight of what was said.
Then Sang-ho stood, pacing slowly toward the table. "We're not moving for a while. Eyes will be watching us. I'll call when it's time."
He crushed the cigarette in the ashtray, grabbed his jacket, and disappeared into the other room, leaving the two men alone.
Vlad looked at Tae-min. "You think he's telling us everything?"
Tae-min shook his head. "No. But I think he's telling us enough."
They left shortly after, each lost in thought. Tae-min couldn't stop replaying Sang-ho's tone, that faint crack beneath his words. He'd seen Sang-ho angry, cold, commanding, but this was different. This was fear disguised as strategy.
Three Days Later
The message came again.
"Come to the apartment. Bring Vlad."
The air felt heavier this time.
When they arrived, Sang-ho was dressed in a dark suit, clean for once, hair slicked back. The blood and exhaustion from before were gone, replaced by quiet determination.
"Where are we going?" Vlad asked.
Sang-ho straightened his tie. "The annual meeting of the Jinho Association."
Tae-min's brows furrowed. "You sure that's smart? After what happened?"
"I don't have a choice," Sang-ho replied. "The bosses expect all division heads to attend. If I don't show, they'll assume I'm hiding something. And right now, perception is everything."
He walked toward the door, turning just before he left. "Stay sharp. No unnecessary words. And don't look anyone in the eye too long, this room will be filled with sharks."
At the Factory
The drive to the meeting was silent. The car cut through the industrial zone, where the city's glitter faded into rust and concrete. Ahead, an abandoned factory loomed, the Jinho Association's annual meeting place. Security was tight; men in black suits stood near the gates, eyes sharp, scanning for anyone suspicious.
They parked, stepping out together.
The air outside buzzed with whispers, faint but sharp enough to cut through the noise of distant machinery. Tae-min could feel the stares.
"That's Sang-ho's crew."
"Heard about the gunfight."
"That kid, the one from Nampo? They say he's tied to the Baekho Group…"
Tae-min ignored them, though he caught a few curious glances aimed his way. It didn't surprise him. Rumors in this world spread faster than bullets.
Inside, the atmosphere was suffocating.
Leaders from every crew stood in clusters, cigarettes glowing like tiny embers in the dim light. The room was lined with folding chairs and a long steel table in the center. Sang-ho nodded curtly at a few familiar faces but spoke to no one.
One man broke from the crowd, Han Soo-jin, head of the West Nampo crew. Polished, soft-spoken, always smiling too much. He approached with his usual charm, hand outstretched.
"Sang-ho," Soo-jin greeted. "Didn't expect to see you here after the… incident."
"Business doesn't stop because people die," Sang-ho replied flatly.
Soo-jin chuckled. "Fair enough. Still, good to see you breathing."
The two exchanged polite conversation, meaningless words about money and supply lines, until Soo-jin's tone shifted subtly. His smile faded. "After the meeting," he murmured low enough that only Sang-ho could hear, "we should talk. There's something you need to know."
Sang-ho raised an eyebrow. "Something that can't wait?"
"Trust me," Soo-jin said. "You'll want to hear it."
Before Sang-ho could reply, the main doors opened, and the room fell silent.
Two men entered, Chairman Seo, tall and composed, and beside him Gwon Tae-sik, eyes sharp like a hawk. Their presence demanded attention. Every crew leader straightened instinctively.
The meeting began.
Chairman Seo and Gwon Tae-sik stood at the head of the table. Seo spoke, his voice calm but heavy. "We've had enough of hesitation. The Red Pins and the Black Runners have crossed every line we set. It's time we remind them who runs this city."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd.
Gwon Tae-sik stepped forward, hands behind his back. "Our assault division will lead the first strike. The loan and transport divisions will follow. We'll hit their fronts simultaneously, drug warehouses, gambling dens, and safehouses. Swift and clean."
The room buzzed with quiet tension. Every leader nodded, some eager, others hesitant.
When the meeting adjourned, the crew heads began to disperse, whispering plans and alliances under their breath. Tae-min stayed back with Vlad near the wall, watching everything. He didn't speak, didn't move, just observed.
Sang-ho lingered for a moment longer, turning to Soo-jin. "You said you had something for me," he whispered.
Soo-jin gave a faint smile. "Not here. I'll text you an address."
Then he was gone.
Hours Later — The Closed Seafood Restaurant
The neon sign outside was dead, and the smell of salt and old fish hung in the air. Inside, the lights were low. Sang-ho sat at the center booth, smoke curling from his cigarette. Tae-min leaned against the counter, Vlad sitting quietly near the window.
A few minutes later, Soo-jin arrived.
He didn't speak immediately, just looked around the room, noting who was present. Then he sat.
Sang-ho leaned forward. "Alright, Soo-jin. You said you had something important."
Soo-jin hesitated, then met his eyes. "You're right about a snake inside Jinho. But it's worse than you think."
The air grew still.
Tae-min crossed his arms, silent, analyzing.
Soo-jin continued. "Four crews, two from the loan division, two from the assault division, are secretly working with the Red Pins and the Black Runners. They've been feeding information for months. That's how they knew about your warehouse job."
Sang-ho's expression hardened. "Names."
"I have them. But you won't like what comes next."
Soo-jin slid a folded paper across the table. Sang-ho opened it. As he read the names, his jaw tightened. He exhaled slowly, then leaned back, piecing the puzzle together.
"Now it makes sense," Sang-ho muttered. "All of it, the ambush, the shipments that vanished, the cops showing up uninvited…"
He looked up, eyes narrowing. "You know who's orchestrating this, right?"
Soo-jin frowned. "Who?"
Sang-ho's voice dropped low, steady. "Gwon Tae-sik."
Soo-jin froze. "That's impossible,..."
"It's not," Sang-ho cut him off. "Think about it. The Red Pins grew overnight, the Black Runners started targeting only our territory, not the others. Tae-sik's been trying to position himself as next chairman. He's pulling strings from both sides."
Silence.
Only the hum of the old refrigerator filled the room.
Vlad's gaze flicked toward Tae-min, who, as always, was calm. His eyes, though, were sharp, moving between all three men. He wasn't shocked. He was calculating.
And when Sang-ho and Soo-jin finally stopped talking, Tae-min spoke for the first time.
"So… we know the snake," he said, voice low. "Now the question is, how do we cut off its head before it bites?"
Sang-ho looked at him, intrigued. Tae-min's tone wasn't casual. It was strategic. Cold.
Soo-jin tilted his head. "You have an idea, don't you?"
Tae-min exhaled, almost annoyed. "I do. But you're not going to like it."
He leaned forward, eyes dark under the flickering light. "If you want to take down four crews at once, you can't fight them. You have to make them fight each other."
The room went silent again but this time, it was different.
Because both Sang-ho and Soo-jin knew: Tae-min wasn't just a soldier anymore.
He was becoming something far more dangerous.