Thwack! The heavy metal pipe slammed into the wooden crate, splitting the side wide open like it was made of wet cardboard. Choi Kang-woo wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his tattooed hand, the cheap cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He glared at the trembling man tied to the metal chair in the back room of the dingy warehouse by the Han River. The guy's face was already turning purple from the last hit.
"You really thought running all the way to Busan would save your sorry ass from me?" Kang-woo spat on the concrete floor. "Pathetic. Pay up or I'll carve my name into your forehead so the next collector knows exactly who you fucked over."
The debtor whimpered something about his sick mother and a delayed shipment. Kang-woo didn't give a shit. He was Mad Dog Choi—Beta street rat turned debt collector for the loan sharks who owned half the port. No family, no mercy, just the next score and the burn in his knuckles. He'd earned the nickname the old-fashioned way: fists first, knives second, and a reputation that made grown men piss themselves before he even spoke.
"Hyung-nim," the debtor begged.
"Don't call me that, you piece of shit." Kang-woo unzipped his jeans right there, turned toward a stack of empty crates, and pissed loudly into the corner. The sound echoed off the metal walls. The debtor's eyes widened in disgust. Kang-woo shook himself, zipped up, and grinned with teeth that had seen too many bar fights.
The side door creaked open. A nervous courier stepped in, eyes darting between the tied-up man and Kang-woo. He dropped an envelope of cash on the table and backed out fast. Kang-woo snatched it, counted the bills with one hand, and stuffed the stack into his jacket pocket.
"Last warning," he told the debtor, lighting a fresh cigarette off the old one. "Two days. Or one of us is crossing the Jordan River. And it won't be me."
He stepped out into the cold night air, the Han River glittering black under the distant city lights. The debtor's sobs faded behind him. Kang-woo slid into his beat-up black sedan, slammed the door, and exhaled. Another day, another debt. His body ached from the fight, but the real itch was lower. The kind that porn and a dark parking spot usually fixed.
He drove to the empty dock he liked—quiet, no cameras, perfect for blowing off steam. Fishing boats bobbed in the distance. The weather was good for soju and sashimi, but he was in the mood for something filthier. He killed the engine, leaned the seat back, and pulled up the site on his phone. Scrolled past the usual crap until he found it: two muscular guys going at it like animals. One was completely naked, bent over a desk. The other wore a sharp black suit, tie still perfect, cock thick and ruthless as he slammed in without warning.
"Fuck… yeah, just like that," Kang-woo muttered, hand already slipping into his jeans. The suited Alpha looked exactly like the kind of man who could ruin him and make him thank him for it. He stroked himself hard, biting his lower lip, hips rocking. The car was dark, windows tinted. No one around. Perfect.
A soft splash cut through the night.
Kang-woo froze mid-stroke. Some idiot had just stepped right off the pier like it was a goddamn sidewalk.
He blinked once. "What the hell…?"
The figure in the long coat stood for half a second on the edge, then dropped. No scream. Just a quiet splash and ripples.
Kang-woo cursed violently, kicked off his shoes, yanked off his jacket, and dove. The water was freezing, black as ink, and the current grabbed him like it had teeth. He swam hard, lungs burning, searching the dark. Something snagged his ankle and dragged him down. Panic exploded in his chest. He fought, but the water was stronger. His last clear thought bubbled up, bitter and ridiculous:
If I die saving some rich pretty-boy's ass, at least let me be reborn loaded next time. No more scraping by. No more debts. Just money, power… and maybe that suited bastard bending me over instead.
Darkness swallowed him whole.