[North Busan — Abandoned Studio Compound ("LENS Lab") and Back Alley]
Night fell like heavy cloth over the backlot. The studio building—once an art haven—was now walled in silence. Graffiti and old "For Lease" signs clung to its flaking façade.
Samuel, Jace, Seojun, and Shin Hyuk crept up to a side door. The sound of distant music spilled through cracks in the metal, flattened by stale air. This was no marketplace fight—it was hunting ground.
Seojun (quiet): "Feels like walking into a den of vipers."
Samuel touched the door frame.
Samuel: "They don't want noise. They want control."
He pushed it open. Inside, faint light glowed behind closed doors. The hum of electronics and whispered voices pulled them deeper.
Jace: "Front's clear. Basement first?"
Samuel nodded and slipped inside the hall, confident, unafraid. In the dim, the tension thickened.
They moved to the basement stairs silently. At the bottom—five CTRL9 enforcers in formation. Black LENS scarves. No expression.
The group froze. No one spoke.
Jace sprang to action: two-on-one. He flicked a feint right, then snapped a spinning back heel— Showman style. The heel cracked ribs. Both thugs fell, gasping.
Seojun burst forward—his Crash-Boxer style meant short, heavy punches, shoulder thrusts that knock breath clear. He dominated a third enforcer against cool concrete.
Samuel, observing calm, slipped inside. The silhouette of dark eyes, perfect form. His first move: a Jeet Kune Do push to the chest, then backhand to prime the nerve. He ghosted in.
Shin entered next—Street Clinch rule—inside, short elbows to collarbone and ribs, knee stabs low. The thug doubled. Quiet violence. Efficient.
The remaining enemies attacked in mindless rhythm. But Samuel absorbed and redirected: push, break, staple back strike. The fight ended without yelling, but bodies crumpled in disciplined wreckage.
Samuel stepped back to let the others finish. This wasn't revenge—it was clearance.
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Someone was coming down slowly. Heavy. Not loud—just deliberate.
The first thing they saw was the silhouette of a hand—broad knuckles holding a slim, glowing phone. The man didn't even look at the screen. He listened, then tucked the phone into his waistband and stepped into the light.
Kwon Dae‑sik.
He didn't look like a fighter. He looked like a forklift in human form. Not jacked, not pretty. Just dense. Broad thighs, low stance, short-sleeved shirt over gauze-taped wrists. He moved without bounce—flat-footed, heavy, like the floor bent around him.
Shin (tense): "That's him. That's the one who broke Joon-Ki's ribs clean through the back."
Dae-sik looked over the wreckage of the five defeated CTRL9 enforcers on the ground. No expression. His gaze settled on Samuel. And held.
He tilted his head slightly. An unspoken challenge.
Samuel stepped forward, unrolling his sleeves.
Samuel (low): "Let's do this."
The fight didn't start. It ignited.
Dae‑sik moved with sudden violence—no feint, no telegraph—just a full shin kick aimed to snap Samuel's leg at the calf. Samuel jumped back, barely avoiding the break.
Samuel (internal):Heavy low base. Kyokushin foundation. No setups—pure destruction.
Samuel countered with a back-step, then snapped forward with a Jeet Kune Do side chop to Dae‑sik's collarbone.
It landed—barely—and the giant didn't even flinch.
Dae‑sik surged forward, slammed Samuel into the hallway wall with a shoulder check that cracked the drywall. Samuel grunted, ribs crunching under the pressure.
He ducked, twisted, escaped just as a fist the size of a melon cratered the concrete behind him.
Dae‑sik chased him into the stairwell.
On the landing, Dae‑sik caught Samuel by the collar, slammed his forehead down into the railing.
The sound was sick. Metal screamed. Samuel's vision flickered.
Seojun (from below): "You good?!"
Samuel stood, blood dripping down his nose. His left eye twitched.
Samuel (flat): "Don't step in."
He lifted his arms again. Wobbly. But still reading rhythm.
Dae‑sik changed tempo—short, choppy strikes. A palm strike to the solar plexus bent Samuel in half. A rising shin kick blasted his thigh. Samuel dropped to one knee.
Another shin.
Another.
Samuel (internal, pain cracking):I'm not reacting fast enough. He's locking tempo. Need to break the rhythm.
He dove sideways, rolling under a punch that crushed the banister, and launched a blind elbow to Dae‑sik's inner knee.
The tank finally reacted.
Not staggered—but adjusted.
Samuel noticed: Dae‑sik's knee had old tape marks. Weak spot.
Samuel's strength wasn't raw power. It was adaptation.
He let Dae‑sik strike the wall behind him again—on purpose. This time, when Dae‑sik's punch stuck, Samuel used his own momentum to vault over the man's shoulder.
He spun behind, delivered a chop to the liver, then another strike to the knee.
Dae‑sik growled. Loud now. He reached back, caught Samuel mid-pivot, and threw him—
Straight down the stairwell.
Samuel hit four steps before flipping and landing sideways.
He rolled, hacked up spit, and stood with his entire left arm shaking.
Jace (from below): "That didn't sound good."
Samuel (gasping): "I'm fine."
Samuel backed into the broken hallway.
Dae‑sik followed—bruised now. He didn't look angry. He looked amused. Like Samuel had earned a different tier of punishment.
Samuel reached for something—a light stand from a photography kit, bent but usable.
Dae‑sik rushed.
Samuel stepped into the charge and brought the tripod leg down across the bridge of Dae‑sik's foot. The crack of bone echoed. Dae‑sik stumbled.
That was the moment.
Samuel surged forward—elbow to temple, knee to ribs, short jab to the throat, then spun and delivered a final double-palm strike to the sternum.
Dae‑sik slammed into the wall.
Staggered.
Staggered.
He fell.
Face-first.
Everyone in the corridor froze.
Blood pooled near Samuel's feet. His lip was split. His right eye already swelling.
He stood over Dae‑sik's unconscious form.
Samuel (quietly): "That was for Joon‑Ki."
He knelt. Whispered:
"You're strong. But you didn't listen. I said do this quietly."
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Dae‑sik lay unconscious. Samuel knelt, cuffed both arms around his neck. Blood leaked from his knuckles.
He whispered fiercely:
Samuel: "Tell them it wasn't for Ji Yun—it was for Min Joon‑Ki."
He released the hold, rose, and watched his reflection in a broken window.
Jace and Seojun exhaled.
Jace (under breath): "They never spoke. But they fought like death trains."
Seojun: "They only bark when told—they bite on command."
Samuel wiped blood away, nodded.
Samuel: "Then we have to break the voice behind it."
No cheering. Just the humming of electronics.
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In a concrete room deep within CTRL9, muted screens flared a series of feeds: live from Vision Core, from basement cams of the raid.
A woman in a dark suit watched, fingers steepled.
Commander (cold): "This Ryu kid did what we warned."
Lieutenant (grim): "He's winning blood—it's reckless."
Commander: "He lost his way. Now watch what we do."
She pressed a button.
Commander (low voice): "Bring in Class-Zero."
Her face remained still, eyes shadowed.
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Shin cornered Samuel as they slipped into an escape route.
Shin: "You cut the heart—you left the head alive."
Samuel considered the wrecked man below.
Samuel (soft): "If you leave them waiting, the head starts beating again."
Shin nodded—rain starting again outside.
They disappeared into the night.