The air hung thick and heavy, saturated with the stench of blood. It was unbearable—yet inevitable—in such a gruesome battle.
Short in stature but not in spirit, the children's hearts pounded like well-oiled machines as they watched the carnage unfold before them.
It reminded them of the superheroes they'd once seen on TV. But their gazes were uncertain. Who was the hero? Who was the villain?
So, collectively, they made a decision: The one who loses is the villain.
Jinrang stood his ground.
His posture was low, weary from the long, punishing fight. His black shirt clung to his muscular frame, soaked through with sweat, his body just slightly hunched—exhausted.
Yet his eyes still burned with the same intensity. He took a step forward, the ground beneath him cracking under the force of his movement.
But this time, it seemed he had met his match.
The black-eyed enigma stood before him, loosely dressed in a plain white shirt and black jeans that fluttered in the wind.
His frame was lean, muscles streamlined—built for agility and combat.
Jinrang didn't hesitate. He lunged forward.
A punch—faintly glowing with a purplish hue—rushed toward Apollo with brutal intent.
His body already creaked in protest, bones grinding with each forced movement. The punch, meant to shatter his opponent, met instead a perfectly-timed back kick—devastating in its own right.
Jinrang's breath caught.
Not because his body felt like it was doused in molten lava.
Not even because the fire of revenge roared in his chest.
But because of something far more perplexing.
The kick hadn't clashed with his punch head-on.
It had met the underside of his wrist, redirecting his momentum—sending his strike sailing harmlessly into the air.
Before he could counterattack, another figure appeared behind him.
A black-haired man in a tank top, muscles rippling beneath the fabric.
"I need to turn—" Jinrang's instincts screamed in alarm. Having someone at your back was never a good sign.
"Urghhh!"
He let out a raw grunt of pain.
Someone had seized him. Not just his body—but his bones themselves. A terrible force cracked his already-taxed frame.
Agony shot through him, like a jagged blade tearing through flesh and will alike.
And then—
The sky.
His body soared upward, hoisted high without mercy.
The grip on him was firm, unrelenting. Desolate.
Jinrang's eyes glazed for a moment. The pain anchored him in place.
A cruel reminder of his lifelong failure—his inability.
I couldn't protect Sang Baek from abuse.
Then I couldn't protect him from Dalyoung.
And even now...
His body hurtled downward, plummeting toward the earth.
In that moment, a memory surged.
A rooftop, overlooking all of Busan.
Sang Baek stood near the edge, wearing a simple work coat.
To Jinrang, he had never looked stronger.
He never said it aloud, but in that moment, all he wanted was a quiet life together.
"It doesn't matter what I have to do... if I can protect you both."
Sang Baek turned, surprised to see his brother. "Oh, Jin! I was just taking in the view. What are you doing here?"
He walked over, locking him in a playful headlock, his face lit with joy.
Even under that corrupt man... you still found a way to smile, Jinrang thought, smiling faintly as he let himself be dragged across the rooftop, listening to Sang Baek excitedly point out his favorite buildings.
The memory faded.
Jinrang snapped back to the present.
His muscles screamed, his body groaned. He was airborne again—lifted effortlessly by Seonji Yuk.
But something had changed.
His eyes—dull moments ago—now blazed with renewed life.
He twisted mid-air, glaring at the man who treated him like a toy. Seonji Yuk.
There was conflict in the man's expression. Did he hesitate? Did he not want to hurt him?
It doesn't matter.
Jinrang's hand surged down through the pain, delivering a brutal punch square to Seonji's face.
The impact caused a shockwave, rippling out two meters and rustling the clothes of everyone nearby.
Seonji Yuk flew backward, eyes wide, nose gushing blood like a broken faucet.
Jinrang landed on shaky feet, eyes locking onto his next two opponents—Jichang and Apollo.
His hands clenched, knuckles whitening. His eyes burned brighter.
Then—
"Enough."
The voice rang out like a thunderclap, slicing through the chaos with absolute authority.
Everyone froze.
There was only one man in Korea with a voice like that.
Jinrang turned. His eyes widened.
Gapryong Kim.
The man who had given him strength. The power to protect.
A man he respected beyond words.
Gapryong walked forward, every step light yet thunderous, echoing across the battlefield.
His gaze landed on the unconscious Dalyoung Oh—barely clinging to life.
Sadness flickered in his eyes.
After all, this was the boy who had once fought to protect the weak.
"No more fighting will happen in this place."
His voice was firm, resolute. Not a soul dared move.
Apollo, still burning from the adrenaline, slowly calmed. He turned to Jagyeon.
"Bring his brother to him," he said, gesturing to the fallen man.
It wasn't an order. Just a quiet request. His voice soft and solemn.
Then he turned to Gapryong.
"What do you plan to do with him?"
His words were direct. The pink-haired man was finished.
Gapryong, the symbol of might and justice, shook his head. His voice was low—tinged with sorrow.
"It was his own karma that led him here. Just as Jinrang sought to kill him... so will I."
No one objected. Not even Jichang.
They simply accepted it as fate.
But then—
A voice rang out. Sharp. Clear. Unflinching.
"You cannot kill him."
Apollo stepped forward, placing himself between Gapryong and Dalyoung.
.....
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