The empty playground was teeming with chaos. Men and women of every profession flooded the scene—some police officers, some doctors, and others, journalists who had rushed in like hounds chasing a lead.
Their instincts had been right. Something monumental was happening in Busan.
Jinrang stood beside his younger brothers, who now lay unconscious on stretchers—battered, bruised, and bloodied. Their fragile bodies were being carried away by paramedics, swathed in bandages and dried blood.
The air was heavy—damp and cold, the kind that sank into the bone. A faint trace of blood drifted through the wind, the metallic scent carried like a whisper. People grimaced as they looked upon the site—concrete stained in red, a silent testimony to the savagery that had unfolded here.
Children were being escorted out by several officers. Their small hands were scarred, their bodies thin and fragile. Their past, even darker than what anyone could guess—and yet, they smiled. Their eyes had lost the sparkle of innocence, dulled like lifeless rubies. And still, as they gripped the hands of the officers escorting them, tears welled up in their eyes.
It started with one child weeping, and then the dam broke. Some cried in joy. Others screamed curses at the old woman who had tormented them for years. The blood on the pavement, once a symbol of pain, now mixed with tears of freedom.
They had broken free from the prison that cursed them.
Gapryong Kim stood quietly on the sidelines. His presence should have drawn all attention, but right now, the world had more pressing things to witness.
A professionally dressed journalist stood before a camera, her voice calm and composed despite the chaotic backdrop. "Welcome to BSS News. Today, Busan has been rocked by a shocking incident. The entire nation is watching."
She continued, "A known gang leader, Dalyoung Oh, has been caught red-handed. A large cache of incriminating documents and footage was sent to our office by an anonymous source."
Before she could go on, a civilian pushed through the crowd, her voice panicked. "What's going to happen to him?" she asked—the collective question on everyone's minds.
The journalist gave a faint smile. "As per our current legal estimates, he'll face at least ten years in prison." Her words, steady and soothing, offered some solace to a restless public.
Apollo watched the chaos with a sigh. It's not like I ever believed Dalyoung would change… he thought, but a small part of me still hoped. If he did, we might've had another ally.
He pressed a hand against his forehead, frustration weighing on his shoulders. His thoughts were interrupted by the approach of a familiar presence. A figure like a silent wolf, sharp-eyed and intimidating, stood in front of him.
Apollo looked up to meet the eyes of Jinrang.
The man's presence was grave—his gaze heavy, as if he carried the burden of an entire city on his back. He was the first to break the silence.
"I get why you did it," Jinrang said, his voice rough. A grimace flickered across his face before he steadied it again. "You saved me from jail. You gave me time with my brothers."
He raised a hand, placing it on Apollo's shoulder—a rare gesture of thanks. "Thank you."
Apollo gave a faint smile, a small breath leaving his lips as his tense muscles eased. "Don't worry. He'll serve time for what he did. You won't have to suffer for doing the right thing."
The message was clear. Killing Dalyoung might have been justified—but the consequences would have destroyed Jinrang. Apollo had simply prevented that.
Jinrang's lips quirked into a barely noticeable smirk. "If I ever see him again… I'll break him all over."
Apollo laughed—a deep, full laugh that echoed through the open air. Clutching his stomach, he replied, "You're free to break him as many times as you want."
Jinrang gave a quiet nod and turned away, walking slowly toward the row of ambulances. His lips twitched again, caught somewhere between a smirk and solemn reflection.
A sudden shout cut through the air.
"The one who saved Busan!"
Jinrang turned. A massive crowd was approaching—protesters, civilians, survivors. The very people Dalyoung had oppressed.
Three familiar faces led the charge.
Their eyes lit up at the sight of him. Their voices pierced the sky, louder than sirens or helicopter blades.
"The one who saved Busan—Jinrang!"
Like a wave, the crowd joined in, chanting his name, over and over again—engraving it into the air, into memory, into history.
Caught off guard, Jinrang lowered his head, feeling the energy vibrate through the air. The crowd stopped just a few meters away, their anticipation holding like a collective breath.
He stayed silent.
And then—he moved.
Jinrang raised his right hand, still bloodied from the fight, soaked with the evidence of the one who had tormented this city. The hand shook, but it rose with pride.
As if a starting gun had fired, the crowd erupted again.
"Jinrang! Jinrang! Jinrang!"
Their voices formed a single, thundering chant. Cameras panned toward him. For the first time, all of Busan—and soon, all of Korea—would know his name.
The wolf who saved Busan.
Meanwhile, outside a towering facility, bold words decorated the front gate:
'Seoul State Prison for Juveniles.'
Police officers and staff moved about, patrolling the area with practiced alertness.
A figure exited the gate. His presence was suffocating. His footsteps echoed like drumbeats—each one a reminder of the legacy he had carved behind those walls.
Some guards stared at him in awe. Others instinctively looked away.
He walked forward, only to be halted by an old man offering a small plate of tofu.
"For your safe return," the man said softly.
Then, with reverence and fear in equal measure, he added, "Young Master Gun."
.......
Busan Arc- Over
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