The warehouse smelled like old sweat and newer blood. Since Eli Nam's fight with Dogma, no one had dared reopen the underground ring without his say-so. Word spread fast—quicker than cash, quicker than fear. And in Busan, fear was currency.
Eli sat in the office above the warehouse now, legs kicked up on a desk that still bore old Drift insignias. A single rusted fan spun in the corner, barely keeping the stink of blood and oil at bay.
Below, the ring was silent. For the first time in weeks, it wasn't about violence. It was about control.
"Fifty percent," Eli said.
The bookie stood across from him, still clutching a rag to his swollen jaw from yesterday's confrontation. "You want half the profits?"
"I want the fighters treated better. No rigging. Clean matches. You get a cut. I get my stake. Nobody dies unless I say so."
The man hesitated. Eli stood.
In one smooth motion, he flipped the desk—slamming it against the wall with a crash that made the bookie stumble back.
"You get fifty percent of what I let you keep," Eli said quietly. "Deal?"
The bookie nodded. "Deal."
Eli smiled.
Outside the warehouse, a group of teenagers hovered near the alley wall, huddled around a phone.
"Yo, that's the guy who wrecked Dogma!" one whispered.
"They say he took over the ring. Just walked in and made it his."
"That ain't how it happened," a taller one scoffed. "He made the boss crawl first. Then he took it. That's different. That's real."
Eli's name was on everyone's lips—but it wasn't just awe. Some hated him. Some planned. Others watched.
Later, under gray daylight, Eli wandered the streets of South Busan, hood up, eyes scanning. He watched delivery boys pass coded messages in fried chicken bags. He saw runaways gambling away their last cash in convenience store corners. He noticed a Drift scout tagging a power box with chalk—territory claim.
He saw opportunity.
Flashback:
"The strongest fighter isn't the one who hits hardest. It's the one who collects the debts after."
Eli remembered those words from someone—maybe an uncle, maybe a debt collector who once tried to rough him up back in Daegu. Either way, they stayed with him.
So now he collected.
Not in fists. In favors.
He stopped by a rundown PC bang and stepped inside, the hum of old fans and muted shouts from gaming headsets filling the air.
A girl barely older than sixteen sat behind the desk, hoodie drawn tight, tapping away at two keyboards. She glanced up, unimpressed.
"You're Eli Nam," she said, voice flat. "You're trending on the forums. You gonna fight me for my ISP next?"
Eli smirked. "No. Just here to talk business."
She leaned back, arms crossed. "Everyone wants something. You Drift?"
"No."
"Scar Chain?"
"No."
"Then why the hell would I give you anything?"
"I'm offering you protection. The Drift won't touch your accounts again. You give me access to your data—names, logs, high scorers, locations—and I make sure you keep your machines and your bones."
She narrowed her eyes. "I've dealt with muscle before. They ask pretty, then they break fingers. What makes you different?"
Eli paused, then smiled.
"You're smart. So let's be honest. You know they'll come for you eventually. You've been skating with a fake firewall and bribed packet routes. That holds until it doesn't. I'm your insurance policy."
"Insurance means payout."
"You keep your operations. You stay independent. And if someone comes knocking again? You don't get silence. You get me."
A long beat.
She stared at him, chewing on her lip. Then she extended her hand. "I want 20% of any data-based leverage you squeeze out. And you handle my protection with real bodies. No one touches my machines."
Eli shook it. "Deal."
As he turned to leave, she called after him. "Name's Hara. If you screw me, I'll have your browser history printed in the next Drift auction."
Eli laughed. "Looking forward to it."
Down the block, two middlemen from a courier service stood smoking.
"You seen who Hara met with today?"
"Yeah. Devil-boy himself. She gave him something. Looked serious."
"You think he's building something?"
"No. I think he already built it. We just didn't notice."
Eli moved fast after that.
He restructured the ring's earnings—cutting out the skimming middlemen. He met with an old janitor at an abandoned arcade who used to clean money for Drift. Promised him protection in return for laundering. Bought burner phones and reactivated old networks. Pulled a runaway from a rival crew off the street and gave him a meal. Recruited him two days later.
In a backroom barber shop, he found an ex-Scar Chain collector. Broken hand, limping, out of the game. Eli sat down, got a cut, and said quietly:
"You're still useful. Tell me who owes who in this neighborhood."
By week's end, Eli had four fronts:
The fight ring
The gambling data
A courier service run by ex-Scar Chain runners
And a laundromat that doubled as a stash house
None of it made him rich. But it made him known.
Scene Cut – Dogma's Recovery
Dogma lay on a cot in the warehouse infirmary, ribs taped, breathing shallow. The Drift hadn't visited. Not even once. But someone else had.
A boy with slicked-back hair and a long coat stood over him.
"You let a kid take your territory," the boy said.
Dogma grunted. "He ain't a kid. He's... something else."
The boy chuckled. "Something else is what gets you killed in this city."
He walked away, flipping open a flip-phone.
"Yeah. It's time we meet this Eli Nam."
Meanwhile: On a rooftop near Nampo.
Samuel Ryu stood in the wind, watching a video on his phone. The clip showed Eli dismantling Dogma frame-by-frame. Samuel rewound it. Again. And again.
"You're interesting," he murmured.
He looked down at the brass knuckle holstered under his coat. Polished. Untouched.
"I think it's time we talked."
Then he slipped the phone into his pocket and walked away.
Elsewhere:
In a corner office with mirrored glass, a man in a suit watched the same clip.
Behind him, someone asked, "Should we intervene?"
The man chuckled. "No. Let him build something first."
"Why?"
"Because I want to see if the Devil can bleed."
Final Scene – Eli on the Rooftop
Night fell.
Eli stood on the edge of a convenience store rooftop, looking down over South Busan.
He took out his notebook. Pages filled with scrawled maps, names, arrows. Some underlined. Some crossed out.
He turned to a fresh page. Wrote a name at the top:
Samuel Ryu.
Below it:
Affiliation: None yet
Specialty: Unknown
Status: Watching
Eli closed the book and smirked.
"Let's begin."