Busan didn't sleep—it simmered.
Lights blinked across the city like a dying heart monitor. Far below, honking cabs and shouting vendors tried to drown out the rising tension in the streets. But on the rooftop of an abandoned middle school overlooking South Busan's core, the noise didn't reach. Up here, the city was a chessboard—full of pieces, waiting to be moved.
Eli Nam stood at the edge, hands in his pockets, wind tugging at the hem of his jacket. His notebook hung half-open in one hand. Pages fluttered. One word stood out, circled in red:
Samuel Ryu.
Behind him, a voice spoke.
"You write about everyone?"
Eli didn't turn. "Only the ones worth remembering."
A soft step. The sound of expensive soles on concrete.
Samuel Ryu approached with the ease of someone who never had to raise his voice to be heard. No gang colors, no entourage, no flash. Just a tailored coat, black slacks, and a clean brass knuckle resting in a custom sheath on his belt. His expression was unreadable. Calm. Cold.
"You're harder to find than people say," Samuel said, stepping to Eli's left. "I had to follow the trail of broken bones and nervous silence."
"You make it sound romantic," Eli replied, not smiling.
Samuel took out his phone, tapped it once, and showed Eli a video. Eli's fight with Dogma—slowed frame-by-frame, angles no one else had.
"You know where this was taken from?" Samuel asked.
Eli glanced. "High vantage. Warehouse beam. You watched live?"
"I watch everything."
"You a fan?"
"No. I'm a planner."
Eli closed the notebook and tucked it into his pocket.
"Then you know this isn't the part where I make friends."
Samuel tilted his head slightly. "That depends. Are you looking for friends? Or soldiers?"
Eli gave a dry chuckle. "If I wanted soldiers, I'd go back to school."
"Dogsung? That place is ash."
"Exactly."
A gust of wind swept the rooftop. Below, the sound of glass shattering, followed by laughter. Some crew making their nightly run. Eli and Samuel said nothing.
Then, Samuel spoke again.
"You're building something. I see the pattern. Fight ring, courier routes, informants in Hara's server network. You're not just picking fights—you're picking lanes."
"You here to congratulate me?" Eli asked.
"No," Samuel replied. "I'm here because I see what you're doing. And I'm wondering whether to run parallel to it—or cut across."
Eli turned to face him fully now. His eyes were sharper than before—calculating, testing.
"You talk like a teacher."
"You act like a myth."
A long pause. The wind spoke louder than they did.
"You work alone?" Eli asked.
Samuel's eyes flickered. "Not always. I just haven't found anyone worth following."
"You want to follow me?"
Samuel didn't answer.
Instead, he stepped forward and pulled a folded note from his coat pocket.
"I'm giving you this either way. Doesn't mean I trust you. Just means I'm curious what you'll do with it."
He handed it over. Eli opened it.
One name. One location.
Jinho Park – Drift Enforcer – Portside Storage 4C.
"Intel?" Eli asked.
"A test," Samuel said. "For you. For me. Maybe both."
"And what do you want in return?"
"When you move on him... don't go in blind. He's not Dogma. He's surgical. And he hates being embarrassed."
"Sounds like someone I should meet."
Samuel nodded. "I'll be watching. If you die, I'll assume I was right about you."
He turned to leave, coat flaring.
"Wait," Eli said.
Samuel stopped.
"Why now?"
Samuel looked over his shoulder.
"Because the city's waking up. And someone has to lead the next storm. You might be the Devil, Eli—but even the Devil needs a vulture to clean the bones."
With that, Samuel vanished into the shadows of the rooftop stairwell.
Scene Break – Hara's PC Bang
Hara watched the rooftop feed from a hacked city surveillance drone.
"Samuel's finally moving," she murmured, sipping cold soda.
A younger girl next to her—barely thirteen—chewed gum loudly. "Should we tell the others?"
Hara shook her head. "Not yet. Let the Vulture test the Devil."
Scene Break – Portside Bar
A Drift runner burst into the bar, panting.
"He's coming," the runner said.
Jinho Park raised his head from a glass of water. Calm. Older than Dogma. Meaner too.
"Took him long enough."
He stood and cracked his neck.
"Time to see if the legend bleeds."
Final Panel – Eli alone again
Eli sat at the rooftop's edge, flipping the note in his hand.
"Vulture, huh?" he said aloud.
He looked down at the map in his notebook. Drew a red X through "Warehouse" and circled "Portside 4C."
"Let's see who's sharpening the knife."