The Portside docks stank of diesel and rot. The kind of smell that stuck to your throat, clung to your skin, and told you the city didn't care if you drowned in its shadows.
Storage Unit 4C sat tucked between rusted containers and scaffolding, half-sunk into the ground like it had been buried alive. This part of the South Busan docklands wasn't on any tourist map. It belonged to the Drift.
Tonight, it would belong to Eli Nam.
The rain hadn't started yet, but the wind screamed like it was warning everyone to get inside. Eli walked calmly down the center aisle between containers, hood up, steps slow and deliberate.
Two Drift lookouts spotted him from a scaffold tower. One radioed in. The other dropped down to intercept.
"You lost, punk?"
Eli didn't answer. He just looked up.
The guy sneered. "You deaf or just dumb?"
Eli stepped into range.
A single elbow to the jaw—sharp, sudden. The Drift scout dropped before he hit the floor.
The one on the scaffold stammered into his radio. "He's here. It's him."
Inside 4C, Jinho Park was already taping his hands.
He wore a black tank, Dockmart boots, and custom-fit mouthguard tucked in his waistband. His arms were roped with old scars and fresh muscle. He wasn't tall, but he was dense. A coil of violence waiting to spring.
"Let him in," he said, not looking up.
The metal door groaned open. Eli stepped through.
No words. No posture. Just silence between wolves.
Jinho smirked. "I've had punks challenge me before. But they don't usually walk in alone."
Eli pulled off his coat. Underneath, his shirt clung to his frame, damp from sweat and sea air. He looked like he hadn't slept. Like he didn't care.
"Samuel said you were surgical," Eli said. "I wanted to see the technique before I tore it apart."
Jinho grinned, mouthguard sliding into place.
"Talk big for a dead man."
The Fight Begins
No bell. No referee. Just impact.
Jinho charged first—southpaw stance, stepping in with a stiff jab to test range. Eli slipped the jab, countered with a left hook. It grazed the side of Jinho's head—but Jinho absorbed it, planted his feet, and hammered a body blow to Eli's ribs.
THUMP.
Eli flinched. First real hit he'd taken in days.
Jinho followed with a clinch—Muay Thai grips, trying to knee Eli into submission. Eli rotated, twisted his hips, broke free, and slammed a downward elbow across Jinho's back.
CRACK.
Jinho staggered, but didn't fall.
"Nice," he growled. "Haven't bled in weeks."
He spun with a spinning back fist. Eli ducked it, rushed in—jab, cross, knee to the chin.
Jinho tanked it. This guy didn't just fight—he endured.
"You swing like a vending machine," Eli muttered, dodging a hook.
Jinho spit blood. "And you break like glass."
They clashed again—this time Jinho using short hooks and heavy body smashes. Eli adjusted, targeting the knees. Leg kick. Leg kick. Shin to thigh.
"You gonna stand or start crawling?" Eli said.
"I like the challenge."
Jinho caught a kick. Dragged Eli forward—and headbutted him. Forehead to nose.
Blood poured. Eli stumbled.
For a moment, Jinho grinned.
Then Eli laughed.
"You're almost fun."
He stepped in—close, too close—and used Jinho's clinch against him, lifting and slamming him backward into the metal floor.
The sound echoed across the container yard.
Flashback: Eli's Training in the Dark
"Pain isn't the enemy. Indifference is."
—voice of his old mentor, silhouetted against a broken-down gym in Daegu.
Eli remembered. Nights of solo drills. Sparring matches with guys twice his size. Learning to weaponize momentum, angles, intent.
He wasn't born for this. He built himself for it.
Jinho struggled up.
Eli grabbed him by the collar, whispered, "Tell the Drift… I'm not here to join them."
And kneed him in the jaw—once, twice, three times.
Jinho slumped.
Eli stood over him, blood in his mouth, eyes calm.
Cutaway – Samuel watching through a monitor
"…He won," Samuel said, folding his arms.
In the corner, Hara muttered, "You sound disappointed."
"I'm not. I'm interested."
Final Scene
Eli walked out of Storage 4C.
One Drift scout looked at him, then looked away. Nobody followed.
As Eli disappeared into the mist, a message had already been sent:
The Drift wasn't untouchable anymore.
And the Devil had claimed his second domain.