Si Mok put aside the documents, exhaling slowly as he leaned back in his car seat. The night was heavy with silence, save for the distant hum of city traffic. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a slow drag. The smoke curled around his face as he stepped out of the car, his polished shoes crunching against the gravel. With every step toward the dimly lit warehouse, he could feel the weight of the night pressing down on him.
The moment he stepped inside, a gangster hurried over, bowing slightly in respect. His face was rough, marked with scars that told of countless street brawls.
"Manager Lee, we've finished up everything. We also caught the ones who tried to run, but a few managed to escape. What should we do with them?"
Si Mok—now Lee Jin-ho—exhaled a plume of smoke, watching it dissipate under the flickering warehouse lights. His voice was calm but edged with finality.
"Let them go. They're powerless now. They won't be able to do anything." He flicked the cigarette's ash onto the ground. "And don't kill the ones we've captured. We already have too many eyes on us."
The gangster hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Understood."
Si Mok walked deeper into the warehouse, his footsteps echoing against the concrete floor. The air smelled of metal, gunpowder, and sweat—a familiar scent from his days in the underground. As he approached the main office, another gangster stepped forward.
"Manager Lee," he said cautiously, "the door is reinforced and locked. We tried to get in, but it won't budge."
Si Mok glanced at the steel door before rolling his shoulders. Without a word, he took a step back and drove his foot into the center of the door.
CRASH.
The reinforced door buckled under the sheer force of his kick, its hinges snapping as it slammed to the ground with a deafening thud. The gangsters standing behind him froze, wide-eyed in disbelief.
"What the—" one of them muttered under his breath.
Si Mok ignored their shock and strode inside. The office was sparsely furnished—a few chairs, a desk, and filing cabinets lining the walls. The air was thick with dust and the scent of stale cigars. He made his way to the main desk, pulling open the top drawer. His eyes scanned the contents before he reached in and grabbed a thick stack of papers. He flipped through them quickly, noting account details, transaction logs, and coded messages—valuable pieces of the Assemblyman's criminal network.
He pocketed the most important files before turning back to the door. He gestured to one of the gangsters.
"Take everything useful from here. Then burn the rest."
The gangster nodded immediately. "Yes, sir."
Without another word, Si Mok stepped out, his expression unreadable as he headed back to his car. The night was silent again, save for the distant rustle of leaves and the occasional barking of stray dogs. He climbed into the driver's seat, lit another cigarette, and took a deep inhale.
As he drove away, the red glow of the burning warehouse flickered in his rearview mirror, casting eerie shadows over the empty streets. The flames danced wildly, consuming everything inside.
Si Mok exhaled slowly, his grip tightening around the steering wheel. He drove deeper into the darkness, the cigarette's ember glowing faintly against the cold night.
The game wasn't over yet.