The crimson glow of neon signs spread like blood across the wet asphalt of Seoul. Choi Seong-jae, inhaling thick menthol smoke, a club watcher, rises above Elysium, his club, his fortress. He is 185 centimeters tall. Light purple hair. The suit concealed the cyber-sygilistic tattoos spiderwebbing his body. An earring glinting in the neon light reflected his determination. Coffee is a bitter necessity for those who love sweets so much.
"Mr. Choi, as requested, Kwak Jichan has arrived," Kim whispered, the loyal bodyguard whose scar was a reminder of what happens to those who dare to betray. Kim knew: better than power, only the absolute power of Sung-Jae.
Sung-Jae threw away the cigarette butt, crushing it like the hopes of losers. This Seoul didn't like weakness. It was a labyrinth of ambition, where gangs gnawed for crumbs, school factions built their little empire, a corporation like spiders, weaving webs, capturing anything and everything.
"Gangs" - dirty work: drugs, extortion, fighting over the streets. "Tokyo Avengers" - a shadow of only former greatness, naive romantics playing gangsters.
"School gangs" - future leaders: the 'Iljin Project' with their connections, weaving intrigue and recruiting youth.
"Corporations" are the gray cardinals, weaving dormitory networks, bribing officials and manipulating the market.
But Son Jae is not an activist in any of these categories. He was an architect building his empire, with fear as the foundation, his intelligence and power as the cement. He wanted not just control, but power.
Kim opened the door, letting him into the club. "Elysium" was filled with music, the smell of alcohol and sweat. People were dancing, drinking, selling and buying. This was his scene, his kingdom.
Jichan was waiting for him in the VIP area. Dressed in a strict black suit he sat at a table surrounded by bodyguards. Jichan's face was united. He was known for his intelligence and coolness. But in his eyes, Sun Jae saw a shadow of doubt. Jichan hadn't expected him to come.
"Choi Sung-Jae," Jichan's voice was even but tense.
"Kwak Jichan," Sungjae replied, his voice sounding like the rustle of a blade. - "King of Seoul."
"Former King," Jichan grinned. - "Have you come for my title?"
"Not for the title," Sung-Jae replied, sitting down across from him. - "For power."
Bodyguards moved around the table, ready for the dragon. Sung-Jae seemed to pay no attention to them. He only had eyes for Jichana.
"Seoul is too small for the two of us," Sung-Jae said. - "Leave, and I'll let you live."
"I won't give up my throne to some upstart!" - Jichan snapped out of his seat. His face happened with Fury.
Jichan attacked first. His palm, sharpened like knives, cleaved the air. He was a master of hand-to-hand combat, his punches were fast, perfect, and deadly. He didn't just slash, he slashed.
Sung-Jae dodged, parried, and counterattacked. He read Jichan's movement like an open book. Strategy against strategy, tactician against tactician. Every strike, every block, every move was a chess move in a deadly game.
Jichan, seeing that his use was not the primary target, changed tactics. He began to utilize his surroundings, knocking over tables, throwing in the bottle and Son Jae's chairs. He tried to create chaos to gain an advantage.
Sung-Jae, however, was not giving in. He used the chaos to his advantage, dodging flying objects and delivering precise blows to vulnerable spots.
"You are strong, Jichan," Son Jae repeated, dodging another strike. - "But your strength is only part of the equation."
The fight devolved into a melee. Their bodies collided, their cheekbones and legs slamming into each other like hammers. The room was filled with the sounds of blows, crunching bones, and screams of pain.
Jichan was smart, he took every opportunity. But intelligence was no substitute for strength.
Jichan applied the grapple. He was close to victory. Remembering techniques he had seen somewhere, he kicked his foot at Sun Jae's knees. He fell down. The victory was close.
Suddenly, Choi Sung-jae kicked Jichan in the face. The man flew off. He didn't get up again. Defeat.
Beaten and humiliated, Jichan Kwak lay on the floor looking up at the ceiling. He realized that he had lost not just a fight, but an entire war.
Sung-Jae walked over to him, leaned over, and whispered in his ear: "Seoul is my city. And you... you can become the king of Chuncheon.''
Jichan closed his eyes. He accepted his defeat. He would leave Seoul, but he would return. Someday.
Sun Jae straightened up and looked around the room. Jichan's bodyguards lay on the floor, groaning in pain. He looked at Kimu.
"Clear it out," he ordered.
Kim appeared and gave his order to the men. The room was filled with the sounds of screams and blows.
Son Jae announced from Elysium, leaving the purple aftermath of the war behind him. Waiting for him were street vendors, prostitutes, petty thugs. They had all seen what had happened. They all knew that Choi Seong-jae had become the new king of Seoul.
The news spread like wildfire. "Jichang has fallen! The King is dead! Long live the King!"
Choi Seong-Jae had everything: power, money, influence. He was praised by his men. But he knew this was just the beginning. Now that he was the King of Seoul, he had to hold on to his throne and build his empire.
He was faced with the task of conquering Seoul. He knew it would take him a long time, but he couldn't stop.
He lit a cigarette, inhaling the smoke. Seoul was waiting for its new ruler. And he intended to live up to their expectations.