warquism chapter 1
The rain hit the streets hard, making puddles everywhere. The streetlights flickered, and the whole city felt dark and cold. Thunder boomed in the sky, covering the sound of footsteps running through the empty roads.
A woman ran, holding a small child tight to her chest. Her saree was soaked, her feet slipping on the wet ground. She was breathing hard, her heart pounding as the voices behind her got closer.
"Stop right there, bitch!" a man shouted. "Or we'll blow your head off!"
She didn't stop. She couldn't. The child whimpered, holding onto her tightly. Her eyes darted around, looking for a way out. Then she saw it—a narrow alley between two buildings. Without thinking, she ran inside.
At the end of the alley, a man stood in the shadows. His face showed surprise as she rushed toward him.
She didn't hesitate. She shoved the child into his arms.
"Please," she whispered, her voice shaking. "Keep him safe. No matter what happens."
The man barely had time to react before she turned back.
"Run!" she screamed.
Gunshots filled the air. The man flinched. When he looked again, the woman was on the ground, blood mixing with the rain.
The child screamed, his small body shaking in the man's arms.
The man swallowed hard. He didn't know who she was. He didn't know why she had given him her son. But he knew one thing—this child's life had just changed forever.
---
Years later, inside a classroom filled with murmuring students, Min-Sung sat quietly at the back. His school uniform was old, his shoes barely holding together. Outside the window, the sounds of honking cars and street vendors mixed with the noise of the city.
He kept his head down, pretending to read his book.
A crumpled paper ball smacked against his head. He ignored it.
"Oi, Min-Sung," a voice sneered. "Where the hell did you get those rags? From the garbage?"
Laughter filled the room.
Min-Sung clenched his jaw but didn't react. He had learned that fighting back only made things worse.
Another boy leaned closer, grinning. "Maybe his parents are beggars. Oh wait—does he even got parents?"
The laughter got louder.
A heavy hand smacked Min-Sung's books off his desk. "Say something, broke-ass loser!"
He didn't move.
Then, someone yanked his chair back, making him stumble.
"Stay down, little bitch," another boy said, cracking his knuckles. "Know your place, street rat."
Min-Sung's breathing got heavy. His fingers curled into fists.
Something inside him snapped.
His fist flew out, cracking into the guy's jaw. The laughter stopped. For a second, everything was silent.
Then—
A slow chuckle.
"Big mistake, poor boy."
A fist smashed into Min-Sung's face. Pain exploded in his jaw. Another punch to the gut sent him staggering back.
The school's star athlete stepped forward, smirking. "You got some nerve, street trash."
Before Min-Sung could react, another blow landed. His vision blurred as he hit the floor. Blood dripped from his lip.
The crowd just watched. Some whispered. Some smirked.
Min-Sung tasted iron in his mouth. He forced himself up, wobbling on his feet.
"Look at him," one of them laughed. "Still standing. What a stubborn dumbass."
The athlete grinned. "Let's fix that."
Another punch sent Min-Sung crashing down again.
The laughter continued.
The world spun.
---
In a dark, empty room, Min-Sung lay on a thin mattress, staring at the ceiling. His body ached, bruises covering his skin. A dim light flickered, casting long shadows on the cracked walls.
His mind felt heavy.
Then, like every night, the dream came.
A tall figure stood in the darkness. Broad shoulders. A black coat swaying like a ghost. His face hidden in shadow.
A deep, rough voice spoke.
"How long you gonna let those punks walk all over you?"
Min-Sung felt his body freeze.
The figure took a step closer.
"If you keep acting like a weak-ass fool, you'll stay one forever."
Min-Sung clenched his fists.
"You wanna live like some worthless dog, huh? Or you gonna grow a spine?"
Min-Sung's throat tightened.
"You either fight… or you stay a damn nobody."
Then, like always, the dream ended.
---
Cold wind rushed past Min-Sung as he walked toward an old bridge. Below, the river was dark, endless. His hands shook in his pockets. His face was swollen, his heart heavy.
Maybe… maybe it was better to just end it.
The world didn't give a damn about him. So why should he care?
He stepped onto the railing.
Then—
"You really that weak?"
Min-Sung's head snapped up. A man stood nearby, half-hidden in the dark. His presence was sharp, like a knife.
"Who… Who are you?" Min-Sung asked.
The man ignored him. "So this is how you deal with problems? Running away like a coward?"
"You don't get it!" Min-Sung shouted. "My life is a mess! I got nothing!"
The man chuckled. "Kid, you ain't even seen real suffering yet."
Min-Sung hesitated. Something about this guy felt dangerous.
"You think life's unfair?" the man continued. "Then fight. Prove it wrong."
Min-Sung clenched his fists. "Fight? Against what?"
The man smirked. "Against fate itself."
The words hit Min-Sung like a punch.
He stepped off the railing. His gut told him—this man wasn't normal.
---
At a hidden port under the shadow of the city, dim floodlights flickered over rows of shipping containers. The air smelled like salt, gasoline, and something rotten. The sound of hurried footsteps echoed as workers loaded crates onto trucks.
A man stood near the shipment, dressed in a white coat, white pants, and black shoes. A premium watch gleamed on his wrist as he took a slow drag of his cigarette.
"Move your ass!" he growled. "We got no time. Cops gonna be crawling all over this place soon. Get the damn goods in the car!"
The workers scrambled, stacking crates into the trucks. A high schooler stood among them, his sharp eyes watching everything.
Gun-Shi-Wan, the ruthless leader of the Gun-Shi family, turned to him.
"I'm leaving this to you, my first hand… or should I say the strong guest of generation one in Kolkata?"
The high schooler smirked. "Don't worry, boss. I'll handle everything."
His voice was cold, steady.
"After all, they call me Jim-Park-Sun, the monster of five districts."
Gun-Shi-Wan smirked, flicking his cigarette.
"Good. Then prove it."
---
Somewhere in Kolkata, battlefields were being set. In school courtyards, in dark alleys, in underground arenas. The weak fell. The strong survived.
Min-Sung didn't know it yet, but his first real fight was coming.
And in this world, only one rule mattered—
Win… or die.