The morning air bit at Jin's skin, sharp with the city's hum—traffic growling from the main road, vendors' shouts slicing through the haze. The quiet street they stepped into felt wrong, too still, shadows lurking in parked cars and flickering curtains. Every sound tightened Jin's nerves: a bottle clinking in the distance, a dog's bark, the rustle of a window shade as someone peered out. His bag's strap dug into his shoulder, the cracked phone in his pocket a heavy reminder of the call that had dragged him here.
Joon-ho strolled beside him, whistling a tuneless melody, duffel bag slung over his shoulder like it held nothing more than gym clothes, not stolen goods. His ease was infuriating, as if robbing a house was just another Tuesday. "Relax, man," he said, not looking at Jin, his grin lazy. "You look like you're dodging a manhunt."
"I fucking feel like it," Jin muttered, glancing back, heart still pounding from the house—Joon-ho's casual efficiency, stripping someone's life bare with that reckless smile. It was the same Joon-ho from high school, laughing off consequences, dragging Jin into trouble with a wink.
"Don't sweat it. This neighborhood sleeps till noon." Joon-ho adjusted the duffel, his whistle cutting off briefly. "Even if someone saw us, I'm gone before they blink. You'd be the one eating pavement."
Jin shot him a glare. "Not funny."
"Little funny." Joon-ho's chuckle was low, teasing, as he stretched his arms, moving like they were out for a jog, not fleeing a crime scene. "God, I missed this. You and me, back at it. Like old times."
Old times. The words stung. Jin wanted to snap that old times were sneaking beers, not felonies, but his throat tightened, memories flooding in—rooftop cigarettes, fistfights, Joon-ho's grin daring the world to hit back. He stayed silent, the city's pulse pressing against him.
They turned into a narrow alley, the air thick with the stench of damp brick and spilled soju. Engines roared from the street ahead, vendors hawking grilled skewers, morning commuters weaving through the chaos. It was a reminder of the world Jin was stepping away from, choosing madness over normalcy.
His mouth went dry. He couldn't hold it in anymore. "I'm starting something," he blurted, the words rough, unplanned.
Joon-ho slowed, one brow raised, the duffel swaying slightly. "Starting what?"
Jin took a breath, palms sweating, thoughts racing. This wasn't how he'd meant to pitch it, but the moment was now or never. "A gang," he said, voice steady despite the churn in his gut.
Joon-ho froze, then burst into laughter, loud enough to turn heads across the street. He doubled over, slapping his thigh, the duffel nearly slipping. "You?" he wheezed, eyes tearing up. "A gang? That's fucking rich!"
Jin's scowl deepened, heat rising in his face. "I'm serious."
"That's why it's hilarious!" Joon-ho straightened, still chuckling, wiping his eyes. "You, the guy who snitched on me for smoking behind the gym. The straight-A nerd who hated breaking rules. Now you're what—Al Capone?" He jabbed a finger at Jin's chest, grin wide. "Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes, gang boss?"
Jin's fists clenched, embarrassment and irritation flaring. "People change."
"Change? This is a fucking metamorphosis!" Joon-ho waved his hands like a stage magician, voice dripping with mock awe. "From desk jockey to crime lord. That's a glow-up."
"Cut the shit," Jin snapped, voice sharp enough to slice through the alley's hum.
Joon-ho's laughter paused, his eyes catching the fire in Jin's glare. He tilted his head, grin fading to something curious, appraising. "Not small-time, huh?"
Jin's chest tightened, but he held Joon-ho's gaze, unflinching. "I'm not talking some street crew. I'm talking bigger. Control. I want to run Seoul."
Silence fell, heavy, drowning out the street's noise. Joon-ho's grin vanished, replaced by wide-eyed shock, like Jin had just claimed he'd conquer the stars. Then he laughed again, louder, harsher, almost manic, bending forward with hands on his knees. "King of Seoul?!" he gasped, voice breaking with glee. "You're batshit insane!"
"Maybe," Jin said quietly, unwavering, the word steady as stone.
Joon-ho's laughter faltered, his eyes narrowing as he studied Jin, searching for the punchline. People passed by, casting confused glances, but Jin stood firm, letting the weight of his words settle. Finally, Joon-ho straightened, chuckles fading, a new glint in his eyes—not mockery, but something like respect, tinged with disbelief.
"You're dead serious," he said, voice low, almost awed.
Jin nodded, the alley's damp air pressing against him. "I've thought it through. I'm not backing off."
Joon-ho was quiet, his gaze piercing, weighing Jin like a bet he wasn't sure he'd take. Then his reckless grin crept back, slow and dangerous, the one Jin remembered from nights that ended in bruises or worse. "Crazy," he muttered, shaking his head. "You're absolutely fucking crazy."
He stuck out his hand, palm open, steady. "But I like crazy."
Jin blinked, caught off guard, heart lurching. Relief and resolve crashed together, a strange tide in his chest. He clasped Joon-ho's hand, their grip firm, a silent vow forged in the alley's shadows. The city blurred—traffic, vendors, commuters fading into noise. For that moment, it was just them, side by side, like the old days, but with stakes that could break them.
Joon-ho smirked, slinging the duffel higher. "Well, Boss," he said, the word dripping with playful menace, "where do we start?"
Jin didn't answer immediately, his eyes locked on Joon-ho—the thief, the reckless fool, the friend who'd always pulled him into chaos. For the first time, that chaos didn't feel like a trap. It felt like destiny, raw and unyielding.
Jin exhaled slowly, forcing his shoulders to loosen, the alley's damp air clinging to his skin. "If we're doing this, we can't do it alone. We need employees."
Joon-ho froze mid-step, then burst into laughter, the sound sharp and echoing off the graffiti-stained walls. "Employees?" he wheezed, clutching the duffel bag's strap, nearly doubling over. "What is this, a fucking startup? You mean a crew, man. Stop thinking like some suit in a boardroom. You were always the business type, but this ain't a corporate retreat."
Jin's face burned, irritation flaring. "You know what I mean."
"Yeah, I do." Joon-ho's grin was relentless, teasing as he leaned closer, his shadow swallowing Jin's in the dim light. "Fighters. Thieves. People who can handle the streets, not punch a clock. Say it right, Boss—crew."
Jin groaned, dragging a hand over his face, the stubble rough against his palm. "Fine. A crew. Assholes who can hold their own."
"That's the spirit!" Joon-ho clapped him on the back, hard enough to make him stumble, the duffel swinging like it was weightless. "I know some guys. Punks from the block, a lockpicker who owes me, my cousin's buddy who's handy with a knife. Useful types."
Hope flickered in Jin's chest—until Joon-ho gave him a slow, mocking once-over and snorted. "Problem is, they wouldn't follow you looking like that."
Jin blinked, thrown. "Like what?"
"A narc." Joon-ho's tone was flat, like he was stating the weather. "Like some cop from a bad drama. Clean shoes, stiff posture, eyes darting like you're writing a report." He smirked, leaning in as if sharing a secret. "If I didn't know you, I'd think you were wired."
Jin's mouth dropped open. "I don't look like a fucking narc!"
"Bro, you do."
"I don't!"
"You really do." Joon-ho's grin widened, eyes glinting with mischief as he dodged Jin's half-hearted swipe. "Point is, people don't follow promises or fancy titles. They follow power. A name that makes the streets hum. You want a crew? Want Seoul? We need a mark—something they can't ignore."
The words hit like a fist, raw and true. Jin's mind flashed to Kang, who'd only followed after seeing him survive a fight, the system's power in his hands. A crew would need more than words—they'd need proof, something undeniable.
"Alright," Jin muttered, voice low, steadying. "Then we start with a name."
Joon-ho raised a brow, duffel swaying as he shifted his weight. "A name?"
"Every gang's got one. Something people whisper, something they fear."
Joon-ho rubbed his chin, feigning deep thought, his smirk barely contained. "Okay, Boss. Hit me with your corporate brilliance."
Jin hesitated, throat tight, then forced out, "Iron Syndicate."
Joon-ho's laughter exploded, so loud a vendor across the street glanced over. "Iron Syndicate?" he choked, clutching his stomach. "What, you selling gym supplements now? Or auditioning for a superhero flick?"
Jin's face burned hotter. "Fine, asshole. How about Seoul Brotherhood?"
"Pfft!" Joon-ho doubled over, nearly dropping the duffel. "A fucking book club? Next you'll pitch 'Seoul Neighborhood Watch.'"
"Shut up," Jin snapped, crossing his arms, embarrassment warring with a reluctant grin.
"You're killing me!" Joon-ho wheezed, straightening, eyes wet with tears. "This ain't a board meeting, man. We need something raw, something with teeth—'don't fuck with us' vibes."
Jin glared, but Joon-ho slowed, his gaze lifting to the pale sky, his smirk fading into something quieter, almost serious. "Remember that rooftop behind the gym? Middle school, sneaking up there, you always pushing to reach the top, no matter how many times you ate shit falling."
Jin froze, the memory hitting hard—scraped knuckles, their laughter ringing against brick, the thrill of standing above their small world, untouchable. He'd told Joon-ho they'd never stay at the bottom, that they'd claw to the peak, the apex.
Joon-ho's grin returned, sharp, dangerous. "The Apex Syndicate," he said, the words rolling off his tongue, heavy, defiant, hanging in the alley's stale air.
Jin chuckled, shaking his head. "That's ridiculous."
But the name lingered, sinking in. Apex—the peak, the predator at the top. Not just nostalgic, but bold, a name that stuck like a blade in the throat. His laughter faded, chest tightening. "…It fits."
Joon-ho snapped his fingers, pointing like he'd nailed a game-winner. "Damn right it fits. The Apex Syndicate—classy, dangerous, ours."
Jin exhaled, a small smile breaking through. "The Apex Syndicate."
"Say it again, Boss."
"The Apex Syndicate." The words felt heavier, real, like a vow carved into the city's underbelly.
Joon-ho's grin turned wolfish. "That's the name that'll burn through Seoul."
Something shifted in Jin, the ground steadying beneath him, the path ahead dark but solid. This wasn't just a dream—it was taking shape, a name giving form to his ambition. Then the system struck.
Blue light flickered before his eyes, cold and sterile, visible only to him.
[Optional Quest: Leave a Symbol of Your First Crime]
[Location: Current Robbery Site]
[Reward: ???]
Jin's blood chilled, his breath catching as the words hung like a guillotine. He stopped dead, staring at the screen, heart pounding. Leave a symbol—a mark to scream the Apex Syndicate's arrival, to etch their name into the city's bones.
"Yo," Joon-ho nudged him, elbow sharp. "What's wrong? Cold feet already?"
Jin blinked, forcing the screen away, its glow dissolving into nothing but leaving a weight in his gut. "It's nothing," he said, sharper than he meant.
"Bullshit," Joon-ho said, eyes narrowing, but he raised his hands in mock surrender when Jin glared.
Jin's mind raced, eyes flicking back toward the house they'd left, then to the duffel swinging from Joon-ho's shoulder, heavy with loot. The system didn't just want a robbery—it wanted a statement, a scar on the city to prove they were here.
He sighed, inevitability settling like a stone. But for the first time, it didn't crush him. He felt alive, ready. He glanced at Joon-ho—his reckless grin, his unshakable loyalty, the friend who'd dive into hell beside him.
Jin smirked, a spark igniting in his chest. "I've got an idea...."