Two weeks.
Fourteen days were enough for the blue bruising to fade from his face, and the medical brace to be removed from his left shoulder. Fourteen days of doors knocked in the middle of the night, terrified faces under yellow porch lights, and paper envelopes shoved to him by trembling hands.
His body had healed.
Thursday afternoon. An old underground pool hall in Itaewon.
The smell of cheap smoke and spilled beer permeated the stuffy basement. Four men were playing on two tables in the back, the crack of billiard balls breaking the quiet.
Ji Hun pushed the glass door and entered. He wore his usual dark coat. He walked with quiet steps toward the counter. He didn't look at the players, and he didn't say a word.
The owner, a bald man in his fifties, was wiping a glass. When he looked up and saw Ji Hun, his hand stopped. He swallowed hard and quickly set the glass aside. Ji Hun wasn't carrying a weapon, and he didn't look angry. But the reputation that had accompanied this quiet young man preceded him. The man who doesn't shout, who doesn't threaten, but stands like the shadow of death until Han Jae Won's gang gets their due.
"I... I gathered it," the man said with a trembling voice, reaching under the counter to pull out a bulging paper envelope. He slid it across the glass counter. "The full amount. With the late interest."
Ji Hun picked up the envelope with his right hand. He opened it slightly to check the stacks. The fear in the man's eyes was guarantee enough.
He folded the envelope, shoved it into his pocket, and turned to leave in silence.
He was no longer the boxer who refused to bow. He had become the shadow that made others bend.
As soon as he climbed the basement stairs and stepped into the cold street air, he stopped.
A man was leaning against the brick wall next to the entrance, wearing a long coat, lighting a cigarette with a silver lighter that made a familiar metallic *clink*.
Inspector Shin Jae Ho.
The inspector slowly blew the smoke out, his eyes scanning Ji Hun from head to toe.
"The coat looks expensive, kid," the inspector said in a gravelly voice. "Seems like working as a debt-collection dog pays well."
Ji Hun wasn't surprised. His expression didn't change. He began walking down the street, and the inspector matched his pace.
"Two weeks ago, we found a pool of blood behind a warehouse in Seongsu," the inspector said, looking straight ahead. "We found no body. No weapon. But a traffic camera caught you getting out of a taxi on that same street at 3 AM."
Ji Hun kept walking.
The inspector suddenly stopped, grabbing Ji Hun by his left arm. His strong grip pressed exactly on the joint that had been dislocated days ago. An old, sharp pain throbbed under the skin, but Ji Hun didn't pull his hand away. He didn't even blink.
"I used to watch your old matches, Ji Hun," the inspector said, the mockery fading from his voice, replaced by suppressed anger. "You fought with honor. Even when you were getting beaten, you refused to fight dirty. What the hell happened to you in that alley?"
Ji Hun turned slowly. He looked at the inspector's hand gripping his arm, then raised his cold eyes to the cop's face.
"The kid who fought with honor is dead, Inspector," Ji Hun said in a hollow voice, completely devoid of emotion. "And don't bother looking for his body, because you won't find it."
The inspector slowly let go of his arm. Staring into Ji Hun's eyes was like staring into a dry well.
"So, you've made your choice," the inspector said bitterly, tossing his cigarette onto the pavement. "The next time I see you, Ji Hun, I won't be looking for evidence to clear you. I'll be the one putting the cuffs on you."
Ji Hun didn't answer. He turned and continued on his way, leaving the inspector watching him fade into the street fog.
An hour later.
A luxurious black Mercedes pulled up in front of a traditional restaurant in the upscale Bukchon Hanok village. Manager Choi opened the rear door and escorted Ji Hun inside.
The place smelled of pine wood and premium green tea. Soundless wooden floors and sliding paper doors.
In the private room, Han Jae Won sat on a silk cushion, wearing comfortable traditional attire, quietly pouring tea for himself.
"Sit," Han said, without taking his eyes off the porcelain teapot.
Ji Hun sat on the other side of the low table. He placed the envelope of money he had collected from the pool hall on the table.
Han didn't look at the money. He took a sip from his small cup, then raised his cunning eyes to Ji Hun.
"You work silently, and you don't ask questions. I like that," Han said with a faint smile. He set his cup down. "But it's time to pay for your freedom in full. The game in Yeongdeungpo has gotten complicated."
Ji Hun didn't move. His face remained like a mask, but he listened intently.
"The son, Sung Joon, was just playing around," Han continued, wiping the rim of his cup. "But Chairman Kang—the father—has stepped in personally. The problem is there is another conglomerate buying up properties to rival us for your coach's neighborhood. They are driving up prices and terrorizing residents in their own way. A legal dispute between us and them would take years in court and cost billions."
Han paused, looking directly at Ji Hun. "The rival company is *Taeyang Chemicals*."
Ji Hun's breath stopped.
*Taeyang Chemicals*.
To Han Jae Won, it was just a corporate name registered on the stock exchange. But to Ji Hun, that name carried the suffocating smell of ammonia. It was the logo printed on his mother's torn uniform. It was the bloody coughing on winter nights, and the meager compensation thrown at him after her death.
The blood froze in Ji Hun's veins, but he didn't utter a word.
"Chairman Kang and the head of the chemical company have agreed to settle the dispute the old-fashioned way," Han said with absolute coldness. "A proxy match. An underground ring, no rules, no cameras. Winner takes the old neighborhood's deeds."
Han leaned forward slightly.
"Chairman Kang asked for a fighter to represent him. And I offered you."
Ji Hun stared at the wooden table.
"I will not fight," he said in a low voice, rough as gravel.
Han Jae Won smiled. It wasn't a smile of anger, but the smile of a man holding the winning card.
"I cleaned your record, Ji Hun," Han said with terrifying calmness. "And to clean your record, I had to buy the video that shows you deliberately dropping your hands to lose your last match. A video that proves you threw the fight."
Ji Hun's head rose slowly.
"If you fight and win, Chairman Kang takes the neighborhood, and maybe I can ensure a good compensation for your coach before his house is demolished." Han leaned back. "But if you refuse... I will send the video to the Boxing Association tomorrow morning. You will be stripped of your license. You will become the greatest disgrace in the sport's history, a pariah and a fraud in the eyes of your coach and everyone who knew you."
The silence in the room became suffocating.
"The match is in three weeks," Han said, lifting the porcelain teapot to pour tea into Ji Hun's empty cup. Pouring tea here wasn't a sign of respect; it was the ultimate seal of ownership. The master pouring water for his dog. "Get back to training. And do not disappoint Chairman Kang."
Ji Hun didn't touch the cup. He stood up and left the room in silence.
He walked out of the restaurant. The cold evening air hit his face immediately. He walked down the street lit by traditional lanterns, away from Han Jae Won's black car.
Ji Hun stopped under a flickering lantern.
He slipped his good hand into his coat pocket and pulled out the encrypted phone.
He looked at the screen. He opened the call log and scrolled past Manager Choi's name. He kept scrolling down until he reached an unsaved number that had called him two weeks ago. Kang Sung Joon. The reckless son looking for a weapon to point at Han Jae Won and his own father.
Ji Hun didn't hesitate. He pressed the call button and raised the phone to his ear, listening to the dial tone ringing in the heart of the dark.