The golden hues of evening were still clinging to the horizon, but inside Yeonhwa-ru, the day's business had ended prematurely. The main dining hall was a scene of controlled chaos — the three new workers, Uncle Bae, Jin, and Auntie Song, moved quietly through the room, sweeping up splinters of wood and uprighting the chairs that had been tossed aside during the struggle. The shutters weren't yet drawn, allowing the fading sunlight to stretch across the floor and illuminate the dust still settling in the air.
In the center of the room, amidst the wreckage and the sound of sweeping brooms, sat a single occupied table.
Wol was hunched over a massive bowl of noodles, the steam rising to meet his face. He ate with the primal focus of a starving man, slurping the hand-pulled strands and draining the rich broth in great, satisfying gulps.
"Were you starving yourself? You're eating like a wild animal," Nari remarked. She stood behind the counter with her arms crossed, her brow furrowed in an attempt to maintain her usual sharp edge. But the way her eyes lingered on him, softening with every slurp, betrayed the immense relief she was trying to hide.
"Ah," Wol sighed, slamming the empty bowl down with a heavy thud. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes finally clearing of the hunger that had driven him. "Uncle Sung, these noodles were exactly what I needed. Nothing beats your cooking after a long day."
"I'm just glad you're back, Wol," Cha Sung called out from the kitchen, appearing with a fresh, steaming refill in his hands. His heart, which had been heavy with worry for the past three months, finally felt light seeing the boy standing — not just safe, but seemingly stronger than ever. "You looked like you hadn't seen food in weeks. Tell me if you need more."
Wol accepted the second bowl gratefully, his fingers brushing the warm ceramic. "Thank you, I will."
He really was starving. The agonizing cycle of Bone Cleansing and the sheer mental tax of forcing the Middle Dantain open had consumed his body's reserves like a raging fire. Everything in his small cabin had been depleted while he was submerged in his meditative trance — if he hadn't come to Yeonhwa-ru today, he might have collapsed from exhaustion. He had come looking for a simple meal, only to find the shop being preyed upon by the Mad Dogs. But as he felt the warmth of the spicy broth hit his stomach, he was genuinely glad he had arrived exactly when he did.
"Are you hurt anywhere?" Nari asked, her gaze sweeping over his broad shoulders and the dark fabric of his new robes.
"No, I'm fine," Wol replied, already slurping the second round. "It wasn't that much of a trouble."
"Wol... thank you for helping us," Cha Sung said, stepping up to the table and bowing his head in a rare, solemn gesture. "We would have been in terrible trouble if you didn't show up."
Wol paused, the steam from the bowl curling around his face. "I did what I should do. No need to thank me." He took another bite, then lowered his chopsticks. "What happened?"
He already had a solid guess, but he needed to hear the confirmation from Cha Sung's own lips.
"It's Shin Daesok's doing," Cha Sung explained with a heavy sigh. "Manager Jo Sang-il, his right-hand man, came by a week ago. They wanted us to pay 'protection' taxes now that our business is growing. We rejected them, and the threats started immediately. They tried to squeeze us by inflating the market price of river fish, but when that failed, they must have sent the Mad Dogs out of pure, petty frustration."
"He is as greedy as ever," Wol muttered, his eyes narrowing into cold slits.
He thought of the future — or rather, the past. In his previous life, Shin Daesok had managed to grow his influence until it rivaled a small martial sect. His real weapons weren't just blades, but the sheer, crushing weight of his wealth and merchant influence that eventually spread throughout the entire Murim Alliance. He had even managed to become an honorary elder in the royal family of the Great Empire. If Wol let him grow now, the man would eventually reach those heights again, treading over the lives of commoners with every shady deal and blood-soaked contract. I have to deal with him fast, Wol realized. While he is still just a schemer, and before he gains the connections that made him untouchable.
Nari was staring at his new robes, her cheeks flushing a soft, delicate pink as she realized how well they fit his matured frame. Noticing her gaze, Wol looked down at himself. "Nari, thanks for the robe. It fits well."
"Ahem..." Nari coughed, looking away and aggressively scrubbing a spot on the already clean counter. "Beggar... I just didn't want you scaring off my customers looking like that. Since you clearly don't know the first thing about fashion, I had to buy it for you."
Wol offered a soft, genuine smile.
"By the way," Nari added, leaning over the counter, her voice dropping to a suspicious whisper. "Why didn't you tell us you were training? Why didn't you say you were a martial artist?"
"Hmm... because I wasn't until three months ago," Wol replied casually, his focus returning to the bowl.
"Three months?" Nari's grip on her towel slackened. "You beat those thugs... with only three months of training?"
"Yup."
Nari stared at him in utter disbelief. The sassy, defensive facade she wore like armor completely melted away, leaving only raw gratitude. "Thank you for stepping up for us," she said, her voice trembling slightly.
"No need to thank me. You guys helped me a lot, so it's normal that I should do what I can," Wol said. He set the empty bowl aside and looked her directly in the eye, his expression turning serious. "And... I'm sorry that I was late today. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about my training, and for making you worry these past three months."
Nari's hand paused. The restaurant was quiet, save for the rhythmic scratching of Uncle Bae's broom. "It's okay. Never repeat it... but I'm sure you are going to repeat it anyway. Just... make sure at least to leave something behind for me to know where you are."
"For you to know?" Cha Sung interjected from the side, a playful glint in his eye. "What about us? Don't we get a message too?"
He glanced at Nari, then at the three workers who had stopped their cleaning to listen in with knowing smiles.
Nari's face went from pink to a deep, violent crimson. "WH-WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'YOU'?! I just meant the shop! The business!"
SLAM!
She slammed her towel onto the table with enough force to make the tea cups rattle and stormed up the stairs toward her room, her ears practically glowing red.
Wol watched her go, letting out a soft sigh and a small smile. Still a child, he thought, though he couldn't deny the warmth her concern brought him.
"Now then," Wol said, standing up and stretching his limbs, feeling the new Qi circulating smoothly through his meridians. "I should check on our guests."
He walked past the kitchen and headed straight toward the dark storehouse at the back of the building.
Inside, the eight thugs were still bound in a bruised, groaning pile. Wol grabbed a stool, pulled it to the center of the room, and sat down.
Goo Jung was awake, his head hanging low. "Are you going to kill us?"
"No, I am not. I wouldn't have gone easy on you if I was," Wol replied coldly. "I want to help you. And in return, you will help me."
Wol stepped forward toward the bound thugs. CRACK. SNAP. POP.
A series of gut-wrenching sounds echoed through the storehouse as Wol began relocating their dislocated joints with clinical, terrifying precision. The thugs let out jagged, agonizing screams, some attempting to curse him through gritted teeth before their jaws were snapped back into place.
"Shut up!" Goo Jung roared, silencing his men instantly.
The massive leader looked at Wol, his voice trembling with a different kind of pain — one that wasn't physical. "Is it true? What you said back there? Is Shin Daesok just using me for dirty work and letting my sister die slowly?"
"Let me ask you something," Wol said, leaning in until he was inches from Goo Jung's face. "Why do you think they don't let you visit your own sister whenever you want? Why is it only once a year?"
Goo Jung hesitated. "They say she's in a sensitive state..."
"No," Wol countered, shaking his head. "It's because if you met her daily, you could tell she's not improving. You'd see the stagnation. But once a year? You can't really understand the difference after twelve months. It is a cruel trick, Goo Jung. Hope is the most dangerous of poisons — it blinds us with the image of what we want to see, making us walk right past the truth of what is standing in front of us."
Goo Jung's eyes dampened. "You are right... I felt it. But I didn't want to give up hope. Even the slightest chance of saving her... we would have done anything. I tried many physicians, took every job to make money, but nothing helped. Then we met Jo Sang-il. He promised they could cure her. He said they had a physician from the Alliance who could help... as long as we did exactly what we were told."
The other members of the gang were silent, their heads bowed. They weren't looking at him, nor at Goo Jung, but at the dirt floor.
"You were desperate, and that is exactly what they wanted," Wol said, his voice carrying the absolute, chilly authority of one who had seen this tragedy play out a thousand times. "But even the best physician in the Murim Alliance won't be able to save your sister. Only I can."
Goo Jung's head snapped up, his eyes widening — he had never told anyone the specifics, terrified of hearing she was beyond saving, yet this boy spoke as if he knew the meridians himself.
"Her condition is the Yin-Severing Veins," Wol explained. "Blocked meridians from birth. Medicine is useless. The only way is to forcefully break the blockage using incredibly pure, refined internal Qi. But that requires a level of control that money can't buy. If the one performing the technique makes a single mistake, the healer goes cripple — not the patient. Their Dantain would shatter. No martial artist is willing to risk their entire future for a thug's sister."
"How do you..." Goo Jung started, but Wol cut him off.
"That is why Shin Daesok can never help you. He would never risk one of his valuable assets to save a hostage."
Goo Jung looked at his men, then back to Wol. "Why do you want to help us then? Aren't you risking your own Dantian?"
Wol offered a calm, steady smile. "I'm just that confident in my Qi control. I may not have much total Qi now, but I have better control than anyone you've ever met and i have some buisness with shin daegon, not a good one."
Goo Jung felt the weight of that confidence. It wasn't arrogance — it was a simple statement of fact. He didn't hesitate anymore. He bowed his head as best he could while tied. "Please... save my sister. We will help you however we can."
Wol walked forward and began untying the ropes on Goo Jung's wrists. "Alright. Leave it to me."
He gave a small, genuine smile. He had seen Goo Jung die in despair in his past life. He wouldn't let it happen again.
Night had fully descended over River Dragon City, wrapping the narrow alleys in a thick, suffocating blanket of shadow. At the heart of the Merchant District, the headquarters of the Shin Daesok Merchant House loomed like a fortress.
The estate was a sprawling complex of stone and dark wood, guarded by no less than fifty men — a rotating wall of watchers, security guards, and low-level martial artists who kept a constant vigil over Daesok's ill-gotten wealth. Torches flickered along the perimeter walls, their orange glow barely reaching the dark street below.
"Halt!"
A sharp voice rang out from the main gate. A soldier stepped forward, his spear leveled at a group emerging from the darkness. From the shadows, five figures approached, their faces obscured by the dim light. The watchers on the wall leaned over the battlements, squinting down.
"Who goes there? Identify yourselves!"
As they stepped into the torchlight, the guards identified the man at the front. It was Goo Jung. Behind him were only four members of the Mad Dogs. They looked exhausted, their clothes disheveled and covered in dust.
Slung over Goo Jung's broad shoulder was a limp figure. A boy whose hair was a matted mess, his fisherman's rags torn and stained with dark streaks of blood. His skin was mottled with fresh, deep bruises.
"Mad Dogs?" a guard asked, lowering his spear slightly. "Why are you here at this hour? And who the hell is that?"
"It's the kid who was delivering the fish to Yeonhwa-ru behind the market price," Goo Jung growled, his voice thick with forced, breathless exhaustion. "Manager Jo told me to find the person responsible for the supply and shut down the shop. I came back as soon as we grabbed him."
The guard looked suspiciously at the group. "Only five of you? Where are the other four?"
"Injured," Goo Jung spat, gesturing vaguely behind him. "The shop had a decent martial artist on retainer. We had to fight our way through him and this brat at the same time. The others were in bad shape, so I sent them to a physician nearby before coming here."
The guard looked at the unconscious boy again. Manager Jo had indeed been furious about the fish supply earlier that day. The story checked out.
"Alright, get in," the guard signaled.
The heavy iron-reinforced gates groaned as they swung open just wide enough for the five men to pass. As they entered, the sound of the gates slamming shut echoed through the courtyard like a final sentence.
Wol didn't move. Hidden beneath his matted hair, his eyes remained closed, his breathing nearly non-existent.