The night air at Jung Kok's main headquarters was heavy with the scent of cigarette smoke and half-finished coffee. The grey walls of the building seemed to retain voices from the past that never truly faded — whispers of strategy, screams of vengeance, and the silence after a loss. Jung Kok sat in his old wooden chair, staring at a whiteboard now covered with rough sketches of territories, gang names, and a mysterious symbol — a skull gripped by fangs.
"Min, have you noticed? This isn't just a threat," he said without turning. His voice was calm, but a hint of unease was impossible to hide.
Min, as usual, stood a short distance behind, arms crossed as he examined the writing and images. "I think they're testing us. This isn't some street punk's work. Whoever did this knows the history."
"This symbol… Father mentioned it once," Jung Kok said, tapping the image with his pointer. "But I thought it was long gone."
Min nodded. "I'll dig into it. But we need to be careful. If this really comes from the old guard… it's not just us in danger. Father too."
Jung Kok fell silent for a while. He looked out the window — into the still and quiet night. "I won't let history repeat itself."
At Hwang's Residence
Hwang sat in his study, the dim light from his desk lamp casting a soft glow over the dust-covered files. The ticking of the wall clock was slow yet piercing. In his left hand, a file labeled "Dae-gun" lay open — a photo of a middle-aged man with a long scar running across his cheek and chin.
Suddenly, the desk phone rang. No caller ID. Hwang picked up without hesitation.
"Hwang," he said.
No voice replied — only the sound of heavy breathing.
He said nothing more, waiting.
After several seconds, the call ended.
Hwang slowly placed the receiver down, his eyes fixed on the picture of Dae-gun.
"So you're not dead after all…"
Jung Joon's Movement
In a hidden location on the outskirts of the city, Jung Joon watched as his subordinate, Taek, loaded a small wooden box into the car trunk.
"Make sure he receives it himself. Don't just leave it," Jung Joon instructed.
Taek nodded. "Clear orders, boss."
Inside the box — a shattered porcelain doll's head smeared in red paint resembling blood, and a note: "A weak leader deserves only to watch puppets die."
Jung Joon chuckled. "My little brother still doesn't understand the game. I'm just here to teach him."
Min's Silent Move
Late that night, Min slipped out alone from the headquarters. He walked into a narrow alley toward an antique shop — its creaky door protesting as he pushed it open.
Inside, an old man waited without a word. Min handed him a small folded note. The man read it and gave a thin smile.
"He still doesn't know?" the man asked quietly.
Min returned a subtle smile. "Not yet. Everything's going according to plan. But if Dae-gun really returns… our plan will get a whole lot easier."
Without looking back, Min exited the shop into the shadows.
A Shocking Lead
Early the next morning, two of Jung Kok's most trusted men — Ryo and Yoon — returned to headquarters. They brought with them a full report and several old photographs.
"That symbol…" said Ryo, handing one of the photos to Jung Kok, "… it belonged to Dae-gun's group. He was your father's main rival before he vanished years ago. But we got intel — someone saw him again. Near the port district."
Jung Kok gripped the photo. His eyes sharpened, his voice low.
"If he's really alive… this isn't just a war between me and Jung Joon anymore."
Min, standing behind, glanced sideways. His expression blank — and deep.
End of Chapter
Meanwhile, in an abandoned building near the port, an old man with a long scar sat cross-legged in the center of an empty room. Behind him hung a large black cloth bearing the symbol of the fang-gripped skull.
"Hwang's sons… you're playing with fire," he said with a thin smile. "Let me help fan the flames."