"Kill them!"
The lead brute swung a baseball bat, the wood whistling as it tore through the air. Geon-woo inhaled sharply, pivoting his body on his back foot. The bat hissed past the bridge of his nose, missing by a hair's breadth.
'Now.'
Geon-woo's upper body coiled and snapped back like a released spring. A crisp, heavy right straight buried itself into the center of the brute's face.
WHAM!
There wasn't even a scream. The man toppled backward like a felled oak. Beside him, Woo-jin let out a sharp whistle of focus as he snatched the arm of another charging thug. Using the man's own momentum, Woo-jin twisted the arm and slammed him into the concrete, then kicked a fallen pipe into the air, catching it mid-flight.
"You bastards picked the wrong day to mess with us!"
Woo-jin's arm whipped through the air like a lash.
The steel pipe in his grip traced a low, lethal arc, snapping directly into the shin of a charging enforcer.
CRACK!
"Aaaagh!"
The man screamed, his leg buckling as he hit the concrete head-first. Woo-jin didn't break his rhythm. Pivoting into his jagged southpaw stance, he thrust the tip of the pipe upward, catching a hesitant thug right under the chin.
THUD!
The man's head snapped back. Using the recoil, Woo-jin danced on his toes, spinning to his right in a blur of motion. As another goon reached out to grab his shoulder from behind, Woo-jin slammed a back-fist—pipe and all—into the bridge of the man's nose.
CRUNCH!
"You little piece of—!"
Another subordinate lunged, a blade glinting in his hand. Woo-jin narrowed his eyes and dipped his upper body deep to the left. The moment the steel hissed through empty air, Woo-jin raked the pipe across the man's exposed ribs.
WHACK!
The thug was sent rolling across the floor. Woo-jin exhaled a sharp, ragged breath and readjusted his grip on the cold steel. Around him, four or five men lay groaning on the ground, scattered like fallen leaves.
"Who else wants a piece? Step up, you sons of bitches!"
Meanwhile, Joe stood at the eye of the storm, unnervingly still. He stood in the center of the fray with both hands dangling at his sides, swaying rhythmically in his 'No Guard' stance.
'Left... then high.'
A steel pipe swung for Joe's temple. He dipped his knees to let it sail over him, and in the same heartbeat, he threw his right arm toward an incoming fist from the opposite side.
CRACK!
A Cross Counter. He met the attacker's force with his own, sending the man spinning a full 360 degrees before he hit the deck.
Three steel pipes whistled toward Joe's head simultaneously.
Joe didn't retreat. He lunged inward. Using his 'Konnyaku' tactic, he turned his upper body into a fluid, boneless mass, slipping through the gaps between the metal rods. The cold steel grazed his cheek, leaving a stinging trail of wind in its wake.
Swish!
Joe's left jab snapped out like a lightning strike, burying itself under the chin of the closest thug.
Thwack!
It wasn't a mere jab. It was a piercing, weight-driven punch that functioned like an awl. As the man's head snapped back, Joe didn't pause. He drove a heavy body blow deep into the solar plexus of the man standing next to him.
Crunch!
"H-hurrk...!"
Two men hit the floor at the same time. But a third, seizing an opening from behind, slammed a heavy kick into Joe's back.
Thud!
Joe lurched forward, the metallic taste of blood blooming in his mouth. Sensing weakness, the pack swarmed. Three men dived to pin his arms and legs, while another swung a wooden club in a wide, murderous arc aimed at his skull.
'Too slow?'
His fingertips began to vibrate with that familiar, treacherous tremor. His vision flickered. But Joe's fighting spirit refused to buckle. He sprang upward like a kangaroo, leaping clean over the hands reaching for his limbs.
Mid-air, Joe twisted his frame. His fist raked across the temple of the man with the club.
Crack!
"Aaargh!"
Joe hit the ground and instantly reset his stance, not even stopping to catch his breath. This time, five men charged at once. Joe dropped into his 'No Guard' position, hands dangling, swaying his head just enough to let the flurry of fists whistle past. It was an acrobatic display performed on the edge of a razor.
Then, at the exact micro-second their punches crossed, Joe's right arm whipped out.
"Cross...!"
BOOM!
A counter that harvested the full momentum of the attacker exploded on contact. The force sent two men spiraling into each other. Even as he staggered, Joe kept moving. Every time his hooks and uppercuts connected, men fell like autumn leaves carpeting the station floor.
The body count around Joe had already surged past ten.
"You... you absolute monster..."
The remaining goons faltered, terror finally overriding their desperation. Joe wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and pinned them with a gaze as cold as a winter grave.
"Who's next?"
"Split them up! Separate them!"
One of the thugs, eyes bloodshot with rage, shrieked the order. The pack began to wedge themselves between the three. Sheer numbers began to tell. Forced apart and unable to watch each other's backs, the trio was swallowed by the sea of bodies.
Geon-woo's breath burned hot in his throat. He buried a devastating liver blow into an approaching ribcage.
The thugs surrounding him readjusted their grip on their wooden clubs, slowly tightening the noose.
"This brat thinks he's hot shit just because he learned how to throw a punch. Snap his limbs! Make him a cripple!"
Four men lunged simultaneously. Geon-woo didn't flinch. He lightened his step, pivoting his frame to the left. He read the trajectory of the incoming club, snapping his head back just enough to let it whistle past.
Swish!
The moment the wood grazed the tip of his nose, Geon-woo's short, compact left hook buried itself into the first man's temple.
THWACK!
The man's body crumpled like scrap paper, hitting the concrete hard. Geon-woo didn't break his momentum. He drove two heavy body blows in rapid succession into the gut of the man charging from his right.
CRUNCH! THUD!
"H-hurrk...!"
The impact was so clean the man couldn't even find the breath to scream. Using the recoil, Geon-woo twisted and channeled his weight into a right uppercut that caught the next attacker square under the chin.
CLACK!
The man's head snapped back as he was lifted clean off his feet. Geon-woo's movements were clinical, stripped of all wasted effort. The fundamental boxing skills he had repeated tens of thousands of times as a professional prospect were now surgically dismantling the street brawlers.
Eight more enforcers shrieked and swarmed him at once. Backed against a pillar, Geon-woo peered through the narrow gap in his high guard, tracking every movement. Even amidst the hail of pipes and fists, he kept his vitals shielded with iron-clad discipline.
Thud! Crack!
Dull impacts thudded against his shoulders and forearms, but Geon-woo didn't so much as blink. Instead, he waited for the exact micro-second their rhythm faltered.
"Move!"
Geon-woo dropped his center of gravity and exploded forward. His fists tore through their defensive lines, systematically destroying solar plexuses, jaws, and livers. Every time his trademark 'liver blow' connected, grown men foamed at the mouth and folded like lawn chairs.
In less than a minute, nearly ten men lay groaning and writhing at Geon-woo's feet.
"You... you crazy monster..."
The remaining goons scrambled backward. Geon-woo exhaled a ragged breath and rolled up his shirt sleeves. The light in his eyes was no longer that of an innocent boy. He was a hungry fighting dog in the center of the ring, nothing more, nothing less.
Geon-woo tightened his fist and took a heavy step forward.
"Next. Who's it gonna be?"
'One... two... they just keep coming.'
Joe lunged like a kangaroo, snapping an uppercut that lifted a man off his feet, while Woo-jin swung his pipe with pure grit. But the fallen men were like ghosts; they wiped the blood from their faces and scrambled back up, fueled by a frantic, desperate tenacity.
"Ha... ha... what's with these guys? Are they on something?"
Woo-jin spat on the floor, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The weight behind their punches was starting to fade.
Geon-woo's shoulders heaved with exhaustion. No matter how elite his boxing skills were, facing thirty grown men was draining his tank to the dregs. The thugs weren't about to miss that opening.
"Now! Take his legs!"
One of the bastards crawling on the floor snatched Geon-woo's ankle. The moment his balance broke, a rain of clubs and pipes poured down from all directions.
WHACK! A dull, heavy strike slammed into Geon-woo's back.
"Urgh!"
As Geon-woo dropped to one knee, they swarmed him like hyenas. Three men piled onto his back to pin him down, while the rest unleashed a barrage of merciless kicks. A heavy boot slipped past his guard and hammered into his ribs.
Thud! Smash!
'No... my body... won't move...'
Geon-woo curled into a ball, shielding his head, but his consciousness flickered under the relentless beating. Just as one thug raised a wooden club high for a killing blow to his skull—
WHOOSH—CLANG!
A fire extinguisher launched from nowhere slammed directly into the thug's temple.
"Hey! You cowardly shits! There's a limit to ganging up on someone!"
It was Woo-jin. He dived into the fray, wielding a long steel pipe like a spear he'd liberated from a fallen goon. Woo-jin's pipe traced a massive horizontal arc, raking across the waists and throats of the men surrounding Geon-woo.
CRUNCH! SNAP!
"Aaargh!"
The men pinning Geon-woo were sent flying in every direction. Without missing a beat, Woo-jin stomped his combat boot into the chest of a fallen attacker and stood over Geon-woo.
"Hey, Geon-woo! Wake up! If you pass out here, Juju's gonna kill you!"
Woo-jin grabbed the scruff of Geon-woo's shirt with his left hand and hauled him up. Geon-woo spat out a mouthful of blood and managed to steady his legs.
"Phew... thanks, Hyung."
Woo-jin offered a predatory grin, readjusting his grip on the steel pipe. His eyes were already shimmering with a manic, battle-hungry light.
"Don't thank me. Buy me some beef later. Now, round two starts now!"
Woo-jin dropped into his southpaw stance, pointing the tip of the pipe at the enemies' faces. Geon-woo tightened his trembling fists once more. Back-to-back, the two rebuilt an iron-clad line of defense.
Watching from the mezzanine, Kim Jun-min's eyes narrowed to slits. His gaze was locked firmly on Geon-woo.
'That brat... the one from the cafe.'
Seeing thirty of his hand-picked enforcers struggling against three guys made Jun-min's lip curl in a sneer. He backed into the shadows and pulled out his phone.
"It's me. That woman who runs the cafe in the Seongeun Building. Get me her address. Now."
His voice was a cold, sharpened blade.