The trail of information led me to a forgotten place on the edge of the city—an abandoned building that everyone knew was the hideout of the Abbys. Its walls were cracked, paint peeling away like dead skin, and the air around it carried the stench of gasoline and cigarette smoke. As I drew closer, I caught the growl of a motorcycle engine reverberating inside, followed by the deeper rumble of a car left idling.
Then came the laughter.Mocking, careless, echoing through the hollow space like the laughter of hyenas circling prey.
I clenched my fists, rolling my shoulders, stretching my arms until the joints cracked. My body had lived for moments like this—moments where hesitation could mean death. My knuckles popped as I flexed my fingers, a sound that cut through the night like a promise. I wasn't here to bargain. I wasn't here to talk. I was here to leave a message.
Just inside the entrance, two men stood guard, eyes narrow as they registered my presence. One squinted, stepping forward with a sneer."You're new here. I've never seen your face before—"
He didn't get to finish. My fist drove into his chest with the force of a hammer, knocking the air from his lungs. His gasp turned into a strangled wheeze before he crumpled to the ground. The other one reached for his belt, but I was already on him, a sharp elbow to the temple sending him crashing against the wall.
I exhaled, my breath steady, my heart unshaken. I didn't come to explain myself. Tonight, I was going to carve history into the Abbys' name.
Every last one of them—including their coward of a boss—would feel what it meant to cross me.
They thought they could drag my family into their games. They thought they could touch the people I swore to protect. That was their mistake. And mistakes have a price.
Compared to the silent work of my past life—knives in the dark, guns pressed to skulls—this was different. Tonight, my bare hands would do the talking.
The fight exploded like a storm breaking through the walls. Shadows moved toward me, metal pipes glinting, blades flashing, boots stomping the ground as they rushed in packs. But numbers didn't matter. Every punch I threw was precise, every strike honed from years of turning men into corpses.
A fist flew toward me—I ducked, twisted, drove my palm up under his chin. His teeth clacked shut with a sickening snap as he went down. Another swung a chain, sparks flying as it cracked against the concrete when I dodged. I caught the chain mid-swing, yanked him forward, and buried my knee into his gut. He collapsed, choking on his breath.
They fell one after another, bones breaking under the weight of my rage. My body moved like it remembered more than I wanted it to—old habits of an assassin, instincts that never truly died. Blood stained my knuckles, my boots slipping across the floor slick with sweat and crimson.
And then I saw him.
Their so-called leader.The "top dog."
His face twisted in panic as he realized what I already knew—his men weren't going to save him. He stumbled back, shoving one of his own men forward as a shield before turning to bolt for the exit.
Coward. Just like I expected.
No one runs from me. Not after what they've done.
I lunged, my hand catching his collar before he could reach the door. With one brutal swing, my fist connected with his jaw. Bone cracked, and he dropped instantly, sprawling unconscious on the floor.
Silence fell. The fight was over.
By the time I left, the building was littered with bodies. Groans echoed weakly from the broken men sprawled across the floor. Blood painted the cracked concrete. And on the wall, written in dripping red from one of their own, I left my message:
This is your warning.
I didn't look back. My rage hadn't cooled—it simmered, coiled deep in my chest like fire waiting to erupt again. This was only the beginning.
At the hospital, the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly as I pushed the door open. Yuan was sitting in the corner, his hands clasped tightly together, his eyes snapping up the moment he saw me.
His gaze widened in shock, scanning me head to toe for wounds. "What happened?" he asked, voice sharp with concern.
I didn't answer right away. My eyes went to Lory, lying unconscious on the hospital bed, her face pale but peaceful. Machines beeped steadily beside her, proof that she was still fighting, still breathing.
My fists clenched again, but this time it wasn't anger that fueled me. It was resolve. A promise.
"I took care of it," I finally said, my voice flat. "That was my warning. If they don't learn, I'll make sure they do."
Yuan's face went pale, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. "You don't get it," he said quietly. "The Abbys aren't just some street punks. The top dogs from your school, the people behind them—they won't just let this go. They'll come after you."
I turned to him, meeting his worried gaze with a cold, steady stare. "So what? Am I supposed to be scared?"
His lips pressed into a thin line. He hesitated, then shook his head. "It's not just about you! The Abbys have connections. If they find out you're the one who attacked them, do you think our lives will stay peaceful? You can protect yourself, but what about us? What about Lory?"
His words cut through me like a blade, because I had already thought the same thing. They weren't after me—not directly. They would use the people I cared about as leverage. That was their way. And for the first time in years, I realized my fists alone weren't enough.
I drew in a sharp breath, my mind shifting, already forming a plan.
"Then I'll train you and Lory."
Yuan's eyes widened, disbelief flashing across his face. "You… you mean that?"
I leaned forward, my voice unshakable. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't. If we're going to survive this, you both need to learn how to fight. I won't always be around to protect you. The next time they come, I want them to regret ever thinking we were weak."
For a moment, silence hung between us. Then Yuan nodded, his hands curling into fists. There was fear in his eyes, but beneath it—something else. Hope.
"Alright," he said softly. "If this is the only way… then let's do it."
I looked back at Lory, still sleeping, unaware of the storm circling outside these walls. Soon, she would wake. Soon, she would learn to stand on her own feet.
Because this wasn't just a fight anymore.
This was war.