The night breeze drifted gently through the open window. The Hwang family residence, once the center of strength and command, now felt like a house abandoned by its spirit. Silent. A silence not from the absence of voices, but from the burdens each person carried in their heart.
In the living room, Hwang sat alone. In his hand, an old photo — three smiling faces. Himself, Jung Joon, and Jung Kok. They were still children then. Untouched by the harshness of the world that would one day divide them. His fingers gently traced the faces of his sons in the photo. His expression wasn't angry, nor was it stern as usual. Just sorrowful.
"I only wanted you both to be stronger than me. But I never taught you to kill each other..." he whispered to himself. His voice faded into the stillness of the night.
At the back of the house, inside an old family dojo, Jung Kok was training alone. His movements weren't aggressive. They were slow, focused — like a dance in the dark. It wasn't about physical strength, but about mastering the fury within him.
The sound of sliding wood echoed softly. Min entered, carrying a thermos and two cups. Jung Kok stopped, grabbed a small towel, and sat beside his friend.
"Do you remember the first time we trained here?" Min asked, pouring drinks into the cups.
Jung Kok gave a faint smile. "We got tied up for running away during practice."
Min chuckled. "You didn't cry. I cried like a kid."
"You were a kid back then," Jung Kok replied as he sipped his drink.
They sat quietly for a while, looking at the dojo walls — marked with old stains and scratches, memories of their youth. It was a peaceful moment, as if the storm had passed. But they both knew… this peace was only temporary.
Several miles away, atop an abandoned building, a man in black stood tall, observing through a night-vision scope. His face was unfamiliar. But his posture showed discipline — not your average street thug.
He lowered the scope and opened a small notebook from his jacket, writing something neatly.
> Jung Kok. The next target.
He turned to another page — filled with names, photos, and dates. Several names had already been crossed out.
The next morning, just as the sun peeked over the horizon, a courier left an envelope at the front gate. No return address. Jung Kok found it as he stepped out into the yard.
Inside was a single white paper. One sentence.
> "Your blood is not for good."
Jung Kok stared at it for a long time. He didn't show it to Min. He simply folded it and slipped it into the inner pocket of his jacket.
Later that day, Jung Joon arrived at a hidden location — an abandoned warehouse that now served as his temporary base. He wasn't alone. A woman stood before him. Tall, stylish, full of confidence. Her face calm but sharp. She held a tablet, showing something to Jung Joon.
"Rina, what's your real plan?" Jung Joon asked, leaning against the wall.
"My plan? Simple. Let your brother believe he's winning… and when he opens the door to victory, we light a fire in his living room."
Jung Joon smiled. "I like the way you think."
Rina didn't smile back. "Don't get cocky. Jung Kok isn't someone easily manipulated."
"I know… that's why I need you," Jung Joon said, more seriously this time.
Night fell once more. The sky was overcast, and a cold wind crept through the cracks in the walls. Jung Kok slept in his room. His breathing was calm. But in his dreams, his body shifted — as if restless.
Outside the house, behind the shadow of a large tree, someone stood motionless. Their face obscured. But their eyes…
A pair of glowing red eyes.
Peering through the window.
Watching.
Waiting.
> The shadow was getting closer. And this time… it knew all of Jung Kok's weaknesses.