The rain had stopped.
James stepped out of The Rusted Crown pub, the echoes of laughter and shattered glass fading behind him. The air smelled of old secrets and wet asphalt. He walked slowly down the street, his mind still buzzing with the whispers he'd overheard inside.
He paused.
A flicker of color caught his eye—a faded red-and-yellow lollipop stand in the corner shop window, the same brand he hadn't seen in a decade. His hand reached out almost without thinking. The store was small and empty, and he glanced around to make sure no one was watching. No one was.
He pushed open the door, the bell above tinkling softly.
He bought the lollipop, unwrapped it carefully, and put it in his mouth. A wave of sweet nostalgia washed over him. He let out a sigh of relief.
"Mom always bought this one for me…" he murmured, the words tasting as bittersweet as the candy on his tongue. "Time flows fast… haah."
He walked outside, savoring the simple pleasure. But then, a sound—soft, wet with grief—pricked his ears. He turned his head, saw two women on the street corner.
One was older, about the age his mother would be if she'd lived. Tears streaked her cheeks as she clung to the other woman's arm.
"…My son… he's a good boy," she whispered. "But now everyone says he uses drugs… He's in Daesan University… He studied so hard… But they said… they put it in food, made them addicts…"
The other woman hushed her gently. "The police arrested the guys who did this to your son. But they said it was some gang, right? Was it… B-Gang? No… E-Gang?"
The grieving mother shook her head, sobbing. "They said it's a gang called D-Gang. The police said if I dig deeper… I'll have to prepare to lose everything."
"You did right not to push it further," the friend murmured. "You have a daughter too… don't lose her too."
The lollipop slipped from James's lips, but he caught it quickly and tucked it back in. His eyes darkened with something sharp, something final. He turned back to The Rusted Crown.
Just as he reached for the door, it swung open. The same thick-necked man from before—Clyde, the one with the easy smile—stepped outside, whistling.
"Hoh? You're still here?" Clyde grinned, surprised. "Ho, don't tell me you wanna drink but got no money? It's okay—my treat. I don't know why, but I like you somehow."
James watched him, eyes calm but cold. He thought back to what he'd just heard on the street.
"…Brother," James said softly. "Can you do me a favor? It's nothing big. Just… some information."
Clyde's eyes gleamed with curiosity. "I knew you weren't ordinary the moment I saw you," he said, almost proudly. "Ask anything… unless it's about us. Then I'll tell you."
James stepped closer. "D-Gang. I want to know about them."
Clyde's grin faded, his brow creasing. He scratched his jaw, uneasy. "Well… I don't know much. As far as I've heard from our owner, she said it's a new gang. But they're… different. Their target isn't money. They act like gods."
James's eyes narrowed. "The boss's name?"
"Donny. Or something like that," Clyde said. "He uses drugs to make puppets. A real psycho, I think… Haha."
James asked, "Do you know where they're hiding?"
Clyde hesitated. "Their hideout is… well-known. But I doubt Donny's there, even if his goons are. Why ask though? Oh—you plan to buy something? Even though I don't use drugs, it sells well. If our boss agreed, we'd sell it too. But…" He sighed. "She's too strict about that. Unlike her brothers… Aaagh, it's okay. She'll be stepping down soon and—wait, what am I even saying?" His eyes snapped back to James. "Oh—forget it! You didn't hear anything, alright?"
James's expression didn't change, but inside, he thought: The owner… strict against drugs. Interesting. A potential ally.
Clyde gave him a small slip of paper. "Here. The address. Be careful, though."
James took it, tucked it away, and set off into the night.
---
The hideout was a crumbling factory, half-swallowed by vines and shadows. James moved like a phantom—no hesitation, no wasted motion. A lone guard stood watch at the back entrance. James slipped behind him, wrapped an arm around his throat, and snapped his neck with a quiet crack.
Inside, the air stank of chemicals and sweat. James padded softly, noting every corner, every hallway.
Big place, he thought. So many ways in…
He stepped over a body. A fresh kill. Then another. Six bodies in all, each killed with surgical precision—throats slit, hearts stabbed, never more than two wounds.
Knives, he noted. Someone skilled… and fast.
He advanced deeper. The slaughter continued—bodies in hallways, blood pooling in the flickering light.
He reached a wide front yard inside the factory. Two guards stood there, nervous, clutching guns.
James hid in the shadows. He moved to finish them—only to pause. Both men crumpled to the ground, already dead, fresh blood blooming at their throats.
He smiled. A ghost in the dark… I'm not the only hunter here.
He stepped out.
A dagger flew at him—he dodged, caught it mid-air, and flipped forward as a young woman in black lunged at his legs, trying to sweep him to the ground. James twisted, flipping over her tackle, rolled and came up behind her.
She whirled, blades flashing. One swipe nearly took his throat—but James leaned left, spinning to grab her wrist and slam her down.
She rose again, silent and deadly. But she was too slow. James's dagger touched her throat.
"Are you the one who made this easy for me?" he asked.
"What? What do you—?"
"Are you one of them… or…?"
She flinched. "What? No! I came here for information. You're not one of them, are you?!"
"If I was," James said softly, "do you think you'd still be alive? Info, you say…? Before that—you're well trained. Who are you?"
The woman paused, breathing hard. "I'll tell you. But your name first."
James didn't hesitate. "James. James Hajun."
She blinked, then let out a short, sharp laugh. "Hajun? What a fraud. Couldn't you pick a better name to fake? That name… that boxer… he's dead—"
James's hand tightened at her throat, his eyes colder than the blade. Then he loosened. "Watch what you say. He's not dead. Now—info or silence."
She swallowed. "My name is Elsa. Elsa George. And there's another choice, James Hajun: stand together."
James remembered that name—Freddy George, the eldest lion. A slow smile crossed his face. "Suit yourself."
---
Together, they pressed deeper into the factory. In the final hallway, seven men waited, guns drawn. Elsa moved first—two quick shots with her silenced pistol, two men down. James blurred forward, weaving between bullets, slamming fists and elbows into throats. He wrenched a dagger from one corpse's heart and flung it into another man's neck. Elsa turned a dead man's gun on the last guard and put a bullet between his eyes.
The door they'd guarded swung open. Elsa stepped inside, cautious.
She re-emerged moments later. "He's not here."
James entered, scanning the empty room. No sign of Donny.
He turned back to Elsa, who let out a slow, frustrated breath. "Gone."
A phone rang—a cheap burner in a dead man's pocket. Elsa picked it up and answered, silent. A voice on the other end laughed—a slow, wheezing cackle.
"You know who you messed with? You shouldn't have… messed with me."
Elsa's eyes narrowed. "Donny…?"
"Ohhoho! So you know me. I'll make your life hell, bitch. And you, brat—how dare you touch my territory?! Hah? Wait for me!"
James stepped closer, took the phone from Elsa's hand. His gaze found the CCTV camera on the ceiling, the cold red light blinking. Donny was watching.
James lifted the phone to his lips. "Brat…?" His voice was soft, dangerous. "Aagh… you say wait for you…? I am waiting."
He dropped the phone, let it shatter on the ground, and stomped it into the floor.
Elsa smirked, turned, and flung a dagger into the camera. It cracked in a burst of sparks.
When she looked back, James was already gone. She let out a sigh, murmuring to herself.
"He's strong… like Matthew. Maybe even stronger. But… so different. And he looks younger than me—what, twenty? Twenty-two? …Aagh, whatever."
---
James stepped back into the night, the city breathing around him. His mind replayed Donny's last words:
"How dare you guys touch our gang…"
James's eyes narrowed, his breath fogging in the cold air. He whispered to himself.
"Our gang…? Does that mean… there's more than just Donny? Or… something bigger?"
This jungle isn't just about survival, he thought. It's about the oath. And I will keep it—no matter how deep I have to go.
---
[End of Chapter 3]