Year: 2000, Seoul – Late Autumn
First-person, Ian Park POV – Aged 21
Rain dripped through the crumbling ceiling of the old textile mill, pooling on the cold concrete floor. The place smelled of rust and regrets—an ideal base for something operating beneath the radar. I lit a cigarette, smoke curling around the flickering joint light, and waited.
Twenty-one years old. Reincarnated. Past life knowledge. Elite combat training. Scars covering my body—knife slashes, bullet holes—all authentic souvenir baggage. Perfect build, perfect tool. And a single purpose: build from zero.
I tapped the vintage pager in my pocket—flip‑phone era. No traceable records. No digital breadcrumbs.
The buzz meant a simple task: one-time bodyguard-for-hire. "Clean contract." So-called client had fifty million won waiting, no questions asked.
I stepped out into the rain. My black coat and suit—a uniform of my creed—absorbed the city's tension. Seoul was changing: taller glass towers, brighter lights—but the sins fed the new blood.
In a back‑alley karaoke bar—a Yongsan fixture—a local enforcer named Sang‑ho was extorting a small-time entrepreneur. He thought he had leverage. That he had power. He didn't know I'd come.
I entered. One look at my gloves and suit—and silence fell.
Sang‑ho turned. But when he started toward me, they both realized: bullets didn't kill the nightmare staring back. Technique did.
Five steps. One elbow. He dropped.
I grabbed the client—no words, just signatures on a receipt—and left the man unconscious, not dead. I'm a mercenary, not a butcher.
Back at the mill, I handed over the cash. Clean money, no questions. I crushed the cigarette and let the silence speak.
Days later, I recruited the first three:
Kim Taehyeong – 28, ex‑South Korean Special Forces sergeant. Silent strength. CQC mastery: elbows, joint locks, disarms. Father of a daughter (Min‑ji), living single. He looked like a mild accountant—but beneath the calm, veins bulged with lethal intent
Lookism
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Lookism
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.
Gapryong Kim – 33, underground fighter, rumored leader of Gapryong's Fist (early Lookism 0th Gen). Ideal first‑generation rival.
Lee Seung‑woo – 30, former financial analyst who went dark—good with money, better with blackmail. A fixer.
I didn't call them recruits. I called them Departments. They were my foundation. No titles. Just roles. Precision.
Kim Taehyeong answered to me, but I let him manage the field. Smart. Dedicated. A father who fought to keep his daughter alive. That mattered.
On the first joint operation, we extracted a trafficked woman from a brothel in Ulsan. Kim moved like a predator—silent, efficient, CQC perfected in war
Lookism
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. I confirmed the deal, paid the network, and wired the woman to safety. Clean.
I didn't smile. But seeing Kim hand her water… that was enough.
I called our fledgling enterprise Park Job Centre, later evolving into the Park Group—an empire born out of the fabric of shadows.
That winter, I visited Gapryong in a hidden ring outside Jeju—a man forged by rage, perfect for blood‑spirit testing. We sparred without gloves. No rules. Meat against steel. I held my own. He respected it. It was a marker.
The rumor of Park Job Centre started to spread: no faces, just whispers. Ghosts in suits.
I returned to Seoul and stood before the mill's rusted map.
"My son isn't born yet," I thought. "My legacy is mine to build."
I tapped the pager, ordered four briefcases—our next step. I trained silently with Kim. We scoped Japan. We watched China. We whispered about what came after the fists.
In those damp walls—surrounded by cigarette smoke, scars, and hope—I made one promise:
By the time canon arrives—by the time Daniel Park opens his eyes—Park Group will be legend. And though I'll recede into quiet fatherhood before the era of "Circles," those dust‑less hands will still tug the threads of power.
I just needed to survive this generation.
And that… I planned to do.