The department store gleamed with polished marble and golden lights, a place of luxury where common troubles should not reach. Yet beneath its shining surface, tension brewed unseen.
Lee Seong-jun glanced at his family, smiling faintly. For once, peace seemed within reach. But then, he noticed his younger sister was missing. She had excused herself to the bathroom—yet more than ten minutes had passed. Though the guards stationed around the floor, all B-rank hunters, gave a sense of safety, unease gnawed at him. He had already arranged for hidden security to shadow his family, but this delay was strange.
With steady steps, he signaled the covert guards and moved toward the restroom. The corridor was quiet, lined with mirrors and polished stone. But then, his sister's voice reached his ears—not the cheerful tone she carried moments ago, but one sharpened by anger and restraint.
Her words were met with cruel laughter. Vulgar insults filled the air—mocking her, mocking their parents, calling them insects unworthy of respect. The malice was not random. It was deliberate, venom meant to pierce dignity.
Seong-jun turned the corner and saw it. His sister pressed against the wall, encircled by two women and a man. Their posture dripped with arrogance, their eyes filled with contempt. One hand rose high, ready to strike her. In that instant, he moved. The world blurred as he closed the distance, his grip halting the descending hand inches from her face.
The offenders faltered, startled by his sudden appearance. Yet arrogance quickly returned. They sneered, mocking him, asking who he thought he was to interfere. But Seong-yoon's subtle hand signal revealed what her words tried to deny—she wanted him not to reveal himself. She knew this situation was tangled, and that his identity carried weight. But blood was blood. Her brother could not stand aside while his family was shamed.
His cold gaze silenced the jeers, but the man behind them stepped forward. His shoulders were broad, his presence forceful. As stone crept across his clenched fist, his ability awakened, it became clear—this was no ordinary thug, but a hunter. B+ rank, the women boasted proudly. In the world of hunters, this was not a minor level. To most, it was a wall that took years of sweat and blood to reach.
Seong-yoon's eyes widened in alarm. She knew her brother had climbed the ranks quickly, but even so, a duel with a B+ rank was reckless in her eyes. Her voice trembled as she tried to pull him back. Yet Seong-jun only smiled gently, a calm born not from arrogance, but from overwhelming certainty.
The man, Kim Jong-ha, launched his strike. His first punch cut the air with a force that could break bones. But his target dissolved like mist. Confusion flickered across his face. Again, he swung, faster, harder, filling the hallway with rushing wind. Again, his blows found nothing but empty space.
Panic began to creep in. For a veteran hunter of nine years, this was unthinkable. He had faced many, recognized countless hunters by skill or fame. Yet this man was an unknown shadow who made his fists meaningless.
Before he could recover, pain exploded at his ankle, dropping him to the ground. And when he looked up, a fist hovered over his heart, steady and precise. It was not the strike itself that broke him—it was the crushing pressure that followed.
This was no ordinary aura. It was presence given form, the intangible weight of a soul forged as the Blood Demon and once exalted as a Demon God. An ancient dominance that bent the will before the body could resist. The unseen force coiled around his throat, suffocating him with sheer intimidation.
The women who had mocked so loudly now froze, their bravado stripped away. Jong-ha's pride burned, but he could not retreat, not with their eyes on him. He roared, tried to lash out, but his fists fell like weak gestures against an unyielding mountain.
Then came the end.
A single punch flowed like water, striking his chest with terrifying precision. The technique carried no wasted motion, yet the strength condensed within an inch was overwhelming. Jong-ha's body convulsed, his scream split the air, and he collapsed. Foam spilled from his lips as his eyes rolled back, his defeat absolute.
The silence that followed was heavier than any blow. Seong-jun's presence filled the corridor, unchallenged and undeniable. The women trembled, their earlier arrogance shattered, reduced to nothing before the weight of a true predator.
For them, this golden hall of luxury had become a battlefield. And in that battlefield, the verdict was already written.