Baki rushed at Shigeaki, fists clenched tight. But the yakuza brother was ready.
Shigeaki's counter came fast—a devastating palm strike that caught Baki square in the chest. The impact sent shockwaves through his ribcage. Before Baki could recover, Shigeaki closed the distance with inhuman speed.
*CRACK!*
A knee to Baki's liver. Pain exploded through his abdomen, forcing the air from his lungs. Baki staggered backward, his vision blurring for just a moment.
"Is this all the famous Ogre has to offer?" Shigeaki's voice was cold as he assumed his stance again.
Baki tried to rush in once more, but Shigeaki was already moving. A spinning backfist connected with Baki's temple, followed immediately by a sweeping leg kick that nearly took his legs out from under him.
*THUD! THUD! THUD!*
Three rapid strikes to Baki's torso. Shigeaki's fists moved faster than Baki could react, each blow landing with surgical precision. Ribs. Solar plexus. Diaphragm.
"You defeated my men," Shigeaki said. "Did you think that made you better or stronger?"
He lunged forward again, forcing Baki on the defensive. A jab to probe distance, followed by a crushing hook to the body, then an uppercut that grazed Baki's chin. Baki managed to dodge the full impact, but he was being overwhelmed.
Blood trickled from the corner of Baki's mouth. His breathing grew heavy. The guards cheered at the sight. The Ogre—the one who had demolished thirty of them—was being beaten.
Shigeaki pressed his advantage. Another combination: high kick, low kick, spinning elbow. Each strike was measured, controlled, devastating. Baki blocked the high kick but took the low kick on his shin, then barely ducked under the elbow that would have shattered his jaw.
"What's wrong, Ogre?" Shigeaki taunted. "Where's that confidence from before? Where's that beast everyone fears?"
*WHAM!*
A powerful straight punch caught Baki in the stomach, doubling him over. Shigeaki grabbed the back of Baki's head and drove his knee upward toward the young fighter's face.
But Baki's hand shot up at the last second, catching the knee. His grip was iron-hard, stopping the strike dead.
For the first time, Shigeaki's eyes widened in surprise.
Baki looked up, and despite the blood on his face, he was smiling.
---
*Cheonliang Mountain...*
A massive wild boar and Baki stood face to face. The beast charged with frightening speed, its tusks aimed at his legs. Baki tried to dodge, but the boar was faster than he'd expected. It grazed his thigh, leaving a bloody gash.
A grin spread across Baki's face despite the pain. "Fast! That's what I'm talking about!" His blood pumped with excitement.
The boar circled him, snorting. Baki bounced on his feet, eyes gleaming. The beast was pure muscle and instinct—three hundred pounds of natural power. No techniques. No strategies. Just violence. Perfect.
The boar charged again. This time, Baki sidestepped at the last moment and drove his palm into the side of the beast's skull, right behind its ear where the bone was thinner. The boar stumbled, disoriented. Baki didn't let up—he grabbed its hind leg and twisted, using its own momentum to flip the three-hundred-pound creature onto its side.
The boar thrashed wildly, but Baki maintained his grip, pressing his weight down on the animal's neck until it finally stopped struggling.
He was truly the Ogre.
---
*Present...*
Baki's grip on Shigeaki's knee tightened. The yakuza brother tried to pull away, but Baki's fingers found the exact pressure points around the kneecap—the places where nerve clusters met bone.
"My turn," Baki said quietly.
He twisted, and Shigeaki gasped as pain shot through his leg. Using the momentum, Baki rose and delivered a devastating uppercut to Shigeaki's chin. The yakuza staggered backward, shock written across his face.
"You see," Baki said, rolling his shoulders, "I'm just getting started."
Shigeaki's eyes narrowed. "You little—"
He rushed forward with a combination even faster than before. But this time, Baki was different.
Baki slipped the jab by millimeters. Ducked under the hook. Stepped inside the range of the kick before it could generate power.
"What—how are you—" Shigeaki's composure cracked.
"Serving under a scammer shaman doesn't make you strong, Shigeaki," Baki said calmly, countering with a palm strike to Shigeaki's solar plexus. "I guess being a yakuza has bloated your pride. I remember the beating you gave me when my mother committed suicide." He drove his knee into Shigeaki's liver.
Shigeaki doubled over, coughing. He tried to create distance, but Baki was on him like a shadow. Baki's hands moved in a blur—precise strikes to nerve clusters, pressure points, joint locks. He mixed the grappling techniques of Ssireum with striking.
Baki grabbed Shigeaki's wrist and twisted it at an angle that put maximum pressure on the radius and ulna bones. The yakuza's face contorted in pain. Baki used that momentary weakness to slip behind him, one arm wrapping around Shigeaki's neck in a modified choke that cut off blood flow without crushing the windpipe.
"I am Baki Hanma," Baki whispered. "I don't need to prove anything to anyone."
Shigeaki's vision began to blur. In desperation, he drove his elbow backward, but Baki had already anticipated it. He released the choke and flowed into a throw, using Shigeaki's own force against him. The yakuza brother flew through the air and crashed into the ground with bone-rattling force.
Baki didn't give him time to recover. He dropped down with his knee aimed at Shigeaki's sternum, stopping just inches away.
"You lost, Shigeaki," Baki said softly.
Shigeaki glared up at him, pride warring with reality. But he could feel it—if that knee had continued its trajectory, his sternum would have shattered. His heart might have stopped.
"You—" Shigeaki coughed, blood flecking his lips. "You're a monster."
"No," Baki said, standing up. "I'm just better than you."
Before Kojima Hiroaki could intervene, Seongji Yuk stepped forward.
He smiled and tied his jacket around his waist.
---
*Elsewhere in Seoul, at a dimly lit bar...*
Jichang Kwak sat in the private room, a cigarette between his fingers. The smoke curled upward, dissipating into the shadows. Across from him, his younger brothers—Jibeom Kwak and Jihan Kwak—sat with curious expressions.
"Hyung," Jibeom said, breaking the silence. "Is it true you fought the King of Cheonliang?"
Jichang took a long drag from his cigarette, his eyes distant. He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached for the glass of whiskey on the table, the amber liquid catching the dim light. He downed it in one smooth motion, then poured himself another.
"Who won?" Jihan pressed, leaning forward. "Between you and the King of Cheonliang?"
The question hung in the air. Jichang stared at his whiskey glass, watching the liquid swirl. He took another drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing bright in the darkness.
Finally, he spoke.
"It doesn't matter who won that day." His voice was quiet but carried absolute authority. He exhaled smoke slowly. "What matters is what I learned from facing him."
"And what did you learn?" Jibeom asked.
Jichang's eyes grew hard—the eyes of someone who had looked into an abyss and survived. He lifted his glass and drank again before answering.
"Right now..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "No other king is strong enough to defeat Seongji Yuk."
The statement hit like a thunderclap. Jibeom and Jihan exchanged glances, stunned.
"Not even you, hyung?" Jihan's voice was barely a whisper.
Jichang crushed his cigarette in the ashtray. "That's something I'd like to find out."
He stood up, walking to the window. "If you ever face him, don't try to win. Try to survive."
Jibeom and Jihan sat in silence, processing their brother's words.
---
Seongji Yuk stepped in front of Hiroaki, his jacket tied around his waist.
Hiroaki Kojima assumed his fighting stance, identical to his brother's.
"Since your brother is already down, do you really have to do this?" Seongji asked.
"I am loyal to my contractor," Hiroaki replied, his voice steady.
"If that's so..." Seongji rolled his shoulders. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's begin."
Hiroaki exploded forward, launching a devastating combination. His fists blurred—a jab, cross, hook, uppercut—each strike carrying enough force to crack concrete. Seongji weaved through the first three, but the uppercut clipped his jaw, snapping his head back.
Hiroaki pressed the advantage immediately. He threw a low kick that Seongji barely blocked, then grabbed Seongji's shoulder and attempted a throw. His grappling technique was solid, efficient—meant to control and destroy.
But Seongji's body slipped through the grip with subtle weight shifts. Hiroaki adjusted, transitioning into a brutal elbow strike aimed at Seongji's temple.
The elbow cut through air. Seongji had already moved.
*Fast!* Hiroaki realized, eyes widening.
Seongji's counter came like thunder. His six-fingered hand clamped onto Hiroaki's wrist—the grip strength from his Ssireum training was crushing, unnatural. Hiroaki felt the bones in his wrist grind together, pain shooting up his arm.
Before Hiroaki could react, Seongji pivoted and drove his palm into Hiroaki's solar plexus—a strike that expelled all air from his lungs. Hiroaki stumbled back, gasping, but Seongji was already there.
A throw. Clean. Brutal. Hiroaki's world spun as he was lifted and slammed into the ground with enough force to crack the pavement beneath him. Seongji maintained his grip, transitioning immediately into a joint lock that bent Hiroaki's arm at an unnatural angle.
"You lost," Seongji said quietly.
Shinmyung, who witnessed this, was horrified.
"Defeated... The Ghost Brothers are defeated!"
"Stop it! Stop this fight! You can take that son of a bitch, Vin Jin!"
Baki and Seongji both looked at him, then at each other, and laughed.
"Did you think if you didn't say that, we wouldn't have taken Vin Jin away? Hahaha!" Baki sneered.
Then he closed in on Shinmyung. "Listen, you old fool. This time, I'm sparing you. But next time there will be consequences! I haven't forgotten my grudge!"