[166 AG]
Jinyong Keum knew this world long before he opened his eyes in it.
He remembered the stories, the art of bending, the Avatar who could summon fire, water, earth, and air all at once. He remembered watching it on a screen in another life, in another world that called this one fiction.
Now, he lives here.
He is fourteen, the son of Wonyong Keum, the powerful CEO of Keum Enterprises. To everyone else, that meant he was born lucky. Wealth, privilege, a tower overlooking Republic City. He agrees. Mostly. Even though he's a non-bender, his family is well-off.
Keum Enterprises was one of the five giants that shaped the skyline of Republic City, standing alongside Varrick Global Industries, Future Industries, Cabbage Corp, and the San Ho Consortium. The company built its empire on real estate, owning half the city's foundations and renting out the rest to those who could afford it. It also dabbled in manufacturing, consumer goods, and high-end machinery, never the cheapest, never the most luxurious, but always dependable. His father liked to say they occupied "the space between excess and necessity."
The Keum name was on billboards, factories, and half the apartments that overlooked Yue Bay. To the public, Wonyong Keum was a visionary industrialist and a real estate man, a man who built prosperity from the ground up. To Jinyong, he was just a man who knew how to turn land into leverage.
Though the social part of being the heir of a conglomerate he didn't like at all. He preferred the quiet basement below the tower, where the noise of the world couldn't reach him. That was where he built his peace.
A single Satomobile sat in the center of the garage. At first, it had been a gift from his father. A collector's model, polished and perfect, meant for display. Now it was something else entirely.
The frame had been stripped, rebuilt, and tuned by his own hands. The factory parts were replaced with pieces of his own design. He hadn't just improved it. He had changed the heart of it, shaped it into something faster, more precise, more advanced.
And after a full hour of modifying, he turned the key.
The engine came to life with a smooth, powerful growl. Not the uneven hum of a stock model. This sound was cleaner, sharper, and confident. It filled the space around him and vibrated through the floor.
He smiled quietly.
This wasn't bending. It wasn't power drawn from the body or the spirit. It was something simpler, something that belonged to him alone. Ingenuity. The satisfaction of it knows no bounds.
In his past life, this world had been fiction. A story about balance, about bending and the Avatar. In this life, it was real, and as the son of a rich man it was his playground. The people here relied too much on bending. They had machines, yes, but bending made some parts of the tech tree practically abandoned, and other things flourished.
That was fine. It left plenty of room for him.
He stepped out of the car and rested a hand on the hood. The metal was warm beneath his fingers, the air still buzzing with heat.
"Not bad," he said quietly.
Outside, the city lights flickered against the rain. Jinyong Keum smiled.
In a world ruled by bending, he had his own pocket that allowed him not to care about it.
The hum of the engine faded into silence as the garage door opened behind him.
"Jinyong."
He didn't turn around right away. Only one person came down here uninvited, and only one spoke his name with that calmness that never needed to be raised.
"Father," Jinyong said, wiping his hands on a rag before turning.
Wonyong Keum stood at the bottom of the stairs in a pressed gray suit, coat folded neatly over one arm. Even down here, surrounded by the scent of oil and burnt rubber, he looked out of place, a figure made for boardrooms, not garages.
"I see you're still playing with machines," Wonyong said, looking at the car.
"I'm improving it," Jinyong replied.
Wonyong smiled faintly. "You say that every time. I'd almost believe you if our engineers weren't terrified of what you'll take apart next in our catalog of products."
"That's because they're afraid I'll expose them for the frauds they are," he scoffed. "Have you thought about it? Me entering your engineering team?"
Wonyong sighed. "You're still too young. Can't you just be a normal teenager?"
"And what does being a normal teenager mean in my case as your heir, Father?" Jinyong questioned back. "Drunk driving? Sleeping with girls? Wasting money? I'm sure Mother would love that."
"Please don't." Wonyong shook his head. "At least socialize. Your mother said you've been skipping etiquette lessons."
"I'm fourteen, Father, not six," Jinyong said. "I don't need any more etiquette lessons."
"The last time we brought you publicly, you were rude to one of our investors," Wonyong raised his brow. "I don't think you've learned your etiquette yet."
"Everything I do is a choice. And I chose to be rude to that man because he was rude himself," Jinyong said flatly. "I get the feeling this is more of a punishment than you wanting me to learn."
Wonyong sighed. "Fine. We'll cancel your etiquette lessons. But I expect you to behave next time."
He then glanced at his watch. "I'll be away for the day. I have a meeting with Hiroshi Sato. Business, mostly. Something about collaboration between our companies."
Jinyong's hand froze for a second. "Hiroshi Sato," he repeated.
"Yes. Future Industries. You've heard of him. You're tearing apart his creation right now."
"Of course," Jinyong said.
He had heard of him, and more. He knew the story. The future. The choices that would lead to anger, to movements, to a city divided. He knew what that name meant, though his father did not yet.
"I'm sure it'll go well," Jinyong said after a pause. "He's… a smart man."
Wonyong chuckled softly. "A trait you seem to share." He started toward the stairs. "Don't stay buried down here all day."
"I like it down here," Jinyong said.
"I know." Wonyong stopped for a moment, then added, "Your mind is a gift, son. Use it for something that helps people. Not just lock yourself here."
"You say that, but you refuse to admit me to your engineering team," Jinyong said. "You know that I'm better than them. Much more so."
Wonyong paused, then hummed. "I'll see to that later."
When his father left, the door closed, and the garage fell quiet again.
Jinyong sat on the hood of his Satomobile, eyes drifting toward the narrow window that showed a sliver of Republic City sky.
Speaking of Hiroshi Sato, he thought about bending. About the way this world worshipped those born with it. The way they could lift stone, summon fire, or crush steel with a flick of the wrist.
It wasn't fair to non-benders. It never had been.
But unlike the Equalists, he didn't believe in taking their power away. That wasn't balance. That was just pettiness.
No, the answer was simpler. Give everyone else something to fight back with. Something that made bending less of a threat. Machines that didn't care who was born with what.
He looked down at his car and smiled.
—
The night came quickly over Republic City, swallowing the skyline in a haze of rain and light.
Jinyong waited until the household quieted. His father had yet to return, and the upper floors of the tower were asleep or pretending to be. He stood in front of his mirror, not as himself, but as someone else entirely.
A wig of dark brown hair, tied short. A few strokes of powder changed the shape of his jawline, just enough to pass a glance test. He had done this time and time again, of course.
He pulled on a dark coat, gloves, and a flat cap that covered half his face. Then he slipped through the maintenance elevator, bypassing the main lobby where the night guards lingered, and emerged into the side street behind the Keum Tower.
The city was different at this hour. The high-end lights of the business district gave way to the dim, uneven glow of street lamps. The roads were slick with rain, and the smell of smoke clung to the air.
Jinyong walked like he belonged there.
An automobile passed by, and he caught his reflection in the window, an unremarkable boy, small and lean, with the look of someone who'd grown up in the lower ring. Perfect.
After a few turns through narrow streets, he reached a worn building that once served as a textile warehouse. A red lantern hung above its door. He gave two knocks, waited, then one more. The door opened a crack.
"You're late," a low voice muttered.
"I arrived earlier than before," Jinyong said simply.
The man grunted and let him in.
Inside, the warehouse floor had been cleared and repurposed. Mats, training dummies, and wooden frames filled the space. Pictures with a masked man were placed on almost every wall. Men and women in simple, dark clothing moved in drills, hitting the marked dummy. The sound of striking hands echoed through the air.
They were chi-blockers. And he was the same.
He changed quietly and joined the drills. He had memorized the movement through repetition. One strike to the shoulder, two to the ribs, a sweep of the leg. He knew every motion by now.
His instructor, a tall woman with short black hair and a half-mask covering her face, watched him with a critical eye.
"You've improved," she said. "Your footwork's tighter. You're finally learning to move like water, not metal."
"I learn fast," Jinyong replied.
"That you do. Another few lessons and you'll be ready for field work."
He paused, catching his breath. "Field work?"
"Real operations," she said, lowering her arms. "You want equality, right? This is where it starts."
He nodded slowly, though his eyes told another story.
Equality, yes. But not through back alleys and ambushes. Not through fear.
He didn't say that out loud. He wasn't here to join their ideology, only to learn what they knew. He wanted the skill, the control, the understanding of how to fight bending without needing to bend himself.
As the lesson continued, Jinyong's strikes grew sharper, his reactions faster. He could feel the rhythm of the technique. It fascinated him, not as a fighter, but as an engineer, the human body reduced to points, switches, and circuits of energy.
By the time the night was nearly over, sweat ran down his back. The instructor dismissed the group, and Jinyong stayed only long enough to bow politely before heading out.
He slipped back into the rain, the city's low hum greeting him again.
Another week, maybe two, and he'd master the style completely. Then he'd disappear, as quietly as he came.
He didn't need to follow a movement. He didn't need to shout their slogans. He only needed their knowledge.
After that, he'd disappear. Sheds the disguise entirely. That way, they can't track him as easily.
—
The elevator opened with a soft chime.
Jinyong stepped out, trying not to drip too much water on the carpet. He'd almost made it to his room when he heard her voice.
"Jinyong."
He froze. His mother stood by the hall, wearing a silk robe, arms crossed, and that look that could make grown men apologize.
"...Hello Mother," he said.
Her eyes flicked from his soaked coat to the wig still half-hanging off his head. "Do I want to know why you look like that?"
He hesitated. "…Probably not."
"Try me."
He sighed. "I just went out for a bit."
"At midnight. In the rain."
"Yeah." He shrugged. "Needed some air. Been inside all day."
She raised an eyebrow. "So you needed fresh air badly enough to wear make up and a wig? Where did you even get it anyway?"
"It's easier to walk around without people recognizing me, I took it from you." he said. "Someone took a photo last time I went out. It's annoying."
That part was true, at least.
His mother stared at him for a long second, then let out a tired sigh, walking to grab the wig he's wearing. "You could've just told the driver."
"I didn't want an escort. I just wanted to walk."
"Next time, try not to look like a street criminal when you do," she said, brushing a bit of rain off his sleeve. "You look like a boy-prostitue."
"Then it worked." Jinyong shrugged.
She flicked his forehead, earning a flinch. "If your father hears about this you're gonna be in trouble."
"Right. I'll just go back to my room."
He turned toward his room, walking casually.
"Jinyong," she called.
He stopped.
"Next time, tell someone where you're going," she said. "Please."
He hesitated. "…I will."
He didn't look back as he walked away.