The dining room was warm with soft light, the clink of silver against porcelain echoing faintly. Turtle crab noodles steamed in porcelain bowls, their rich scent mixing with the sweet tang of cherry-berry lemonade.
Jinyong twirled his noodles slowly, half-listening as his father set his chopsticks down.
"How was your talk with Hiroshi this afternoon?" Wonyong asked.
Jinyong looked up. "Did Mr. Hiroshi say anything?"
"Mr. Hiroshi, huh? Not Mr. Sato anymore?" His father nodded. "He said I have a good son."
Jinyong chuckled. "He also said he'd poach me if I wasn't your son. Said I reminded him of himself when he was young."
His mother paused mid-sip. "Reminded him of himself?" she repeated, arching a brow. "That's quite a statement."
Jinyong only hummed at that.
He reached for his drink. "Did you see my blueprints, Father?"
Wonyong sighed. "I did. I can't make sense of half of them."
"They're household appliances," Jinyong explained. "You said before that our company sits between necessity and luxury. So I made things that fit that. Machines to make life easier., Automatic washing machines, dust-inhalers, well-designed stoves. Not essential, not overtly luxurious, but just… convenient to have."
He took another bite before continuing. "You could send the designs to your engineers. Have them make a prototype. Tell them to make it exactly as I draw it. I don't have the tools for it in the basement, obviously."
His mother's eyes lit up with interest. "That actually sounds useful," she said. "You should make it, Wonyong. I'd like to see it myself. I'm sure every wife in Republic City would beg her husband to buy it if it helps with chores."
Wonyong chuckled. "With words like that, I'm convinced. You even got your mother interested, which never happens with business talk."
"Thank you," Jinyong said simply, and went back to eating.
The table was quiet for a while, just the faint sound of silverware clanking.
Then Wonyong spoke again. "Speaking about Hiroshi. Because of our cooperation, we're hosting a party soon, in celebration. For both higher ups of the companies to meet properly."
Jinyong looked up, wary. "You want me to come, don't you?"
"Of course," his father said. "You said it yourself, Hiroshi liked you. I'm sure he'll want you there."
Jinyong sighed, setting his chopsticks down. "Fine. I'll go."
His mother smiled faintly. "Try not to look bored this time."
"I'll do my best," he muttered, and went back to his noodles.
—
Jinyong walked through the quiet streets of Republic City, his disguise once again in place. The night air was cold, heavy with the smell of rain. He kept his head down, blending into the night until he reached the abandoned warehouse that served as their training spot.
Inside, the chi-blockers were already there, sparring under the dim light of lamps. He joined in, his movements sharp, precise, practiced. He looks like he doesn't need more lessons. Hours passed before their leader finally raised a hand.
"That's enough."
The others stopped. The leader stepped closer to Jinyong, studying him. "You've learned everything we can teach."
Jinyong stayed silent.
"Tomorrow, you'll be one of us. No more student. You'll live among us, work among us. Leave your old life behind."
He nodded once. No emotion. Just acceptance.
"Go. Prepare yourself, say your goodbyes." the leader said.
He bowed slightly and left.
The streets were quieter now. He walked alone, his hands tucked in his coat pockets. Then he felt it, the prickling on his neck. Someone was following him.
He didn't look back. Just took a turn. Then another. Then another. His pace quickened. The footsteps behind him and above him did too.
He cursed under his breath and broke into a run, cutting through narrow alleys slick with rainwater. The footsteps still followed.
Clicking his tongue, he reached into his bag. His fingers found the cold metal of his makeshift pistol, one bullet loaded and only one can be loaded, with a few more he put in his pocket. It wasn't much, but it would do.
He turned another corner and stopped.
Three shadows emerged from the dark. Chi-blockers.
Then a familiar voice called out. "You shouldn't have run."
The instructor stepped forward, mask glinting in the lamplight. "You're meant for the cause. Don't throw it away. You can't run. And I don't want to lose a student like you."
He stayed silent. His hand slowly shifted inside his bag, aiming the pistol from beneath it.
"It's nothing personal," he said quietly. "I understand the cause. I just don't agree with the way you're heading."
Before she could respond, he pulled the trigger.
The gunshot cracked through the alley. The bullet tore through the fabric of his bag, straight into her skull. She dropped instantly.
Jinyong ran.
The other two shouted, throwing nets and ropes his way. He dodged, weaving between the narrow walls, trying to reload.
One leaped at him from above.
He fired again — missed the head, but caught the shoulder. The man screamed, crashing hard onto the ground, writhing in pain.
Jinyong didn't stop, reloaded, and ran.
The last one caught up, boots splashing against the puddles. He came in fast, a blur of hands. Two fingers shot for Jinyong's neck. He tilted his head just in time, feeling the rush of air brush past.
A strike to his ribs followed. He caught the wrist, twisted, but the man spun with it, flipping his balance and kicking out low. Jinyong leapt back, barely avoiding a sweep that would've taken his legs out.
They closed the distance again. The man jabbed for his shoulder, then his forearm, trying to shut him down piece by piece. Jinyong blocked, parried, every movement read by him. Their arms moved like knives, too quick to think, only react.
A chop grazed his sleeve. His arm tingled. One more like that and it'd go numb.
Jinyong stepped back, baited him in. The man lunged. Perfect.
He snapped forward, drew the pistol from under his coat, and jammed it against the man's chest.
A flash. A deafening crack.
The chi-blocker jerked, eyes wide, then fell.
Jinyong stood over him, chest heaving.
He then turned to the injured one. The pistol clicked empty, and he had no bullets left. He sighed, annoyed.
"It's nothing personal," he said again.
Then he kicked the man's neck. A crack. Silence.
He stood there for a moment, breathing hard. Then he tossed the pistol aside to his bag, tore off his wig, wiped the makeup from his face. His reflection in a puddle looked like it was his face again.
By the time he reached the main street, he was just Jinyong walking home under the streetlights.
—
A few days later, a hotel ballroom was alive with chatter and soft music, glasses clinking under the chandelier light. Jinyong stood near one of the long tables, picking through side dishes like a man on a mission. Dumplings, puffs, smoked rolls, he tried everything that looked even remotely tasty.
Everyone else was mingling, drinks in hand, talking business and politics. The crowd was twice, sometimes thrice his age, even counting his previous life. So he stayed out of the way, quietly chewing, content in his solitude.
Then he heard footsteps. Familiar ones.
"There you are," his father said, voice not amused. "You were here the whole time. I should've guessed."
"I thought we told you to socialize," his mother added, disapproving in her tone.
Jinyong raised an eyebrow. "Oh, but most people here are old enough to be my great-grandparents, Mother. How exactly am I supposed to talk to them?"
"That was rude," his father scolded.
"Of course, I don't mean you all." Jinyong smiled, raising his glass. "You are the epitome of health."
He said it with perfect seriousness, eyes flicking toward the young girl beside Hiroshi Sato. She giggled.
Wonyong sighed and shook his head, but Hiroshi laughed. "Finally, some humor in this party. No offense, Wonyong, but we are a bit too old for these young'ins. Our kids should be enjoying their youth, not standing around listening to us talk shop."
"Says the man who brought his own daughter here too," the girl beside him muttered, rolling her eyes.
"Alright, alright, guilty as charged." Hiroshi chuckled and cleared his throat.
"Well, we have to bring them to these gatherings so they can learn," Wonyong said. "They'll take over someday. Better they start early."
"Right you are," Hiroshi said, turning to the girl. "That's exactly why you're here, sweetheart." He gestured to her, then to Jinyong. "Ah, right, Jinyong, this is my daughter, Asami. You're about the same age, I think. You complain about talking to us old men, well, here's someone that is not twice your age."
"Why don't you two spend some time together?" Jinyong's mother said. "Don't wander too far, and don't do anything I wouldn't approve of. Jinyong?"
He smiled politely. "Of course, Mother."
Their parents walked off, leaving the two of them by the buffet.
Jinyong turned to her and offered a hand, then gently kissed it. "Nice to meet you, my lady. Jinyong Keum, as you saw just now, son of Wonyong Keum. Though I doubt that matters much to you, daughter of Hiroshi Sato."
Asami giggled. "Wow. A gentleman, huh? I'm Asami, as you've heard."
He sighed dramatically. "Well then, what now? Want to help me with these dishes? Some of them I've never seen before."
She tilted her head, amused. "You're… interesting."
"Oh no," he said with mock seriousness. "I'm much more boring outside of this. I just put on an act."
"Right," she said under her breath. "Do you go to school somewhere? My father said you're an 'aspiring engineer,' but I've never seen you around in Future Industries' Academy."
"I'm homeschooled," he replied. "Well, that's not exactly it. More like… self-taught. I don't plan to go to a formal school either."
"You teach yourself engineering? And don't want to go to school for it?" She raised a brow.
"I know, unbelievable." He rolled his eyes. "You must think every engineer-to-be in Republic City dreams of going to your father's school, right? Not like me, tinkering in a basement."
"I didn't say that," she said simply.
"You thought it though, didn't you?"
"I mean… yeah," she admitted. "My dad spoke highly of you, you know. Said you're better than half his engineers already. Especially in designing his cars."
"Very nice of him to say," Jinyong said, looking mildly surprised. "He talked about me to you? I only met him once. Just showed him my modified Satomobile."
"Must've been quite an impression then." Asami looked around the crowded ballroom. "You wanna… get out of here? Get some fresh air?"
Jinyong shrugged, setting down his glass. "Sure. Why not?"
They slipped out through the balcony door, the city lights spreading beneath them like a thousand stars. The air was cool, carrying faint music from the ballroom behind.
Asami leaned on the railing, eyes sweeping over the skyline. "Republic City's always prettier at night," she murmured.
Jinyong glanced her way. "So, you're studying at your father's school. Engineering too?"
She nodded. "Among other things."
"Other things like?"
"Business. Architecture."
"Really?" He tilted his head. "That's… broad. I only like engineering. My father forced me to learn business, but I just read the books and moved on."
She chuckled softly. "I always wanted to study architecture and engineering as a kid. And I'm my father's successor, after all."
"You must be pretty smart then."
She rolled her eyes. "I'm okay. You, though… my father keeps talking about that modified Satomobile. I kind of want to see it."
"Well, it's not here obviously," Jinyong said, straightening up. "Although…" He looked toward the city streets. "Keum Tower's just a block away. If you want—"
"Are you suggesting we run away from the party?" she teased. "Your mother told us not to wander too far."
"It's just a block," he said with a grin. "And I'm not suggesting. I'm just saying—if you want to see it, it's practically next door."
"That's literally called suggesting." She sighed, then smirked. "But fine. I'm down."
He pushed off the railing. "Then we'll need to be quick before someone notices."
She grinned, eyes gleaming under the city lights. "Lead the way, then."
—
After a few minutes of sneaking past the hotel staff and slipping through the quiet streets, they reached Keum Tower. Jinyong led Asami down to the lower floor, where his workshop sat.
Inside, his modified car rested in the center, its hood open, engine exposed under the dim lights.
Asami stepped closer, eyes gleaming. "It looks… different. Not like the usual Sato engines."
Jinyong smirked. "Good different, I hope."
She nodded, tracing the air above the metal. "Good different."
He picked up the keys hanging by the workbench and dangled them in front of her. "Want a ride?"
She arched a brow. "Do you even have a license?"
He scoffed. "Are you seriously asking me that?"
"Of course," she said, crossing her arms. "We'll get arrested if you don't."
"Please," Jinyong said, rolling his eyes. "Drop the innocent act. You know as well as I do, our parents could buy the police station if they wanted."
Asami shook her head, laughing. "And what if we actually get caught?"
"It's better to ask forgiveness than permission."
She snorted. But she reached up, closed the hood, and opened the passenger door nonetheless. "You drive then."
Jinyong grinned and got in. The engine came alive with a deep, throaty roar.
Asami crossed her arms. "How many girls have you picked up with this thing?"
He shot her a look. "You're the first. I rarely meet any boys my age, let alone girls."
"Mm-hm."
He grinned wider and hit the gas. The car shot forward, tires screeching. Asami yelped, gripping the seat.
"Jinyong! That acceleration—" she laughed breathlessly. "Even my racing cars aren't that fast."
They tore through the streets, the night wind rushing in through the cracked windows. The city lights streaked past. Jinyong glanced her way. "It's not flashy though, is it?"
"Can't tell if I'm not the one driving," she teased.
He chuckled, pulled over, and hopped out. "Then drive."
She rolled her eyes but switched seats anyway. Jinyong barely shut his door before she slammed the pedal.
The car roared down the street again, this time wilder, faster. Jinyong grabbed the door for balance, laughing hard. "I like you for this!" he shouted over the wind.
She grinned, eyes fierce. "I aim to please!"
They flew through the city, weaving between narrow alleys and empty intersections. The world blurred. For a while, it was just them… two reckless people chasing speed and freedom under the city lights.
When they finally returned to the hotel, the laughter faded the moment they saw their parents waiting by the entrance.
Asami eased the car to a perfect stop. The window slid down.
"It seems you two enjoyed yourselves," Hiroshi said. His tone sat between amusement and anger.
Jinyong cleared his throat. "Apologies, Mr. Hiroshi. I didn't mean to endanger your daughter. In my defense, she was the one driving. I was the one in danger."
"Don't talk back," Wonyong said, shaking his head.
Asami stepped out of the car, her posture calm. "Don't be mad at him. I asked for it. And it was fun."
Hiroshi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I built you a racing track back at home and still you speed off on the streets like this, Asami. You are a handful sometimes." he muttered.
Asami grinned. "I'll take that as a compliment, dad."
Her father gave her a look that said it wasn't.
Wonyong crossed his arms. "Next time," he said, "at least tell us before you vanish from a party full of business partners."
Jinyong dipped his head. "Understood."
"Good," his father said simply.
The tension eased. Hiroshi chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Well, at least they didn't crash it."
That earned a quiet laugh from Asami. Jinyong smiled too.
The adults turned back toward the hotel doors, talking again about work and parties and deals.
Asami lingered for a moment, looking at Jinyong. "You're trouble," she said quietly.
He tilted his head. "Takes one to know one."
She smiled, then followed her father inside.
Jinyong stayed behind, glancing once at the car, its engine ticking softly in the cool night air. Then he pocketed his hands and walked in after them, the city lights flickering across his face.