The trio's plan had been slow, deliberate. Meant to create whispers, not storms.
But storms have a way of forming on their own.
By midweek, Haneul felt… different. The streets were uneasy, like the entire district was holding its breath. Small crews within the Gapyeong Tigers began side-eyeing one another, as if each man believed the person next to him had leaked something, said something, or done something wrong. A few tense arguments broke out in alleys. A couple of shoves. A knife pulled then quickly hidden when someone higher-ranked appeared.
It wasn't chaos.
But it was no longer stability.
And then the variable happened, something the trio didn't predict.
A mid-tier gang from Namgye, known for their unpredictability, got into a shootout with a small Tiger crew. A stupid provocation. Maybe a misunderstanding. Maybe an act of boldness fueled by the Tigers' weakening reputation.
Two days later, that spark ignited into wild rumors:
"The Tigers got hit hard in Namgye."
"Another gang is pushing into their turf."
"I heard the Tigers are too scattered to respond."
"They're losing control."
In Haneul, people rarely needed full proof. Suspicion was enough. And within another day, the streets slipped deeper into unrest.
By the weekend, gunfights, brief, messy clashes, broke out across Haneul and Namgye. Not full wars. Just opportunistic attacks. Small crews testing boundaries. Old enemies resurfacing. Lone vigilantes settling grudges under the cover of spreading chaos.
The Gapyeong Tigers were being poked from every angle.
And for the first time, the trio didn't have to do anything. Their plan had become fuel in a fire they didn't personally light.
At the Heart of Haneul: Club Apex
While the streets festered in violence, a different scene played out inside one of Haneul's high-end clubs.
Club Apex throbbed with bass that made the floor tremble. Strobe lights flashed across dancing bodies. Expensive liquor flowed like water. It was a night where no one wanted to think about danger outside.
In the VIP area, Gang Du-ho and Kim Ryeon-woo were living like kings.
Women on both sides. Bottles stacked like trophies. Du-ho twirling a mic he stole from the DJ booth as he rapped badly over the music. Ryeon-woo howled with laughter, slamming his drink on the table.
If the city was burning, these two didn't feel the heat.
That's when the doors burst open, loud enough to silence half the club.
Lee Chan-il strode in.
His shirt was soaked in blood, which was not his, judging by the unbroken expression on his face and the lack of wounds. Despite the stains, he somehow looked impeccably composed. Hair slicked back. Collar neat. His eyes razor sharp.
The DJ's music stuttered to a stop.
The dancers froze.
The club seemed to exhale in fear.
Chan-il's voice cracked like a whip:
"Du-ho."
Gang Du-ho turned, still holding the mic, still grinning like a man who had no idea the world existed outside his own fun.
"Chan-il!" he shouted over the silence that had settled. "Why so serious? You look like someone ruined your night."
"You know what ruined my night?" Chan-il snapped, taking a step closer. "Cleaning up the mess while you two party like children."
Even the audience of gangsters watching from the booths tensed up. Chan-il almost never raised his voice. When he did, it meant something was truly wrong.
Ryeon-woo blinked, confused but amused. "Hey, come on, man. Take a drink. Relax a bit."
Chan-il ignored him. His voice lowered, growing colder:
"The gang is falling apart. Crews are fighting each other. Namgye is erupting. Outsiders are moving in. And the two people who should be leading…"
He gestured at them with a sharp flick.
"…are drinking in a club."
The air stiffened.
Du-ho's smile faded.
Not slowly.
Not gradually.
It dropped like a mask hitting the floor.
His expression became unreadable, flat, sharp, predatory. The kind of look that made people flinch even when he wasn't looking at them.
The club went dead silent.
Ryeon-woo's laughter died in his throat.
Chan-il's bravado shrank just enough for a faint flicker of fear to show in his eyes.
Du-ho stepped down from the table with slow, heavy footsteps. Each step seemed to thud louder than the music had. He stopped inches from Chan-il, staring into him with the stillness of someone who could snap without warning.
"When I want your opinion," Du-ho said quietly, "I'll ask for it."
Chan-il didn't respond. His jaw tightened. His fingers twitched like he was deciding whether to clench them or keep them loose.
Du-ho stepped closer, voice even lower.
"No one orders me around. Not you. Not anybody."
The tension sharpened to a knife edge.
Someone in the crowd swallowed loudly enough for it to be heard.
Then, as quickly as the darkness came, Du-ho's expression broke back into his trademark grin.
He slapped Chan-il lightly on the cheek.
"Relax, brother. You know I've got this handled. I'm smart enough to figure everything out. No need to act like the world is ending."
The club released a breath it didn't realize it was holding.
Du-ho turned around, raising the mic again:
"DJ! Music!"
The bass roared back to life.
Ryeon-woo cheered, grabbing another bottle. Du-ho jumped onto the table again, laughing like nothing had happened.
Chan-il didn't join in.
He just stood there, still as a statue, watching Du-ho with an expression no one had seen before, uncertainty mixed with something like dread.
Then he turned and left the club.
Outside: A Different Kind of Silence
Chan-il stepped out into the cold night air.
His men waited near two parked vans. They straightened when they saw him, worried but quiet. He didn't speak a word as he lit a cigarette. The flame illuminated the blood on his shirt, making it look darker.
The cigarette glowed red as he exhaled.
He stared at the empty street ahead.
Not at the chaos.
Not at the growing war.
Not at the gang politics spiraling out of control.
He stared at the direction of Skyfall Lounge, far away, beyond the maze of Haneul's night.
"What is happening?" his lieutenant asked carefully.
Chan-il didn't answer for several seconds.
He thought about the rumors.
The unexpected attacks.
The fractures forming inside the Tigers.
Du-ho's unstable confidence.
The way the city itself felt like it was shifting under their feet.
Finally, he murmured:
"…This isn't just a crack."
He flicked ash onto the pavement.
"This is something worse, it's like we're being sucked into a blackhole."