Morning crept into the city like a thief, silent and careful, the streets exhaling after the night's chaos. Jin's house sat still, no longer alive with the twins' scuffling steps or their half-muttered jabs. The quiet felt strange, almost heavy, a stark shift from the adrenaline that had burned through his veins hours ago.
He lay in bed, eyes tracing the ceiling's faint cracks, daylight slipping through slatted blinds in pale slivers. Sleep hadn't restored him—it never did. His mind clung to the low hum of the Base Expansion Forge, its invisible tether stretching to the warehouse. The System's pulse was gone now, but its echo lingered, a promise of transformation. By now, rusted beams were strengthening, cracked concrete sealing, the ruin becoming a cornerstone.
A notification flickered in his vision, sharp and blue.
[Base Expansion Forge: 18 Hours Remaining]
Jin's lips twitched, a faint satisfaction settling in. Eighteen hours until the warehouse stood as something more—a real headquarters, not just a dream stitched together by rust and ambition. He swung his legs over the bed's edge, standing, stretching the stiffness from his shoulders. A dull ache lingered along his jaw, a souvenir from Ryo and Ken's wild swings in the alley. He touched it, smirking. Kids had fire. They'd learn precision soon enough.
In the bathroom, cold water hit his face, the sting snapping him fully awake. The mirror showed a man who looked like he'd barely slept—eyes sharp, jaw set, carrying the weight of a day that had shifted everything. Fights, recruits, a base taking shape. The Syndicate wasn't just a spark anymore. It was moving, brick by brick.
He dried his face, stepping into the living room. The house was modest, worn but tidy—scuffed floors, a sagging couch, a single lamp casting a faint glow. The twins' absence hit louder than their chatter ever had, the couch empty where they'd sprawled last night. Jin's gaze lingered, a flicker of something warm cutting through his focus. Not sentiment, but something close. They weren't just muscle—they were his.
Today wasn't for waiting. He needed to tighten his circle, set pieces in place. That meant Soo, the woman who'd fixed his door for free, no questions, no bullshit. She had skill, reliability. He needed that now.
Grabbing his phone from the kitchen counter, he ignored the blinking spam messages—petty city noise, nothing worth his time. He scrolled to Kang's number, hitting call.
The line rang twice before a groggy voice answered. "Boss? Shit, it's early. Someone need their ass kicked already?" Kang's tone was half-amused, rough with sleep.
Jin leaned against the counter, voice steady. "Not yet. I need Soo. Got a job for her—warehouse setup, fixing it up. Reach out, see if she's free."
A pause stretched, longer than Jin liked. Kang's voice came back, cautious, almost apologetic. "Might be tricky. She hit me up earlier this morning, said she's tied up with another gig. Something she's locked into for a bit."
Jin's jaw tightened, eyes narrowing as he stared out the window. The city stirred—cars honking, vendors barking, kids darting through alleys with half-chewed bread. Soo being busy wasn't a crisis, but it was a snag. Delays could bite, especially now, with the warehouse ticking toward completion.
Still, he didn't flinch. Setbacks were part of the game. "Alright," he said, voice even. "How long?"
Kang hesitated. "Didn't say. Just that she's out for now. I can dig around, find someone else if you need. Plenty of fixers out there, decent ones."
Jin's response was quick, sharp but not harsh. "No. Soo's the one I want for this. Don't bother chasing strangers—it's not worth your time." He didn't know her well, just that she'd done clean work on his door, no strings, no hassle. That was enough to make her his first call. Kang didn't need to waste effort hunting replacements when she'd come through eventually.
Kang chuckled, low and knowing. "Got it, Boss. You don't like rolling the dice on new faces."
"Not when I've got someone who's already proven herself," Jin said, a faint edge in his tone. Trust wasn't about sentiment—it was about results. Soo had delivered once. She'd get the chance again.
"Fair enough," Kang said. "I'll let her know you're waiting. Soon as she's free, she'll hit you up."
"Good." Jin's voice softened, just enough to close the matter. "Tell her it's for something big."
Kang laughed. "YSomething big? Can't wait to hear about it then."
Jin's lips curved, a ghost of a smirk. "You will. Just make sure she calls."
The line clicked dead, leaving the house quiet again. Jin set the phone down, staring at it briefly. Soo's absence was a kink in the plan, but not a break. She had her own moves to make, her own life. He respected that, even if it itched. Patience wasn't his favorite play, but he'd make it work.
His gaze shifted to the couch, catching a folded scrap of paper tucked against the armrest. He crossed the room, picking it up, unfolding the scribbled handwriting. The note was short, messy but clear.
Gone to sister's. Getting ready for school. Will talk to her about warehouse. She'll come when she's ready.
Jin let out a low laugh, the sound soft through his nose. School. The word felt alien for those two—kids who swung bats and brass knuckles like they were born to it. But if they were serious, if they were stepping up, it was more than he'd expected. Respect stirred, faint but real.
He folded the note, tucking it into his pocket. The warehouse was shifting, the Syndicate was growing, and the Drop Outs' shadow was shrinking. Step one was solid. Step two was coming.
He straightened, rolling his shoulders, mind already racing to the warehouse, the invisible tether of the Base Expansion Forge pulling like a magnet. But as he knelt to lace his shoes, a sharp knock cracked the house's silence.
Once. Twice. Then a third, harder, rattling the frame.
Jin froze, frown deepening. Few knew his address—Kang, Joon, the twins. No one else had reason to come unannounced. This wasn't a neighbor's tap. It was deliberate, purposeful, someone who knew exactly whose door they were pounding.
His muscles tensed, instincts sharpening. He rose, steps silent on the scuffed floor, each movement measured. His hand hovered over the pistol tucked in his pants, but he didn't draw. Not yet. His eyes narrowed, whispering caution.
He pulled the door open.
Soo stood there, frame rigid, filling the doorway like a storm. Her eyes blazed, not with fragile bravado but with a steady, molten fury. Morning light sharpened her glare, her jaw tight, hand flexing at her side.
Jin's breath caught, shock flickering through his calm. Soo? Here? He'd expected Kang, maybe a thug dumb enough to try him. Not her, not now.
Before he could speak, her arm snapped up.
SLAP.
The crack echoed off the walls, sharp as a gunshot. Jin's head turned slightly, cheek stinging where her palm struck. The force was light, but the audacity hit harder. His eyes flicked back, unreadable, a mask of calm hiding a pulse of surprise, amusement, even respect.
Soo's glare didn't flinch, her voice cutting like a blade. "That's for pointing a gun at my brothers."
Jin's eyes widened, shock doubling. Her brothers? Ryo and Ken? The twins? His mind raced, piecing it together—their note, their talk of a sister, Soo's fire matching their spark. A low laugh broke from his throat, sharp and disbelieving. "Small fucking world," he said, shaking his head. "Real small."
Her fury held, but her lips twitched, a flicker of acknowledgment. Then, in a move that jarred him more than the slap, she lunged forward, grabbing his collar and pulling him into a fierce embrace. Her arms tightened, face pressed to his shoulder, fury melting into something softer, warmer, but no less intense.
"And that's for getting them to school," she murmured, voice muffled but clear, gratitude woven through the heat.
Jin stiffened, caught in uncharted territory. His body stayed rigid, unused to the contact, mind blank for a split second. Soo's shift—from fire to warmth—left him reeling, his usual control slipping. Not fear, not discomfort, but something else. Recognition. Trust. The twins' note had carried it, and now her embrace drove it deeper.
He stood still, eyes fixed past her shoulder, heart steady but stirred. A warmth crept in, faint but undeniable, not soft but grounding. For once, he wasn't just feared or followed. He was seen.
Soo pulled back, hands lingering on his collar before dropping. Her glare softened, embers cooling, but her eyes held firm. "Don't think I'm over it," she said, voice low, sharp. "They're my brothers. You pull that gun shit again, and a slap won't be the end of it."
Jin's lips twitched, nearly a smirk. "Noted," he said, voice calm but laced with respect. He brushed his cheek, the sting fading but the moment sharp.
Silence hung, the city's hum—honks, shouts, barking dogs—faint beyond the door. In that narrow space, it was just them, Soo dictating terms, Jin yielding just enough. She'd stormed his house, slapped him, hugged him, and walked away owning the moment.
And, somehow, he didn't mind.