The restroom was a tomb, its concrete walls stained with years of neglect, paint peeling in jagged curls, the air thick with the sour reek of old sweat and blood. Fluorescent bulbs buzzed overhead, flickering, casting uneven shadows across the splintered bench where Jin lay crumpled on the floor, clutching his ribs, his fists raw and trembling.
The System's penalty tore through him, a white-hot blade slicing every muscle, every nerve, as if his body were being shredded from within. Sweat dripped from his chin, pattering on the scuffed concrete, each drop a small surrender to the pain. His breaths came ragged, every inhale cutting like glass, his vision swimming with black spots, the world tilting dangerously.
The muffled roar of the pit seeped through the walls, a distant beast chanting for more violence, but Jin was trapped in a silent war, his body a battlefield under the System's cold punishment. His teeth clenched, blood leaking from his bitten lip, staining his chin as he fought to stay conscious.
The tournament, the Apex Syndicate, the Drop Outs, all of it faded under the agony's weight, his mind clinging to one thought: Survive this, and I'm one step closer.
The door creaked, a slow groan cutting through the buzz of the bulbs. Makoto stepped in, his face swollen, jaw bruised purple from their earlier fight, but his stride carried the easy swagger of a man who'd walked out of worse.
His eyes, sharp despite the swelling, landed on Jin, sprawled and trembling, and he let out a low whistle, lips curling into a smirk. "Damn, kid, you look worse now than when I dropped you."
He crouched, close enough for Jin to smell the blood and sweat on him, his gaze flicking over Jin's shaking form, the blood-streaked fists, the sweat-soaked shirt. Makoto shook his head, his smirk softening, almost impressed. "Still, you handled Gwan, that's no small thing. Breaker's a fucking monster in close quarters, I'll give you that, you surprised me."
Jin's eyes flickered up, pain clouding his focus, but he forced words through gritted teeth, voice hoarse. "I beat you too."
Makoto barked a laugh, the sound bouncing off the concrete, rough and genuine. He waved a hand, dismissive, leaning back against the wall, his bruised jaw catching the flickering light. "You? Beat me? Don't get cocky, rookie."
Jin frowned, confusion cutting through the pain, his chest heaving. Makoto's grin faded, his tone shifting, more serious, his eyes narrowing as he studied Jin like a puzzle he hadn't quite solved. "You think a guy like you could've taken me down clean? Nah, I pulled back, let you have it. Had a hunch about you, wanted to see what'd happen if you moved forward in this tournament."
Jin's gaze sharpened, despite the agony pulsing through him, his voice low, strained. "You let me win?"
Makoto chuckled, but it was quieter now, his expression hardening as he crossed his arms, the muscles in his forearms flexing under old scars. "Didn't think they'd throw someone like Gwan at you so soon, that's on me. Sorry, kid, didn't mean to toss you to a damn wolf."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice dropping, heavy with weight. "Gwan wasn't some street punk, not even a local thug. His style, his power, the way he moved, that's not pit-fighter shit. That guy's pedigree? Professional, maybe worse. They wanted you tested, hard, and I don't know why."
Jin's breath hitched, the System's pain still clawing at his nerves, but Makoto's words struck deeper, sparking questions he couldn't answer. Who was pulling the strings? The Four Crews? Something bigger? His mind flashed to the Drop Outs, to the Syndicate he was building, to the tournament's prize money that could fund it all.
Makoto's eyes narrowed, almost suspicious, his voice low. "You move like someone new to this game, footwork sharp but your flow, it's robotic, like your body knows shit your brain hasn't caught up to yet. So what are you, Jin? Some prodigy? Some experiment?"
Jin stayed silent, his chest heaving, pain drowning his ability to respond. His bloody fists clenched, the sting grounding him, keeping him from slipping into the black. Makoto watched him, waiting, but Jin's silence spoke louder than words.
With a laugh, Makoto stood, waving it off, his swagger returning. "Eh, doesn't matter. What I do know is you cleared the hardest wall tonight. Whoever's left in this bracket, they're not Gwan's level, not even close."
His expression shifted, serious again, his voice dropping to a warning. "But me? I don't trust this pit anymore. They don't throw guys like Gwan in for no reason, which means eyes are on you now, eyes you don't want."
He reached into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled slip of paper, tossing it onto the bench beside Jin. "You survive this mess, come find me. Internet café, corner of Gangnam and Dosan, place called Neon Byte. I've got business elsewhere, but maybe I'll hear you out about that Syndicate of yours."
Makoto turned, heading for the door, but paused, glancing back. "Don't die, rookie, you're starting to grow on me." He grinned, bruised but sharp, and pushed through the door, the creak fading into the pit's distant roars.
Jin's body convulsed again, the System's penalty unrelenting, his muscles screaming, his vision blurring. He gripped the bench, splintered wood biting his palms, fighting to stay awake. Then, a flicker in his vision, cold and final.
[Penalty Complete.]
He gasped, like a drowning man breaking the surface, the crushing pain vanishing, leaving his body trembling, drenched in sweat. His chest heaved, each breath sharp but free, the first clear air he'd tasted since the pit's chaos began. He sagged against the bench, blood and sweat pooling beneath him, the fluorescent buzz overhead a mocking hum.
He stared at the door Makoto left through, the crumpled paper beside him, the words Neon Byte scrawled in smudged ink. His bloody fists clenched, knuckles stinging, resolve hardening.
The tournament's final round waited, the prize money his key to funding the Apex Syndicate, to challenging the Drop Outs, to carving his name in Seoul's underworld. "Fine," he muttered, voice low, raw, "one more round, maybe I'll win it all."