The day Skyfall Lounge opened, Haneul City felt strangely alive.
Maybe it was the shifting energy in the streets, maybe it was the whispers spreading through alleyways like wildfire.
Either way, people came.
At first it was only a few, who were cautious, curious, trying to see if the rumors were nothing more than Haneul's usual nonsense. They slipped in, lingered, wandered, tested the tables, then left. Some came right back. Some brought friends. Some pretended they had "just happened to be in the area," even though everyone could see they were itching to step inside.
Then the trickle became a stream.
By evening, the place was full.
Cards snapped against felt. Dice tumbled across tables. The ambience of shouting, laughing, cursing, cheering, swelled into a steady rhythm. A rhythm Skyfall Lounge was built for.
Downstairs, the fight club roared to life.
Men fought not for glory, not for pride, but for the kind of desperation only Haneul could breed. Some were seasoned fighters, some were amateurs, some were just fearless or stupid. They fought like they had debts bigger than their bodies.
And Sang-ho managed it all like he was made for the role.
He was loud, charismatic, impossible to ignore. He handled angry losers with a clap on the back and a joke sharp enough to shut them up. He calmed winners drunk on adrenaline before they could start something stupid. He ran the ring with ease, and the crowd loved him for it.
Upstairs, Soo-jin floated between the entrance, the balcony, and the VIP tables like he'd worked security his whole life. He talked softly, listened carefully, and read people the way others read menus, instantly. Big betters warmed to him fast, appreciating how he remembered their names, their drinks, their moods.
He wasn't chosen for the role.
He became the role.
And Tae-min, quiet, long-haired, hidden in plain sight, handled the books.
He tracked every won entering and leaving the building. He balanced the house earnings, separated fight revenue from card revenue, and made sure not a single transaction slipped through the cracks. His hands moved fast, his mind faster. For someone who always said he was cursed with bad luck, he managed money like a prodigy.
A week later, the three met in the back office.
"So," Sang-ho said, leaning back in the chair he'd unofficially claimed as his throne, "we did our first week. Anyone want to guess how we performed?"
"I'm guessing we performed bad," Soo-jin said. "Too many betters won, I think."
Tae-min pushed a small booklet onto the table. "We made three times our initial estimate."
Sang-ho blinked.
"…Three times?"
"Maybe more," Tae-min corrected. "This city throws money like it's allergic of keeping it."
They sat in stunned silence, processing the ridiculousness of it all.
In nearly half a year, they had gone from fugitives to businessmen.
Well,... illegal businessmen, but businessmen nonetheless.
The following week went just as smoothly. Crowds grew. Word spread. Skyfall Lounge became the new place in the district, a place where you could win money, lose money, or watch people beat each other senseless, with rules and structure, which was rare in Haneul.
Despite Haneul's chaotic nature, the patrons caused surprisingly little trouble. Maybe it was out of respect. Maybe fear. Maybe they simply liked the place too much to ruin it.
But peace in Haneul was never real peace.
It was a warning.
A sign.
The air shifted the day the Gapyeong Tigers heard about Skyfall Lounge.
They were a small but vicious gang that controlled one of the older blocks in the district. They weren't powerful, but they were violent enough to matter. And their leader, Gang Du-ho, was the kind of man shaped entirely by a city like Haneul.
He was older than Tae-min, younger than Sang-ho. The 21 year old was built like a tank. Always wearing a matching tracksuit, as if daring anyone to laugh at him.
He was released from a night in jail, a drunken fight, nothing unusual, when one of his men told him:
"Boss, there's a new gambling spot that opened near Sora Block. A big one. Clean. Busy every night."
Du-ho froze halfway through adjusting his tracksuit zipper.
"New?" he repeated. "As in… someone started something without paying respect?"
His lieutenant nodded. "Skyfall Lounge. People say it's becoming popular fast."
Du-ho rolled his shoulders, the muscles beneath the tracksuit shifting like coiled rope.
"It's time I pay a visit to my new tenants," he said, flashing a grin that didn't reach his eyes. Then he turned toward the police station door, raised his hand…
…and flipped the officers the middle finger on his way out.
Somewhere in the city, the first ripple of trouble began to spread.
And Skyfall Lounge was at the center of it.