Bakgu pushed his plate away first.
Not because he was done eating—but because his mind had already left the table.
I noticed it immediately.
"So," I said casually, lifting my cup. "Where are you gonna go hide?"
Bakgu blinked.
"…Hide?"
"Yeah," I continued. "Because I don't know where you're going. And judging by your face—neither do you."
He frowned, fingers tapping against the table as he stared off to the side.
The silence stretched.
Jichang glanced between us, saying nothing.
Bakgu exhaled.
"I haven't figured that out yet."
I sighed and took a drink.
"Then come to Ulsan," I said. "You'll be safer there than anywhere else."
Bakgu looked at me.
Really looked at me.
Jichang nodded once in agreement, expression calm but firm.
"That city doesn't fall," Jichang said.
Bakgu hesitated… then nodded slowly.
"…Alright," he said. "Ulsan."
Jichang leaned back slightly and folded his arms.
"Are you going to visit the others?" he asked.
I let out a long breath.
"Yeah," I said. "I was planning to go to Ansan. Wanted to see how Taesoo Ma's doing."
Jichang nodded.
"That makes sense."
Bakgu suddenly leaned forward.
"Do you two know," he said carefully, "that there's a foreign Pre-Gen in Korea right now?"
Both of us froze.
Brows raised.
I straightened up immediately.
"…What, like the Yamazaki?" I asked, excitement creeping into my voice. "They back?"
Jichang scowled beside me.
"Why would they come here?"
Bakgu sighed.
"No. Not them. And besides, there was a civil war in Japan with the Yamazakis a few years back."
That made both of us look at him sharply.
"…What," I said. "Like a rebellion?"
Bakgu nodded.
"The former president of the Yamazaki clan—Shingen Yamazaki—was killed a few years ago."
The table went quiet.
Bakgu continued, voice lower now.
"I remember when the boss and Baekho found this Japanese kid washed up on a beach. Didn't speak Korean. I had to translate for them so they could understand each other."
My eyes widened.
Jichang's brows knit tightly.
"…Fuck's sake," I muttered. "So even in Japan, the Pre-Generation's getting wiped out."
Jichang narrowed his eyes.
"Then which foreign Pre-Gen are we talking about?"
Bakgu looked between us.
"A Chinese," he said. "One of the Seven Stars of China."
Jichang's gaze sharpened instantly.
Me?
I grinned.
"WOW," I said, leaning back. "The world really is a big place, huh."
I reached forward and grabbed more meat, stuffing it into my mouth.
Both of them twitched.
"Eat like a human," Jichang muttered.
I ignored him.
I swallowed and leaned back again.
"So," I asked, "where is he?"
Bakgu answered immediately.
"Incheon."
That wiped the grin off my face.
Jichang and I exchanged a look.
Then nodded—wordless, mutual understanding passing between us.
I leaned back fully, exhaling.
"…Damn," I muttered. "So that's why that bastard's busy," I said as I got up, cleaned myself up, and went to wait near the car while Jichang and Bakgu followed.
The farewell was quiet.
No speeches.No promises.
Just the sound of rain easing off as Bakgu and I stood by the car, Jichang facing us with his hands tucked into his coat like he always did.
"Don't die," Jichang said flatly.
I smirked."No guarantees."
Bakgu bowed slightly, respectful, and Jichang returned it with a nod before stepping back. We pulled away, Seoul's lights shrinking in the rearview mirror as the road stretched long and dark ahead.
Ulsan waited.
The city welcomed us like it always had.
Not warmly.
Not kindly.
But honestly.
The docks groaned. The wind carried salt and steel. The streets didn't pretend to be safe—but they were mine. And word traveled fast once people realized the Golden Lion had stopped roaming.
They came quietly at first.
Pre-Gen fighters who had survived by luck and scars, slipping into Ulsan under false names. First-generation kings and sub-kings who had been pushed out, hunted, or marked next on someone's list.
No banners.No announcements.
They blended in.
Dock workers.Drivers.Warehouse guards.Night shift men who kept their heads down and their hands steady.
And slowly, something formed.
Not a gang.
A family.
People started calling it the Ulsan Family—not because I named it that, but because that's what it felt like. A place where you didn't have to fight every day just to stay alive.
I didn't rule with fear.
I ruled by standing there.
Head of the family.King of the city.Final line no one crossed.
Bakgu worked fast.
Too fast for someone who said he wanted to hide.
Together, we set up a center in the industrial district—plain building, clean records, boring paperwork. On the surface, it was just another private security firm.
Underneath?
It was a lifeline.
BH Group.
Named after my initials—not out of ego, but because anyone coming through those doors needed to know whose shadow they were standing under.
Retired fighters came in broken and angry.
We trained them again—not to dominate, but to protect. Bodyguards. Security teams. Escorts for companies that needed quiet strength instead of loud violence.
Stable income.Legal work.A reason to wake up without clenched fists.
They blended into Ulsan as they'd always belonged.
Bakgu ran it.
Handled logistics, contracts, and people who didn't understand fighters but needed them anyway. He was good at it—better than he expected.
"You sure you want me in charge?" he asked one night.
I shrugged.
"You're still alive. That means you're doing something right."
He didn't laugh.
But he accepted.
When things finally settled—when the city breathed easier, and the hunters stopped circling so close—I left.
Not running.
Just… stepping away.
I took a fishing rod down to the pier at dawn, sitting on a crate with the sea stretching endlessly in front of me. No crowds. No fights. Just water, wind, and time moving the way it was supposed to.
For the first time in a long while, I wasn't reacting.
I was waiting.
Ulsan didn't need me hovering.
It needed me there.
And when the storm came—and it would—there'd be a city full of men who could stand instead of scatter.
I cast my line and leaned back.
"…Guess this is what protecting looks like," I muttered.
The Golden Lion stayed still.
But the world didn't forget him.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Charles didn't look at cities the way other men did.
He looked at systems.
From his office, Seoul lay spread beneath him in orderly lights and measured movement, every district another cog in a machine he'd spent decades assembling. On the desk beside him sat a thin folder—unassuming, almost insulting in how ordinary it appeared.
BH GroupPrivate Security & Asset Protection
Elite flipped it open with two fingers.
Employment records.Insurance filings.Tax documentation.
Clean.
Too clean.
He scrolled through digital profiles—men who should not have existed anymore. Retired fighters. Disappeared names. Kings without cities. Pre-Generation remnants who had quietly slipped out of the spotlight.
All of them now… bodyguards.
"…So that's how you chose to play it," Elite murmured.
Not a gang.Not an alliance.Not a rebellion.
A company.
He leaned back slightly, steepling his fingers.
"Legal income. Stable schedules. Social integration."
His eyes narrowed—not with irritation, but appreciation.
"Very clever."
Bouya Haru hadn't challenged power.
He'd removed prey.
No hunted men.No desperate fighters forced into conflict.No reason for chaos to bloom in Ulsan.
Elite exhaled softly.
"…That city just became expensive."
Touching Ulsan now wouldn't cause outrage.
It would cause questions.
And Charles hated questions.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The engine purred smoothly beneath my hands as I drove.
Bakgu's car handled better than I expected—low hum, steady acceleration, the kind of vehicle built for long roads and quiet exits. The city thinned behind me as Seoul gave way to open stretches of highway.
Ansan came into view slowly.
Dusty.Wide.Honest in a blunt, unfriendly way.
I pulled over near the edge of town and stepped out, stretching my back as the wind kicked grit against my boots.
"…Yep," I muttered. "Still smells like concrete and bad decisions."
I hadn't even locked the car before I felt it.
Eyes.
Young.Sharp.Too eager.
"Hey."
I turned.
A kid stood there, shoulders tense, fists already clenched like they'd been waiting for permission to move. Late teens at most. Strong frame. Bad posture. That familiar fire behind the eyes—the kind that thought violence would answer questions it hadn't learned how to ask yet.
"…You look strong," he said. "Fight me."
I blinked.
Brows rose.
"…Huh?"
He lunged.
I looked at him, brows raised, before I slapped him aside with the back of my hand.
Not cruel.
Not clean.
Just decisive.
THUD.
The kid skidded across the dirt and rolled, coughing as he pushed himself back to his feet almost immediately, teeth clenched like he hadn't processed what just happened.
"…Jeez, you good good?" I winced, staring at him as he'd just barked at traffic.
He charged again.
Before I could even react—
"HUDSON."
The voice hit the air like stone dropped into water.
"Enough."
The kid froze mid-step.
I turned.
And grinned.
Taesoo Ma stood there, arms crossed, presence heavy and immovable. Time hadn't worn him down—it had compressed him, made him denser, harder to ignore. He looked exactly like a man who'd never learned how to bend.
"He's a friend," Taesoo said flatly. "Stand down."
Hudson hesitated, then stepped back reluctantly, eyes never leaving me.
I looked back at Taesoo, smile widening.
"…Long time," I said.
He snorted.
"Still causing trouble the moment you arrive."
"Hey," I snapped back. "Your kid attacked me."
Taesoo glanced at Hudson.
"…Figures."
Then his eyes returned to me—sharp, measuring, familiar.
"You drove," he noted.
My lips curled into a smile before nodding toward the car.
"Yeah. What can I say, I made it." I say with a grin and a cocky smile
While Taeso scoffs, "You sure you didn't steal it?"
Making me twitch and glare at him, "HEY, I HAVE HONOR YOU BASTARD."
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Taesoo turned.
"Come on," he said. "Let's talk."
I followed him deeper into Ansan, Hudson trailing behind, still staring like he hadn't decided whether he wanted to hate me or become me.
Behind us, dust settled.
Far away, Charles stood in his office, watching a city refuse to bleed—and realizing the Golden Lion wasn't roaming anymore.
He was building.