Chapter 3 - The Wolves at the Perimeter"They're not police," Ryu Dong-hyun said, his fingers already flying across the security console, overriding manual locks and activating the perimeter arc lights. "Too clean. Too quiet. National Intelligence Service black ops or corporate mercenaries."
"Corporate," Tae-jin corrected coldly, his voice dropping an octave as he wheeled himself toward the armory cabinet set into the stone wall. He punched a six-digit code into the biometric keypad. The heavy steel door slid open, revealing an array of suppressed submachine guns, tactical vests, and a polished Remington shotgun.
He didn't take a gun. He reached past them, pulling out an old, heavy wooden box. Inside rested a customized, black-finished Colt M1911—the same gun he had carried out of Incheon twenty-two years ago.
"Ryu, take the girl to the panic room beneath the wine cellar," Tae-jin commanded, his movements precise and methodical, despite the dead weight of his lower limbs.
"Chairman, you can't hold the estate alone from a wheelchair," Ryu protested, his broad shoulders tensing. "Let me clear the eastern ridge. We have four cars in the garage—"
"The snow has blocked the mountain pass," Tae-jin interrupted, his eyes hard as flint. "They didn't come to arrest us, Ryu. They came to burn the house down and make it look like a tragic winter heater explosion. If we try to run down the mountain, we're targets in an open field."
Maya stood up from her chair. She didn't look scared. She walked over to Tae-jin’s wheelchair and placed her small, warm hand on the back of his leather seat—the exact same gesture she had used on the dying woman in Itaewon three days ago.
"Grandma said you'd be stubborn," Maya said quietly. "She said you'd try to fight everyone by yourself because you think nobody else is allowed to bleed for you."
Tae-jin looked down at her over his shoulder. For a split second, the cold, ruthless crime lord vanished, replaced by a man looking straight into the mirror of his own tragic past.
"Get in the cellar, Maya," Tae-jin said, his voice softening just a fraction. "When this is over, we'll finish the fish."
The first explosion hit the eastern gatehouse with a concussive shockwave that rattled every window in the residence. Shards of safety glass rained across the volcanic stone floor as the intercom speakers screeched with static.
The power cut out. The emergency red generators kicked in three seconds later, casting long, bloody shadows across the halls.
"Too late," Ryu muttered, pulling his sidearm. "They're in the courtyard."
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Tae-jin gripped the wheels of his chair, spun around with practiced violence, and rolled out toward the main foyer, his Colt M1911 cocked and ready. The game had changed. They weren't fighting for money anymore.
They were fighting for the girl. And for the first time in twenty years, Kang Tae-jin felt something burning in his chest that had nothing to do with smoke.
