Chapter 5 - The Fire of ItaewonThe front doors of the residence didn't just open—they were blown outward by a remote propane charge that Tae-jin had rigged twenty minutes earlier.
The blast swallowed the night in a wall of orange fire and superheated air. Two mercenaries on the front steps were thrown backward into the snowbanks, their tactical gear smoking.
Through the smoke and falling ash rolled Kang Tae-jin.
He wasn't hiding behind a pillar anymore. He was out in the open courtyard, his wheelchair moving with violent, calculated speed over the ice, the Colt M1911 spitting fire in both hands. He fired with the cold precision of a man who had nothing left to lose and everything to settle.
Choi Min-hyuk, soot-covered and bleeding from a shrapnel wound to his shoulder, staggered out of the snow, raising his rifle.
"You're finished, Kang!" Choi screamed over the roar of the wind. "You're a cripple! You can't run! You can't hide!"
Tae-jin pulled the trigger.
Click.
Empty.
Choi smiled a bloody, manic smile, stepping forward with his rifle barrel pointed directly at Tae-jin’s chest. "End of the line, Chairman."
"You forgot one thing, Choi," Tae-jin said, his voice entirely steady.
"What's that?"
"Incheon always collects its debts."
From the shadows of the burning conservatory, Ryu Dong-hyun triggered the secondary remote. The entire glass roof of the conservatory collapsed inward, burying the remaining three mercenaries under tons of reinforced glass and twisted iron frames. At the same time, Maya walked out onto the front porch, holding the silver pocket watch high above her head like a beacon in the storm.
Sirens wailed in the distance—not police sirens, but the private security fleet of the Black Dragon Syndicate, fifty cars strong, finally breaking through the snow-blocked municipal pass from the lower districts.
Choi froze, looking back down the mountain road where a sea of headlights was rapidly ascending the hill.
Before he could turn his rifle back toward Tae-jin, Ryu’s boot caught him squarely in the chest, sending him crashing backward onto the frozen fountain.
May you like
As the snow continued to fall over the burning ruins of the gatehouse, the private army of Seoul’s true underworld flooded the courtyard, saluting the man in the wheelchair.
Tae-jin didn't look at them. He looked down at his hands, then slowly—for the first time in twenty years—he placed his palms against the armrests, gritted his teeth until the veins in his neck stood out like steel cables, and pushed.
