Twisted Madness (9)
As he swallowed dryly, a whoosh of wind grazed his left ear.
Every exchange in boxing had its counters, like rock-paper-scissors. A straight was king against straights, and for hooks, weaving to dodge then countering was standard. The human body naturally tilted to one side after a loaded punch missed—that was physics. But as he gritted his teeth, deflected the attack, and lifted his head...
A fist came flying from the opposite side, defying inertia and gravity alike. Astonishing upper-body balance, honed lats and core elasticity made it possible. He barely blocked it Muay Thai-style to the face, but his body still lifted thirty centimeters into the air.
"What the hell? Kang Cheol-gu. I'm disappointed at this level..."
The bastard approached step by step, flashing a cold smile and licking his lips.
Only then did the surrounding noise register.
"Oh my god! Look at that blood on his face."
"Fight broke out or something!"
"Yeah. Shouldn't we call the cops?"
It was late at night in a quiet area, but people had started gathering one by one as he and the bastard traded blows. Maybe they'd come running at the sound of the bastard's Benz smashing into the streetlamp.
Flicker... sizzle... flicker.
The streetlamp next to the Benz, damaged from the impact, blinked on and off. The bastard's face vanished and reappeared in the stuttering light.
"...If this is all you've got, I'm pathetic for even bothering to watch out for you! Don't disappoint me, Kang Cheol-gu."
The guy was a trained fighter. Amateur, sure, but his record wasn't something to scoff at. Every attack had to be simple and concise. He drew a deep breath, then exhaled in a flash. His fist sliced the air.
But it only sliced air. It never reached the bastard.
A smirk crept across Park Hyeok-cheol's face. The enemy's uppercut rocketed toward his gut. Too late for a step-out. He leaned back, but his chin grazed it. Even that sent his head spinning.
Crack!
He clenched his teeth for a counter, but the bastard was already gone. A side step to his blind spot, then a hammer-like roundhouse kick whistled from the right.
Thwack!
His vision flashed white, then blacked out in an instant. His lip had split; his mouth tasted metallic. His knee hit the ground.
* * *
He'd seen footage of the bastard's matches before. Park Hyeok-cheol was a classic striker. He despised grappling.
- Yes. Congratulations on your victory today, Park Hyeok-cheol. You look ready for the pro stage right now. Care to say a few words?
"I'd love to go pro if I could. Nothing cools this hot blood like the Octagon. But with group business to handle... it's a shame."
- In round two, your opponent went down, but you held back and waited. Mind sharing why?
"Mixed martial arts. That's what MMA means. Modern fighting uses every martial art possible. But hitting a downed opponent? Not my style. Haha."
- Yes. The gentleman of the Octagon. Words worthy of Park Hyeok-cheol.
Gentleman of the Octagon? Bullshit.
The bastard avoided grappling because of his germaphobia. Sweaty opponents pressing against him, hands in groins—grappling's intimate moves were his number one nightmare.
* * *
The fight with Ma Chung-hwa, the Joseonjok gangster, flashed in his mind. No formal training, but raw killing intent that overwhelmed technique. That's what he needed now.
He shook his head and glared at Park Hyeok-cheol. The bastard still smirked. The onlookers, cowed by his vibe, stayed dead silent. Just watching.
As he lunged diagonally, the bastard's kick reared up like a cobra's head. Ankle twist into knee lift, hips driving rotation, exploding on impact—that roundhouse never detonated.
His lead foot blocked the trajectory. Oblique kick! The knee-shattering oblique kick collided with the bastard's roundhouse. The enemy's knee buckled.
Crunch-crack!
He knew it. Not from his ears, but the feel through his foot. The bastard's ACL was shredded.
Boom!
The heavy body collapsed like a lightning-struck oak.
Now! He closed for the finish, aiming for mount position. The bastard, flat on his back, assumed a jiu-jitsu guard. Pale from the torn ligament, but fighter's instinct or male pride made him grit and endure.
Like clock hands—the hour hand ticking, minute hand chasing—they spun ferociously. In that split second when they crossed...
As all the enemy's nerves focused up top, he stomped the thrashing foot. It didn't feel human. Like crushing a dragonfly with broken wings on the ground.
Park Hyeok-cheol wore light sneakers glued with a glue gun for his rapes. To erase footprints.
Snap-crunch!
"Gah! Kkgh...!"
His heavy boot crushed the sneaker; bones shattered.
'ACL torn, toe bones fractured... left foot's wrecked enough...'
A slaughterhouse screech erupted from the bastard's mouth. He grabbed the flailing right foot, lifted it. Gripped up the leg with his other hand. Spun his body forward.
In under a second, the bastard's face twisted through phases. Ghostly pale. Mouth flapping like a goldfish out of its bowl.
Park Hyeok-cheol, you'll never step in the Octagon again.
The jiu-jitsu leg lock, toe hold, exploded.
"Grk! Aaaagh!"
Sizzle!
The flickering streetlamp from the Benz crash finally died.
* * *
Park Hyeok-cheol writhed like a bug before his eyes. He pulled cuffs and approached.
Now the crowd's murmurs rose.
"Park Hyeok-cheol. You're under arrest for serial rape. You have the right to an attorney, to remain silent, to refuse statements that could incriminate you, and to request a court review of this arrest."
Serial rapist! The citizens' whispers stabbed like needles. Worse than his mangled feet, this plunged him deeper into hell.
"...Kill."
The bastard muttered low, head still down.
"What?"
"Kill me, you fucking bastard! Just fucking kill me!"
He grabbed the collar, whispered in his ear.
"No, for a spotlight whore like you, this is better punishment than death. Live. Live and endure every humiliation."
Wee-oo wee-oo.
A patrol car wailed in the distance.
* * *
Sunlight poured through the curtains; he opened his eyes. Clutching his throbbing upper body, he sat up. Burning thirst—he chugged water. Split mouth made the bottled water taste bloody down his throat.
He grabbed the TV remote. Korea was in an uproar. Every news channel blared the story.
[JTBD News. After terrorizing women across Seoul for two months starting last month, the serial rapist has finally been caught. With over nine reports to police, this landmark case drew massive public outrage. Shockingly, the perp is Park Hyeok-cheol, heir to top conglomerate Geonwoo Group. Citizens are reeling.
Park struck around 11 PM last night in a Hyeonjeong-dong villa. After ID'ing him, a detective chased and was critically wounded by his weapon. He fled to Yangpyeong-dong, fought pursuing officers, and was nabbed. The cop who took him down? Kang Cheol-gu, who caught serial killer Yoo Hyeong-cheol before. He's emerging as the police's new hope.
Citizens had blasted police incompetence and lost faith in the state. But his body-throwing heroism shows hope lives in Korea.
Park denies all charges.]
The chat below exploded.
ㄴ Park Hyeok-cheol, total psycho fr.
- Belly full of privilege.
- Face screamed sus from the start.
ㄴ 2222222 Face science lmao
ㄴ Pisses me off
ㄴ That detective who nabbed Yoo Hyeong-cheol, right?
- Yeah, that berserker cop!!
ㄴ The tyrant one!
- Bro I'm dead 😂
ㄴ Btw what about the victims now?
- Yeah, bloodline immunity in this country?
- Group'll cover it up?
- King logic god judge
ㄴ 222222222
ㄴ 333333333
* * *
He dropped the wrecked Jeep Wrangler from last night's chase at the shop and headed to the station. Gangcheon Police Station buzzed from the entrance. Reporters swarmed.
"There! Detective Kang Cheol-gu!"
"Where? Oh yeah! Detective Kang, quick interview?"
"A word on the investigation?"
"How'd you ID the perp?"
Voices buzzed like swarms, stinging his ears. But it was a good fatigue.
As he hit the entrance steps, flashes erupted.
"First off, this arrest was Team 3's effort at Gangcheon Station. Team Leader Hwang Woo-sik, Detective Lee Gyu-cheol, Detective Kim Gwang-il, Detective Heo Seon-sil. Impossible without those four."
Cameras whipped toward the lurking Violent Crimes Team 3. Hwang flexed his neck proudly, Gyu-cheol grinned rare and wide, Heo Seon-sil behind—expressionless, but fists clenched tight.
"Detective Kim Gwang-il, stabbed by Park's weapon in the fight, is hospitalized. Biggest credit to him. Team Leader Hwang will brief details later. That's it."
"Word of pressure from Geonwoo Group? Your stance?"
His brow twitched; neck vein bulged.
"President or not, guilty get punished. That's my justice—and policy!"
As he turned for the door, flashes persisted.
Then—
"Do you really believe Park Hyeok-cheol is the serial rapist behind this?"
A sharp voice pierced the reporters.