Patriarch's Shadowy Requests
Yeon Un-jae silently gazed at the flickering candle flame, listening intently.
The report had concluded.
Silence followed.
He savored this brief stillness as they awaited his command.
With thumb and forefinger, he gently extinguished the candle. Thick incense smoke wafted upward. The family head inhaled deeply, scrutinizing the plan that had surfaced in his mind like excavating a fossil from bedrock.
'Hm, solid plan. Even better if we can eliminate that thorn in the process.'
"Keep surveilling him."
―Understood, family head.
After hanging up, Yeon Un-jae meticulously reviewed the plan, checking for vulnerabilities and areas needing reinforcement.
'Hm, success rate around 70%. Can't rule out failure, so prepare Plan B.'
Decision made, he picked up his phone.
"Summon Yeonmu Daiju."
―Yes, family head.
The butler and secretary, Gil Jeong-mok, replied.
The back seat of his brand-new foreign luxury car was plush beyond belief.
A sleek black Mercedes S-Class.
Nam Il-gon caressed the soft leather seat and pulled a crisp business card from his wallet.
Dark Fighters Entertainment
Manager Nam Il-gon
A smile tugged at his lips.
Bulky men in suits approached the Mercedes, bowing their heads.
Nam Il-gon pressed a button to lower the window.
"It's done, bro."
"Bro?"
"...Nothing, Manager."
"Good."
Stepping out of the Mercedes, Nam Il-gon walked through his parting underlings.
Descending to the basement, he saw unconscious bruisers slumped everywhere. Shattered vases, broken frames—traces of fierce brawls littered the area.
Near the bar, defeated foes knelt, eyes fixed on the lone newcomer.
"What're you staring at, you scum?"
Slap.
Dark Fighters staff mercilessly smacked the backs of heads and cheeks of the losers.
"Go easy. Don't want the boys getting hurt."
Nam Il-gon said softly.
"Understood, Manager."
The staff bowed in response.
Nam Il-gon smiled gently as he turned into the hallway and entered an open room door.
Inside, a short-cropped man knelt on the table, hands raised.
"Former President! Long time no see. What's with the pose? Come down. The boys must be excited. Hurry, sit. We've known each other too long for this."
Nam Il-gon seated Jeon Gyu-jin on the sofa.
Jeon eyed Nam Il-gon and the men at the door, still trembling.
"N-Nam President, th-there must be some m-misunderstanding..."
"Gawoong faction hits three of our Dark Fighters spots, and you call it a misunderstanding? Funny choice of words."
Nam Il-gon smashed a cognac bottle against the table edge. It shattered, liquor spilling. A jagged neck remained in his hand.
"I-I don't know anything..."
The sharp end pressed against Jeon Gyu-jin's throat.
Jeon fell silent.
"Let's avoid blood if we can. We're not strangers. Hand over the club. We'll keep you running it—best for both of us, right?"
"..."
Jeon glanced at the door, then beyond.
"Looks like you want help, but that's already handled. I'll give you 10 minutes. Think it over."
Nam Il-gon gulped from another cognac bottle. Judging by Jeon's habits, surrender in 7-8 minutes.
Once done here, reward the boys, then head to the arena. Medical tests for tonight's fighters, plus big and small tasks awaited.
Sipping on the sofa, Nam Il-gon felt his pocket phone vibrate.
Seeing the number, he froze. Rushing outside, he answered deferentially.
"For an elder to call me directly—such an honor!"
―I have a favor to ask.
"A favor? Just command me."
―Still reliable as ever.
"For you, I'd dive into the depths."
―Someone's coming. Hear his task.
"Understood, elder."
Hanging up, Nam Il-gon exhaled sharply. Checking the number again, he could hardly believe it.
The Yeon family head calling him personally.
And a 'favor' at that!
His lips stretched ear to ear. Granting it could earn him "General Manager" status. That meant the golden goose in his grasp.
Back in the room, he read Jeon's face instantly.
"Haha, Former President, smart choice. Let's do real business together."
Jeon signed the contract.
Cool air enveloped Yoo Min-jeong as she entered the cafe.
Removing her sunglasses, she spotted An Seong-ho by the window.
"Over here."
Heading toward his waving hand, she frowned at the man beside him.
Her glare demanded explanation from An Seong-ho.
"Not Seong-ho's fault. I tagged along."
Do Jin-yong, leader of Cheonroehoe's Blue Lightning team, said with arms crossed.
Yoo Min-jeong debated leaving or sitting, then took the seat opposite An Seong-ho—ignoring Do Jin-yong completely.
"Congrats on joining the E-rank dungeon raid."
"Worried, actually. Our team's not ready. Master's probably bribed the judges, ignoring us."
An Seong-ho said.
His candor made her burst out laughing.
"You're on Changwon Dungeon."
"Yeah, F-rank. Feels like the raid committee's targeting us."
"Likely. Anyway, why'd you want to meet?"
An Seong-ho's eyes sparkled with curiosity. The Ice Witch contacting him first had shocked him.
"Info."
"Info?"
"You know the teams in the next Changwon Dungeon raid already, right?"
"Of course."
"Sell it to me."
"Expensive stuff."
"How much?"
"Could sell for cash, but not feeling it. Promise to answer my question later, and I'll tell."
"Deal."
"Hm, where is it..."
An Seong-ho pulled out his phone, opening an app crammed with hundreds of notes. He spoke.
"Changwon Guild's Must Team's joining. Local guild, safety-first—sticking to F-ranks. No standouts, no weak links. Mediocre but diligent. Civil servant types."
"This guy's okay here?"
Noting in her pad, Yoo Min-jeong pointed at Do Jin-yong.
"Fine. He'll forget it fast."
"True enough."
Do Jin-yong nodded, sipping orange juice through a straw.
"Next, Jackal Guild's Apache Team. Aggressive—watch out. They loot other teams' cores on sight. Skilled but disorganized. Scatter like sand."
"Heard of 'em."
Jackal's belligerent vibe was infamous even in Jushin.
"Smash 'em if you meet in the dungeon. You can handle it."
Do Jin-yong interjected.
Yoo Min-jeong and An Seong-ho turned to him.
"Uh, truth is... they got me once."
Do Jin-yong added defensively.
An Seong-ho continued.
Sky Guild's Red Fox Team: buffer-led, inconsistent goblin squad.
"Last one's trouble. Miracle Guild team."
"Miracle? Why enter Changwon Dungeon?"
Miracle was one of the Big Four with Jushin, Cheonhondan, Brave.
"Dunno why. But not coincidence."
Yoo Min-jeong agreed.
No need for Miracle to go far. Pressure the committee, snag a Seoul F-rank easy.
Sorting info in pad and mind, Yoo Min-jeong fired questions for depth. An Seong-ho answered what he knew—vast and detailed, surprising her.
"How do you know all this?"
"Trade secret."
"Thanks anyway."
She pocketed the pad.
"Thanks? It was a trade."
"Fair."
"I'll head out. Seems Team Leader Do has business with you."
An Seong-ho rose.
After paying at the counter and leaving, Do Jin-yong spoke.
"Came shamelessly with a request."
"Shoot."
"How's that guy?"
"...Pardon?"
"Kim Jun."
"Oh, Kim Jun? Doing great."
Yoo Min-jeong was baffled—this far-follower asking about a carrier.
"Sounds weird, but I wanna fight him. Simulator fight, not real. So, any chance? Can't bring him to Cheonroehoe house, so I'll go to Uramata."
Do Jin-yong asked cautiously.
Yoo Min-jeong couldn't gauge if he meant sim-spar or troublemaking.
Don't commit.
"I'll think about it."
"Please. Body's itching. Others don't satisfy."
Leaving the cafe, Yoo Min-jeong fired up her Ferrari and hit the road.
Choi Muhyun heaved the bent barbell with his bulging, unevenly muscled arms.
Bench press: 560 kilograms.
Hot breath burst from lips nearly at his chin. Arms quivered.
Just 10kg over his PR, but body at limit—no gradual buildup, straight to 560kg.
The quiet gym echoed only ragged breaths.
Mom was out.
The bar wobbled.
Nearly dropped it. Barely racked, he recalled Kim Jun's 400kg lift.
'Thrives in crisis—500kg if needed... maybe more.'
Couldn't beat Kim Jun in speed.
Combat sense? Kim Jun's win.
Only edge: build and strength. Even that, Kim Jun closing fast.
Rising, he left the gym for his room. Silly to brood.
"No overthinking. Fight him. Win or lose."
Mood lifted with resolve.
Heading out for Uramata, his phone rang.
Seeing the caller, eyes widened.
Nam Il-gon.
"Choi Muhyun speaking."
―Manager Nam Il-gon here, Pro Choi.
"Any changes?"
Excitement slipped out.
―Tonight's fighter injured suddenly. Need replacement. Available, Pro Choi?
"Absolutely."
―Come to the arena now for medical. Not official yet—keep quiet.
"Of course. On my way."
―We'll wait.
Hanging up, Choi Muhyun fist-pumped, yelling "Yes!" Arena fight to sharpen senses, then proper bout with Kim Jun—perfect.
He hopped into his Jeep and drove off.
The brute recognizing Choi Muhyun stepped aside.
Entering the inner boiler room, Choi pressed a button. The elevator rose from below.
'Hope tonight's opponent is quick, good counterer.'
He realized belatedly: Kim Jun's exact style. Wanted similar foe before the real clash.
Footsteps approached.
A man entered, sharp aura prickling. Choi tensed instinctively.
'Arena fighter? Tonight's opponent?'
Doors opened.
Boarding first, Choi eyed the man's build—Kim Jun-like. Lithe, concise movements screamed overwhelming strength.
Man entered; doors shut.
"Choi Muhyun, by chance?"
"...Yes."
Kim Jun's fame had publicized Choi's face—uncomfortable. To fans, cool Raider buddy; to haters, idiot Raider.
"You competing in the arena too?"
Luckily, no Kim Jun talk.
"A few times."
"I've got a match tonight. Oh, introductions—Yeon Min-gyun."
Yeon Min-gyun offered hand first; Choi shook smiling.
No macho grip contest.
Chat died. Strangers in tight elevator, nothing to say.
Doors opened; Yeon exited first.
"Good luck."
"You too, Yeon Min-gyun."
Bowing lightly, Choi veered right to the manager's office.