Pilgrim's First Step: Heavenly Reign Fist Debut
Kim Crispy Double Bacon Beef Flexible Hot Chicken Potato Chili Pepper Roni Sweet BBQ Domino, the pilgrim on his Pilgrim's Progress to salvation ascending the path to heaven, took his very first step—and it was incomparably grander than the first step humanity left on the moon. So I too shall follow his example, stepping lightly with my fists and heavily with my feet.
"Heavenly Reign Fist, Form 1: Ancestral Table Tap Dance."
Heavenly Reign Fist, Form 1, is highly effective against those ignorant Confucian zealots who worship stingy ancestral spirits that won't even whisper a single lottery number to their descendants. You stride boldly before them, claim the ancestral table, and with a jaunty tap dance, stomp all over the ritual food—giving those ancestral gods a sharp taste of their insolent offspring. So they feel 200% of the horror and shock of having that ritual meal trampled by the very descendants who would've served them devoutly if only they'd shared one lousy lottery number!
Thud! Thud! Clap! Thud! Thud! Clap!
I match my steps to the rhythm of that cheap cassette tape music blaring endlessly at highway rest stops. My true strikes crack the smooth marble floor, and the ensuing shockwave blasts the small fry tumbling away in a heap. Just before the impact wave hurled them off, their faces were as stunned as beachgoers soaking up the sun, oblivious to time, suddenly hit by a tsunami.
"Ancestral spirits who won't share lottery numbers don't deserve our worship—we must break free from Confucian dogma and convert to Christianity right now!"
"But our family has always been punished for neglecting the rites!"
At one gang member's shout, I click my tongue with a jaunty step. "If they crossed the line with their descendants first, then you should've dug up their graves and given them an eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth! Don't you know half the battle between the dead and the living is seizing the initiative?"
"That's just being a filthy traitor to your ancestors!"
"And you're no different, you cheese-stinking bastard!"
Kwaaaang!
I lift one leg high like a sumo wrestler and slam it down, sending massive vibrations rumbling through the building—drdrdrdrdr!
"Heavenly Reign Fist, Form 2: Sinner's Gaze, Virgin No More."
If sinners swarm around you, treat them like deflowered virgins. Show them a shred of mercy and hope if you must, but with powerful true strikes, wash away their sin-stained filth and send them all straight to heaven. If you pity the sinners and hold back your strikes' power, you might end up with a 5,700-character screed defending non-virgins.
Under my merciless Heavenly Reign Fist, Form 2, even the guys who seemed tough and the mystics desperately shielding themselves with curses rather than attacks couldn't hold out. They flew like ragdolls, turning the hall into a total wreck. The ones who merely smashed tables or windows were the lucky ones—some ended up strung up on the chandelier like dried fish. The idiot who crashed into the stacked premium liquor got decorated head to toe in glass shards.
Ever since losing that ramen right in front of me, I'd vowed no mercy in my strikes, so I granted a swift end to even these desperately clinging survivors without exception.
"Do you believe in Jesus?"
"Y-Yes... I do...!"
"If you believe, then why the fuck did you rape some innocent guy's ramen, you piece of shit?"
"I didn't do th—"
"Heaven Death Beam!"
No excuses. I yanked my finger out of the gang member's face with a pop! Right then, a rolling liquor bottle from the shockwave tripped my foot.
"Valentine 17-year. Common stuff rolling around. Retail's maybe 160,000 won tops. But despite the name, it's a stretch calling it 'premium.' Wonder how much you scammed with one bottle? Kim Crispy Double Bacon Beef Domino Pizza."
"...Our place has top-notch service, at least. The girls pour good drinks too. If you'd been interested, you could've come sooner—we'd have treated you right."
"You drink booze to get drunk, not to grope the girls' thighs more, you moron. Otherwise, it's all upside down, isn't it?"
"We just widened the narrow gate a bit for folks living faithfully to their desires. We don't stop those who come, and we make sure those who leave settle their tab properly."
"Then do the math right. Charging over 100,000 won for shit like this is pure scum."
I get the need for margins in the booze biz—entertainer fees, staff wages, distribution costs, all that. Hell, I've worked this industry plenty. But swapping labels on cheap swill to jack up the price like con artists? No way in hell.
Why do Korean companies treat the public like shit but never touch ramen? Because ramen's basically a pet food now, and getting caught fucking with it means you're done. And right now, one guy's about to get done.
"At least those girls can breathe easier starting tomorrow. No more stress ripping off customers with cheap booze."
I karate-chopped the bottle labeled "Valentine 17-year" but really just 7-year swill. The cap sheared off clean, releasing that acrid cheap whiskey stench. Not handcrafted by artisans—just mass-produced factory rotgut a step above soju.
I scanned every sin Kim Flexible Hot Chicken Potato Domino Pizza committed to claim this turf.
"Quite the feast you've had. Couldn't pay? Straight to loan sharks for forced collections. Stocked the bar with cheap crap colluding with shady distributors. Funneled young women from those lenders into forced labor here. Laundered the illicit cash into occult gear, illegal weapons, domestic real estate scams... You live so diligently."
"How the hell do you know tha—never mind. Anyone in this game knows about us. Heard you trashed Kim Eundong's turf the other day—guess the hype's real."
"If your eyes aren't fucked, this scene looks real as photorealistic graphics. Sadly, it is real. Kim Chili Pepper Roni Sweet BBQ Domino Pizza, gay edition."
"You're courting death."
Crack, pop. Unhappy with me chugging his cheap whiskey, Kim Whatever-Domino finally heaved his heavy ass up.
"Some weirdos offered a cool million dollars—clean, laundered 100% cash—for capturing you alive. Naturally, I wasn't the only one who took the job. Solo mystics who like flying solo, big and small outfits—they're all gunning for you. So thanks for walking right into my den."
"Eager to meet Jesus?"
"...So I could smash you with my own hands."
Kim Nobody slowly rose from his chair, towering like a basketball player—easily over 2 meters, rock-hard muscles straining his custom suit like it might burst. Anyone grabbed by those pot-lid hands got literally crushed or snapped. I'd seen it all through his sins—no exaggeration.
I drained the 500ml bottle, chucked the glass, and clenched my fist. The golden knuckle duster, still unsatisfied, hummed with rage.
"Don't get cocky just 'cause you scattered a few punks. I could pulverize a truckload of these small-timers like child's play. Knock down guys who aren't even worth a warmup, get all arrogant, then get humiliatingly wrecked... As a man, wouldn't that be a bit embarrassing?"
I hiked up my pants a bit, gauging his reaction.
"Embarrassing?"
No! Yeah, sure, Human Manager Han might've tumbled to this gutter from a life shittier than a stray dog's—but no reason to feel shame over crap like that. Kim Whatever advanced, mercilessly trampling his brothers who'd already ascended to heaven first, stopping just 5 meters away.
"Lemme guess what you're thinking right now. 'Should've shelled out for a gun, or at least a sharp knife.' Anything less, and that pathetic body of yours can't even scratch me."
"I already know you bulked up your durability getting your ass kicked like a chump by Italian mobsters. No need to remind me."
"Heh, fun guy to the end. Got your resolve?"
"Fucking cliché. Spouting that tired line forces me to say, 'What resolve?' Total mansplaining. So, what resolve?"
"The resolve not to die in 10 seconds flat against me."
With that, Cheese-Fucker lightning-rushed into an infighting stance and charged. The distant foe zoomed in like a monitor cranked to ultra-HD—I cursed my dumbass self too late.
Mentally weakened state means even if I strike first, it's self-defense, you idiot!
By the time that useless thought hit, I'd lost not just the ramen—but my first-strike virginity too. To him. Un-fucking-fortunately.