The Reaper's Visit
In the heart of Seoul's Gangnam, a towering high-rise building stood amid the bustle of shops and crowds above ground. But down in the basement, sealed off by iron grates, a raucous gambling den was in full swing.
Tables stretched out endlessly, crowded with all sorts of people.
Some shuffled cards with cigarettes dangling from their lips.
Others basked in the thrill of victory.
And some tore at their hair, having lost their last penny.
Thick cigarette smoke from them all wafted lazily beneath the ceiling.
A man darted between the tables, lighting smokes on demand, his shoulder brushing past a small teller window.
Inside sat a fierce-looking man with a shaved head and slit eyes, a tattoo snaking from his hand up to his face.
Behind him loomed a bulky safe stuffed with cash, and past that, a narrow door led to a starkly empty warehouse—a far cry from the chaos outside.
Dusty arcade machines and construction materials lay scattered haphazardly.
And in the center, on a chair, sat one man.
A grotesque snake tattoo crawled up his neck, enough to make any ordinary person flinch.
Yet, for all his intimidating appearance, he looked downright flustered.
It was because of the man lounging on the sofa opposite him—Han Jaejeong.
Jaejeong sat as if it were his own home, feet propped up on a rusty old stove who-knows-how-old.
His expression alone could make you question who really owned the place.
Just then, one of the snake-tattooed man's underlings pushed open the door and lumbered into the warehouse.
His hefty build made the floor thud threateningly as he approached, then bowed his head and handed over a small notepad.
"Boss, here's today's suckers."
By "suckers," he meant the gambling den's victims of the day—the ones who'd be sacrificed to the house.
Jaejeong's eyes sharpened as he eyed the notepad passing into the snake-tattooed man's hands.
Catching the look, the snake-tattooed boss suddenly shot up and kicked his underling hard in the shin with his shoe.
The unprepared thug hopped around, clutching his leg in shock.
"You little shit—don't you greet your elders?!"
"I did greet you…"
"Am I the only one here? You blind to Detective Han? Get out!"
Only then did the thug bow hastily toward Jaejeong, who was half-reclining on the sofa, and scramble out of the warehouse.
Once the door shut, the snake-tattooed man plopped back into his chair with a childlike grin, as if nothing had happened.
"Man lives by manners, not looks."
"Aw, boss, don't say that. Us shadows gotta stick to etiquette more than anyone. With all the lowlifes crawling around, without it, shit hits the fan."
Jaejeong shook his head.
"You could've greeted me first, or skipped it altogether. Why pick on the poor kid?"
"Still, juniors gotta bow to seniors. Higher-ups don't have to, but lowers do. They can curse us out, but we can't talk back."
He spoke with feigned gravity, like it was some profound creed, clearly trying to impress Jaejeong.
"That so? Then I can curse you out no problem."
"Of course. If your little bro fucked up, curse away."
"Don't flash your fangs at me, punk. I'm not your bro."
The snake-tattooed man's grin snapped shut like a zipped bag.
The air froze in an instant at Jaejeong's words.
"Sorry."
"People call you a viper or whatever, but to me, you're just a creepy snake. Don't play mind games in front of me. I'll snap your neck."
The man clamped his mouth shut and dropped his gaze, unable to reply.
Seoul teemed not just with petty gangs, but all sorts of underworld outfits.
The snake-tattooed boss was one of them—a mid-tier player with real turf in the shadows.
Not quite a corporate syndicate, but deep in the muck, hands and feet dirty from every filthy job imaginable. A godfather of the underground.
Jaejeong, on the other hand, was a cop.
Not just any violent crimes detective—he was ex-special forces, infamous for his prickly temper.
Classic examples of his style abounded.
One infamous case still buzzed among cops and gangsters years later.
No matter how badass the detective, you didn't rush into a gang funeral or wedding with dozens of thugs packed in.
They'd cordon the area in teams and watch quietly for any brawls.
If war actually broke out—knives and bats flying—no backup meant cops could do jack shit.
Practically impossible.
But one day, it happened.
Cops called for support and followed protocol.
Except Jaejeong, who was on scene—he ignored it all.
He dove into their frenzied fight and dismantled the whole war.
He took cuts from knives himself, but the gangsters he pummeled were wrecked.
Not a bone unbroken.
With strikes that hit hard and disabled in one blow, raw guts alone couldn't match him.
Afterward, some grudge-holding thugs tried revenge, but ended up hospitalized instead. That sealed his rep as the Grim Reaper among the shadows.
So no wonder the snake-tattooed boss was paralyzed.
The Reaper himself stood there, death list in hand with his name on it—who'd dare raise their voice?
Jaejeong crooked a finger. The snake-tattooed man squeezed his eyes shut and reluctantly shoved his head forward.
"Didn't I tell you not to cross districts? Answer quick. Unless you wanna die."
"Ow! N-no, boss! Wait! Aaaagh!"
A scream ripped out as Jaejeong yanked his Adam's apple.
"No my ass. You just keep bullshitting more with age."
"Sorry! I'll talk! Please, boss!"
Jaejeong released his grip, dusted off the man's hair, and stood.
"No need to talk. Round up everyone from that brawl and send 'em over. You got one day. And anyone who drew a blade comes mandatory. We'll bundle 'em for one big bust. What kinda world is this—pulling tools in broad daylight? In a restaurant? You nuts? High?"
"Sorry. I'll sort and send 'em in half a day."
"No sorting—all of 'em. Every last one there."
"Boss, please, not that… Take 'em all and we're done. I'll get shanked for real. Even that bigger beef last time, you handled with just two."
The man begged, clinging, but Jaejeong didn't budge.
"Don't gimme that crap… That was to hook bigger fish through you. Shank comes? Just take it. Dodge vitals and tank it right. You've been stabbed before, yeah?"
"If I die, you'll have to manage your new underlings again. Messy."
"What, you some corporation? Messy my ass—how many you got…"
"Boss!"
"Clean up your shit and live right. This place a pigsty or what? Can't even swallow rice here."
Jaejeong kicked scattered arcade machines as he left the warehouse, yelling over his shoulder at the shouting snake-tattooed boss.
Heading back to the violent crimes unit, Jaejeong paused at the entrance.
The room buzzed with suspects' chatter and detectives' shouts.
People grabbing collars right in front of cops, women screaming "gut me if you dare."
Drunks beyond the holding cell bars flailed arms, harassing detectives.
"Ha… what kinda police station is this? A chicken coop?"
"If this is a coop, what're you? The farmer?"
The Team Leader appeared out of nowhere, passing by with a jab.
Jaejeong gave a half-assed nod—greeting or not.
"What's with these guys?"
Tailing the Team Leader naturally, Jaejeong eyed the noisiest group.
"Booze-fueled fight. One cracked another's skull with a soju bottle. Problem is, one broken bottle, two cracked heads. Both claiming victim, just dragged in from the station. Sigh, don't you go getting drunk like that."
The Team Leader slumped on the sofa, face weary, flipping open his notepad.
"Oh, you went already?"
"Just back."
"What'd they say? Rounding up and sending?"
"Said half a day… if they show."
"They will. That snake fears your word like plague."
"Aw, c'mon. Fears what? We ain't bros…"
The Team Leader smirked at Jaejeong's discomfort.
"What bros? The type who slips cash on good days. Thought I didn't know?"
"Don't frame the innocent. How do I stop cousins from crashing weddings, stuffing envelopes as guests?"
"Hefty envelopes, I heard?"
"Who said? Gwangmin? That rat…"
"Pfft, bullshit. Farter gets mad. Don't stir shit… If you're taking dirty money, hide it. You reek of it. Live cleaner, thorough-like."
Jaejeong rubbed his neck awkwardly.
Then—
Crash!
A folding chair toppled, voices rising again.
No normal talk possible like this.
"Quiet down! Quiet!"
The Team Leader's roar echoed through the unit.
The sheer volume silenced everyone instantly.
They eyed each other warily.
"I'm the head of violent crimes here! This is a police station—we lock up criminal scum! If the locals couldn't settle it and sent you up, you're all tied to crimes somehow. So shut your traps while we treat you humanely."
The mood chilled at his words.
Still, the drunk in holding rambled incoherently.
Even stripped his shirt and sprawled on the floor.
Tsking at the sight, the Team Leader saw his chance.
"One more uncooperative stunt, and you spend all day in that cell. Take a good look—who's inside."
Eyes turned to the holding cell.
Tattooed bruisers lurked among the drunks.
One by one, they sat—his ploy worked.
Being hauled in was one thing; cell time versus settling outside was another.
The Team Leader scanned the now-quiet room and sat, satisfied.
It had been so loud, no one noticed the TV was even on.
News droned from it.
Then the announcer's voice pierced Jaejeong's ears.