Kang Minjae had always believed that the world belonged to people who understood two things.
Money could buy almost anything.
And whatever money couldn't buy, sufficient violence usually could.
It wasn't a particularly noble philosophy, but it had served him well.
At thirty-eight years old, Minjae possessed a personal fortune exceeding three hundred million dollars, controlled several legitimate companies across East Asia, and commanded a criminal organization that had once made the Korean National Police Agency consider establishing an entire task force dedicated to his arrest.
They never did.
Three senior officials suddenly received lucrative consulting positions. A prosecutor discovered that his son's university tuition had been anonymously paid. And the politician pushing hardest for the investigation suffered an unfortunate scandal involving a mistress, two offshore accounts, and a hotel security camera.
Minjae had personally arranged only one of those incidents.
He considered the other two pleasant coincidences.
His organization, the Black Dragon Association, had begun as seventeen young men operating out of a rundown boxing gym in Busan.
Twenty years later, its influence extended into shipping, construction, entertainment, security, and several industries that were considerably less respectable.
Minjae had built the organization from nothing.
He had fought for territory, negotiated with rival syndicates, survived assassination attempts, and buried more friends than he cared to remember.
He was intelligent, charismatic, and exceptionally good at making people believe that working with him was their own idea.
He was also ruthless.
Betrayal received no second chances.
Threats against his people were answered decisively.
And anyone who mistook his friendly manner for weakness usually regretted the misunderstanding.
Yet despite everything he had achieved, Kang Minjae had one rather embarrassing secret.
He was a massive fan of Korean webtoons.
Particularly Lookism.
His private office contained an expensive collection of watches, several original paintings, a display of rare whiskey bottles, and an entire bookshelf dedicated to physical editions of the series.
His subordinates had learned not to comment on it.
One unfortunate lieutenant had once asked why their chairman enjoyed reading about high school students fighting gangsters.
Minjae had answered, completely seriously:
"Because their gangsters are more interesting than ours."
The lieutenant had wisely changed the subject.
The Last Evening
Seoul, South Korea.
11:47 p.m.
Rain slid down the floor-to-ceiling windows of a luxury penthouse overlooking the Han River.
Kang Minjae sat on a dark leather sofa, holding a glass of whiskey.
Across from him sat his oldest friend and second-in-command, Lee Taesung.
Taesung was a broad-shouldered man with a shaved head, a broken nose, and a permanent expression suggesting that someone had personally offended him.
He had been beside Minjae since the Black Dragon Association consisted of seventeen teenagers and one stolen delivery van.
"You're getting old," Taesung remarked.
Minjae looked up from his tablet.
"That's a strange way to address the man paying your salary."
"Your birthday is next week. Thirty-nine."
"Congratulations. You've learned subtraction."
Taesung ignored him.
"Most people our age have families."
"I have a family."
"Your employees don't count."
"They seem to think otherwise whenever bonuses are distributed."
Taesung sighed.
"Have you considered retiring?"
Minjae laughed.
"Retiring?"
"Yes. You have enough money to live comfortably for ten lifetimes."
"Only ten? That's disappointing."
"I'm serious."
Minjae set his glass down.
"So am I."
Taesung leaned forward.
"Twenty years, Minjae. We've spent twenty years fighting, expanding, negotiating, and cleaning up other people's stupidity. Aren't you tired?"
For a moment, Minjae didn't answer.
Outside, the rain continued falling.
He looked toward the city.
Twenty years.
He remembered the early days vividly.
Sleeping in abandoned buildings.
Eating instant noodles because they couldn't afford anything else.
Fighting men twice their size over streets that barely generated enough money to cover rent.
He remembered his first real victory.
His first betrayal.
His first funeral.
And the day he realized that becoming stronger wasn't enough.
To control the underworld, he needed more than fists.
He needed money, information, influence, and people willing to follow him even when doing so meant risking their lives.
He had eventually acquired all four.
And yet…
"Sometimes," Minjae admitted.
Taesung looked surprised.
"Really?"
"Don't look so pleased. I'm not handing you the organization."
"Wouldn't want it."
"Liar."
"Fine. I'd take the penthouse."
Minjae chuckled.
Then his expression became thoughtful.
"You know what bothers me?"
"What?"
"I've already won."
Taesung frowned.
"Isn't that the point?"
"Supposedly."
Minjae glanced at his tablet.
A familiar illustration filled the screen.
Gun Park stood with his hands in his pockets, surrounded by defeated opponents.
Minjae smiled faintly.
"Do you remember when we were seventeen?"
"Unfortunately."
"We thought becoming the strongest gang in Busan would solve all our problems."
"And then we discovered Seoul existed."
"Exactly."
Minjae leaned back.
"Every time we reached the top, there was another mountain. Another organization. Another enemy. Another opportunity."
Taesung nodded slowly.
"But now?"
"Now there are no mountains worth climbing."
Taesung followed his gaze toward the tablet.
"Is that the fighting comic again?"
"Webtoon."
"Same thing."
"Your ignorance is exhausting."
Taesung snorted.
Minjae turned the screen toward him.
"Look at this."
Taesung examined the illustration.
"A teenager?"
"One of the strongest fighters in his world."
"Looks like he needs a haircut."
Minjae laughed.
"That's Gun Park."
"Should I know him?"
"Only if you appreciate exceptional violence."
Taesung shook his head.
"You're hopeless."
Minjae continued scrolling.
He had always found the world of Lookism fascinating.
Not simply because of the fighting.
The series depicted a society where personal strength could influence the balance of entire criminal organizations.
An exceptional fighter could change the outcome of a territorial war.
A charismatic leader could gather hundreds of followers.
A single individual could become a legend whose reputation endured across generations.
The First Generation Kings.
The Four Major Crews.
The Ten Geniuses.
The mysterious history of Gapryong Kim's Fist Gang.
And the complicated relationships connecting Charles Choi, Gun Park, Goo Kim, James Lee, and the various organizations operating throughout Korea.
It was a world overflowing with dangerous people and extraordinary opportunities.
Minjae had spent years imagining what he would do if he existed there.
He certainly wouldn't waste his time becoming someone else's subordinate.
Nor would he blindly follow the original story.
He would build something of his own.
An organization capable of standing above the Four Major Crews.
Perhaps even surpassing the legendary forces of the previous generations.
He would recruit talented fighters, establish legitimate businesses, and create a criminal empire that didn't rely entirely on extortion.
Most importantly, he would enjoy himself.
Because unlike his own world, Lookism offered something he had nearly forgotten.
A challenge.
"You're smiling again," Taesung observed.
Minjae looked up.
"Am I?"
"That expression usually means someone is about to lose a lot of money."
"Relax. I'm just thinking."
"That's worse."
They laughed.
For a while, they spoke about ordinary things.
Old friends.
Restaurants.
The ridiculous prices of luxury cars.
Whether Taesung's daughter should be allowed to study abroad.
It was a peaceful evening.
And it would be the last one Kang Minjae ever experienced.
An Unexpected Ending
At 12:26 a.m., Taesung received a phone call.
He listened for several seconds.
Then his expression changed.
Minjae noticed immediately.
"Problem?"
Taesung lowered the phone.
"There's been an incident at the western distribution center."
"What kind?"
"An explosion."
Minjae's smile disappeared.
"Casualties?"
"Unknown."
"Security footage?"
"Systems went down before the explosion."
Minjae stood.
"Get the car."
Taesung hesitated.
"You don't need to go personally."
"It's one of our largest facilities."
"We have people for this."
Minjae retrieved his coat.
"And those people work for me."
Taesung sighed.
"You're impossible."
"So I've been told."
Twenty minutes later, their convoy entered an industrial district on the outskirts of Seoul.
The distribution center was burning.
Firefighters were already battling the flames.
Several employees stood behind police barriers, wrapped in emergency blankets.
Minjae stepped out of his vehicle.
His security chief approached immediately.
"Chairman, we believe it was deliberate."
"Evidence?"
"Three separate ignition points. The cameras were disabled remotely."
Minjae's expression remained calm.
"Any missing employees?"
"Two."
"Find them."
"Yes, sir."
He began walking toward the damaged building.
Taesung caught his arm.
"Where are you going?"
"To inspect the damage."
"Let the investigators handle it."
Minjae looked toward the burning structure.
Something felt wrong.
The explosion had been too precisely timed.
The security systems had failed simultaneously.
And the missing employees had both been responsible for monitoring restricted shipments.
Someone had planned this carefully.
He turned toward Taesung.
"Get everyone away from the building."
Taesung frowned.
"What?"
"Now."
His friend recognized the tone immediately.
He reached for his radio.
Then Minjae heard it.
A faint metallic click.
From beneath a nearby delivery truck.
His eyes widened.
"DOWN!"
He shoved Taesung backward.
The world became white.
The explosion tore through the loading area.
Metal fragments flew in every direction.
The shockwave lifted Minjae from his feet.
For an instant, he felt weightless.
Then something struck his chest.
Hard.
He hit the ground several meters away.
Sound disappeared.
His vision blurred.
He tried to breathe.
Couldn't.
Warm liquid spread beneath his body.
Well.
He stared at the dark sky.
That's inconvenient.
He had survived knife fights, shootings, and more assassination attempts than he could comfortably remember.
And now someone had managed to kill him with a bomb.
He almost laughed.
Almost.
A familiar face appeared above him.
Taesung.
His oldest friend was shouting something.
Minjae couldn't hear him.
He tried to speak.
Blood filled his mouth.
Taesung grabbed his hand.
Minjae looked at him.
Then managed a faint smile.
"Take… care of them."
Taesung's face twisted.
He shook his head violently.
Minjae wanted to tell him to stop making such an ugly expression.
But the words wouldn't come.
His vision darkened.
His final thought was surprisingly mundane.
I never finished that chapter.
And then Kang Minjae died.
The Man Called Rob
When Minjae opened his eyes, he was sitting in a comfortable armchair.
Across from him sat an elderly man wearing a Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and bright yellow sandals.
Between them stood a small wooden table.
On it rested a plate of cookies and two cups of tea.
Minjae stared.
The elderly man smiled.
"Welcome."
Minjae looked around.
There were no walls.
No ceiling.
No floor beyond the small circular platform supporting their chairs.
Everything else was an endless expanse of white.
He looked down at himself.
His clothes were intact.
There was no blood.
No pain.
And the enormous piece of metal that had apparently pierced his chest was conspicuously absent.
He considered the situation.
Then looked back toward the elderly man.
"Am I dead?"
"Very."
"I see."
Minjae reached for the tea.
He took a sip.
"Not bad."
The elderly man blinked.
"That's your reaction?"
"Would screaming improve the situation?"
"No."
"Then I don't see the point."
The elderly man laughed.
"Excellent! I was hoping you'd be interesting."
Minjae placed the cup down.
"Who are you?"
"Rob."
"Rob?"
"Yes."
"Just Rob?"
"Would you prefer Robert?"
"Depends. Are you God?"
The elderly man considered the question.
"Something along those lines."
Minjae examined him.
"A god wearing a Hawaiian shirt."
"It's comfortable."
"Fair enough."
Rob leaned back.
"You're taking this remarkably well."
"I've had a stressful evening."
"You were murdered."
"That would explain the stress."
Rob burst into laughter.
Minjae waited patiently.
Eventually, the old man wiped his eyes.
"Ah, wonderful. Most people spend the first ten minutes demanding explanations."
"I have several questions."
"Then ask."
Minjae leaned forward.
"First, what happened to my friend?"
Rob's expression softened.
"Lee Taesung survived. Your actions saved him from the worst of the explosion."
Minjae nodded.
"My organization?"
"Still functioning."
"Will he take care of it?"
"Yes."
Minjae remained silent for several seconds.
Then exhaled.
"Good."
Rob studied him.
"You don't want to return?"
Minjae considered the question.
He had wealth.
Power.
Influence.
Friends.
An entire empire.
And he had lost all of it.
Of course, part of him wanted to return.
But he also understood something.
He was dead.
And if this strange old man truly possessed divine authority, then whatever happened next probably depended on the conversation they were having.
"Can you send me back?"
Rob shook his head.
"Not to your original life."
"Then there's no point dwelling on it."
Rob smiled.
"Practical."
"I try."
The old man reached for a cookie.
"Well, Kang Minjae, you have been selected for reincarnation."
Minjae raised an eyebrow.
"Selected?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Rob chewed thoughtfully.
"Because I found your life entertaining."
Minjae stared at him.
"That's it?"
"Would you prefer a complicated explanation involving destiny, cosmic balance, and ancient prophecies?"
"Not particularly."
"Good. I dislike paperwork."
Minjae chuckled.
Rob continued.
"You will be reincarnated into a fictional world of your choosing."
Minjae's expression changed.
"Any fictional world?"
"Within reason."
"And I retain my memories?"
"Naturally."
"What about my personality?"
"Entirely intact."
Minjae leaned back.
For the first time since waking up, genuine excitement appeared in his eyes.
He had read hundreds of novels and webtoons.
He knew countless fictional universes.
Some offered magic.
Others offered cultivation.
A few contained beings capable of destroying entire galaxies.
But one particular world immediately came to mind.
Rob noticed.
"Oh?"
Minjae smiled.
"I already know where I want to go."
"That was quick."
"I've thought about it before."
"Tell me."
Minjae met his gaze.
"Lookism."
Rob raised an eyebrow.
"The Korean webtoon?"
"Exactly."
"Interesting choice."
"Is there a problem?"
"Not at all. I'm simply curious."
Rob leaned forward.
"With your experience, you could choose a world of cultivation, magic, or extraordinary supernatural powers. Why select a world centered around martial arts and criminal organizations?"
Minjae smiled.
"Because I understand that kind of world."
Rob gestured for him to continue.
"In a cultivation universe, I'd spend centuries learning unfamiliar laws and competing with immortals. In a magical world, I'd need to understand an entirely different civilization."
He paused.
"But Lookism?"
His smile widened.
"I know its history. Its major organizations. Its strongest fighters. Its future conflicts."
"Knowledge of the story could become unreliable once you interfere."
"Of course."
Minjae shrugged.
"That's part of the fun."
Rob chuckled.
Minjae continued.
"Besides, I've already built a criminal empire once. I'd like to see what I could accomplish in a world where individual strength matters so much more."
"You want to become a gang leader again?"
"Eventually."
"Not a hero?"
Minjae laughed.
"Rob, I spent twenty years running a criminal organization. Why would death suddenly turn me into a saint?"
"Fair point."
"I'll protect my people. Reward loyalty. Build something powerful."
His expression became colder.
"And anyone who tries to destroy what I've built can deal with the consequences."
Rob smiled.
"A king of the underworld."
Minjae tilted his head.
"Something like that."
Three Wishes
Rob snapped his fingers.
Three golden lights appeared above the table.
"Since you've chosen your world, we can discuss your advantages."
Minjae leaned forward.
"Advantages?"
"Three wishes."
Minjae's smile disappeared.
He became completely serious.
Rob noticed.
"Ah. There it is."
"What?"
"The expression you wore when negotiating billion-dollar contracts."
Minjae ignored the remark.
"Are there restrictions?"
"A few."
"Such as?"
"You cannot wish to become omnipotent, erase the universe, or acquire powers that fundamentally destroy the setting."
"Can I wish for superhuman physical abilities?"
"Yes."
"Martial arts mastery?"
"Certainly."
"Special talents?"
"Of course."
Minjae nodded.
"Good."
Rob watched him.
"Take your time."
Minjae closed his eyes.
He had spent years reading stories about reincarnated protagonists who wasted extraordinary opportunities on poorly worded wishes.
He had no intention of repeating their mistakes.
Lookism possessed an unusual power structure.
Exceptional fighters could achieve feats far beyond ordinary human capabilities.
Some possessed terrifying innate physical gifts.
Others relied upon extraordinary martial arts mastery.
And a select few combined overwhelming talent with nearly unmatched combat instincts.
Minjae considered several individuals.
Gun Park.
A monstrous fighter whose mastery of Ultra Instinct and martial arts made him one of the most feared people in Korea.
James Lee.
A legendary genius whose speed, technique, and combat intelligence had allowed him to dominate an entire generation.
Daniel Park.
A young man whose second body possessed an extraordinary physique and the potential to reproduce countless fighting techniques.
Johan Seong.
A copying genius capable of learning techniques through observation.
Gapryong Kim.
A legendary fighter whose strength and will had defined an era.
Each possessed extraordinary advantages.
But Minjae didn't want to imitate one of them.
He wanted to surpass them.
And he had three wishes to accomplish it.
He opened his eyes.
"I've decided on my first wish."
Rob smiled.
"Let's hear it."
First Wish — The Perfect Evolving Body
"I want a physique that begins at the absolute peak of what the Lookism universe can produce, with extraordinary strength, speed, durability, endurance, reflexes, coordination, and recovery."
Rob nodded slowly.
Minjae continued.
"But I don't want a fixed peak."
"Explain."
"I want my body to possess limitless growth potential within that world's physical framework. Training, combat, and adaptation should continuously improve it without ordinary genetic limitations."
Rob's smile widened.
"You're asking for an evolving perfect body."
"Exactly."
"And you want it to begin at an exceptional level rather than requiring years of development?"
"Yes."
Rob considered the request.
"Granted, with one clarification."
Minjae waited.
"Your body will begin with physical capabilities comparable to the absolute highest class of fighters in Lookism. Its potential will continue developing through training and experience."
"Excellent."
"However, your body won't automatically possess every martial art."
"I wouldn't want it to."
Rob raised an eyebrow.
"Really?"
Minjae smiled.
"That's what my second wish is for."
Second Wish — Absolute Martial Genius
"I want the greatest martial arts talent possible."
Rob chuckled.
"Be specific."
"Perfect comprehension of combat techniques. The ability to understand, reproduce, and improve martial arts after observing them."
Minjae leaned forward.
"Not merely copying movements. I want to understand the principles behind them."
Rob's expression became interested.
Minjae continued.
"If I observe a boxing combination, I want to understand its mechanics, timing, weaknesses, and potential improvements."
He raised one finger.
"If I see a technique from Kyokushin Karate, Muay Thai, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, wrestling, or any other martial art, I want to comprehend it almost immediately."
A second finger.
"I want extraordinary combat intelligence, instinctive tactical adaptation, and the ability to develop my own techniques."
A third finger.
"And I want my talent to extend beyond ordinary martial arts. Whatever advanced combat principles exist in Lookism, I want the potential to understand and master them."
Rob studied him.
"You're essentially requesting a combat talent superior to the greatest copying geniuses in that world."
"Correct."
"And the ability to improve what you copy."
"Exactly."
Rob laughed.
"Ambitious."
"I've always considered modesty overrated."
"Granted."
The second golden light entered Minjae's chest.
He felt nothing.
Yet somehow, he understood that something extraordinary had changed.
Rob leaned back.
"One wish remaining."
Minjae became thoughtful.
His first two wishes guaranteed extraordinary physical ability and martial talent.
But Lookism wasn't simply about fighting.
It was about people.
Loyalty.
Ambition.
Organizations.
Money.
Influence.
And the relationships that determined whether a powerful individual became a respected leader or an isolated monster.
He had already spent one lifetime learning how to command people.
He didn't need a supernatural ability that forced others to obey him.
That would be boring.
Instead, he wanted something that would ensure he could never be caught helpless by an opponent simply because his body couldn't respond quickly enough.
He thought of Gun Park.
Then of Daniel Park.
And finally, of the terrifying combat state known as Ultra Instinct.
Minjae smiled.
"I know what I want."
Third Wish — Sovereign Instinct
"I want a unique version of Ultra Instinct."
Rob raised an eyebrow.
"Unique how?"
"Complete conscious control."
Minjae continued.
"I don't want to lose my personality or become an unconscious fighting machine. I want my mind to remain fully active."
Rob nodded.
"Continue."
"My body should instinctively identify the most efficient movements, react to threats at extraordinary speed, and coordinate my physical abilities without hesitation."
He paused.
"But unlike a purely instinctive fighter, I want to retain the ability to deceive opponents, deliberately change my rhythm, and make strategic decisions."
Rob smiled.
"You're asking for a fusion of perfect combat instincts and conscious tactical control."
"Yes."
"And you want it active whenever you choose?"
"Exactly."
Rob considered the request.
Then nodded.
"Granted."
The final golden light disappeared into Minjae's body.
For several moments, the white expanse remained silent.
Then Rob clapped his hands.
"Congratulations. Your three wishes have been accepted."
Minjae smiled.
"That was easier than expected."
"Don't get too comfortable."
Minjae raised an eyebrow.
Rob continued.
"Your abilities will be extraordinary, but you won't possess unlimited stamina, invulnerability, or supernatural regeneration. You can still be injured, and sufficiently dangerous circumstances can still kill you."
"Reasonable."
"Your martial comprehension also won't automatically grant you knowledge of techniques you've never encountered."
"Naturally."
"And while your instincts will be exceptional, they cannot predict information that your senses and experience provide no basis for."
Minjae nodded.
He had no objection.
A world without danger would become boring rather quickly.
"Now," Rob said, "there's one final matter."
"Which is?"
"Your reincarnation."
A New Identity
Rob waved his hand.
An enormous screen appeared in the white expanse.
It displayed a photograph of a teenage boy.
Black hair.
Sharp features.
Dark eyes.
A handsome face that seemed almost deliberately designed to attract attention.
The boy stood approximately 187 centimeters tall, with a lean, athletic build.
Minjae examined the photograph.
"Not bad."
Rob chuckled.
"Your new body."
"Age?"
"Seventeen."
"Family?"
"Your father died several years ago. Your mother is alive, and you have no siblings."
Minjae's expression changed slightly.
He hadn't expected that.
"What's her situation?"
"She owns a small restaurant in Seoul. You're not wealthy, but you're comfortable enough."
"Any serious problems?"
"Nothing extraordinary."
Minjae nodded.
"Good."
He had no interest in beginning his new life by immediately watching his family suffer through some contrived tragedy.
Rob continued.
"Your new name will be Kang Minjun."
Minjae smiled.
"Close enough."
"Your birthday is September 14."
"And the timeline?"
Rob's smile widened.
"Now that's an important question."
Minjae leaned forward.
"Well?"
"You'll arrive several months before Daniel Park transfers to J High School."
Minjae's eyes sharpened.
Before the beginning of the main story.
That meant the Four Major Crews already existed.
Gun Park and Goo Kim were active.
Charles Choi was continuing his plans.
And the major conflicts that would eventually shake Seoul had not yet fully unfolded.
He would have time to establish himself.
Time to understand the world.
Time to gather allies.
And perhaps most importantly, time to enjoy his second life before becoming involved in its most dangerous affairs.
"Where in Seoul?" Minjae asked.
"Mapo District."
"School?"
"You're transferring to a local high school next week."
"J High?"
"Not initially."
Minjae nodded.
That was fine.
He didn't need to meet the main characters immediately.
In fact, doing so too early might be counterproductive.
He wanted to understand his surroundings first.
Discover what had changed.
Learn how his new abilities worked.
And decide what kind of organization he wanted to build.
He had already made the mistake of rushing into the underworld once.
This time, he could afford to be patient.
Rob watched him.
"You're planning something."
"Several things."
"Care to share?"
Minjae smiled.
"First, I'm going to enjoy being seventeen again."
Rob laughed.
"Understandable."
"Then I'll learn how this world works."
"And after that?"
Minjae's smile became sharper.
"I'll build a gang."
"Another Black Dragon Association?"
"No."
He shook his head.
"My first organization was built out of necessity. We needed money, protection, and somewhere to belong."
He looked toward the photograph.
"This time, I have a choice."
Rob waited.
Minjae continued.
"I want to build an organization that attracts extraordinary people. Fighters with ambition. Talented individuals overlooked by everyone else. People who want something more than spending their lives following orders."
"And you'll lead them?"
"Naturally."
Rob chuckled.
"Why would they follow you?"
Minjae smiled.
"Because I'll give them a reason."
There was no arrogance in his tone.
Only confidence born from experience.
He understood something that many powerful fighters never learned.
Strength could make people afraid.
Money could make them obedient.
But genuine loyalty required something else.
A leader needed to understand what his followers wanted.
He needed to reward their efforts.
Protect their interests.
And make them believe that standing beside him offered a future worth fighting for.
Minjae had done it once.
He intended to do it again.
Only this time, he would possess the strength to stand at the front himself.
Rob nodded approvingly.
"Very well."
The white expanse began glowing.
Minjae felt his body becoming lighter.
He looked toward Rob.
"One last question."
"Yes?"
"Will I ever see you again?"
Rob smiled.
"Perhaps."
"That's vague."
"I'm a godlike being. Vague answers are part of the job."
Minjae laughed.
"Fair enough."
The light intensified.
Rob raised his teacup.
"Enjoy your second life, Kang Minjun."
Minjae closed his eyes.
And the world disappeared.
Seoul, South Korea
The first thing Kang Minjun noticed was the smell of grilled meat.
The second was the sound of a woman shouting.
"MINJUN!"
His eyes opened.
He was lying on a bed.
A real bed.
Sunlight streamed through partially opened curtains.
A ceiling fan rotated lazily above him.
From somewhere downstairs came the clattering of dishes and the unmistakable sound of someone preparing breakfast.
"MINJUN! IF YOU DON'T GET UP RIGHT NOW, I'M EATING YOUR BREAKFAST!"
Minjun stared at the ceiling.
For several seconds, he didn't move.
Then he slowly sat up.
His body felt different.
Lighter.
Stronger.
Almost unnaturally comfortable.
He looked down at his hands.
Young hands.
No scars.
No calluses from years of fighting.
No faint stiffness in his knuckles.
He flexed his fingers.
Every movement felt precise.
Effortless.
He stood.
The floor creaked beneath his feet.
A full-length mirror stood beside the wardrobe.
Minjun approached it.
A handsome teenager stared back.
Black hair fell messily across his forehead.
His shoulders were broad, his waist narrow, and his body possessed the lean muscular definition of an elite athlete.
He turned sideways.
Then raised one arm.
The muscles beneath his skin moved with extraordinary coordination.
He smiled.
"So it wasn't a dream."
He examined his face.
The resemblance to his previous appearance was noticeable.
Not identical.
But familiar enough that he didn't feel like a complete stranger.
He looked younger.
Considerably better-looking.
And judging from the way his body felt, Rob had delivered on his promises.
Minjun raised his hand.
He threw a slow punch.
The movement was perfectly balanced.
He tried another.
Then a third.
His body responded with remarkable precision.
He could feel the alignment of his shoulder, elbow, wrist, hips, and feet.
Every movement seemed instinctively optimized.
He stopped.
"Interesting."
He had trained in boxing, kickboxing, and grappling during his previous life.
His skills had been respectable.
But he had never been a world-class martial artist.
He had relied more heavily on tactics, weapons, and the people under his command.
Now, however, even the simplest movement felt extraordinary.
He wanted to test his strength.
Badly.
But punching through a wall on his first morning seemed like a poor way to introduce himself to his new mother.
"MINJUN!"
The woman's voice returned.
"ARE YOU DEAD?"
Minjun laughed.
"Not anymore."
"What?"
"COMING!"
He opened the bedroom door.
A narrow hallway stretched before him.
The house was modest but clean.
Family photographs decorated the walls.
A faint smell of coffee drifted upstairs.
Minjun paused beside one photograph.
It showed a younger version of himself standing beside a smiling woman.
She appeared to be in her early forties.
Her hair was tied behind her head, and she wore a simple apron.
Beside them stood a man with a warm expression.
His father.
Minjun examined the photograph quietly.
Rob had provided the basic memories associated with his new identity.
He knew his mother's name.
Kang Hyejin.
He knew his father's name.
Kang Donghyun.
He remembered the restaurant downstairs.
His childhood neighborhood.
His school.
His friends.
The memories were present, but they felt different from those of his previous life.
He could recall them clearly.
Yet he hadn't personally experienced them.
It was a strange sensation.
He wondered whether that would change with time.
Probably.
He descended the stairs.
The restaurant occupied the ground floor of their building.
It was small, with eight wooden tables and a kitchen separated from the dining area by a waist-high counter.
A television mounted near the entrance played the morning news.
Behind the counter stood a woman wearing a blue apron.
She turned when she heard his footsteps.
"There you are!"
Kang Hyejin placed her hands on her hips.
"Do you have any idea what time it is?"
Minjun glanced toward the wall clock.
9:18 a.m.
"Morning?"
She stared at him.
"Very funny."
He smiled.
"Thank you. I've been practicing."
Hyejin narrowed her eyes.
"You're unusually cheerful today."
"Should I be miserable?"
"That would at least explain why you ignored me for twenty minutes."
Minjun laughed.
She pointed toward a nearby table.
"Sit. Eat."
"Yes, ma'am."
A bowl of rice, grilled beef, soup, and several side dishes waited for him.
Minjun sat down.
He took one bite.
Then stopped.
The food was excellent.
He took another.
Hyejin watched him.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You're staring at the food."
"It's good."
She blinked.
"Of course it's good. I made it."
Minjun smiled.
"Then I should compliment the chef more often."
Hyejin shook her head.
"Something is definitely wrong with you."
But she was smiling.
Minjun continued eating.
For the first time in decades, he was having breakfast prepared by his mother.
His original mother had died when he was nineteen.
He hadn't thought about that memory in years.
Not because he'd forgotten her.
But because the underworld had gradually taught him to bury anything that could become a weakness.
Now, sitting in a small restaurant in Seoul, he felt an unexpected warmth.
He glanced toward Hyejin.
She was wiping down the counter while humming quietly.
I suppose this life has already given me something worth protecting.
He returned to his meal.
"Mom."
She looked up.
"Yes?"
"Do you need help with the restaurant today?"
Her hand stopped moving.
She stared at him.
Then looked toward the ceiling.
"Dear heavens."
Minjun frowned.
"What?"
"My son has been replaced by an alien."
He burst into laughter.
"Is it really that shocking?"
"You usually disappear the moment breakfast is finished."
"People change."
"Not overnight."
Minjun smiled.
"Then consider it a pleasant surprise."
Hyejin studied him for several seconds.
Then nodded.
"Fine. You can help with lunch."
"Deal."
She returned to cleaning.
Minjun finished his breakfast.
And for the first time since his reincarnation, he allowed himself to relax.
There was no need to conquer Seoul today.
No reason to seek out Gun Park.
No urgent necessity to challenge the Four Major Crews.
He had time.
And he intended to use it.
A Different Kind of Monster
At 11:30 a.m., Minjun discovered that helping at a restaurant was considerably more exhausting than he remembered.
Not physically.
His new body barely noticed the effort.
The problem was the customers.
An elderly man spent fifteen minutes explaining why the soup had tasted better in 1998.
A middle-aged woman complained that her rice was too hot.
And one university student attempted to flirt with Hyejin while Minjun was standing directly beside her.
Minjun found the entire experience hilarious.
"Mom," he whispered after the student left, "you've still got admirers."
Hyejin smacked his shoulder with a dish towel.
"Behave."
"I'm serious. Should I start interviewing potential stepfathers?"
"One more word and you're washing every dish in this restaurant."
Minjun raised both hands.
"Understood."
The lunch rush continued.
He carried dishes.
Cleaned tables.
Handled payments.
And quietly observed the neighborhood.
The restaurant stood near a busy commercial street.
Small shops occupied the surrounding buildings.
Students passed through on their way to convenience stores.
Office workers hurried between appointments.
Motorcycles delivered food.
Cars crawled through traffic.
Everything seemed perfectly ordinary.
Yet Minjun knew that somewhere within this city, extraordinary individuals were shaping the future of Korea's criminal underworld.
The Four Major Crews were already operating.
Gun Park was collecting money.
Goo Kim was pursuing his own interests.
And Charles Choi was quietly building the foundations of something much larger.
Minjun smiled to himself.
What a fascinating place.
"Minjun!"
He turned.
Hyejin stood beside the register.
"Could you take the trash outside?"
"Sure."
She handed him two large bags.
He carried them toward the alley behind the restaurant.
The afternoon sunlight barely reached between the buildings.
Several cardboard boxes were stacked beside a dumpster.
Minjun placed the bags inside.
Then he heard voices.
"Come on, man. Just give it to us."
"I told you, I don't have anything!"
"Then empty your pockets."
Minjun glanced toward the far end of the alley.
Three teenagers surrounded a smaller boy wearing a school uniform.
One had dyed blond hair.
Another wore a black baseball cap.
The third was considerably larger than the others.
The smaller boy was holding his backpack tightly.
Minjun watched.
The blond teenager shoved him against the wall.
"Don't make this difficult."
The boy stumbled.
His glasses fell to the ground.
Minjun sighed.
Seriously?
He had been in this world for less than a day.
And apparently, the local idiots were already auditioning for his attention.
He considered walking away.
The situation wasn't his responsibility.
He had no connection to the victim.
And attracting unnecessary attention on his first day seemed foolish.
Then the larger teenager kicked the boy in the stomach.
The victim collapsed.
Minjun's expression cooled.
He had never been particularly sentimental.
But he disliked people who enjoyed tormenting someone who couldn't fight back.
More importantly, the three teenagers were standing behind his mother's restaurant.
That made them his problem.
He walked toward them.
"Excuse me."
The blond teenager turned.
"What?"
Minjun smiled.
"Would you mind moving your little gathering somewhere else?"
The three stared at him.
The large teenager stepped forward.
"Who the hell are you?"
"Someone trying to have a peaceful afternoon."
The blond boy laughed.
"Then mind your own business."
Minjun glanced toward the smaller student.
Blood trickled from his lip.
His glasses lay broken on the pavement.
Minjun looked back toward the three.
"Unfortunately, you've made that difficult."
The large teenager approached.
He stood roughly the same height as Minjun but weighed considerably more.
He cracked his knuckles.
"You trying to act tough?"
Minjun examined him.
Poor stance.
Weight distributed too heavily over his front foot.
Shoulders tense.
Hands positioned far too low.
He could already predict the boy's first attack.
Interesting.
His martial comprehension seemed to operate almost automatically.
He wasn't merely observing the teenager's posture.
He understood the mechanical weaknesses within it.
Minjun smiled.
"Not particularly."
The large teenager swung.
A wild right hook.
Minjun moved.
Barely.
The fist passed beside his cheek.
Before the teenager could recover, Minjun placed two fingers against his forehead.
And pushed.
The movement looked almost casual.
But the boy stumbled backward several steps before falling onto his backside.
Silence.
The blond teenager stared.
"What the hell?"
Minjun looked down at the fallen boy.
Then at his own hand.
He had used almost no strength.
Yet the result had been ridiculous.
So this is what Rob meant.
His body possessed extraordinary physical capabilities.
And his instincts had immediately identified the most efficient way to exploit the attacker's imbalance.
Minjun smiled.
"That was educational."
The blond teenager became furious.
"You bastard!"
He charged.
Minjun stepped aside.
A light tap against the back of the teenager's knee destroyed his balance.
The boy fell forward.
His face struck a pile of cardboard.
The third teenager froze.
Minjun turned toward him.
"Your turn?"
The boy shook his head rapidly.
"No, thanks."
"Smart."
Minjun pointed toward the fallen teenagers.
"Take your friends and leave."
The boy hurried to help them.
Within seconds, all three were retreating down the alley.
The blond teenager looked back.
"This isn't over!"
Minjun smiled pleasantly.
"Then bring someone more interesting next time."
The teenager immediately turned away.
Minjun watched them disappear.
Then looked toward the smaller student.
"You alright?"
The boy stared at him.
"Y-yes."
Minjun picked up the broken glasses.
One lens was cracked.
He handed them over.
"Sorry about those."
The boy accepted them.
"Thank you."
"What's your name?"
"Han Seojun."
Minjun nodded.
"Kang Minjun."
Seojun hesitated.
"Are you… a martial artist?"
Minjun considered the question.
"Something like that."
"That was incredible."
"Those three weren't exactly impressive."
Seojun looked toward the alley entrance.
"They're from a nearby school. They've been taking money from students for weeks."
Minjun's expression became thoughtful.
"Really?"
Seojun nodded.
"Nobody wants to report them because their seniors are supposed to be dangerous."
Minjun looked toward the street.
Local school gangs.
Of course.
Every major criminal organization began somewhere.
Some started with neighborhood delinquents.
Others grew out of school fighting circles.
And a few eventually became powerful enough to influence entire districts.
He wondered whether these teenagers were connected to any established crew.
Probably not directly.
But the possibility was worth investigating.
Minjun looked toward Seojun.
"Do you live around here?"
"Yes."
"Then come by the restaurant sometime."
Seojun blinked.
"Restaurant?"
Minjun pointed behind him.
"My mother owns it."
"Oh."
"Tell her Minjun said to give you something to eat."
Seojun looked embarrassed.
"I don't have much money."
Minjun laughed.
"Who said anything about money?"
The boy stared.
Then bowed deeply.
"Thank you!"
"Don't mention it."
Minjun watched him leave.
He turned toward the restaurant.
And paused.
His reflection appeared faintly in a nearby window.
He examined himself.
No elevated breathing.
No fatigue.
No adrenaline.
He had handled three teenagers so effortlessly that the encounter barely registered as physical activity.
He smiled.
This body really is ridiculous.
But something else interested him more.
During the brief confrontation, his mind had analyzed every movement almost instantly.
He had recognized openings, calculated distances, and understood how to defeat his opponents without consciously thinking through each step.
And he hadn't even activated Sovereign Instinct.
That meant his ordinary combat comprehension was already extraordinary.
He wondered what would happen if he faced someone genuinely skilled.
Someone like Zack Lee.
Vasco.
Or one of the stronger fighters from the Four Major Crews.
The thought made him grin.
Now that would be fun.
"MINJUN!"
His mother's voice interrupted him.
"WHERE DID YOU GO?"
He laughed.
"COMING!"
He returned to the restaurant.
There would be plenty of time for fighting later.
For now, he had dishes to wash.
An Unexpected Invitation
That evening, Minjun sat behind the restaurant counter, browsing his phone.
He had spent the previous hour examining local maps, school locations, and public information about Seoul's districts.
His new identity possessed ordinary social media accounts, a modest bank balance, and several contacts from his previous school.
Nothing unusual.
He was grateful for that.
An ordinary background would allow him to establish himself without attracting immediate attention.
He opened a map.
Mapo.
Gangbuk.
Gangdong.
Gangnam.
Gangseo.
The districts associated with the Four Major Crews were spread across Seoul.
Minjun studied their locations.
Workers. Big Deal. Hostel. God Dog.
He knew the organizations from the webtoon.
But knowing fictional events and understanding the actual circumstances surrounding them were different matters.
He needed firsthand information.
He also needed money.
His previous life had taught him that an organization built entirely around fighting eventually became dependent upon whoever controlled its finances.
He had no intention of repeating that mistake.
This time, he wanted legitimate businesses from the beginning.
Something sustainable.
Something that could expand.
Perhaps a security company.
A chain of gyms.
Restaurants.
Logistics.
He smiled.
Starting from nothing again.
The idea was strangely refreshing.
His phone vibrated.
An unfamiliar number appeared.
Minjun answered.
"Hello?"
A young man's voice emerged.
"Is this Kang Minjun?"
"Depends who's asking."
There was a pause.
"Uh… I'm Park Hyunwoo."
Minjun searched his new memories.
Park Hyunwoo.
A former classmate.
Seventeen years old.
Average grades.
Talkative.
Generally friendly.
He remembered him now.
"Hyunwoo. What's up?"
"Oh, good. You remember me."
"Should I have forgotten?"
"No, it's just… you haven't answered my messages for a while."
Minjun glanced toward his notifications.
Several unread messages.
Apparently, his new identity hadn't been particularly sociable recently.
"My bad. Been busy."
"Right."
Hyunwoo hesitated.
"Listen, some of us are meeting tomorrow."
"Some of us?"
"Me, Jisoo, Donghyun, and a couple of others."
Minjun leaned back.
"What's the occasion?"
"Nothing special. We're going to an arcade, maybe get something to eat."
"Sounds reasonable."
"So you'll come?"
Minjun considered the invitation.
He had spent twenty years surrounded by criminals, businessmen, and people who wanted something from him.
A normal afternoon with teenagers might actually be enjoyable.
"Sure."
"Seriously?"
"Why do you sound surprised?"
"Well, you've been pretty distant lately."
Minjun smiled faintly.
"People change."
"That's what my mother says whenever my father starts another diet."
Minjun laughed.
Hyunwoo chuckled.
"Anyway, we're meeting at two."
"Send me the address."
"Will do."
The call ended.
Minjun placed his phone down.
An ordinary social gathering.
No gang wars.
No legendary fighters.
No criminal conspiracies.
Just a group of teenagers spending an afternoon together.
He smiled.
Why not?
He had wanted to enjoy his second life.
And there was no reason that enjoyment had to begin with violence.
The First Night
At 11:15 p.m., Minjun returned to his bedroom.
The restaurant had closed.
His mother was downstairs counting the day's earnings.
The house was quiet.
He locked his door.
Then moved the desk and chair toward the wall.
He had been waiting all day for this.
A chance to properly examine his abilities.
He stood in the center of the room.
Closed his eyes.
And focused.
His breathing slowed.
His awareness sharpened.
He could hear the faint movement of traffic outside.
The ticking of the wall clock.
The soft vibration of the refrigerator downstairs.
He opened his eyes.
Then activated his third wish.
Sovereign Instinct.
The change was immediate.
His perception sharpened dramatically.
Every object in the room seemed to occupy a perfectly defined position.
Distances became intuitive.
Angles became obvious.
His body settled into a stance that felt simultaneously relaxed and prepared for violence.
Minjun raised his hand.
He threw a punch.
The movement was extraordinarily fast.
A sharp crack split the air.
He stopped immediately.
His eyes widened.
He examined his fist.
Then slowly smiled.
"Well…"
He looked toward the mirror.
His eyes had changed.
The pupils appeared darker, surrounded by faint silver rings.
His expression remained perfectly normal.
He could think clearly.
Make decisions.
Feel emotions.
And consciously control every movement.
Yet beneath that conscious control existed something extraordinary.
An instinctive combat system that continuously optimized his body.
He could feel how to move.
How to strike.
How to defend.
How to conserve energy.
How to exploit openings.
It was as though his body possessed an entire lifetime of combat experience that he had never personally acquired.
Minjun laughed softly.
"Rob, you magnificent old bastard."
He deactivated the ability.
The silver rings disappeared.
His perception returned to normal.
Or rather, what now counted as normal.
Because even without Sovereign Instinct, his body remained absurdly powerful.
He sat on the edge of his bed.
For several minutes, he simply thought.
He had died.
Met a mysterious being.
Chosen a fictional universe.
Received three extraordinary abilities.
And awakened as a seventeen-year-old teenager in Seoul.
It was ridiculous.
Completely absurd.
Yet here he was.
Minjun looked toward the photograph beside his bed.
His new mother smiled beside him.
His deceased father stood behind them.
He picked up the frame.
For a moment, his expression softened.
Then he placed it back.
He had been given something he never expected.
A second chance.
Not merely to become powerful.
He had already experienced power.
Not simply to become wealthy.
He knew how to make money.
This time, he wanted something different.
He wanted to enjoy the journey.
To build relationships that weren't based entirely on fear or financial interest.
To find people whose ambitions matched his own.
And to create an organization that would eventually stand above the existing powers of the Lookism world.
He would not rush.
He would not blindly chase the original plot.
And he certainly wouldn't spend his days desperately trying to impress the famous characters.
If he encountered them naturally, so be it.
If they became allies, excellent.
If they became enemies…
Minjun smiled.
That could be entertaining too.
He switched off the lamp.
The room fell dark.
Outside, Seoul continued its restless movement.
Somewhere in the city, Gun Park was likely collecting money from one of the Four Major Crews.
Goo Kim was probably doing something irresponsible.
Charles Choi was pursuing ambitions that would eventually shake Korea.
And Daniel Park had not yet begun the extraordinary journey that would change his life.
None of them knew that a new player had entered their world.
A former underworld king.
A man who understood both the value of loyalty and the usefulness of violence.
A man who had been granted physical talent beyond the limits of ordinary fighters.
And someone who intended to build an empire without becoming another person's pawn.
But tonight, Kang Minjun had no interest in any of that.
He pulled the blanket over himself.
Closed his eyes.
And smiled.
"Tomorrow should be fun."
For the first time in many years, he fell asleep looking forward to an ordinary day.