After seeing Soo-Yeon disappear into the van, Min stood frozen in the street.
Tears ran down his face but not from sadness.
They burned hot, fueled by hatred.
Not hatred for her. Never for her.
Hatred for what the city had become.
For what Mapo had been reduced to.
For what Red Pulse had turned survival into.
His fingers curled into a fist until his nails dug into his palm.
Internet shutdown or not…
Network or no network…
He would bring his skills back to the table.
And he would take the streets back.
Min ran.
The clan house door slammed shut behind him with a hollow thud.
The generator hummed as it always did, steady, indifferent but the air inside the room tightened instantly. MC ORCA looked up from his seat.
"You get your fresh air?" he asked lightly.
Min didn't answer.
He dropped his backpack onto the table. His chest rose and fell as he tried to steady his breathing. His hands were shaking not from fear, but from restraint.
Chan-Sik noticed immediately.
"What happened?" he asked.
Min lifted his head.
His eyes were clear. Focused.
"It's Red Pulse," Min said. "They took Soo-Yeon."
The room went silent.
No gasps. No surprise.
Min frowned. "Wait…" He looked between them. "Did you know?"
MC ORCA stepped forward and placed a hand on Min's shoulder, nodding once.
"We didn't want to say anything when you first got back," he said carefully. "Didn't want you spiraling."
Chan-Sik sighed. "We thought it'd be better if you found your footing first."
Something inside Min snapped.
He swept his arm across the table, knocking old computer parts to the floor. Plastic cracked. Metal clattered loudly against the concrete.
"Why wasn't that the first thing you told me?" Min shouted. "This changes everything!"
The room froze.
"Red Pulse needs to go down," Min continued, voice shaking with rage. "I'm coming back. And I'm coming back hard."
Chan-Sik and MC ORCA exchanged a glance.
"Are you serious?" MC ORCA asked.
Min didn't hesitate. "I'm serious."
Across the room, the other two stopped what they were doing.
Hye-Jin straightened in her chair. Sung-Woo's fingers paused mid-adjustment on a cable. Even the generator sounded louder in the silence.
"She joined them," Min said. "Or at least… she thinks she did. They're using her."
Chan-Sik swore under his breath. "Han-Ryeong?"
Min nodded once.
"That bastard's still breathing," Chan-Sik muttered. "Figures."
Min stepped forward and planted both hands on the table.
"I'm done hiding," he said. "No more watching Mapo rot. No more pretending this isn't my fight."
Chan-Sik studied him closely. The grief was still there but it had hardened, sharpened into something dangerous.
"You sure?" Chan-Sik asked. "Once you step back in, there's no quiet life left."
Min met his gaze.
"I came back for a reason."
Chan-Sik's face split into a grin Min hadn't seen in years.
"Hell yes."
He clapped his hands once, the sound echoing off the walls.
"Alright, then listen up," Chan-Sik said, his voice carrying authority again. "If Min's back, the Warlocks are back. No half-measures."
Hye-Jin leaned forward. "What's the plan?"
"First," Chan-Sik said, turning toward the remaining PCs, "we rebuild."
He gestured to the machines patched together, scarred, barely alive.
"StarCraft isn't just muscle memory," he continued. "It's rhythm. Decision-making under pressure. Map awareness. Control."
Min nodded. "I want everything. Ladder reps. Custom drills. Old-school execution maps."
Sung-Woo spoke calmly. "APM recovery won't be the issue. Mental stamina will be. We simulate long sets."
Chan-Sik chuckled. "See? Already thinking like a team."
He reached beneath the table and slid something forward.
A keyboard.
Old. Worn smooth.
Jae-Hwan's.
"We start tonight," Chan-Sik said.
Min hesitated just for a second then sat down.
The monitor flickered to life.
Terran. Zerg. Protoss.
Min flexed his fingers.
The first match was ugly.