[South Busan — Broken Arcade, Back Alley, Street Corners -Same evening]
Rain-tipped neon flickered across cracked pavement. It smelled like stale beer and wet cardboard.
Samuel stepped from the shadow, eyes locked on the corner where an older teen from Frame Wreck shoved a smaller kid—Eli's contact from Dogsung, sealing ramen packets in the alley.
The bully's words were venom:
"CTRL9 wants their drop. Don't choke me out."
Samuel didn't announce himself. He didn't shout. He just swung.
Two strikes: first to the collarbone, second to the jaw. The Frame Wreck kid hit the ground hard, straight-leg stunned.
Samuel crouched. His voice low:
"Where's the drop point?"
The kid spat blood, wheezing.
"Back of the arcade. Upstairs."
Samuel stood, dripping sweat and rain.
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[Inside the arcade — "NeoGame"]
The front was quiet, bleached silence in broken booths and dead screens. Samuel crept in, joined by Jace and Seojun—back straight, cold eyes.
Two more Frame Wreck thugs pushed Jace from behind.Jace turned.No hesitation.A crack to the temple. Two more followed him in a blur of fists and shoulder dives.
Seojun ducked past, finding a trash bin lid as makeshift shield. He stamped a boot into a guy's ribs mid-swing.
Samuel slipped between them, arms circling.
"CTRL9's watching. I can't."
One thug tried to run. Samuel caught him by the collar, lifted and slammed him sideways into the ticket counter.
Broken glass rained. Silent water dripped.
Samuel didn't speak. Just turned to Jace and Seojun—both bloodied, both breathing.
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Rain gushes outside as the three move through back corridors.
They burst into the arcade's hidden stairwell — and catch Gilwoo, Taejin, and two Drift fighters lounging by a broken window.
Gilwoo studied Samuel's stance.
"I thought you said this was your mission."
Samuel wiped blood from his knuckles quietly.
"Does it matter who's angry?"
Gilwoo nodded slowly.
"We didn't come to help. We came to… see who messing in our turf."
Taejin cracked his neck; Drift moved forward, weapons bare.
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Samuel led them upward.Second floor. A locked door marked "OFFICE".
He kicked it open. Inside: four fresh Frame Wreck marines — one with a crowbar, another with duct-tape across his knuckles.
They advanced.Samuel squared off with one who cracked knuckles.
Jace intercepted the crowbar.Seojun tangled another two against the walls.
Gilwoo and two Drift guys moved in, cutting the marines off from escape.
It became layered — controlled chaos:
Drift fighters quiet Khatu punches
Jace spun pairs into each other
Seojun used open palms to break arms
Samuel closed in, one and done hits, silent, surgical
No heroics. No taunts— just bodies on cold linoleum.
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Samuel moved to the center of the room. No big reveal— no FBI file.He pulled a piece of paper from the desk drawer:
"Class-07 – Ghost Protocol"
Not a secret lab, just a stack of printouts. Samuel stared.
A knocks came:
Gilwoo's voice, calm:
"That your signal?"
Samuel handed Gilwoo the printout.Gilwoo glanced at it, then slipped it under his coat.
He nodded at Samuel—
"Don't let them define you. That file— it's their script. You write the rest."
Taejin cracked his knuckles like a pistol shot.
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They left without sirens or fuss.Outside, rain washed blood from boots.
In the alley, Gilwoo lit a cigarette. He exhaled slow smoke.He watched the three:
Samuel held the paper rolled in his fist.
"So?"
Gilwoo didn't answer right away. He blew smoke over Samuel's hand.
"Your next act begins when they know the pencil's loaded."
Samuel pocketed the paper.
"Then we just need to sharpen it."
Gilwoo stepped closer.
"Keep us sharp too."
He flicked the cigarette and disappeared into the night.
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[North Busan Juvenile Center – Lights-Out, Exercise Yard]
Eli stood alone under the broken skylight, arms crossed.A single guard passed— did not say a word.
Eli tilted his head, listening.
Far off— rain against metal, street rumble, a distant pull of wind.
He whispered:
"They're moving."
And he didn't smile.