*Warning: This chapter contains violence and strong language.
On 30th December 2041, 8:00 pm The office thrummed with low, mechanical life — a den of digital hums and flickering neon panels. Rows of lacquered desks stood beneath ceiling lamps that buzzed faintly, their glow bathing the room in a cold, clinical white. Maps of turf territories blinked across holo-screens, marked in shifting red and blue grids. The scent of stale coffee, soldering plastic, and worn-out leather lingered like ghosts from too many long nights.
At the far end of the room, Katoge sat hunched at his desk, sleeves rolled up, fingers dancing wearily across his keyboard. His monitor displayed a string of spreadsheets and encrypted territory logs, showing the financial surge following the downfall of the Kagura gang. Data percentages scrolled endlessly, flashing projections of growing revenue and property expansions. A steaming cup of coffee — untouched — stood sentry beside him, its warmth long faded.
His eyes were heavy-lidded and ringed with fatigue. He hadn't slept in days.
A voice broke through the quiet.
"Katoge!"
He looked up sharply. It was Noda, his usual impish smirk tempered tonight with something more serious. His fingers twirled his signature pin needle with idle menace.
"Boss has assigned a mission."
Katoge straightened slightly, rubbing his temples. "What mission?"
Noda leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough. "Collection. We're to retrieve a gold consignment from Mr. Lewystan Reess. He'll be waiting at Midori-no-Machi district — 9:00 sharp."
Katoge's brow furrowed. "That's in Fujinami. A bit far out, isn't it?"
"True, but it's ours now. Ever since we wiped out the last of Kagura's filth." Noda flicked a grin. "Our turf, clean and branded."
Katoge nodded slowly, still processing. He reached for the coffee, then stopped. Cold.
Noda added, "Boss also said I'm riding with you."
Katoge glanced at him with a raised brow. "So I'm being supervised now?"
Noda chuckled and tapped the edge of his pin against Katoge's desk. "Just in case you do anything daft."
Katoge gave a dry smirk. "Let me guess. If I mess up, you'll yank my eyes out?"
Noda shrugged playfully. "Glad we understand each other."
He patted Katoge on the shoulder. "Get ready. We roll in twenty."
Katoge sighed and leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the screen before finally closing the data feed. Another errand, another quiet storm.
They arrived just as the hour struck, their vehicle gliding to a halt beneath the soft glow of bioluminescent lanterns that floated lazily above the boulevard. Midori-no-Machi was no ordinary district — it pulsed with life, literally.
The buildings around them weren't built; they were grown. Towering biospheres of living wisteria rose from the ground like sentient giants, their knotted roots entwined with the pavements and walls. Blossoms unfurled with the movement of air, whispering softly in response to passing footsteps. AI companions — animated vines and bioluminescent flowers — slithered and danced across the structures, curling protectively around the homes they served.
The night air smelled of orchid nectar and static electricity, and everything glowed in gentle hues of violet and green. But under the beauty lay a sinister hum — this district was under constant surveillance, and the eyes of SSCBF satellites blinked down through the floral canopies, ever watchful.
Katoge and Noda slipped into the crowd, weaving past residents guided by their vine-like assistants.
"It's hard to find him in this place," Katoge muttered, his eyes scanning the neon-dappled alleyways.
"Of course it is," Noda replied, his voice tight with irritation as he pulled his hood lower. "The walls bloody talk back here — even the air probably files reports. Keep your head down. If SSCBF catches a glimpse of us, we're done."
Then — chaos.
A cry from an alley nearby caught their attention. They rushed in.
There, crumpled beside a moss-covered wall pulsing with dim, sorrowful light, lay Lewystan Reess, his breathing ragged, blood trickling down his temple like spilled ink. Noda knelt and hauled him up gently, gripping his collar.
"Reess! What happened? Who did this to you?"
Reess's eyes fluttered, glassy and vacant. He coughed, his voice a sandpaper whisper.
"They… took… the… gold…"
Katoge leaned in. "Who? Who took it?"
Reess's lips trembled. "It's… a… Hahmura…"
And then, silence. His body slumped. Lifeless.
A long pause followed, thick with tension. Then Noda stood slowly, his jaw clenched, eyes narrowing like drawn blades.
"Hahmura Yoonhoon." He spat the name like venom.
His voice turned low and dangerous. "That bastard's got a death wish."
Katoge's gaze dropped to the ground, brows furrowed in thought. "Another enemy... another storm."
Hahmura Yoonhoon — a name that carried the stench of chaos across every border he crossed. Infamous and detested in the underworld, he was the erratic and hot-blooded leader of the Hahmura Jigu Tongma, a volatile mob syndicate birthed in the shadows of Korea's old city slums.
Short-tempered and sharp as a switchblade, Hahmura wasn't just unpredictable — he was a bloody menace. A deadeye with firearms, he'd made his name not through loyalty, but sheer lunacy. He sparked violence like a match to dry straw, and where he walked, blood followed.
Back in the alleyway, Noda's hand trembled—not from fear, but fury—as he gripped his long pin needle with such force the metal groaned under the pressure.
"Hahmura... I'll put you down like the rabid dog you are," he growled through gritted teeth, eyes burning with resolve.
Katoge stood silently beside him, his eyes cold and calculating, already piecing together the fastest route to vengeance.
Later, at a roadside diner cloaked in neon haze, they met with their trusted informant, Gonda Subuichi. He leaned against a rusted vending machine, cigarette dangling from his lips, the smoke curling lazily around his snow-white hair.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," Gonda muttered, exhaling a plume of smoke without lifting his gaze.
"We're after Hahmura Yoonhoon," Katoge said sharply.
Gonda scoffed. "That lunatic? You planning on going after him with just the two of you? He's not some back-alley thug — he's got his whole band of savages watching his back."
"Where is he?" Noda snapped, voice low and hard as gravel.
Gonda sighed and flicked his ash aside. "Baegyeong Province — district called Haneulhae. He's holed up in an old, gutted complex. Abandoned building on the east edge, past the shipping yards. Looks derelict, but it's crawling with his crew. Don't walk in without a coffin prepared."
Noda gave a tight smirk. "Let him prepare the coffin. We'll deliver the corpse."
Gonda raised an eyebrow. "Just don't underestimate him. He's not stable. If he smells blood… he won't stop shooting until everyone's dead — including his own men."
Katoge gave a curt nod. "Thanks, Gonda. As always."
The two turned on their heels, the air thick with storm. The hunt had begun.
As night descends over Baegyeong's coastal skyline, the Haneulhae District becomes a surreal ballet of light and reflection. The skyscrapers that stretch skyward like glass monoliths begin to shimmer, their exteriors made of bio-reactive nanoglass that absorbs ambient data and morphs into living canvases—fluidly painting constellations, ocean waves, and digital koi swimming through holographic clouds.
From above, it feels as if the heavens have dipped into the sea.
Ambient drones hum softly as they drift between towers, their lights trailing like fireflies of neon pink, seafoam green, and cobalt blue. The sea breeze carries the subtle scent of salted electric fog, a by-product of the nearby tidal energy conversion bays. Digital lotus blossoms bloom mid-air across the skybridge walkways—symbols of the upcoming Digital Lotus Festival—each one a holographic offering of memory and balance.
As for its cultural life, on sky terraces, aristocrats, innovators, and Federal delegates dine in gravity-defying orbs, their tables spinning slowly as holograms of deep-sea creatures glide past.
Street performers wear projection-augmented masks, dancing to glitch-synth ballads that blend ancient Korean court music with distorted underwater acoustics.
A giant billboard beams a poetic loop:
"하늘과 바다, 하나의 숨결"
(Heaven and Sea, One Breath)
Hover patrols from the Federal Army Corporation cruise the skies, their black armour glinting beneath Baegyeong's artificial auroras, scanning the promenade with omnidirectional sensor-lights. On every corner, AI kiosks disguised as street lamps whisper soft updates to passersby—weather, mood forecasts, and planetary tidal rhythms.Subsurface dataflows ripple beneath the glass-like ground of the central avenue, occasionally lighting up with encrypted transmissions decoded only by the most elite of hacker factions.
The Temple of Aeon Currents—a structure hovering between sky and sea—begins the Lotus Descent Ritual. Dozens of bioluminescent drones shaped like lotus petals float downward from the high tower, casting gentle light across the coast as citizens bow their heads, whispering coded prayers into the wind.
But not all is serenity.
In the alleyways behind glimmering facades, the whispers of Sinners, bio-engineered outlaws, and hacked lotus couriers stir beneath the neon veil.
They move silently between vending shrines and illusionary archways, plotting, surviving, or simply watching—waiting for the moment when Baegyeong's mask of perfection might slip.
Katoge and Noda crept up to the ramshackle edifice. Broken panes reflected the moonlight like fractured shards. Katoge fixed his spectacles with icy composure.
Katoge (quiet, determined): "This is it."
Noda bounced on the balls of his feet, impatience etched in every movement.
Noda: "Well then—shall we charge headlong into the lion's den?"
With a mutual nod, they burst through the door. Inside, Hahmura Yoonhoon rose from a battered armchair, flanked by several burly cohorts. His voice curled with malice.
Hahmura (voice dripping venom): "Ah, the valiant duo arrives at last! Did you fancy a hero's welcome?"
Noda's eyes blazed, venom beneath his words.
Noda (voice low, ice-cold): "You scoundrel took innocent lives—today we send you packing, bucket of bolts and all."
Hahmura barked orders; his goons lunged. Twin flashes—the sharp twang of Katoge's pistol, the glint of Noda's needle. One thug buckled from a silent shot to the knee; another staggered under a merciless pin-needle strike. Bodies crumpled—quick, efficient, merciless.
Amid the uproar, Hahmura darted away, disappearing into the shadows. Noda barked:
Noda: "Katoge—after him!"
Katoge sprinted. Hahmura ducked behind rusted machinery and let rip with his pistol. Bullets whizzed past; Katoge rolled, heart pounding, finding cover behind a collapsed support beam. He counted his breaths, hunted for an opening.
Above, a battered banner—dull crimson—flapped in a shaky breeze. A plan flickered.
Katoge steadied his aim and fired at the bracket. There was a grating creak and then a thunderous crash as the banner toppled in a cascade of debris, slamming onto Hahmura. The thug lay stunned, buried beneath cloth and rubble—but scrambled to his feet, blood running down his brow, defiance burning in his eyes.
Before he could rise, Noda struck from behind like a viper. A steel-toed kick to the stomach knocked the wind from him. Katoge, with chilling precision, stepped forward and delivered a crushing punch to Hahmura's jaw, splintering his defiance into pain.
Hahmura sank to his knees, dazed, his voice a rasp of shock.
Hahmura (gasping): "You… bastards… you'll…"
But the words died in his bleeding mouth as Katoge and Noda closed in, eyes hard as flint.
The abandoned building was a carcass of brick and rust, the air thick with the reek of damp concrete and old blood. Hahmura slumped in a rickety chair, his wrists bound with coarse hemp rope, his face already a mosaic of bruises from Katoge's earlier hospitality.
Noda circled him like a vulture with a scalpel, his voice a serrated purr.
"Why did you kill Mr. Lewystan Reess?" A pause. "And where. Is. The gold?"
Hahmura's lips remained stitched shut, his eyes glazed with defiance—or perhaps the dull sheen of impending doom.
Katoge didn't wait for poetry.
The aluminum bat cracked against Hahmura's jaw, sending a spray of saliva and crimson across the floor.
"Speak up, you bastard!" Katoge snarled, his knuckles white around the grip.
Hahmura spat out a shard of tooth, his voice a gravelly whisper.
"...Cupboard shelf. Behind the false panel."
Katoge vanished into the shadows, returning with a burlap sack clinking with gold ingots. He upended it onto a rusted table, counting with predatory precision.
"Few missing," he muttered.
Noda didn't blink. In one fluid motion, he plunged a sewing needle into Hahmura's thigh, twisting it like a dial on a safe.
"Where. Is. The rest?" His eyes were black holes of intent.
Hahmura howled, his back arching against the ropes.
"Coat pocket! My fucking coat pocket!"
Noda patted him down, retrieving the remaining gold from the lining, his smile a slit of satisfaction.
"Now," Hahmura panted, "let me go—"
Noda tilted his head, the needle catching the dim light.
"You think we'd let you toddle off after gutting our dealer and pilfering like a common thief?" He traced the needle along Hahmura's palm. "You'll pay. In increments."
One by one, Noda threaded ten needles through the webbing of Hahmura's fingers, each puncture meticulous as a tailor's stitch. Hahmura's screams bounced off the walls, his hand a pincushion of quivering steel.
Katoge watched, arms crossed, his expression a cocktail of boredom and grim approval. Only the twitch of his jaw betrayed his dark amusement.
When it was done, Noda wiped his hands on a handkerchief, the gold now secure in Katoge's grip.
"Job's done," Katoge said, turning toward the exit.
Behind them, Hahmura whimpered into his ruined hands, the needles glinting like grotesque jewellery.
The two men stepped into the night, the mansion's lights a distant beacon of warmth in a world that had none left to spare.