We can’t have a discussion regarding signature styles in fighting without mentioning the league leaders, of course. Given the ever-changing field of weaponry and technology available now during combat, it’s surely a testament to their training regime that The Death Brigade have continued to fight with consistency regarding their in-pit style. Regardless of opponent you will never see a member change anything—every fight will be a flurry of raging aggression, like a volcano spewing hot lava in your face after the pressure is released. There’s no concern for bodily harm, no calculation or second guesses. They fight until they cannot stand, and even on the floor would still nip at your heels if you got too close.

It is a style best suited and most recognized in shining star Stray Bullet. Current record-holder for the quickest finish to a fight at forty seven seconds, he is a veteran already at only two years, besting some of the biggest names in the game. But if you were to watch his fights closely, with the sharpness of a hawk’s eye, you’ll notice that there may just be something different with this one, compared to the other members of his group. Where they toss themselves around the ring with all the danger of a ticking time bomb, Stray Bullet fights under the illusion of lack of control, uses it to mask the precise skill he has. Opponents and critics may say otherwise, but anyone with a true understanding of the sport (and those immune to price tags and bribery) can see it for truth. There has been no debut like his for twenty years, not since Germanicus himself first swept through the arena, and that must be a bitter pill for The Legion to swallow.
(EDITING TEAM- DONT U DARE REMOVE MY LINE ABOUT BRIBERY!!!!!!!!-KJ)

Kim Jinhwan sits back in his chair and stretches, arms up over his head, back arched, eyes closed. He holds the pose and breathes deeply, repeating the motions a few times to clear his head. When he opens his eyes he sends his article off to his boss, barely skirting his submission deadline. Again. But that’s the price he pays for getting too wrapped up in other leads, for spending his night out pretending to drink with his main suspect instead of writing his article and actually sleeping. The topic was easy, at least.

He closes his laptop and stands up, leaning against the railing of the balcony and looking down into the already bustling street. It’s just past seven in the morning and the streets are full of people, scurrying like worker ants. He waits for the vibrating roar of the first commuter skytrain overhead, watches as it speeds over the neighbourhood, casting a long shadow against the buildings across from him. When he’d first moved into the apartment with his brother it had taken him a full month to adjust to the trains, constantly waking when they sped by. His brother had adapted in three days.

The trains are a welcome presence now, they’re a part of his morning routine, the precursor to a hot cup of coffee. They make him feel connected to the city in a way that little else does. He checks his phone for messages but doesn’t see anything so he grabs his laptop and heads back into the quiet apartment. His brother is standing at the stove, so Jinhwan sneaks down the hall to his room. When they’d first moved into the apartment four years ago Jinhwan had thrown his best angry tantrum fit until he’d gotten the larger bedroom, despite not contributing to the rent at the time. It had been easier, back then, to push his brother around, because Jinwoo was always exhausted from working long shifts at the hospital, and there was still that lingering guilt over their parents... 

But it’s been a year since Jinwoo has been dating this cop, Seunghoon, and his quiet and polite brother is now on a slow descent into utter tyranny. Five months ago Jinhwan had disappeared for a week following a lead (not the first time he’s done it) but that was the last straw for Jinwoo. He can still remember the burning rage in his brother’s eyes when he’d strolled back into the apartment after that week, without a word, only to head for his bedroom and find Jinwoo’s furniture there. He’d quietly retreated down the hall to the smaller bedroom, where his furniture had been moved. They still haven’t talked about it, but Jinhwan has gotten better at sending his brother status updates now.

Even though Jinhwan constantly butts heads with Seunghoon, he has to admit that he is good for Jinwoo, who needs the support. Jinhwan is confident the only reason Jinwoo hasn’t moved in with his boyfriend yet is because Jinwoo still has it in his head that he needs to look after his younger brother. But Jinhwan is perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

He changes out of his sleeping attire and dresses in something more appropriate for the day. He’s got a meeting with a banker, an interview fluff piece to bolster the image of the banking industry, which has finally started a slow creep back up after two years in ill-repute. The banker’s rich, so Jinhwan’s going to try and stretch the interview out so he gets invited to lunch. He dresses up slightly, a pair of tailored black dress pants with matching suit jacket that he’s going to wear over a tank top so thin you can read his tattoos through it. He knows the banker has a weakness for pretty young people, regardless of gender, so he’s going to play up on his looks to get that lunch date.

He makes his way back to the kitchen, laptop bag slung over his shoulder, and isn’t surprised when Jinwoo marches over to him and grabs his arm.

“Sit down and eat before you leave,” Jinwoo says sternly, shoving Jinhwan down into a chair around their small dining table. There’s already a plate waiting for him, some kind of omelet that has Jinhwan’s mouth watering. They haven’t had eggs in a while. Jinhwan wrinkles his nose in pretend disgust.

“I’ll eat at the office.”

“You will not,” Jinwoo replies, holding a cup of coffee in his hands, just out of reach, “you’ll get into your job and forget, like you always do. I’m not letting you go without food this morning.”

Jinhwan eyes the cup of coffee with a sulking expression. “I miss the days before you got your promotion.”

Jinwoo takes the bait. “You mean when I was dying, pulling fourteen hour shifts in the trauma wing every day?” He asks incredulously, and Jinhwan isn’t sure anymore why Jinwoo always sounds so surprised whenever he says hurtful things to him. Annoying Jinwoo is a genetic reflex as a younger brother. He can’t help himself.

“Yeah,” Jinhwan replies cheekily, “you’d come home and collapse and wouldn’t shove your nose into my business. Can I have my coffee?”

“Eat your food first,” Jinwoo snaps, clearly irritated, “you know I won’t always be around, right? What are you going to do if I’m not here to make your food and pay your bills on time? You’d fall apart.”

Jinhwan rolls his eyes before picking up his utensils. “Can’t fall apart if you won’t even let me fall,” he replies with a sarcastic tone.

Jinwoo’s fingers are tight around the coffee cup, like he’s trying not to hurl it at the wall. “I should do it, I should leave you on your own. You’ve never appreciated any of my help, I don’t know why I bother.”

“I don’t need your help,” Jinhwan grumbles, cutting into the omelet, “I need you to give me my coffee and stop trying to be my mother. You’d think her spirit went into your body when she died, or something.” He probably shouldn’t have gone that far, but Jinwoo’s being a touch more overbearing than usual this morning, and Jinhwan has trouble dealing with it.

“Well you can’t blame me!” Jinwoo yells, “I’m a nurse, Jinhwan, of course I’m going to mother you when I can see, plain as day all over your face, how little you sleep and eat. You need to take better care of yourself, otherwise you might end up at my hospital one day!”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Jinhwan replies, taking a bite of the omelet. It’s delicious, of course, but he’ll pretend otherwise. Just to be annoying.

“You cannot compare our jobs! I worked all those long hours actually doing something, saving people’s lives!” Jinwoo’s voice has risen again, Jinhwan can sense the underlying argument that he could have prevented, if only he didn’t feel constantly compelled to needle his brother.

“Don’t you dare belittle my job!” Jinhwan yells back, even though he’d technically started the whole thing. “My work is useful too!”

Jinwoo laughs. “Useful? For what? Driving up ticket prices for that barbaric fighting ring? Lining someone else’s pockets?”

“That’s not fair!” Jinhwan yells back, actually insulted.

“I save lives, Jinan! You celebrate the loss of them.” Jinwoo is so angry he slams the coffee down on the table and crosses his arms, glaring eyes not leaving Jinhwan’s head.

They’re at an impasse and Jinhwan doesn’t have time for it. He takes another bite of the omelet and chews, his mouth full when he tells his brother in garbled speech how good it tastes. Jinwoo’s glare hardens for a second before softening again.

“Don’t bother complimenting my cooking if I can’t actually understand what you’re saying.”

Jinhwan grins and reaches for the coffee, taking a sip and keeping his hands around the warm mug. “I don’t just write about the fights, you know,” he says softly, because they’re both done yelling for now, “I’ve actually been working on a really big story.”

“Are you?” Jinwoo replies, slightly annoyed but not irate, at least. “You should write a story on how many kids I see at the hospital, with injuries they get from imitating those fights you love.”

Jinhwan rolls his eyes and doesn’t take the bait. “I’m working on exposing a smuggling ring.”

“Good luck with getting anyone to care about that,” Jinwoo replies with a frown, “drugs are so commonplace these days, it’s barely a story anymore.”

“Not drug smuggling,” Jinhwan replies before taking another sip of coffee, “people smuggling.”

Jinwoo raises an eyebrow, intrigued already. “What kind of people?”

Jinhwan smiles back at him and shakes his head. “Can’t say, don’t want to compromise my story.”

Jinwoo shakes his head. “If you actually care about the victims you should talk to Seunghoon and report it, let the police investigate.”

“I can’t do that, Jinu, that’s not how these things work. Sometimes you have to sacrifice a few unlucky people to get into the bigger story.” Jinhwan takes another bite of his food and doesn’t look at his brother. He and Jinwoo have always held conflicting opinions when it comes to topics of morality. Jinwoo sees everything in black and white, and thinks that Jinhwan sees it all in shades of grey. His brother’s wrong. He sees everything in vivid colour. That’s half the reason he barely sleeps anymore.

“You could at least try to sound like you care about the people you’re refusing to help,” Jinwoo replies, in that disappointed tone of voice that used to work on Jinhwan, but doesn’t anymore.

“What am I supposed to do? Call your boyfriend every time I get a lead on something? Word of that gets around and I might as well retire from my job. I’m already compromised enough being the brother of someone who dates a cop. I can’t actually associate with him myself.”

Jinwoo waits until Jinhwan looks up, until he can look him in the eyes. His disappointed voice might not work so well anymore, but the disappointed stare usually works wonders. “You should treat them like actual people, Jinhwan, not just a headline.”

Jinhwan looks back at his food, cutting another bite to cover the way Jinwoo’s disappointment actually hurts him. “You just don’t have the heart for investigative journalism, Jinu, and that’s fine. That’s why you’re the nurse who saves everyone, and I’m just the journalist who writes about it.”

Jinwoo sighs and quietly watches as Jinhwan eats the rest of his meal. “Just be careful with your investigative journalism, I don’t want to see you end up in my ward.”

Jinhwan smiles back at him but they both know it’s fake, because he’s tired of hearing the same warning. “How is your ward, anyway? How does it feel, supervising a bunch of robots being trained to replace you?”

Jinwoo’s expression pinches slightly. “They’re not robots.”

“They are definitely robots,” Jinhwan replies with a smirk, “you can use whatever fancy term you want for them, but we both know what they are and it creeps me out that they’re actually replacing people with robots at the hospital.”

“They’re not replacing anyone,” Jinwoo replies sternly, “they are augmenting a workforce that is stretched way too thin. Synthetics don’t tire the way people do, they can work a 20 hour operation with no breaks and be ready to do a second. I’ve worked a few procedures that went that long, and it is utterly exhausting. You need days to recover, but of course with a never-ending influx of patients you don’t get that time.”

“You can train them up all you want, but they don’t have our capacity for real-time assessment! You’ve said it yourself before, textbooks don’t always have the answer. And your robots always do everything by the book.” Jinhwan takes another sip of coffee and watches his brother, whose fingers are flexing constantly, like he wants to pick something up and throw it.

“Yes, and that is precisely why I am there to supervise,” Jinwoo replies, his tone rising again. “It’s working out really well, for your information. It’s going to be a huge help to the hospital staff, so I’m sorry if our mental health and quality of life isn’t important enough for you to get over your concerns about being attended to by an artificial lifeform.” Their eyes meet for a staring contest, Jinwoo’s full of fire, Jinhwan’s full of stubborness.

“But my work isn’t the concern right now,” Jinwoo eventually says, “we’re talking about you, and how worried I am about you.”

Jinhwan waves the concern off. “I already told you not to worry about me, I’m doing quite well for myself. I don’t mind giving up a little sleep and a few meals in order to break this story. I already have a great reputation for all my work on the fights, but I want to elevate myself higher than that. This smuggling ring will really break me through into the upper echelon of journalism, okay? I’ll get a promotion and more pay, so you won’t have to worry about me.”

“I recognize that and I am proud of you for going after it,” Jinwoo replies, “but I’m still worried, and you don’t make my life any easier by being a stubborn, smartass brat about it all the time.”

“I can’t help it, you’re my older brother, it’s genetic programming for me to be an immature to you.” Jinhwan finishes his coffee and pushes his chair back from the table.

“I accepted that when you were a teenager who was hurting when we lost our parents,” Jinwoo says, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable, “but you’re not a teenager anymore. I just can’t find it in myself to trust you to make good decisions for yourself, not when you act the way you do and fight me all the time. Would it kill you to mature? To not treat me like some evil jailer who’s making your life miserable?”

Jinhwan bristles at the censure, mostly because he knows there’s a lot of truth in there. But instead of giving the request the respect it deserves, he shoots Jinwoo a playful smirk. “Yes, it probably would kill me. Can’t help my design!”

“Jinhwan!”

“You know the saying Jinu, our flaws are what makes us human. Without them we’d just be robots. You don’t want a robot for a brother, do you?” Jinhwan grabs his bag and stands up, heading over to the front door. “I gotta jet, I’m running late! Thanks for breakfast.”

Jinwoo watches as he rises from the table and doesn’t even bother to take his dishes to the sink. It’s infuriating. “I’m going to tell Seunghoon about your case.”

“Don’t you dare!” Jinhwan yells from the front door, bent over to pull boots on.

“Promise me you’ll involve him?” Jinwoo stubbornly demands, refusing to just let him go without some kind of reassurance.

“When the time is right, okay? This is a precarious situation, I need to take the utmost precaution to not blow my cover. Having a police tail would definitely put me in greater jeopardy than I’m currently in.” Jinhwan finishes lacing up his boots and stands up, glancing back at Jinwoo.

“Call me later, okay?” Jinwoo says, twitching fingers clamped around his arms, fighting the urge to run over and hug his brother. Jinhwan might be the biggest source of aggravation in his life (well, second to patients and families) but he’s also the most important person in his life, and Jinwoo can’t help but constantly worry about him.

“Why? To tell you what I’m having for lunch?” Jinhwan asks teasingly.

Jinwoo smiles back at him. “Actually that would be nice, it’s surprisingly thoughtful of you.”

“Well I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try!” Jinhwan replies. “Have a nice day at the hospital! Tell all your robot children than uncle Jinhwan says hello!”

“Jinhwan!” Jinwoo yells in exasperation as he watches him slip out the door.

“Love you!” Jinhwan yells before slamming the door shut behind him and running for the elevator. He’s got a ten o’clock appointment with the banker, but he has some things he needs to finish up at the office first, more deadlines he’s already pushing to the limit. The elevator door opens and he’s eye to eye with the older woman who lives directly above he and Jinwoo. She gives him the evil eye, no doubt having overheard a good portion of their arguing this morning. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s nosed her way into their business, after all. 

“Awful lot of yelling this morning,” she says by way of greeting, and Jinhwan just smiles back at her.

“Don’t you worry yourself about us, Mrs. Lee, we might argue a lot but Jinwoo and I are perfectly fine.” He shoves his hand in his pocket, fingers fiddling with his keys.

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” the elderly woman snaps back, “it’s your neighbours! You know young Mrs. Park is expecting any day now, and the two of you yelling early in the morning! You watch yourselves when she brings that baby home, or so help me God…”

Jinhwan can’t help but grin at the threat from this old lady. It’s kind of endearing. “We’ll do our best, Mrs. Lee.” No one else gets on the elevator so his escape from the lecture comes quickly and the second the doors slide apart he rushes out of the building, leaving the old woman behind.

He hurries his way two blocks over to the nearest skytrain station, dodging his way around people on the sidewalk. His breath comes out in puffs in the chilly morning air, especially since he’s walking on the shadowy side of the street, the sun not yet high enough to hit the pavement. He has a habit of not dressing for the weather, finds it tends to endear him to his contacts if he shows up shivering with pink cheeks. Jinwoo would hate it if he realized how often he did it.

The station is packed with people, but he uses his smaller frame to slip through the crowd, taking advantage of open spaces here and there to get closer to the front of the queue. Occasionally he’ll talk to people like he knows them, just to keep people behind him from angrily pointing out that he’s cutting the line. He’s gotten good at crowd manipulation.

He stands behind a woman with a little girl, who’s probably 4 or 5, hair in braids and wearing a Pokemon backpack. A train pulls into the station then and Jinhwan follows the pair inside, taking the only open seat that’s across from them. The car fills up and pulls away soon, and Jinhwan spends the ride to the office thinking about his smuggling case. He likes to contemplate cases or stories in noisy settings like this, because sometimes overhearing snippets of conversation jogs his brain down paths it wouldn’t normally venture, and that’s exactly how he’s made some of his best connections.

“Well, what am I supposed to do with her now? You were my last resort, you can’t bail on me like this! I can’t bring her to work with me, I’ll get another reprimand. Are you sure you don’t know anyone else?”

His eyes flit back to the mother, who’s speaking in a panicked rush into her phone. The child is blissfully unaware of the situation, on her knees looking out the window. She’d be a prime target for his smuggling ring, there’s good money to be made off of young children. He hasn’t made a connection between his group and adoption smuggling yet, but he’s sure one exists. There are always couples willing to pay a fortune to adopt orphans.

“I can’t just leave her at a playground! Are you insane? What kind of option is that?”

The playground… He pulls his phone out and opens up a map he’s created, marked with abductions and missing people. He looks at all the nearby neighbourhood landmarks and sure enough, there are always playgrounds nearby.

Might be worth looking into.

The woman and her daughter get off two stops before Jinhwan does, and he hopes she manages to find somewhere to put the girl for the day that’s safe. He doesn’t want to end up on her doorstep, there to write an article about a grieving mother pleading for her child’s return. He looks over his shoulder out the window, at the top floors of buildings that the train runs parallel to. He can’t help but smirk when he thinks of how angry some of the patrons must have been when the trains were first constructed. To have a once nice view of the sprawl of the city, blocked by high speed trains.

“I just got on the sky, I gotta go, but we’re still on for tonight? Yeah I have the product, been holding it since yesterday. It needs to move, so you gotta come for it tonight. 8 sharp, I got places to be.”

Jinhwan doesn’t turn his head but he does listen in rapt attention to the conversation. Risky business, conducting drop offs on the phone in public, and he makes a mental note of the address the guy says and thinks about sending Seunghoon a message about it, just to shut Jinwoo up.

Two minutes later and he’s leaving the train, eyes on his phone. He never takes calls when he’s travelling, blames it on the loud voices and paranoia about being overheard. He’s got three missed calls, which is a little much for this early in the morning. One of them is from his boss and he frowns when he listens to the message, but it’s simple.

Come and see me as soon as you get in! This is priority.

He’s never been summoned with such pressing concern before, so it has him wondering what’s going on. Maybe a new assignment? If it was just general dislike of his article he wouldn’t bother, he’d just get the editing team to fix it up as much as possible. So when he enters the building he heads for the third floor, nodding to a few coworkers along the way but not stopping for his usual chit chat. He enters the corner office with the beautiful view of the garden outside and waits to be acknowledged. His boss sits behind a large oak desk, glasses perched on his nose as he reads. Jinhwan knows for a fact that Mr. Yoo doesn’t actually require the glasses—he’s got perfect eyesight. He just wears them for vanity reasons, thinks they make him look more distinguished.

“Take a seat,” the editor-in-chief instructs, and Jinhwan does that, sinking down into the velvet-cushioned arm chair. They’re actually quite unpleasant to sit in, though they look nice. It’s a power move, of course—even when you’re invited in, Mr. Yoo doesn’t want you to feel comfortable. Jinhwan understands all about social politics, though.

“Did you like my article?” He asks, trying to gauge the older man’s mood. He looks serious but not angry, so there’s little chance Jinhwan’s here to be scolded. Must be a new assignment, then. He hopes it doesn’t interfere with his lunch plans.

“I didn’t read it,” Mr. Yoo starts, “but I called you up here to talk about it anyway. I need you to scrap it and get me something fresh for tomorrow morning’s print.”

Jinhwan’s glad he’s not holding anything, because he probably would have thrown it at the wall. He’d only slept for two hours to get that thing written for today! “If you don’t mind my asking, sir, why do you need me to re-write it if you haven’t actually read it?” That’s the baffling part.

“Because I have news that you don’t have,” Mr. Yoo says with a grin, “and it’s going to break tomorrow morning so I want to get the jump on it. Whatever you wrote today will probably contradict what you need to write for tomorrow.”

Jinhwan perks up at the odd statement. “Oh. What’s the news?” It can really only mean one thing if it’s about fighting, and Jinhwan’s been hoping for that thing for ages, but always figured it would go to someone else, someone with more seniority and better connections.

“Your boy’s match has been set for Sunday,” Mr. Yoo tells him, the faintest hint of a smile brushing his lips upward. Jinhwan can feel his breath actually catch in his throat. Though he covers the entire fighting industry, he’s made no attempt to hide his preference for a crazy fighter from the slums.

“Who’s he fighting?”

Mr. Yoo’s smile rises higher and he takes a few seconds pause before answering. “He’s fighting in the headline match.”

Jinhwan’s mouth drops in shock, because that guarantees it. That Legion kid is finally making his debut, it’s the only news that makes sense. Of course they’d want to make a huge deal out of his debut, and who better for a first opponent than the guy who’s been stealing his thunder?

“If you made any appointments today you need to reschedule them or pass them off. Germanicus himself has asked for you. You’re going to get his son’s first ever interview. Don’t it up.”

Jinhwan can’t believe it. All other thoughts fly out of his head at this. This is huge. This is even bigger than his smuggling story! A Legion-authorized interview with its newest fighter? He’s actually going to get to go inside their headquarters. He’s going to get to sit down with the damn prince of Seoul! He’s going to be the most envied journalist for the next year. “Thank you, sir.”

Mr. Yoo nods and tries not to smile. “Remember that you have been chosen for this, and not by me. So you know what’s expected of you. I’ve also arranged for you to interview the opponent as well, also today. You know exactly what I want from you, don’t you?” Mr. Yoo’s expression is all business, and it sobers up Jinhwan’s giddy thoughts.

Ho nods. He’s spent the past two years singing the praises of The Death Brigade, two years of creating a legendary narrative around Stray Bullet, hyping him to God-like status. Now he has to undo all of his work, he has to tear it all apart and craft a new story, sing the praises of a new champion.

This kid from The Legion had damn well better win his fight on Sunday. Because switching sides like this is sending a message, it’s changing the whole face of his work. Not even breaking the story about the smuggling ring would be enough to mend his journalistic integrity if this kid loses.

Well, at least Stray Bullet will get to go out with a deserved bang. Jinhwan had two stellar years following him. But it’s time for fresh blood.
 

He’s driven by the compound many times, always in cars with tinted windows and stolen license plates, so they can’t be tracked back to their actual source. It’s dangerous in this part of the city, where gang violence is always one itchy trigger finger away from exploding through the streets. The compound skirts the border of an industrial zone and a poor housing community, and it’s easy to spot which businesses have been appropriated by the gang and which ones are still struggling to operate on their own.

Almost all of the buildings have been tagged with the calling sign of The Death Bridge—an exploding skull on a red flag. No building has been spared, many of the windows are taped over with cardboard, the front doors boast spiderweb cracks. The signs need to be repainted, the sidewalks are littered with garbage that no one picks up anymore. Residents walk the streets with their heads down, not wanting to attract attention to themselves.

It’s a far cry from where he’ll be going later today, and he’s glad he’s coming here first. He can spend a few hours in honest appreciation of his favourite fighters before swapping sides without so much as a warning. But he also feels like maybe this is all happening at the right time, because even though he’s driven through here before, he’s never really paid attention to the residents. Never really thought about what their lives are like, living under the thumb of a notorious gang. Because even though they bill themselves as a fighting sect, at the end of the day they’re still a gang of thugs and criminals, who firebomb restaurants due to poor service and demand exorbitant sums of money as protection fees. There’s an ugly reality to the group that he’s never really considered before. Jinwoo’s influence, obviously.

His car pulls up at the entrance gate and he takes a minute to prepare himself, goes over the purpose of the interview in his head. He needs to look for weaknesses to exploit, or realities that he can twist into weaknesses. He’s good at embellishing.

He exits the car and stands by the entrance gate, an imposing steel door that retracts in for vehicles. The gate is part of a wall that surrounds the compound, a ten foot high barricade that keeps the outside world from getting in. There’s barbed wire at the top, just in case. But set down at ground level is a regular pedestrian door, which is currently shut. He approaches just as a small window opens from the other side and a pair of mean eyes glare at him.

“ you want?” Is how he’s greeted, and Jinhwan wonders, for a moment, if they actually know that he’s coming. Shouldn’t they be expecting him?

“I’m here from Chosun Ilbo,” Jinhwan replies, “I have an interview with your boss.”

Someone behind the guy speaks (Jinhwan can’t quite make it out) but a moment later the door man is nodding. “Right, that newspaper . Hold on.” The window closes but the door opens, and Jinhwan swallows nervously as the guy approaches him. It’s a knee jerk reaction, because the guy’s quite large, and Jinhwan’s all alone.

“You got any weapons?” The guy asks, and Jinhwan shakes his head. “Gonna search you anyway, so stand against the wall with your hands high, there you go.” The guard starts patting him down and Jinhwan grits his teeth at the intrusion. He should have been expecting it, really, but the fact that it’s done outside the compound, right on the sidewalk… It just makes him feel exposed and vulnerable. The guard does a full body search (including a rather rough groping of his crotch that has Jinhwan blushing) before going through his bag.

“What the ’s this?” He asks, holding a small black recorder.

“It’s an audio recorder,” Jinhwan answers, “I’m a journalist, it’s what I record my interviews on.”

“You sure? Make it play something,” the guard demands, and Jinhwan shakes his head.

“Can’t do that, there’s nothing on it yet.”

The guard frowns and puts the recorder in his pocket. “Sounds suspect, I’ll hold onto it for now until we see the boss. Come on.” The guard grabs him by the arm and pushes him through the door; Jinhwan stumbles on the door jamb and a surge of irritation almost has him yelling at the guard. But he remembers where he is, and there’s no telling what the guard might do if he’s in a foul mood. So he bites his tongue and follows, eyes immediately scanning the interior of the compound, committing the layout to memory. It’s not that he’s paranoid. It’s just intelligent to always be aware of your surroundings. To always find an exit route.

He’s a little surprised to find that the entire place is dirt, like they’ve covered up all the concrete in favour of caked mud. The buildings are mostly low, three stories at most, typical industrial warehouses. Some of them are painted on the outside, mostly skulls, but there’s a rather impressive mural of the grim reaper on one of them. Might make a nice backdrop in case he wants a picture for his article. Towards the centre of the compound there’s a massive pit dug into the ground, with the dirt piled up beside it. He can hear the squelching sound of feet stuck in the mud, can hear the grunts of men fighting. He’d like to stop and get a better look, but he’s marched onward to the back of the complex.

He’s meeting with the leader of The Death Brigade first. Kwon Jiyong—aka Gore Dragon. He was Jinhwan’s favourite fighter as a teenager, he’d idolized him for years. Jiyong is smaller and slimmer than most of the successful fighters, but his reputation is utterly terrifying. He’s one of the few fighters left who always ruins his opponents. If they’re lucky, he kills them. If they’re unlucky, he lets them live, but he severely reduces their quality of life. He’s been known to sever limbs in victory. One time after a particularly heated rivalry he left the ring with his opponent’s tongue.

The closer they get the more it begins to affect Jinhwan. A tingling sensation slowly creeps out from his chest, adrenaline mixed with fear, and he walks on pins and needles toward the office building. He’s excited for the pre-interview discussion, but he’s also afraid to look him face to face.

He’s halted at the entrance to the building, where his has a quick and quiet chat with another guy stationed at the door. The stationed guard turns around and Jinhwan watches him punch in a code he can’t make out before he pulls the door open. Jinhwan follows his inside the building and he’s taken aback at the decor. It’s a contrast to the outside, black marble and sleek leather, and he watches in confusion as his rubs the soles of his boots against a brush, cleaning off the mud. But then his eyes are drawn off into the sitting area, where there’s a giant painted portrait of Jiyong.

Delusions of grandeur, he files away for later, because that’s definitely going into his article (even though the portrait is gorgeous and he’d hang it in his room in a heartbeat). They’re met at the base of the stairs by another guard who takes them up to the second floor. A fresh surge of excitement works its way up from his stomach, nearly knocking the breath out of him. He’s about to meet Jiyong. To see him. It’s almost too much and he has to remind myself that he’s here today as a professional, and not as a fan.

The guard opens the glass double doors to the main office and Jinhwan gets his first look at Jiyong, calm and composed, sitting behind an ornate mahogany desk, typing away on a laptop. He’s got bright red hair that’s styled perfectly, so the tips just barely brush at his eyes. Jinhwan can’t stop staring at his face, at the hollowed cheeks that make his bones stand out, the intense black eyeliner, lips painted to match his hair. He looks striking. Gorgeous, but definitely intimidating. He was the first man that Jinhwan had ever been attracted to, and the attraction still stands today.

Jiyong doesn’t look at him but he does speak. “Have a seat.”

Jinhwan complies immediately, sitting in the chair right in front of Jiyong. The guard from the wall approaches the desk and drops Jinhwan’s recorder in front of Jiyong.

“He had this with him, boss, wasn’t sure if we should take it.”

Jiyong pauses in his writing and turns his head to study the recording device. Jinhwan can almost feel the irritation surging through the other man’s veins when he recognizes the device. Jiyong picks up the recorder and holds it between his index finger and thumb, presenting it to the guard.

“Do you know what this is?”

The guard nods. “Yeah, said it was some kinda recorder or something.”

Jiyong’s eye twitches. “He’s a journalist, who is here for an interview. Of course he would have it. Why the would you take it?”

Jinhwan swallows nervously, even though he’s not the one in danger. Jiyong speaks with a low voice, controlled aggression in desperate need of being unleashed, his murderous glare on the guard. Jinhwan glances at his eyes, momentarily dazzled by the optics of his contact lenses. They make his eyes red, but when he’s angry his pupils burst into flames.

The guard shrugs and looks at the floor. “Dunno, boss, just wanted to be careful.” Jiyong doesn’t answer right away, but he stares at the guard, like he’s visualizing shredding his stomach open.

“Get out of my office.” It’s a simple request that takes both guards by surprise.

“Sure, boss. Should we send Jiwon up?” The question is posed by the guard they met at the base of the stairs.

“Did I tell you to?” Jiyong rebuts, his voice louder, eyes still in flames.

“No.” The guard replies, and Jinhwan notices sweat beading at his brow. He adds it to his mental file, impressed that he’s still doing his job in the heat of the moment.

“Then what do you think my answer is?” Jiyong asks, and it’s met with both guards bowing to him before hastily retreating from the room, closing the doors behind them. Jinhwan quickly looks away from Jiyong before he’s caught staring, his heart thumping.

“Clearly simple guard duty is beyond some of these guys,” Jiyong sneers, before turning to Jinhwan and holding the recorder out.

Jinhwan sees it out of the corner of his eye and takes that as his opportunity to face Jiyong again, reaching out to take the recorder back. He slips behind a facade of indifference, not wanting to appear as though he’s intimidated. He’s going to have to be careful with the interview if Jiyong is already in a bad mood. “Yeah, that infuriated even me,” he replies with a grin.

Jiyong smiles back at him and Jinhwan almost fumbles with the recorder. It’s extremely rare to ever see him smile. It’s somewhat disturbing. “I should really clean house and raise the standards around here, since there were none originally. But we’re not here to discuss that.”

No matter—Jinhwan will include the line regardless. “No we’re not. We’re here for that interview.”

Their eyes meet and Jinhwan doesn’t lower his gaze even though his senses are screaming at him to do just that. Jiyong’s eyes are back to a smoldering red, the flames gone. That makes Jinhwan feel slightly better.

“Before we get to the interview, I want to make something very clear,” Jiyong states, and Jinhwan nods.

“Of course. Speak plainly so we have no misunderstandings.” He holds the recorder in his hand but hasn’t turned it on yet. He really only carries it around on formality, since he has an exceptional memory when it comes to recalling spoken dialogue.

“You know who the opponent is this weekend,” Jiyong begins, and Jinhwan nods, “and you know it’s very rare that I allow journalists inside this compound. I’ve chosen you specifically for your body of work over the past few years. I expect that to continue.”

Jinhwan nods, even though it sadly won’t be happening that way. He’s a little surprised that Jiyong doesn’t expect it. “Of course, that’s why I’m here. I’ve been a fan of your faction for as long as I’ve been watching the fights. I remember your debut, actually.”

Jiyong nods back. “Good. Provide an accurate account for your paper, and maybe I’ll let you back in for a post-victory interview.”

Jinhwan hates the timing of it all. It’s everything he’s ever fantasized about, but has to give up. Oh well. It’s a nice dream. “I will do my utmost to give you exactly what you want.”

“As you should, for one so privileged. I just wanted to make my expectations clear.” They lock eyes for a moment, neither of them blink. “Let’s go and find Jiwon. He’s currently training, I thought that would provide a better setting for you.” Jiyong stands up and Jinhwan watches as he comes out from behind his desk. He’s wearing tight fitting leather pants that draw Jinhwan’s attention, complemented by black combat boots. They’re pristine given the dirt he walks on daily, and Jinhwan wonders how often he cleans them.

They leave the building flanked by two guards and Jinhwan isn’t quite sure why he’s got guards within his own compound, but he’ll work it into his article. It’ll make him sound paranoid.

He wonders briefly if he’s going to need to employ a bodyguard of his own after he writes the article. Maybe he ought to ask for one before he submits the piece to his boss. At least for a few weeks.

They make their way to the pit he’d passed on the way in, the sounds of squelching feet in the mud still audible. They’re met by yells and jeers as they approach, a crowd of other fighters watching the scene in the pit. Jinhwan looks around for familiar faces, seeing a few looking on. It feels like this whole scene is a set up, made to look impressive to an outsider.

Then he looks down into the pit of mud and feels his heart pounding heavily in his chest. It’s primal and basic and exudes exactly the sort of energy he’s come to associate with the group. Jiwon is down there in the mud, fighting two guys at once, and Jinhwan watches with rapt attention, his technical eye judging the movements of all three competitors. This fight isn’t just for show, and even though the two opponents are definitely newer fighters, they’re not terrible, and they’re not holding back, they’re giving everything they have.

But Jiwon is better. That’s what Jinhwan always thinks when he watches him—that he’s better than the rest. It’s a bittersweet opportunity now, to be so close, watching without all the added pageantry of the league. He’d love to be able to write a real article about this, to give it the positive tone his heart calls for. Instead he’ll spin it all in the opposite direction, because at the end of the day he has to pander to the bigger story, and he has to please the higher ranking crowd.

Those are the politics of journalism.

He steps closer to Jiyong in order to be heard without speaking up. “Does he regularly train like this?” he asks, “fighting two guys at once?”

“No,” Jiyong replies, “but high profile matches call for advanced training.”

“Of course,” Jinhwan hums in assent, and notices then that Jiwon is not brandishing any weapons, while the other two are both armed. One of them holds a large, sharp hook in his hand, the bizarre weapon catching Jinhwan’s eye. The other guy swings a tire iron in Jiwon’s direction. “Does he often spar without weapons?”

“Occasionally,” Jiyong replies, “it’s important to simulate any situation.”

Jinhwan has a question he’s been dying to know the answer to, and he decides to spring it now since Jiyong seems to be in a better mood. “Have you sparred with him before?” It’s a simple question, and is honestly something of a lurid fanboy fantasy, picturing his favourite fighters in the pit, but for the dried mud and blood that cakes their skin, sweat tracing paths down the filth. He read a work of fiction about it once. Twice, actually.

“I trained him when he first joined,” Jiyong answers, and Jinhwan’s mouth drops a little in shock, “so yes, I’ve sparred with him many times.”

“Your styles have always seemed similar,” Jinhwan says, mostly to see what Jiyong’s reaction will be. He thinks he detects a slight hint of irritation in the sudden hard set of his jaw.

“I taught him everything he knows.” Jiyong replies carefully.

Jinhwan takes the caution, though sometimes he just can’t help himself. He’s always been a flirt—especially with danger itself. “Well, you taught him very well. He boasts an impressive record, not unlike your own. I’m anticipating Sunday, I expect good things from him.” Just then Jiwon shoves one of the fighters face down in the mud, dirty fingers on a dirty face. He stomps on his back as he stands up, and Jinhwan watches as neither of his opponents get back to their feet.

He can’t wait for Sunday, even if it has the potential to ruin his career in journalism.

“Jiwon!” Jiyong yells, and Jinhwan watches as the fighter down below casts a look their way, his face streaked with mud. It makes Jinhwan’s heart pound.

“Yeah?” Jiwon yells back, panting heavily.

Jiyong doesn’t say anything in response, just snaps his fingers and points at his side, and Jiwon comes running like a trained dog. Jinhwan is sure that this is for show, and he’ll be damned if it’ll take some time to get the visual out of his head. He wonders if Jiyong has trained him to sit as well? Jiwon clambers up out of the pit, fingers digging into the dirt to get a hand hold. Jinhwan’s eyes are trained on the flexing muscles of his shoulders and back, an impressive display right in front of him, mere feet away.

Jiwon makes a show of stretching his arms out over his head when he stands next to them, his muscles screaming in pleasure after the intense workout. He glances at the man standing next to Jiyong, certain that this must be the journalist that’s come to interview him today. Some guy who writes about him all the time, or so Jiyong said. Jiwon doesn’t read. Donghyuk does that for him.

“Jiwon, as discussed, this is Kim Jinhwan.” Jiyong begins, critical eyes on his top fighter.

Jiwon’s still on a high after fighting and even though he knows that he’s supposed to conduct himself with some level of decorum, he can’t quite think straight. “Some journalist, right?” He says with a playful smirk at Jinhwan, expecting a laugh. Instead he gets silence.

“Jiwon,” Jiyong says warningly, and Jiwon shrinks right before them, his lips nervously and runs a hand through his hair. Jinhwan is fascinated at the way Jiyong exerts his control so expertly, managing to cow someone who’s so dangerous in their own right.

. “Ha, kidding! I’m familiar with you, of course! Big fan of mine,” Jiwon says finally, eyes raking over the smaller man, trying to remember what Jiyong told him, “you write for the JoongAng, right?”

“Chosun Ilbo.” Jinhwan replies with a smile, not insulted because he hadn’t really expected Jiwon to know which paper he writes for. But he can feel the fury radiating off of Jiyong beside him. If the interview continues this way, he won’t even have to fake much of the article. Jiwon is burying himself already.

Jiwon’s eyes look panicked for a moment. “Ah , right, Chosun! I can never remember which one is which, sorry,” he rambles, intensely aware of how angry Jiyong is right now. Maybe it would be better if he just stopped talking altogether.

Jinhwan can’t get over how surreal it is, to be standing in front of him, talking. Reprimanding, actually. “Well, Chosun is the biggest paper in Seoul, and your story will be on the front page. So try to remember the name for tomorrow, so you can at least read it.” Jiwon’s eyes flick up to meet his and Jinhwan is surprised at the way he actually looks slightly embarrassed. It has to be Jiyong’s impact.

“Let’s go sit for your interview,” Jiyong says and turns to lead them away. Jinhwan follows him, walking by his side, but Jiwon walks directly behind Jiyong, two paces back, and Jinhwan wonders if it’s always like that? Even the guards walk behind Jiyong. Maybe it’s a respect thing? Is Jiyong offended that he’s walking by his side? It doesn’t matter, of course. But it is interesting.

Jiyong leads them to an enclosed patio area, a multitude of high top tables with stools, set underneath some large umbrellas. Jiyong sits first and Jinhwan sits next to him, Jiwon takes the stool on Jiyong’s other side. The guards remain standing.

Jinhwan’s eyes are on the pair, intrigued by what he can see. Jiyong is staring hard at Jiwon, who’s not looking back. Instead he’s staring at the table, but he clears his throat suddenly and looks at Jiyong.

“Can I get some water?” Jiwon asks nervously, likes he’s afraid of Jiyong’s answer. But the older man nods, and Jiwon scampers off to grab himself a drink from the fridge that’s situated at the side of the building. Jinhwan watches him with a curious eye, interested by the whole set up. His meeting with Jiwon is so far not what he’d expected. His biggest question is whether Jiwon’s personality is vastly different out of the ring, or if he’s only acting like this because of Jiyong. Would he see a different side without the boss around?

Jiwon returns with a metal canteen and sits down before tilting his head back. Jinhwan’s eyes are on his throat, watching it bob as he swallows. A fair amount of water trickles out of Jiwon’s mouth, running rivulets down his face, sluicing a pattern through the dirt. He doesn’t wipe it away, feels refreshed by it, feels at home with the dirt. He concentrates on drinking, trying to clear his head.

He ed up big time just a minute ago, didn’t take it seriously enough. What was Jiyong expecting, though? He’d just finished kicking a few asses, of course his head would be all ed up! It wasn’t his fault. Jiyong shouldn’t have let him speak. Should have known he’d it up.

Whatever. He’ll watch his mouth for the rest of the interview. He finishes drinking and lays the canteen down on the table, his eyes skirting over Jiyong to look at the journalist. Some short little guy, wearing a suit and boots that look way too fancy for their compound. Despite the guy apparently being a big fan of his, Jiwon decides on the spot that he doesn’t like him. He’s not a fighter, so they probably wouldn’t get along.

Jinhwan takes out his recorder and makes a show of placing it on the table between them and turning it on, smiling when his eyes meet Jiwon’s panicked ones. He looks nervous, like he’s clearly out of his element. It makes Jinhwan feel a little powerful, being able to elicit that nervous energy from someone he’s admired. He’d been worried that he would be the one feeling uncomfortable, but instead it’s the other way around.

That works for him.

He flips open his notebook and begins with his questions, jotting down important lines. Jiwon is an interesting person to interview. His answers at the beginning are nervous and short, and his eyes continually flicker to Jiyong, seeking validation for his commentary. It’s very different from speaking with Jiyong. Jiwon is a terrible speaker, actually, has trouble focusing his thoughts and forming sentences. Maybe it’s just the nerves, or the unfamiliar setting. Jinhwan can’t help but feel slightly disappointed. He’d expected more.

But then he’s used to polished speakers, bankers and politicians and government workers, and even despite the disappointment it’s kind of nice to speak to someone like him, who doesn’t know how to anticipate questions or link his answers together. It’s a big mess, their conversation, filled with off-topic anecdotes and stilted commentary. But even so, talking with Jiwon feels like a breath of fresh air, despite the cloying scent of the earth.

After nearly an hour he has what he needs, and Jiyong dismisses Jiwon with a direct order, and he scurries away from them like a dog running off with his tail tucked between his legs. Jinhwan pauses the recorder, unsure what to make of the situation as a whole. It was weird. Not at all what he’d expected.

“I apologize for his lacking conversation,” Jiyong says, “his interviewing needs some work.”

“It does.” Jinhwan replies, eyes set on Jiyong.

“I’ll work with him on it. A champion should be better spoken.” They stare at one another for a moment, and Jinhwan can’t help but wonder how Jiyong copes with it all. It’s clear after today that Jiyong considers himself high above his gang members, and he wonders if Jiyong is trying to position himself as the boss in order to attempt to worm his way into politics eventually? It wouldn’t be surprising, there’s a high demand for well-spoken ex-fighters. He fully expects Germanicus to follow his wife into politics upon his retirement from fighting, he has the demeanour for it.

Jinhwan glances again at Jiyong’s attire, takes in his impeccably clean outfit, compares it to the others. He’s different, Jiyong is. Different from the group, wants to seem higher class. Wants to be intimidating and dangerous for more reasons than just his ability as a fighter.

Eventually Jiyong stands up, and Jinhwan follows.

“I believe you should have enough for your article?” Jiyong asks, and Jinhwan nods.

“Yes of course, thank you for the interview. I appreciate the access, I’ll make it worth your time.” As much as he’d like to stick around and soak in the atmosphere, he has a lot to do before his meeting in two hours. Has a lot to write.

They leave the patio and head back to the gate, and on their walk Jiyong points out things Jinhwan hadn’t noticed on his brief walkabout. The large warehouse with the grim reaper mural is where the fighters live and sleep, but they don’t go in. There’s a large fire pit off to the side, where they burn bonfires at night. Jinhwan can see the stacked wood, he can smell a faint trace of fire as they walk by. Open fires in the city are frowned upon, but of course no one would be quick to come knocking on their door.

As they pass by the warehouse where their engineers work, Jinhwan sees a young man emerge from the building, a bag slung over his shoulder. Jiyong actually stops and calls him over.

“I’d like you to meet the newest addition to our team,” Jiyong says, “this is Jung Chanwoo, our new technical genius.”

Chanwoo bows to him and Jinhwan wonders how such a polite kid came to be with Jiyong’s group? He looks him over, notices the uniform look of his outfit compared to the others. “It’s nice to meet you,” he greets, eyes on his bag, “you look young, are you still in school?”

“Last year of high school,” Chanwoo answers before Jiyong can say anything, and Jinhwan tries to hide his smirk. It’s clear from the look on Chanwoo’s face that he wasn’t supposed to answer that truthfully.

“Wow,” Jinhwan whistles, “how did you get smart enough to gain Jiyong’s interest at such a young age?”

Chanwoo glances at Jiyong before saying anything, the oh  look on his face particularly alarming. He must be very fresh to all of this, because if he works in their tech team then he can’t be dumb, and he should know what to say.

“I’ve taken an interest in our community,” Jiyong says, and Jinhwan looks back at him, “I’m sure you saw for yourself, on your drive in, that our surrounding neighbourhood lacks for money. Since the city does nothing for its poor citizens, I have decided to step in, playing benefactor to those worthy. Chanwoo has made quite a name for himself in school robotics competitions, so I’ve offered to pay for his schooling provided he works for me.”

Jinhwan quickly looks at Chanwoo and he can see the truth written on the kid’s face. Jiyong’s not paying for , at least not a future university career. Maybe his family owes a debt? Maybe they own a business that Jiyong is allowing to continue running, so long as their son plays tech guru? Maybe he’ll do a little digging into this kid.

“I do get to use a lot of advanced robotics my school could never gets its hands on,” Chanwoo says, but he’s running cover up a little too late for Jinhwan’s overly perceptive brain. “It’s a huge bonus for me, working here. It’s a great experience.”

“I’m sure it must be,” Jinhwan replies, smiling at him, “school friends must be jealous of you.”

Chanwoo smiles back at him. “You could say that.”

“Will you be around for the fight?” Jinhwan asks, curious about what exactly Jiyong is grooming him for. The engineer who usually runs fights with Jiwon is some hopped up junkie. He wonders if Jiyong is going to try and groom this kid into a respectable stage presence?

“He’ll be there,” Jiyong answers, “he’s being trained to work fights in the future, aren’t you, Chanwoo?” Jinhwan’s eyes flit back and forth between them, and just like with Jiwon, Jinhwan can see how utterly terrified Chanwoo is. It’s interesting.

“Well then I look forward to seeing you again on Sunday,” Jinhwan states, before glancing at his phone. “I have to be going, Jiyong, but thank you again for allowing me access. It’s been truly eye opening to be here, to see it all in person. I hope I can repay your hospitality with my writing.”

“I hope so as well,” Jiyong replies, before directing him back the way he came in. “Be available after the fight on Sunday,” he says, “I’ll send for you for the post-match interview.”

“It would be an honour,” Jinhwan replies, and he takes one last moment to look Jiyong in the eyes, wants to commit it all to memory.

Because come tomorrow morning, Jiyong might just be contemplating his murder.
 

He makes hurried notes to himself the second he gets back into the waiting car, speaking out loud into his voice recorder. There’s so much material to use that it’s going to be a bit of a struggle to pare it down for his needs. He’s not quite sure what it says about him as a person that he’s so quick to turn his back on people he’s idolized for close to a decade, just to take a leap with his career. Jinwoo would probably be disappointed in him, would probably say he’s selling himself out. He’d be right.

Once he’s finished getting his verbal notes down he takes his laptop out, fingers flying over the keys as he begins getting the bones of the article together. He doesn’t pay attention to much else, has no idea where the driver is going, assumes they’re headed back to the office until his appointment with the Legion. Instead he looks out the window when the car stops, confused eyes looking at a half deserted parking lot.

“What are we doing?” He asks the driver, saving his document.

“Mr. Yoo told me to park somewhere quiet for you to write until your next interview.”

Jinhwan nods and hums in assent before returning his gaze to the screen. Better off this way, he won’t get distracted in the car.

“I’m going to get some lunch, do you want anything? There’s a sushi place across the street.”

Jinhwan doesn’t look up from his screen as he answers. “Yeah sure, nothing that’ll make my breath smell. Nothing spicy, either, I don’t want to go in there with red cheeks.” He hears the driver exit the car and lock the doors, and for some reason that’s the sound that triggers an unpleasant wave of suspicion to settle over his entire body.

He realizes with sudden alarm that he has no idea who his driver is. The car had been parked outside the compound the entire time he was inside. What if his driver got replaced? He wouldn’t even know.

He stifles the thought before it grows into something unmanageable. He hasn’t released the article yet, Jiyong has no way of knowing that he plans on betraying him. There’s no cause for concern, no reason to be wary. He checks where they are on his phone, just to be safe. They’re in neutral territory, just on the outskirts of a shopping district. He’s fine. There’s no reason to be suspicious.

The driver is back within twenty minutes, two trays laden with food, one of which he passes back. Jinhwan picks at it occasionally, too set in his writing to really pay it attention. The driver doesn’t talk, but sits behind the wheel, waiting. Jinhwan plays his notes back a few times, adds in lines here and there, and before long he’s got a decent skeleton article, waiting to be buffed up. He saves the document a final time before sending it to two different e-mail addresses. Just to be safe.

He puts his laptop away in his bag before turning to the rest of his lunch, hungry now that he’s done. But he also assumes that he’ll be offered food later, because they’ll want to show themselves as generous hosts, and anything he eats while with the Legion will undoubtedly be the best food he has all month. So he eats only enough to quell the hunger in his stomach, gambling on food later.

He gets out of the car to stretch his legs and walks around the parking lot under the watchful eye of the driver, and he can’t shake his earlier suspicions, though he’d silenced them for a while. He looks at his phone and contemplates calling his boss to discuss a security detail, for Sunday, at the very least.

Ten minutes later he’s back in the car, giving himself a mental pep talk when the driver announces that he’ll be taking him to his next appointment. The Legion is situated in a different part of the city, where high rises dominate, every building with some fancy sounding shop or restaurant on the ground level. You can tell the difference given the types of people on the street here, even compared to his own neighbourhood.

No one walks with their head bowed, and no one is rushing. There’s no sense of urgency, deadlines do not exist for this corner of society. The Legion building is among the tallest in Seoul, and the second he’s out of the car he’s staring up at it in awe. The building itself is gorgeous, mostly glass, with beams of steel giving it structure. There are touches of Roman architecture, but modernized. There are Roman columns made of gleaming steel, the front entrance to the building remodelled to resemble the ancient Pantheon.

It’s made to stand out from its surroundings, and it does. One thing that surprises Jinhwan, though, is the complete lack of guards. He’s certain they’re around, impossible to have the building completely unguarded. He thinks back to the compound he’d just left, cut off from the outside world with a steel wall and barbed wire, suspicious thugs stationed at every corner.

And that’s when he realizes that the lack of guards is meant to point out those glaring differences. Here there is no need to cut off access to the public, because there is no threat from the public. The image they wish to project onto the city is one of openness and opulence, no trace of paranoia or fear. It’s quite the message, really.

But the transparency of the illusion comes to light when he makes his way up the steps towards the door. He is greeted by a voice that almost sounds like it’s only in his head. There’s no one near him, and unless there are hidden speakers set into the steel itself, he doesn’t know where the voice is coming from.

“Pause for facial scanning. Scan complete, identification link to Kim Jinhwan, journalist with Chosun Ilbo, appointment scheduled in ten minutes. Proceed inside, you will be shown to your destination.”

He can’t help but look around, still confused about what had scanned him and where it had been located. But his attention is drawn to the door that’s suddenly opening, like the entrance to some great crypt. It’s intimidating, but in an entirely different way from what he’d felt earlier. With Jiyong’s compound, you knew exactly what danger awaited you because you could see it walking two paces behind you. But here, he’s walking blind into a building after being scanned by some object he can’t even see, and it’s pitch black. Suddenly he sees a red light descend on him, passing over his entire body in a second, and he’s confused until he hears the disembodied voice again.

“Scan complete, no weapons or restricted devices. Internal doors opening.”

A thin line of light appears in front of him and his mouth drops in shock as he watches it grow into a passage, like the wall has just retracted into itself. He steps out from the black room and that’s when things start to look the way he’s expected them.

The floors are made of marble, the walls a pristine white with gold accents. Guards are stationed sparingly down the hall, though if the only way into the building is through that scanning room then he can see why there aren’t more of them milling about.

“Kim Jinhwan,” he’s greeted by a voice that is attached to a body, one belonging to an older man with a kind face, “follow me please, I’ll you to your meeting.”

Jinhwan follows him in silence, a little taken aback by everything. It’s such a different atmosphere, and even though he’d expected it, that doesn’t compensate for how it feels. Walking through the compound, even next to Jiyong, he’d felt like an outsider, someone whose presence was merely tolerated, but always placed under a watchful, suspicious eye. But here he feels like a welcomed guest. He may have been searched already, but it was done by technology alone. Keeping the human touch out of it had done a lot to make it feel less intrusive.

He doesn’t get to see much of the building before he’s brought to a set of elevators, and he boards the very last one. Looking at the panel inside, there are only stops for the 20th and 21st floors. He thinks about asking the man, but decides to hold on to his questions for now.

They exit at the 21st floor and the moment the doors open he’s greeted to a rather striking family portrait, and he immediately compares it to Jiyong’s. The solo portrait was intimidating, one man alone in a powerful pose, glaring eyes ready to cast unfavourable judgement from the canvas it called home.

But the Kim family portrait is not at all what he would have expected. It’s actually very welcoming, softly posed. For the first time he considers that outside of being at the top of a fighting magnate, they are still a family, and the more he looks at the portrait, the more he misses his parents. Germanicus and his wife, a prominent politician who leads the houses of parliament, stand at the centre of the portrait with arms around one another, their children tucked into their sides. All four faces are smiling, like they are genuinely happy together.

It’s funny how one painting of four people can humanize them in ways media attention hasn’t done. He’d have expected a more austere picture, something intimidating, radiating strength. It’s an interesting choice.

He takes in his surroundings as he’s led down a hallway, taking in details of the decor. It’s elegant and high class, a mere touch of opulence to remain firmly on the tasteful side of decoration. It all looks rich, but not just for the sake of showing off. It’s carefully curated, a collection of the best. He also notices more portraits along the wall, surprised to see them. One is a given, but the rest of them make it look like, well, like a normal home. Which it is, of course. He’s not sure why he had expected anything else.

He is led to an open door and gestured inside. He walks into the room and immediately his breath catches in his throat. There they sit, the pair of them, father and son, in armchairs before a lit fireplace. He’s never had the privilege of interviewing Germanicus before, does not have the seniority to ask for it. He feels awed to be in their presence, like he’s meeting royalty.

As he moves towards them he realizes it’s all part of an act, perpetuated by the whole set up of their building. This is the image they wish to present, and they do a damn good job of making that happen. It clears his head a little, reminds him again about why he’s here. It’ll be good for the article.

“Kim Jinhwan,” Germanicus greets as he stands up, “please come and join us.” He indicates towards an empty armchair and waits for Jinhwan to get close before extending his hand in greeting. Jinhwan takes it and isn’t surprised at all by the strong grip around his fingers.

“Thank you for inviting me into your home,” Jinhwan replies, bowing to him, “I am deeply humbled to have been chosen for such an important interview.”

“That’s good to hear, but you should be aware that you were not my choice, but my son’s.” At this he drops Jinhwan’s hand and sits down, just as his son stands up.

Jinhwan turns to take him in, his eyes drawn to Hanbin’s face. While he’s been photographed before, sightings of him in public are still fairly rare, and never is he so fully revealed as he is now. Jinhwan is drawn in by his striking eyes, exquisite bone structure, and the fine line of his smirking lips. His features are more regal than his father’s, so Jinhwan assumes he must look like his mother. He’s never really studied her face before.

Hanbin extends his hand out and Jinhwan takes it. Unlike his father, Hanbin’s grip is not strong. Instead he holds his hand as though he expects Jinhwan to drop to one knee and kiss it, like actual royalty. He’s not sure if it’s intentionally insulting, or just coincidental.

“I’m familiar with your writing,” Hanbin says by way of greeting, eyes locked confidently onto Jinhwan’s, “you’re quite the fan of my competitor.”

The statement rings like an alarm bell in Jinhwan’s head, and it’s this little statement that truly separates Hanbin from Jiwon. Hanbin has clearly been coached on how to speak. “Yes, well, part of journalism is writing what the public wants to read. He does boast an impressive record.”

“I meant no offense,” Hanbin replies with a smile, before gesturing that they sit, “but that is specifically why I chose you. I’m also familiar with him, I’ve spent the past year studying him. I understand the public’s interest.”

Jinhwan smiles back. He’s going to have to play Hanbin very carefully. “Interest is granted in the interim to undeserving characters while we wait for our true champions.”

Hanbin grins at the words and looks at his father. “Do you hear that? Quite the agreeable statement.”

“Yes,” Germanicus replies, “I see now that your choice was not ill-made after all.”

“Of course not,” Hanbin says, “I’ll only ever get one first interview, I want it to send the appropriate message.”

“Well, on that note I’ll be taking my leave.”

Jinhwan watches in confusion as Germanicus stands up. “You’re not staying?” He can’t help but blurt out, surprised to see him leaving.

“It’s not my interview,” he replies cooly, and their eyes meet for a brief moment. Jinhwan makes a mental note of this as well. Jiyong wouldn’t let Jiwon out of his sight during his interview, while Hanbin’s father is leaving him before the first question. That’s definitely going in the article.

“Don’t be too sorry to see him go,” Hanbin cuts in, a touch of mirth in his tone, “you’ll be sharing a meal with us when we’re finished speaking. You’ll see him again.”

Jinhwan glances back to Germanicus just in time to see him smirk at his son’s answer before he leaves the study, closing the door behind him. He turns his attention back to Hanbin, who’s watching him with a neutral expression. Jinhwan still isn’t entirely sure what to make of him.

“Would you like anything before we begin? A drink?” Hanbin offers.

“Water would be nice,” Jinhwan replies, mostly out of curiosity. He expects a servant to enter the room, but to his surprise Hanbin himself gets up from his chair and heads to a cabinet along the left wall that’s made of a beautiful dark wood. While Hanbin pours the drink Jinhwan looks around the room, sees the same wood has been used to make the coffee table. Everything he and Jinwoo own is a cheap laminate.

“Would you like ice in your water?” Hanbin asks, and Jinhwan answers without looking at him.

“Ice would be great.” He doesn’t recall seeing any sort of freezer in the study, and he looks up to watch Hanbin, who simply takes a bucket full of ice out of the cabinet where the water had been. A freezer masquerading as furniture… A far cry from the shabby old refrigerator Jiwon had gotten his water out of. Hanbin comes back carrying two glasses of water and retakes his seat.

“Out of curiosity, what kind of wood is this?” Jinhwan asks, testing him.

“African blackwood,” Hanbin replies easily, taking a sip of his water, “this table probably costs more than what you make in an entire year.” Hanbin smiles at him, but Jinhwan can’t figure out what his angle is. Is he just bragging? Is he trying to point out that he knows how much Jinhwan makes?

“It’s downright ridiculous, the value we put on things like ornamental lumber,” Hanbin continues, “it’s nice to look at, and it has been in our family for generations, but at the end of the day it’s just a table, and it doesn’t matter what material it’s made out of so long as it serves its purpose.”

Jinhwan takes a sip of his water and contemplates the comment, still unsure about Hanbin’s choice to say it out loud, knowing that he’s listening and judging. What is he trying to show? That he’s open to sympathies for the poor? Why would he bother, though? He’s just beginning his career as a fighter. He’s not gunning for politics yet.

“It is just a table,” Jinhwan replies finally, “but it’s an old table, has been around for generations, like you said, but you’d never know by looking at it. It’s attractive, which is something positive to be considered.”

Hanbin nods at his response before leaning back in his chair and putting his feet up on the table, a move that throws Jinhwan for a complete loop. But a second later he’s squinting his eyes at Hanbin’s sock-clad feet.

“Forgive me,” Jinhwan starts, finally tearing his eyes away to look at Hanbin’s face, “are those cats on your socks?”

Hanbin’s smiles grows a little wider. “A birthday present from my little sister,” he replies, “I’m more of a dog person, myself, but cats are very special to her.”

Jinhwan isn’t sure what to say. Now he’s even more confused about Hanbin’s choice of messages—if there are even any actual messages at all. The more Jinhwan looks at him the more he feels like Hanbin is playing with him. He’s actually never interviewed anyone like that before, his interviews are always cut and dry, with people who are either obvious in their attempts to dress up their words, or too dumb to give any thought to them at all.

But Hanbin knows exactly what he’s doing, knows how to make Jinhwan second guess comments and actions, knows that as soon as he says something, the wheels in Jinhwan’s head will be spinning to weave connections.

It’s refreshing, in a way. He’ll have to up his game to keep up with him.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Hanbin says, “you’ve interviewed my competitor already, haven’t you?”

Jinhwan is surprised by the question. “I have, earlier today.” He’ll be forthcoming with his information, just to see where Hanbin goes with this.

“And what was your impression? Did he live up to expectations?”

Jinhwan shakes his head. “To be honest, no. But I’m not entirely surprised. He’s a terrible speaker, interviewing him was a mess.”

“Unfortunately not all of us can have it all,” Hanbin replies, “what was it that you said earlier? Undeserving champions in the interim?” He smirks at Jinhwan, who returns the expression.

“I’m glad you’re finally debuting, then,” Jinhwan replies, “couldn’t have come at a better time.”

“Speaking of that, should we get to the interview?” Hanbin asks, staring at Jinhwan even while taking another sip of water.

Jinhwan takes his recorder out of his pocket and lays it on the table, activating it. He doesn’t expect all the handouts he got from Jiwon’s interview, thinks he’ll actually have to consult his recording to get his story exactly how he wants it. He’ll have to be careful to give Hanbin the kind of interview that will have him asking for Jinhwan to return.

He’s a good writer, and Hanbin must know it, because he did ask for him. Even if it’s only to prove a point by making him switch sides, he gets the feeling that Hanbin wouldn’t have chosen him if he didn’t like his writing. He has to remember that over the course of the interview. Hanbin won’t be an easy subject, but Jinhwan likes a challenge.
 

True to his promise earlier, once they finish speaking Hanbin invites Jinhwan to join his family for a meal. Jinhwan accepts, because even with the sushi of earlier, he’s starving. Navigating conversation with Hanbin proved to be quite a workout, and he’s looking forward to whatever meal he’s going to get.

Hanbin leads him back the way he’d come in, towards the elevators, and Jinhwan once again admires the family portrait. This time he looks more closely at the others. Hanbin does have his mother’s face, and he’s surprised to see that the resemblance is also shared with his sister.

“Admiring the family?” Hanbin asks when he notices the attention Jinhwan is giving the painting.

“It’s a beautiful portrait,” Jinhwan replies, “although I was really just noticing how much you look like your mother, and your sister.”

To his surprise Hanbin grins at the comment. “It annoys my father that neither of us have his features,” Hanbin says conspiratorially, leaning closer to Jinhwan to whisper in his ear, “don’t put that in the article.”

The close proximity feels stifling, because Jinhwan still doesn’t have a perfect handle on Hanbin. Not to mention the way his presence just fills all the space around him, to the point that Jinhwan feels like it’s difficult to get a breath. Still, somehow he manages.

“Your secret commentary is safe with me,” Jinhwan replies teasingly, and Hanbin rewards him with a softer smile that has Jinhwan’s heart melting slightly.

“We’ll see tomorrow,” Hanbin says, and even though he smiles and his voice is soft, Jinhwan hears the threat behind the words. Hanbin has mastered the art of unarmed intimidation, as far as Jinhwan is concerned. He doesn’t need an armed to strike fear into Jinhwan’s heart.

“I admit I was surprised to see all the family pictures,” Jinhwan says, not wanting to linger on Hanbin’s intimidation tactics.

“We like to capture moments,” Hanbin replies, “they’re a useful reminder for us.”

“Which picture is your favourite?” Jinhwan knows it’s a bit of a bold question, but he hopes Hanbin might answer it anyway. Of course even if he does, there’s no telling if it will be an honest answer.

But without missing a beat Hanbin walks a bit further down the hall in the other direction until he stands in front of a picture of he and his sister. It looks like it was taken a few years ago, they both look younger. In it, his sister is holding a cat. “The source of your sister’s infatuation with cats?” Jinhwan asks, and Hanbin nods.

“That’s him,” Hanbin replies, “Legate Lanius, the Monster of the East.”

Jinhwan takes a few seconds pause before asking, to see if Hanbin will elaborate. But he doesn’t. “Okay, you’re going to have to explain that name to me. I know you all take your names from Roman generals, is that where the cat got its name?”

Hanbin grins at him. “Why don’t you look him up? He’s got a very interesting story.”

Jinhwan logs the name for later contemplation. “I’ll do that. Maybe put him in the article.” He sees Hanbin bite his cheek and feels tempted to look it up now, but before he can Hanbin continues down the hall, and Jinhwan leaves it for now and follows.

The room they enter is a rather cozy dining room, very different from what he’d envisioned. He’d been expecting a long table with formal chairs, elaborate centrepieces and plenty of space in between them all. Instead there’s a booth set into one corner of the room, the kind you see at family restaurants. He glances at Hanbin, who’s watching his reaction.

“Expecting something more formal?” Hanbin asks him, and Jinhwan nods. “We do have a formal dining room,” Hanbin explains, “where we entertain guests.”

Jinhwan isn’t entirely sure what he means by the explanation. He’s sure that’s he’s carefully chosen the words, and he tries to figure out what he means by them. “Am I not a guest?”

“No,” Hanbin replies, “it may be a tad premature on my part, but I prefer to think of you as more of a family friend.” His eyes meet Jinhwan’s, and once again Jinhwan feels his blood run cold. Something about Hanbin’s eyes have that quality, the cold stare makes him shiver.

“I feel honoured,” Jinhwan answers, hoping he doesn’t sound nervous.

“You should,” Hanbin replies, “and I trust that I’ll feel the same way tomorrow morning.” Again with the stare and the soft smile, and Jinhwan feels like he may have unwittingly stepped into a nest of vipers.

But he smiles back at Hanbin. “I promise you’ll feel exactly that tomorrow, and every day after so long as you desire.”

“Good answer. Let’s eat.” Hanbin leads him to the booth and Jinhwan tries to wrap his head around it all. There along the back, in the middle seat, are Hanbin’s parents, Germanicus on the left, and the leader of parliament on the right. Next to her is a young man with black hair and a gorgeous face, and Jinhwan recognizes him as their adopted son, Junhoe. Next to him sits the youngest Kim, ten year old Hanbyul.

“Jinhwan, meet the rest of my family,” Hanbin begins the introductions, and they all meet him with the same friendly smiles.

“How did the interview go?” Germanicus asks, and before Jinhwan can say anything Hanbin’s shaking his finger in his father’s direction.

“No sneak peeks, you’ll have to wait until tomorrow to read it.”

“I trust it will be worth the wait?” Germanicus asks, and at that Jinhwan replies.

“I certainly hope you’ll feel that way. I have a good feeling about tomorrow’s article, we hit on a lot of really good discussion just now.” Jinhwan watches the faces of both parents, feels at ease when they smile at his answer. He sits next to Hanbin, who is next to his father.

“Hanbin, have you told our guest what we’re having for lunch?” His mother asks, and Jinhwan’s excited to hear it. He can smell it, and if he weren’t so nervous about making a good impression his stomach would probably be rumbling. Hanbin turns to look at him and Jinhwan meets his eyes.

“We’re having black pork.”

The answer hits Jinhwan like a freight train, and for a few seconds he can’t breathe. He’s never talked about his childhood in a professional setting, even his co-workers have no idea that he grew up on Jeju Island. But with the way Hanbin’s staring at him, waiting for a response… How does he know? How did he find out?

“That sounds delicious.” Jinhwan answers, but his stomach is flip flopping nervously.

“It’ll be like a little taste of home for you, won’t it?” Hanbin asks, before leaning closer to him. “Like you, Jinhwan, I also like to do my research.”

Jinhwan nods and forces himself to meet Hanbin’s eyes. “I appreciate the offer. Black pork is my favourite.”

“Excellent.” Hanbin sits back and Jinhwan finally breathes.

“You’re so ing dramatic.”

Jinhwan’s eyes snap up to see Junhoe grinning at Hanbin from across the table, and he glances at Hanbin, who’s grinning back at Junhoe. The teasing tone knocks a few of his nerves back into place. So Hanbin looked into him—not surprising, really, given that he’d invited Jinhwan into his home. It’s prudent to know who you’re doing business with.

The food is brought out then, halting any further discussion. Jinhwan’s mouth waters at the scent, and his heart aches at the memories of his childhood. How different life would have been if they’d never left the island. But he can’t dwell on the past, not when his future hangs in the balance of the meal.

He waits before eating, to see if Hanbin’s family has any pre-meal rituals, but there are none, and everyone just begins eating, not even pausing for prayer. Jinhwan picks up his first piece of black pork in five years, and just before eating it he thinks about Jinwoo. It almost feels a little selfish of him to be eating the island delicacy without his brother. Usually Jinwoo doesn’t invade his thoughts like this, but it’s such a family atmosphere that he can’t stop the thoughts before they form.

Nearing the end of the meal he looks up to notice Hanbyul staring at him. He looks back at her, curious about her expression, like she’s trying to reach some decision. Should he say something to her? Make conversation?

“So, Hanbyul, I’ve heard that you really like cats.”

Her eyes go wide and no one moves and Jinhwan has that sudden feeling that he’s done something terribly wrong, though he has no idea what that something is. The silence is broken by Germanicus.

“Hanbin,” he speaks the name with a hint of warning in his tone, and Jinhwan turns his head to look at them.

Hanbin doesn’t look at his father, though, instead he stares straight ahead. “It’s my interview.” Jinhwan feels even more confused by the answer.

“Yes, I suppose it is. All the same, mind what you say.”

Jinhwan’s eyes flit between the two of them, wondering when he’s going to get his explanation. Clearly there’s a story here, if Hanbin has mentioned his interview. Hanbin finally turns his head, pointedly looking Jinhwan in the eyes before turning his attention to his sister.

“Byul, tell Jinhwan what happened to Legate Lanius this week.” Jinhwan’s gaze shifts to Hanbyul, and he’s startled by the look of anger on her face.

“Someone killed him.”

“Tell him what you found. Describe it.”

Hanbyul’s eyes harden and her hands ball into fists and even though she hasn’t described anything yet, Jinhwan’s already clenching his muscles in nervous anticipation.

“They left him on the steps,” she begins, her voice as hard as her eyes, “they cut open his stomach and wrapped his guts around his neck.”

Jinhwan feels sick to his stomach, the pork threatening to come back up. “Do you know who did it?” He manages to inquire, though he doesn’t think he even needs to ask at this point.

“Someone from the Death Brigade.”

Of course.

“I want you to put that in your article,” Hanbin says, and Jinhwan turns to look at him, and he’s suddenly reminded of being face to face with Jiyong and his flaming eyes. For some reason, the black void of Hanbin’s is slightly more terrifying. Jinhwan nods, even though he’s not sure he’ll be able to bring himself to describe it in words. And that’s when he realizes the entire charade of earlier.

Hanbin’s comments about the wood, about the table, none of it mattered. It was just a convenient backdrop to make Jinhwan look at those ridiculous cat socks, to make him bring the subject up himself in order to see the outrage on his little sister’s face. This might be Hanbin’s interview, and he might be allowed to discuss whatever topics he chooses, but he does it carefully, paints the outline of the picture only and makes Jinhwan add the colour.

“I’m going to get revenge on them for Legate Lanius’ death, aren’t I, Byul?” Hanbin says, and Jinhwan watches as Hanbyul nods.

“I wish I could get revenge myself,” Hanbyul says with all the malice a ten year old could possibly possess.

“Well, maybe, after I win, I could bring you into the pit, and you can get your revenge there.” Jinhwan wishes he had a set of five eyes so he could see all of their reactions. He’s missing too much to understand their dynamics. Hanbin calmly offers, Hanbyul excitedly contemplates, Germanicus warily eyes his son, Hanbin’s mother wears an impassive mask, and Junhoe watches the both of them, wary of the potential conflict.

“It is your fight,” Germanicus replies, “what you do in celebration is your decision.” It’s a strained comment, and Jinhwan is certain that his father doesn’t approve.

“Can I kick his face?” Hanbyul asks desperately.

“If that’s what you want to do, then of course.” Hanbin replies with a smile.

“I want to break his nose! Can I break his nose?” Hanbyul pleads, the anger replaced by a desperate pout.

Hanbin shrugs. “Maybe.” 

Hanbyul glares at him and crosses her arms over her chest. “You said I could!”

Hanbin grins and points at her plate. “Only if you eat your vegetables.”

Hanbyul’s eyes widen in surprise for a moment before she’s looking down, glaring at her plate. “But I hate green beans.”

Jinhwan isn’t sure what’s more surprising—Hanbyul casually stating that she wants to break someone’s nose, Hanbin coercing her into eating vegetables to do it, or their father, silently laughing into his fist.

“Hanbin,” his mother says, and Jinhwan waits for her censure, except that it doesn’t come, “I’d just like to commend you on your excellent bartering skills.” They all break into laughter at her comment, and Jinhwan can’t help his surprise. He feels like he’s in some alternate reality.

Hanbyul sighs and looks at her plate before looking back at Hanbin. “You promise?”

Hanbin nods and reaches across the table, extending his pinky finger out to his sister, who links hers with him. “I swear that if you eat your vegetables, I will bring you into the pit with me when I win, and you can stomp on his face and break his nose.”

Hanbyul sighs again and nods. “Okay.” Then she picks up her fork and shovels the entire mound of beans into and Jinhwan silently watches her as she chews, before looking around the table and finally meeting the amused gaze of Germanicus.

The older man smiles at him in a resigned sort of way. “It’s Hanbin’s interview.”

Jinhwan looks at Hanbin then, who just grins at him, and despite having been here for a few hours now, he still isn’t entirely sure what to make of the family, they manage to defy every one of his expectations.
 

Jinhwan spends the next seven hours at his desk at work, writing his article. It’s his longest to date, and for once he knows he’s not at risk of getting cut off. They’d be willing to cut other articles to fit his in its entirety.

He’s doing his final round of edits before sending it off to the editing team, who are still here, waiting for him. He re-reads his line about Hanbyul’s cat and remembers Hanbin’s advice to look it up. Maybe, once he reads the person’s history, it might inspire him for some great line to complement his paragraph.

Instead what he finds only leaves him feeling like he doesn’t know a damn thing about Hanbin’s brain.

Because while Legate Lanius does exist, he’s from a ing video game.

However, in looking over the information one more time out of sheer irritation, he can’t help but smile. He amends his line.

Crimes against beloved family members can’t go unpunished, and Stray Bullet can expect to be on the receiving end of the fallout in regards to the death of Legate Lanius. (EDITING TEAM: you can’t change this line you have to keep the word fallout!!!! KJ)

No one else will pick up on the reference, and while he still doesn’t have a firm grasp on his personality, Jinhwan feels positively confident that Hanbin is going to love the throwaway reference, because if he’s learned one thing for sure, it’s that Hanbin chooses his words very carefully, and always for a specific reason.

So Jinhwan’s doing the same.