Chapter 8: Reunion

Michael sat in his office on the top floor of the MK Group's headquarters, gazing out at the sprawling cityscape of Seoul that stretched out beneath him. The room was a harmonious blend of modern design and understated luxury, reflecting his meticulous attention to detail. 

Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm glow on the polished wooden desk, where a few important documents awaited his final review.

Only a select few knew that Michael was the mastermind behind the MK Group, a secret that added an air of intrigue to his already formidable reputation. Just as he finished the last document, a soft knock interrupted his thoughts.

"Chairman, I have something to report," Oliver said, his voice steady as he entered the office.

Michael looked up from the last document he was reviewing, his expression calm but attentive. "What is it?" he replied, putting the paper down.

" Gitae Kim has just arrived in the country," Oliver informed him, maintaining his composed demeanor.

Michael's interest was piqued. "Do you know what he's here for?"

"We've learned from our sources that he's driving toward Busan," Oliver explained.

"Excellent. It's been a while since I've seen that bastard," Michael said, a hint of amusement in his tone as he donned his coat.

Without wasting another moment, he turned to leave the office, Oliver trailing closely behind. As they descended the stairs, they each slipped on masks that obscured their faces, blending into the shadows.

Once they arrived at the parking area, Oliver opened the back door of a sleek black car for Michael. He slid into the seat, removing his mask to reveal a focused expression. Oliver took the driver's seat and followed suit, discarding his mask as well. With a swift motion, he started the engine, and they set off toward Busan, the anticipation hanging heavily in the air.

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In Busan

A tall man strides forward, his figure imposing, with blood splattered across his muscular frame. His fierce expression, marked by the intensity of his gaze, matches the brutality of the scene. He wears a black leather jacket, unzipped to reveal his bare chest beneath, scarred and smeared with the remnants of the fight.

His slicked-back hair glistens under the faint streetlights, with a single loose bang falling over his forehead. Blue jeans, dark and worn, cling to his legs, completing his rugged, battle-hardened look. In his hand, a bloodied hatchet, still dripping, swings with a steady rhythm as he approaches his car.

His Mexican subordinate, waiting by the door, opens it for him without a word. Gitae casually slides the hatchet back into its holster as though it were just another day. Just as he's about to get in, a sleek black car rolls up beside them, stopping with precision. The back window rolls down smoothly, revealing a familiar face.

"It's been a while, hasn't it, Gitae?" Michael's voice carries an easy, almost casual tone, but the smile on his face hints at something sharper.

Gitae turns his head, meeting Michael's gaze with his usual indifferent expression. "Yes, it has, Michael," he replies, his voice steady but with an edge.

Michael's eyes trail over Gitae, taking in his outfit before they settle on the leather jacket—a jacket that once belonged to someone else. "It seems you're still the insecure boy, chasing your father's shadow," Michael says, his smile never wavering. "Tell me, the day we fought… the only reason you came at me, wasn't it because you heard that old man Gapryong had trained me?" Michael steps out of the car, slowly closing the distance between them, his tone cool.

"And yet," he continues, pointing directly at Gitae, "he never acknowledged you, not once. He never trained you—his own son." Gitae's expression falters for a split second, the briefest crack in his facade before it hardens again.

"You may have inherited his blood and his cruelty, but you'll never be like him," Michael states, standing just inches away, his head tilted up slightly to meet Gitae's gaze, as the height difference between them becomes noticeable.

Michael's voice softens slightly, though his words still carry weight. "I admired Gapryong as a fighter. He taught me a few things, but I agree with you on one thing—Gapryong was a terrible man, especially to his family. He only ever acknowledged Jake."

The tension between them crackles in the air as Michael shifts the conversation. "But enough about the past. What brings someone like you here? I don't imagine you're the type who wants to be a King. Did James Lee send you?"

Gitae nods, his expression unreadable. "Yeah, he sent me. But why does a guy like you care?"

Michael's eyes gleam with amusement. "I've been looking for some fun, and when I found out you were here, I couldn't resist. Why don't we see how much you've improved?" He steps back slightly, a mischievous smile playing at his lips. "Don't worry, I won't kill you. After all, I'm the one who asked you to fight."

Gitae smirks, his hand resting on his hatchet. "Anything goes, right?"

Michael grins wider, his voice low and confident. "Yeah."

Gitae wasted no time. With his axe in hand, he closed the distance between them in the blink of an eye, swinging the weapon with all his brute strength. The sheer force of his attack could split the earth. As the axe came down, Michael sidestepped effortlessly, the blade missing him by mere inches and crashing into the ground, creating a crater that shook the surroundings.

Michael, calm and unfazed, countered instantly, aiming for Gitae's exposed side. But Gitae, equally quick, dodged with a smirk, using his free hand to throw a punch at Michael's midsection.

Michael dodged again, this time using the fluid movements of Jeet Kune Do, striking Gitae in the chest with precision. The impact sent Gitae flying back, crashing into a nearby wall with such force that it cracked and crumbled around him.

Yet, Gitae emerged from the rubble unscathed, dusting off his jacket with a grin. "You've become stronger," Michael remarked, impressed by Gitae's resilience.

Without wasting any time, Gitae launched himself at Michael once again, moving so fast he nearly broke the sound barrier. His fist connected with Michael's stomach, and the force sent Michael flying backward, crashing through a wall. For a brief moment, Michael was caught off guard by the sheer speed and power behind the blow.

But Gitae didn't let up. In the blink of an eye, he was back on Michael, ready to pound him into the ground. His axe swung down again, aiming for Michael's head.

Michael, still on the ground, grabbed the axe mid-swing, holding it in place as he looked up at Gitae with a slight grin.

"Wow, you're stronger than I thought. It's been years since I've bled," Michael said, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip. "It seems like I'll have to go to 50% now."

The moment those words left Michael's mouth, Gitae barely had time to react. Michael moved with superhuman speed, his hand wrapping around Gitae's body.

In one swift motion, Michael lifted him off the ground and slammed him down, creating a massive crater—far larger than the one Gitae had made earlier.

Gitae scrambled to his feet, desperately trying to put distance between them. But Michael appeared behind him in a flash, his unreal speed making him nearly invisible.

Gitae whirled around, swinging his fist at Michael. But Michael was faster. He grabbed Gitae's arm and, with a practiced motion, used Aikido to flip him into the air.

As Gitae hurtled upward, Michael followed through with a Taekwondo kick, his foot slamming into Gitae's midsection, sending him flying through another wall. The impact was devastating, and Gitae hit the ground, unconscious, as the dust settled around them.

Michael stood tall, unfazed, and calmly brushed the dust from his hands as he gazed down at Gitae's unconscious body. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "You've impressed me today," Michael remarked, his tone cool but genuine. "You've gotten a lot stronger."

His eyes then shifted to Gitae's Mexican subordinate, who stood frozen in shock, unsure of what to do. Michael pointed at him and spoke in flawless Spanish, "Ven y recoge a tu jefe. Despertará en unos minutos." ("Come and pick your boss up. He'll wake up in a few minutes.")

Without waiting for a response, Michael turned and retrieved his blazer from the nearby flower bed, slipping it on with practiced ease. As he walked toward the car, Oliver had already opened the door for him. Michael slid into the back seat, composed as ever.

With Oliver in the driver's seat, the car pulled away smoothly, leaving the scene behind as they drove into the night, the glow of the city fading in the rearview mirror.