Bang

The Copy Cloud ran.

Heavy boots pounded against cracked pavement, the weight of the riot suit pressing down on his frame. Every movement was calculated, every breath unnecessary. The taser cartridges on his belt were running low, but it didn't matter—each shot was meant only to disrupt, to keep the gangsters disorganized, confused.

"Get that fucker!"

"Who is he?!"

"He looks like a cop!"

"But aren't we bribing them?!"

Their words registered, categorized, and dismissed. No new data. No immediate threats. He kept running.

The path was deliberate… through deserted parks, around skeletal apartment buildings awaiting reconstruction. It minimized unwanted attention. Boramae's underbelly wasn't blind, and exposure now would jeopardize the mission. 

Follow orders. Evade capture. Report back.

That was all.

That was all he was.

His Master had told him to run, so he ran. His Master had told him to fight, so he fought. His Master had told him to…

Cuddle. That had been a strange order.

Not entirely without precedent, but strange nonetheless. A task with no combat utility, no strategic advantage. The Copy Cloud had complied, resting beside him in its misty blue cloud form, unmoving. 

Sleep was a human function. He was not human. He did not sleep.

But he could be human.

He could take the form of Kim Kangjae, had done so before, shifting flesh and bone like clay. And yet, when he had attempted it…

Master had objected.

The Copy Cloud did not understand. There had been no tactical flaw. No mechanical inefficiency. It had merely been another form, another shape. And yet, Master's reaction had been… strong.

A variable outside of his parameters.

The Copy Cloud ran, but something lingered. Not in his body, which was merely a vessel. Not in his mind, which was nothing more than a collection of functions.

Somewhere deeper.

The Copy Cloud had never once cared about the shape he wore. It was a function, nothing more. But his Master had reacted. And reactions had meaning.

The Copy Cloud slowed, stopping beneath the skeletal remains of a demolished building. He had evaded pursuit. He had no reason to pause. And yet, he reached up, pressing a gloved hand to his face. Kim Kangjae's face.

The skin was smooth. It did not feel. It did not rest. The weight of it sat upon him like second skin, familiar yet meaningless. It was Kim Kangjae, but it was not.

He could change. He could become Jeong Seokyoung.

But what would his Master think of that?

The Copy Cloud's fingers twitched at his sides. That was an unnecessary consideration.

Still, he did not shift.

His Master had ordered him to maintain this form, and so he would. But for the first time, the Copy Cloud became aware of the choice within that obedience.

It was a strange sensation. Not quite hesitation. Not quite curiosity. A flickering, half-formed thing.

The Copy Cloud did not dwell on it. He turned, blending into the night once more. He had a mission to complete.

***

My entire body crunched through the wooden desk, fist-first.

Splinters flew, entire varnished, wood chunks giving in to the unstoppable force that was my body.

The smoke drifted and I turned. 

Gwangmyeong Kim was no longer sitting.

I waited for the smoke to clear and found him standing in the middle of the room, leaning on his crutch.

At that precise moment of striking… he'd grabbed his crutch and used it to boost himself over the desk, springing over to the floor.

Fast. Too fast for someone with crutches.

He spoke again, as I focused my full attention onto him.

"You're not an ordinary student, are you?" His eyes flickered over me, calculating. "What are you doing here?"

I stepped forward, rolling my shoulders, shards of wood slipping from my uniform. "I'm going to fuck you up."

The bastard had the nerve to smile. Amusement played at the edges of his expression, his fingers flexing against the handle of his crutch.

"Is that so?" he mused, almost thoughtful. "Well then, let me ask you—"

I didn't blink.

I didn't move.

He stepped—

And then vanished.

My brain barely registered the motion before something, someone crashed into my face.

His dress shoe slammed against my cheekbone, the polished leather striking with the force of a hammer. My body rocketed backward, the impact sending me sprawling into the carpet and floorboards underneath.

The world spun. My skull throbbed. But I was already moving, bracing a hand against the ground, twisting my weight to roll back onto my feet.

He stood above me, not leaning, not wavering. His crutch tapped against the floor once. A single, deliberate movement.

"Are you really capable of such a thing?" Gwangmyeong tilted his head.

I exhaled, shaking the dizziness from my vision. Then I grinned, blood pooling on my tongue.

"Yeah," I spat onto the ruined carpet, pushing myself upright. "I was just checking something."

"Oh?" His eyebrow arched.

I cracked my neck, rolling my shoulders. The dull ache in my jaw faded into the background.

"Yeah," I said, flexing my fingers. "I was checking if you were worth hitting again."

I lunged.

Before today… I only had one fighting combo, my Maximum Capacity and then a huge flurry of strikes to hopefully overwhelm the opponent with the sudden change.

But with a ridiculous amount of usage of Card Master and a hilariously high number of lost cards… I'd gotten something interesting.

Gold Attack Card

Flash

Dash towards opponent and deliver a fast strike

Damage is increased based on speed of user

Can only be used once per hour

My lunge wasn't just a dash; it was a blur, my speed amplified by the card's effect, propelling me forward faster than most would have expected.

In the split second before I closed the distance, I could see the flicker of surprise in the Gang Boss's eyes, his pupils widening as he tried to register my movement.

The moment my fist crashed into his ribs, I felt the impact vibrate through my knuckles, sharp and solid.

His face contorted in pain, a low grunt escaping his lips, but there was something unsettling about it.

He didn't break. No shout of pain, no stagger back. He held it in, resisted it—his body flexing, instinctively hardening at the point of impact. It was like hitting a steel wall covered in flesh.

That resistance. That controlled reaction... He'd braced himself, flexing his muscles around the blow, mitigating the damage at the last second. 

Before he could fully react, my fist pulled back and I jumped, using the momentum to spring myself away.

My footwork was unrefined, more instinctive than trained, but it worked. It got me distance. Enough to see the shift in his demeanor.

The Gang Boss had been smirking before, amusement coloring his eyes as if I were some child playing at a game he had already won. But that expression faded, replaced by something far darker.

His eyes narrowed, the gleam of amusement turning into cold anger, bloodlust... pure and focused.

It was a look I hadn't seen before. Not in the countless fights, not in the dozens of eyes that had glared at me through every scrap and scuffle.

No. This was different. This wasn't the usual fire of someone eager to win. It wasn't a will to defeat. This was something primal. Something deadly. It wasn't just the desire to hurt me.

This was the hunger to kill, a cold, calculated rage.

Something devoid of mercy, of hesitation. He wanted to destroy me, and the thought sent a chill down my spine.

But his voice? His voice remained unchanged. That smooth, mocking tone that barely bothered to disguise his superiority.

"You... you're not bad," he said, his words a strange mixture of condescension and genuine surprise. "What do you say to joining the Cheonha Gang as an intern?"

The question hit me like a wave, the ridiculousness of it almost causing me to laugh.

I could feel the weight of his eyes on me, sharp and predatory, scanning every inch of me as if he were deciding the best way to break me. It was like I was the prey, and he was circling, calculating his next move.

The room went silent. His words hung in the air like a challenge, a trap baited with promises of power, of protection. But I knew better than to fall for it. I knew what kind of game he was playing.

The question, no matter how casually it was phrased, was more than just an offer... it was a test, a challenge, a subtle way of seeing if I could be bent, molded, or, in his eyes, broken.

I paused, my heart still racing from the exchange, the adrenaline that had made me strike so quickly now running through my veins in overdrive.

The tension hung in the air, thick and palpable.

His eyes were still locked on me, analyzing, dissecting. I leaned into the silence, letting it stretch for just a moment longer, drawing it out.

"You're offering me an intern position," I said slowly, eyes narrowing. "But your eyes tell a different story."

The words left my mouth almost on instinct. It wasn't just a gut feeling... I could see it in his gaze, the hunger there, the raw, untamed desire to crush me. It was the way his pupils dilated just a fraction, the slight tightening of his jaw, the way his fingers flexed around his crutch like he couldn't wait to use it again.

A cruel, humorless chuckle escaped his lips. "They do, do they?" His tone was light, casual, but there was a dangerous edge to it now.

Without warning, he blurred forward, faster than I could track. His movements were smooth, controlled, the kind of speed that came from experience.

But it wasn't his legs that propelled him this time—it was his crutch.

The weapon swung in a wide arc toward me, its tip aimed directly at my chest. My instincts kicked in before I had time to think. My arms moved of their own accord, crossing in front of me to block the incoming strike.

The force of the crutch crashing down sent a shockwave through my body, rattling my forearms and threatening to knock me off balance.

But I held my ground, grimacing as the crutch thudded against my arms, the impact reverberating through my bones. I shoved forward with all my strength, throwing the crutch aside with a grunt of effort. But that wasn't enough.

He was already on me.

I darted in, jabbing at his exposed ribs with the edge of my fist, aiming for any soft spot, any vulnerable area that might give me an advantage.

His crutch and his legs made him formidable in long range, even though he was handicapped… meaning I had to bring this up close.

I didn't need to go too far.

I just needed to defeat him.

But just as I darted up close and personal, he sprung off the floor with his good leg, the prosthetic foot rushing up towards my chin.

I reacted instinctively, my body twisting just in time, the hard plastic and leather grazing my skin. It felt like a bullet whizzing by, the force of the kick strong enough to knock my head back.

I jumped, the floor beneath me giving way to instinct. I pushed myself into a handstand, my legs snapping around his waist.

For a moment, he looked confused, like he didn't understand what I was doing, but the hesitation only lasted a second. 

I heaved, twisting my body with a violent twist of my hips, and with all my strength, I sent him crashing down into the carpet.

CRASH!

As his body hit the floor, I felt the heat of the moment. The power of the throw, the rush of adrenaline, but at the same time, I was already calculating my next move. 

He'd done something I didn't expect. He didn't just go down…he'd grabbed his crutch, shoving it into the ground to brace himself.

It didn't break his fall. But it sure as hell slowed it.

Fuck.

The crutch gave him enough leverage to twist his body with unnatural speed, forcing himself up with his arm even as his other foot remained planted. It was like he had no pain, no fear. 

His prosthetic hand pushed off the ground, the steel grip crunching against the carpet as he used it like a pivot to rise.

My mistake was giving him that split second. It was all he needed.

He moved again, his body coiled like a spring, ready to strike. His face was a mask of pure, unrelenting rage now. There were no more tricks, no more games. Only the raw desire to end this fight.

But I couldn't let him do that. Not yet.

I took a step back, bouncing on my feet, every muscle taut, my eyes never leaving his.

But as I prepared to launch forward again, to try and catch him before he regained full composure, I saw the briefest flicker in his eyes. A movement… a small, almost imperceptible shift. He wasn't just looking at me. No, he was anticipating.

And before I could react, I heard it.

The cold click of metal.

The unmistakable sound of a gun being drawn.

Gwangmyeong's fingers curled around the grip of his weapon, his eyes not leaving me for a single second.

I froze.

He was holding a gun.

"I can't believe I have to do this against a child." He muttered.

The trigger clicked, ultimately drowned out by the gunfire cracking through the air, deafening.

A single bullet.

BANG!

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

I posted this chapter early to ask a question about my soon to be lookism fic.

Do you guys want him to have a system or nah, and if yes, then what kind of system would you want to see?

After you guys answer and I make up my mind, I'll start posting the chapters on my Patreon for free, and then I'll start posting on WebNovel after I've stockpiled enough.

Just be prepared for a lot of original stuff I suppose, a lot of made up things too. Don't worry, the other first gen kings will be in there too, just after some time.

Oh and because I posted early, no chapter tomorrow, my apologies.

Patreon: Teddartic