Chapter 28 – A Throne of Fire
A city like this never slept, but tonight, it held its breath.
Joon stood on the rooftop of his penthouse, overlooking the glittering skyline that he had conquered piece by piece. Below, deals were being made, lives were being sold, and power was shifting hands—most of it flowing toward him.
Yet, in the depths of the underworld, a new plot was brewing.
Tonight, the hunt began.
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A high-profile assassin had arrived in the city—The White Specter.
A ghost from the underground, known for never failing. His name alone made billionaires tremble.
And he had one job.
Eliminate Joon.
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In a dimly lit lounge, hidden beneath a luxury hotel, whispers of the contract spread among those who understood power.
Seok-jin, the mural artist turned informant, slipped into a corner booth where Soo-ah and Hyun-soo sat. His voice was barely above a breath.
"They're making their move," he said. "This isn't some street-level hit. The elites want Joon erased, and they're paying enough to make it happen."
Soo-ah's grip tightened around her glass. "Let them try."
Hyun-soo, ever composed, smirked. "Joon was expecting this."
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The streets of Emerald District were quiet, too quiet.
Joon walked alone, dressed in an all-black tailored suit, his hands in his pockets. He had received the message loud and clear. If they wanted to hunt, then let them come.
And they did.
A sharp whistle cut through the air—the signal.
From the rooftops, from the alleyways, from the darkness itself, shadows moved. The best mercenaries money could buy.
A normal man would have panicked.
Joon smiled.
Let's see if their money was well spent.
--
The first attacker came fast—too fast for an untrained eye. A knife gleamed under the streetlights, aiming straight for Joon's throat.
A mistake.
Joon sidestepped smoothly, grabbing the man's wrist and twisting—CRACK. The knife clattered to the ground as its owner collapsed in pain.
The others hesitated for only a second before rushing in.
Joon moved like a ghost, weaving through them with precision. A kick sent one man flying into a streetlamp. A swift elbow shattered another's jaw.
And then—
The White Specter appeared.
Clad in silver, standing on the hood of a sleek black car, he watched Joon with a predator's calm.
"You've impressed me," he said. "But this is where it ends."
Joon chuckled, rolling his shoulders. "You're not the first to say that."
The Specter leaped, his blade flashing.
The fight had truly begun.
---
Their battle was unlike any other—pure speed, pure skill. Joon dodged by inches, countering with strikes that forced the assassin back.
The Specter was fast.
Joon was faster.
A final feint, a brutal counterattack—Joon's fist met the assassin's ribs, sending him crashing into the pavement.
The silence that followed was deafening.
The White Specter, the so-called legend, lay motionless.
Joon exhaled, adjusting his suit. "Tell your employers," he murmured, "that I'm still here."
---
By morning, the news had spread.
The elites who had ordered the hit were now terrified.
The underworld whispered one thing: Joon cannot be touched.
Some bowed. Some plotted in silence.
Joon simply smiled.
This was only the beginning.
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