Yes

The next day, Jalen found him again.

Gun Park was leaning against a railing on the rooftop of a quiet parking garage. The wind rolled gently through his coat. He didn't look surprised to see Jalen approach.

"You don't listen, do you?" Gun said, not even glancing his way.

Jalen stepped forward until they stood face to face.

"I'm not here to talk this time," Jalen said quietly. "I want to prove it."

Gun's eyes shifted toward him. Calm. Cold. "Then come."

Jalen didn't hesitate.

He dashed forward with speed and precision, throwing a sharp right jab toward Gun's chin. Gun tilted his head to the side with barely any movement, letting the punch miss by an inch. He retaliated with a heavy knee that knocked the wind out of Jalen, sending him stumbling back.

Before Jalen could recover, Gun was already on him.

A crushing elbow to the shoulder. A low sweep that took his legs out. A palm strike to the chest that slammed him against the concrete wall. Jalen gasped, trying to breathe. Every move Gun made was clinical, practiced. Unreadable.

"You're too slow," Gun said flatly.

Jalen pushed off the wall and launched another series of strikes. Hook, elbow, spinning kick—each one faster than the last. But Gun parried them with minimal effort. His eyes were still calm, as if this was all just light exercise.

Then Jalen slipped in something different. A feint to the ribs—followed by an upward cross with all the strength he had left.

It connected.

Gun's head snapped slightly, and he stepped back.

A thin line of red marked his cheek. A shallow cut. Just enough to sting.

Jalen collapsed to his knees, gasping. His body screamed in protest, his vision swimming. He knew he lost. Completely.

But Gun touched the cut on his face and looked at the blood on his fingers. His expression shifted just slightly.

"You're not ready," he said. Then added, almost to himself, "But you might be worth my time."

Jalen looked up.

Gun crouched down to meet his eyes.

"I'll train you," he said. "Not because you impressed me. But because I'm curious how far you'll go. And because this…" he tapped the cut on his cheek, "doesn't happen often."

He stood again and walked toward the edge of the rooftop.

"Meet me tomorrow. Same time. Don't be late."

Then he disappeared into the city once again.

Jalen stayed on the cold ground, chest rising and falling. Broken. Bruised. But smiling.

He did it.