Coast Guards

The moment Bruce Lee's bare feet hit the wet sand, a sharp whistle pierced the night.

"Go! Scatter!" someone shouted behind him.

Chaos exploded.

Searchlights blazed across the shoreline, sweeping over bodies rushing into the dark. Shadows twisted and broke apart as boats rocked violently behind them. Loudspeakers barked in clipped Korean: "Stop! This is the Coast Guard! Lay down and put your hands on your head!"

Bruce didn't stop to think.

He ran.

His breath burned in his lungs as he sprinted away from the panicking crowd, feet slapping against broken pavement and uneven gravel. The sounds of pursuit echoed behind him shouting officers, the bark of dogs, the shriek of rusted steel as boats scraped against rocks.

He slipped through a broken chain-link fence and ducked into a narrow alley between two squat, crumbling buildings. Garbage bins lined the walls, and old rainwater pooled beneath flickering streetlamps. He pressed his back against the cold brick, chest heaving.

The city felt strange. Alive. Heavy with tension.

Bruce's eyes flicked upward. On the wall to his right, scrawled in bold red paint, was graffiti that seemed to glow in the dim light:

"KING OF ANSAN TAESOO MA."

He stared at it, and for a moment, time slowed.

Then it hit him knowledge not his own, flowing into his mind like a whisper from the divine.

Taesoo Ma.

A name of weight. A name that moved mountains in this world.

One of the Top Five Kings. Ruler of Ansan. A fighter of monstrous power and unbreakable presence. A man whose punches were said to crush concrete, whose reputation struck fear into both students and gang leaders alike. In the world of Lookism, this name meant domination, fearlessness, and raw strength.

Bruce touched the wall, his fingers brushing the graffiti as if trying to feel the weight of that name.

King of Ansan…

God had granted him knowledge of this new world not full, but enough. He understood now: the world he'd entered was one ruled by fists. South Korea's underbelly pulsed with street fights, gangs, and kings who fought not for land, but for pride, power, and control.

And he Bruce Lee was now a shadow in that world.

A sharp voice echoed nearby, bringing him back to the moment.

"He went this way!"

"Check the alley!"

Bruce crouched low and slipped behind a rusted dumpster, still as death. Two flashlights swept past the alley's entrance, but didn't go deeper.

Boots crunched gravel, paused, then moved on.

He waited in silence until their footsteps faded.

Then, slowly, he rose, eyes returning to the graffiti.

"Taesoo Ma, huh?" he murmured, his breath fogging in the cold.

His hands curled into fists.

He didn't know who this body belonged to, or why God had thrown him into a world of kings and fighters.

But he did know one thing:

The Dragon had returned and in this world of power and violence, Bruce Lee would find his place once more.

Whether as a legend…

…or as a king.

End.