Han Joon‑seong took another step forward, eyes fixed on the nearest thug who still had fight left in him, when a sound from behind made him pause.
The man he had flattened with the duffel bag was moving.
From the wreckage of splintered wood and scattered watches, the lieutenant pushed himself up. A low, guttural sound escaped him as he hauled his body back to its feet. He planted one palm on a fallen box and rose, his chest heaving in fury. A thin stream of blood trickled from his nose, tracking over his lip and down his chin. That was the only visible mark on him. The nosebleed, Ervin noted, meant very little in terms of actual damage; cartilage bled easily, and a bleeding nose said nothing about a man's real condition. Everything else about him — the steady way he marched, the focused hatred in his eyes — said he was far from finished.
The warehouse around them went still. Even the remaining thugs, who had been mustering their courage for another rush, hesitated, their attention pulled toward the two men now facing each other across the contraband‑strewn floor.
The lieutenant rolled his shoulders, spat a glob of saliva onto the concrete, and began to walk toward Han Joon‑seong. His stride was heavy, deliberate.
"Alright," he said, voice thick with anger. "You really, really pissed me off. Little bastard."
Han Joon‑seong said nothing. The two of them closed the distance at the same moment.
Ervin, watching from above, issued the command in the sliver of time before they collided. 'Jump. then Dropkick his face.'
Han Joon‑seong dropped low just as the lieutenant pulled back a massive right hand. And when the man's punch came screaming forward, aimed at where Han Joon‑seong's head had been, but Han Joon‑seong was already springing upward, both feet leaving the floor. The blow whistled through empty air, and the lieutenant's eyes widened in a flicker of confusion before he looked up and saw the soles of two shoes filling his vision.
The double kick landed square on his face with a sound like a door being slammed. His head snapped backward, and the sheer force of it sent him stumbling several steps, his brain rattling inside his skull. For a moment his eyes went glassy, and Ervin felt a pulse of satisfaction. "Critical hit!"
But the lieutenant did not fall. He caught himself, shook his head once like a dog shedding water, and came forward again. His right arm was already chambering another punch.
Han Joon‑seong had just landed from the jump, still recovering his stance, when the hook came. He had no time to dodge. He got his left arm up as a shield, and the lieutenant's fist crashed into it just below the shoulder. Pain shot through the data feed — the muscle went numb, then hot, the arm trembling from the impact.
Ervin registered the force then started to ponder "This blow was solid. Heavy enough to leave a deep ache and make my arm sluggish, but nowhere near as devastating, bone‑rattling, as the power of Han Do‑yun's kicks from the alley fight. This man could take hits far better than Han Do‑yun could, but he could not dish them out at the same level."
"I could call this a high endurance build, but with lower attack', Ervin thought. 'Still strong, though.'
Han Joon‑seong backpedaled, shaking out the numbness in his arm. The corner of his mouth lifted, a thin, almost eager smile that Ervin didn't bother to suppress.
'So you're tougher than the other guy. Let's test a few things on you.'
The moment of focus was interrupted by motion on both sides. Three of the remaining thugs, seeing their boss fully engaged, decided to join the party. One came in with a crowbar raised high, aiming for the back of Han Joon‑seong's skull.
Han Joon‑seong turned, caught the crowbar mid‑swing with one hand, and ripped it sideways. The wielder stumbled forward, off balance, and Han Joon‑seong drove an elbow down into the back of his neck. The man hit the floor like a dropped sandbag.
The second thug was already lunging. Han Joon‑seong lifted his foot and kicked , no need for sophisticated moves for this one, just absolute, brutal, piston‑like stomp to the side of the man's knee. The joint bent the wrong way with a sound that was louder and wetter than Ervin had expected. The thug screamed and collapsed, clutching his leg, and Han Joon‑seong's face flickered with a grimance, or maybe something close to disgust. He had put more force into that than he intended. The knee should not move like that.
The third thug came with arms spread wide, trying to wrap him up in a bear hug. Han Joon‑seong moved to sidestep, but his foot caught on the body of the man he had just elbowed. The momentary stumble was all the thug needed. Thick arms clamped around Han Joon‑seong from behind, pinning his arms to his sides.
Ervin let out a mental click of his tongue. 'Crap. The little idiot grabbed me, and now the big idiot is coming.'
The lieutenant was already charging. His fist was cocked back, aimed at Han Joon‑seong's immobilized head.
"Need to go limp to dodge that.'
Han Joon‑seong's body went slack, and the sudden shift pulled the hugging thug off balance. They both fell, Han Joon‑seong hitting the floor just as the lieutenant's punch sailed through the space where his skull had been. The blow hit nothing but air.
Han Joon‑seong twisted in the grip, freed one arm, and brought the edge of his hand down on the back of the hugging man's neck — a short, sharp karate chop. He was aiming for the precise spot that would shut the man down instantly, but the angle was awkward, the target shifting. The blow landed wrong. Ervin felt something in the man's spine shift in a way it wasn't supposed to. The thug went limp immediately, his breath leaving him in a single grunt, but Ervin knew that the damage was not clean. It would have lasting consequences.
There was no time to dwell on it. Han Joon‑seong shoved the unconscious man aside and scrambled backward across the floor just as a heavy foot came crashing down. The stomp caught him in the stomach, folding him in half, driving the air from his lungs in a violent cough. His face contorted, mouth opening in a silent snarl, and Ervin received a cascade of data — ribs creaking, diaphragm spasming, the whole frame of the body protesting under the weight.
"My bones are creaking", Han Joon‑seong rasped, the words scraped out between gasps.
The lieutenant stood over him, breathing hard, and scoffed. He looked down at the crumpled form with his same arrogant eyes. "Like I said," he growled, "Juhwang‑pa debt collector. You're going to regret coming here alone."
He drew his fist back for a final, downward blow. Han Joon‑seong's hand shot up and struck the back of the lieutenant's knee. The joint buckled, the big man dropping to one knee with a grunt. Han Joon‑seong tried to follow through — a rising punch aimed at the chin — but the angle was wrong, the trajectory became off from his fall. The lieutenant's face was already tilting out of the line of fire, and the punch glanced harmlessly off his jaw instead of connecting cleanly.
A shame, but Han Joon‑seong didn't stop, used the brief opening to shove himself back, away from him, and rolling away across the concrete. He came up a meter distant, settling into a wary, ready stance, chest heaving.
Ervin, from above, let himself feel the weight of the moment.
"So that's what a real fight against a strong opponent feels like..." Ervin thought. *I only got the better from Han Do‑yun because he underestimated me. If he'd fought seriously and i didn't catch him by surprise… I would've been out cold.*
The thought wasn't fear, exactly, and it was far from respect. It was a sharp, electric, being aware of another's strength, and having the drive to surpass them, a dangerous drive. Yeah, that's right, eagerness! He really, REALLY wanted to fight, and defeat Han Do-yun head on.
The lieutenant rose, his face twisted with fury. "You little shit," he spat.
Then he settled into a fighting stance — arms extended forward, palms open, body low like a bulldozer bracing to charge. Ervin looked at that stance, and a cold tendril of dread crept up his spine. Something about it was wrong.
A soft chime echoed in his mind.
[Adaptation (Perfect) is activating.]
Ervin's eyes widened. "What?"
Down below, Han Joon‑seong's body moved without conscious command. Auto Pilot took control, and his posture shifted — feet sliding, hands rising, body angling in a way that felt both foreign and utterly natural. Ervin watched it happen, and Intuition whispered: "That stance… it's a near‑perfect counter to his style!"
The lieutenant noticed. His eyes flickered with recognition, and he bared his teeth, shifting his own stance into something different — a variation meant to bypass the counter. The moment he did, Adaptation pulsed again, and Han Joon‑seong's posture adjusted seamlessly, flowing into a new form that negated the change.
The lieutenant ground his teeth. "You bastard," he hissed. "So you know a bit of fighting." He settled back into his original stance, arms forward, as if daring him. "But don't think that'll be enough to beat me."
Adaptation hummed and again Auto Pilot adjusted his stance.
They launched at each other. The lieutenant came like a machine, palms thrusting forward in relentless, piston‑like strikes, a barrage meant to overwhelm, to batter down any defense through sheer volume. Han Joon‑seong weaved between them, body moving with a precision that surprised even Ervin. Each dodge was tighter than the last, each motion more efficient, as Adaptation fed a constant stream of micro‑corrections into the Auto Pilot. The blows that should have clipped him missed by millimeters. The angles that should have trapped him opened into escape routes.
Ervin, hovering above, felt a grin spreading across his imaginary face.
"This is incredible!"