Two months passed quickly.
Unlike what the doctor had predicted, Baki's recovery took far less than three months. His left hand healed much earlier than expected.
For the past two months, he'd been practicing a new style of Taekwondo called ITF Taekwondo while simultaneously learning Kyokushin Karate from scratch.
It had only taken him a few weeks to get the moves down, but integrating these fighting techniques into his style required more time.
On top of that, he'd mastered Xiaoli completely and could use it freely. Yes, excessive use of Xiaoli wasn't possible—it would damage his muscles in the long term—but he could use it enough times to get through a dozen fights a day, provided the impact remained within acceptable range.
Beyond his own training, he'd been teaching Taehun and Yeonwoo. Taehun was exactly as Baki expected: rude, obnoxious, but immensely talented.
No special skills like copying or anything. Taehun was just pure raw talent and hard work. Though it might seem like Taehun was a delinquent who didn't work at all, it was quite the opposite.
But what surprised Baki was Yeonwoo. That boy was what people called an addict. He was addicted to learning Kyokushin Karate. He had a drive that Baki had rarely seen in anyone. He was someone who purely loved Karate.
Seeing the two of them, Baki was reminded of the boy he'd trained a while ago—Gu Hajun. That boy also had drive, not for fighting, not for martial arts. He had the drive to win.
What Baki didn't know was that his single action had changed the trajectory of all of Gangbuk. The boy he'd trained was making massive waves throughout the Gangbuk area.
Today, Baki had somewhere to go. Someone to meet.
---
That Morning
Hayan Taekwondo Dojang
Baki sighed as he looked at Hansu Seong in his fighting stance.
"Old man, do you really want to do this? I'm pretty sure my Taekwondo has gotten better. There's no need to test me. I'm not a kid anymore, am I?" Baki said lazily.
Hansu Seong didn't answer. He simply shifted his weight.
"What I'm going to teach you today isn't traditional Taekwondo," Hansu finally said, his voice carrying that familiar gruffness. "In the 1960s, after the Korean War, one of the Northern agents was arrested alive. His abilities were tested by the government through a series of duels with fifty South Korean martial artists. The results were drastic—some killed, others left unconscious. It was revealed that this agent was skilled in a martial art developed with the technology of the Soviet Union and other martial arts, combined with ITF Taekwondo. They called it 'Warfare Mass-Destruction Northern Agent's ITF Taekwondo,' or 'Northern ITF Taekwondo' for short. As a counter, the government developed their own style based on ITF Taekwondo and, with ideas borrowed from Northern ITF, they identified its weaknesses, eliminated them, and added stealth skills for infiltrating enemy camps. RE Taekwondo was created. This style is a perfect counter to ITF Taekwondo."
"Damn, I didn't expect to get a history lecture from you." Baki rolled his shoulders and stepped forward, settling into a fighting stance.
The old man moved first.
It was a simple front kick, textbook Taekwondo. Baki shifted his weight, letting it pass by his ribs. He countered with a roundhouse aimed at Hansu's midsection.
Hansu's forearm came up, blocking it with minimal movement. The impact barely registered on his face.
"You've gotten stronger," Hansu observed. "But you're still stuck with normal Taekwondo."
Before Baki could respond, Hansu's leg snapped forward—a side kick that cut through the air like a blade. Baki twisted away, feeling the wind pressure against his shirt.
Baki threw a spinning hook kick. Hansu ducked under it, stepped in, and launched an axe kick that forced Baki to retreat.
"Look at how you're moving," Hansu said, not even breathing hard. "Every technique, you're loading up. It's not a mistake, but there are ways you can do it better."
Baki frowned, resetting his stance. "But that's how you generate power."
"That's how amateurs generate power."
Hansu's leg shot out again—another side kick, but this one was different. There was no wind-up, no preparation. One moment his leg was on the ground, the next it was extended, all the force concentrated at the point of impact.
Baki barely got his shin up in time to block. The collision sent a sharp jolt through his leg.
What the hell?
"This is what I'm talking about," Hansu said, lowering his leg. "Every movement starts from zero and explodes to one hundred instantly. No wasted motion. No telegraphing. You focus every ounce of strength into a single point."
Baki's eyes narrowed. "One single point? Should be pretty easy then."
Hansu motioned with his hand. "Normal Taekwondo gathers power through rotation and spiral motion. But Re Taekwondo is about compression. Linear. Direct."
Hansu demonstrated with a front kick, his leg extending like a piston. The snap echoed through the empty dojang.
"Watch the chamber position. The knee doesn't load back—it rises and extends in one motion. The power comes from perfect alignment, not from swinging your leg like a bat."
Baki watched carefully. Hansu threw another kick—a roundhouse this time. The leg didn't arc wide; it shot straight out from the chamber, all the rotational force condensed into the moment of impact.
"What's the advantage? Wouldn't it still lack power?" Baki asked.
"This is purely made for killing. Even though you can't generate that same impact you normally do, you can take down your enemies as long as you land a good hit using Re Taekwondo. Overall, it's less draining and more efficient."
Baki nodded as he raised his leg, mimicking the chamber position. He extended it—fast, direct—putting everything into that single point.
His kick cracked through the air.
Hansu blocked it with his forearm, then nodded. "At this point, I'm not surprised you're able to replicate it so easily."
They exchanged kicks. Baki threw a side kick; Hansu deflected and countered with a spinning back kick that Baki dodged. The old man was relentless, each technique flowing seamlessly into the next.
"The beauty of Re Taekwondo," Hansu said between exchanges, "is that there's no wasted recovery. You don't retract your leg slowly. You snap it back just as fast as you extended it. Every movement is both attack and preparation."
Baki blocked a front kick, then immediately transitioned into his own.
Hansu smiled. "Well, there you go. You've learned Re Taekwondo."
They separated. Baki could feel it now—the difference in efficiency. His muscles weren't loading up anymore; they were compressing and releasing like coiled springs.
"One more thing," Hansu said. He shifted his stance slightly. "With the spinning kicks in Re Taekwondo, the spin isn't just for show or momentum. It's for torque concentration."
Hansu spun, his back kick shooting out with seemingly no power. Baki raised his leg to check it, but the impact slid him back.
Jesus, the old man isn't holding back.
"The spin reduces the distance your leg travels, which increases speed. But more importantly—" Hansu reset his position, "—it allows you to transfer your entire body weight into a single point. Watch."
He spun again, this time a tornado kick.
Baki's turn.
He launched into a spinning hook kick, applying the principles.
His foot whistled through the air. Hansu caught it on his forearm, but this time the old man slid back a few inches.
"Good," Hansu said. "Again."
They went at it harder. Baki threw combination after combination, each kick sharper than the last.
A front kick, side kick, roundhouse. Hansu defended each one, occasionally countering. Since this was just a spar, there was no reason for them to go all out.
"I guess you can fit Re Taekwondo into your fighting style easily," Hansu said, blocking another spinning back kick. "But use it only when needed."
Baki grinned. "I don't fight unless I need to."
He threw a question mark kick—faking low, then snapping high. Hansu leaned back just enough to avoid it.
"Well, I guess you guys have it rough," the old man said. "I still remember having to go on an assassination mission to kill the supreme leader of North Korea, along with Jincheol Park and Manager Kim."
Baki took a breath. "Gosh, that's little too much for a bluff. It's a bluff, right?... Right?"
Seeing the silent Hansu, Baki sighed. "I should have been born at that time. I bet you guys had more fun than we do now."
He threw a side kick. Hansu blocked but nodded in approval.
"Not necessarily. Those times were very dark."
Brrring! Brrring!
Someone's phone rang. Hansu broke his stance and pointed at the phone lying on the bench. It was Baki's.
Baki walked toward the bench and picked it up before answering the call.
"It's been a long time. Why are you calling me? What?! A kid invited you to join his crew?! That's not something I could have imagined in my wildest dreams. I can't even imagine what it'd be like if the White Viper of Seoul joined a second-generation kid's gang. Hahaha! Don't worry, I'll be there within a few hours."
With that, Baki ended the call. His smile was gone, replaced by a ferocious aura radiating from him.
For a moment, even Hansu Seong was surprised. This much bloodlust? Normal people would wet their pants if they felt it.
Hansu approached Baki and placed his hand on his shoulder. Within seconds, all the bloodlust retracted.
Baki turned back, all smiles.
But Hansu couldn't help but ask, "What happened?"
Baki smiled. "Old man, there's this rat, you know? He's been trying to snoop around my friends."
Hansu nodded. "Is that so? I guess the rat's a foolish one then."
Baki's smile turned demonic. "Yeah. I've been too conservative all this time. A rat should live in the gutter or die if it comes out."