Jake entered the college and met his friends while Jason followed him quietly from behind.
But before he could go inside, a security guard blocked him.
"Student ID?"
Jason didn't have one.
"No ID, no entry," the guard said, not even looking up again.
Jason stepped aside, staying close enough to see everything.
A group of rich bully students walked in like they owned the place, showing off and shoving people around. One of them pushed a weak student against the wall and laughed like it was a joke.
Jake stepped forward.
"How many times should I tell you to stay away from my friends? It's your father's college, not yours. You can't just hurt people."
"Oh my, our hero is here," one bully mocked. "What are you gonna do? Call your dad? Oops… i forgot he's dead."
Jake stayed silent, eyes sharp but calm.
The bully pushed him again.
"Don't act like you're some hero. Next time you interrupt me, you'll be dead."
He shoved Jake to the ground.
More students gathered — but this time on Jake's side. They formed a wall in front of Jake, forcing the bullies to step back.
"Oh my… you started your own little pussy gang?" the bully spat, but even he felt the numbers turning against him.
They backed off and walked away.
Jake's friends helped him up.
"Why didn't you say anything back?"
Jake dusted his shirt.
"We have bigger problems in our city. Their karma will hit them. I don't need to."
Jason saw everything.
His eyes turned cold again — that same look he had in jail — but he didn't make a scene.
He waited outside the college like a silent predator.
Later, the bullies came out with another student, dragging him by his shirt.
Jason followed them into a remote construction site. The bullies beat the student, forced him to eat cigarette ashes, recorded him crying — blackmail.
Jason watched… and his anger boiled.
When they let the student go, he ran away terrified.
The sun was almost set.
The air was quiet.
Jason picked up a broken steel rod from the ground.
The bullies were laughing, smoking again.
Jason stepped out.
Before the first bully could react — CRACK — Jason smashed his ribs, saliva and blood spraying out from the guy's mouth.
"One bastard down," he said calmly.
He swung again.
Another bully's leg snapped.
The boy screamed.
"Second bastard down."
The remaining bullies froze. Jason slammed the rod on the ground — CLANG! — making them run like their lives depended on it.
But one of them didn't run.
He charged toward Jason, fast and confident.
Jason swung —
The bully dodged with impressive footwork.
Jason smirked.
"You're a boxer, right?"
"So what, old man? Scared?"
"Scared?" Jason dropped the rod behind him. "Let me teach you a thing or two about real boxing."
The bully rushed in wild and sloppy. Jason sighed.
"You're just a beginner."
He grabbed the rod again and delivered a full swing to the ribs, then one clean hit to the leg.
The bully dropped instantly.
"You have a lot to learn about this world,"
Jason said, stepping past him.
He caught the last one — their leader — who tried to escape.
Jason smashed him against a wall.
"Next time I see you bullying anyone — even an ant — I'll kill you."
He left them all on the ground and went to a phone booth.
He called an ambulance anonymously.
Then walked home, silent, expression unreadable.
But it didn't end there.
The bully leader woke in the hospital again, bandaged, humiliated, burning with revenge.
That stranger — whoever he was — had destroyed his pride.
He wanted payback.
So he limped to a rusted warehouse behind the old truck yard — a place even police pretended didn't exist. A place filled with the smell of oil, rust, and blood.
Inside, men worked on guns, knives, and a tied-up screaming victim.
A tall man stepped forward.
Trekker.
The city's underground nightmare — smuggling, kidnapping, torture, illegal guns — everything ugly.
The bully leader swallowed hard.
"I want you to kill someone for me."
Trekker removed bloody gloves slowly.
"You're just a kid. Your father won't like me taking orders from you."
"I'll pay," the bully said quickly.
Money changed Trekker's mood immediately.
"Oh? And how much is your little anger worth?"
The boy named the amount.
Even Trekker's men raised their eyebrows.
Trekker chuckled.
"Fine. But I don't kill without rules."
He pulled out a contract.
"You want him beaten?"
"Yes."
"Captured alive and delivered to you?"
"Yes."
"And you'll do whatever you want after that?"
The bully nodded, face red with rage.
"Then we have a deal."
Trekker leaned in close, eyes sharp.
"So tell me… how do we find this mystery man?"
The bully hesitated.
"We… we don't know who he is. But he's strong. Skilled. Dangerous."
Trekker sighed.
"So you want me to hunt a ghost."
He flicked his fingers.
The warehouse lights brightened.
His men armed themselves.
"Start talking," Trekker said.
"And don't leave a single detail out."
The hunt officially began.