Chapter 1: The Young Troublemaker
The fog rolled slowly through the quiet hills of San Francisco, creeping between the narrow streets like a wandering ghost. Streetlights flickered on as evening approached, casting long golden shadows across the sidewalks.
In front of a modest home tucked along the sloping roads, a young boy stood barefoot on the concrete driveway. His name was Jang Heon-su, and he was fighting.
Not another person.
A training mannequin.
The wooden dummy creaked under the force of his strikes as Heon moved with fierce precision. His fists snapped forward like lightning. A kick slammed into the mannequin's ribs. Another followed—faster, harder.
THUD. CRACK. WHAM.
Sweat dripped down his forehead as his breathing grew heavier, but his eyes remained focused. Every movement was sharp, controlled, practiced thousands of times. He spun into a powerful roundhouse kick that shattered the mannequin's arm clean off. The wooden limb rolled across the driveway, but Heon didn't stop. He rushed forward again, unleashing a storm of punches and kicks until the entire mannequin finally collapsed into pieces with a loud CRASH.
Silence returned to the street.
Heon stood there, chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. Slowly, a satisfied grin appeared on his face. For a moment, the problems waiting for him at school felt very far away.
Inside the house, however, those problems were already being discussed.
In the living room sat Jang Min-Jun, Heon's grandfather. Across from him sat a weary-looking man in a brown coat—Heon's teacher, Mr. Johnson. The teacher rubbed his temples as if trying to massage away a headache that had lasted for years.
"It's the ninth time this month, sir," he said slowly. "A student has ended up in the hospital because of your grandson."
Min-Jun remained calm. "My grandson is not violent," he replied in a thick accent.
Mr. Johnson sighed. "I know he doesn't start the fights. But when he ends them, someone always gets hurt."
Min-Jun looked toward the window, where Heon could still be seen standing proudly over the shattered mannequin.
"He protects people," the old man said quietly. "The bullied ones. The weak ones. The ones nobody helps."
Mr. Johnson leaned forward. "And that's admirable. But the way he uses his skills is dangerous. The boy fights like a walking disaster."
Min-Jun's eyes stayed fixed on his grandson outside. "When we first came to this country," he said softly, "no one protected us. No one gave us a chance. Heon learned Taekwondo so nobody could ever push him around again."
At that moment, the front door opened. Heon walked inside, grabbed a bottle of water from the kitchen, and drank half of it in seconds. Without saying a word, he sat at the table and began working on his homework.
Mr. Johnson watched him quietly before turning back to Min-Jun. "I think it's time," he said.
Min-Jun nodded before the sentence even finished. "Yes. I know."
Mr. Johnson sighed heavily. "He can't stay at our school if students keep getting injured."
The old man leaned back in his chair. "It will be the sixteenth school in two years," he said tiredly. "Look at him. Still studying. Still trying. But the moment he protects someone, trouble follows him."
Mr. Johnson stood up. "I hope you can find a school that understands him."
He walked to the door. "Have a good evening, sir."
The door closed behind him.
Outside, Mr. Johnson walked toward his silver Kia Forte parked by the curb. He pulled out his keys—but suddenly froze. The driver's door was already open.
Someone was inside.
"My car!" he shouted.
The engine roared to life. Tires screeched against the wet pavement as the car shot down the street. Mr. Johnson ran helplessly after it. "My car! NO!"
Inside the house, Heon's head lifted instantly at the sound of the engine. He rushed to the window and saw Mr. Johnson running down the street while the car disappeared into the distance.
Without thinking, Heon stood up. "Grandpa!"
No answer.
He ran out the door.
Cold wind whipped against his face as he sprinted down the sidewalk. His legs pumped faster than ever before. Up ahead, the stolen car swerved recklessly through traffic. Heon narrowed his eyes, then reached behind his backpack and pulled out his skateboard. He dropped it onto the pavement and jumped on.
The wheels screamed as he accelerated downhill.
Inside the stolen car, the thief glanced into the rearview mirror and laughed. "Kid thinks he can chase a car?"
He began throwing objects out the window—a notebook, a pencil case, a water bottle—but Heon reacted instantly. He leaped off the board, spinning in midair and kicking the objects aside. One pencil bounced off the pavement and struck the tire.
The thief blinked in confusion.
"What the—?"
He slammed the brakes and jumped out of the car, grabbing Mr. Johnson's wallet before running into a nearby alley. Heon chased him without hesitation. The narrow alley twisted through the neighborhood until finally it ended at a dead wall.
The thief collapsed against the bricks, breathing heavily. "No more chasing… kid…"
He pulled out a $100 bill from the stolen wallet. "Take this and buy some candy."
Heon shook his head and pointed at Mr. Johnson's belongings.
The thief groaned. "Seriously?"
Then he slowly pulled out a gun.
"You leave me no choice."
The weapon pointed directly at Heon.
Silence filled the alley.
But Heon didn't move.
Instead, he smiled calmly.
The thief hesitated, confused by the boy's complete lack of fear.
Then suddenly—
WEE-OOO WEE-OOO
Police sirens screamed through the night. Patrol cars surrounded the alley as officers rushed forward.
"DROP THE WEAPON!"
Within seconds, the thief was tackled, disarmed, and handcuffed.
Moments later Mr. Johnson ran into the alley like a man possessed.
"MY BABY!" he shouted as he hugged his car tightly. "Don't worry baby, daddy's here!"
The officers stared awkwardly.
Mr. Johnson slowly turned toward Heon. "Alright," he said with a sigh. "But if you cause one more disaster, Heon… I won't be this friendly again."
Heon nodded politely.
Then he turned and walked into the fog like a silent action hero—bruised, dirty, but unshaken. Because whenever trouble appears, he's always there… even if it destroys his reputation again.
This is the story of A Young Beast.
But the story was only beginning.
Inside a police transport van, the captured thief quietly sent a message on his cracked phone.
Sorry boss. The boy got away.
Across the city, inside an abandoned warehouse, a massive man read the message. His real name was Jeremy, but the criminal world knew him as Papa Scar.
His fist slammed into a wall so hard that the concrete cracked. A section collapsed completely, but he didn't even react to the pain. Rage twisted the scar across his face.
With a roar he flipped a coffee table across the room, sending mugs and magazines flying. One mug smacked a criminal named Laksh directly in the face while he was blow-drying his hair.
"OW! What the hell was that for?!" Laksh shouted.
Papa Scar ignored him and stepped forward—until his hand suddenly landed on something soft.
A small stuffed bear wearing a bow tie.
He paused.
His breathing slowly calmed.
"Very well," he growled quietly. "I'll deal with the boy myself next week."
He cracked his knuckles and stared at the stuffed bear.
"Tell the boys to train harder. If we're going to crush him… we do it smoother than **Michael Jackson's Smooth Criminal."
And somewhere in the foggy streets of San Francisco, Heon walked home—unaware that he had just made his first powerful enemy.