The sun was beginning to set over Seoul, gently gilding the windows of the imposing house that backed onto the Han River. The mansion, located on a discreet hill and protected by private security, seemed a silent reflection of the power Gapryong Kim had accumulated over the years. But that power, for once, wasn't enough for him. Inside, he paced back and forth in the main hall, dressed in a crisp white shirt with the top two buttons undone to hide the slight trembling in his hands. It wasn't fear. It was something older, deeper. Anticipation. Nostalgia. The echo of something that hadn't entirely faded. He lit a cigarette, but left it unlit between his fingers; he didn't want to smell like smoke. He adjusted his watch, even though it wasn't necessary. Then he stood in front of the mirror, examining himself. Gray hair graced his temples with dignity, his body still strong, his bearing as firm as in his fighting days… but his eyes didn't lie: they were darker, more worn. And now, more restless.

Someone knocked on the front door. Gapryong took a deep breath, his gaze shifting to the large windows just as the night breeze began to gently creep in, barely stirring the curtains. He didn't need to ask who it was. His footsteps echoed with calculated calm to the entrance hall, where he had already ordered that there be no attendants or interruptions. Before opening the door, he smoothed his hair with one hand, stood up straight with a confidence he knew how to interpret very well… and smiled, a smile that only someone from his past could recognize.

"I thought you wouldn't come." He said as he opened the door, his voice deep but restrained, with a warmth that left no room for doubt: for the first time in years, Gapryong Kim wasn't receiving an ally or an enemy. He was receiving someone who still had power over him.