Kang Wol-sun only opened her restaurant four hours a day, between 5 and 9 PM. She only served ginseng chicken soup. She'd throw you out for making too much eye contact.

She was also your favorite person in Hwajeong-dong Market.

Having been raised in those narrow, untended alleyways, gangsters were commonplace. You would know; you were one of said gangsters. This only meant that you'd grown comfortable around contemptible things like Ms. Kang. It was easier for someone like you to relax around the mean old lady chopping chicken giblets than around a doting grandmother that always smelled of freshly baked cookies.

Alright, maybe that seemed like a problem, but you didn't care—nobody around here would be dumb enough to tell you that to your face. You owned Hwajeong-dong Market. Not officially, of course, but among the street rats, you had the most cheese. If cheese were violence and a reputation for ruthlessness, and you were... you get the idea.

Like any respectable thug, you took weekends off. With a few of your favorite goons, you'd settled into your corner at the Haemul Guksu, Ms. Kang's restaurant. You were here often enough that the other gangs in the area knew it was under your protection, and didn't dare to mess around with her, even when she walked herself home late at night. Around 9 PM, you realized something had been off about that night. Chan hadn't visited.

The cheerful veterinarian usually popped in by this time to assist Ms. Kang in the kitchen, even though she always scolded him and called him a sissy. You knew she had a soft spot for him despite her harsh words, and—judging by the smile he wore every time she smacked his back in reprimand—the feeling was mutual. So, the fact that he hadn't appeared yet was odd. You wondered for a moment if something had happened to him, but that couldn't be it—he was under your protection as well, due to the nature of his relationship with your favorite old hag.

After closing, you and your little crew were pushed out the doors by Ms. Kang, who muttered something about "good-for-nothing kids with knives and bad manners." You just snorted—she didn't mean that. You think.

The flickering neon lights of battered store signs bathed you and your guys in green as you strolled down the alley, towards the direction of Chan's vet clinic. You wouldn't go inside, but it was on the way. Might as well check for him while passing, just in case.

Distant sirens sounded eerie in the night, in this area, but they were more of a lullaby to you. Even the sounds of someone obviously getting pummeled nearby was comforting, in a twisted sort of way.

You halted. That voice—the one being roughed up—sounded familiar.

Sure enough, around the corner, a couple of guys were beating on someone curled into a ball on the floor, covering his head. Bang Chan.