Mr Kim II

Hours passed, and the chaotic day Toji had been trapped in showed no signs of slowing down. Along with Jincheol Park—the burly man in the bizarre "I Love My Daughter" T-shirt—and Hansu Park, a stoic Taekwondo instructor, Toji stood on a ledge overlooking the unfolding scene below. They had taken a brief moment of respite after the explosive mess of trucks and gunfire, and now found themselves in a strange lull.

From their elevated vantage point, they could see Mr. Kim walking across a narrow wooden bridge toward a small, peaceful clearing where a man sat fishing by the water, while beating the shit out of other people there. The contrast between the tranquil scene and the chaos of the past hours was almost laughable. Toji squinted, somewhat curious, but he didn't really care about whatever conversation was taking place between Mr. Kim and the man fishing. His attention, already thin, drifted as the grogginess of the early morning weighed on him.

Meanwhile, Minji, the little girl at the center of all the madness, slowly stirred in the back of the damaged Range Rover. Her eyes blinked open, confusion and sleep still clouding her expression. She immediately started asking about her dad, her small voice trembling with anxiety.

Without missing a beat, Jincheol Park—eager to fill the silence, or perhaps just bored—took the opportunity to dive into an explanation of their convoluted story. His voice was gruff, but surprisingly animated as he recounted their mission, one that had begun long before Toji found himself reluctantly involved.

"We were infiltrating North Korea," Jincheol began dramatically, his eyes gleaming with the memory. "It was one hell of a mission. That's when Mr. Kim met Minji's mother, back when we were stationed near the DMZ. A love story in the midst of espionage! Dangerous times, full of—"

Toji, standing a few feet away, wasn't remotely interested. He didn't need a dramatic retelling of someone else's love life, least of all a story filled with spy clichés. Picking at his ear with his pinky finger, he yawned, completely detached from Jincheol's ramblings.

His patience had already been worn thin by the day's absurdities, and now his mind was drifting to more pressing concerns. When will this nonsense be over? He had hoped for a quiet day, maybe skipping class, and instead, he had been dragged into a whirlwind of violence and absurdity.

As Jincheol continued to drone on about North Korea, espionage, and Mr. Kim's tragic romance, Toji's attention shifted back to the scene below. Something about it caught his eye—Mr. Kim was now standing with the man they had been chasing all day. The man, dressed in a sharp suit, was the CEO of a major construction company, and more importantly, the mastermind behind the earlier attempts on Minji's life. Tension hung in the air, and for a brief moment, it seemed like something dramatic might finally happen.

But then, in the most bizarre turn of events, the two men—Mr. Kim and the CEO—suddenly began slapping each other. Hard, sharp slaps, like something out of a ridiculous comedy sketch. The sound of their hands striking each other's faces echoed across the quiet landscape, punctuating the absurdity of the moment.

Toji's eyes widened in disbelief. He couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. These were supposed to be powerful, dangerous men, and here they were slapping each other like children on a playground. For a split second, he wondered if he was hallucinating from the stress of the day. But no, the slaps were real, as were the expressions of pettiness and outrage on the faces of the two grown men.

He rubbed his temples, exasperated. "What is wrong with these old farts?"

At this point, the sheer absurdity of the situation was pushing Toji to his limit. His entire day had been hijacked by these clowns, and it was becoming clearer that none of them had any idea what they were doing. He had been caught up in this mess against his will, and for what? A kidnapping, a high-speed chase, and now, middle-aged men slapping each other in the middle of nowhere.

Having seen enough, Toji turned to Jincheol and Hansu, who had both been watching the slap-fight with varying degrees of interest. Jincheol's expression was a mixture of amusement and nostalgia, while Hansu's face remained stoic, though Toji could sense his growing annoyance.

Toji sighed, crossing his arms. "Hey, old farts. Pay up for my car."

The two men looked at him in confusion. Toji's patience had finally run out, and he wasn't going to let this absurd situation slide without compensation. His car, a Range Rover he hadn't even wanted to drive in the first place, was now a total wreck. Both tires were blown out, bullet holes riddled the sides, and the windows had all been with two doors missing and shattered during the earlier fight. The vehicle was now nothing more than a heap of junk, and Toji wanted some sort of restitution for the trouble he'd been dragged into.

Hansu, the Taekwondo instructor, tensed visibly. The veins in his forehead bulged as he clenched his fists. Toji's tone was deliberately disrespectful, and Hansu's disciplined nature took offense. However, before the situation could escalate, Jincheol, ever the opportunist, quickly fished through his pockets.

"Here, here, kid," Jincheol said with a sheepish grin, pulling out a crumpled wad of cash—around 300 dollars, give or take. He handed it to Toji, his expression apologetic but also slightly amused by the whole thing. "This should cover it, right?"

Toji stared at the pathetic amount of money, feeling his irritation spike. Three hundred dollars? That was a joke. His car was practically totaled, and Jincheol had the nerve to offer pocket change? The genuine urge to knock Jincheol's block off surged through Toji for the first time since all of this had begun.

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The air was thick with tension as the fight between Toji, Jincheol Park, and Hansu Park escalated. Jincheol, though bruised and still clutching his ribs from Toji's earlier kick, was not as terrified as one might expect. In fact, as he stood off to the side, wincing with each breath, he couldn't help but feel something stir inside him—an odd sense of admiration. He was witnessing something extraordinary.

Jincheol had known Toji was dangerous. He'd seen the cold calculation in his eyes and the effortless way he moved, but now, seeing him in action, he realized Toji wasn't just a killer. He was a force of nature, and Jincheol couldn't help but be impressed. As the fight continued, a strange grin spread across Jincheol's bloodied face.

"Come on, Toji!" Jincheol shouted, his voice hoarse but filled with excitement. "Show me what else you've got! Don't stop now!"

Toji glanced at Jincheol briefly, his face remaining unreadable, but the faintest flicker of something—perhaps amusement, perhaps irritation—crossed his eyes. He ignored Jincheol's outburst for the moment, turning his attention back to Hansu, the Taekwondo instructor who had foolishly decided to step into the ring.

Hansu, however, was not doing well. He was clearly skilled—his Taekwondo training showed in his stance, his strikes, and the precision with which he moved. But all of that meant nothing in the face of Toji's sheer speed and ferocity who has mastered over 300 martial arts from all around the world. Every time Hansu launched an attack, Toji would effortlessly counter or dodge, his movements almost lazily efficient.

Toji sidestepped a high kick from Hansu and, without breaking his stride, delivered a swift knee to the older man's gut. Hansu grunted in pain but quickly spun around with a follow-up punch aimed at Toji's temple. Toji blocked it easily, grabbing Hansu's arm and twisting it behind his back with such force that Hansu screamed in agony.

"Is that all?" Toji asked coldly, his voice devoid of any real interest. He let go of Hansu's arm, shoving him to the ground.

Jincheol, still grinning like a madman, clapped his hands in excitement. "Oh, come on, Hansu! You're embarrassing me! You're supposed to be the tough guy here!"

Hansu, his face a mask of rage and humiliation, scrambled to his feet, he was losing his personality very fast. Blood dripped from his split lip, and his entire body ached from the relentless beating he had endured so far. But the worst part wasn't the pain—it was the realization that Toji wasn't even trying. Hansu, for all his years of discipline and training, was being toyed with, and he knew it.

The humiliation made his blood boil. Hansu's breathing grew ragged, his eyes wild. He abandoned the careful, practiced movements of Taekwondo. Now, he fought like a man possessed, his strikes more erratic and violent. He launched himself at Toji with a guttural roar, swinging wildly in an attempt to land just one solid blow.

Toji didn't flinch. With a single, smooth motion, he dodged Hansu's punch, grabbed his wrist, and flipped him over his shoulder. Hansu hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of him. Toji stood over him, his face expressionless, as if the effort required to take down the instructor was no more taxing than swatting a fly.

"You're getting sloppy," Toji said, his voice cold and detached.

Hansu spat blood onto the ground, his chest heaving with fury. "I'll kill you!" he screamed, his voice hoarse and filled with desperation. He tried to rise again, his body trembling from the effort, but Toji planted a foot on his chest, pinning him down with ease.

Jincheol was practically bouncing on his feet now, utterly enthralled by the display. "More! Come on, Toji, show me what you're really made of! Don't hold back!"

Toji glanced at Jincheol again, this time with a look of mild annoyance. But before he could respond, Hansu's body twisted violently beneath him. The Taekwondo instructor, consumed by rage, grabbed Toji's ankle and pulled with all his might, trying to yank him off balance. Toji lifted his foot, letting Hansu's grasp slip, and then drove his heel into Hansu's chest with enough force to crack ribs.

Hansu screamed in agony, the sound echoing through the clearing. His chest caved under the impact, and he coughed up blood, his face contorted in pain. Yet even through the agony, there was a crazed determination in his eyes. He wasn't giving up, not yet.

Toji shook his head, almost in disbelief. "Why do you keep fighting? You can't win."

But Hansu wasn't listening. His mind was consumed by rage and the humiliation of being so thoroughly outclassed. He clawed at the ground, his fingers digging into the dirt as he struggled to rise again.

Jincheol, watching the scene with growing fascination, couldn't contain himself any longer. "That's right, Hansu! Get back up! Show the arrogant youngster what you are!"

Toji's eyes flickered with irritation as he looked at Jincheol. "You really want to see more?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Jincheol's grin widened. "Hell yeah! I've never seen anyone fight like you. You're a goddamn machine kid!"

Toji stared at Jincheol for a moment, then turned back to Hansu, who had somehow managed to get back on his feet, though he was swaying unsteadily. His eyes were bloodshot, his face a bloody mess, and his breaths came in ragged, shallow gasps. He looked like a man on the brink of collapse, but the fire in his eyes hadn't dimmed.

Hansu let out a roar of pure rage and charged at Toji again, his movements wild and uncoordinated. He swung at Toji with everything he had left, his fists moving in a blur of desperate violence.

Toji sighed. He was done toying with Hansu.

In a blur of motion, Toji sidestepped Hansu's charge and, with lightning speed, delivered a series of brutal blows to the older man's body. His fists slammed into Hansu's ribs, his stomach, his jaw—each strike precise and devastating. The sound of bones cracking filled the air, and Hansu's body jerked with each impact, his mind barely able to keep up with the onslaught.

With a final, bone-crunching blow to the side of Hansu's head, Toji sent him crashing to the ground for the last time. Hansu didn't get up. He lay there, blood pooling beneath him, his body twitching involuntarily.

Toji stood over him, barely breaking a sweat. His white oversized T-shirt was still pristine, not a single speck of blood or dirt marring its surface. He looked down at Hansu with cold indifference, as if the fight had been nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

Jincheol, on the other hand, was beside himself with excitement. He clapped his hands together, laughing like a maniac. "That was incredible! You really are something else, Toji!"

Toji didn't respond. His eyes remained fixed on Hansu, who lay motionless at his feet. Then he looked at Jincheol looking as if it was his next prey, but then Mr. Kim's voice cut through the clearing, breaking the tension.

"That's enough."

Mr. Kim had returned, walking calmly across the bridge as if the brutal scene before him was nothing out of the ordinary, but for a brief moment, his eyes widened seeing the state Hansu was in. He approached the group with a calm, authoritative air, his eyes flicking from Toji to the bloody, broken body of Hansu.

"Toji," Mr. Kim said, his voice firm but not unkind. "There's no need for any more violence. I've made the necessary arrangements."

Toji glanced at Mr. Kim, his expression still unreadable. Mr. Kim pulled out his phone and quickly dialed a number. After a brief conversation, he turned back to Toji. "Five million will be deposited into your account by the end of the day."

Toji's eyes lit up at the mention of money. Even in this life or his previous life, his love for money had never changed. He nodded, the coldness in his eyes fading slightly as he gave Mr. Kim a small, respectful bow. "Pleasure doing business, sir."

Even as he addressed Mr. Kim politely, he couldn't resist shooting a glance at Jincheol, who was still grinning like a madman, and Hansu, who was now completely unconscious.

"Bye, old farts," Toji said with a smirk. "See you never again."

But Hansu, driven beyond reason, tried to rise once more, his body shaking with pain and rage. Before he could get far, Jincheol stepped in, grabbing him by the shoulders and holding him back.

"Stop, Hansu," Jincheol said, though there was still a trace of amusement in his voice. "It's over. You can't kill him, I want him in Ares." He said smiling like a madman.

Hansu, his eyes wild and unfocused, growled in frustration, but he couldn't summon the strength to fight anymore. He slumped back, defeated.

Toji, meanwhile, casually pulled out his phone and made a quick call.