Sirens in the distance. Someone had finally called the police.
Geon-woo helped Min-jae to his feet. They stood there, bleeding on a rooftop, looking out at the neon blur of Incheon.
The giant stepped forward. Min-jae met him. The fight was short and ugly—Min-jae took three punches that should have killed a normal man, but he kept coming, wrapping the giant in a clinch, biting an ear, doing anything to survive. Geon-woo, ribs screaming, ducked under Choi’s wild golf swing and landed two perfect punches: a jab to the throat, a cross to the temple.
“We go home,” Geon-woo said. “We heal. And if someone else needs us…” Bloodhounds.S01.480p.WEB-DL.HIN-ENG-KOR.x264.MS...
“We work for people you crushed,” Geon-woo said.
The fight that followed wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t like the movies. Geon-woo took a pipe to the ribs and heard something crack. Min-jae’s left eyebrow split open like a dropped egg. They fought back-to-back, using boxing footwork to dance through the wreckage of broken mirrors and overturned benches. When it was over, five of Choi’s men were unconscious, one was limping away, and the two bloodhounds were kneeling in a pool of sweat, blood, and shattered plaster.
Geon-woo tried to smile. “No choice.” The final confrontation happened not in a ring, but on the rooftop of Choi’s own warehouse, under a sulfur-yellow moon. Choi himself was there—a thin man in an expensive coat, holding a golf club like a scepter. Behind him stood his last enforcer: a giant with no neck and eyes like dead fish. Sirens in the distance
Geon-woo’s knuckles were already split. He hadn’t even stepped into the ring yet—just the warm-up, just the old leather bag in Mr. Baek’s half-abandoned gym. Each punch sent a needle of pain up his forearm, but he didn’t stop. Pain was the only thing that felt real anymore.
Min-jae stood. He was shorter than Geon-woo, but denser—a fireplug of muscle and quiet fury. His own story was simpler: a sister drowning in medical bills, a loan from the same snake. “Then we don’t think,” Min-jae said. “We bleed. Together.”
By week two, they’d taken three of his collection crews, returning seized property to old shopkeepers who wept with disbelief. By week three, Geon-woo’s mother was crying too—not from pain, but from fear. “Stop,” she whispered over the phone. “He’ll kill you.” They stood there, bleeding on a rooftop, looking
That was their contract. No lawyers. No cops. Just two bloodhounds, noses to the ground, tracking the scent of injustice through the back alleys of Incheon. The first fight was behind a fish market. Three of Choi’s collectors, all bulk and no technique. Geon-woo dropped the first with a liver shot that folded him like cardboard. Min-jae handled the second with a brutal right cross. The third ran—straight into a stack of crab traps. Easy.
Geon-woo landed one final hook, the bag swinging wildly. “My mother’s shop. The lease. The ‘interest’ on a loan she never took.” He spat into a bucket. “Choi’s men came yesterday. Broke her wrist. She’s a calligrapher, Min-jae. She can’t even hold a brush now.”
The Last Round on Jinju Street
They limped toward the stairwell, two bloodhounds who had found their scent and refused to let go—not for money, not for glory, but for the simple, brutal truth that some debts can only be paid with knuckles and loyalty.