The first thing Jerry Kwon registered upon regaining consciousness was the persistent, nagging burn in his gut. A dull throb, yes, but the hunger was a knife twisting. His eyes, heavy-lidded, flickered open to a patchy, unfamiliar ceiling – not the scarred plaster of his apartment, nor the pristine medical bay of the Big Deal clinic. Dust motes danced in a shaft of light. Beside him, Lineman snored, a surprisingly delicate sound for someone so large. Brad Lee was already on his feet, stretching, his broad back a canvas of faded tattoos he’d always claimed weren’t there.
“Where the hell are we?” Brad’s voice was a low growl, more statement than question.
Jerry pushed himself up, wincing as his muscles protested. The ground beneath him felt oddly solid, concrete perhaps, but layered with grit. He scanned the room. It wasn’t a room, really. It was an alley, damp and narrow, a forgotten crevice between two imposing, grimy buildings. The air, though, was different. It smelled… cleaner? And old. Not the exhaust fumes and synthetic detergents of modern Seoul, but a mix of coal smoke and something sweet, like fermentation. He hated the scent of fermentation. So much could go wrong with it – a slight deviation in temperature, a tiny bacterial intrusion, and the whole batch was ruined. The world seemed to operate on far too many variables already.
Daniel Park stirred nearby, groaning softly. Then Zack Lee. Vasco sat up with an Olympic gymnast’s grace, rubbing his temples. Jay Hong, predictably, was already checking his phone, then frowned at the blank screen. “No signal,” he muttered, his voice flat.
“Anyone got a clue?” Zack demanded, already radiating impatience. His eyes, sharp as ever, fixed on Jerry.
Jerry shook his head, pushing past Lineman’s still-slumbering form. His stomach cramped. He needed food. Immediately. Panic, cold and sharp, pricked at him. They were all here – Allied, Big Deal. A whole mess of unpredictable variables in one cramped alley. And no bosses. Gapryong Kim and Jinyoung Park were legends, figures from a bygone era, whispered about in hushed tones by former generals and gang leaders. Jerry knew the names, of course. Everybody did. But these guys were their era’s equivalent of historical footnotes, not people you’d ever expect to actually see.
“We need food,” Jerry stated, his voice low but firm. "And information. In that order."
Vin Jin, perched on an overturned crate, scoffed. "And you think you're in charge, big guy?"
Before Jerry could respond, Jake Kim, ever the diplomat, stepped forward, a weary smile on his face. "Jerry's right. Priority one: food. Then we figure out where we are." He glanced at the alley’s exit, a sliver of sunlight promising a world beyond their current confusion. “Anyone remember how we got here?”
A chorus of grumbles and shrugs. Daniel looked genuinely bewildered, his signature wide-eyed innocence amplified by the situation. Jace Park was already pulling out a small notebook, scribbling furiously. Hudson Ahn just scowled, ever-present. Lua Im, surprisingly, had already found a discarded mirror shard and was meticulously checking her makeup. These people, Jerry thought, were going to be the death of him.
He was already moving, pushing through the group toward the alley’s mouth. This was his initiative. He wasn't waiting for a consensus. His instincts, honed by years of navigating the underbelly of Seoul, screamed "danger" and "sustenance" in equal measure. The sunlight hit his face, warm and unfamiliar. The street beyond was bustling, but not like modern Seoul. No cars. Just bicycles, pushcarts, and people, lots of people. The clothes were… dated. Not cosplay, but genuinely old-fashioned. He saw a man in a wide-brimmed fedora, a woman in a *hanbok* that looked genuinely worn, not laundered for a museum exhibit.
His stomach clenched again. He needed to focus. He needed to find food.
He spotted a small, unassuming eatery tucked between a fabric shop and a bustling fishmonger’s stall. A hand-painted sign, faded but legible, read "Kimchi Stew House." A faint, spicy aroma wafted from within. Hope, a sensation he hadn't felt in hours, flared.
"Here," Jerry grunted, pointing.
The others followed, their confusion momentarily overridden by hunger. They spilled into the small restaurant, a riot of modern sportswear in a sea of drab, homespun fabrics. The few patrons already inside looked up, then quickly looked away, intimidated by the sheer number and intensity of the newcomers. Good. Less trouble if they were wary.
A woman, elderly and weathered, emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of them, but she quickly composed herself. "Welcome," she said, her voice raspy but kind. "What can I get for you, young men? And… young lady?" Her gaze lingered on Lua.
Jake stepped forward, all charm. "Everything you have, ma'am. And water. Lots of water."
They crammed themselves into the small space, pulling tables together, creating a chaotic island of youth in the quiet restaurant. Daniel and Zack bickered good-naturedly over a wooden spoon. Vasco, surprisingly, seemed fascinated by a small, hand-carved bird figurine on the counter. Vin Jin ran a hand over the rough wood of the table, a strange expression on his face. Jace was still furiously scribbling.
Jerry, however, had stopped. He’d seen a sign on the wall, hand-dated. It was a newspaper clipping, yellowed with age, commemorating the opening of the restaurant. The date… it was not just old, it was *decades* old. The numbers spun in his head. 1970-something. He felt a cold dread settle in his chest, far worse than the hunger.
Then he saw *them*.
Two men, seated at a corner table, their faces partially obscured by the steam rising from their bowls. One, broad-shouldered and radiating an almost tangible aura of power, laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that somehow managed to be both jovial and utterly commanding. The other, slighter but with an intelligent, almost piercing gaze, was gesturing animatedly as he spoke. Something in Jerry’s gut tightened. He knew those names. He remembered the stories.
A chill snaked down his spine. The broad-shouldered man was Gapryong Kim. The other, Jinyoung Park. Legends. But not legends in a history book. Legends right *now*. In this small, unassuming restaurant.
They weren’t just in the past. They were in the past with the very people who shaped it. He thought of the faded newspaper clipping, the old clothes, the lack of tech. It all clicked into place with a horrifying certainty.
This wasn't just a wrong turn. This was a jump.
Jerry leaned closer to Jake, his voice barely a whisper, a stark contrast to the boisterous conversation humming around them. “Jake,” he breathed. “The newspaper… the date… and those two in the corner.” He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Jake’s eyes, usually so lighthearted, narrowed. He followed Jerry’s gaze, then his jaw tightened.
But it was too late. The collective noise from Allied and Big Deal had already reached a crescendo. Daniel was laughing particularly loudly at something Zack had said, completely oblivious. Vin Jin had just accidentally knocked over a water pitcher. The sheer, vibrant energy of their combined presence, unfiltered and unrestrained, was a beacon.
Gapryong Kim, in the corner, paused mid-sentence. His eyes, surprisingly light, drifted from his companion and settled on the chaotic group. A faint smile touched his lips, a flicker of something ancient and unreadable. Next to him, Jinyoung Park followed his gaze, his intelligent eyes widening almost imperceptibly. Their combined attention, heavy and deliberate, settled on the boisterous newcomers.
They were being watched. And Jerry knew, with sickening certainty, that their arrival here was anything but quiet.