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ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CITY, an ominous storm was brewing, deep in the dense, secluded woods where discipline and brutality were the only rules. The forested grounds belonged to none other than the Kim family—legacy bearers of one of the world's most ferocious martial arts lineages. It was here, beneath a canopy of ancient trees and shadowed skies, that Kim Da-eun, granddaughter of the esteemed Master Kim, commanded her own dojo. Known for its severe training camps, this place was a haven of iron-willed fighters who had dedicated their bodies and souls to the art of combat. Her camps drew the most skilled students from across the country, warriors so fierce that even Kreese's hardened students would struggle to keep up.

The camp was run with a philosophy rooted in survival and pain—only those who endured could advance. Da-eun enforced her rules with an iron grip, forbidding all traces of technology. It was as if each participant was stripped to their core, left only with their fists, instincts, and the relentless desire to prove their strength. Each weekend, they'd gather to dedicate to the art, spending not one, but two days in the woods, training. The day was a brutal challenge, a relentless stream of drills and sparring, while nights were spent facing the cold and silence under the thick forest canopy. 

Food and water weren't rights but privileges, doled out only to those who demonstrated raw, unwavering commitment. Punishments were savage, designed to strip the mind of weakness. A simple misstep or hint of hesitation would earn grueling endurance tests or hours of solitary meditation in the dark woods, pushing students to confront their innermost fears and limitations. To Da-eun, this was the only way to build warriors who embodied her grandfather's "no mercy" ethos. She watched with an almost predatory pride as her students fought, displaying the type of grit that she believed other students would never ever achieve.

In the shadows, Kreese himself lingered, his sharp gaze fixed on the fighters before him. Fresh from his own trials, he bore an unsettling calm, a predatory patience. This was his element, the world that had shaped him all those years ago when Master Kim had first instilled the values of strength and dominance within him. Now, watching Da-eun's students, he felt a twisted satisfaction; here was a place untouched by sentiment or weakness. But he also sensed a threat—the primal, untamed talent that Da-eun so proudly paraded was unlike anything he'd cultivated in his students back in the States. 

And her subtle jabs, hints that her fighters surpassed his own, made his blood simmer.

In this camp, far from the world's distractions, warriors were forged in ways brutal and unrelenting. As Kreese watched, lurking like a ghost in his old mentor's dojo, he knew one thing—he was back, and this storm would be unleashed soon enough.

As Kim Da-eun led Kreese through her family's forest-enclosed training grounds, her eyes were cold and gleaming with pride. She'd learned long ago that savagery and retribution were the ultimate tools for perfection, and her students were living proof. They reached an open clearing where rows of students performed relentless drills, each face set with a stony, unyielding expression, bodies taut and precise. The dense air hummed with the sharp crack of fists and feet connecting with training boards.

Ahead, a towering young man, at least 6'3" with a muscular frame, was in the midst of a demanding sequence. His fists connected with the board held at stomach height, each punch measured and impactful, his entire stance locked in perfect form. Then, with a single barked command from Da-eun, the board shifted upward, now positioned at head level. Without missing a beat, the student pivoted, delivering a flawless spinning heel kick, a final blow that could have shattered bone. Kreese watched, eyes narrowed with fascination, as the young man returned to position, bowed, and stepped back for the next fighter to take his place, mirroring the attack with equal focus and deadly intent.

Intrigued, Kreese's voice cut through the noise. "What do you call that combo?"

Da-eun smirked slightly. "Dogsa gong-gyeog," she replied, her tone low and edged with a certain dark honor. "The Viper Attack," she translated. Her eyes remained fixed on her students as she explained, "It's designed to slice through even the most advanced defenses. A calculated sequence: the initial strikes weaken the opponent's core, and with precision, the final blow leaves the head exposed—vulnerable." Her gaze flicked to Kreese, gauging his reaction as she added, "A proper strike, when executed correctly, leaves no room for recovery."

The next student repeated the sequence with brutal accuracy, and this time, the board splintered with the final kick. Kreese raised a brow, quietly impressed by their sheer discipline, though his silence hinted at more.

Da-eun gestured toward the towering student who'd performed first. "Yoon Do-jin," she intoned with pride. "His family has trained in our dojang for generations, each one proving their loyalty and strength in our ranks." She nodded toward the small, golden badge embroidered on his uniform. "He wears the geum baeji, the mark of our best. Whatever you ask of Yoon, he will execute with the utmost precision—without hesitation, without question." She paused, letting the gravity of her words sink in.

Kreese nodded, his expression unreadable, though a flicker of something almost sinister crossed his face. "Impressive," he murmured. Yet beneath his praise, there was a note of quiet discontent, a hint that he saw not just their strength, but the untapped potential that, in his mind, could be sharpened even further.

As they moved closer to the training lines, Da-eun's gaze was unyielding, coldly appraising her students like weapons, each honed to perfection and awaiting her command. There was no mercy here—only a relentless pursuit of strength and a promise that, under her watch, weakness was not an option.

As Yoon Do-jin called up the next student, his voice crisp and authoritative, a sudden disruption broke through the disciplined line. Kwon shoved his way forward with an arrogance that crackled like static in the air, brushing past the student before him. His face was a hardened mask, the sting of recent fights shadowing his eyes. The skirmish with y/n still burned within him, simmering into a mixture of anger and guilt. She'd been relentless, texting him again and again, and even reaching out to him in school a few times. He wasn't sure if it was out of desperation for her stupid extra credits or genuine concern. 

Her words were sharp as daggers, and as were his. Her burning gaze and accusations haunted him, far removed from the shy, awkward girl he'd watched shrink back in silence. The contradiction confounded him—how could someone so formidable tolerate the bullshit of others? What made her so docile around everyone else? He despised himself for even caring.

Y/n's absence lingered as an irritating ghost, the way she'd walked past him just this friday without even a glance after spending a week of constant contacting; her silence cutting deeper than her words. Was he the one who pushed her too far? The question gnawed at him, unwanted and intrusive. He shook off the thought. He was here to forget—to clear his mind through the only means he knew: fighting.

Stepping to the board, he marched with a defiant, cocky stride, his movements purposeful. Without waiting for approval, he adjusted the board to his height and then gestured for the student holding it to raise it even higher, his eyes steely and unyielding. The student's hands shook as he complied, lifting the board to eye level, only for Kwon to motion silently for him to raise it still higher. His silence was more intimidating than words; he'd learned to wield it as a weapon. When the board was finally set, the boy inhaled deeply, steadied himself, then struck.

His foot whipped through the air with vicious precision, delivering a blistering 720 kick. His cry of exertion tore through the silence as the impact shattered the thick board with a crack that resonated like a gunshot. Smirking, Kwon turned back to the line of students, his tone dripping with disdain. "That's how you do it!" he sneered in Korean, each syllable a challenge thrown at his peers.

But before he could revel in his victory, Da-eun's voice sliced through the crowd, her tone laced with thorns. "Kwon Jae-sung!" She snapped his name, her gaze sharp and unforgiving. "You didn't follow the lesson."

Kwon's eyes flicked over to her, only to land on the unfamiliar man beside her. He looked foreign, his stance and presence unmistakably Western, likely American. Kwon didn't care. His mouth twisted into a scoff as he switched effortlessly to English. "It's a waste of time," he spat, dismissive. "Just go straight for the head. No head, no fight."

Da-eun's glare hardened. "No shortcuts!" Her voice rang out with authority, unmoved by his insolence. "For your defiance, you'll have a new assignment." Kwon's smirk widened as he remained defiant, positive he could take anything thrown his way. After all, he'd been fighting all his life... He'd grown accustomed to Kim's cruel tortures, secretly enjoying most of them too, for nothing excited him more than crossing his own limits. "Whatever it is, I can handle it."

Da-eun's lips curved into a cold, cutting smile. "Oh, I'm sure you can." Her eyes glinted with a dangerous satisfaction. "Go clean my grandfather's toilet."

The color drained from his face, the jeers of his classmates filling the air, their mockery biting deeper than any strike. Even Yoon, the pride of the dojang, allowed himself a sly, mocking grin. Kwon's jaw clenched, fists tightening as he felt the shame and anger bubble inside him, smoldering beneath the surface. He turned on his heel, his head lowered in silent fury as he stalked off, each step a reminder of the humiliation he'd been dealt.

Da-eun watched him go, her expression impassive, before snapping her attention back to her students. "Back to work!" Her command restored the strict order, and under Yoon's disciplined guidance, the class resumed its relentless drills and routines. She then let out a quiet sigh, a small smile flickering at the corners of her mouth as she turned to Kreese. Her tone was laced with quiet amusement as she said, "Kwon's a troublemaker. His rebelliousness is a distraction."

The older man's eyes lingered on Kwon as he stalked off in frustrated silence, a trace of a smirk creeping onto Kreese's face. There was something about this boy's unruly spirit, that glint of insubordination veiled behind his cold silence, that tugged at an old memory—a memory of another student. Someone he'd once molded, someone whose raw fury and barely-contained chaos had rivaled even his own.

A girl...

Unyielding as steel, with insanity that made her a shadow among shadows. She had thrived under Kreese's brutal tutelage, absorbing his lessons like a sponge soaked in poison, until she became a blade as sharp and merciless as any he'd trained. Sure, she wasn't perfect, and neither was she his strongest... but her mind gave her an edge, and a little more time could've placed her somewhere high. He could still picture her amused, calculating gaze, her ruthless ambition, and the chilling precision with which she carried out every command. She'd been a storm, her attacks beautiful and destructive, impossible to contain—and the man had known even then that one day, that storm would break free. 

But she had disappeared as quickly as she'd come, leaving only whispers and rumors in her wake. It'd been 2 years since he last heard of her, but her ferocity was a quality he had seen in only two people so far, in his entire lifetime. "Master Kim has challenged me to bring out the best," Kreese murmured, his voice a dark promise. His eyes followed the path Kwon had taken, a look of quiet satisfaction in his eyes. "I'll handle your distraction," he added, as if speaking not only to Da-eun, but to that shadow from his past. In his mind, the lines blurred—the past student, the present one. 

The cobra had found its prey, its venomous fangs poised, ready to sink deep...

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