Chapter 4 - The Unseen Storm
Two days passed before Alex returned to the vicinity of Jagalki Market. It wasn't a deliberate trip; his schedule was a rigid mosaic of board meetings, backroom negotiations, and quiet intimidation sessions. But when his driver took a detour due to unexpected street repairs near the harbor, the black sedan found itself crawling past the familiar rows of blue tarps and steaming food stalls.
Alex turned his head instinctively, his dark eyes scanning the crowd.
There she was.
Stall number forty-two.
Pretty Nanya was sitting on her plastic stool, wearing a different school uniform today—this time with both socks pulled up to her knees, though her backpack was still hanging off one shoulder like a reluctant passenger. She had a pencil behind her ear and was furiously coloring inside a workbook while balancing a small bowl of rice on her lap.
Standing beside her was Ify, chatting with an elderly woman who was buying dried seaweed.
Alex noticed something else immediately. Two local thugs from the local dock union—petty enforcers who usually shook down small vendors for protection money—were standing a few feet away, glaring at Ify’s stall with folded arms. They were whispering among themselves, casting greedy glances at the cash box on the wooden counter.
Before Alex could even register the spike of irritation in his chest, Kang-dae—who was driving the car—spotted them too.
“Boss,” Kang-dae said quietly, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “Those are Lee Jang-ho’s men. The ones operating out of Sector 3. They must not have received the word about our new protection directive for this market.”
Alex’s eyes turned glacial. “Pull over.”
The car stopped discreetly down the alley, just out of direct sight. Alex stepped out into the crisp morning air, his black coat billowing slightly behind him. Kang-dae and Min-hyuk stepped out as well, falling into step behind him like two silent executioners.
At stall number forty-two, the larger of the two thugs, a scarred brute named Min-jun, stepped up to the counter and slammed a heavy hand onto the wooden board.
“Hey, foreigner,” Min-jun sneered, looking down at Ify. “Market fee went up this week. Double the usual rate. Pay up or pack up your little chili pots.”
Ify paled, her hands gripping the edge of the counter. “I already paid the municipal fee on Monday. And the local association fee yesterday. I have receipts—”
“I don’t care about your little paper receipts,” the thug interrupted roughly, leaning over the counter. “Sector 3 answers to us now. Pay the tax or watch your precious vegetables end up in the gutter again.”
Pretty dropped her coloring pencil.
She didn't hesitate. She stood up from her stool, marched around the counter, and stood directly between her mother and the towering thug, planting her hands firmly on her hips.
“Did your mother not teach you how to speak to women either?” Pretty demanded, her voice ringing out clear and sharp through the market aisle.
Min-jun blinked in sheer astonishment, looking down at the tiny girl as if she were a ghost. “What did you say, you little brat?”
“I said,” Pretty repeated, raising her chin defiantly, “you have terrible manners. And you smell like cheap cigarette smoke and bad decisions. Move away from my mother right now before I report you to someone important.”
Min-jun’s face flushed with violent anger. He raised a heavy hand, his fingers curling into a fist. “You little piece of trash—”
He never finished the sentence.
A heavy hand clamped around Min-jun’s wrist like a steel vice.
The thug gasped in pain as the sudden pressure threatened to crush his bones. He whipped his head around, ready to curse whoever had intervened, only for the words to die instantly in his throat.
Standing beside him was Alex Gene.
The air around Alex had dropped twenty degrees. His eyes were dead, bottomless voids of absolute terror. Behind him, Kang-dae and Min-hyuk radiated an aura of pure, lethal violence.
“L-Lord Gene?” Min-jun stammered, his knees instantly turning to water. “I… I didn’t know you were here. This… this is just local business—”
“Is it?” Alex’s voice was a lethal whisper, smooth as silk and cold as a glacier. He twisted Min-jun’s wrist another fraction of an inch, eliciting a sharp, choked cry of agony from the thug.
“Boss, please! I didn’t mean—”
“This market,” Alex said softly, leaning in close so only Min-jun could hear, “answers to me. Every stall, every vegetable, every person here. And especially… this stall.”
He glanced briefly down at Pretty, who was looking up at him with an expression of mild approval, as if grading his performance.
“If I ever see you, or anyone from Sector 3, within five hundred meters of number forty-two again,” Alex continued, his voice dropping to a terrifying register, “you won’t have hands left to slam on counters. Do you understand me?”
“Yes! Yes, Boss! I understand! Please!” Min-jun sobbed, tears pricking his eyes.
Alex released his grip with a flick of his wrist, sending the thug stumbling backward into his partner, who caught him in a panic. Both men scrambled away through the crowd, vanishing around the corner like frightened dogs.
The market fell into an absolute, breathless hush.
Alex turned slowly to face Ify, who was staring at him with a mixture of profound gratitude and deep, instinctive fear.
Then, he looked down at Pretty.
May you like
The little girl adjusted her glasses, looked at the empty space where the thugs had just fled, and then nodded approvingly at Alex.
“Good job,” Pretty said. “You’re improving.”
