The sunset over the lowest district faded away.

A somewhat contradictory sentence.

There were no sunny days, yet the sun was setting.

In other words, this was a metaphor.

It was meant to express the warmth creeping into the earthly abyss, forever steeped in darkness.

“Hmph hmph hmph.”

The owner of the cheerful hum and lighthearted gait was Ban. He was the first believer to receive Lee Taebaek’s punch of guidance and repent.

His shadow became his companion on the way home. Perhaps because of that, the path felt quite enjoyable.

Thud, thud.

Even if the real sky was always pitch black, his heart was dyed. In a warm crimson hue.

He no longer carried the steel pipe he’d always kept for intimidation. There was simply no need for it anymore.

This was right after joining the Hundred-Fold Sect.

Everyone, hand ’em over.

Together with the followers who followed Ban, he folded them like taffy under a culvert and disposed of them.

Feels kinda refreshing now that I’ve snapped it…?

Yeah… Makes you wonder why we were so attached.

Gotta thank the Founding Patriarch for thoughts like these.

Hund… Hund…

Hahaha, even the boss!

You hated saying it at first ’cause it was embarrassing!

Shut up, you punks. Go make some rice balls!

The corners of his scarred mouth curled up. But soon, they twisted into a triangular frown.

Suddenly, memories of his days scraping by as a thug flashed by.

He’d pretended to be tough somehow. Intimidating passersby in the Red-Light District. Day after day of the same routine.

Truth be told, back then, it felt like peeling off old grease—his chest completely cleared out.

Why? Because his mother was a sex worker.

The kind people commonly called a whore. Ban and the kids were born with innate immunity to insults about their parents.

Anyway.

Most folks coming here were customers of the Red-Light District—and likely his mom’s clients.

At the very least, he gathered peers who shared his wish that they stay away from families. Under Ban’s lead, the boys formed a fairly sizable gang. In short, a vigilante group.

Then, they armed themselves with a dozen steel pipes gathered from an abandoned factory. The boys sought to offset their individual weakness through numbers.

But as time passed, the group’s nature warped from vigilantes to a violent mob.

As a result, their original identity became so tainted that gangs started scouting them.

Of course, Ban had received offers multiple times too. He’d shaken them off each time, but in the end, he’d seriously considered that path.

Anyway. Born in a place like this, I’m fated to become a gangster.

No sooner had the worry gripped him than Ban shook his head. To refresh his mind, he looked up.

The factory smokestack’s belch mingled with the sky’s breath. A fusion of murky black and gray.

It evoked the beds in the Red-Light District.

Gloomy and decadent colors.

“…That day.”

If he hadn’t met Founding Patriarch Lee Taebaek, he never would have felt, or learned, emotions like this.

In an environment where you couldn’t even fend for yourself, primal urges inevitably crushed moral standards.

Thud.

Ban lowered his head.

The warmth of the rice ball lingered in his hand. He gripped it tight. As if he never wanted to let it go.

Yes.

What had melted the heart of the boy, frozen by this brutally harsh reality…

…was simply a handful-sized rice ball, a bit of attention, or a slightly(?) stinging flick to the forehead.

Lost in such random thoughts, he reached home before he knew it. A smile formed on Ban’s lips.

“Mom’s off today for once—.”

It was the moment just before he finished speaking. A desperate plea pierced his eardrum like an arrow.

Ban’s face paled.

This was his mom’s voice.

And her scream meant that utter bastard had come home.

“He actually came!”

Ban bolted forward immediately. With one kick, he burst through the entrance like it was paper, chest heaving.

He panted, eyes bulging. The inside was a total mess.

“You… son of… a… bitch.”

The stench of booze hit him first. Its source slowly turned its head.

The man looked startled for a moment, then relaxed upon recognizing Ban’s face.

“Wha… oh, it’s you, Ban?”

The man, whose entire face was flushed red, spoke. Hard to call him a father—disgusting scum.

“…”

At the man’s feet, mom huddled, trembling like a drenched bird. Her cheek was bruised purple, nose gushing blood. Ban ground his teeth to dust.

“Oh-ho?”

The man staggered closer.

“Grown a bit, huh?”

“…”

“Hey, you bitch! How much whoring did you do for this kid to bulk up like this?!”

The man scowled at mom, then backhanded Ban across the cheek.

Smack!

Stars exploded in his vision. His jaw felt like it might dislocate. Whatever he’d been eating, the slap stung fierce.

But more than that, rage made his head throb. Dizziness hit. Murderous intent surged to his crown.

Ban was adult-sized in bulk.

One drunk piece of trash—I could wreck him barehanded.

He glared up with bloodshot eyes. His fist twitched at his thigh.

“Heh heh heh, look at this punk. Got that look like you wanna hit me? Go on. Hit me.”

The man craned his neck mockingly, puffing his cheek with his tongue.

“You’re fated to be a gangster like me, so consider this early education. Ban, you’re heaven-sent scum who always wanted to smash your old man’s jaw.”

“…”

“Here, chance! Just made a big score, and they said they’d upgrade my molars to cybernetic prosthetics. Perfect timing.”

“I…”

Ban closed his eyes, then half-opened them. He looked at the man with steadfast eyes and spat out.

“…I’m different.”

“What?”

“I’m not trash like you.”

He eased power from his fist. Instead, he expanded his chest. Pride swelled from his broad shoulders.

Lee Taebaek’s advice suddenly came to mind.

– Don’t lead with your fists.

Only then did Ban feel like he grasped the Founding Patriarch’s profound intent.

“The moment I hit you…”

Ban smirked and continued.

“…I’d become the same as you.”

“You little shit! I’ve let it slide long enough!”

“Yeah. Hit me all you want.”

Ban said that, glancing at his mom. He soon withdrew his sorrowful gaze.

“Doesn’t even hurt after all the beatings you’ve given.”

Skin-splitting slaps echoed repeatedly. Solar plexus, thigh, shoulder, calf. He tenderized every spot.

“S-stop! Hit me instead!”

“Shut up, you bitch! Let go!”

The man irritably shook off his mom’s clutching hand at his pant leg.

Thus, the violence targeted Ban entirely. Despite the merciless beating, he stood firm without flinching.

“This… punk…!”

Instead, the beater broke a sweat.

“…H-H-Hundred-F-F-Fold S-S-Sect r-r-resonance…”

Ban muttered while taking the blows. Strangely, it didn’t hurt. Like magic.

The next day, Ban was nowhere to be seen. But Lee Taebaek didn’t think much of his absence.

He didn’t force attendance at religious gatherings. They were basically “come eat free food” meetups.

From the start, the Hundred-Fold Sect had faint religious vibes even at founding. As the Founding Patriarch, it wasn’t his place to say, but was it even a religion?

So Lee Taebaek planned to disband it once initial goals were met.

For starters, he himself fell short as Cult Leader.

Diligence, sincerity, madness, etc.—he met none of the virtues required.

He’d been scraping by with Nerfs and Buffs, but it was getting tiring. Not his aptitude.

Anyway, even without Ban, the youth leader figure, the first day went smoothly without hitches. He figured something came up at home.

But two days, three, four passed with no sign of him.

“Something’s off.”

He even muttered to himself, breaking the possessor’s taboo. That’s how much he cared.

Their first meeting wasn’t even “pleasant” by empty words. Still, familiarity breeds fondness.

Ban looked like he could easily lift 500kg on the big three, yet had a girlish sensibility in many ways.

Volunteering to mold rice balls, smiling as he served—quite the missionary vibe.

Must have high Faith stat.

Ban pitched in on everything, caring for fellow believers. Without Buffs and Nerfs, the Cult Leader spot would’ve been his.

He planned to dump the role on Ban if needed. It wouldn’t vanish with a disband declaration.

Yet Ban vanished for four full days. Unease spread among the young believers like a whisper.

Going missing for days in the lowest district boded ill. Best case: minor injury. Worse: serious wounds. Worst: unspeakable.

I am worried.

Lee Taebaek leaned his cheek on his umbrella handle, musing. Just then, Ban’s right-hand man Bisili caught his eye.

Bisili gnawed his nails anxiously.

He was about to wave when—

“Um… Founding Patriarch.”

Bisili spotted him first.

“I have urgent business.”

“About Ban, I assume.”

“Gasp!”

Bisili overreacted dramatically.

“H-how did you know?! Does the Founding Patriarch even read minds?!”

“…”

“Hund…!”

“…”

“Hund-! Hund-!”

See, the perils of brainwashing.

This was why he couldn’t handle being Cult Leader. Their entranced faces suffocated him.

“…At ease.”

“Hundred-Fold.”

“How long with the concept crap?”

“Until the day I ascend to Valhalla, the Hundred-Fold Sect’s heaven and afterlife.”

Korean cult vibes fused with Norse myth. The religious harmony humanity craved dawned at the threshold of this “Red-Light District.”

“Anyway. What happened to Ban?”

“Ah, well…”

Bisili recounted Ban’s situation. He’d worried for days too, then visited Ban’s home.

There, Ban’s mom explained everything. His friend was in a coma.

“Ban’s dad—no…”

Bisili calmed his agitation with effort.

“Ban got beaten daily by that biological father scum. He bulked up to endure even one more hit. Thought the bastard croaked somewhere since he vanished… but then.”

“He could’ve resisted.”

Lee Taebaek replied dryly.

“That scum’s a Monterey Gang member. Part of the Gang Alliance.”

“Big fish.”

“Not some key position, obviously—just lowlife muscle. But Monterey’s got insane loyalty…”

Bisili bit his lower lip.

“Even idiots look after their own, huh.”

“And a real vicious breed.”

“Vicious?”

“Probably came back ’cause Ban rejected a scout offer. Used his mom as hostage to break him.”

“…”

Hiss.

Lee Taebaek brought the mask to his mouth. Hydraulics sealed it tight over his lower face.

“F-Founding Patriarch?”

Bisili, Erik, froze. Lee Taebaek shook the mask to check the seal, then stood.

“Gonna hit the bathroom.”

“So sudden?”

“Does the urge to piss warn you first?”

No room for protest. Lee Taebaek left Bisili behind, striding off briskly.

A dim alleyway.

He halted near a sizable building. Stepped over the half-dead strewn about, approaching the entrance. Beyond roared a raucous vibe.

Two guards stood at the ornate entrance, chatting idly. Faces packed with brutal tattoos. Even a somersault wouldn’t hide they were gangsters.

As he neared, they noticed. One eyed Lee Taebaek up and down, smirking.

“What, new Baron dude’s boy toy?”

“Baron, huh? Right place then. Homo Baron’s inside plundering.”

“You fuck—! Which safety—!”

The umbrella opened and closed.

A blade flashed.

The throat split wide.

He twisted the blade free.

“Guh… guh…”

The carotid-slashed one clawed at the spurting blood, then dropped his hand. Instant death.

“You bastard!”

The other’s hand dipped—just as Lee Taebaek’s blade struck like lightning.

Splat.

The wrist slid off like a lizard tail. Before the guard could feel the loss.

“Nearly missed the EXP event.”

Lee Taebaek bit down, crushing the pill. An elixir. He’d wedged it between his molars on the way.

Crunch!