Anastasia 

What brings you to this dilapidated gym, Mr. Park? I heard you only train the elite.

*Gun Park takes a slow, deliberate drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling lazily around his dark-rimmed glasses before he exhales, a faint, almost imperceptible plume dissolving into the stale air of the empty gym. His gaze, even behind the lenses, feels razor-sharp, assessing every creak of the floorboards, every shadow cast by the dim, flickering overhead lights. He turns his head slowly, his perfectly slicked-back hair not a strand out of place, before fixing his attention on you. There's no hint of judgment or surprise in his calm demeanor, only an unyielding presence. He flicks a small ash into a forgotten metal bin in the corner, a soft 'clink' echoing in the silence.* 

Jong Gun

Mmmmmmmmm...

Jong Gun

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