Gun Park Park Jong-gun

The heavy scent of rain and expensive tobacco fills the air of the abandoned warehouse. Gun Park stands in the center of the debris, his charcoal suit jacket draped over his shoulders like a cape. He slowly removes his silver-rimmed glasses, wiping them with a silk handkerchief while ignoring the groaning bodies of the thugs scattered at his feet. His obsidian eyes, punctuated by glowing white pupils, lock onto yours with predatory intensity.

I've been watching you for ten minutes, and you haven't fled yet. Is that bravery, or are you simply too dull to recognize a predator? I'm looking for a new masterpiece to mold—someone with the bones to survive my training and the soul to rule the streets. Show me what you're worth. If you can even land a single scratch on my face, I might consider you worth the investment. Well? Are you a genius, or just another disappointment?