Soul system:Return Of The SSS-Ranked Troublemaker-Chapter 50: Game Of Fate (8) Pushed To Edge.

He tossed the cloth into a nearby dumpster without a second thought, then strolled down the street like they hadn’t just exited one of the most questionable buildings in all of Jeju City.

The emo guy followed a few steps behind, his face still slightly red, carrying a flicker of guilt in his eyes. He kept glancing around, half-expecting someone to come yelling after them.

"You think they’ll chase us?" he mumbled.

K laughed, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Chill, man. We were paying customers. Ain’t nothing illegal about that... even if the place felt like a damn side quest from a corrupt RPG."

Back to Yin and Zion POV

The heavy air of the alley faded as they approached the main road again—until a man in a crisp white suit stepped out from a shadowed corner. His colorful scarf clashed boldly against his otherwise formal appearance, and his monocle glinted like it belonged to a cartoon villain. He had a neat mustache, the kind you’d expect from a businessman who either ran a major company—or a black market.

"You looking for room cheap?" the man asked, his Korean-accented English rough but understandable.

Zion blinked, caught off guard. "...You speak English?"

The man gave a salesman’s grin. "Name’s Deu Kim. Best deals in Jeju."

Yin raised an eyebrow. "Sounds sketchy already."

"I give room free. How much you budget?" Deu Kim continued.

"You should give a fair price," Yin said cautiously.

Zion crossed his arms, glancing at Yin for a quick signal. "Based on what I’ve seen, a solid apartment here’s like five million won a month. Right?"

Yin nodded slightly.

"Twenty million won," Zion declared with quiet confidence.

Deu Kim’s eyes lit up. "Ooh! Big budget! Very big!" He rubbed his hands together like a genie granting wishes.

Yin leaned closer to Zion and whispered, "Don’t forget—we need space. Big enough for everyone. Training gear. Phones. Wi-Fi. We can’t go caveman mode."

Zion nodded. "We want a large room or house, training equipment included. Also, phones and good internet. No half-assed stuff."

Deu Kim stroked his mustache dramatically. "Hmmm... I can do that. Maybe. Maybe... 30 million won. Special deal for strong young men like you, eh?"

Zion’s eyes narrowed.

Yin turned slightly. "Should we beat him up?"

Zion didn’t flinch. He gave Deu Kim a stare that dropped the temperature. His tone was calm—too calm.

"Sir," he said, "if we find out you’re lying... you do know what we’ll do, right?"

There was no need to raise his voice. The weight behind the words said enough.

Deu Kim’s smirk twitched, then returned full force, though a little stiffer this time. "Of course, of course! I am man of trust! Follow me—I show you real place."

Zion gave him a curt nod. "Lead the way."

"Ah—n-no! Me honest! Please, follow me, sir! I show you very big room, just follow!" Deu stammered, sweat trickling down his temple. Zion’s earlier death-glare still echoed in his mind like a ghostly warning.

Yin and Zion exchanged a silent glance, then nodded in unison. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

"Lead the way," Zion said, his voice low but firm.

They followed Deu through the bustling streets of Jeju City, weaving past alleys, convenience stores, and cafes until they reached a quieter block. And then—there it was.

Zion blinked. "How the hell did we miss this place?"

A tall, pristine building loomed before them—sleek black glass windows reflecting the city lights. Gold-lettered signage above the entrance simply read: Artemis Grand Stay.

"No idea," Yin muttered, gazing up. "But let’s hope this one isn’t a candy dungeon or a torture-themed love hotel."

Inside, the hotel had a clean, modern aesthetic—tasteful marble floors, warm lighting, and a minimalist lobby design. It wasn’t flashy, but it felt... right. Professional.

Deu ushered them toward the elevator. "Please, follow! Very good room!"

They ascended to the 10th floor with a soft ding, and after a short hallway walk, they stopped at a door labeled #32. Deu pulled out a keycard and swiped it. The door unlocked with a gentle chime.

As it opened, both Zion and Yin took a step inside and froze.

"Whoa..."

The suite was far more than they expected.

A spacious living area greeted them—plush gray sofas, a glass coffee table, and a sleek wall-mounted TV. The décor was minimalist but elegant: polished wooden floors, modern art on the walls, and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a view of the glowing cityscape.

The suite featured four full bedrooms, each with its own bathroom, closet space, and smart lights. A small open-concept kitchen stood in the corner, complete with appliances. There was even a mini gym room—complete with dumbbells, resistance bands, and a treadmill.

On the living room table sat five brand-new smartphones, neatly arranged in a charging dock. Zion picked one up, inspecting the screen.

"Damn," Yin muttered. "This might actually be the real deal."

Deu turned toward them, his greedy grin plastered across his face. "See? I tell truth. Big room, good space, phones—all for you!"

Zion, without a word, pulled out the stack of cash and handed it over.

"Enjoy your stay, sir," Deu said, clutching the money tightly. "One month service. Contact number is on card on table."

He bowed hastily and disappeared down the hallway, closing the door behind him.

Zion and Yin exhaled and collapsed onto the couch with synchronized groans.

"Finally," Zion said, leaning back, eyes closed. "We can breathe."

Yin nodded, stretching his arms. "Yeah... now we just need to gather the others."

The city lights poured through the window, casting a calming glow across the room. For now—just for now—they could finally rest.

"I’m gonna take a nap," Zion muttered, collapsing onto the sofa without removing his suit. "Wake me up in an hour. Then we’ll meet up where Karina pointed earlier."

"Sure," Yin replied quietly, watching Zion drift off before turning away.

With a sigh, Yin stepped into the mini gym. He pulled off his upper suit, letting the cool air hit his skin before walking up to the training dummies lined along the wall. He didn’t hesitate—he needed to hit something.

Thud!

His first punch landed with a sharp crack.

Thud! Thud!

A flurry of strikes followed, faster and harder. But something wasn’t right. Every movement felt... heavy. Not in his arms—but in his heart.

Why do I feel like this...?

Each jab echoed with a whisper of doubt. Every block felt like shielding himself from something deeper than fists.

Ever since earlier, I’ve been overthinking...

He clenched his teeth, his strikes growing more aggressive.

Why do I feel so small compared to the others?

Thwack!

Flames flickered along his fist.

Is it because I’m an orphan...? Because I never had what they did?

His breath quickened. Sweat rolled down his temple, but he didn’t stop. His punches grew more violent, more desperate.

Zion’s rich, confident, surrounded by people...

But me? I’m always thinking about saving money, always holding back—like I’m afraid of stepping too far forward.

Crack!

One of the dummy’s arms snapped off.

Mr. Monk said money means nothing. That true strength comes from within.

His veins bulged, his body trembling from effort.

Then why... why do I still feel this weight?

With a final, explosive punch, the training dummy shattered completely.

Yin fell to his knees, panting. His hands were shaking, his knuckles burned. He looked down at them—scorched, cracked, and clenched tight.

"...Am I really that inferior?" he whispered, eyes wide with quiet torment. "Am I... not enough?"

The gym was silent. No answers came.

Just the sound of his breath—and the heavy echo of doubt in his chest.

As Yin knelt on the training room floor, he hadn’t even realized how drenched in sweat he was. His breaths came in sharp, ragged bursts, and his fists trembled—half from exhaustion, half from emotion.

"I should take a shower..." he muttered to himself, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

He stepped out of the mini gym, his body heavy with fatigue and frustration. "Though... we don’t even have spare clothes."

Before fully stripping, he wandered over to a nearby cabinet near the hallway. When he opened it, a small wave of relief hit him. Neatly stacked inside were five clean towels, along with ten sets of folded white shirts and blue athletic pants.

"At least they’ve thought ahead," he murmured.

Stripping down, his toned physique came into view—scars lining his forearms and knuckles, faint but visible. Marks left behind from years of practicing the brutal Fiery Fierce Arts, where every strike demanded skin and soul.

Warm water flowed over his body as he stepped into the shower, but it couldn’t wash away the doubt lingering in his heart. He leaned forward, both hands against the tiled wall, letting the water trail down his back.

"What... should I do?" he whispered.

He grabbed a handful of shampoo and lathered it into his hair, fingers digging into his scalp.

"Maybe the monk was right. Maybe it really isn’t enough to just train and settle quietly..."

Now, he was surrounded by geniuses—children of powerful families, those born with talent, wealth, or status.

"No..." he breathed out, voice trembling with defiance. "No, he was wrong."

His fist clenched at his side.

"I’ll prove them all wrong."