Lookism: King's Ascension

The first thing he noticed was the smell.

Blood.

Rust. Sweat. And something else… a metallic tang that made his stomach churn. The acrid stench of an unfamiliar place assaulted his senses, and his heart raced in response.

He jolted awake, eyes snapping open, but the world around him was dark, only faint, flickering lights casting eerie shadows on the cold concrete floor. He was lying on something hard, rough against his back. 

His arms… they were tied. Tied up.

Panic flooded through him like a tidal wave. He tried to move, but his limbs were bound tightly, the rope digging into his skin. His mind was scrambling, disoriented, as if he'd just woken from some long, suffocating dream. 

The weight of it all felt strange. His body… not his body, moved like a stranger's, stiff and uncomfortable, reacting with urgency.

What the hell?

A quick, shallow breath. He wasn't in his room anymore. 

He wasn't back home, in the comfort of his own life. His heart hammered against his ribs as his senses slowly sharpened, bringing the sounds of muffled groans and distant shuffling into focus. 

Other bodies were nearby, scattered across the cold, concrete floor. Some were limp, unmoving. Others shifted slightly, groaning weakly, their faces bruised and battered.

His eyes darted between the unconscious forms. Who are these people? He couldn't recognize any of them.

Actually scratch that… he didn't even recognise himself.

This arm… was his arm always that colour? No.

What was his name? A name? Any name?

Taeyang, something whispered.

Taeyang.

He held onto it like a lifeline, that whisper, that one thought that flickered through his head. Taeyang was his name.

And he needed to escape.

Taeyang's hands strained against the ropes, the thick, frayed cords cutting into his wrists with every pull. 

He tugged, he yanked, he twisted… nothing. The knots were tight, expertly tied, and no matter how much he tried to force his body to bend in ways it wasn't meant to, the ropes wouldn't budge.

His heart pounded against his ribs as frustration clawed at him. 

The air in the warehouse was thick with the smell of rust and sweat, the faint hum of flickering lights overhead casting long, eerie shadows across the cold concrete floor. 

He could hear the others stirring around him, but his focus was on the ropes binding him to the wall… get out, he thought, get out, now.

He gave another desperate tug, but his wrists burned with the effort, and the ropes remained as unforgiving as ever.

Shit!

His teeth clenched as panic threatened to creep in, his breath shallow. The harder he fought, the more he felt the weight of the situation press down on him. This wasn't like any life he'd known. Any situation he'd been in before.

What the fuck had happened to him?

His mind raced, his body trembling with the effort of his escape. But just as the last bit of hope seemed to slip away, a voice broke through his thoughts.

"They're coming..."

Taeyang froze. His breath hitched.

The voice was soft, barely a whisper, but it carried an unmistakable sense of dread.

He looked to the man beside him, his eyes locking onto the trembling figure next to him. The man's face was pale, covered in bruises and cuts, but it was the look in his eyes—wide, frantic, and filled with terror… that sent a cold shiver crawling up Taeyang's spine.

The man trembled visibly, his body shaking from more than just the cold. His words were strained, as if they'd been ripped from him, unwilling to even make the slightest sound.

"They're coming... His Circle is coming."

Taeyang's heart skipped a beat. A Circle?

He wasn't sure why the word felt so familiar, but it resonated in the pit of his stomach like a warning bell. Before he could piece the thought together, it hit him. 

The memories.

It wasn't a trick of the mind or a brief flicker. It was like a floodgate had been smashed open, and suddenly, everything rushed at him all at once. The raw pain of it nearly made him choke.

He saw flashes… scenes like broken mirrors of his own life and the life of someone else.

This body wasn't his. 

The name wasn't his. Taeyang. Everything else about the life he now found himself in wasn't his. 

He wasn't just a regular guy from a normal world anymore. He was someone else… someone who had been living in this body, in this place. His mind was both overwhelmed and nauseated by the rush of strange memories.

The First Generation. The Kings. The Circles.

Images of brutal street fights, blood-soaked battles for dominance, and men who fought not just for survival but for power. 

This was the First Generation of the gangs… the Circles that ruled over the streets of Seoul and the other cities. A world where strength was the only law, and those who rose to the top did so by crushing everyone beneath them.

They weren't just another group of troublemakers; they were dangerous...ruthless… and they had a leader, a King, who ruled over them with an iron fist.

A battlefield.

The era where you had to kill someone to live.

That was the First Generation.

The realization hit him like a wave crashing over a cliff. 

He wasn't just some spectator anymore. This was real. 

He was inside the Lookism world… the very world he had read about, the world he had immersed himself in time and time again through the pages of that webtoon.

He'd seen the struggles of the Second Generation… seen them catching up to their predecessors as they fought and fought and fought.

But the First Gen… competing with the Pre-Generation as the bloodiest time around.

Taeyang almost couldn't speak.

He glanced toward the man beside him again, who was still trembling, clearly dreading whatever was coming. The footsteps were growing louder, closer now.

"They're here," the man whispered, his voice barely audible. 

His eyes flicked towards the door, and Taeyang followed his gaze, his throat tightening as the footsteps drew closer.

The door creaked open, the dim light outside spilling into the room, and in walked three men, their figures hulking and intimidating in the doorway. Taeyang's blood ran cold.

The first man was tall, built like a wall, with a shaved head and tattoos snaking down his neck and arms. His eyes were dark and his lips twisted into a sneer as he scanned the room. 

Behind him, two others followed, one with a scar across his cheek, the other with a toothpick stuck between his lips, exuding an air of indifference.

They were men, it was clear… but barely so. Age-wise at least.

"It's you," the tall one spoke first, his voice low and gravelly, "the thief."

Taeyang's throat felt dry, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. He tried to say something, anything, but the words stuck in his throat. 

His mouth was dry, his chest tight with fear.

This wasn't just some bad dream, some nightmare he could wake up from. 

No. This was real. 

He was in a place where men like this ruled, and he was about to learn the price for being a fucking idiot.

The tall one's eyes gleamed as they locked onto him, and the sneer turned into a full-blown grin, dark and cruel. He didn't wait for Taeyang to find his voice.

With a sudden movement, the tall one slammed his palm into Taeyang's throat, forcing a sharp gasp out of him. 

The force was brutal, sending a shock of pain through his neck as Taeyang's head snapped back, his back arching against the cold, concrete wall behind him.

"Pathetic," the man growled, his grip tightening around Taeyang's windpipe, cutting off what little air he had left. 

His fingers dug into the soft skin beneath his jaw, squeezing harder with each passing second.

Taeyang's vision blurred, the edges of his sight darkening. Panic set in as his breath became erratic, his lungs desperate for oxygen. His hands scrabbled uselessly at the ropes binding him to the wall. 

There was nothing he could do. He was trapped, completely at their mercy.

"You think you can steal from our Circle and just fucking run?" The tall man's voice was low, almost lazy, like he was explaining something to a child. "You really thought it would be like that? Who the fuck do you think you are?!"

Tears pricked at the corners of Taeyang's eyes from the pressure, his vision narrowing to a painful tunnel. 

His fingers were numb, his whole body going cold as his chest heaved in an attempt to get air. 

Stay calm... he thought to himself. Focus. Think.

But there was nothing to think about. No escape. No help. Just the cold grip of power wrapping tighter around his neck.

Taeyang's vision was beginning to blur completely. Everything was spinning, the room tilting around him. But through the haze, a single thought clawed its way through the panic.

Their Circle.

Before he could process more, the tall man gave a final, hard push to his throat, making Taeyang gasp and choke as the pressure released. He collapsed back against the wall, sucking in ragged breaths. 

His head swam, his whole body shaking from the sudden rush of air.

"I'm not done with you yet," the tall one muttered, his voice dripping with anger. He straightened up, letting Taeyang struggle for air.

The other two men watched impassively, their faces unreadable.

The room fell into a heavy silence, the tension thick enough to drown in.

And then a fist cracked against Taeyang's jaw.