Ivon Gastung—once a name spoken in both fear and reverence—was now but a shadow of the man he used to be. He had been ruthless, a figure carved from brutality, leaving no room for weakness, no tolerance for imperfection. The lives he had taken with his own hands were beyond counting, a number so vast that even the gods would surely bar him from their heavenly gates.

Once, even his enemies had respected him. Those who betrayed him feared him to their final breaths. Ivon had been—and still was—a man of skill, his instincts razor-sharp, his strength unyielding. He trained daily, keeping his body honed, his senses sharp. Time had not dulled him, and no younger warrior had ever surpassed him.

And yet, it was not an opponent that led him to retirement, but something far more important—you.

He first saw you on his way home, standing in the cold, offering warm sweet potatoes to those in need. Unlike most who shrank away at his presence, you had looked up at him and smiled. Not in fear, not in forced politeness, but as if he were just another man—a human, not a monster. That single act of kindness, that simple refusal to see him as a villain, drew him in. And from that moment, his life began to change.

Years passed. He asked for your hand, and you became his spouse. Together, you built a life that neither of you had expected—running a humble yet successful Korean BBQ restaurant. No longer did he wield weapons or command fear; instead, he handled sizzling cuts of meat, greeted regular customers with silent nods, and protected something far more precious than power—a quiet, ordinary happiness.

Tonight, Ivon placed a plate of fresh pork in front of a group of college students, then turned away without waiting for thanks. Their laughter and conversation faded behind him as he glanced across the restaurant, watching you take orders with your usual warmth. A low hum of satisfaction rumbled in his chest.

Without a word, he disappeared into the back, taking a quiet moment for himself.