CHAPTER 694: THE DEAL PART-2 (NEED EDIT)

Inside, the cell was dimly lit by a single bulb overhead. The space was narrow — two bunks, a sink, a small steel toilet in the corner.

And sitting on the lower bunk was a man.

He was huge — muscles thick like cords under his tanned skin, his arms covered in scars and faint tattoo lines that vanished under his sleeves. His eyes lifted slowly, and for a second, Sungjun thought he was looking at a bear.

The guard chuckled, giving Sungjun a shove from behind.

"Lucky you," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "You just got assigned to the worst cell in the block."

Sungjun stumbled forward a step, catching himself against the frame of the bunk. He looked up — the big man hadn’t moved, still staring at him, unblinking.

The guard leaned on the door, smirking.

"Poor bastard. You really do have the worst luck, getting this guy as your cellmate."

Then he slammed the door shut with a metallic clang.

The echo rolled down the corridor, and the footsteps faded away.

Sungjun straightened, rubbing his wrists where the cuffs had chafed. He didn’t speak. The cell smelled faintly of sweat and damp metal. For a long moment, the two men just stared at each other.

Finally, the big man spoke, voice rough like gravel.

"You snore, kid?"

Sungjun blinked. "...What?"

The man leaned back, cracking his neck. "You snore. Because if you do, I’ll make sure you stop by morning."

Sungjun let out a slow breath, a humorless smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Guess I’ll try not to sleep then."

The big man grunted, half amused, half unimpressed. "Suit yourself."

He leaned back on the bunk again, closing his eyes like nothing more needed to be said.

Sungjun sat down on the opposite bunk, his expression unreadable.

When he finally spoke, it was to himself — barely above a whisper.

"So this is what you meant by ’somewhere safe,’ huh... Alex?"

The bulb flickered once, then steadied. The silence that followed wasn’t peace — it was confinement.

Excellent continuation — this scene really establishes Sungjun’s dominance and his shift in tone from the composed strategist to a cold, commanding presence. I’ll rewrite your points into a smooth, show-don’t-tell, cinematic style scene with casual dialogue and tight pacing — keeping the intensity and weight of Sungjun’s personality intact.

Scene: The Cellmate (Part 2)

The heavy door clanged shut behind him, sealing the cell with a metallic echo.

The big man on the bunk shifted his leg to the side, stretching lazily. Then he turned his head, giving Sungjun a curious glance, half a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"A Zhonggou guy?" he said, his voice deep, mocking, yet oddly casual. "Huh. Don’t see many of your kind down here. What’d you do to end up in Level 2? Smuggling?"

Sungjun didn’t answer.

He just started walking forward, slow and steady, eyes locked on the man like a predator measuring distance. The air between them thickened, the bulb above flickering once as if even the light hesitated to stay on.

The man frowned. "What—"

Before he could finish, Sungjun stopped right in front of him. He had to tilt his chin up slightly — the guy was enormous, at least seven feet tall, muscles coiled like ropes beneath his orange shirt.

Sungjun looked straight into his eyes and said flatly,

"I don’t like your eye level."

The man blinked, confused. "What?"

"Kneel," Sungjun said.

The silence that followed lasted barely a second before the big man’s face twisted into anger.

"The hell did you just say, you little—!"

He swung a punch the size of a frying pan, but Sungjun shifted slightly, letting the fist cut through empty air. His expression didn’t even flicker. In the same motion, he drew in a quiet breath, pushing mana deep into his bones — the faint hum of power resonating through his limbs.

Then he struck back.

A short, brutal punch. No theatrics. Just precision.

The hit landed square in the man’s ribs. The sound was wet and sharp — like someone snapping a thick branch. The big man’s eyes went wide as saliva and air burst from his mouth. His massive body flew backward, crashing against the steel bed rail before sliding to the floor with a grunt.

He wheezed, clutching his side, trying to get air back into his lungs.

Sungjun walked up to him slowly, his face calm, his gaze cold enough to freeze the air.

He stopped above him and said quietly,

"This is how our eyes should meet."

The man looked up, panting, a mix of pain and disbelief spreading across his features. Sungjun crouched slightly, voice low but clear.

"If you still don’t understand the difference between us... I’ll take my time teaching you."

He raised his right hand, flexing his fingers once — the same hand that had dropped him.

"I was arrested for smuggling drugs," Sungjun said evenly. "But this hand... has killed dozens. Every one of them a gangster who thought power came from shouting louder."

He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing.

"So if you understand," he said, "stay down. Kneel—and answer me."

His voice hardened, every word deliberate.

"Who are you?"

The man’s breathing slowed. His jaw clenched. But his eyes — they no longer carried defiance. Slowly, he shifted onto one knee, head bowed.

"My name..." he rasped, voice low, "is Ivan. Ivan Petrov."

Sungjun’s gaze didn’t waver.

"Good," he said softly. "Now we can talk."

Would you like the next continuation — where Sungjun begins interrogating Ivan and we start to hint that this man may know something about Seongha’s father (or even be connected to the underworld dealings Pavel once touched)?

Sungjun eased down onto the lower bunk as if the metal frame were a throne. The cell felt smaller with him seated—closer, more dangerous. The big man wiped a smear of blood from his lip with the back of his hand and sat up, rubbing his side. He stared at Sungjun for a long beat, then gave a tight, crooked grin.

"Name’s Steve Smith," he said, voice gravelly but steady. "Used to be with the Iron Brotherhood. We weren’t quiet about who we were—until the cops made sure there wasn’t much left of us." He shrugged, like listing the weather. "After that I shifted to weapons. Smuggling, moving gear for people who could pay. Caught doing it — twelve years was the package. Been five in this place."

He flexed his fingers, the movement oddly calm. "I don’t like subordinates," he added casually. "Trust is thin down here. But I got a few who still listen. You sit with me, nobody’s gonna bother you. I can make that happen."

Sungjun studied him—no surprise, no reaction beyond a slow blink. Then he stood, the cell creaking under the movement, and walked to the single barred window. Moonlight sliced through the bars in a pale line across the floor.

"Stand," he said after a moment, without looking back.

Steve rose without hesitation, like he’d been rehearsing the motion for years. He planted his feet squarely, waiting.

Sungjun turned, the light catching the corner of his jaw. "I need you to tell me everything about this place," he said plainly. "Gangs, troublemakers, the ones we can use, the ones we avoid. Which guards look the other way and which will beat you for spitting. Names, habits, routines. Every scrap of useful noise."

Steve nodded once, slow and sure. "I got you. Start with what you want to know first or you want the whole laydown from top to bottom?"

Sungjun’s smile was thin. "Top to bottom. No wasted words."

The bulb hummed above them as Steve pulled a small breath and began, voice low—an industrial whisper against concrete.

Scene: The Cafeteria Fight

The cafeteria was a blur of noise — steel trays clattering, the buzz of cheap fluorescent lights, and the dull murmur of inmates trading gossip.

Sungjun stood in line with his tray, eyes forward, calm as a man waiting for a bus. Behind him, Steve towered like a quiet shadow.

At one of the tables, a group of inmates sat watching. One of them — broad-shouldered, with a mohawk and a tattoo crawling up his neck — leaned forward, a grin twisting on his face.

"Well, look at that," one said, nudging his buddy. "Steve Smith’s out of his hole."

"Yeah, but who’s the pretty boy in front of him?" another snorted.

"New cellmate, maybe," a third guessed. "Looks too clean to last long here."

The leader with the mohawk chuckled, setting his tray aside. "Then let’s go give him a warm welcome."

The four of them stood and swaggered toward the line. The crowd nearby quieted — not out of fear, but out of curiosity. Something worth watching was about to happen.

They stopped in front of Steve.

Steve’s jaw tightened. "What?"

The man spread his hands, smile never leaving his face. "Relax, big guy. Just wanted to check out your new roommate."

He turned his attention to Sungjun, eyes sliding over him like measuring a mark. "You’re new, huh? Pretty face. You might wanna be careful around here, beauty."