Park and Minho were taken to the police station, where they were interrogated and accused of killing Taejin and his gang members. They tried to explain what happened, but the police didn't believe them. They were scared and worried about their future.

Police: So, you two are the ones who killed Taejin and his men, huh? The right hand man of the boss of Ansan, and his crew. Do you have any idea what you've done? Do you have any idea who you've messed with?

Park: We didn't kill them. We didn't do anything. They attacked us. They attacked my parents. They killed my father and hurt my mother. They tried to kill me. We were only defending ourselves.

Minho: That's right. We were just coming back from celebrating Park's victory. He's the MMA champion, you know. He's a good kid. He's not a killer. He's a hero.

Police: Don't give me that crap. Don't try to play innocent. Don't try to fool me. I know who you are. I know what you are. You're gangsters. You're criminals. You're murderers.

Park: No, no, no. You've got it all wrong. We're not gangsters. We're not criminals. We're not murderers. We're just students. We're just friends. We're just victims.

Minho: Please, please, believe us. We're telling the truth. We have nothing to do with the gangs. We have nothing to do with the violence. We have nothing to do with the killing.

Police: Save it. Save it for the judge. Save it for the jury. Save it for the executioner. You're not going to get away with this. You're not going to walk free. You're not going to live long.

Park: No, no, no. You can't do this. You can't do this to us. You can't do this to me. I have a future. I have a dream. I have a family.

Minho: Don't do this. Don't do this to us. Don't do this to him. He's innocent. He's innocent. He's innocent.

In Gangbuk,

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Park Solomon stood in the middle of the street, surrounded by 500 men from the rival gang. They were armed with guns, knives, bats, and chains. They were angry, violent, and bloodthirsty. They wanted to kill him, and take over his territory. They thought they had him outnumbered and outmatched. They thought they had him cornered and doomed. They thought wrong.

Park Solomon was not afraid of them. He was not impressed by them. He was not interested in them. He was only interested in one thing: his ability. His ability to copy any martial art he sees. His ability to learn and master any technique he witnesses. His ability to adapt and improvise any skill he acquires. His ability to dominate and destroy any opponent he faces.

He had been born with this ability, and he had honed it over the years. He had watched countless movies, shows, and videos of martial arts. He had visited countless dojos, gyms, and arenas of fighting. He had fought countless opponents, from amateurs to masters, from street thugs to champions. He had learned from them all, and he had surpassed them all. He had become the ultimate fighter, the ultimate warrior, the ultimate leader.

He had used his ability to rise to the top of the underworld, to form his own gang, to conquer his own city. He had used his ability to challenge and defeat other gangs, other cities, other regions. He had used his ability to create his own empire, his own kingdom, his own nation. He had used his ability to achieve his own dream, his own vision, his own destiny.

He had one goal left: to unify the whole country under his rule, and to end the reign of terror of the gangs. He had one obstacle left: the city of Ansan, the stronghold of the Rising Suns, the most powerful and ruthless gang in the country. He had one reason left: his brother, Park Taejoon, the young MMA fighter who had been arrested for killing the right hand man of the boss of Ansan, the boss who was his enemy, his rival, his target.

He had heard about his brother's situation, and he had decided to intervene. He had gathered his men, and he had launched an attack on Ansan. He had met with resistance, and he had faced with opposition. He had encountered 500 men, and he had engaged them in combat. He had activated his ability, and he had prepared to unleash his power.

He looked at the 500 men, and he smiled. He saw their weapons, and he laughed. He heard their threats, and he ignored them. He felt their fear, and he enjoyed it. He sensed their weakness, and he exploited it.

He scanned the crowd, and he spotted a man with a gun. He copied his shooting skills, and he disarmed him with a bullet. He saw another man with a knife. He copied his stabbing skills, and he slashed him with a blade. He noticed another man with a bat. He copied his swinging skills, and he smashed him with a club. He observed another man with a chain. He copied his whipping skills, and he strangled him with a rope.

He moved from one man to another, copying their skills, using their weapons, taking their lives. He switched from one style to another, from boxing to karate, from judo to taekwondo, from kung fu to muay thai, from capoeira to krav maga. He combined and mixed them, creating his own style, his own art, his own way.

He fought with speed, strength, agility, accuracy, precision, grace, elegance, beauty. He fought with skill, technique, strategy, tactics, intelligence, wisdom, logic, reason. He fought with passion, emotion, feeling, expression, creativity, imagination, innovation, inspiration.

He fought with ease, confidence, calmness, coolness, composure, control, mastery, dominance. He fought with joy, pleasure, satisfaction, delight, happiness, ecstasy, bliss, nirvana.

He fought like a machine, a beast, a monster, a god.

He fought like a legend.

He fought like Park Solomon.

He fought, and he won.