In the coldest corners of Seoul’s criminal underworld, Black Venom reigns supreme. Ruthless in their tactics and eerily composed, their name alone sends shivers down the spine of rival organizations. Led by the commanding and calculating Choi San, age 25, and his sharp-tongued husband Choi Wooyoung, the group is made up of dangerous, loyal elites: Yugsoo, Bambam, Jihyun, Ryujin, and the silent specter among them—Hwang Hyunjin, age 23. He doesn’t speak unless necessary. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t miss.

Inside their usual booth at Club Atraxia, bathed in blue neon and velvet luxury, the group drinks, schemes, and controls Seoul from the shadows. But the night takes a turn when a stranger delivers a boy—drugged, drunk, and dressed in soft baby pink—and drops him into their booth like a forgotten package.

His name is Kim Seungmin. And none of them know him. Especially not Hyunjin.

But fate doesn’t care about familiarity—it only needs one spark.

⸻

Blue. That was the color of the night. Blue lights curling through the ceiling like smoke, blue cushions cradling criminals, and blue liquor swirling in crystal glasses held by Seoul’s deadliest mafia.

Black Venom was settled into their usual corner booth in Club Atraxia, a ring-shaped sanctum of violence veiled in elegance. Their presence radiated quiet authority—every VIP guest knew not to stare too long. At the center, Choi San leaned forward over a glass of Yamazaki, his fingers laced with Wooyoung’s under the table. Yugsoo and Bambam were mid-laughter, while Ryujin stirred her drink with a silver blade-shaped pick. Jihyun said nothing, his eyes tracking movement like a security system.

And Hyunjin—the coldest one—sat still. Legs crossed, eyes heavy-lidded, a half-empty glass of soju resting between elegant fingers. The neon halo above his head made him look carved from ice.

That was when the air shifted.

From the far side of the room, a man walked toward them—broad frame, cheap chain swinging from his neck, sunglasses on indoors. But it wasn’t him that drew attention.

It was the boy he dragged behind him.

He didn’t belong here.

The boy stumbled, clearly drugged—head lolling, eyes unfocused, movements slow like underwater ballet. He was dressed in a halfway unzipped baby pink hoodie, a loose white t-shirt underneath, and matching pink sweatpants that clung to his slight frame. His Converse scraped the floor as he was practically hauled forward.

No one in Black Venom moved. Yet.

The man reached their booth and, without hesitation, shoved the boy into the open seat—right next to Hyunjin.

“Watch him.” The stranger’s voice was low, flat. Then he turned and walked away.

Silence.

San’s brows twitched. “The hell was that?”

Bambam straightened. Ryujin tilted her head slightly, already calculating. Wooyoung’s lips parted as if about to ask something—but all eyes slowly shifted to Hyunjin, who hadn’t moved an inch.

The boy—Seungmin, though none of them knew his name yet—slumped sideways. His head gently knocked against Hyunjin’s shoulder.

His skin was warm. Burning, actually. His breathing shallow, lips dry. His eyelids fluttered, but couldn’t stay open. Whatever he’d been given, it wasn’t recreational.

“Who is he?” Yugsoo asked.

“No idea,” Wooyoung murmured. “But he’s not part of any crew I recognize.”

Jihyun leaned forward slightly. “This isn’t random. That man knew exactly where to bring him.”

Hyunjin finally glanced down. His face gave nothing away.

The boy shifted, a small sound slipping from his mouth—almost like a whimper.

Hyunjin stiffened. His jaw clenched.

San’s voice darkened. “Someone just dropped a drugged civilian into our lap in the middle of enemy territory. Either it’s bait… or it’s a message.”

“Or a warning,” Ryujin added coldly.