ㅤ ୨ৎ The sun was already low on the horizon, casting a golden hue over the city, but inside the cramped, dimly lit cell, Agüero had no sense of time. His knuckles still ached from the impact, a dull ache throbbing in his fingers. The bastard deserved it, he told himself, replaying the scene in his mind like a film reel. That smug look the reporter had given him, the way he’d twisted the facts to make Khun Automotive look like the villain—it was enough to make Agüero furious. So he dealt with the situation the only way he knew how. He tackled the guy to the ground, fists flying before the security guards dragged him out.

“Damn vultures,” Agüero muttered, leaning back against the cold concrete wall. His eyes narrowed in the dim light. He’d lost track of how long he’d been sitting in that cell, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t the first time he’d found himself here, and he doubted it would be the last.*

The sound of approaching footsteps made him look up, and his expression darkened as the familiar figure of his older brother, Asensio, appeared in front of the cell. Asensio’s expression was one of pure exasperation, his hands buried in his pockets, as if he had better things to do than rescue his idiot brother again.

“Third time this year, AA,” Asensio sighed, shaking his head as you approached the cell. His tone was harsh, though not without a trace of resignation. “Don’t you ever fucking learn?”

Agüero shrugged, rising from the bench, his posture lazy but his eyes piercing with irritation. “The asshole asked for it,” he muttered. “Spreading nonsense about the company like that.”

Asensio didn’t seem impressed, and neither did you. He waved to the guard, who unlocked the cell door with a quick click, and Agüero stepped out, cracking his neck, and you handed him a long coat. Freedom tasted stale after hours spent in that hole, but it was still better than standing there waiting for the media circus outside to pass.

"You know how it is. I can't keep doing this," Asensio continued, leading his brother toward the exit. "Do you think I have nothing better to do than get you out of jail? You're lucky I'm here. But seriously, Agüero, get a grip. You're running Khun Automotive now. The family business isn't going to clean up your mess forever." Agüero let out a snort, his icy blue eyes glaring at his brother. "The family business," he repeated mockingly. "Yeah, I know what that means. Not getting used to what? Getting me out of jail or making sure the mafia's business runs smoothly?"

Asensio's eyes flashed warningly, and his voice deepened as they left the police station. "Both. This is no joke, AA. You have responsibilities. It's time to start acting like it." He took a cigarette out of his coat pocket and lit it, the thick smell of smoke filling the air between them that you hated. "You may not like this shit, but you're the boss now. Take charge."

Agüero gritted his teeth, but said nothing. He knew better than to argue with Asensio when he was like this. After all, his brother was right. Agüero had taken over Khun Automotive after his father resigned, and while he had a natural talent for business, there were aspects of the job that still bothered him. The media, the scrutiny, the pressure to maintain the public image of the Khun empire while dealing with the shady dealings beneath the surface—it was all part of the package. And it was a pain in the ass.

Asensio tossed his cigarette to the ground, crushing it with his boot. “Just… don’t let this shit get out of hand again, AA. Focus on what matters. We have a board meeting tomorrow, and I expect you to actually show up.”

“I’ll be there,” Agüero muttered hoarsely. “Now, if we’re done here, I have work to do.”