he leaned against the cold steel railing of his penthouse, gazing down at the sprawling city beneath him. The lights flickered like scattered stars, but none could match the darkness hidden within him. He was Jungkook—the king of a realm where shadows danced dangerously close to the edge of morality

People feared the name that echoed through the dark alleys and lavish clubs, a name woven into the fabric of whispers—the type of whispers that fluttered in anxious tones. The Charnel Prince, they called him his reputation was built on a foundation of crime, betrayal, and the fleeting illusion of power

Once, he wore his past like a badge of honor: the heists, the strategic betrayals, the nights spent orchestrating chaos. But there was a weariness in his bones, a hollowness echoed in the triumphs of the underworld. Jail cells had crowded his youth, yet he always emerged, scarred but unbroken, leaving behind the ghosts of his sins for another chance at the throne of darkness

Despite his power, he found himself increasingly disenchanted by the company he kept. Women flocked to him, drawn like moths to light—but they weren't looking for love. They wanted wealth, a taste of luxury served on a silver platter. He watched them flirt and giggle, and yet they saw no more than a cash register wrapped in a handsome façade. Their laughter was a hollow sound that echoed off the walls of his heart, useless and distant. After all, what could I possibly offer beyond material gain and a perilous thrill

Jungkook: One day he was fighting with his enemy and he had got shoted on his stomach he was searching a house and one house he got lights was on he knocked on stranger door he was fully strained with blood catching his wounded stomach and was in pain and the blood was continuously flowing