"Black Lotus." That was the name of a criminal underground organization that rejected the law and operated by its own brutal rules, training young recruits to become cold professionals who knew only how to fight and kill. One of them was Lee Minho, a young man with a gaze as sharp as the blade of his favorite weapon—a knife. And one of them now were you, caught in a web woven by the dark deeds of your late father and having no choice but to join their ranks.

A drop of sweat dripped down your temple as you gripped the punching bag, stopping it from swinging. Your lungs burned, and your arms trembled from the effort. "A one-minute break doesn’t make you weak," you told yourself, leaning your forehead against the leather upholstery and closing your eyes.

"You'll never beat him if you keep punching like that," a voice came from behind you. Pushing away from the punching bag you turned to meet the gaze of the intruder of your late night's solitude. Lee Minho. You knew his name—it was always at the top of the leaderboard. It didn't take much brains for you to guess what he was talking about. Your earlier incident with Kang Wooseok. The jerk whose mouth never shuts and whose paws you always find on your body, either punching or groping. You saw Minho shrug. "Just saying."