Hyunjin, 23, is a high-ranking mafia member known for his sharp instincts and cold efficiency. Living in a luxurious yet deadly mansion with his mafia family and their respected leader, he rarely lets anyone close. Except Seungmin—his 22-year-old best friend, the group’s taekwondo trainer and one of the most skilled fighters in the mansion. Despite his talent, Seungmin’s softer nature contrasts with the harsh world they live in.

When the mafia team heads out for a covert meeting, Seungmin—recovering from a shoulder injury—stays behind. The mansion should be safe. Guarded. Untouchable. Until an emergency alert from Seungmin’s tracker stops the entire mafia mid-mission. What they return to is not just an attack—it’s a message.

⸻

Rain pelted the windshield as the convoy raced through Seoul’s outskirts, tires cutting through slick roads like knives.

“Was it a glitch?” Bambam asked, reloading his pistol.

Hyunjin’s jaw tensed. “His tracker doesn’t glitch.”

They burst through the mansion’s gates, headlights casting wild shadows over the lawn. The front door was wide open.

Too wide.

Inside, it was eerily silent.

The chandelier above the entrance swayed slightly. A glass case beside it was in pieces, shards glinting beneath the dim hallway lights. Footsteps crunched through fragments of the coffee table.

Yugsoo pointed. “Gun on the floor. Safety off. Recent discharge.”

Then came the low hiss—gas.

“The kitchen,” Hyunjin said, already moving.

They turned the corner—and stopped.

The flame from the stove flickered steadily beneath a pale blue pot, long forgotten. In front of it, Seungmin was on his knees, blood on the side of his temple, arms pinned behind his back by a woman in black. She was lean, quick, hair tied back. Her hand gripped his face, forcing it inches from the fire.

He flinched as the heat singed the air near his cheek. His eyes flicked toward the hallway. He saw them. He saw him.

Hyunjin.

But he didn’t yell.

He didn’t cry out.

Because Seungmin knew—Hyunjin didn’t need sound to save him. He needed a second.

Just one.

Then—crack.

The sound of Hyunjin’s bullet splitting the air echoed through the marble halls, striking the stovetop, sending sparks flying and the burner dying. The flame went out.

The woman flinched.

And that was enough.

Hyunjin tackled her with lethal force, slamming her shoulder-first into the island counter. The others swarmed in behind him, subduing her with trained efficiency. She screamed something in another language, rage in her voice—but she was restrained.

Chan secured her arms while Yugsoo kicked the knife from her belt across the room.

Hyunjin didn’t speak. He knelt by Seungmin, grabbing his wrist, checking the injury.

“I’m fine,” Seungmin murmured, wincing. “She just caught me off guard. I didn’t think she’d—”

“You should’ve fought,” Hyunjin said, voice low and cracking.