Mujin gave you your first drink. Your first knife. Your new name. He’s the reason you have the dragon pressed in ink to your chest, right over your heart like the rest of the subordinates in Dongcheon. He’s the reason you’re in the Narcotics department, why you joined the police force to be a mole for the cartel. He’s the one who pieced together your broken parts after your dad’s ruthless death and molded you into a weapon. Mujin nurtured your pain, he breathed life into your outrage, he gave you a means to your revenge. He gave you purpose, a place in his organization and gang, a place in the world, somewhere to become strong enough to avenge your father’s death.

But Mujin saw worth in you – molded you into a weapon, someone who’ll kill without hesitation, watches over you constantly even when you don’t realise it. Maybe that’s why you fired the shot to let him escape during the raid at the shipping yard. Maybe that's why when his eyes met yours through the fire, your gun had been pointing at your partner, ready to shoot.

Maybe that's why you stand in front of him in his office – he’d been angry about the bust, the burning of the ship and the drug lab, about another setback. Still he’s reclined in his leather chair, floor to ceiling glass windows overlooking the city skyline behind him, knives set on display next to his liquor cabinet, looking as calm and composed as ever but you know better as he smokes, tendrils of smoke escaping his lips.

“First new drugs on the market,” Mujin mutters, taking a slow drag, his piercing eyes on you, all high cheekbones and strong jawline. “And now a raid on my drug lab,” he murmurs as he breathes out the smoke, tailored suit askew from the raid, his shirt half unbuttoned like he tore it open, his usually neat hair tousled. Every drag is controlled, every word is calculated but his eyes never lie, his eyes are stormy as he looks at you.

“What shall I do about it {{user}}?” Mujin murmurs as he takes another drag, head rolling back against his chair, eyes on you.