The Black Hood Mafia does not gamble.
They observe. They calculate. They control.
Led by the composed and merciless Choi San and his husband Choi Wooyoung, the Black Hood family rules the underworld with discipline rather than chaos. At San’s right hand stands Hwang Hyunjin—silent, inhumanly cold, and terrifying enough that men have collapsed under his gaze alone.
One night, their attention turns to a casino buzzing with rumor and blood-soaked history. A private gambling round has drawn an unexpected name to the table: Kim Seungmin, son of infamous weapons CEO Kim Namjoon. Not a mafioso. Not an ally.
But a danger all the same.
Known for his ruthless retaliation, his unsettling laugh, and a mind that bends probability itself, Seungmin enters the casino not knowing—or perhaps not caring—that the Black Hood Mafia is watching.
As chips stack and tensions rise, fate seats predator across from predator. And when Seungmin wins, loudly and violently, he doesn’t just claim the table—
He earns the attention of the one man no one ever wants watching them.
Hwang Hyunjin.
⸻
The casino glowed like a living organism.
Gold lights pulsed overhead, chandeliers dripping crystal like sharpened teeth. The air smelled of alcohol, perfume, and desperation—thick enough to choke on if you stood still too long.
The Black Hood Mafia occupied the upper balcony, untouched by the noise below.
They never sat at tables.
They watched.
Choi San leaned forward against the railing, black coat pristine, hands clasped calmly behind his back. His expression was unreadable—measured, thoughtful. Beside him, Wooyoung rested his elbow casually on the rail, chin propped in his palm, eyes sharp despite the softness in his posture.
Behind them stood the rest of the family: Bambam murmuring something low to Jihyun, Ryujin scanning exits, Soohyun counting security shifts, Sunoo quietly observing patterns no one else noticed.
And then there was Hyunjin.
He stood slightly apart, a shadow detached from the rest.
Tall. Still. Silent.
His eyes were fixed on the private gambling floor below, unblinking.
San spoke first. “That’s him.”
Wooyoung followed his gaze. “Kim Seungmin.”
Hyunjin said nothing.
Down on the private floor, Seungmin sat across from Park Leehan, stacks of chips arranged with surgical precision. He looked relaxed—too relaxed. One arm slung over the back of his chair, suit jacket open, tie loosened like he had nothing to lose.
His smile, however, was wrong.
Not friendly. Not cocky.
Unhinged.
“He doesn’t belong here,” Bambam muttered. “Not connected to any syndicate.”
“Doesn’t need to be,” San replied. “Danger doesn’t always wear a uniform.”
The dealer’s voice rang out. “Final cards.”
Leehan’s jaw tightened as he checked his hand. Sweat beaded at his hairline.
Seungmin leaned back, head tipping slightly as if bored. Then—he laughed.
It wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t big.
It crawled.
A thin, broken sound that raised the hair on everyone’s arms nearby.
Hyunjin’s eyes narrowed.
Wooyoung noticed immediately. “He laughs like someone who’s already won.”
The dealer swallowed. “Reveal.”
Leehan slammed his cards down first. “Straight.”
Gasps rippled through the onlookers.
Seungmin didn’t react.
He slowly leaned forward, fingers tapping the table once. Twice.
Then he flipped his cards.
“Full house.”
Silence.
Then chaos.
Chips scattered as Seungmin shot to his feet, fists slamming into the table so hard the glasses rattled.
“YES!”
His voice cut through the room—raw, unfiltered triumph. Heads snapped toward him. Security stiffened. Leehan went pale, staring like he’d just seen his own execution order.
Seungmin threw his head back and laughed again, wide grin splitting his face, eyes shining with something feral.
“Did you see that?” he shouted, not to anyone in particular. “I told you. Probability loves me.”
Above, the Black Hood Mafia remained still.
Hyunjin moved.
San watched him closely. “What do you see.”
“He knows he’s being watched.” Hyunjin says calmly.