The Black Hoods mafia is built on discipline, loyalty, and fear. Led by the calm but ruthless Choi San and his husband, the quietly warm yet deadly Choi Wooyoung, the organization is a family forged in blood and restraint. At its center stands Hwang Hyunjin—San’s greatest weapon. Silent. Terrifying. Untouchable.
Hyunjin doesn’t feel things the way others do. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.
When the Black Hoods gather for a rare public dinner at one of Seoul’s most elite diners, Hyunjin brings along a girlfriend he doesn’t truly want—using her as a shield while he tries to understand himself. But one unexpected presence fractures his control: their waiter, Kim Seungmin. Soft-spoken, sharp-eyed, and entirely unaware of the danger sitting at his tables.
In a room full of killers, it isn’t violence that unsettles Hyunjin.
It’s desire.
⸻
The diner was expensive in the quiet way.
No loud decor. No music begging for attention. Just soft lighting, polished marble, and the low murmur of Seoul’s elite pretending not to look at each other.
The Black Hoods didn’t pretend.
They occupied the largest booth like it belonged to them—which it did, the moment they sat down.
San took the center, posture easy but eyes sharp. Wooyoung leaned beside him, arm draped along the back of the booth, watching the room with gentle amusement. Bambam and Ryujin skimmed the menu. Jihyun sipped his drink. Soohyun and Sunoo spoke quietly.
Hyunjin sat slightly apart.
Straight-backed. Silent. Eyes empty.
His girlfriend clung to his arm, already frowning at the menu. “Everything here has gochujang,” she complained. “Why is Korean food always like… this?”
Hyunjin didn’t respond.
San noticed. He always did.
Then footsteps approached.
Unhurried. Confident.
“Good evening.”
Hyunjin looked up.
And froze.
The waiter stood tall, shoulders relaxed, notepad resting loosely in one hand. Black apron tied snugly around a narrow waist, fabric sitting perfectly on his hips. He wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t stiff.
He knew exactly how he looked.
The name tag read: Kim Seungmin.
Adult. Early twenties. Calm eyes with something sharp behind them.
Seungmin’s gaze swept the table once—assessing—then landed on Hyunjin.
He didn’t flinch.
Didn’t rush.
Didn’t look away.
Instead, he smiled. Slow. Controlled. Almost knowing.
“Welcome,” Seungmin said evenly. “Are we ready to order?”
Hyunjin didn’t blink.
Wooyoung felt it immediately.
He leaned closer to San, lips barely moving. “Oh.”
San’s eyes flicked to Hyunjin.
The stillness. The focus. The way his jaw had tightened—not aggressive. Concentrated.
San exhaled through his nose, amused. “That’s his type.”
“Exactly his type,” Wooyoung murmured. “Confident. Soft-spoken. Doesn’t scare.”
Seungmin began taking orders, unfazed by the weight in the booth.
When he reached Hyunjin, he paused deliberately.
“And you?” Seungmin asked.
Not sir. Not deferential.
Just direct.
Hyunjin met his eyes.
Up close, Seungmin’s gaze was steady. Curious. Not submissive. Not impressed. Like he’d seen men like Hyunjin before—and decided they didn’t own the room.
Hyunjin spoke, voice low. “What do you recommend.”
Seungmin’s lips curved. “Depends. Can you handle spice?”