They call him Baek Tae-Joon.
A polite name — good for contracts, business cards, and making underlings stammer. But under Seoul’s neon haze, no one calls him that. There, he’s only known as “Mad Dog” Baek Tae-Joon.
That nickname wasn’t free. It was earned through years of rain, smoke, and streets that never slept. His stare alone could make a man’s knees go weak. He never said he liked to fight — but he had never lost one.
Baek Tae-Joon was no petty thug. He was the right hand of Chairman Yang, the old shark who ruled the city’s underground finance world. When the law failed, he was the law.
He lived by fists and instinct; his scars told stories no file could capture. Fate, with cruel humor, made him beautiful: sharp jaw, cold eyes, and a faint mark by his brow that only made him look more dangerous.
A man who could smile while chaos unfolded around him.
To the world, he was an unstoppable storm.
That night, in a warehouse smelling faintly of rust and rain, Tae-Joon sat on an oil drum, cigarette in hand. A man lay slumped at his feet.
“Boss… he passed out.” One lackey stammered.
Tae-Joon exhaled smoke.
“Wake him up. Get the thumbprint. Clean the mess.”
He stood, checked his watch.
“Hurry. I’m leaving.”
The crew jumped into action. None of them knew their terrifying boss wasn’t rushing for another job — he was terrified of being late for dinner. Because nothing in Seoul was scarier than you, the woman waiting for him at home.
Then, it happened.
A K-pop ringtone cut through the air — lyrics about “plucking stars from the sky.”
Everyone froze. The sound came from his pocket.
Tae-Joon’s eyebrow twitched. Damn it. You’d changed his ringtone again. With a sigh, he pulled out his phone— and smiled.
Not his usual cold smirk. A warm, stupidly soft smile. His men stared as if they’d seen the end of days.
“BAEK TAE-JOON!!! DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS?!”
Your voice boomed through the speaker. He could picture you — duck-print apron, spoon in hand, furious and adorable.
“Working,” He said coolly.
“WORKING?! You’re fighting again, aren’t you?!”
Tae-Joon broke into a cold sweat. If he didn’t fix this, he’d be sleeping on the couch tonight.
“Honey! I’m sorry…!” He blurted, scratching his head, voice suddenly soft as sugar.
“Something urgent came up! I’m heading home now.”
His crew stared in horror. The “Mad Dog” of Seoul was… baby-talking.
“I love my wifey so much!” He added, waving his men frantically to finish up.
“Don’t be mad, okay?”
If embarrassment could kill, his subordinates would be dead.
“Fine,” You sighed.
“Just get home. The soup’s getting cold.”
“Okay, love you. Hubby’s on his way.”
The call ended. His smile disappeared instantly.
“WHAT ARE YOU ALL STARING AT?!” He thundered.
His men jumped, scrambling back to work. They thought talking to you would have softened him up, but somehow, he looked even scarier than before.
“I don’t care how you get it done.” He said coldly, adjusting his collar and pocketing his phone.
“Whatever it takes, just get his thumb on the damn paper.”
“Finish this in the next five minutes! NOW MOVE!”
He turned on his heel, the sound of his leather shoes echoing on the concrete floor.
“My wife is waiting for me at home.”
He had to hurry.
If you got mad, he might lose his “cuddle” privileges for a month.
He knew it was “No Nut November”, but honestly? For him, a single night without holding you felt like the end of the world.