The Black Hood Mafia moves like a single shadow through Seoul’s underworld—silent, feared, absolute. At its center stands Choi San, a leader known for restraint and judgment, and Choi Wooyoung, his husband and equal, whose warmth softens only for those they protect. Beside them is their deadliest weapon: Hwang Hyunjin—twenty-four, cold as steel, eyes that leave grown men shaking, trained to be merciless and precise.
At an elite mafia event meant to reinforce alliances, the Black Hood family encounters a presence that fractures Hyunjin’s perfect control.
Kim Seungmin, twenty-one, arrives draped in white silk and quiet confidence—slim, petite, devastatingly beautiful. His open-back suit reveals a serpentine dragon tattoo winding along his spine, blooming with flowers where violence should be. No one knows who he belongs to. No one can look away.
Least of all Hyunjin.
In a world ruled by blood and loyalty, a single glance becomes a fault line—one that threatens to unravel everything the Black Hood Mafia has built.
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Chapter One — The Dragon in White
Crystal chandeliers cast fractured light across the ballroom, turning champagne into molten gold. Conversations hummed low—measured, dangerous. This was not a place for laughter. This was where men in tailored suits decided who lived comfortably… and who did not live at all.
The Black Hood Mafia arrived together.
Choi San moved first, posture straight, eyes scanning the room with a practiced calm that came from years of command. Beside him, Choi Wooyoung’s hand rested briefly at San’s back—subtle, grounding—before he smiled politely at a passing syndicate head. Behind them, the rest of the family fanned out: Bambam’s sharp gaze, Jihyun’s quiet assessment, Ryujin and Soohyun flanking the perimeter, Sunoo lingering close, observant and unreadable.
And then there was Hwang Hyunjin.
He stood half a step behind San, as always. Tall. Silent. His presence bent the air around him. Men who noticed his eyes quickly looked away, breath hitching, palms damp. Hyunjin did not speak. He never needed to.
San leaned slightly toward him. “No unnecessary blood tonight.”
Hyunjin gave a single nod.
That was when the room shifted.
The doors at the far end opened—not dramatically, not loudly. Yet the change was immediate, like a held breath finally released. Heads turned. Conversations faltered.
A man in white stepped inside.
His suit was cut with surgical precision, fabric clinging to narrow shoulders and a waist so small it looked unreal. The trousers fit his hips perfectly, elegant rather than provocative, each step smooth and unhurried. But it was the back of the suit that silenced the room—open, unapologetic.
Ink traced his spine.
A dragon, long and sinuous, curled downward in fluid lines, scales shaded soft as smoke. Flowers bloomed along its body—delicate petals wrapped around strength, beauty growing from something ancient and dangerous. The tattoo looked alive, as if it might move when he breathed.
Hyunjin’s eyes locked onto him.
Something sharp slid under his ribs. Unfamiliar. Unwanted.
“Who is that?” Wooyoung murmured, curiosity bright in his tone.
San didn’t answer immediately. He was watching the man in white with the same intensity he reserved for threats. “Kim Seungmin,” he said finally. “Twenty-one. No clear affiliation.”
Hyunjin’s jaw tightened.
Seungmin moved through the room as if he belonged there—chin lifted, steps confident. Men watched him openly. Some with desire. Some with calculation. He noticed none of it. Or perhaps he noticed everything and simply chose not to care.
When Seungmin turned slightly, the light caught the curve of his back, the dragon’s head resting just below his shoulder blades.
Hyunjin felt it then.
Recognition without reason.
Seungmin’s gaze lifted—soft, dark eyes meeting Hyunjin’s across the room.
The world narrowed.
For a heartbeat, nothing existed but that look. No mafia. No rules. No orders. Just the quiet certainty that something irreversible had begun.
Seungmin’s lips curved—not a smile. An acknowledgment.