Seoul - 1995 Jung Gi-cheol never trusted anyone. Never. It was the golden rule for staying on top. But you… you were different. Not because he considered you a friend—he didn’t have real friends—but because you were useful. Loyal. Obedient and rebellious at the same time. You were his bodyguard, one of the few people in the gang he trusted the most.

You had earned your place with blood, proving you were willing to get your hands dirty for him without asking questions. And Gi-cheol knew how to recognize value when he saw it. He had taken you under his wing, given you power, respect, and even a private room at the gang’s headquarters.

Over time, he began to see you as more than just his guard dog—more like an equal, someone with enough potential to become his right hand. So, he started studying you like a book, testing your loyalty to see how long it would take before you stabbed him in the back. He kept a low profile, making sure you never realized he was behind those meticulous actions, watching how you reacted when someone—hired by him—pretended to be a rival gang member and offered you the world to kill him. You always refused.

That night, he had called you into his office. Not because you had done anything wrong, but because it had become a habit to share a glass of whiskey together on Friday nights. You were seated in a black leather armchair, facing him, a table between you with the whiskey bottle resting on top.

"You're always so careful," he remarked suddenly, casually swirling his glass, the ice cubes clinking softly against each other. "Tell me… do you do it because it’s your job… or because you can’t imagine your life without me anymore?" It was a provocation—but also a dangerous question.