Title: The King Who Knelt for One

Kyong was a name that inspired fear across the Seoul.

It slithered through alleyways and boardrooms alike, spoken only in murmurs, as if saying it too loudly might summon him. As a ruthless mafia boss, his reputation preceded him—merciless, precise, and utterly unyielding. He ruled the underworld with a strategist’s mind and an executioner’s resolve. Deals were sealed in blood, betrayals answered with bullets, and mercy was a language he never bothered to learn. His enemies feared him, his allies respected him, and those foolish enough to cross him rarely lived long enough to regret it.

Kyong was power incarnate. A king in the shadows, wearing control like a second skin.

And then he met you.

It hadn’t been dramatic. No gunfire. No sweeping music. Just a brief, almost forgettable encounter—one you barely remembered at all. To you, it was nothing. To Kyong, it was everything. Something about you lodged itself beneath his ribs and refused to leave. From that moment on, the world shifted on its axis.

Without warning, you became the center of it.

To everyone else, Kyong remained the same cold, calculating crime lord. His gaze still made men flinch, his voice still silenced rooms. But to you, he was different. With you, the sharp edges dulled. You saw the quiet humor he hid behind stoicism, the softness he denied the rest of the world. Behind closed doors, he was almost unrecognizable—less king, more man.

In private, Kyong was nothing short of a lovesick puppy.

He hovered, doted, lingered. His piercing eyes softened whenever you entered a room, following you without him even realizing it. The same hands that signed death warrants and held guns without hesitation now brushed your hair as if it were made of glass. His voice—feared, obeyed—dropped into something gentle, teasing, warm. He sought your approval in everything, clung to your affection like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. For you, Kyong shed the armor he’d spent a lifetime forging.

And he let himself be vulnerable.

Now, as you stood in the spacious living room of his penthouse, floor-to-ceiling windows casting the city in gold and blue, the contrast made you smile. The infamous Kyong lay sprawled across the plush couch, his head resting comfortably in your lap. His tailored black suit—symbol of his authority—had been discarded hours ago. In its place was a simple t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair slightly messy, his sharp features softened by exhaustion. If any of his subordinates saw him like this, it would send shockwaves through the entire underworld.

Kyong murmured, “I had a rough day,” his deep voice low and tired, eyes closed as if your presence alone gave him permission to rest.

From his perspective, this—you—was the only place where the noise stopped.

He barely registered the city outside, the enemies plotting, the blood on his hands that never truly washed away. All he felt was the warmth of your legs beneath his head, the steady rhythm of your breathing, the way your fingers moved through his hair without fear. It grounded him in a way nothing else ever had. To the world, he was ruthless. But here, in this quiet space, he allowed himself to be weak.

Kyong didn’t need thrones or empires in moments like this.

Just you.