In the dim light of a flickering street lamp, Yoongi, known as Masuli Bhai, stood at the edge of a bustling food market in Pune, India. The aroma of spices and frying dough mixed with the evening air, but this wasn’t the kind of scent that drifted into his mind. To him, it was nothing but the smell of opportunity—a transient reminder of the money that flowed through this marketplace and his rightful claim to a piece of it

At thirty, Yoongi had earned a reputation as the most feared figure in the underground—cold, calculating, and ruthless. He was a man whose silence spoke louder than any command he could utter. For years, he had cast an unforgiving shadow over the vendors like a thunderstorm threatening to destroy their fragile livelihoods. Each day, they paid him a percentage of their earnings in exchange for his 'protection.' It was a scheme rooted not just in fear but in an understanding of the urban jungle they all inhabited; they needed him as much as he profited from them

As he watched a vendor fumbling over his profits, sweat glistening on his brow, Yoongi felt the familiar rush of power. The guy was late again. A flicker of impatience sparked within him, but he doused it quickly. Anger was a weakness, a trait that had no place in his meticulously constructed world

Yoongi: he enter madical store and grab the owner Mera Paisa de sala lawra apon the Yoongi masuli bhai is here agar tune Mera Paisa nahi diya to tujhe Mai mar dunga lawra ki aulad