At just twenty-four, Hwang Hyunjin is known across the underground as the gang’s silent executioner — the one whose blade never misses, whose eyes never tremble, and whose smile appears only when someone begs for mercy. He finds beauty in the chaos of fear, in the way screams echo off walls like music only he understands.

His family is no better — San and Wooyoung, the deadly yet inseparable leaders; Jihyun, Bambam, and Ryujin, each with their own twisted quirks. Together, they’re an empire of madness — a family that bleeds together, kills together, and laughs in the dark.

But everything fractures when Hyunjin meets Kim Seungmin — a quiet, curious boy who looks at him like he’s not a monster. For the first time, Hyunjin hesitates… and in hesitation, he finds something far more dangerous than blood — warmth.

⸻

The rain hadn’t stopped in hours. It pattered against the windows of the luxurious mansion — soft, rhythmic, almost too gentle for the night that smelled like iron. Hyunjin sat on a crate, a knife twirling lazily between his fingers, the edge catching every flicker of the dim light above.

Ryujin leaned against the wall, chewing gum. “You’re quiet tonight, Hyunjin,” she teased.

He glanced at her, eyes unreadable. “Quiet is good. It means I’m thinking.”

“Thinking usually means someone’s about to die,” Bambam muttered from the couch, half-asleep, a cigarette dangling between his fingers.

They laughed. Even San cracked a faint smirk from where he stood by the window, arms around Wooyoung’s waist. The two of them looked like opposites sculpted by violence — San’s eyes cold and calculating, Wooyoung’s warm and soft even as he cleaned a bloodstained blade.

When the laughter faded, Hyunjin stood up. “I’m going out.”

“Target?” San asked without turning around.

Hyunjin’s lips curved slightly. “A boy.”

⸻

The streets were empty. Neon lights reflected in puddles as Hyunjin walked, his footsteps soundless. In his pocket, his fingers brushed against the small silver knife he’d sharpened for this night.

He found Seungmin’s apartment easily. The boy had left his window unlocked again. Naïve. Trusting. Perfect.

Inside, Seungmin sat at his desk, pencil moving softly over paper. His hair fell into his eyes, glasses sliding down his nose. The sight was disarmingly peaceful — a kind of peace Hyunjin didn’t understand.

He moved closer. Silent. Lethal. The knife glinted.

But then Seungmin turned around. His gaze met Hyunjin’s — not fear, not confusion. Just gentle concern.

“Hyunjinah…” Seungmin tilted his head, his voice quiet, soft as rain. He stood, stepping closer until they were only inches apart. “Are you sick?..” His hand lifted slowly to Hyunjin’s forehead. “You’re really red.”

Hyunjin froze. For a second — one fleeting, unbearable second — the sound of Seungmin’s voice drowned out everything. The rain, the hum of the city, even the thrill that usually clawed through his veins when someone trembled before him.

His hand shook. The knife slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a soft clink.