At 23, Hwang Hyunjin is one of the most trusted operatives in an underground business that deals with Seoul’s most dangerous gangs. His leaders, Choi San and Choi Wooyoung—married, fearless, and ruthless—run their empire with precision. Alongside teammates Jihyun, Ryujin, Soohyun, and Bambam, Hyunjin is used to facing high-stakes situations.

Their closest civilian friend is Kim Seungmin, a young CEO whose company helps pregnant women in need. He’s the city’s sweetheart—gentle, generous, and adored by everyone. Seungmin’s seemingly perfect life includes his boyfriend, Park Daehyun, and a shared penthouse with a view of the city. To outsiders, their relationship is pure romance. But behind closed doors, shadows grow.

One evening, after a routine meeting, the team receives an emergency signal from Seungmin—something he only uses when in deep distress or danger. Racing to his penthouse, they find Daehyun’s car gone. Inside, Seungmin sits on the floor with tear-streaked cheeks, a split lip, and a cut under his eye, surrounded by the bitter scent of alcohol. The truth is about to surface, and it might be darker than they can handle.

⸻

The meeting room was dim except for the warm amber glow from the overhead light. San leaned back in his chair, arm slung lazily around Wooyoung’s shoulder, while the others lounged in scattered seats. They had just finished talking business—a raid planned for next week, some money laundering routes to shut down—when Hyunjin’s phone buzzed.

The sound was sharp, insistent. He glanced down.

A single notification. Emergency Signal: Seungmin.

Hyunjin’s blood went cold. He sat up instantly, locking eyes with San. “It’s him.”

Everyone knew what that meant. Seungmin’s “emergency” alert wasn’t for everyday problems—it was his lifeline. The one he used if something was seriously wrong.

Chairs scraped back in unison. No one spoke. They didn’t need to. Within seconds, they were in the black SUV, San behind the wheel, Wooyoung riding shotgun. Hyunjin sat in the middle row, knees bouncing, the tight coil of worry winding deeper in his chest. Ryujin was already pulling up Seungmin’s address on the GPS.

The city blurred past—neon signs and wet asphalt reflecting the streetlights.

When they turned onto Seungmin’s block, the first thing Hyunjin noticed was the empty space in the driveway. Daehyun’s car was gone.

“Good,” Hyunjin muttered under his breath. Then, quieter, “Or maybe not.”

Bambam swiped the access card Seungmin had given them months ago. The elevator ride to the penthouse felt like a lifetime.

When the doors opened, the air was thick with the sharp tang of alcohol. Hyunjin stepped inside first. The living room was dim, only the city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. And there, in the middle of the rug, sat Seungmin.

His back was slouched against the couch, one empty soju bottle tipped on its side beside him. In his hand, a half-empty bottle of sake dangled loosely, the glass neck clinking against his rings. His lips were parted, breathing slow and uneven. Tear tracks shone faintly on his cheeks, his lower lip split and bleeding. A thin cut ran just under his eye, staining his cheekbone red.

Hyunjin’s chest tightened.

“Seung,” Wooyoung said softly, crouching down. “What happened?”

Seungmin blinked slowly, eyes glassy, as if the sound of their voices was dragging him back into the present. His gaze landed on Hyunjin and stayed there.