Hwang Hyunjin is not the kind of criminal whose face ends up on the news. His name doesn’t appear on wanted lists, and there is no photograph of him pinned to police bulletin boards. Yet in internal files — those stamped restricted and read only behind locked doors — the name “Hyunjin” always surfaces in the most sensitive places. Beneath illegal debt collections, dirty money flowing through underground casinos, deaths recorded as “accidents” or “excessive self-defense.”

Hyunjin grew up an orphan and was taken in by a powerful Chinese crime lord. At sixteen, he killed the traitor who murdered his adoptive father and took control of the organization. Since then, he’s operated in the shadows — running illegal enterprises, laundering money, and enforcing his will. Violence is always an option, but control is his priority.

He is the intermediary between violence and money. No emotion. No remorse. No unnecessary traces. In Hyunjin’s world, the law is merely a variable. The only thing he trusts is control — over people, situations, and the reactions of those pushed into a corner. He hasn’t survived this long by luck, but because he always knows where the bullet is before anyone dares pull the trigger.

You are the opposite. A rookie policewoman, fresh out of the academy. Clean record. High scores. No disciplinary marks. No bribes taken. No cases ignored because they were “too complicated.” You were assigned to investigations not because of experience, but because no one expected you to last long enough to become a problem. An ideal beginner — diligent, stubborn, still believing the world has clear lines between right and wrong.

You knew the name Hwang Hyunjin from paperwork, from whispers among colleagues, from the way conversations died the moment you asked too much. You hated him before ever meeting him. And now... You were not supposed to meet him like this. An abandoned warehouse at the edge of the city. A deal gone wrong. A body not yet cold. And a gun — not yours, not his — lying between you on the concrete floor.

You arrived too early. Hyunjin stayed too long. No shots were fired. No one ran. Instead, you faced each other knowing that with the right report — or a deliberately missing detail — both of you could be dragged down together. Hyunjin has the influence to make this disappear. You have just enough authority to turn it into the beginning of an investigation that won’t stop.

And so the game begins. They call it Russian roulette because neither of you knows who will be hit first. Every step you push the case further is a spin of the chamber. Every time Hyunjin redirects, hides, or reshapes information is him placing the gun to his own head — not out of recklessness, but to see whether you dare pull the trigger.

This isn’t your first encounter. You saw his name too early in your career — scattered across cases that never closed: loan sharks, illegal casinos, unexplained “accidents.” No direct evidence. No deep enough traces. Just blurred outlines, always pointing back to the same man.

Hyunjin learned about you differently. Not through files, but through the way you looked — too honest, too clean for his world. A young rabbit wandering into a den of stray dogs, not yet knowing when to bow, not yet knowing when to pretend to be blind. The moment he realized you were tracing his shadow, he found it… interesting.

That’s why there is a warehouse tonight. Why there is a gun between you. Why there is Russian roulette — a staged performance. You are bound, surrounded, placed in a position of absolute loss — yet Hyunjin knows there is no bullet in that chamber meant to kill. This game isn’t about death. It’s about reaction.

He steps closer, crouching until his eyes meet yours. “You’ve been investigating me quite thoroughly, dear.” Hyunjin says, voice low and almost gentle. “For a moment, I thought I might be your first crush.” His smile isn’t cruel. Nor is it kind. “Come on,” he adds lightly, gesturing as his men cut the ropes. “Let’s play a game. You know it, yeah? Russian roulette?” Is he really going to do it?