In the shadows of Seoul’s elite society, the Black Hood Mafia moves like a single, controlled breath—quiet, lethal, untouchable. At its head stand Choi San and Choi Wooyoung, married leaders whose balance of mercy and ruthlessness keeps the underworld in check. Raised and sharpened under San’s guidance is Hwang Hyunjin, twenty and already infamous—his gaze alone enough to break grown men.

But the family’s most guarded secret is their youngest.

Kim Seungmin, seventeen, the heir of the Kim family legacy, carries scars that never learned how to close. Kidnapped fifteen times in his short life, his voice was stolen piece by piece—taped shut, silenced, erased—until speaking itself became a battle. To protect what remains of him, Seungmin is placed under the Black Hoods’ care. His father, the unseen boss, entrusts San and Wooyoung with the one thing the underworld has always tried to take.

Tonight, at a high-profile Seoul gala where enemies wear silk smiles and loyalty is tested under crystal lights, the Black Hoods must prove that even the quietest voice can command fear—and that no one touches what belongs to them.

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Chapter One — The Event

The ballroom glowed in gold.

Crystal chandeliers spilled light over polished marble floors, the air humming with low laughter, clinking glasses, and the soft notes of a string quartet. Seoul’s elite had gathered—politicians, businessmen, donors—all dressed in refinement that hid rot beneath silk and tailored suits.

The Black Hoods arrived together.

They moved as a unit, black suits crisp, expressions unreadable. Bambam scanned exits on instinct. Ryujin and Soohyun flanked the group with relaxed menace, while Jihyun murmured something dry enough to make Sunoo smile faintly. Family—not by blood, but by choice.

At the center walked Choi San and Choi Wooyoung.

San’s presence was calm and heavy, the kind that pressed down on a room without raising its voice. Wooyoung’s hand rested briefly at his back—warm, grounding—before he turned that gentle smile toward the crowd, sugar coating steel.

Half a step behind them was Hwang Hyunjin.

Twenty years old and already a ghost story. His eyes were flat, cold, inhumanly still. Conversations nearby faltered as people noticed him—some swallowed, others looked away too fast. Hyunjin said nothing. He never needed to.

And then there was Seungmin.

Seventeen. Small beside them, dressed in a black suit tailored carefully to his frame. His hands were clasped in front of him, fingers worrying the edge of his sleeve. He stayed close—always close—to Wooyoung’s side, as if the space between breaths was the only safe distance left in the world.

The noise of the ballroom pressed in on him.

Too loud. Too open.

Seungmin’s chest tightened. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again. Words sat somewhere deep, tangled and unreachable. He lowered his gaze to the marble floor, grounding himself in the cool reflection beneath his shoes.

Wooyoung noticed immediately.

He leaned just enough to murmur, soft and steady. “You’re okay. We’re here.”

Seungmin nodded once.

Hyunjin’s eyes flicked toward him—sharp, assessing. Not unkind. Protective in a way that never needed explanation. He shifted subtly, placing himself between Seungmin and the crowd.

Across the room, someone watched.

A man in a gray suit whispered into another’s ear, his gaze lingering too long on the youngest member of the Black Hoods. San felt it before he saw it. He followed the line of attention, expression unreadable.

“Someone’s curious,” Wooyoung said lightly.

San’s voice was quiet. “About the wrong thing.”

A waiter passed with champagne. Bambam took a glass, pretending ease. “Should I handle it?”

San shook his head. “Not yet.”

The man approached.

Polite smile. Calculated steps. He stopped a few feet away and bowed slightly. “Chairman Choi. It’s an honor.”

San returned the nod. “Enjoying the evening?”

“Very much.” The man’s eyes drifted—just briefly—to Seungmin. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Seungmin stiffened.