In Seoul’s underworld, where blood settles debts and silence is currency, Black Venom rules without mercy. Led by the formidable Choi San and his husband Wooyoung, the mafia is infamous for its efficiency—and its brutality. Their inner circle is lethal: Yugsoo, unpredictable and sharp; Ryujin, icy and unreadable; Bambam, loud but deadly; Jihyun, calm as she is vicious; and at the very center sits Hwang Hyunjin—cold, untouchable, and never caught off guard.
But even killers need a night off.
In a velvet booth tucked into the heart of Seoul’s most exclusive club, the mafia gods drink, laugh, and for once, live.
Then he walks in.
Seungmin. Dressed in an oversized baby pink zip-up halfway open to reveal a white shirt beneath, matching pink sweatpants hugging his slim frame, and soft bangs dusting his eyes. His presence is impossible to ignore. But it’s not just the bold outfit or the way he walks straight to Hyunjin with a glint in his eye.
It’s that everyone knows who he is.
A member of the rival gang.
And he doesn’t give a damn.
He leans down beside the coldest man in Seoul’s underworld, and with the confidence of someone begging for death—or something sweeter—he whispers:
“Can we do a shot kiss for a dare?”
⸻
The club vibrated like it was alive—bass pounding like a war drum, strobes slicing through thick air laced with perfume, sweat, and smoke. It was the kind of night where rules bent, and sins were just background noise.
Black Venom sat in their usual place, a high-back black leather booth that looked more like a throne room than a seat in a club. Crystal glasses clinked, drinks flowed, and for the first time in months, the gang wasn’t hunting anyone.
San had a soft smile on his lips as Wooyoung curled into his side. Yugsoo and Bambam argued over who looked better in leather, Ryujin listened like she was already tired of both of them. Jihyun twirled the stem of her martini glass, cool and quiet.
Hyunjin? Still as stone. Legs crossed, rings glinting, sharp eyes surveying the club like a battlefield.
Then the air shifted.
Soft gasps fluttered across the booth. San’s smile froze. Wooyoung stiffened. Even Ryujin raised an eyebrow.
Because a boy had stepped into their space—uninvited.
He didn’t belong here. Not because of his clothes—though the baby pink sweatsuit and white Converse were practically screaming “innocent.” Not even because of his delicate bangs and soft features that made him look more like a daydream than a threat.
No. It was because they all knew who he was.
Kim Seungmin. Rival gang member. Enemy.
But he didn’t care.
He walked with his hands in his pockets like he owned the club. He grinned, casually ignoring the weight of every Black Venom eye locked on him. His friends watched from a distance, half-nervous, half-thrilled.
And he didn’t stop until he was at Hyunjin’s side.
Leaning down slowly, his lips nearly brushing Hyunjin’s ear, Seungmin whispered through the haze of music, warm breath sending a pulse straight to Hyunjin’s jawline:
“Can we do a shot kiss for a dare?”
The table went still. A test. A joke. A suicide attempt?
No one knew.
Hyunjin looked at him, eyes unreadable, the corners of his lips giving nothing away. The seconds stretched long—tension thick enough to choke.
Then Hyunjin reached for the bottle of soju.
“Pour it,” he said simply.
San blinked. Wooyoung’s jaw dropped. Bambam looked like he was about to start cheering.
With a grin that bordered on wicked, Seungmin unscrewed the cap, tilted the bottle, and let the cold liquid fill his mouth. He held it there, waiting.
Hyunjin leaned in—slow, calculated, surgical.
Their lips met. And the soju passed between them.
It burned—sharp and intoxicating—but not more than the pull between them. The kiss lingered. Not long enough to be romantic, but too long to be innocent.
When it broke, Seungmin licked his bottom lip and slipped into the booth beside Hyunjin like he belonged there.
Yugsoo finally exhaled.
Hyunjin didn’t even glance at the others as he muttered to San, “Let him stay.”