In Seoul’s underworld, the most feared organization is run by Choi San and Choi Wooyoung—a married duo who rule with the perfect balance of cold calculation and disarming sweetness. Their right-hand men and women are as dangerous as they are loyal: Ryujin, sharp as a blade; Bambam, unpredictable like a live wire; Jihyun, the strategist; Soohyun, the silent shadow; and Hwang Hyunjin, the quiet executioner whose presence alone makes enemies hesitate.

But among them all, Kim Seungmin stands apart. He’s not merely feared—he’s revered. Born into the infamous Kim family, a mafia bloodline known for their merciless precision, Seungmin is the embodiment of their legacy. His eyes never waver, his voice rarely heard, and his smirk appears only when someone else’s screams fill the air.

Tonight, the group is stepping into dangerous territory—a deal with one of their fiercest rival syndicates. But as the tension coils in the dark alley, it’s not San’s icy commands or Hyunjin’s sharp gaze that shakes the rivals. It’s Seungmin—standing utterly still, eyes like shadows—who makes even the boldest men falter.

⸻

The night dripped with rain, each drop hitting the cracked pavement like a metronome counting down to something inevitable. A row of black cars lined the alleyway, engines humming low, their tinted windows reflecting the dim streetlights.

Hyunjin stood beside the back door of the lead car, gloved hands tucked into the pockets of his black coat. His face was expressionless—cold, distant. He didn’t need to talk. He never did. His silence had become its own kind of weapon.

The door behind him opened with a smooth click.

Choi San stepped out first—black suit sharp, expression carved from stone. Beside him, Wooyoung emerged, his smile soft but eyes calculating, scanning the alley with the ease of someone who had stared down death too many times to count.

Behind them followed the rest of the crew: Ryujin adjusting the blade tucked into her boot, Bambam twirling a knife between his fingers with a grin too wide, Jihyun with his hands clasped behind his back, and Soohyun slipping into the shadows without a sound.

And then—Seungmin.

He stepped out quietly, his presence colder than the night air. Dressed in a perfectly tailored black outfit, his hands were by his sides, but his eyes—those sharp, dark eyes—cut through the alley like knives. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. One look from him could freeze blood.

Across the alley, their rivals emerged from their cars, loud and cocky. They were the Han Syndicate—a group known for their arrogance more than their brains. Their leader strutted forward, cigarette dangling from his mouth, flanked by his men armed with rifles and smug grins.

“Choi San,” the rival leader called out, voice echoing. “You actually showed up. Thought the married couple might finally be too scared to leave their little mansion.”

San’s face didn’t twitch. Wooyoung’s smile was polite, almost sweet. “We don’t get scared. We get even.”

Tension crackled like static.

As negotiations began, Hyunjin stood behind San and Wooyoung, posture straight, hands still in his pockets. His eyes were fixed on the group across, every movement cataloged. He didn’t utter a word. He didn’t need to. Everyone in their crew knew—if Hyunjin moved, someone bled.

But it wasn’t Hyunjin that made the rival men shift uncomfortably.

It was Seungmin.

He stood slightly to the right, not hiding, not drawing attention—simply there. Unmoving. Silent. His sharp gaze locked onto the rival leader’s men like a predator studying its prey.

His eyes were void of emotion—dark, bottomless. He didn’t blink. He didn’t fidget.

And slowly, almost imperceptibly… one of the rival men looked away first.

Then another.

The leader tried to keep talking, but his voice faltered for a second as his eyes accidentally met Seungmin’s. It felt like staring into something inhuman—something trained to kill since birth and bored of doing it.