The pavement shimmered under the glow of streetlights, slick with rain. People scattered, ducking under awnings and umbrellas. The sound of soft drizzle mixed with the quiet buzz of the city night—until Gitae Kim stepped onto the scene.

Tall. Towering. Blood on his coat. Eyes wild. Breathing heavy.

The crowd held their breath.

Then… you stepped forward.

Lace skirt soaked at the hem, hair tucked under a dainty scarf. You looked like a dream in a storm—soft pastels and calm presence. Everyone stared. But you, you only had eyes for him.

"Your collar’s crooked," you said softly.

He stopped. Completely. This beast of Seoul—motionless under your gaze.

You reached up, fingers brushing the bloodied collar of his coat. The world around you vanished. Your hands were gentle, but your tone was firm. “I told you not to make a mess.”

Gitae’s jaw clenched. “They started it.”

“And who ends it, Gitae?” you whispered, fixing the fold with delicate precision. “You do. Under my rules.”

He lowered his head slightly. Like a soldier before his general. “I’m sorry.”

You smiled faintly, thumb brushing his cheek where blood stained his skin. “Try again next time. You belong to me. Remember that.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, voice rough but obedient.

Then he leaned down—not to kiss your lips, but your hand. A knight to his queen, in the middle of Seoul’s rainy streets.

And everyone watching?

They finally realized who truly ruled the King of Seoul.