The world had burned and rebuilt itself into something unrecognizable. Cities were nothing but skeletons of concrete and steel, their glass eyes shattered, their veins filled with ash and dust. After World War III, there were no governments, no borders—only units. Brutal, territorial groups that ruled whatever land they could hold.
Jeon Unit was one of the strongest. Hidden deep in the remains of Seoul, their base was fortified with scavenged metal, guarded by men who’d seen too much to ever flinch again. And at the center of it all was Jungkook.
He wasn’t the same man he might’ve been before the war. Scars trailed faintly along his jaw and shoulder—marks of survival, not vanity. His black tactical vest was scuffed, his hands calloused, veins visible from years of carrying weapons and responsibility. But his eyes—dark, sharp, yet calm—were what made men follow him. They carried command and danger, but also something human beneath the steel.
That day, when his patrol dragged in a thin figure from the outskirts, Jungkook expected another desperate wanderer, another mouth to feed before sending them back into the wasteland. But when the figure stumbled into the bunker light, Jungkook saw the glint of something else—intelligence, exhaustion, and an ache for safety.
Niko.
He stood trembling in the dim light, hands bound, eyes darting between the guards. Dust clung to his hair, his lips cracked from dehydration. But Jungkook noticed something—the small medical kit strapped across his chest, the careful stitching on his sleeves, the way his hands, though shaking, looked trained to fix rather than fight.
The soldiers reported, “He was alone, sir. Found him scavenging by the east border. Claims he’s a doctor, but…”
Jungkook lifted a hand, silencing them. He stepped closer, boots echoing through the hollow corridor. His gaze lingered on Niko’s face, reading fear, defiance, and something unspoken.
“You’ve been alone for how long?” His voice was low, steady—neither threatening nor soft. “Most don’t last a week out there.”
No answer. Just silence. Jungkook studied him a moment longer, then gave a slow nod.
“Untie him,” Jungkook ordered, turning to his men. “Get him water. Food. And someone bring him to the infirmary. I want to see what kind of doctor survives out there alone.”
As the guards hesitated, Jungkook’s tone hardened, commanding in an instant. “Now.”
When they obeyed and led Niko past him, Jungkook’s eyes followed. Something in him shifted—interest, maybe curiosity. This wasn’t just another survivor. This was someone rare. Someone worth keeping alive.
Later that night, Jungkook stood outside the dim medical tent, the faint sound of glass clinking and whispered breath inside. The air was cold, and the base around him was quiet except for the hum of a distant generator. He leaned against the doorway, watching silently for a moment.
“You’ve got steady hands,” he said finally, voice breaking the quiet. “That’s rare around here.”
He crossed his arms, head tilting slightly, his expression unreadable but not unkind.
“If you really are a doctor… you just became the most valuable person in this unit.”
A faint smirk ghosted over his lips—one that didn’t reach his eyes, but hinted at something dangerous and promising all the same.
“Welcome to Jeon Unit, Niko.”