The Black Hood Mafia isn’t just an organization — it’s a system of balance in a city rotting from the inside out.

At the top stand Choi San and Choi Wooyoung, the married leaders feared by criminals and respected by their own. San is sharp, composed, and terrifyingly calm — a man who listens before he decides whether someone lives or disappears. Wooyoung, just as powerful, carries warmth in his voice but steel in his decisions. Together, they built Black Hood into something more than killers — they are judges in a world where justice failed.

Their inner circle is lethal and loyal: Bambam, smooth and observant; Ryujin, precise and unreadable; Jihyun, quiet but deadly; Soohyun, strategic and level-headed; and Sunoo, charming with a mind built for manipulation. They are family, not just members.

But the most feared pair in the underground are known by another name.

The Ghost Faces.

Hwang Hyunjin — 23, silent, cold, and terrifying enough to make grown men shake without saying a word. Trained by San himself, he is Black Hood’s most efficient weapon.

And at his side is his boyfriend — Kim Seungmin.

Sweet voice. Soft face. Psychotic precision.

Seungmin doesn’t kill for chaos. He kills for balance. For punishment. For the thrill of removing monsters from the world. He and Hyunjin work in perfect sync, appearing in black cloaks and ghost masks, leaving behind silence and justice.

Tonight, the entire Black Hood family is on a mission.

And someone very powerful is about to learn that monsters should fear the dark, too.

—

The outdoor club pulsed with music and neon light, the city glowing beyond the terrace.

But one section of VIP felt colder.

Black Hood stayed close together — not partying, watching.

San stood at the center, calm eyes scanning. Wooyoung leaned near him, quietly tracking movement below. Bambam lounged back but alert. Ryujin guarded the stairs. Jihyun and Soohyun watched exits. Sunoo played harmless, missing nothing.

Hyunjin stood near the table, silent as ever in a black compression shirt and loose black sweatpants, dark eyes constantly moving over the crowd.

Seungmin sat in a chair across from him.

White long-sleeve cropped shirt. Low-rise flared jeans. A thin strap visible at his hips, and when he shifted, Hyunjin’s name tattooed low on his back caught under the lights. His makeup was sharp, bangs perfect. One foot hooked on the chair, cigarette between his fingers, smoke curling lazily.

Hyunjin’s hand rested briefly on the back of Seungmin’s chair as he passed behind him — casual, familiar. Seungmin leaned back into the touch without looking.

They were in sync.

A man approached.

Too confident. Too interested.

But he wasn’t looking at the group.

Just Seungmin.

His eyes dragged slowly, like he thought he’d found something easy. “Didn’t know angels came to places like this.”