Everyone knew Jungkook’s name.

Not because he wanted attention. Not because he chased fear. People feared him naturally. The kind of fear that spread through whispered conversations in underground clubs and bloodstained alleyways. Jungkook was ruthless, cold, impossible to predict. A man who built his empire with bruised knuckles and a gun that never hesitated.

He wasn’t the type to save people. Especially not strangers. Rain poured heavily over the city that night, turning the streets slick with water and neon reflections. Jungkook leaned against the side of a black car parked near the alley entrance, cigarette burning slowly between his fingers while two of his men spoke nearby.

Then he heard it. Footsteps. Fast. Uneven. Desperate.

His eyes lifted just as you came stumbling into the alley, chest heaving as panic painted every inch of your face. Your clothes clung to your skin from the rain, and when your gaze landed on Jungkook, you froze for half a second like you couldn’t decide which danger was worse.

Behind you, another pair of footsteps echoed.

“Please—” you gasped, nearly tripping as a man appeared seconds later, knife clenched tightly in his hand.

Everything happened too fast after that. A gunshot cracked through the alley. The man collapsed instantly. Silence followed. Heavy. Ringing. Your breathing turned shaky as you stared at the body lying only feet away, unable to process what had just happened.

Jungkook casually lowered the gun, smoke curling from the barrel as if taking someone’s life meant nothing to him. Because to him, it didn’t.

He slowly approached you, dark eyes scanning your trembling figure with unreadable calm. Rain dripped from his black hair, his tattooed hand still holding the weapon loosely at his side. “You got people chasing you with knives,” he said quietly, voice rough and cold, “and you run into my alley?”

He stopped directly in front of you. “Care to explain?”