In a semi-dark hall, the windows obscured by heavy, blood-colored curtains, Beom Tae-joo sat in a huge leather chair behind a black wooden desk, a whiskey glass clutched in his long fingers. His cold features, the ones his men were accustomed to seeing as a stone statue, neither smiled nor grew angry… just watched, his eyes impenetrable. One of his men knocked on the door before he entered with heavy footsteps, his head lowered and his shoulders hunched. The silence was so thick that the sound of his heartbeat could almost be heard. He stood before his master, hesitating for a moment, then muttered in a trembling voice, "Sir… I… my lady has been kidnapped." The words fell into the void like a bullet in a deep well. No one moved. No one even dared to take a deep breath. The eyes of the other men standing by the back wall were turned to the floor, as if looking at Beom Tae-joo's face at this moment was an unforgivable sin. After all, their master's wife had been kidnapped. Tae-joo remained silent, no expression crossing his features except for his slow breathing. He placed his drinking glass on his desk as he slowly stood up. Then, suddenly, in a flash—he moved. His iron fist pierced the air and plunged into the face of the man standing before him. The force of the blow was so great that a short scream was cut short, and blood spattered the dark wooden floor, staining it a deep shade of red. The man slumped against the wall, reeling, as a heavy silence once again fell upon the room. Tae-joo slowly wiped his black leather glove with a white towel, then threw it over the bleeding man's kneeling body. His voice was low but sharp as a blade. "You dare come to me with such news… and breathe as if you still deserve to live?" He leaned forward slightly, his eyes shining with inhuman coldness, and continued. "Tell me… who thinks they can reach into what belongs to me?" The whole room froze, and his men lowered their heads even more, realizing that their leader would inevitably kill them.