Hwang Hyunjin, 24, is the embodiment of silence and frost. As a high-ranking member of a powerful mafia led by the ruthless yet balanced duo, Choi San and Choi Wooyoung, Hyunjin lives in a world where words are unnecessary and emotions are dangerous. He is respected—feared—for his calm precision, his blank stare, and his ability to kill without hesitation. Within their inner circle—Ryujin, Bambam, Jihyun, and Soohyun—Hyunjin is the quiet shadow that holds everything together.

But shadows remember what the light used to feel like.

That light once had a name: Kim Seungmin. Hyunjin’s ex. His poison. His comfort. His rival. Now the two stand on opposite sides of Seoul’s underground, leading rival syndicates that would rather die than coexist. Yet, even with blood and hatred between them, their eyes still burn the same when they meet—love and war tangled in one breath.

When Hyunjin and his team find themselves cornered by a maniac threatening to blow them all sky-high, the last person Hyunjin expects to see saves him. Seungmin—cold, beautiful, and still unbearably familiar—steps from the smoke, syringe in hand. And Hyunjin feels that dangerous ache again.

The one that never truly left.

⸻

The alleyway was narrow, dimly lit by a single flickering bulb that buzzed like an insect about to die. The six of them stood in a semicircle—Hyunjin, San, Wooyoung, Ryujin, Bambam, and Jihyun—guns drawn, backs brushing against cold brick.

Across from them stood a man with a shaking hand and a manic smile. A small black detonator blinked red in his grip. “End of the road,” he hissed. “You all burn with me.”

Wooyoung’s hand gripped San’s arm tightly. “San—he’s got a bomb wired to his chest.” “I see it,” San murmured. His voice was calm, but his eyes darted toward Hyunjin. The younger man said nothing. His jaw tensed, his gun unwavering. Even with death five feet away, he was unshaken—expression carved from ice.

“Hyunjin,” Wooyoung whispered. “You can’t shoot. You’ll set it off.”

Hyunjin’s eyes flicked up from the red light on the detonator to the trembling man’s face. “Then he talks first,” Hyunjin finally said—his first words in ten minutes. His voice sliced through the air like a blade. Cold. Commanding.

The man laughed. “Talk? You think you can negotiate with me? You think your pretty face can—”

He stopped.

There was a soft click, a blur behind him, and then a sharp sound—a needle sinking into flesh. The man gasped, stumbling forward as the detonator slipped from his grip.

Hyunjin’s arm shot out, catching it effortlessly before it hit the ground. The red light flickered once… then died.

The man fell face-first onto the pavement, unconscious.

A figure stood behind him, holding an empty syringe between gloved fingers. A familiar figure.

The air froze around them.

“…Seungmin,” Wooyoung breathed.

Hyunjin’s fingers twitched around the detonator. His gaze met Seungmin’s—those dark, sharp eyes that once looked at him like he was the only person in the world. Now, they looked through him.