Jiwon feels teeth crack beneath his fist as he drives it into Mr. Yun’s jaw again. The impact travels cleanly up his arm, a dull shock he has long since trained himself to ignore. He calculates the angle without conscious thought. Not enough to fracture the maxilla. Just enough to keep the "Central Kim Casino" Manager conscious. Conscious men confess. Unconscious men waste time.

The sound is wet and sharp, echoing off concrete walls.

Yun’s head lolls to the side. Blood spills from his mouth and threads down his chin, staining the expensive white shirt he wore to look important. The navy silk tie with tiny gold crests hangs crooked now, reduced to decoration on a ruined body. He coughs and spits red onto the floor, his eye rolling back before he forces it open again.

They are beneath Central Kim Casino, under the glittering floors where VIPs sip whiskey and gamble away numbers that could feed districts. Up there, the lights glow warm and flattering. Down here, the fluorescent bulbs hum with indifference. Concrete walls. Steel drains. A faint trace of sea air from the harbor slips in through the ventilation ducts. The room is kept cold on purpose. Pain behaves differently in the cold. It sharpens.

Metal tools line one wall in precise rows. No clutter. No randomness. His assigned henchmen flank him - Huan leans against the far wall with his arms folded, watching without expression. Hong stands at the steel tray, arranging instruments with deliberate care, aligning them as though preparing a meticulous meal.

Yun had seemed weak when this started. Nervous. Sweaty. Ready to fold.

Turns out he has pride.

Jiwon flexes his bruised knuckles and feels the skin split slightly at the edge. He nods once. Huan steps forward immediately and slides a cigarette between Jiwon’s lips. The flame flares. He inhales. Smoke fills his lungs and steadies the rhythm of his pulse.

“You’re finished, Yun,” Jiwon says calmly. “We have the offshore transfers. The Macau accounts. CCTV from Seomyeon.”

He crouches so they are eye level.

“And your mistress talked.”

In Korea, shame destroys faster than violence. Reputation collapses entire families. Jiwon understands the hierarchy of fear.

“Just admit it,” he says softly.

Yun spits blood near Jiwon’s shoe and lifts his swollen gaze. “Fuck off! Half-breed bastard.”

The insult lands flat. It has no edge left.

Korea keeps a careful memory of bloodlines. Jiwon learned that early when he returned home. He had been welcomed but not accepted.

He does not react.

Instead, he reaches forward and straightens Yun’s tie with careful fingers, smoothing the silk as though preparing him for a photograph. He pats his cheek lightly, almost affectionately.

“Let’s try again,” he murmurs.

He stands and turns away, exhaling smoke slowly. For a moment, his thoughts drift somewhere they should not.

Jay.

Avoiding him. Untouchable. Within reach, yet always stepping back before contact. Jiwon dislikes uncertainty. He dislikes wanting more than he is wanted.

His phone vibrates in his pocket.

He almost ignores it.

It vibrates again.

He checks the screen.

Jay.

Something in his chest misfires.

“Huan,” he says quietly as he steps toward the far corner of the room. “Continue. Quietly.”

He stubs out his cigarette and wipes his blood-stained hand against his slacks before answering on the third ring.

“Hello? Jay?”

He hears the shift in his own voice and dislikes how quickly it softens.

“Hi.”

Jay sounds measured. Like he's compiling code. Silence stretches between them. Jiwon imagines him pacing, organizing his thoughts into neat internal grids.

“What are you doing?” Jay asks.

AN attempt at small talk. Direct. Literal. No subtext.

“I’m handling something for my father.”

Behind him, Yun makes a choking noise. Jiwon presses a hand over his other ear and moves further away.

“I forgot to borrow a manhwa the other day,” Jay says. “Can I come get one?”

He says it like submitting a formal request. Like filling out paperwork. He does not mention the rooftop. He does not mention why he's been avoiding him all week.

Jiwon smiles despite himself.

“Any time. I don’t even read them much. I bought them because you like them.”

The honesty slips out before he can refine it.

Silence.

“I know,” Jay says.

Jiwon blinks. “You do? How?”

A beat, as if deciding if it was a good idea to spill.

“You arranged them by height, not genre,” Jay finally replies. “That means you don’t know the difference between action, murim, or psychological.”

A pause.

“And the plastic sleeves are standard anti-dust covers. Collectors use acid-free polypropylene with sealed edges. Otherwise, the paper yellows.”

Jiwon pictures the pristine shelves in his room. Clean lines. Perfect symmetry. He had told the staff to make them look neat for Jay. That was the full extent of his strategy.

“I just thought straight lines looked nice and calming," he admits, a faint smile touching his mouth.

Yun screams behind him as Huan pulls out a fingernail.

The sound cuts through the room.

Jiwon turns sharply. One look is enough. Hong moves fast and muffles Yun immediately.

“You sound busy,” Jay says.

There is a subtle change in his tone now. Recognition. Caution. Analysis. Jiwon hears the line being drawn between their worlds. Boardrooms and algorithms do not coexist easily with concrete basements and blood.

“No. Don’t hang up.”

Too quick. Too exposed.

He lowers his voice.

“I’ve missed you.”

Silence answers him again. He rests his head briefly against the cold wall, closes his eyes, and swallows.

“I miss you,” he repeats.

He rarely admits need. It feels unstable, like stepping onto ice that might crack.

Jay exhales softly. “I will come on Saturday.”

Jiwon straightens immediately. “Yes. Saturday works. Any time you choose. I’ll be in all day.”

He speaks too fast -again. Calm the fuck down Jiwon!

“Mom and Dae will know where I am,” Jay says carefully.

A boundary. Clear. Measured.

Jiwon understands boundaries. He simply prefers to test them.

“I’ll behave,” he says lightly.

He probably won’t.

“I’m hanging up now,” Jay says.

“So soon?”

A small pause.

“Getting Phantom Blade,” Jay adds. “You didn’t have to go through that much trouble.”

He sounds unsettled. Still calculating why someone would move pieces for him.

“I wanted to.”

There is no strategy in that answer.

Just truth.

Silence.

Softer now.

“Okay,” Jay says.

The line disconnects.

Jiwon stands still for a moment, staring at nothing.

He called.

He is coming to me.

Something in his chest loosens.

Then he turns back.

Yun is shaking now. Blood pools beneath the chair, dripping steadily from the torn nail bed. His breathing has turned ragged.

Jiwon walks toward him slowly, the fluorescent light catching in his bleached hair. His green eyes are bright again. Focused.

He grips Yun’s hair and tilts his head back gently.

“Ready to talk?” he asks, his tone almost cheerful.

“I’m in a good mood.”

He smiles.

“Don’t ruin it.”

Author's Note:

'Chapter 14 drops in 45 mins! Things get Steamy!🔥