Seoul | March 6, 2024

The Valkris Group headquarters stood like a pillar of blinding light against the gray shadows of Seoul. To the world, it was a crown jewel of international trade—a bridge of logistics connecting the vast routes of Russia and Korea. But its crystalline walls were nothing more than poison candy wrapped in expensive silk. Beneath the corporate infrastructure lay a labyrinth of illegal arms, ghost spies, and secrets that could sink nations. It was a masterpiece of deception.

On the highest floor, where the oxygen felt thin and expensive, sat the architect of this chaos: Ivan Mikhailov Kang. CEO. Underworld Sovereign. Known to those who feared him as the "Mad Dog."

The Fallen Angel's Mercy

Ivan sat perfectly still, watching the man kneeling before him. The man was begging for his life, but in this room, you didn't even breathe unless the Fallen Angel granted you permission. The man was trembling so violently that the friction of his suit against the marble floor filled the cavernous office with a sound like the frantic buzzing of hornets.

There was no blood on the floor yet, but a ghost-chilling sheet of frost seemed to radiate from Ivan.

To his left stood his secretary—a woman of iron silence. She watched the scene without a flicker of discomfort; she was the one who meticulously maintained Ivan's "Angel" image for the public. Ivan himself was a vision of lethal elegance: a black windowpane three-piece suit, a long tailored coat draped over his shoulders, and blonde hair slicked back with clinical precision. But it was his asymmetrical eyes that truly defined him—they gave him a look that was both dangerously handsome and predatory.

Ivan reached up, calmly straightening his necktie.

"Why are you so scared?" Ivan's voice was a smooth, melodic purr. "I haven't even touched you yet."

He leaned forward, his shadow swallowing the kneeling man. "I only asked for information regarding G-Force Military. I didn't ask for your daughter's hand in marriage... though, I suppose I would have asked for that too, if I weren't so terribly gay."

A twisted, razor-sharp smile cracked across Ivan's mouth. He gestured to his secretary, who placed a set of documents on the desk. They were the files of two undercover agents who had been leaked and slaughtered on the West Coast.

Ivan rose from his chair. As he moved, it felt as if the very air in the room was being sucked into his lungs. He reached out and grabbed the man's hair, pulling his head back with a force that seemed to drag the man's soul to the surface.

"How will the Military react," Ivan whispered, his voice vibrating against the man's ear, "when they discover their 'trusted officer' sold his own colleagues' lives to the West Coast for a paycheck?"

Ivan took a deep, slow breath, inhaling near the man's neck. He closed his eyes for a second. "What a sweet smell... the scent of rotten fear."

The secretary shifted slightly, even she felt the temperature in the room drop to minus zero. Ivan suddenly released the man's hair and stood tall, his movements as graceful as a dancer. He clapped his hands together elegantly, letting out a soft, charming chuckle.

"Oh, please," Ivan said, his voice returning to that of a polite gentleman. "Don't kneel. You are much older than me... I feel quite bad when an elder has to kneel before me to hide his sins."

Tring. Tring.

The sound of the burner phone cut through the tension like a blade. Ivan's secretary, a woman of iron silence, answered it. A few hushed words—a "kushar-fusar"—passed between her and the caller.

"Sir... it's him."

Ivan's eyes didn't flicker, but the temperature in the room plummeted. He took the phone, dismissing the military officer with a careless flick of his wrist. The man scrambled out, tasting his own funeral in the back of his throat.

"How about we hold the next meeting at Sir Oh's mansion?" Ivan said into the receiver, his tone effortless. "I've never seen such a grand place. Besides... it's a good excuse to refresh some of those... sweet memories."

A chilling, high-pitched giggle echoed back. "Of course, my child... and please, bring Jihoon with you. It's been a while."

In that heartbeat, the "Fallen Angel" vanished. Ivan's face shifted into the mask of a hungry lion, an inch away from the kill. His knuckles turned white against the phone, his eyes screaming murder even as his lips curled into a polite, empty smile for the walls.

"He'd get lost in such a big mansion, Sir. I'm afraid I can't bring him with me."

Click.

The line went dead. Ivan stared at the phone, his thumb hovering over the glass, ready to shatter it against the wall—until the door opened.

The rage didn't just fade; it evaporated.

Jihoon walked in.

"Oh, Young Master? What brings you here?" Ivan's voice was suddenly bright, a golden glow replacing the ice as he walked toward him.

"Why? Can't I come to check on you?" Jihoon stepped into Ivan's space, leaning back with open arms, a challenge in his eyes. "I just wanted to have some romantic moments with you."

The smirk that returned to Ivan's face wasn't clinical anymore—it was devouring. He reached out, picking Jihoon up by the waist with a strength that was effortless, and placed him carefully into the executive chair.

Slowly, deliberately, Ivan leaned over him, his fingers moving to the knot of his own tie. He loosed it, the fabric sighing as it slid through his collar. He ignored the world. He ignored the blood on the floor. He ignored his secretary, who stood there like a ghost.

"I will take my leave then, Sir," she whispered, her voice fading as she backed toward the door. "The timing is mid-night."

The door clicked shut. In the dim, expensive light of the office, the "Mad Dog" looked down at his "Beast," and for a moment, the only sound was the heavy, rhythmic thrum of two hearts that didn't know how to beat for anyone else.

Oh Jin-wook's Estate: Delphinus Bay

The name came from the constellation of the Dolphin in the Northern sky, representing Greek mythology. Delphinus Bay was so beautiful that it felt as if Heaven itself had personally designed the blueprint. Blue, celestial marble was etched with tiny patterns of the constellations.

But as one stepped further inside, the atmosphere shifted. It felt like being submerged in the very heart of the ocean—deep water to the left, deep water to the right. It was that dangerous part of the sea that scientists have never been able to discover. Only those who have explored the ocean from its darkest depths could enter this place, knowing exactly which predator lurked where.

Ivan was accompanied by his secretary, Miss Hye-jin. There was no fear in her eyes, even though she knew exactly where she was going: into a sea of predators where women and children were forbidden. But when she glanced at Ivan, it felt as if the Devil's own shadow was walking beside her. Such a dangerous psychopath, yet his presence gave her a strange sense of comfort. How funny, she thought.

Silently following him, they reached a vast, square VIP chamber. The moment Ivan stepped inside, the room's atmosphere froze. This time, it wasn't just fear—it was a clash between the "Born Rotten" and the "Made to be Rotten."

Oh Jin-wook. Chairman of Valkris Corporation. The Head of "The Vane."