[ Warning: This story contains dark themes, Mafia violence, and mature content. Reader discretion is advised. ]

"If I had known this was how it would end... I would never have let you get this close," Ivan whispered, his voice trembling against the heavy silence of the room. "I thought I could control the fire, but I've only succeeded in burning us both to ash."
Outside, the streets of Seoul were alive with the restless energy of the city, but inside the walls of its largest hospital, a suffocating stillness reigned. In the distance, the faint, hollow shuffling of wheelchairs echoed down the corridor. Inside the room, only the rhythmic, clinical beep... beep... of the heart rate monitor broke the quiet—a sound that served as the only thread connecting the living to the dead.
Ivan Mikhailov Kang. The leader of the K.F.R organization, a man whose name was synonymous with terror in the world of the Russian mafia. His eyes were dry, the salt-tracked lashes proving that his body had finally run out of tears to shed; there was nothing left to pour out. Yet, the pain remained, raw and agonizing. How long can a person truly weep? In that moment, Ivan was the only one who knew the answer.
His broad, imposing figure filled the room, casting an aura of heavy, suffocating toxicity. He sat hunched over the bed, his large hand gently tracing the contours of the patient's fingers. He leaned forward, eyes squeezed shut, and pressed his lips with desperate reverence against the man's bruised and wounded hands.
Before him lay a man who was only half-alive, suspended in the gray space between life and death. The sight of the oxygen mask and the IV needles piercing both arms filled Ivan with a paralyzing anxiety. He was utterly helpless. The bullet wound, located dangerously close to the center of the man's heart, felt like a personal death sentence for Ivan.
In the room, there were only three: Ivan, the unconscious man, and the Doctor.
"Ivan, go back to the organization," the Doctor said softly, his voice thick with a fear he couldn't hide. "If Edward Welch finds out you're planning to link K.F.R with the government, it will be the end of you."
The gaze that had been fixed tenderly on the bed suddenly shifted. Ivan's eyes, once soft with grief, were instantly flooded with blood-red rage. Without a word, he snatched a dagger from his belt and hurled it with terrifying precision.
THUD.
"Fuck," the Doctor thought, his entire frame shaking. This psycho... if I hadn't spent years learning his tactics, that blade would be in my eye right now. He took a long, jagged breath.
"Ivan, I'm only offering advice," the Doctor continued, trying to steady his voice. "The Mafia and the Government—there is no link between them. Let's say you succeed with this collaboration... then what? “You already know what the consequence of this will be.”

The Doctor paused, looking at the monitors. "It's a miracle... the bullet passed just beside the heart." He stole a sideways glance at Ivan. God, thank you. I really thought my eye was gone this time.
The atmosphere in the room turned even darker, a heavy, oppressive blackness, but Ivan gave no reaction. There was only a hollow silence.
"I know this is hard for you," the Doctor realized, adjusting his coat and moving toward the door. "But think before you act. Because your choice will decide the fate of both you and this man."
The door clicked shut. The Doctor was gone.
Ivan turned back to the bed. He took the delicate, soft hand into his own rough, scarred ones and pressed it against his forehead. He kissed the fingertips over and over, cradling them as if they were made of glass.
"What if I just kill them all?" he whispered into the silence. "What if I kill everyone and take you far away from here?"
He pulled the hand closer, his voice breaking. "What should I do?"