#(exposes how mentally ill i was for this game)

[vaguely-concerned]

there's a self-help/mental health adjacent post that's going around and it seems to be really helpful for a lot of people which is very good. I also personally hate it with all my fucking heart

[edenesth]

03. The Enforcer — By Order of the Black Pirates

An 'Ice On My Teeth' Comeback Special Series

Pairing: gang member!Yunho x fem!reader

AU: gang au

Word Count: 22.7k

Summary: The towering enforcer of the Black Pirates, both disarming and deadly—his easy charm capable of winning over enemies, while his legendary fury dominates the battlefield. But his unbreakable facade begins to crack when he meets a psychologist during a mission—someone who can see through his carefully crafted mask, just as he can see through hers. Beneath her confident exterior lies a frightened soul lost in a dark world, and for the first time, he finds himself compelled to protect someone in a way he never expected.

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Trigger Warnings: mentions of child abuse, emotional blackmail, attempted sexual assault, scars, trafficking, blood and slight gore, language, contains dark themes in general

SERIES MASTERLIST | ATEEZ MASTERLIST

"Ryoichi Sato," Hongjoong murmured, studying the profile in his hands. "Founder of the Prestige Asylum—a supposed haven for the mentally ill. And you're telling me targeting him will benefit us... how exactly?"

Yunho gestured for him to turn to the next page. "Take a closer look, hyung. Do you notice a pattern in the patients he takes in?"

The Captain flipped through the thick file, his brows furrowing. Then, slowly, he straightened in his seat, his expression hardening. "They're... holy shit. They're all high-profile criminals. Wait—this isn't just a regular asylum, is it?" He looked up sharply at his brother, who wore a smug smile.

"Exactly," Yunho said, his tone calm but charged with conviction. "It's a front—a sanctuary for wealthy criminals. Cartel bosses, human trafficking kingpins, and, most importantly, rival gang leaders. All hiding out under the guise of being mentally unfit to face trial. And guess who's running the whole operation? A corrupt, retired official." He leaned forward, his voice lowering. "Now imagine the rise in our standing if we take these fools down and expose them. The Black Pirates would dominate the underworld again."

For a moment, Hongjoong stared at the Enforcer, his jaw slightly slack in astonishment. While their gang still held a prominent position at the top, he couldn't deny that their recent missteps had affected their reputation in the mafia world. Yunho's plan was undeniably tempting—a chance to reclaim their dominance.

But reality soon intruded, and his expression hardened. Seonghwa's precarious situation with the Red Room loomed large, the weight of unresolved tensions pressing heavily on his mind. Could they really afford to take on such a massive mission right now?

"I'm sure it all sounds good, Yunho," he began cautiously, "but—"

"Hyung, I know what you're thinking," the taller man cut in, raising a second file. "But I've already thought this through. You'll see here that Yeosang and I have everything planned out. Listen, I know things haven't exactly been smooth for us lately, but think about it—who are we? We're the Black fucking Pirates. It's time we reminded the underworld who runs this game."

The leader glanced at the new file, then back at Yunho. For a moment, hesitation flickered in his eyes, but it was quickly overtaken by a glimmer of determination. Whatever obstacles lay ahead, Yunho's unwavering confidence was infectious, and the prospect of restoring their gang's power was too enticing to ignore.

"Yeah, you're right. Let's do it."

With that, he pushed thoughts of his eldest brother's precarious situation to the back of his mind. The Captain had given him the green light, and now it was time to execute. With Yeosang's meticulous planning and Jongho's steady hand in logistics, the groundwork had been laid faster than even he anticipated.

Now, dressed in a sharp suit and carrying an air of unshakable authority, Yunho strode into the Prestige Asylum under the alias Stefano Lee, a "security consultant" hired to assess the facility's operations. From the moment he stepped through the doors, his towering presence commanded attention. Unease rippled through the staff; the occasional nervous glance cast his way only fed his confidence. Awe wasn't uncommon, either—not that it surprised him. The Enforcer knew the effect he had on people.

His steps echoed purposefully through the pristine halls, his sharp eyes taking in every detail. He allowed himself a moment of smug satisfaction, recalling how effortlessly he had sold his cover. If life had gone differently, he may have ended up on a movie set, playing the leading man. But fate had dealt him a different hand—a far grittier role to play.

And that was fine. He owed everything to Hongjoong, the man who had saved him from a life of aimless wandering. This mission wasn't just about taking down the asylum or the criminals it sheltered—it was about proving himself again, reminding the underworld of what the Black Pirates could do when they set their sights on a target.

His lips tugged into a small, confident smirk as his gaze locked onto the man he'd been waiting for. Dr Sergei Ivanov, head psychologist, walked with a cautious air that betrayed a sharp mind. He had spent days studying the asylum's organisational structure, and Ivanov's name stood out like a beacon. The man was vital, a potential key to cracking open this entire operation.

For Yunho, the next step was clear: bring the head psychologist to his side, whether through persuasion or pressure. The poor old Russian man would learn quickly—resistance wasn't an option.

Straightening his tie, he approached with the confidence of someone who already owned the room. His posture, his stride, even the slight tilt of his head—all radiated an unspoken message: You're going to listen to me, whether you like it or not.

"Dr Ivanov," he called smoothly, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. "Stefano Lee. I believe we need to have a conversation."

His tone wasn't a question; it was a declaration. Time to get to work.

From across the hall, you stood unnoticed, your gaze fixed on the interaction unfolding between your mentor and the so-called security consultant. Stefano Lee—the name had been whispered through every corner of the asylum ever since Chairman Sato announced his arrival. The founder himself had vouched for the man, boasting of his unparalleled expertise and magnetic charm.

But you'd been wary of him from the start.

Unlike the rest of the staff, who either fawned over his imposing presence or shrank under the weight of it, you felt neither awe nor intimidation. What you felt was a nagging sense of scepticism.

Stefano was too polished, his every move carefully calculated. The way he carried himself screamed confidence, sure—but in his eyes, there was something far more telling. A spark of determination that went beyond professionalism. It wasn't the kind of fire you'd expect from someone hired to conduct a mundane security assessment.

This man had an agenda.

You had written it off as mere curiosity at first, content to watch him from afar and let others fall under his spell. But now? Watching him pull Dr Ivanov aside with that charming yet no-nonsense demeanour? That was when the alarm bells went off.

He was a security consultant, for heaven's sake. What possible business could he have with the head psychologist?

Your eyes narrowed, tracking their movements as he gestured toward a side corridor. Dr Ivanov's reluctance was clear in the stiffness of his shoulders, though he followed without protest.

Something wasn't right.

The uneasy twist in your gut only tightened as you lingered, debating whether to intervene. There was no reason for you to care—not when you were already walking a thin line just by being here. But Dr Ivanov wasn't just your mentor; he was one of the few people in this institution who still had a shred of integrity left.

And Stefano Lee? He was the very embodiment of the polished predators you had learned to recognise far too well.

Your fists clenched at your sides as you made your decision. If this man thought he could play his games unnoticed, he was sorely mistaken.

You weren't about to sit back and watch.

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"Mr. Lee, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Dr Ivanov asked, his tone polite but cautious. He wore a civil smile, though the tension in his eyes betrayed the wariness beneath it.

Yunho settled into the chair across from him, his tall frame making the neat, utilitarian office seem smaller than it was. His eyes swept the room with the precision of someone who missed nothing. Sparse decor. Everything is meticulously arranged. Not a single photo or personal touch to suggest any life outside of this institution.

Work, and only work.

It was a treasure trove of deductions for the Enforcer. The absence of familial ties or sentimental keepsakes hinted at a man whose entire identity revolved around his profession. A loner, perhaps. Someone who found solace in control and order. That told the gang member all he needed to know about how to handle him.

"Ah, Dr Ivanov," Yunho said smoothly, leaning back in the chair with an air of casual confidence. "You know how thorough Chairman Sato likes to be. My job is to ensure this facility operates as securely and efficiently as possible. Cooperation from department heads like yourself will make that infinitely easier."

His tone was light, almost friendly, but his eyes carried a weight that made the head psychologist pause.

Dr Ivanov let out a small, dry chuckle, clasping his hands together on the desk. "A man dedicated to his work is always admirable, Mr. Lee. But I must admit, I fail to see how my department could have any bearing on your assessments. Surely the realm of psychology is far removed from the concerns of security?"

The scepticism was clear, though the Russian man hid it behind a veneer of civility. He was testing Yunho, trying to gauge his intent.

The taller man's lips curled into a faint smile—charming yet predatory, as if he were indulging the doctor in a harmless game of wits. "You'd be surprised, Doctor, how much overlap there can be. Security isn't just about locks and cameras. It's about people. Predicting their behaviour. Understanding their motivations."

He leaned forward slightly, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over the desk. "And from what I've gathered, you're the expert when it comes to the minds within these walls. Both staff and patients alike."

The head psychologist's smile faltered, if only for a moment before he recovered. "Flattery, Mr. Lee? I didn't take you for the type."

"Not flattery," Yunho countered, his tone hardening just enough to make his point. "Respect. The kind of respect one gives to someone with insight others might not possess. Insight that could be… very useful."

The silence that followed was heavy, the tension in the air almost tangible. The Enforcer let it hang there, his eyes locked onto Dr Ivanov's with a focus that bordered on unnerving.

"Now, Doctor," he continued, his voice dropping an octave, smooth but with an undercurrent of steel, "why don't we make this easy for both of us? I have questions, and you have answers. All I need is your cooperation. After all, it's in both our interests to ensure this institution remains… secure."

The elderly man's fingers twitched against the desk, his composure cracking ever so slightly under Yunho's gaze. He wasn't sure what game this so-called consultant was playing, but he could feel the noose tightening around him, one carefully calculated word at a time.

He adjusted his posture, his fingers steepling as he studied the man before him, his professional mask unwavering. "Mr. Lee," he began carefully, each word deliberate, "I appreciate your regard for my expertise. But forgive me if I fail to see how the psychology department intersects with your security evaluation. Perhaps if you were more forthcoming about your... intentions, I could provide better assistance."

The Enforcer leaned back in his chair, the movement slow, deliberate, and dripping with confidence, as though he owned not just the office but the very air in it. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, sharp as a knife's edge. "Intentions?" he echoed, his voice smooth, almost playful. "Doctor, my only intention is to make sure this place runs as securely as the Chairman expects. Isn't that why I'm here?"

"Of course," Ivanov replied, though the faint crack in his measured tone betrayed him. "But from my perspective, our patients and their care protocols seem far removed from your area of concern. Surely there are other departments better suited to your inquiries—maintenance, perhaps, or surveillance?"

Yunho's smirk widened, but the amusement in his expression didn't quite reach his eyes. "Oh, I've already had enlightening conversations with those departments," he said, his tone laced with charm and a trace of menace. "Very helpful people, really. But here's the thing, Doctor." He leaned forward, his massive frame casting an imposing shadow across the desk as he clasped his hands loosely. "In a place like this, the locks on the doors are only half the battle. The minds inside—those matter just as much. Don't you agree?"

The head psychologist's lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowing slightly at the repeated emphasis. "I would agree," he admitted cautiously, "but that still doesn't explain—"

"Doesn't explain what?" Yunho cut in smoothly, his voice dropping a note lower, the quiet intensity in it demanding attention. "Why I'd care about the dynamics between staff and patients? Why I'd want to understand how the people here interact with each other?" His smile returned, this time sharper, more calculated. "Doctor, wouldn't you say that understanding human behaviour is key to preventing... incidents?"

Ivanov's fingers tightened around the desk's edge, the slight movement not escaping Yunho's notice. "Naturally," the head psychologist replied, his tone measured, though unease flickered in his eyes. "But if you're implying there's something amiss with the dynamics here, I assure you—"

"I'm not implying anything," Yunho interrupted, his tone softening, though the tension in the room only grew. "I'm just a curious man doing his job. After all, the Chairman hired me to be thorough." He let his gaze drift across the sparse, clinical office before settling back on the elderly man with laser-like focus. "And I am thorough."

Dr Sergei Ivanov, seasoned in dissecting minds, found himself at a rare loss. The man before him was an enigma—a puzzle that refused to align. Something about Stefano Lee spoke of a purpose that went far beyond his supposed role. Who was this man? A mere consultant, or something much more dangerous?

The silence that followed hung thick and oppressive. Ivanov exhaled slowly, forcing himself to meet Yunho's gaze. "You certainly live up to your reputation, Mr. Lee," he said finally, his voice steady but cautious. "I see why the Chairman holds you in such high regard."

The young man chuckled, low and unsettling. "Flattery, Doctor? I didn't peg you for the type."

The psychologist's jaw tightened at having his own words thrown back at him, but he managed a thin smile. "Simply acknowledging skill where it's due. Though I must admit, your methods of information-gathering are... unique."

"It's all about perspective," Yunho replied as he stood, his deliberate movements amplifying his towering presence. "And from where I'm standing, I'd say we're off to a good start, wouldn't you?"

Dr Ivanov didn't respond immediately, his mind racing to piece together the enigma in front of him. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, a sharp knock shattered the tension, and the door swung open without waiting for an answer.

"Then I'm sure Chairman Sato would be thrilled to hear about this collaboration." Your casual tone hung in the air like a threat, and for the first time, the Enforcer's composure faltered ever so slightly. The mention of Ryoichi Sato was a card played with precision—a warning that if his intentions were exposed now, it could bring his mission to a grinding halt.

You strode in briskly, a file clutched in one hand, your eyes fixed solely on your mentor as though Stefano Lee were little more than a shadow. "Sir," you said crisply, your earlier veiled threat delivered as if it were a passing remark, "you're needed in the PICU ward. A patient is threatening suicide."

The head psychologist shot to his feet, hastily snatching the file from your hand. His gaze darted toward the gang member, unease flickering in his expression. "I-I..."

You finally turned your attention to the so-called security consultant, your expression unreadable as you placed a reassuring hand on Dr Ivanov's arm. "It's alright, sir. You go. I'll handle Mr. Lee."

"But—"

"There's no time to waste," you interjected, your voice calm yet unyielding. "Go."

Your mentor hesitated for a moment longer, then nodded reluctantly. He cast the guest a wary glance, his polite facade barely holding. "Mr. Lee," he said, forcing a tight smile, "thank you for your understanding."

Yunho inclined his head, his smile returning with practised ease as he buried any trace of unease. "The pleasure's all mine, Doctor."

With one final look, the Russian man hurried out of the office, leaving the room thick with unspoken tension as the door clicked shut behind him. Now, it was just you and Stefano Lee, his enigmatic facade meeting your calculated indifference.

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"Since you're so keen on understanding how our department operates, let me show you the patients' favourite spot," you said, your tone laced with thinly veiled sarcasm as you led him down the verdant pathways of the institution. The tension between you hung heavy in the air as the distant sound of rustling leaves mingled with the faint hum of the asylum's ever-present security systems.

The path opened into a pristine stretch of green, encircled by neatly maintained fences.

"The tennis courts?" Yunho asked, his brow arching, an edge of disbelief creeping into his voice.

You turned sharply on your heel, your piercing glare locking onto him. "Why so surprised? I thought you knew everything there is to know around here. Or…" You paused, your voice dropping into a sly mockery. "Let me guess. Maybe your research wasn't as extensive as you thought. There's a lot more to this place than meets the eye, Stefano Lee… or whatever your real name is."

He froze for a moment, the faintest flicker of surprise breaking through his carefully constructed mask. You could see the gears in his head turning, his sharp mind trying to recalibrate. But for once, it seemed, he had no immediate retort.

The Enforcer straightened, forcing a grin that was too sharp, too deliberate. "Of course, that's my real name. And you're right—maybe I should have done a better job researching my client. But I know enough about you, at least," he said, eyeing your name tag.

"Do you?" you countered instantly, one brow arching in amusement. "So you know my name. Big deal. That's basic information."

Yunho leaned back slightly, shoving his hands into his pockets in a transparent attempt to feign control. But the tension in his posture betrayed him. "I know you have a love-hate relationship with your job, Dr Prude."

There it was. That name. The one whispered behind your back by the staff who envied your success, your precision, your unapologetic ambition. It stung—because it was meant to. But you'd heard it all before. And now this stranger was trying to weaponise it against you.

"Is that all?" you asked, your voice cool and sharp like a blade. "So you know the playground gossip. Congratulations. But let me make something perfectly clear, Stefano"—you spat his name with venom—"you don't scare me."

Your words hit like a slap, and his grin faltered for the briefest moment. He was losing his footing, and you could see the frustration creeping into his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to suppress it.

"You are right about one thing, though," you continued, taking a deliberate step closer. "I do have a love-hate relationship with this job. Which is why I don't care what you're really here for. Just leave me and my mentor out of it."

He scoffed, the sound laced with disbelief. "I don't know what you mean by that. I'm only here to do my job—"

You snorted, cutting him off without hesitation. "Save the act. Do you really expect me to believe intimidating the head psychologist is part of your job description?"

The sharpness of your words sent a flicker of unease across his face, and for a moment, he seemed to lose his usual composure. You followed his gaze as it shifted—almost involuntarily—toward the tennis courts.

Your smirk widened as your eyes zeroed in on the figure lingering near the edge of the court. Clad in staff attire, the man moved with calculated casualness, but it was clear he was out of place.

"And your not-so-subtle friend over there?" you added, nodding toward Yeosang, whose attempts to blend in were painfully obvious. "He tells me more than enough about you."

His jaw tightened, his calm slipping as the realisation sank in—you'd not only seen through him but had also spotted his ally.

He shot a sharp look toward his brother, who froze, his alert eyes locking onto you. The Phantom, clearly aware his cover had been blown, remained rigid as Yunho gave a subtle shake of his head, signalling him to stand down.

The silence stretched, thick with tension, as he turned back to you. His usual confidence was cracking, the weight of your words pressing down on him like a vice.

You could see it—the frustration, the disbelief, the dawning understanding that he'd underestimated you. And it was exhilarating.

Fuck, I really underestimated her.

You sighed, observing the flicker of tension in the man's expression. Despite his best efforts to maintain an air of indifference, you could see the turmoil beneath the surface—the faint crease in his brow, the subtle tightening of his jaw. For a fleeting moment, you almost felt bad for him. Almost.

It was clear that whatever grand plans he had were now in shambles, and you were entirely to blame.

"Listen, I—" he began, his voice low, tinged with exasperation, but you raised a hand, cutting him off before he could say more.

"No," you said firmly, your tone leaving no room for argument. "You don't have to explain yourself to me. You don't owe me anything. But…" You allowed a sly smile to curl your lips as you glanced toward the Phantom, who still stood frozen by the tennis courts, visibly tense. "You might owe your buddy an apology for this failure."

Yunho followed your gaze, his lips pressing into a thin line as Yeosang subtly shifted his weight, clearly displeased at their mission running into such a huge error this early on.

You turned back to the taller man, tilting your head slightly as you regarded him with curiosity. Who were these men? What organisation were they from? You didn't need to be a genius to figure out they weren't who they claimed to be. Yunho might have come here under the guise of a security consultant, but his polished act was starting to crack under scrutiny.

Not that it mattered to you. You weren't particularly interested in who they were or why they were here. If anything, you'd be amused to see them succeed. The Chairman was nowhere near a saint, and if these strangers were here to exact some kind of revenge or justice, well… you wouldn't shed a tear.

Still, you knew better than to get involved.

"I don't know what you have planned," you continued, your voice softening just slightly, "but don't worry. I won't tell anyone about this."

His brows furrowed, his confusion evident as you took a step closer, lowering your voice. "Just stay out of my way, and Dr Ivanov's, and we'll stay out of yours. Deal?"

For a long moment, the two of you stood in silence, the weight of your words hanging heavily between you. Then, with a faint smirk, you bowed your head slightly—a gesture more mocking than respectful.

"Best of luck, Stefano," you added, your tone carrying a finality that left no room for further discussion. Without waiting for a response, you turned and walked away, your confident strides kicking up the faintest swirl of dust from the gravel path.

He remained rooted to the spot, watching your retreating figure with a mix of frustration and something he couldn't quite place—admiration? Awe?

In all his years as a member of the Black Pirates, he'd never encountered anyone who could unsettle him quite like you had. His mind raced, replaying every moment of the exchange, trying to pinpoint where he'd lost control.

Damn it.

The intelligence expert of the gang approached cautiously, his usual calm demeanour marred by a hint of irritation. "She figured us out already—how? What did you do?"

Yunho's jaw tightened at the accusation, his gaze snapping to meet his brother's. The cold sharpness in his eyes made it clear he didn't appreciate the insinuation. "I didn't do anything outside the plan. It was her... she happened. We underestimated her," he muttered, though his tone carried an odd lack of animosity when it came to you.

"Great... so what now?" Yeosang asked quietly, his eyes darting toward the path where you had disappeared, his unease evident.

The taller man exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. "Now?" he repeated, a faint, almost self-deprecating smirk pulling at his lips. "Now we regroup."

But even as he spoke, he couldn't shake the impact you'd left on him. For all his meticulous planning, you'd proven to be a wild card he hadn't accounted for—a reminder that even the sharpest strategies could falter when faced with an unpredictable force.

Yeosang nodded reluctantly and led Yunho toward a secluded area away from prying eyes. His voice dropped to a whisper. "She knows we're not who we claim to be. I say we deal with her before she gets in the way."

Yunho frowned deeply, shaking his head. "Are you insane? She's the deputy head psychologist. If something happens to her, especially right after being seen with me, it'll raise every red flag imaginable."

"So what, we're just gonna let her roam around freely, knowing full well we're here to take down her boss?" the Phantom growled under his breath, his frustration simmering beneath the surface.

"She won't say anything," Yunho replied with a certainty that only seemed to irritate Yeosang further.

"Oh, yeah? And how exactly do you know that?"

Yunho closed his eyes briefly, the memory of your calm, pointed words flashing in his mind. "Because she told me so," he said simply.

His brother let out a sharp scoff. "And you believe her? She's a damn shrink, my friend. Those types know exactly how to mess with your head—get under your skin and twist the truth until you don't know what's real anymore."

The taller man's eyes snapped open, his voice cutting through Yeosang's scepticism with an uncharacteristic sharpness. "I'm not an idiot, Yeo. I know how to spot a lie, and she wasn't lying. She may be loyal to Ivanov, but she's not loyal to this place."

Yeosang's frown deepened, his jaw clenching as he weighed Yunho's words. "Well, for our sake, I hope you're right," he muttered darkly. "Because if you're not, we're fucked."

Yunho didn't respond, his mind already turning over the possibilities. Deep down, he knew Yeosang wasn't wrong to be cautious, but he also couldn't ignore the strange certainty that had settled in his gut. You weren't their ally, but for now, you weren't their enemy either. And that was a risk he was willing to take.

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"Hyung, permission to switch targets."

The words seemed to hang in the air as Yeosang's irritation with the situation persisted. "Switch targets?"

The Captain, who had been listening in silence, finally spoke, his voice calm but sharp. "Let me guess, Yunho—you want to collaborate with the deputy head psychologist now?"

The Enforcer nodded, his gaze steady even as he bowed his head slightly, ashamed of his failure. Hongjoong's lips pursed, his expression unreadable, but he didn't speak right away.

Jongho, who had been sitting quietly nearby, leaned forward slightly, his thoughtful gaze fixed on Yunho. "You know what? That actually makes a lot of sense," he said, his voice calm and measured. "Based on what you said, she's incredibly observant and perceptive. Just the fact that she managed to see through you and spot Yeosang hyung, despite all our precautions, speaks volumes about her. If there's anyone on the inside who could be an asset, it's her."

The faintest hint of a smirk tugged at Yunho's lips at the youngest's words. He agreed wholeheartedly—you were something else.

Hongjoong sighed deeply, running a hand over his face as he considered the implications. "If we're going to shift our approach, I want this done carefully. No risks we can't manage." His voice dropped slightly, tension seeping into his words. "We're already stretched thin with Seonghwa still stranded at the Red Room. I don't want another loose thread to worry about."

Yunho nodded, his voice firm. "I'll handle it, hyung. She won't be a problem."

The gang leader's sharp gaze fixed on him. "Go ahead, then. Do what you think is best, but if this backfires, it's on you."

"Understood."

Yeosang let out an exasperated breath, his frustration was evident. "You're really putting a lot of faith in someone who works for the Chairman. Just because she hasn't blown our cover yet doesn't mean she's not a threat."

"She hasn't blown it because she doesn't want to," the Enforcer countered, his tone unyielding. "Again, she's not loyal to Ryoichi Sato—we've been over this already."

The Anchor nodded, his thoughtful expression unwavering. "If she's really disillusioned with this place, that gives us leverage. She could be the key to understanding the Chairman's weaknesses."

Hongjoong sighed again, rubbing his temples. "Fine," he said finally, his tone resigned but firm. "Do it. But tread carefully. The moment she becomes a liability, you pull out. Clear?"

"Crystal," Yunho replied without hesitation.

The leader's gaze softened just slightly, enough to show the trust he still had in his team. "Good. Now go before I change my mind."

As Yunho left the room, a faint smirk playing on his lips, Yeosang shook his head in disbelief. "This is a mistake," he muttered.

"Maybe," Hongjoong admitted, his voice measured. "But mistakes can lead to victories if you know how to play them."

"Or they can get us all killed," Yeosang muttered under his breath.

Jongho offered a faint smile. "Let's hope Yunho hyung's instincts are as sharp as he thinks they are." The room fell silent, the weight of their gamble settling heavily over them all.

The Enforcer adjusted the cuffs of his tailored coat as he stood outside the towering gates of Prestige Asylum. This time, he was alone. Yeosang had made it clear he wouldn't tag along—not because he didn't care but because watching his brother navigate the intricate dance of persuasion with you had proven too frustrating for the Phantom. Yunho didn't blame him; even he wasn't entirely sure what to expect from you.

The mansion had been tense that morning, Yeosang offering only a curt nod and a muttered "good luck" as Yunho prepared to leave. It wasn't that he didn't want this to work; in fact, Yeosang probably wanted success more than anyone else. But his scepticism about you was evident. Yunho could almost hear the Phantom's voice in his head as he walked up the familiar path leading to the asylum: Don't mess this up. Don't let her outplay you again.

Yunho smirked at the thought, his confidence unshaken. She won't outplay me. Not this time.

Inside the asylum, the sterile halls felt even quieter than before, as if the oppressive atmosphere itself could sense the weight of his intentions. He stopped at the front desk, his smooth charm carefully masking the tension simmering beneath his calm exterior. "I'm here to see the deputy head psychologist," he said with a polite smile.

The receptionist glanced up, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face. "Mr. Lee?" she asked, her tone cautious. She suppressed her reservations, silently questioning what the new security consultant could possibly want with Dr Prude. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No," Yunho replied smoothly, his tone calm yet firm, "but I believe she'll want to see me."

The receptionist hesitated briefly before picking up the phone. After a quiet exchange, she looked back at him and nodded. "She'll meet you in her office. Down the hall, third door on the left."

As he made his way, his mind replayed the events of your last encounter—a potent mix of frustration and admiration swirling within him. You had dismantled his plan with precision, exposing cracks he hadn't even considered, and yet it wasn't just your brilliance that lingered in his mind. It was the fire in your eyes, the unyielding confidence that matched his own, if not exceeded it.

He knocked twice before opening the door.

You sat at your desk, head tilted slightly as you scribbled notes into a file. For a moment, you didn't acknowledge him, but when your sharp gaze finally met his, the tension between you crackled, unspoken yet palpable. Neither of you was willing to back down.

"Back so soon, Stefano?" you asked, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "I thought you'd had enough of me last time."

He chuckled softly, closing the door behind him. "Believe it or not, I'm not here for round two of our verbal sparring match." His voice dipped slightly, deliberate and measured. "I'm here to make you an offer."

You leaned back in your chair, raising an eyebrow as if to say, This should be good. "An offer? What could someone like you possibly offer me?"

"A way out," he said simply, his confidence unwavering.

Your reaction was subtle but telling—a faint twitch of your brow, a brief stilling of your fingers as they tapped against the desk. "And what makes you think I need a way out?" you countered, your voice steady and cool.

"Because you're too smart to waste your talents here," he said, his tone softening, almost conspiratorial. "You know this place is rotten to its core. You've seen Ryoichi Sato's true nature. Why stay loyal to an institution that doesn't deserve you?"

You folded your arms, your expression inscrutable. "So, your grand plan is for me to betray my employer and join forces with… whoever you really are?"

He stepped closer, his intense gaze locking with yours, shrinking the space between you. "I'm not asking you to betray anyone. I'm asking you to work with us. Help us take down the Chairman, and in return, we'll make sure you come out of this unscathed."

You tilted your head, studying him as if weighing every word. "And why should I trust you? You're not exactly the picture of transparency."

He smirked, leaning casually against the edge of your desk. "You don't have to trust me. Trust your instincts. You've already figured out I'm not here to hurt you or Ivanov. If anything, we're on the same side."

The room grew quiet as you considered his words, the sharp gears of your mind undoubtedly working overtime. Finally, you leaned forward slightly, your voice laced with pointed sarcasm. "Huh, sounds tempting. It might be tempting for someone reckless enough to commit treason, that is. But here's the part where you're wrong—I have no intention of risking my life for your ambitious little plan. After all, if you were as confident as you pretend to be, you wouldn't need me. Thanks, but no thanks."

The rejection landed sharper than Yunho anticipated, and though he cursed internally, a part of him couldn't help but admire your resistance. "I understand your concerns," he said, his voice calm despite the undercurrent of frustration.

"You don't understand anything, Stefano," you snapped, cutting him off with a sharp edge in your tone. Your eyes burned with something deeper—an unspoken burden he wasn't privy to but knew he needed to uncover. Why were you so adamant against cooperating, especially when your loyalty to the Chairman seemed nonexistent?

"Fine," he conceded, raising his hands slightly in mock surrender. "I won't argue with you. But think about what I said. The offer won't stay on the table forever."

You narrowed your eyes at him, but there was a spark of intrigue you couldn't completely hide. "I already said no. You can take your offer elsewhere."

Straightening, the Enforcer's smirk returned, slow and deliberate. "You know damn well there's not many in this damned institution I can rely on like you. Don't be so hasty to turn me down—I'll convince you, Dr Prude."

With that, he turned and walked out, leaving you to scoff in disbelief. Alone once more, you sat in silence, frustration mingling with the undeniable curiosity he had managed to spark.

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The soft click of the door opening broke the silence in your office, pulling you from your thoughts. Dr Ivanov entered, his sharp eyes immediately locking onto yours, weariness etched into his face.

"I heard that security consultant dropped by. What does he want?" His deep voice carried a note of concern, though he masked it well.

You rose from your seat instinctively, bowing respectfully before gesturing for him to sit. "Yes, well…" you hesitated, your lips pressing into a thin line. "He wants the same thing he wanted from you. Seems his attention has shifted to me now."

The elderly man sank into the chair across from you, his brow furrowing as he absorbed your words. For a moment, he was silent, his calculating mind undoubtedly piecing together the implications of Yunho's renewed interest. "Well?" he finally asked, his voice calm but tinged with worry. "Did you agree to it?"

Your response came instantly, your head shaking as if on reflex. "Of course not, sir," you whispered fiercely. Taking such a risk was unthinkable, the potential consequences far too dire. One misstep would endanger not only yourself but your family—and his. The asylum's unrelenting grip on your lives was an invisible shackle neither of you could escape.

Ivanov's shoulders relaxed slightly, though the tension lingered in his eyes. He glanced at your hands, clenched into tight fists on the desk, a habit that betrayed the memories threatening to surface—memories that haunted you both.

"You made the right decision," he said softly, though his words felt like cold comfort. "But you know he'll come back."

"I know," you murmured, lowering your gaze. Your voice was thick with frustration, the weight of fear pressing against your chest.

Your mind drifted, unbidden, to the beginning of this nightmare, the memories as vivid as if they had just occurred. You'd been fresh out of university then, brimming with ambition and armed with a psychology degree you'd worked tirelessly to earn. Interning under Dr Ivanov had been transformative—he had seen potential in you that no one else had, vowing to guide you through your career. When the offer from Prestige Asylum came, it had seemed like a dream.

The facility's reputation was impeccable, a beacon of excellence in mental health care. It felt like winning the lottery, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity you couldn't afford to pass up. The secrecy surrounding the institution's operations hadn't raised alarms; instead, it only added to the mystique. You felt honoured to stand beside him, your combined reputation a testament to integrity and expertise.

But cracks in the perfect facade had shown themselves quickly. The work was unlike anything you'd experienced before, the protocols unsettling and alien. Patients were scarce, their places filled by high-profile criminals hidden under the guise of treatment. The truth unravelled slowly, then all at once—a grotesque revelation that had left you and your mentor reeling in horror.

You'd both tried to leave, submitting your resignations in tandem, naively believing that principles would protect you. That illusion was shattered the moment you were summoned to meet Ryoichi Sato.

The Chairman's demeanour was calm, almost cordial, as he laid out file after file. Each one contained intimate details of your family's lives—names, addresses, routines—all laid bare as leverage. His cruel smile and carefully chosen words crushed any hope of escape. "You're the best," he had said, his tone almost mocking. "Your reputations are what make this place believable. Why would I let you go when you're perfect for the role?"

Since that day, you had been trapped, your skills and moral standing weaponised to mask the institution's sinister purpose. You'd learned to live with the ever-present fear, not for yourself but for the people you loved. Even if you somehow escaped, you knew Prestige Asylum's reach would follow you.

You glanced at Dr Ivanov now, his tired eyes reflecting your own. The two of you were bound together by this shared nightmare, captives in a gilded cage. Yet, his presence was an anchor in the storm, a steadying force. He was more than a mentor now—he was family, the closest thing to a father you had in this twisted place.

For a fleeting moment, your resolve wavered. Yunho's words echoed faintly, offering an out, a faint glimmer of hope. But hope was dangerous here, fragile and easily crushed. The elderly man's steady presence reminded you why impulsive action wasn't an option. The risk was too great, the cost too unthinkable.

For them. The mantra steadied you, as it did every day. It was why you stayed, why you endured the suffocating walls of this asylum. For the people waiting for you on the outside, for the faint possibility that one day this nightmare might end. Until then, all you could do was hold the line and navigate the razor-thin path laid before you.

Your mentor checked his watch, the faint lines on his face deepening with a sigh. "I have to get back to my post now," he said, rising from his seat with a heavy air. "But if that Stefano man ever bothers you again, let me know—"

You smiled softly, cutting him off. "Don't worry, sir. I'll know how to handle him. He won't sway me." Your voice was calm but firm, a quiet reassurance you hoped would ease his concerns.

Still, the weight of Yunho's visit lingered in your mind, the mystery of his identity gnawing at the edges of your resolve. "Besides," you added, your tone growing more contemplative, "we don't even know who he really is or who he works for. A big part of me hopes whatever he's planning works out... but I know it's in our best interests to stay uninvolved. Sato's connections make him far too powerful. I doubt one organisation alone could bring him down."

Dr Ivanov studied you for a moment, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You're right. I'm more reassured now, knowing you've thought this through so carefully. Stay safe, my dear."

"Thank you, sir. You too," you said quietly, bowing your head as you rose to escort him out.

At the door, the elderly man turned back to you, his expression briefly softening. "I will. We'll be okay," he murmured, his voice laced with the kind of warmth and care that reminded you of all the reasons you trusted him so deeply.

As the door clicked shut behind him, you stood in the quiet of your office, the lingering echoes of his presence both a comfort and a reminder of the precarious line you walked. Your gaze drifted to the sterile walls around you, the faint hum of the asylum's machinery a backdrop to your thoughts.

Stay uninvolved. The words repeated themselves in your mind, a steady mantra to counter the flicker of temptation Stefano Lee's offer had planted. Whatever freedom he hinted at wasn't worth the risk—not when the stakes were this high, not when so many lives were intertwined with your own.

With a deep breath, you returned to your desk, steeling yourself once more. In a place like this, where trust was a rarity and survival meant walking on a knife's edge, resolve was the only armour you had.

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"Good morning, Dr Prude."

You sighed, the sound of his voice confirming what you already knew without needing to glance to your left. Of course, it was him—the persistent, tall, and infuriatingly handsome man who seemed to make it his mission to pester you.

"The more you call me that, the quicker you'll lose whatever slim chances you think you have," you replied, your tone sharp but laced with subtle amusement.

He smirked, nudging your shoulder lightly with his. "Ah, so you're admitting I might've had a chance otherwise?" he teased, his words carrying that familiar mix of charm and mischief.

You raised a brow, feigning indifference while suppressing the flicker of amusement threatening to surface. For a brief moment, your thoughts wandered. Under different circumstances—if you were just an ordinary psychologist and he, an ordinary man—things might have been different. You might have seen him as a potential partner, someone worth taking a chance on.

But the moment passed quickly, and you blinked away the dangerous line of thought, locking it down as you focused ahead. Damn him for being so charming. No, you reminded yourself firmly, he wasn't going to rattle you. Not now, not ever.

Letting your guard snap back into place, you shifted direction abruptly, veering deeper into the hallways where the more intensive care patients were held. "You're wasting your time, Mr. Lee. Go bother someone else. I can't help you."

He exhaled in what sounded like momentary defeat, watching as you strode off with the same confidence you always carried. But even as you walked away, his gaze lingered, catching the briefest flicker in your eyes—something unguarded, something vulnerable. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but it was enough to spark a quiet curiosity within him.

The Enforcer knew it wasn't his business, and it certainly wasn't part of his mission. Yet something about you gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, compelling him to want to know more. There was a strength about you that was undeniable, but it felt... manufactured, like a mask you wore too well.

It was as if you were holding yourself back, tethered to something invisible yet suffocating, something that bound you so tightly it stopped you from moving freely. Yunho didn't know what it was, but the thought of it bothered him. Whatever it was that weighed you down, it wasn't just your burden to bear. At least, not if he had anything to say about it.

Wait... why did he even care so much? He paused, forcing himself to refocus on the mission. That was the only reason he was here—to make use of you, to get you on his side. Yet, there was something about you that unsettled his resolve, something beyond your sharp remarks and unwavering confidence that he couldn’t ignore.

It wasn't just attraction, though he couldn't deny how drawn he was to your competence. If there was one thing he admired in a woman, it was the ability to hold her own, and you had that in spades. You carried yourself with a strength that demanded respect, but it wasn't just the surface that intrigued him. Beneath the polished exterior, there was something raw, something real.

It reminded him of himself—not the man he was now, but the boy he used to be. The boy who had once cowered in the shadow of fear, trapped in a home that offered no love, only control and pain. He had known what it was like to feel bound by circumstances, to see no way out—until the Captain of the Black Pirates found him and gave him a second chance at life. Seeing you now was like looking into a mirror of his past. You were afraid—he could sense it, even if you hid it well. But afraid of what? That question clawed at him, sparking a need to understand you better.

Of course, he told himself, this curiosity wasn't personal. No, it would only serve his mission. Learning more about you would help him coax you into cooperation. That's all it was. This was about ensuring the success of his assignment, about proving Hongjoong's faith in him wasn't misplaced. He couldn't afford to get sidetracked—not with the stakes so high.

And besides, he thought with a faint smirk, he couldn't let Mingi have the satisfaction of questioning his ability to get the job done. No, Yunho would handle this—and you—exactly as planned. Or at least, that's what he kept telling himself.

Yes, this is all for the mission.

Stepping into the intensive care unit, any thoughts of Stefano Lee were thrown out the window as you tightened your grip on your composure, your expression a carefully crafted mask despite the wild, unrelenting thrum of your heartbeat. It wasn't the work itself that unnerved you—far from it. Caring for those in need had once been your passion, the foundation of your dreams. But here, in this place, the people you were forced to deal with weren't patients in any sense of the word. They were predators masquerading as something else, wolves dressed in the clothing of the vulnerable.

"Mr. Zhou has specifically asked for you today, Doctor," the nurse in charge informed you, her tone indifferent as she handed over a clipboard you had no choice but to accept.

Of course, he had.

Zhou was among the most vile of them all—a man who thrived on the suffering of others, the mastermind of a sprawling human trafficking network. And yet, he had decided that you were to be his source of amusement. It wasn't hard to see why; you were nothing like the other women here, those who simpered and flattered him in a desperate bid to curry favour. No, your quiet defiance, your refusal to play his games, seemed to intrigue him in ways that made your skin crawl.

You hated him. More than anyone else in this twisted facility. Others dealt in drugs or gambling—abhorrent crimes, yes, but nothing compared to Zhou's grotesque trade of innocence and humanity. To you, he was the embodiment of everything that was wrong with this place, and being near him felt like willingly stepping into quicksand.

But Zhou wasn't just another criminal. He was one of Sato's prized 'patients,' his wealth ensuring a status that made him untouchable. "He's a high-paying customer," the Chairman had said, his voice dripping with disdain as he slid a photograph across his desk—one of your parents, their unsuspecting smiles now burned into your memory. "We can't afford to lose his business. Do us all a favour and keep him happy. After all, you have a family to think about, don't you? Wouldn't want anything to happen to your sweet parents."

The helplessness of that moment still clawed at you, the suffocating sense of being trapped. All you'd been able to do was nod and whisper, "Yes, sir," as your nails bit into your palms, drawing blood you hadn't even felt at the time.

Now, that same photo flashed in your mind as you clutched the clipboard with trembling hands, forcing yourself to walk toward Zhou's ward. Each step felt like another inch toward a gaping abyss, yet you kept moving. The whispers and judgemental stares of your colleagues barely registered—what did their scorn matter when the stakes were this high? Let them call you 'Dr Prude.' Let them roll their eyes and mock your cold demeanour. None of it could compare to the suffocating weight of the threat hanging over your family.

"There you are, my darling!"

The voice, sickly sweet and dripping with false affection, sent a chill coursing through your body. You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat almost choking you, before forcing your lips into a polite smile. "Good morning, Mr. Zhou," you said evenly, the calmness in your voice hiding the storm of despair and disgust that churned within.

You couldn't falter now—not when every move you made was a performance for survival.

You stepped into his ward, clutching the clipboard so tightly to your chest that your knuckles turned white. It was a flimsy barrier, but it was all you had against the man sprawled in his cushioned chair, exuding an air of unearned power. His hospital gown, clean and unassuming, was a cruel mockery of the monster you knew he was.

"Ah, my favourite doctor," Zhou greeted, his voice syrupy with mock warmth that sent a chill racing up your spine. He leaned back leisurely, his sharp eyes sliding over you like a knife against skin. "What a lovely sight first thing in the morning."

You forced a polite smile, though your throat tightened painfully. Every instinct screamed at you to run, but that was not an option. Not here. Not with him.

He gestured to the chair across from him, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Come, sit. Let's chat before we get into all those boring tests you insist on."

You took a step closer but stayed standing, your spine stiff with an invisible armour you hoped wouldn't crack. "Thank you, Mr. Zhou, but I'd prefer to get this done quickly. I'm sure you have more important matters to tend to," you said, your tone firm yet careful.

He chuckled—a low, deliberate sound that made your stomach twist. "Important matters? None more important than you, Doctor. In fact—" His smirk widened, and he patted his lap with mock invitation. "Why don't you sit here? We could get much closer that way."

The air seemed to thin as his words settled between you. Your nails dug into the clipboard, anchoring yourself as your mind raced. You couldn't let him see your terror, couldn't let him sense the way your heart thundered wildly against your ribs. The Chairman's words replayed in your mind like a sinister mantra: Don't offend him.

Keeping your mask intact, you summoned a professional smile that felt like glass ready to shatter. "That's very kind of you, Mr. Zhou, but I'll have to decline. Maintaining the proper distance helps ensure I do my job effectively. I'm sure you understand."

His smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before returning, sharper this time. He leaned back, his gaze cutting through you like a blade. "Always so professional," he mused, his voice dripping with mockery. "That's why I enjoy our time together. The chase makes it all the more satisfying."

The bile rising in your throat threatened to choke you, but you pushed it down and turned your focus to the clipboard, setting it on the table beside him. With painstaking precision, you prepared the syringe, your hands trembling ever so slightly despite your effort to steady them.

As you approached him, Zhou tilted his head, his lips curling into a twisted smile. "You know, Doctor," he drawled, his voice laced with faux sweetness, "if you'd just relax, we could have so much fun together. Don't you ever get tired of being so... rigid?"

Your pulse roared in your ears, but you forced an even tone. "I appreciate your concern, Mr. Zhou," you said softly, looping the tourniquet around his arm with methodical care. "But my focus is on ensuring your health and well-being. I take that responsibility very seriously."

His chuckle was slow and ominous, the sound of a predator circling prey. His narrowed eyes glinted with something dark as he watched you lean in to draw his blood. "You're a tough one, aren't you?” he murmured, his voice dipping lower. "I like that. But you know... everyone breaks eventually."

Before you could process his words, his arm shot out, the syringe slipping from your grasp as a gasp escaped your lips. In one swift motion, he wrapped his arm around your waist and yanked you onto his lap, his grip iron-tight.

"Come on, darling," he whispered, his breath brushing against your ear as his tone turned sickeningly sweet. "How much longer are you going to play hard to get, hm?"

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For the first time in what felt like years, Yunho's mask of calm nearly cracked. He stood frozen at the gap in the door, his breath catching as he registered the scene before him. This wasn't what he had expected when he decided to drop by and observe you at work—hoping to glean insights about your habits, preferences, and perhaps the best way to approach you.

But this?

This was a nightmare come to life.

His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, the rage coursing through him threatening to spill over. It was all he could do to keep his breathing steady. The sight of you, trapped in Zhou's grasp, was a brutal reminder of the powerlessness he once endured. It dredged up memories he thought he had buried—moments when he, too, had been forced to endure, unable to fight back, unable to say no. But while his pain had been physical, yours was a violation of an entirely different kind.

This wasn't just wrong; it was unforgivable.

The injustice of it all burned in his chest, but the Enforcer swallowed the fury. Letting his emotions take over now would do neither of you any good. He needed to act, but carefully. With a steadying breath, he placed a hand on the door handle, forcing a bright, innocent smile onto his face.

Pushing the door open, he stepped inside, his voice casual and warm, masking the storm within. "Hey, doc, I hope I'm not interrupting, but I—" He paused mid-sentence, pretending to notice the scene before him for the first time. His performance was flawless, his jaw dropping in mock surprise as his eyes widened.

"Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed, striding forward with just the right mix of alarm and authority. "What the hell is going on in here?!"

In one fluid motion, he crossed the room and reached for you, prying you free from Zhou's grip with a practised ease. You stumbled into him, trembling, your tear-filled eyes locking onto his face. If you weren't so shaken, you might have seen through his act, might have caught the cold fury simmering beneath his polished facade. But in that moment, all you could feel was the safety his presence suddenly offered.

Zhou shot up from his seat, his narrowed eyes blazing with irritation. "Who the hell do you think you are, barging in here?" he growled, his tone laced with barely contained anger.

Yunho ignored him entirely, his focus solely on you. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice soft but loud enough for the Chinese bastard to hear. He placed himself firmly between you and the criminal, his broad frame shielding you. "Did the patient get out of control? This is exactly what I warned about—no security for the psychologists? It's unacceptable!" His tone carried a sharp edge, each word a carefully veiled reminder to Zhou that, here, he was just a patient. Nothing more.

Zhou's jaw tightened, recognition dawning in his eyes. He knew exactly who Yunho was—everyone did. The new security consultant hired to oversee operations, though none of the real players dared to let him in on the darker truths of the facility. The man was an outsider, and Zhou knew better than to draw unnecessary attention to himself now.

"I-I'm fine, Mr. Lee," you managed, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to sound composed. Your hand gripped Yunho's wrist as if it were a lifeline, grounding yourself through the chaos. "Mr. Zhou just... has his episodes, but he's harmless."

Zhou's smirk returned, though it was thinner now, less certain. The irritation in his eyes was clear as he reached for the nurse call button, signalling for someone to remove this 'disruption.' For all his arrogance, he knew better than to risk crossing a line in front of the taller man.

Yunho glanced back at you, his eyes softening for just a moment before returning to Zhou, cold and unyielding. "Episodes or not, no one should have to deal with this alone," he said firmly. "I'll make sure the Chairman hears about this."

His words were a warning, a subtle reminder that Zhou wasn't untouchable. And for the first time in that suffocating ward, you felt like someone was truly in your corner.

You didn't wait for the nurse to arrive. The moment the Enforcer had diverted Zhou's attention, you made a swift exit, clutching the clipboard to your chest like a shield. The stark, sterile hallways blurred as your legs carried you on autopilot, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You didn't stop until you reached the safety of your small office, slamming the door shut behind you and locking it with trembling hands.

Your breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps as you leaned against the door, the clipboard slipping from your grasp and clattering to the floor. Shoulders quaking with silent sobs, you bit down hard on your lip to stifle any sound. You couldn't afford to break here—not now.

The knock came so suddenly that you flinched, a small gasp escaping your lips.

"Hey," Stefano Lee's voice called through the door, calm yet resolute. "Open up."

Your pulse spiked again, panic flaring anew. The last thing you wanted was to face him—not like this, with tear-streaked cheeks and shattered composure.

"I'm fine," you managed to call back, though your voice trembled, betraying your facade.

"I'm not going anywhere until you let me in," he replied firmly, though a thread of unrelenting patience was woven into his tone.

For a moment, you hesitated, your hand hovering over the lock. Maybe if you stayed silent, he'd give up. But deep down, you knew better. With a reluctant sigh, you undid the lock and cracked the door open just enough for him to see you.

His expression softened instantly. "Can I come in?" he asked gently.

You nodded, stepping aside to let him in. His presence wasn't going to change anything—you wouldn't let it—but at least you could hear him out. That much you owed him. He closed the door softly behind him, leaning back against it as his eyes swept over you in silence. Arms crossed, his gaze—once so warm—was now edged with an intensity that made you shrink under its weight.

"What the hell was that back there?" he asked finally, his voice low but laced with restrained anger. "Why didn't you stop him? Or report him? You can't let him get away with treating you like that."

You turned away, busying yourself with the scattered papers on your desk. "It's not that simple," you murmured, your voice barely audible.

"Not that simple?" His voice rose slightly, tinged with disbelief. "You're a doctor. You shouldn't have to—"

"I can't," you snapped, spinning around to face him. Tears welled in your eyes, finally breaking free as your voice cracked under the pressure. "You don't understand."

"Then help me understand," he urged, his tone softening as he took a step closer. "Explain it to me."

You shook your head, arms wrapping tightly around yourself as if to hold your crumbling composure together. "Some people don't have a choice," you whispered, the words dripping with quiet despair. "Some of us... we're here because we have to be."

Yunho froze, the weight of your words sinking in as realisation dawned. Now it made sense—the resilience in your eyes despite the exhaustion, the quiet compliance in a place that didn't deserve you. The depths of this place's corruption ran deeper than he'd thought. "What do you mean?" he pressed, though his voice was quieter now.

You didn't answer directly. Instead, your tearful gaze met his, pleading silently for him to drop the matter. "Please," you whispered, your voice shaking. "Don't get involved. Just stay out of my business. And leave me and my mentor out of yours."

His jaw clenched, his fists curling tightly at his sides as he wrestled with the storm of emotions brewing inside him. He wanted to demand answers, to tell you no one should live like this, but the raw fear in your expression stopped him cold.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. "Fine," he said, his voice even but tinged with steel. "But I want you to know I'm not letting this go."

Your head shot up, alarm flashing in your eyes. "No," you said firmly, stepping toward him. "You have to. If you do anything, they'll—"

"I won't do anything reckless," he interrupted, his tone steady and measured. "I won't let anything happen to you or your mentor. But this?" He gestured vaguely around the room, his voice dropping to a whisper. "This isn't right. And I need you to know that what you've told me has only strengthened my resolve to infiltrate this place. Listen to me—what we're doing is to bring this place down."

You stared at him, torn between the flicker of hope his words ignited and the harsh reality you'd been enduring for so long. Slowly, you shook your head, tears slipping down your face. "You don't understand... Stefano," you whispered, the name barely audible.

He paused, his expression softening for the briefest moment. "Yunho," he corrected gently, his voice low. Your eyes widened slightly at the revelation, and he continued, "My name is Yunho. And I want you to know that what I'm offering you is a way out."

You exhaled shakily, closing your eyes for a moment as his words hung heavy in the air. You knew false hope when you saw it, and you didn't want someone like him to be crushed by the weight of his own naivety. You didn't know who he really was or who he worked for, but the way he had defended you spoke volumes about his character. He wasn't like the others here. "Okay, Yunho..." you murmured softly, your voice tinged with weary resignation. "But I need you to know that you won't succeed. There's more to this place than you could ever imagine. Trust me when I say you're only going to make things worse—for yourself and for your team."

He opened his mouth, ready to argue, but the anguish in your eyes stopped him cold. The pain etched across your face was enough to silence any retort. He nodded once, his expression shifting to one of quiet determination. "I understand that nothing I say will change your mind right now," he said firmly. "I'll step back for now. But I'm not giving up on you. Just... remember that."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked out, the sound of the door closing behind him echoing in the room. The silence that followed was deafening. Slowly, you sank into your chair, burying your face in your hands as the full weight of everything came crashing down, pressing heavily on your chest.

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"Here's what you asked for," the Phantom said, tossing the files labelled with your name onto Yunho's desk. His gaze was sharp, unwavering. "I hope you haven't forgotten your main objective, because ever since meeting her, it almost feels like you have."

Yunho exhaled a slow breath, reaching for the file and flipping it open without hesitation. "Thanks, Yeo. I know you're worried, but trust me—once I convince her, she'll be a huge asset to us."

"When you convince her?" Yeosang challenged, leaning forward over the desk, eyes narrowing. "And when exactly is that supposed to happen, Yunho?"

The Enforcer rubbed his temple, exhaustion creeping into his voice. "Soon, my brother. I have no intention of letting Hongjoong hyung down—just as much as you. I know I've strayed from the original plan, but I'll set things right… with her help. And for the record, she won't be a distraction."

Yeosang let out a quiet sigh, his expression unreadable. He didn't argue further, merely giving a slow, reluctant nod before turning to leave. Just as he reached the door, he muttered under his breath, "I think she already has."

Yunho leaned back in his chair as soon as his brother was gone, flipping through the file with practised ease. His sharp eyes scanned the neatly typed lines, but it wasn't the information that initially caught his attention—it was your photo.

A small, inexplicable smile tugged at his lips as he studied the image. It was you, younger and unburdened, a spark of passion gleaming in your eyes. The confidence was the same, but there was something different—something brighter. This version of you radiated ambition, the kind of fire that belonged to someone ready to take on the world. It was almost unsettling to compare it to the person he had come to know.

The you he now knew still carried confidence, but it was subdued, weighed down by something invisible yet undeniably heavy. Behind your carefully composed exterior, there was exhaustion, an ever-present weariness hidden beneath layers of restraint. He had noticed it before but never thought much of it—until now.

Flipping through the pages, he absorbed everything. Your education, your qualifications—he committed them to memory effortlessly, piecing together an image of who you had been before joining Prestige. He could almost see it: you, bent over textbooks, scribbling down notes, fueled by a dream to make a difference.

His gaze lingered on the section about your family. Supportive parents, a stable upbringing—something he himself never had. A mentor who had guided you toward success. Yunho exhaled quietly. He was glad you had people who cared for you, yet the more he read, the more things didn't add up.

Then he found it. The moment you and Dr Sergei Ivanov had been recruited into Prestige Asylum. Everything seemed normal at first—until it wasn't. Not long after joining, the both of you had attempted to resign. Yunho's brows furrowed as he skimmed ahead, expecting to find an explanation. But there was nothing.

The resignation had never gone through.

Instead, both of you have continued working at the wretched institution up to the present day. That alone wasn't what unsettled him most—it was the fact that from the moment of that failed resignation, neither of you had seen your families since.

Yunho's jaw tightened. He didn't need to see the missing details to guess what had happened. He had seen this before, in different forms, under different circumstances. Prestige Asylum had buried the truth, manipulated the narrative. He had no doubt that whatever had taken place was the reason for the exhaustion in your eyes, the anxiety lurking beneath your composed demeanour.

But what exactly had happened?

He closed the file, fingers tapping against the cover in thought. He could make assumptions, but assumptions weren't enough. He needed confirmation. He needed the truth. And now, it seemed like you were the only one who could give it to him.

But it won't be easy.

Yunho had expected many things. He had expected frustration, dead ends, and the constant need to reassess his approach. What he hadn't expected, however, was for you to be the one to break first.

After your last conversation, he had made the difficult decision to leave you alone, to respect your plea and to keep his distance. Keeping Yeosang's words in mind, he had thrown himself back into his task, digging for evidence the Black Pirates could use to expose Prestige Asylum for what it truly was. But time and time again, he met disappointment. The asylum was airtight, designed to keep outsiders from uncovering its secrets. Despite his best efforts under his security consultant cover, all he had managed to gather were fragments—not nearly enough to bring Ryoichi Sato down. If only you had chosen to help him, he could have made real progress.

But he remembered the desperation in your voice when you had begged him to leave you and your mentor alone. And despite his own firm words, he waged an internal war, wondering if he should do as you asked. If leaving you alone was truly the right thing to do.

Unbeknownst to him, his absence had unsettled you more than you cared to admit. Even though you had been the one to ask him to stay away, you had found yourself watching him as he worked, seeing the way his frustration grew at the lack of progress. You saw the way his shoulders tensed as he left the asylum each day, his patience wearing thin.

His words echoed in your mind, refusing to be silenced.

"I'm not asking you to betray anyone. I'm asking you to work with us. Help us take down the Chairman, and in return, we'll make sure you come out of this unscathed."

At the time, the idea of helping him had seemed foolish, reckless even. But after your recent encounter with Zhou, you feared things were only going to get worse. Had it not been for Yunho, you didn't even want to think about what could have happened. Staying here and obeying orders guaranteed your family's safety for now, but Sato was a snake—who was to say he wouldn't turn on you and Dr Ivanov the moment you became disposable?

The thought of aiding Yunho in taking Prestige down had once seemed ridiculous. But what if it was your only chance at freedom?

You had seen the way he had fought for you, the way he had looked at you—not with pity, but with anger on your behalf. It had changed something in you. He had finally given you his real name. And maybe that had been the final push you needed.

So now, here he was, sitting before you in your office as you carefully pushed the files toward him. Documents filled with fabricated diagnoses and records of transactions that proved what he had suspected all along—Prestige Asylum was a shield for the wealthy and corrupt, a place where justice was bought and buried.

He stared at the papers as disbelief settled in. "What's this?" he asked, his voice quieter than usual, laced with restrained shock.

You exhaled slowly, arms crossing over your chest as if to shield yourself from what you were about to do. "Evidence you've been trying to uncover all this time but couldn't. It's not enough to take the place down, but it's something. These contain information on the patients I was assigned, at least. There are more that I have yet—"

"Thank you."

His voice was firm yet sincere, cutting you off before you could finish. Your breath hitched slightly at the way he looked at you—no gloating, no smug satisfaction, just quiet gratitude. It was disarming.

You looked away, suddenly feeling exposed. "Don't thank me yet. This… this doesn't mean anything."

Yunho tilted his head slightly, studying you. "Does it really not?"

You bit the inside of your cheek. Maybe it did. Maybe it meant more than you were ready to admit.

You had convinced yourself that you were only doing this to return the favour, to repay the debt you felt you owed him after what he had done for you. But deep down, you knew it wasn't just that.

It was the way you had seen him struggle, the way he kept pushing forward despite how difficult it was. It was the way he had saved you without hesitation, how he had looked at you like you were more than just another cog in the machine of Prestige Asylum.

And maybe, just maybe, it was because, for the first time in a long time, you wanted to believe in something again.

He carefully gathered the files, his fingers ghosting over the pages before he met your gaze once more. "This is a start."

You nodded, still uncertain, still afraid. But for the first time, you weren't entirely unwilling.

And that was enough—for now.

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Time passed, though neither of you ever acknowledged the change.

There had been no formal agreement, no spoken confirmation, but it was there—a silent understanding that you and Yunho were now working together.

You continued your daily routine, performing your duties with the same composure as always, but now with a purpose beyond survival. Every session, every document, every exchange within the asylum was another opportunity to collect evidence. Yunho, on the other hand, went on with his investigations under the guise of Prestige Asylum's new security consultant, but his work had become more efficient, more precise—because now, he had an insider.

And you had finally learned everything about him.

"I'm the Enforcer of the Black Pirates."

That was all he had to say for you to immediately understand.

The Black Pirates were no ordinary syndicate. Their name alone sent ripples through the underworld, spoken of in hushed, wary tones by the high-profile criminals this institution harboured. Ruthless, strategic, and feared, they had built a reputation as one of the most formidable forces in the underground.

At least, until recently.

Rumours had spread through the asylum—criminals whispering about the gang's latest struggles. They had become the newest target of the up-and-coming White Serpents, a rising syndicate that had been making waves with their brutal and unpredictable tactics. It wasn't just idle gossip; even Sato had taken notice.

If only these criminals, if only Ryoichi Sato himself, knew that one of the Black Pirates was now walking among them, quietly dismantling their precious asylum from the inside. You wondered if they would still be so smug.

Knowing who Yunho truly was brought you an odd sense of reassurance. It wasn't that you trusted him completely—not yet—but his reputation spoke for itself. If he had come this far, if his people had been able to shake even the strongest criminal empires, then perhaps—just perhaps—he could pull this off.

But there was still a risk.

You knew what would happen if the Chairman discovered your betrayal. Prestige did not tolerate disloyalty. You had seen firsthand what happened to those who had outlived their usefulness, to those who dared to resist. Even now, you and Dr Ivanov were still trapped in this place because of one failed attempt to leave.

And yet…

For the first time in years, your fate was in your own hands. You realised now that if you continued to stay put, this nightmare would never end. Sato would keep tightening his hold, keep pulling the strings, keep ensuring that neither you nor the head psychologist would ever see your families again.

Perhaps it was time to do something about it. For your family. For Dr Ivanov and his family. For yourself. And for the first time, that thought didn't terrify you. It gave you hope.

Hope.

A cruel, fragile thing.

It wavered in your chest as you stared down at the worn photograph in your hands, your parents' smiling faces frozen in time. You traced their features with your fingertips, your vision blurring with unshed tears. It had been so long since you'd seen them, so long since you had felt the warmth of home.

And now, you were about to write them another letter. Another carefully crafted lie. Another excuse about why you couldn't return home yet. Another attempt to reassure them that you were safe when, in reality, you had never felt more trapped.

Will this be the last time?

The thought lodged itself painfully in your mind. You wanted to believe it. You wanted to believe that this was the last time you'd have to lie to them, the last time you'd have to pretend that everything was fine, now that you had a plan—Yunho's plan.

But even as you forced yourself to write, exhaustion seeped into your bones, weighing heavier than ever. You were tired—so, so tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of surviving instead of living. Tired of never knowing if you would ever be free again.

The first tear fell before you could stop it.

Then another.

And soon, they wouldn't stop.

Goddamnit, where is she?

Yunho wandered through the dimly lit halls, searching for you. It had become routine—this quiet, unspoken agreement between you. Every evening before he left, he would find you, collect whatever evidence you had managed to obtain that day, exchange a few words, and then go on his way.

But today, your office was empty.

You had left him the files, as usual, stashed in the hidden corner you had designated in case you weren't around. Technically, he had no reason to linger. His job was done for the day.

And yet, something didn't sit right.

Your absence unsettled him in a way he couldn't explain. His mind raced with possibilities. What if something had happened to you? What if Zhou had gotten to you again? What if—

Shaking the thought away, he signalled for his driver to leave the compound, ensuring it looked as though he had left. Then, moving with the stealth he had long mastered, he slipped back inside. The unease gnawed at him as he searched.

You weren't with the patients. That, at least, was a relief.

Still, the asylum was vast, and the deeper he ventured, the heavier the silence became. It wasn't until he reached the abandoned wing that he finally found you. Sitting alone. Crying.

There you are.

His footsteps were nearly soundless as he approached, but somehow, you still sensed him. Your body tensed before you abruptly turned, raising a fist in pure reflex. He caught your wrist before you could strike, his grip firm but not forceful.

"Relax," he murmured gently, his voice softer than you expected. "It's me."

The tension in your muscles unravelled as you exhaled a shaky breath, turning away almost instantly. You wiped at your eyes in a futile attempt to erase the evidence of your tears, but you knew it was useless. He had already seen.

"Why are you still here?" you asked, your voice thick with emotion, your fingers tightening around the photograph in your lap.

Instead of answering right away, the man lowered himself beside you, close enough that his warmth pressed against the cool air of the abandoned wing. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands loosely intertwined.

"You weren't in your office, and I... just wanted to make sure you were alright," he whispered.

A lump formed in your throat at his sincerity. You sniffled, rubbing at your nose as you tried to keep your voice steady. "I'm fine."

He let out a quiet, disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. "Are you, though?"

You didn't respond. You didn't have to.

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It lingered, heavy but strangely grounding.

Your gaze dropped to the photograph still trembling in your hands. He followed your line of sight, his eyes softening as he took in the faded edges, the familiar smiles frozen in time. After a beat, he dared to ask, "Your parents? Are they… safe?"

You hesitated before giving a small nod. But there was no relief in your expression, no weight lifted from your shoulders. "They are… for now." Your voice was quiet, almost fragile. "So long as I stay here like a good dog, they will be."

His breath hitched almost imperceptibly, but you caught it.

That was all he needed to hear.

His jaw tightened, fingers curling into fists against his thighs. He had suspected you were trapped here, but now, he understood just how deep the chains ran. The safety of your loved ones bound you to this place. And somehow, that realisation cut deeper than he expected.

Yunho had seen people held captive in many ways before—by fear, by greed, by debt, by loyalty. But this? This was different.

Because it was you.

The quiet between you stretched, but neither of you felt the need to fill it. Instead, he slowly, cautiously, let his fingers relax. Then, without thinking, he reached out—not forcefully, not expectantly, but just enough for his knuckles to brush against yours where they still clutched the photograph.

A silent offer. A quiet anchor.

You didn't pull away. For the first time, you let the warmth of his presence seep into the cracks of your exhaustion.

The Enforcer's resolve solidified.

Prestige Asylum had to fall. Not just for his mission. Not just for the Black Pirates. But for you.

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As your quiet alliance with Yunho deepened, it was only a matter of time before your mentor noticed.

Dr Ivanov had always been observant. Each evening, he watched with furrowed brows as Stefano Lee left your office before departing the compound. It had happened too many times now to be a coincidence. The Russian psychologist had been aware that the so-called security consultant wasn't who he claimed to be, but now a more pressing concern took root.

Was he coercing you into helping him? Was he threatening you?

The thought weighed on him until he finally decided to confront you. He waited until he was sure the taller man was gone, then made his way to your office, knocking firmly before pushing the door open at your soft "Come in." But the moment he heard your next words, he knew. He had been wrong.

"Back so soon? Did you forget something again?"

Your words faltered when your eyes lifted to meet his as realisation struck—this wasn't the charming gang member. It was your mentor. And in that single second, Ivanov saw it in your face. You had been willingly meeting with the man.

A long sigh left the elderly man as he stepped inside. "So, you gave in?"

You quickly rose from your seat, bowing your head slightly. "Sir, I can explain."

And you did. You told him everything—how Yunho had saved you, the truth about who he really was, and the fact that he wasn't just any gang member, but the Enforcer of the Black Pirates. Throughout it all, Ivanov listened in silence, his expression unreadable. But as you spoke, something in your voice softened. You reassured him that Yunho wasn't like the criminals you both dealt with every day.

He wasn't like them.

"His real name is—"

"No." His firm response stopped you short, and for a moment, your heart sank. But then, he surprised you. His lips quirked into the smallest of smiles.

"He entrusted you with his name, not me," the head psychologist murmured. "Protect it the way he protected you."

The tension in your shoulders eased. That was all you needed to know. Your mentor understood. Without another word, he took the seat across from you, silently offering his support. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you weren't alone in this.

"I will, sir."

Back at the Black Pirates' mansion, Yunho strode down the dimly lit corridors, heading for his room after leaving the day's evidence with the Captain. Just as he reached for the doorknob, his fingers brushed against something small in his pocket.

Frowning, he pulled it out—and a quiet chuckle slipped past his lips.

A candy.

The memory resurfaced immediately.

Earlier that day, his gaze had drifted to the glass bowl of sweets on your desk. "You know," he mused with amusement, "it almost feels like the amount never lessens. Who are these even for, doc?"

You smirked, leaning back in your chair as you plucked one up. "They're for patients I like. But… as you can see, there aren't many I'm capable of liking here. Or even at all." The smirk didn't last. Reality had a way of dimming those small flickers of humour.

Before you could react, he swiped the candy from your hand, his fingers grazing yours for the briefest second. Your breath hitched. "Wha—"

"I may not be a patient," he grinned, tucking it into his pocket, "but I can be your favourite."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "You wish." His smile lingered as he turned away, the candy now his.

"Oh, great. Not you too."

A deep voice pulled him from his thoughts. He pushed the candy back into his pocket and turned to face the source.

Song Mingi.

The Firestarter leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. Yunho's expression darkened. He had grown tired of the man's recent jabs, the barely veiled resentment in his voice. "Enough, Mingi," he said, voice low and cutting. "Let's not be hypocrites."

Mingi stiffened slightly as his best friend took a step forward. "Don't start this bullshit unless you can clean up your own mess and cut off your new lady friend too." His smirk faded.

"Everyone here is doing their best," the Enforcer continued. "And if you have nothing to contribute except complaints, shut up. We all know you're in the same damn shoes. No one calls you out on it out of respect, so don't take that for granted. Don't take the anger of your own failure out on the rest of us."

Mingi's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. With that, Yunho turned and disappeared into his room, the door slamming shut behind him.

Silence stretched between the remaining brothers. And for once, the Firestarter had nothing to say. Yunho knew you were never supposed to be part of his mission. But unlike his hyungs, he wasn't blind to reality. This wasn't a distraction. You weren't a distraction. His protectiveness over you wasn't a weakness—it was fuel. A reason to push harder, to move faster.

Because if he succeeded in bringing Prestige Asylum and Ryoichi Sato down, he wouldn't just be completing his mission.

He'd be setting you free.

And he would see that through, no matter what.

That determination only strengthened as he returned to the asylum the next day. This mission had always been about taking down Sato, about gathering enough evidence to expose Prestige for what it truly was. But now, as he walked through the cold, sterile halls, he knew his purpose had expanded. He wasn't just here for the mission anymore. He was here for you. And that purpose solidified when he saw you break.

It started with an uneasy feeling. You weren't in your office. That alone unsettled him. Even on difficult days, you always managed to be where you needed to be. But not today.

His gut twisted as he searched through the institution, his steps quick but calculated, ignoring the wary glances from passing staff. By the time he reached the more secluded wing of the building, a faint sound stopped him in his tracks.

A choked, muffled sob.

He followed the sound until he reached the door of the female washroom. Pushing it open, he stepped inside—and there you were.

Standing before the mirror, gripping the sink as if it were the only thing keeping you upright. Your white doctor's coat was discarded at the side. Your sleeves were pushed up, revealing fresh burns marring your arms—small, circular wounds that made his blood run cold. Yunho felt the breath leave his lungs.

Cigarette burns.

Yunho's breath stilled. His hands curled into fists, knuckles white with barely contained fury. He had fought and bled through enough hellish places to recognise the work of a sadist when he saw it—because once upon a time, he had been on the receiving end of that same cruelty. The scars on his own body were proof. And he didn't need to ask who had done this to you.

Zhou.

That fucking bastard.

The anger roared in his veins, an unrelenting storm demanding vengeance, but he forced it down—for now. Because this wasn't about him. This was about you. And right now, you didn't need revenge.

You needed someone.

He moved slowly, careful not to startle you. His reflection joined yours in the mirror, but you remained unmoving, lost in a world of pain he could only imagine. It wasn't until he was close enough that you finally spoke, your voice fragile and raw.

"I... I refused him again. And he was furious."

His chest tightened.

Without thinking, his fingers ghosted over your wrist, an instinctive need to comfort—but the moment you flinched, he stopped, his heart twisting as you whimpered, "No... don't look at me. I'm ashamed to face you... or anyone."

The Enforcer exhaled, his jaw tightening as he fought the ache in his throat. Ashamed? The thought of you—someone so strong, so resilient—believing you had something to be ashamed of made his blood run cold.

"And why should you be ashamed?" he asked softly.

Your voice broke. "Because I'm weak."

A pained smile tugged at the corner of his lips. A smile that held years of unspoken memories, buried wounds that had never fully healed. "Then I guess I am too."

Your blurry eyes lifted to meet his in the mirror, confusion flickering through your exhausted expression. Before you could ask, he quietly unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt.

Your breath hitched.

Faded scars marred his chest—old burns, some shaped like the ones on your arms, others deeper, more jagged. Wounds left by cruel hands, by people who should have protected him.

"I was once young and defenceless, beaten and abused by the people I called my parents, all because I was the product of an accident, an unplanned birth," he admitted, voice steady but heavy. "I spent my teenage years committing petty crimes, drifting through life aimlessly because I believed I didn't deserve any better. I thought I was ruined… so I accepted my fate."

You stared at him, your own pain momentarily forgotten as you listened.

"But my leader found me. He taught me that it wasn't my fault. That sometimes, no matter how strong we try to be, we need someone to pull us out of it. He was that person for me." He took a step closer, his voice softer now, but no less firm. "And now… I just want you to know that you don't have to be strong all the time."

You finally turned to face him fully.

"Let someone else carry the weight for once." His voice was a whisper now, but it reached you in ways nothing else had. "I'm here now."

Something inside you broke. For years, you had carried the weight of your suffering alone. You had built walls, convinced yourself that no one could—or would—save you. But standing here, with him, someone who knew what it was like to be trapped in suffering, who understood what it meant to survive…

The walls cracked.

A shaky breath left your lips, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned into him. And Yunho, without hesitation, held you up.

He didn't promise that things would be okay. He didn't tell you to be strong. He simply stayed, steady and unyielding, silently promising that, for once, you weren't alone. For the first time in years, you let someone share your burden. And for the first time in years, he let someone see the scars he no longer hid behind.

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"This won't do. The evidence we've been collecting—I fear it won't be enough to take Prestige down completely. Even if we leak it to the authorities, Sato and all his friends feigning mental illness here will find a way to twist the narrative. They'll deny everything until the very end," Yunho said, his voice low but resolute.

He sat across from you in your office, a familiar sight by now. Yet, something had changed ever since that day in the washroom. Neither of you had spoken about it, but it was there—in the way his visits stretched longer, in the way his touch lingered just a moment too long, in the way your gazes held more than just strategy.

Something unspoken lingered between you, but neither of you acknowledged it. Perhaps because you both knew the circumstances wouldn't allow for more. Nothing more than this.

You bit your lip, hesitating.

Now was the time.

For days, you had debated whether or not to tell him. At first, you had kept it to yourself for his safety, or maybe it was for your own. You weren't sure anymore. But when you had told him he didn't know the full extent of Sato's operations, you had meant it.

"I…" Your voice wavered. "I do have something. Something that could destroy this place completely if it gets out."

He leaned forward, his gaze sharpening. "But?"

Your fingers curled into fists. "I have no evidence, Yunho. Sato is incredibly careful, he—"

Without hesitation, he reached across the desk, covering your trembling hand with his. His warmth steadied you, grounding you in the moment.

"Don't worry about him or the evidence," he said, voice steady, reassuring. "That's what I'm here for. Just tell me. Tell me everything you know about this place."

You swallowed hard, the weight of your secrets pressing down on you. But then his grip tightened ever so slightly—an unspoken promise. "You trust me, right?" he asked, his voice softer now.

You met his gaze, the sincerity in his eyes dissolving the last bit of doubt within you.

"I do."

Thanks to your help, Yunho's gaze stayed locked on the Chairman's office later that night, perched like a throne atop the highest floor of the main building. The faint glow seeping through the curtains barely touched the darkness of the night, but it was enough. Somewhere in that room lay the final, undeniable proof to expose Sato—and tonight, he was going to get it.

Rolling his shoulders, he tugged on his gloves, loosening his tie before throwing Yeosang a nod. "I'll leave the Records Room to you."

The Phantom smirked, tightening the straps of his gear. "This little birdie of yours best not be lying."

Yunho's jaw flexed, the protectiveness in his tone sharp. "She's not."

His brother only shrugged, adjusting his weapons before melting into the shadows. "She better not be."

With a roll of his eyes, the Enforcer turned on his heel, striding toward the Chairman's office while Yeosang vanished over the fences with practised ease. He would scour the second-best place for evidence while Yunho infiltrated the most heavily guarded room in the entire asylum. And if the security around it was that tight, there had to be a damn good reason.

And thus, the grand mission began.

Organ harvesting.

That was the truth you had given him.

Prestige Asylum wasn't just a sanctuary for criminals—it was a slaughterhouse. Yunho had seen his fair share of horrors, had waded through the filth of the underworld more times than he could count. But this? This was something else. This was monstrous. The criminals who sought refuge here weren't just evaluated by their wealth and influence. They were examined. Categorised. Sorted like cattle. The weak, the old, the ones who had nothing left to offer? They were marked. Stripped of their dignity. Stripped of their parts.

Organs—harvested, sold, and shipped off to the highest bidder.

Sato wasn't just sheltering scum.

He was butchering them.

And Yunho felt no pity for these bastards—not when their own sins had led them here. But the sheer scale of it, the grotesque efficiency, the cold, methodical way human bodies were treated as nothing more than a product—it made his stomach churn with disgust he hadn't felt in years.

And yet, in all its horror, this was perfect.

Because this was the key to bringing it all down. With solid proof, it wouldn't just be the authorities coming for Ryoichi Sato. It would be his own people. The criminals who had thought they were safe, who had paid their way into this fortress of false security, would come to a sickening realisation. They were never guests. They were inventory.

And once the truth came out, Prestige wouldn't just fall.

It would burn.

"Wait, what are you going to do now?"

Your voice echoed in Yunho's mind as he moved silently through the shadows, each step deliberate, every muscle coiled with purpose. The asylum was still, save for the occasional flicker of a distant security light. His target was near, but for a fleeting moment, his thoughts strayed—to you.

Unlike his usual self, he didn't know why he did it, but he found himself pausing. Just for a second. Just long enough to glance down at the darkened window of your office. A faint smile tugged at his lips. Were you already asleep in your quarters? Would you be furious if you knew what he was doing now? He wondered how you'd react—if you'd scold him, if you'd worry, if you'd care.

Care about him the way he cared about you.

His heartbeat stuttered at the thought, at the memory of you grasping his arm before he could leave your office earlier that evening. The genuine concern in your eyes, the slight tremble in your voice—it had made something tighten in his chest.

You were worried for him.

For him.

He could still feel the warmth of your touch, the way his hand instinctively covered yours, his thumb brushing against your skin in silent reassurance. He shouldn't have lingered, but he did. And then, for some godforsaken reason, he had winked at you, teasing, "Don't worry about it, doc. You've done all you could, and for that, I thank you. I'll take care of the rest now."

You hadn't let go.

And for a moment—just a moment—the two of you had stood there, locked in a wordless exchange that spoke louder than anything either of you could say aloud. Then he had made the mistake of looking down.

Your lips.

His resolve had nearly crumbled. He had fought everything in him to tear his gaze away, forcing himself to meet your eyes again—eyes that were no longer guarded, no longer dismissive like when you first met. No, there was a fire in them now.

And god, he liked seeing that fire.

"You better, Jung Yunho."

He had nearly groaned at the way his name sounded coming from you, low and daring. He had bitten his lip, eyes dark with unspoken thoughts before murmuring, "I promise."

And then he left—because if he hadn't, he might have done something foolish.

Now, as he shook off the memory and refocused on his mission, he felt it. The fire in you had ignited something in him too. And no matter what happened tonight, he would keep his promise.

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Yunho moved like a shadow, slipping past guards who might as well have been mannequins for all the use they were. Years of training with the Phantom had honed him into a ghost, his presence undetectable, his steps soundless. If anyone so much as blinked at the wrong moment, they'd never know he had been there at all.

The Chairman's office loomed ahead, its grand double doors guarded by two men who stood with stiff professionalism. But the Enforcer had seen better security in cheap nightclubs. A well-timed distraction—a small device flicked across the hall, producing a distant clatter—was all it took for them to step away, momentarily distracted. That was his cue. He was inside within seconds.

And he almost laughed.

That was it? Just the usual lock-picking technique? The great Ryoichi Sato, mastermind of this entire operation, was brought down by a few turns of a pick? Yunho had expected retina scanners, biometric safes, maybe even a hidden security system, but this?

Pathetic.

Shaking off his disbelief, he got to work, rifling through drawers, scanning bookshelves, even running his hands along the edges of furniture for hidden compartments. He found a safe tucked behind an abstract painting and smirked.

This was the real challenge.

Except it wasn't.

A few code attempts later—birthdates, the asylum's founding year, a few numbers from the invoices he found—and the safe clicked open. His grin vanished the second he saw what was inside.

Gold bars. Stacks of cash. A few vaguely worded invoices.

Nothing useful.

Yunho inhaled sharply, a spark of frustration lighting in his chest. This wasn't enough. They needed something undeniable, something that would expose Sato for what he truly was—a butcher masquerading as a saviour. Not meaningless transactions.

He was running out of places to search. And time.

Just as he was about to leave and search elsewhere, his fingers brushed against something buried in one of the lower drawers. He pulled it out, his breath catching slightly. A photograph.

You, smiling with your parents.

His fingers curled tightly around it as he pulled out another one. Dr Ivanov, standing with his wife and child.

Fuckin' bastard.

A sharp surge of anger coursed through him, his grip on the photos tightening. He wanted to tear them apart, to destroy the reason you're trapped in this godforsaken place. But before he could act on the impulse, a soft knock echoed through the room.

He froze. His head whipped around, every muscle tensed, every sense heightened. Had he been caught? Had the guards finally realised something was wrong?

Then, he heard it—faint but familiar. "It's me. Find a way to open this secret passage. You're in for a surprise."

Yeosang.

Yunho exhaled sharply, his heartbeat steadying as he turned toward the sound. The bookshelf near the far wall shifted slightly, as if someone was pushing from the other side. A hidden passage?

Without wasting another second, he ran his hands along the wood, searching for a mechanism. It took a few tries—pressing at different spots, pulling at certain books—until finally, something clicked. The shelf groaned as it slowly swung open, revealing a dimly lit passageway.

And there stood the Phantom, arms crossed, an infuriatingly smug grin tugging at his lips. "Seems Dr Prude wasn't lying after all."

Yunho scoffed, stepping forward. "Told you so."

With that, the brothers disappeared into the darkness below. The taller man raised a brow as he stepped into the dimly lit chamber, taking in the scene before him.

The ground was littered with bodies—some unconscious, thanks to Yeosang, and others far beyond saving. The criminals who had foolishly sought refuge in Prestige lay sprawled on cold metal tables, their chests crudely opened, the sickly scent of antiseptic failing to mask the underlying stench of blood and decay. It was clear that mere minutes ago, this room had been alive with activity—surgeons slicing, nurses assisting, transactions being made in hushed voices—until the Phantom arrived and ended it all in an instant.

"Impressive," Yunho muttered, nudging one of the unconscious workers with his boot.

The Phantom shrugged as if it were nothing. "They weren't even that skilled. Hardly worth the effort." He turned his gaze toward the far end of the room, where a row of glass walls separated them from an adjoining chamber. "Was wandering through the last few rows of the Records Room until I found a similar opening that led to this place. Figured you'd be around here somewhere."

Yunho followed his brother's nod, his attention shifting past the bloodstained operating tables to the massive archive just beyond the glass. There. He didn't need Yeosang's smirk to confirm it. It was practically a gold mine. Without hesitation, he stepped inside, his eyes immediately drawn to the endless shelves lined with thick folders. He pulled one out at random, flipping it open, and the realisation hit like a punch to the gut.

Patient files.

No, not patients.

Criminals.

Sato's team of corrupt doctors had faked their deaths, using fabricated mental illnesses as a cover for their "decline." One by one, they were marked as deceased, their medical records doctored to remove suspicion. Their organs were harvested, sold on the black market, and their bodies discreetly disposed of like garbage.

And at the bottom of each profile—cold, clinical, and damning—was a final price. The total amount each body had been worth.

His grip tightened on the folder. This wasn't just a side hustle. This was the asylum's lifeblood. The money made from these transactions didn't just line Sato's pockets—it funded Prestige's continued expansion. Every new wing, every upgraded facility, every added layer of so-called security only made the place more untouchable, burying its corruption deeper beneath a facade of legitimacy.

This was how the Chairman had managed to build a kingdom on filth and blood. By monetising both the living and the dead. By making sure that even his customers—his supposed "guests"—were nothing more than assets waiting to be cashed in.

The Enforcer exhaled sharply, shoving the file back into place. This was it. This was everything they needed. "Time to report back," he said, turning to Yeosang.

His brother grinned, already moving toward the passage. "Hongjoong hyung's gonna have a field day with this."

Yunho glanced back at the bloodstained room one last time, his jaw tightening. Sato had built this empire on greed, corruption, and death. And now, they were going to tear it all down.

But before that, there was something else he needed to do. He had told the Phantom to head back first. It was reckless to linger after the stunt they had just pulled—if security caught wind of what happened before he was off the compound, everything could come crashing down on him. But he had to do this first.

Slipping back into Sato's office with practised stealth, he made sure to reseal the hidden passage before heading straight for the drawer. His fingers found the photos instantly. A picture of you with your parents. Another of Dr Ivanov with his family.

Yeosang had called it a stupid risk, but Yunho didn't care. Something in him refused to let Ryoichi Sato keep these. He hated the idea of that bastard having something so personal, so intimate, tucked away in his possession.

This was for you.

For the sake of his own heart.

Tucking the photos neatly into his pocket, he slipped out through a side window, moving like a shadow as he made his way toward your office. He knew you weren't there, but maybe he'd leave behind a little surprise for you to find in the morning.

Only, he didn't expect to hear his name whispered from behind.

"Yunho?"

He spun around instantly, eyes locking onto your figure. You stood there in casual clothes, a stark contrast to the formal attire he was so used to seeing you in. Why were you still up? Could you not sleep? You cradled a steaming mug in your hands—coffee, he presumed—but it was the expression on your face that caught him off guard.

Shock. Then alarm.

Your feet moved before your mind could catch up. You grabbed his arm, your grip firm, urgent. "What the hell are you doing here at this time of night, you idiot?" you whisper-yelled.

He grinned sheepishly and pulled the photos from his pocket, holding them up. "Came to return these to you."

Your heart clenched. He had risked everything to retrieve them.

Before you could even begin to process the implications, the thunder of footsteps echoed down the hall. The voices of guards grew louder—searching, calling out about an intruder.

Your pulse spiked. Without a second thought, you grabbed the man and yanked him inside your office, slamming the door shut behind you just as your better judgement screamed at you for doing so. "Fuck," you cursed under your breath, your mind racing.

He was already scanning the room, searching for an escape, but there was none. The only window was too small, useless.

"In there!" a guard shouted just outside.

Panic clawed at your chest.

No time.

Without hesitation, you cupped Yunho's face. His breath hitched, his body tensing at the sudden contact. Wide, startled eyes locked onto yours. If not for the urgency of the situation, you might have laughed at how adorably caught off guard he looked.

"Kiss me," you whispered.

For a split second, the world seemed to pause. Then, he understood.

His arms wrapped around your waist just as you crashed your lips against his, your heart hammering—not just from the approaching guards but from the way he responded so instantly, so intensely. He kissed you back without hesitation.

There was no time to register that this—this was your first kiss together. No time to process the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the way his lips moved with such desperation, as if he had been waiting for this moment longer than he cared to admit.

Instinctively, he spun you around, positioning his body between you and the door just as it burst open.

"You—M-Mr. Lee? What are you still doing here?" the head guard stammered, his eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets.

The man had spent the past few months working closely with Yunho, trusting him as their security consultant. And yet, here he was—lips swollen, hair tousled, in a very compromising position with the deputy head psychologist.

You fisted the gang member's shirt as if grounding yourself before snapping, "What do you think he's doing here? You're a man too, can't you see we're busy? What's with all the ruckus anyway?"

Yunho played along perfectly, smirking against your temple before turning to the guard. "Sorry, man," he said smoothly, voice dripping with amusement. "I know this isn't exactly professional, but I promise, it's all consensual. No harm done."

The head guard's face burned at the sight of your smudged lipstick on the man's lips. He paled as realisation hit him like a freight train. He had just walked in on the security consultant and the deputy head psychologist.

"M-My apologies," he stuttered, visibly flustered. He shifted awkwardly, clearly unwilling to explain the real reason for the intrusion—because to do so would mean exposing their own illegal operations. "There's just… been a break-in. We're on the lookout for an intruder. You were right, sir. We do have room for improvement still. I uhh... we can discuss that another time. P-Please continue."

With that, he hastily backed out and shut the door behind him.

Silence fell between you and the Enforcer. Your hands were still pressed against his chest, your lips still tingling from the kiss. And that was when it truly hit you.

That was your first kiss.

Your breath caught in your throat as you hesitantly lifted your gaze to meet Yunho's. His dark eyes studied you, unreadable, but his fingers still lingered on your waist, as if he wasn't quite ready to let go.

Then, a slow smirk curled at the corner of his lips. "Well," he murmured, voice teasing, yet there was something deeper beneath it—something softer. "That was one hell of a cover-up."

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"Ahh, Stefano… how long has it been since you started working with us?" the Chairman of Prestige Asylum mused, his voice smooth as he poured whiskey into two glasses—one for himself and one for the man seated across from him.

The Enforcer leaned back comfortably, one leg crossed over the other, exuding confidence as he flashed an easy grin. "I don't know, Chairman. You tell me. Long enough for you to give me a sizable tip, I hope."

His tone was casual, his expression unreadable, but beneath the mask, he was burning with barely contained disgust. To think this man had once held power, had once been an official of the law. Now, he sat here like a king, oblivious to the empire he was about to lose. If only the world knew the true depth of his depravity.

But Yunho had one final act to play.

The evidence was secured. The truth was waiting to be unveiled. He and Yeosang had delivered everything the night before—a crucial victory after months of deception and danger. But the fight wasn't over. Not until Sato was finished.

And now, as expected, he had been summoned. He knew why.

The break-in.

Yunho wouldn't be surprised if Sato was suspicious of him. After all, his sudden appearance at the compound the night before—coincidentally during the very time the security was breached—was too convenient. Even if he had been "found" in a compromising position with you, the timing was still too perfect.

Or perhaps the Chairman simply needed his expertise. As their trusted security consultant, it was his job to assess their weaknesses—and last night had proven their defences weren't as airtight as they thought. Either way, he was prepared for this.

His brothers were on standby, waiting for his signal. He had assured them he could handle this alone, though San had been tasked with lingering nearby—mostly to keep an eye on you. You were a valuable ally, he had told them. He had promised to repay you with freedom, he had explained. But everyone knew what you truly were to him.

You weren't just a mission to him anymore. You had become something more. Something he didn't even bother denying now.

You had never been a liability, not to him and not to the Black Pirates. And for that, they had accepted you—just as they recently had Seonghwa's new companion, a woman who had proven worthy of a place among them. Perhaps even something more to the eldest than anyone dared to say aloud. But it didn't matter. She had survived hell and clawed her way out, and now, under the Gentleman's guidance, she was becoming something formidable.

Even Mingi had let go of his initial resistance after learning of the horrors she had endured at the Red Room.

Yunho could only hope for the same outcome for himself. For you.

Did you know?

Did you realise you had become his greatest motivation?

He had left you the night before, the photos finally back where they belonged—in your hands. He had watched you stroke your parents' faces through the worn paper, tears welling in your eyes. And before he could stop himself, he had leaned down, pressing a firm kiss to your cheek. Your sharp gasp had made him smirk.

As your head snapped up to meet his gaze, he had only said, "You'll see them again soon. Don't worry." His tone had been light, but the promise was real. And when you had pushed him playfully by the chest, a soft smile breaking through your sadness, he had known.

"I believe you," you had murmured.

And then he was gone.

Now, here he was, sitting across from the man who had orchestrated so much suffering. The moment he had been waiting for. The moment it would all come to an end.

"A tip, you say?"

Sato chuckled, placing the whiskey glass in front of Yunho before taking a slow sip of his own. He didn't sit. Instead, he prowled around the room, his gaze sharp as he studied the younger man. "Not sure you deserve one after messing around with my deputy head psychologist," he mused, his voice light, but his stare calculating.

He leaned down slightly as if to intimidate, but Yunho only smirked, unfazed. He swirled the drink in his hand, meeting the bastard's gaze with a bold glint of amusement.

"Oh, come on, Chairman. A little conflict of interest won't hurt, will it?" he drawled, his tone dripping with mockery. "I'll make sure to take our late-night activities elsewhere next time, hm?" He smirked, watching Sato's lip curl at the deliberate provocation. "Besides, don't we have bigger problems to deal with? Like the break-in?"

Sato's eyes darkened for a split second before he exhaled slowly, strolling back to his chair. "I suppose… as long as my staff remains loyal to me, it doesn't matter who she sleeps with in her free time." His fingers tapped against the desk rhythmically before he fixed Yunho with a pointed look. "So, tell me, what more can we do to prevent such situations from happening again?"

The Enforcer hummed, pretending to think as he glanced down at the swirling amber liquid in his glass. "I do have some ideas," he mused. "But there's just one thing I don't get."

Sato tilted his head. "And what's that?"

Yunho lifted his gaze, his expression carefully blank. "Why someone would risk everything to break into your office. I mean… it's not like you keep money or valuables in there. What could possibly be worth infiltrating such a high-security place?" His tone was innocent, but the gleam in his eyes betrayed the true weight behind his words.

For the first time, the Chairman's fingers twitched. A sharp exhale. A slow lift of his chin. And then—

"Why don't you tell me that, Enforcer of the Black Pirates?"

Silence.

The gang member's expression didn't change, but his grip on the whiskey glass tightened slightly. He looked up at the bastard, his face blank, but inside, he felt the shift in the game.

Sato grinned triumphantly. "Had fun running around with your little friend last night?" he taunted. "Enjoyed what you found? I sure hope your Captain did."

Yunho said nothing.

"Go ahead," Sato continued smoothly, pouring himself another drink. "Enjoy your little victory while you still can. Because before you even think about doing anything heroic—or shall I say foolish—know this." He leaned in, his voice dropping lower. "I have allies everywhere, inside and outside this compound. You're outnumbered."

The taller man nodded slowly, sighing as if in reluctant defeat. "You might be right…"

Sato smirked.

"But," Yunho continued, setting his glass down with a soft clink, "do your 'friends' know what you've really been up to behind the scenes?"

The room tensed.

Sato's expression flickered for just a second.

Yunho leaned forward, his voice soft but lethal. "Would they still protect you if they found out that this so-called 'sanctuary' you've built is nothing but a slaughterhouse? That you've been trapping them, bleeding them dry, taking their money while secretly preparing to harvest their organs like cattle?"

The silence was deafening.

The Chairman stared at him. Then, he burst into laughter. A slow, condescending chuckle that grew into something darker. He downed his whiskey before shaking his head.

"Like you said, Stefano. That's if they knew." He leaned back, exuding confidence once more. "But they don't. And what they don't know can't hurt them." He shrugged. "If anything, they should be grateful I'm putting their otherwise worthless lives to good use. Had it not been for me, they'd be rotting away in prison or dying in the streets. Here, they serve a higher purpose." His lips curled. "Think of it as Prestige's way of cleansing the filth of the underworld."

Yunho scoffed. "Cleansing? That's a pretty word for butchering people alive for profit."

Sato tilted his head. "Call it what you want. No one will believe you. You and your crew? You're the criminals here. Any 'evidence' you claim to have? It can be dismissed as fabrication."

The younger man chuckled, shaking his head. "You sound awfully defensive for someone who isn't worried." Ryoichi Sato's smirk twitched. Yunho leaned back. "It's almost like… you're afraid someone might believe me."

The Chairman intertwined his fingers, exhaling as if growing tired of the conversation. "You're a smart man, Jung. The Black Pirates are one of the top dogs in this world. What good does it do either of us to tear each other down when we could be working together?"

Yunho raised a brow. "And do what? Harvest organs?" He scoffed. "Sorry, not exactly our kind of business."

Sato waved a hand dismissively. "Offer us protection. In return, we'll be generous in our repayment."

Yunho tilted his head. "And if I say no?"

Sato sighed dramatically. Then, he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a file.

A familiar file.

Your staff profile.

He placed it down on the desk, tapping it lightly. "Then you leave me with no choice." He lifted his gaze, his voice soft but sharp as a blade. "Your precious little girlfriend will have to suffer in your stead."

The air in the room changed. For the first time, Yunho's smirk disappeared. He straightened in his seat, his jaw locking. "You won't be able to touch her," he muttered, his voice dangerously low. "She's under our protection."

The Chairman only smiled. "Oh, I know. But I don't have to touch her." He tapped the file again. "She isn't the problem. It's them."

Yunho stilled.

Sato's grin widened. "Her parents, Jung. You see, they may be alive, but they aren't exactly safe. And if I wanted to, I could change that in an instant. The question is… how will she feel when she finds out you were the reason she lost them? Will she still look at you the same? Will she still hold that soft spot for you?" He chuckled. "I wonder…"

The Enforcer's vision blurred red.

With a sharp inhale, he shot up from his seat, grabbing the bastard by the collar and yanking him forward. The Chairman only laughed, his eyes gleaming with twisted amusement.

"So, what do you say, Jung?" he whispered. "Come on. It's a win-win situation. You, your brothers, your girl—all safe. Isn't that great?"

Yunho's fingers clenched tighter. His heart pounded. For the first time since he started this mission—since he took on this dangerous role since he infiltrated this godforsaken place—he felt the stakes in a way he hadn't before. Because now, it wasn't just about taking down Ryoichi Sato and Prestige. It was about you.

ـــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

"Well, Stefano? What do you say?"

Sato smirked, thinking he had Yunho trapped. That the weight of his threats—the looming danger over your parents' heads—would be enough to force the Black Pirates' Enforcer into submission.

But Yunho?

He had never been one to kneel.

"How about no?"

The Chairman's expression twisted, his nostrils flaring as he clenched his fists. "No? You'll regret this."

Yunho tilted his head, then let out the laugh he had been holding back for far too long. He bit his lip, shaking his head in amusement before casually dusting off his hands. Then, in a deliberate, lazy motion, he slipped them into his pockets, as if he had all the time in the world.

"Oh, Chairman," he drawled, his tone dripping with mockery. "I don't know about that. But I would like to thank you—for being so transparent with me. It's been an absolute pleasure."

The bastard's brows furrowed, suspicion flashing in his eyes. "What the hell are you—"

Then he noticed it.

Yunho lifted his chin slightly, nodding toward the shelf behind the Chairman. Sato instinctively followed his gaze—

And his heart stopped.

There it was. The broadcasting device.

The one usually kept in the administration office. The one used to make announcements throughout the entire asylum. The one that, somehow, was now here—in his office.

And worse? The light was on.

Every fibre of his being locked up as realisation slammed into him like a freight train. His pupils dilated. His breath caught.

"Fuck."

Yunho smirked. "Oh. So you do get it."

Sato shot up from his chair so fast that it scraped against the floor with a sharp screech. He lunged for the device—

But Yunho was faster.

The Enforcer was already moving, catching the Chairman's wrist mid-air and twisting it with just enough force to make Sato stumble. "Uh-uh," Yunho tsked, shaking his head as he tightened his grip. "Too late, old man."

From beyond the office walls—

Chaos. Shouting. Screaming. The once-calm halls of Prestige were now filled with the furious voices of the criminals who had, just minutes ago, thought they were safe.

And then—

BANG!

A gunshot.

Sato flinched, his head whipping toward the door. The unmistakable crack of shattering glass followed—a riot breaking loose.

"What the fuck have you done?!" Sato roared, his face contorting in fury as he struggled against Yunho's hold. "Do you have any idea what you've just done?!"

Yunho grinned. "Oh, I do. And man, it's even better than I imagined."

The Chairman thrashed in his grip, his entire body trembling with rage. "You bastard—"

"Me?" Yunho scoffed, yanking him back. "I'm not the one who just confessed to butchering his own people on a live fucking broadcast."

Another gunshot. More screaming.

Yunho's expression didn't falter.

Sato, on the other hand—

His face drained of colour.

"You said it yourself," Yunho continued, voice smooth as velvet. "What they don't know won't hurt them." He leaned in, his breath brushing against the older man's ear. "But now they know."

Sato's breath came out ragged. He could feel it now—the weight of all those people turning against him. The same criminals who had once worshipped Prestige, who had paid millions to find sanctuary within its walls, were now out for his blood.

All because of one mistake.

One miscalculation.

His trust in the wrong man.

Yunho finally released him with a rough shove, and Sato staggered back, gripping the edge of his desk for support. His hands shook. His mind raced.

No.

No, this couldn't be happening.

"YOU!" he bellowed, reaching for the gun tucked beneath his desk. But before he could even touch it, Yunho's fist slammed into his face. Sato's head snapped to the side, blood splattering across the desk as he crashed onto the floor, groaning in pain.

Yunho shook out his hand, exhaling. "Ahh..." He flexed his fingers. "Been wanting to do that for so long."

Sato coughed, wiping the blood from his split lip as he glared up at him. "You—"

Before he could finish, a loud boom echoed from outside. The door. Someone—no, several people—were trying to break it down. Sato's breath hitched. "No, no, no—" He scrambled up, only for Yunho to kick him back down with a boot to the chest. "Where do you think you're going, Chairman?"

Sato wheezed. "You don't understand!" His voice was different now—higher, desperate. "You think those animals out there will listen to you?! You need me alive! I'm the only one who can control them!"

Yunho's expression darkened.

"Control them?" He crouched down, gripping Sato's chin in an iron hold. "You mean like cattle? Like livestock?"

Sato swallowed hard.

"You're done, old man," Yunho whispered, voice laced with ice. "And there's nothing you can do to change that now."

Another boom. The door was breaking.

The Chairman panicked. His hands shot out, grabbing onto Yunho's jacket like a drowning man grasping for air. "We can make a deal! I can still—" The office doors burst open. A flood of people—Prestige's betrayed criminals—poured in, weapons drawn, faces twisted in rage.

Sato froze. His heart plummeted as the dozens of eyes locked onto him. Murderous. Hungry. Enraged.

"There he is!" someone snarled.

"You lying piece of shit!"

"You were gonna kill us all?!"

Sato's mouth opened, but this time, there was no audience to listen. No prestige. No power. No escape.

And Yunho?

He simply stepped back, slipping his hands into his pockets once more as he glanced toward the entrance.

There, leaning casually against the doorframe—San. The Tempest smirked, twirling a knife between his fingers. "Told ya," he drawled. "He'd be real popular soon."

Yunho chuckled, looking down at Sato one last time. "Have fun, Chairman." And with that, he turned on his heel—leaving the bastard to the very people he once controlled.

ـــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

"Flowers for you, Doctor."

You blinked up from your desk, momentarily distracted from the paperwork stacked before you as your nurse placed a bouquet of bright yellow daffodils in front of you.

A soft breath of surprise left your lips as you sat up, fingertips brushing against the delicate petals. "Who are they from?"

The nurse grinned, leaning in to nudge your shoulder playfully. "Who else? Your mysterious man who drops by once in a while."

Your face grew warm, lips parting in mild protest, but before you could say anything, she winked and poked her tongue out teasingly before slipping out of the office.

With a quiet chuckle, you reached for the small white card nestled within the flowers. The scent of fresh blooms filled your senses as you carefully pulled it free, unfolding the note. The words were written in smooth, precise strokes.

"Congratulations on your new position, doc. A real one this time. I knew you'd make it. - your favourite, JYH"

You bit your lip, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Jung Yunho.

The enigma. The storm that had crashed into your life and, against all odds, saved you. You still weren't sure what exactly you were to him. Neither of you had ever defined it. Perhaps it was better that way. Perhaps he knew better than to drag you into his world, a world far too dark and dangerous for someone like you.

But even if there was nothing more, even if he could never offer you what a normal man could, it was enough. It was enough knowing that he was there. That if you ever needed him, if the shadows of the past ever came creeping back, he would come.

You exhaled softly, standing from your chair to retrieve a vase. As you filled it with water, arranging the daffodils with care, memories of that day—the day Prestige Asylum fell—flooded your mind.

The chaos. The gunfire. The shouts of fury and desperation.

And then him.

Walking towards you through the aftermath like something out of a dream—bloodied knuckles, dirt-streaked skin, and yet—looking every bit like Prince Charming.

"You're free now."

You remembered how his voice had sounded—low, rough with exhaustion, but so sincere as he pulled you into his arms. How his warmth had seeped into you, grounding you, as you clung to him.

How, in that moment, you had believed him.

And you still did.

Because despite the scars Prestige had left, despite the nightmares that still lingered in the corners of your mind, you were free. It had taken time, but you had built something new. You had found a place where you belonged, a purpose that was truly yours.

And he—

He had let you go. Because he had always known you deserved better. But before he left, before he vanished back into the world that had shaped him, he had left you one last thing. A number. A lifeline, tucked into your pocket as he had whispered, "In case you ever need me."

You had never used it.

Not yet.

But as you set the vase on your desk, watching the golden petals sway gently in the light, you found comfort in knowing that, no matter how far he was, he was always within reach.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

ـــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

The dim glow of the desk lamp flickered against the polished mahogany surface, casting elongated shadows across the lavish office. Papers lay scattered in organised chaos, but at the centre of it all was a single, closed file.

The man behind the desk tapped his fingers idly against its surface, his lips curling into a slow, knowing grin.

"Huh," he mused, almost amused. "Yet another empire taken down by the Black Pirates." He flipped the file open again, skimming over the details—the chaos at Prestige, the dramatic reveal, Chairman Ryoichi Sato's downfall.

And at the heart of it all—the Enforcer.

A man as dangerous as he was loyal.

"And yet another weakness secured," the figure murmured, leaning back in his chair. His eyes gleamed with something dark, something hungry. "This is getting a little too easy."

Across from him, his subordinate hesitated before stepping forward, a new file in hand. He swallowed, choosing his words carefully.

"Perhaps, sir," he admitted, carefully placing the next folder on the desk. "But… the Phantom seems to be the only one yet to have any weak spots."

The figure stilled. Then, slowly, he reached for the file, fingers tracing the embossed name on its cover. A spark of intrigue flickered in his gaze as he flipped it open, scanning the neatly compiled information on the most elusive member of the gang.

The corners of his lips twitched. "Does he really not?" he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

Silence.

Then, a dark chuckle.

"Why don't we present him with one?"

Y'all, I'm so sorry this chapter took me like a thousand years! Aside from the fact that work has been crazy, my perfectionism played another huge role in the delay. I'm still not completely pleased with this, but I'm hoping you lovelies would like it more than I did.

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

I'm going to have a select few people who are mutuals of mine and people I follow as well as people who follow me, we're going to be a little bit pissed at this sentiment but it bares noting.

I think that we have created a culture where we allow children to become degenerates. I should not be able to get online onto multi player video games, or on discord in servers that I am in, where people from the ages of 12 to 17 are literally using BDSM language referring to themselves as "therians" or "other kin", while somehow also being trans. Somehow.

I've said this once I will say this a dozen and a half times. The modern concept idea behind what it means to be trans is royally fucked up. And we have normalized the concept idea of "gender dysphoric trans people", So widely in fact that it is now considered taboo to get yourself mentally checked by a psychologist who isn't just going to affirm you. What's even wilder is that there are people out there who are basically saying that we should destigmatize all forms of mental illness because there's nothing wrong with people who have them.

Which is absolutely terrible, because all it actually does is deify mental illness. Which we've done a great job of promoting over the past 15 plus years. And I hate it. Because there are individuals who if they just got their hormone levels checked probably wouldn't be gender dysphoric anymore. If we got away from letting kids have unfettered online access, we'd have significantly less gender dysphoric people. We need to round culture back off a little bit, where it's fine for people who have mental health problems to be medically checked and psychologically evaluated. Because unfortunately when you don't, you end up with this:

And while a few of the individuals I follow that happen to be trans might disagree with my sentiment, it's probably because you're looking at this from a standpoint of identity rather than from a standpoint of mental health. Because I have seen several people online and talk to a few who expressed gender dysphoria in their lives until they got their hormone levels checked. Only to find out that their hormone levels were exceptionally out of balance and started working to get that fixed.

And once they did that fixed them right up. And then I'm going to get the obstinate individuals who get angry saying that there's nothing wrong with trans people. And that's not what I'm saying. Because this is unfortunately not a discussion that is easy to have because people get all up in their own feelings about it. But if a person believes themselves to be trans and there is something chemically wrong in their brain. Or their body is not properly producing the amount of natural hormones for their body, it's bound to cause issues. And transitioning those people will not help them. Unfortunately under modern norms, the express process seems to be medical and surgical transition immediately.

And if I had to take a gander at why depression is so stark in trans people, is likely because many of them aren't trans and their real issues aren't being addressed. They're just being given a new "thing" to deal with. One that is they go through with could kill them. Or make them kill themselves. I mean zero harm with this post. But I'll be ignored very likely by those who get up in their own feelings about the topic. *Shrugs* think I'm hateful of you want. But I'm sick of seeing article after article of people getting caught transitioning kids after minimal if any therapy whatsoever (and is it is minimal it's affirming), only to rush them through the process of getting transitioned. And then being told it's not happening.

My question that becomes how many people have to fall through their cracks before you consider it a problem. How many hospitals have to be exposed transitioning children with little to no mental evaluations whatsoever, and often no physical evaluations, only to have their growth stunted and often end up aging significantly faster with a litany of problems ranging from lack of bone density entirely, to stuff like osteoporosis. Or heart problems.

I swear to God, if I have to say the phrase "children can't consent", one more time I'mma going to lose my shit.

[nymph-ette111]

pls write Simon henriksson headcanons I’m gnawing at the walls of my enclosure 👩‍🦲

WARNINGS; SUBSTANCE ABUSE (SMOKING/DRUGS) MENTIONS OF MENTAL ILLNESS (DEPRESSION/ANXIETY) MENTIONS OF INTERNALIZED MISOGYNY, UNHEALTHY COPING MECHANISMS (SELF-HARM)

AUTHOR'S NOTE; FIRST CRY OF FEAR REQUEST LET'S FUCKING GOOOO !1!1!1!1!1!!1!! kind of short, still new to the fandom so my headcanons of the characters might change overtime.

-it was confirmed that Simon is a fan of heavy metal and DSBM :3 personally I am not an avid listener of this genre, I think it's pretty cool. I'd like to headcanon specific bands that I think are suiting for Simon but I barely know anything so I don't really have a say on this.

-probably has some sort of internalized misogyny. he grew up all alone, his mother being quite overprotective didn't help with that at all and seeing no mentions of his father in the game makes me think his parents were divorced quite early in Simon's life. being exposed to such settings at a young age might have messed with his perception of love and healthy romantic relationships. despite that, he doesn't care much about gender norms now that he's older. left that mindset long ago.

-picked up on his coping mechanisms in his early teens. he was a bit scared at first of trying something like self-harm, it took him him a lot of time and internal conflict but then decided to just fuck it, he had nothing to lose. felt guilty at first, dropped it for a bit and then picked up on it again. he knows it isn't a healthy way to deal and cope with his negative thoughts but he couldn't care less at that point.

-isn't unfamiliar with drugs but not that crazy about it. not as much as cigarettes, although he does it occasionally, he could still smoke like a pack in one sitting if the situation really called for it. usually just sticks to 2-3 cigs, thinks it's a good enough amount.

^ can you tell I have no idea what I'm talking about.

-you'll never get that crusty ass grey hoodie of his off of him. it's like a cartoon where the character's never change outfit throughout the entire show. besides the fact that it's a literal video game, even in his daily life he almost never switches things up. not necessarily dirty, just worn out and stained with stuff that doesn't want to come off no matter how many times he washes it.

-has a mini fridge full of energy drinks in his room. and by full I mean like two cans because the rest have been consumed and thrown somewhere onto the ground.

-cannot save money for the life of him. as soon as he gets his hands on some cash, it's immediately spent on either a pack of cigarettes or some useless shit. he doesn't even remember what he spends it on, it's just gone.

-hadn't picked up his camera in quite a while, he's slowly loosing grip on his interests. not necessarily because he is starting to dislike them, just doesn't have the motivation.

-but it's usually full of recordings of him on the train, lonely streets of Stockholm or some stray cat that has grown a liking to Simon for some odd reason.

-one time Sophie took his camera without telling him and recorded a small video of herself, just doing something simple like a peace sign or showing off a little doodle she drew in her notebook. despite trying his best to move on, he watches that video from time to time.

[charrfie]

no offence but the fact that normies found clinical trial is my 13th reason

Please forgive me anonymous, your use of the word "normies" made me giggle quite a bit..... but rest assured I understand your sentiment and I most definitely agree with it (even if I wish you had been a little nicer about it, lol). I have a lot of issues with the way clinical trial has been approached by a vast majority of fans, honestly. It's hard to know what to start with even. But I do feel that at least part of the reason people have had such a hard time understanding the source material is due to popular creators covering the game and exposing it to a general audience that otherwise would not engage with the game. Not to say I find said creators themselves at fault for this, since it's partly the reason I discovered it as well. It is a double edged sword, for sure. And there are a lot of people who DO understand it! Excellently, at that! This just sometimes seems difficult to appreciate if you- like me- check the tags every morning/night like the newspaper and come across multiple posts in a row either misinterpreting characters personalities, intentions, or.... you know. A million other things. Expected for a game with layers of nuance intertwined with each story beat, but still. For those that do understand, I appreciate you haha

One thing that I believe a lot of people don't understand when analyzing the game is that..... it's not exactly meant to be. Pretty? I guess? And that's part of the reason I connected with it as much as I did. In a majority of the media I've come across in my lifetime that has to do with people who aren't "good" at being people (for lack of a better term), never have I seen something so shamelessly depict the way isolation and mental illness make an impact on every single little aspect of someone's life. There is no self-censoring, no cushioning of the blows, nothing. And its fucking genius!!!!!!! I have seen so many arguments about angel's reactions to certain things being outlandishly stupid, lee's actions making him undeserving of his true ending's fate, etc, but I couldn't disagree more!!!!!!! People are weird. Weirder, when they are lonely and often taken advantage of. And that is SUCH a core part of what clinical trial is all about. The game makes you sit down and swallow the fact that lee is not an innately evil person without feeling the need to make his actions more palatable. Without making angel need to excuse it. Clinical trial has such respect for both parties and their feelings/experiences/autonomy, while not needing to say "this is bad" or "this is good" about anything. And especially when handling such a delicate topic. It's fucking genius. And I could talk about it for forever. But before engaging at all with ct, people HAVE to acknowledge this shit. That maybe good people can do bad, bad things, and that maybe "good" and "bad" aren't concepts applicable at all sometimes. Maybe sometimes, people are just people.

This sums up my thoughts on the general game here well enough for now (especially given how short of an ask it was haha), but before I conclude this post I do have to speak on how much the common perception of angel's identity bothers me. Especially considering how much of a core element of the story it is; I would be remiss not to bring it up at least once. Please note that I very intentionally use the word "identity" here rather than "gender" because that's only a singular element of who they are as a character. I'm talking about everything: their identity as someone that's mentally ill, as someone who's physically ill, as someone nonhuman, and as a nonbinary individual. Even still, I leave certain facets of their identity out that I can't possibly cover in the scope of this ask right now!!!! But bear with me in what I do feel equipped to talk ahout currently.

It is- without hyperbole- IMPOSSIBLE to understand angel without taking into account all the external and internal factors impacting who they are, what they think, and what decisions they make. IMPOSSIBLE. You, the person reading this right now, are an individual with YEARS AND YEARS of experiences, memories, and interests. The way your brain works, how you label (or don't label) yourself, how you think and do things, how you even talk... ALL of this is a culmination of the people you have known and the experiences you've lived through. That is a beautiful thing. A gift. Would it not be ridiculous of someone to claim that all of that is entirely irrelevant in the way you live your life? You might think that asking you to understand everything intricacy of a character before engaging with the material they're from is asking too much, but I disagree!! Clinical trial is about complicated people and complicated relationships that have been molded by their surroundings. I do not feel that asking that be acknowledged is a bad thing. Do your reading homework to prepare for the quiz, essentially.

All this is to say that I wish- just once- people would consider why angel chooses to act the way they do. I wish I could see even one piece of art of angel having to get up slowly from seated positions or wearing compression stockings all the time lest their orthostatic hypotension gets the best of them. I wish the shit that messed with their every action in the game had more of an impact in the fan media I see. I wish people might stop addressing them as human at all, because when angel says that they feel inner peace thinking of existing as an animal, that's not symbolism, that's not metaphor, that's truth. I wish every other post I see of them wouldn't address them as a girl or a boy. I wish nonbinary people stopped getting fucking erased. I get wanting to project. I get wanting to see yourself reflected in fiction. Trans representation is much more rare than cis rep, but I promise you there are infinitely more binary/binary-leaning trans characters for you to project onto than the things that I and others have. I wish people would GET who angel was before bothering to have anything to say about them.

I think angel and lee are some of the most authentic and transparent real life people I have ever seen in fiction. It is a crime they are difficult to be recognized as that.

I fear that I sound sort of pretentious talking about the game in such a manner as this but....... alas. I am allowed to be a little bit pretentious about media that speaks to me on such a level, I suppose. Please don't think I mean to diminish the efforts of those who DO get it. All of your work is fantastic. At the end of the day, this is just the internet. You are allowed to have fun on it. I am in no position to stop you. I even hope that you might find the joy you seek in doing so! But if I might ask you to consider the story and characters with a bit more depth.... I would very much appreciate the effort :^]

I hope that for both your sake and mine, anonymous, that people will start engaging with clinical trial in a better, more earnest way soon! Thank you for your ask~ peace and love

[fridgrave2-0]

We share so many headcanons for Felix and Turbo that it's actually so exciting to see someone who shares a perspective very similar to mine on their characters! I feel like Turbo while dating Felix was less grumpy and sad as a lot of people interpret him :[ like he's not a perfect person ever and he has a million flaws but he also lived as king candy for a while. He's gonna be a little silly, I think. In fact, I think he'd only get that way (mostly) bc of Felix. Like Felix saw this mentally ill guy and went, "I can make him WORSE!" And then justified it to everyone as "I don't know what happened he just went insane!" for almost 30 years. I'd bet half my money that he even coined the term "going Turbo"

YES, EXACTLY, THIS!!!!

let the guy feel happy and silly in a company of someone who's "safe". turbo cannot allow to change others' perception of him by acting out of the line (aka his constant "I'm the best" bravado), but with felix he can relax a little and have a moment of peace when he doesn't have to put on a façade so much. but in the end, the only time he didn't wear a mask was when he was all alone after roadblasters, and being apart from felix was exactly what set him free

felix can't understand anyone else's problems until he goes through something similar and it gets shoved in his face, and even tho he liked turbo a lot back in the day, he was ignorant to things what were troubling turbo. his need of attention and appreciation wasn't normal, and there's only two options: felix supported it to the point when it got out of control, or he was dismissing turbo's concerns and frustrations. I don't see turbo as someone who understands his own emotions, and felix isn't a guy who would help him and guide him into healthier ways of seeking attention because felix himself is just immature and doesn't look outside of his bubble. if he feels good and happy and that his life is fulfilled, that means everyone else like turbo or ralph or else feel that way too. "you have your game, you are a main character, you earn your rewards. what else do you need?" felix would say, genuinely not understanding how neglectful he is. and turbo, disdained by everyone but felix, cannot explain why it's so important, or give a sign how damaging it is to his self-perception and self-esteem. turbo is already shaped into someone who keeps everything to himself, and seeing that felix doesn't want and won't understand him just makes every negative emotion and every concern accumulate in him, rot and poison him until it's too late

I'm sure turbo seeked for an advise when roadblasters were plugged in, but, as always, he was treated with "you're worrying too much. it's gonna be fine. just calm down. no one is trying to take your place". the same exact place by felix's side turbo doesn't feel he belongs to anymore. the same place for which he stepped over himself to open up, made a crack in a safe shell and was met with ignorance. is this what he tried to bent himself for, to be a different person for someone who just isn't willing to understand? to expose his back to others who are waiting for him to fall?

turbo felt rejected. he was rejected. by players and by the person he trusted most. and then he lost control, let the emotions boil out. and then the games were unplugged, his rivals and his home. he felt the invisible strings tearing up, ripping pieces of him out and living a hole that cannot be filled anymore. his connection to his game, his code, his life and soul

he crawled back to the one he also called home, damaged by another crash, the damage that won't heal anymore, because his game was gone. he crawled to felix, hiding from everyone's sight, scared of seeing nothing but "we knew it would happen" in their eyes. he didn't want to prove their expectations to be right. but when he noticed felix through the cracks in the tunnels under gcs, this was exactly what he saw

"he was so jealous. he was crazy... i should've seen it coming", felix said with a glimpse of regret on his face, too small to show the loss he should've feel. instead, there was it. the disappointment — and nothing else for the long ten years of hiding. his name turned into a common noun, a scary story, a legend he never wanted to be. but still, thanks to felix and his fantasies, his inability too see further than his exes' fake façade, turbo did actually become

a legend

[lovelytsunoda]

love is a losing game | Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Part II - All These Things That I've Done

Summary: While Jessica struggles to adapt to motherhood, Jake and Bradley dig their hole deeper as they discover that a homicide reopening exposes them to the risk of jail time. After all, murder was never supposed to be part of the plan.

Content Warnings: Post-pregnancy mental illness, violence & gore, say what you want about this version of Jake but at least he's a good father and husband. The police corruption is strong in this one. So many references to Bosch that if you've at least seen the first season, it will make your head spin. Flashbacks are in italics.

Authors Notes: I DO NOT CONDONE JAKE AND BRADLEYS ACTIONS but I’m a sucker for the FICTIONAL good men doing bad things to protect their families trope

Series Masterlist

Jake took a shaky breath as he parked his silver Dodge Charger behind Jessie’s sleek Jetta GLI. He tried not to look at the blood on his hands, as if the errands he had run beforehand erased the gravity of what he and Bradley Bradshaw had done. His knuckles still stung with the memory of the doctor he had beat up. A doctor. Someone who saved lives, who's work meant something.

And Jake and Bradley were bleeding him dry. Bradley had set him up with two prostitutes he had in his back pocket, filming the whole thing and using it as a tool for extortion. Jake was just the hired gun.

He was quiet as he entered the house, acutely aware of how light a sleeper his newborn daughter and wife were. The keys to his car fell limply out of his hand, landing in the ceramic Mexican dish on the sideboard. He kicked off his cowboy boots, dropping the shopping bag on the floor before he headed to the bathroom and held his hands under the scalding water. The water ran red, taking the flaky dried blood with it down the drain.

Jake softened as he stepped into the master bedroom, heart filled with something positive, something warm, as soon as he saw Jessica curled up in their queen bed. Everything bad he had ever done, he had done for her. In the walk in closet, he locked his service weapon in the dun safe before fumbling into a pair of flannel pants and an old Nickelback shirt in the dark, doing his best not to disturb Jessie.

The baby monitor sat on Jessie’s side of the bed, and when Jake came out of the walk-in, he heard it come alive, hearing his newborn’s soft cries coming through the static. Jessie stirred in bed, groaning as she reached for the monitor. He rushed to her side, soothing her back to bed.

“Hey, Jess, I’ve got this one. Get some rest, mamas.” He kissed her forehead gently before ducking out of the room and into the nursery.

Rosalind Elizabeth Seresin was the light of Jake’s life. Jessie had been in labour for six hours before Jake had demanded she be taken for a C-section, not able to watch her in pain anymore. By that point, she had begun to hyperventilate and was on the verge of a panic attack. Rosalind was the most beautiful baby, and Jake was unafraid to admit that he had sobbed his eyes out when he held her for the first time.

“Hello pretty girl.” Jake preened, reaching into the crib and gently lifting the infant into his arms. “What’s troubling you, hey? Why don’t you want to let mama sleep?”

The infant seemed to calm immensely in her father’s arms, her whines quieting as he set her down on the changing table. When Rosie was changed and redressed in her teddy bear printed onesie, he settled in the rocking chair that sat near the door, rocking back and forth as he sang to her softly.

“When there’s nowhere left to run, is there room for one more son? If you can hold on, if you can hold on.”

Back in the master bedroom, Jessie was listening to her husband sing through the baby monitor with a soft smile on her face. She swore that she was falling deeper in love with Jake Seresin every single day.

Jake smiled at his daughter, her eyes a mirror image of his own, now hidden behind her soft eyelids as she drifted back to sleep in her father’s arms. Slowly, he rose from the rocking chair and returned to the crib, kissing Rosie’s head softly.

“Goodnight, sweetheart. Remember that Daddy loves you.”

His heart was heavy with guilt as he left the nursery. He was heading down a dark, desperate and slightly scary road. The electronic bug still sat in the pocket of his sweater, and he hoped against hope that if he kept recording, one day he would have enough to turn state’s evidence against Bradley. But he knew he’d need more: California wasn’t a one-party consent state, so his illegal wiretap wouldn’t hold up in court.

But maybe it would be enough that Bradley would finally set him free.

Jake slipped back into bed with his wife, wrapping one arm around Jessie’s waist and the other underneath the pillow under her head. He had seen the case file strewn around their living room when he came home, open to pictures of stolen Porsches and the men accused of stealing them, often right out of the driveways of Hollywood’s rich and somewhat famous. The doctor said returning to work too soon would do Jessie more harm than good, but she was starting to go stir crazy being at home, vacillating between wanting nothing to do with her baby and never wanting to let Rosie out of her sight.

“You used to sing to me like that.” She grinned, holding him close

Jake laughed, kissing her bare shoulder under the duvet. “I still can. Do you want my “Wonderwall” or my “Don’t Look Back In Anger”?”

“You choose.”

“Slip inside the eye of your mind, even though you might find, a better place to be.”

Jessie’s career trajectory hadn’t been easy. She’d been booted from patrol in her second month on the job after she had a panic attack in the field, and was relegated to various crappy desk jobs until RHD’s Beau Simpson rescued her from the evidence and property desk. She did a lot of desk work for homicide, working under Pete Mitchell until she took her detective’s exam. Jessica was one of the most brilliant people Jake had ever met, and it hurt him to see her like this, lost and uncertain.

“So, Sally can wait, you know its too late when you walk on by.”

In the dark, Jessie’s face lit up with a tender smile. She softened in her husband’s arms, his soft voice lulling her to sleep.

“I love you, Jake Seresin.”

Nine years earlier.

“Also, I don’t know if you’ve noticed because you’ve spent so much time in a courtroom lately,” Beau Simpson starts, moving to stand next to Detective Pete Mitchell “but there’s a newbie in your unit. Jessica Statham. I want you to be nice to her.”

The pair are standing on the roof of the LAPD’s Hollywood division, looking out over a city that never slept. Detective Peter Mitchell gave everything to that city, and all the city did back, apparently, was take him to court over a good shooting, so forgive him if he wasn’t in the mood to listen to Simpson today.

“Why should I? Unless she’s a nepotism hire, or she starts causing problems, I shouldn’t have an issue with her.”

Simpson sighed. “She’s a plainclothes desk sergeant. And it’s likely she’s never going to do any field work.”

Mitchell turned to face him, raising an eyebrow.  “No field work? She’s just skipped out on patrol, putting her time in?”

“She has, for lack of a better word, issues that she fears would make her a liability in the field. But Pete, this girl is a genius. She’s young, she’s smart, and I want to give her a fair shot to go far.”

“You said issues. What kind of issues are we talking about? PTSD? BPD? Anything with an acronym?”

Simpson tucked his hands into the pockets of his blazer, squinting against the sun. “Agoraphobia and generalized anxiety disorder. Suffers from panic attacks, severe ones. She passed the gifted test with an IQ of 130 when she was eight years old. She’s in the second percentile, just shy of genius.”

Pete put out his cigarette against the side of the building, moving to sit on the ledge. “So what is she doing here? Aren’t most agoraphobes housebound?”

“It’s not a fear of being outside, it’s a fear of being somewhere where an escape isn’t readily available. She’s doing well here; I’ve had her working with Crate and Barrell while you’ve been sorting this whole court thing out. Jess does really good work, Pete. Anything we throw at her she’s been able to handle. Just be gentle with her. Your work style and hers are bound to clash at some point. She’s sensitive, and I don’t want you making her cry during your first week back.”

______

Everybody was gathered in the patrol room, closing rank, and leaving barely any breathing room as they watched with bated breath. The TV in the corner was tapped into the feed for the interrogation room. Jessica Statham stood in the back, arms crossed over her chest, fingers playing with the silver tree branch that dangled from around her neck.

There was a reason she could never do field work, and everything about this interrogation was reminding her why. Raynard Waits stood for all that was bad in this world. Murder, assault. Basic human indecency.

“What’s going on?” Pete asked, slipping into the back of the room.

Jess turned to face him. She had met the detective once or twice but understood that Simpson had made the introductions. Mitchell had barely spoken to her, and he hadn’t given her any work. “Patrol pulled him over in Echo Park, found a dead body in the back of his van. The guy gives me the creeps. Crate gave me the name to run, turns out that our buddy Raynard over here didn’t exist prior to ’93. I’ve done every name search, scoured every database. I’ve got nothing.”

“You know we have boots that do that kind of thing, right?” Pete cocked an eyebrow, referring to the lower-ranking uniform officers that did grunt work when they weren't out on patrol. "That must have taken you hours.”

Jess nodded. “I’ve been at it since they brought Waits in for questioning. Haven’t even had a chance to give Crate my report. I don’t mind, I like the work. This is what I was trained for. I wasn’t sure if it was polite to interrupt the obvious good-cop bad-cop thing they’ve got going on, and I also didn’t really want to be within spitting distance of Waits. You know, for personal safety’s sake. Crate and Barrell may be old, but I know that they can handle themselves. I’m not sure that I could.”

Pete reached for her, reassuringly squeezing Jess’ shoulder through her wool cardigan. Her outfit was black, white and beige, with silver jewelry that blended in. Everything about her was built not to be noticed. And wasn’t it just like Pete Mitchell to notice?

“I can give them the file, hand it off to me. I’ll make sure they know it’s from you. Jessica, right?”

“Yeah. Call me Jess. Or Jessie is fine too. You’re Pete, right?” she smiled softly, extending a hand for the older gentleman to shake.

The next morning, Jake was awoken by Rosie’s harsh cries. Bleary-eyed and concerned, he crawled out of bed and followed the noise to the kitchen. Rosie was sitting in her high-chair next to the kitchen table. Jessie stood stock still next to the counter, staring numbly at the bottle warmer as she held a prepared baby bottle in her hands.

“Jessie?” Jake asked softly, lifting Rosie out of her chair and trying to calm her down. “Love, is everything okay?”

She blinked, dimly aware of the tears trailing down her porcelain cheeks. Robotically, she put the bottle in the warmer, shaky hands switching the machine on. “I don’t know if I can do this, Jake.”

“Yes, you can.” He spoke softly, using his free arm to pull his wife closer. “You’re doing such a great job, Jessie. Rosie needs her mom.”

“I’m scared to even hold her. She’s so fragile. I don’t want to hurt her.”

Jake’s heart broke as he looked at his wife, pale and haunted. It killed him that there was nothing he could do to help her. At that moment, he decided it wasn’t worth it to go into work that day. As soon as breakfast was over, he was calling his captain and taking a sick day. Jessie needed him more than Los Angeles did.

From the counter, a small beep sounded, indicating that Rosie’s bottle had been warmed.

“Hey, sweetheart, put your arms out a little bit.” Jessie extended shaky arms, hesitantly taking her daughter from her husband. “There you go, easy does it.” Jake gently took her hands, repositioning them to give Rosie the appropriate amount of head and neck support. “See, you’ve got her.”

Jake grabbed the bottle from the counter, passing it to his wife. “You can do this, Jess. I believe in you.”

Slowly, Jessie extended the rubber lip of the bottle towards her baby’s mouth. Rosie latched on to it and began to feed. Jessie let out a shaky laugh of relief, a smile cracking her face. Jake smiled, sinking into one of the kitchen chairs.

It would be a long road, but they were going to make it out okay.

Jake took the day off, and the family of three went to the beach for the morning. Jessie and Jake split a milkshake, and Rosie waddled through the sand, steadily attempting to walk. She was almost a year old and had been making progress in her first steps. It was difficult in the sand, but the infant didn’t care, giggling as she stumbled.

Some of the color was back in Jessie’s face. Her hair was brushed and curled, and she was wearing blue jeans and a fitted tank top, showing off some of the extra skin leftover from pregnancy. Jake was certain that he had never found his wife more beautiful.

“You’re staring.” Jess laughed, taking off her sunglasses as she turned to face him. “Its unbecoming.”

“Shut up.” Jake chuckled. “You look gorgeous. Radiant, even.”

“Now you’re just trying to suck up to me.”

“And what if I am?”

She playfully punched him in the shoulder, her free hand holding Rosie on her lap.

Jake’s phone, which he had dropped on the picnic blanket, began to ring. One look at the caller ID told him that Bradley wasn’t too happy with the younger detective’s decision not to come into work. Kevin sighed, assuring Jessie that he’d be back in a minute as he answered the call and paced away from the blanket.

“What do you want, Bradshaw?”

“Penny Benjamin is petitioning the court to have the Alexandra Pilcher trial delayed. She says she has evidence that her guy didn’t do it.”

Of course, her guy didn’t do it. Because Bradley Bradshaw was the one who bludgeoned her to death. Jake remembered that night clearly. He had driven, so it would be his car on the CCTV and not Bradley’s. It wasn’t the first time that he was scared of what Bradley Bradshaw was, but it was the first time he had seen the full force of it up close. The first time he realised that there was no such thing as walking away, and that they would both go down with the ship in the end.

Alex Pilcher had figured out what they were doing. She had started asking questions, poking around their victims, the shop they used to fence the watches they were given as blackmail payments. Jake had thought they were just going there to talk to her, to reason with her.

When Bradley hit her with the tire iron, Jake was ashamed to say that he froze in place, unable to do anything as Bradley kept hitting her, blood spattering all over their clothes. He had started wearing the wire after that, trying to cover his ass in case things went south. He became paranoid, almost certain that they were going to get caught.

It had been over a year ago, before Jessica had given birth. He was supposed to have just stepped out to get her a pint of Ben and Jerry’s. He had never meant for anybody to get hurt.

“She’s got some RHD hot shot working for her. We need to nip this in the bud. I’m not going to jail over some bitch who couldn’t keep her mouth shut.”

“No. Absolutely not. You made your bed, now you have to lie in it, Bradley. You hit her, not me. You’re to one who beat an innocent woman to death, and I will testify to that, so help me God. I want nothing to do with this anymore.”

“I think you’ll find the consequences are worse if you don’t. I know about your wife’s criminal record.”

Jake froze. “She was fifteen. Those files are sealed. It was over 15 years ago, for god’s sake!”

“I doubt the rich folk who’s stolen sports cars she’s trying to find will appreciate the lead detective on their case having a history of aggravated assault and burglary. Powers is quite the chatterbox when you get a few beers in him.”

The detective took a deep breath, looking back over at his wife and daughter. The happiness he was trying to hang onto with both hands before it was ripped away from him. He could lose everything at the drop of a hat, and it scared the hell out of him.

With a shaky breath, he turned back to the phone. “What do you need me to do?”

[nr1sealuvr]

drv3 chapter 5 closing argument rant below because I am mentally unstable

btw this is not intended as a ship but if you wanna take it that way thats fine!! :3

So erm i think we all know that ch5 is PAINFULLLL man bc WTF :(( but there are a few panels in the closing argument that make me bawl (sobbing as i write this LMAO)

This one hurts the most because LOOK!!! 2 ppl that hate eachother HELPING each other at their lowest. AND THEY WERE BOTH DOOMED FROM THE START. AND THEY KNOW IT. Kaito with his illness and kokichi....well...FJKDKXJDNSSN

just like imagine the most stubborn little shit that you despise (except you dont, because Kaito is such a sweetie hes uncapable of doing so) telling you to kill them. that was the only time he was ever honest to him and really let Kaito see him. 2 FUCKING MINUTES BEFORE HE DIES. Imagine how much that HURT katio, being forced into killing someone in the killing game that you hate so much. He said it himself he KNEW it would fail and he knew he would get executed but FUUUCKCKXK HE STILL DID IT. That was like the last touch kokichi got holy shit being dragged across the floor BLEEDING wait hold on my vision is blurry okay im back AND GOD HE WAS IN SO MUCH PAIN and like. i can not imagine a life where I have to lie to myself that everything is gonna be fine. He had decided that he was READY to die.

WELL HE FUCKING WASNT BECAUESE LOOK AT HIM UZGGHHHSHSH he had to LIE to himself that he was to end the killing game. and he knew aswell there wasnt a high chance to do so BUT HE STILL DID IT JESUS DOES THIS NOT SHOW HOW MUCH HE CARES. He basically killed himself just because of a tiny tiny chance the killing game would end. Also Kaito going "you little..." while he had his little meltdown also made me sad call me delusional but IF YPU ZHINM ABOUT IT HES LIKE SYMPATHISING WITH HIM HES IN DISBELIEF BECAUSE HE FUCKING CARES AND HE KNEW WHAT WAS COMJNG AND THEY ARE FUCKING DOOMED AND I HATE THEM.

Heres him getting dragged because ouch. The silence was PAINFUL

Now this scene. Oh. My. God. Okay so first of that thing jn the bottom right corner. Kaito is looking at him and hes looking down. He just gave him permission to kill him and Kaito had no choice but to do it. Hes exposing himself to him and he cant even fucking look at him because they both know how bad the situation is. There was never any hope but they wanted to TRY. AND THEY TRIED AND THEY FUCKING FAILED Aaaanf my vision is blurry from tears again hold on okay anyway look at kaitos face. HE DOESNT WANT ZO. HE DOESNT WANT TO KILL KOKICHI. HE KNOWS KOKICHI DOESNT WANT IT. BUT THEY HAVE ZO. they fucking have to holy shit

This one also makes me sad because again imagine zhe SILENCE as your so called "worst enemy" takes out the wounds that he himself had made (ik one was from maki) and kokichi is NEVER quiet. He knew how serious and bad this was and they both stayed silent, not wanting to acknpledge it because they had hope. And it failed. Fuck.

Anyways i think its safe to say these little shits make me sick and IDJSJWN kaito being forced into killing has got to be the most painful thing ever oh and him pretending to be kokichi in the excisal. I know kokichi wrote a lot of the lines but still. Imagine having to act so cheerfull while pretending to be the one you killed. The GUILTTT GOOOSSSHHH

okay i gotta go now my dads picking me up in 2 min rant over:3

[nshtn]

Tag game: Six* characters you relate to. Tagged by @twoturtlesinabathtub - thank you!!

Alright then...

Edward Nashton - The Riddler: Year One [Dano Riddler] ▷

"Get up, Edward. 'You matter'? If only you mattered ... ... I wait for a hint of dawn, to know that I've made it through another night... Einstein only took naps - shh, just breathe..."

He's a hacker, lacks a solid sense of self, doesn't know how to socialize and tries and tries and tries again. He's autistic and hyperlexic. Genius boy, "rain man", puzzleking. Edward completes his work and his overtime before a day's clock ticks complete. He is so good at the game of normalcy he has learned to front.

And he is tired of this human duet.

The Orphanage was not kind to him, not on any one of the children for whom it reaped economic benefit for the sake of a drug company; he got away, not unscathed, and his survivor's guilt gnaws at his frontal lobes like disease for every moment work and the numbers don't assault his senses.

Even a worm will turn, and Edward sees himself beneath one. Who else could possibly deserve the ire and impermanence of all he meets? He attempts, blindly, ragefully, to avenge the children whose voices did not carry out of those aching, dope-dropped walls, and in doing so he shatters like glass, irreparable and permanent.

He has always been missing something, but now the wound will not stop bleeding, wide and aching unlike anything.

He does not feel better. He has killed, he has taken back what was owed, meted, balanced - judge, jury, executioner - and he does not feel better. Satisfaction is a thin wick, homicidality sadistic and cloying, saccharin and greedy, exposing him for the breed of broken he has been since he was baptized. There is no mythical moment in which he is made beautiful by God, absolved, crucified in just dessert, wings finally to sprout from his shoulders.

There is no panacea to beautify the bloody viscera he's clawed out of his chest. The sadistic death of what he perceives as tormentors brings him no peace.

There never would've been. Not a meaningful one, anyway.

No way to reunite families with the men he has slaughtered. No way to go back, only forward, now, only to fuel this mania until he is enfeebled by it and returned to Hell.

Killing Falcone would never be enough. He starves. He prowls, and what pound of innocent flesh will allow him rest? The guillotine is an empty hole which hungers and hungers and must be fed lest it takes his head in his next moment of lucidity, in those deep dark hours where The Riddler ebbs and Edward Nashton flows.

I relate to his childhood, emotional detachment, mental and physical illness, struggles with survivor's guilt, and his early adulthood, not the murderer he becomes as The Riddler.

Homura Akemi - Puella Magi Madoka Magica ▷

"I will be enough by myself..." "There’s no one to rely on anymore. There is no need to let anyone understand. I will never let Madoka fight again. I will destroy all the witches myself."

She's cold and calculating (and yet not malicious), lacks a sense of self entirely and starts with very little of one, initially emerges from hospitalization due to chronic illness, descends into pseudo-sociopathy after witnessing others' death inescapably hundreds of times, and is corrupted into a being entirely unlike her nature to be human.

Through all of it, Homura is so deeply, horrifyingly lonely. Her cries for help are primarily done outside the view of others even as her sanity unspools. There is nothing to guide her behavior - machine, unerring, indefinite - but her desire to save her friend. She will try - she has to.

Every failure in this Kaizo Trap only reinforces her need. She must win, because to lose is to lose her humanity.

And when Homura Akemi finally loses that which she values the highest, no fault of her own, she does not lose her desire to protect those she loved.

I relate to her spiral into a complicated sociopathy, her physical illness, immutable drive to exist, survivor's guilt and loneliness, and find her heart beautiful.

Pearl - Steven Universe ▷

"[People] want to feel like they're part of something bigger. They want to blame all the world's problems on some single enemy they can fight instead of a complex network of interrelated forces beyond anyone's control."

Pearl is studious and scholarly, must foster her own sense of self from zero, was born a hybrid of artificial intelligence and Gem with no autonomy, and slowly claws an existence for herself in which she pries beyond the primary emotion of saturating, deep grief.

She becomes independent and secure in herself through trial and tribulation no one being should ever endure. She must break herself entirely to start new. Everyone moves on - everyone changes, everyone changes but her. And how does a robot change, really? How do you change a state machine?

She's just a pearl. It doesn't come natural to her. It doesn't come natural to think for herself beyond what is known, not like everyone else.

Like Pink. Just like Pink, stuck in such all-consuming isolation. Does she want to lose that?

And though she is a pearl, yes - never given the same fair shake as others - she still finds a way to the freedom and security she searches for, deep within herself. She still finds a way to exert her own opinion, to care for others like she had never been cared for.

She has been herself longer than she knows. She has had the kindle to create a grand and encompassing fire for longer than she ever knew what to do with it. And when she finally does... she lets go.

I relate to her literal nature, kinship to machinery, ability to excel past her 'programming', motifs of finding one's self within, deep-seated loneliness, and admire her heart.

tagging: @thehivemindsys @crowofstarlight @residualmanifests @theinkedfoxsl @thisaccountsshit @air-of-the-waterfall

[sluggybunny]

posted a buncha rambling about this on my other blog but i want to be very brave and try to post about it here. warning it's very yappy, i'm not in a good headspace and i esp wasn't last night. but i want to talk about it anyway

this month i started a new little project/interactive game type stuff. it started because i was struggling to write cj and I was in the mood for dark fantasy (turns out that's my niche, i just start TYPING AWAY when it's that). it kind of spiraled and now i'm 120k deep

I don’t have a name for this project, I am very bad at naming things. But the premise/setting is a grimdark fantasy esque world. And there’s this type of magic that is actually more like a parasitic disease.

I really love the idea of magic as something that represents mental illness. And writing surrealism, dreams, memory issues, etc is my fave.

Combining it with a dream I had a long time ago of a world where they used children in war, this type of magic can be learned by anyone but they have to “survive” the initial sickness. And children are more resilient to surviving.

Because magic becomes a useful commodity in society (military, industrial, labor) there is an incentive to have a lot of magic users. So you end up with a society exposing children to a dangerous, not well understood phenomenon in order to shape them into something useful. A lot of children die or suffer very severe side effects that permanently alter their mind or body

That’s the setting, though. The main plot is more concerned with other stuff.

I just like world building fantasy stuff.

I wrote two origins the player can pick but one is sort of shelved until I can figure out the family situation. That one is the noble background and has deeply fucked family dynamics and I’m stuck on 1) did I make this too fucked up 2) I want to use character sprites because I’m an artist(tm) but if they’re related to the protag, how do I make it inclusive

The other one is you’re an orphan sent to a nice orphanage that’s really there to produce magic users. This one has the most content for now, since orphan means no family members I gotta worry about. further background customization would include having beef with the church, evil magic... stuff. this is called the scholar origin

Then there's the main story after all the origins (i want the origins to be kind of lengthy so they can deeply effect all the stuff on the main story, since there are lot of choices within those origins to shape your character) and I started writing it in a sort of episodic way or "arcs". The first arc is in the mountains with a necromancer.

I'm trying VERY HARD to not include complicated mechanics, I just looove coding so much. But I did include some exploring and stats/skills that are chosen in the beginning and can later be influenced... can't help it! 🥲

other stuff:

I kinda wrote in-universe misogyny . Maybe it’s wrong of me but I like settings that include that. Again kinda makes it hard for player options... also i know that's not everyone's jam but i'm writing for myself since I have no plans on making a commercial product

In the scholar origin, you get close friend, your mentor, a knight, and a priest. You can choose a variety of interactions with the, dynamics, etc

If you play female, the knight might be creepy to you. Otherwise he’s actually very likable and cool. I thought that could emphasize the reality of those situations If that makes sense (the predators/creeps in people's lives appearing as Just A Chill Guy To Everyone Else) Your childhood friend has potential to be an incel-like guy, a rival, or truly your closest friend depending on the choices. And the mentor is a major character to the main story and his dynamic with the player is variable. I put in so many options and branching stories, that's really what ended up making the word count when I started writing the script lol. Idk how to put a percentage on it but most of the background/origins are done and i'm midway into the first arc.

I haven't designed any visuals yet, I'm super focused on writing. WILD since i am an artist, you'd think that's what i go to first. But I get stuck in my head too much when making A Public Thing and not just my personal ocs so I'm constantly worried about the designs being palatable. I got to 120k now. It's impressive from an output number but i feel like game itself is barely any content... there's just A LOT of player reactivity. that's my fave thing in any rpg and i always crave more, so that was a leading factor in writing.

if you read any of this, i love you lol

I struggle to complete projects sooo bad but the amount i made for this gives me confidence it's going somewhere. also setting limits on myself so i don't add too much rpg elements (I wanna code a combat system sooo bad but that is some difficult work and I want to actually write interactive fiction pls)

ok good bye thanks to anyone who read it. let me know if it interests you, i'm looking for some homies that like this stuff and would be down to discussing it with me because feedback is key with games

also if anyone wants to be tagged when i talk about this let me know. two people showed interest and i got so excited over that hsfhshrh

[mybelovedmoon]

get to know the blogger!

thank you to @moonysentropia for the tag!

this got long so answers below the cut if you want my rambles and oversharing lol

3 ships i like: Wolfstar obviously, Wolfstarbucks, and ummmmmm. hmm…tbh i’m not sure there is another? i really don’t ship characters that often 😭 (editing this to add prongsfoot! prongsfoot is cute on occasion! yes i clearly have very specific tastes)

first ship ever: the very earliest was probably percabeth? or hinny? idk. but i didn’t care super strongly about either (also i do Not ship hinny anymore HAHA at that age i very much just happily went along with any canon ships presented). the first ship i actually like read fics about and stuff was destiel i think. or drarry, not sure which was first. really exposing myself here 😭😭😭

favorite childhood book: suppose it depends how early we’re talking but other than HP i loved the Magic Treehouse series a lot! oh and Rainbow Magic omg

currently reading: fanfic wise, aka the more interesting part, I Didn’t Come Here to Party, I Only Came for the Cake by attheendoftheday. It’s a gbbo au with messy flawed sirius and mysterious remus (who’s also chronically ill!), very cute, sweet, lighthearted (so far, there’s some mental health stuff in the last few chapters). book wise, just a few books for classes - Gaming Sexism by Amanda Cote, Medieval Tastes by Massimo Montanari, and bits and pieces of others.

currently watching: nothing actually! just finished the babysitter’s club a few days ago so i am tv show-less now.

currently consuming: i just ate a bowl of granola bc cereal for lunch is superior

currently craving: sleeeeeep always 😭 or friendly company tbh.

pets: none!

np tagging @brandileigh2003 @madefortherain @outromoony (i think you all have not joined but i can’t recall so i’m sorry if you have already!)

[beevean]

Rewatching NFCV with @woodchipp and @the-crow-binary has been miserable so far.

Not because of them, of course: we all need each other to bear the Peak. but holy shit I forgot how mindnumbingly boring the show is. it's way worse at a second watch because now I know how much it falls apart! We're only at S2E3 as of this post!

S1 is the best season, and even that is largely forgettable, especially S1E3 which wastes 22 minutes of my life to say "here's the bishop. he's proof that CHURCH BAD". But S1E1 may be the best or second best episode of the whole show thanks to Dracula and his performance... and isn't that sad, that the show peaks at the very beginning? The rest of the show is just... Trevor doing his stuff (while the framing mostly makes fun of him), talking, some fighting, and CHURCH BAD. As positives, I still like Trevor's mini-arc in this season, and the vague effort to be faithful to CV3 (Sypha being petrified by a cyclops, falling down a chasm to find Alucard).

S2 is terrible. Yes we're still less than halfway through. I already hate everything.

I hate Alucard becoming a legend to the point that the Wallachians name his Alucard (as in, Dracula's opposite) after only a year - why couldn't he name himself Alucard? Why complicate matters so much? Isaac calling him Alucard, and Dracula recognizing the name, makes absolutely no sense: how do they know about it? Dracula lost contact with his son one year ago and I doubt Wallachian human legends have reached him. And Isaac was in the Sahara until sometime after Lisa died!

I hate Alucard himself. He's a cunt. He does nothing but insult Trevor and the Belmonts without provocation, and it's not funny banter, he's mean! He's genuinely cruel! He hears that Trevor lost his family at 12, and he can only say "lol and lmao I had more of a childhood than you. anyway they were mentally ill and child killers, they sacrificed chickens and hoarded dead cats". And this piece of shit is the most popular character of the show??? he's not even pretty what are y'all seeing 😭

(it's also weird how he's all angsting about killing his vampire father, but he hates the Belmont for being vampire hunters. bro. bro you're also about to hunt a vampire. why are you defending a race of monsters so staunchly. not even a hint of, I don't know, a Belmont hurting him when he was a child because he was confused for a full vampire? Remember that logically, a vampire child is a child turned into a vampire, we have no other indication that dhampirs are running all around the world. I know that in the games he seems fully on board with "vampires bad and me bad for being half vampire", but you have the chance of making it better and you squander it?)

Sypha is also ruder than I remembered. I think she suddenly became more cheerful in S3 and that's why I liked her, but also girl, you keep criticizing Trevor for being rude and not consoling you, but you look at him with a perpetual resting bitch face and insult the Morning Star calling it an "ugly thing"? Why does Trevor even bother with the likes of you? How is Trephacard the most popular ship in the franchise?

I hate Isaac. Oh, I gave him the benefit of the doubt back then, because I really wanted to understand why he became the fan favorite. But now? No, I'm sorry, he's overrated as fuck. He's so damn pretentious, his speech about how he wants a pure world without love is terrible from the lens of him being a Muslim who is devoted to the Devil, and his backstory is so tryhard and historically inaccurate that I almost prefer Hector's past being exposed through voiceover.

Oh, and Hector, I hate his scenes. Because he's actually treated with dignity. He's fine! I actually like the guy! I like the scene where he rebukes Godbrand (who as a character only exists to attract infodumps and to question Dracula) because "I have to work" - he sounds actually proud of his role, if not even competent, perish the thought. Also by reading the scripts online I forgot that he was the one who yelled "you do not question my loyalty!". Which I like a lot? I can hear the real Hector protesting like that out of pride, even if in private he would admit that he disagrees with the bloodshed. And the scene where he soothes the newborn Night Creature... yeah, this character used to be written with respect, and knowing how he gets tortured and disrespected and used for rape apologism by a sex pest hurts even more. Also, in retrospect, the scene where he stares at the fire while reminiscing about the day he set fire on his own childhood home doesn't go anywhere, even as the finale of S3 echoes it :^)

And Dracula, oh my poor man Dracula. He's already being presented as an ineffectual depressed old man spending his time staring at a fireplace, who can't even command his presence in the war room, who allows Carmilla to insult him and Lisa in front of everyone - it's so embarrassing how he gets the Red Eyes of Fury and then he simply... lets her go after he gets the flimsy explanation of "yeah I humiliated you because everyone is asking themselves the same question. I wanted to help <3" girl (Dracula), she's a mere regional ruler, as she herself said??? why do you need her so much that you allow her to do this shit??????? oh but then you posture to godbrand, he gets to be threatened because... he's not relevant to the plot i guess. fucking pathetic. what have they done to my man.

(and I hate Carmilla. but that has never changed. annoying smug ass #girlboss with the charisma of spoiled seafood. her way of manipulating Hector isn't even manipulation, it's just her telling him very plainly what she wants him to do. She and Lenore utterly suck at their job, and they only get their way because muh plot)

And then there's the infodumping. Oh my god these people won't shut the fuck up. Godbrand is like "why should we listen to two humans?" and Dracula dumps twice that he trusts Hector and Isaac for their human nature (which, again, it's a decent reasoning, but it goes on and on and even they should know, I get it). Alucard dumps about the apocalyptic scenario where Dracula wins and rules over a world without humans... but he only describes it as we look into his ugly face, instead of doing something more creative like actually showing what would happen. Hector gets this random flashback-through-sound, shoved there as if Ellis didn't know where to put it in the script; later on he explains to Carmilla the origin of Night Creatures, as if ever remotely matters. Isaac dumps about his jihadist philosophy about how by killing humans he and Dracula will create a pure world. Carmilla randomly reveals her Tragic Backstory after kicking Godbrand down the stairs, another scene I can't stand because it's all about what a #queen she is and how she's better than Dracula. At one point they seriously discuss about the myth of vampires unable to cross running water, which is a moot point anyway because Carmilla resorts to using a zombie bishop to bless the river!! No I will never let it go!!!

(also I love that in the one occasion where Alucard has the chance of describing his childhood, he retells the tale of Lisa meeting Dracula, something we've already seen and he was also obviously told about, not something he experienced himself. They couldn't even come up with another anedocte to actually tell us what kind of mother Lisa used to be. so lazy)

This show is half people sitting in a circle and talking, and half average fight scenes. Yeah at this point not even those impress me anymore. I'm serious when I say that Knuckles' fight scene in Divergence, also animated by Powerhouse Animation Studios, is of a better quality than what the show has offered.

And this is why I'm so reluctant to watch Nocturne. If the best seasons of this highly acclaimed show are so painful to sit through, how are we going to survive a sequel series that not even the fans liked it as much?

[annbourbon]

The Ssum Timeline

Before The Ssum:

♡ Zen. It is said during Teo route that we dated Zen sometime ago. But this is weird for many people if they don't know or forgot about Zen saying that the last time he dated someone was 5 years ago. Mystic Messenger is set in 2016.

2016 - 5 = 2011

So Zen was our first boyfriend according to this tl. Probably will not remember us because of the Reset Theory. It does have some flaws. I admit. Because of his dreams, be might as well remember us. But what if he doesn't remember us at the very beginning? Like, what if by the time he remembers we're already in another route so he doesn't always gets the chance to be with us unless we're in his route?

In some routes like Jumin he does say to have a dream about a cage (in a call) and tried his best to warn us. Not to mention that he's always dreaming about something happening to us as MC basically the day after we enter a route. Which would obviously leads into this theory that he does remembers but only when it's too late so he instead chooses to let us be happy. TBH I feel like he's also trapped. In a different way but, he is.

⋆ ₊ ﾟ ☽ * ₊ ⋆⋆ ₊ ﾟ ☽ * ₊ ⋆⋆ ₊ ﾟ ☽ * ₊ ⋆

During The Ssum:

* The Ssum seems to be set between the last months of 2011 and during 2012 extending its timeline till MC disappears in Another Story. Another Story is set 2 years before Mystic Messenger Casual Events.

2016 - 2 = 2014

This sets The Ssum In Between. From 2011 till the end of 2013. Perhaps beginning of 2014.

Around that time Rika disappears (commits "suicide" and "creates Mint Eye" but as I said before, she creates Mint Eye before the RFA. The Ssum is exposing how Mint Eye becomes a huge power behind the scenes during the first or second year of creating Mint Eye. And the beginnings of the RFA.) which also explains why Henri and June routes are so short. There's a lot of things going on in between.

⋆ ₊ ﾟ ☽ * ₊ ⋆⋆ ₊ ﾟ ☽ * ₊ ⋆⋆ ₊ ﾟ ☽ * ₊ ⋆

Now let's start with The Ssum Events:

♡ Dating Teo. 200 days.

This is around 6 months and a half. Let's say Teo Route starts between the lasts months of 2011 and by the time MOM is happening we're on Spring of 2012 (spring is often related to love season~)

♡ During this route it is said that we do not know who Harry is. Right? Then the right route and the first one to play is Teo.

♡ Jaehee, Mint Eye and even Elizabeth the 3rd are making their appearances every now and then.

♡ The cult ( Mint Eye) it's say to be around but it's barely starting so that's why we see them trying to reclute some people. I guess we can say even Rika had a hard time starting. And that it's difficult to start lol sometimes we have the opportunity to make fun of it. But they tried to have Teo in their lines. And apparently some other characters.

♡ You "accidentally" send him to Mint Eye after he gets a mail.

♡ Dating June?

The reason I believe June is first than Harry. At least the first season, it's because we start strong now cause thanks to June, we meet more of Jumin's world. And we even have some pics with Rika and V.

Please take into account that what I've been saying it's only without playing his whole route yet. I have at most one or maybe 2 weeks of game in his route. But I saw a lot of spoilers and people saying that the timeline is ruined or stuff so in a way I wanted to talk about my theory since some interactions are really interesting there, and I feel we as players have another look onto it. I might be wrong.

It's quite obvious Jumin hasn't reach his peak years yet but there are already a lot of people calling him a promise~ nothing but the best for him. Why then he doesn't mentioned to us his brother? I have 2 theories. The most simple one is June is a difficult topic to touch considering South Korea approach to people who are different, crazy or out of norm. Like, just having a wheel chair or a baby sets you aside. Let's not talk about being always sick or mentally ill, much less neurodivergency. They don't fit and they are treated as nothing. And maybe MC is not gonna talk bad about his brother, but there was a lot of drama in every route, please take into account that even though we play the game (Mystic Messenger) there might be even more content we are unaware of. If anything, it's great to have more of this world. (I don't approve what Cheritz is doing about AI and as a company, but that is that and this is this~)

♡ During June's Route, in an attempt to befriend his brother, June talks to Jumin and congratulates him on the charity work. Jumin explicitly says that the RFA is still a work in progress. That ties with the Cheritzverse timeline I'm working~

♡ Close Encounter with The Angel

It just not that, but we also begin to get closer and closer to Mystic Messenger Events. Yes, I believe it's the same MC. We don't date the angel. But we do have a close encounter with them (as far as I know) Maybe it's here were the Bad Ending of Another Route takes place? (The one with MC reporting the incident to the police)

Something that confirmed this was Jumin Han saying during the wedding in June's Route (first 20 days~) that the RFA is still a work in progress. This sets the Timeline around the second year of my Mystic Messenger timeline. If you're curious~ check it out!

♡ Date Harry. 200 Days.

After that close encounter, we meet Harry. We know him when he's quitting his career. He's also going to MOM but I really need to understand that part. I have yet to finish his route.

And then a couple of months pass by, we get information that might seem unimportant byt ties to other things:

♡ Harry's parents were pretty much involved in laundering money through art. Keep in mind that MC is close to Harry and knows the whole thing. That puts her in danger. Harry's parents do seem the kind of people that make others disappear if you're in the way. And MC seems to have been meddling in a lot if things. Plus if y'all remember~ V father is also art related. It goes beyond that however, it's implied Saejoong Choi (In this moment future Prime Minister and father of the twins) is friends with V father and Chairman Han. I need to find the screenshots.

This would set a momentum for Another Story Part 1 Events to eventually take place. Just not right now lolol And would tie it to MM Deep Story. After Jumin's route, Seven is photographed. But since things take time, Another Story Part 2 takes place here~

However I think Jumin's route sets in motion what happens in Saeran's AE, in which events lead to capture Seven, and in an attempt to eliminate both twins. Saejoong Choi is truly despicable.

Actually, art seems to be a theme in both games. Or if we go deeper~ the 4 games. Which is one of the reasons I had to come back to all that since inside the community there are a lot of things like gossips, secrets and stories. Anyway, back to V's father, and V of course~ this connects them with:

Keep in mind this has not yet happened. I'm just tying up knots. We first need to have Ray kidnapping MC via playing a game lol

Anyways the whole thing makes me think that MC is either way younger than the characters in The Ssum. It is heavily implied to be the same age as Zen though. Which is why when doing the timeline I looked up for Zen's age and not Jumin. Zen is also one of the characters that are most mentioned throughout the Cheritzverse. And rven if she did time travelled, her age seems close to Zen. After all the spaceship is there. And there's a couple of choices you can come with where it implies that MC is indeed a time traveller. I had some notes where I used the calendar to make sure the timeline fit but I lost them lololol so I'll update this as soon as I can with those notes and the rest of my theory♡ it's a promise!

So let's go back to Harry's route, ohh wait lol he breaks up with you so you start dating Henri.

♡ Dating Henri: 30 days. A month.

I swear I had the whole thing planned on and I even had how many days approximately he would have but beats me. I lost the paper where I wrote my timeline. Anyways~ we now have someone who knows Jumin and doesn't like him because he doesn't know him. It is said that his route begins after June's first season. I took the time to see everything, date included and it does match! Besides, Jumin gets Elizabeth the 3rd during his route. And The Second Season of June's. There are some discrepancies but I'm working around them. I'll show you as soon as I can get my notes back♡

Notes:

* Jumin goes back to mainland for Elizabeth The 3rd.

* June falls ill around D-42 (June, Season 2)

* Henri is contacted by Jumin D-14 because of his cat (Henri Route, The Day The Camel's Back Broke)

* And goes to the island on D-15 (The Island needs a doctor)

This will give you a very good idea of how timelines work with these three characters (June, Jumin, Henri) and an approximate of how Rika works behind the scenes with Mint Eye. Especially important because this island holds many secrets. I'll talk about this later~ but for more info on the drugs Mint Eye is developing, please check my post on Unicorn Drugs.

Then during those days it becomes a situationship: June AND Henri. Remember how one of the options inside Harry's route talks about MC trying to live in a polyamory situation? It connects with Henri's route and one of its endings. So I don't think I'm on the wrong track. MC dates Henri right after Harry breakup with us.

♡ We come back to Harry

(I have yet to play this but spoilers here and there let me know that around Day 245 or something?) However your discoveries keep playing a big role for you, so you tie everything up but eventually get kidnapped lol and who knows? Harry, Henri~ anyone!!! :'(( send help!

lololol

btw~ I have to confess lol

I haven't cheated on Harry. As soon as he asked me to be official, I stopped playing June's, Teo's and Henri's. As soon as he broke up with me, I took the storylines again lololol

So even the Angel cannot say anything about it :'(

My idea and first suspects are Harry's parents~

What do I mean with this? The entire game is set as a minesweeper lolol from drugs to art, cults, stalkers and embezzlement. Pick your poison~ you're gonna end in Mystic Messenger anyways♡

♡ The Angel comes back

I don't believe for one second that that guy is the Angel. Like, it doesn't fit at all cause we don't have interaction with anyone outside the chat. So I believe there's only one answer~

Finally Another Story (part 1)

It just not that, but we also begin to get closer and closer to Mystic Messenger Events. Yes, I believe it's the same MC. We don't date the angel. But we do have a close encounter with them (as far as I know) Maybe it's here were the Bad Ending of Another Route takes place? (The one with MC reporting the incident to the police)

⋆ ₊ ﾟ ☽ * ₊ ⋆⋆ ₊ ﾟ ☽ * ₊ ⋆˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

See also:

♡ Cheritzverse Timeline

♡ Connecting MM & The Ssum

♡ MM Timeline

♡ Teo is the rabbit~ follow the rabbit

♡ Tracking Drugs inside the Cheritzverse

[saltminerising]

It really baffles me how internet users these days fully expect to be treated as if their own comfort isn't in their hands anymore. I'm sorry but if you expect flight rising dot com to be your 100% perfect comfortable safe space I have some news for you. It's a highly populated website on the big internet run by a business. The staff are not your divine protectors. The community is made up of all kinds of people and you can never know who's trustworthy nor can site mods reliably weed out the bad ones. They do what they can to keep us happy But They Are Not Your Caretakers. Not every decision they make is gonna be up your alley. You NEED to expect to be exposed to uncomfortable things, whether it's a shitty person or a lil sale indicator. And you NEED to understand that YOU need to protect YOURSELF. Use the block function, adblock, report, ignore, take breaks. Don't sit there and take it (or even worse, stalk people you think are bad) and cry about how staff isn't acting fast enough. You have the power to take care of yourself, please utilize it.

"but it's my comfort game!!" it's mine too but do you understand that staff is not responsible for that. They made a game to make money and give people something fun to do but they aren't qualified to present it as a coping mechanism for mental illness/trauma/stress. It's a side effect, not an intended one.

[all-pacas]

DIAGNOSTIC OLYMPICS, SEASON 2, EPISODES 19-24

S1: part one, part two, part three

S2: part one, part two

Hi! I was curious about who on House (besides House) gets the most diagnoses right. Other folks have already run a tally (it's Chase), but I was curious how other factors would influence the tally — whose ideas get run with, who manages treatment, who screws up… So I thought I'd keep score.

1 point for getting the answer. This is almost always going to be House.

.5 points for Valuable Contribution — stuff that isn't the final answer, but either is thought to be the final answer or is valuable to the solving of the case. Stuff like "noticing something on the MRI" doesn't count; things like "figuring out how to treat" does.

-.5 to -1 for Mistakes — stuff that delays or prevents diagnoses, injuring or killing patients, etc.

HOUSE VS GOD DIAGNOSES: Tuberous Scleroses / Herpes

+1 CHASE: Suggests tuberous sclerosis, which ends up being correct. House gives himself a point in the House vs God board for it, but Chase’s idea first. And the way I see it, if House gives himself points for it, Chase gets one too. (Although, I do feel like Chase suggests this one a lot. It’s his lupus.) +1 HOUSE: Realizes the patient has herpes as well. +.5 WILSON: Gets to flex his manipulation muscles again in this episode, both in the poker game and with the patient and his father. Moral points off for fucking one of his own patients, but you can’t win ‘em all I guess.

EUPHORIA PT1 & PT2 DIAGNOSES: Brain-eating amoeba

PART ONE: +.5 CHASE: Immediately guesses CO poisoning despite the guy collapsing outside, and a blood test proves him right, even if it doesn’t turn out to be the problem. Only a half a point because it ended up being an irrelevant win, it had nothing to do with the case. +.5 CAMERON: I’m giving her the point for wanting to go back to the apartment, fully knowing the risk, even before Foreman stabbed her. +0 HOUSE: Thinks Legionnaire’s, which turns out to be correct, if not the issue. He also realizes the patient has been feeding pigeons based on some bread. This would get him a +1, but he also destroys an MRI machine because he refuses to believe bullets are magnetic. Very funny, very dumb. -1 FOREMAN: He stabbed Cameron with a dirty needle! Earlier in the episode he refused to help the patient while the dude was bleeding to death, but that’s OK — Foreman was in the midst of his Giddy Symptoms, not in his right mind. When he stabs Cameron, he’s ‘sober,’ and he while he is guilty he also justifies it as “it saved my life.” Guilt means he knows it was wrong. We count “exposing people to deadly diseases” as a demerit, actually.

PART TWO:

+1 HOUSE: Finally realizes it’s a parasite in the water. Was also willing to sacrifice Steve for the cause. +1 CUDDY: Even though House, Foreman, and Cameron give her shit for it, not letting them autopsy the cop after he died was the right move. Like yeah, asshole move, but they didn’t know what he had, and House wanted to give him an icepick lobotomy? +0 CAMERON: Does a good job as medical proxy. Even if she feels guilty about the super dangerous biopsy, it was what Foreman wanted; no demerits. None for him either, as he was actively dying and all.

FOREVER DIAGNOSES: Celiac disease.

+1 HOUSE: Figures out both that the patient has a vitamin-deficiency causing psychosis, that she and her son had Celiac, AND that she has cancer. +0 FOREMAN: House is right to be kind of annoyed with him this episode: he guesses early on that the patient is mentally ill, and is right, and then shrugs and backs off in the name of his new positive attitude. Nothing he does makes things worse, but he doesn’t help much either. +0 CHASE: Although this is his second patient to die this season, this really wasn’t his fault: the baby survived two murder attempts and was barely holding on as it was. BABY REVENGE: In S1 when the baby dies, Cameron is told to tell the parents, and her first response is “Chase should do it.” In this episode, when House tells Chase to biopsy the dead baby, his first response is “make Cameron do it.”

WHO’S YOUR DADDY DIAGNOSES: Fungus

+1 HOUSE: Is it just me, or is this episode just really bad? Anyway, they spend it running around chasing leads and symptoms, only landing on fungus towards the end, and only figuring out which specifically by asking.

NO REASON DIAGNOSES: N/A

FINAL S2 TALLY:

HOUSE: 36 (+4) TEAM: 5.5 (+0) FOREMAN: 2 (-1) CHASE: 5 (+1.5) CAMERON: 4 (+.5)

It's still shocking to me how low Foreman is; I'm really starting to wonder if I'm missing something or counting things unfairly. He does do a lot in every episode, it's not like he's not pulling his weight — he just doesn't get a lot of final diagnoses's or guess correctly much. He also makes the most mistakes of the team by far, not in terms of medical screw ups but in terms of "being an asshole and making things worse."

Cameron has remained solid, getting a lot of half points and not a ton of demerits, but Chase, surprisingly, is starting to pull ahead. I say surprisingly because it's a sort of commonly known fact that he does get the most right after House, but I really thought that was due to his upcoming S3 streak. I mean, this is the season where he killed someone!

Team is a hard one to judge, and should maybe be higher. There's a whole bunch of episodes where no one has any strong theories or they're just chasing symptoms; arguably those are team wins since no one person takes the lead. But IDK.

[schizo-moon]

Do you take art requests? Also, how can I learn how to start drawing Sailor Moon characters like you do so I can draw independently?

you're free to drop a request, but whether ill do it depends on what it is and the time i have, since my plate is full with other big projects and i only sometimes draw stuff for this account in my spare time

the best way to learn anything starts with mentality.

a.) do it for fun above all else, you shouldnt have to force yourself to draw. if you do this first, then studying and challenging yourself will come to you naturally. its like when you enjoy a game, you're naturally inclined to look up guides and speedrun tech to get better. in terms of how our brains work, theres no difference between learning the skill of a video game vs learning the skill of an artform, or anything really.

b.) don't worry about the outcome, because especially early on the outcome will never be what you had in mind. no matter how experienced you are, whether 5 weeks or 5 years, some days you will make drawings that you are really proud of, others you will make ones you think that suck. the only difference is that the bar of 'good' and 'suck' are raised higher and higher the longer youve been doing it.

it can be a good idea to mentally approach it like you're drawing bad on purpose, and that gets rid of any of the ego or embarrassment preventing you from enjoying it

c.) don't compare your artwork to others, they say 'comparison is the thief of joy' and even for someone with my experience, i still sometimes get that feeling of inadequacy when looking at others work. theres always someone better, so ignore that feeling

d.) ALWAYS try new things. you learn by exposing yourself to new experience, so don't draw the same thing over and over. and try difficult things, knowing that they might not turn out good, but you will still learn.

e.) you do not have an art style. a 'style' isn't something you choose, it is something that forms naturally over many years. if you constrain yourself to an arbitrarily decided style, you will likely stagnate. aim to learn many styles of many artists and mediums. be eclectic in your influence and your own voice will start to form. you can't truly draw like anyone else because you aren't that person

there are infinite different paths to learn something. think of it as like a huge forest canopy with hundreds of branches to climb. if you have the ambition and desire to begin climbing, you will naturally find your own route through the branches. however if you fixate on trying to take a specific route, you will get frustrated because you may find certain branches out of reach. you have to accept that the path you take is unpredictable, and progress isn't linear. just reach for whatever feels right, and if it doesn't work, reach for something else

generally a good place to start is with watching a few videos on the art fundamentals, with form especially being important, but if this seems boring or daunting to you right now, then don't worry about it.

doing something cartoonier instead of going straight into a manga style might be a good idea too, since its a lot easier to make something look 'good'

if you're looking for programs, i personally use krita, which is free. you'll want a drawing tablet eventually if you're doing digital. you can get cheap ones for like 50 bucks. pad is better than screen and cheaper, even though its harder at first, but just give it a few sessions and youll get used to it.

just open the art program and have fun making something that might suck.