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writtenwhalien · 2 days ago

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a lover's redemption | chapter 4

chapter 4. through the cracks

pairing ↠ mafia leader!park jimin x reader

genre ↠ mafia AU — romance/action (angst, fluff, smut)

summary ↠ Blood, business and betrayal is all that Park Jimin has ever known, but when you cross paths again, the stakes are raised even higher and he finds himself battling his conscience, and his heart.

word count ↠ 11.5k

18+ | warnings ↠ drinking, explicit sexual content, violence, all sorts of crime (please see the series masterlist for a complete list of warnings). please be warned this chapter has a fair amount of descriptive violence.

taglist is open – dm/comment/send an ask to be added <3

notes ↠ please enjoy and shareeeee xxoxoxox any questions, let me know (maybe i should make a post for all the characters and who they are since there’s a lot now..?)

The morning light streams through your bedroom window, golden and soft as it filters through the curtains, painting the walls in hues of warmth. It coaxes you from sleep gently, the weight of the night slipping away. As you stir, blinking against the sunlight, fragments of your conversation with Jimin float to the surface of your mind. His voice, calm and steady. His quiet honesty, disarming in a way you hadn’t expected, and the softness in his gaze.

You turn onto your side, clutching the blanket a little tighter. For the first time in what feels like forever, you feel lighter, at ease -- you don’t feel like you’re bracing for something to go wrong.

After a few minutes of indulging in the warmth, you sit up, stretching to chase away the last remnants of sleep. Your body feels sluggish, a dull ache in your leg reminding you of the wound that still needs tending. It feels more manageable but as you move the covers back, you're sure the bandages need changing.

You rise carefully and move to the en-suite, splashing your face with cool water. You take your time getting ready, brushing your hair and choosing something comfortable to wear. What is normally a quick job has turned into a few minutes of you painfully wincing to get your shorts up but eventually you're dressed and ready to go down, just in time as your tummy lets out a low growl.

As you leave the room, the faint sounds of life in the house reach your ears — muffled conversation, the clinking of dishes. You realise it’s a sound you haven’t heard in a very long time. Not since you left Namwon many years ago, and even then, the household residing there was much smaller. Hearing it now, you realise you missed it. You let that thought linger as you make your way toward the staircase.

Without Yoongi or Jin to help, the stairs suddenly feel like a mammoth task, requiring extra care as you descend. You brace your hand lightly on the banister, and take the first step, then another, and another. Halfway down the first flight, you hesitate for a moment to gather your strength as there's still another staircase to go after this. Just as you step forward, a movement in the hall below catches your eye. Jimin is there, standing near the base of the staircase.

He looks up, his gaze immediately meeting yours. “Heading down?”

You nod, gripping the railing as you continue your descent.

Jimin steps closer, his hands slipping casually into his pockets as he watches you carefully. “Want some help?” he offers, tilting his head slightly.

“I’m okay,” you reply with a small smile, keeping your movements steady. The stairs creak faintly under your weight, the sound a quiet reminder of your vulnerability which you positively hate.

You focus on each step, but out of the corner of your eye, you notice Jimin hasn’t moved away. He lingers nearby, his presence an unspoken reassurance, ready to step in if needed.

“How’s the leg healing?” he asks, breaking the silence as you reach the landing.

As you walk down the hall to the ground floor staircase, he walks with you.

You glance at him briefly, appreciating the way he’s keeping pace with you without hovering too closely. “It feels okay. Jin said it’ll take a few weeks.”

Jimin nods thoughtfully. “Yeah, that sounds about right,” he agrees. Then, just as you stand ahead of the first step, a teasing smirk softens the edges of his expression, and he adds, “Though your refusal to use the lift probably isn’t helping.”

You pause mid-step, smiling as you catch your breath. He’s not wrong, but you can’t help defending yourself. “I need to stay moving. It’s good for me.”

“You’re right,” he says, inclining his head. “Far be it from me to argue with that logic.”

Unable to help yourself, you laugh. "Don't get smart with me. You're the same boy who would fall over and rub dirt on the wound to try to heal it."

Jimin laughs and the sound resonates more deeply than you’d expected. "Hey, in my defense, it really felt like it was doing something."

“I’m sure it did,” you say, giving him a playful look as you take the final few steps.

Finally reaching the bottom, you feel a small sense of accomplishment, though your leg aches faintly in protest.

Jimin gestures toward the dining room, his hand lightly brushing the small of your back to guide you. “Come on,” he says. “The others are already eating.”

As you enter the dining room, the familiar hum of conversation fills the air. The boys are seated at the long table, their laughter and chatter pausing briefly as they notice you.

“Morning,” Jungkook greets with a grin, his tone light.

Namjoon nods at you, while Hoseok offers a cheerful “Good to see you up.”

Jin’s eyes dart to your leg, assessing. “You okay?” he asks, his tone softer but still tinged with his usual care.

You nod. “I’m good, thanks.”

Jimin, walking beside you, pulls out a chair for you. Surprised by the small but thoughtful gesture, you smile. “Thank you.”

He returns the smile, gentle and understated, before taking his own seat at the head of the table.

“What does everyone think of these pastries?” Jungkook asks, leaning forward slightly as he gestures to the tray of golden-brown treats at the center of the table, despite having two on his plate. “I think they’re part of a seasonal recipe.”

Hoseok raises a brow at him. “And how would you know that, Jungkook?”

Jungkook shrugs, unapologetic. “I asked Iseul about it yesterday.”

Hoseok chuckles, shaking his head. “Of course you have. Who else but you would interrogate the chef about pastries?”

The group laughs, and Jungkook grins boyishly, unbothered by the teasing. The lightheartedness is infectious, and you find yourself relaxing into the atmosphere, the morning starting to feel like a brief reprieve.

“Speaking of seasonal changes,” Jin says, absentmindedly looking out toward the window, “is anyone else noticing how much colder it feels already? August isn’t even over yet!"

Taehyung rolls his eyes dramatically, leaning back in his chair. “You’re such a drama queen, hyung. There’s only a few days left of the month and it’s barely a breeze.”

Jin shrugs, uncaring. “I’m just saying, it’s chilly now."

The banter carries on, laughter bubbling around the table, however, you notice that despite the endless conversation from everyone, Jimin remains quiet, only laughing or smiling at whatever else is being said. You're sure he's preoccupied with all the bigger matters at hand.

Once almost everyone's plate is cleared, Yoongi clears his throat softly, drawing your attention. “I had some of your things brought over from your house. But the damage was pretty extensive, so it’ll probably take a few weeks before it’s liveable again.”

You nod, unsurprised but grateful for the update. “Thank you.”

Yoongi gives a small nod, his expression unreadable but his words steady. “The paintings you asked for have been placed into a safe storrbge unit but let me know if there’s anything else you need from there in the meantime.”

The table falls quiet for a beat, a subtle shift in mood as everyone digests the reality of your situation.

From across the table, Jimin is looking your way, but when you catch his eye, his expression shifts to a smile, but there’s no hiding the sombre behind it.

Then Seokjin speaks up, undoubtedly attempting to steer the conversation back toward lighter topics. “I was thinking of helping to create the Christmas dinner menu this year, actually.”

Still looking at Jimin, you smile back but you’re unable to hide the same sombreness behind it. You feel the same heaviness he no doubt feels, though you know for him, it’s worse. Seeing you smile, he softens a little more, the knot in his brows unwinding.

“Hyung, it’s literally August.” Hoseok notes, drawing your attention back to the rest of the table.“Almost September. Besides, I already have some ideas, and I know once you taste it, you’ll be begging for seconds,” Seokjin responds, pointing his fork at Hoseok.

“I actually agree with Jin,” Namjoon backs him up through a mouthful of food.

“Same.” Jungkook looks at Hoseok and shrugs.

Another chorus of agreement goes around the table, prompting Hoseok to attempt to defend himself, and soon the laughter resumes, brightening the room once more.

After breakfast, the group begins to disperse. Jimin exchanges a quiet word with Yoongi and Hoseok before excusing himself, the three heading toward the east wing. You watch them leave, their conversation low but purposeful. Before you can wonder too much about their plans, Namjoon steps beside you, his demeanor calm but with a hint of purpose.

“Come with me,” he says, gesturing toward the lounge.

Curious, you follow him into the cosy room. Sunlight streams through the large windows, casting warm patches of light on the plush armchairs and neatly arranged bookshelves. Namjoon picks up his laptop from a side table and places it in front of you on the coffee table, sliding it your way with a small smile.

You glance at him, confused. “What’s this?”

Namjoon chuckles, settling into the armchair across from you. “Like we mentioned at breakfast, it’s not safe for you to go back home just yet. So, whatever you need -- clothes, toiletries, anything else, just go ahead and order it. Consider it a housewarming gift.”

You blink at him, the request catching you off guard. “You’re asking me to… go shopping?”

He nods seriously. “Exactly.”

A laugh escapes you as you glance down at your outfit — an old pair of basketball shorts and a borrowed t-shirt. “Well, yeah, I guess these won’t cut it for long.”

Namjoon smiles, leaning back comfortably. “Don’t hold back. Get what you need.”

You hesitate for a moment before sitting down on the couch and opening the laptop. Namjoon watches you for a moment longer, ensuring you’re settled, before standing. “I’ll leave you to it. If you need anything, just let me know.”

“Thanks,” you reply, already pulling up a browser.

As the door clicks shut behind him, you settle into the task, scrolling through websites and adding essentials to your cart. What starts as a practical endeavour — clothes, toiletries, and a few necessities — soon becomes something more indulgent as you add cosy socks, candles, and even a few books to the list. You can’t help but smile at yourself as the cart grows. By the end of the hour, you’ve got multiple tabs open from multiple stores and enough to make anyone question if you were stocking up for an entire year.

Not long after you finish placing your order, the sound of footsteps in the hallway draws your attention. Taehyung and Jungkook appear in the doorway, their expressions bright and eager. Jungkook waves enthusiastically while Taehyung leans casually against the frame, his signature boxy grin in full effect.

“Hey,” Taehyung says smoothly, “we were thinking, it’s time for a tour of the house.”

Jungkook nods quickly. “Yeah, it’s big, and we figured you'd want to go for a walk anyway.”

Their energy is infectious, and you can’t help but smile at their enthusiasm. “I appreciate the thought,” you say, standing and brushing your hands on your borrowed shorts. For a moment, you hesitate — their enthusiasm is sweet but you feel like you'd be wasting their time in going along with them since you already know the house, and honestly, you trust them enough to tell them the simple truth.

“There’s really no need though.” You pause, smiling awkwardly. “I’ve been here before.”

That brings them up short. Taehyung tilts his head, his brows drawing together. “You have?”

Jungkook looks equally puzzled. “When?”

“As a kid, I came here a few times.”

Their confusion remains.

“My dad was Han Sehun.”

Recognition flashes in their eyes immediately. “Ah,” they say in unison, voices laced with understanding. For a moment, you see they seem somewhat apologetic too and you reckon they must know about what happened to your dad and your family. But they quickly return to their usual selves.

“That makes a lot of sense,” Taehyung says, exchanging a look with Jungkook.

You smile at their reaction. They seem so genuine, so easy to be around that it’s hard not to relax.

“So, you’ve seen everything?” Taehyung asks, his curiosity piqued.

You nod. “Pretty much.”

“Even the east wing?” he presses.

You hum, nodding again.

Jungkook folds his arms, his expression teasing. “What about the basement?”

That stops you. You blink at him, a little thrown. “Basement?”

Taehyung’s face lights up like a child with a secret. “Oh, you’ll love it.”

Jungkook nods, matching his energy. "It’s the best part."

“Alright, lead the way.”

They each take a side and help you up, steadying you as you walk. "Come on, you’ll get full access to everything, just as Jimin instructed," Jungkook says as they guide you toward the kitchen.

“Full access?”

“Yep,” Taehyung nods. “To all the equipment and stuff.” He raises his head, thoughtfully. “To be honest, I was a bit confused when he first said that, I didn’t know why he trusted you so much.” He glances at you with a smile. “Now I know.”

“Mhm,” you nod, only partially paying attention as you focus on walking. Truthfully, with each of the boys supporting either side of you, they’re actually making it harder for you to walk, but you don’t have the heart to say anything.

The kitchen is alive with quiet activity. Staff members work efficiently, seemingly unbothered by your group passing through. Two of the housemaids you saw earlier at breakfast glance up with warm smiles.

"Already getting to see the basement?" one of them, a woman Taehyung calls Iseul, asks.

Jungkook nods with mock seriousness. "She’s special, Iseul. VIP access and all."

Iseul laughs lightly. "She is special," she agrees, her voice warm.

The other maid, Ju-ri, adds with a teasing smile, "Pretty too."

Caught off guard, you feel a blush rise to your cheeks. Laughing softly, you reply, "Thanks."

"Don’t scare her off now," Iseul quips, giving you a wink.

You laugh again, shaking your head. "No, it’s okay."

The casual, friendly banter leaves you feeling more at ease, and soon the boys lead you to the back of the kitchen, stopping in front of the pantry doors.

Taehyung gestures grandly. "There are three entrances to the basement. One is in the east wing, one is through a hidden door near the main west wing corridor, and this—" he points at the pantry, "—is the third."

Jungkook open the pantry doors and it seems like nothing out of the ordinary. Stocked with usual pantry items inside. Then, he reaches above the doorframe, pressing his thumb to a scanner you hadn’t even noticed. A soft beep sounds, and the back shelves click and slide away.

You’re staring in awe. Sure, you’ve seen a lot of high tech stuff, naturally, but a secret entrance is never not cool to you.

He glances back at you with a grin. "We’ll get your fingerprint added once we’re down there."

The stairs are narrow and steep, but the space opens up dramatically at the bottom. Your jaw drops as you take in the massive underground expanse, a space that looks like it belongs in a high-budget spy film.

To your left is a double door leading somewhere you can’t yet see. Beside it, a full-sized boxing ring dominates the area. Opposite the ring, punching bags line the wall, and behind them is an impressive array of gym equipment. The center of the basement boasts a large, padded training floor where two men are sparring hand-to-hand, their movements fluid and precise. A small group stands nearby, watching and analyzing the fight.

But it’s the far-right side that truly catches your attention. An indoor shooting range, sleek and modern, takes up a significant portion of the wall. Beyond that, you notice a glass-encased room filled with an impressive collection of weapons.

Jungkook notices your wide-eyed expression. "Not bad, huh?" he asks, a touch of pride in his tone.

"It’s... incredible," you manage, still taking it all in.

Taehyung gestures expansively. "Alright, where do you want to start?"

You point toward the shooting range without hesitation.

"Good choice," Jungkook says with a grin. "You’d be pretty useless hand-to-hand with that leg anyway."

You laugh, playing along. "Hey, I could probably still land a punch — if the other guy stood still long enough."

Taehyung smirks. "We’ll put that to the test later."

As the three of you make your way toward the range, a few people glance your way, acknowledging you with nods before resuming their activities.

You’ve reached the room with the weapons, and up close to the glass doors, the details of the arsenal are even more striking. Beyond the firearms, you notice other equipment neatly arranged within.

Taehyung steps forward and unlocks the room with his thumbprint on the scanner. The double doors open with a quiet hiss, revealing the full extent of the armory. You glance at Taehyung and Jungkook. They simply nod and smile, gesturing for you to enter.

As you step in, a thrill runs through you. It feels a little like stepping into a treasure trove. The room is pristine and organized, the collection mounted with care that borders on reverence. The range is extensive -- everything from pistols to snipers to submachines. The walls, initially appearing solid, catch your eye as you notice subtle grooves. “Sliding drawers?” you murmur. Taehyung nods, confirming your suspicion.

“Everything you see here,” Jungkook says, motioning to the wall-mounted firearms, “has more behind it. This is just the accessible stuff.”

Walking deeper into the room, your attention is pulled to the massive island in the center. Encased beneath glass, one half displays knives in precise rows, gleaming under the lights. Fighting knives dominate, including Gerber Mark II’s that naturally draw your eye. Among them, a few throwing knives are neatly arranged, compact and deadly.

The other half showcases an array of equipment. Some pieces are familiar — lock picks, small surveillance bugs — while others remain mysterious.

Leaning casually against the doorframe, Taehyung tilts his head. “Like what you see?”

“It’s impressive,” you admit, unable to hide your appreciation.

Jungkook steps inside, his hands in his pockets. “Take your pick.”

You glance between them, surprised. Jungkook notices your hesitation and answers your unspoken question. “It’s a matter of safety,” he explains. “Better to be prepared than caught off guard. You never know what might happen.”

“Makes sense,” you reply, scanning the selection. Finally, your eyes settle on a sleek semi-automatic handgun, similar to your trusty FNS Longslide.

Taehyung hums in approval as you pick it up, turning it over in your hands to get a feel for the weight.

“Good choice,” Jungkook says. “Let’s see how you do.”

The three of you step out to the shooting range. You grip the handgun tightly, familiarising yourself with its balance. The first shot surprises you with its recoil, a jolt of pain running through your bandaged wrist. Ignoring it, you adjust your grip and fire again. With each pull of the trigger, your aim sharpens, and soon you’re hitting the target with consistent precision.

Taehyung lets out a low whistle. “Impressive. Especially with that leg slowing you down.”

You smile faintly, catching your breath. “It’s a good thing I can shoot then..”

They let you stay longer, and as you continue, the act of shooting begins to feel oddly therapeutic. It’s strange, almost surreal, but as the tension in your body eases, you realise how much you’ve missed this sense of control and independence it brings.

Taehyung and Jungkook have joined in, turning the practice session into something of a friendly competition. At Jungkook’s suggestion, you try out a few unfamiliar weapons. One particularly sleek rifle catches your attention, and they guide you through its mechanics.

“You’re a fast learner,” Jungkook remarks, nodding in approval.

Taehyung steps to the side, retrieving a set of knives. “But can you do this?” he teases, lining up his target. With a flick of his wrist, the knife sails through the air, embedding itself in the bullseye of a distant dummy.

“Show off,” Jungkook mutters, smirking.

“Go on,” Taehyung encourages, handing you a knife.

You give it a try, and though your aim isn’t perfect, it’s respectable enough to earn a nod from Taehyung.

“You’ve got potential,” he says. “But it’s all about precision.” He demonstrates another throw, the knife hitting its mark effortlessly. “Forty yards, no problem.”

“Noted,” you say, watching his technique closely.

Before you can take another turn, a familiar voice interrupts. “You’ve got an injured leg and wrist, yet here you are.”

Turning, you see Seokjn walking toward you, his expression part amused, part exasperated.

You flash him a mischievous grin. “No rest for the wicked?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “That’s true enough. But don’t overdo it. It’s easy to get carried away with these two,” he adds, nodding toward Taehyung and Jungkook.

“Hey,” Jungkook protests, sending a knife flying across the range. It lands just off-center. He frowns, picking up another one. “We learn from our elders.”

Jin smirks. “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment. But seriously,” he turns to you, his gaze softening, “we should check your bandages. Come with me?”

“Sure,” you say, stepping off the range. As you walk with him, you glance back at Taehyung and Jungkook, who are already turning their session into a full-blown contest.

“Competitive, aren’t they?” you remark.

“You have no idea,” Jin replies, smiling.

“You seen this part yet?” He nods in the direction of the double doors.

You shake your head. “Not yet.”

“Ah, it’s not hugely exciting.” He opens the double doors, and you enter into a wide corridor. It leads off somewhere, but to the left is another set of double doors.

As you get closer, Jin opens the doors, and you see it opens up to what you can only describe as a doctor’s clinic. Your family home had something similar, but it wasn’t anywhere near as big.

“This place has everything you could need in case you get injured. Of course, Jimin has links with a few doctors stationed at different hospitals in Seoul, but we prefer to stay off the radar.”

Approaching a locked shelf, your eyes skim through the names of many medicines. “This is a pretty extensive collection.”

“Much needed too.”

Turning around, you glance at him.

“Like you said, no rest for the wicked.”

You smile faintly, acknowledging his humorous response. Though, really, it only has a dark meaning in this context.

There’s a small examination couch opposite the room. As you limp over, Seokjin meets you there and adjusts the back higher for you to rest.

Swinging your legs, you lean back comfortably and drag the hem of your shorts up.

Seokjin makes quick work removing the bandages. He cleans the wound and places a fresh dressing.

“It’s healing well.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Sitting forward, you glance down at your leg, grimacing when you see the gash.

“It looks worse than it is,” he says, placing a new dressing on it.

Slowly, you squeeze your muscles, only to inevitably wince when you feel a spark of pain.

“Well, you still need to take it pretty easy,” Seokjin says, placing a hand on your shoulder to lay you back before he starts on your wrist. “But it’s doing well.”

“How long do you think it’ll be until it’s fully healed?”

“If you look after it properly, enough rest, eat well, sleep well, I’d say three weeks, maybe four.”

Four weeks. That’s not bad. You nod, accepting your current fate. “Can I at least come down here occasionally?”

Seokjin shrugs, slowly unwrapping the bandage on your wrist. “For the sake of your sanity, to shoot only, and to see me of course.”

Your lips turn into a smile. “Thanks.”

Just as you sink back into the cushion, you hear a soft beep, and the doors slide open.

Jimin enters, his eyes immediately finding yours. “Oh, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say, still smiling from your prognosis.

“Jimin,” Seokjin says, glancing over his shoulder and nodding toward you. “Sit. I’m almost done with Y/N.”

Though Jimin commands everyone else around here, he takes that as an order and nods, walking toward the middle of the room. He looks your way again as he pulls his jacket off, placing it neatly over a chair. He wears a shoulder holster over his shirt, the black leather housing a gun you can’t see from where you’re sitting. He removes this too. “Is everything all good, Y/N?” Despite his usual calm, steel-edged demeanour, the concern in his tone is evident.

“Great,” you smile, glancing at Seokjin for reassurance.

As Jimin approaches, he begins unfastening a few buttons at the top of his shirt, standing beside Seokjin. You try not to stare curiously at the skin he’s just revealed, but you can’t help wondering why he’s here. Is he hurt too?

“Yes, she’s healing well,” Seokjin confirms. “However, we need to make sure she takes it easy.” He throws you a pointed look. “I saw you eyeing up the training floor.”

“Hey, I was just looking,” you reply defensively, though a small smile breaks through.

Jimin’s lips quirk upward as well. “I’m not surprised. I figured you’d like the basement.”

“It’s impressive. Do you spend much time down here?”

“I probably should come down to train more.”

Seokjin scoffs lightly. “You train enough, Jimin.” Despite his humorous tone, there’s an undertone of concern, a subtle weight that shows his elder brotherly care.

Jimin doesn’t respond, his gaze falling instead to Seokjin’s hands as they finish bandaging your wrist.

“Come on, sit,” Seokjin gestures to the space next to you as he stands to disinfect his hands at the sink.

Jimin obeys, unbuttoning his shirt further but not entirely. As he pulls the fabric off one shoulder, your eyes land on the bandage underneath.

It’s stained with dark red, almost brown – a clear sign of blood that has dried and seeped through.

“You’re hurt?” Your voice mirrors his earlier concern, soft and tinged with worry, as you lean forward to get a better look. Seokjin reappears with fresh gloves, moving efficiently to tend to Jimin’s wound.

Jimin’s eyes meet yours, and for a moment, something unreadable flickers across his expression. Then he smiles – a small, quiet curve of his lips, soft but sure.

It makes you pause, the way he’s looking at you. “What?”

As though caught in a moment of reverie, Jimin shakes his head. “Sorry. You just reminded me of—” He stops, shaking his head again, brushing it off. His gaze drops to his injury. “I’m fine. It’s only a scratch.”

His eyes linger on you a moment too long, and you feel yourself growing self-conscious under his steady attention.

Breaking eye contact, you look down at the wound. It’s not as severe as the one on your thigh, but you know it still stings. “That looks a bit bigger than a scratch.”

Your gaze shifts slightly, catching sight of another scar on his arm, just below the fresh bandage. Partially hidden beneath his shirt sleeve, it’s far more prominent and the significant scarring that you can see gives away the severity of what it once was.

Jimin glances down at his shoulder. “Well, it doesn’t hurt any more than a scratch, at least,” he counters lightly.

“When did it happen?” you ask, thoughts flashing back to the night in your home. You distinctly remember him injuring Minjun, but not himself. Then it clicks — he must have been hurt yesterday when he left to meet the Takahashis. “Yesterday?”

Jimin hesitates, just briefly, before nodding. “Yeah.”

“The Takahashis?”

His brows lift, surprised.

“I saw you leaving,” you explain. “Yoongi told me where you were going.”

“Ah.” Jimin exhales softly, his lips twitching into a small smile. “Yeah. It wasn’t anything planned. One of the Cheongs’ men who was in charge of the shipment didn’t realize who we were.”

“It’s a mistake he won’t make again,” Seokjin interjects, his tone clipped as he cleans the wound with saline.

Jimin doesn’t flinch despite the pain, though you catch the way his knuckles tighten against the chair and his jaw sets. He inhales slowly, evenly, letting out a measured breath as Seokjin finishes.

You glance back at Jimin. “Did you kill him?”

He shakes his head. “No. He learned his lesson,” Jimin replies, his voice low and solemn.

Before you can ask more, Jimin’s phone buzzes sharply.

One look at the screen, and he picks up. "Yes," he answers.

You can make out the faint sound of someone speaking on the other end, but you’re too far to discern the words.

“Okay,” he says simply, ending the call and setting the phone aside.

Seokjin glances at Jimin, understanding passing silently between them. “I’ll greet them,” Seokjin says, already moving to wash his hands.

Jimin nods. “Thank you.”

Without another word, Seokjin leaves, the quiet sound of the door closing behind him.

Left alone, you watch as Jimin buttons up his shirt once more, his movements deliberate, though he doesn’t seem in a hurry.

“Did you get to pick out a weapon?” Jimin’s voice is soft, breaking the quiet hum of the room.

“Yeah.” You nod toward the table on the opposite side where your choice rests, placed with care.

He follows your gaze, his lips curving slightly. “Nice choice.”

“What about you?”

Jimin shifts, reaching down to pull a gun from the holster at his side. The semi-automatic pistol sits in his hand like it belongs there — perfectly balanced, steady, and natural, as though it’s an extension of him rather than just a tool.

“Nice choice,” you echo, your tone light but genuine.

He chuckles softly as he replaces the gun, securing the strap with a practiced pull. You take the moment to ease yourself off the examination couch carefully before standing.

“Do you always carry that around?” you ask, curiosity slipping into your tone.

Jimin adjusts the holster against his chest, his movements deliberate, precise. His gaze finds yours, and there’s a quiet intensity in his expression that makes the air feel heavier. “I feel like I have to.”

You nod slowly. Turning, you reach for your phone on the counter, the brief moment of stillness settling over the space between you.

He lingers, watching you in silence, before asking, “Did you ever feel the need to stay armed?”

The question catches you off guard, and you glance back at him. There’s something in his gaze — an honest curiosity that feels disarming. It mirrors the questions you’ve often wanted to ask him but never have.

“Yes.” You let the word sit for a moment, then add, “I had far less reason to, but yes.”

He nods, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I get it.”

You begin to walk, and he falls into step beside you. He stays close, his posture subtly protective, just as he had this morning.

“Did you ever have to use it?” he asks quietly, his voice barely above a murmur.

You shake your head. “No. You?”

“A few times.”

Your eyes turn to him, searching his expression, but his features remain unreadable. There’s a faint smile at the corner of his lips, masking the meaning of his answer, before he looks forward again. You don’t press him further.

As you approach the door, Jimin slows his steps. “Are you okay to head back to Taehyung and Jungkook?”

“Yeah,” you say, offering a small smile.

“I’m sure they’ve still got a lot they want to show you.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” you chuckle softly. “I just can’t wait until this is all healed so I can do more.”

He stops at the door, turning to face you fully. “I remember you being pretty good at hand-to-hand combat,” he says, his tone soft with nostalgia. “Even when you were young, you’d knock me down with a solid roundhouse every time we played.”

You let out a quiet laugh, the memories surfacing. “Yeah, until you figured out how to block and floor me.”

Jimin chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah... sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” you reply, your smile lingering. Your gaze falls behind him to the far end of the corridor that you saw as you enetered earlier, and your curiosity gets the better of you,

“What’s down there?”

He glances over his shoulder, and when he looks back at you, the smile on his face is gone, replaced by something more guarded. “I can show you,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost cautious.

“Don’t you have a meeting?” you ask, glancing at him.

“They can wait.”

“Sure.”

Jimin hesitates, his expression shifting. “I have to warn you, though — it’s not pretty.”

You look at him, confused.

“Minjun is in there,” he says quietly.

Immediately, understanding dawns. It must be where they’re keeping him. You recall Jimin’s chilling words after Minjun killed Seojun. I’m going to cut you apart, and then piece you back together. And I’ll do it over and over.

“Oh.” The word falls softly from your lips.

Jimin nods, watching you carefully.

You think back to how merciless Minjun had been, how he killed Seojun without hesitation. It likely wasn’t the first time. He’s probably killed so many of Jimin’s loved ones, and part of you feels certain he’s getting what he deserves.

But another part of you is aware that this is something you're not familiar with. Your father had always shielded you from this side of your world, keeping the darkness at bay. Even after he died and you moved to Namwon, you only saw death once, and upon returning to Seoul and choosing to work quietly as you had with Yoongi definitely changed things — you’ve hurt and killed others in pursuit of vengeance — but this... keeping someone alive solely for revenge, dragging it out... It feels different.

The thought makes your stomach twist, and from the way Jimin studies you, you know he can sense it. He’s seen far worse than you ever have.

You remember the raw look in his eyes as he knelt beside Seojun’s body. The memory stirs something in you, a a flare of indignation takes away your hesitation.

Sure of your decision, you meet his gaze. “I want to see.”

Jimin’s eyes soften, his jaw relaxing slightly. “Okay.”

He extends his arm without a word, offering his support. You take it, leaning into his steadiness as you both move down the dim corridor.

At the end of the hall, Jimin unlocks the door with his thumbprint, and it slides open to reveal a larger room. The space is dark, with three heavy doors on the opposite wall, each one resembling a prison cell.

The room’s air feels colder. Two tables flank the sides, and as your eyes fall on their contents, your stomach churns. Knives, pliers, and other devices you wouldn’t even be able to imagine the function of.

“Y/N?” Jimin’s voice pulls you back. His hand gently covers yours where it rests on his arm.

You look at him and find his eyes round with concern.

“It’s a lot, I know,” he murmurs. “We can leave.”

You shake your head firmly. “No, it’s okay.” Your gaze drifts to a bucket beneath the table filled with something murky and white. “What’s that?”

Jimin follows your line of sight and hesitates before answering, “Salt water.”

“Salt to wound,” you say faintly.

He nods once, his expression unreadable.

Your attention shifts to the doors, noting the small window latches on each one. “Which one?”

“The middle,” Jimin replies.

Together, you move toward it. He stays close, steadying you when needed, until you reach the door. At the latch, he opens it for you, stepping aside to let you look inside.

You rise on your tiptoes, peering through the narrow glass pane. Minjun lies on his side, arms bound separately by chains that stretch to the walls. He’s been stripped to his underwear, his body covered in cuts, bruises, and welts. Little of his skin remains untouched. In the corner, a bowl of bread and water sits untouched on the floor. .

“Has he said anything?” you ask, your voice low. “About that day? Or anything else?”

Jimin nods. He watches your face carefully, his observant eyes catching the change in your expression. You want to know more.

“I’ll tell you everything,” he says softly as you lower yourself back to the ground and he closes the latch. “Anything you want to know. Soon.”

You frown, confused, meeting his gaze.

Jimin pauses, the weight of his thoughts flickering in his eyes. “I just need a little time to finalize a few things.” His voice is quiet, but steady, and the sincerity in his tone reassures you.

You nod, trusting him. “Okay.”

He holds your gaze for a moment longer before gesturing back toward the hall. “Come on,” he says gently. “Let’s go back up.”

“I’ve already paid more than half the price and given the recent units I supplied you with, I think you ought to let the rest go.”

Jimin sighs heavily, jaw shifting as he tries to stay calm and not snap at the infuriating man in front of him.

“Akira, I’ve already told you, the units you supplied me with were faulty, and I made that deal out of goodwill since I had no real need for them and you needed a buyer to help pay off your earlier debts with the Tanaka’s.”

“So?” Akira says, aloof. “I didn’t insist you buy from me, that was your choice, and I can assure you any damage to the guns occurred in your run, not mine.”

“No, the guns were checked at the port and the whole shipment damaged upon arrival,” Jimin says through gritted teeth. “Not to forget the issues your men caused at the site. I’m not negotiating with you here Akira, you’re going to pay for the rest of the drugs you bought, otherwise the Takahashi’s will be cut off and your debt with us will triple.”

“Ooh, now that’s mean,” Yasuko quips, almost mockingly, turning around from admiring the glass ornaments on the shelf.

Jimin ignores her, keeping his eyes fixed on Akira who stares right back at him, daringly.

“Then I suppose we would have to cut you off as well,” Akira challenges, raising his head.

From the corner of his eye, Jimin catches how Yasuko perks up at this, clearly only interested in the possible confrontation that might occur between the two.

“The Jericho 941’s?” Jimin asks.

Akira nods smugly, leaning back in his seat.

But Jimin just shrugs. “That won’t be a problem.”

Visibly angered by Jimin’s nonchalance, Akira stiffens up. “What?! Who else might supply you with them? I have precedence over the rarest materials in all of Japan and South Korea!”

“Clearly not,” Yasuko snorts, striding across Jimin’s office in her high heels to stand beside the chair her older husband is seated in, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Get off me woman,” he hisses, oblivious to the way Yasuko rolls her eyes tiredly as he looks back at Jimin. “Tell me,” he demands.

“Well he won’t tell you if you don’t ask nicely,” Yasuko gibes, taking a seat in the large arm chair, kicking her legs up onto the mahogany table and she remains staring at Jimin, a coy smile on her face. “But I am interested,” she says smoothly, “the Jericho 941’s are more than difficult to obtain and incredibly valuable, and they’ve been indispensable to you over the years so why would you so easily cut us off… if not for another seller?”

Jimin looks at her wordlessly. He understands why Akira keeps her around. She’s almost 30 years younger than the old man and when they first married four years ago, the marriage was clearly not one of love. Jimin assumed she was only interested in money but she comes from a wealthy family herself, and there’s nothing kind between her and Akira given they both cheat on each other all the time, so the only other reason she might’ve stayed would be power.

She’s smarter than Akira, and much more sly too. This is evident since the reputation of the Takahashi’s has grown, making them one of the most well known families of Japan, though not the top.

However despite Yasuko’s sharp skill, Jimin finds her incredibly intolerable. Maybe because she’s always trying to get him into bed with her.

“I simply have no need for them anymore,” Jimin shrugs. “I’ve found better replacements that my men prefer to the Jericho’s, and so—” he turns to Akira sharply “—I have little need for you now, but I’ll gladly keep paying for the shipments of tac gear if you wish.”

Nostrils flaring, Akira slams his hand onto the table. “That’s fucking bullshit. You’re full of bullshit just like your father was! Neither of you know how to keep up your end of a goddamn deal!”

The silence in the room is deafening, and Hoseok and Namjoon watch carefully between Jimin and Akira for any sudden movements. Even Yasuko takes her legs off the table, brows raised slightly as she observes Jimin, knowing her husband is too cowardly to do anything himself.

Jimin scoffs lightly, his lack of emotion seeming dangerous to everyone else in the room. Pushing his seat back, he stands up tall behind his desk and glares down at the old man in his seat.

“My father is no longer here, so to mention him is irrelevant,” Jimin says calmly. “You’re dealing with me, and if you’re not happy, I’ve already made it clear that I have no qualms cutting ties with you.”

Akira’s eyes narrow, the muscles in his jaw twitching involuntarily as he grits his teeth, his face flushing a deep shade of red.

Jimin notices, but pays no mind. Instead, he speaks slower, ensuring the threat in every word comes across loud and clear. “Should you still have a problem, I have an untouched supply of M249’s in one of my warehouses… I’m sure my men are dying to use them.”

Yasuko smirks, rising to step closer to Akira. “What d’you have to say to that, Takahashi?” she says, patronisingly.

Even between these two families, Akira knows that the influence of the Park’s far exceeds that of the Takahashi’s. Without any real force behind him, Akira would be a fool to lose Jimin.

Akira scowls at Yasuko, before shooting a look at Jimin. “The Lee’s might have more need for me then, and with their established trafficking organisation, one might find them to be more valuable than you,” he spits.

Yasuko rolls her eyes.

Gaze sharpening, Jimin fights back his urge to pull out his gun and shoot the old man in the balls. It’s not like he hasn’t already suspected Akira of working alongside the Lee’s.

“Akira,” Jimin says coldly, clenching his jaw and doing little to hide his anger at the old man’s words. “As someone who has entertained your company for two years as a formality, I must tell you, your abhorrent disposition has a way of showing on your face and it’s most uninviting for those you wish to deal with… you ought to keep that in mind when you visit your new partner, Mr Lee.”

Akira’s face drops.

“Oh come now,” Yasuko tuts, “let’s not be hasty—“

“Shut up woman,” Akira seethes, “the Lee’s have alre—“

“The Lee’s are corrupt and vile!” she interrupts sharply.

“We’re all corrupt!” Akira snaps back at his wife, the veins in his forehead looking as though they might pop.

Yasuko pays no more attention to him and begins walking slowly to Jimin.

“That’s true, but the Lee’s have less capital and their motivations are misplaced. Besides, we would be stupid to let go of someone as influential as Mr Park...” she walks behind his desk and trails her hand across his upper back, stopping right behind him to speak low in his ear, but loud enough for everyone to still hear. “...After all, he is the most powerful man in all of South Korea, mighty handsome too, and I imagine we’d be helpless without him.”

Jimin tenses, uncomfortable with the guileful woman standing so close to him. The overbearing stench of her perfume fills his nostrils, making him feel somewhat nauseous.

Hoseok and Namjoon exchange glances, giving Yasuko a look of disgust.

Pulling away from her, Jimin walks over to one of the cabinets in his office, and after a moment, he pulls out a file for his contracts with the Takahashi’s and throws it on the desk.

Yasuko frowns and walks around to pick it up. Seeing what it is, she sighs loudly. “Jimin, I assure you there’s no need for this. Akira is being reckless and he’s just having a bad day—“

“Don’t talk for me wo—“

“I will talk for you since you’re fucking incapable of keeping your stupid mouth shut!”

Akira glares at her before mumbling under his breath and looking away resignedly.

Jimin sighs, his patience running short with the Takahashi’s. He’s been witness to the husband and wife arguing many times before, and each time he wonders why he still deals with them until he remembers he needs to do everything he can to keep the Lee’s from gaining power and a stronghold in Japan; that’s something the Park’s have over them, and it’s proven most beneficial, especially in helping him get closer to his new goal.

“Jimin, you’ll get the payment within two months, and I’ll get Hachiro to draft a new contract fo—“

“No need,” Jimin cuts in, taking a seat at his desk. “I’ll get Namjoon to draft the contract and I’ll be sending it over to you.”

Yasuko pauses, but eventually nods. “Very well, and since we’re here, we might as well discuss the terms in person.”

Jimin nods curtly, giving Namjoon a weary look as his friend approaches him. “You can discuss the terms with Namjoon,” he says to the disparate couple in front of him.

Yasuko watches Jimin with sharp eyes for a few seconds but he remains uninterested, looking down at the desk while listening to Namjoon, and eventually she rolls her eyes, stalking over to the window as she too, listens to Namjoon.

He reads out their current contract, and Jimin’s mind wanders off, recalling Akira’s comment on the Lee’s established trafficking organization. It infuriates him to still deal with Akira knowing he would consider cutting ties with him to go to the Lee’s, while knowing exactly what they’re involved in. Jimin knows that there’s little good in most of his businesses, but the Lee’s crossed a line that Jimin would never cross. .

“Excuse me,” Yasuko interrupts carelessly, turning on her heel from the window and walking across the room, “I need to use the restroom but please carry on.”

Jimin frowns. “I’ll have Hoseok escort y—“

“No need,” she cuts him off airily, waving her hand. “I’m a very capable lady Jimin — of many things — and you might discover that one day if you wouldn’t be so uptight.”

Akira grimaces, giving his wife a detestful look, knowing what she was alluding to. “Licentious woman,” he mutters, though she pays no attention to him and exits the room, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

Jimin ignores her comment and turns back to Namjoon to continue.

The east wing feels different than you remember from years ago. The halls, once brooding and heavy, now seem lighter, more modernised. The subtle upgrades — better lighting, fresh paint, and the absence of a few foreboding portraits — make it feel less like a haunted memory and more like a polished and comfortable space.

Jungkook and Taehyung lead you through with casual ease, pointing out their respective offices.

“This one’s mine,” Taehyung gestures to a door with a clean, minimalist plaque bearing his name. Inside, you glimpse a space that is an effortless mix of his sophistication and eccentricity.

“And this is where I spend too much time,” Jungkook adds, showing his office just across the hall. His is sleek and efficient, a reflection of his meticulous nature.

Stepping across the hall, you look at some of the other open offices. “You make it sound boring.”

“Well, it can be, except when we’re out on jobs,” Taehyung replies with a smirk. “But Jimin doesn’t let us slack off.”

“He doesn’t let anyone slack off,” Jungkook quips as you continue walking.

As you round a corner, the sharp click of heels against marble draws your attention. A woman appears, striking in her elegance and deliberate in her movements. Her eyes sweep over you with interest, lingering a moment too long before a knowing smile curves her lips.

From your right, you notice Jungkook and Taehyung exchanging a subtle look.

“Well, this is a surprise,” she says, her voice smooth and laced with intrigue. “And who might you be?”

You meet her gaze. “I could ask the same about you.”

Her smile widens, as if she appreciates the response. “Fair enough. You’re certainly… unexpected.” She tilts her head, her gaze sharp as she studies you. “Quite pretty, too. What brings you to the Park Estate?”

You shrug lightly, keeping your tone as casual as your posture. “A visit. What about you?”

Her smile tightens slightly, her sharpness met with your calm deflection. “Oh, I’ve business here. Akira and I are discussing some arrangements with Jimin.”

Her eyes flick briefly to your leg where the bandage is peeking out below your shorts just enough to see.. “That injury,” she says, her voice faux-sympathetic. “What a pity. I do hope it hasn’t been too much trouble for you.”

You feel the weight of Jungkook and Taehyung’s gazes on you, both of them slightly tense. Her comment makes you wonder — could she have had something to do with the attack? Her general demeanour tells you she knows more than she’s letting on. It occurs to you that when Yoongi mentioned the Takahashis, he also named Akira. She must be one of them.

Still, you don’t let your thoughts show. Instead, you reply smoothly, mirroring her tone. “Not at all. Sometimes the most inconvenient things turn out to be the least important.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, but before she can respond, the sound of approaching footsteps pulls her attention.

From another corridor, Jimin and Akira appear. Jimin’s gaze immediately finds yours, and for a moment, concern flickers across his face. Akira, on the other hand, stops beside Yasuko and studies you openly, his curiosity evident. He says nothing, letting the scene play out.

Yasuko turns her attention back to you, her interest seemingly renewed. “You’re quite composed, aren’t you?” she remarks. “I imagine it takes a certain… calibre of person to fit in here.”

“Perhaps,” you reply with an easy shrug. “Or perhaps it’s just about knowing when not to overstep.”

Jimin’s concern vanishes as quickly as it came when he hears your response, a flicker of pride crossing his expression.

Yasuko’s eyes flash briefly with something close to irritation, but she quickly masks it with a chuckle. “Well, Akira, I think it’s time we take our leave.” She glances back at you one last time, her smile sharp and unreadable. “A pleasure meeting you. I hope we’ll speak again.”

“Likewise,” you say evenly, watching as she and Akira turn and walk away.

Jimin nods at Hoseok, who moves to escort them out.

Once they’re gone, your gaze meets Jimin’s, and he’s already sporting a small, amused smile before Namjoon arrives with a tablet in hand. Without another word, Jimin follows Namjoon down a corridor, his focus shifting to business.

Jungkook and Taehyung exchange glances before Taehyung speaks. “You handled that well.”

Jungkook nods. “She’s sharp, and she knows how to get under people’s skin. Not many keep their cool around her.”

“Who is she?” you ask, your tone light but curious.

“Takahashi Yasuko,” Taehyung replies.

“Oh.”

They watch you for a moment, but when you don’t ask anything else, Jungkook claps his hands together. “Alright, I’m starving. Shall we get some lunch?”

You nod, only now realizing just how hungry you are as a soft rumble from your stomach makes you smile lightly. It’s definitely time to eat.

Taehyung grins, gesturing for you to follow. “Agreed. Let’s go.”

A few days later

You’re tired tonight, having wandered the estate gardens for longer than you should’ve. The familiar paths brought back memories, and when you found Jimin’s mother’s garden again, it felt like you’d stepped back in time. The door had been unlocked this time, unlike when you were a child, and you couldn’t help but linger there, memories returning and you found yourself thinking of Jimin often. You’ve barely seen him in the past few days, and his absence at meals hasn’t gone unnoticed. It’s left you wondering if he’s eating well.

As you approach your room, you spot Ara stepping out.

“Good evening, Miss L/N,” she greets, her voice warm but professional.

“Good evening, Ara,” you reply with a smile.

“I just had some housekeeping to do,” she explains.

“That’s okay.”

Her lips curl into a small smile. “I also added some of the items you requested — the fluffy socks.” There’s a playful gleam in her eyes. “I’m glad to see some things never change.”

You chuckle, a little caught off guard but also comforted by her familiarity — she definitely remembers you. “Well, I find comfort in the small things.”

“I’m glad,” she says gently. “We could all do with some comfort.”

“I agree. Speaking of, I was wondering if I could help you in the kitchen sometime?”

Ara tilts her head, a flicker of confusion passing over her face.

“Before I came here, I owned a bakery,” you explain. “I didn’t realise how much I’d made a hobby of it, but I’ve actually been missing it.”

Her expression softens as understanding dawns. “Ah. Of course. It’s Iseul who does most of the baking but you can join us whenever you like.”

“Thank you.”

There’s a pause before she adds, “I’m glad to see you’re doing well.”

“Thank you,” you say again, unsure of how else to respond.

Ara hesitates, then steps closer and places a hand on your shoulder. Her voice is quieter now, more personal. “I was very sorry to hear what happened to your family.”

The words hit with a bittersweet ache. All you can do is smile faintly.

“But I’m glad you’re here, Y/N,” she says with a gentle squeeze to your shoulder. Her kind eyes linger on you for a moment before she steps back, nodding slightly before continuing down the corridor.

Left alone, you exhale slowly, her words echoing softly in your mind. A faint smile touches your lips as you turn into your room, the quiet stillness wrapping around you like a familiar embrace.

Maybe, just maybe, you might find the comforts of home here.

4th February 2015

Jimin stood, sweat slicking his skin, his fists pounding against the punching bag. The rhythmic thud of leather meeting fabric was a welcome distraction, allowing him to release the built-up tension in his muscles. He’d been working hard, trying to tune out the growing noise in his head, but the weight of his father’s expectations never quite left him.

His phone went off on the bench across the training floor, pulling him from his thoughts. Pulling off his glove, he wiped his brow with the back of his hand and went to get it, squinting at the screen. It was his father.

Jihoon.

He answered the call with a deep breath, trying to steady his pulse.

“Jimin.” His father’s voice was curt, as usual. “Come to my office. I need to see you," he said, never awaiting an answer before cutting down.

Jimin pocketed the phone, cleaning himself off a little before he headed toward the East Wing, his footsteps echoing down the long, dimly lit corridor leading to his father’s office.

As he passed, his eyes landed on Kwan and Duri, the two brutish men who had long been fixtures of his father’s inner circle. They were leaving the office, their hulking figures filling the narrow hallway.

They sneered at him, and though Jimin didn’t flinch, he felt a small unease he couldn’t explain. Normally, they’d just ignore him. This time, their gaze lingered.

Jihoon sat behind his desk, one arm resting on the chair’s armrest, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He didn’t bother looking up as Jimin stepped inside.

Jimin wasted no time with pleasantries. He stepped forward and asked, “Where are they going?” referring to Kwan and Duri.

Jihoon glanced up at him, the same cold expression on his face. “I have some work to be done.”

“What work?” Jimin asked, voice steady, but with a sharper edge than before. His years in the family had hardened him, and now, he was no longer the soft boy who had once been shielded from the grim realities of their world.

Jihoon’s eyes flickered for a brief moment, but his expression was impassive, betraying no hint of emotion. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yes,” Jimin spoke curtly, meeting his father’s gaze head-on.

Jihoon leaned back in his chair, taking a sip from his glass with his gaze unwavering. “You’ll find out soon enough."

Jimin studied him, his father’s mask never faltering. Any work his dad needs done is usually tasked to Jimin. This secrecy is something new and it plants a seed of suspicion in Jimin.

“Why not tell me now?”

“I give the orders, Jimin,” he said, his tone final, “My men obey them. Don’t probe further.”

Jimin clenched his jaw, his expression neutral as always, but with a hint of defiance beneath. “So what order do you have for me?”

“You’re to come to Suwon with me, tonight. We leave at nine.”

Jimin’s face betrayed nothing as he absorbed the information. No questions, no further probing. His father had given him his orders, and he had learned long ago not to ask too much.

He turned to leave, but just as he reached the door, Jihoon’s voice stopped him.

“Bring your gun,” Jihoon ordered.

Jimin nodded once, his jaw tight, and left without another word.

The casino in Suwon was old, the neon lights flickering weakly. The walls were worn, the carpet stained, and the sense of decay was palpable. But the men inside didn’t care. Corruption seeped into every corner, like the thick, bitter smell of whiskey in the air.

Jimin knew this wasn’t just a place for gambling — there were worse things happening in the back rooms and he’d seen enough to know — but he also knew of his fathers plans to close down this place, so he wasn't surprised at its state.

He followed his father down the corridor, passing the few men who looked up briefly before realizing who it was and retreating back into the haze of smoke and bad deals. Jihoon moved like a shadow, and Jimin mirrored him, his gaze darting around, taking in everything. The walls were lined with old pictures and cheap wallpaper, but they didn’t care. None of them did.

They descended into the basement, the air growing heavier, thicker with the scent of money, sweat, and sex. The basement was modestly sized, but cluttered with tables and money-counting machines. Men sat around, counting stacks of cash with bags of white everywhere, while two girls leaned against the wall, their eyes distant, as though this scene was nothing new.

Jimin’s eyes flicked over the men, but he didn’t speak, he just stood there, waiting for his father’s next move. Jihoon was calm, but there was something in his eyes — something colder than Jimin had ever seen before.

At the far left, Kwan and Duri stood over a man in bloodstained clothes kneeling on the floor, his hands bound behind his back, a sack over his head.

Jihoon had entered without a word, his presence enough to silence the room. He nodded subtly, and everyone else in the room filed out — except Jimin, Kwan, and Duri.

Jihoon took a seat at a table, his eyes flicking to the bottle of whiskey in front of him. He uncorked it with a quick motion and took a long, deliberate swig. The silence in the room was deafening. He lit a cigarette, taking a deep drag as he looked at his son.

Jimin stood motionless, his gaze flicking between his father and the bound man, a sickening sense of anticipation churning in his gut.

Jihoon nodded at Duri, who stepped forward. With one swift motion, Duri yanked the sack off the man’s head. The man’s face was a mess of bruises, but his expression was eerily blank. He stared ahead, too weak to respond, too beaten to show emotion.

Jimin’s stomach coiled at the sight, but he didn’t look away.

Still, his father remained silent, content to let the tension hang in the air. Jihoon’s gaze flickered to Kwan and Duri again. Another nod. And the beatings began.

Jimin felt the bile rise in his throat as the sound of fists landing on flesh filled the room. It was never easy, no matter how many times he’d witnessed this.

Kwan and Duri relished the violence, drawing it out — drawing pain out. Jimin knew the difference. He’d seen these men kill with their bare hands in seconds, so the fact they were prolonging this torture meant something far worse.

He didn’t know what though. He’d seen man’s life end in this way more than a few times, but he’d never been dragged out of Seoul for this purpose.

Jimin didn’t watch the brothers. Instead, he stood still, fists clenched at his sides, his face a mask of detachment as the man’s weak cries echoed through the room.

Jimin looked at his father, eyes cold but filled with a quiet fury. “What’s the point of this?”

Jihoon didn’t even flinch at the question. He exhaled smoke slowly and looked at Jimin, his face impassive. “Stop them if you want.”

Jimin’s gaze flickered to Kwan and Duri. For a split second, he wondered if this was some kind of trap. But he didn’t care. He’d had enough.

In a fluid movement, Jimin strode forward and grabbed Kwan by the arm, yanking him away from the man on the floor. Kwan stumbled back, disoriented, and before he could regain his balance, Jimin delivered a solid punch to his face, knocking him back.

Duri reacted immediately, swinging a wild punch, but Jimin was quicker. He blocked it and countered with a brutal hit of his own. Duri stumbled back, and before he could retaliate, Jimin slid under Kwan's returning guard, delivering a series of strikes to Kwan’s midsection before locking him in a chokehold.

Kwan struggled, trying to headbutt Jimin, but Jimin drove his knee into Kwan’s leg, knocking him off balance.

Duri growled, eyes full of fury, but before he could launch himself at Jimin, Jihoon’s voice cut through the air. “Wait.”

Duri froze, glancing from Jimin, still holding Kwan in a chokehold, to Jihoon, who was watching the scene with a mix of amusement and a flicker of something darker.

Kwan’s resistance faded, and Jimin released him just before he passed out, leaving him crumpled on the floor, gasping for air.

Jihoon looked back at Duri. With a single gesture, he gave his permission for him to continue.

Jimin snarled, having had enough. In a swift motion, he pulled his gun out and aimed at Duri's head.

Jihoon raised a brow, his expression unchanged.

“You think I won’t do it?” Jimin said, cocking the gun.

Jihoon shrugged. “I have my doubts.”

Jimin shook his head, his voice detached. “Do you forget you raised me?” He shot Duri in the knee with only a sideways glance, the bullet meeting its mark.

Duri shouted out in pain, his body slumping against the wall behind him, his face twisted in agony, while his brother moved to lunge at Jimin.

"Stop." Jihoon levelled Jimin's gaze and held up a hand to stop Kwan.

Kwan stopped short, pleading on his brother's behalf. “Sir, please.”

But Jihoon didn’t acknowledge the plea. “Leave. Back to Seoul, now,” he ordered, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

Kwan glared at Jimin but said nothing as he obeyed and took his leeave.

The atmosphere was thick with unspoken anger as father and son glared at each other. Jimin's rage was palpable, his jaw clenched, tight, while Jihoon stood unmoving, his face as cold and calculating as ever. Jimin could feel the weight of the situation — there was more to this than he'd been told.

Jihoon stepped up to Jimin, his face unreadable. “Do it,” he muttered, almost too softly. “I know you want to.”

Jimin lowered the gun, his gaze fixed on his father. “No.”

Jihoon laughed darkly, stepping back. “Then kill the other one.”

He turned toward the bound man, who was shaking now, tears streaming down his beaten face. “I said no,” Jimin repeated, his voice steady, his resolve hardening.

“He betrayed us, Jimin. Kill him.”

“I don’t know him.”

“You’re right. You don’t.” Jihoon's voice went quiet. He stared at Jimin, unblinking. “But your mother did.”

Jimin froze. His mind went blank, but his eyes stayed locked on the battered man. His gut twisted as he felt a flicker of realisation.

Jihoon watched him carefully as he took a step closer to the man. “Oh, she knew him very well,” Jihoon murmured, before pulling out a gun and shooting the man between the eyes. The body fell to the floor with a sickening thud. “Well, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Jimin’s blood ran cold. “Where is she?” he demanded, voice trembling slightly.

“Ask Duri.”

Without thinking, Jimin raised the gun, aiming it at his father. “Where is mom?!”

Jihoon took a step forward, his gaze intense. His hand slowly pushed the barrel of the gun away, directing it toward Duri, who was still slumped against the wall. “I told you. You should’ve killed him.”

Jimin’s breath hitched. He was in disbelief, his body trembling with barely contained fury. He glanced at Duri, then back to his father. The realisation hit him hard — Duri killed her.

Jihoon leaned in, his voice low, almost a whisper in Jimin’s ear. “He killed her.”

Jimin stood there, numb for a moment, the weight of his father’s words sinking in. His sharp, heavy breaths were the only sound in the room as his mind spun. His mother was dead. Duri killed her.

One glance at Duri told Jimin everything he needed to know — for the first time, Jimin saw Duri cowering, afraid. But he didn't care. He killed her.

Jimin lunged at Duri, slamming the butt of the gun into his face with a sickening crack. Duri staggered back, his body reeling from the blow, but Jimin didn’t stop.

His fists smashed into Duri’s face, his chest, his stomach. Jimin didn’t care that Duri tried to shield himself — his fists pounded down on Duri’s arms, his legs, every part of him that Jimin could reach. The sound of his fists colliding with flesh, the thud of Duri’s body hitting the ground, filled Jimin’s ears, drowning out all thoughts except for the burning, consuming need for vengeance.

Duri struggled, weakly trying to fight back, but Jimin was too fast. As Duri threw a wild punch, Jimin dodged it effortlessly, countering with a brutal knee to his midsection. Duri gasped for breath, his face twisted in pain, but Jimin carried on.

He grabbed Duri by the throat, lifting him off the ground for a split second before slamming him down again, his skull cracking against the concrete with a sickening thud. Duri’s body jerked, gasping for air, but the fight had already left him.

Jimin’s heart pounded in his chest, his own blood thrumming in his ears, but the anger wouldn’t abate. It kept him moving, kept him hitting, until Duri’s limbs fell limp, his body crumpling into an unmoving heap on the floor.

Jimin stood over Duri, chest rising and falling in heavy breaths, his hands trembling from the violence that still pulsed through him.

His heart pounded in his throat, and for a moment, the weight of what he had just done pressed down on him. But it didn’t matter. The anger still burned inside him, filling the hollow space where any satisfaction should have been.

It didn’t come. His body still shook with rage, but as he knelt there, staring at the aftermath, something else surfaced.

Tears slid down his face, hot and unwelcome. He wiped them away quickly, gritting his teeth, but they kept coming.

Jihoon, watching silently, finally spoke, his voice cold. “You’re still weak.”

Jimin didn’t acknowledge him, the words cutting into him like a knife, but he didn’t care. He rose to his feet, refusing to let his father see through him. Without a word, he turned and walked away.

note. thank you so much for reading! please don’t be a silent reader, your feedback is what keeps me motivated to write, literally 🥹 have a happy new year too! 🫶🏼✨

also, I hope the fic doesn’t seem slow/boring, I appreciate that it might be right now, but it’s a big series and to make it as wholesome and entertaining as possible for you guys, I really need to lay the foundations… there is of course lots more action and exciting stuff coming for these characters ;) <3 xoxo

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