Archive of Our Own

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Water.

A force of nature, with the power to both grant life and take it away. It is omnipresent—surrounding, yet elusive. Isn’t that what people call God?

Kim Taehyung finds himself praying to a God he doesn’t even believe in, whispering pleas for his father who now stands with a gun pressed against his chest, held by the very man Taehyung has come to despise.

The dock creaks with the lapping of silvery water against the pilings, weathered wood creaking like the weary bones of the elderly. The air is cold and sharp, carrying the scent of salt and damp decay, mingling with the acrid odour of gunpowder. Old shipping containers seemed to stand like silent sentinels, their dented sides casting long jagged shadows. It was a place most forgot about, remembered only by the dregs of the city, the ones who only came out after dark.

A place where the city’s light didn’t reach and secrets came to die.

Every eye fixed itself on the scene before them: the standoff at the edge of the pier, where life and death hung in the balance like the sway of the dark waters below. The alphas and beta standing guard reeked of aggression, their pheromones heavy and oppressive, thickening the atmosphere like a blanket of smoke and suffocating Taehyung’s inner omega, freezing him in place.

Kim Taehyung’s breaths came out in short, uneven gasps, his eyes straining to see through the dim light cast by the flickering street lamps. The figures around him formed a loose, ominous circle, shadowy faces barely illuminated, but every gaze was locked on the two men at the center. His father stood there, shoulders squared but hands empty, facing a man whose gun was leveled at his chest, the muzzle gleaming under the cold, silver light.

Taehyung’s heart pounded in his ears, drowning out the distant crash of waves against the pier. He couldn’t understand why this was happening—his father was just a businessman, a good alpha who had always stayed far away from violence and crime. Yet here he was, surrounded by strangers with hard, unreadable eyes, as though they were part of some grim, silent audience waiting for a play to reach its tragic climax.

His father didn’t flinch, but there was a tension in the set of his jaw, a flicker of something in his eyes that Taehyung had never seen before. Was it fear? Resignation? It was impossible to tell in the darkness, and that only made the situation feel more surreal—like a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from.

The man with the gun took a step closer, his finger hovering near the trigger, and Taehyung’s breath caught in his throat. It was like the space that separated them was a fragile thread stretched almost to its breaking point, all set to snap. Taehyung’s hands shook as he fought to keep his own breathing steady, feeling more like a helpless child than he had in years. He wanted to shout out, to rush forward and pull his father away, but his feet felt rooted to the earth.

The wind picked up, biting through his clothes and carrying with it the scent of salt and something metallic—blood. It was the kind of cold that seeped into his bones and almost paralyzed him as the scene played out.

Just as he blinked, a single shot pierced the silence, splitting the night in two.

The sound ricocheted off the water, loud enough to drown out the distant crash of waves, but Taehyung couldn’t move. He flinched violently, his hands flying up to cover his mouth as a strangled gasp slipped through his fingers.

His father stumbled back from the impact. For a moment that felt like an eternity, he lurched, clutching at his chest where a dark, wet stain began to bloom. Taehyung wanted to scream, to yell for him, but his voice just caught in his throat, stifled there by fear and disbelief. He pressed himself deeper into the shadows, knuckles white as he gripped the cold metal edge of a shipping container, the only thing keeping him upright.

And so, from behind the crate he had hidden himself, feeling so insignificant, he wept, helplessly watching his father collapsing like a puppet without strings, slipping off the edge of the pier into the water. Everything else around him seemed to become muted, with only the echo of the gunshot ringing in his ears and the sound of his own ragged breathing.

For a moment, Taehyung closed his eyes again, as if he could push out the nightmare unfolding before him. But he pushed them open, squinting through the blur of tears, needing to see, to understand who had done this—who had taken his father away.

Taehyung’s vision tunneled, his grip faltering, and for the briefest, most horrifying instant, he felt as if he were going to faint. But he could not faint here—definitely not here, not at this
precise
moment. He forced himself to stay, to witness this, because he knew it would be etched into his memory forever.

As the splash of his father’s body hitting the water faded, the gunman stepped forward, the dim light finally revealing his face. Taehyung’s breath hitched, a wave of icy shock crashing over him before it was replaced by an intense all-consuming rage. He knew that face—had seen it in the articles, the reports, the man who’d been trying to destroy his father’s reputation for months.

Jeon Jungkook.

A name that had become a venomous curse on his lips. And now, here he was, gun still smoking in his hand like the executioner he’d always wanted to be.

Taehyung’s vision blurred, tears of grief and rage mixing as he choked back a sob. His heart fracturing into tiny pieces, but the pain was quickly swallowed by a searing, bitter anger. He wanted to scream, to curse the man, the final act of his twisted vendetta complete.

This was murder. Cold, calculated murder.

Taehyung  couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. The pain of loss was overwhelming, and yet, the hatred that filled his veins burned hotter than any grief he had ever known.

Jeon Jungkook killed his father.

In that moment, Taehyung swore he would make him pay.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Taehyung's hands trembled a little as he ran his fingers over the engraved letters with his father's name on them. The stone felt icy against the tips of his fingers, a strange contrast to the warmth of his father's hug that he could remember. The world around him seemed distant—the gentle rustling of leaves, the distant hum of life—none of it reached him. It was just him and the gravestone.

He knelt beside it, not caring that the dampness of the wet earth seeped into the fabric of his pants. His breath hitched, his eyes burning as though he were about to cry. But he couldn't. Not yet. His fingers bunched around the little flower he'd brought—a paltry offering to a man who'd given him everything. He whispered his father's name aloud, and the wind swallowed it, leaving behind only the ache in his chest.

“Appa, I’m sorry,” Taehyung whispered, closing his eyes. The darkness behind his eyelids reflected his life. His support, his

everything

was not there anymore. If not for his hyungs, he would have given up completely.

Memories flooded his mind—his father’s laugh, the way he ruffled his hair when he was feeling particularly happy, the way he hugged him daily when he was going out for work. His Appa had been a good father to him. A good Alpha for his family. He had been a good human being—quietly helping others, giving anonymously to shelters, always offering a hand.

And then there was Jeon-fucking-Jungkook.

With a single stroke, Jungkook had erased it all. Every good deed, every dollar given to a cause, and every legacy left behind—it was all gone.

Lost.

Taehyung stood over the gravestone, the last thing that remained of his father, his fists clenched hard by his sides. The wind screamed, but nothing would drown out the echo of the gunshot still ringing in his ears. His father had been ripped away, and not by an unfortunate event; rather, by a man with a vendetta. A man who saw nothing except power in destroying those who were good and kind.

The weight of it settled over him, suffocating, relentless, and oppressive.

Squeezing his heart in a vice.

But grief wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to bring his father back. And it

certainly

wasn’t enough to make Jeon Jungkook pay.

He had to plan something different.

The apartment was quiet when Taehyung entered, the low hum of the streetlights outside barely making it through the thick walls. Yoongi was sitting at the desk, hunched over his laptop, fingers flying over the keys. Taehyung barely had to step inside before Yoongi glanced up, his eyes sharp, reading the storm of emotions on Taehyung’s face.

“You’re going after him, aren’t you?” Yoongi's voice was calm, like he already knew. Taehyung didn’t have to say anything—the fury radiating off of him was enough.

Taehyung didn’t answer immediately. He let the door close behind him with a soft thud, standing there for a moment, fists clenched at his sides. Grief still churned within him, slow and unrelenting, refusing to let go. Except, this time it was clouded by something else—something darker. No, he couldn’t afford to be idle anymore. Not after all that Jeon Jungkook had put his father through. Not even after that deafening gunshot that kept echoing in his head.

“I need proof,” Taehyung muttered, his voice hollow but fierce. “I’ve known for a while now. Jeon was behind this. The framing, the lies… I need to make it official. He has to be brought down. But where is the evidence? I can't bring him down without proof.” The last word came out with a slight crack in his voice, which revealed more than anger in him. It revealed the pain. He knew he couldn’t just scream his rage into the world. He needed something concrete. Something irrefutable.

At first, Yoongi remained silent. Instead, he faced his monitor again and pressed a few keys, pulling up a set of files. He had been scratching this particular itch for days. Digging into every source possible. “You’re aware that this is not going to be a walk in the park, right? Jeon Jungkook is not a petty criminal. He’s well connected and the whole world is against you.”

“I don’t care," Taehyung snapped, his jaw tight. He could feel the weight of it all pressing down on him again—the loss of his father, the injustice, the twisted lies. He needed to make Jeon pay. “I need proof.”

Yoongi’s fingers paused above the keyboard, and he let out a long, frustrated sigh. “I’m trying, Tae. Trust me, I am. But it’s like trying to dig through a mountain of

bullshit

. Every time I think I’ve found something, it leads me to another dead end.” He pointed towards the screen where several tabs were open depicting files, correspondence, legal charts all mixed in with conflicting information. "I looked over these. Most of the evidence here is clean. Too clean. It's almost like someone's covering up tracks. And they're really good at it." Yoongi grumbled.

Taehyung inched forward, his gaze fixed on the screen although his heart raced from the anticipation of seeing something he could hold on to. “What do you mean by clean?”

Yoongi ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “I mean, everything looks like it’s been tampered with. The way the signatures on your father’s supposed contracts are too perfect. The timing of the emails, the way the files were deleted and reuploaded. It’s all too coordinated. Whoever did this knows what they’re doing.”

Taehyung’s frustration matched Yoongi’s. Every time they thought they were getting close, it felt like they hit a wall.

Days blended together into one continuous blur. Their apartment felt like a battleground. The air was thick with the hum of computers and the rustle of papers strewn across the desk, but Taehyung and Yoongi didn’t stop. They couldn’t. Every moment they wasted was another second Jeon’s manipulation went unchecked.

The first few days, they worked in silence, the only sound the clatter of keyboards and the occasional frustrated sigh. Taehyung was curled up on the couch, buried in a bunch of papers, eyes scanning the fine print with relentless focus, engrossed in flipping the pages like they were the building blocks to the whole universe. He was thinking faster than he could read, piecing together connections that even Yoongi had missed. The more they uncovered, the more Taehyung began to see the puzzle’s edges taking shape—just out of reach, but closer than it had ever been before.

Yoongi, for his part, was pulling apart every thread of the Jeon Law Firm's records, his eyes bloodshot from several sleepless nights. Every new lead seemed like another dead end, but he pressed on, determined to find something concrete to bring down Jeon Jungkook. Taehyung knew there had to be more. There was

always

more. His mind moved through the data like slicing butter with a white-hot, razor sharp knife.

Late nights turned into early mornings. Taehyung barely ate, his body running on the sharp sting of adrenaline, his thoughts burning like wildfire. He managed to find patterns—the ones hidden beneath the surface—and with Yoongi, he began to break them apart. Hours turned into days as they relentlessly delved into seemingly endless pages hoping for a single shred of evidence, some sort of pattern. Jin and Hobi dropped by to see them and gave them worried looks, but they did nothing more than stand back and allow them to work. Hobi would joke about how unhealthy their late-night coffee binges were, but even his dry laughter couldn't break through the tension hanging thick in the air.

By the fourth night, Yoongi had all but given up on sleep, his dark circles deeper than ever.  Nevertheless, Taehyung was too absorbed in his task to pay any attention. His hands danced over the keys even as he shifted his gaze from the paper on the table to the computer screen in front of him as the weight of his father’s death pressed down on him. He was close. He could feel it.

“Hyung,” Taehyung’s voice broke through the silence, startling the older man. His gaze flicked up to Taehyung, who was staring at the screen with a look of quiet intensity. “I think I’ve found it.”

Yoongi rubbed his face, a mix of exhaustion and disbelief crossing his features. “You’ve got something?”

Taehyung didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he pulled up a set of data—contracts, emails, financial statements—lining them all up on the screen, the connections clear in his mind. It all started to fall into place. Taehyung had been right all along: the documents, the fabricated evidence, the bribed witnesses... it was all tied together by one name, one person who’d pulled the strings: Jeon Jungkook.

Yoongi leaned in, his eyes scanning the screen as Taehyung pointed to several key pieces of the puzzle. “These payments,” Taehyung said, his voice steady now, his anger simmering beneath his words, “they were made to anonymous accounts, but they’re all linked back to Jeon Law Firm. This is where it started.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened as he scrolled through the data. “Wait... this is huge. The timing of these transactions—this was the setup. Jungkook used the law firm to cover his tracks.” He sat back in his chair, letting out a long breath. “I should’ve seen it sooner.”

“No,” Taehyung said, shaking his head, his focus sharp. “You were looking at it from the wrong angle. I’ve been tracking the accounts from the start. The bribes to officials, the faked evidence—they all started right here.” He pointed to a date, one that was circled on the screen: three days before his father’s staged ‘death.’ “This is where the story really begins. And it ends with Jeon Jungkook.”

Yoongi’s hands hovered over the keyboard, a mix of awe and exhaustion in his eyes. “This is it. This is the proof we’ve been looking for.”

But Taehyung wasn’t finished. His fingers flew over the keys, bringing up more files, cross-referencing the data. “Jeon’s too clean, hyung. This is his game, and we’re just trying to catch up. We need to go deeper. We need to find a smoking gun.” His voice was cold, calculating, as if he were fully immersed in the strategy of it all. His mind kept racing.

For hours, they sifted through mountains of data—files, emails, records, bank transactions. As dawn broke outside the window, Yoongi could feel himself starting to crack under the weight of it all. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. “We’ve been at this for days, Tae. We need to step back for a second—”

“No.” Taehyung’s voice was fierce, unyielding. “We’re close. I can feel it.”

On the fifth day, the breakthrough came.

Yoongi’s computer screen flashed with new data, an email chain that had been buried deep in the system. Taehyung scanned the file with quick, deliberate eyes, heart pounding. The initials at the top made his blood run cold: J.K.

“Hyung,” Taehyung whispered, his voice tight. “This is it.”

Yoongi read over his shoulder, his lips parting in disbelief. The chain of emails was damning—correspondence between Jungkook and high-level officials, even

the Mayor

, detailing the payments, the doctored evidence, the fabricated witness statements. All of it was laid out.

“This is it,” Yoongi repeated, a grin tugging at his lips despite his droopy eyes. “We’ve got him.”

Taehyung felt his chest tighten. It wasn’t relief. Not yet. Not when the weight of what it meant was just beginning to settle in. He still couldn’t forget what had happened to his father, couldn’t forget the sound of that damn gunshot. But now, for the first time since that moment on the dock, he had something to fight back with.

His fingers gripped the edges of his laptop with the kind of desperation he hadn’t felt since that first moment of realization. This was the moment he’d been waiting for—the truth, the evidence. It was time. Time to bring Jeon Jungkook to his fucking knees.

Without a word to Yoongi, he shoved his laptop into his bag and stood. The tension in the air thickened, the quiet hum of the apartment now unbearable. He didn’t even think to pack anything else, didn’t hesitate to leave the apartment, the plans, the files behind. His mind was clear—only one thing mattered now.

Jungkook.

The walk to Jeon Law Firm was a blur. Every step felt like it weighed him down more than the last, the streets of the city stretching out before him like an impassable void. His breath came fast, chest tight with a cocktail of grief and fury. He wasn’t sure what he planned to do once he got there—whether he would walk in and demand answers, confront Jungkook, or simply drag him into the light and expose him for what he was.

Taehyung’s legs carried him forward like an unstoppable force. His mind was clouded with nothing but rage, and every step toward the Jeon Law Firm burned with the promise of something final. He needed to face Jungkook, to confront the man who had ripped his world to shreds.

His father’s face flashed in his mind. The way he’d smiled, the warmth in his eyes, the love in his touch. All of it had been taken away in one cruel, cold moment. The gunshot still echoed in his ears, the image of his father falling off the pier burned into his mind.

Jeon Jungkook

. That name seethed in his mind, and everything in him screamed to tear that man down.

However, as he reached the front of the building, a hand shot out, grabbing his arm with enough force to stop him dead in his tracks.

Taehyung's body went stiff in reflex, heart thumping within his chest. He whirled around, only to find Jin standing there, his grip firm and unyielding. Hobi stood directly behind him, with a focused expression—very different from his usual playfulness. Both of them were blocking his path, not saying a word but clearly not about to let him pass.

“What the hell are you doing?” Taehyung snarled, pulling against their hold.

“Stop, Tae,” Jin’s voice was low, but the command in it was unmistakable. “You’re not thinking straight.”

“I DON'T CARE! He KILLED my father! And I’m not just going to stand here and—”

Before Taehyung could finish, Hobi stepped forward, the beta’s hands coming to rest on Taehyung’s shoulders, forcing Taehyung to face him. “You don’t get to do this like some angry kid looking for revenge. You can’t just rush in there and think you’ll walk away unscathed.” His voice was firm, but tinged with a quiet urgency. “Jungkook has the power. He controls everything. Do you really believe you can just go into that place and eat up your revenge as if the menu exists somewhere in there?”

Taehyung’s chest heaved as he tried to push past them, his entire body thrumming with frustration. “Power or no power, I’m not going to sit back and let him get away with this,” he snarled.

Jin's grip tightened as he clenched his jaw. "You think we

don’t get it?

You think we

don’t give a damn?

But

you need to listen to us

. This isn’t a battle you can win just by showing up and hoping you’re stronger than him. We’re not even sure we have everything we need yet.”

“Then I’ll go without you!” Taehyung hissed, his hands flailing to break free.

But Hobi wasn’t letting him get away. His grip on Taehyung increased as did Jin’s and they hastily shoved him towards an empty alley, away from prying eyes. Taehyung struggled against them at every single step, flailing his limbs wildly in desperation, but they were stronger, their combined force pushing him into the shadows.

“Get off me!” Taehyung yelled at him, trying to push them away to no avail.

As soon as they stepped into the alley, Jin turned sideways and shoved Taehyung’s back against the wall, effectively blocking any escape route. Hobi stood a few paces away, eyes darting between Taehyung and Jin, watching for any signs of his next move. The harshness of the city around them seemed a distant thing compared to the storm brewing between them.

“We’re not letting you do this, Tae,” Jin said, his voice tight with emotion. “Not without a plan, not without knowing what we’re up against. If you walk in all guns blazing like this, he’ll have the upper hand. You’re making it worse for yourself.”

Taehyung’s breath came in jagged gasps, every muscle in his body trembling with rage. “I

don’t care

about plans! I

don’t care

about timing! He killed my father. I’m not waiting anymore!”

“You think we’re not angry?” Hobi’s voice was quiet but firm. “You think we don’t want to burn the whole damn city down, too? But you’re smarter than this, Taehyung. You have to be.”

Jin’s eyes softened, but only for a moment. The hardness was still there though, the edge of something dangerous that only came out when things were too far gone. “If you do this now, you might as well sign your own death warrant. You’re smarter than this, Taehyung. You

have to be

. The game is bigger than this, and you’re walking into a lion’s den with nothing except a broken heart and some files.”

Taehyung wanted to yell, wanted to hit the wall until his knuckles were bruised and covered in blood, but this wasn’t the time. He was trembling from the inner struggle and even though the vast majority of his mind was filled with rage, a sliver of logic creeped in and reminded him his hyungs were right.

He briefly shut his eyes, even as the sorrow within him bore down on his chest. He was aware of the rage that lay beneath, waiting to be released, but he was also aware that if he didn’t rein it in, if he didn’t stay clear headed, then the storm he felt would destroy him.

“God, I hate this,” Taehyung said quietly, his voice trembling and eyes narrowing as his hand balled into a fist by his side. “I hate this... I hate waiting… I hate pretending to play this dirty game. I will not back down. I will make that scumbag suffer.”

“We’re with you,” Hobi said, stepping forward, his tone steady. “But we’re going to do it the right way. We’ll bring him down, Tae. But you have to trust us. Let’s play it smart.”

Taehyung stayed there for a long moment, his anger still flaring up like wildfire in his chest. But he knew they were right. As much as it hurt, as much as his entire being screamed to lash out, he had to play it carefully. He had to make this count.

For the first time in days, Taehyung took a deep breath, steadying himself. His anger was still there, burning hot in his veins, but he could feel the heat of it beginning to simmer down, to cool into something more calculated, more controlled.

He nodded, meeting their eyes. “Fine. We wait. But once I’m in, we do this right. I want him to regret the day he ever thought he could get away with this.”

“We’ll make sure of it,” Jin said with a grim nod, the alpha finally pushing himself away from him.

Taehyung turned away from the law firm, his pace slower now, but no less determined.

They would wait for the right moment. But when that moment came, there would be no more mercy.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Moonlight streamed in through the window, illuminating Taehyung’s prone form on the beanbag chair by the window. A steaming cup of something rested on the table by his side. He wasn’t sure what it was—Yoongi had set it there wordlessly before returning to his seat at the kitchen table, surrounded by stacks of paper, eyes glued to the screen of his laptop. In the pale blue glow, shadows danced on his face, accentuating the wrinkle of his brow as he went through line after line of every document he could get his hands on, digging for any other evidence of what Jeon Jungkook did.

Taehyung hadn’t moved from his spot in hours. The apartment was silent except for the clacking of Yoongi’s keyboard and the occasional crinkle of paper as Jin shuffled through another folder. Hobi sat cross-legged on the couch, phone in hand, combing through old news reports and archives, his face a mask of concentration. They had settled into a rhythm—this quiet, frantic sort of desperation, working through the day and night without rest.

Taehyung’s fingers twitched at his side. He lifted the cup and took a cautious sip. Coffee, or maybe tea—he couldn’t tell. The taste barely registered.

Yoongi suddenly groaned, leaning back and hiding his face in his hands. “Such a fucking sloppy job—still no evidence. Fabricated documents, altered timestamps. He has the entire system in his pocket!”

Jin let out a low whistle, adding another file to the ever-growing pile on the table. “That’s the kind of power money buys. He’s been preparing for this, hiding behind that pristine image of his.”

Taehyung listened with his narrowed eyes. They were right; he knew it, this was not just any man they were fighting against. He knew that this was a fight against a man who had the power to rewrite history itself, but it was still

infuriating

. He wasn’t used to feeling so... helpless. He was a genius, for God’s sake. If anyone could crack this open, it was him.

“Pass me the laptop,” Taehyung said, pushing himself up.

“You sure you’re up for this? You haven’t slept in days.” Yoongi looked over to him, worry in his eyes. Taehyung didn't want to see the worry.

Taehyung scoffed. “I’ve gone longer without sleep.”

Not waiting for a response, he moved to sit beside Yoongi, his fingers dancing over the keyboard. It was like slipping into an old habit—his mind zeroed in, blocking out the fatigue, the gnawing ache in his chest, everything but the information in front of him. He started sifting through encrypted files, the lines flowing past his vision like a stream he needed to dam up, searching for anything out of place.

Hours passed like this, the night bleeding into morning, and the exhaustion hung heavy in the air, but none of them moved. Jin got up only to refill the pot of coffee, and Hobi paused to stretch before diving back into the reports.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Taehyung scoffed, his voice strained. “If he was going to fabricate evidence, why make it so... sloppy? It’s almost like he wanted it to be found.”

Yoongi’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?”

“Look," Taehyung nodded towards the files lined up in a row, each one changed. "The metadata was manipulated, yes, but the pattern is off. It’s like someone else tampered with it after the fact, not Jeon. It’s almost too obvious. Too easy.”

Hobi dropped his mobile and bent forward. “You think someone’s trying to frame him? Or throw us off his trail?”

“I don’t know,” Taehyung fumed, biting his lip. “But it’s worth looking into. If there’s a third party involved...”

Jin cursed under his breath. “This just keeps getting messier.”
 
Yoongi glanced over at Taehyung, and something twisted painfully in his chest. The omega’s slender frame seemed smaller than usual, his usual sharpness dulled, his scent faint and muted. It wasn’t just exhaustion—it was something deeper, like a spark that had been extinguished, leaving behind only the embers of who Taehyung used to be.

The beta sighed softly, shutting the laptop with a deliberate click and rising from his chair. He started clearing the table, collecting the papers into neater stacks, though the chaos mirrored the inside of his own mind. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Taehyung again, not right away. Not when the sight of him—so lost, so

fragile

—felt like staring at a wound he couldn’t heal. Yoongi hated feeling useless. He couldn't help Taehyung when he was like this—couldn't take away all his pain even though he wanted to.

He poured a glass of water from the jug on the counter, gripping the cool surface to steady himself. When he returned, Taehyung hadn’t moved. The moonlight highlighted the dark circles under his eyes, dark purple bruises painted by sleepless nights, and the hollow set of his cheeks. Yoongi offered him a glass, crouching beside him.

“Drink this,” he said quietly, voice soft, yet had an undercurrent of authority.

Taehyung blinked up at him, as if Yoongi’s voice had pulled him back from somewhere far away. His hands shook as he took the glass, making Yoongi hurry to steady it to keep the water from spilling. The omega drank in small sips, his movements slow and mechanical.

From the corner of his eye, Yoongi saw Jin enter the room. The alpha moved silently, his warm, grounding scent helping soothe Yoongi as well as Taehyung. He exchanged a glance with Yoongi, and the question in his eyes was clear:

How is he holding up?

Yoongi shook his head slightly in response, and Jin’s lips tightened.

Jin approached, placing a comforting hand on Taehyung’s shoulder. “You’ve been up for days, Tae,” he said softly, his tone calm but insistent. “You need to sleep.”

Taehyung let out a sharp, brittle, and bitter laugh. It hurt Yoongi just to hear it. “Sleep.” He paused, before adding, “How can I possibly go to sleep when every time I close my eyes, I see him getting killed again and again and again?” His voice cracked.

Yoongi gritted his teeth, his fingers curling into fists. There was nothing to rebuke that—especially with the brutal truth of Taehyung’s words looming over them. Instead, he looked toward the doorway, where Hobi lingered, his usual brightness dulled by the weight of their shared grief.

The beta stepped forward, a weak smile playing on his lips. “Tae,” he called out softly before he bent down to face the omega at his level. “We’ll keep digging.  We’ve got this. Just take a break for a while, yeah? Let us handle it.”

Taehyung, wouldn't listen though as he pushed himself up on shaking legs to place the now empty glass aside. “I can’t—I can’t stop now," he shook his head wildly. "If I don’t find something, if I don’t keep going, who will? This is my fight.” His voice quivered, but determination seemed to cut through his exhaustion.

Yoongi leaned closer, his hand curled around Taehyung's arm, holding it in a firm but comforting grip. “We know,” Yoongi's voice was placating. “But you’re going to collapse if you keep pushing yourself like this. And then where will we be? Where will

you

be?”

Taehyung’s gaze flicked between them, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

Jin nodded, backing him up. “You’ve done more than anyone else could, Tae. Let us help. Trust us for a little while. Just a few hours, okay?”

For a moment, Yoongi thought he might argue, but then the fight seemed to drain out of him. His shoulders slumped, and his head bowed as if the weight of everything was finally too much to bear.

“Okay,” he breathed, the simple word a wisp of sound, fracturing like cracks veining through thin ice.

For a moment, Yoongi felt he could breathe easier, but he knew that this was only temporary. He slid an arm across the omega's shoulders, nudging Taehyung towards the couch. Jin and Hobi moved closer to help, forming an invisible shield around the omega as if they could protect him from the storm raging inside.

Hobi draped a blanket over Taehyung, smoothing it with a tenderness that made Yoongi’s throat tighten. “We’ve got you. Just rest, okay?” Hobi said gently, brushing a strand of hair from Taehyung’s face. “We’ll take care of everything else.”

Jin dimmed the lights, casting the room in a softer glow, the alpha emitting calming pheromones. It mingled with Hobi’s steadying presence, creating a cocoon of safety around Taehyung.

Even as Taehyung’s body relaxed into the cushions, his scent remained muted, a faint shadow of the vibrant vanilla-leather warmth it used to carry. Yoongi sank to the floor beside the couch, close enough that Taehyung could feel his presence. He watched as the omega’s breathing evened out, though the furrow in his brow remained.

As the minutes stretched into hours, Yoongi stayed there, his back against the couch, his thoughts a whirlwind of guilt and helplessness. He couldn’t shake the memory of Taehyung’s hollow laugh or the haunted look in his eyes.

At some point, when the silence outside had given way to birds chirping, Jin spoke softly, his voice mere whisper. “We’ll get through this,” The statement was spoken more to himself than anyone else. “We have to.”

Hobi turned away briefly before responding. “He’s stronger than he looks,” he said, his eyes on Taehyung’s sleeping form. “But even the strongest need someone to lean on.”

Yoongi didn’t say anything back. He didn’t have to. They all knew the truth: Taehyung was brilliant, resourceful, and everything that defined a genius... But even geniuses could break under the weight of grief, and Yoongi was determined to make sure that didn’t happen.

The hours dragged on, only disturbed by the fingers tapping on the keyboard or the occasional rustling of paper or the soft vibration of a cell phone buzzing on the table. Jin and Hobi kept working in tandem nearby, their movements soft enough to not disturb the sleeping omega. Yoongi kept Taehyung company the whole time, a silent sentinel but feeling helpless and wishing he could fight the nightmares that haunted the young man even in his sleep. The bustle of the city continued outside, oblivious to the war raging inside the small apartment.

And though the road ahead was uncertain, one thing was certain: they weren’t going to allow Taehyung to face it on his own.
 
》》》》》◆《《《《《
 
The steady ticking of the grandfather clock mounted on the far wall was the only sound cutting through the silence of the room. Every second was stretched out, amplified in the oppressive silence. There were four sets of breaths filling the tense space, the steady rhythm interrupted now and then by the rustle of a page turning or the occasional muted cough.

Jungkook leaned back slightly in his chair, eyes flicking briefly toward the culprit. The thought of offering a cough drop crossed his mind, but he knew better—doing so would earn him nothing except a sharp glare, a whack to the back of his head, and maybe a couple of exasperated eyerolls. He smirked faintly at the mental image but didn’t move.

Not that he was nervous. Jeon Jungkook was

never

nervous. The document they were poring over was his creation. He could recite it verbatim, every clause, every amendment, every calculated line of text. His confidence wasn’t arrogance—it was fact. He’d crafted it to perfection, like he always did. Still, the weight of the room wasn’t lost on him.

Then into this already stifling atmosphere, the soft measured sound of a clearing throat broke the monotony, followed by a voice smooth enough to wrap around the tension and yank it tight.

"So," a voice drawled, smooth and almost lazy, "I take it that the incorporation of the Kim Empire went smoothly?" The silky lilt of his tone was deceptively soothing. It drew the listener in with a false sense of comfort. What sounded like refined elegance underplayed a very dark reality: the voice belonged to one of the country's—and arguably the world's—most lethal assassins.

"Do you doubt me?" Jungkook cocked his head to one side, slouching further back into the chair as he carelessly crossed one leg over the other. The assassin didn’t bother to look up, drawing a slow stream of smoke into his mouth, expertly forming rings that lazily dissipated into the tense atmosphere. He finally gave Jungkook a sidelong glance, raising one of his brows in silent contempt, then rolled his eyes.

"All documents look solid," a deep, gravelly voice broke the moment, turning Jungkook's attention. The man was quite rugged, too, with eyes that almost had X-ray vision piercing him. He closed the folder in front of him with deliberate care before sliding it across the table.

Jungkook huffed a laugh, feigning offense and pressing a hand over his chest. "I’m hurt that you think I’d do a half-assed job," he shot back, the smirk keeping its place on his face. Another roll of his eyes followed, this one though was softer, almost fond.

"And what about his son? Kim Taehyung?"

This question cut through the room much like the voice it was delivered in, which was sharp and foreboding like the steel of winter. It bore a weight that seemed to freeze the last remnants of warmth left in the room. Others in the room straightened their postures almost imperceptibly—much like a predator's instinct that was triggered by danger.

"We’re still searching," Jungkook answered, faltering in his reply for the first time since stepping into the room. The confession tasted like dirt under his tongue. Failure wasn’t something he entertained, not ever. There were two things Jeon Jungkook despised above all else: losing and begging.

Jeon Jungkook never lost. And he never begged.

"Jungkook, we need his whereabouts," the woman pressed, her piercing dark eyes locking onto him with the precision of a hawk. Her eyes had no space for excuses but were filled with expectations.

His jaws clenched in frustration, which seethed and boiled beneath the surface. "It's not like I'm not trying," he spat out, barely keeping the sharpness from his tone. The boy was gone, like drifting smoke— a ghost that eluded him at every turn "I have been trying as hard as I can."

"Then try harder," she snapped, her voice not even raised but perfectly clear in meaning. Either Kim Taehyung was brought back alive... or the disastrous consequences would follow.

His tongue poking his cheek, Jungkook balled his fists and then made himself relax. "I’ll do better," he muttered, the pressure of her demand looming over him like a vice. He pushed back his chair and rose, buttoning up his suit jacket with practiced movements. "And if this meeting is over," he glanced at her for confirmation, earning a nod, "I have work to do. A vagabond to find."

He gave a curt nod to the others in the room, his expression unreadable, before striding towards the door.

The ambience outside the meeting room was similar to that of the inside and Jungkook was eager to leave. The polished floors of the long corridor reflected the harsh, artificial lights from above. The silence of the area resonated with Jungkook's echoing footsteps. His face remained neutral, he had to keep up the appearance after all, but his thoughts raced with the weight of the conversation. The meeting had ended on a sour note, something that Jungkook hated, just because of a certain someone.

Kim Taehyung.

The name lingered in his mind, unwanted yet haunting. He hadn't anticipated that the boy would disappear entirely—not with what he had at his disposal. Yet, every lead was a dead end, every trail went cold before he could even set foot on it.

It was maddening.

Jungkook pressed a hand to his temple, rubbing the ache that had been steadily growing since the meeting began. He didn’t want this. Not like this. However, the situation had long spiraled out of control, and now it was his responsibility to clean it up. As usual.

He walked by a huge window, the city unfolding below in a dizzying spectacle of lights. For a fleeting moment, his reflection stared back at him—a face so familiar yet so alienly strange. The dark gaze, the sharp jaw line, the mole beneath his eye, the dark circles forming but covered with makeup.

A mask. That’s all it had become.

He paused, glancing down at the bustling streets below. Somewhere out there, Taehyung was hiding, scared and grieving, no doubt cursing his name. Jungkook wasn’t oblivious to the pain he’d caused. He’d been there on the dock, after all.

He pulled the trigger.

But not everything was as it seemed.

Jungkook clenched his fists, leaning against the window frame. He remembered the look in Kim Dae Yong’s eyes—calm, almost resigned. There was no panic, no anger. Just an acceptance that Jungkook had never understood.

Was what Dae Yong protecting bigger than his son?

The thought pulled at Jungkook, a truth he wasn’t sure he wanted to uncover. It wasn’t just about cleaning up anymore. It was about survival—his, Taehyung’s, and something far bigger than either of them.

Turning from the window, he let out a slow breath and straightened his suit jacket. He couldn’t afford to dwell. The voice still echoed in his ears, her demands a sharp reminder of the stakes.

Kim Taehyung needed to be found.

And the reason wasn't that Jungkook wanted to hurt him, but simply because the consequences would be disastrous if someone else got to him first. With that thought in mind, he stepped inside the elevator and watched the steel doors close behind him with an almost silent hiss. The city began to fade away as the lift descended, while his reflection faded into the void.

Jungkook relaxed into his leather chair, back in the office, letting a sigh escape as he looked about the room. The space was very much an immaculately curated room, dark mahogany juxtaposed with sleek modernity that projected prestige and power. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves along one side of the room were stuffed to bursting, crammed with books on law and case studies, as well as a few beautiful first editions that he suspected no one really ever read. Beyond that was a vast mahogany desk, with hardly any dust on it and little clutter, apart from a tasteful brass nameplate and just one framed photograph showing their Jeon family estate—another part that he kept purely for appearances.

Every detail of that room was a stamp of the firm’s reputation. The abstract art on the walls, the designer lamp casting a soft glow over the leather armchairs for visitors, even the crystal decanter set on the side table—it was all perfectly placed, perfectly polished… and perfectly unnecessary.

Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck, his lips pressing into a thin line. He didn’t need any of this. Not the imported rug that probably cost more than some cars, not the sleek fountain pen engraved with his initials, and certainly not the ridiculous collection of trinkets—awards, plaques, and ornamental gifts from clients—cluttering the glass display cabinet near the door. They weren’t for him. They were for the image.

And the image mattered. He knew that. The Jeon Law Firm thrived on it. Clients wanted to see confidence, success, stability—the kind of place that could win any case, handle any scandal. But if it were all up to him? He would trade all of it in a heartbeat.

His gaze drifted to the large window behind him, the city skyline sprawling out under the evening haze. Jungkook’s thoughts wandered, unbidden, to something more elusive. He imagined a home far from city chaos, deep in the country, where the scent was grass and rain instead of automobile exhaust fumes and ambition. A peaceful place, where he could wake to sunlight streaming through open windows instead of his phone buzzing on the nightstand. And perhaps, just perhaps, he wouldn't be alone.

The thought surprised him, and he snorted under his breath, shaking his head. It was ridiculous, something that had no place in his carefully planned life. Yet, it stuck with him, like the ordinary floor dust that clung to the bottom of his shoes. Sharing that peacefulness with someone—to come home to warmth instead of another cold, empty apartment—was a temptation he couldn't quite shake off.

For now, though, it was just that—a dream. One he carefully tucked away as he leaned forward, opening the pristine leather-bound planner on his desk. Reality waited, and so did the next battle.

Jungkook once again sighed and leaned down to reach his phone on the desk. As he swiped a hand through his hair, his fingers hovered motionlessly over the keypad momentarily before dialing the familiar number of one of his most trusted informants. The line rang twice before being answered by a curt, efficient voice.

“Any updates?” Jungkook asked, his tone sharper than he intended.

“None, sir,” was the reply. “We’ve expanded the search radius and tapped into more networks, but Kim Taehyung is proving... difficult to track.”

“Difficult?” Jungkook's jaw clenched, his grip on the phone a fraction too firm. “He’s an Omega, not a ghost. I don’t want excuses. I want results.”

The informant stammered out an apology, promising to redouble their efforts, but Jungkook had already ended the call. He leaned back in his chair, his head tilting back as he closed his eyes.

Taehyung was slipping through every crack and passing every trap he had set to find him. It wasn’t just frustrating—it was maddening. Jungkook couldn’t tell if he should be impressed by the ingenuity of the young man or whether he should be angry at his team and himself for failing to find a vagabond who had almost nothing to his name.

The truth, however, weighed heavier on his chest than his irritation. It wasn’t just about finding Taehyung for the sake of control or appearances. Jungkook’s intentions went deeper than that. Taehyung’s safety was at stake, and every second he spent in hiding increased those risks.

Jungkook had witnessed it before—how the world could chew up and spit out someone weak. And Taehyung, for all his agile mind and strength of spirit, was an Omega. This alone made him a target for a society that regarded Omegas as commodities, things to be possessed, controlled, or exploited.

That thought made Jungkook's stomach churn.

He picked up the receiver again and dialled a number. This time, the voice on the other end was more familiar, less formal.

“Still nothing?”

“Still nothing,” Jungkook muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s like he’s a step ahead of us every time. I need to find him. Before someone else does.”

There was a pause on the line, then a low hum of understanding. “You’re stressed.”

“No, I’m fine,” Jungkook snapped, though the tension in his voice betrayed him. "It doesn't matter," he elaborated, calming down. "What matters is finding him. Before it's too late." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his eyes staring down at the blank notepad in front of him.

Another sigh was heard from the receiver. "We’ll continue looking," he said.

"Try harder," Jungkook ordered, voice low to hide his apprehension. "I can't afford to lose him."

He tossed the phone aside, the weight in his chest feeling heavier. Taehyung remained elusive, and every passing hour had Jungkook's worry piled higher.

Because while the world saw Jeon Jungkook as a ruthless Alpha, a man who never faltered, the truth was simpler. Jungkook wasn’t just chasing a ghost— he was trying to save him.
 
》》》》》◆《《《《《
 
Taehyung stood in front of the cracked mirror in the bathroom, his sharp jawline shadowed by the dim light overhead. A pair of scissors lay on the counter, their edges glinting ominously. His reflection barely looked like him anymore—dark circles clung beneath his eyes like bruises, his cheeks slightly hollow from days of restless sleep and sparse meals.

He stared at himself, the once-vivid intensity in his gaze now dulled but simmering with determination.

The first snip echoed loudly in the cramped space.

“Tae?” Yoongi’s voice drifted in from the main room, the edge of worry slicing through the quiet. “What the hell are you doing?”

Taehyung didn’t answer immediately, his focus trained on the uneven strands of hair that fell into the sink. He picked up a razor next, dragging it along his jaw to shave away the scruff that had grown in his weeks of hiding.

Yoongi appeared at the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. His keen eyes scanned the scene, taking in the pile of hair on the floor and the resolute tension in Taehyung’s posture.

“Seriously, what are you doing?” Yoongi asked again, softer this time, though the edge of exasperation remained.

“Changing,” Taehyung said simply, rinsing the razor under the tap.

“For what?” Yoongi stepped closer, his gaze narrowing.

Taehyung finally looked at him, his expression unreadable. “I need to disappear. Completely. If Jungkook finds me…” He trailed off, his hand tightening around the razor.

“And you think cutting your hair is going to do that? Make you harder to find?” Yoongi asked, snorting. He shook his head before leaving. Taehyung could hear him rummaging around in the room before Yoongi appeared again, a bottle of hair dye in his hand. He handed the bottle to Taehyung, his expression flat but his eyes betraying his concern.

“If you’re going to do this, at least do it right,” Yoongi said, leaning against the doorframe. “Cutting your hair isn’t enough. You want to disappear? Change everything. Hair color, scent blockers, new clothes. The works.”

Taehyung blinked, momentarily thrown by the unexpected gesture. “Why are you helping me?”

Yoongi shrugged, his tone matter-of-fact. “Because I know you’re stubborn enough to try this alone and screw it up. Besides…” He sighed, his gaze softening. “I get it. Needing to feel like you have some control. Even if it’s just over how people see you.”

Taehyung hesitated before taking the bottle, his fingers brushing against Yoongi’s briefly. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Yoongi muttered, pushing off the frame and moving to the sink. “Come on, sit down. Let’s get this over with before Jin or Hobi see you and lose their minds.”

Taehyung reluctantly obeyed, sitting on the edge of the bathtub. He handed the bottle back to Yoongi, who snapped on a pair of gloves he had brought with him

As Yoongi worked, the sharp smell of the dye filled the small bathroom, mingling with the faint, lingering bitterness of Taehyung’s scent. Yoongi’s hands were precise, methodical. As if this wasn’t the first time he had done something like this.

“You’ve done this before?” Taehyung asked, more to fill the silence than anything else.

Yoongi smirked faintly. “A long time ago. Back when I needed to disappear, too.”

Taehyung tilted his head slightly, his curiosity piqued despite himself. “Did it work?”

Yoongi’s smirk faded, replaced by something more somber. “For a while. But disappearing isn’t the hard part. Staying gone? That’s a different story.”

Taehyung fell quiet, not pressing him further. This didn’t feel like something Yoongi would elaborate about. All he knew about his hyung’s family is was that they weren’t good to him. There were many days when he had to pick up Yoongi from a bar, so far into ecstasy that he was totally detached from reality.

When Yoongi finished applying the dye, he stepped back, peeling off the gloves and tossing them into the trash. “Leave it on for twenty minutes. I’ll find you a clean shirt to change into after you wash it.”

Taehyung nodded, his fingers brushing over the edges of his hair. The change was already starting to show, and it felt…strange. Like shedding an old skin.

Yoongi lingered at the doorway for a moment, his gaze flickering with something Taehyung couldn’t quite place. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know,” Yoongi said quietly, his voice soft but firm. “We’re here, Tae. Whatever you’re planning—wherever you think you’re going—you don’t have to hide from us.”

Taehyung didn’t respond immediately, his eyes fixed on his reflection. The person staring back at him wasn’t the same as before, but he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

“I know,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Yoongi studied him for a beat longer before nodding. “Good. Now don’t screw up the timing on the dye, or you’ll look ridiculous.”

Despite himself, Taehyung let out a faint huff of laughter as Yoongi disappeared down the hall. The sound was unfamiliar, even to him, but it felt good. Yoongi was right. He’d already lost someone who meant the world to him. Losing the rest of the people he cared about wasn’t an option.

He rinsed the dye from his hair carefully, the water running dark into the drain. With a towel draped around his shoulders, Taehyung stepped back into the room where the others were. The change wasn’t dramatic, but it was enough to make him feel like a different version of himself—one who might still have a shot at regaining control over his fractured life.

“You may be wondering why I’ve called you all here today,” Taehyung announced suddenly, his tone mock-serious as he took a seat at the table.

It was the first joke he’d cracked in what felt like forever, and it sent a ripple through the room. Yoongi looked up from his laptop, his eyebrows lifting slightly as he closed it with deliberate slowness. Jin froze mid-motion, a pen hovering above the document he was annotating. But the best reaction came from Hobi, who choked on the sip of water he’d just taken, sputtering as he tried—and failed—to maintain his composure.

“What the—” Hobi coughed, pounding his chest as Yoongi raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

Jin recovered first, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles as he leaned back in his chair. “Well, this is unexpected,” he remarked dryly.

“It’s called humor,” Taehyung said, leaning back with exaggerated nonchalance.

Fake it till you make it, right?

“I thought I’d try it out again. You know, see if I still have it.”

“You’re rusty,” Yoongi deadpanned, though there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“Rusty, but alive,” Hobi added, still wiping at his chin with a napkin. He gave Taehyung a wide grin, his relief obvious. “Nice to see you haven’t forgotten how to be human, Tae.”

Taehyung shrugged, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his lips, but then his expression turned serious. The room they occupied felt warm now, a stark contrast to the turmoil that occupied his mind. The table at the center was cluttered with scattered papers, a laptop, and a mug of coffee that had long gone cold. Jin sat at one end of the table, his broad frame relaxed, but his eyes sharp, the sunlight catching the glint of his watch as he absently tapped a pen against the edge of a notebook.

Yoongi was perched on a chair near the window, legs crossed, his laptop closed in front of him. His ever-present frown softened slightly as he leaned back, the faint rays of morning light casting shadows across his pale skin. Hobi had claimed the couch, sprawled across it with one leg dangling off the side, his usual energy subdued, but not entirely extinguished. His gaze remained on Taehyung, concern the main emotion on his face along with curiosity, and maybe, a tiny bit of relief.

The faint rays of sunlight began to creep into the room, filtering through the ancient blinds and streaking the hardwood floor with golden warmth. Dust motes danced lazily in the air, catching the light as if the universe itself had paused to listen.

Taehyung leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table, his hands clasped tightly. “We need to talk,” he said, his tone calm but resolute. The shift in the room was immediate. Everyone straightened, even Hobi, who had turned to lounging cross-legged on the couch with a pillow balanced precariously on one knee.

Taehyung rose from his seat, moving forward from the dim shadows that cloaked one half of the room into the golden spill of sunlight creeping through the half-open blinds. He wasn’t aware of how the light caught in his hair, now unevenly cut and dyed, creating a subtle halo effect around his frame. The quiet rustle of his footsteps against the hardwood floor was the only sound, and when he stopped, the sunlight fully enveloped him.

“Go on,” Yoongi prompted from his spot, arms crossed as he leaned back casually, though his eyes were sharp, tracking Taehyung’s every move. Jin sat upright in one of the chairs, fingers idly drumming on the armrest, while Hobi adjusted his position on the couch, the pillow finally sliding off and landing on the floor with a muffled thud.

Taehyung’s gaze flicked across each of them, his lips pressing into a thin line. He hadn’t meant to draw their attention like this, but the weight of their anticipation was palpable. He felt it then—how much they needed direction, needed him to lead, and for once, he wasn’t going to shrink under it.

“I’ve been… thinking,” he started, his voice steady despite the way his heart raced. His hands unclasped as he gestured faintly, the motion almost unconscious. “I can’t keep running. That won’t solve anything.”

The sunlight felt too warm against his skin, almost stifling, and he turned slightly, catching the edge of a nearby mirror out of the corner of his eye. He froze for a fraction of a second as he caught his reflection—hair unevenly cropped, the dye adding streaks of lighter color that seemed foreign against his natural dark tones.

Is this what they see?

The thought flitted through his mind, unbidden, and he looked away quickly, focusing back on the room.

“You’re right,” he continued, his voice a touch firmer. “This isn’t just about me anymore. If I don’t act, if I don’t fight back… I

have to

fight back.”

Yoongi stepped forward, his expression unreadable, but his scent calm and grounding. “What are you thinking?”

Taehyung exhaled slowly, his shoulders squaring as he met Yoongi’s gaze head-on. “We stop hiding.” The weight of his words hung in the air, the faint sound of a bird chirping outside the only interruption. They knew what he meant. It was time to come into the light, and face Jeon Jungkook head-on.

“There’s a fashion show Jeon has been invited to,” Taehyung said, his voice steady as he gestured for Yoongi to hand him the laptop. Once it was in his hands, he opened it with practiced ease, the faint hum of the device filling the silence as the screen flickered to life. He angled it so everyone could see.

Displayed prominently was a poster for a high-end fashion event, all sleek lines and glamorous promises. Beside it, the guest list scrolled down in neat, elegant font—names of the elite, the influential, and the dangerous. Taehyung had highlighted one name in particular:

Jeon Jungkook.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow but said nothing, leaning closer to scan the details. Jin crossed his arms, his gaze flicking to Taehyung with a hint of curiosity, while Hobi, ever expressive, let out a low whistle.

“And you got this how?” Jin finally asked, though his tone was more rhetorical than accusatory.

Taehyung smirked faintly, his fingers brushing against the trackpad as he scrolled further. “I have my ways.” His voice was light, almost teasing, but the steel beneath it was unmistakable.

It was true—Kim Taehyung was nothing if not resourceful. They had long since learned not to question his methods, knowing full well that if Taehyung wanted information, there was little in this world that could keep it from him.

“The point is,” Taehyung continued, his voice sharpening, cutting through the room with a quiet intensity. “This is our chance. Jungkook will be there. If we want answers—real answers—we need to be in that room too.”

Hobi’s frown deepened, “I don’t like that look, Tae. What are you planning?”

Taehyung’s eyes darkened, his lips curling into a smile that was as cold as it was calculated. “We’re going to make sure this show is one he’ll never forget.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The air inside the room was thick with glamour, the kind that made every inch of the space feel polished and carefully curated. Soft golden lights bathed everything, casting long, seductive shadows on the floor, as if every corner had been touched by luxury. Taehyung moved fluidly through the crowd, blending in with the sea of dark suits and high heels, his steps quiet but deliberate. Every part of him screamed control—until he reached the corner, where he carefully adjusted his black tuxedo and took a tray of drinks, the ice rattling softly in the glasses.

His scent was carefully concealed with the help of scent suppressants. There had been a time when his presence alone would have sent ripples through the room, would have attracted attention, but tonight he was invisible.

The conversations around him were punctuated by laughter, but it was all carefully controlled. Calculated. A murmur of polite greetings, the clinking of champagne glasses—nothing to disturb the facade of civility. However, underneath it all, there was always an undercurrent of tension, especially in a room full of people like this. Alpha scents clung to the air, a mix of power and superiority. But none of them—none of them was the one he was looking for.

The room was a canvas of wealth and decadence. The scent of expensive perfumes and delicate hors d'oeuvres blending in the air. Champagne popped in the distance, mingling with the smooth jazz playing softly in the background. From his position near the serving station, Taehyung had a perfect view of the room. His muscles were taut, coiled, waiting.

He could feel the pulse of excitement all around him—the flashing cameras, the laughter, the clinking of glasses—but somehow it all felt so distant. This wasn’t his world, not the one he was part of anymore. No, tonight, he wasn’t here for the fashion, or the glitzy façade. He was here for one reason: to move the first pawn of destruction towards Jeon Jungkook.
 
Outside the venue, Yoongi leaned against the wall of their rented van, watching the feed of the cctv cameras on his laptop, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd. He pulled his jacket tighter, the cold evening air slipping inside and mixing with the anxiety buzzing inside him. It made his gut tighten to see Taehyung disappear into the throng of people.

Yoongi didn’t trust these events. Too many people, too many Alphas with sharp instincts, too much potential for things to unravel. His fingers tapped against his phone, anxious as the seconds ticked by. He dialed Taehyung’s number and brought the phone to his ear. It rang once, then got picked up.

“Are you sure about this?” Yoongi’s voice was low, a quiet warning undercutting the tension in his voice. His eyes flicked to the entrances, where Hobi and Jin were positioned as the security detail. They were playing their parts well—watching, waiting, and ready for anything.

Taehyung’s voice was calm, without a flicker of doubt. “I know what I’m doing, hyung. Don’t worry.” The faint sound of glasses clinking in the background gave the conversation an eerie calmness. “Jeon will be here soon. I’ll be ready when he arrives.”

“Just don’t get reckless,” Yoongi muttered, though he knew it wouldn’t reach Taehyung. It was never about caution with him, not anymore. “Stay alert.”

“I’m always alert,” Taehyung replied, and the phone clicked off, leaving Yoongi staring at the dimming screen.

Suddenly there was a sudden hush in the room. The lights dimmed to a theatrical hush and for a heartbeat, everything stood still, before a cascade of golden rays illuminated the runway.

A collective intake of breath rippled through the crowd as the show began, models stepping onto the stage with calculated grace. Their movements were fluid, almost hypnotic, as the first strains of music filled the air, blending seamlessly with the low hum of murmured approval and the occasional burst of applause.

Taehyung moved through the edges of the crowd, his gaze flickering between the runway and the clusters of guests. He stood near the edge of the hall, his tray of empty glasses balanced easily on one hand, his free fingers tapping against the tray’s edge in a nervous rhythm. His posture was perfect—calm and composed—but beneath the surface, anxiety gnawed at him. His eyes darted across the crowd, scanning for a familiar figure among the clusters of elegantly dressed guests.

Jeon Jungkook hadn’t shown up.

The air felt heavier with each passing minute, the omega instincts he had worked so hard to suppress bubbling just beneath his skin. Something wasn’t right. Jungkook was supposed to be here. This was a guaranteed appearance. Taehyung’s information had been flawless. It

should

have been flawless.

Yoongi’s voice crackled softly in his earpiece. “Anything yet?”

“No,” Taehyung murmured, his tone low enough to blend with the ambient noise. He turned slightly, his gaze sweeping past the crowd again. “He’s not here.”

“You’re sure?” Yoongi’s voice had that familiar edge of skepticism. “He’s never missed something like this before.”

“That’s what worries me,” Taehyung admitted, his hand tightening around the edge of the tray. His heart beat a little faster, his scent control faltering for a second before he reeled it back in. “If he’s not here, it’s for a reason.”

Across the room, Jin gave a subtle nod in Taehyung’s direction, his stance as security perfectly at ease, but his eyes sharp as they surveyed the hall. Hobi, stationed closer to the entrance, tapped at his ear comm, signaling nothing unusual yet.

“Could he have known?” Yoongi asked, his tone darkening. “That we’d be here?”

Taehyung didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned toward the long stretch of windows lining one wall of the venue. Outside, the city lights glittered like tiny stars against the inky backdrop of the night. It was a perfect scene, pristine and undisturbed.

But inside, Taehyung’s mind was anything but calm. If Jungkook wasn’t here, then something bigger was happening. And if Jungkook

knew

they were here, then their carefully constructed plan was already on shaky ground.

“Give it more time,” Taehyung finally said, forcing steadiness into his voice as he murmured into the comms. “He’ll show. He has to.”

Even as he spoke the words, doubt crept in, cold and unwelcome, tightening like a vice around his chest. If Jungkook didn’t come, what would that mean for their mission? The entire plan hinged on his presence. Without him, this was just a wasted opportunity—a failure.

Taehyung adjusted his tray, the polished glasses catching the soft glow of the venue’s lights as he glanced once more at the entrance. His heart hammered against his ribcage, a relentless rhythm that matched the anxiety threading through him.

Come on, Jungkook. Where are you?

The answer came like a strike of lightning.

The grand double doors swung open, the sudden influx of cold night air cutting through the warmth of the room. Heads turned as a commanding figure stepped inside, exuding an effortless authority that silenced the murmur of the crowd.

Jeon Jungkook had arrived.

Dressed in a tailored black suit that clung to his broad shoulders and tapered down his tall frame, Jungkook moved with the precision of a predator, his dark gaze sweeping over the room with quiet dominance. The sleek silver tie he wore shimmered faintly under the soft lighting, adding a sharp contrast to the controlled, almost menacing aura he carried.

Taehyung stilled, his breath caught as he took in the sight. He hadn’t seen Jungkook in person in months—not since everything had fallen apart. And yet, here he was, commanding the attention of everyone in the room without uttering a single word.

“Is that—” Hobi’s voice crackled in Taehyung’s earpiece, low with disbelief.

“Yeah,” Taehyung replied, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingers tightened around the tray as his instincts screamed at him to move—to act—but for the briefest moment, he couldn’t.

Jungkook’s sharp gaze shifted, scanning the room. Taehyung could feel the pull of it even from a distance, like gravity bending everything in its path.

He’s here.

Let the game begin.

Jeon Jungkook strode through the crowd like he owned the room—and in many ways, he did. Taehyung’s eyes tracked him as he moved, his presence both electrifying and suffocating. Without sparing a glance at anyone, he claimed a seat near the runway, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as he adjusted his cufflinks with calculated ease.

Around him, the whispers began, hushed murmurs carrying his name like an incantation. People leaned closer, curious, eager to gain his attention. The alpha, however, remained indifferent, his gaze fixed ahead as the show resumed.

Taehyung shifted behind a pillar, his grip tightening on the tray he still carried. His mind raced as he watched Jungkook settle in, his presence commanding the space even as the lights dimmed for the next act. The models glided down the runway, their movements fluid, but Taehyung couldn’t care less. His focus was entirely on the man sitting so casually yet radiating an aura of untouchable power.

“Stay on him,” Yoongi’s voice buzzed in Taehyung’s ear. “If he moves—”

“I know,” Taehyung interrupted, his voice clipped. His heartbeat thundered in his ears as he watched Jungkook.

Waiting.

Anticipating.

And then, just as the crescendo of the music began to signal the grand finale of the show, Jungkook moved.

He rose from his seat, the slight rustle of his suit audible in the charged silence. Without a glance back, he walked towards a hidden door by the edge of the room. Taehyung’s body tensed as he watched, noting the subtle exchange of a nod between Jungkook and a figure standing near the entrance. The mayor.

“Where’s he going?” Hobi’s voice cut in, laced with confusion.

“Not sure,” Taehyung muttered. “But I’m going to find out.”

Slipping the tray onto a nearby table, Taehyung followed, weaving seamlessly through the crowd. His heart pounded in sync with his hurried steps, each one quieter than the last as he trailed Jungkook from a distance. The dimly lit corridor stretched ahead, a sharp contrast to the opulence of the main hall. The murmur of the crowd faded behind him, replaced by the low hum of ventilation and the faint click of Jungkook’s shoes against the marble floor.

Taehyung’s breath caught as Jungkook and the mayor entered a secluded room, the door closing with a quiet, decisive click.

What are they planning?

He hesitated for a moment, his fingers brushing against the earpiece. “He’s with the mayor,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“What’s he doing?” Yoongi’s reply was instant, his tone sharp.

“Give me a second,” Taehyung said, already stepping closer. He pressed his ear against the door, straining to catch any sound from within. Every nerve in his body was on high alert, anticipation burning through him.

Taehyung froze, his sharp hearing catching a faint but unmistakable murmur from beyond the heavy oak door. His father's name—soft, almost whispered—pierced through the muffled conversation like a shard of glass. His chest tightened, breath hitching as a swirl of emotions clawed at his composure.

Why are they talking about him?

The air around him seemed to grow heavier as he edged closer, straining to make out more of the conversation. His ear brushed against the cold wood, heart thudding loudly in his ears as he caught snippets of words—fragments that made no sense.

“…Kim Dae Yong… arrangements… should’ve been…”

Taehyung’s mind raced, the possibilities tangling into knots of suspicion and confusion. Jungkook’s smooth, authoritative voice mingled with the mayor’s deeper timbre, both maddeningly calm. It was like listening to a puzzle being solved just out of reach, and every instinct screamed at him to break down the door and demand answers.

His grip on the doorframe tightened. His father’s name, tied to these two men, was a revelation he wasn’t prepared for. Questions swirled like a tempest in his mind. What had they meant by "arrangements"? What secrets still lay hidden? And why did it sound like they were discussing him as if he were a chess piece in their game?

He leaned in closer, desperate for more. The faint scrape of a chair against the floor made him wince, his heightened Omega instincts picking up every sound in the silent hallway. The voices inside grew quieter, almost conspiratorial, and Taehyung’s frustration spiked.

Then, like a cruel twist of fate, his earpiece crackled to life. Yoongi’s voice, low and insistent, jolted him out of his trance. “Tae, it’s time.”

He cursed under his breath, his fingers brushing over the earpiece as if silencing it would buy him another moment. “Yoongi,” he whispered, his voice a strained plea, “I think they’re talking about my father.”

Yoongi’s sigh was soft but firm, cutting through the static. “Then we’ll figure it out later. Right now, we need you out of there. This plan doesn’t work without you.”

Taehyung bit his lip, glancing back at the door. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to stay, to hear more, to uncover the truth. But Yoongi was right. They couldn’t afford delays—not when everything was already in motion.

“Copy that,” he muttered reluctantly, his voice laced with frustration.

As he hurried back down the dimly lit corridor, his thoughts swirled in chaotic loops. Whatever Jungkook and the mayor were discussing, it would have to wait. But the seed of doubt had been planted, and it grew with every step he took, its roots twisting around his resolve.

The main hall was alive with its usual polished glamour, oblivious to the brewing storm. Taehyung slipped back into the crowd, blending seamlessly as the finale of the fashion show drew to a close. Applause rippled through the room as the models made their final walk, their perfect strides a stark contrast to the turmoil about to unfold.

Taehyung’s eyes flicked to the exit just as Jungkook reappeared, his expression unreadable as he moved with quiet confidence through the throng. The crowd seemed to part for him instinctively, as if his very presence demanded it.

However, before Jungkook could reach the doors, a sudden shift in the atmosphere stopped everyone in their tracks. The large LED screens flanking the runway flickered, cutting away from the live feed of the models to a shaky handheld video.

The room went silent.

On the screen, a young model stood front and center, her face pale but determined. “To everyone watching,” she began, her voice trembling but gaining strength, “this company has built its empire on the backs of mistreated workers. We’ve been silenced, overworked, and discarded—but no more.”

Gasps rippled through the audience as the camera panned to other models standing in solidarity. Another spoke up, her voice louder, angrier. “We’re here to tell the truth about what happens behind the scenes—the exploitation, the abuse, the lies. This stops today.”

The crowd erupted into chaos. Murmurs turned into shouts as people whipped out their phones, the livestream spreading like wildfire. Security scrambled to the stage, but the models stood their ground, their voices rising above the commotion.

Taehyung watched it all unfold from the edge of the room, his heart pounding with a mix of adrenaline and satisfaction. They had done it.

His triumph was short-lived. From his vantage point, he saw Jungkook pause in the middle of the chaos, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the room. Even in the pandemonium, Jungkook exuded control, his sharp gaze cutting through the crowd like a blade.

Taehyung ducked behind a column, his pulse quickening. He knows something’s up.

Yoongi’s voice crackled in his ear again. “Tae, get out of there. Now.”

Taehyung hesitated for a fraction of a second, his eyes still on Jungkook, but then he turned, slipping through the frenzied crowd and disappearing into the shadows.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The screaming of the news anchors on the TV clamored for attention, their voices cutting through the silent room.

“HIGH-END FASHION EVENT IN SHAMBLES—LEE GROUP FACES SCANDAL!”

“MODELS SPEAK OUT ON EXPLOITATION AND ABUSE UNDER LEE GROUP MANAGEMENT!”

“JEON LAW FIRM UNDER FIRE: CEO JEON JUNGKOOK SEEN LEAVING WITHOUT COMMENT!”

The headlines blared in bold letters across the screen, accompanied by chaotic footage of the protest and the fallout that followed. Taehyung leaned back, his lips curling into a sardonic smile as he watched the pandemonium unfold. The spark he had lit was now a raging inferno and he couldn’t be prouder.

As the headlines continued to roll, the room buzzed with tension and triumph in equal measure.

Jin let out a low whistle, leaning back against the couch with a look of disbelief. “Well, that escalated quickly,” he said, his tone half-admiring and half-exasperated. “You really did a number, didn’t you, Tae?”

Hobi, sitting cross-legged on the floor, ran a hand through his hair, still wide-eyed from the scale of the fallout. “I knew we were stirring the pot, but

this

?” He gestured to the screen, where the footage of protesting models and chaos at the venue replayed on a loop. “This is—” He broke off, shaking his head. “Damn, Tae. You really didn’t hold back.”

Yoongi, who had been silently watching from his corner, finally spoke, his voice calm and laced with concern. “It’s a good hit,” he acknowledged, closing the lid of his laptop with a deliberate motion. “But now the heat’s going to be on us. Jeon isn’t going to let this slide, you know that right?”

Taehyung’s smile didn’t waver, though his eyes flickered with a glint of something deeper—determination, resolve, and just a hint of recklessness. “Let him come,” he said, voice low. “He’s had his hand in too many dark things for too long. It’s time someone pulled him into the light.”

Hobi let out a short laugh, part nervous and part impressed. “You’re scary when you’re like this, Tae.”

“Scary, but effective,” Jin said, shaking his head again, though there was a hint of pride in his voice.

Yoongi leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he locked eyes with Taehyung. “Just don’t forget the bigger picture. This isn’t just about winning one round. You’ve got a war ahead of you, and it’s not going to be pretty.”

Taehyung’s smile faded slightly, but the fire in his gaze didn’t dim. “I know, but for now, let’s make sure the whole world knows who Jeon Jungkook really is.”

As the room settled into a tense silence, the sound of Taehyung’s phone vibrating against the table cut through the air like a sharp blade. All eyes turned toward him as he picked it up, his expression unreadable. The name flashing on the screen wasn’t familiar to Jin or Hobi, but Yoongi’s gaze sharpened at the sight of it.

Taehyung answered, pressing the phone to his ear. His tone shifted instantly—calm, detached, and razor-sharp. “This is V.”

Jin froze mid-lean, his mouth parting as his brain scrambled to process the name. Hobi blinked twice, then stared at Taehyung as if he’d grown a second head.

The voice on the other end spilled out in hurried gratitude. “It’s me, hyung—Sunwoo. I… I just wanted to say thank you. For what you did. My sister—she wouldn’t have spoken out without your help.”

Taehyung’s expression softened momentarily, but his tone remained firm. “Is she safe?”

“Yes, but it’s bad,” Sunwoo replied, his voice breaking slightly. “They’re already spinning it, calling the models liars, and she’s terrified. She thinks they’re going to come after her.”

“They won’t,” Taehyung said firmly, his voice brooking no argument. “Not while I’m involved.”

“I’ll help however I can,” Sunwoo continued. “Anything you need—just say the word. Just please, don’t let them win.”

“They won’t,” Taehyung promised. “Stay close to her. You’ll hear from me soon.”

As he ended the call and slipped the phone into his pocket, silence hung heavy in the room. Jin and Hobi didn’t say anything, but their wide-eyed expressions screamed volumes.

“V?” Jin finally managed, his tone hovering somewhere between disbelief and curiosity.

Hobi just stared at Taehyung, his lips pressed together as if afraid to ask the wrong question.

Yoongi, sitting quietly at the table, leaned back in his chair with a knowing look. He crossed his arms over his chest, watching Taehyung with an expression that held no shock—only understanding. “Well,” he said dryly, breaking the silence, and shrugging as if to say

‘The cat’s out of the bag now.’

Jin turned sharply to Yoongi. “You knew?”

Yoongi shrugged, his eyes never leaving Taehyung. “Of course I knew. V doesn’t keep secrets from me.”

“Wait,” Hobi finally blurted, his voice higher than usual. “You’re telling me

our Taehyungie

is this—

the V

?” He gestured wildly at the empty space as if trying to grasp the enormity of it.

Taehyung didn’t answer, his gaze steady but unreadable as he looked between his friends.

“Why—” Jin started but stopped himself, rubbing his temples. “No, you know what? I don’t even know where to start. How long has this been going on? Who else knows? Are you working alone?”

Taehyung held up a hand, silencing Jin’s spiral of questions. “Not now,” he said evenly, his voice brokering no argument. “We have more important things to deal with.”

“But—” Hobi began, only to stop when Yoongi shot him a look.

“Drop it, Hoba,” Yoongi said, his tone quiet but firm. “V’s been around longer than you think. And he’s good at what he does. Let it go for now.”

Jin exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. “Fine, but we’re circling back to this later.”

Hobi crossed his arms, but nodded reluctantly, his expression still laced with disbelief. “Yeah, later. Because, seriously,

you’re V

?”

Taehyung ignored their reactions, already moving toward the table and pulling out a chair. “Right. Now, we focus on what comes next. Are you ready?”

Jin and Hobi exchanged a glance, their questions and shock momentarily shelved but not forgotten.

“Yeah,” Jin said eventually, his voice steadying. “We’re ready.”

"Good," Taehyung said, his tone softening just enough to convey gratitude, but the sharp edge in his eyes returned almost immediately. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, voice steady and deliberate as he dropped the next bombshell.

"Because now," he said, letting the words hang for just a beat, "we’ll be infiltrating Jeon Law Firm."

Hobi choked on air, his eyes widening as he processed the words. “You’ve got to be fucking with me. Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” Taehyung replied evenly.

Jin leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the table in disbelief. “You planned this, didn’t you? The chaos at the fashion show—it wasn’t just about exposing the Lee Group.”

“Of course it wasn’t,” Taehyung admitted, his tone calm and a self-satisfied smirk making its way onto his face. “It was bait. I knew the Jeon Law Firm would need extra hands to handle the fallout. The chaos we created makes it impossible for them to keep up with everything. They’ll be hiring interns—desperate ones—to help with the Lee Group case.”

“And you plan to be one of them,” Yoongi said. It wasn’t a question, just a resigned statement.

Taehyung’s smile was small but unrelenting. “Not just me. All of us.”

“What?!” All three of them exclaimed in unison.

Hobi blinked, clearly still processing everything that had already unfolded. “You mean the place where Jeon practically lives? The fortress with top-tier security and access tighter than an idol concert backstage?”

Taehyung's lips curled into a faint smirk. “Exactly that place.”

Jin pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Of course. Why not?”

Yoongi, still seated at the table, tapped the side of his laptop thoughtfully. “It’s not impossible,” he said after a moment, drawing everyone’s attention. “But it’s going to take some planning. Their digital defenses are strong, but I’ve been poking around. If we move fast, there’s a window of vulnerability in three days.”

“Three days?” Hobi sputtered, looking incredulous. “That’s it?”

“That’s all we’ll need,” Taehyung said confidently. His voice carried a quiet determination that left little room for doubt. Taehyung leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his gaze steady. “They’ll be so focused on damage control that they won’t see us coming. Once we’re in, we’ll have access to Jeon’s office. That’s where the real information is—the stuff they don’t put in digital files.”

Jin pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering to himself. “I can’t believe we’re doing this. First the fashion show, now this.”

“I can’t believe

you’re

doing this,” Hobi said, gesturing wildly at Taehyung. “How do you even know they’re hiring interns already? The fashion show chaos just happened.”

Taehyung’s eyes glinted with quiet triumph. “Because I’ve been monitoring their internal communications. They sent out the hiring notice an hour ago. Interviews are tomorrow. We’ll all apply.”

Yoongi snorted. “And you think they won’t recognize us?”

“Disguises,” Taehyung said simply.

“This is insane,” Hobi muttered, shaking his head. “Absolutely insane.”

“But brilliant,” Jin added reluctantly, earning a glare from Hobi.

“Brilliant or not, if we get caught—”

“We won’t,” Taehyung cut in, his voice sharp. “Not if we stick to the plan. We get in, get the information, and get out. Clean and simple.”

“Nothing about this is clean or simple,” Yoongi muttered, though his fingers were already tapping away on his laptop, probably pulling up floor plans and security protocols.

Hobi groaned, throwing his hands up. “Fine. But if this goes south, I’m blaming you, Tae.”

“Blame me all you want,” Taehyung said, a smirk playing at his lips. “Just make sure you’re ready. Because by this time tomorrow, we’ll be inside Jeon Law Firm.”  
 
》》》》》◆《《《《《
 
The house was quiet except for the soft rustling of papers and the occasional soft tapping of a pen against the coffee table. Jin and Hoseok were the last ones left in the living room, with a sprawling mess of legal documents, open laptops, and the faint smell of coffee lingering in the air.

The beta leaned back against the couch, rubbing his temple. His lips quirked in a wry smile as he picked up another page from the pile in front of him. “So... ‘V,’ huh?” His voice was low, almost as if he didn’t want to disturb the stillness of the night.

Jin didn’t glance up from his notes, his pen moving deftly across the page. “What about it?”

“I mean…” Hobi set the paper down and gestured vaguely. “We just found out the infamous, terrifying hacker

V

—the person we’ve been low-key scared of for years—is

our

Taehyungie. Doesn’t that bother you? Even a little?”

Jin snorted, finally looking up. His reading glasses slid down his nose slightly, and he pushed them back with a finger. “Terrifying? Scared? Speak for yourself, Hoseok. I think it’s kind of impressive.”

“Impressive?” Hobi repeated, his voice incredulous. “You don’t find it, I don’t know, a little unsettling? This is

V

we’re talking about. The person who supposedly got into government systems for fun. The same person who took down that entire corporate network because they overcharged a poor student.”

“And?” Jin shrugged, smirking. “Sounds like he has principles.”

Hobi groaned, tossing a highlighter onto the table. “Principles? Hyung, come on. This is V.

The V

. No one even knew what they looked like, let alone even

think

that they could be some Gucci-obsessed guy who used to organize his sock drawer by color.”

Jin chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “I think you’re more freaked out because you’ve been hyping V up as some faceless shadow all these years. Turns out he’s been sitting next to us at game nights this whole time.”

“Well, excuse me for not expecting a hacker extraordinaire to also have a perfectly curated Instagram aesthetic,” Hobi muttered, crossing his arms. “Doesn’t it mess with your head even a little?”

Jin’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he studied Hobi. “Not really. Taehyung’s always been full of surprises. Besides…” He paused, tapping his pen against the armrest. “It’s kind of nice knowing he’s on our side, isn’t it?”

Hobi hesitated, his gaze flickering to the papers on the table. “I guess. It’s just... a lot to process, okay? Like, what else is he hiding? How does Yoongi know? Did

you

know?” He turned to look at Jin suspiciously.

The alpha’s smirk softened into something more thoughtful. “I didn’t know, but I can’t say that I’m extremely shocked. Taehyung’s always had that quiet intensity, you know? Like he’s thinking ten steps ahead of everyone else.”

Hobi scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re way too calm about this.”

“Maybe you’re just too dramatic.” Jin’s tone was light, teasing, but there was a glint of something sharper in his gaze.

Hobi turned to him fully, narrowing his eyes. “I’m not dramatic.”  It was quiet for a beat before the beta broke it again. “I just never thought that person would be Taehyung. It’s weird, you know? Thinking someone you’ve known for years—someone who wears Gucci slippers to the grocery store—could also be this… legendary hacker.”

Jin hummed, a faint trace of amusement in his tone. “Well, he’s certainly full of surprises.”

The conversation lulled, but the air between them grew heavier, unspoken tension lingering like the unrelenting weight of the night. Hobi shuffled his papers, his knee bouncing as if he needed to burn off some restless energy.

“You’re fidgeting,” Jin said flatly, not bothering to look up.

“And you’re annoying,” Hobi shot back, though his words lacked bite.

Jin smirked, finally meeting Hobi’s gaze. “You’re staring.”

“Am not.”

“You are.” Jin leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his voice dropping just slightly. “What’s the matter, Hoseok? Still trying to figure out why you keep ending up here with me?”

Hobi’s jaw tightened, but a flush crept up his neck. “I’m here because we have to figure out how to pass as junior lawyers, not because of some weird cosmic attraction, okay?”

Jin chuckled, low and infuriatingly smug. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

Hobi opened his mouth to retort but stopped, the weight of Jin’s words hanging in the air between them. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You ever think it’s weird?” he asked quietly.

“What?” Jin asked, though the way his brow arched suggested he already knew what Hobi meant.

“This. Us. These late nights. The fact that no matter how much we annoy each other, we’re always… here.” Hobi gestured vaguely to the mess of papers, the dimly lit room, the shared space between them.

Jin didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he studied Hobi, his gaze lingering a beat too long. “We’re here because we have a job to do,” he said finally, though his voice had softened.

“Right,” Hobi muttered, sitting back again. “A job.”

The unspoken words settled between them, thick and heavy. Neither of them moved to address it, both retreating into the safety of their work.

After a few minutes, Jin broke the silence, his tone light and teasing once more. “You know, you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

Hobi glared at him, though his cheeks flushed faintly. “And you’re insufferable. Now, shut up and focus. We’ve got a lot to cover.”

Jin smirked, turning back to his notes. “Whatever you say, Hobah.” The silence stretched on for a few more hours, broken only by the faint rustle of paper and the occasional sigh. Hobi finally threw his pen down with a groan, stretching his arms over his head.

“I’m done. My brain’s fried,” he declared, slumping back into the couch. “There’s no way I’m retaining any more legal jargon tonight.”

Jin didn’t look up, still scribbling neatly in his notebook. “That’s because you’ve spent more time complaining than actually reading.”

Hobi shot him a look, grabbing another pillow and lightly shoving it against Jin’s shoulder. “Whatever, Mr. Perfect Notes. I’m going to bed.”

Jin hummed, flipping to the next page. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

Hobi stood, ruffling his hair in frustration. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to come up with a better comeback.”

Jin smirked but didn’t respond, his focus already back on the papers in front of him. Hobi lingered for a moment, watching him work, before shaking his head with a faint smile and heading toward his room.

“Night, hyung,” he called over his shoulder.

“Goodnight, Hobah,” Jin replied without looking up.

As the door clicked shut, Jin allowed himself a small sigh, setting his pen down and rubbing his temples. He glanced at the now-empty couch, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Then, with a shake of his head, he returned to his notes, the quiet room feeling just a little emptier without the annoying beta’s presence.  
 
》》》》》◆《《《《《
 
The hum of the car engine was almost soothing, a stark contrast to the tension inside. Taehyung sat in the passenger seat, scrolling through his phone with an air of calm that bordered on infuriating. Behind him, Hobi was anything but calm.

A constant mumble of “Fuck you, Tae. Fuck you, Tae,” punctuated the otherwise silent car ride, his voice dripping with a mix of nerves and exasperation.

Taehyung didn’t even look up, casually flipping to the next page of whatever he was reading. “You’re going to wear yourself out before we even get there.”

“If we go to jail, Tae,

I swear

, I’ll kill you first,” Hobi snapped, tugging at the tie around his neck like it was a noose.

Jin, who was driving, shot them both a side-eye through the rearview mirror. “Could you not talk about murder when I’m trying to navigate city traffic? It’s distracting.”

“And you,” Hobi pointed an accusatory finger at Jin, “you’re the worst! You’re enabling him!”

Jin raised an eyebrow. “I’m driving you to your doom, not mine. Let’s get that straight.”

Hobi groaned, slumping back in his seat. “I don’t even look like a lawyer. I look like a fraud.”

“You look fine,” Yoongi chimed in from beside him, his voice dry. “Now stop fidgeting. You’re going to mess up the disguise.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one walking into a literal lion’s den.”

Taehyung finally looked up, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Technically, we all are. But only some of us are

prepared

for it.”

Hobi threw his hands up. “Prepared?! I’m wearing borrowed shoes, Tae. Borrowed! If I trip and fall, I’m dragging you down with me.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Taehyung replied, rolling his eyes. “It’s just an interview. Smile, answer a few questions, and don’t incriminate yourself. How hard can it be?”

Yoongi snorted, muttering under his breath, “Famous last words.”

“Exactly!” Hobi yelled, gesturing wildly. “Famous last words! Yoongi gets it!”

Jin sighed, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “If I have to pull this car over, I’m leaving you all on the side of the road. Try infiltrating a law firm on foot.”

The threat of abandonment was enough to quiet Hobi, though the occasional muttered “Fuck you, Tae,” still escaped his lips as the city skyline loomed closer.

Taehyung just leaned back, his smirk firmly in place. “This is going to be fun.”

“For who?” Hobi grumbled.

The car rolled to a stop outside the towering glass building of Jeon Law Firm. The structure seemed to loom over them, its sleek and imposing design radiating power and intimidation.

Hobi let out a low whistle, eyes wide as he craned his neck to take it all in. “We’re actually doing this, huh? Walking straight into the devil’s lair?”

Taehyung stepped out of the car, adjusting the cuffs of his blazer with the ease of someone strolling into a coffee shop rather than the headquarters of his enemy. “Not the devil’s lair. Just his office building.”

“Same energy,” Hobi muttered as he clambered out, tugging at his suit jacket like it was suffocating him.

Jin followed, fixing his tie with the precision of a man about to ace a job interview—even if it was under dubious circumstances. “Alright, remember the plan. We’re interns. Overeager, underpaid, and absolutely harmless.”

Yoongi closed the car door with a soft click, his face as impassive as ever. “Harmless,” he repeated, his tone making it sound like a joke.

Taehyung adjusted his bag, turning to the group with an air of calm authority. “Stick to your roles. Don’t draw attention. Blend in. Act like you belong.”

Hobi raised a hand. “Question. What happens if someone realizes we don’t belong?”

Taehyung’s smirk returned, sharp and unwavering. “Then we make sure they don’t live to tell the tale.”

Hobi’s jaw dropped. “WHAT?”

“I’m kidding.” Taehyung patted him on the shoulder, though his smile did nothing to reassure him. “Mostly.”

“Mostly?!” Hobi whisper-yelled, his voice climbing an octave.

Jin stepped between them, rolling his eyes. “He’s messing with you, Hoba. Let’s just get this over with before someone notices us standing here like a bunch of criminals.”

Yoongi’s lips twitched into the faintest smirk as he followed behind them. “Considering what we’re about to do, standing here like criminals feels appropriate.”

“Speak for yourself,” Taehyung said, his voice low as they entered the building. The cool air of the lobby greeted them, and Taehyung’s eyes scanned the area, cataloging every exit, camera, and potential obstacle.

The receptionist gave them a polite smile. “Welcome to Jeon Law Firm. Are you here for the internship interviews?”

Taehyung nodded, flashing a smile so disarming it could have melted the hardest of ice. “Yes, we are.”

“Great,” she replied, handing them visitor passes. “Take the elevator to the 14th floor. The interviews are being conducted in conference room B.”

As they walked toward the elevator, Hobi leaned in, whispering under his breath, “This is insane. You’re insane.”

“And yet, here you are,” Taehyung replied smoothly, pressing the button for the 14th floor.

As the elevator doors closed, Hobi crossed his arms. “You owe me so much soju after this, Tae.”

“If we survive this, I’ll buy you a brewery,” Taehyung shot back, his smile never wavering as the elevator began its ascent.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime as they reached the 14th floor. The atmosphere on this floor was sharp, modern, and polished, the kind of professional cold that had every surface gleaming and every piece of furniture perfectly aligned.

Taehyung adjusted his blazer once more, giving himself a final once-over in the mirrored walls of the elevator. His posture was confident, his expression calm, and his steps sure as he walked into the open space beyond the doors. The reception area was bustling with potential interns—a sea of eager faces in freshly pressed suits and clean-cut hair, all nervously clutching resumes.

Taehyung didn’t flinch. His voice was steady as he turned toward the receptionist seated at the desk, her perfectly manicured nails clicking against the keyboard. “We’re here for the internship interviews.”

She looked up, smiling as she gestured toward the hallway. “The conference room is just down this hall. Room B. You can wait there.”

“Thank you,” Taehyung said smoothly, leading the group forward with purpose.

The hallway was lined with glass partitions and sleek modern art, the kind of aesthetic designed to inspire both ambition and intimidation. Jin walked alongside him, hands folded behind his back, his expression as calm as Taehyung’s own. Hobi turned a complete 180 degrees, now walking confidently as if he had not spent the better part of the last few hours cursing out Taehyung.

As they approached the conference room, Taehyung stopped and looked at his group. His voice was low but resolute.

“Alright. Remember: you’re eager, professional, and harmless. Play the part. If anyone asks questions, act like you’ve been dreaming of this opportunity for years.”

Yoongi, hands in his pockets, simply gave a short nod. “Harmless. Got it.”

They entered the room and were greeted by a large conference table surrounded by sleek office chairs. A few other young faces were already seated at the table, nervously flipping through documents or checking their phones. A crisp, formal air lingered here, with white walls and bright lighting.

The woman conducting the interviews—clean-cut, polished, and sharp-eyed—stood at the head of the table, holding a clipboard. She looked up as they entered, and her sharp gaze assessed them for only a moment before gesturing to the seats.

“Please, take a seat,” she said, her tone professional and welcoming. “We’re excited to have you here for the Jeon Law Firm internship opportunities. Our team is currently conducting interviews for those who can assist with our ongoing investigation into the recent Lee Group events. The ideal candidates will show initiative, adaptability, and a keen sense of focus.”

Taehyung made his way toward the table without hesitation, sliding into one of the chairs as though he’d always belonged there. His presence was effortless, and his calm confidence did exactly what he intended—drew attention and respect without overt arrogance. The perks of private schooling.

The others took their seats around the table as well. Jin beside him, Hobi with his sudden confidence, and Yoongi with his usual unreadable but steady presence.

The woman set her clipboard down and looked at them with sharp, clear eyes. “Why do you want this internship?” she asked, her voice cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

Taehyung was already prepared. His response was confident.

“I’ve always had a passion for the law and for justice,” he said smoothly. His tone was level and professional, eyes bright. “The opportunity to learn from a firm as prestigious as yours, especially in light of recent events, is invaluable. I believe being part of this process will allow me to grow professionally while contributing in a meaningful way.”

The interviewer nodded, clearly satisfied with his response.

“Great,” she said, glancing at her notes. “And how do you handle pressure? Especially in situations with conflicting priorities?”

Taehyung didn’t hesitate this time, either. His voice came steady and firm. “I’m the kind of person who thrives under pressure. I take challenges as opportunities to learn, adapt, and improve. If priorities shift, I assess the situation calmly, prioritize based on the outcome, and ensure my focus never wavers from the goal.”

The woman smiled slightly, tapping her pen against the clipboard. “You seem confident. That’s good. We’ll need that kind of determination with the kind of work we’ll expect you to do.”

“Of course,” Taehyung said smoothly, leaning back in his seat and allowing his tone to hold just the right balance of ambition and confidence.

One by one, the other candidates were called up to answer their questions, their voices nervous or eager, stumbling at times under the pressure of the formal environment. Taehyung could feel the energy shift as the interview progressed. His team kept themselves calm and poised, playing their roles perfectly.

The interview felt far too short, a blur of questions and calculated responses. The room was polished, modern—too sterile for the storm of schemes unfolding behind closed doors. Taehyung maintained perfect posture, answering each question like he was born for this role, his voice steady and calm. Jin's smile was smooth and disarming, Yoongi's sharp intellect emanated from his quiet confidence, and Hobi played the role of an overeager intern perfectly, in fact so perfect as if he had really been waiting for the job all his life.

When the woman interviewing them leaned back in her chair, pen tapping thoughtfully against her clipboard, the air felt charged.

“Well,” she finally said, “you’ve all impressed us. Your unique backgrounds and enthusiasm align perfectly with what we’re looking for. Congratulations, you’ll be joining the internship program at Jeon Law Firm.”

The words hit the air like an electric current. The four of them exchanged quick, sharp glances.

“What—?” Hobi began, but Taehyung was already smiling.

“Congratulations,” the woman continued smoothly, unbothered by the sudden interruption. “You’re hired.”

The others exchanged looks, unsure if they’d just stumbled into a dream or a trap. Three other applicants stood off to the side, two girls with sharp eyes and calculated smiles, and a meek man, already trying to act as though they’d been here their entire lives.

The tension among them was palpable, and Taehyung could feel the pull of victory. This was perfect. These seven new interns would have a foothold in Jeon Law Firm without drawing suspicion.

“Please check your email within the next 12 hours,” the woman added, “for onboarding instructions and the full schedule. This is the first step into an investigation that will likely challenge everything you know about the Lee Group, the Jeon Law Firm, and their operations.”

The words sent a shiver through Taehyung’s chest. The implication was clear:

You’re in.

They exchanged quick, sharp nods as the woman handed them all folders branded with Jeon Law Firm's elegant logo. Yoongi’s fingers tightened slightly on his folder as if the weight of the task had just fully hit him.

Hobi seemed to let the news sink in first, a crooked grin breaking through his nervous expression. “Well,” he said under his breath, voice low enough only for their group. “We did it. The fake resumes did their work.”

Jin let out a slow, careful exhale. “We’ll keep our heads cool, though. This is only the first step.”

They fell into step as the other interns and the recruiter started chatting about schedules, the future, and promises of advancement. Taehyung ignored them, instead focusing on the rhythmic thrum beating in his chest. Everything was going according to strategy. Jeon Jungkook, the firm, the chaos—the threads were all woven together now.

The next morning came with the sharp scent of freshly brewed coffee and the low hum of traffic as they all made their way to Jeon Law Firm's towering, glassy building. The wind tugged at their suits as they approached the entrance, the building standing tall and imposing like a fortress of ambition and secrets.

Inside, the air was crisp, cool, and sterile. The large, open office space was bustling with interns and lawyers walking with purpose, a symphony of polished shoes clicking against the floor and urgent whispers. The ceiling lights glowed faintly, reflecting off the rows of sleek desks and computers.

The receptionist greeted them with a practiced smile and handed each of them their respective onboarding packets. Taehyung’s sharp eyes darted over the papers as they walked into the main conference room.

“This is it,” he murmured to the others, voice low as they spread out around the table. “Keep your heads down, learn fast, and stay in formation.”

The group exchanged quick, steady glances. It felt unreal how quickly they had come to this point. Today was the first real step, and everyone was acutely aware of how fragile things could be.

Yoongi set down his coffee cup as he adjusted his suit jacket, already calculating the environment around them. His sharp eyes scanned the room, noting every detail—the layout of desks, the way the law clerks moved, the strategic position of security cameras. His upbringing had given him access to formal law firms before, but this felt different. Here, he could feel the weight of hidden secrets.

“Okay,” Yoongi said, pulling out his laptop from his leather briefcase. “We’ll divide and conquer. Taehyung and I already have the legal knowledge. Our job is to feed intel from the inside, figure out their procedures and uncover what they’re hiding. We’ll train you guys on the job.”

Jin and Hobi exchanged glances. They had spent the entire night reviewing case files and learning the language of law and procedure that Jeon Law Firm worked with. The early hours of the morning had been long, but it had given them enough familiarity to be ready to step into the flow of things.

“Yeah, we did our reading,” Hobi assured with confidence, flipping through his packet as he spoke, his voice steady.

“We’ve got this,” Yoongi said, offering a nod of reassurance. “Stick with us, and you’ll figure it out. This place runs on patterns and power.We’ll identify them quickly.”

They sat in quiet focus as the receptionist spoke again over the intercom, assigning each intern to their positions and areas of the firm. The others dispersed quickly into their roles, but Taehyung, Yoongi, Jin, and Hobi stayed seated for just a moment longer.

“Taehyung,” Yoongi said in a low voice, tapping at his laptop, “you and I can start mapping the network—linking Jeon Law Firm to the Lee Group case. We already have a foothold, but we’ll use this as a way to watch their internal processes.”

Taehyung’s gaze shifted from the papers to his phone, fingers scrolling through the case evidence they had already managed to obtain. “We’ll find gaps. We’ll find their blind spots.” His voice was sharp, and, confident.

Jin leaned back in his chair, looking through the folder in his hand. “What about us? How do we connect into their processes without drawing attention?”

“That’s where adaptability comes in,” Yoongi replied. “We’ll observe their patterns—where they meet, how they hire, how they shift data. Everyone here has a role. You and Hoba will focus on gathering intel about their internal HR practices and meetings. Sometimes, all you need is to slip into their systems unnoticed.”

Hobi exhaled through his nose, attempting to calm his nerves. “Got it. We’ll keep the focus there while you and Taehyung handle the deeper research.”

Taehyung glanced at Yoongi, who was already scrolling through his laptop, his expression focused. “Alright, let’s go and see what they’ve got on the Lee Group case,” he said, grabbing his papers and adjusting his tie as they set out.

They began work promptly—Yoongi diving into research while Taehyung worked on organizing case files and legal notes. The atmosphere inside the law firm was stiff, the air humming with muted conversations and the sound of keyboards clacking.

The interns were directed toward their respective departments, assigned cases and research tasks, and told to familiarize themselves with the materials. The Lee Group investigation took precedence, and Taehyung and Yoongi found themselves buried under stacks of memos and files, their hands busy with notes.

Taehyung leaned back in his chair briefly, stretching, when a brief conversation nearby caught his attention. “Mr. Jeon’s office is down the hall,” a voice murmured, just low enough that he could hear as he flipped through his notes. Taehyung froze mid-flip, his hand pausing on a page. His ears focused in on the sound again, the words clear now.

“Mr. Jeon’s office is on this floor, just a few doors down. If you need to ask him anything about the Lee Group case directly, he’s always there.”

Taehyung’s mind ticked as he exchanged a quick glance with Yoongi who was sitting beside him and heard what distracted him. His pulse quickened slightly. Jeon’s office. The very heart of everything.

“Wait,” Taehyung murmured, his voice low as he leaned toward Yoongi. “Did you hear that? Jeon’s office is on this floor.”

Yoongi’s brow furrowed as he looked up. “Yeah? So what?”

Taehyung’s lips curled into a sharp, quick grin. “So I’m going to go take a look.”

Before Yoongi could voice a protest, Taehyung was already on his feet, papers in hand as if he were just taking another task. He navigated the hallway with practiced nonchalance, slipping through groups of interns and lawyers who seemed too busy with their own tasks to notice another face among them. The hallway was polished and pristine, glass partitions and nameplates lining the walls. It was clear they were now in the core of Jeon’s operations.

Taehyung's pulse quickened as he stepped into the hallway, the polished floor beneath his shoes gleaming faintly under the soft glow of overhead lights. His hand hovered at his side, fingers nervously brushing against the edge of his notebook.

He stayed careful, pretending to study a memo, but his focus was razor-sharp as he scanned the hallway. The air here felt different—tighter,

colder

—as though it held secrets in its corners. The office was just a few doors down, sleek and imposing, with frosted glass etched with the name

Jeon Jungkook

in sharp lettering.

Taehyung was standing a few feet from the door when his breath hitched. His eyes flicked toward a movement from the end of the hall.

A figure was walking toward him.

Taehyung froze, gripping his notes tighter. His heart was loud now, thudding in his chest as he quickly looked down, attempting to appear casual, unbothered. He wasn’t ready to be caught. Not yet.

But the sound of footsteps grew louder, closer.

“Hey. Are you—”

Before the voice could finish, Taehyung felt his chest tighten. His stomach dropped as he realized the figure had already seen him, a sharp, curious gaze cutting through the distance.

Taehyung forced himself to take a breath, his fingers gripping his pen so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His throat felt dry.

The figure was getting closer.

He knew they were looking at him.

Stay cool.

Taehyung glanced at his notes, as though engrossed, as if he had every right to be here. His body tensed, every nerve ending firing.

And then the voice came again, this time louder.

“Hey, you. What are you doing here?”

Taehyung felt the ground under his feet shift.

His breath hitched as he looked up, words caught in his throat. His mind scrambled for an excuse, his voice stumbling as he tried to piece together something believable.

Where was his genius brain when he needed it?

“Uh—I’m… I’m just here to, uh—check on a memo? The case, yeah, just making sure everything’s in order.” His voice cracked a little, betraying his nervousness. He fumbled with his pen, his hands shaky.

The figure stood a few feet away, his posture casual, but his gaze sharp. His hair was a striking shade of pink, almost glowing under the fluorescent lighting of the hallway. It framed his face effortlessly, soft waves cascading just above his eyes, making him look simultaneously cool and intimidating. His sharp jawline and the confident way he stood sent an unspoken authority into the air around him.

Taehyung struggled not to stare, but it wasn’t easy. The pink-haired figure’s piercing gaze bore into him for a few seconds before he exhaled and crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly.

“Relax,” he said, voice surprisingly calm as his eyes narrowed. “You’re an intern, aren’t you?”

Taehyung froze again, unsure whether the guy could see straight through him. He nodded weakly, his heart still racing.

“Yeah. I’m just here to help with—stuff.” His voice wavered.

The pink-haired figure sighed, running his hand through his hair as if assessing him, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re fine. Don’t worry about it. Jungkook isn’t in his office right now.” His voice was light, dismissive, but it had an edge that left Taehyung uneasy.

Taehyung felt his shoulders relax slightly, his stomach unclenching just a bit. “Oh, uh, okay. Thanks,” he managed, surprised that he was allowed to go with such a simple exchange.

The figure nodded once, his gaze steady as he turned back toward the elevator.

“Don’t get into trouble,” he said over his shoulder, disappearing from view.

Taehyung let out a shaky breath, standing in the dim hallway for a few moments. His heart was still hammering, but he forced himself to steady it, pulling his pen back out and scribbling aimlessly in his notes.

His mind was a whirlwind of nerves, doubt, and a sharp sense of urgency.

But at least for now, he had his cover intact.

Taehyung exhaled sharply as he made his way back toward the others, his hands gripping his pen a little too tightly. His heart was still pounding from his encounter with the pink-haired stranger, but he forced himself to stay composed. He could feel his chest tighten with every step as he replayed the moment over and over in his head.

By the time he reached the others, Yoongi was hunched over his laptop at the shared desk, his fingers flying over the keyboard. The others had their heads buried in stacks of papers, reading, organizing, and looking far too focused on their first official day on the job.

“Taehyung,” Yoongi’s voice cut through the air like a blade before Taehyung could even get the chance to settle in. His sharp tone made Taehyung freeze mid-step.

“Yeah?” Taehyung tried to sound casual, but he knew he’d already given himself away.

“Where were you?” Yoongi’s voice was low but unyielding as he swiveled his chair to face Taehyung, his narrowed eyes locking onto him. His expression wasn’t angry, but it was a calculated kind of sharp—one that made Taehyung feel cornered, like a rabbit about to be caught.

Taehyung’s throat went dry. “I—I was just… checking a memo, you know? I thought maybe I could make sure everything was on track with the documents.” His voice came out in a flurry of half-truths and stammering, his fingers nervously tapping his pen against the desk.

Yoongi’s brow furrowed. “Don’t lie to me, Tae. What were you really doing?”

Taehyung hesitated, feeling the pressure build like a storm inside his chest. “I was just outside Jeon’s office,” he admitted finally, voice small. His shoulders tensed as if bracing for an explosion.

Yoongi let out a sharp, low sigh and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple with his fingers. “

Goddammit, Kim Taehyung

,” he muttered, his voice an exasperated mix of disbelief and frustration. “You can’t just wander off like that. What were you thinking, getting that close?”

“I wasn’t trying to—look, I just wanted to see if he was in there. I thought I could get a clue or something,” Taehyung said quickly, his words tumbling out in a rush. His eyes darted toward the other three at the desk, who had started to glance up curiously at their exchange.

Yoongi ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. “You think sneaking around like that is going to give us answers? You’re playing with fire, Taehyung. This isn’t just a game anymore. Every move we make has to be careful.

Deliberate

. And you, out there,

alone

, could compromise everything.”

“I know, I know,” Taehyung said, his voice trembling slightly now. His face fell under Yoongi’s piercing gaze.

Yoongi let out another heavy sigh and stood from his chair, crossing his arms as he looked down at him. “Fine. Don’t do it again. Next time, stay with the team. Always. You want answers? We get them

the right way

. Together.”

Taehyung swallowed hard, his head dipping. “Got it,” he muttered.

Yoongi turned back toward his laptop, the conversation clearly over, but his words lingered in Taehyung’s mind like a bitter taste. He could feel the weight of Yoongi’s expectations pressing on him, the burden of their plan, and his own personal doubts creeping back into his thoughts.

But as Taehyung settled back into his chair, he couldn’t shake the image of the pink-haired stranger out of his head. Something about that encounter felt

off

.

"Attention, everyone," Suddenly, a crisp voice rang out, drawing all eyes to the doorway. One of the senior associates stepped in, their expression composed but the tension in the room spiking noticeably. "CEO Jeon will be addressing the interns shortly. Please ensure you’re presentable and ready."

The interns exchanged glances, a ripple of excitement and nervous energy spreading through the room. Taehyung’s fingers tightened around the edge of the desk, his jaw clenching as the name settled heavily in the air.

Jeon Jungkook.

Moments later, a faint buzz of footsteps preceded the entrance of the CEO himself. Jungkook strode in with an air of authority that seemed to pull the entire room’s focus toward him. Dressed sharply in a tailored suit, his movements were calculated, his presence magnetic. He exuded power, the kind that made people sit straighter and double-check their work.

But for Taehyung, that power was a reminder of the suffocating grip Jungkook held over his life, the face that had become synonymous with betrayal and grief.

“Good morning,” Jungkook began, his voice smooth and authoritative as his gaze swept across the room. “Welcome to Jeon Law Firm. You’ve been selected to be a part of this internship program because you’ve shown promise. This isn’t just an opportunity—it’s a test. The Lee Group case is critical, and your performance here will determine the scope of your future projects.”

As he continued to outline expectations, the usual professionalism filled the room. Interns nodded attentively, a few even scribbling notes. Taehyung, however, could barely hear the words over the thunder of his own heartbeat. Rage simmered just beneath his skin, threatening to bubble over as his wolf stirred for the first time in years.

The dormant part of him, which he had buried under layers of anger and grief, growled softly, a low hum of interest sparking toward the man standing mere feet away.

No

.

Taehyung clenched his fists under the desk, focusing on the sharp press of his nails into his palms. He refused to acknowledge the stirrings of his wolf, the fleeting tug of something primal. This wasn’t the time, and it certainly wasn’t the place. Jungkook was the enemy—nothing more, nothing less.

Jungkook’s gaze moved across the room, briefly settling on each intern as he spoke. When his eyes landed on Taehyung, the moment stretched unbearably long. Taehyung forced himself to hold the stare, his heart thundering but his expression unreadable.

“And remember,” Jungkook said, his voice as firm as ever. “Success here depends on how well you adapt and contribute. I expect nothing less than excellence.”

With that, Jungkook gave a short nod to the senior associate and turned to leave. The moment his presence faded from the room, the buzz of whispered conversations erupted among the interns.

Taehyung, however, remained silent, his mind a storm of emotions. Anger, confusion, and the unwelcome tug of something deeper swirled within him. His wolf’s interest gnawed at the edges of his resolve, but he shoved it down, locking it away alongside the countless other things he refused to feel.

He was here for one reason and one reason only: to destroy Jeon Jungkook’s carefully curated empire. Nothing—and no one—would stand in his way.

The day passed in a blur of whispered conversations after Jeon had appeared before the interns. The shuffle of papers, and the steady hum of activity in the office kept both Yoongi and Taehyung company. Taehyung had managed to keep himself busy with menial tasks, his mind only half-focused on the work. His thoughts were consumed by the layout of the floor and the location of Jeon Jungkook’s office.

Despite Yoongi’s stern warning the night before—

No unnecessary risks, Taehyung. Stick to the plan.

—the pull of curiosity and the desire to take action itched under his skin. He couldn’t sit still. Not when the opportunity was staring him right in the face.

By the time the clock struck five, most of the senior staff had begun to leave, and the interns were given a brief break to stretch their legs before continuing. Taehyung lingered by the water cooler, watching as the office slowly thinned out. His gaze flickered toward the corridor that led to Jeon’s office, its polished door an almost tantalizing challenge.

This is your chance,

the voice in his head whispered, low and insistent.

You’re not going to get another opportunity like this.

With a deep breath, Taehyung squared his shoulders and made his way down the hallway. He moved with purpose, blending in with the ebb and flow of the remaining staff. As he reached the door, he paused, glancing over his shoulder to ensure no one was watching. The hallway was empty, the faint hum of the central air conditioning the only sound accompanying his racing heartbeat.

The door was unlocked. His fingers trembled slightly as he twisted the handle and slipped inside, closing it behind him with a soft click. The room was as pristine and imposing as its occupant—a large, minimalist desk sat in the center, flanked by sleek bookshelves filled with legal tomes and awards. The air smelled faintly of leather and sandalwood.

Taehyung’s eyes darted around, cataloging every detail. His wolf growled softly in approval, urging him forward. It’s sudden appearance was startling but welcome. He moved towards the desk, his footsteps soundless on the plush carpet. His fingers ghosted over the surface, pausing at the neatly stacked files and a closed laptop.

Careful, he reminded himself, swallowing the lump in his throat. He didn’t have time to pore over every detail—he needed something tangible, something useful. His hands moved to the drawers, testing each one. They were locked, as expected. A faint smile tugged at his lips. He’d dealt with worse.

Pulling a small toolkit from his pocket, Taehyung set to work. The lock clicked open with minimal effort, a testament to his years of practice. He slid the drawer open, careful not to make a sound.

The first drawer yielded little of interest—stationery, spare keys, a few personal items. He moved swiftly to the second. This one, however, was more promising. Nestled among scattered documents was a folder stamped with the Lee Group’s logo. His heart skipped a beat as he flipped it open, scanning the papers inside.

Financial statements, email printouts, legal drafts—nothing groundbreaking, but enough to give him a sense of the case’s direction. He made a mental note of the key details, already formulating how they could use this information to their advantage.

But as he reached for the next page, something slipped out of the folder and floated to the floor. Taehyung froze, his breath catching in his throat as he bent down to retrieve it.

It was an old photograph, the edges slightly worn and the colors faded with time. Three men stood side by side, arms slung casually over each other’s shoulders as if they were the best of friends. Taehyung’s gaze zeroed in on the familiar face of his father, smiling wide and carefree in a way he hadn’t seen in years.

Next to him stood a younger version of Jeon Jungkook—or at least someone who looked strikingly similar. The resemblance was uncanny: the sharp jawline, the piercing eyes, the cocky tilt of his head. Taehyung’s fingers trembled as he traced the contours of the figure.

The third man in the photo sent a chill down his spine. The mayor.

The sight of them together—his father, a man who had a striking similarity to the man he blamed for his father’s death, and the mayor, who had always seemed so polished and distant—was jarring. They looked… happy. Close, even.

Taehyung clenched his jaw, a storm of emotions swirling within him. Why were they together? What was the connection between them? And more importantly, why had this photograph been tucked away in Jeon Jungkook’s office?

The sound of faint footsteps in the hallway snapped him out of his thoughts. Panic surged through him, and he put the photo where he found it before hastily shoved the folder back into the drawer, closing it as quietly as he could. His heart thundered in his chest as the footsteps grew louder, stopping just outside the door.

The handle turned, and Taehyung barely had time to step away from the desk before the door swung open. Standing in the doorway was a tall man with sharp features and an expression of mild suspicion. His nametag read Kim Namjoon, though Taehyung already recognized him as one of Jungkook’s closest confidants.

“Can I help you?” the alpha, from his scent, asked, his tone polite but firm as his eyes scanned the room, landing on Taehyung.

Taehyung froze, his mind racing to come up with an excuse. “I, uh… I was told to deliver these,” he stammered, holding up the nearest piece of paper he’d grabbed from the desk. His wolf howled in frustration at the pathetic lie, and Kim Namjoon didn’t seem immediately convinced.

The alpha raised an eyebrow, stepping further into the room and closing the door behind him. “Deliver them? To a locked office?”

“Well… it wasn’t locked,” Taehyung said quickly, forcing a sheepish smile onto his face. “I thought maybe I… uh, got the wrong room.”

Namjoon’s gaze was piercing, and Taehyung felt as though the man could see right through him. His wolf bristled under the scrutiny, growling low in his chest as Taehyung struggled to maintain his composure.

“You’re one of the interns, right?” Namjoon asked, crossing his arms.

Taehyung nodded quickly. “Yes, sir. Just started yesterday.”

Namjoon’s lips pressed into a thin line, but before he could say anything further, the door opened once again. This time, Jeon Jungkook himself walked in, his presence commanding and immediate. The air in the room seemed to shift, the tension thickening as Jungkook’s gaze landed on the two of them.

“Hyung?” Jungkook said, his tone curious as he looked between his right-hand man and the intern standing awkwardly by his desk. “What’s going on here?”

Taehyung’s breath hitched, his wolf stirring again, this time more insistently. He could feel the pull of the alpha’s presence, the raw power and magnetism that Jungkook exuded effortlessly. It was infuriating, and Taehyung hated how his body seemed to respond against his will.

Namjoon turned to Jungkook, his expression unreadable. “Found one of the interns in your office,” he said simply. “Said he was delivering something.”

Jungkook’s eyebrows lifted slightly, his gaze narrowing as he studied Taehyung. “Is that so?” he said, his voice calm but laced with an undercurrent of authority that made the hairs on the back of Taehyung’s neck stand up.

“Y-Yes,” Taehyung stammered, hating how small he sounded. “It was a mistake. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Jungkook’s lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “A mistake,” he repeated, stepping closer. “Interesting.”

Taehyung’s heart pounded as Jungkook’s presence loomed over him. He could feel the weight of the alpha’s gaze, the unspoken challenge in his stance. His wolf growled again, louder this time, and Taehyung fought to suppress the sound before it escaped his throat.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating, as Jungkook leaned casually against the desk, his arms crossed.

“So,” Jungkook said, his voice deceptively light. “Why don’t you tell me what you were really doing in my office?”
 
》》》》》◆《《《《《
 
Jeon Jungkook stood before the group of interns, his sharp gaze scanning over the gathered faces as he outlined the expectations for their tenure at Jeon Law Firm. His tone was steady and professional, every word calculated to establish authority. Yet, somewhere in the middle of his polished speech, an unsettling restlessness began to gnaw at him.

His wolf stirred.

It was subtle at first—a faint unease that grew into an insistent pull. He frowned imperceptibly, trying to push it aside, but the sensation persisted. The presence of someone in the room was triggering it, though he couldn’t pinpoint who or why.

Then, his eyes landed on the blonde intern standing towards the back.

Jungkook’s breath hitched.

The man’s features were delicate yet striking, his blonde hair catching the artificial lighting in a soft glow. Those eyes—almond-shaped and brimming with a quiet determination—drew Jungkook in like a moth to flame. His wolf growled in approval, and Jungkook felt something warm stirring in his stomach.

It wasn’t just attraction; it was something deeper. Something he couldn’t place.

He pushed the feeling down, forcing his composure to remain intact, but as the seconds stretched and their gazes inadvertently locked, the intensity became unbearable. His wolf clawed at him, demanding acknowledgment.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Jungkook shifted on his feet, clasping his hands behind his back to hide his growing discomfort. The warmth spreading through his chest wasn’t unfamiliar, but the circumstances certainly were. He’d been in rooms with attractive people before, but this—this was different. Dangerous.

The moment stretched far too long, and Jungkook abruptly concluded the debriefing, mumbling something about them being free to approach their supervisors for further guidance. Without waiting for acknowledgment, he spun on his heel and strode out of the room, his wolf snarling in frustration at the retreat.

~~~

Jungkook walked briskly through the hallways, his mind racing. His wolf’s agitation had subsided somewhat, but the image of the blonde intern lingered. He loosened his tie, hoping the cool air of the hallway would help clear his thoughts and calm his body.

Focus, Jungkook.

Forcing himself into work mode, he entered a meeting room where senior associates were already waiting for him. He threw himself into the agenda with practiced efficiency, his tone clipped as they discussed the Lee Group case. Yet, even as he reviewed strategy points and assigned tasks, his mind drifted to the intern.

The meeting concluded later than he had expected. It was already 5, marking the time that his associates would be leaving the office, leaving Jungkook with no excuse to delay returning to his office. He took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself to brush off whatever had shaken him earlier.

~~~

As Jungkook approached his office, he noticed the door slightly ajar. His wolf perked up immediately, sensing something off.

He pushed the door open to find Namjoon standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed, his brow furrowed in disapproval.

But it wasn’t Namjoon who held Jungkook’s attention.

It was the blonde intern—the same one who had disrupted his composure earlier—standing near his desk. The intern’s expression was a mixture of defiance and nervousness, his body language stiff like a deer caught in the headlights.

Namjoon turned at the sound of the door and raised an eyebrow. “Jungkook,” he greeted, his tone unreadable. “I caught this one snooping around in here.”

Jungkook leaned against the doorframe, his lips twitching into a lazy smirk as his wolf rumbled in satisfaction at the sight of the intern.

Well, well.

“This is… interesting,” Jungkook drawled, his gaze locking onto the blonde’s flushed face. His heart thumped louder when the intern looked away, avoiding his stare.

Shy and defiant—what a combination.

He stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

“So,” Jungkook began, his voice smooth, “Why don’t you tell me what you were really doing in my office?”

The intern swallowed, visibly scrambling for an answer, but Jungkook wasn’t in the mood to rush him. Instead, he leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms as he took his time observing him.

This is going to be fun.