The flickering lights of Seoul’s underground world cast long shadows across the streets, but no shadow loomed larger than Jeon Jungkook’s. The city was his domain, and everyone knew it. His name was spoken only in whispers, and anyone foolish enough to challenge his authority soon regretted it.
In the dimly lit backroom of a high-end club that served as his temporary office, Jungkook sat at the head of a long mahogany table. His sharp eyes scanned the faces of his lieutenants, all hardened men who had seen more violence in their lives than most could stomach. They feared no one—except for Jungkook.
"Boss," one of his men spoke up, his voice low and careful, as if walking on glass. "We’ve secured the docks for the next shipment, but there’s been some movement from the East Gang. They’re sniffing around, trying to undermine us."
Jungkook remained silent, his jaw clenched. He slowly leaned back in his chair, the dark fabric of his suit blending into the shadows. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in the room was palpable.
"And?" Jungkook finally said, his voice calm but with an edge that made the hairs on the back of his men’s necks stand on end.
The man swallowed hard. "We… we handled it, Boss. Sent a message that they won’t forget."
Jungkook’s dark eyes flicked toward the man, and a cold smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Good. Remind them who runs this city. I don’t want to hear their name again."
The men nodded quickly, eager to please their leader. Jungkook’s reputation for ruthlessness was well-earned. He wasn’t the type to forgive mistakes or show mercy. Anyone who crossed him, or his organization, wouldn’t live long enough to regret it.
"That’s all," Jungkook said, dismissing his men with a wave of his hand.
They hurried out of the room, leaving Jungkook alone with his thoughts. The weight of his empire pressed heavily on his shoulders, but he bore it without complaint. This was the life he had chosen, and he was good at it—perhaps too good.
Sighing, Jungkook glanced at the clock. It was late, but he knew he needed to head home soon. His family was expecting him, and though he was feared in the underworld, to his family, he was still just Jungkook—their son, the one they worried about constantly.
His phone buzzed on the table, and Jungkook’s lips twitched into a small smile when he saw the name on the screen: Jimin.
"Hyung!" Jimin’s bright voice filled the room when Jungkook answered. "Where are you? Eomma’s been waiting for you all evening. If you don’t come home soon, he’s going to explode!"
Jungkook chuckled, the tension in his body easing a little at his younger brother’s playful tone. "I’m finishing up here. Tell Eomma I’ll be there soon."
"You better," Jimin huffed. "She made your favorite tonight—spicy pork belly—and if you don’t get here soon, I’ll eat your portion."
"Don’t push it, shorty," Jungkook teased, knowing how much Jimin hated being reminded of his height. Even though Jimin was just a year or two younger than him, Jungkook couldn’t resist teasing him like a typical older brother. "You’re too small to finish my portion anyway."
"Hyung!" Jimin whined, his voice full of mock indignation. "Just wait till I grow taller than you. Then we’ll see who’s small."
Jungkook smirked, leaning back in his chair. "You’ve been saying that for years, and I’m still taller."
"Whatever," Jimin grumbled, though his pout was almost audible through the phone. "Just get home soon, okay? Eomma’s worried about you."
"I’m on my way," Jungkook said, his voice softening. "See you in a bit."
As soon as he ended the call, Jungkook’s expression shifted. The warmth that had crept into his eyes when talking to Jimin disappeared, replaced by the cold, calculating mask he wore in the mafia world. He stood up, grabbed his coat, and left the club without a word.
The Jeon family home was a stark contrast to the life Jungkook lived. The large, traditional house was nestled in one of Seoul’s wealthiest neighborhoods, surrounded by tall trees and high walls. Inside, the warmth of family and love radiated from every corner—a sanctuary from the dangers of the outside world.
As Jungkook stepped through the front door, the smell of home-cooked food immediately greeted him. His stomach growled in response, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten all day.
"Eomma, he’s here!" Jimin’s voice rang out from the dining room, followed by the sound of footsteps as his younger brother came rushing toward him.
"Finally!" Jimin said, glaring up at Jungkook with his hands on his hips. "Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you?"
Jungkook smirked, ruffling Jimin’s hair. "Calm down, shrimp. I’m here now, aren’t I?"
"Don’t call me shrimp!" Jimin protested, swatting Jungkook’s hand away. "One of these days, I’m going to be taller than you."
"Sure you are," Jungkook teased, walking past him toward the dining room.
The sight that greeted him there warmed his heart. His eomma, Jin, was bustling around the table, setting down dishes of food with a smile on his face. Despite his tough exterior in the mafia world, Jungkook had a soft spot for his eomma.
"Eomma," Jungkook greeted with a rare, genuine smile as he approached the table.
Jin turned around, beaming when he saw his son. "Kook! You’re late."
"Sorry," Jungkook apologized, his voice soft. "Work ran late."
Jin shook his head, his smile never faltering as he placed a hand on Jungkook’s cheek. "You work too hard, my baby. You need to take better care of yourself."
"I’m fine, Eomma," Jungkook assured him, though his heart swelled with affection at the concern in Jin’s eyes.
"Sit, sit!" Jin urged, waving him toward the table. "Dinner’s getting cold."
Jungkook sat down, glancing at the spread of food in front of him. It was all his favorites—spicy pork belly, kimchi stew, and japchae. Jin always made sure to prepare his favorite dishes whenever he came home, and it was these small moments that made Jungkook feel like he could breathe again, even if only for a little while.
Just as he picked up his chopsticks, Namjoon, his appa, walked in. The tall, imposing man was the CEO of Jeon Corporation, and though he had a powerful presence, there was always a warmth in his eyes when he looked at his family.
"Jungkook," Namjoon greeted, taking a seat at the head of the table. "Good to have you home."
"It’s good to be home, Appa," Jungkook replied, his voice respectful.
As the family dug into the meal, the atmosphere around the table was light and filled with laughter. Jimin, ever the playful one, kept teasing Jungkook about his work, poking fun at how serious he always was.
"Do you ever smile at work, hyung?" Jimin asked between bites of japchae. "Or are you just scary all the time?"
Jungkook raised an eyebrow, amused by his brother’s antics. "I don’t need to smile at work. I’m not there to make friends."
Jimin rolled his eyes. "You say that, but you probably scare everyone so much that they run away before they can even say hello."
Jungkook smirked, leaning back in his chair. "That’s the point."
Jimin pouted, clearly unsatisfied with that answer. "Well, I think you should smile more. Maybe then you wouldn’t be so scary all the time."
Jin chuckled softly, watching his sons with affection. "He’s not scary to us, is he, Jimin-ah?"
Jimin grinned. "Nope! He’s just a big softie."
"Keep talking and I’ll show you how much of a softie I am," Jungkook teased, flicking a piece of rice at Jimin.
"Hey!" Jimin protested, laughing as he dodged the rice. "You’re going to ruin Eomma’s table!"
Jungkook chuckled, the sound deep and rare. These moments with his family were the few times he allowed himself to relax, to be something other than the mafia king who ruled the underworld with an iron fist.
As the evening wore on, the conversation shifted to lighter topics, and Jungkook found himself listening more than speaking. He liked watching his family—Jin’s laughter, Namjoon’s quiet strength, Jimin’s endless energy. This was what he fought for, what kept him going in the dark world he lived in.
To be continued......
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