♡ Part ~ 3 ♡

The night was quiet, but his mind was anything but.

Emerging from the dimly lit basement, Suga ascended the stairs with slow, measured steps. The air outside was crisp, cool, and utterly indifferent to the bloodshed left behind. He exhaled sharply as he stepped onto the pavement, rolling his shoulders as if shedding the last remnants of tension that clung to him like smoke.

His car stood a few feet away, sleek and imposing under the moonlight. He walked toward it, his boots clicking softly against the pavement. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tapping one out with practiced ease. The glint of silver from his lighter caught his eye as he flicked it open, the small flame briefly illuminating the sharp angles of his face.

He took a deep drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs before exhaling slowly. The ember at the tip of the cigarette glowed in the darkness, the only visible sign of the storm brewing in his mind.

Reaching into his coat, he retrieved his phone, unlocking it with a single swipe before dialing a number. He brought the device to his ear, the ringing tone slicing through the quiet of the night.

The line clicked. "Suga?"

"Hobi," he murmured, his voice calm yet commanding. "Collect all the information about our enemy and send it to me as soon as possible."

A pause. Then a steady, efficient voice responded, "Alright. I’ll have everything you need by morning."

"Good." Suga took another drag from his cigarette, his fingers tightening slightly around the phone. "I want every detail—his contacts, his movements, the people he trusts. I don’t want a single thing missing."

"You got it," Hoseok assured him. There was no hesitation, no unnecessary words. He understood the weight behind Suga’s orders.

Suga was silent for a moment, staring at the city lights in the distance, the cigarette burning between his fingers. Finally, he spoke again, softer this time. "Thanks, Hoseok."

There was a faint smile in Hoseok’s voice when he replied, "You don’t have to thank me. We’ve got each other’s backs, don’t we?"

Suga didn’t answer, but his grip on the phone loosened slightly. He ended the call, slipping the device back into his pocket before turning toward his car.

The door opened with a quiet creak as he slid into the driver’s seat. The scent of leather filled his senses, grounding him in the present. He tossed the half-smoked cigarette out the window, watching the ember fizzle against the pavement before pressing down on the ignition.

The engine roared to life, the sound breaking the fragile stillness of the night.

He drove with purpose, his mind already calculating his next move. He wasn’t a man who left loose ends. He wasn’t a man who forgave easily.

The towering silhouette of his mansion came into view, its lights cutting through the darkness like a beacon of power. He pulled into the driveway smoothly, the engine’s growl fading as he turned it off.

Stepping out, he crushed the cigarette beneath his boot, extinguishing its last flicker in a single, effortless motion. The finality of it was satisfying.

As he ascended the grand steps to his home, the night seemed to hold its breath. He pushed open the door, stepping into the opulent interior that was both his kingdom and his cage.

Tonight was just another reminder of who he was.

Min Suga—ruthless, precise, and always in control.

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Morning in Seoul

The city of Seoul woke up with a soft golden glow, the early morning sunlight filtering through the windows, casting gentle shadows on the floor. Birds chirped melodiously outside, their songs blending harmoniously with the distant hum of traffic. The crisp morning air carried the scent of fresh dew, the cool breeze ruffling the leaves of the small potted plants sitting by the window. It was peaceful—the kind of morning most people would cherish.

But for one particular boy, mornings were nothing short of a nuisance.

A shrill alarm rang through the small apartment, disrupting the tranquility. A groan followed soon after, muffled against the plush pillow. Jimin, nestled in the warmth of his bed, squeezed his eyes shut, hoping—praying—that maybe if he ignored it long enough, it would stop. It didn’t.

"God, why is morning so early?!" he whined, voice husky from sleep. "I barely got any rest, and now this fucking morning comes knocking again."

With a deep sigh, he lazily sat up, rubbing his sleepy eyes with the back of his hand before blindly reaching out to turn off the alarm.

The soft blankets pooled around his waist, revealing his lean yet well-defined frame. His brown hair, tousled from sleep, fell messily over his forehead, making him look even more delicate in the warm morning light.

"Aish, Jimin, stop being sad first thing in the morning," he mumbled to himself, shaking his head as if to chase away his drowsiness.

Dragging himself out of bed, he stretched, the fabric of his oversized t-shirt riding up slightly, exposing a sliver of smooth, porcelain skin. He shuffled towards the bathroom, the wooden floor cool against his bare feet.

A splash of cold water on his face made him shiver slightly, but it helped him wake up. After brushing his teeth and taking a quick shower, he stepped out, dressed in simple but well-fitted clothes—a loose white sweater paired with black jeans.

Descending the narrow stairs of his small apartment, he made his way to the kitchen. The fridge door creaked as he pulled it open, grabbing a bottle of water and taking a long sip before setting it down on the counter. His slender fingers ran through his damp hair as he let out another sigh.

"Sad… I have to do everything myself," he muttered bitterly, opening the cabinets to find something quick to eat. "God, why did you take my mom and dad so soon?"

His movements slowed, his fingers tightening around the handle of the cabinet. The truth was, he didn’t know who his parents were. He had never seen them—never heard their voices, never felt their warmth. He had no memories of them, only an empty void where love should have been.

"Well… not like I ever knew them anyway," he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible.

Growing up in an orphanage had been anything but easy. Most of the other children avoided him, while some took pleasure in making his life miserable. The caretakers were indifferent, treating the kids like nothing more than responsibilities they had to endure.

But there was one woman—just one—who had shown him kindness. She had treated him like he mattered, like he wasn’t just another forgotten child in the system. He owed her more than he could ever express.

Pushing the memories aside, Jimin busied himself with preparing a simple breakfast—toast and a fried egg. He wasn’t much of a cook, but it was enough to get him through the morning. As he ate, his mind wandered to his current life.

After leaving the orphanage, he had found a job as a dancer in a bar, earning enough to rent a small place of his own. It wasn’t much, but it was his. And as for his education? He had worked hard—so hard that he had topped his school and secured a full scholarship to a university in Seoul. It was his only ticket to a better life, and he wasn’t going to waste it.

He didn’t have friends—never really had them before, and he didn’t bother making any now. University wasn’t about friendships or socializing for him; it was about securing his future. And if that meant keeping to himself, so be it.

Finishing the last bite of his breakfast, he grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and glanced at the clock.

"Time to go," he murmured, grabbing his keys.

With one last look at his small yet cozy apartment, he locked the door behind him and stepped out, ready to face another day.

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