Chapter Text
🩸🩸🩸
Jisung walked home from university, the weight of the day pressing down on him like a heavy fog. Every step felt exhausting, every sound overwhelming. His head buzzed with formulas he couldn’t remember, reactions he’d nearly mismanaged, and experiments that almost went disastrously wrong. He had exams in a month, and it felt like he hadn’t learned anything at all. Today, the chemistry lab had been a near disaster, and the thought of repeating it in his nightmares made his chest tighten.
The city around him blurred. The noise of traffic, the chatter of students, even the distant hum of construction—all of it pressed in, amplifying the exhaustion he already felt. And then there were the bullies. They always seemed to know when he was walking home, grinning cruelly as they mocked him. They called him names, questioned him, tried to bait him into answering. But Jisung would never reply. He was mute.
He had been born this way. The realization had come slowly, painfully, when he was five. His parents had noticed that he didn’t speak like other children his age and, worried, had taken him to countless doctors. Finally, the diagnosis arrived: mutism. Life hadn’t been the same since. While other children laughed, learned, and spoke freely, he had been trapped inside a silence that no one else could hear.
His father had never accepted it. Angry and cruel, he had screamed, called him names that left invisible scars, and treated him like a disappointment he couldn’t tolerate. But his mother… she had been his anchor. She had always protected him, covering his ears when his father’s words became too loud, hugging him close when the world felt unbearable, speaking gently to remind him that he was enough. She was the only person who truly understood the fragile ecosystem of his life.
As he walked past Jeongin’s side, he heard him jabbering about the most random things—the kind of easy, careless chatter that made life feel lighter, even if only a little. Jisung couldn’t reply. He hadn’t learned to speak, and the effort of trying often left him drained. But he listened, absorbing every word. Jeongin had known about his condition from the beginning, and he respected it. He never pressured Jisung, never tried to make him “fix” himself. It was just… companionship. And sometimes, that was more than enough.
Jisung still had his ways of communicating—writing notes, gestures, sign language—but he often wished for the one thing he didn’t have: a voice. To speak. To tell someone how overwhelming the day had been, to argue with someone, to laugh out loud. To be “normal,” at least in one small way.
“And then the teacher asked him what the condition was called,” jeongin was saying, “and he said Idiopathic Hypertension! Like, no! It’s Osteopenia! He’s so dumb, I swear.”
Jisung kicked at the small rocks under his shoes, listening. He didn’t know what any of that meant, honestly. But he nodded along anyway, letting his face hold the expression of understanding, wanting to make Jeongin think he knew. It was easier that way. Easier to hide behind the silence, to seem like he belonged in the conversation, even if the words weren’t really his.
The sun was setting as they reached the familiar door of Jisung’s home. Its warm light spilled into the street, a small promise of safety after the chaos of the day. Jeongin pulled him into a hug, the kind that was both reassuring and gentle.
“See you tomorrow, okay?” Jeongin whispered, letting him go after a moment, though Jisung didn’t reply aloud.
He simply nodded, watching his friend walk away, the sound of footsteps fading into the distance. And then the door closed behind him, leaving him alone with his thoughts, his silence, and the quiet hope that tomorrow might be just a little easier.
🩸🩸🩸
Jisung pulled his keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. The quiet click echoed through the hallway as he stepped inside.
He hung his coat on the rack and slipped off his shoes, placing them neatly by the door out of habit. His bag slid from his shoulder and landed softly on the floor. Normally the house would be silent at this hour.
But today it wasn’t.
He heard voices.
At first he assumed it was his parents, but then he remembered—they weren’t supposed to be home. His mother was visiting relatives, and his father rarely returned before evening.
A cold feeling crept into his chest.
Slowly, carefully, he moved toward the stairs leading downstairs. Each step felt heavier than the last. The voices became clearer as he descended.
And then he saw them.
Several men stood in the living room, dressed in dark clothing. Their presence filled the space with something dangerous and suffocating. Some were searching through drawers and cabinets, tossing papers aside. Others stood guard, guns hanging from their sides like it was the most normal thing in the world.
They looked like gangsters. Mafia.
In the center of the room stood a man who immediately caught Jisung’s attention. He looked calm, almost too calm. His expression didn’t move at all, but there was irritation in his eyes as he watched the others search.
Next to him stood another man, taller and broader, his arms crossed.
“He’s not here,” the tall man said coldly. “I told you to check if he was here yesterday.”
“I did check,” the other replied defensively. “He was here yesterday. Maybe he’s at work. He’ll be back.”
“We don’t have time.” The leader rubbed his temple impatiently. “Move to plan B. Where’s the kid?”
“He should be here any moment. I found out he gets home every day at approximately one o’clock with his friend.”
“What is he studying again?”
“He’s a chemistry student.”
Jisung froze.
They were talking about him.
His mind raced.
No, no, this couldn’t be happening. He hadn’t done anything. Had his father done something again? Did he get drunk and hurt someone? Did he blame Jisung again like he always did?
Panic surged through him.
He slowly stepped backward, trying to move toward the stairs without making a sound.
But his foot slipped.
He crashed onto the floor.
His phone fell from his hand and clattered loudly across the wooden steps.
Shibal.
“There he is.”
The leader looked up slowly, a small smirk appearing on his face as his eyes locked onto Jisung lying on the stairs.
“Go get him,” he said calmly. “Take the drug. If he doesn’t cooperate, use the taser. We don’t have time. The security might go off any second.”
The bigger man nodded.
Jisung’s heart jumped into his throat.
He scrambled to his feet and ran upstairs as fast as he could, knocking over a small table in his panic. Books and papers scattered across the floor as he sprinted through the hallway.
His breathing was uneven and loud. His chest burned.
He darted into the kitchen and slid behind the counter, crouching low.
Footsteps followed.
“Come on,” the man’s voice echoed through the room. “I know you’re here. If you cooperate, I won’t hurt you.”
A sharp electrical crack filled the air as the man turned on a taser.
Jisung flinched violently.
He pressed himself further behind the counter, trembling. Tears blurred his vision. His hands shook uncontrollably.
His mother wasn’t here to protect him this time.
He had to protect himself.
But he was too scared to move.
The footsteps came closer.
Before the man could reach the counter, Jisung suddenly bolted again. He ran into the nearest room, slammed the door shut, and locked it.
The bathroom.
He collapsed onto the floor, pulling his knees to his chest as sobs escaped him silently. With shaking hands he grabbed his phone and tried to dial 112.
His fingers barely obeyed him.
The man outside began banging on the door.
The loud kicks made the door shake violently.
“Hello, what’s your emerg—”
The door burst open.
Before Jisung could react, the man grabbed his phone and threw it against the wall. The screen shattered instantly.
The man chuckled as he slowly approached.
Jisung curled up, covering his face as tears streamed down his cheeks.
“You really think that would work?” the man said calmly. “Don’t be naive, Han Jisung. I’ve fought people far worse than you. This was too easy.”
He crouched down in front of him.
“Now I want you to cooperate. Don’t do anything stupid.”
Jisung shook his head desperately.
The man grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands away from his face. He took out a cloth and pressed it firmly over Jisung’s nose and mouth.
A sharp chemical smell filled his lungs.
His body instantly felt weaker.
What was this?
His mind raced.
Was it isoflurane? No… something stronger.
Come on, Jisung. Think.
You learned this.
CHCl₃.
Chloroform.
Yes.
That was chloroform.
He tried to fight. His arms pushed weakly against the man’s chest. His legs kicked. But the man was far too strong.
Jisung’s vision began to blur.
He looked up at the man holding him.
For a brief moment, the man’s eyes softened.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured quietly. “I have to do this. Everything will be better soon. I promise.”
He pulled Jisung closer, cradling the back of his head while pressing the cloth more firmly over his mouth.
Jisung’s movements slowed.
His arms fell limp.
Darkness crept into the edges of his vision until everything faded completely.
The last thing he heard before losing consciousness was a voice from the hallway.
“Well done, Christopher.”
Christopher.
That was his name.
🩸🩸🩸
Jisung’s head was pounding when he woke up.
A deep, throbbing ache spread through his skull as if someone had struck him repeatedly. His eyelids felt heavy and sticky, and for a moment he couldn’t remember where he was. The air smelled strange—damp concrete mixed with metal and something chemical.
He groaned softly.
When he tried to move, pain shot through his arms.
His wrists were tied tightly behind a thick metal pole. The rope dug painfully into his skin, rough fibers scraping against his wrists each time he twisted them.
He whimpered.
Jisung kicked weakly at the floor and pulled his arms again, trying to break free, but the rope didn’t budge. The more he struggled, the tighter it seemed to dig into his skin.
Why… why did this have to happen to him?
A broken sob escaped his throat.
This was all because of his father.
The man who spent his life ruining everything around him.
Jisung clenched his eyes shut as anger and fear mixed together in his chest. His father had done so many terrible things he had stopped counting years ago. Smuggling, violence, weapons… things Jisung didn’t even want to imagine.
And somehow he always escaped punishment.
What had he done this time?
Had he stolen money from these people? Betrayed them? Maybe he had killed someone important again.
Maybe he had stolen drugs.
Maybe he had double-crossed them.
At this point Jisung wouldn’t even be surprised.
Another quiet sob left his lips.
The basement was cold and dimly lit. A single weak lightbulb hung from the ceiling, swinging slightly as if someone had moved it recently. Shadows stretched across the concrete walls.
It felt like a prison.
Jisung lowered his head and cried quietly.
He missed his friends.
He missed them so much.
He thought about Jeongin, who always whispered dumb jokes during class until the teacher caught them both laughing and gave them detention.
Jeongin would always grin like it was the funniest thing in the world.
Then there was Seungmin.
Seungmin, who constantly called them idiots and complained about their behavior—but still bought them snacks every afternoon like an annoyed older brother taking care of two children.
Jisung’s chest tightened painfully.
And his mother…
He missed her the most.
Her cooking.
Her warm hugs.
The way she smiled even when she was tired.
Even when she had bruises she tried to hide from him.
She always stayed strong for him.
For both of them.
But now Jisung was alone.
Completely alone.
His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of a door opening.
Jisung immediately tensed.
Footsteps echoed across the concrete floor.
The man who had drugged him stepped inside the basement.
The same calm eyes. The same unreadable expression.
“Ah,” the man said casually. “I see you’re awake.”
Jisung shrank back against the pole, trembling.
“I know you’re wondering why you’re here right now,” the man continued. “Unfortunately, I’m not the one who should explain that to you.”
He leaned against the table nearby.
“My boss will tell you everything shortly.”
The man looked at Jisung carefully, studying his face.
“I didn’t hurt you too badly earlier, right?”
Jisung slowly shook his head.
“Good.”
The man crossed his arms.
“But you should cooperate from now on.”
His voice stayed calm, but there was a warning hidden inside it.
“I won’t hesitate to hurt you if you try anything.”
Jisung swallowed nervously.
“I know everything about you, Han Jisung.”
Jisung froze.
“For the past month I’ve been watching you.”
His words were quiet but unsettling.
“I know where you go every day. I know where you and your friends meet after class. I know the café you like. I know which route you walk home from university.”
He tilted his head slightly.
“I know your habits.”
“I know you always arrive home around one o’clock.”
“And I know you study chemistry.”
Jisung’s breathing became uneven.
“So if you think you can trick me…” the man continued, “things will get very unpleasant for you.”
He sighed softly.
“I didn’t want to be rough earlier. But you didn’t cooperate back at your house.”
His eyes moved briefly to the broken phone lying on a nearby table.
“Sorry about the phone, by the way.”
He shrugged slightly.
“You won’t be needing it anymore.”
The basement door opened again.
Another pair of footsteps echoed through the room.
Jisung’s heart nearly stopped.
The man who entered was the same one who had stood in the center of the living room earlier—the one who had given all the orders.
The one with the cold, unmoving expression.
Jisung immediately curled up, pulling his knees to his chest as tears began streaming down his face again.
The man walked slowly toward him.
He crouched down in front of Jisung and suddenly grabbed his hair, forcing his head upward.
Jisung winced.
“Well hello, Jisung.”
His voice was calm. Too calm.
“So rude.”
“Aren’t you going to greet me back?”
Jisung trembled violently.
“Aigoo…” the man sighed softly.
He grabbed a tissue from the table and wiped Jisung’s tears almost gently.
“Look at all those tears.”
Minho stared down at Jisung for a long moment, his expression unreadable. The basement was silent except for the faint buzzing of the weak light above them.
“You’re wondering why you’re here,” he finally said quietly.
His fingers loosened slightly in Jisung’s hair but he didn’t let go.
“I suppose you deserve to know.”
He straightened up slowly and began pacing across the basement floor, his footsteps echoing against the concrete walls.
“My name is Lee Minho,” he said calmly. “And before you start thinking this is some random kidnapping, let me make something very clear.”
His eyes darkened.
“This is not random.”
“This has been planned for a very long time.”
He glanced at Jisung again.
“You might not know me. Your father probably never mentioned my name to you. Men like him tend to hide the truth from their families.”
Minho gave a short, bitter laugh.
“But I know everything about him.”
He stopped walking.
“Two years ago a war started.”
“Not the kind of war you see between countries. No soldiers in uniforms. No official declarations.”
“This was a war in the shadows.”
“A war between organizations.”
He leaned one hand against the table beside him.
“You might have heard the name on the news back then. The Stricker War. Explosions in Thailand. Factories destroyed. Armed clashes in the streets at night.”
“Most people thought it was just gang violence.”
“But it was much bigger than that.”
Minho looked back at Jisung again.
“It started because your father wanted more power.”
“More territory.”
“More control.”
His jaw tightened.
“He had already built a massive network across Asia. Weapons trading. Drug routes. Smuggling operations. Politicians on his payroll.”
“But it wasn’t enough.”
“He wanted everything.”
Minho’s voice lowered.
“And the biggest obstacle in his way… was us.”
“My organization.”
“My family.”
He paused for a moment.
“My brother and I built it together.”
“We spent years creating something powerful. Something stable.”
“We had allies. Resources. Soldiers who were loyal to us.”
“We protected the areas under our control. Businesses that worked with us were safe.”
His expression softened slightly when he mentioned his brother.
“My brother was older than me.”
“He was the smarter one.”
“The calmer one.”
“He always told me to think before acting.”
Minho let out a quiet breath.
“He used to say I was too reckless.”
“He would always step in when I was about to start a fight.”
A small smile appeared on his lips for a brief second.
Then it disappeared.
“Your father hated that.”
“He hated how quickly our organization grew.”
“He hated that we had influence he couldn’t control.”
“So he decided to destroy us.”
Minho began pacing again.
“At first it was small attacks.”
“A truck carrying weapons disappeared.”
“One of our warehouses mysteriously burned down.”
“A few of our men were found dead.”
“At first we thought it was just rival groups.”
“But then the attacks started getting bigger.”
“Bombs.”
“Ambushes.”
“Entire supply routes cut off overnight.”
Minho’s voice hardened.
“We investigated.”
“And eventually we discovered the truth.”
He looked straight at Jisung.
“It was your father.”
“He had hired mercenaries from different countries.”
“Brazil. Mexico. Germany. Russia.”
“People who had military training. People who didn’t care who they killed.”
“He built an army.”
“A huge one.”
“Bigger than ours.”
“And he launched a full attack.”
Minho’s hands clenched into fists.
“Our bunkers were bombed.”
“Our factories destroyed.”
“Shelters we built for civilians were attacked.”
“They killed people who had nothing to do with the war.”
His voice became colder.
“Children.”
“Families.”
“Workers.”
All because your father wanted control.”
Minho exhaled slowly.
“I couldn’t let that continue.”
“I decided to end it myself.”
“I wanted to hunt him down.”
“To kill him before he destroyed everything.”
He paused.
“But my brother stopped me.”
“He said if we were going to face him… we would do it together.”
Minho’s voice softened again.
“That’s how he was.”
“He never left me alone.”
“Never.”
He stared at the floor for a moment.
“So we tracked your father.”
“It took weeks.”
“He moved constantly. New bases every few days. Different guards.”
“But eventually…”
Minho looked back up.
“We found him.”
“A secret compound deep in the forests of Thailand.”
“Far away from any cities.”
“No witnesses.”
“No police.”
“Just soldiers.”
Minho’s expression hardened again.
“We attacked at night.”
“The fighting lasted hours.”
“Gunfire everywhere.”
“Explosions.”
“Men dying on both sides.”
“But we were winning.”
“We pushed through his defenses.”
“We reached the main building.”
“And then…”
Minho’s voice became quiet.
“We found him.”
“Your father.”
“He was sitting there like he had been waiting for us.”
“He raised his hands.”
“He said he surrendered.”
Minho laughed bitterly.
“He promised the war would end.”
“He said he would return everything he stole.”
“He said he didn’t want more bloodshed.”
Minho’s eyes darkened.
“And we believed him.”
His voice suddenly sharpened.
“We lowered our weapons.”
“My brother stepped forward.”
“He was going to make sure the surrender was real.”
Minho’s breathing slowed.
“But your father…”
“He was lying.”
“He waited until we got close.”
“And then he attacked.”
Minho’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“He stabbed my brother.”
Jisung’s body froze.
“Right in front of me.”
“There was so much blood.”
“My brother fell.”
“I tried to reach him.”
“But your father’s soldiers were everywhere.”
“They grabbed me.”
“They held me down while he died.”
Minho’s jaw tightened.
“My brother was bleeding out on the floor.”
“And I couldn’t do anything.”
“He looked at me…”
Minho’s voice cracked slightly.
“And then he stopped breathing.”
The basement went completely silent.
Minho slowly looked back at Jisung.
“Do you understand now?”
“Do you understand what your father took from me?”
His eyes burned with anger again.
“He didn’t stop the war after that.”
“He captured me.”
“For days I was locked in a basement.”
“No food.”
“No water.”
“No light.”
“They beat me.”
“They laughed about what happened to my brother.”
“And when they were done…”
Minho’s voice turned cold again.
“They dumped me back in Korea like trash.”
“They took everything we had.”
“Our money.”
“Our territory.”
“Our soldiers.”
“Our resources.”
“Everything my brother and I built together.”
Minho leaned down slowly until his face was inches from Jisung’s.
“And now…”
His voice became quiet and dangerous.
“I finally have something your father cares about.”
He lifted the paper slowly.
“You.”
🩸🩸🩸
Minho grabbed a paper from the table.
“This is what will happen.”
“You’re going to read this message out loud while I film you.”
“We’ll send the video to your father.”
“So he can see how his precious chemistry student is doing in my basement.”
Minho’s eyes narrowed.
“Do you understand?”
Jisung nodded quickly in panic.
Minho gestured to the men behind him.
One of them walked forward holding a syringe filled with a clear liquid.
Jisung’s eyes widened in fear.
“This will make you weaker,” the man said calmly.
“So you don’t try anything stupid.”
Christopher stepped forward and untied one of Jisung’s arms.
He held it firmly while the needle pierced his skin.
Jisung inhaled sharply.
The cold liquid spread through his arm immediately.
His muscles began to feel heavy.
Slow.
Weak.
Christopher stepped back.
“Now,” Minho said calmly, lifting his phone to begin recording.
“Let’s start.”