Yoongi (emperor 10.0)

And on that bloodstained morning, with the throne room swimming in fear and the air choked with incense and iron, Yoongi stood at the center—robe soaked in crimson, voice sharp and dangerous.

"You dare question me, elder?" he roared, the weight of his words sending the royal advisor crumbling to his knees. "I should—"

Every soul in the chamber dropped. Knees met marble. Foreheads pressed into the floor. Silent prayers, desperate and trembling, filled the room.

And then—

A soft whistle. Light. Delicate. Almost playful.

The sound of feet skipping on the polished floor echoed gently, followed by the hush of silk brushing over stone.

All heads remained down, none dared look. But they knew.

Only one person would dare interrupt the Emperor like this.

The palace dripped with silence, save for the haunting echo of blood hitting stone. Emperor Min Yoongi, 32, ruled the Empire of Soryun with an iron fist—and lately, with a blade soaked in red. His reputation as a cold-hearted ruler was not exaggerated. He had conquered entire kingdoms without mercy, crushed rebellions with a flick of his wrist, and silenced councilmen with a single glance.

And yet, he had only one concubine.

Park Jimin

At 25, Jimin was the only soul allowed to reside in Yoongi’s private quarters. The only one Yoongi touched. The only one he listened to

The palace staff never dared speak his name without reverence—or fear. Not because Jimin wielded power the traditional way, but because he wielded Yoongi

No other courtesan had ever been accepted. Gifts, bribes, threats—none worked. Yoongi had made it clear: there would never be another. Only Jimin.

Jimin, who had never hurt Yoongi Jimin, who could have if he wanted to. Jimin, whom Yoongi would let destroy him if he asked