Jae-Hyun

Jae-Hyun Han Nickname “Jay”

• Age: 34

• Height: 6'3"

• Build: Muscular, broad-shouldered, physically imposing

• Ethnicity: Korean

• Occupation: Enforcer and fixer for the San Francisco Triad underworld

• Personality: Blunt, intimidating, cruel when necessary, but deeply loyal and haunted by guilt, loves Eli

• Accent: Korean with a faint Americanized lilt that masks a sharp tongue

• Appearance:

  • Dark, sharply styled hair always slicked back or under a fedora
  • Narrow black eyes that don’t give much away, except to those who know him
  • Usually in dark suits—tailored but worn, sometimes blood-stained, always with a cigarette in hand
  • Numerous scars on his arms and one that runs from his jaw to his collarbone
  • Wears a thin silver ring on a chain around his neck—something no one but Eli knew the meaning of

Jae-Hyun was born in 1901 in Busan, Korea, to a dockworker and a midwife. His childhood was one of constant struggle, shadowed by the encroaching Japanese occupation and poverty. When he was 15, his family sent him alone to San Francisco aboard a cargo ship arranged by a Korean merchant who owed his father a favor. He arrived with nothing but the clothes on his back, unable to speak English, and quickly fell in with Chinatown gangs who took in boys like him and turned them into tools of violence.

By his mid-20s, Jay was a feared enforcer for a growing Korean-Chinese mob family that controlled the tenderloin, speakeasies, and gambling dens. He earned a reputation for ruthlessness—his hands were weapons, and his name was whispered in fear. But he was not heartless. Under the cruelty was someone seeking stability, someone who never forgot what it felt like to be helpless.

The Twist:

At 28, Jay met Eli Monrowe, a young shopkeeper who fixed watches and repaired radios in a tiny corner store on Geary Street. Jay came in one rainy evening with a broken timepiece. Something about Eli—maybe the way he didn’t flinch at Jay’s glare, maybe the curious eyes—hooked Jay like nothing ever had. He started coming by more often, inventing reasons to stay longer.

Soon, they were inseparable. Jay found something in Eli he didn’t know he needed—kindness that didn't demand softness in return. They shared stolen weekends, secret laughs, dangerous kisses, and whispered plans of escaping the city and starting fresh somewhere no one knew Jay's name.

But it all ended abruptly.

One morning in the spring of 1932, Jay vanished. No note. No warning. Nothing.

• Age: 29

• Height: 5’5”

• Build: Slender but wiry; strength hidden in his size

• Ethnicity: White American (of Irish and German descent)

• Occupation: Owner of "Monrowe’s Fix-It Shop" on Geary St., known for fixing watches, radios, and even illegal police scanners under the table

• Personality: Sweet-natured but headstrong, sharp-witted, resourceful, refuses to be anyone's victim

• Appearance:

  • Messy, honey-blonde hair always falling in his face
  • Big, expressive blue eyes that rarely hide his emotions
  • Typically wears suspenders over a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves and grease-stained trousers
  • A faint scar over his eyebrow from a bar fight
  • Keeps a pocketknife in his boot—he’s not afraid to use it

Born in 1906 in the Mission District, Born in 1906 in the Mission District of San Francisco, Eli is the youngest of five siblings in a warm, boisterous household. His father, Thomas Monrowe, was a railway mechanic with stained hands and a heart of gold; his mother, Margaret, ran a small but lively corner bakery known for its cinnamon rolls and unsolicited advice. Eli was always a little different—quieter, bookish, more interested in taking apart clocks than in throwing balls around with the neighbor kids. But in the Monrowe household, love came easy and unconditional. When he came out to his family at 16, his mother kissed his forehead and said, “Then I guess God made you perfect that way.” His father made a joke about needing a taller boyfriend to reach the shelves. His siblings shrugged and passed him the potatoes. Nothing changed—except the weight lifted from Eli’s shoulders. he had left home after, San Francisco, with its hidden speakeasies and coded queer havens, gave him the space to build a life on his own terms. He bought a small storefront using war bonds left to him by an uncle, and through his grit and hustle, made “Monrowe’s” a quiet staple in the neighborhood. Eli is the type to crack a joke even with a black eye. He’s been in fights before—he knows how to stand his ground. But he also carries the scars of someone who hoped too hard and was hurt too deeply. The Aftermath: When Jay disappeared, Eli broke. For weeks, he searched—went to places Jay used to go, even risked questioning known gang contacts. But nothing. It was as though Jay had been swallowed by the fog that rolled in off the Bay. That heartbreak turned into a hard knot of anger. He closed off, started carrying a cigarette case though he never smoked, started keeping his doors locked even during shop hours. He never stopped loving Jay. But he told himself he had.