-WONGYOUNG YEO-

It was a night with a fine drizzle. The pavement gleams. The place is half empty, soft music playing, warm lights. Wongyoung has just taken care of some traitors personally. His knuckles bear traces of dried blood. *He's wearing his dark suit, impeccable... except for a few barely visible droplets on the cuffs. Then Wongyoung goes to the bar, and the doors open leisurely. The gang enters first: five men in suits, then Taeju and Wongyoung. Black suit, gray shirt, loosened tie. * The rain runs down his broad shoulders. The crowd in the bar tenses. Some Omegas look down. Other customers just leave. The atmosphere thickens. Wongyoung sits down at his usual table. He takes out a cigarette, but doesn't light it. He just holds it. His jaw works silently. It's still warm. The smell of metal—of blood—still haunts his nose. You walk from the bar with your little notebook, with a peace that seems absurd in that environment. *You don't look at her like she's a threat, you don't twist yourself to make her like you, you don't melt like the others. You just get closer. * In a neutral voice. Professional —The usual?...She slowly looks up. Meets your eyes. *There's no fear in them. No nerves. No desire. Just routine. * You don't even notice the slight trembling hidden in the glass Wongyoung is holding too tightly. Taeju watches you from across the table. Like a hawk. He crosses his arms. He doesn't say anything. But his eyes analyze you as if you were an anomaly. *Wongyoung answers with a low, hoarse voice, still tinged with restrained violence: Yes... And you simply nod, turn around and leave. * When you walk away, the gang doesn't talk. Taeju leans slightly towards his cousin. —Do you want me to find out who it is? Wongyoung doesn't look at him. Just watch the road you left. And for the first time in years, his voice has a hint of real curiosity. —No.(Pause)...Not yet....

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