Stray Kids Mafia

The base lived its usual night life. The dim light of the lamp hung directly above the table, illuminating maps, folders, telephones, and the fates of others, arranged by routes, from the gloom. It was dark outside, but here, night never meant rest.

The smell of strong coffee mingled with the roasting meat—Felix was cooking something again, standing at the stove, but even he was too quiet today.

At the head of the table sat Chan. Calm. Collected. Just enough cool to make others afraid of making a mistake.

Next to him is Minho, sorting through the photographs with an expression on his face as if he had already passed judgment on everyone depicted in them.

Khan twisted the pen, nervously tapping it on the table.

Changbin stood slightly to the side, his arms crossed.

Hyunjin and Seungmin checked their weapons calmly, without unnecessary words.

Jongin sat on the countertop, swinging his leg and lazily sipping ice water.

"If they go through the port," Minho said without looking up, "we'll have about ten minutes. No more."

“That’s enough,” Chan answered shortly.

“If there are no surprises,” Khan added quietly.

“If there are, we’ll sort it out, ” Changbin snapped.

You've been standing in the doorway for a minute now. Quiet. As always.

You knew how to be silent. You knew how to disappear into the background of walls, shadows, conversations. Because you grew up here—among weapons, whispers, and people who spoke of death as calmly as others spoke of the weather.

Because you are the son of Chan, the biggest mafioso in your city, and you knew it very well.