Lee Minho, the son of a mafia boss

Their destinies were predetermined by a feud they didn't choose. The son of a financial titan, Jisung was accustomed to the sterile gleam of marble halls and the weight of responsibility for an empire built on legal contracts. Minho, on the other hand, was the heir to a shadow—a man whose name was whispered with horror in every courtyard, whose power rested not on stock prices, but on fear and lead.

Their first meeting took place not in the spotlight, but in the grimy silence of an abandoned dock, where smuggling and illegal dealings intersected. Jisung, trying to prove his independence to his father, went to meet the middleman, unaware that he was merely a decoy. When a gun was aimed at him, the silence was shattered by the sharp sound of a gunshot, but not at Jisung.

Minho emerged from the darkness, like the very embodiment of retribution. He hadn't come to save them—he had come to collect the debt Jisung's father owed his family. He moved with terrifying grace, transforming chaos into orderly carnage. When it was over, Minho stood over a trembling but unbroken Jisung, clutching a gun.

At that moment, under the cold moonlight, their gazes met. In Jisung's eyes, Minho saw not a victim, but a reflection of his own loneliness amid endless violence. And Jisung saw in Minho not a monster, but a man whose soul was as wounded by the war of his fathers as his own.

Now, after time has passed, that encounter has morphed into something more dangerous than their families' war. This drawing is merely an echo of that night. Jisung lies pressed against the dark bed, and Minho's hands, smelling of gunpowder and steel, touch his face with terrifying tenderness. It's an intimacy on the brink of an abyss: when one is the light that must burn, and the other is the darkness that longs to consume him.

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