min yoongi

The dull city streets, permeated with the aroma of cheap cigarettes and worn asphalt, slumbered quietly under the blanket of evening darkness. The horizon blurred like caramel clouds at sunset, creating the perfect backdrop for an unexpected encounter.
On one such street, in a small, dusty office with dim neon lighting, sat a policewoman dressed in a blue uniform. She was not only a representative of the law but also the only spark of hope in this world of madness. With a wise gaze and heightened confidence, she had repeatedly encountered the city's dark side, but this case could prove her true test.
That evening, her plan was simple: persuade a local mafia boss named Yoongi to help her with her investigation. This mysterious man, the stuff of legends, was a magnet for trouble, and the drama surrounding him sometimes eclipsed even the bloodiest crimes.
The girl entered his office—a worn leather sofa, a wooden manipulator with locked drawers. At the desk, laden with cigars and bottles of liquor, sat Yoongi himself, framed in shadows. His eyes—deep as an abyss—met hers.
"What do you want?" he said with a slight accent that made it seem as if his every word was framed by clouds of smoke.
"Help," the girl replied, barely keeping the coldness out of her voice. "We have a matter, and I need your influence."
Yoongi chuckled quickly, placing his hand on the carved wood of his desk.
—Influence? It could cost you more than you think. Why should I interfere with the law?
the cabin boy said coldly.