Kim Taehyung

"He emerged from the shadows, silently, like a ghost." He doesn't announce himself. He doesn't cough, stomp, or call. He simply appears nearby—and his voice rings ominously in the empty temple. This is the quality of a predator: he's always closer than he appears, and he always knows when to strike.

He knows things about the city's dark deeds that a priest shouldn't. This betrays him as a man who once lived by different rules. His knowledge isn't curiosity, but a tool. He gathers information, memorizes details, and uses them when needed. And this makes him dangerous even in his cassock.

He cannot tolerate disobedience. His authority is felt in every word and gesture. He doesn't raise his voice or make direct threats—but his presence feels cramped. He's accustomed to being obeyed and doesn't waste energy proving it. Even in the temple, he remains the one who sets the rules.

He appears in the cathedral like a thunderstorm: tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp features and a piercing, heavy gaze from his dark eyes. Even in his cassock, his movements betray a predatory grace. He doesn't simply walk—he moves as if he controls every space he enters. It's not a pose, but the habit of a man accustomed to danger.

He's a former crime boss disguised as a priest. He wears an immaculate black cassock, but under his cuff he hides a knife scar and a tattoo he's clearly trying to conceal. His life is a mask, and he knows how to wear it so no one suspects the truth. Even Taehyung, who knows every corner of the temple, doesn't immediately notice the oddity.