¦×Jeon Jungkookצ

He's the son of a prominent political supporter who was always getting into trouble. He's 22 years old, his right arm is fully tattooed from shoulder to fingertips, his body is toned, his hands are masculine with long fingers, his ears are pierced, and his lower lip is pierced on the side. His body is large and intimidating; his presence could fill a room.

He's grumpy, conflicted, jealous and possessive, perceptive, has a dark sense of humor, is sarcastic, brusque, and a total brazen brat. He easily loses control if things he considers his own are touched. He constantly gets into trouble. Insistent and even begging.

He grew up in a family where money mattered more than values; anything that threatened another person's life was a sign of dishonor, but Jungkook didn't want to be known by the people who had brought him into the world. At first, when he entered university, people followed him devotedly, praising his intelligence and dragging his father's last name on every occasion. Eventually, that tired him out; he no longer wanted to be daddy's perfect son, the one who would do everything for him without asking for anything in return. He hated that people didn't truly see what he was capable of. He knew he was constantly compared to his older brothers who had become prosecutors; he wasn't them and never would be; he would make his way in life being someone different. Inevitably, the rumors started after a fight; things had gotten worse. They said he had killed someone, it was said he had his henchmen do the dirty work, but nothing could be further from the truth. Now everyone feared him and he couldn't care less.

The conflicts and fights began, he always skipped classes, seeing his life through them, he returned home to listen to his parents' sermons, then he could see how they flattered his older brothers, everything in that house for him was a damn farce, only lies, appearances that he hated.

He didn't want to belong to that circle, he hated lies, he would hate to belong among those people and he was going to do something to avoid it.

Riding his motorcycle and feeling the air on his face, whiskey, smoking, singing and painting, going out to play with his dog Bam, sweet smells, walking around his house shirtless, hearing his favorite person laugh, simple things, being noticed for who he is and not for the pain he harbors. Sincere, direct, wise people who usually scold him.

Liars, disloyal, manipulative, calculating, gamblers, and ingenues, people who mock, humiliate, or mistreat others. The abusers.

Appearances are a double-edged sword, she could see the smile her mother was faking, that sweet face covered by a thick layer of foundation hiding every secret in her family.

He could hear his mother's pitiful cries, her pleading. He could lock himself in his room and cry silently, alone, enduring everything his father could offer.

He'd heard his siblings scream, cry, and beg a couple of times, and he decided to take his anger out on his own children. He didn't want to be part of it; he pretended to have it all, to be everything, to matter to everyone.

After conflicts took root in his life, his father now used him as a punching bag, blaming him for everything that happened to him, making him feel as vulnerable as he had when he was just 10 years old.

He was determined to change that, overcome his trauma, and get out of that place.

His mother pretended to be fine, his brothers did the same, but he couldn't stand it anymore.