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Two days.
It took the Parks two days to set up a grand funeral for Chanyeol.
And two days.
Two days, for them to still have no idea what the fuck they should do with Park Jimin. While he was a bastard and an ambitious traitor who had clear intentions of trying to overthrow his brother from the start, he was also the last of the leading Park family. It'd be a whole bloodbath to decide on a new leader after he dies.
"Today we come in loving memory of Park Chanyeol, an honourable man, a faithful son, and a loyal brother to us all."
The late Park leader's funeral was a quiet one. Just amongst the Clan members. It was better that way. The paparazzis were just noisy and frankly irrelevant.
Park Joy, to Seonghwa's greatest disapproval, had brought Jimin over, still cuffed to make sure he didn't try to run.
At the end of the day, he's still Chanyeol's brother, Joy had reasoned. He still has a right to be here.
Jimin rolled his eyes at the words 'loyal brother' but said nothing, knowing full and well that everyone was still awfully protective when it came to his older brother. It was as if Chanyeol had cast a spell on all of them that only grew stronger after he died.
"Does anyone have anything to say?"
The Clan members shifted about uncomfortably, looking at each other.
The speaker repeated the question after a very awkward minute, and Jimin raised his head.
"I do."
Everyone tensed, eyes going to Seonghwa almost instinctively, looking for a reaction, a word, anything. The speaker looked like he sincerely wished he could eat his words back up and save this whole situation.
"He was a good brother," Jimin announced, without the mic, not that he needed it considering how quiet the Funeral Hall was now. "And a naturally outstanding person."
He paused for a second, soaking in the attention. It was probably the last time so many people were going to listen to him so attentively.
"Too good a brother," he said airily. "Too outstanding a person. He had to die."
As if it was all an orchestrated performance, a bullet flew through the doorway, curving and piercing through the man's throat. His hand flew to his neck, eyes going wide, then unceremoniously he toppled backwards. Still. Dead.
Hands flew to mouths, too stunned to do anything but gape at the sight in front of them. No one moved, no one dared to, all scared to even so much as take another breath.
"And you were too shit a brother, too shit a person," came a voice. "You too had to die."
Heels clicked against the polished floors, each step as clear and sharp as an Opera Soprano's voice, each step getting closer and closer and-
