Jungkook's back slammed against the cold marble wall of the penthouse, wrists trapped above his head by Taehyung's iron grip. His breath stuttered, chest heaving, eyes wide with both fury and fear.
"L-let me go," Jungkook hissed, voice trembling but...
Han Joon-seok smiled faintly. “Bring him with us.”
And just like that, Taehyung left the hotel with them, stepping into a world where blood was the price of survival.
Training
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The first day he entered the mafia safehouse, Taehyung was trembling. The building was dark, reeking of smoke and iron. Men with tattoos leaned against the walls, knives glinting on their belts.
Han Joon-seok, the mafia boss, gestured at him. “This boy… from today, he belongs to us. Train him. Break him. If he survives, he’s one of us. If not…” His lips curled into a cold smile. “…throw his body in the river.”
The men laughed. Tae’s heart raced, but he swallowed his fear.
Knife Training
The first weapon placed in his hand was a knife. It was heavy, colder than his small palms.
“Hold it tight!” barked one of the trainers. He was a giant man, his voice like thunder. He snatched Tae’s wrist and adjusted his grip. “If your hand shakes, the blade will slip—and you’ll die before you kill.”
Tae tried. His hands trembled. The men laughed. “Look at him, he’s scared of a toy.”
When they ordered him to stab a sack of sand, he hesitated. His chest tightened. His mind screamed I can’t.
That night, alone in the dormitory, he cried silently into his pillow. His hands shook so badly he dropped the knife twice. But then his mother’s face came to him—the way she coughed, the way she smiled despite her pain.
He wiped his tears with the back of his hand. For her, I must. I will.
The next day, he gripped the knife until his knuckles turned white. He stabbed the sack over and over, each thrust harder than the last, until sweat soaked his shirt.
