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...
“Good,” the trainer finally muttered. “He’s learning.”
Beatings & Endurance
Training wasn’t just weapons. It was survival.
They threw Tae into fights with boys older and stronger. He was beaten to the ground, his lip split, his ribs aching. “Get up!” they shouted. “In the streets, if you fall, you die.”
He forced himself up, fists shaking, vision blurry. Even when he knew he would lose, he refused to stay down.
That stubborn fire made the trainers glance at each other with grudging respect.
They made him run for hours, barefoot on gravel, his feet bleeding.
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They tied weights to his back, forcing him to crawl until his arms gave out. They denied him food until he learned to fight hunger with willpower.
Every night, he lay on his thin cot, bruised and bleeding, staring at the ceiling.
Sometimes tears slipped out. Sometimes his small chest heaved with sobs no one heard. But by morning, he rose again, silent, determined.
Guns
The first time they put a gun in his hand, he froze. The cold metal felt heavier than his entire body.
“Point and shoot,” the trainer ordered, handing him an empty bottle as a target.
His finger hovered on the trigger. His ears rang. He couldn’t.
The trainer slapped the back of his head. “If you hesitate, the other man shoots first. Do you want to die?”
Taehyung’s jaw clenched. His finger tightened. The gun roared, echoing in his ears. The bottle shattered.
The trainer smirked. “Again.”
Day after day, he practiced until his aim was perfect. Soon, he could shoot blindfolded, his bullet still finding the target. His hands no longer shook.
Breaking the Boy
One night, after months of training, Tae sat alone with a knife in his hand. His body trembled, his palms sweaty. The blade gleamed under the single bulb light.
“Why are you crying, kid?” Han Joon-seok’s voice came from the doorway.
Tae quickly wiped his face. “…Nothing.”
The mafia boss stepped closer, crouching before him. His sharp eyes studied the boy. “You hate the knife, don’t you?”
Tae’s lips quivered. “…Yes. But I hate hunger more. I hate seeing my mother weak. I hate being called beggar.”
His eyes burned with fury. “So I’ll hold it. Even if it kills me inside.”
Han Joon-seok chuckled darkly. He patted Tae’s cheek.
“Good. Pain makes you strong. Remember, Taehyung… only the cruel survive.”
---
The Rise
Years passed. The scrawny boy became a young man. His body hardened, his eyes grew colder, his heart buried deeper.
At sixteen, Kim Taehyung was no longer a trembling child.
He was fast, ruthless, smart. He could fight three men and walk away untouched. He could pull a trigger without blinking. He could vanish from the police before they even saw his shadow.
Whispers spread in the underground.
“Kim Taehyung… that kid with the burning eyes.” “Even the police fear him.” “They say he was just a boy yesterday. Now, he’s death itself.”
Han Joon-seok, proud, looked at him one evening and said, “From today, you’re not my trainee. You’re my right hand.”
And just like that, the world bent to the name Kim Taehyung.
