Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter: 1 A bloom in blood

A servant carrying a tray with a coffee cup gently knocked on the door before entering.
Inside, a man sat on a chair, deeply immersed in a book.
The servant took careful steps toward him, but suddenly his foot twisted, and the tray slipped from his hands.
The cup hit the floor with a sharp thud, and the tray’s edge grazed the man's hand, leaving a shallow scratch.

Just then, a young man rushed into the room — he had been playing outside with a tiger cub.
“Dad!” he shouted, eyes wide. “Are you okay? What was that sound?”

“Oh, Jehan,” Jeaui said gently, looking up. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.”

Jehan’s eyes narrowed. He saw the small red line on his father’s skin. Without a word, he turned to the servant, rage flashing across his face.
He stormed toward him, grabbed him by the collar, and threw him to the floor. His fist flew — once, twice, three, four times — each punch harder than the last.

“Jehan, stop it!”
“Jehan! I said STOP IT!”

But Jehan didn’t give the man a chance to explain. He yanked him close and hissed in a cold whisper,

“You’re alive because Father isn’t here.
If he saw even this little scratch on Dad’s hand, you’d already be dead, bastard.”

One final punch knocked the servant unconscious.

“Jehan! Let him go !"

“I apologize, Father.”

“Call someone. Send him to the doctor.”

Jehan bowed his head and mumbled, “Dad…”

Jeaui, noticing Jehan’s bloodied knuckles, said softly, “Come here. Let me give you first aid now.”

Jehan obediently nodded and sat beside him.

“I told you, Jehan... violence is never the answer, didn’t I?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Then why did you do that?”

“Because... he hurt you. Father’s out of the country, and he said, ‘Take good care of your dad.’”

“‘Take good care’ doesn’t mean you should beat up everyone around me.”

“...Yes, Dad.”

Chapter Text

A car darted across the highway at full speed, weaving recklessly between lanes. The man behind the wheel gripped the steering tightly, his eyes unfocused, not on the road but on the storm in his head. He was driving like he needed to escape something—or someone.

Behind him, a motorcycle roared in pursuit, its rider leaning low, locked onto his target like a shadow refusing to be shaken. The car in front clipped another vehicle, metal scraping metal, horns blaring—but somehow, he regained control and sped off without stopping.

The biker followed, relentless.

Both tore through red lights, ignoring traffic laws as if they never existed.

And then, two black cars appeared behind them—sleek, roofless, and intimidating. The men inside wore black suits, holding guns at the ready. They weren’t chasing the man in the car. They were after the biker.

"Young master!" one shouted over a radio.
"Young Master Iltae, please stop! You can’t just run like this!"

“Damn it those bodyguards,” Iltae muttered under his breath. “I hate them. I hate them so much.”

He jerked the bike into a sharp turn and veered into a narrow alleyway where the cars couldn’t follow. Tires screeched behind him as the guards skidded to a stop, jumping out to chase on foot.

But Iltae was gone.

Now calmly seated at a street-side restaurant, Iltae opened a bottle of beer and made a call.

“Hey. It’s me. I’m sending you something—track him. I want to know everything.”

Within minutes, his phone buzzed again. The man on the other end had already sent him full details.

Iltae read the tracking information and smiled—softly.

“Little brother…”

....................................................................................................................................................................................................

Jeaui sat in a quiet study, book in hand. Jehan lay on the floor beside him, head resting peacefully on Jeaui’s lap. His tiger cub curled up at Jehan’s side, its small body rising and falling with soft purrs.

Jeaui ran gentle fingers through Jehan’s hair.

“Jehan, are you sad because I scolded you earlier?”

“No, Dad. How could I ever be upset with you?”

“Then what’s troubling you?”

Jehan hesitated.

“Dad… have you and Father ever fought?”

“Hmm? No, we never fight.”

“But how? How can a married couple go so long without even arguing?”

Jeaui smiled gently.

“Because your father is kind to me. Always gentle, always patient.”

The moment was interrupted by the buzz of a phone.

“Jehan, your phone is ringing.”

Jehan picked it up. His expression lit up.

“It’s hyung —Iltae!”

“Hello?”
“Lil bro, how are you?”
“I’m good, hyung!”
“Pick me up. I just landed at Riyadh airport.”
“You’re here? Are you serious?”
“Dead serious. A bastard slipped through my fingers and ran here. Come, I’ll explain.”

Chapter Text

Jehan’s voice turned cold.

“Who…?”

“Come, and I’ll tell you.”

Jehan stood up.

“Dad, I’m going to pick up hyung. I’ll be back soon.”

Jeaui gave him a small nod and a soft smile.

Outside in the veranda, Jehan spotted the servants.

“You. Not you, man—just the girls. Come here.”

A few girls stepped forward and bowed.

“Yes, Young Master?”

“I’m going out. Take care of Dad while I’m gone.”

“Yes, Young Master.”

Back in the study, Jeaui watched the wind stir the trees through the window. A memory echoed in his ears—a voice, deep and warm:

“Jeaui… make sure Jehan never leaves the house without bodyguards. It’s not safe.”

“Yes, Rahman. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He called for a servant.

“Yes, Master?”

“Jehan just left. Send two cars behind him.”

“Understood.”

Jeaui nodded and returned to his book, eyes calm—but alert

Iltae was sitting at the airport, a juice bottle in his hand, chewing the straw with a bored expression.

“Hey, look over there. That young man—he’s so handsome,”
whispered one of the two men sitting beside him.

“Yeah… just look at those beautiful hands.”

A golden car pulled up outside the airport, catching everyone's attention. A young man stepped out, calm and elegant. Some people admired his sharp looks; others were drawn to the car’s luxurious shine.

“Look at that car… beautiful, just like its owner,”
people whispered.

Iltae’s eyes lit up as he spotted Jehan. He quickly tossed his juice into the bin and walked toward him.

Without a word, Iltae ran towards jehan and pulled him into a tight hug. He ruffled jehan's hair with one hand laughing soflty, his other arm still wrapped tight around his little brother's shoulder.

“Lil bro! I missed you so much!”

“Stop it! Don’t mess up with my hair. You don’t have your own.

“But yours is soft, lil bro~”

“Hyung, stop. It’s irritating. Let’s just go home.”

“Home?” Iltae blinked. “I thought I’d stay at a hotel.”

Jehan’s smile faded. He looked at Iltae with sad eyes.

“Hyung… you don’t want to stay with me?”

Jehan's usual cold, sharp gaze—strong enough to scare anyone—softened into something that resembled a pouting puppy.

Iltae froze, puzzled, watching Jehan blink up at him.

“Lil bro…” he mumbled, pulling him close again. “You forgot how terrified I am of your scary father.”

“My father isn’t scary.”

“He’s . Admit it.”

“He’s not.”

Chapter Text

Even my dad is scared of him!”

“He’s not scary. He’s just… strict.”

“Lil bro, how is this even possible? One of your dads is super sweet and loves me like his own—”

“And the other one scares me? ” Jehan cut in, smirking.

“Exactly!”

“Same here, hyung.”

“What?!”

“My one and only uncle always glares at me.”

“Same here, hyung.”

Iltae gave him an irritated look.

“Listen, brat. My father isn’t scary. He loves me so much.”

“Same here, hyung.”

“Shut up, you little punk! I’ll punch that pretty face of yours!”

Jehan fell completely silent.

Iltae stared at him suspiciously.

“What? You’re quiet now? Aren’t you gonna say it again?”

Jehan looked at him and said calmly,

“Father told me we shouldn’t hit our elders.”

Iltae stared at him. Then he burst out laughing.

“Pfft—HAHAHAHAHAHA!! Oh my God! You’re so cute! You’re such a papa’s boy!”

“Don’t tell me…” Iltae narrowed his eyes, “you came here with Uncle Jeaui’s permission?”

“Yes. I asked for his permission and then came.”

“WHAT?! So… he knows I’m here?!”

“Yeah, Hyung. I told him I’d be back soon—with you.”

Iltae’s eyes went wide. He stared at Jehan without blinking.

“Damn it… I want to punch you, but I can’t. Because you’re my lil bro.
My one and only lil bro…”

“ by the way, Father isn’t home. He’s out of the country.”

“What?”

“Yeah.”

Riegrow Mansion

Taeui paced the main hall, his expression full of worry. His eyes kept returning to the clock, minute after minute.

Then suddenly—his phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Taeui— I mean, my apologies. Mr. Reigrow ”

The guard winced as he corrected himself.
He could still remember the cold voice of Ilay, the day he dared to casually call Taeui by name:

“How dare you call him by his name".

Taeui sighed.

“What is it? Where’s Iltae? He still hasn’t come home—and neither of you are answering my calls.”

“Actually… Young Master… ran away.”

“What? What do you mean ‘ran away’?”

“I don’t know. He was chasing someone on his bike… and then he disappeared. I’ve been searching for hours.”

“Wait. He’s been missing for hours and you’re telling me now?!”

“I thought he was just fooling around nearby, but it seems… he’s really gone.”

“Where?!”

“He went to Riyadh…”

Another call came in. Taeui glanced at his screen.

“I’ll call you back.”

He picked up the second call.

“Hello”

“Jeaui hyung”

“Taeui… how are you?”

“I’m fine, hyung. What about you?”

“Same here. Iltae’s here. Jehan just went to pick him up from the airport.”

“Yeah, he ran off again without permission. I just found out from the guards.”

“Don’t worry. Jehan’s with him.”

“Yeah… alright. Hyung, when he gets there, tell him to call me. That brat keeps giving me heart attacks.”

“I will.”

Jeaui hung up and stared at his phone quietly for a few seconds.

Outside Riyadh Airport

“Hey lil’ bro—I’LL drive.”

“No hyung, I will.”

“Why?”

“Because you always break traffic rules.”

“Move, lil bro.”

Jehan stood blocking the car door while Iltae tried to yank him away—pulling him back by the waist.

“You little punk—get out of the way, I’ll drive ".

Nearby, a man in a black suit stood watching them from a distance. His phone buzzed.

“Yes, sir.”

“The airport’s not far from the mansion. Are they there yet?”

“Yes, sir. Both young masters are in front of me.”

“They’re… fighting.”

“Fighting?!”

“Young Master Jehan is hanging onto the car door. Young Master Iltae is pulling him back by the waist. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but it looks like they’re arguing.

Fine stay there.

Understood Mr. Jeaui

Back at the car, Jehan hissed under his breath.

“Hyung, stop pulling me. Everyone’s watching us!”

Iltae had both arms wrapped around Jehan’s waist.

“Let go! Hyung We’re in public!”

Iltae suddenly leapt into the car through the other side and opened the door from inside. The force nearly made Jehan lose his grip.

“Hyung! That’s not fair!”

“Get in, lil bro. I’m starving.”

“…Fine.”

Iltae started the car—full speed.

“HYUNG! Slow down!”

Chapter Text

Rahman’s Villa — Surrounded by Security

Iltae sighed as they passed through the mansion gates.

“I hate bodyguards. Jehan, I hate them.”

Jehan didn't respond, he understood. They had both grown up like this.

Surrounded. Watched. Protected from a world that feared them....or wanted them gone.

The car stopped. They stepped out into a familiar, beautiful scene—lush gardens, a marble fountain, everything pristine.

Inside, Jeaui sat in his chair, reading quietly. As soon as he saw Iltae, he stood up with a soft smile.

Iltae bowed respectfully.

“Uncle Jeaui. Long time no see. How are you?”

Jeaui placed a gentle hand on his cheek.

“I’m good. And you?”

“I’m good uncle.

But… you should stop making Taeui worry. Call him and talk to him.”

His voice was calm. Gentle. The same voice he used with Taeui.

“Yes, Uncle.”

Jehan noticed the slight chill in Jeaui’s face. Without a word, he grabbed a soft fur blanket and wrapped it around him.

“Dad… you have a fever.”

“No, I’m fine.

(* jeaui had always been weak, ever since childhood. But his body become even weaker after giving birth to jehan. Rahman had been overjoyed when he find out jeaui was pregnent. But when he found out Jeaui’s body might not survive it, he panicked.

He asked the doctors to secretly end the pregnancy. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing Jeaui.

But the doctors insisted he ask Jeaui himself. Rahman already knew what Jeaui’s answer would be.

Jeaui was being stubborn—and he chose the child.

Eventually, with careful treatment, both Jeaui and Jehan survived. But Jeaui’s body never fully recovered.*)

Iltae, dialing Taeui

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“ILTAE, YOU LITTLE BASTARD—!!”

Iltae yanked his phone away from his ear.

“Dad, calm down—”

“Calm down?! You and your dad are trying to kill me, aren’t you?!”

“Why would you say that? I love you so much, Dad~”

“You love me?! You give me a heart attack every 10 to 15 days, you brat!”

"Explain why you're there without informing me!” Taeui shouted.

“Dad, that man stole my gun.”

“Gun?! You went all the way there just for a gun?”

“Dad… that gun was a gift from Uncle Jeaui.”

Taeui fell silent and sighed.

“Iltae, you didn’t need to go there yourself. Just report him.”

Iltae’s voice turned cold.

“Why?

What’s mine is mine. How dare he touch it? I’ll handle it on my own. Don’t worry about me, Dad.”

“Brat, shut your damn mouth and don’t speak to me in your father’s tone!”

“Dad… I’m really sorry for making you worry. But I’m fine. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

He hung up.

Jehan came out of the room with his cub in his arms.

“Brat, why is your cub so fat?”

“Hyung, he’s not fat! He’s just chubby!”

Iltae looked at him sideways.

“Chubby and fat are the same thing, brat.”

They walked together toward the garden.
There was a swing. Jehan sat on it while Iltae lay down nearby so they could see each other clearly.

“You should send your cub to the gym.”

“Hyung, why are you so heartless?”

“You overfeed him.”

He stared at the cub, who was glaring at him nonstop.

“Now I get why you love him so much.”

“Why?”

“Because he looks just like Uncle Rahman.”

“WTF, Hyung?!”

“Don’t start crying, lil bro.”

“Hyung, you don’t like animals.”

“Animals?”

“Not that much… but—”

“But what?”

“When I was at the airport, I saw a cat. He was so beautiful. His long black tail, the fur looked like a broom. I’ve never seen a cat that majestic before.”

“Hyung, I never thought you're into cats…”,
Jehan teased him.

Iltae turned his head and suddenly kicked Jehan.
Jehan fell off the swing, his cub tumbling with him.

“Shut your mouth, brat.”

“Hyung! You hit me hard!”

“You asked for it.”

Iltae looked at the sky with a calm smile.

“His eyes…”

“What?”

“They were two different colors. One blue. One black.”

“Whoa! Really?!”

“Yeah.”

“Now I’m curious, Hyung! I want to see how beautiful he is if he managed to catch your attention—especially when you just called my handsome cub fat!”

“Jehan.”

“Yes, Hyung?”

“I want that cat. I want him no matter how much he costs.”

Chapter Text

Hyung, let me share a post on social media.”

“But we don’t have a photo.”

“I’ll describe him—just like you did.”

“Fine. Do it.”

“Jehan, do you have a boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t even know what a boyfriend is.”

“Hyung, stop teasing me.”

“I’m not interested .”

“But Hyung—”

“What?”

“A classmate of mine was upset today… He looked sad because of his parents.”

“Don’t tell me you like him.”

“Hyung! I said I’m not interested! I don’t even have friends.”

“So what’s your question then?”

“I just don’t understand… how can a couple want to leave each other when they have a child my age?”

“Oh… So that boy’s parents are divorcing?”

“I’m not sure. But it seemed like that.”

“Today I asked Dad if he and Father ever fought. He said they never even argue.”

“Can’t deny… Uncle Rahman is scary. But no one can deny how much he loves Uncle Jeaui.”

“Jehan, it doesn’t matter if couples fight or not. There’s something deeper between two people who truly love each other. I don’t know what it is… but it exists.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Your parents never fight and they’re still together. My parents always fight… and they’re also still together.”

“That’s so complicated hyung. I don’t understand.”

“Don’t think too much. You’ll just give yourself a headache.”

“Hyung… what if I fall in love with someone… and he doesn’t like me back?”

Iltae looked at him with a puzzled expression.

“Jehan
Yeah,

if you ever fall in love and he doesn’t like you back… I’ll drag him to you myself, no matter what. Who would dare reject someone as handsome and rich as you?”

Iltae’s eyes lingered on Jehan, whose gaze was still on his cub.

“What if I asked you the same question?”

Jehan smiled.

“If you fell in love with someone, I wouldn’t drag him. That would be disrespectful to my future brother-in-law… but I’d convince him until he starts liking you.”

A soft breeze blew through the garden, scattering dry leaves around them.
They looked at each other, hair ruffled by the wind.

Iltae turned his gaze to the sky and said quietly:

“It’s never going to happen.”

“What?”

“I never found relationships interesting, Jehan. I don’t believe in love.”

“But… after seeing our parents, I have doubts.”

“About love?”

“No. About myself. They’re always worried about each other.”

“Yeah… After Dad told me they’ve never fought—not even once—I started doubting too.”

Jehan gently patted his cub and said,

“If having a partner is necessary, I’d prefer someone like my dad. Calm, gentle, beautiful like a flower… always lost in his own thoughts. He’s only here for me and my father. For everyone else… it’s like he doesn’t exist.”

Iltae, still watching his little brother, gave a soft smile.

“Let’s see. If anyone ever tries to hurt you… they’ll die by my hands.”

Dershan

A butler was walking quietly through the forest, his eyes scanning every tree every shadow.
He looked determined, almost desperate, as he searched deeper into the woods.

Then he stopped.

There bathed in the soft golden light of morning, stood a boy.
His light blond hair, soft and delicate, shimmered like threads of sunlight. It brushed just past his neck, fluttering gently in the breeze.
He wore neatly tailored shorts that reached his knees, a soft frilled shirt, a long overcoat, and knee high leather boots.

Birds surrounded him. A few rabbits rested near his feet, nibbling on something he was offering them.

But the sound of the butler's approaching footsteps startled them.
The birds flapped away into the trees. The rabbits scattered into nearby bushes.

The slowly turned his head, sharp green eyes locking onto the butler.

"What?"
"Young master....."

Boy stepped towards him, his expression calm but firm.

"I remember clearly I warned everyone not to follow me into the forest. Didn't I?"

"Yes young master Ciran."

"Then what the hell are you doing here?"

"Your father is looking for you."

His gaze softened for just a second. He wishpered under his breath,
"Father...."

"Yes he sent me that's why i'm here."

without another word, ciran turned, mounted his horse gracefully, and tighhtened his gloves.

"Young master...." the butler tried again.

Ciran cast him a side glance.

"If you say the word, i can collect the rabbits for you."

"No need."

He gave the reins a sharp tug.

"Hua!." he shouted, urging the horse forward

And rode off, the wind catching the ends of his coat as he disappeared down the path back to mansion.

Honk Kong Bar Leone

A young man was sitting in the bar counter. The sleeves of his black shirt were rolled up, revealing his slender, pale forearms. One beautiful hand rested on the polished surface as he sipped wine quietly, lost in his thoughts.

His delicate fingers, sleek black hair, and soft pink lips were more striking than any women's.
Around his neck hung a silver chain with dragon shaped pendent. The dragon's eyes held two small blue diamonds, glinting faintly in the dim bar lights.

A man seated besides him could'nt stop staring.
He lightly touched young man's little finger but the young man didn't react he simply withdrew his hand and asked the bartender for another drink.

But moments later, the same man grabbed his hand without hesitation.

The young man turned his head. His icy blue eyes locked onthe man and then he smiled. A quiet, dangerous smile.

He set his glass down, grabbed the man by the hair, and slammed his head against the counter.

The man dropped to the floor. Without pause, the young man picked up a steel barstool and struck him again.

Then, placing his foot on the man's chest, he leaned in and whispered coldly:

"Ever heard the word permission?"

Everyone inthe bar watched the silence.
No one dare to stop him.

He walked outside into the rain.

Standing in the middle of the quiet street, Xinyu titled his head to the sky and opened his arms, as if to embrace the falling raindrops.

A man approached him, holding an umbrella.

"Young Master Ling...."

Xinyu opened his eyes slowly and turned to look at his driver.

"We should head home. You'll catch a cold".

With a silent nod, he walked towards the car. The driver opened the door for him.
He stepped inside, and the car disappeared into the storm.

Chapter Text

Reigrow Mansion

Taeui was sitting in the lounge.
His phon rested in his hand, as he was waiting for someon's call.

suddenly it started ringing a video call.

"Hello?"

"Yeah."

"What happend ? You look sad".

"No i'm fine. What about you? How was your mission?"

"Perfect. Did my kitten make you worry again?"

Your kitten is run away

"What? Where?"

" This time Riyadh. Without informing me.'

"Why"

" He said someone stole his gun jeaui gifted him last time.
He chased the guy straight to Riyadh."

"You don't need to worried about him. I trained him well."

"The problem is he's trained by you."

Ilay burst to laughter.

"Don't worry..... he won't kill anyone".

"i'm glad to hear those words from you".

"Or if you want, i can go there, slap him hard and drag him back."

"No need to use your monster strength on my son."

A smirk appeared on ilay's face.
"I'm jealous."

"What kind of father are you, being jealous of your own son?"

"But you love him more than me"

"Shut up, ilay. He's my son of course i do."

"And me?"

"My husband who never listens to me"

"Really? Just tell me. I'll come right now."

"Ilay"

"Yeah"

"What if Iltae really kills someone someday?"

"It's never going to happen. But if it ever does, I'll handle everything.
so don't think too much. You should go to your room and sleep."

"Yeah...... Goodnight.

"Goodnight, Taeui."

A man was sitting in his office, enjoying his coffee while watching a swimming competition. Suddenly, he heard a knock at the door.

“Come in,” he said.

A man entered the office, holding a small polythene bag in his hand.

“Yuri? What happened? You’re here all of a sudden—everything okay?”
Xinlu stood up from his chair with a worried expression, quickly moving to Yuri and gently taking his hand to help him sit on the sofa.

“I’m fine,” Yuri said with a soft smile. “I just went to the hospital for some medicine and thought I’d drop by.”

Xinlu knelt down in front of him, his eyes full of concern. “Let me take a look. How’s your knee?”

“Better than before, Xinlu.”

Xinlu carefully held his foot. “Don’t fold it—keep it straight.”

“I’m fine, Xinlu. Don’t worry so much.”

Xinlu sat beside Yuri on the sofa. “I was watching Xinyu. It’s his competition today.”

He glanced at the screen, proud. “You taught him well, Yuri. I told you you'd become a good coach.”

Yuri smiled softly, eyes on the screen. “He’s a fast learner... just like you.”

Xinlu looked at him with warmth, then gently pulled him into an embrace, resting Yuri’s head on his shoulder.

“Let’s watch it together, Yuri.”

Xinyu stood at the edge of the pool, ready for his competition. The crowd was roaring, screaming his name—he was a rising star in the swimming world.

Among the crowd, a boy watched him with sparkling eyes, admiring him like a celebrity.

“Xinyu!! Go, Xinyu!!” he screamed again and again, cheering with all his heart.

His name was Max Klein, a die-hard fan and loyal follower. He never missed a single post or story from Xinyu.

Sitting beside Max, a man overheard his excitement.

“Mister, do you know who Mr. Xinyu’s coach is?” Max asked.

“He doesn’t have a coach,” the man replied.

“What? How is that possible?

“He learned everything from his father. I heard his father used to be an incredible swimmer.”

“Wow… no coach, no academy, and he’s still winning medals?” Max said in disbelief.

“Yeah. His family is super rich—his father provided everything he needed at home.”

Max’s eyes sparkled even more.
“How can someone be so lucky? Beautiful, talented, perfect... I just want him to like one of my comments—just once.”

The man chuckled.
“His standards are sky-high."

Iltae and Jehan stood in front of a flower shop.

“Jehan, you said you don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Yeah, Hyung, I don’t.”

“Then what the hell are you doing in a flower shop? Did you fall on your head as a child or what?”

“No, Hyung. My head’s fine—I’m buying flowers for Dad.”

“For Uncle Jeaui?”

“Yeah. Dad loves white flowers. I want to plant all kinds of beautiful ones in the garden.”

Iltae watched him with a soft smile.

Suddenly, someone called Jehan from behind. Jehan turned with a cold expression. A boy, about Jehan’s age, approached him.

“Jehan, um… I wanted to say something, if you don’t mind.”

“He’ll mind. So don’t say it,” Iltae said, staring at the boy.

“What?” Jehan asked.

“You said once that your father stopped creating guns…”

“So?” Jehan replied, his voice icy.

“I just saw a rare gun a few minutes ago. If your dad still makes them… could you—”

Before he could finish, Iltae grabbed him by the collar.

“Where did you see that gun? Speak.”

“I-In a bar!”

Iltae shoved him aside and rushed to his car. Jehan ran with him.

“Jehan, directions!”

“Left, Hyung!”

The car sped through the streets.

“Now?”

“Right. Then go straight!”

Iltae slammed the brakes outside the bar and stormed inside.

He scanned the place and found a room full of men drinking and taking drugs. Among them was a slightly older man holding a very familiar gun. The thief who had stolen it stood nearby.

“Finally found you, you bastard,” Iltae muttered.

Chapter Text

Without hesitation, he lunged forward, slamming the thief into the wall.

The older man stared at the weapon.

“This is mine now, kid. Where’d you find it?. I wonder who designed it."

“Give me back that gun,” Jehan said coldly.

The old man stood up with a sly grin.
“Kid, you said this gun is yours. Then tell me—who designed it? Or better—send him to me. I’ll pay whatever he wants.”

Jehan’s eyes darkened. His tone turned lethal.
“Repeat that. Every single word.”

“I said—send me the man who made this gun.”

Without another word, Jehan grabbed the man by the neck and lifted him off the ground. He took out his phone and dialed.

“Hello?”

A man answered. "yes?"

“I need to talk to him. It’s urgent—just one minute.”

A pause.

"Understood."

The man on the other side nodded and walked straight into a meeting room without knocking.

inside, a man at the head of a long table raised his gaze, irritation flashing in his eyes,

"What?"

“Mr. Rahman… it's a direct call. From young master Jehan.”

Rahman’s expression changed instantly. He took the phone.
“Father,” Jehan said, his voice calm but cold.

“Yes, son.”

"There's  a man here who said i should bring my father to him.
he wants weapons from him."

“Handle it yourself,” make sure he never open his mouth again.
"let him know that the person he's asking for is priceless."

“Yes, Father.”

Jehan ended the call and dropped the man like trash. He reached for a bottle, shattered it on the edge of a table, and drove it into the man's face, again and again. Blood sprayed the wall. Screams filled the room.

“Let me introduce myself,” Jehan said, breathing heavy. “My name is Jehan.

Jehan Rahman, "he hissed into the man's ear," and the man you're asking for you're not worthy to speak his name.

A blow struck jehan from behind.

Before Jehan could fall, Iltae appeared like a storm. He grabbed the attacker’s hair, slammed him on the ground, and planted his foot on the man’s back. Then with a twist, he pulled both arms back—SNAP. The man screamed.

Blood pooled beneath them.

Another man trembled as he stared at the engraved name of the stolen gun.
"Iltae reigrow"

Trembling, the man stammered, “Who… who are you?”

“Me?”
“Iltae Riegrow. From Berlin.”

“You… you both… are twins?”

"Twins?" Iltae glanced at jehan  "what’s he saying?”

Jehan, still fighting, replied, “Hyung, first let go of his neck.”

Iltae loosened his grip and pulled the man closer. “Say it again.”

“Are… are you twins sons"

“Yes,” Jehan said, landing another punch. “Any problem?”

Half the room had already fled in terror.

Iltae tightened his hold again. “Who sent you?”

“N-No one! I swear, young master—I just sell weapons illegally that's all."

The man’s eyes were fixed on Iltae’s elegant, pale hands—almost identical to Ilay’s—but bare, without gloves.

“Damn it… crazy Rick… your son is a monster,”, just like you he muttered.

Iltae didn’t hesitate—he slammed the man’s head into the wall again.

Downstaris, a waiter burst into the lobby, panicked.

“Manager! Manager!”

"Manager! someone's fighting upstairs!
They're tearing the place apart"

The manager didn't even look up. "It's a bar.
People fight."

"No it's not normal fight. They're beasts."

"Which room."

upstairs

I the name he said.

"name?"

Manager one of them said ...... his name is jehan
jehan rahman.

The manager froze.don’t remember the number, but I remember
“What did you just say?”

“He said… Jehan Rahman.”

"Shut everything down!" the manager screamed.
Turn off every CCTV camera no recording, no traces.
erase everything."

(Rahman always kept his son away from the media. Only a few people knew his face, but all of riyadh knew his name."

Iltae was extremely popular on social media, but ilay never allowed him to show his face. He could post pictures of his entire body except his face. People were obsessed with his appearance. The only thought in their minds was : if his body is that attractive, how beautiful must his face be?")

The two young men stepped out of the room, soaked in blood from head to toe.

“Shall I prepare a bath for you, young masters?” one staff member asked nervously.

“No need,” Jehan replied coldly, not even glancing at him.

Iltae lit a cigarette, and the two walked out—getting in the car and driving back straight to the villa.

Chapter Text

Both of them entered the mansion—head to toe covered in blood.
All the servants froze in place.

One servant finally gathered the courage to ask,
“Young masters... are you hurt?”

Without saying a word, they walked straight toward Jeaui.
He was sitting calmly in a chair, reading a book.
A bouquet of white flowers was in Jehan’s hand.

Jeaui stood up with his usual calm.
“This isn’t your blood… is it?”

“Yes, father.”
“Yes, uncle. It’s someone else’s,” Iltae added.

Jehan didn’t raise his head. In a soft voice, he said,
“Father gave me permission.”

Jeaui let out a long sigh.

“Dad, I’ll explain everything—”

“No need, Jehan,” Jeaui said calmly.
“If Rahman gave you permission, it means there must be a reason."
It’s between a father and his son. No explanation needed.”

Jehan’s gaze remained low.
“Dad... are you mad at me?”

Jeaui stepped closer and placed his hand gently on Jehan’s cheek.
Jehan stepped back.
“Father, you’ll get dirty.”

“I’ll wash my hand. Jehan, I’m not mad at you.
There’s no reason to be.”

Iltae, watching them, suddenly recalled Jehan’s words:

“Hyung, if having a partner is necessary, I’d want someone like my father.”

He finally understood.
Now I get why Jehan wants someone like Uncle Jeaui…
He whispered under his breath,
“Dad... I miss you.”

Jeaui glanced toward the hall.
“Is anyone there?”

A servant quickly stepped inside.
“Yes, Master.”

“Prepare a bath for them. Add fresh flowers... and some scent for fragrance.”

“Yes, Master.”

Jeaui walked to the bathroom and began washing his hands in silence.
He whispered softly to himself:
“Taeui... I always forget they’re Rahman and Rick’s sons too.”

(Both Ilay and Rahman were not only rich but grew more powerful with each passing day.
Yet, their families were never truly safe.
Taeui and Jeaui—and even their sons—lived like diamonds locked in a beautiful cage.

Taeui became a father, and though his son is now 23 years old, he still can’t leave the mansion alone—unless accompanied by either his son or Ilay.

Jeaui, who always used to disappear with taeui without a word, now lives within the safety Rahman built for him. Rahman gave him everything inside that mansion, and it became both a sanctuary and a boundary.

The twins have it all—love, wealth, care, status... and even a kind of freedom.
They are living the kind of life others only dream of.
But that freedom ends at the gates of their fortress-like home.

Countless enemies are still searching for them.
Still hunting Ilay and Rahman's one and only weakness.
Or rather—two weaknesses now:
Their beloved husbands... and their one and only sons.)

Rahman stood near the window, enjoying his wine, the city lights casting shadows across his face.
Suddenly, a news report flashed on the TV screen. The headline read “Bar Incident in Riyadh”.

“A violent altercation broke out at a local bar, leaving all victims in critical condition. One individual reportedly lost an arm, while another's tongue was severed and his face brutally disfigured. Police are unable to identify the attackers. No witnesses, no CCTV footage, no trace of who tore them apart like wild animals,” the anchor reported.

A gentle smile appeared on Rahman’s face.
He took a slow sip of his wine.
In his other hand, his phone screen was still lit—showing an old photograph of Jeaui holding Jehan in his arms.

Chapter Text

Xinlu was sitting near the swimming pool, quietly watching Yuri with unwavering eyes.
“Yuri, you should come out of the pool,” he said gently.

Yuri nodded with a soft smile and was about to step out.

From the first floor, Xinyu was watching them with a calm smile. He walked downstairs and took a seat across from Xinlu.

“You won again,” Xinlu said.

“Yes, Father.”

“Where’s your next competition? Did they reveal the place?”

“Yes, Father. I received a text just a few minutes ago.”

“Where?”

“Germany,” Xinyu replied.

Xinlu raised an eyebrow. “Where?”

“Germany, Father.”

Yuri, who was now standing beside Xinlu, placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Xinyu, do you want to go?” he asked softly.

“Yes, Father. I’ve worked hard for this competition. Why are you asking like that?”

“It’s nothing,” Yuri said. “It’s just too far. That’s why your father is worried, that’s all. If you want to go, then you should.”

“Okay, Father,” Xinyu nodded and walked back inside the mansion.

“I’ll contact my old colleagues,” Yuri said to Xinlu. “They’ll accompany him. So don’t worry.”

“Having a mature partner by your side is a blessing,” Xinlu replied, smiling faintly.
“But sometimes… it’s dangerous. You should stop reading my thoughts yuri."

Ilay and Taeui were on a video call.

[Taeui]

Yeah.

[Did Chris call you?]

Not yet. Why, what happened?

[Nothing. Richard called me with an invitation for his son’s birthday party... I forgot his name.]

Ciran

[Yeah]

You don’t want to go?

[It’s not that I don’t want to go, but...]

But what?

[I found a beautiful place, and I’m free for three days. Should we go there for vacation?]

Vacation? What about the party?

[Party?]

[Send Iltae. Tell him he’ll attend the gathering on behalf of his parents.]

Wait, let me take him on call.

Iltae, who was lying on the bed holding the cub’s tail in one hand while it roared nonstop—

Hyung, what the hell are you doing? Leave him alone.

Jehan picked the cub up

Hey Dads, how are you?

[How are you, my kitten?]

Perfectly fine. What about you?

[Me and your dad are going for vacation, so you’ll attend Ciran’s birthday party. Go to Tarten.]

"Dad, i don't want go there."

"Look at his attitude, just look at him ilay."

["Why not? You need to start attending gatherings on behalf of your parents. Kitten, i'm too busy."]

"Dad i'm not invited to Tarten. That freak Ciran said if i step into Tarten again, he'll fucking kill me."

["oh, don't worry i'm not invited either, Thanks to your lovely uncle Chris. Typical Tarten hospitality." ilay said]

Okay, Dad, I’ll go, don’t worry. But you’re going without me?

You’re not here, kid taeui said

I’ve got some instructions. Listen carefully.

Okay, Dad, I’m listening.

First, don’t run your mouth recklessly in front of elders.
Second, don’t call Ciran a freak or crazy.

But Dad, he is crazy.

[Yeah, just like Chris.]

Shut up. You don’t have any shame calling a kid like that ilay.
And iltae you. He’s younger than you.

He’s the one who always comes to me.

I don’t care. Don’t mess things up at the party.

Okay, Dads don't worry.

Bye dads.

Bye, kitten.

He hung up the call and threw the phone on the bed.

Midnight

Iltae and Jehan were sleeping peacefully.

Two cars stopped in front of the mansion.
The guards ran toward the main gate and opened it.

A man stepped out of the car, wearing a shawl draped over his shoulders.
He walked forward and entered the mansion.

He opened the door to a room.

Jeaui was standing near the window, quietly watching the moon.
Without turning around, he spoke.

"Welcome home, Rahman."

Rahman stepped closer, removed his shawl, and gently wrapped it around Jeaui.

“Can I hold you?”

Jeaui gave a light nod.

Rahman hugged him from behind, resting his face on Jeaui’s shoulder.

"Rahman," Jeaui whispered softly.

"Yes?"

"Our son is sleeping in his room."

"Yeah, I know."

"You should stop asking permission every time you want to hold me."
Jeaui placed his hand on Rahman’s cheek.

Rahman smiled softly.
“Sorry, Jeaui. I always forget... we have a son.”

“Then eat almonds every day,” Jeaui teased, smiling. “I’ve heard they’re good for memory.”

“I’ll eat almonds every day if you feed me,” jeaui.

Rahman cupped jeaui's face in both hands and placing a gentle forehead kiss on him.

“You should sleep now. It’s not good for your health.”

Jeaui nodded.

Chapter Text

In the morning, a servant knocked on the door.

Jehan opened it.
"What?"

"Young master, Mr. Rahman is calling you."

"Father? He’s back?"

"Yes, young master. He arrived at midnight while you were sleeping. He’s calling both of you."

"WTF!" Iltae shouted. "I didn’t do anything yet!"

"Let’s go, hyung."

"Don’t wanna."

Jehan grabbed his arm and started dragging him toward Rahman’s study.
"Jehan, I said I don’t want to go there! Leave me alone, brat!"

"Hyung, he’s calling you too. Let’s go together."

Iltae suddenly hugged a pillar with both arms.
"I’m not going. Leave me alone."

"Hyung, stop acting like a kid. You’re acting like he’ll eat you alive."

"And what will you do if he does eat me alive?"

"He’s not a cannibal like Uncle Ilay."

"What did you just say about my father, brat?!"

"Hyung, I heard he once threatened Uncle Taeui that he’d eat him alive."

"Who told you that?! Tell me his name! And stop pulling me—I’m not going!"

"I'm here because you told me uncle isn't home."

"I wasn’t lying! He came in the night, it’s not my fault!"

Suddenly, they heard someone cough behind them.

They turned their heads, immediately let go of each other, and stood straight like pillars.

"Good morning, Father."
"Good morning, Uncle Rahman."

"Good morning. What were you both doing?"

"Nothing, Father. We were just on our way to your study. You called us."

"I want to talk to you. Come."

"Yes, Father."

Jehan and Iltae followed Rahman into his study. Rahman sat in his chair and gestured for them to sit.

"Jehan."

"Yes, Father?"

"I just came back yesterday, and I received an invitation from Tarten. I want you to go with Iltae and attend the party."

"Will you go?"

"Yes, Father. I don’t have any problem."

"Good. I’ll prepare everything. You just need to be there."

Jehan and Iltae nodded and were about to leave the study when Rahman suddenly spoke.

"Jehan, take your cub with you. He’ll cause trouble for Jeaui."

"What?!" Iltae snapped.

“What? You have a problem with that cub or something?”

“No, no, Uncle,” Iltae quickly replied.

“Hyung doesn’t like my cub,” Jehan said, pouting. “He said he’s fat.”

“Fat? He’s just two months old, Iltae. If Jehan leaves him behind, he’ll cause trouble for others. Jeaui doesn’t know how to handle him.”

“Yes, Uncle,” Iltae muttered under his breath.

They stepped out of the study and headed toward the room. The cub was happily playing with a teddy bear when Jehan scooped him up and cuddled him close.

Iltae glanced at him sideways and mumbled, “Should I sell his cub… or hire someone to kidnap him?”
But then an image popped into his head:
Hyung, I lost my cub—WAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

Iltae groaned, shaking his head. "Damn it… I’m sure he'll cry like hell"

Xinyu was packing his luggage while his friend Tian Hao sat nearby, scrolling through social media.

"Bro, why do you look upset? You don't want to go for the competition?" Tian Hao asked, noticing his worried expression.

"No, it's not like that. I just feel like Father isn't happy."

"Uncle Xinlu? Why?"

"I don’t know… when I told him I’m going to Germany, his expression suddenly changed."

"Don’t overthink it. That’s just how possessive parents act. Your fathers are exactly like your grandfather—super protective."

Xinyu silently stared at his passport and muttered, "Yeah… I think he’s just worried."

Later, Yuri dropped Xinyu and Tian Hao off at the airport. Their flight took off soon after.

—

“Hyung, should I buy something for the young master as a birthday present?” Jehan asked.

“Uncle said he’ll prepare everything. We just have to leave,” Iltae replied.

“Yeah, but I want to get something from my side. You know him. Tell me—what does he like or dislike?”

“Umm... he likes books, horses, and he’s obsessed with accessories. He’s really into fashion.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Let’s buy him something ugly then—since he’s so ugly.”

“Ugly?”

“Yeah. He has a big nose, tiny green eyes, big ears—he looks like a dragon.”

“But hyung, dragons are cute.”

Iltae shot him a glare like he was one second away from punching him.

“Hyung, let’s go! Let’s buy something.”

“Fine, let’s go.”

Their car stopped in front of a jewelry shop.

“Hyung, I’m thinking of buying a bracelet or necklace. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Iltae replied with a bored tone.

“Excuse me, sir. Please show me some necklaces or bracelets.”

“Of course, sir. One moment.”

The shopkeeper showed them several items, but none caught Jehan’s eye.

“Show me more,” Jehan said.

“Brat, just pick something and let’s go. We’re getting late,” Iltae muttered.

“Wait, hyung! I’m confused… What if he doesn’t like it?”

“Why do you care so much? I told you—pick something ugly.”

Suddenly, Jehan spotted a bangle-style bracelet—green and translucent, with a beautiful, unique design.

“That one. Show me that one.”

The shopkeeper handed it to him, and a soft smile appeared on Jehan’s lips.

“Hyung, you said he has green eyes, right?”

“Yeah.”

“This one is perfect. I like it.”

“Pack this one,” Iltae told the shopkeeper.

Chapter Text

They stepped out of the shop and got into the car.

“Hyung, how old is he turning this birthday?”

“Umm… I think 16… No, wait—17?” Iltae started counting on his fingers while Jehan drove.

“He’s 15. I’m damn sure.”

“Fifteen?! Hyung, he’s so young.”

“I told you—he’s an ugly, crazy brat.”

Germany Airport—Xinyu’s flight had just landed.
Outside the terminal, two black cars were waiting.

A man approached him politely.
“Mr. Ling, your father sent me to pick you and your friend.”

Tian Hao squinted suspiciously.
“How do you know he’s Mr. Ling?”

The man took out his phone and showed them a message.
“Your father sent this.” A photo of Xinyu, sent by Yuri, was on the screen.

“This way, please,” the man said.

Xinyu simply nodded without a word.

“Where should I take you, Mr. Ling?” the driver asked as they got in the car.

But Xinyu didn’t answer—he was staring out the window, lost in thought.

“DresHan,” Tian Hao spoke up.
“Take us to DresHan.”

“Understood,” the driver nodded.

After some time, Xinyu glanced at his watch.
“Please drive faster.”

The driver nodded again and sped up.

“Germany is beautiful, ” Tian Hao asked with excitement.

“Yeah… it is.”

“I’ll explore around while you’re busy with the competition. But if you need anything, just call me—I’ll come running.”

“Yeah,” Xinyu replied softly, “I’ll call if I need anything.”

Suddenly, a car crashed into them head-on.

The impact was hard—Tian Hao instinctively shielded Xinyu with his arm.
Xinyu’s phone slipped from his hand and shattered on the car floor.

Xinyu stormed out of the vehicle, furious, and stared at the broken headlight.

The other driver ran over, panicked.
“I’m really sorry, sir! I lost control—please forgive me!”

Xinyu grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against his own car.
“Are you insane? You don’t know how to drive?!”

From the other car, a man lying down with a book covering his face. He casually removed the book and got out.

“Hyung, where are you going?”

“Wait, Jehan,” Iltae said calmly, “He looks arrogant. Let me handle it.”

Iltae walked over and grabbed Xinyu’s wrist—the one holding the driver’s collar.

“Let go,” he said.

Xinyu turned his piercing blue eyes, hidden behind sunglasses, toward Iltae.
Their eyes locked for a tense moment.

“I’ll pay,” Iltae said, keeping his voice level. “No need to create a scene. Just let him go.”

“Pay?” Xinyu’s voice dropped into a cold, sharp tone.
“You think money solves everything? First, apologize.”

He glanced down.
“let go of my hand.”

Iltae released him and pulled out a card from his pocket, handing it to him.

“Give this to the mechanic. He’ll fix everything.”

Xinyu took the card without even looking at it… then calmly tossed it onto the street.
He crushed it beneath his shoe.

“Apologize,” he repeated coldly, “and leave.”

“Apologizing isn’t my cup of tea,” Iltae said, voice cold. “If you don’t want money as compensation, then walk away.”

Xinyu clenched his fist—and threw a punch straight to Iltae’s face.

“Then take this. You clearly need it, bastard.”

Iltae stumbled slightly, then growled, grabbing Xinyu by the collar and yanking him close.

“How dare you—”

“How dare I ?” Xinyu snapped, eyes blazing. “How dare you.”

Their glares locked like fire and ice.

Tian Hao rushed out of the car.
“Xinyu! Are you okay?”

Xinyu’s driver also jumped out—pulling out a gun and pointing it straight at Iltae.

But Jehan was already standing beside his brother—his gun aimed directly at them in return.

“Well, this just got interesting,” Iltae muttered, not loosening his grip.

Xinyu didn’t flinch. He stared straight into Iltae’s eyes and said calmly,
“I’ll count to three. If he doesn’t let go of me—shoot him in the hand.”

“Yes, sir,” the driver responded without hesitation.

Tian Hao quickly stepped forward, trying to defuse the situation.
“Hey, calm down! Xinyu, don’t waste your time like this—we’re already late.”

He gently touched Iltae’s hand.
“Brother, let go. Please. You don’t want trouble either.”

“Hyung, let him go,” Jehan said. “We’re late too.”

Iltae and Xinyu remained locked in a stare, tension sharp as a blade.

“One.”
“Two.”
“Three.”

“Wait, wait!” Tian Hao shouted.

Iltae finally loosened his grip and shoved Xinyu back slightly.

The two of them stood silently for a second, their faces close, breathing hard, eyes burning with mutual disdain.

Then, without a word, they turned and walked to their respective cars—exchanging one last arrogant glance before slamming the doors behind them.

Chapter Text

Iltae and Jehan were lying in their room at the Tarten mansion.

"Jehan, I’m going to the library to grab a book. You want anything? Uncle Chris has a really unique collection—just like Uncle Kyle Uncle Jeaui."

“Really? Bring me a book about space, Hyung.”

“Okay, wait here. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

As soon as Iltae left the room, Jehan got up from the bed and opened his luggage, rummaging through it for something.

Ten minutes later, Iltae returned—only to scream at the top of his lungs the moment he opened the door.

Jehan screamed too—just because Iltae did.
“Oh my god, Hyung! What happened?! You scared me!”

Iltae stormed over and smacked Jehan on the back of the head.
“What the hell are you doing?! What is that on your face? It looks like cow dung!”

“It’s not cow dung, it’s a clay mask!” Jehan pouted. “Why would I put cow dung on my face?”

Jehan stepped closer with a grin. “Hyung, come on, let me apply it on you—it’s really good!”

You want me to put that crap on my face too?!”

Iltae backed up and jumped onto the bed.
“Brat, get lost! I’ll kick you! Where did you even get that thing? Don’t tell me that ugly brat gave it to you.”

“Who, Ciran?” Jehan blinked.
“Yeah! That crazy kid!”

“No, Hyung. I haven’t even seen him. He wasn’t there when Mr. Tarten welcomed us.”

“He wasn’t there because he’s probably hiding somewhere wearing the same ugly mask.”

Jehan giggled. “Hyung, I bought it in Korea! And it’s mine! Let me apply it—it’s really good!”

“You’re already handsome brat. Why are you acting like this?”

“I just want soft skin like my dad and Uncle Taeui. That’s why I apply this every day.”

Iltae held Jehan’s face between both hands and looked at him.
“My little brother... What kind of drugs are you secretly using, huh? Just tell me.”

“Hyung! I don’t take drugs!”

“Then why are you getting crazier day by day?! I swear, I’m taking you to the hospital soon if this keeps up.”

Jehan pouted again, and Iltae pointed at the bathroom.
“Now go take a shower and pick an outfit.”

“Okay, Hyung.”

"BUTLER!" he shouted.

The butler came rushing into the room.
"Young Master Ciran, what happened?"

"Who came into my room?! Who touched my things?! I can’t find anything!"

"Young Master, let me help you get dressed."

Ciran gave a small nod. His bed was covered in clothes—he couldn’t decide what to wear.

"Butler, which one should I wear? The black one or the red one?"

The butler picked up the red outfit and held it up in front of the mirror.

"No, no, not this one. It’s too bright!"

"What about the blue one, Young Master? Wait, let me show you—"

"No, not the blue either! I don’t like the design."

He grabbed his phone and made a call.

"Hello?
[Dad, where are you? Can you please come to my room?]
—'Okay, wait. I'm coming.'"

Just five minutes later, Richard entered the room.
"What happened, Ciran?"

"Dad, can you pick an outfit for me? I can’t decide what to wear."

"An outfit for you? Everything looks good on you, son," Richard smiled, looking through the clothes. He picked out a white outfit, then glanced between it and Ciran. "This one is perfect for you."

"Butler, take this and help him get dressed," Richard said, handing the outfit over. Then he picked up a pair of white gloves and added, "Wear these too."

"Okay, I’m going now."

Ciran nodded again, and the butler began helping him get dressed.

Chapter Text

Hyung, help me wear that brooch—it's so annoying."

"Come here, I’ll help. Look up."
Iltae adjusted the brooch carefully, then sighed.
"Jehan, you really should learn how to wear a brooch. What if no one’s around to help you?"

"Why are you saying that? At home, Dad always helps me. And you’re always by my side. So, I don’t need to learn."

Iltae gave him a small smile. "You’re twenty years old, brat."

"So what, Hyung? I don’t want to learn. Father always helps me get dressed—so I’m fine."

"Uncle Jeaui spoiled you way too much. He should’ve used his slipper like my dad."

"Hyung, you’re the one who deserves Uncle Taeui’s slipper. You never listen to him. I always listen to my father."

"Brat, shut your mouth."

Ciran stepped out of his room, his butler following close behind. He wore a white outfit adorned with delicate golden embroidery. His light blond hair, cut just to his neck, swayed gently as he walked. His sharp green eyes and long lashes caught the light, drawing quiet stares from everyone in the hall.

As he reached the final step, Richard and Chris appeared on either side of him.

Jehan caught sight of him—and couldn’t look away.

"Hyung… who is that?" he asked, almost breathless.

"It’s the birthday boy. That ugly, crazy brat I told you about," Iltae replied dryly.

Jehan kept staring. "Hyung… how is he so beautiful?"

Iltae turned his head, noticing the sparkle in Jehan’s eyes.

Richard gently took Ciran by the arm. "Come on, Ciran. Let me introduce you to our guests."

Jehan stepped forward, placed a hand over his chest, and bowed politely.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, young master Ciran."

Ciran blinked, caught off guard. He took a small step back.
"Dad, who is he?"

"He’s Jehan. You’ve heard of Mr. Rahman from Riyadh? He’s his son."

"Mr. Rahman…?" Ciran echoed, confused.

"You should really pay attention when we have guests. You always run off somewhere the moment anyone arrives" Richard sighed. "Now greet him back."

"Oh—sorry, Dad."
Ciran gave a small bow. "Nice to meet you, Jehan. I mean… young master Jehan. Sorry, i was just startled."

"It’s alright, young master. It's our first meeting i understand. And just call me Jehan," he replied calmly.

The hall was crowded and lively when suddenly Chris rushed over, grabbed Richard's arm, and started dragging him away.

"Richard i need your help!"

"Chris what happened?"

"Just come and look at this gift list. i'm so confused!"

"Alright stop dragging me chris" Richard said with smile.

Jehan and Ciran were now standing face to face.

Suddenly, some children who were running around accidentally bumped into Ciran from behind. He stumbled forward and landed against Jehan, both hands pressed to jehan's chest. He looked up green eyes wide, lashes fluttering and for a moment, neither spoke.

Jehan's hands hovered in the air. He hadn't touched him.

"I—I'm sorry," Ciran muttered quickly.

"It’s ok —" Jehan started, but before he could finish, the same group of kids crashed past again. The pressure knocked Ciran forward again—and this time, Jehan was pushed back from the force of it. He was about to fall but he suddenly felt a steady support behind him. It was iltae, standing there with his back pressed against jehan's, calmly smoking his cigarette.

"Hyung......."

"Don't worry, lil' bro," Iltae’s voice came from behind, low and calm. "I won’t let you fall."

Ciran gently pushed Jehan, but in the process, his necklace got caught in Jehan’s brooch. The brooch was designed with two layers of pearl garlands.

“Wait, young master—don’t pull it. It’ll hurt your neck,” Jehan said softly.

But before he could help, the necklace unclasped. It opened to reveal two photos—Richard and Chris, Ciran’s parents.

As Ciran held Jehan’s brooch to untangle it, the brooch suddenly broke, scattering pearls across the floor. Still holding the broken brooch in his hand, Ciran ran out of the hall.

Outside, he leaned against a wall, trying to separate his necklace from the broken brooch.

“Damn it. What a bad day… why always me?” he muttered, visibly irritated.

At last, the necklace separated. He shoved the brooch into his pocket and turned to leave, but stopped when he heard a familiar name being mentioned. He stepped back quietly.

On the other side of the wall, some servants were seated, gossiping. Their voices were hushed, but not enough to go unheard.

They were talking about Chris.

Ciran stood still, hidden in the dim light—unseen. Then, without warning, he kicked a servant’s chair from behind.

“Who the hell—?!” the servant shouted.

Ciran stepped forward, removing his belt. “Ciran. Ciran Tarten. The son of the man you’re badmouthing.”

“Young master—!” the servant gasped.

Without another word, Ciran struck him with the belt, then grabbed another servant and threw him to the ground, punching him again and again.

“You eat here. You live here. My fathers are the ones who feed you. And this is how you repay them? Ungrateful bastards!”

Chapter Text

Young master Ciran!” Jehan’s voice came from behind.

Ciran looked back but didn’t stop. “Just a second. Let me deal with these idiots first.”

He landed another punch on the servant’s face.

Jehan quickly stepped forward and grabbed Ciran’s hand. “Young master, you’ll ruin your outfit like this. Leave them.”

Ciran looked down at his white clothes, took a breath, and stepped back. “Yeah, you’re right. These bastards already ruined my mood.”

“Guards! Come here!”

Two guards ran in from the hallway—they had been watching the mansion’s cameras.

“Yes, young master!”

“Throw them out of the mansion before I kill those motherfuckers.”

“Yes, young master.”

One of the beaten servants, lying on the ground, reached up and grabbed the hem of Ciran’s shoe. “Young master, please forgive me! It won’t happen again—!”

Jehan stepped forward and pressed his foot down on the servant’s hand. “You don’t even deserve to touch his shoes.”

“Aaahhh—! Young master, please—!”

“Throw them out. Now,” Ciran said coldly.

“Understood, young master.”

They were walking side by side, talking as they went.

"I'm sorry I broke your brooch," Ciran said, handing it back to Jehan.

"It's alright, young master. I have plenty of brooches," Jehan replied with a soft smile.

Iltae, who was sitting on a nearby bench watching them.

"Hyung, what are you doing here?"

"I was looking for you. You disappeared suddenly." Iltae took the brooch from Jehan's hand and frowned. "Who broke this? I fixed it so carefully on your coat."

Then he glared at Ciran. "Didn't I tell you to stay away from this crazy, ugly brat?"

Ciran stepped forward, grabbed Iltae’s hair, and yanked it. "You pig! Repeat what you just said!"

"Aaah! You crazy bastard! Let go of my hair!" Iltae shouted, trying to pull back.

"I warned you last time not to come to my mansion, didn't I?!"

Now Iltae grabbed Ciran’s hair too.

"Hyung, stop!" Jehan ran up, panicked. "What are you doing?! It’s his birthday today!"

"So what? Are you on his side or mine?!" Iltae shouted, his grip tightening.

Ciran grabbed more of Iltae’s hair with his other hand. "Bastard! Who invited you?! It’s my birthday — why are you here without my permission?!"

"Uncle Richard invited me, you freak- let go of my hair!"
"You let go of mine first, you pig!"

Jehan was frozen. He didn’t know whose hand to hold first.

"Hyung, stop! You can't pull his beautiful hair like that!"

"Brat, mine is beautiful too! And he's the one who attacked me first!" Iltae yelled. "Hold him! Help me, Jehan! It hurts — he’s yanking my hair out!"

"Hyung, I can’t hold him — let me grab you!" Jehan pleaded.

"Shut up, brat! He won't get pregnant just because you touch him! Grab him!"

"You motherf***er pig!" Ciran screamed. "What kind of filthy language are you using in front of my guests?! I’ll celebrate your funeral instead of my birthday!"

He jumped on Iltae, tugging his hair with everything he had.

Iltae screamed in pain. "You bastard, Ciran! That hurts!" He reached up and yanked Ciran’s hair even harder.

Jehan ran left and right between them, not knowing who to help first. "Hyung, stop! He’s younger than you!" But neither of them was letting go.

"Young master, sorry — but I have to hold you now!" Jehan said, grabbing Ciran by the waist with one arm, and trying to pry his hands loose with the other. "Young master, let go, please!"

Finally, Jehan managed to pull them apart — but not before Ciran landed a straight kick to Iltae’s face.

Now hanging in Jehan’s arms, head down, Ciran still glared with fire.

Iltae smacked his head in return. "You freak! Bastard! Why are you such a damn freak?!"

“He ruined my hairstyle! Bastard! I’ll f***ing kill you!” Ciran shouted, brushing back his hair. “First those idiots, and now this bastard—why does everyone try to ruin my birthday?”
His voice cracked. He looked like he was about to cry.

“Oh, young master, please don’t cry!” Jehan said quickly, panicking. “I’ll fix your hair, please don’t cry.”
Then he turned to Iltae and added, “Hyung… this is too much.”

Just then, they heard footsteps — servants were searching nearby. Two of them were heading in their direction.

Ciran instantly grabbed Jehan’s suit and hid behind him, pressing close to his back and clutching his coat tightly.
Jehan froze, his heart racing wildly.

“Please… tell them I’m not here,” Ciran whispered.

“Young masters,” one of the servants called, “have you seen young master Ciran? His father is looking for him.”

“Yes, I saw him,” Iltae said casually.
Jehan felt Ciran bury his face deeper into his back at those words.

“Where? Where did he go?” the servants asked.

“The forest,” Iltae replied. “He ran toward the forest.”

“The forest? At this hour?” one of them asked.

“Yeah, because he’s crazy. Didn’t you know?”
The servants exchanged a quick look and hurried off toward the trees.

Jehan glanced back and said softly, “Young master, you can come out now. They’re gone. Sit down — I’ll fix your hair.”

Ciran gave a silent nod.

“You have a rubber band?” Jehan asked.

“Yes,” Ciran replied, pulling one from his pocket. “I always keep one.”

Jehan took it and gently ran his fingers through Ciran’s hair. Ciran clenched his hands.

“I’ll make a half-bun,” Jehan said. “It suits you.”

Ciran nodded again without saying a word.

While tying his hair, Jehan asked, “By the way, young master, you look older than your age. I mean, you turned 15 today, right? But you’re taller than most 15-year-olds.”

Ciran paused, then slowly looked up at him. “Who the hell told you I’m 15?”

“Hyung said that,” Jehan blinked. “I asked him, and he counted your age on his fingers and said you're 15.”

Ciran shot Iltae a deadly glare. “You pig—I’m 19! Nineteen, you f***ing bastard! I’m turning nineteen today!”

“Really? So you’re not a minor?” Jehan asked in surprise.

“I’m a f***ing adult!” Ciran shouted.

“Brat, I’m the adult here,” Iltae snapped.

“Shut up, pig! I’m an adult too. I'll drinking wine today!”

Jehan smiled and took out his brooch from his pocket. He gently fixed it onto Ciran’s freshly styled bun. A few delicate bangs fell to the sides, framing his face.

“Perfect, young master. You look… beautiful.”

“Ugly brat,” Iltae muttered, folding his arms. “You actually look good today.”

“Let’s go inside, Dad is looking for me.”
“Yeah, let’s go, hyung.”

They entered the hall. Chris was still looking around, searching for Ciran.
Then, his eyes landed on him as Ciran stepped into the hall. Chris rushed toward him.

“Ciran! Where the hell did you disappear to? Richard went outside looking for you—he searched everywhere!”

“Sorry, Dad. I just stepped out for some fresh air… it’s too crowded in here.”

Chris sighed, pulling his phone from his pocket.
“Let me call him and tell him you’re back.”
He walked out while dialing the number.

“Let’s sit over there, young master,” Jehan said.
Ciran glanced at him and replied, “Call me Ciran. It sounds weird when you say ‘young master.’ Or should I start calling you that too?”

“Oh, no no—call me Jehan, Ciran.”
Ciran nodded. “That’s better.”

“Hyung, let’s go.”
Iltae threw his arm over Jehan’s shoulder and they sat at a nearby table. Ciran picked up the menu and started browsing through it.

Without looking up, he asked, “Jehan, what do you want to eat?”

“I can eat anything,” Jehan said, resting his chin on his hand, eyes on Ciran.

“Anything?”
“Yeah, I’m not a picky eater.”

“Salad?”
“Yes, Ciran.”

" Schnitzel?”
“Yes, Ciran.”
“Black forest cake? I love this. What about you, Jehan?”

“Yes, Ciran. I’m okay with everything.”

Ciran handed the menu to Iltae.
“Order for yourself. You’ve got weird taste because you’re a pig.”

“By the way, pig,” he added, “I heard you’re a genius at math?”

“Yes, I am. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Then how the hell did you calculate my age and tell him I’m fifteen?”

Iltae gave Ciran an annoyed look.
“Look, ugly brat—when Father said there is a gathering at the Tarten mansion, that’s when I remembered you existed here.”

Ciran kicked Iltae’s chair, sending him falling to the floor. Iltae didn’t bother to get up.

“Hyung! Let me help you. Are you okay?” Jehan rushed toward him.

“Why would you help me?” Iltae muttered. “Just look at your prince charming.”

He stayed on the floor.
A shadow appeared above him—it was Richard.

"What the hell are you doing on the floor?”

Uncle, your son kicked me."

“Why am I the eldest one? Why are both these brats around me?” he muttered

“Ciran.” Richard looked at him.

Ciran turned away. “Dad, it’s not my fault. He was spreading rumors about me.”

“Uncle Richard,” Iltae said with a sigh, “I have a question.

"What is this now,"

Why am I the eldest one ?”

“Because you were born first,” Richard replied, pulling the chair upright.

But you and Uncle Chirs got married first, so why is your product younger than me and jehan?

shut up, iltae. Behave yourself in front of the guests. Ciran you too.

"Dad, if he opens his mouth, i'll beat him again."

Chapter Text

Tian Hao was sitting poolside while Xinyu swam in the water.
Xinyu flipped his wet hair back and ran his fingers through it.

“Wow, what a stunning pose,” Tian Hao said, snapping a picture on his phone.
“Stop taking pictures, Tian Hao.”

“Bro, your fans will die. I haven’t posted anything on your page in ages!”

Xinyu stepped out of the pool, picked up a towel, and began drying his hair.
He slipped into a bathrobe and grabbed a glass of his drink.

Just then, a man approached—it was the driver who had picked them up from the airport.
“Mr. Ling, do you need anything?” the man asked politely.

Xinyu shook his head without speaking.

“Alright, call me if you need anything.”
The man turned to leave, but Xinyu suddenly stopped him.

“Wait.”

“Yes, Mr. Ling?”

“You’re my father’s friend, right?”

“Yes. Your father and I used to work together.”

“Work?”

“Yes. Your father was a brilliant agent… or rather, a spy. He worked for the NIS during his younger years.”

“What?” Xinyu asked in shock, and even Tian Hao stood up from surprise.

“He didn’t tell you?”

“No. I never asked. If I did, he probably would have told me.”

“Mr… did my father ever come to Germany before? I mean Father Xinlu?”

“Yes, Mr. Ling. In fact… both your fathers met each other in Germany.”

Xinyu stared at him, speechless.

“Wow… how romantic,” Tian Hao whispered, placing a hand on Xinyu’s shoulder.

A soft smile appeared on Xinyu’s face.
“You can go. I’ll call you if I need anything,” he said calmly.

The man nodded and walked away.

Xinyu's laptop started ringing. He glanced at the screen.

Tian Hao leaned forward and said, "It's Uncle Xinlu."

Xinyu nodded, walked over, and sat at the table, then answered the video call.

"Hello, Father."

[Hey son, you arrived safely, right?]
Xinlu was lying down with his head resting on Yuri's lap.

"Yes, Father. I arrived safely, and Father's friend picked me up from the airport. What are you both doing?"

[Yuri is giving me a head massage.]

"Are you feeling unwell."

[No Xinyu, Xinlu is fine,] Yuri said with a bright smile.
[Yeah, I’m fine. I’m taking advantage of your absence.]

A smile appeared on Xinyu’s face. "Father, you're too romantic."

[Yes, son I’m so romantic for Yuri, but Yuri still treats me like a kid. How sad.]

[I have two kids to handle, and you're more than Xinyu. Xinyu is more mature than you,] Yuri said while giving him a massage.

Xinyu laughed. "Father, you're so funny."

[Son, sleep tight and wake up with a fresh mood. Best of luck for your competition. Good night, Xinyu.]

"Good night, Fathers," Xinyu said with a bright smile. He stood up and walked toward the railing, enjoying the view while sipping his drink.

"Your fathers are so romantic," Tian Hao said.

Xinyu nodded without speaking, then looked at Tian Hao. "What about your parents?"

"Mine? Ummm... they usually fight."

"Fight? Why?" Xinyu asked.

"I don't know. It's their daily routine, so I never pay attention to them."

"They're married and they have you. Why would they fight in front of you?"

Tian Hao shrugged. "I don’t know. What about your parents? Don’t they fight?"

"Fight?" Xinyu shook his head, then smiled. "Father Xinlu is too chaotic. Father Yuri was right, what he said just now—I agree with him."

"Really? They never fight? I mean, you never saw them fighting with each other?"

Xinyu shook his head. "No, they just argue like kids. When Father loses the argument, he has only one line: 'Yuri, you have no shame. I'm younger than you.'"

Xinyu laughed, and Tian Hao laughed with him.

"How much age gap do they have?" Tian Hao asked while drinking his beer.

"I don’t know."

"You don’t know?"

Xinyu shook his head again. "I never asked. They love each other. They’re happy. I’m happy with them. They gave me everything, so that’s enough for me."

"Yeah, you’re right. Happiness is most important," Tian Hao said, smiling at him.

Jehan pulled out a gift box and handed it to Ciran.
“Ciran, this is for you.”

Ciran took it with a smile. “Thanks, Jehan.”
“Open it,”

“Here? Now?”
“Yes, Ciran. I want to see if it fits you or not. Then I’ll change it. It’s my first time buying a gift for someone.”

Ciran nodded and opened the box.
His eyes widened at the sight of the bracelet.
“It’s so beautiful, Jehan.”

“Try it on—see if it fits. If it doesn’t, I’ll exchange it.”
“No, it fits. Look!” Ciran showed him his wrist.

Jehan stared at him—his green eyes and that matching green bracelet. It looked perfect on him. He couldn’t take his eyes off him.

“By the way, pig,” Ciran suddenly said, “I need some books. If Uncle has them, send them to me. I can’t find them anywhere.”

“If I find them, I won’t send them to you, ugly brat. Go find them yourself.”

“Ciran, if you don’t mind… can I take a look?” Jehan asked politely.

“Oh, sure. Why not.” Ciran handed over his phone.

Jehan took photos of the book covers.
“I’ll check in my dad’s library and send them to you.”

“Really? Your father also reads books?” Ciran asked, surprised.

“No one can beat Uncle Jeaui’s collection and his reading speed.”

“Uncle Jeaui?”

“Wait, I remember something—did you ever hear about Mr. Jeong Jeaui? I heard he disappeared with his twin brother, and no one’s seen him in ages.”

Iltae slapped the back of his head.
“Brat, that’s why I keep saying you need therapy.”

“What the hell?! You’re hitting me on my birthday? You mannerless pig!”

“Mr. Jeong Jeaui is Jehan’s father.”

“What?!” Ciran almost choked on his drink.

“You’re that dumb? Teaui and Jeaui—they’re twins. Me and Jehan are cousins. Jeong Teaui and Jeong Jeaui are brothers. Did you get it now?”

“Woah… he’s Mr. Jeong Jeaui’s son?”

“By the way, where did you hear that conversation?” Iltae asked while eating. “Don’t tell me you were eavesdropping on the elders.”

Ciran turned his head.
“That wasn’t eavesdropping. They were talking out loud. They only said the twins disappeared, and no one’s seen them since.”

“That’s because our fathers are always home,” Jehan said. “Busy in their married life.”

“My father rarely goes out with me or Father. I think that’s why they say things like that.”

“Same here,” Iltae added. “Dad said if dad Teaui wants to go out, he’ll go with him.”

“Then why did those idiots say they disappeared? They could’ve just said the twins are busy in their lives,” Ciran added

Chapter Text

Both Jehan and Iltae shrugged together.

“By the way, what about Uncle Chris?” Jehan asked Ciran, curious.

“Dad can go out,” Ciran replied. “He takes me to the market, to ice cream shops. And he often attends meetings with Dad. But he mostly spends time in the library Dad Richard gifted him.”

“So… he can’t go alone iltae added. Did you ever see him go anywhere without Uncle Richard, or without you or a bodyguard?”

Ciran thought for a moment and shook his head.

“That means our fathers are best friends and have the same mindset,” Iltae said.

“It’s weird, pig. Sometimes it gives me a headache. At least you run away and enjoy for a moment.”

“Enjoy?” Iltae looked at him with side-eyes.

“Last time, Hyung got beaten by Uncle Taeui with his slipper. I was there when he came back, and Uncle Taeui was waiting at the gate with it.”

“Shut up, Jehan!” Iltae kicked him under the table.

“Damn it, I missed it. I wanted to see it too. Uncle Taeui is so cute. Jehan, your father looks exactly like Uncle Taeui.”

Jehan nodded with a smile.

“It’s interesting. I wanna see him too,” Ciran said.

“You’re welcome to my villa anytime,” Jehan offered.

“I’ll come to your mansion one day,” Ciran said, sipping his wine.

Meanwhile, across the hall...

Richard was approached by a man.
“Mr. Richard,” the man said as he neared.

Richard turned to him. “Oh, Mr. CEO. Welcome. You’re late.”

“Sorry, something came up.”

“It’s alright. Have a seat.”
The man sat down and began talking to the man sitting besides him.

Then, his eyes landed on a table across the hall where Ciran, Iltae, and Jehan were sitting.

“Who are those young men?” he asked the man beside him.

The man looked over.
“Oh, the blond one is the birthday boy.”

“He’s pretty. Just like Chris,” the CEO said.
The man nodded in agreement.

“What about the other two?”

“Those two… I don’t know.”

“I see. Is Tarten’s young master an omega?” the CEO asked again.

The man shook his head.
“I don’t know. Most powerful families don’t reveal their children’s secondary gender—for safety reasons.”

“Oh, I see…”

“Mr. Richard, introduce me to your son,” the CEO said with a smile.

“Sure, why not—” Richard turned his head toward Ciran, who was sitting with his friends. “Ah, he’s eating right now. Let them finish their meal.”

“Of course, Mr. Richard. By the way, who are those young men sitting with your son?”

“Oh, that grey-haired boy is Iltae Riegrow—Ilay’s son.”

“Ilay?”

“Rick Riegrow. Second son of reigrow family.”

“Oh, I get it. I get it now.”

“And that black-haired boy—he’s Mr. Rahman’s son.”

“Ah, both of them are so good-looking. Just like their fathers.”

“Yeah, Iltae looks exactly like Ilay.”

“I’ll take my leave, Mr. CEO. I have some work to finish.”

“Sure, Mr. Richard. Take your time.”

A few moments later, across the dad—

“Dad,” Ciran called softly. Chris turned and walked toward him.

He leaned closer to hear him.

“What happened, Ciran?” Chris asked.

“Dad… can I go to my room? I’m tired.”

“Oh, okay. You can go. I’ll inform Richard.”

“Thanks. Excuse me, Jehan. I’ll take my leave. I’ll meet you in the morning.”

“Okay, Ciran. No problem.”

" Hyung let's go outside "

Ciran walked upstairs, entered his room, and took off his overcoat, tossing it onto the bed.

Ciran’s butler followed quietly behind as Ciran stepped out onto the balcony. He stood still, gazing down at the garden below, where Iltae and Jehan were sitting together on a bench.

“Butler.”

“Yes, young master?”

“How old are you?”

“Fifty, young master.”

“Then… you knew about Mr. Jeong Jeaui and Uncle Taeui—that they’re twins?”

“Yes, young master.”

“Then why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“You never asked, young master.”

Ciran let out a deep sigh, his green eyes still watching the two boys below.

“I still can’t believe it… I just had dinner with the sons of the famous twins. And Mr. Jeong Jeaui’s son gave me a gift…”

He paused for a second and then turned toward the butler again. “I want to see him… Is there any photo of Mr. Jeaui online?”

The butler shook his head. “You won’t find any pictures of Mr. Jeaui or Mr. Taeui on social media, young master.”

“How’s that even possible?” Ciran frowned, pulling out his tablet. “Let me check…”

He tapped quickly and muttered to himself, “Umm… what should I search…” He typed in “Mr. Rahman” and several images appeared.

He leaned closer to the butler and pointed at the screen. “Which one is Mr. Rahman?”

“That one, young master.” The butler pointed with a finger.

In the photo, Rahman stood out—dressed in a long black outfit with a shawl draped over his shoulders. His dark hair reached his neck, tied partially into a half-bun.

Just like the bun Jehan had made for Ciran.

Ciran kept scrolling, but there were no photos of Jeaui or Jehan.

He searched again—Reigrow Family. Several pictures came up of Kyle and Ilay, but not a single photo of Taeui or Iltae.

He tried again—Tarten Family. Dozens of pictures appeared of Richard and other family members. He scrolled further and found only two rare photos of Chris, both beside Richard.

Ciran let out a heavy sigh and threw the tablet onto the bed.

“They’re so over protective… something feels off, Butler.”

“No need to overthink it, young master. It’s for their safety. Mr Rahman and Mr.riegrow fell in love with the twins at first sight. They both cherished them like treasures."

“Safety"

“Yes, Young Master."

“I’ve also heard they’re really lucky.”

“Yes, young master.”

“Mr. Taeui’s condition wasn’t good during pregnancy. Mr. Reigrow took him to the U.S. for treatment and stayed there until Iltae was born—a perfectly healthy child.

Three years later, Mr. Jeaui’s condition was even worse than Mr. Taeui’s, yet he still managed to give birth to a healthy baby. But his body never fully recovered.”

“Twins gave birth to two enigmas,” the butler added.

“What? Jehan is an enigma too?”

The butler nodded.

“They love each other so much… how cute,” Ciran said, smiling to himself. “Butler, my dad too, right? He also loves Dad Chris? I… I heard that Dad Richard was…”

Ciran paused, his voice lowering. He turned his head slightly toward the butler.

The butler looked at him and smiled gently. “Yes, young master. They love each other very much.”

As soon as Ciran turned away, that smile faded from the butler’s face. A sound echoed faintly in his ears—a memory from the past.

Flashback

"Chris, where are you going?"

"Move, Richard. I don’t want to live here anymore."

"You can’t go, Chris. Unpack your luggage."

Richard held Chris’s face gently in both hands. “You’ll stay here the rest of your life. We’ll die together. So stop thinking about running away.”

Then Richard walked out and locked the door from the outside.

"Richard! Open the door!"

"Richard, let me go!"

"Richard, you bastard—open it!!"

Just then, Richard's phone started ringing.

"Richard… Richard! Let me go! Open the door, Richard, you bastard! Open the damn door!"

Outside, Richard answered the call. "Yeah… I’m at the mansion."

A few minutes later, several black cars pulled up in front of the Tarten mansion.

A man stepped out of one. His gloves were stained with blood, a gun in his hand. He walked straight up to Richard and stopped in front of him.

"Where’s Chris?" "He helped Tae run away, Richard."

"Rick, he’s in his room. He didn’t do anything."

"Are you sure?"

"I’m sure."

"Fine. Hurry up—I’m not in the mood to wait."

Richard immediately contacted NIS, sent them Tae’s photo, and gave the order: "Find him."

Not long after, five more cars stopped at the Tarten gates. A group of men entered without a word, led by someone with an icy aura.

"Mr. Richard," a voice called from behind.

Richard turned.

Ilay turned too and narrowed his eyes.

"Ah… Rahman, you bastard," Ilay hissed, stepping forward and punching him in the face.

Rahman didn’t flinch. He hit him back just as hard.

"Riegrow," Rahman growled. "Where’s Jeaui? I’ll ask only once."

"Jeaui? Why would I know anything about him?" Ilay snapped.

Rahman didn’t reply. Instead, he held out a phone. It was Jeaui’s. The last call on the screen was from Tae.

Ilay snatched the phone, scanned the log, and muttered, "So it was Jeaui… that bastard."

"Watch your mouth," Rahman snapped. "It wasn’t Jeaui—it was Taeui. And now tell me where he is. He brainwashed Jeaui again, didn’t he?"

"I don’t know where he is! I’ve been looking for him myself—he tricked me and ran away!"

"Taeui tricked you?" Richard said, wide-eyed in shock. "I thought he said he… liked you."

"He said he loved me," Ilay growled. "I believed him. I was so happy, I left for a short while. When I returned… he was gone."

"And before he left, he called Jeaui," Rahman said, voice cold."

Suddenly, a sound echoed from the second floor—furious banging.

"Richard, open the door!" Chris was shouting. "Open the door, you motherfucker! I’ll kill you!"

Ilay looked up toward the sound, his expression dark. "Lock him up. until we find them."

Richard called the butler, whispered something in his ear, and watched as the others climbed back into their cars and drove off into the night.

Taeui and Jeaui arrived at the airport, but the entire area was flooded with bodyguards. They had blocked every exit.

Taeui quickly grabbed Jeaui’s hand. “Hyung, run!”

They dashed through the crowd and jumped into their car. Taeui started the engine, breathing heavily.

“Hyung, I want to go home… to Korea,” he said, his voice trembling.

Jeaui glanced at him, then looked away. “Taeui… we can’t. It’s too late.”

“No!” Taeui shouted and slammed his foot on the accelerator. “We will go, no matter what!”

The car sped forward like a bullet, but within minutes, several black vehicles started chasing them.

Their bodyguards on the phone spoke urgently, “Mr. Reigrow, Mr. Rahman we’ve found them. Their car is right in front of us.”

Ilay, Rahman, and Richard—each in separate cars—stepped on the gas, speeding through a shortcut. They reached just ahead of Taeui’s car and blocked the road.

Taeui hit the brakes hard. The tires screeched, and the car came to a sudden stop.

Ilay and Rahman got out of their car. Ilay walked straight toward Taeui’s car.

“Taeui,” Ilay said calmly, “Let’s go home. Get out of the car.”

But Taeui stayed still. His hands were trembling on the steering wheel.

Ilay’s voice turned colder. “Don’t test my patience. I’m not angry. Just come out. Let’s go home.”

Taeui finally looked up. “I want to go home—my home. Korea.”

Ilay stepped closer with every word, his voice firm. “Berlin is your home now. Not Korea. Come out.”

Taeui held Jeaui’s hand tightly, refusing to let go.

Ilay opened the car door and reached inside. “Let’s go, Taeui,” he said, grabbing his arm and pulling him out of the car.

Jeaui opened his own door and stepped out, standing directly in front of Rahman. His voice was steady but sharp.
“You won’t stop me from meeting Taeui.”

“I agree,” Rahman replied calmly.

“He can come to me whenever he wants.”

“Agreed.”

“I can go to him whenever I want.”

"Agreed."

Rahman extended his hand toward Jeaui. “Then let’s go home, Jeaui.”

Jeaui hesitated for a moment, looking at Taeui. Then slowly, he placed his hand into Rahman’s.

“No! Hyung, wait—!” Taeui cried out, trying to reach him. “Let me go, Ilay! Don’t take him, please! Hyung, don’t go with him!”

Ilay tightened his grip on Taeui as he struggled. “Don’t take him, you bastard!” Taeui shouted.

Ilay gently placed his finger on Taeui’s lips. “Shhh… You can see him whenever you want. But for now—”

And before Taeui could say another word, Ilay knocked him out with a swift motion, caught his unconscious body in his arms, and carried him back to the car.

He glanced at Rahman and Jeaui one last time, then got into the car and drove away, holding Taeui close.

Flashback end

The butler blinked, returning to the present. “Don’t listen to rumors, young master. They’re often false. Your fathers love each other—that’s why you’re standing here in front of me.

Chapter Text

"Jehan, Iltae—and my parents... was their marriage arranged or love, Butler?" Ciran asked quietly, his eyes still fixed on the garden below.

"Both, young master," the butler replied with a soft tone.

A bright smile appeared on Ciran’s face as he muttered under his breath,
"I’m glad… not a business marriage like the other families.

Ciran turned his head and smiled softly.

"Good night, young master. You should sleep now."

In the morning, Jehan was standing on the balcony, watching quietly as Ciran played with his horse in the garden.
His eyes followed him with soft affection.

Richard was sitting at the garden table, sipping his coffee while scanning some papers.

Ciran looked up and called out,
“Jehan! Want to go horse riding with me?”

“Me?” Jehan blinked in surprise.
“Yes, I’m asking you.”

Richard glanced at Ciran with a smile, then went back to his papers.

Jehan nodded eagerly. “Oh—yes, why not! I’m coming. Wait!”

Iltae also stepped out onto the balcony and placed a hand on Jehan’s head.
“Ugly brat, I’ll join too.”
“Get lost, pig,” Jehan grumbled.

Both of them came down and headed toward the stables.

“Pick any horse you like,” Ciran said.

Jehan and Iltae each chose a horse and climbed onto their saddles.

“Let’s go! I’ll show you my forest.”

“Hua!” they shouted, and the horses broke into a run.

Ciran was ahead of them, riding at full speed. He looked back with a bright smile, his blond hair flowing behind him with his coat.

“Come on! Hurry up or I’ll win!” he laughed.

“Hyung, he’s really good at horse riding,” Jehan said in awe.
“Yeah,” Iltae muttered, “he’s obsessed with horses and the forest… that freak.”

Both of them leaned forward and urged their horses to go faster, trying to catch up with Ciran.

Ciran stopped his horse and got down.
“Wait, I’ll show you something,” he said.

He walked toward a tree, reached into a hollow in the trunk, and gently pulled out a baby rabbit. Holding it close, he rubbed his nose softly against its fur.

“Let me touch! Let me touch! I wanna touch him!” Jehan said, his face lighting up with excitement.

Iltae watched them with a bored expression. Suddenly, something came to his mind—the cat. He stepped forward and asked,
“Jehan, that cat… did anyone respond?”
“No, hyung, not yet,” Jehan replied, still focused on the bunny.
“Hyung, look! He’s so small and cute!”

Iltae reached out and lightly touched the bunny with one finger.

Ciran carefully returned the bunny to its little nest and placed some food inside.

Then, he scattered cereal around the area. Within moments, a group of white pigeons and colorful parrots gathered around, pecking at the food.

“Woah… so beautiful,” Jehan whispered.
“They’re your pets?” he asked, turning to Ciran.

“No,” Ciran shook his head with a soft smile, “they’re not my pets. They’re free. They can leave whenever they want.
I hate when people trap birds in cages.”

He looked at Jehan. “What do you think? Do you like birds?”

“Birds?” Jehan blinked. “I never really thought about them… but I have a cub, and he’s so cute. And you’re right—keeping birds in cages isn’t fair. They have wings so they can fly. They’re meant to be free.”

Iltae reached out and tried to catch a pigeon—but it flew away the moment his hand got close.

Ciran chuckled, picked up a pigeon gently, and handed it to him.
“They’re not familiar with you, pig. That’s why they’re acting like this.”

Suddenly, a loud thunder cracked through the sky, and rain began to pour heavily.

“Damn it, I hate rain,” Iltae muttered, quickly running to hide under a nearby tree.

Ciran tilted his head back, looking up at the dark clouds with a soft smile.
“What a beautiful weather,” he whispered. Then, without hesitation, he climbed back onto his horse.
“I’m going for a ride. You two can return to the mansion—I’ll meet you there.”

“In this weather? You still want to go riding?” Jehan asked, surprised.

“Yes,” Ciran replied, gripping the reins tightly. “I love cloudy weather.”

“I’ll join you… if you don’t mind,” Jehan said, seeking his permission.

“Of course not. Come.” Ciran gave him a small smile and tugged his reins.
“Hyaah!” he called out, and his horse took off, running through the rain like a storm cutting through the clouds.

Chris was standing at the window in his library, dialing a number on his phone.

"Hello?"

[Yeah?]

"Richard, call Ciran back. It's raining heavily."

Richard, who was standing outside, looked up. They could see each other clearly through the window.

[Let him enjoy it. He likes cloudy weather.]

"He catches colds easily."

[Don't worry. He's fine.]

"Okay then, I'm hanging up—"

[Wait.]

"What?"

[Chris, wanna go with me for a ride?]

"In the rain?"

[Yeah.]

Chris let out a deep sigh. "Fine. I'm coming."

Richard whistled, and two horses came trotting out from the stable—one black, one white.

Chapter Text

Xinyu arrived at the competition venue. As soon as his car stopped, it was surrounded by fans screaming his name nonstop.

He wore his glasses and a mask before stepping out.

His fans screamed louder —
Kyaaaaaaa Xinyu!
Look, he’s so beautiful!

Tian Hao quickly guided him inside toward the changing room.

After a few minutes, his opponent arrived too —
Lukas Weber.
The crowd screamed again.

Suddenly, a man came rushing in, holding a bouquet of flowers, looking like he was late. He found a seat and sat down, holding the bouquet carefully.

Lukas’ friend was with him. He wrapped an arm around Lukas’ neck and said,
“Be careful, bro. I heard your opponent is Xinyu.”

“Xinyu?” Lukas asked with an intrigued expression.

“Ling Xinyu, from China. I heard he never even went to a swimming academy — he learned swimming from his father. And they say he can hypnotize anyone with his eyes. He’s undeniably beautiful.”

“Really? But… ‘beautiful’ suits women only,” Lukas said while taking off his clothes.

Both competitors were standing near the pool when the host announced their names loudly.

[Today’s competition: China vs. Germany — Ling Xinyu vs. Lukas Weber!]

Fans screamed the names of their favorite swimmers, cheering them on.

Both competitors stepped forward to shake hands with each other.

Lukas was left speechless after seeing Xinyu — his blue eyes, his long eyelashes, and fingers more delicate and beautiful than any woman who spent hours in a salon.

"Hello, I'm Xinyu from China," Xinyu introduced himself politely. But there was no response.

Lukas’s eyes were locked onto his, staring without blinking.

"Excuse me, Mr. Weber? Mr. Weber?" Xinyu called out again.

Lukas finally came to his senses.
"Did you say something? I spaced out. I'm sorry."

Xinyu looked down at their still-joined hands.
"My hand, Mr. Weber."

Lukas looked down too and immediately let go.
"I apologize, Mr. Xinyu."

"It's okay," Xinyu replied calmly.

Both were standing at the edge of the pool and jumped into the water.

A man holding a bouquet suddenly stood up with excitement, screaming Xinyu’s name.

"Go Xinyu! Yeah, Xinyu!"
It was Max — Xinyu’s die-hard fan.

And finally, Xinyu won.
The entire venue echoed with cheers of Xinyu’s name.

When he came out of the pool, many fans threw bouquets and flowers toward him.

Lukas was still watching Xinyu, a gentle smile on his face.

Tian Hao came toward Xinyu, placed a towel around his shoulders, and led him back to the changing room.

Xinyu dried himself, changed into his clothes, wore his mask and glasses, and was about to leave the room when someone knocked on the door.

Tian Hao opened it and asked,
"Who are you, Mr.?"

"Oh, I’m Max. Max Kelin. I wanted to give this bouquet to Xinyu. May I?"

"Sorry, Mr., but you can’t. He never accepts gifts from fans."

"Please, just this once. I’m his huge fan. It’s my first time seeing him so close. Please, can you ask him?"
Mr. Max insisted earnestly, almost pleading.

Xinyu stepped out of the room, took off his glasses, and ran his fingers through his still-wet hair.
Max’s heart was about to explode—his heart pounded so fast.

"Yes?" Xinyu asked Max directly.

"Uh... Mr. Xinyu... I was... I mean... I just wanted to ask if you could... please accept this bou... bouquet from me..."
Max couldn’t even speak properly in front of him.

Xinyu reached out his hand and took the bouquet from Max.
"Thank you for the flowers, Mr.—"

"Max! My name is Max!" he said quickly.

"Thank you, Mr. Max," Xinyu replied with a polite nod.

He closed the door again, put on his overcoat, and stepped out of the room.

As he walked down the hallway, many fans were waiting with gifts, but as always, he didn’t accept anything.

Suddenly, a girl—around 14 or 15 years old—tugged lightly on the back of his coat.
Xinyu turned around and looked at her, kneeling down to her level.

She was holding a single rose and a small box of chocolates.
"I came to give you this, brother. Would you like to take it from me?" she asked shyly.

Xinyu lowered his mask and smiled warmly at her.
He gently took the rose and chocolates from her hand and placed his palm on her head.
"Thank you, young lady, for the sweet gifts."

The girl lit up with joy after seeing Xinyu smile.
"I'm going now. My driver must be looking for me—I sneaked out without telling him!" she giggled and ran off.

Chapter Text

Jehan, your cub is so cute. Give it to me," Ciran said, holding the little cub tightly. The cub seemed just as comfortable in his arms.

"You can have it, I don’t mind," Jehan replied with a smile.

Iltae, who was on the phone with someone, suddenly smacked Jehan on the head.
"You bastard, how can you just give your pet to someone else?"

"But hyung, he’s not someone else... I'm giving it to Ciran," Jehan said, rubbing his head.

Iltae hit him again without saying a word.

"You fucking pig! Why are you hitting him for no reason? Are you out of your mind?" Ciran snapped.

"Shut your mouth, ugly brat," Iltae barked back.

Jehan sighed. Ciran, still playing with the cub, spoke up, "Jehan, I have some advice for you."

"What is it, Ciran?"

Ciran looked straight at him and said, "Stop fooling around with him. He’s gonna spoil you."

This time, Iltae hit Ciran on the head without saying anything.

"You motherfucker," Ciran growled. "If you ever come back to Tarten Mansion, I swear I’ll fucking shoot you the moment I see you."

“Jehan, there’s a street race tonight. Wanna join?” Iltae said while scrolling through his phone.

“Really, hyung? Then I’m in! It’s been a while since we raced.”

“Hey, I’ll go too,” Ciran added with a curious expression.

“Brat, that place isn’t for kids. Stay in the mansion,” Iltae replied, glancing at him.

Ciran looked at Jehan with puppy eyes. “Jehan, take me please! I’ve never seen a race before.” He grabbed Jehan’s arm and added, “Pleaseee.”

“Okay, Ciran. I’ll take you with me, don’t worry,” Jehan said, already melting under his expression.

“Yesss! So what should I wear? Tell me!” Ciran asked, clearly excited.

“Brat, you’re not going. That’s final,” Iltae snapped again.

“But hyung, he wants to go,” Jehan tried to reason.

“Jehan, who’s gonna watch him while we’re racing? He’s already insane. I can’t take the risk—if anything happens, Uncle Chris and Uncle Richard will kill us.”

“DAD!” Ciran suddenly yelled at the top of his lungs.”

“Shut your mouth, Ciran! I’ll beat you to death!” Iltae shouted, trying to cover his mouth—but Ciran bit his hand and screamed louder.

“DADDYYYY! ARE YOU UP? DADDY CHRIS! DADDY RICHARD!”

Richard came out onto the balcony with a confused expression. Just beside him, Chris opened his library window.

“Ciran, what happened, son?” Richard asked, slightly alarmed.

“Dad, can I go with Iltae and Jehan to get ice cream this evening?”

Richard looked at Chris, then back at Ciran. “Ciran, you can order ice cream here.”

“But Dad... I want to go out,” he pleaded.

“Okay, fine. But take the butler with you. And don’t mess around, especially you two,” Richard warned, looking pointedly at Iltae and Jehan. “You’re my responsibility now.”

“Yes, Uncle! We’ll be back soon,” Jehan said.

“Okay, fine,” Richard nodded.

“Brat, go and change your clothes. Go,” Iltae said.

Ciran nodded and went inside the mansion.
He called the butler, who was dressed in his formal uniform.

“Go and change your clothes. You’re coming out with me.”

“Oh—okay, young master,” the butler replied.

Ciran wore a plain black t-shirt and black trousers, then threw on a brown leather jacket before stepping out.

“Casual clothes suit you, Ciran,” Jehan said, his expression dazed like he’d just lost himself seeing him like that.

The butler, now dressed in a simple white shirt with formal pant and a coat, opened his drawer and took out a gun. He filled it with bullets, slid it into his pants belt, then took a pocket-sized pistol and tucked it into the inside pocket of his coat.
He came out and brought the car around for them.

“Where should I take you, young masters?”.

“Umm… first take us to the bike shop,” Jehan said.

“Okay, young master.”

Ciran was watching out the window, his eyes sparkling as he admired the glowing evening market.

“Hyung… he’s so happy,” Jehan whispered in Iltae’s ear.

Iltae glanced at Ciran and nodded. “Yeah… he never goes out without the uncles.”

Then he looked at Jehan. “And stop staring at him like that—you’re looking at him too much.”

“But hyung, what should I do?” Jehan said, still watching Ciran. “He’s just so beautiful and cute at the same time.”

Iltae let out a deep sigh, but a soft smile appeared on his face. He reached out and tugged Jehan’s ear.

“Don’t look at him like that in front of the parents control your eyes, lil’ bro, okay?”

“Okay, hyung…” Jehan pouted.

Their car stopped in front of the bike showroom. The butler and they walked together into the shop.

“Excuse me, show me bikes for racing,” Iltae said to the shopkeeper.

“Oh yes, sir. Which one are you looking for?” the man asked politely.

“I want a Kawasaki Ninja H2R. Do you have it?”

“Yes, sir. We have two models.”

“Only two? Why?” Ciran asked, eyeing the lineup of bikes.

“Sir, it’s quite expensive and rarely purchased, so we only keep limited stock.”

He showed them the two models—one black and one red.

“These are the only ones we have, sir.”

“Hyung, let’s go somewhere else if you don’t like it,” Ciran said casually.

“No. The black one is fine. I just need it for this evening,” Iltae replied calmly.

Iltae handed him his black card and casually pointed to another bike, this one white. “Jehan, what about that white one?”

Jehan shook his head. “Hyung, it’s not as good as the Ninja.”

Then he turned to Ciran. “Ciran, do you want a bike too?”

“Who, me? No thanks. I love cars, not bikes. I’m not a pig like him.”

Iltae took his card back and they stepped out of the shop. Checking the time, Iltae said, “We still have time. Let’s roam around the market.”

Just then, Ciran spotted an ice cream and candy stall and bolted toward it.

Iltae grabbed the collar of his jacket from behind and pulled him back.
“Brat! I knew it! That’s why I said I didn’t want to bring you.”

“Pig! Let me go, I want ice cream!”

“If you want ice cream, let’s go to a proper restaurant.”

“No! I want it from that stall!”

“It’s not good, freak. You’ll get sick.”

“Hyung, stop pulling him,” Jehan said. “Come here, I’ll buy it for you.”

Jehan bought three ice creams and handed one to Iltae too.

“Jehan, I don’t want it.”

“Hyung, it’s okay. Just for today.”

Both Iltae and Jehan were busy on their phones, eating ice cream. Meanwhile, Ciran stood in front of them, facing away, too focused on eating to notice two boys watching him non-stop.

“Hey, look at him. He’s so pretty,” one whispered.

“Yeah. Should I ask for his number?”

“Let’s ask.”

Ciran, who had just finished his ice cream, leaned over the glass candy counter.

“Which one should I buy? They all look so delicious,” he mumbled to himself.

The boys came closer.

“Excuse me, mister?”

Ciran didn’t hear them.

“Excuse me?” they called again.

“Do you want something from him?” Jehan and Iltae, standing behind Ciran, asked coldly.

“Oh, I just wanted his number. Is he with you?”

Jehan stepped forward. “He’s already taken. So get lost.”

“Oh—sorry!” the boys stammered and walked away immediately.

Iltae smacked Ciran’s head, making him bump into the counter.

“Ouch!” Ciran finally snapped out of his daydream. “You bastard pig! Why did you hit me?”

“You foodie! You were so busy eating, you didn’t even notice someone approaching you!”

Ciran stood up straight and looked around. “Who? Who dared to approach me? Who!?”

Iltae slapped him again.

This time, Jehan covered Ciran’s head with his hand.
“Hyung, stop hitting him! Why are you so violent?”

Jehan lowered his hand and asked softly, “Ciran, do you want something?”

“Yes! I want those lollipops,” he said, pointing at the counter.

Jehan chuckled softly.

Jehan took out his card and handed it to the stall shopkeeper.
“Pack all the lollipops. The entire stall,” he said seriously.

Before the shopkeeper could react, Iltae grabbed Jehan by the collar from behind and yanked him away. With his other hand, he pulled Ciran by the ear, dragging both of them together.

“One’s a damn foodie, the other’s a psycho Romeo. Let’s go,” Iltae muttered in frustration.

“Pig! You’re dead today! Let go of my ear, bastard!” Ciran shouted, trying to twist free.

“Hyung! Let me buy them! What if he starts crying? Hyung, let me go!” Jehan added dramatically, still being dragged like a scolded child.

Iltae pushed them into the car and said, “Don’t you dare come out. And cover your face with the mask. I’m right behind you on the bike.”

“Okay, hyung,” Jehan replied.

Iltae showed the butler the race location on his phone, then put on his helmet. The butler started the car while Iltae followed behind them on his bike.

After fifteen minutes, they arrived at the racing spot.

Chapter Text

After fifteen minutes, they arrived at the racing spot.

The butler stepped out and opened the door for them. Jehan and Ciran stepped out, while Iltae parked his bike beside the car.

“Woah… who are they? They look so hot,” two or three girls whispered from nearby, eyes glued to them.

A boy came running up and gave Iltae a high five. “Ah bro, thank God you came. I was about to cry. Please race for me—I don’t wanna lose money today.”

“Damn it… someone tell me who they are, I’m going crazy,” one girl said, eyes locked on Jehan or Iltae. “Just look at his forearms. Those veins…”

“That’s Iltae, Iltae Reigrow,” a boy muttered nearby, overhearing them.

“What?! The Iltae? The one who never shows his face?” she asked, her eyes wide.

The boy nodded.

“Hey guys, let’s start,” said another racer standing beside Iltae. “Two bikes and two cars, together.”

Iltae gave a nod.

Jehan took off his coat and wrapped it around Ciran, adjusting his mask.

“Ciran, don’t go anywhere. Just wait here.” He turned to the butler. “Watch him.”

The butler nodded firmly.

Jehan rolled up his sleeves and got into the car, eyes sharp and ready.

They started their bikes and cars. A girl lowered her hand—and the race began.
They were driving like flying jets.

“Woahhh! Pig is so good!” Ciran was cheering loudly.
“Go, Jehan, go!” His eyes were locked on the screen.

The butler looked at Ciran with a soft smile—watching how happy he is.

“Woah! Iltae! Iltae!!”
The crowd was screaming his name at the top of their lungs.

They were so close to the finish line—but their opponents were still ahead of them.

Just when it looked like they were about to lose, Iltae’s bike and Jehan’s car jumped—and landed ahead of the finish line in a perfect drift.

“Kyaaaaaa!!”
“Woahhhh!! They won !!”
“Iltae!!!”

Suddenly, two cars sped past the racing area—not too far from where they stood.
From the window of one car, a black cat poked his head out—his hair blowing in the wind, and his eyes glinting with two different colors.

iltae ripped off his helmet the moment he saw the cat.
he stared, frozen, forgetting completely that he was still in a race.

Without a word, he sprinted after the car—but it was too fast.
He rushed back, threw the helmet at Jehan, and jumped into the car.

“Hyung—where are you, hyung?!”

“Take Ciran back to the mansion—I’m going!” he shouted before speeding off.

The people who caught a glimpse of Iltae’s face stared in complete shock.

“Oh my god… he’s—he’s so handsome,” someone whispered.
“I get it now. That’s why he never takes off his helmet…”

Iltae chased the two cars at full speed. But by the time he caught up, they had already parked in front of a luxury hotel.

He slammed his brakes, jumped out of the car, and ran inside.

A hotel guard tried to stop him—but another one grabbed the guard’s arm and gave a silent signal.
There it was etched clearly on the car's door: The Tarten Family Crest.

The guard stepped aside.

He ran inside the hallway—
The cat was there, right in front of him, but before Iltae could reach him, the cat leapt through an open window into one of the rooms.

Iltae didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the doorknob and pushed it open without knocking—
But someone inside pulled the door at the same time from the other end.

The sudden force made Iltae stumble forward—he fell right over the person behind the door.

To keep the fall from hurting him, he instinctively placed his hand behind the person’s head.

That person looked up, startled.
Blue eyes. Long eyelashes. A beautiful, flushed face staring at iltae.

Their eyes locked for a moment.

“Your eyes…” Iltae whispered.

“Wh-what?” the boy stammered.

Xinyu pushed Iltae off him and stood up quickly. His hair was still wet, and his shirt was unbuttoned, slightly clinging to his skin.

“What the hell are you doing!?” Xinyu snapped.

“Wait—I was looking for someone,” Iltae tried to explain.

Without another word, Xinyu slapped him across the face—loud and sharp.

Iltae touched his cheek slowly, still avoiding eye contact.

Xinyu turned, buttoning up his shirt, and stepped toward the door.

“Security! SECURITY!” he shouted.

But before he could get far, Iltae grabbed his arm and threw him back onto the bed.

Iltae grabbed Xinyu by the neck from behind and yanked him close.

“So arrogant, huh?” he said, voice low. “That’s the second time you’ve slapped me straight in the face.”

“This is my room, bastard! Get your hands off me!” Xinyu growled, struggling beneath him.

Iltae didn’t budge. “You shouldn’t hit someone like me... especially when you’re this delicate. Like a flower.”

He leaned in, his gaze locked on those sharp blue eyes.

“Why are your eyes so beautiful?” he murmured, running his fingers gently across Xinyu’s lashes.

“Let me go, bastard,” Xinyu warned, tense, his breath uneven.

Iltae only pulled him closer—so close Xinyu could hear his heartbeat, feel the warmth of his breath.

“Gulp...
let me go,” he whispered again, but quieter this time.

With no hesitation, Xinyu pressed his hidden ring. A thin, sharp blade slid out, and he drove it into Iltae’s collarbone. But Iltae didn’t even flinch. Instead, he pulled him closer. Closer.

He leaned in, lips brushing against Xinyu’s ear.

“From now on,” he whispered, voice like fire under ice, “if you ever see me again in this world—run. Because if I catch you.”
"you won't just break in my arms
you'll shatter like glass..... and i'll hold every piece of you."

“You think I’ll run?” Xinyu shot back. “Try me. I’ll kill you first.”

Iltae gave a slow, dangerous smile.

He stared into those fierce, tear-filled eyes.

“If this scar doesn’t fade,” he whispered, eyes dropping to Xinyu’s neck, “I’ll give you a beautiful mark right here… on your snake-like, beautiful neck.”

Then he added, darker, slower—
“With my teeth.”

“YOU BASTARD—LET ME GO!” Xinyu screamed.
“SECURITY! I’LL KILL YOU!!”

Iltae didn’t move. “I’m right here. Kill me, then.”

A single tear fell down Xinyu’s cheek.

Iltae tilted his head, amused. “Why are you crying, huh? Should’ve thought about that before hitting me.”

Xinyu slapped him hard—once, then twice.

Iltae laughed softly, like he’d just been handed a gift. “Ahh… you're even more interesting than I imagined.”

He caught Xinyu’s wrist and kissed it, his other hand tracing the sharp edges of his face.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, “and so infuriatingly arrogant.”

Iltae held Xinyu and suddenly turned, flipping their positions — now Xinyu was above him.

He gripped his waist tightly, one hand pushing away the wet bangs stuck to Xinyu’s forehead, he gently cupping his cheek.

“You know…” Iltae murmured, brushing his thumb near Xinyu’s ear, “because of those tears… your eyes look so beautiful.”

He pulled him closer — but there was no space left between them.

His fingers traced the shape of Xinyu’s cheek.
He whispered, “Why are your lips so orange? Your eyes… your face… your eyelashes, your nose… everything about you looks like someone drew you — so carefully, so obsessively perfect.”

“I said let me go, bastard!” Xinyu struggled, his voice trembling.

But Iltae seemed hypnotized — lost in his stare — deaf to his words.

He softly touched Xinyu’s lips again. “Would you like to tell me your name?”

“Of course not! Bastard, move! Let me go!”

“Then tell me where you're from... how can I find you again?”

“Don’t you dare stalk me! I’ll kill you!” Xinyu shouted, voice cracking.

Iltae’s hand slid back around his waist, tightening.
“You know... I came here to find something interesting. I didn’t expect to find you. That’s far more interesting.”

“SECURITY!! SECURITY!!” Xinyu screamed.

“[Shhh... your security is useless, honey.]” Iltae whispered darkly.

“Shut your fucking mouth!”

“[If you say the word, I’ll protect you. But you'll need a whole new level of security — because I'm dangerous for you.]”

“Get lost, you motherfucker! Let me go — you’re suffocating
me!"

"I'm honestly wondering…" Iltae smirked, brushing his thumb across Xinyu’s trembling lips. "How does your family even let someone like you walk around alone? They should lock you up — keep you hidden inside the house."

Chapter Text

Suddenly, they both froze at the sound of hurried knocking on the door.

"Mr. Ling? Mr. Ling!"
"Are you okay? Please open the door!"

Xinyu’s eyes widened, his lips parting to shout — but Iltae was quicker.

He clamped his hand over Xinyu’s mouth.
“Mmm… mmmph!”

"[Don’t even think about biting me,]" he whispered darkly into his ear, “[or I’ll shut you up with my lips.]”

Xinyu stilled immediately, his heart pounding.

"He's calling you Mr. Ling..." Iltae said with a grin, "I'll call you Ling Ling. It's cute, isn’t it?"

He gave Xinyu one last look — amused, satisfied — and stepped onto the balcony.

With one swift motion, he leapt from the first floor, landed cleanly, and jogged straight to his car.

He glanced back up, found Xinyu staring down at him in disbelief… and blew him a kiss.

Then he smirked, started the engine, and vanished down the road like a gust of wind.

Jehan was riding the bike, Ciran seated behind him, his arms loosely wrapped around Jehan's waist. The butler followed close behind in the car. The road led into a dimly lit cave — peaceful at first, until two boys suddenly blocked their path with their bikes.

They were the same boys who had earlier been pestering Ciran for his contact number.

“Hey!” one of them shouted. “Leave that pretty boy here and get lost.”

Jehan stared at them, ready to get off his bike — but before he could move, the butler’s calm voice rang out from behind.

“You should leave young masters now,” he said coldly. “Don’t waste your breath on trash.”

Ciran, completely unbothered, leaned his head against Jehan’s shoulder and mumbled, “Yeah, Jehan… let’s just go. I ate too much. I’m sleepy.”

Jehan clenched his jaw, thinking to himself, Stay calm. You can’t beat them in front of him… not when he’s watching.

He smiled gently and said, “Okay, let’s go back to the mansion. You can sleep peacefully there.”

As they drove away, the butler lingered behind. He pulled out his gun without a word and shot both boys in the head — quick, efficient, silent. Then, he made a call.

Twenty minutes later, two men arrived and quietly disposed of the bodies.

The cave driver, who had seen it all, was trembling in fear. The butler stepped into the car calmly and ordered, “Drive. To the mansion. As fast as you can.”

His face remained unreadable — no fear, no regret. Just that same calm professionalism.

Because of a shortcut, the butler arrived before Jehan.

Meanwhile, Ciran had fallen asleep during the ride, his head still resting gently against Jehan. When they reached the mansion, Jehan got off the bike and carried Ciran in his arms. The butler, already waiting, silently led the way through the mansion and opened the door to Ciran’s bedroom.

Jehan carefully laid him down on the bed, brushing a few strands of hair from his face.

Then they left the room, quietly closing the door.

Jehan was waiting for Iltae, his phone resting in his hand.

Within five minutes, Iltae arrived at the mansion.

“Hyung, someone sent me that cat’s picture!”

“Really?”

“Yeah, the cat even has its own account. Look.” He held out his phone to Iltae.
“The username is @meimei.”

“Any photo of the owner?”

“No, hyung. Just the cat’s pictures.”

Iltae sat down on the chair, leaned his head back, lit a cigarette, and stared at the sky.

“Jehan… I found something interesting today. More interesting than that cat.”

“Really? What?” Jehan asked with a curious expression.

Iltae took a slow drag. “Jehan.”

“Yeah, hyung?”

“Make another post. I’m going to describe his appearance. I need to find out who he is.”

“He’s a boy?”

“Yeah, Jehan. He’s a boy… a beautiful boy.”

“Okay, tell me. I’ll post it.”

Iltae began dictating slowly:

“Black hair so dark it shimmered like ink , and those blue eyes they weren’tjust blue they looked like galaxies, as if the stars themselves had chosen to rest in them. His lips were soft, tinted with the faintest hue of orange, like the glow of a quiet sunrise. And his face, it didn't look real. He looked like someone had painted him with impossible care, every line and shadow placed to steal my breath.

"Even he was unaware of how stunning he was truly was beautifully dangerous, like always quite storm wrapped in silk."

“Post it,” Iltae said. “Add a reward—fifty thousand euros.”

“Hyung, are you crazy?!”

“No. I’ve finally come to my senses. Just post it. And make sure you add that his bodyguard called him Mr. Ling.

“Wait, hyung… okay. Done.”

Chapter Text

Ling Xinyu was known across cities—not just for his breathtaking beauty, but for the softness in his heart. Despite being born into privilege, he never treated those who served him as beneath him. To his staff, he wasn’t just a young master—he was warmth in human form.

Everyone wanted to touch him, to hold even a moment of his light. But Xinyu, gentle as he was, knew how to protect himself. He smiled often, but rarely let anyone close enough to see behind the softness.

"Xinyu may have inherited his father's short temper, but there was an angel inside him too — an angel named Yuri, his other father, the only one who ever tamed Xinlu."

And yet—when Iltae touched, there was no lust in his hands. No hunger. Only stillness. His touch was light, reverent… almost like prayer.

Iltae, who had lost everything.
Just like Ilay… who, many years ago, had also lost everything the moment he accidentally bumped into a man named Teaui.

“Xinyu, can you tell me what happened ?”
Tian Hao was kneeling in front of him, gently applying ointment to his wrist.
His brows furrowed. “Who the hell grabbed you so hard it left marks like this? Your wrist… your neck…”

Xinyu sat quietly, his eyes unfocused, lost in thought.
He didn’t respond.

“Xinyu,” Tian Hao called again, a little more softly.

“…Yeah. I’m fine, Tian Hao.”

“You’re not. Just tell me what he did. Is there any other wound? Show me—I’ll apply ointment.”

“No.” His voice was low. “He only grabbed my wrist… and neck. Nothing else.”

A long pause passed between them before Xinyu asked,
“Tian Hao… have you ever met a rare one?”

Tian Hao blinked. “You mean… an enigma?”

Xinyu nodded slowly.

“No. Not yet.”

“How powerful are they? Do you know anything about them?”

“Not much. Just that they’re… stronger. More than a dominant alpha, even.”

“Why are they so rare?”

“I don’t know. But I heard… enigmas are only born in unexpected places.”

“Unexpected?”

“Yeah. Like… when their survival chances are near zero. That kind of birth.”

Xinyu’s lips tightened. His voice fell into a whisper.
“I couldn’t win against him. He was stronger than me. It was like… he was just toying with me. Like I was a prey he didn’t want to eat yet.”

Tian Hao looked down, fists clenched. He hated the thought of anyone playing with Xinyu like that.
But he didn’t press further.

After a moment, he stood. “We’re leaving tomorrow evening. Don’t overthink it—he won’t come there.”
He turned to go. “Try to sleep, okay? I’m going to my room. Good night.”

“Night,” Xinyu said softly, his voice trailing into silence.

He tried to sleep.
He closed his eyes again and again, but sleep wouldn’t come.

Flashback

Xinlu and Yuri were sitting on the sofa.
Yuri was quietly reading his book when an old woman approached Xinlu and stood beside him.

“Mr. Ling, what should I cook for the young master? He’ll be back from school soon.”

Xinlu looked at her and thought for a moment.
“Cook noodles. Grind some green vegetables and add them in. Put in some egg and meat too.”

Yuri chuckled without lifting his eyes from the book.

“Why are you laughing, Yuri?” Xinlu asked.

“Nothing,” Yuri replied, “I was just thinking… why are you so strict with him? He’s only five.”

“Because he’s a picky eater,” Xinlu said calmly. “He always chooses delicious food over healthy meals. He’ll ruin his health.”

Yuri closed his book and glanced at the clock.
“In just a few minutes, he’ll burst in screaming ‘Father!’ and cling to you. Show him some mercy, Xinlu.”

“You should stop buying him snacks too,” Xinlu said.

Yuri laughed again, amused.

Chapter Text

Xinyu stood near the school gate. His water bottle was empty, so he went upstairs to refill it from the fridge.

But suddenly, a man grabbed him.

It was one of the school’s peon. He dragged Xinyu into an empty classroom. Another peon was already there.

One of them leaned down and licked Xinyu’s neck.

Xinyu bit his hand and managed to break free, running as fast as he could.
But in his panic, his foot slipped—he fell down the stairs.

Thankfully, his bodyguard, who had arrived to pick him up as usual, caught him just in time.

Blood was already running from Xinyu’s forehead.
The bodyguard held him tightly and looked up—he saw the peon fleeing the scene.

Without wasting another second, he rushed to the car with Xinyu in his arms and immediately called Xinlu.

“Mr. Ling, the young master fell from the stairs. I’m taking him to the hospital. Please come quickly.”

Xinlu and Yuri came rushing into the hospital.
Xinyu was lying on the bed, and the doctor had already treated him. A clean white bandage covered his forehead.

Xinlu moved forward to hug him, but the bodyguard gently stopped him and whispered,
“Mr. Ling, please come outside. I need to tell you something.”

“Let me see him first,” Xinlu said, his voice sharp with both anger and worry. “Move.”

“It’s very important, Mr. Ling… please. He’s sleeping right now.”

Reluctantly, Xinlu turned and walked out of the room with Yuri beside him.
“Tell me. Why are you acting like this?”

“Mr. Ling…” the bodyguard said hesitantly, “I think someone pushed the young master. Or maybe he was trying to escape and fell. I saw someone upstairs when I looked up. And… there are finger marks on the young master’s arm.”

Xinlu’s eyes widened with fury.
Without warning, he grabbed the bodyguard by the collar and slammed him against the wall.

“Why were you late?!” he growled. “Why the hell weren’t you there, bastard?!”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Ling… I admit I was late. Just a few minutes—just a few…”

Xinlu and Yuri walked into the doctor’s cabin.

“Mr. Ling, how are you?” the doctor asked politely.

“I’m fine, doctor. But what about my son? He’s fine, right?” Xinlu asked anxiously.

“Yes, Mr. Ling. He just fell down. I’ve treated his injuries. You don’t need to worry—he’ll be up and playing in two days.”

Yuri leaned forward and asked gently, “Doctor, you’ve checked him properly? There are no other injuries on his body?”

“Yes, Mr. Ling. There are no other wounds. But… someone held him tightly. That’s why there are finger marks on his arm.”

Xinlu’s eyes darkened, bloodlust in his voice.
“Check his whole body again. Any scratches, any hidden wounds—tell me how many.”

“Mr. Ling, I understand what you’re thinking. Don’t worry—nothing like that happened to the young master. But for your peace of mind, I’ll examine him again, right in front of you.”

They all walked back to Xinyu’s room, where he was still sleeping peacefully. The doctor carefully checked him again in front of Yuri and Xinlu. When he finished, a look of relief finally appeared on both their faces.

Xinlu gently picked Xinyu up in his arms.
and placed a hand on yuri's shoulder.

“Let’s go home, Yuri,” Xinlu said quietly.

Morning – In Front of the School

Two black cars pulled up in front of the school. Xinlu and Yuri stepped out, and there was a gun in Xinlu’s hand.
Without wasting a second, he ran upstairs.

One of the peons spotted him and immediately began to run.
“You motherfucker! Stop right there!” Xinlu shouted.

Yuri chased after the man too, quickly catching him.

Xinlu walked up to them, expression unreadable, and without a word, raised his gun and shot the peon in the hand.
At the same time, his bodyguard dragged the other peon forward and threw him in front of Xinlu.

“Which one of you touched my son yesterday?”

A teacher came running toward them, panicked.
“Mr. Ling, what are you doing?!”

“Shut your fucking mouth and move,” Xinlu growled, not even sparing him a glance.

He turned back to the peons.
“Open your mouth and speak. Who touched my son?”

“Yuri,” he said, without turning, “bring Xinyu here.”

Yuri nodded, walked to the car, and carefully picked up the boy. When he returned upstairs, he handed Xinyu over to Xinlu.

Xinlu tucked the gun away and gently kissed his son's forehead.

“Xinyu,” he said softly, “who hurt you? Tell me what they did, and I’ll punish them.”

Xinyu looked at the two peons, then at his father. He pointed to one of them.
“Father…”

“Yes, Xinyu? Tell me.”

“When I went to fill my bottle, he covered my mouth and dragged me into the classroom. He… he licked my neck.”

Xinlu’s eyes darkened even further, his jaw clenched.
Xinyu tapped his neck. “Here.”

Yuri calmly placed a hand on Xinlu’s arm.
“Handle yourself. I’m waiting with Xinyu in the car. Let’s go, son. Father will join us soon.”

Yuri got into the car, rolled the window down, and waited.

As soon as Yuri rolled up the window, a gunshot echoed. Xinlu had shot the peon—right through his mouth.

Then he turned to the other one and shot again. Both were dead.

“Hang their bodies in front of the school,” he ordered coldly. “And shut this place down.”

“Understood, Mr. Ling.”

Xinlu got into the car, lifted Xinyu into his lap, and held him close.
“Let’s go home,” he said to the driver.

"After that incident, Yuri began teaching at Xinyu’s new school. Since Xinyu was always with Yuri, Xinlu could finally focus on his work without worrying about his son's safety."

Chapter Text

“I booked our flight, hyung.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow evening.”

Iltae threw himself onto the bed and buried his face in the pillow.

“Hyung… why do you want to search for that boy?”

“I have some unfinished business with him, Jehan.”

“Did he hit you hyung or something?”

Iltae smirked into the pillow. “Hmm… nope, Jehan. He just touched me. With those beautiful hands.”

Suddenly, Jehan’s phone vibrated from a notification.

“Who the hell is texting at this time? Jehan, silent your phone, I’m tired.”

“Wait—wait, hyung!” Jehan grabbed his phone and looked at the screen. His eyes widened. “Hyung! Hyung!”

“Mmm?”

“Hyung, someone texted about that post!”

Iltae sat up quickly, excitement flashing in his eyes. “What?!”

“Yeah, hyung! That was so fast, I’m honestly shocked.”

“Lil bro… it’s because of money. That’s the power of money,” Iltae said with a smirk.

“Here—look at the text,” Jehan said, handing him the phone.

["Hello, I saw your post. Are you sure about that price? It’s not a prank, right? That amount is huge. If you’re not joking, please text back."]

Let me text him/her back.

Iltae:

[“It’s not a prank. I’m serious. Do you know any boy like the way I described in my post?”]

Unknown User:

[“According to your description… it seems like the young master of the Ling.
Once I receive the money, I’ll unsend all my messages—and you should delete that post too.”]

Iltae:

[“Why?”]

Unknown User:

[“You shouldn’t post something like that on social media—especially not with a price attached.
Your description matches him exactly.
I can’t tell you more about him.
Find him yourself, and transfer the money as agreed.”]

Iltae:

[“Fine. I’ll delete the post. Can you at least give me his name? Or a photo? I’ll pay more.”]

Unknown User:

[“Bro… it’s better if you just delete that post.
I’m really sorry, but I don’t want to die at his father’s hands.
If you’re talking about Young Master Ling—his father is extremely protective.
And you said his bodyguard called him Mr. Ling… that’s more than enough.”]

Iltae:

[“Thanks for the help. I’m sending the money now.”]

Unknown User:

[“You’re not the only one curious about him—there are a lot of people like you.
Anyway, thanks for the money.
Goodbye.”]

(sighs)

"Young Master Ling," Iltae whispered with a smile. "Ahh... he's a Young Master too."

"Hyung, it’s so complicated for me," Jehan sighed.

"Why?" Iltae said
"Just look at our family, especially Uncle Rich and Uncle Chris. You know, Jehan... we're lucky. At least we get to go outside together. But Ciran? He’s never even stepped out of the mansion."

"Really? What about school, Hyung?"

"He never went to school, Jehan."

"Wait—what?!" Jehan was completely shocked.

"Homeschooled. He learned everything inside the mansion."

"Seriously, Hyung? But the uncles look so friendly. Still… they’re too overprotective, aren’t they?"

"I heard Uncle Rich is scary. He’s not like what he pretends to be. And that butler—he's always after Ciran like a shadow. The weird part? He's older than our parents... but still looks so young. I think he's a vampire."

"Hyung, don’t joke with me!"

"I'm not joking, Jehan. He’s seriously older than our parents. And once... he broke a waiter’s hand just because the guy touched Ciran’s hand while serving him."

"He did great, Hyung!" Jehan huffed. "How dare that waiter touch Ciran while serving!"

We’re in the same boat hyung.

Jehan lay down on the bed, letting his arm fall over his eyes.
“Hyung… let’s just sleep. I’m tired.”

Iltae didn’t respond right away. He was still staring at the screen, scrolling through that black cat’s account. The photos, the captions…....

Finally, he clicked on the message icon and typed:

[“Hey.
Can you tell me where you bought that black cat?”]

Ciran stood near the garden swing, hands behind his back.
“Jehan, this is for you,” he said softly, watching him.

Jehan looked up from his book, a bit surprised.
He tilted his head. “For me? What is it?”

“A gift. A return gift. I picked it myself. Open it,” Ciran said, eyes twinkling.

Jehan blinked and took the small box. His cheeks turned slightly pink as he hesitated.

“Jehan.”

“Oh, yeah—sorry. I’ll open it.”

He slowly unwrapped the box and found a single, elegant earring inside—simple, yet striking.

Ciran leaned a little closer, voice gentle.
“Do you like it, Jehan?”

Jehan stared at it, then smiled shyly.
“It’s beautiful… just like you.”

Ciran raised an eyebrow, and Jehan immediately fumbled.
“I-I mean… it’s beautiful, just like your taste. Your choices. I like your collection.”

Ciran let out a soft chuckle.
“Thanks, Jehan. I liked your company. If you ever visit Dershan or Berlin again, please come here. You’re always welcome.”

Jehan looked down for a moment, trying to hide the way his heart ached.
“Thanks, Ciran. I’ll definitely come back…”
He didn’t want to say goodbye—but he also couldn’t say what he really felt.

Chapter Text

Outside the airport, their car came to a gentle stop.

Iltae’s hand rested casually on Jehan’s shoulder, like always—familiar, protective. The two were deep in conversation, the world around them a quiet blur.

Suddenly, Iltae felt a light touch on his shoulder as someone passed by. He instinctively turned, removing his sunglasses, but the crowd moved quickly—two or three people walked between them, blocking his view.

“Xinyu, what’s wrong?” Tian Hao’s voice pulled him back.
Xinyu had paused mid-step, his head slightly tilted, gaze behind him.

Meow.
Meow.

Xinyu looked down his cat cradled gently in his arms his black cat with two different colored eyes. Its long, silky fur shimmered in the light.

“Mei Mei, what’s wrong?”

Meow.
“We’re going home now, Mei Mei. Don’t worry.”
Meow. Meow.

“Xinyu, come on—we’re getting late.” Tian Hao called again.

Xinyu nodded silently, clutching the cat close.

Meanwhile........

“Hyung?” Jehan tilted his head.
Iltae stood still, eyes scanning the crowd behind him. Something felt off.

“Hyung, what happened?”

Iltae’s brows furrowed.
“Did you hear that?” he asked quietly.

“What?”

“A cat... I just heard a cat.”

Jehan looked around and shook his head.
“No, I didn’t hear anything. Maybe you imagined it.”

Iltae didn’t reply immediately. He slid his sunglasses back on.
“Yeah... maybe.”
But he kept looking behind for just a moment longer before turning forward.

“Let’s go.”
And just like that, they walked away—two lives brushing past each other, not knowing their fates were already tangled.

Berlin — Reigrow Mansion

Tae was standing in the garden, busy with his phone, when suddenly a pair of strong arms approached and picked him up effortlessly, spinning him in the air.
He blinked in shock, his phone nearly slipping from his hand.
“Ilay?!”

“Yeah, Taeui.”
“You scared me!” he gasped.

Ilay gently set him down, only to pull him into a tight hug a second later.
“What were you doing, hmm? Did my kitten come back?” he whispered, burying his face in Tae's shoulder.

“Yeah... he’s in his room,” Tae smiled softly.

Without warning, Ilay picked him up again and walked over to the garden bench. He sat him down and laid his head in Tae’s lap, his eyes closed like he found peace there.

From the balcony above, a voice echoed out—
“Dad! I’m coming too! Wait for me!”

Iltae leaned over the railing, his arms spread, ready to jump.

Ilay opened one eye, raised his brow lazily, and called out,
“Don’t you dare jump from there. I call you kitten, but don’t think you’re a real one. Use the stairs.”

Iltae came downstairs holding a few beer bottles in one hand. He sat down near Tae’s feet, cracked one open, and handed it to him, then passed the second to Ilay.

“How was your party, kitten?” Ilay asked casually, sipping from his can.
“So interesting, Dad,” Iltae replied, taking a long gulp.

Tae’s hand was on his head, his fingers gently running through Iltae’s soft, beautiful gray hair.

“Kitten,” Ilay suddenly said, “I have a good news for you.”

“What? Tell me!” Iltae turned to him instantly, eyes wide, full of excitement.

“Tae is pregnant.”

Iltae choked on his beer.

“What?!”
“Cough—cough—Dad, what the fuck—”
He coughed harder, slamming the can down. “Damn it—Dad—!”

Tae shoved Iltae forward and pushed Ilay off his lap.
Ilay fell backward dramatically — his legs still hanging on the bench, but the rest of his body sprawled on the grass.

“Dads, please! Stay away from each other!” Iltae shouted. “I don’t want any younger siblings. I already have two to handle. Ciran and Jehan — something’s wrong with their heads. I need a good psychiatrist for both.”

“Ilay, you bastard—how shameless can you be?” Tae slapped his leg two or three times with flushed cheeks.

“Wait, wait—” Ilay chuckled from the ground. “I was joking! Just joking! Don’t take it seriously!”

“Dad, who got married first, you or Uncle Rahman?” Iltae asked, sipping from his beer.

Both together.
“My plan was to never invite that bastard Rahman to my wedding, but the situation got out of control.”

Tae turned his face, and the smile slowly faded from his lips. Seeing him like that, Ilay’s smile disappeared too.

Rahman's Villa

Jeaui sat quietly on the garden's stairs, watching the fountain as water danced under soft lights. The entire garden—lush with white and violet blooms—was one jehan and Rahman had designed together, just for him.

Jehan approached him, holding a small box, and sat beside him.

“Dad, show me your hand.”

“My hand? Why?”

“I bought something for you,” Jehan said with a small grin.

“For me?” Jeaui asked, a calm smile forming on his lips.

He offered his hand.

Jehan opened the box to reveal a beautiful white bracelet—identical in design to Ciran’s, but this one was a pristine, snowy white. He carefully slid it onto Jeaui’s wrist.

“How is it, Dad? Do you like it?”

Jeaui looked at it, then at Jehan. “It’s beautiful, Jehan.”

“What’s going on here?” a deep voice interrupted gently. “Can I join my son and My husband?”

Rahman walked toward them with a soft smile. Jehan stood up quickly and stepped one stair down to make room.

“Father,” he greeted with quiet respect.

Rahman sat beside Jeaui, resting one hand lightly on his back and the other on Jehan’s shoulder.
He gently held Jeaui’s wrist, eyes lingering on the bracelet.

"It looks so beautiful on your hand, Jeaui. Jehan has a good eye."
"Do you like it, Father?" Jehan asked, turning his head toward him.
Rahman nodded, his gaze still fixed on Jeaui.
"Yeah... it's so pure white. Just like your father." His voice softened with affection.

"Father, can I ask you something?"
"Yeah," Rahman replied, glancing at Jeaui with a gentle expression.
"Where did you find Dad? I’ve always wondered... where did you two meet for the first time?"

Rahman’s hand paused for a moment, his expression briefly unreadable. Then he spoke slowly.
"Germany... we met for the first time in Germany."

But before Jehan could ask more, Rahman shifted his tone and smoothly changed the subject.

"How was the gathering with the Tartens, Jehan?"

Oh "It was really nice, Father. Mr. Tartens and the young master… they were so humble and polite with me."

Chapter Text

Chris stood by the window, watching Ciran lounging on a bench in the garden, scrolling through his phone.

Richard came up behind him, wrapping his arms around Chris’s waist and pressing a soft kiss to his neck.

"What are you watching?" he murmured, then followed Chris’s gaze. "Ah… Ciran."

"Let’s go down and sit with him," Richard suggested.
Chris looked at him and nodded.
—
"Ciran," Richard called out as they stepped into the garden.
Ciran looked up, his face lighting up when he saw his dads.

He shifted on the bench to make room.

Chris sat down first, and Ciran instantly rested his head on his lap. Richard picked up Ciran’s feet and placed them on his own lap.

"What happened to your feet?" Richard asked.

"Dad, my new shoes bit me," Ciran muttered.

"Then throw them away," Chris said gently, running his fingers through Ciran’s hair.

"Dads?"
"Yeah, Ciran?" they both responded at once.

"I just found out at the party... Mr. Jeaui and Uncle Teaui are twins. That’s so strange. I never saw Mr. Jeaui at the Tarten mansion."

"He came," Chris replied, pinching his cheek. "You were just too young to remember. He came with Rahman and gave you lots of blessings."

"Really? Did Jehan came too?"

"Yeah," Richard nodded with a small smile.

“Dad, Jehan and Iltae always have fun together... I wish I had a sibling too,” Ciran said softly.

“You can still enjoy with them, sweetheart,” Richard replied, though his gaze had shifted—fixed on Chris. The smile on his face slowly faded.

“Ciran, you should go to sleep now. Head to your room,” Richard added gently.

“Okay, Dads. Good night.”
“Good night, Ciran,” Chris said, patting his cheek with a soft smile.

Flashback — Tarten Mansion, Garden

Rahman, Ilay, and Richard sat together in the garden, the tension subtle but present. A soft breeze moved through the trees as Richard tossed a thick file onto the table in front of them.

"Take a look," Richard said coolly. "Rahman, you too, Rick."

Rahman picked up the file and flipped it open, scanning the pages.
"Interesting, Mr. Richard. I need this model as soon as possible."

Ilay leaned back in his chair, cigarette between his fingers.
"What would a famous politician like you want with rare, custom-made guns?" he asked with a raised brow.

Rahman smirked. "Mr. Reigrow, do you think politicians don’t know how to shoot? Should I show you?"

Ilay let out a dry chuckle.

"Mr. Richard, what is reigrow doing here? I thought this was between us only."

"Rick is good at chasing people," Richard replied, unbothered. "T&R already sent emails, but there's been no reply, no trace. We need someone who can hunt ghosts."

Rahman closed the file slowly.
"Tell me where to start. I can’t stay in Dershan too long... I don’t have much time, Mr. Richard."

"I understand," Richard said, sipping his drink. "I don’t have time either. I need the Tarten's chair as soon as possible."

Ilay scoffed, exhaling smoke.
"That chair is already yours. What’s the rush?"

Richard’s eyes glinted coldly.
"I want that chair and Christop too." Once I have the chair, I don’t need to wait for him anymore. I heard he’s been getting marriage proposals left and right. His mother forcing him to consider them. What if he chooses someone… or worse, starts dating?"

Ilay’s expression sharpened.
"That freak is back?"

"He's arriving from Paris tomorrow morning," Richard replied. "There’s a welcome gathering for him tomorrow night."

"Rahman, don’t go. Stay for the gathering," Richard said.

"I don’t like gatherings, Richard."

"Let him go," Ilay cut in, taking a long drag from his cigarette. "Don’t invite him. I don’t want to share the same roof with him."

Rahman gave a cold smirk in Ilay’s direction. "Prepare a room for me, Richard. I’ll attend the gathering."

Rahman raised a brow.
BTW "Christop who?"

"My cousin—but we’re not blood-related. He rarely joins the riot squad's missions. Now he’s finally coming back after two years."

“So, where should we send our men?” Rahman asked.

“They’re twins. Jeong Jeaui and Jeong Taeui. They used to live in Korea,” Richard replied.

“South or North?” Ilay asked.

“South. South Korea,” Rick.

“No one knows how they look. They never show themselves. They had their own lab and used to develop guns. Jeoui is the elder—just by a few minutes—and Taeui is the younger one. Taeui used to work in the lab too. He helped draw blueprints with his brother, and I heard he’s good at hacking as well.”

“Last time, they created some rare guns—just 15 models. They changed the bullets too. The interesting part is, if someone gets shot with one, it’s nearly impossible to take the bullet out. It shatters inside the body, breaking into pieces. There’s no chance of survival.”

“I’ve heard about that,” Rahman said, lighting his cigarette. “Still can’t believe someone could create something like that. So unexpected.”

"Those guns… they named them Raventhium."

Chapter Text

The bullets were never meant to be deadly," Richard continued, his voice low. "They were a mistake—a failed prototype."

Ilay’s brows furrowed. "What kind of bullet does that?"

"A rare fusion," Richard said grimly. "Depleted uranium, memory metal, and a synthetic compound only the twins could create. Once inside the body, the bullet reacted to internal heat and pressure—expanding microscopically… then fracturing like glass."

"Shattering from the inside..." Rahman muttered. "That’s what made it impossible to extract—and why it was so lethal."

"Exactly," Richard nodded.

"But they had no idea what would happen next. After that, people went crazy over those guns. The twins started receiving endless proposals… and even death threats. Someone even tried to hurt the younger one."

Richard leaned forward, voice low with tension.
"After that, they vanished. No one knows where they went. No one’s seen them since. It’s like they erased every trace of themselves."

"I heard something strange too," he added. "People say if one of them dies, the other one dies too."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Ilay narrowed his eyes. "Sounds like you've been reading too many fantasy books, Richard."

"I'm telling you what the rumors say, Rick. That party who tried to hurt them? Weber family. Their entire empire collapsed. Their company’s stock fell overnight. Now they're basically beggars. Even NIS couldn’t trace them. I’m exhausted."

Rahman exhaled smoke slowly.
"Which means... they're dead. Someone killed them."

Richard shook his head.
"No. They're not dead. Send your men to South Korea. We’ll find them. I’m sure of it."

Berlin Airport – Paris Flight Just Landed

Three men stepped out of the arrival gates.

The first, tall and poised, wore a formal suit. His golden-blond hair glimmered under the airport lights, and the icy blue of his eyes was hidden behind sleek sunglasses.

The second wore a casual black short with a loose t-shirt, and an unbuttoned shirt fluttering behind him. His headphones hung around his neck as he tapped rapidly on his phone, completely absorbed in a mobile game.

The third man wore formal clothes layered with a long black overcoat, and like the first, had sunglasses on—silent and composed.

Two black cars waited outside the terminal. One of the drivers stepped forward and bowed slightly.

"Mr. Christopher, where should I take you?"

Without even lifting his eyes from the phone, Christopher replied coldly,
"Move. I’ll drive myself. First, I’ll drop my friends—then I’ll head out. Leave one car and send the rest back."

He took a step forward, his tone final—his presence impossible to ignore.

“Let’s go straight to Dreshan,” Chris said as he opened the car door.

“Nope. We’re going to the apartment first. I need to sleep, Chris,” the man playing on his phone muttered without even looking up.

“Stop playing games and listen to me.” chirs shouted

“Alright, alright—say it.”

“You don’t want to attend the gathering?”

“We don’t even know anyone there, Chris. And I’m not in the mood for some formal gathering,” the man in the overcoat replied.

“Same here. I’m not interested in any gathering either,” said the guy in shorts, finally putting his phone into his pocket. He looked at the Chris and thought for a moment.

“Fine. We’ll stay at a hotel and come at night. I just want to sleep first.” He jumped into the car, leaned his head back against the seat, and closed his eyes. “Let’s go. I’m exhausted.”

“You’ll come at night, right? Don’t disappear on me again.”

The man in the overcoat took off his sunglasses slowly and looked at Chris.
“Yeah, we’ll come. Don’t worry. Just drop us at the hotel first, then head to the mansion.”

After dropping off his friends, Chris finally arrived at the Tarten mansion.

“Mr. Christopher, shall I take your luggage?” a servant asked politely.

“There’s no need,” Chris replied, walking straight into the mansion without taking a break.

“Welcome home, Chris,” Richard said calmly as he came down the stairs, a soft smile on his face. “Can I talk to you for five minutes? I wanted to ask you something.”

“Not now, Richard. I’m tired. We’ll talk later.” Without even looking at him, Chris headed straight to his room.

Richard watched him go, then sighed deeply.
“Still arrogant as ever…”

Chapter Text

At Night

Christopher stood on his balcony, fixing his necktie as he looked down at the guests gathering below.

“You're late again,” he muttered to himself, glancing at his reflection in the mirror. With a sigh, he loosened the tie, picked another, and tried again.

“This one’s perfect.”

Down in the hallway, Rahman walked ahead toward the garden, with Ilay following a few steps behind and Richard trailing with two men beside him.

“There are a lot of women—and men—picked for you guys ” Richard teased. “Ilay, and you too Rahman".

Rahman looked back with a cold expression.
“I’m not interested, Mr. Richard. Ask Reigrow.”

Suddenly, a young man came running, dragging someone by the hand. He bumped into Ilay, while the other person collided with Rahman.

“I’m really sorry, sir,” the one who bumped into Rahman said, bowing politely.

Rahman looked at him, surprised by the sudden touch, but offered a rare smile.
“It’s alright.”

“Hyung, let’s go—we’re already late! He’ll be mad!” the second boy urged, tugging at the first.

The one who had bumped into Ilay turned and bowed quickly.
“Sorry, sir, we’re in a hurry.”

Ilay’s hand instinctively gripped the boy’s shoulder, holding him still.
“Your hand, sir,” the boy said again, confused.

Ilay didn’t respond, eyes fixed on him, unmoving.

Richard stepped closer and placed a hand on Ilay’s shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” Rick

Ilay blinked and finally let go.
“Oh… nothing.
Let them go—they're in a rush.”

The two boys quickly hurried inside, unaware of the impression they'd left behind.

Rahman and Ilay continued watching the two boys walk away.
“Who were they?” Ilay asked, his eyes still following them.
“I don’t know,” Richard replied. “I’ve never seen them before. And I know all my guests.”

“Let’s go in the garden Rick,” Richard added.”

The three of them settled at a table under the soft evening lights and began making pegs. As rahman sipped his drink, his eyes drifted upward to the balcony of Christopher’s room.

Upstairs, one of the men stood on the balcony, phone in hand, while another stood beside him, casually leaning against the railing.

“That’s Chris’s friend,” Rahman said, nodding toward them. Richard and ilay followed his gaze.

A moment later, Chris stepped out onto the balcony as well. All three were laughing, completely absorbed in their own world.

“That freak,” Ilay muttered, raising his eyes. “What the hell is he doing in his room? This gathering is for him, and he’s still fooling around up there.”

Ilay glanced at Richard with a knowing smirk.
“Are you sure you want to tame that crazy bastard?”

Richard’s eyes stayed fixed on the balcony.
“I’m sure,” he said calmly. “I want him, Rick.”

Chris came down with the two young men and took a seat at a table just a little distance from where Ilay, Richard, and Rahman were sitting.

Leaning forward with a relaxed, Chris whispered,
“Hey Taeui, didn’t you say you had something to show me.”

“Yeah, wait a second.”
Taeui pulled out three fur cat's keychains and placed them gently on the table. “Look! Aren’t they cute?”

Chris blinked. “What the... hell I thought it was something interesting.”

Jeaui laughed softly, flipping a page in the small pocketbook he was reading.

“Hyung, don’t laugh at me! Look—this orange one’s for Chris, the black one is mine, and the white one is yours, Hyung.”

At the nearby table, Ilay, Rahman, and Richard watched the scene unfold, amused.

“They’re interesting,” Ilay commented, sipping his drink. “Cats
keychain at party, though?”

Rahman leaned forward slightly, his gaze fixed on Jeaui’s soft smile. “What are they speaking so quietly? I can’t hear anything... like they’re planning a heist or something.”

“That one’s is so calm” he added under his breath, “the one holding the book.”

Ilay raised an eyebrow with a teasing grin. “So... you want to eavesdrop now? I didn’t expect that from you, Rahman.”

“Shut up, Reigrow. Mind your damn business.”

“I always do,” Ilay shot back casually. “I’m not interested in anyone’s business. Especially not yours. But when I find that rare gun, I'll shoot you first.”

Rahman gave a cold smile. “Same here". In fact,

“I’m searching for that gun especially for you, Reigrow—because with it, there’s no chance of survival.”

Chapter Text

A man holding a bouquet approached Chris, greeting him politely and offering the flowers as a welcome. Chris stood up, stepped forward to receive the bouquet, and began walking slowly with the guest as they talked.

Richard soon joined them, placing a hand on Chris’s shoulder as he stood beside him and greeted the guest warmly. The three continued their conversation, engrossed in their exchange.

"Hyung, I’m going to the washroom," Taeui said.
"Don’t go anywhere—just a few minutes, I’ll be back."
Jeaui nodded with a soft smile.

Ilay, who had noticed Taeui heading inside, followed him silently. As Taeui stepped out of the washroom, distracted while scrolling through his phone, he bumped into someone again—Ilay.

Ilay caught him just in time before he could fall.

"Again? You bumped into me twice now. You really should watch where you're going," Ilay said with a teasing smile.

"Oh… sorry, again," Taeui muttered, slightly flustered.

Ilay gently brushed Taeui’s bangs aside.
“What’s your name?” he asked, his voice low, eyes locked on Taeui with quiet intensity.

Taeui softly slapped his hand away and replied with a calm but firm tone,
“I don’t want to tell you my name.”

—
Out in the garden, Rahman stood from his chair, a drink glass in hand. He walked a few steps toward Jeaui, who was still quietly reading, and offered him the glass.

Jeaui looked up, his expression calm, and politely declined.
“Thank you for offering, but I only drink soft drinks or beer.”

Rahman smiled gently. “May I sit here for a while, if you don’t mind?”
Jeaui gave a small nod without looking up.

“What are you reading at a party?” Rahman asked with genuine curiosity.
“it’s just a book,” Jeaui replied, his attention still on the pages.

“May I take a look?” Rahman asked

Jeaui nodded again and handed the small book over.

“Interesting... where did you buy it? I mean, this pocket-sized edition.”

“I found it randomly in Paris,” Jeaui answered softly, voice calm and composed.

“I like it. But I’ve only seen the bigger version—it’s hard to carry around.”

“If you like it, you can keep it,” Jeaui said, eyes still cast down. “I’ve already finished it. I was just re-reading.”

Rahman was no longer focused on the book. He found himself quietly studying the curve of Jeaui’s downturned eyes, something soft stirring in his expression.

Chris turned to Richard and smacked his hand away.
“What the hell are you doing standing beside me like that, Richard?”

Richard raised his hands defensively.
“I just wanted to know who he was, that’s all! I was curious, Chris—why are you so mad at me?”

“You came up to me like that and grabbed my shoulder—it's embarrassing! What do you want people to think? That I'm scared of guests, you bastard?”

Richard gave a small grin.
“You’re terrible at socializing, that’s why I came to help you, Chris.”
Chris muttered. “Shut up, Richard.”

Taeui came outside and sat back in his chair. Ilay followed him shortly after.

The moment Taeui arrived, Jeaui completely forgot there was someone sitting in front of him.

“Hyung, should we head back?” Taeui asked softly.

Jeaui gently brushed Taeui’s bangs aside.
“Your hair has grown long.”

“Should I cut it, Hyung?”
“No,” Jeaui replied, smiling faintly. “It looks good on you.”

Rahman stood up from his seat and quietly took his steps back.
Ilay, still standing beside him, clenched his fist, his gaze fixed on Taeui.

Jeaui stood from his chair and picked up his phone. Taeui reached out and held one of his fingers gently, eyes searching for Chris.

Jeaui’s gaze shifted to the table—the book was still lying there. Then his eyes moved to Rahman, who stood a little distance away, his face turned aside. He was wearing a long kurta with trouser, and a heavy shawl with golden embroidery wrapped elegantly around his shoulders.

"One minute, Taeui," Jeaui said softly, picking up the book from the table. He took his steps forward toward Rahman.

Meanwhile, Ilay approached Taeui again and picked up his black cat keychain from the table.
"Can I take this? I like it," he said with a teasing grin.

Taeui narrowed his eyes.
"What’s your problem, man? Again? Give it back—it’s mine. Go buy your own."

Taeui jumped, trying to snatch the keychain, but Ilay's height made it impossible. Ilay kept teasing him, holding it just out of reach.

"I don’t know where to buy it," Ilay said, laughing as he pulled out his wallet. "I’ll give you money—go get another one for yourself."

"No need," Taeui sighed. "Keep it. I’ll buy another one. You’re acting like a kid. Just keep the cat—I don’t mind."

Ilay laughed, genuinely amused, and tapped his finger against Taeui’s cheek.
"Thanks, Mr.—well, you still haven’t told me your name."

"I told you—I won’t." Taeui folded his arms. "Now get lost before I beat you."

Ilay burst into laughter again.

Not far from them, Jeaui now stood behind Rahman.
"Excuse me," he said softly.

Rahman turned his face, a cigarette between his fingers.

"You forgot this," Jeaui said, offering the small book.
"You can keep it," he added gently.

"Are you sure you don’t need it anymore?" Rahman asked, eyes lingering.

Jeaui gave him a calm smile and nodded silently before walking away.

"Let’s go, Taeui," he whispered quietly as they passed.

Both Rahman and Ilay watched them leave, their eyes fixed on the two figures until they completely disappeared from view.

Chapter Text

Hey Chris,” Taeui called out.

Chris turned his face.
“Yeah?”

“We're going,” Taeui said.

“Why? The party isn't over yet.”

“It’s not safe to stay too long,” he replied calmly. “We’ll stay at the hotel and head to Berlin in the morning.”

“Ok, fine,” Chris nodded. “Drive carefully. Or should I come with you?”

“No, no—it’s okay. Stay here. I’ll text you when we arrive.”

“Alright.”

30 minutes later – Hotel Room

They finally arrived. Taeui threw himself onto the bed, not even bothering to change his clothes. Jeaui quietly walked out from the bathroom in fresh clothes, towel in hand.

Taeui, half-asleep, pulled out two phones from his pocket and tossed them beside the pillow. Within minutes, both
were sound asleep.

8 AM – Tarten Mansion

Rahman stood in the garden holding a small pocket book. His expression was cold.

“Richard, we wasted five months looking for them.”

“I know,” Richard sighed, sipping his coffee. “I even hired a hacker. That bastard hasn’t updated me yet.”

“What happened in Korea?” Richard added.

“There’s nothing there,” Rahman muttered. “They’re not in Korea.”

Ilay stepped out, joining them at the table and picking up his coffee.

“What’s going on?” he asked curiously.

Suddenly, Richard’s laptop began ringing.

“Who the hell is this, calling in the morning?” he grumbled, picking up.

“Mr. Tarten,” the hacker's voice said, “I tracked them. Their phone is on right now.”

“What?! Where?”

“Odisian Crown Hotel. Near you. I’m sure.”

“Rick—go. Check that hotel!”

Ilay nodded without hesitation and left the mansion with two black cars.

Back at the Hotel

Taeui groaned, half-asleep. “Hyung, why is that phone ringing nonstop?”

Jeaui was out on the balcony and didn’t hear him.

Taeui rubbed his eyes and picked up the phones. One was ringing from a flood of email notifications.

“Damn it,” he muttered. “Hyung! Who turned on this phone?”

Jeaui walked in calmly. “What happened?”

“This phone was off, but now it’s on. I think it got turned on by accident. It was under the pillow.”

Jeaui, his face was unreadable.

“Let’s go, Taeui.”

“Our bags?”
“Already packed.”

“Another hotel?”
“No. Let’s find an apartment in Berlin instead.”

They left the hotel just five minutes before Ilay arrived. Despite searching every room, Ilay found nothing.

On the drive back, he stopped in front of a café.

From inside the car, his eyes narrowed—there they were. Jeaui and Taeui, sitting casually at a sidewalk table, sipping coffee.

He stepped out, ordered his coffee quickly, and slowly walked toward them, eyes fixed on Taeui.

“Hey,” he greeted.

Taeui looked up. “You again?”

“We meet again. Do you remember me?” Ilay smiled.

“How could I forget?” Taeui rolled his eyes. “My cat thief.”

Ilay laughed out loud. “You gave me that cat. I’m not a thief.”

Taeui sipped his coffee. “So what now? Why are you here?”

“I was just passing by, saw you two, and stopped.”

“You’re chasing me?”

“No, no, Ilay still laughing. “I’m not a bad guy. Just… coincidence.”

Ilay stormed back into the mansion, his expression blank, his hands empty.
Richard stood up quickly. “What happened? Did you catch them?”

“No,” Ilay snapped. “They ran again. I checked the entire hotel.”

Rahman, still flipping through his small pocketbook, didn’t even lift his eyes.
“Didn't you say Reigrow was good at chasing people, Mr. Richard.”

Ilay's jaw tightened. “Shut up, Rahman. If you're so capable, go catch them yourself.”

“Admit it, Reigrow—you’re useless.”

Ilay took a threatening step forward, hand on his gun.
Richard immediately stepped between them. “Enough! Don’t you two start again.”

Then Rahman finally looked up, calm and cold.
“They're in Germany. It’s confirmed.”

Richard turned and said.
yeah
“Then call NIS. Block every airport and station. We’ll catch them before nightfall. Dreshan and Berlin.”

Rahman picked up his phone.
“Send our men to every bus stop and airport. If someone looks like they’re running—catch them.”

He ended the call and leaned back.
“This is the only move left.”

Are you sure rahman, “We’ll find them before the day ends.”

“They can't hide much longer,” Rahman added quietly.

Taeui and Jeaui sat quietly in their car, parked just outside the airport.

“Hyung... I’m really sorry. All this happened because of that phone...” Taeui’s voice was low, full of guilt.

Jeaui shook his head gently, eyes scanning the crowd. “It’s okay, Taeui. That wasn’t your fault.”

Taeui leaned forward, frowning. “What the hell—why are there so many bodyguards here? Do you think... they’re looking for us?”

Jeaui’s hands tensed on the steering wheel.

“Let’s head to the bus stop,” Taeui said quickly. “We’ll leave the car there and take a bus.”

Jeaui gave a small nod and started the car.

A bodyguard standing near the airport entrance narrowed his eyes at the black car idling at a distance. He squinted to read the license plate.

DSH XZ 8473

He pressed his comm. “Hello? Kade Note this number—DSH XZ 8473. If you spot this car at the bus stop, update me immediately.”

Chapter Text

Hyung, let me drive. You look tired.”

“I’m fine,” Jeaui replied softly, but his fingers gripped the wheel tighter.

“If we get caught...” Jeaui began, his tone serious, “Run. Don’t wait for me, Taeui.”

“No,” Taeui said, voice firm. “We'll go together. Don’t say that again.”

They reached the bus stop—but Teaui’s heart sank.

Five bodyguards were already there.

“They're Weabers,” Jeaui said, tightening his grip, eyes locked ahead.

“They're not Weabers, hyung,” the younger one replied firmly.
“If they were, they would’ve killed us the moment they saw us—without hesitation.”

“Damn it… he’s coming this way.”
“Who the hell are they, hyung? We’re lucky, right? I hope our luck saves us this time too…”

Jeaui glanced to the side, his voice low and tense.
“They know we’re here. Look to the left—they're checking all the cars.”
“Tighten your seatbelt,” Jeaui added, tightening his own grip on the wheel.

A man in black tapped on the driver’s window. “Excuse me, sir.”

Jeaui didn’t respond. His grip tightened on the wheel.

“Hyung,” Taeui whispered. “Don’t open the window. Back the car. Full speed.”

The bodyguard stepped back slightly, inspecting the car. His eyes landed on the number plate. He clicked his earpiece.

“ Dante, I found the car—DSH XZ 8473. Two men inside. They haven’t stepped out yet.”

“Wait a moment Kade,” Dante said into his mic. “Let me update Mr. Rahman first. And keep your eyes on that car.”

Inside the sedan, Jeaui threw the gear into reverse, tires screaming as he shot backward. Two security cars peeled after them.

“W-T-F, Hyung— we’re totally screwed today!” Taeui hissed, bracing himself.

“Chase the car—fast! Dante, get here now!”

Jeaui was driving at full speed, but within seconds, five more cars joined the pursuit.

Teaui looked outside. The way they moved, surrounded, closed in—he knew.
“There’s no chance to escape now…”
He turned to Jeaui, eyes steady.

“Hyung, I’m going to jump and distract them. Just run. Don’t look back.”
“Teaui, wait—!”
“Teaui!!”

But he’d already leapt, rolling once on the asphalt before sprinting the opposite way.

––

Rahman’s phone lit up. He hit speaker.
“Report.”

“Sir, we have visual on plate D-S-H X-Z 8473. One subject jumped and is on foot. The driver is still in the car.”

“Catch them. Don’t come back empty-handed.”

“Understood, sir.”

“I told you, Richard—we’ll get them before night,” Rahman said calmly.

"Need rick",

“No need for Riegrow ,” he added, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “Dante and Kade are well-trained there’s no chance they’ll escape.”

Richard leaned back, feet on the table, a smug grin on his face.
“Finally, Rahman. We found them. I poured money on hackers like water.”

--------

Teaui turned his face, breathing hard from nonstop running. The flash of the headlights lit up his features—his flushed cheeks, wide eyes, the sweat on his temple. Even in chaos, he looked painfully beautiful.

“Whoa…” Kade muttered, stunned for a second. “He’s… he’s so handsome. And cute.”

“Kade! What the hell are you doing?” Dante’s voice roared through the earpiece. “Can’t you catch him? He’s on foot! Knock him down—we don’t have time!”

Before Kade could react, Teaui leaped onto the hood of his car and kicked him straight in the face. Kade’s car swerved violently and crashed into the one in front of him.

Teaui landed on the ground, now surrounded by ten cars.

From a distance, Jeaui saw it happen—his heart stopped. He slammed the gear into reverse, tires screeching against the asphalt as he raced toward Teaui.

Then he saw Dante’s car speeding toward Teaui.

Jeaui swerved, placing himself between Dante and Teaui. The impact was brutal—Dante’s car rammed into Jeaui’s. Jeaui’s head slammed against the steering wheel. His eyes went blank.

“HYUNG!!”

Teaui’s scream tore through the night.
“HYUNG!!”

“Hyung!” Taeui smashed a fist through the shattered passenger window, but black-clad men swarmed him, pinning his arms.

“Bastards—let me go! Who sent you—?”

Both brothers were bundled into separate cars, hoods over their heads, wrists cable-tied.

“Damn it, they’re impossible to catch…” Dante muttered under his breath, panting. “Mr. Richard was right… I’m exhausted.”

Hello
“Mr. Rahman, we caught them. Where should we take them?”

“To my villa. Not Tarten. I’m on my way.”

“Understood, sir.”

Rahman rose. “Let’s go, Reigrow—they’re in the villa. I’m heading to the villa.”

Ilay grabbed his coat. Richard waved them off. “I’ll come in the morning.”

Rahman and Ilay each slid into their cars, engines growling as they sped toward the villa—and toward the twins’ uncertain fate.

Chapter Text

Their car rolled to a stop in front of the villa gates. As Rahman and Ilay stepped out, a Dante approached them.

Hello Mr. Rahman
Hello Mr. Reigrow

Rahman’s gaze narrowed. “Who beat you up like this?”

Dante lowered his head, avoiding eye contact. “Sir… one of the boys is extremely aggressive. He kept screaming Hyung! Hyung! He punched me a few times before we could restrain him.”

“Hyung?” Ilay repeated, raising an eyebrow.
He smirked faintly. “Reminds me of that little cat-boy from the gathering last night.”

“Where are they?” Rahman asked.

“We’ve kept them in separate rooms, sir. This way.”

Just then, a loud crash echoed through the hallway.
Glass shattered.

Two guards rushed to a nearby room—
“Sir! He’s gone! He jumped out the window!”

Ilay bolted toward the back side of the room. Just as he turned the corner, a young man sprinted in his direction, glancing frantically over his shoulder as guards chased behind him.

Ilay caught him with one arm mid-run, lifting him off the ground like he weighed nothing. Taeui’s body twisted, facing away—but then he turned his head and their eyes met.

Ilay froze.

His grip loosened slightly as shock rippled across his face.

"You..." he muttered, almost to himself.

But Taeui’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.
“You bastard! Where’s my hyung?!”
He thrashed in Ilay’s arms, fists pounding against his chest.
“Let me go! Put me down! You bastard!”

Ilay didn’t move—still staring, as if trying to understand what was happening.

“What are you doing here?”

Taeui’s eyes were blazing.
“What am I doing here?! You fing kidnapped me, you psychopath! Let me go, you sick motherf—”*

"You're Jeong Taeui?" Ilay asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and something else he couldn’t name.

"Yeah, I am. You got a problem with that?" Taeui snapped, grabbing a fistful of Ilay’s shirt in both hands. His voice cracked as he leaned forward and buried his face against Ilay’s chest.

"The moment Taeui looked straight into Ilay’s eyes, his big eyes were filled with tears. The garden's soft light made those teary eyes even more beautiful."

"Now tell me where my hyung is. Please... just tell me you didn’t kill him. He’s alive, right?"

Ilay's arms froze around him for a second before answering softly,
"He’s alive. Why would I kill him?"

Taeui looked up, eyes searching desperately.
"Then where is he? Tell me!"

Ilay nodded, eyes calm.
"He’s here. Don’t worry."

His gaze dropped to Taeui’s bare feet.
"Where are your shoes?"

"In the room," Taeui mumbled.

Without another word, Ilay scooped him up into his arms.

"Let’s go inside first."

Taeui started kicking in protest.
"Put me down, you bastard! Are you deaf or what?! I said put me down!"

___

Rahman pulled out a chair and sat down in front of the unconscious man.

"Uncover his face," he ordered quietly.

His bodyguard dante nodded and removed the black cloth covering Jeaui’s face. The moment it was off, Jeaui’s head jerked slightly to the side—still unconscious, barely hanging onto the chair.

Rahman leaned forward and placed a hand gently on his forehead. Blood stained his skin.

He turned to the bodyguard, his voice cold and sharp.

"What the hell is he doing here?"

"Sir... you told us to bring him."

Rahman's eyes shifted back to Jeaui, recognition finally sinking in. He knelt in front of him, staring at the blood trailing down his forehead.

"He gently brushed Jeaui’s bangs aside, blown by the wind from the open window. A dim moonlight fell softly on his face.

‘How beautiful,’ he whispered under his breath."

"Who hurt him?"
Then louder—furious: "Who hit him, you bastard!"

"It was an accident, sir," the guard stammered. "He was trying to block us with the car—I didn’t mean to, I hit him by mistake."

Without another word, Rahman untied Jeaui’s wrists and carefully lifted him into his arms.

How careless you're. "Call the doctor."

"Yes, sir!"

He carried Jeaui to a nearby room, gently laid him on the bed, and covered him with a blanket. Pulling up a chair, Rahman sat beside him, eyes locked on his face, completely still.

His voice dropped to a soft whisper.

"If I had known you were Jeong Jeaui... I would've come to find you myself.
"I apologize for this, Jeong jeaui."

After 30 minutes, a bodyguard entered the room with the doctor.

“Sir, the doctor is here.”

Without turning his gaze away from Jeaui, Rahman spoke calmly:

“Check him.”

The doctor approached quietly, cleaned the wound on Jeaui’s forehead, and gently wrapped a bandage around it. Then he handed over a few packets of medicine.

A cold voice spoke from behind him, sharp enough to freeze the air.

“When will he wake up?”

The doctor turned slightly, sensing the weight in Rahman's tone.

“Within an hour, sir. Once he wakes up, give him these medicines with warm milk. He’ll need rest for a while.”

Rahman gave a short nod, his eyes never leaving Jeaui’s sleeping face.

___

Taeui was clinging to the door knob while Ilay held him firmly with one arm.

"Stop it, Taeui. You can’t win against me," Ilay said, his voice calm but firm.

"Let me go, you freak! Why are you so huge?" Taeui snapped, turning his face toward Ilay, who was casually puffing on his cigarette.

"I’m not huge. You’re just small," Ilay replied coolly. "Now let go of that door. I’m already tired. Go sleep on the bed."

"I won’t sleep until I see my hyung," Taeui shot back, stubbornness burning in his eyes.

"Don’t force me to use my other hand," Ilay warned, his voice low.

"What will you do, huh? Beat me or what?" Taeui snapped back, still struggling in his grip.

Without another word, Ilay flicked his cigarette aside, scooped Taeui up like a feather, and tossed him onto the bed. In one swift move, he grabbed the blanket and wrapped it tightly around him like a burrito — only Taeui’s furious face peeking out.

"Now that’s perfect," Ilay smirked, teasing. "Nice and quiet."

"YOU MOTHERFUCKER! SON OF A BITCH! WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?!" Taeui shouted, kicking inside the blanket like a trapped animal.

Ilay calmly sat on the bed beside him, leaned back, picked up a book, and flipped it open like nothing had happened.

"Goodnight, Taeui. Sweet dreams."

"FUCK OFF, YOU BASTARD!"

Chapter Text

Finally, Jeaui’s eyes fluttered open. His gaze met an unfamiliar ceiling, blinking slowly as reality returned. When he turned his face, he saw a man sitting quietly in front of him.

"Finally, you're awake," Rahman said, his voice low and so soft.

Jeaui sat up slightly, his voice calm. "Where’s Taeui?" His eyes scanned the room, urgency rising beneath his composed tone.

"He's not here," Rahman replied.

"Who are you?"

Rahman stood up from his chair and knelt beside the bed, trying to check the wound on Jeaui’s forehead, but Jeaui subtly turned his face away.

"Rahman," he said quietly. "You can call me Rahman."

He picked up a glass of warm milk from the table and handed it over along with some medicine.
"Take this. For your wound."

Jeaui glanced at the pills, then at Rahman.

"What is this?"

"Just medicine. Not poison," Rahman offered a small smile.
"Take it, Jeong Jeaui."

Jeaui hesitated only for a moment, then took the glass and the pills. He swallowed them quietly and began drinking the milk in small sips, his posture still graceful, still composed.

Rahman sat back, his eyes quietly studying the man in front of him.

"How can someone be this calm in a situation like this?" he muttered under his breath, almost to himself.

Jeaui finished the last sip of warm milk and quietly placed the glass back on the table. His gaze remained lowered, calm and unreadable.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, his voice soft but firm.

Rahman leaned back slightly in his chair, watching him.

"Raventhium," he said. "I want Raventhium."

Jeaui’s fingers curled slightly in the blanket.

"I won’t make those guns again," he murmured, still not looking up. "If there’s anything else you need—I can create it. But not that."

Rahman exhaled slowly.

"I searched for you only for Raventhium. Not for anything else."

Jeaui’s lips parted, then paused.

"I can’t, Rah…"
He stopped mid-sentence, realizing he’d forgotten the name.

Rahman’s voice was gentle.

"Rahman. It’s a simple name, Jeaui."

Jeaui finally lifted his eyes to meet his.

"I can’t, Mr. Rahman."

Rahman gave him a quiet smile and stood from his chair, brushing off invisible dust from his clothes.

"Take your time, Jeaui. As much as you need."
"Good night. I’ll see you in the morning."

He left the room without waiting for a response.

Back in his own room, Rahman sank into his chair and picked up the same small pocket book—the one Jeaui had once held in his hands.

He turned a page slowly, then let out a low chuckle.

"The book and its owner—both are here. What a coincidence."

His smile lingered, but his eyes were lost somewhere far beyond the page.

___

Tarten Mansion

Richard sat alone in his study, surrounded by half-read documents and untouched coffee. His phone began to ring, buzzing sharply against the quiet.

He groaned, rubbing his temple.
"Who the hell is calling at this hour?"

The screen flashed: Aunt.

He picked up.
"Hello?"

[“Hello, Richard.”]
His aunt’s voice was cold, tired, and clearly fed up.

"Yes, Aunt?"

[“Where is Christopher?”]

Richard sighed.
"I don’t know. I’m in the study—I haven’t seen him."

[“He’s not answering my calls. I know he’s doing it on purpose. Tell him there’s someone who wants to meet him—badly. They’ve already sent so many gifts, flowers… everything. He doesn’t have to accept, just come here and reject them face to face if he wants. It’s starting to affect my reputation, Richard. I can’t deal with this anymore. Send him tomorrow.”]

Richard shut his eyes.
"Okay, Aunt. I’ll tell him. Don’t worry."

[“Thank you, Richard.”]

The call ended.

With a frustrated sigh, Richard threw the file in his hand onto the floor, papers scattering across the rug.

He uncapped his drink bottle and took a long swig—no water, no ice—just straight bitterness down his throat.

"What’s wrong with those freaks?" he muttered to himself.
"Can’t they leave him alone for a second? What if he decides to run back to Paris again..."

Meanwhile, upstairs in his room, Chris sat cross-legged on his bed, a book in his hands and his mind far from reality.

A knock interrupted the silence.

"Come in," he said casually, eyes never leaving the page.

The door creaked open, but the person didn’t speak. They just walked in and stood still by the bed.

Chris flipped another page. Still no voice.

"What’s your problem?" he snapped finally, irritation creeping into his voice.

He looked up, expecting a servant.

But it wasn’t.

"Richard...?"

His expression hardened instantly.
"What the hell are you doing in my room?"

"Where’s your phone? Aunt’s calling you," Richard mumbled as he stepped into the room.

Chris closed his book and finally looked up properly.
"Are you drunk?" he asked, eyebrows raised.
"Go back to your room, Richard. You’re clearly drunk."

Before he could move, Richard stumbled forward and fell over him on the bed.

"I want to talk to you."

"We’ll talk in the morning. Go sleep, you bastard."

But Richard didn’t listen. He gently brushed back Chris’s hair, leaning in too close.
"Your eyes... they're blue."

Chris narrowed his gaze.
"Bastard, my eyes have been blue since birth. You just noticed now?"

Richard’s lips brushed too close to Chris’s ear. His breath reeked of alcohol.

Chris clenched his jaw.
"Richard, I don’t want to beat you because you’re drunk. But if you don’t get off me right now, I swear—"

But richard didn't move. His head dropped onto Chris's shoulder, and within seconds, he was snoring softly

Chirs stared in disbelief. "Are you serious right now?"

With a sigh, he shoved him once no response. So he kicked him hard. Richard rolled off the bed with a thud, landing on the floor.

Chris pulled the blanket over himself, muttering,
"You’re dead in the morning, bastard."

Chapter Text

Dante, one of the bodyguards, knocked on Jeaui's room door.
Jeaui opened it quietly.

"Mr. Jeaui, these are your clothes. Mr. Rahman sent them. He’s asking for you at the dining table for breakfast," Dante said politely.

Jeaui nodded without a word and gently closed the door.
Ten minutes later, he stepped out of the bathroom after a shower, fully dressed.

The same bodyguard was waiting for him outside the room.
"This way, Mr. Jeaui."

Jeaui nodded again and followed him silently.

Rahman was already seated at the dining table. As soon as he saw Jeaui, he stood up and pulled out a chair for him.

"Black suits you, Jeong Jeaui," Rahman said with a faint smile.

Jeaui sat beside Rahman, who poured a glass of orange juice for him.

"How's your wound now?"

"Better than before," Jeaui replied.

Suddenly, they heard Taeui’s voice echoing from the hallway—he was shouting non-stop.

"Leave me, you fucking bastard! I’ll bite you, maniac!" Taeui yelled.

Ilay appeared, carrying Taeui effortlessly in one arm. The moment Taeui spotted Jeaui sitting at the table, his eyes widened. He bit Ilay's hand and broke free, sprinting toward his brother.

"Hyung! Hyung, are you okay? Did someone hit you? Show me your face!" Taeui, cupping Jeaui’s cheeks and gently touching his bandaged wound.

"No one hit me, Taeui. I’m fine. What about you?" Jeaui asked, brushing Taeui’s bangs softly out of his eyes.

Taeui suddenly turned toward Dante with fire in his eyes.

"That bastard! He’s the one who hit you yesterday."
Without waiting, Taeui lunged and punched Dante.

Ilay chuckled softly from behind.

"Don’t you dare hit him back, Dante. If you want to stay safe, eat his punches," he said with an amused smirk. Then he glanced at Rahman and added,

"He's kinda aggressive... and cute."

Jeaui stood up calmly and gently held Taeui’s fist.

"Taeui, leave him. It was an accident—it wasn’t his fault."
Then Jeaui turned to Dante, bowed his head slightly, and apologized.

Dante looked at Jeaui with wide eyes, a hint of sparkles in them—like he was touched by his grace and humility.

Taeui and Jeaui sat at the dining table. Taeui was seated beside Ilay, while Jeaui sat across from him next to Rahman.

“Reigrow, didn’t you say you don't want to share the same roof with me?” Rahman asked, sipping his coffee.

“Yeah, I said that,” Ilay replied coolly, “and now I’m going for shopping—with him.”

He pointed at Taeui, who was too busy chewing his sandwich to even notice the conversation.

“He picked teaui up like a damn handbag,” Taeui mumbled, half a sandwich in his hand and the other half stuffed in his mouth.

Taeui looked up, annoyed.
“What kind of misbehavior is this, bastard? Put me down! Let me eat in peace.”

“We’re going shopping,” Ilay insisted.

“Go by yourself, bastard. Put me down!”

Meanwhile, Jeaui quietly turned to Rahman.

“Can I have some coffee?” he asked softly.

Rahman turned his face toward him and replied firmly,
“No, you can’t.”

“Why?” Jeaui blinked at him, confused.

“Because it’s not good for your wound,” Rahman said, calmly.

“Doctor said you need to drink milk or juice for a few days.
You can have coffee after two or three days.”

Then Rahman looked away with a soft chuckle.
“He’s so cute…”

“You bastard!” Taeui suddenly barked.
“My hyung wants coffee—give him coffee!”

Rahman’s eyes stayed fixed on Jeaui, who was quietly sipping his juice like a baby.

“Bastard, stop flirting with my hyung! Don’t you dare look at him like that!”

“Reigrow, weren’t you going for shopping?” Rahman said, annoyed.

“Why are you still here? Go—and don’t come back to my villa.”

“I’ll come back soon. I need some clothes. I’ll stay here until he’s here.”

“Go to Tarten or Berlin. There’s no place for you here.”

“Bastard! Stop looking at my hyung like that!” Taeui growled.
“This is my final warning!”

"Hey Reigrow put me down i need to land a punch on his face!"

"My name is Ilay. Call me Ilay."

Then he looked up at Ilay and asked,
“What was his name again?”
“His name is Rahman.”

“You bastard, Rahman! Stop flirting with my hyung!”

Rahman shifted his gaze to Dante.
“Go tell the chef—if Reigrow comes back, put poison in his dinner.”

“Poison doesn’t work on me, Rahman. Don’t waste your poison.”

“Let’s go, Taeui. Tell me what you want—I’ll buy it for you,” Ilay said.
“Shut your mouth and put me down, bastard!” Taeui yelled, still in his arms.

Teaui’s voice echoed through the hallway.
" Rahman, you bastard! If you dare lay a finger on my hyung."

"PUT ME DOWN, YOU SON OF BITCH, ILAY!"

Rahman turned to Jeaui.
“Do you need anything? The chef prepared all those dishes especially for you.”

“For me?” Jeaui asked softly.

“Yes. I told him to make Korean food for you.”

Chapter Text

Taeui was browsing some books in the mall when Ilay spoke up behind him.

"You said you didn’t need anything."

Taeui glanced at him with a confused look and turned away.

“Is it a crime to buy something?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it. Buy whatever you want,” Ilay replied, his eyes following him.

After grabbing a few books, Taeui spotted a section with sneakers. He handed the books to Ilay and walked over to check them out.

He tried on a few pairs, but something seemed off. Finally, he asked the shopkeeper,

“Do you have sneakers without laces?”

“Sorry, sir. This model only comes with laces.”

Ilay glanced at Taeui’s shoes and asked,

“You don’t like laces? But the ones you’re wearing have them.”

“These have lights in the soles. I’m looking for similar ones for my hyung. He has trouble tying laces.”

He finally found same design two pairs with glowing soles but with laces.
“Pack these two,” he said.

Ilay pulled out his card and handed it to the shopkeeper, but Taeui caught his hand mid-air and stared at him.

“Who told you to pay my bill?”

“I have my own card,” Taeui added, passing his card to the shopkeeper and picking up his bags.

“You didn’t have to. I was paying,” Ilay muttered, taking some of the bags from Taeui.

“You think I’m broke or something?” Taeui snapped.
“I don’t like owing favors—especially from strangers.”

“You’re a kid or what? Why are you buying light-up shoes?”

Taeui shot him an annoyed glare.
“Shut up. Adults wear them too. That’s why the shopkeeper sells them.”

Ilay raised an eyebrow, amused.
“You're so weird.”

Taeui grabbed his shopping bags and rolled his eyes.
“And you kidnapped me. Who’s weirder now?”

--------

Richard finally woke up, groaning as he lay sprawled across the floor.

He rubbed his eyes, staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling.
“Where the hell...?” he muttered, then turned his head.

There, peacefully curled up on the bed like a porcelain doll, was Chris.

“Damn it,” Richard whispered. “I hope I didn’t do anything stupid last night.”

He sat up slowly and crawled closer, eyes fixed on Chris’s sleeping face.

So close. So still. So… soft?
He reached out and gently touched Chris’s cheek.

“His cheeks are so soft…”
Squeeze. Squeeze.
He couldn’t help it—he pinched them again, this time a little more.

Chris stirred slightly but didn’t wake.
Richard grinned, pulled out his phone, and quickly snapped a dozen pictures from different angles.

“Too cute,” he whispered to himself.
Then, like a thief, he tiptoed out of the room… still grinning like an idiot.

---------

Teaui finally got a moment alone with Jeaui. He entered his room quietly, holding a shopping bag.

“Hyung,” he called softly, handing over a box. “These are for you.”

Jeaui opened it.

“Thanks, Teaui,” he said gently, placing them aside.
Teaui sat on the bed, watching him.

“That bastard… did he say what he wants?”
Jeaui gave a small nod.

“What?”
“…Raventhium. They want Raventhium,” he replied without looking up.

“And what do you think, hyung?”

“I haven’t decided yet. I just need some time. If there’s any way to escape… we’ll take it.”

Teaui nodded with determination. “Then give me ten, maybe twelve days. Let me dig first.”

Teaui looked at him, and leaned back on the bed, exhaling. “This is the first time we've really been caught. What a joke… even our luck's not with us.”

Jeaui stood from the chair and quietly sat beside him. “I was thinking the same.

Teaui got up, opened the door, and turned back. “Try to convince that bastard Rahman. I’ll find out who these people really are—and how dangerous they can get.”

Jeaui nodded once more, silently.

Teaui walked outside into the lawn with a can of beer. He spotted Dante sitting on a chair, scrolling through his phone.
“Hey, bro!” Teaui called out.

Dante looked up and stood quickly. “Yes?”

“I came to apologize,” Teaui said with a faint smile, draping an arm around Dante’s neck. “Sorry for punching you this morning. I was… out of control. Hyung asked me to apologize.”

At the mention of Jeaui, Dante’s eyes sparkled.
“Oh, no need!” he said quickly. “Honestly, I also felt bad when Mr. Jeaui got hurt because of me.”

Kade, one of the other bodyguards and a friend of Dante, had been watching from a distance. After Teaui left, he walked up to Dante.

“What happened? What was he saying?” Kade asked, glancing toward Teaui.

“Nothing much,” Dante replied. “He came to apologize.”

Kade raised an eyebrow. “Huh… those boys are so well-mannered and look so innocent. But at least they’re being treated well… and alive.”

“Yeah, I think the same,” Dante nodded. “I mean—how could someone even kidnap someone like Mr. Jeaui? He looks so innocent. And his brother… he’s cute too.”

_____

Richard sat sipping his coffee, his eyes flicking between Ilay and Rahman.

“Can one of you finally tell me where the hell you were? You weren’t answering my calls.”

“Richard, you won’t believe what happened,” Ilay said, eyes still gleaming with excitement.

Rahman was silent, still lost in thoughts.

Richard narrowed his eyes. “Just open your mouth and tell me.”

“Those boys who came to the gathering… Chris’s friends. They’re twins.”

Richard choked on his coffee. “What the hell are you saying? Don’t joke with me.”

“He’s not joking,” Rahman said quietly, eyes now meeting Richard’s. “The boy who gave me that book… he was Jeaui. And the one who was with him—he was Teaui.”

“What a coincidence,” Ilay added with a smirk.

Richard set his cup on the table and said,

"Be careful. If Chris finds out they’re here, I’m dead. Why is it always me?"

Ilay laughed,
"If he finds out, he’ll shoot you.

Richard glared at him,
"Just keep them locked up. Chris shouldn't find out about them."

Rahman was flipping through the pocketbook calmly.
"Don’t worry,"
"They can’t escape unless I allow it."

Chapter Text

After 10 days

“Hyung, let’s make those guns and leave this place.”

“Is there no way to escape without using those guns?”

“No. They’ve got too much power. And T&R already sent us the email—their business isn’t illegal, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

“T&R… Tarten and Reigrows?”

“Yeah. Richard Tarten. I think he has some connection with Chris. And that bastard Ilay… he’s Reigrow’s second son.”

Teaui sighed deeply.
He leaned back, running a hand through his hair.

"Hyung... should I contact Chris?"

Jeaui shook his head slowly.

"We shouldn’t drag him into this. We don’t even know what his relationship with Richard really is."

"It could cause him trouble."
Teaui nodded reluctantly.

"They don’t seem dangerous, anyway. Let’s just finish
Jeaui glanced out the window.
"...and leave."

Taeui
“What about Rahman?”

“A known politician. Rarely shows up in public. From what I found, he hasn’t lost a single election.”
By the way
“How much time, hyung?”

“At least six months.”

They stepped out of the room and walked straight to the garden, where Rahman was lighting a cigarette under the shade of a tree.

“Mr. Rahman… are you free?” came the soft voice from behind.

He turned, spotting the familiar face. A smile tugged at his lips as his eyes landed on Jeaui.

“You’re together. Come, sit here.”

Up on the balcony, Ilay leaned against the railing, beer can in hand. Rahman glanced up and gave him a subtle nod.

Without hesitation, he jumped straight down, landing beside teaui with a dull thud.

Teaui flinched back, heart nearly leaping out of his chest.

“What the hell—! Are you insane or what? Use the stairs next time! You scared me, bastard!”

Ilay sat beside teaui, already up to his usual antics, fingers casually threading through dark strands just to get a reaction.

“Mr. Rahman, we need things,” the elder twin said calmly, holding out the small notebook. “It’s all written in here. Two laptops and a private space. We’ll finish the work in six months—and once it’s done, you’ll let us go. If you have any objections, let us know now. Otherwise, we start tomorrow.”

“Why do you need two laptops?” Ilay asked, not even pretending to read the list, still playing with the younger one’s hair.

“Don’t touch me, bastard. Can’t you sit like a normal person?” came the irritated reply. “We need them to work. For blueprints. Or are you really that dumb?”

“You’re always so angry,” Ilay muttered with a grin. “You could’ve said that with a smile, you know.”

“People like you don’t get calm words. And stop touching my hair.”

“You said you want Raventhium,” the elder twin added, shifting his gaze back to Rahman. “If I give it to you—you’ll let us go.”

Rahman opened the notebook without even glancing up.
“You want to go?”

“What?”

“I mean, I thought you'd take much longer to decide. But you’re quite smart Jeaui.”

“Ilay, if you don’t stop, I’ll land a punch on your face,” the teaui muttered, holding back his hand, clearly trying to focus on what his brother was saying.

“Why is your hair so black?” Ilay teased, fingers still reaching.

The glare he got could’ve killed.
“Why is yours silver?”

“I don’t know.” Ilay shrugged innocently.

Leaning forward, he whispered, “Same here. Now shut up and let me listen.”

Rahman flipped the notebook shut and placed it on the table.
“Okay, fine. Jeaui, give me Raventhium and I’ll let you go.”

Then he glanced toward him again.
“By the way, do you have a family? A mother, father, siblings?”
Jeaui met his eyes for a moment, then looked away. His silence was soft and heavy.

“No. We’re orphan,” Teaui said, standing from his seat.
“We don’t have anyone. Let’s go, hyung.”

Before they could leave, teaui noticed something.
“Wait, your lace hyung—” He crouched, tying the undone string quickly.

“You’ll fall. Let me fix it.”
Once done, he stood up again.
“Okay, let’s go inside.”

Jeaui gave a small nod, and they both disappeared back into the house.

Rahman watched them quietly.
“Riegrow… their bond is so strong. What do you think?” he asked, still not looking at Ilay.

“For the first time, I agree with you bastard,” Ilay replied, tone low.

“They’re deeply attached to each other."
"I'm jealous"

"Same here"
Probably because… they’re orphans Reigrow.

Teaui and Jeaui began working together as fast and efficiently as they could.

But what none of them realized—at least not right away—was that Ilay and Rahman were slowly getting attached to them.

Without even noticing, they became addicted to their presence. They couldn’t fall asleep without seeing them, and each morning, the first faces they sought at the dining table were always the twins’.

Ilay and Rahman—two men who were always one word away from killing each other—were now somehow coexisting under the same roof.

Even Richard had started visiting Rahman’s villa every couple of days.

There were others too—unexpectedly drawn into the gravity of the twins.
Dante and Kade, the bodyguards, had grown attached to them as well.

Kade often played video games with Teaui whenever they had free time, laughing like old friends.

As for Jeaui… he never went to Dante on his own, not even once. But Dante always found a reason to approach him—new excuses every day—just to see him, just to be near him.

On the other side, Chris was getting restless.
The twins had disappeared without a single word. No messages. No warning. Just gone.

And one day, unable to wait any longer, he went to Richard for help.

Richard was in his study when he heard a knock at the door.

“Richard, can I come in? Are you free?”

“Oh, Chris—yeah, of course. Come in,” Richard said, opening the door with a smile of surprise. “What’s going on?”

“I need your help. Can you?”

“Sure,” Richard said, stepping aside. “What is it?”

“Do you remember when I brought my friends to that gathering three months ago?”

“Yeah, I remember.”
“They disappeared. And they didn’t even leave a single text. Can you look into it for me? I mean, NIS is under your control. You could easily track them, right?”

Richard leaned back in his chair.
“Alright. Send me their photos. If I find anything, I’ll let you know.”

Chris gave a small nod. “Thanks.

By the way… how you know them.”

Richard tilted his head, curious.

“I met them in Paris. I was chasing a target, and one of them helped me track him down. He’s good with hacking and devices.”

“I see,” Richard said, nodding slowly. “Okay, don’t worry. If I find out anything, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks, Richard,” Chris said, stepping out of the study.

As the door closed behind him, Richard picked up his glass of water, took a long sip, and tried to steady himself.
Damn it.

Chapter Text

Ilay was casually fiddling with Teaui's black cat keychain while Richard and Rahman were busy scanning some boring files.

Out of nowhere, Chirs stormed in like a windstorm and snatched the keychain from Ilay’s hands.

“Where did you find this, Rick?” Chirs demanded, clutching the keychain.

Ilay slowly stood up from his chair, eyes cold and voice colder.
“Give it back, Chirs.”

“Answer me first.”

“I bought it. Now give. it. back.”

Rahman raised his eyebrows, not even looking up from his file.

“He didn’t buy it. He stole it. Snatched it from your friend during that gathering.”

Without warning, Chirs turned and punched Ilay square in the face.
“You mother fucker —RICK!!”

Richard jumped up and grabbed Chirs before he could deliver Round 2.
“WAIT, Chirs! That boy gave it to him. I saw it—”

“Shut up, Richard!” Chirs growled and grabbed his collar.
“Tell me—did you delete my photos or not?”

“I did! I deleted them all!”

“Show me, you bastard. Show me now.”

Richard hesitated.
“There’s… no delete option on my phone.”

“YOU BASTARD—!”
Chirs kicked Richard so hard he fell right on top of Rahman.
Before anyone could process that, Chirs spun toward Ilay.

But Ilay was faster—he headbutted Chirs right back like a damn goat in a street fight.

Richard was still sprawled across Rahman, who had zero patience left.

“What the hell are you doing ON TOP OF ME?” he barked, and punched Richard square in the ribs.

Richard hit back.
“Can’t you see I got kicked here? Blame him!”

Meanwhile, Ilay and Chirs were now full-on grabbing each other by the collars and exchanging punches like two uncles in a wedding fight.

Rahman, out of rage , kicked Richard.
Richard flew like a potato sack—right onto Chirs, flattening him.

So now the stack was: first Ilay, then Chirs, then Richard on top.

“STOP IT, I’M NOT A FOOTBALL!” Richard screamed.

Ilay stood up, eyes blazing, spotted a random rubber ball, and without a second thought, launched it at Chirs with the strength of a thousand suns.

Chirs dodged like a pro.

The ball shattered a window and—BAM!—nailed the grandfather’s manager right in the eye.
The room went silent.

“Oh shit,” Richard whispered.

The teacup fell from the old man's hand.

“Who the hell that bastard?!” the old man shouted, jumping up from his chair as he stared in disbelief.

"When the old man looked out of the window, he saw his three grandchildren peacefully sipping tea with Rahman and scanning through files."

Then he looked at the manager and said, “Go to the doctor.”

“Yes, sir,” the manager bowed his head. He was covering one eye with a handkerchief as he walked out to the garden. His feet stopped near the young masters, and he glared at them.

“I know one of you threw that ball. Which one of you little bastards was it?”

The manager was older than them—about their fathers’ age—and clearly not in the mood.

“Riegrow threw it,” Rahman said, not even bothering to look up from his files.

“It was that freak Chris,” Ilay added calmly while sipping his tea.

Chris raised his hand, his voice muffled by tissues pressed to his bleeding nose.

“That was Richard. Go and tell Grandfather.”

Chapter Text

Jeaui was sitting quietly in the garden, enjoying the rare moment of peace and fresh air. The evening breeze played with the ends of his shirt, and the scent of flowers filled the air.

Suddenly, Dante appeared from the path. He was holding a book in one hand and a single rose—wrapped carefully in white polythene—in the other.

“Mr. Jeaui,” he called softly.

Jeaui turned his head, surprised, then stood up from the chair.

“This is for you,” Dante said, stepping closer and extending both items. “I heard you like books, so… I bought one for you. And the rose too. Please accept them—on behalf of that day I accidentally hurt you.”

Jeaui hesitated, his eyes flicking between the book and the rose. “it’s okay. That was just an accident,” he said quietly, unsure what to do with the gesture.

Still, he reached out and took both, his fingers brushing against Dante’s for a brief second.

Just then, Rahman stepped into the garden through the secondary gate.

Dante immediately bowed his head in respect and quietly walked away.

Rahman's gaze shifted to Jeaui—and to the book in his hand.
Then his eyes fell on the flower… just as it slipped from Jeaui’s grip and landed on the grass.

Rahman stepped forward in silence, his leather shoes barely making a sound against the stone path. Without a word, he bent down and picked up the fallen rose from the grass.

“You like flowers, Jeaui? Red roses?” he asked, his eyes meeting Jeaui’s without hesitation.

The wind moved between them, tugging gently at Rahman’s shawl, making it flutter around his tall frame. Jeaui’s light brown hair was caught in the same breeze, the long bangs falling into his eyes, soft and shining beneath the late sun.

He gave a quiet nod, not red he said quietly his gaze locked on Rahman’s.

“You asked him to bring it for you?” Rahman asked again.
Jeaui shook his head and looked down, avoiding his gaze.
Rahman held out the rose to him. “Here. You dropped it.”
Jeaui took it silently.

“Can I take a look at that book?” Rahman asked, eyeing the cover with interest. “Looks... interesting.”

Without a word, Jeaui handed it over.

Rahman began flipping through the pages slowly, until something written on one of them made him pause. His expression darkened for a brief moment—then, without explanation, he tore that page out.

Jeaui watched him, confused, but didn’t say a word.

Rahman closed the book and handed it back. “There were some unpleasant words on that page,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “A good man like you shouldn’t have to read things like that.”

Jeaui gave another quiet nod.

Rahman turned and walked away, the torn page still crumpled in his hand as he disappeared into the villa.

He entered his study, the torn page still clutched tightly in his hand. He walked toward his desk, each step calm and heavy, then sat down in silence.

A knock echoed on the door.
“Sir, may I come in?” Dante’s voice came from the other side.

“Yes”

Dante stepped in, the door shutting quietly behind him. Rahman didn’t look up.
“You called me, sir?”

Without a word, Rahman stood and slowly turned toward him. He extended the crumpled page, holding it between two fingers.
“Read it,”.

Dante’s eyes dropped to the paper. His throat tightened. He stayed silent.

“What happened?” Rahman’s voice lowered, sharp and cold. “If you dared to write it, you should dare to read it.”

“Read it, Dante.”
Dante exhaled shakily and took the page from Rahman’s hand. His voice trembled as he began.

“Mr. Jeaui… if you need anything, just tell me. I’ll help you. If you want to—”

He paused, swallowing hard.
“Continue,” Rahman said icily.

“If you want to leave this place… I’ll help you. This is…” another pause, “…this is my contact number. It’s my personal contact. Feel free to contact me.”

The room fell into a suffocating silence.

Rahman said nothing at first. He just stood there, gaze unreadable, his silence louder than any words.

“You want to help him escape from my grasp?”
Rahman’s voice was low, dangerous.

Dante’s eyes widened. “It’s… it’s not like that, sir.”

Rahman tilted his head slightly. “You think I’m a fool?”

“No sir, I just— I just…”

“Just what?”
Dante’s lips trembled. “Mr. Jeaui… he’ll be leaving after three months.”

“So?”

“I just wanted to give him my contact,” he whispered. “That’s all, sir.”

“Why?”

“Because… b-because I…” He swallowed hard, unable to meet Rahman’s eyes. “I like him.”

The silence after that was deafening.

Rahman stepped forward slowly. “I must’ve heard something wrong. Say it again.”

Dante clenched his fists, forcing the words out. “I wanted to ask him on a date. I like him.”

Without warning, Rahman’s hand snapped across Dante’s face with a force that sent him crashing to the floor.
The room shook with the weight of the moment.

Rahman leaned down, seized him by the collar, and yanked him up with one hand, his eyes burning.

“Are you out of your mind?” he growled. “You don’t even understand what you’ve just said.”

He shoved Dante back to the ground like he was nothing.
The silence that followed was far more terrifying than the slap.

Rahman sat back in his chair, calm but unreadable. He opened a drawer, pulled out a checkbook, and scribbled his signature on a blank check. Without a glance, he tossed it toward Dante, the paper landing near his feet.

“Fill in whatever amount you want,”. “And leave this place by morning.”

Dante bowed silently, didn’t touch the check, and walked out of the room with quiet shame.

—
Outside the villa, a black car rolled to a stop. Ilay stepped out, coat draped over one arm, his tie loosened, hair slightly ruffled from the drive. The sharpness in his eyes was still intact.

By the swimming pool, Kade sat casually on a bench, phone in hand, absorbed in a game. Teaui had dozed off against his shoulder. As Teaui shifted in his sleep, Kade gently lowered his head to rest on his lap, careful not to wake him. His fingers returned to the screen.

Ilay entered the garden, steps quiet. His gaze landed on them.

“What a lovely view,” he said eyes narrowing. “Adorable couple. Mind if I join?”

Kade turned, startled. He tried to stand, but Teaui’s weight held him down.

“Oh—sir. He fell asleep while we were playing.” Kade said quickly.

Ilay said nothing. He walked straight up, scooped Teaui into his arms effortlessly, adjusting him against his shoulder.

Teaui stirred slightly but remained asleep, head tucked neatly under Ilay’s jaw.

Then, with his free hand, Ilay grabbed Kade by his neck and yanked him forward until their faces were inches apart.

“Kade,” he whispered, voice low and dangerous. “I don’t know what’s going on in that little head of yours. And honestly, I don’t care.”

He smirked.
“But this cutie?” He nodded toward Teaui. “He’s mine. From the moment I laid eyes on him.”

And with that, Ilay shoved Kade backward—straight into the pool with a loud splash.

Water flew. Kade surfaced, coughing.
Ilay adjusted Teaui in his arms and walked off without a second glance, calm as ever.

Ilay opened the door quietly and gently laid Teaui down on the bed. Without making a sound, he walked into the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, he stepped out, fresh from the shower. Water still clung to his hair as he approached the bed and lay beside Teaui, watching him sleep in silence.

He reached out, brushing Teaui’s bangs with tender fingers. With the softest motion, he pulled the blanket over him, then turned off the light.

Even in the darkness, his hand remained there—resting gently on Teaui.

Morning light slipped through the curtains.

Teaui blinked slowly, still half-asleep. Something was off. There was weight—warmth—arms around him. A body.
A broad, solid body.

He rubbed his eyes groggily and looked up.

"You're awake, Teaui," a deep voice said.
It was Ilay.

Teaui froze. He had been hugging Ilay in his sleep.

"What the hell are you doing in my bed?" he shot up, panic in his voice.

"It’s my bed," Ilay replied calmly, holding Teaui’s hand to keep him from pulling away. He tugged him even closer.

"You kidnapped me. That doesn’t mean you get to sleep beside me, you bastard!"

One of Teaui’s hands was trapped in Ilay’s, the other rested awkwardly on his bare chest.

"And why the hell are you shirtless?"
"I like sleeping without a shirt. It’s a habit," Ilay shrugged with a smirk.

"What a weird habit. Can you let go of my hand?"

"Nah, I want to hold it a little longer. Can I?"

"No, you can’t, you bastard."

Their eyes locked, the room falling into a still, quiet tension.

Chapter Text

One month later

The villa had become a fortress. Security was tighter than ever. Even the laptops given to the twins for “work” were rigged—every file, every movement monitored and remotely controlled.

The twins were working hard to build the Raventhium.

But then—
One day in the study room, Rahman, Ilay, and Richard were sitting together.

"I found something richard Said - weber's two younger sons died because of the twins. It's hard to get information about twins, but those boys were killed in Korea, and a unknown helicopter dropped their bodies in front of the Weber estate's main gate."

Ilay looked at Richard with surprised expression.

"How many sons do they’ve, Richard?"

"Weber has five sons", Ilay said, turning his face toward Rahman.

" Do you know them?"

" Rahman knows them, but they don't know Rahman what he looks like," Richard said, loosening his necktie.

Richard’s laptop suddenly started ringing.

He leaned forward, glancing at the screen. His eyes widened.
“Hey—Someone’s calling through those devices.”

Ilay tilted his head, then pressed the button. A voice came through the speaker—warm, teasing.

[“How are you, sweetheart? I miss you so much.”]
Ilay and Richard froze.

“I’m fine,” Teaui's voice replied from the other side, calm but slightly weary.
“But this time… feels like I’m really screwed.”

[“What happened?”]

“Forget it. Just tell me—can we travel yet?”

[“Not yet.”]

Teaui let out a quiet sigh. “Why? I want to leave this place after two months.”

[“Look, Teaui, if there’s something wrong, just say it. I’ll come to you. Where’s Jeaui? Is he okay?”]

“Yeah… Hyung is fine. And no, you don’t need to come.”

[“Teaui… just focus on joining university. You wanted to study in different countries, remember? You’ve traveled enough. Rest for now. I’ll contact you again with updates.”]

“Alright… I’ll reach out again in two months. So don’t worry about me.”

[“Okay, okay. Love you.”]
Teaui’s voice softened, despite the tension. “Yeah… love you too.”

[ BTW, tell jeaui to contact her - she's worried about him.]

"Yeah, okay okay, fine."

The call ended.
The room stayed silent.
Richard leaned back slowly, eyes narrowing.
Ilay said nothing—but his gaze darkened.

Ilay picked up the laptop and slammed it against the wall. It shattered completely.

He was about to storm out when Richard grabbed his arm.

“Wait, Rick. You can’t go to him like this.”

“Move, Richard. I want to talk to him. You saw it—he has someone. He has someone in his life. Move!”

“Rick, calm down. I heard everything.”

“Find that person,” Ilay growled, grabbing Richard by the collar. “Find him. I’ll kill him in front of Teaui.”

“Give me some time,” Richard said, steadying his breath.
From the couch, Rahman looked up, his voice cold and measured.

“Reigrow… you want to show them we hacked their device already?”

“He’s mine,” Ilay snapped.

Rahman stood and walked toward him slowly. “I never said he isn’t,” he said calmly. “But don’t ruin everything. They can't travel. Did you hear that?”

Suddenly, another laptop started buzzing—Rahman’s and Richard’s phones too, notifications lighting up their screens.

Rahman called out to a guard, “Where’s Jeaui?”

“Sir, Mr. Jeaui is in his room. His brother is also with him.”

“Okay, you may go.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rahman sat back down on the couch. Ilay, still fuming, grabbed a drink and sank beside him. Rahman lit a cigarette, and Richard opened another laptop in front of him.

A message popped up.

“Hello.”

After five minutes, a reply came from the other side.

[Hello, is that you, honey?]

Yeah.

[Oh Jeaui, finally… you contacted me.]
[I was so worried about you. Are you okay?]

I’m fine. How are you? Did you eat?

[Yeah… I just want to see you. Can you make a video call?]

I’m really sorry for making you worry. I’m not able to make a video call right now.

[I understand.]

Don’t worry, I’ll contact you soon.

[Okay… be safe and come back soon. I’m dying to see you, honey.]

Yeah. We’ll be back soon. Bye.

Rahman sat quietly—no words, no reaction. Just silence.

Richard finally broke it. “Both of you… you’re getting too attached to them. Stop right here. They’re just like the wind—we’re lucky we even managed to catch them. Don’t go further.”

Rahman didn’t respond.

Ilay took a deep breath, but Rahman finally spoke, calmly,

“I’m always lucky, Richard. Luck’s always been with me. I’ll ask Jeaui to marry me—after I win this election.”

Richard sighed.
"Marry? Not even a date first? That's too soon are you serious?"

Rahman leaned back and said "Dating ends in breakups."

"He already has someone, Rahman", Richard said again

"Then I'll make sure he forgets her."Rahman sighed the stood
“Let’s go. Dinner’s ready.”

When Jeaui and Teaui arrived for dinner, the three were already seated.

Rahman stood and pulled out a chair for Jeaui. “You’re late,” he said, voice steady. “You must’ve been busy. I understand.”

Jeaui gave him a quiet nod and sat.

Teaui took the seat beside Ilay, greeting Richard with a small smile. Richard smiled back.

Rahman took a sip of his wine, eyes fixed on Jeaui. “You were in your room, right?”

“Yes.”

“May I ask… what were you so busy with?”

Jeaui looked at him, then dropped his gaze. “I was…

“He was reading,” Teaui cut in, eyes narrowed. “And I was with him. You got a problem with that?”

Then he muttered under his breath, “I hate this man, seriously…”

Ilay turned to Teaui, eyes suspicious. “And what exactly were you doing in his room?”

“He’s my hyung,” Teaui snapped. “I was with him. I don’t need your permission.”

“What’s wrong with you? You act like I stole something important from you.”

Ilay didn’t look at him. “My heart hurts today.”

“What…?”

“No, no, he’s just joking,” Richard cut in quickly with a teasing grin. “Don’t mind him, Teaui.”

"Jeaui," Rahman’s voice was low, calm. "Have you ever lied straight to someone’s face?"

Jeaui met his gaze, then slowly shook his head.

"So you’re saying… the man who disappears without a trace doesn’t lie either?" Rahman leaned back in his chair, his wine untouched, gaze fixed like a blade. "You’re quite the mystery, Jeaui."

Jeaui remained silent, his expression unreadable.

"Can I ask you something else?"

Jeaui gave a slight nod.

"You once said you're an orphan."

At that moment, Teaui’s hand clenched into a fist beneath the table.

Ilay, who noticed, reached out and gently held it. "What is it? You’re angry?" he whispered near Teaui’s ear.

Teaui turned to him, fire blazing in his eyes. "I’ll make sure that after two months… we never cross paths again, Ilay Reigrow."

Ilay’s lips curved into a small smirk. “Or maybe I’ll find you… wherever you run, Jeong Teaui.”

Rahman didn’t blink. "So, Jeaui—do you have any boyfriend or girlfriend?"

Rahman swirled the wine in his glass, still not touching his food. "I was just wondering… a man like you—how are you single? Strange, isn’t it? That in this whole world… you only have Teaui."

Finally, Jeaui parted his lips.

“I don’t have anyone. I’ve never thought about… relationships.”

“Are you sure, Jeaui?” Rahman’s voice was soft but loaded.

Jeaui gave a quiet nod.

Rahman didn’t speak. He simply tightened his grip around the wine glass, a small smile forming—but his eyes were unreadable, hollow in silence.

Ilay, still calmly eating, glanced at Teaui. “And what about you, Teaui?”

Teaui looked up, deadpan. “Why the hell would I share my personal life with you, bastard?” He scoffed. “Did I ever ask you about your love life?”

"Jeaui, finish your meal and go back to your room. You need sleep," Rahman said without looking at him.

Jeaui stood up quietly. “I’m full. Thanks for the meal.” He bowed his head politely and walked away to his room.

Teaui followed shortly after, leaving the table in a visibly angry mood.

Chapter Text

Ilay entered the room. Teaui was standing near the window. At the sound of the door, he turned and looked at him sharply.

“Didn’t I say I don’t want to share a room with you?”

Ilay took a step forward and without hesitation, wrapped his arm around Teaui’s waist, pulling him close.

“Teaui, you still haven’t told me. Do you have someone… or not?”

Teaui tried to push him away, but he couldn’t break free. “Ilay, let me go. Why are you acting like this?”

“Answer me,” Ilay’s voice dropped. “Do you have someone or not? I’m waiting, Teaui.” His grip tightened.

“What’s wrong with you? Why are you so obsessed with my private life? Let me go!” Teaui struggled.

“That’s not an answer,” Ilay replied coldly.

“I don’t have anyone! Fine, is that what you wanted to hear? Now let me go, you bastard!”

Ilay didn’t loosen his grip. Instead, he lifted him slightly and held him tighter against his chest. “Teaui… I don’t like lies,” he whispered darkly.

“Ilay… you’re suffocating me. Please let me go... I don’t know what’s wrong with you,” Teaui gasped, panic flashing in his eyes.

____

Chris stood on his balcony, eyes fixed on Richard, who was sitting quietly in the garden below. He pulled out his phone and sent a message:

“Did you find out anything about my friends?”

Richard read the message and looked up at him before replying:

“Not yet. I think they’re not in Germany, Chris.”

Chris read the reply, his heart sinking. Frustrated, he tossed his phone onto the bed and dropped into a chair, visibly worried.

Ten minutes later, he grabbed his car keys and left the room.
He drove aimlessly along the highway until something caught his eye. Outside a shopping mall, he spotted Ilay. At first, he looked away, not interested. But then—he froze. Teaui was with him.

Chris quickly turned the car and began to follow them, but in the heavy traffic, he lost sight of them.

Without hesitation, he turned the car again and headed straight for Berlin.

Eventually, he arrived at a familiar apartment. It was locked.
Chris knocked on the door—no answer.

He walked to the neighbor’s unit and knocked there instead. An old woman answered.

"Yes?"

"Hello, ma'am. I was wondering about the apartment next door. Two boys bought it a while back—they’re my friends. Do you know where they are?"

The old woman squinted, thinking for a moment. "Oh, that place? It’s been empty. No one’s come to live there."

"What?" Chris was shocked.

"It’s been empty for almost five months, I think. I’m not completely sure. But I haven't seen anyone there in a long time. Maybe you’ve got the wrong address, son."

"Thank you, ma’am."

Chris walked back to his car, heart heavy. He tried calling both Teaui and Jeaui again—their phone were switched off.

Then he called Richard.

"Hello?"

[Yeah, Chris?]

"Are you sure my friends aren’t in Germany, Richard?"

[Yeah, Chris. They’re not here. My guards checked—there’s no sign of them. That means they’re not in the country.]

"You’re sure?" Chris asked again, his voice tense.

[Chris, what’s going on? I’m sure, alright? They’re not kids. They’ll contact you when they can.]

"...Okay. Thanks for your hard work, Richard.

Chris stormed into the mansion and went straight to Richard’s room. He didn’t bother knocking.

Richard looked up, surprised. “Chris, what happened—”

SLAP.

Chris struck him hard across the face, his eyes blazing with fury.

Richard didn’t flinch. He wiped the corner of his lip and muttered, “So… you found out.”

SLAP.

Another hit, sharper this time. Chris grabbed him by the collar, yanking him forward, face to face.

“Tell me, you bastard—where are they?!”

Richard’s voice was low but calm. “I kidnapped them. They’re safe. Don’t worry.”

Chris froze. “What…?” he whispered. “You did what?”
“For Raventhium,” Richard added.

That was enough to set him off again. Chris hit him—once, twice—his anger spilling uncontrollably. He didn’t want to stop.

Finally, Richard shoved him back onto the bed and pinned his face between both hands, firm but gentle. “Chris, listen to me. You need to calm down. I just… I need power. That’s all. They’re safe, I swear.”

Chris’s chest rose and fell with rage. “You bastard! You already have enough power! Are you crazy? Are you out of your mind, Richard?!”

“I need more power—for our future,” Richard said through clenched teeth. “After marriage… how else am I supposed to protect you? Or our family, Chris?”

Chris’s eyes widened, stunned. “Marriage? What the hell are you talking about, you bastard?”

“Marry me, Chris,” Richard said, stepping closer. “I’ll give you everything. I just— I can’t sit back and watch you drowning in marriage proposals.”

Chris struggled, trying to push him away. “Richard, let me go. Are you out of your mind?! Why the hell would I marry a playboy like you, you bastard—”

Richard cut him off, grabbing him roughly. His knee forced itself between Chris’s legs, holding him pinned. One foot stayed grounded while his hand wrapped tightly around Chris’s neck, not enough to choke—but enough to warn.

“Tell me, Christopher,” he whispered, his voice dangerously soft, “how many proposals have you received?”

Chris winced, squirming. “I don’t… remember… Richard, let me go—you're hurting me.”

“So they’re countless, huh?” Richard’s grip tightened. His tone turned darker, sharper.

“Rich—Richard—”

“I’ll have everything soon,” Richard said, more to himself than Chris. “Power. The Tarten’s chair. Everything. Your mother wants a powerful man for you, right? Well, in the future—there will be no one more powerful than the Tartens and Reigrows T&R.”

Chris's voice broke through the pressure. “You’ve lost your mind. Go see a damn therapist, Richard.” He spat the words out, eyes blazing. “I don’t want to marry anyone—especially not you. How can you even think I’d marry a psychopath like you?!”

He pushed against him again, furious. “You motherfucker. No one sees your sickness, but I do. You’re a goddamn lunatic hiding behind a pretty face and a rich surname.”

“You’ll marry me soon, Chris,” Richard said coldly, his voice low but firm. “Keep that in your mind. You belong to me. I can’t let you go. I waited two years for your return.”

Chris stared at him, breathing hard. “You waited?” he scoffed, eyes burning with disbelief. “You kidnapped my friends.

You’re just obsessed you bastard

Richard didn’t flinch. “Call it whatever you want. It doesn’t change the truth. You belong to me.”

Chris shoved Richard with all his strength, breaking free from his grip. He stormed out of the room without another word, slamming the door behind him.

Inside his own room, Chris locked the door quickly, hands trembling. He dragged a heavy desk across the floor, bracing it tightly against the door. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he leaned against the wall, his thoughts a storm of betrayal, fear, and disbelief.

He was trapped in a game with a man who mistook obsession for love.

He sat still, barely breathing, eyes fixed on the main gate from his window. Minutes crawled until finally, he saw Richard’s car leave the mansion. Without wasting a second, Chris grabbed the small bag he had packed earlier.

And he ran.

[ Chris had already sent a text to Teaui, but his phone was off. He couldn’t stay there after finding out Richard’s intentions.]

An hour later, Richard returned to the mansion. He headed straight to Chris’s room with a strange kind of anticipation, but the moment he stepped in, everything stilled.

The door was wide open.

The room was empty.

His heart sank.

“Chris?” he called out. “Chris!”

Silence answered him.

Panic crept in quickly. He rushed to his car and drove like a man possessed to the airport. The entire drive, he kept whispering, “He’s here. He has to be here.”

At the airport, he ran through the terminal, scanning every face. Nothing.

He finally stopped an attendant.

“Excuse me—Paris flight. I'm looking for someone.”

The woman blinked. “I'm sorry, sir. You're late. The Paris flight just took off a few minutes ago.”

Richard froze.

His jaw clenched as he stepped out of the airport, the cold wind biting at his face. He got in his car, shut the door slowly, and leaned forward. His forehead pressed against the steering wheel.

Then—slam—he hit it hard with the side of his fist, breathing heavily.

“Chris...” he whispered through gritted teeth.
"CHRISTOPHER............."

“Christopher…. Wait for me.”

In the morning, he woke up when a servant knocked on the door. His eyes were hollow—he looked like an addict strung out on something darker than drugs.

He walked into his study without even taking a shower. Ilay was already there, waiting with his arms crossed.

“What happened to you,? Drank too much again? Or was it something stronger this time?” Ilay asked with a cold tone.

“Shut up, Rick,” Richard muttered and threw himself onto the sofa.

“Chris found out… about Jeaui or Teaui.”

What
“Should I move them? He’ll cause trouble.”

“No. He disappeared again. I don’t know where he went this time.”

Richard opened a bottle from the desk drawer and began drinking.

“Call Yuri,” Rick. “He’ll find him. Damn it, my head’s going to explode from this headache.”

“Yuri won’t come unless it’s absolutely necessary. Hire someone else for Chris,”.

With a tired sigh, Richard grabbed his phone and made a call.

[Yes Mr. Richard ]

“Hey, Carlo. I don’t care where the hell you are or how far—just get to Tarten as soon as possible.”

[Got it Mr. Tarten ]

Ilay raised an eyebrow. “Something happened to him, didn’t it? Carlo. That’s why he disappeared?”

“Yeah,” Richard said quietly. “I never asked what happened. I just helped him.”

“What about those guns, Rick?”

“Almost done,”

Six months had passed, and Raventhium was complete. According to the deal, it was time for the twins to leave Rahman’s villa.

Rahman stood alone on the rooftop, deep in thought, watching the two brothers walking silently through the garden below. A cigarette rested between his fingers, untouched.

After a while, he descended to his study, lit the cigarette, and sat in his chair, eyes still distant.

Ten minutes later, Ilay entered the study without knocking.

"You still don’t know how to knock, Reigrow?"

"There’s no need to knock."

Rahman didn’t turn to look at him. "If you’re here to ask about the twins… We’ll let them go in the morning. If they want."

Ilay’s voice rose sharply.
"Are you out of your mind, you bastard?"

"Reigrow, let them go. They’re not in a condition to travel, so they’ll stay here. No need to scare them anymore," Rahman said calmly, still looking out the window.

"If you do anything strange, they’ll run."

Ilay sat down slowly, his eyes sharp and cold as they fixed on Rahman.
"Rahman, how the hell do you expect me to let him go? You’re as messed up as Richard right now."

Rahman didn’t answer immediately. Smoke trailed from his lips as he exhaled.
"Reigrow… That phone call. That man. He was ready to come here if Teaui had called."

Ilay’s jaw clenched.
"And you expect me to let him go—to that man? His so-called boyfriend? I still don’t even know who he is. I’ll kill him right in front of Teaui if I find him."

"Let them go first. I’m not saying forget him… not yet."

Ilay stood suddenly, rage simmering beneath his skin. Without a word, he walked out and slammed the door behind him.

"Hyung, everything’s done. Can we leave tomorrow?" Teaui asked quietly.

"Let me talk to him first," Jeaui replied. "Wait for me, I’ll be back in ten minutes."

Teaui nodded and headed to his room—Ilay was already there, waiting.

Meanwhile, Jeaui made his way to Rahman’s study and knocked gently.

"Mr. Rahman, may I come in?"

Inside, Rahman turned his eyes toward the closed door and murmured to himself,
"Jeaui… I knew you’d come. How desperate you must be to leave this place."

"Mr. Rahman, are you there?"
"Yes, Jeaui. Come in."

Jeaui entered slowly. Rahman was seated in his chair, his expression unreadable—no trace of the usual calm or quiet smile on his face.

"Mr. Rahman, Raventhium is complete. We’d like to leave tomorrow."

Rahman stood up silently and stepped toward Jeaui. Instinctively, Jeaui took a few steps back.

But Rahman simply pulled out a chair beside him.
"Sit, Jeaui. Then we’ll talk."

"Thank you, Mr. Rahman, but I’m fine," Jeaui replied gently. "I just need to know—can we leave tomorrow?"

Rahman studied him for a moment, then gave a slow nod.
"Yes, you can go. I’ll make sure you leave with full protection. You don’t have to worry."

He paused, his gaze lingering.
"Have you eaten?"

"Not yet," Jeaui said quietly.

Rahman turned his eyes away.
"Eat without me. I’m not hungry tonight. And sleep early."

Jeaui nodded politely.
"Goodnight, Mr. Rahman."
Then he turned and quietly left the room.

As soon as Teaui stepped into the room, Ilay pulled him into a tight embrace—one hand cradling the back of Teaui’s head, the other gripping his back. He held him like it was their final goodbye.

“Ilay, you bastard—how many times do I have to tell you not to cling to me like this?.”

“Your grip’s too tight… let me go, you're suffocating me.”
But Ilay didn’t loosen his hold.

“Ilay… at least loosen your grip, please.”

“Teaui… don’t leave Dresden yet. Stay a little longer. The Weabers are still searching for you.”

“Weabers…” Teaui echoed, surprised.
“You know them?”

“If anything happens, contact me. I’ll come to you. Ten minutes—that’s all I need.”

Teaui’s voice softened.
“Ilay, I haven’t even decided where we’ll go yet. We’ll take care of ourselves, so don’t worry about me. Just… let me go.”

Ilay’s heart didn’t understand what was happening—why it hurt so much—but the pain of losing someone… that, he felt all too clearly.

Finally, Ilay let go of him and walked out of the room without looking back—not even once.

Chapter Text

Teaui stood there for a moment, then quietly followed and went straight to Jeaui.

“Hyung… what did he say?”

“We can leave tomorrow,” Jeaui replied calmly.

A small smile appeared on Teaui’s face.

“Hyung, where should we go? We can’t travel far. Should we head to Berlin… back to our apartment? Ilay said the Weabers are still here, searching for us. Those motherfuckers never get tired.”

Jeaui glanced toward the window, then back at Teaui.
“Let’s stay in Dresden for a few months.”

Teaui looked at him and nodded.
“Okay.”

In the morning, Ilay stepped outside to say goodbye, his eyes soft with something unspoken as he watched the teaui prepare to leave.

From the upper floor, Rahman stood by the window, quietly watching Jeaui.

He called for one of his guards.

“Yes, sir?”
Without turning, Rahman said.

“Follow them. Wherever they go, whoever they meet—I want it all. Every movement, every contact. Report directly to me.”

“Understood, Mr. Rahman.”
The guard bowed and left swiftly.

Rahman finally turned from the window and walked down the hall, heading toward the secure chamber—the one where Raventhium was kept.

He paused at the doorway, eyes locking onto the weapon.

Raventhium still stood in its containment, silent and gleaming under the dim light.

Rahman stared at it, voice low and dry:
“Still here. But useless.”

He stepped closer, gaze darkening.
“I don’t need Raventhium anymore...”

He lit a cigarette.
“I need the one who made it.”

"The twins were finally free from their grasp—free to walk away, free to breathe again.

But neither Rahman nor Ilay felt the weight lift.
Instead, something darker settled in.

The desire to possess them…
burned deeper than ever.

They had let the twins go—
but inside Rahman and Ilay, the need to have them had only just begun."

Ilay and Rahman never left them alone.
Teaui stayed in Dersden and soon joined a university. Every day, Jeaui dropped him off and picked him up. And without missing a single day, Ilay came too—just to catch a glimpse of Teaui outside the university gates.

But one evening, a guard came into Rahman’s study.
“Mr. Rahman,” he said, slightly out of breath, “Dante and Kade… they’re still lurking around. I saw them last night—standing across from the apartment.”

Rahman picked up his phone and dialed Ilay.
In his office, Ilay leaned forward lazily to glance at the screen. The name flashed across:
“Bastard.”

He leaned back without answering.
A moment later, a message buzzed in.
“Kade is fooling around with Teaui. How useless are you?”

Rahman tossed the phone on the table and returned to sipping his drink.

Two minutes later, Rahman's phone rang.

The screen lit up with a name:
“MANMAD.”

Thirty minutes passed.
Then—BANG!

The study door flew open. Ilay stormed in like thunder, eyes blazing.
“You motherfucker! Where the hell is your phone?!”

Rahman didn’t flinch. “Watch your mouth, Manmad.

Nightfall.

On a quiet side road, Jeaui and Teaui stood near their car. Across from them, Kade and Dante leaned on their bikes.

Teaui chatted with Kade casually, unaware.
Jeaui, lost in his own world, had headphones in, music drowning out everything.

Dante’s eyes never left him. Watching. Fixated.

Not far off, parked in the shadows, a black car idled silently.
Inside it—Ilay and Rahman.

“I think that Dante’s either deaf or blind,” Rahman muttered coldly. “I warned him.”

Rahman exhaled, calm as ever.

Ilay flicked his cigarette out the window and pulled out Raventhium.

“Not yet, Riegrow,” Rahman said. “Let them go. No need to show your true color.”

“I can’t wait, Rahman.”
Without hesitation, Ilay aimed at Kade’s head.

BANG.

A clean shot. No mercy.

“Leave Dante for me,” he added flatly.

Teaui froze, eyes wide.
For a second, he couldn’t process what just happened.

Kade collapsed in the middle of the road.
Blood pooling.

Jeaui’s phone slipped from his hand and hit the ground.
He turned, stunned—

But Teaui grabbed his wrist.
“Hyung—inside. Now!”
They both jumped in the car.

Teaui floored the accelerator, tires screeching as they tore away.
“Hyung… we need to go. Damn it… who the hell was that?!”

Jeaui turned to look back—
A dark silhouette stood under the streetlight, but the face was hidden in shadow.
Unmoving. Watching.

Teaui gripped Jeaui’s wrist tightly and yanked him closer.
He rolled the car window up in a swift motion.

“Hyung…. Don’t move. Stay inside.”
Jeaui's voice was barely a whisper.

“Teaui… someone’s there… under the streetlight.”

Across the street, under the flickering yellow light, stood Rahman.

His eyes burned with quiet fury as he kicked Dante, who fell back onto the pavement with a grunt.

“Dante,” Rahman said, voice like ice.
“How dare you think a dirty playboy like you could have Jeaui?”

Dante tried to stand, blood on his lips. His tone was defiant, but his hands trembled.
“He’s free now! He’s not in your villa anymore!”

The fire in Dante’s eyes only pushed Rahman further.
He tilted his head slightly, the corner of his lip twitching—not a smile.

“No one,” Rahman whispered, “can have him except me.”
BANG.
A shot tore through Dante’s hand.

“AHHH—Mr. Rahman!!” he screamed, dropping to his knees.

“I may have been a playboy,” Dante gasped, clutching his bleeding hand, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t love someone…”

Rahman’s gaze hardened, but his tone remained eerily calm.
“Love?”

He stepped closer.

“If a playboy like you can fall in love with him…”
“…then maybe a heartless man like me can too. Isn’t that fair, Dante?”

Dante’s eyes widened. His mouth opened—but no sound came out.

“You love Jeaui?” Rahman’s voice was almost tender.
“Then I’ll kill you… with the weapon he created.”

BANG.

BANG.

Two clean shots—direct to the head.
Dante’s body dropped lifeless to the ground.

Ilay was still glued to his phone, scrolling through car specs when Rahman approached the parked vehicle.

He opened the door to get in—but his gaze shifted.

Jeaui’s phone was still lying on the street, face down on the asphalt.
Rahman stepped forward silently, picked it up, and pressed the power button.

Nothing. The screen remained black.
He slid into the driver’s seat.
From the back, Ilay barely looked up.

“Reigrow, come sit in the front. I’m not your driver.”

“Don’t want to,” Ilay mumbled, still scrolling.

“I have twins's phone.”

Ilay immediately jumped into the front seat, eyes wide.

“What? Give it to me.”

“I don’t want to,” Rahman said, holding it just out of reach.

SMACK.
Ilay punched Rahman right in the jaw.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Rahman landed one back—fist to cheek.

“You bastard—!” Ilay growled, snatching the phone from Rahman’s hand.

He stared at the screen.
Still off.
“It’s not turning on…”

“It’s broken,” Rahman muttered, starting the car. “Probably took damage when it hit the ground.”

“Then we’re going to the repair shop. Now.”
Rahman gave a sharp nod and drove.

Minutes later, their sleek black car pulled up to a small, dimly lit phone repair shop tucked between two grocery stores.

Two millionaires—men who could buy an empire if they wanted—stood impatiently at a roadside counter, eyes locked on a cracked phone screen.

Ilay placed the damaged phone on the counter like he was throwing a dead body.

“Turn it on. Now.”

The shop owner, a middle-aged man in a dusty shirt, blinked at the screen.

“Yes, sir… but the phone is heavily damaged. It looks like… like someone ran a car over it.”

Rahman, standing beside him, narrowed his eyes.
“Make sure the data isn’t wiped.”

“I-I’m not sure about that,” the man stuttered. “It’s too crushed… the motherboard might—”

“Just try,” Ilay cut him off, visibly annoyed.

“Did you notice the car Teaui drove?” ilay asked suddenly.

“No. I was too busy blowing Dante’s head off,” Rahman replied dryly.

Ilay turned his head slowly.
“It was bulletproof. Old model”

Rahman raised a brow and peeked at Ilay’s phone screen,
which was showing search results about armored vehicles.

“that kind of car…...........”

Before the thought could settle in Rahman’s head, the shopkeeper called out.
“S-sir… your phone is fixed.”
Rahman took it silently, his gaze still distant.

Ilay pulled out his card and slid it across the counter.
The shopkeeper looked down, then back up nervously.

“Sir… I’m sorry. We don’t accept black cards here. Do you have a normal one?”

Ilay glared at him. His hand twitched, as if ready to throw the man through the glass.

Rahman stepped forward calmly.
“We have black cards. Any problem with them?”
“N-no, sir. It’s just… our system doesn’t accept them. Please, cash or standard cards only. I’m really sorry.”

Rahman opened the car door, pulled out a drawer under the dash, and grabbed a stack of cash. He handed it over casually.

“Here. Take this.”

The shopkeeper's eyes widened at the wad of bills.
“Sir… this is way too much—”

“Keep it.”

Rahman turned without another word and got into the car.

The shopkeeper stood frozen, the money still in his hands.
His young assistant leaned from the back, whispering:

“What happened?”
“They just gave us enough to buy a whole shop…”
He stared as the black car pulled away.

“All this… just to fix one phone.”
“They’re insane,” the assistant muttered."

Ilay tapped the screen.
The phone lit up.

And there they were—Jeaui and Teaui, side by side, both wearing the same ridiculous long-eared rabbit caps. Their eyes curved into bright smiles, cheeks tinted with pink from the cold, one of them squinting from the sunlight, the other pointing at the camera with a V-sign.

Ilay didn’t say a word.
Rahman leaned closer.
Neither of them blinked.

Thirty full minutes passed, and all they did was light the screen again… and again… and again. As if each press of the button might give them something new.

“Why do they look so damn happy?”

Rahman didn’t respond. He simply pressed the button again.

"The twins had stolen their hearts a second time."

Chapter Text

[ Hello guys it's rkrynx ]

["Some readers have been asking about the kids' story. But first, let me finish the flashback about the parents — it's important to understand why they’re so protective. Their past will collide with their children's future, so it’s necessary for the story. I’ll try my best to finish it quickly. I hope you all understand my point of view

--
After two months,

Carlo walked in, an envelope in his hand.
He placed it on Richard’s table silently.

“What’s this?” Richard asked.

“I found Chris. He’s in Paris… but he changed his apartment.”

Richard tore the envelope open.
Inside were several photos — Chris, walking beside a girl.

“Who… who is she?”

“A librarian,” Carlo replied. “Chris visits the library often. I’ve seen them come out together a few times.”

“Is he dating her?”

“I’m not sure,”. “But they seem close.”

In one violent motion, Richard flipped the entire table.

“Send all these pictures to Grandfather— No. Wait. Send them to Rick. No— I'll go myself.”
He gritted his teeth.
“Christopher…”

He stormed straight into Ilay and threw the envelope on his desk.
“Send those photos to Grandfather.”

Ilay didn’t look up. “Go yourself, Richard.”

He lazily picked up one of the photos.

“Wow…” he smirked. “He’s dating a girl?”

“Rick—if you send those pictures, consider this a debt. A favor. I’ll owe you. I’ll help you… whatever you need.”

Ilay raised a brow.
“Anything, Richard?”

Richard nodded.
“Yes. Anything.”

ilay knocked on the grandfather’s door.

The old man—head of the Tarten family, around 75—was sitting in a large chair. A black cane with a golden design rested beside him.

“Come in.”

Ilay stepped inside and sat in front of him.
“How are you, sir?” Ilay asked politely.

“Good. Rick, what happened?”

Without a word, Ilay handed him the photos.
The old man looked through each one slowly.

“Who is she?”

Ilay shrugged slightly.
The old man said nothing, just placed the photos into his drawer.

“Thank you, Rick.”

“It’s okay, sir. I’ll take my leave now.”
Ilay left the room with a faint smile on his face.

-------
Paris – Late Night

Chris stepped out of the library, walking toward his car. The girl was with him followed.

"Come, I’ll drop you off first," he offered politely.

"Oh no, I’ll take a taxi."

"It’s too late. Let me drop you."

"Okay..." she nodded, getting in with him.

About thirty minutes into the drive, a black car suddenly blocked their way.

Chris frowned. The car was parked at a distance, and from it, a man stepped out, lighting a cigarette. He stood still, smoke curling in the cold night air.

"Who the hell is that?" Chris muttered and stepped out of the car.

But before he could do anything, another vehicle pulled in behind them, cutting off any escape.

The man with the cigarette walked forward, calm and silent, until his face became visible under the streetlight.

"How are you, Chris?" he said, voice low. "Did you miss me?"

Chris froze.
"Rich… Richard…?"

Now fully visible, Richard’s sharp, tired eyes stared into Chris’s.

"What are you doing here, you lunatic?"

Without warning, Richard grabbed him and slammed him against the car. His long fingers brushed along Chris’s throat.

"Dating someone... and you didn’t even tell me? That hurts."

He turned his gaze slowly toward the girl.
Then his hand wrapped tighter around Chris’s neck.

"Tell me, Chris. Who is she? I’m waiting."
"Get your hands off me, you bastard!" Chris hissed.

"Carlo."
"Yes, Mr. Richard?"
"Shoot her."

"Wait—wait! Richard!" Chris’s voice cracked. "She’s just a friend!"

"Friend?"

"Yes! Just a friend!"

"Then what’s she doing in your car?"

"I offered her a ride home!"

Richard’s grip tightened. His voice dropped lower.

"You don’t want to stay in Tarten’s house anymore? Then fine—we’ll leave together. I’ll give up the Tarten seat. I have enough power."

"What? Are you insane?" Chris struggled. "Let go of my—my neck!"

"Chris..."
His breath brushed Chris’s ear. "I missed you so much. Did you miss me too? Hmm? Tell me..."

"Ri… Richard…"
"Let me go..."
Chris gulped.

Richard reached into his pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief. In one swift motion, he pressed it to Chris’s mouth.

"Mmm—mmmf! R-Rich—!"

Within seconds, Chris went limp in Richard’s arms.

Richard looked down at him, gently brushing Chris’s pink lips with his fingers.

In the distance, a helicopter approached, its blades slicing through the night air. Wind howled as it landed on the street.
Richard carried Chris in his arms toward it, his coat billowing behind him.

-------

Four or five guards were running down the hallway toward the garden, shouting,

"Run! Run fast!"

One of the guards stopped another coming from outside,
"What’s happening? Who’s coming?"
"Christopher—he’s beating everyone!"
"Carlo, run! He’s looking for you!"

Carlo didn’t waste a second. He jumped onto a tall tree in the garden and casually sat on a thick branch. Calm, almost amused, he lit his cigarette.

Christopher came storming outside.
Richard was enjoying his morning coffee.
Without a word, Christopher kicked him.
Richard hit the ground hard.

Christopher stepped on his chest, pressing him down.
A gun was in his hand.

"Good morning, Chris. Did you sleep well?"
Richard asked, looking up at him affectionately.

"Good morning, Richard. I slept well—thanks to you."

"I’m glad I could help you, Chris."

Christopher pointed his gun at Richard.
"Do you want to shoot me, Chris?"

Bang!

He fired at the ground—just inches away.
Richard didn’t even flinch. He looked up at him with a calm smirk.
"So tell me, Chris… when should I hold our wedding? I’m so desperate to have you."

"First I’ll hold your funeral, Richard—
then I’ll think about my wedding."

"Nah-ah, our wedding, Chris. I just wish our baby will be as beautiful as you—pink lips, blue eyes, golden hair... just like you. When he/she stands in sunlight, the sunlight will fade in front of him."

Bang!

Another shot fired.
"In your dreams, bastard. I’ll never marry you."

Richard smiled softly, almost dreamlike.
"When you find a perfect match, you shouldn’t let him go. I read that somewhere."

"That writer must’ve been a bastard—just like you."
Christopher growled, gun still pointed.

A servant was pushing the morning tea on a wheeled table. He stopped at the old Tarten’s door and knocked.

Knock knock.

"Come in."

The servant entered quietly, picked up a cup of tea, and placed it in front of the old man.

The old man gently lifted the cup, then paused. A distant gunshot echoed in the background.

"Who’s shooting this early in the morning?"
His voice was calm, deep, and unbothered.

"Sir… it’s Christopher. He’s fighting with Richard again."

The old man took a slow sip of his tea.
"That boy… such a short temper. I’m truly worried about his future."

"Send him here. I need to talk to him."

"Yes, sir."

Ten minutes later…
Christopher stood quietly in front of his grandfather, his gaze lowered.

"What were you doing so early in the morning, fighting with Richard?"

"He provoked me first, sir."

"Hmm." The old man leaned back. "I want to talk to you about your marriage. Is there anyone you like?"

"No, sir."

"Then choose someone from the proposals and get married. Stop bothering your mother."

"Sir, I don't want to get married. Not to a stranger."

"A stranger? I see… then date first, and then get married."
He looked directly at Christopher.

"But sir—"

"You can go, Chris. Take care of yourself… and pay attention to your health."

"Yes, sir."

Chapter Text

After 20 days, T&R held a massive meeting at their company. They unveiled new gun models for the NIS agents. Every agent was present—except one.
"Yuri Gabel."

Rahman, Ilay, and Richard also attended the meeting. They had only left Dreshan for one day.

---

Teaui was out running errands. As he waited in his parked car, he noticed a group of bodyguards nearby—familiar ones.
He quickly pulled up his mask, threw on his hood, and stepped out of the car, pretending to casually sip a drink as he stood beside them, listening.

But then one sentence stabbed his ears like a knife:

"We found the twins’ apartment."

His heart dropped.
He calmly turned, got back in his car, shut the roof, ripped off his mask, and dialed a number.

“Hyung, where are you?”

“At the apartment.”

Teaui started the car like a bullet.

“Lock all the windows and doors. Don’t step outside. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“What’s wrong, Teaui?”

“The Weabers. I just saw their men.”

“Okay..., alright?”

“Hyung—”

“Yeah?”

“If anyone comes, shoot without hesitation.”

“Teaui,.......”

“You can do it . Don’t think. Just shoot.”
He ended the call and immediately dialed another number as the speedometer kept rising.

“Hello?”

“It’s Teaui.”

[Tch. You took long enough to call me after that day.]

“Send the helicopter. Fast.”

[What happened?]

“The Weabers found us.”

[Got it.]

“There’s a forest behind my apartment. I’ll send the location. Make sure the pickup is deep inside.”

[Understood. Be careful. If I get the chance this time, I’ll wipe out the Weaber family—every last one.]

“No No need. I’m hanging up.”

Just minutes away, Teaui suddenly spotted a black helicopter in the sky.

He slammed the accelerator. The car became a blur.
He screeched to a halt in front of the apartment and leaped out. Children were playing outside.

“RUN! Get back home, NOW!”

The terrified kids scattered.
The unknown helicopter hovered above. Teaui sprinted up the stairs and kicked the door open.

BANG.

Jeaui turned, a small gun clutched tightly in his hand.
Teaui rushed to the bed, grabbed a blanket, threw it over Jeaui, picked him up, and jumped out the window.

Just a second later—

BOOM!!!

A bomb from the chopper obliterated the apartment.
Teaui landed, rolling with Jeaui in his arms, shielding him.
He grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the forest, deeper and deeper, running through the smoke and fire.
Finally, they stopped.

Teaui pulled out his phone and smashed it with a rock.

“Hyung, where’s your phone?”

“I left it… in the apartment.”

They both stared at the fire eating their home.
Teaui wrapped his arms around Jeaui, hugging him tightly.
“Are you okay, Hyung?”

“Yeah… I’m fine.”

“Sit here. The helicopter’s coming.”

Jeaui nodded, trying to calm his breath.

Teaui stood still, fists clenched, eyes locked on the blazing ruin.
His mind overflowed with regret—
Regret for coming to Germany.
Regret for believing it was safe.
Regret for bringing Jeaui here, only to be kidnapped…
Only to be forced to build those cursed weapons again.

A lone guard was dialing again and again—hands trembling, cold sweat running down his neck.
He knew.
Tonight might be his last night alive.

Inside the T&R company, Ilay and Rahman were seated at a long conference table, surrounded by top agents.
Their phones were on silent.
Richard had stepped out briefly.

Suddenly, the landline began ringing nonstop—sharp, urgent, shrill.

Ilay frowned and glared at the phone.

“What the hell…” he muttered, irritated.
He slammed the speaker button.

“Can’t you see we’re in a meeting, you bastard?!”
A shaky voice responded, nearly choking on his words.
“S-Sir… Mr. Reigrow—”

“WHAT?!”

“Someone—”

“SPEAK UP, BASTARD!”

“Someone threw a bomb on the twins’ apartment!”

The room froze.
Ilay and Rahman sprang to their feet.
Ilay’s laptop crashed to the floor, his chair falling with it as both men rushed out.

Everyone watched in stunned silence.

Just then, Richard returned to the meeting room and saw the commotion.
His eyes narrowed.
“What happened to them?” he asked the nearest guard.
The guard, pale and tense, replied quietly,

“Sir… a guard said someone bombed the twins’ apartment.”
Richard’s eyes widened.
He didn’t say a word.
He just ran.

Their cars were tearing down the road, smashing into other vehicles without hesitation—traffic rules meant nothing now.

Ilay’s car collided head-on with another, flipped violently, and crashed against the divider.
Rahman slammed the brakes but—

“RAHMAN, DON’T STOP! GO! GO AS FAST AS YOU CAN!”
Ilay’s voice screamed, sharp and breathless.

Rahman’s foot crushed the accelerator.
His car surged forward like a bullet.

Behind him, a traffic officer on a bike chased after the roaring engines, swinging a glowing baton in his hand, yelling through his loudspeaker:
“Move aside! Step aside—this is emergency ! MOVE YOUR CARS!”

Behind the officer, four black vehicles tore through the city.
It was Richard—and his elite escort.

Meanwhile, Ilay, blood on his brow, had crashed into a roadside bike shop. He stumbled out, grabbed a motorbike, and roared off, taking a narrow shortcut.

Then—

Richard’s phone rang.
“Hello?”

His voice was low, breath tight.

“Mr. Richard… it’s Carlo…”
“…The twins are dead.”
“Weabers bombed the apartment.”

Richard’s heart sank like stone. His mind blanked.
Only one face appeared.
One name.
Chris.

"How will I face him... damn it," Richard muttered, gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white.

"Carlo!"

"Yes, sir?"

"Where is Chirs?"

"He was reading a book in the library when I came here."
Richard didn’t say another word. He hung up the phone.

Rahman’s car stopped in front of the twins’ apartment. Everything was burned. Yellow tape was wrapped around the scene, marking it off. He stood there, motionless, emotionless—just like a statue.

Suddenly, the roar of a bike broke the silence. Ilay skidded to a stop and tried to rush inside, but a police officer blocked his way.

“TEAUI! JEONG TEAUI!” he screamed.

“Sir, you can’t go inside—everything’s burned!” the officer said, trying to restrain him.
“Move. I said move!” Ilay’s voice was like a whip. He grabbed the policeman and threw him aside.

Rahman’s eyes fell on the security guard who had called earlier. Without hesitation, he strode toward him.

“I hired you for this,”
“S–sir… I’m sorry… it happened all of a sudden—”

Rahman grabbed the man’s head and slammed it into the car window with a sickening crack.

Richard was struggling to hold Ilay back as he tried to fight his way inside, swinging at the police officers who restrained him.

"Rick Webers did it. You can’t go inside—try to understand, please," Richard said, struggling to hold Ilay back.

Chapter Text

Rahman got into his car.
He didn’t take a guard.
No security.
No escort vehicles.
Just him—and silence.
He drove to his villa, walked inside, opened a hidden room, and pulled out of Raventhium.

------------

Meanwhile, across the city—
Ilay slipped on his leather gloves, pulling them tight over trembling fingers.
He straddled his bike, engine roaring under him.
His destination?
The same as Rahman’s

The Weaber estate

—
Police sirens echoed through the quiet streets.
Christopher closed the book he was reading and placed it gently on the table.
Something didn’t feel right.

He stepped outside the library, eyes narrowing at the flashing red lights painting the street.

He glanced at the time.
Too late.
"Where’s Richard?" he asked a passing servant.

"Mr. Richard hasn’t returned yet, sir," the servant replied.

Chris muttered under his breath, “It’s too late,” and quietly made his way upstairs to his room.

___

Rahman grabbed the guard standing at the main gate—
snapped his wrist without a second thought,
then fired a shot straight under the man’s chin.

A clean, merciless kill.
Behind him, an engine roared.
He turned.
Ilay had arrived.
Without slowing down, Ilay aimed his anti-tank weapon straight at the gate—

BOOM.

The explosion ripped the entrance apart.
Metal flew.
Smoke choked the air.

They stormed in together, guns blazing—
shooting down every single man that dared to raise a weapon.

One of the Weaber guards sprinted toward the inner mansion, screaming:

"We’re under attack!"

Rahman didn’t wait.
He kicked down the grand double doors with a single blow.
Inside—
A man sat calmly in a leather chair, untouched by the chaos.
He looked up, gaze steady.
“So,” he said,
“who are you, young man?
I was expecting the one who killed my grandsons.”

The head of the Weabers.
The patriarch.
The grandfather of the boys who died in Korea—

A sudden shot rang out—
Ilay turned just in time.
It was Erik Weaber—
the son of the old man, eyes filled with rage, gun still smoking.

Ilay didn’t flinch.

He lowered his weapon slowly, voice calm, cold, and deadly.

"Hello, Erik. How are you?"

Erik’s eyes narrowed. "Rick, what the hell are you doing here?"
Ilay took a step forward.

"You invited me, Erik."

"What the f— I never— What are you talking about?!"
Ilay’s voice dropped, darker than before.

"Do you remember what you did?"
"You burned someone alive. You remember that, Erik?"

Erik scoffed. "Whatever I did, it has nothing to do with you."

Ilay’s steps didn’t stop.
"It’s related to me, Erik."

Before Erik could react,
Ilay lunged forward—
grabbed him by the neck and slammed his head against the wall.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
Again.
And again.
And again.
The wall cracked. Blood stained the floor.
Ilay’s eyes never blinked.

"I’ll wipe out your entire bloodline."
Ilay's voice was a low growl.
"The Weabers end today."
With his foot pressed on Erik’s throat,

----

Rahman pulled a chair across the room.
Sat down slowly—right across from the old man.
The head of the Weaber family.

The old man didn’t speak.
Didn’t blink.

Rahman leaned back, eyes empty.
"You know, Mr. Weaber… I fell in love."

He chuckled bitterly.
"It had just started to bloom."
"I met a man so rare… when I saw him, the first thing I thought was—
he doesn't belong to this world."

The old man frowned. “Why are you telling me this?”

"I just lost him."
"I didn’t even get to hear his voice one last time... didn’t see his face."
He looked down for a second.
Then up—right into the old man's eyes.

"You killed him."
"His name was Jeaui. Jeong Jeaui."
"A name just as beautiful as him."
"How can anyone kill someone like him…"

Without another word,
Rahman raised his gun—
pointed it at the old man’s head.
And fired.

Bang*

The entire estate had fallen silent.
Blood on the walls.
Corpses in every corridor.
Only death remained.

Rahman walked to a locked room and knocked once.
No answer.

Ilay joined him.
With one swift kick— the door flew open.

Inside, the air was heavy with fear.

A woman sat crouched beside the bed, trembling—
clutching something to her chest.
Ilay stepped in.
Gun raised.

The woman gasped—tears already streaming.

She was holding a one-year-old child, too small to understand the nightmare outside.

She crawled toward Ilay,
one hand holding the baby,
the other clutching Ilay’s boot.

"Mr. Riegrow, please..."
"Please, not my child. He’s innocent."

Her forehead pressed against his foot.

"Please… he’s all I have."
"He’s my reason to stay alive."

Her voice broke again and again,
sobbing, begging,
her whole body shaking.

Rahman stood still.
His jaw clenched.
Then—without a word—he turned his back and walked away.
Ilay stood silent for a moment.
Then he aimed.
The woman flinched, bracing for death.

Bang.

But the shot missed.
Ilay lowered his gun.
He turned and walked out.

Chapter Text

Richard entered the mansion quietly and made his way upstairs. For the first time, he didn’t feel happy about seeing Chris. For the first time… he didn’t want to face him.

His steps halted in front of Chris’s door. He hesitated, then slowly opened it. Chris was fast asleep, his face calm, unaware of the storm that had already begun.

Richard walked closer, gently brushed the hair from Chris’s eyes, and placed a soft kiss on his forehead.

Then he turned and walked away. He knew—morning would bring the storm.

By morning, news had spread like wildfire—

The entire Weaber family had vanished overnight.
Their mansion was soaked in blood, yet no bodies were found.

Old Tarten watched the report in silence.
He placed his teacup down gently, exhaled a long breath, and turned to his manager.

“Who did this?”

The manager shook his head.

“No idea, sir. There was a supposed terrorist attack last night… an unknown helicopter dropped a bomb on an unregistered market. The explosion spread to nearby houses. Five people died… including two boys.”

“Where’s Richard? And Rick, too?”

“Mr. Richard came back late last night—without Rick,” the manager replied.

“They were in meetings yesterday. I believe Rick stayed at Mr. Rahman’s villa.”

Tarten narrowed his eyes, a quiet suspicion brewing.
“Those kids… they aren’t exactly trustworthy. I just hope they had nothing to do with this.

----------

Carlo knocked on Richard’s door.

“Come in, Carlo.”
Carlo stepped inside.
“Everything is done.”

Richard gave a small nod.

Richard looked up again, quieter this time.
“Where’s Chris?”

“He’s having breakfast.”
“You should tell him, Mr. Richard… before he finds out from someone else.”

Carlo left the room.

Richard remained still, silent. Five minutes passed before he finally stood and left.

He made his way downstairs. Chris was sitting at the table, sipping orange juice.

“Good morning, Chris.”

“Good morning”

“Chris, I want to talk to you… can you come to the room?”

Chris groaned slightly.
“Again? If this is about marriage, I'm not interested. Don't ruin my mood. This time, I’ll definitely beat you up, Richard.”

“It’s not about marriage.”

Chris narrowed his eyes.
“Then?”

“It’s about your friends.”

Chris finally looked up from his glass, his tone sharp.

“What happened? Don’t tell me Rick did something to Teaui.”

Richard stayed silent.
Chris pushed back his chair and stood. His voice rose.

“What happened, Richard? Say something.”

Richard took a breath—then spoke the words slowly, heavily.
“Your friends… are dead. The Weabers bombed their apartment last night.

" I don't like jokes." richard

“I’m not joking, Chirs,” he said quietly.

Chirs stopped. His body trembled. Without warning, he turned and shoved Richard hard against the wall. His fist flew, connecting with a sharp thud against Richard’s cheekbone.

“You said they were safe!” he shouted. “With Rick and Rahman—wasn’t that what you told me?”

“I did—”

“You said no one could protect them better than them! And now they’re dead!” Chirs’s voice cracked as tears swelled in his eyes.

“No, Chirs—listen to me,” Richard reached out. “It wasn’t our fault. We were in a meeting—”

But Chirs wasn’t listening. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault… I brought them here.”

Richard grabbed his arm.
“Where are you going?” he asked desperately.

“Let me go, Richard!” Chirs jerked his arm, but Richard held tighter.

“You’ll hurt yourself again. Please. Calm down.” He pulled him into a tight embrace. “Please, Chirs. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry…”

Chris’s arms hung lifelessly between them. Then his voice came, cold and cutting.

“You know there’s still a way to leave this mansion—and you.”

Richard froze.

“I’ll marry anyone,” Chirs hissed near his ear, “any bastard, as long as it’s not you. I’ll leave this place and never look back.”

From the staircase above, Carlo stood silently, watching.
Chirs stepped back, kicked Richard in the shin, and stormed toward the hall, eyes locked on the path to the grandfather’s room.

“Chris, stop! You can’t go there!” Richard shouted.

“Carlo! Knock him down—fast!”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Carlo leapt from the stairs, landing just behind Chirs. A swift strike to the back of his neck—not too hard, but precise—sent Chirs tumbling into Richard’s arms.

Richard caught him and scooped him up gently, carrying him toward his room in silence.

He laid him down on the bed.

“How long?” he asked.

“Thirty minutes. He’ll wake in thirty,” Carlo replied.

“Not enough.”

Carlo raised an eyebrow. “Then use the injection. That’ll give you three hours.”

“Do it.”

As Carlo prepared the shot, Richard pulled out his phone.

“Hello, Aunt.”

[Yes, Richard?]

“Can you come here? I need to talk to you. It’s... urgent.”

[What happened? Is Chirs alright? Did he do something unusual again?]

“No, he’s fine. I just want to talk. Please meet me in Grandfather’s study.”

[Oh. Okay, I’ll arrive in thirty minutes.]

“Thank you, Aunt.”

Exactly thirty minutes later, Bianca—arrived at the estate. Her heels echoed across the marble floor as she made her way toward the study. She stopped at the heavy wooden door and knocked twice.

Knock knock.

“Come in,” the old man’s voice answered from within.

She stepped inside with a calm expression. “Sir, Richard called me. He said he wanted to speak in front of you.”

“Richard? Hmph. Come.”
“Thank you, sir.” She sat quietly, folding her hands in her lap.

Five minutes passed.

The door opened again. Richard entered—quietly, with his head slightly lowered.

The old man leaned back in his chair with a tired sigh. “What you did this time, Richard?”

Richard didn’t speak immediately. His fists were clenched at his sides, his eyes on the floor.

“I’ll handle everything, sir,” he began slowly. “All the business. Every meeting. I’ll take that chair, too. But—” he looked up, “I have a condition.”

“A condition?” the old man’s tone sharpened. “Are you here to threaten me? Blackmail me?”

“No, sir. It’s not blackmail. It’s a request.”

“Then speak.”

“Give me Christopher.”

The room fell silent.
The old man stared at him. “Give you what?”

“I like him,” Richard said firmly. “Fix my marriage with him. That’s all I want. If you do that, I’ll take responsibility for everything. If not… I’ll walk away. Let someone else sit on that chair—I won’t stop you.”

The old man stood from his chair so violently that it scraped across the floor. And then—smack—he slapped Richard hard across the face.

“You little bastard. Two months before the ceremony and this is what you bring to me? Asking for Christopher like he’s some kind of thing to hand over?”

“I like him.” Richard knelt to the floor. “I’ll give him everything. I won’t ask for anything else. Please… Sir…”

Bianca was stunned. Her hand trembled slightly over her lips, but she said nothing.

The old man turned away, his voice low. “What if I refuse?”

“Then I’ll give up everything,” Richard replied.

“What if I shoot you dead right here, Richard?” the old man asked coldly.

Richard looked up, unshaken. “Then shoot me, sir."

“Go back to your room, Richard. Let me think.”

Richard hesitated, voice low. “How much time, sir?”

“I SAID GO BACK BEFORE I SHOOT YOU!” The old man’s voice cracked through the study like thunder.

Bianca finally spoke, her voice composed. “Richard... leave. Please.”

Without another word, Richard turned around and left, quietly closing the door behind him.

The old man sank heavily back into his chair, rubbing his temples in frustration. Bianca remained standing, still stunned from the slap Richard had just endured.

“Sit down, Bianca.”

“Oh—yes, sir.”

There was a long pause before he spoke again. “What do you think about this marriage?”

“I… I never thought about it,” she admitted honestly. “I’m shocked.”

He leaned forward, locking eyes with her. “Bianca, you’re looking for a powerful man who can match Chirs. You won’t find another like Richard. And he’s asking for him. That boy clearly likes him.”

“What about Chirs, sir?” she asked, concerned. “You know how he is.”

The old man let out a sigh, pouring a tea for her. “Chirs already rejected countless proposals. He can't spend his life alone forever.

“The line between love and hate is razor-thin, Bianca. It doesn't take much for hatred to turn into love.”

He glanced toward the window.
“And he’ll stay here. We need someone who can handle him. Chirs isn’t easy. His temper... it’s not something everyone can manage."

“As you wish, sir. You will always think what's best for my son,” Bianca said softly, bowing her head before exiting the room.

Chapter Text

Time moved on, but Christopher didn’t. He withdrew, silent and distant, pulling himself further away from Richard with each passing day. Losing both his friends—his first and only true companions—at once had hollowed something inside him. There was no easy way to carry that kind of grief.

Richard, understanding more than he let on, gave him the space he needed. He stopped pushing. He stopped speaking. But his eyes never stopped watching.

Ilay and Rahman had disappeared after the incident—gone without a trace. No one knew where they had vanished to, only that they had vanished with hearts split wide open. For the first time in their lives, they had loved someone—and lost them before they could even say goodbye.

Now, all they had were fragments—faint memories and a few photos stolen quietly from Jeaui’s phone. Unbearable pain lingered in silence.

The twins didn’t know.

They didn’t know someone had destroyed an entire family just for them.
They didn’t know someone had fallen for them so deeply it broke them.

Two Months Later — Ceremony Day

The grand hall of House Tarten buzzed with quiet anticipation. Under the golden chandeliers Richard sat the seat of the Tarten head. Today, he was no longer just a name. He was the official heir, the next patriarch of Tarten.

A few feet away, Christopher sat silently, nursing a crystal glass of wine, gaze distant. His expression unreadable. The murmurs around him felt like distant echoes until he felt a firm, familiar hand on his shoulder.

He looked up.
Sir,

Chris instinctively made a move to rise, but the old man’s hand stopped him.

“No need, Chirs,” the elder said with a rare warmth.

Chris hesitated, then slowly lowered himself back into his chair.

The old man stepped forward, lifting his glass for all to see.

“Everyone,” his voice cut through the air like a blade, “allow me to present to you… Christopher. Richard’s future husband.”

The wine glass slipped from Chris’s fingers and shattered at his feet. He stood instantly, stunned. “Sir, wait—!”

But his grandfather had already draped a possessive arm around his shoulders, holding him in place like a declaration.

“Christopher,” he said louder, “will become the husband of Richard. The husband of Tarten’s head.”

Gasps and polite applause followed, but Chris stood frozen.
“Go,” his grandfather urged quietly, “your place is beside him now.”

Under dozens of eyes, Chris clenched his fists, then gave a small, sharp nod. He walked over with heavy steps and sat beside Richard, avoiding his gaze.

“I will never forgive you,” he whispered voice trembling with fury.

Richard turned slightly toward him, eyes soft. “I’m really sorry… But you left me with no choice.”

“I hate you Richard.”

“I won’t rush you into anything,” Richard murmured. “Take your time. I won’t pressure you. But from today on—” he gently squeezed Chris’s hand, “—you officially belong to me.”

old man looked to his side, spotted the manager, and called out—

“Where’s Rick and Rahman?”

The manager stepped closer, adjusting his cuffs.
“Sir… they disappeared. I went to Rahman’s villa, but the guards said he left Dersden. They weren’t sure where exactly. Rahman.”

“And Rick?”

“Kyle said he joined the Riot Squad again. He’s off-grid. Not answering anyone’s calls.”

“That little bastard…”

Two years later

Chris stood outside Richard’s study, hand hovering in hesitation. For a long moment, he didn’t move—just stared at the polished wood of the door, heart pounding quietly. Then finally, he raised his hand and knocked.

Knock, knock.

“Come in,” came Richard’s familiar voice from inside.
The room was as always—stacked high with papers and open files scattered across the desk. Richard didn’t look up at first, still signing documents with practiced ease.

“Chris? What’s wrong?”

Chris stepped forward, voice calm but deliberate.
“I’m ready… for the marriage.”

“Oh. Okay.”
Richard responded without much thought, eyes still on the documents—until the words fully registered.

Head snapping up, he looked at Chris with utter disbelief. Then, almost in a daze, he stood up and walked over to him. Gently, he cupped Chris’s face in both hands.

“What did you just say? Say it again—I was busy, I think I misheard.”

“I said I’m ready for the marriage,” Chris repeated quietly. “With you, Richard.”

Richard stared at him for a breathless second. Then, suddenly, he pulled him into a tight hug.

“Chris… are you serious? You’re not joking, right? Please don’t joke with me about this…”

“I’m not joking,” Chris said softly. “Sooner or later, this marriage was bound to happen. So… I’m ready. Start preparing.”

Richard’s happiness was overwhelming—his control slipping under the weight of joy. He kissed Chris’s blue eyes.

“I’m so happy, Chris. So, so happy.”

He held him again, tighter this time.

“Everything will be alright—I promise. I’ll give you everything. Everything.”

Knock knock,

“Mr. Richard,” Carlo’s voice called politely from the other side.

“Come in, Carlo.”

Carlo stepped in, calm and composed. “Your meeting with Mr. Kim—he’s arrived at the office.”

“Oh, I completely forgot.” Richard turned to Chris, grabbing his coat in a rush. “I’ll be back. Go and get some rest in your room, alright?”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Richard left the room with Carlo, his voice fading into the hallway.

Chris stood still. Not a blink, not a sound—just empty silence wrapped around him.

“Start preparing, Carlo. I’m getting married soon. I’m so happy.”

“Congratulations, Mr. Richard. I’ll begin the preparations immediately.”

Richard gave him a teasing grin. “Carlo, why are you always so serious? Aren’t you happy for me?”

Carlo answered simply, “I am, Mr. Richard.”

Later that day, Richard entered the grand conference room.
Mr. Kim was already seated, waiting with a calm and practiced air.

“Mr. Kim, how are you? I’m terribly sorry for the delay,” Richard said, extending his hand.

“It’s quite alright, Mr. Richard. I understand.”

They both took their seats.
“By the way,” Mr. Kim continued, “when’s the wedding?”
Richard’s face lit up. His joy was unmistakable—even the employees outside the room could feel it through the glass walls.

“Soon. Within a month,” he replied, almost glowing.

“Congratulations,” Mr. Kim smiled.

“Thank you. And you? When did you arrive from Korea?”

“Just two days ago. I wish my son find someone and settle down. I’m tired of waiting.”

Richard laughed. “I get that. How old is he now?”

“A few years younger than you,” Mr. Kim replied with a chuckle. “Find someone for him, Richard. He’s not the type to fall in love easily. I might just have to arrange something myself.”

“Show me your son,” Richard said, leaning forward. “Maybe I can find a decent man for him.”

Mr. Kim reached into his coat and pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen and handed it over. “Here. That’s him.”
Richard took the phone, studying the photo. “He’s… very handsome, Mr. Kim.”
He swiped to the next picture—and paused. His expression shifted.
The second image showed Mr. Kim’s son in a military uniform, standing beside another man.
“Who’s this with your son?” Richard asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Oh, just a friend. I’m not sure. He’s serving right now—finishing his duty. He’ll be back in a month.”

“I see…” Richard replied. “Send me these photos. I’ll send you some proposals. Especially that military one—he looks incredibly sharp in uniform.”

After the meeting ended, Mr. Kim sent the pictures directly to Richard’s phone.

Without hesitation, Richard made a call.
No answer.
He tried again. And again. Five times, ten times—nothing.
Frustrated, he sent a text.

[Come on. It’s urgent. Pick up the call.]

Ten minutes passed. Then, finally, someone answered.
“Hello,” came a low, distant voice.

[“Yeah.”]

“Where are you?”

[“On a mission.”]

“Come to Tarten. It’s urgent, Rick.”

“I don’t want to. I’m busy.”

“Rick,” Richard’s voice dropped “Come here. It’s urgent. If you don’t, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

Then Richard ended the call.

Immediately, he dialed another number. It rang five times before someone picked up.

“Come to Tarten. It’s urgent.”

[“…Why?”]

“It’s urgent. Just come. As soon as possible.”

A quiet breath, then a voice replied coldly, “Richard, I won’t come back there. Just say what happened.”

“Stop isolating yourself, Rahman,” Richard said, this time softer, strained. “Just come. One last time. Just for a day.”

Chapter Text

Richard walked straight into the mansion and headed directly to Chris.

“What are you doing?” he asked gently from behind.

Chris was seated in a chair, a book open in his hands. He didn’t turn around.

“Nothing,” he replied coldly.

Richard moved closer, kneeling in front of him. He took both of Chris’s hands in his own.

“You're not happy,” Richard said softly. “You look sad. If you're not ready... you can take more time. I don't mind.”

Chris looked at him, his voice was calm.

“Take time, Richard? Whether it's today, tomorrow, or next year—I still have to marry you. Did you leave any other option for me?” His words cut deep. “So stop worrying about me. You always get what you want—whether it's a thing or a person.”

“It’s not like that, Chris,” Richard whispered. “You always misunderstand me. I love you. Why can't you understand that simple truth?”

Chris met his eyes, his own brimming with tears.

“But I don't. And still... you want to live with me?” His voice cracked. “I shouldn’t have stepped inside this mansion. I shouldn’t have brought my friends here. I never thought we’d end up like this.”

“Stop blaming yourself,” Richard pleaded. “Please. Two years have passed... try to understand chris that wasn't your fault.”

“I have something for you, Chris.”

Chris turned his face away. “I don’t want anything.”

But Richard didn’t stop. He pulled out his phone and showed him a photo—Mr. Kim’s son.

“Look, Chris.”

Chris’s eyes flicked to the screen… then froze. His expression shifted instantly—his eyes wide, breath caught in his throat. The man beside Mr. Kim’s son…

“Teaui... Jeong Teaui,” Chris whispered.

He snatched the phone from Richard’s hand and quickly zoomed in, fingers trembling.

“Teaui… it’s him. It’s really him!”

“Yeah,” Richard nodded. “He’s alive. I just found out a few hours ago.”

A choked sound escaped Chris’s throat. He broke down in tears, unable to hold them back. Richard pulled him into a tight embrace.

“Hey… calm down. Chris, you’re still crying,” he whispered.

“No,” Chris sobbed. “I’m happy. That guilt—it’s been eating me alive, every day, every night…” His fists clutched Richard’s suit tightly as his tears fell freely. “It’s just—just knowing he’s alive… I can finally breathe.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay now.” Richard lifted him in his arms like a child, holding him close.

“Richard…”

“Yeah, Chris?”

“Don’t tell Rick or Rahman,” Chris murmured.

Richard hesitated. His grip loosened for a second, but then he held Chris tighter.

“I won’t tell anyone. Don’t worry.”

“Teaui and Jeaui… they’re not like us. Rick and Rahman have too many enemies. It’s enough for me that they’re alive. I don’t want to see them. I don’t want to talk to them.”

Richard sat on the edge of the bed. After a few quiet minutes, Chris fell asleep in his arms—a deep, peaceful sleep he hadn’t known in years. Richard stayed beside him, brushing a hand through his hair, and eventually lay down beside him.

After two days, Ilay arrived in Tarten first. Rahman came two hours later, a small pocketbook still resting in his hand

“Long time no see, Riegrow,” Rahman said as he stepped into the garden.

Ilay took a few slow steps toward him, nodding. “Long time no see, Rahman.”

Neither of them said more. They simply stood under the golden hue of the late afternoon sun.

Richard arrived from the office shortly after, stopping briefly as he noticed the two men still standing in the garden, facing each other.

“Long time no see, Rick.
"Long time no see, Rahman.

“I’m glad you both came,” Richard said. “Come inside. I’ll explain everything not here.”

Inside the mansion, they moved to the study. Richard settled in his chair while Ilay and Rahman sat across from one another on the deep leather sofas, a silent tension hovering in the air.

Ilay lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly. “Talk fast, Richard.”

Without a word, Richard picked up the remote and clicked the massive LCD screen behind him to life.

A photograph filled the screen.
It was Teaui.

Ilay’s cigarette slipped from his lips and dropped to the floor, forgotten. His entire body stiffened as he stood up, eyes locked on the screen.

“Teaui… Jeong Teaui,” he whispered.

Rahman didn’t move—his eyes wide with disbelief.

Ilay walked slowly to the screen, his fingers gently touching Teaui’s cheek on the glass. Then he lowered his head, pressing his forehead to it.

“He’s alive,” Richard confirmed, his voice low.
“Jeaui… he’s alive too,” right? Rahman asked.

“They’re both alive,” Richard said. “ They're serving the country. They're in Korea.”

“Show me Jeaui’s photo, Richard,” Rahman asked desperately.

“I don’t have it,” Richard said simply.

Ilay turned on his heel, heading straight for the door.

Richard blocked his way. “Not yet, Rick.”

“Move,” Ilay said through clenched teeth. “I’m going to Korea.”

“Not before my wedding,” Richard said, refusing to budge.

“Your marriage isn’t my concern,” Ilay growled. "Richard, Two. Years two years passed.”

“And I’ve waited for Chris the same,” Richard shot back. “You don’t understand—
“If Chris finds out I told you about Teaui he’ll run. God knows where. I don’t know what he’ll do. You know his temper… you know how he is.”

These two years… he didn’t speak to me. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t even argue with me.”

“Please, Rick,” Richard said, voice softer now. “Just a little longer.”

“Riegrow, sit down and listen to him first,” Rahman said calmly. “Then we’ll decide.”

Ilay exhaled deeply, frustration flickering in his eyes, but he nodded and sat down again. Richard followed, settling back into his chair with a heavy breath.

“They're in Korea,” Richard began. “Teaui is in the navy, and Jeaui... he's physically weak, so he took a desk job. We'll have to search for them separately.”

“They're something else. Someone powerful is behind them—someone covering their tracks. I’ve been trying, but I haven’t been able to trace that call.

“Richard,” Ilay leaned forward, his voice low and firm. “Finish your wedding within fifteen days. I can’t wait longer.”

“Yeah,” Rahman added, nodding. “Finish it quickly. I agree with him.”

“Fine, fine,” Richard muttered, rubbing his temples.

“Once the wedding’s done, we go to Korea.

Scene shift.

The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing softly against the old wooden walls. An old man sat in a high-backed chair, slowly sipping his tea in silence. The aroma curled into the still air like memory. A servant entered quietly, bowing as he handed him a phone.

"Your friend texted, sir."

The old man took the phone, reading the message without a word. His expression didn’t change, but his finger dialed a number.

"Hello."
"Come home. I need to talk to you."

He hung up and returned to sipping his tea.

Ten minutes later, a sleek black car pulled up in front of the estate. Two large huskies leapt out first, silent and alert. Then, stepping out of the car with calm, predatory grace, was a beautiful man. Blood—fresh and vivid—stained his hands. As he walked, he removed his dark glasses, eyes sharp and unreadable.

He entered the room and bowed his head before the old man.

"You called me, Father."

The old man glanced at his hands, setting the teacup down with a soft clink.

"What happened to your hands?"

"Nothing serious," the young man replied casually. "Someone kicked one of my dogs... so I taught him a lesson."

“We have guests arriving this evening. Take good care of them.”

“Guests?” the young man asked.

“Yes,” his father replied. “I’m counting on you. This is your task, son.”

“Understood, Father. I won’t give you a chance to complain.”
The young man bowed his head respectfully and left the room.

That evening, he packed a variety of food and headed out alone, accompanied only by his two huskies. His car stopped in front of a small wooden cottage, beautifully nestled among forests and mountains.

He knocked on the door.
Knock, knock.

A young man opened it.

“Hello,
Father sent me with food,” he said, handing over a large tiffin.
sorry “Let me introduce myself first —Ling Xinlu,” he added, extending his hand politely.

Chapter Text

“It’s Jeong Teaui,” the guest replied, shaking it.

“Teaui hyung? Is that you?” Xinlu asked in surprise.

“Yeah. Did you forget me, Xinlu?”

“No, no—it’s just been a while...”

Just then, Jeaui stepped outside.

“Jeaui hyung! How are you?” Xinlu smiled, shaking his hand. “It’s been a while since we met.”

“Yeah, you were really young back then.”

Teaui suddenly jumped on one of the huskies, cuddling it joyfully.

“Hyung, they’re so cute! Look at them!”

Xinlu laughed at the sight. “Hyung, you’re cute too.”

“Come on, Xinlu! Let’s play with them!” Teaui called out.

“Yeah, I’m coming!” Xinlu replied, running after him.
Jeaui sat on the stairs with a book in hand, watching them with a soft smile.

On the other side, the wedding day had finally arrived.
Tarten Mansion was filled with decorations and buzzing with guests—

It was Richard and Chris’s wedding.
Chris sat in a chair inside his room, already dressed in the elegant white suit Richard had chosen for him.
It was beautiful, refined—just like him.
But his hands were shaking.
He kept sipping water over and over again.

Eventually, he stepped into the wedding hall.
The entire room fell silent.
Everyone was stunned by his presence—his beauty was angelic.
Richard extended his hand with a smile, gently taking Chris to the stage.

From a distance, Ilay and Rahman sat watching quietly.

“That Richard...” Ilay muttered, lighting a cigarette.
“He’s so obsessed with marriage. He could’ve stayed with Chris without all this ceremony.”

"Marriage is beautiful," Rahman said quietly. "It’s a bond—a promise to stand by your partner through good times and bad. To face everything together. To share each other’s name."

"We can do all that without getting married," Ilay replied.

"I don’t know about you," Rahman said, turning to him, "but I’d still prefer marriage."

"You’re old-fashioned bastard," Ilay teased, raising a brow.

"You can say that."

-------

The wedding had ended.

Chris stood alone in the room, his gaze drifting over the soft golden lights, the fresh flowers, the elegance that hung in the air like a dream. The room had been decorated beautifully—almost too beautifully, like something unreal.

He slowly took off his coat and hung it carefully in the wardrobe, the silence around him almost deafening.

Then the door opened.

Without warning, Richard stepped in and pulled Chris into a breath-stealing hug, holding him so tightly there was barely space between them.

“Richard—”

But before he could finish, Richard kissed him—deeply, hungrily. The force of it made Chris lose his balance, falling back onto the bed beneath them.

“Rich… Richard, wait…” Chris whispered, breathless.

“You made me wait so long,” Richard murmured against his lips, “So long, Chris… to have you. And now. We’re married.”

“Rich—”

Richard’s mouth trailed down to his neck, pressing kisses, then a soft bite. His lips brushed against Chris’s ear. The room dimmed as Richard turned off the lights.

“I won’t hurt you,” he whispered gently into the dark.

----

The next morning, Ilay and Rahman boarded a flight to Korea.
Days passed as they searched everywhere—military bases, old records, hidden sources. But there was no sign of the twins.

Even when they met Mr. Kim’s son, who had served with them, all he could say was, “They left the military a month before I did. I don’t know where they went after that.”

Frustrated but determined, Ilay and Rahman hired dozens of people—hackers, informants, trackers—but all in vain.

Their patience wore thin with each passing day. Two conflicting emotions tore at their hearts: happiness that the twins were alive… and desperation that they still couldn’t reach them.

—
Meanwhile, the twins lived peacefully within the Ling clan estate.

Hidden deep in a forest nestled between mountains, the estate was part of Ling family land—untouched, serene, and impossible for outsiders to find. The Ling clan had been quiet benefactors of the Jeong family for generations.

Xinlu, along with his loyal driver and friend, Shang Chi, shared a quiet bond with the twins.

To Xinlu, Shang Chi wasn’t just a driver—he was a friend, a brother. Together, the four of them lived simply and joyfully like visit market, explored hidden parts of China, caught fish in clear rivers, bathed beneath waterfalls, and climbed mountain peaks with laughter echoing behind them.

They were happy.

Unaware that a storm was quietly approaching from the shadows of their past.

Six months had passed—and still, there was no news of the twins.

Ilay and Rahman remained in Korea, searching relentlessly. Like thirsty men chasing mirages in a desert, they wandered from clue to dead-end, desperation growing heavier with every passing day.

“I can’t believe they’re this good at hiding…” Ilay whispered, his voice rough with longing. His hand clenched into a fist. “Just once—just once more… if I find him, I’ll never let him go again.”

Then one day, Richard called Ilay.

“Rick, I found a place—Nokcheon Village. It’s 150 km from Seoul. The twins… they have a home there.”

Ilay’s voice was sharp. “Seven months, Richard. I never thought you're this useless.”

“I’m not useless,” Richard snapped. “They’re just... something else. Go there, Rick. And tell me—who the hell is backing them? I’m dying to know who’s behind all this.”

“You’re sure about that village?” Ilay warned coldly. “Don’t waste my time.”

“Yeah yeah, Just go.”

They were in separate cars, heading toward Nokcheon Village.

Using Google Maps, they finally arrived. The village was stunning—more beautiful than any city they had seen. It looked like a scene from a green spring: fresh air, peaceful atmosphere, mountains standing proud in the distance.

Ilay stepped out of his car and approached a man standing by the roadside.

“Do you know anything about JeongTeaui?” he asked.
The man eyed him with suspicion.

“Are you talking about the Jeong family?” the man asked cautiously.

“Yes. The Jeong family,” Rahman replied.
The man’s expression tightened. “Who gave you this address?”

Ilay lost his patience. He grabbed the man by the collar and slammed him against the car.

“I don’t have time for your questions,” he snapped, then shoved the man aside and got back into his car, driving further into the village.

Rahman, more composed, stopped at the last house in the row and knocked on the door.

Knock knock.

A little girl, no older than ten, opened it. “Yes, Mister?”

“Kid,” Rahman knelt slightly to her eye level, “do you know the Jeong family? We’re looking for Jeong Jeaui.”

The girl looked up at him with curious eyes, then reached out and grabbed Ilay’s hand. Wordlessly, she led them to the main road and pointed ahead.

“Go further,” she said sweetly. “Then turn left.”

She smiled at them brightly.
Rahman gently patted her head. “Thank you.”

The girl bowed politely and ran back toward her house. Just before she disappeared behind the door, she turned around and called out,

“Be careful, uncles.”

They stopped their cars exactly where the little girl had directed.

Before them stood a massive iron gate, surrounded by towering concrete walls topped with barbed wire. It wasn’t just a house—it looked like a high-security estate.

Ilay’s eyes caught the nameplate bolted to the front wall. Large, gleaming gold letters read:

Mr. Jeong Michi Goung [JSOC]
Mrs. Dr. Jeong Seyeon

He blinked. “…I think we’re at the wrong address,” he whispered, eyes narrowing.

Chapter Text

A few seconds passed before a small door set within the large gate creaked open.

A tall guard in uniform stepped out, expression blank, eyes sharp.
“Who are you?” the guard asked, voice firm.
Ilay and Rahman exchanged a quick look.

Rahman answered calmly, “We’re looking for Jeong Jeaui and Jeong Teaui. We were told this is the right address.”

The guard didn’t reply right away—but the atmosphere suddenly felt heavier.

“I want to meet Teaui. Jeong Teaui. He’s here,” Ilay said firmly.
The guard didn’t question. He simply nodded for them to follow.

As the small gate opened fully, Ilay and Rahman stepped into the estate. A sprawling garden stretched before them, blooming with flowers of every color, the scent sweet in the air. Birds chirped softly in the silence, and just ahead stood a massive white mansion, elegant yet intimidating.

They walked behind the guard in silence, their boots crunching on the gravel path. Near a marble fountain, the guard finally stopped and looked up at the grand balcony above.

The guard raised his voice.

“Sir! Someone’s here… asking for Young Masters.”

Young masters ? Ilay and Rahman exchange looks

A moment passed.

Then—slow footsteps echoed above them.

A tall man stepped onto the balcony, shirtless, his chest rising and falling steadily from exertion. His muscular body glistened with sweat. Countless scars ran across his torso and arms, deep and old—like the aftermath of being mauled by something wild. One long scar traced across his left eye, but both his eyes were sharp, focused… and cold.

He looked down at them, silent for a second, then turned and descended the stairs slowly.

Without a word, he lit a cigar, smoke curling around his sharp jawline, and sat back on a dark leather sofa placed beneath the open sky.

Ilay and Rahman sat opposite the man, the silence between them tense and charged. Ilay’s sharp eyes studied him carefully. His skin was tanned—just like Teaui’s. His hair was a shade of soft brown, windswept, slightly messy. As soon as he’d stepped down, the entire atmosphere had shifted. The air grew heavier, as if recognizing the presence of someone powerful… dangerous.

The man took a slow drag of his cigar, exhaling the smoke like it was second nature, and then asked in a voice that was both calm and rough—like quiet thunder:

“Who are you, young men?”
His eyes were on Ilay.
“Ilay Riegrow. From T&R,” Ilay replied.

Then the man turned to Rahman.
“And you?”
“Rahman. From Riyad.”

“Why are you here?”

Rahman responded, measured but cautious.
“We were searching for Jeong Jeaui and Jeong Teaui. But… I think we’re in the wrong place.”

The man leaned forward, resting one arm on his knee as he flicked ash from the cigar.

“You’re in the right place, young man.
They’re my sons.”
Ilay and Rahman froze.

They hadn’t expected this.
Not a man with such a quiet, terrifying presence being their father.

The man’s gaze hardened.
“Now… tell me.”

His tone didn’t rise, but it sliced through the space between them.
“Why are you here?”

His voice was still calm, but the edge in it was unmistakable—like a blade hidden under silk.

Ilay lit his cigarette with a steady hand, his voice calm but heavy with emotion.

"I'm looking for my boyfriend. We were together for 1 year… and then he disappeared."

He exhaled a puff of smoke. "So I came here to find him."

Mr. Jeong raised an eyebrow, still seated like a king on his throne, cigar resting between his fingers.

"Boyfriend, I see," he said coolly. "Well, for your kind information, young man—my sons aren’t allowed to date anyone."

"Why?" Rahman asked, frowning.
Mr. Jeong didn't blink. "Because it’s my choice."

Ilay didn’t back down. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"With all due respect, sir… we’re in a relationship."

The silence crackled like firewood in the cold air. Then Rahman, ever respectful yet daring, spoke:

"If you know where Jeaui is… or if he’s here, could you call him? I just want to talk to him."

Mr. Jeong’s eyes shifted to him slowly, gaze like ice.
"Why?"

Rahman met that stare without flinching. He crossed one leg over the other, fixing his cuffs with deliberate calm.
"Because I want to ask for his hand in marriage. And I’d prefer to do it in front of you."

Then Mr. Jeong smiled—only slightly.
"You two are quite bold." He leaned back, taking another drag of his cigar. "But do you know that… I can kill both of you right here, bury your bodies bodies in this land, and no one would ever find you?"

Ilay and Rahman— They didn’t flinch.

They’d come too far to turn back now.
Suddenly, the heavy iron gates creaked open again.
Two black cars rolled inside.

The guards straightened as one opened the car door. From within, a woman stepped out.

She was elegance in motion.

Long black hair cascading to her waist, half of it tied with a red ribbon. She wore a simple, knee-length white gown paired with black heels that clicked softly on the stone. Her presence was quiet but magnetic. A living portrait.
She was the female version of Jeaui.

Mr. Jeong, stood up.
A soft smile broke through his previously cold, unreadable face.

He walked to her and gently wrapped one arm around her shoulder. Without a word, he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.
He brushed her wind-blown hair away from her eyes with surprising softness, as if the storm inside him stilled in her presence.

Ilay and Rahman watched silently.
This side of Mr. Jeong… was unexpected.

"How’s my little fairy?" Mr. Jeong’s voice dropped to something softer, something almost unheard of coming from a man like him. "I was waiting for you… so badly."

He walked alongside her slowly, his arm still wrapped protectively around her shoulder, as if the world outside ceased to matter when she arrived. They sat down together on the long velvet settee, his hand never once leaving her.
She tilted her head slightly, her tone gentle and curious.

"And who are they, honey?"

Chapter Text

Mr. Jeong exhaled a faint puff of smoke, glancing at the two guests with a casual flick of his fingers.

"Oh, them? They're here for our sons."

He nodded toward Ilay. "That one says he’s Teaui’s boyfriend."
Then to Rahman. "And the other one wants to marry our Jeaui."

A light laugh escaped her lips—silvery, elegant.
"Really… our sons have such good eyes. They’re both so handsome," she said, inspecting the two men with warmth and grace.

She waved a hand, summoning a servant discreetly. When he leaned down, she whispered something in his ear.
Just a moment later, the servant returned with a fur coat. With practiced ease, he draped it carefully over Mr. Jeong’s broad shoulders.
She adjusted the coat herself with delicate fingers, her voice soft but firm:

"Honey, you should cover those scars… you’ll scare these poor boys."

Then, turning to Ilay and Rahman, she smiled—a serene, graceful expression that held no malice, only quiet understanding.
Her presence was like calm after a storm.

The guard who had escorted them earlier stepped forward, a tablet in hand. He offered it respectfully to Mr. Jeong.

Mr. Jeong took it without a word, his fingers gliding across the screen as he read something only he could see.
Then, without looking up, he began to speak in that same calm, authoritative voice.

"Ilay Reigrow, from T&R—Tarten and Reigrow. Younger brother of Kyle Reigrow, and childhood friend of Tarten’s current head, Richard Tarten. Rarely show up in the riot squad."

He finally raised his eyes. "Am I right, young man?"

Ilay let a smirk play on his lips, folding his arms.
"You’re fast, Mr. Jeong. Impressive."

Mr. Jeong turned his gaze to Rahman.
"And you… Rahman. Known politician, next heir to the royal family of Riyadh. Rarely seen in public, yet controversy seems to follow you like a shadow."
A flicker of amusement crossed his face. "It appears you're skilled at playing games."

Rahman smiled calmly.
"Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Jeong."

With an air of finality, Mr. Jeong placed the tablet down on the table and leaned back against the leather.

His eyes flicked toward his wife.
"Not bad. I’m impressed, honey."

Then his voice lowered, a trace of sharpness in his tone.
"But I’m not a fairy. So young men stay away from my sons they’ll marry whenever I decide."

She gently rolled her eyes and gave a small shrug.
"Don’t be so cold, honey. They came all this way for our sons and managed to find this place—that’s impressive, at least to me."

She stood, brushing off her gown as a soft breeze fluttered through her ribboned hair.
"Anyway, it’s time for breakfast. Let’s head inside."

Mr. Jeong sighed, exhaling smoke from his cigar, then smiled crookedly.
"You can't keep inviting strangers into the mansion like this, Fairy. Why are you always so sweet?"

She only chuckled, voice light but sharp.
"I don’t interfere in your business. If our sons choose them, I won’t stop them. And if not—" she shrugged again, "I still don’t mind. They look tired. Let them rest."

He laughed under his breath, low and rumbling.
"As you wish, Fairy… how could I dare to refuse you?"

The gates to the mansion slowly opened behind them.

Mrs. Jeong led them through the grand entrance of the mansion. As they stepped into the main hallway, Ilay's eyes were drawn to a large portrait mounted on the wall.

Two young boys—twins—froze in a moment of laughter. One of them, Jeaui, was running barefoot on the grass, and right behind him, Teaui reached out, trying to catch him. Their cheeks were round and chubby, eyes sparkling with joy.

Identical smiles stretched across their faces—innocent, full of life.

"That's them," Mrs. Jeong said softly, following Ilay’s gaze. "Jeaui and Teaui, when they were six."

Ilay stared at the photo for a moment, his smile faint.

Mrs. Jeong chuckled warmly.
"Don’t mind my husband. He’s just… overly protective. That’s why my sons rarely share anything with him."

Rahman, ever the observant one, glanced at her with a curious tilt of his head.

"Mam, if you don’t mind me asking… you don’t live here? It’s early morning and it seemed like you just arrived."

She waved a hand lightly.
"Oh . I’m a doctor—gynecologist. I had a delivery case in the middle of the night, had to leave urgently."

"Ah, I see," Rahman said with a polite nod.

She stopped in front of a carved wooden door and opened it.
"This is my sons' room. Please stay here for now. Give me ten minutes—I’ll have another room prepared."

Rahman stepped in and shook his head gently.
"No need, really. We’ll leave after breakfast. But thank you—for everything."

Mrs. Jeong smiled kindly.
"Alright. Rest here. I’ll call you when breakfast is ready."

Ilay looked around the room. Large windows were open, letting in a cool breeze. The air was sweet, scattered with flower petals drifting in from the garden. The bed was massive and circular. He walked over and threw himself onto it with a quiet sigh.

"What a beautiful place," he murmured to himself.

Across the room, Rahman noticed a closed door. Thinking it was the bathroom, he opened it casually.
But what he found inside made him freeze.

Not a bathroom.
A lab.

A massive, high-tech lab with missile prototypes lined up along one wall. Various gun models, weapons tech, and blueprints covered the space.

Rahman’s eyes narrowed.
"Reigrow …" he called, voice low.

Ilay stepped inside the hidden room.
His eyes widened.
“Interesting…” he muttered.

The room felt cold, filled with the quiet hum of machinery. Inside a large glass containment unit, several laser guns sat arranged neatly, fog swirling around them. Everything gleamed under the sterile white light—silent, deadly.

Just then, Mrs. Jeong entered, holding two glasses of fresh orange juice.

Rahman turned quickly, startled.

“Oh—I'm really sorry. I thought this was the bathroom.”

She smiled softly, unfazed.
“It’s alright. All of these weapons are legal. My husband and sons serve the country. I’m proud of them.”

Ilay took a glass from her, eyes still scanning the lab.
“Do you… know where Teaui is?” he asked quietly.

Mrs. Jeong’s expression didn’t change.
“I don’t know.”

Rahman sipped his juice, brows furrowed.

“When the security system is that advanced, then why aren’t your sons here?”

She sighed and sat on the edge of a nearby worktable, voice calm but distant.

“It’s not like that. We can't protect them—but they aren’t children anymore. Jeaui was always a quiet, isolated boy. He spent most of his time in this room or in his lab. Teaui was always with him, but Teaui always wanted to travel, to see the world, to learn new things.”

“Jeaui decided to leave with Teaui so that Teaui could fulfill his dreams. So, we didn’t stop them.”

She paused for a moment, then continued.

“When they turned nineteen, Weaber’s youngest son approached Teaui. They became friends. But his older brother… brainwashed him. He wanted access to Jeaui’s weapon designs. One day, he kidnapped both my sons from their university.”
Then
“My husband killed both of them.”

Ilay and Rahman exchanged a heavy glance.

__

After finishing breakfast, Ilay and Rahman left the Jeong mansion.

Ilay called Richard.

[“Hello, Rick.”]

“Yeah?”

[“Did you find something?”]

“Not yet. But I met their parents.”

[“They have parents?”]

“Yeah. An extremely protective father—retired Supreme Commander.”

[“Whoa, .. so that’s the reason for all the secrecy.” Anyway, both of you need to head to the Ling Clan in Hong Kong.”]

“Are you sure this time?”

[“This time, I’m perfectly sure.”]

“Fine.”

Rahman looked at Ilay. “What happened?”

“They're in the Ling Clan... Hong Kong,”

---
Teaui, Jeaui, Xinlu, and Shang Chi were sitting under the tree, drinking beer and eating fish.

Shang Chi was scrolling through rings designs on his phone.
Teaui peeked over and asked,
“You have a lover, Shang Chi?”

Xinlu chuckled. “He has a beautiful girlfriend, but he doesn’t know her value. He always makes her cry—poor girl. She’ll leave you if you keep yourself this busy, Shang Chi.”

“Young master, don’t say that,” Shang Chi sighed. “I love her. I’m just busy, that’s all. I’m going to ask her to marry me. Help me choose a couple rings.” He placed his phone in front of them.
“Wait, I’ll choose!” Xinlu’s eyes lit up at the thought of his friend’s marriage.
“This one for her,”

Teaui pointed at a delicate ring, then at a men’s ring. “And this one for Shang Chi. Look, hyung—he has beautiful hands.”

Jeaui gave him a quiet nod.

“These rings… the shopkeeper sent it to me. I’m going to buy it, then tonight I’ll propose to her.”

“Perfect, Shang Chi. I’ll come with you. But this design for her is too simple—we’ll pick another one together.”
Shang Chi nodded and stood up. “Let’s go.”

Xinlu also stood, grabbing his phone. “Hyung, we’ll be back in one hour. The shop is nearby.”

“Okay, Xinlu. Take your time.”

Suddenly, an old woman appeared—one of the Ling clan’s servants—holding a baby girl, about eight or nine months old, in her arms.

“Young master,” the old woman called out to Xinlu, “can you please hold her for me? I need to pick some herbal medicine for my daughter-in-law.”

Xinlu took the baby girl from the old woman, and the old woman disappeared into the forest.

Teaui’s eyes lit up. He stepped closer and carefully took the baby from Xinlu.

“I’ll hold her, Xinlu. You’re going to the market.”

“Oh, I almost forgot. Hey, Shang Chi, let’s go!”

Teaui sat down, pinching the baby’s chubby cheeks. She started crying instantly—and she didn’t seem like she wanted to stop.

He quickly handed her over to Jeaui. “Hyung, hold her.”

“Teaui, I don’t know how to handle kids,” Jeaui said calmly. But in just a few minutes, the girl stopped crying and fell asleep in his arms.

“Hyung, she fell asleep. Can I touch her cheeks?” Teaui asked quietly.

Jeaui stood up. “No, you can’t. You’ll wake her, and she’ll start crying again.”

He took her inside, laid her gently on the bed, then pulled up a chair beside her. Sitting down, Jeaui opened a book and began to read, keeping a silent watch over the little girl.

While Teaui was playing fetch with the husky, tossing the ball back and forth,

-------

on the other side of town, Ilay and Rahman had stopped their cars on the highway.

“There are two ways. Which one should we take?” Rahman asked.

Ilay stepped out of his car and walked ahead, toward the forest. “There’s a road inside. A car can easily go through here,” he said after glancing around.

Rahman also stepped out, looking at the path before checking his watch. “Seems like this might be ling clan’s private property. My guards will arrive soon.”

“Let’s go inside. If we find nothing, we’ll come back and head straight to the Ling Clan,” Ilay said, eyes still on the Google Map in his hand.

Rahman gave a short nod and returned to his car. They drove into the forest path.

After some distance, the road narrowed and the ground grew rough. The cars came to a stop—there was no way to drive further.

Teaui was sitting on the ground, his back turned to Ilay, absently patting his dog. Hearing the sound of car engines and footsteps approaching, he called out, “Xinlu—” but stopped mid-sentence as he turned his head.

“Xinlu, you came ear—” His voice cut off, his body going rigid. The air grew heavy, the wind shifting as if some dangerous beast had entered the forest.

“Ila… y…”

A familiar voice answered, low and cold.
“Long time no see, Jeong Teaui… You look so happy without me.”

Chapter Text

Before Teaui could react, Ilay pulled him into a tight embrace.
“Seven months and twenty days,” Ilay said against his ear, his tone trembling with restrained fury. “I’ve been searching for you like a madman. Do you have any idea…?”

Behind ilay, Rahman opened the cottage door in front of Teaui.

“Hyun—”

Ilay’s hand clamped over his mouth.
“Mfmm… mmm… Ila—”

Ilay leaned in, his breath brushing against Teaui’s ear. “You didn’t call me even once. Do you know… I thought you were dead. How heartless you are.”

Teaui forced out a muffled sound, “Hmmm…”

You… always leave me speechless teaui.”

Rauman stood quietly, his gaze fixed on Jeaui, who was sitting in a chair with his head resting against the bed. One of Jeaui’s hands rested protectively on the small baby lying there.

Rauman stepped closer, gently brushing Jeaui’s bangs aside.
Jeaui’s eyes fluttered open—then widened. Seeing Rauman standing right in front of him, he jolted upright so suddenly he nearly fell backward.

Rauman caught his wrist, steadying him, then pulled him closer.

“How are you, Jeaui? Finally… I found you.”

Jeaui’s mind struggled to catch up, his thoughts scattering.
Rauman’s gaze flicked to the baby, then back to him. Jeaui noticed and instinctively stepped forward, using one arm to shield the child from view.

“I heard,” Rauman said slowly, “you’re not allowing to date anyone. So… whose kid is this? Yours and Teaui’s?”

“She’s not mine.”

A faint smile curved Rauman’s lips. “If she were yours… I wouldn’t mind raising her.”

The tense silence shattered with a loud slam—Ilay burst through the door, gripping Teaui tightly in his arms.

Ilay’s eyes locked on the child.
“Whose kid is this?”

Teaui’s jaw tightened. “It’s none of your business. What the hell are you doing here?”

“JEONG TEAUI —” Ilay’s voice exploded into a roar as his hand shot out, gripping Teaui’s neck. “Don’t test my patience!”

“Bas…tard—she’s not mine!” Teaui choked, struggling against his hold. “Let me go!”

A sharp knock echoed through the cottage.
Knock. Knock.

“Young master,” a voice called from outside.

Jeaui, gently lifting the child into his arms. He opened the door and handed her over, his movements careful, deliberate. The woman outside bowed deeply. “Thank you, young master.”

“You’re welcome.” Jeaui closed the door with a soft click, exhaling a long breath before turning to face Rauman.

“You asked me for guns, and I gave them to you,” he said evenly. “Now I won’t create any more weapons, Rauman.”

Rauman’s gaze didn’t waver. “I’m not here for weapons, Jeaui.” His voice was deep, certain. “I want to marry you.”

Jeaui blinked, unsure if he’d heard correctly. “Marry…?
”
“You freak!” Teaui’s voice exploded from behind them. “I knew it from the beginning! Bastard, we’re both alphas—go find someone else!”

But Jeaui remained calm, his tone quiet but resolute. “Rauman, I don’t want to marry anyone. So please… leave. You’re disturbing us.”

Ilay leaned down, his breath warm against Teaui’s ear.

“So you think your father is the only Enigma in this world Teaui.”
Teaui’s body froze. Slowly, he turned his head toward Ilay, disbelief flickering in his eyes.

“Enigmas…?”

A faint smirk curved Ilay’s lips. “You’re so smart, Teaui. I love it.”

Ilay titled his head slightly, his gaze drifting toward Rauman.
"Hurry up, Rauman we're getting late."

“Reigrow,” Rauman said suddenly, his gaze locked on Jeaui. “Take his brother. He’ll follow me.”

“Let’s go home,” Ilay said, gripping Teaui’s wrist tightly. He began dragging him toward the door.

“Ilay—!” Teaui’s hand shot out, clinging desperately to the bookshelf. Books tumbled to the floor with a loud thud.

“Please, let me go!”
“ILAY… LET ME GO, BASTARD!”

But Ilay didn’t listen. With a swift motion, he hauled Teaui over his shoulder as if he weighed nothing.

“HYUNG!” Teaui’s voice cracked as he thrashed violently.

"Rauman don't hurt him." Jeaui said with calm voice
"Then come with me jeaui."

“RAUMAN!” you bastard teaui roared, his tone vibrating with raw fury. “I’ll fucking kill you if you hurt him!”

“HYUNG!” Teaui’s scream echoed through the night, desperate and wild.

Rauman, unmoved, gently took Jeaui’s wrist and guided him out of the cottage. Without a word, he opened the car door for him.

Ilay tied Teaui’s hands with his own necktie, his expression dark. Teaui struggled harder, glaring up at him.

“Let me go! What’s wrong with you? You said you’d let us go, you son of a—”

“I never said that, Teaui.” Ilay’s voice was dangerously calm. “That was Rauman, not me.”

Both cars tore down the road at full speed, engines growling in the still night.
From the distance, headlights appeared—Xinlu’s car.
He was coming from the opposite direction.
In a split second, the vehicles passed each other, nothing but a blur of metal and light. For the briefest moment, the air seemed to crackle with recognition… but the night was too dark, the speed too fast.

The cottage door hung wide open.
Xinlu didn’t waste a second—he rushed inside.

“Hyung!
Teaui hyung!”
Jeaui hyung!"
His voice echoed through the empty space. The room was a wreck—books scattered, chairs overturned, and the faint scent of dust and gun oil hanging in the air.

Xinlu stormed back outside, eyes scanning the darkness. Shang Chi was already at the surveillance system, fingers flying over the controls.

“Someone took them,” Shang Chi muttered, his tone grim.
Without a word, Xinlu grabbed the phone from his hand, his voice breaking into a roar.
“REIGROW!”

Both men moved at once, slipping into their own cars. Engines ignited, tires screeched, and the night swallowed them whole. The highway ahead was empty, the only sound the relentless hum of speed.

Shang Chi had already called for backup.
Finally, the headlights caught sight of them—two black cars ahead.

Xinlu didn’t hesitate. He dropped the roof of his car, stood up against the wind, and raised his gun. His aim was steady, his eyes locked.

One shot cracked through the silence. The bullet ripped straight into the back windshield of Rauman’s car.

Rauman’s car slammed into the side of Ilay’s. The impact jolted through the frame, metal grinding against metal.
Ilay reacted instantly—his arms came around Teaui, shielding him completely with his broad frame as the world outside blurred. In the other car, Rauman pulled Jeaui closer, wrapping one arm around him protectively while his other hand gripped the steering wheel, eyes cold and fixed ahead.

The screech of tires split the night. Both vehicles spun in a dizzying half-circle before coming to a violent halt—now nose to nose with Xinlu’s and Shang Chi’s cars.

Ilay and Rauman stepped out , the air around them heavy with hostility. From the other side, Xinlu leapt from his car, his expression unreadable but his stance ready.

Almost ten more cars rolled up behind Xinlu and Shang Chi, forming a wall of headlights that lit the deserted stretch of road like a stage.

Rauman’s voice cut through the silence, deep and edged with disdain.
“Who the hell are you, kid?”

Xinlu’s answer was calm but sharp.
“Give them back—and leave.”

In the distance, more engines rumbled. Rauman’s guards had arrived, stepping out of their vehicles, their shadows long under the harsh beams of light.
The night was about to ignite.

Chapter Text

“Kid, go home. I don’t want to fight with you,” Rauman said, his tone cold but almost dismissive. He turned away, reaching for his car door.

It happened in a blur—Xinlu’s sharp command sliced through the air. Within seconds, his men lunged at Rauman’s guards, the night erupting with the clash of metal and the crack of impact as iron rods and gun barrels swung.

Shang Chi moved first, springing forward with a swift kick to Ilay’s stomach but ilay caught him mid-air, his fist slamming into Shang Chi with bone-shaking force.

Xinlu charged Rauman, landing a hard punch, but Rauman’s counter came fast—a brutal kick that sent Xinlu crashing against his own car. Before Xinlu could recover, Rauman grabbed him, driving another blow into his ribs. Xinlu’s head snapped forward, smashing into Rauman’s face with a vicious headbutt.

They were beasts now, neither willing to yield.

Xinlu’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of rage crossing his face before he hurled the iron rod straight at Ilay.
The sound of metal cutting through air was sharp and sudden—but Ilay’s hand shot up, catching it effortlessly. The force vibrated through his palm, but he didn’t even flinch.

Shang Chi lunged for Rahman, his grip locking onto the man’s collar. Rahman’s gaze lowered to meet him—calm, cold, unreadable.
“Seems like you both want to die,” Rauman snarled. “I don’t mind killing you.”
Rauman’s only response was movement—swift and brutal. His knee slammed into Shang Chi’s stomach with bone-crushing force, the air leaving Shang Chi in a choked gasp.

Ilay, still gripping the iron rod, moved in a blur. His free hand snapped around Xinlu’s throat, lifting him clean off the ground.

“Ling xinlu,” his voice was a low growl, dangerous and unshaking, “you shouldn’t provoke me.”

Xinlu’s lips curved into a smirk despite the pressure on his neck. “I won’t leave before I kill you.”
The words barely left his mouth before his hand moved—fast and deliberate. The cold glint of steel flashed, and a knife sank into Ilay’s arm.

With a snarl, Ilay's grip tightened befor he flung Xinlu aside like he weighed nothing. Xinlu hit the ground hard, the impact echoing through the tense silence.

Two small ring boxes slipped from Shang Chi’s pocket, tumbling onto the asphalt. Ilay’s gaze locked on them. Without a word, he stepped forward and crushed them beneath his heel, the sound sharp in the chaos.

“RIEGROW!” Xinlu roared, launching himself at Ilay again. But Ilay caught him, slamming him hard against the car. Xinlu’s hand shot to his belt, and this time, the blade drove deep into Ilay’s collarbone.

“Ilay!” Taeui’s scream tore through the chaos from inside the locked car.
“ILAY! Stop it! ILAYYYY!”

The door finally gave way—Taeui stumbled out, running straight into Ilay’s path just as he was about to bring another brutal kick down on Shang Chi. He wrapped his arms around Ilay’s waist, holding him tightly.

“Ilay, listen… you can’t kill people like this. Stop it, please… please. I’m coming with you.” His voice was desperate, trembling against Ilay’s chest.

Across the fight, Xinlu staggered toward Rauman again. Blood covered his face, dripping from a cut above his brow, but his eyes burned with fury. Rauman’s hand went to his side—this time he drew a gun, the barrel fixed on Xinlu.

"Reigrow! Rauman!" Xinlu's roar cut through the air They’ll come with me.

"Teaui will come with me," Ilay shot back.
"And jeaui with me," Rauman said calmly.

“I never thought you were this much of bastard Rauman,” Xinlu spat hoarsely. “Do your family know you’re kidnapping men?”

Rauman’s voice was ice. “Xinlu… I don’t know why you’re so desperate for them.”

Before Rauman could pull the trigger, a hand closed around his wrist, pushing the gun down. He turned his head.
“Jeaui…”

Rauman barely had time to react before the gunshot rang out. Xinlu had fired. The bullet slammed into Rauman’s front left shoulder.

Jeaui’s body went rigid, his hand resting on Rauman’s wound. His expression was unreadable—caught between shock and something unspoken.

Another shot cracked through the air—Ilay’s gun this time. The bullet buried itself into Xinlu’s right shoulder from behind.
Then everything collapsed into chaos—Shang Chi dove for a fallen weapon, snatched it up, and fired. The shot tore into Ilay’s lower stomach. At the exact moment, Rauman's gun fired the bullet tearing into Shang chi's thigh.

For a heartbeat, no one moved—then, almost in unison, all four guns roared. They had shot each other at the same time.

Teaui looked down, pressing hard against the wound, then slowly lifted his gaze.
“Ilay…”

“I won’t die—at least not while you’re still alive.” Ilay’s hand reached up, brushing gently against Teaui’s cheek. His voice was low, “You’re crying for them, not for me, huh?”

A faint smile touched his lips. “That… hurts more than the bullets.”

“Rauman.”
Jeaui’s voice cut through the chaos. He stepped forward, his tone firm but not hostile. “Let him go.”

Rauman’s gaze flicked to him.
“I won’t kill him, Jeaui… give me five minutes. I need to talk to him.”

Jeaui didn’t move, but he didn’t lower his eyes either. Rauman turned back to Xinlu and took slow steps closer.

“You called me a bastard,” Rauman said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “But have you ever felt desperation—truly felt it? To have someone… or to just look at him/her? You came here from nowhere, playing with my pride. And because of you…” His eyes burned. “He saw my true color.”

Xinlu’s breath came in shallow bursts, blood still trickling down his face. Rahman’s voice dropped, heavy with something darker.

“I wish one day you feel this same desperation—just like I’m feeling right now. And when that day comes, I want you to ask yourself… was I wrong, or was I right, Ling Xinlu?”
Rahman’s jaw tightened.

“If I survive today… I’ll come back. To both of you. Desperation for someone? That’s not my type.” His words were laced with venom. “I’ll come back to take both of them—and send them to Korea safely. Because of you… and Riegrow… I failed today.”

Before Rauman could answer, movement caught xinlu's eye. Shang Chi had somehow managed to get back on his feet and seized Taeui’s wrist, trying to drag him away.
"Teaui lets go."

Ilay’s eyes went cold. Without hesitation, he slammed his foot down, crushing Shang Chi’s arm from the elbow to the ground with merciless force. The sickening crack of bone echoed in the air, followed by a scream.

“REIGROW..........… you motherf**ker! Leave him alone.” Xinlu’s voice tore through the air, ragged with fury.

Teaui seized the moment and ran toward Jeaui, pulling him into a tight embrace. In that brief hold, he slipped Jeaui’s phone into his pocket without a sound.

“Hyung,” he whispered against his ear, “I’ll contact you within five days. We’ll go to Korea—back home, to our parents. Hide it carefully.”

Jeaui gave a silent nod, his grip lingering for a second longer before letting go.

Ilay dragged Teaui toward the car, shoving him inside before slamming the door. Rauman turned, his grip closing around Jeaui’s hand. “Let’s go,” he said firmly.

“Ilay, let me take them to the hospital! Just give me some time!” Teaui pleaded, desperation in his voice.
“Ilay, listen to me—please, Ilay!”
But Ilay’s jaw was set. “I never thought I’d say this to someone, but now… I’ll drag you straight to the wedding hall myself.”

------

Xinlu was kneeling on the road, blood streaming from his body.
With a deafening crack, thunder rolled above, and the rain began to pour.
He wanted to sleep—he was injured, exhausted, and every breath burned in his chest.

Then came the sound of footsteps.
Many footsteps.
A pair of polished leather shoes stopped in front of him, and a man knelt down.

Xinlu slowly raised his gaze.
A man in a formal suit, a gun in his hand, eyes the color of a deep ocean.

“Who… are you?”

“Yuri Gabel. Agent Yuri Gabel.”

Without another word, Xinlu collapsed forward, resting his head on Yuri’s shoulder. His voice was barely a whisper.
“Save… my friend… over there.”

Yuri’s hand came up to cradle the back of Xinlu’s head.
A spark of pain flared in his chest. Who hurt this beautiful boy like this?

Chapter Text

He gathered Xinlu into his arms and stood.

Another agent rushed toward him.
“Where are you going, Yuri?”

“The hospital. Bring that man too—they’re both badly injured.”

“We’re on a mission, Yuri,” the agent protested.

“Those terriost in the factory—send someone else. I’m going. And bring him too, fast.”

“…Got it,” his colleague replied with a deep sigh.

Yuri carried Xinlu into the hospital, his clothes soaked from the rain.

He laid him gently onto a stretcher, but as the nurses tried to rush him toward the operating theatre, Xinlu’s hand clung tightly to Yuri’s—as if he refused to let go, even in his unconscious state.

The doctor made an attempt to separate them, but Yuri’s voice was calm and firm.
“I’m staying.”
They didn’t argue further.

So Yuri followed the stretcher into the bright, sterile light of the operating theatre.

Throughout the surgery, he remained by Xinlu’s side, his hand still in the boy’s weak grasp.

---------
Ilay dragged Teaui inside the mansion, his grip unyielding.
“Ilay, let me go! I don’t want to marry you!” Teaui’s voice shook as he struggled, his wrists twisting in a desperate attempt to break free.

Ilay said nothing. He flung open the door to a room and threw Teaui onto the bed. Teaui scrambled back to his feet, shoving Ilay with all the strength he had before darting out of the room. His body trembled, his legs felt heavy, but he forced himself to run—up the stairs, down the hall, toward the main gate.

From the staircase, Ilay watched him, eyes cold.
Before Teaui could reach the gate, one of the guards slammed it shut. Teaui pounded on the heavy wood, his fists aching, tears spilling down his face.

“Come back here, Teaui.” Ilay’s voice echoed through the hall, low and edged with warning. “I’m tired today. Don’t test me. I have very little patience left.”

In a few strides, Ilay was there. He scooped Teaui up as if he weighed nothing, ignoring his struggles, and carried him back to the room.

He grabbed Teaui’s face with both hands, forcing him to meet his gaze. Teaui’s tears didn’t stop; his chest heaved with sobs.

“I want to go home, Ilay. Let me go. You’ve killed so many people—”

"Your father can kill anyone for you, but when I do it, I’m wrong? Why can’t you be desperate for me the way you were for those kids just a few hours ago? Why can’t you cry for me?" Ilay’s voice trembled with anger and hurt.

"You’re stabbing me again and again, Teaui. I was searching for you so desperately—can’t you see? Can’t you see I’m dying for you, Jeong Teaui?"

“My father—”

“Do you think I don’t know?

He pulled Teaui into his arms, holding him tightly against his chest.

“I am your man, your future husband, your enigma. Don’t even think about running away again. I don’t know what I’ll do if you try.” His voice lowered to something almost gentle. “Now… sleep. I have work to do.”

Rauman left Jeaui in his room.

“If you need anything, ask the servant,” he said with smile before walking out, anger simmering beneath his calm tone. His manager followed silently.

In the study, Rauman tore open his blood-stained kurta, the fabric ripping under his hands. He sat on the edge of the table, lighting a cigarette, smoke curling slowly into the dim air.

“Sir, let me call the doctor—”

“No need.” Rauman’s voice was low, dangerous. He picked up a knife and sent it spinning toward his manager, embedding it in the wall beside him.
“Pull out the bullet.”

“Sir…”
“Do it. I want to sleep.”

The manager obeyed, carefully extracting the bullet from Rauman’s shoulder. Blood streaked down his skin, but Rauman didn’t flinch—only exhaled smoke. Once the bullet was out, the wound was cleaned and bandaged with precision.

[After two years, seven months, and twenty-one days, they finally slept peacefully.]

But according to the plan, Teaui called Jeaui and tricked Ilay.
Once again, the twins chose each other over the men who could kill—or die—for them.

Teaui called Chris for help to get out of Dresden, but Richard locked him inside a room. All escape routes were blocked, and before nightfall, they were caught again.

[ flashback chap shielded too much ]

When the twins tried to run again, the chaos pushed Ilay and Rauman to hold their weddings together—they didn’t want to delay it any longer. Richard was busy with them.

When he finally came home, Chris was lying peacefully on the bed, an empty plate and a half-finished glass of juice beside him.

Richard thought he was just sleeping and didn’t pay much attention. But after an hour, when Chris still hadn’t stirred, he called out to him.

“Chris?”
No response. Richard brushed his fingers against his cheeks—cold. He shook him harder.

“Hey… Chris! Christopher!”
Still nothing.

Richard scooped him up in his arms and rushed to the hospital.

“He’s not waking up…” Doctor.

Richard’s heart pounded. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Calm down. Wait here,” the doctor said before disappearing into the room.

After what felt like hours, the doctor came out.

“How is he?” Richard asked, voice trembling.

“He’s fine… but someone poisoned his food.”

“What?”

“He’ll recover. But… he lost his child, Richard.”

Richard froze. “Child? What the hell are you saying?”

“He was pregnant. You didn’t know? That poison was enough to kill a fetus.”

Richard felt the air leave his lungs. He went inside and sat by Chris’s bed. Chris’s face was turned away, but he had heard everything. He hadn’t known either. He always claimed to dislike children, even teased others about them—but now he silently cried for the unborn child he never got to meet.

Richard held his hand tightly. Both of them blamed themselves for being careless… but they never spoke of this day again.

Chapter Text

Xinlu was lying on the hospital bed when Yuri walked in and set his gun on the bedside table. Xinlu slowly opened his eyes, his gaze immediately landing on the weapon. Without a word, he grabbed the gun and moved so quickly that Yuri didn’t have time to react. In the next second, Xinlu had pushed him down onto the bed, pressing the barrel under Yuri’s chin.

Yuri’s eyes widened, but he didn’t resist.

Xinlu froze for a moment as he stared into those striking ocean-blue eyes. His expression shifted slightly.

“You’re wearing lenses,” he muttered.

Yuri shook his head silently.
Xinlu scoffed. “What beautiful eyes… Whatever.” He looked around. “Where am I?”

“Between Berlin and Dershen,” Yuri answered calmly.

“Where’s Shang Chi? My friend. He’s okay, right?”

“The doctor sent him to a hospital in Berlin,” Yuri replied.

“Why?”

Yuri’s tone stayed level. “He lost his arm.”

“What?” Xinlu’s voice hardened.

“Your friend lost one arm. That’s why they sent him there.”

Xinlu’s breath hitched. He suddenly stood up, grabbed a chair, and hurled it at the window. Glass shattered everywhere, shards scattering across the floor.

“REIGROW!” he roared.

A few glass pieces cut into his feet, but he didn’t seem to care—until Yuri pulled him back. Xinlu turned, gripping Yuri’s shoulders tightly.

“Hide me somewhere until I recover. I have unfinished business with someone… I’m not going back until I kill them.”

“You need to stay here in the hospital,” Yuri said firmly, easing him back down onto the bed. He knelt in front of him, carefully cleaning the wounds on his feet before wrapping them in fresh bandage.

“Take me somewhere—any hotel, anywhere. I’m not going back until I kill those bastards,” Xinlu said, his voice low but firm.

“I’ll take you after five days,” Yuri replied, glancing down at Xinlu’s injured feet. “Until then, stay here.” He looked up at him, his gaze steady. “How do you expect to take revenge if you hurt yourself like this?” Yuri asked.

“You don’t need to touch my feet like that, Mr. Agent,” Xinlu said, his gaze fixed on Yuri’s blue eyes.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind,” Yuri replied.

“Mr. Agent, I’m hungry,” Xinlu muttered, his voice low but stubborn.

“My name is Yuri,” the man replied without looking up, “not Mr. Agent.”

“Yuri, I’m hungry.”

“Wait for ten minutes.”

Xinlu gave a small nod, quiet and obedient, like a child who didn’t want to cause trouble.

Ten minutes later, Yuri returned with a steaming bowl of green vegetable soup. He set it down in front of Xinlu, then glanced at his right hand, still wrapped in a thick bandage. Without a word, Yuri picked up the spoon and began feeding him.

Xinlu’s gaze shifted from the bowl to Yuri. “You think I’m some kind of goat? Why is this soup so green?”

“It’s vegetable soup,” Yuri replied simply.

Xinlu turned his face away in defiance. “I want noodles. I don’t eat this.”

Yuri tried again, bringing the spoon to his lips, but Xinlu turned his head to the other side.

With a patient sigh, Yuri cupped Xinlu’s face in one hand, gently but firmly guiding it forward before slipping the spoon into his mouth.

“Damn it—what the hell!” Xinlu sputtered.

--

Elsewhere, Carlo had finally caught the servant responsible for killing Chris and Richard’s child. Without mercy, he dragged the woman and threw her at Richard’s feet. Richard sat in the garden, sipping his drink with calm detachment, as though nothing could disturb him.

Mrs. Anna — not too old, perhaps forty-five — had once worked in a hospital as a nurse. Richard had personally hired her to care for Chris. But before Chris even discovered his pregnancy, she had found out… and ended it with her own hands.

Richard rose from his chair, the sound of his glass touching the table almost too gentle for what followed. He stepped forward, pressing his shoe hard against her hand. She gasped, pain twisting her features, but before she could speak, his backhand struck across her face with a sharp crack.

“You filthy bitch! Your hands didn’t tremble when you killed my child!”

Suddenly, Ilay appeared, settling casually into a chair as if the scene were nothing unusual.

“What happened to you?”

Richard’s eyes burned. “She killed my child.”

“Child?”

“She killed my unborn child, Rick! I hired her for Chris, and she did this!”

Ilay froze. He had never thought about marriage or family, never pictured himself in such a situation.

From the ground, Mrs. Anna cried out through the pain, “Christopher killed my son first, you bastard!”

“Shut your filthy mouth!” Richard pressed his heel harder into her hand.

“He killed my son—my son from Raventhium—during his mission! I couldn’t save him. This is karma!” she screamed.

Richard glanced toward Carlo, who stood holding some papers. Carlo began to read.

“Mrs. Anna had two sons. One is alive, the other died during a drug raid in Berlin. She also raised her sister’s son, half-Russian, still active underground. Her sister fell for a Russian drug dealer, died during childbirth, and Mrs. Anna raised the boy. That boy's father was caught by Yuri Gabel and committed suicide in prison.” His son still after yuri.

Carlo continued, “Chris was in Paris on a mission. He couldn’t have killed her son.”

“That was me,” Ilay said, looking at Richard.

Richard’s expression tightened. “What?”

“Chris wasn’t here. I went on that raid. I forgot my locker key, so I used Chris’s gun and his gear.”

“So you’re saying you were holding Raventhium… and you didn’t notice?” Richard stepped closer.

“How would I recognize that gun? I’d never seen it before. Why didn’t you ask Chris? Let me—” Ilay started to move, but Richard blocked his path.

“He was sleeping. I gave him medicine. And now… my child paid the price for the man you killed.” Richard’s voice shook with rage.

“Everyone knows Chris wasn’t there,” Ilay said firmly. “Someone lied to her. Someone brainwashed her. It wasn’t
my fault.”

Richard turned his face away, drew his gun, and shot Mrs. Anna without hesitation. Her body slumped to the grass.
Dropping back into his chair, he exhaled, the fury still burning behind his eyes.

Richard killed her in front of the servants—his silent warning that if they dared to act out of line, they would pay the price just like Anna.

Carlo turned to leave, but Ilay’s voice stopped him.
“Carlo… you also have a family, and you’re always here.”

“My family is gone, Mr. Reigrow. I’m alone. I owe Mr. Richard far too much—it’s time to repay him.”

“Gone?” Richard’s gaze fixed on him.

“I made enemies during my time as an agent. Someone kidnapped my wife and my five-year-old daughter. When I arrived, they threw her from the terrace… she was five months pregnant.”

Richard and Ilay’s eyes widened. Richard knew the pain of losing a child, but Ilay—Ilay felt the same hollow ache that had consumed him when Taeui disappeared. Losing two children and a beloved partner at once, right in front of your eyes… it was unthinkable. Yet Carlo was standing here, breathing, speaking—how strong could a man possibly be?

“Did you take revenge?” Ilay asked, curiosity laced with something darker.

“Yes. I threw every single one of them into an acid tank… and I watched until they melted completely.”

---

Rauman stood outside Jeaui’s door, a thin stack of papers clutched in his hand. His knuckles rapped against the wood.

Knock. Knock.

The door opened slowly, revealing Jeaui’s cautious gaze.
“Can I talk to you?” Rauman’s voice was steady, almost too calm. “I’ll only take five minutes.”

Jeaui nodded, then stepped aside to let him in.

Without a word, Rauman held out the papers.
Jeaui took them, “What is this?”

“Divorce papers,” Rauman replied simply.
Jeaui’s head lifted sharply, confusion flickering across his face.

“Give me six months,” Rauman continued, his tone soft but unyielding. “If you still feel uncomfortable with me after that… you can sign them, and I’ll send you back to Korea with full respect.” His eyes met Jeaui’s. “We’re getting married in two days.”

Then, without warning, Rauman knelt before him. He reached for Jeaui’s hand, holding it with a gentleness that contrasted the steel in his voice.
“Just six months, Jeaui. That’s all I ask.”

Jeaui’s lips parted, his voice barely above a whisper. “What if I still can’t feel anything for you? You’ll only get more attached.”

Rauman lowered his head, pressing his face into Jeaui’s hand as though drawing strength from his touch.
“Don’t think about me,” he murmured. “I’ve always lived alone. I’ll handle myself.”

Without another glance, he rose and left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Jeaui sat frozen, the weight of the moment sinking in. His gaze fell to the papers in his hands—papers that were already signed by Rahman.

--

Ilay returned with a storm churning in his chest. The moment he stepped inside, his eyes locked on Teuai, who was standing on the balcony, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers.

Without a word, Ilay crossed the distance and pulled him into a tight embrace. The scent of smoke mingled with Teuai’s warmth, grounding him. His heart felt unbearably heavy after hearing about Carlo and Richard, though he couldn’t understand why—emotions had never belonged to him… not until Teuai had entered his life.

Teuai’s voice was low, almost trembling. “Why don’t you just kill me? It’s better than hurting me like this.”

Ilay’s arms tightened around him. “Teuai… I love you. If I lost you again, I’d die. I can’t survive that. I kept wondering how I was still alive… and then I found out you were alive. That’s when I understood—how could I die when you’re still breathing?”

“You can’t force someone into marriage,” Ilay

“I can,” Ilay replied, his tone like iron. “I can do anything, because you’re mine. Our marriage is in two days. Be ready. Rauman was right—marriage is important, especially when your man is always ready to run away.”

“I’m not ready,” Ilay.

Ilay’s grip only tightened, his words carrying the weight of a vow. “You’ll stay with me for the rest of your life. No matter how much you cry, no matter how many times you run… I’ll come for you every single time.”

Chapter Text

Richard had booked a vast, secluded marriage garden just outside Dresden—hidden from the public eye. Only Richard, Chris, the grooms, and a handful of guards were present.

The twins entered the garden side by side with their grooms, dressed in pristine white suits. Ilay was striking in a black, elegantly tailored suit, while Rahman wore black  long kurta as well, a white shawl draped over his shoulders with effortless grace. Together, they looked like a living painting—something both regal and untouchable.

Richard glanced at his watch. “Mr. Priest, could you please hurry? The grooms have to leave soon. I hope you understand.”
He handed over the rings.

“Repeat after me,” the priest began.

Ilay turned his head sharply. “No need. We’ll just exchange rings.” His grip on Teuai’s hand was unyielding, as if afraid the man might bolt in the middle of the ceremony.

“Alright… then please exchange rings.”

Ilay slid the ring onto Teuai’s finger with deliberate force. Teuai, having no real choice, placed the ring on his in return.
Rauman stepped forward, asking quietly for Jeaui’s hand before slipping the ring onto his finger. Jeaui began to extend his hand—

Bang!

A gunshot rang out, shattering a large flower vase right beside him. Within minutes, the garden was swarming with military helicopters and sleek black cars screeching to a halt at the entrance.

Guards closed in from all sides, their weapons drawn.
Gunfire erupted in both directions, blood spraying across the white of Jeaui and Teuai’s wedding suits.

Chris, already armed, took aim at a helicopter, firing clean shots before a figure leapt from its side. It was Li Zhen—Shang Chi’s elder brother.

He strode in and grabbed Chris by the collar. “Christopher. How are you? Long time no see.”
Chris’s lips curled. “Long time no see, dog of the Ling clan.” He seized Li Zhen’s collar and slammed him against the table.

Richard yanked Li Zhen away, hurling him aside. “What do you think you’re doing with my husband, bastard?”

Li Zhen recovered quickly, delivering a brutal kick to Richard’s ribs. “Richard Tarten—my brother and Young Master Ling are missing. So it’s in your best interest to open your mouth… and tell me where they are.”

Those bodyguards were killed by Rauman and Rick, and all the dead bodies are missing.
“Do you think I don’t know what kind of bastard you are? Where did you hide those bodies?”

Richard grabbed him and slammed him over the table.
“Look, Li Zhen, I’m the one who did it. I know where those bodies are. So if you have that much courage, why don’t you just go and find them? And your brother and Ling Xinlu are alive—so put in some effort and find them.”

Richard moved back. Ilay’s voice came from behind. He was about to grab Li Zhen’s neck, but a hand held him back—it was Teaui.
“Ilay, please, not again. Let him go.”

Suddenly, someone shot a guard standing beside Jeaui. Blood splattered across Jeaui’s face.

A tall man with a long rifle stepped toward them, a cigar between his fingers. He lit it, took a drag, then tossed the lighter onto a wooden table. Within seconds, the tablecloth and curtains caught fire.
The two couples stood there, fire blazing around them, their clothes covered in blood.

Mr. Jeong pulled out a handkerchief and gently wiped both his sons’ faces.

“I’m really sorry, sweethearts, for scaring you. Let’s go—take off those rings and come with me.”

Ilay and Rauman tightened their grip on Teaui and Jeaui’s hands, pulling them behind.
“He won’t go,” Ilay said coldly.

“You two—I warned you, didn’t I? Stay away from my sons. You’ve caused too many problems for me and for them. Leave their hands before I kill both of you.”

Ilay and Rauman drew their guns.

“Mr. Jeong, if you want to fight, I’m ready. Jeaui won’t go—he’ll stay with me.”

“First thing—You don’t deserve my sons. In your presence, the Webers bombed their apartment.

Second thing—you stole my prey. You killed the Webers but left their last and only successor—that child around three years old now—living happily outside of Germany.

Third thing—you kidnapped my sons, stepped foot onto Ling Clan’s private property, and tried to kill Ling Xinlu and his friend.”

“Jeong Guang!” someone called from behind.
A woman rushed toward them. Her hair was loose, with no ribbon or clip—it was clear she had come in a hurry.

She came forward and stepped between them, her voice sharp with disbelief.
“What do you think you’re doing? Are you out of your mind? You’re ruining your son’s wedding! I can’t believe this.”
Her fingers clutched at Mr. Guang’s shirt as she looked up at him, eyes blazing.

“Seyeon… what are you doing here?” His voice softened, and he gently cupped her cheek. “Let me handle them first, then we’ll go home with our sons.

Mr. Jeong pressed the muzzle of his rifle against Rauman’s chest.
“Li Zhen, shoot that Riegrow. They’re too stubborn.”

“Got it.” Li Zhen aimed and fired—
—but Taeui lunged, grabbing Ilay and rolling them both to the side. He ended up above Ilay, panting.
“Dad! You can’t just kill him like that! What’s wrong with you guys? Always ready to kill people!”

Teaui rose to his feet, placing a steadying hand on Jeaui’s back. He leaned in and whispered, "Hyung,  do something before they start shooting each other."

“Dad…” Jeaui’s voice trembled as he grabbed his father’s rifle with shaking hands. “I’ll divorce him if I ever feel uncomfortable. Please… calm down.”

“Divorce?” Mr. Jeong’s tone sharpened, his eyes narrowing. “This is how he tricked you. In the royal families, divorce isn’t allowed—neither in the Reigrows nor in Tarten. Am I right, Mr. Christopher?” He turned his gaze to Chris.

Chris nodded silently.

“This is why Christopher took so long to decide before marrying that freak, Richard. This is why Kyle Reigrow is still single. I would’ve been so happy if my sons chose someone like Kyle—
not that psycho Rick.”

“Honey, listen to me,” she pleaded softly, her eyes fixed on the chaos before them. “Look at them—they’re surrounded by military, yet they’re still holding our sons’ hands. They need someone by their side. Try to understand.”

“Seyeon, you’re too soft-hearted,” Mr. Jeong replied firmly. “They’re not good for our sons.”

“I’m not saying whether they’re good or not,” she countered, her voice steady. “I’m saying they’re standing here now… and they can change. They’re also just kids.”

“Dad, you misunderstood Rauman,” Jeaui interjected, his voice soft. “Rauman already signed those papers and gave them to me.”

Mr. Jeong, “I’ll send Jeaui to Korea—with all respect—when he signs those papers of his own choice.”

Ilay, his expression shadowed, finally spoke. “Mr. Jeong… can I ask why you hate me so much?”

“Reigrow,” Mr. Jeong spat, “you dragged my son from Hong Kong to Dresden. You think I don’t know?”

He turned sharply to Taeui. “Let me ask you one thing—he said you dated him Teaui?”

Taeui looked at Ilay, shock flickering in his eyes, but given the situation, he answered firmly. “Yes, Dad. I did.”
Ilay’s eyes widened—not with anger, but as though he had just discovered the perfect partner for himself.

From the side, Li Zhen’s voice cut through the air. “From now on, the Ling clan will consider the Jeong twins—T & R—or Rauman, as our enemies. I’m going to search for my brother, or Young Master Ling, and Richard when I find evidence against you three, I’ll drag you into the courtroom. Mark my words.”

Mrs. Jeong turned to Jeaui and Taeui, pulling them both into her arms.
“Be happy,” she murmured. “If you ever feel any trouble, come back to us. We’ll always be here for you… my beloved sons.”
“Yes, Mother,” they replied in unison. “Don’t worry about us—be happy with dad.”

Then, to everyone’s surprise, she stepped toward Ilay and Rauman, wrapping them in a gentle embrace. Both men stiffened, clearly not expecting it. Leaning close, she whispered into their ears,
“Good. Take care of them… always stay with them.”

Jeaui and Rauman could only nod, still stunned.

Nearby, Richard leaned toward Chris, his voice low. “Did you ever read Beauty and the Beast? Just look at Mr. jeong—he’s even more dangerous than our grandfather.”

“You’re right,” Chris murmured, eyes following Mrs. Jeong. “But look how gently she handles him without even raising her voice.” Richard gave Chris’s hand a soft squeeze.

“Honey, let’s go. We’re leaving,” Mrs. Jeong called out.

“Seyeon,”

Honey, “you’ve already destroyed their wedding. Just look at their clothes. And you set a fire too! Now, you’re coming with me—send those helicopters back.”

She slipped her small, soft hand into her husband’s large, muscular one and began leading him out of the garden.
“Come on, honey. They’re married now—don’t glare at them like that.”

---

This is how Iltae, Jehan, and Ciran’s fathers ended up with their partners—forcefully.

Three marriages born from force would, in time, become unbreakable bonds: perfect parents for their children and perfect partners for each other—loyal, caring, chaotic, obsessive, and possessive.

After losing their child, Richard and Chris never fought again. They began to truly understand each other.

Ilay took Taeui back to his home in Berlin, while Rauman returned to Riyadh. Both couples began living peacefully in their own ways.

Ilay, ever clingy, would often end up beaten by Taeui for his antics. Still, it became his habit to wrap himself tightly around Taeui while sleeping.

Rauman, on the other hand, never entered Jeaui’s room or invaded his privacy. For him, just sharing the same roof and feeling Jeaui’s presence was enough.

As for Xinlu—he had stay here for revenge. But after meeting Yuri, his love began to bloom… and his grudge slowly faded from memory.

Morning.
The pool water shimmered under the soft light, and Yuri swam leisurely, unaware of the phone ringing non-stop on the table.

Xinlu, sipping his coffee, glanced at it. The screen flashed: T&R.

He rubbed his eyes, picked the phone up—but didn’t answer. Instead, he unlocked it. Dozens of emails from T&R flooded the inbox. Every Reigrow and Tarten contact number was neatly stored inside.

The phone rang again. The name lit up the screen: Rick Reigrow.

Without hesitation, Xinlu crushed the phone in his hand, the plastic splintering under his strength.

Without another word, he stormed out.

Xinlu stepped outside, the cool morning air hitting his face. He pulled out his phone—another one, not Yuri’s—and dialed quickly.

“Hello.”

“[Young master?]” a familiar voice answered.

“Yeah, Li Zhen.”

“[Where are you? I’m still looking for you—and Shang Chi. Are you okay?]”

“Where are you? Come here. I’m sending my location. Don’t tell anyone.

-----

Li Zhen, still in Dresden, didn’t take long to reach Xinlu. By evening, he arrived.

Xinlu was waiting by the roadside, seated in his car.

“Young master, what happened?” Li Zhen asked as he got in.
Xinlu handed him a photo. “Look at him carefully. Keep an eye on him. I want every update—where he goes, who he meets, who he talks to.”

“Who is he?” Li Zhen asked, glancing at the picture.

“Yuri Gabel. He’s an agent. And keep an eye on Reigrow too. Tell me when you find a good chance… I’ll kill him this time.”

“Got it.”

Time slipped like sand. Xinlu kept his distance from Yuri. Shang Chi was still missing—no one knew where he was.
One day, Li Zhen returned.

“Young master.” He bowed his head.

Xinlu, cigarette between his fingers, exhaled slowly. “Tell me what you found out.”

“Reigrow is on—”

Xinlu cut him off. “Tell me about Yuri first.”

“Yuri Gabel… he’s just doing his job. I haven’t seen anything unusual. But I heard from one of his colleagues—a drug dealer is after him. His name is Arkady Sokolov.”

“Why?”

“Because of Yuri Gabel, his father died. Arkady is half German, half Russian. Right now, he’s undercover.”

“Does Yuri know about him?”

“I don’t think so, young master. Or… maybe he’s avoiding him.”
Xinlu took a deep breath. “I wonder who thought it was a good idea to hire him as an agent when he’s unaware someone’s after him.”

“And Reigrow?”

“He’s coming to Dresden in two days. I’m sure he’ll head to Tarten… or Rahman’s villa near Tarten.”

“Meet me here after two days,” Xinlu said, crushing his cigarette in the ashtray. “After that, I’ll go home.”

“Got it, young master.”

Two days later, Xinlu and Li Zhen were waiting for Ilay’s car when Xinlu’s phone started ringing. He declined the call once. Twice. A third time.

Finally, he picked up.

“Hello.”

[Mr. Xinlu, it’s Felix.]

“Why are you calling me?” Xinlu’s eyes narrowed as he spotted Ilay’s car approaching from the opposite direction. “I’m busy.”

[Wait—Mr. Xinlu, Yuri’s in a hotel, but Arkady’s men are there. His phone’s switched off. Can you go? I’m far from that hotel.]

“Send me the hotel name. Fast.”

[Okay.]

The tires screamed against the road as Xinlu’s car shot forward. They reached the hotel in minutes—Xinlu taking the stairs two at a time while Li Zhen went for the lift.

When Xinlu reached Yuri’s floor, a man stood in front of him, gun raised. Without hesitation, Xinlu pulled his own weapon and fired. But two more men appeared, bullets tearing through the air. Xinlu shielded Yuri with his body, returning fire without even looking, then charged forward—shattering through the window.

Glass exploded around them as they plummeted toward the car below. Xinlu felt the burn of a bullet in his back, but he didn’t stop. They landed hard, and he floored the accelerator, the engine screaming as another car closed in behind them.
“What kind of agent are you, Yuri? You can’t even shoot!”

Xinlu snarled, eyes fixed on the road.

Behind them, a blond man was closing in fast. But before he could reach them, another figure appeared—standing tall on the rooftop above. One hand clutched a long rifle, the other a glinting metal prosthetic. His long coat billowed in the wind as he took a slow drag from his cigarette.

He exhaled smoke, aimed, and fired. The shot slammed into the pursuing car’s tire with surgical precision. The vehicle spun out of control, smashing into another before flipping over.

From above, the man lowered his rifle and watched Xinlu’s car disappear into the distance.

---

That night, Felix stopped by while Yuri was out buying medicine for Xinlu.

“Where’s Yuri, Mr. Xinlu?” Felix asked.

“He’s not here.”

Felix’s expression was grim. “Today, two civilians were shot in that hotel along with those bastards. HQ is calling Yuri in.”
Xinlu stared at him, stunned. “What are they going to do to him?”

“One year in prison, maybe six months. I’m not sure.”

“What kind of rules are these?” Xinlu’s voice rose sharply.

“If Yuri asked for help from T&R, the problem could be solved. But if he goes to prison… Arkady’s men are there too. They could easily kill him inside.”

Xinlu grabbed Felix by the collar, eyes blazing. “Why the hell would he ask help from T&R, you bastard?”

“No one’s after Yuri, Mr. Xinlu. He’s an orphan—he should ask help from Kyle or Richard.”

“Shut your mouth, Felix,” Xinlu growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Before I cut out your tongue.”

“Felix, you should go before he comes back,” Xinlu said
coldly. “I don’t want you meeting him. Come in the morning.”
Felix hesitated for a moment, then turned and left without another word.

Twenty minutes later, Yuri returned with a small paper bag of medicine.

Xinlu was waiting inside the room. The moment Yuri stepped in, Xinlu slipped two pills past his own lips, pulled Yuri close, and kissed him, pressing him back onto the bed.

“Xinlu… wait—”

Xinlu’s gaze held his. “Didn’t you say you liked me?”
Yuri nodded, but “…I did, but—”

“It’s just a painkiller. Don’t worry.” Xinlu’s lips found his again, and this time, Yuri’s arms wrapped around Xinlu’s neck.
Within minutes, Yuri’s eyes grew heavy, his body relaxing completely. He fell into a deep sleep.

Xinlu lifted him effortlessly into his arms and carried him outside, where Li Zhen was waiting with the car.

An hour later, the thrum of rotor blades echoed overhead. A helicopter stood ready on the landing pad. Xinlu stepped out of the car, Yuri still sleeping peacefully in his arms, and climbed aboard.

“We won’t come here again, Yuri,” Xinlu murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his closed eyes. Yuri didn’t stir, still resting against him as the helicopter lifted into the night.

Xinlu and Yuri stayed together for a year before Xinlu finally took him to Hong Kong.

Chapter Text

Ilay Reigrow — Enigma
Age: 25

Jeong Teaui — Alpha
Age: 24

Rauman — Enigma
Age: 27

Jeong Jeaui — Alpha
Age: 24

Richard Tarten — Dominant Alpha
Age: 27

Christopher Tarten (Rare Alpha)
Age: 25
[ A rare Alpha with the genetic ability to activate Omega traits in his own body during heat, allowing for pregnancy under certain conditions.]

Ling Xinlu — Dominant Alpha
Age: 23

Yuri Gabel — Recessive Beta
Age: 30

[A Recessive Beta who can become pregnant — but only once in his lifetime. This is incredibly rare, making that single pregnancy a deeply meaningful event in his life.

Chapter Text

Two months later

Ilay came home from the office, loosening his tie as he stepped inside. On the sofa, Taeui sat comfortably with a bag of chips and a can of cold drink, eyes glued to a movie.
Ilay walked up behind him, tilting his chin up and pressing a soft kiss to his nose. “Dear husband, will you make me some coffee? I’m tired.”

Taeui nodded, cheeks puffed with chips.

Ilay chuckled softly and settled on the sofa. Outside, the light drizzle that had begun when he arrived had grown into a full storm. Heavy rain hammered against the windows, and the wind howled, making the glass rattle.

Taeui was just about to lift the coffee cup when he suddenly swayed, his face paling. Without warning, he collapsed to the floor.

“Taeui!”

Ilay dropped to his knees, pulling him into his arms. “Hey… hey, Taeui…” He cupped his face, patting his cheek, but Taeui didn’t respond.

The storm outside was too dangerous to rush to the hospital, so Ilay sent one of the guards to fetch a doctor from a nearby clinic.

Until the doctor arrived, Ilay refused to let go of him, holding him tightly against his chest.

When the doctor finally came, Ilay still wouldn’t place him on the sofa. “I’ll hold him,” he insisted.

The doctor examined him carefully, then smiled faintly. “Nothing’s wrong. Congratulations, Mr. Rick—he’s pregnant.”

Ilay blinked in surprise. “Pregnant?”

“Yes. You’re going to be a father.”

For a moment, Ilay could only stare, then he tightened his hold and hugged Taeui even closer, a bright smile lighting his face.

“Bring him to the hospital in the morning for a full check-up,” the doctor continued. “Everything is fine—both he and the child are healthy. He’s about one week pregnant, so take good care of him.”

Ilay nodded, relief washing over him. He stood, carrying Taeui gently toward their bedroom.

“My kitten,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to Taeui’s lips.

Ilay laid Teaui gently on the bed, his eyes lingering on him as he brushed a hand across Teaui’s cheek, waiting for him to wake.

Slowly, Teaui opened his eyes, and Ilay pulled him into a soft embrace, his touch delicate as if he feared breaking him.

“Teaui,” Ilay whispered, “I love you so much. Thank you… for staying with me—and for our little kitten.”

“You found out?” Teaui asked, wrapping his arms around Ilay’s neck.
Ilay smiled faintly. “Your plan was to run away with my kitten, wasn’t it?”

“No,” Teaui laughed quietly. “I just found out at noon. You were busy, so I waited for you to come home.”

“Ilay?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you… like girls or boys?”

“Both,” Ilay said honestly, “but the child should be yours. The only boy or girl I’ll love after you will be our child. Even if you gave me an alien, I’d love them the same.”

Teaui chuckled nervously. “Now I’m scared. What if.”

Ilay burst into laughter, leaning closer. “Then I hope he or she gets your cuteness—or your beautiful eyes.”

“And I,” Teaui whispered, touching his face, “wish they get your beautiful hands… or your soft hair.”

Time flew, and six months passed. But Teaui and Ilay’s child wasn’t going to make things easy — just like his fathers, he seemed determined to give Taeui trouble.

At the checkup, the doctor’s voice was calm, but Ilay caught the shift in his tone.

“The baby’s in breech position… head up, legs down.”
Ilay’s jaw tightened. His gaze flicked to Taeui’s swollen feet, and worry spread through his chest like ice. That night, he made the decision without asking. Within days, he had taken Taeui to the USA, determined to stay there until his kitten was safely born.

Richard was the first to hold little Iltae in his arms, because Ilay’s attention was fixed completely on Teaui, worried for him.

The baby was so cute—a delicate hybrid of two worlds, half Korean and half German. His eyes carried the same soft shape as Teaui’s, but unlike most newborns, he didn’t cry. Instead, his quiet presence brought both of his fathers to tears.

Ilay pressed a trembling hand against his chest the entire time at the hospital, unable to look away from Teaui. In that moment, he knew—he would never ask for a second child. Nothing could compare to the life he was seeing in front of him.

After two years

Iltae was running wildly through the garden, screaming at the top of his lungs while Teaui stood in the middle of the yard, holding one of his shoes and socks in his hands.

Out of breath, Teaui finally sank down onto the grass, trying to catch his breath. That was when Iltae came darting back, armed with his paint gun. Bang!—a splash of bright red paint landed squarely on Teaui’s back.

Teaui didn’t even react. He just let out a long sigh.
From the porch, Ilay stepped outside, watching the scene unfold, barely managing to hide his laughter.

“Catch him, Ilay—fast! I’m exhausted,” Teaui called out.
Ilay knelt down with open arms. “Come here, kitten! Come fast.”

But instead of running into his arms, Iltae aimed the paint gun and—bang!—red paint exploded across Ilay’s shirt.
Laughing, Iltae climbed onto Ilay’s back. “Daddy, I need a gun like yours!”

Ilay held him firmly while Teaui slipped the socks and shoe onto Iltae’s feet.

“I hate socks, Daddy! I don’t want to wear them—they itch!”
“Kitten, you’re getting too naughty,” Ilay teased. “Just look at your dad’s face.”

Iltae turned his head toward Teaui. “Daddy’s cute.”

“And what about me?” Ilay asked.

“You’re handsome. And you have very, very pretty hands, Daddy.”

Teaui and Ilay both laughed. Teaui took Iltae’s tiny hands in his own. “Your hands are pretty too—just like Ilay’s,” he said before kissing them gently.

At 🌙 25 December [little kitten's birthday]

The Reigrow mansion glowed with warm lights and festive decorations. There weren’t too many guests — just family: Richard, Chris, Jeaui, Rauman, Kyle, Ilay, and Taeui.

Rauman sat comfortably with little Iltae in his arms. The boy had just turned two today, and Ilay and Richard were outside setting off fireworks for him.

“Daddy, more! I want the red ones! Red fireworks, Uncle Rich!” Iltae shouted with bright eyes. Then he turned to Rauman. “Uncle, put me down, please.”

Rauman shook his head. “You’ll run recklessly and burn yourself. Watch from here.”

Inside, Jeaui, Taeui, and Chris were buried in gift boxes — Iltae’s wish list this year had been long.

Ilay finally came over, scooping Iltae from Rauman’s arms and tossing him playfully into the air. “My kitten!” he laughed.
“Muaaah!”

Iltae cupped Ilay’s face in his tiny hands and kissed him back. “Daddy, muuaah!”

Suddenly, unexpected rain poured down, forcing them to stop the fireworks. Everyone rushed in from the garden, shaking off the droplets.

“Daddy, I hate the rain! It ruined my party!” Iltae pouted, crossing his arms.

--

Meanwhile, in Hong Kong, sleek black Ling clan cars sped recklessly through the streets.

Inside the hospital, Xinlu stood still as the doctor placed a tiny bundle into his arms.

“Congratulations, Mr. Ling. A baby boy.”

Xinlu looked down at the newborn, meeting his blue, beautiful eyes.

“My little chick… how beautiful you are,” he whispered, kissing him again and again. “Just like Yuri.”

He hugged the baby close, voice soft and trembling.
“My little chick… I can’t believe I’m holding my own son.”

Chapter Text

After some days

Rauman stood outside the room, his face etched with worry. Inside, Jeaui was with the doctor. When the door finally opened, Rauman rushed forward.

“What happened?”

The doctor gave a faint smile. “Nothing serious—he’s pregnant. But he’s weak. You should take him to the hospital for proper care.”

Rauman’s heart soared. For a moment, it felt as if he was flying through the sky. The man he had admired, loved, and waited for all these years—was carrying his child. The happiness was overwhelming.

But it didn’t last. When he heard about the low chances of survival for both Jeaui and the baby, that joy shattered.

He entered the room quietly. Jeaui sat in the chair, soft music playing, his face glowing with a happiness Rauman had never seen before. That glow—it was the light of new life.

When Jeaui looked up and saw him, he stood. Rauman pulled him into his arms tightly, his voice trembling.
“Jeaui… abort this baby.”

The smile faded instantly from Jeaui’s lips, his eyes wide in shock.

“What are you saying, Rauman? You don’t want kids? If not, I’ll make sure he never bothers you…”

Rauman shook his head, gripping him tighter.
“Jeaui, I love you. I love this child too. But you’re too weak—you know how long I’ve waited for you, how many years I’ve been patient. I can’t take the risk of losing you."

“You said you’d give me everything, Rauman.”

Rauman’s eyes softened. “Yeah… I said that. I remember every word. Ask me for anything—I’ll pull out my heart and lay it at your feet. Anything for you, Jeaui… anything but not this.”

Jeaui’s voice trembled, but his gaze was steady. “Then I want this. Him or her—our child. Keep your words. Stay with me. I won’t ask for anything after this. Please, Rauman.”

Rauman swallowed hard, his chest tightening. His voice broke as he answered, “If you asked me for death, I’d grant it… just like your other wishes. Because if that’s what you truly wanted, then I'd die with you."

Jeaui shook his head fiercely, clutching Rauman’s hand. “No. We will be the ones to raise our child. I’m not that weak.”

Rauman closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against Jeaui’s. His voice was barely a whisper.
“I wish your words come true… Jeaui."

--

Jeaui was on medication all the time under Mrs. Jeong’s care. A year later, Jehan was born. Mrs. Jeong came especially for Jeaui.

Mrs. Jeong gently handed the baby to Rauman, while Ilay stood beside him. The child was so small, so innocent—yet his eyes were sharp, just like Rauman’s.

“Why are his eyes just like you?” Ilay teased, pinching Jehan’s cheek.

“Because he’s my son. Don’t touch him, you maniac,” Rauman snapped, pulling the baby closer.

Iltae, who had been standing between them, clung to Rauman’s kurta with one hand and Ilay’s pants with the other.

“Daddy, can I see my lil’ bro?”

“Reigrow, if you make him cry again, I won’t hesitate to punch you.”.

“Uncle, I just want to see him! Show me my lil’ bro,” Iltae whined, tugging harder.

Ilay smirked. “I’ll bully him when he grows up.”

“ Ilay you psycho—”

Bonk!
An empty water bottle landed on Ilay’s head. It was Teaui, glaring at him. “What did you just say?”

Rauman chuckled, holding Iltae’s hand as he guided him to the bench.

Iltae leaned forward and kissed Jehan’s chubby cheeks. “When he grows up, I’ll play with him.”

“Soon,” Rauman said softly. “Then you can play with him as much as you like.”

Teaui crossed his arms and looked at Ilay. “Why did you make him cry?”

“I just touched him! He’s so chubby.”

“All newborns are chubby and cute, you don’t know.”

“But our kitten was handsome when he was born,” Ilay argued, raising a brow at Iltae. “Look at him.”

Bonk! Another hit with the empty bottle.

“Iltae is better than you! Look how gently he’s touching his brother.”

Ilay sent a picture of Jehan to Richard, with a message. The message read: “Look, he’s so chubby. I’ll bully him when he grows up.”

Richard burst out laughing after reading it.

“Chris, you’re eating too much fast food. What’s wrong with you?”

“Shut up, Richard. Let me eat. Show me the picture—I want to see him.”

Richard handed over his phone. “He’s so cute… and healthy, too.”

“Yeah, Chris, stop eating that junk food.”

Chris was still staring at the picture when suddenly he felt nauseous. Without a word, he rushed to the bathroom.

“I told you to stop eating like that, didn’t I? Let me call the doctor.”

When the doctor finished the check-up, he looked up and said, “He’s pregnant.”

Richard’s eyes widened. “Didn’t you say he couldn’t get pregnant again? Are you sure you checked properly?”

“I checked properly. He’s pregnant. You’re lucky, Richard—so be careful this time.”

Richard’s face lit up with a bright smile.

[At the time Jehan was born, Chris was already carrying Ciran, who would arrive a year later]

After hearing the good news, Richard separated himself from his family.

Only Chris, Rich, Carlo, and the loyal servants remained by his side. He began working entirely from home, never once leaving the mansion. The world outside was shut away—until the day Ciran was born.

Far from curious eyes, everything had been carefully prepared within the mansion. And there, in the silence of his own home, Richard finally held his child.

Ciran was exactly as Richard had imagined—Chris’s mirror, a second version of him. But unlike chris, his eyes gleamed a striking green instead of blue.

At that moment, Richard felt the circle of his world close perfectly around him.

Three years later

Jeaui picked up little Jehan and set him standing on the bed, gently touching his tiny nose.

“I’m coming back with milk for you, so stay right here, my son.”

Jehan nodded with a sweet smile, but the moment Jeaui stepped out, the boy leapt off the bed, darted down the hall, and slipped into Rahman’s study. Crawling under the table, he clung tightly to Rahman’s feet.

Rauman looked down and smiled. Before he could speak, Jehan pressed a finger to his lips.
“Father—shhh…”

The door opened, and Jeaui’s voice followed. “Rauman, did you see Jehan? He ran away again.”

Rauman gave him a silent signal. Jeaui knelt, lifted the tablecloth, and grinned.
“I caught you!” he said, tickling Jehan’s little stomach until the boy rolled on the floor with laughter.

Rauman scooped Jehan into his arms and handed him the glass of milk.

“If you don’t drink your milk, how will you protect our dad, my little cub?” he murmured, kissing his cheek.

Jehan gulped down the entire glass in one go, then leaned over to plant a kiss on Jeaui’s cheek—leaving a smear of milk behind.

Rauman chuckled, eyes fixed on Jeaui. Wrapping one arm around Jeaui’s waist, he leaned in and licked the milk from his cheek. Jeaui’s face instantly flushed crimson.

Rauman laughed again, leaning back—only for Jehan to grab his face with both little hands.

“I’ll kiss you too, Father!” he declared before planting a kiss right on Rauman’s nose.

Chapter Text

Richard was buttoning his shirt, standing on the balcony, his eyes fixed on Chris and his little son playing in the garden.

Three-year-old Ciran was driving his toy car, and behind it were four small trolleys, each carrying one of his “passengers” — his rabbit, a capybara, and a few other friends.

Chris was sitting in a chair nearby, reading a book, when suddenly one of rabbits jumped out and ran toward the forest. Ciran ran after him to catch him.

A few minutes later, Richard came downstairs.
“Where is my sweetheart?” he asked warmly.

Chris chuckled softly. “One of his passengers ran away.”

Richard laughed and sat beside him, opening his newspaper.
Moments later, Ciran came running back, excitement written all over his face.

“Daddy! Look, Daddy, look! He’s so long” he shouted, holding something in his small hands.

Chris glanced up briefly from his book. “Where did you find that rope, Ciran?”

“It’s not a rope, Daddy! It’s so beautiful — shiny, shiny, just like Daddy’s black hair! Daddy, catch!”

Before Chris could react, Ciran tossed the “rope” into his lap — only it wasn’t a rope. It was a black snake.

“RICHARD, WHAT THE—!” Chris yelled, leaping from his seat.

Both of them stumbled back from the chair in shock. Richard quickly moved in, grabbing the snake firmly by its head to stop it from striking, while Chris rushed to Ciran and scooped him up.

“Ciran! Are you okay? Show me your hands. Did he bite you?” Chris’s voice was sharp with panic.

“He’s my friend, Daddy.”

“He’s not your friend, Ciran. He’s venomous,” Richard said, his voice calm but stern.

“Don’t kill him! He’s my friend!” Ciran’s little face crumpled.

Richard handed the snake to Carlo, who swiftly took it outside and released it.

But as soon as Richard turned back, Ciran ran up to him and bit his hand.
Richard raised an eyebrow but didn’t move. “Your teeth don’t work on me, sweetheart,” he said with a smirk.
Tears welled up in Ciran’s big eyes, and Richard’s heart softened instantly. He picked the boy up, kissing his temple. “Don’t cry. I have something for you.”

“Whaaa… whahhh…” Ciran sniffled.

“Hey, Ciran, don’t cry,” Chris murmured, wiping his son’s tears gently.

Carlo appeared a moment later, leading a small foal. “Look, young master. This is your friend. You can ride him.”

“He’s for me?” Ciran’s eyes widened.

“Yes,” Richard said, setting him down.

The boy ran toward the foal, stroking its mane. “Hey, baby horse… he's so pretty, Daddy!”

Richard looked to Carlo. “Stay with him, just like a shadow — especially if he’s near the forest.”

“Got it, Mr. Richard.”

---

Xinyu was running barefoot near the pool, laughing, with Xinlu chasing after him. Yuri stood nearby, holding a plate of watermelon for his little son — a son who stubbornly refused to eat or drink juice.

Xinyu glanced back at Xinlu mid-run, his laughter ringing out, and then he suddenly leapt into the pool.
“Catch me, Father!” he shouted.

The pool was full of floating toys. Xinyu climbed onto a big yellow duck and grinned. Xinlu took the plate of watermelon from Yuri, while Yuri switched to holding a glass of juice from the other side of the pool.

It became a game — Xinyu paddled the duck from one side to the other, taking a bite of melon from Xinlu, then a sip of juice from Yuri, and back again.

“Little chick,” Xinlu said, watching him, “you’re eating candy in the morning? Who gave you that?”

“Ajumma,” Xinyu replied innocently, pushing the duck forward.

Xinlu laughed at his son’s cuteness. “Little chick, don’t take anything from strangers, okay? If someone gives you something, don’t accept it.”

“Why, Father? Candy is tasty.”

Yuri turned away, laughing quietly. Xinlu, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, suddenly picked up Yuri and tossed him into the pool before jumping in himself.

'Xinlu', Yuri gave him side eyes. Then he looked at his son.

“Xinyu,” Yuri said as he gathered his son in his arms, “you only take things from your fathers, understand?”

Xinlu wiped the water from Xinyu’s face and kissed his forehead. “Little chick, if you take things from strangers, they might take you far away from us.”

“Really?” Xinyu asked, eyes wide.

Both fathers nodded.

“Okay, Father. I won’t take anything,” Xinyu promised.

“My little chick,” xinlu said, smiling as he held out the glass, “now finish this juice.”

All the children grew up under their fathers’ wings—protected, nurtured, and deeply loved. To them, their fathers were everything: their strength, their comfort, their entire world.
Whenever their fathers appeared before them, the children’s eyes could never look away. The bond was unshakable, as if the ones who gave them life had also given them the sun itself.
They were reflections of their fathers—each child carrying pieces of their features, their spirit, and their quiet devotion.

[ Flashback End ]

Teaui awoke to the feeling of two warm hands resting on his stomach.

Turning his head to the left, he found Ilay sleeping peacefully, his breathing steady. Teaui reached out, brushing the hair from his forehead.

When he turned to his right, his gaze fell on Iltae, curled up and fast asleep. The boy had been fooling around with Ilay late into the night before finally dozing off in their room.

Teaui’s eyes lingered for a moment—until something caught his attention. On Iltae’s collarbone was a faint scar, as if something sharp had once pierced it. He reached out and gently touched the mark. Then his gaze shifted back to Ilay, noticing a similar scar on his own collarbone—an old wound, long healed but still visible.

Drawing in a slow breath, Teaui sat up, leaning over to pat both Ilay and Iltae’s cheeks gently.

“Wake up, you two,” he murmured. “It’s already seven.”

Chapter Text

The morning sun was already spilling through the curtains.

“Kitten, wake up. Let’s go gym.” Ilay’s hand patted his cheek firmly.

Iltae groaned, pulling the blanket over his head.
“Hmmm…”

“Wake up,” Ilay repeated, this time sharper, tapping his cheek again.

“Dad, let me sleep. I don’t want to go gym… it’s so far…”

Ilay smirked, grabbed the water bottle from the nightstand, and sprayed a mist right on Iltae’s face.

Iltae shot up with a gasp, water dripping down his cheeks.

“Dad! Why you always—!”

“Shut up. Let’s go.” Ilay pulled him by the arm.

Iltae looked toward Teaui, who was watching from the door with folded arms.

“Dad, tell him! I wanna sleep. Why he always pours water on me like this?”

Teaui was already laughing, shaking his head. “Both of you are so childish… I can’t do anything.”

Ilay ignored him and dragged Iltae toward the gym. It wasn’t far—it was just downstairs inside the mansion.
“How far is it, huh?” Ilay mocked.

Iltae pouted, rubbing his eyes.
“Dad, you were fooling around late night… and now you can’t let me sleep!”

Ilay dropped to the floor and started doing push-ups.
“Shut your mouth and start.”

“Fine…” Iltae muttered. He shoved his earpods in, stepped on the treadmill, and began running lazily.

Just then, his phone buzzed. He answered mid-run.

“[Hello, Hyung]”

“Brat, you’re late. What are you doing?”

“[I’m having breakfast. Wanna eat?]”

“[I want to sleep!]” Iltae’s groggy voice complained.

jehan laughed out loud.

“kitten, shut up and run properly,” Ilay snapped.

Iltae sighed, still jogging on the treadmill.
“Fine, dad. Jehan, I’ll call you later.”

“Okay, hyung.”

Just as Iltae pulled the earpods back in, his phone buzzed again with a notification.

@Meimei posted a story
“That username… he hasn’t replied to my text,” Iltae muttered, tapping the notification.

The story popped open—Xinyu had posted a picture of his cat. A sleek black cat with two different colored eyes rested in his arms. But what caught Iltae’s attention wasn’t just the cat—it was the hand holding it. Long, pale fingers with veins visible under the skin. Beautiful. Effortless.

Iltae’s lips curved into a smile. Without thinking, he typed on the reply box:
@IltaeRgrw
“Your hand reminds me of someone.”

He locked his phone and went back to running. Two minutes later, the phone buzzed again.

@Meimei:
“Sorry for the late reply. My dad gifted me that cat. I don’t know where he got her.”

Iltae slowed his pace, sweat dripping down his forehead as he typed quickly:

@IltaeRgrw:
“She’s…?”

@Meimei:
“Yeah. Btw… which person does my hand remind you of?”

@IltaeRgrw:
Do you believe in love at first sight?

@Meimei:
Umm… actually, I’m single. I don’t really have an idea.

@IltaeRgrw:
I was single too. But not anymore. Now… I have an imaginary boyfriend.

@Meimei:
You’re funny.

@IltaeRgrw:
Man, I’m not joking. I’m searching for him so desperately… feels like he took my breath with him.

@Meimei:
Woah… you sound serious.

@IltaeRgrw:
I am.

@Meimei:
Btw… it feels nice talking to you. I’m going to study now bye.

@IltaeRgrw:
Bye.

Iltae came down from the treadmill and took off his T-shirt, stood in front of the mirror, and started clicking pictures. He snapped two or three, then glanced at Ilay, who was busy doing push-ups.

“Dad, let’s take pictures.”

“Kitten, I’m not interested. Click yours.”

“Dad, please, just one. Only one, I promise.” He bent down, holding Ilay’s arm. “Daddy…”

Ilay looked at him. “Why are you so obsessed with pictures, kitten?” Ilay stood behind Iltae. Iltae posed in front, showing his biceps while holding the phone with one hand.

“Okay, done! Look, Dad, it’s amazing.”

Ilay ruffled Iltae’s hair gently and walked out of the gym.

The picture looked just like a cub standing proudly in front of his lion father.

Iltae posted the photo on social media. Within minutes, a flood of comments poured in:

“Woah, damn, give me your dad’s ID, bro.”

“I liked girls before, but I think I just changed my mind.”

“Iltae, can you please show me your face?”

@CiranTarten_: I wonder how you convinced Uncle to take that picture.

@Jehaui_Rah: Uncle poured water on Hyung this morning.

@CiranTarten_: Pig, you should learn how to bathe.

@Jehaui_Rah: lol

@IltaeRgrw: @Jehaui_Rah @CiranTarten_ You little bastards, I’m on my way to find a good physicist for you both.

@CiranTarten_: Go and find him, I’ll give him a good therapy.

@Jehaui_Rah : Agreed, Ciran.

--

Jehan was searching through Jeaui’s vast library but couldn’t find the two books Ciran had asked for.

“Dad, do you know where I can find these?” Jehan showed the covers to Jeaui.

Jeaui glanced at them and replied calmly, “You’ll find them in the gallery. Rauman usually buys rare books for me from there.”

“Dad, I’m going. I’ll be back soon.”

Jeaui simply nodded with a gentle smile.

Jehan arrived at the private book gallery. He found one of the books but not the second.

“I need the other one too. It’s urgent,” Jehan said.

The manager bowed slightly. “I apologize, young master. That book is extremely rare. I don’t have it.”

Jehan’s sharp gaze lingered. “Any idea where I can find it? A shop or maybe an auction?”

“There is… an old shop,” the manager admitted. “An elderly man runs it. But I heard he is very greedy.”

“Give me the address.”

“As you wish, young master.”

Jehan left the gallery with one book and headed toward the old shop. It was small, the windows dusty. He knocked on the glass door. After a moment, an old man opened it.

“What do you want, young man?”

“I need this book.” Jehan showed him the title on his phone.

“I stopped selling books. Go somewhere else, kid.”

Jehan’s tone remained calm but firm. “I’ll give you a huge amount if you have it.”

The old man narrowed his eyes. “Huge amount? How much can you give?”

Jehan leaned slightly forward. “How much can you ask?”

The old man huffed, then went inside. He climbed a ladder through shelves covered in dust and returned with an ancient book in his hands. He carefully handed it to Jehan.

“It looks so old,” Jehan muttered, flipping it open.

“That’s because the writer died after finishing it. You won’t find another copy anywhere.”

Jehan raised his eyes. “How much?”

“195,700 Riyals.”

Jehan didn’t blink. He handed over his card.

The old man shook his head. “No cards. Cash only.”

Jehan sighed and sat down casually in a chair, as if time itself waited for him. He dialed Rauman’s manager.

“Yes, young master?”

“I need 195,700 Riyals in cash. Bring it to this location immediately.”

“Yes, young master. On my way.”

Fifteen minutes later, the manager arrived with a heavy bag. He placed it on the counter. The old man greedily snatched it, hugging it like treasure.

Jehan stood, dusted his sleeves, and picked up the book. “Thank you for the book, Mr. Shopkeeper.” His voice was polite but distant, already turning away.

Jehan returned home holding two books in his hands. He placed them gently on the table.

“Listen,” he said to the manager, “I want these books delivered to the Dresden Tarten mansion. They’re for young master Ciran.”

“I’ll take care of it, young master. When would you like them sent?”

“If possible, send them right now.”

The manager hesitated slightly. “Young master… if you don’t mind, I’ll send them this evening.”

“Why?”

“Young master Ciran’s birthday gift will arrive this evening. Mr. Rauman was abroad at the time, so it’s been a little delayed.”

"Ok, Send these books with this card, together with Father’s gift.” He slid an elegant card across the table.

“As you wish, young master,” the manager replied respectfully.

Chapter Text

Iltae lay sprawled on the bed, scrolling through his phone.

“Dad, let’s go shopping.”

“Shopping?” Teaui turned his face toward him, puzzled.

“Yeah. I’m bored.”

“Alright.”

“Up, get ready. I’m coming too.” Iltae hopped off the bed and headed straight to his room.

Moments later, he emerged in formal clothes and knocked on Teaui’s door.
“Dad, are you ready?”

“Yes, come in.”

Iltae picked up the black coat lying on the bed and draped it over Teaui’s shoulders. With one arm wrapped around his father, he guided him outside.

“Mr. Riegrow,” a guard approached, “shall I accompany you?”

Teaui waved his hand dismissively. “No need.”

They slid into the car and the driver set off.

“Dad, why did you change the maid? I don’t like her food.”

“I didn’t change her,” Teaui explained calmly. “She’s not feeling well. I’ll cook for you until she returns.”

“No need, Dad. Don’t go inside the kitchen.” Iltae clasped his father’s hand firmly. “I’ll adjust. She’s not that bad.”

“I know how to cook, Iltae.”

Iltae pressed a kiss to Teaui’s hand and shook his head. “No need, Dad.”

The car rolled to a stop outside the shopping mall. They stepped out, but Iltae still held his father’s hand gently.

“Young master,” Mr. Riegrow, the manager, greeted warmly, “welcome back. It’s been a month since your last visit.”

“I’m good. What about you?” Teaui returned the greeting with a soft smile.

“Show me the new collections,” Iltae said firmly.

“Yes, young master. This way. Would you prefer formals or casuals?”

“Both.”

As Iltae followed the manager, Teaui sat peacefully on a chair, unaware of the two men watching him from a distance.

“Hey, doesn’t he look like Jeong Teaui? Wasn’t he our classmate?” one man whispered.

“Yeah,” the other muttered, eyes narrowing. “But how the hell does he still look so young after all these years? He always rejected me…”

“Wait. I’m going to him.”

The man approached boldly, stopping in front of Teaui. “Jeong Teaui, right?” He grabbed Teaui’s hand tightly, staring at him. “Man, you look exactly the same as before. So young…”

“Oh, nice to meet you,” Teaui said politely, trying to pull his hand away.

“Still arrogant like before,” the man smirked. “Let’s go for coffee.”

Without waiting for an answer, he pulled Teaui into a hug. “I missed you so much. Why did you change your number?”

Just then, Iltae returned with the manager carrying bags. His eyes immediately narrowed at the sight of another man’s hands on his father.

“What’s going on here?

Who’s he, Jeong Teaui—your friend, or your boyfriend?” the man said, his eyes still glued to Teaui.

“Damn it…” was all Teaui could mutter under his breath, covering his face with both hands. Why always me? What kind of bad luck is this…

Without a word, Iltae stepped forward and grabbed the man by the throat, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. His cold voice cut through the air:

“Jeong Teaui? No. Teaui Ilay Reigrow. I’m his son, you disgusting bastard.”

With a sharp motion, Iltae slammed him against the glass counter, shattering it. The other man, who had been watching from a distance, ducked under a nearby table, terrified.

Iltae’s hand slipped into his pocket. His fingers brushed against something—he pulled it out. A pair of black gloves. His father’s gloves.

Teaui’s eyes widened. He looked at his son carefully now—Iltae was dressed in Ilay’s suit, carrying the same overwhelming aura.

Sliding the gloves on, Iltae grabbed the man by the hair and yanked him up. “You bastard. How dare you touch him? No one lays a hand on him. And you—you hugged him?” His fist crashed into the man’s face, once, twice, again—blood splattered from his mouth.

“Iltae!” Teaui rushed forward, seizing his son’s arm. “Stop! You can’t do this in public!”

But Iltae’s furious eyes never left his prey. “Dad… he touched you. In public. Like that.” He threw the man to the ground and delivered a savage kick.

Teaui pushed between them. “Iltae, wait!”

In one swift motion, Iltae scooped Teaui into his arms like a child and set him aside. “Dad, let me handle him.”

“You said you are hungry,” Teaui reminded him desperately. “Let’s go to a restaurant.”

Iltae’s lips curled into something darker. “Now I’m thirsty. For his blood.”

He dragged the man close again, snarling, “How dare you call me his boyfriend, bastard?” His fist struck once more, cracking bone.

The man coughed, trembling. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t know… he looks so young—I never expected him to have a son like you…”

Iltae looked at Teaui, then fixed his cold gaze back on the man sprawled on the floor. With a sharp push, he shoved him backward and drew in a long breath. Slowly, he slipped off the gloves and tossed them into the trash bin.

He lifted his hand, signaling the manager.

“You,” his voice was low but firm, “where are your monitors? Delete that recording. The moment he touched my Dad.”

“This way, Young Master,” the manager stammered.

Iltae followed, lit a cigarette, and took a deep drag. He didn’t wait—he deleted the footage himself. Then, without another word, he clasped Teaui’s hand and led him outside.

Inside the car, Teaui kept his gaze fixed on the window. His voice was calm, almost weary.
“You’re not obedient, Iltae.”

Iltae flicked his cigarette out of the window, then reached into his coat. He pulled out a gun and gently placed it in Teaui’s hands. Drawing his Dad into his arms, he whispered softly against his ear,

“Dad… I love you so much. I only beat him. I didn’t shoot him.”

Teaui stared at the weapon, frozen. It was Raventhium. The gun Jeaui had created with him—the gun where everything had started. His chest tightened.

“Look how obedient I am, Dad. When Uncle Jeaui gave me this, he told me—don’t press the trigger until you see death standing right in front of you.”

“That’s the only reason that bastard is still breathing.”

“Dad,” Iltae’s voice cut through his thoughts, “why didn’t you kick him? Or slap him? Do you even realize what could’ve happened if someone had tricked you? Taken a picture? Sent it to Dad?”

Teaui blinked, speechless. He had never thought like that. The way his son thought.

“You and Dad are the perfect couple,” Iltae continued, his tone steady. “No one can touch you. Except Dad. You’re his. Always pay attention to your surroundings.”

Teaui finally found his voice, almost dazed. “Iltae… that man lost his teeth.”

Iltae leaned back, his expression unbothered.
“That’s not my business, Dad. It’s his business.”

The car rolled to a stop inside the main gate. Ilay was already waiting, his sharp eyes softening the moment he saw them.

Iltae, who had been holding Teaui’s hand the entire time, gently placed it into Ilay’s.

“You both took so long,” Ilay murmured, brushing Teaui’s hair back with a familiar tenderness. His gaze sharpened as he noticed Teaui’s pale face. “What happened, Teaui? You look as if you’ve just seen a ghost.” His eyes flickered toward Iltae. “Did he do something?”

Teaui shook his head quickly. “No… I’m just hungry.”

But Iltae spoke up, his tone heavy. “Dad, today a man…”
Before he could continue, Teaui turned his face toward his son, a subtle warning in his expression.

“What happened?” Ilay pressed, his voice calm but edged with concern.

Iltae looked at teaui, then said quietly, “Today a man said… your dad looks so adorable.”

Ilay’s lips curved into a smirk. “Well, he is adorable. That’s why.” Without waiting for protest, he wrapped an arm around Teaui and led him inside.

“You little monster…” Teaui muttered under his breath.

Chapter Text

Iltae sat in the garden, his jaw tight as he tried calling Jehan. The line was busy.
A moment later, a conference video call popped up on his screen.
Ciran appeared first, sipping lazily through a straw. He squinted at the screen.

“Wtf—why is that pig on my screen?”

“Shut up, brat,” Iltae snapped, rubbing his temple. “My mood is off today.”

Jehan’s voice followed, calm but concerned.
“What happened, hyung?”

“You can’t even imagine what I saw today.”

Ciran leaned back. “What—did you see a ghost?”

“Hyung, just tell us,” Jehan pressed. “You look… sad.”

Iltae exhaled sharply. “I took Dad shopping. I was busy for a while, so I left him alone. When I came back… a man was with him. And that man—was hugging him.”

The straw almost slipped from Ciran’s mouth. “Wtf? What kind of freak was he?!”

“Hyung… tell me he’s dead.”

Iltae shook his head. “He’s alive. Dad insisted so much… I just beat him.”

Ciran slammed his cup on the table. “Pig, I can’t believe you left him alive.”

“Brat, if I kill him, Dad will hate me,” Iltae muttered, his voice low.

Jehan nodded slowly. “I understand, hyung.”

Ciran sighed. “You beat him, that’s enough. Just chill—you look scary.”

Iltae leaned back in his chair, eyes dark. “My feelings are so weird right now. I never thought… I’d see something like that. I never thought I’d see my Dad with someone else except my dad Ilay.”

“Pig, relax,” Ciran said. “He hugged him forcefully."

Jehan’s tone grew thoughtful. “I get what you’re thinking, hyung. We’re not used to this kind of thing. But remember? I told you about my classmate? His parents wanted a divorce. They went through with it, and one of his fathers remarried. Now that boy is living with his stepfather.”

Both Ciran and Iltae froze. Ciran set his glass down hard on the table.

“Jehan… you just ruined my mood,” he muttered.

Iltae’s jaw tightened. “How can he live with a stepfather? Damn it… that’s harsh.”

Jehan waved it off. “Forget it. Not our business. Hyung, did you find that boy?”

At the mention of Xinyu, Iltae’s mood shifted back to focus. “Not yet. Hey, Ciran—I’ll send you a hotel name. Tell Carlo to search the records there after your birthday.”

“Fine,” Ciran replied, still sulking. “But first, who was that boy?”

Jehan answered for him. “That boy beat Hyung. Two, maybe three times.”

Ciran smirked. “Pfft. I’m impressed.”

“Shut up, Jehan,” Iltae growled. “And you, Ciran—tell Carlo the boy's bodyguard called him Mr. Ling.”

“Okay, done.” Ciran stood, stretching. “I’m going to see my angel daddy. Both of you ruined my mood today. Bye.”

The call ended, leaving Iltae and Jehan in silence.

Ciran, still weak from his fever, stepped out onto the balcony. He wore a loose silk shirt and trousers, his bare feet brushing against the cold marble floor. The evening breeze was chilly, but he stood still, gazing at the fading sky.

Knock. Knock.

“Young Master, how are you feeling?” Carlo asked politely from outside.

“I’m fine, Butler. Come here,” Ciran said.

Carlo entered with his usual composure. “Yes, Young Master?”

Ciran showed him his phone. “Go there and check all the records from the day we went for the race. You remember?”

“Yes, Young Master.”

“Good. Go quickly. Send all guest records from that day to Iltae—and don’t tell Dad.”

“Understood, Young Master.”

Carlo bowed slightly and left.

Ciran slipped on a coat and descended into the garden. The evening wasn’t too bright, nor yet too dark; the air carried a quiet stillness. He walked slowly, scrolling through his phone, until he caught the faint murmur of two elderly servants gossiping as they worked.

“Facts don’t change,” one said. “Christopher was taken by force. You don’t know…”

Again, Ciran paused, inhaling deeply. His voice cut through the air, calm but sharp.

“You’re right. Facts never change, old man.”

The two servants froze, startled. They turned quickly, bowing their heads. “Young Master—”

“No need,” Ciran interrupted coldly. The fact is “I’ll never considered anyone my servant except Carlo.”

His eyes narrowed as he took a step closer. “The fact is—you stand here in mud, while my dad…” Ciran looked up toward the Mansion. Through the open glass doors of the library balcony, Chris sat on a long couch, absorbed in his books, completely unaware of the world outside. “…my dad sits in there, at peace, inside this huge castle.”

The servants lowered their heads again. “We apologize, Young Master.”

“No need. You’re nothing to me.” Ciran’s tone sharpened, his steps deliberate as he closed the distance. “I won’t beat you—because if I did, you’d die.” His voice dropped, almost a whisper. “If you think I don’t know how to kill, that’s your mistake. I simply choose not to show my true colors. Who knows… the people around me might start to hate me.”
With that, Ciran turned away, his coat sweeping against the grass. Without glancing back, he headed straight for the library.

Ciran went upstairs and quietly pulled a chair in front of Chris. Resting his chin in his hand, he sat there, silently admiring his father’s beauty. In the dim light, Chris’ hair gleamed softly, making him look almost ethereal.

Chris finished the last line on his page, carefully folded the corner, and closed the book. He lifted his gaze, meeting his son’s.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m looking at my dad’s angelic beauty,” Ciran said, his voice low but filled with warmth. “I wonder how many men must have tried to win you in the past.”

Chris chuckled softly, his lips curving as he extended his hand. “Come here.”

Ciran stood up and settled beside him. Chris reached out, brushing his son’s hair aside.

“How’s your fever? You scared me so badly,” he said gently. “You’re the only one we have, Ciran. Take care of yourself, son.”

“As you wish, Dad,” Ciran murmured with a faint smile.

Down below, a pair of eyes watched the tender scene with quiet affection. Richard had just returned from work. Then he made his way up and entered the library.

“What’s going on here?” Richard teased lightly, loosening his tie. “Looks like a serious discussion between my husband and my son.”

Chris glanced at him with concern. “You should change your clothes first. You came straight here—you look so tired today.”

Richard ignored his exhaustion and sat beside Ciran, gently placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. “How’s my sweetheart’s fever?”

“Better than before,” Ciran answered with a small smile. “But you look tired, Dad. Let’s go. I’ll give you a head massage myself.”

Richard’s eyes softened. “It’s my honor to receive a massage from my dear son.”

He rose and stretched out his hand. “Come, Chris. Let’s eat dinner and rest.”

Chris stood, and together the three of them descended the stairs—Ciran in the middle, his fathers on either side, each holding one of his shoulders.

The scene shifted.

Teaui was walking slowly in the garden, the evening air brushing against his face as he made a call.

“Hello?” Teaui’s voice was soft.
“How are you, hyung?”

“I’m good,” Jeaui replied. “What about you?”

“I’m good too… but I want to ask you something.”

“What happened?”

“That time… when Iltae came to Riyadh after that man. Do you know what he did to the one who stole his gun?”

Jeaui let out a deep sigh before answering. “Both Jehan and Iltae came back covered in blood, head to toe.”

“What?” Teaui’s voice rose in shock. “Why didn’t you tell me, hyung?”

“Because Rauman gave him permission. I didn’t interfere between them.”

Chapter Text

“Hyung… at least tell me. Is that man alive?”

“I don’t know,” Jeaui admitted. “I tried to find out. The only news that appeared was about a bar fight—five men beaten brutally. But there was no evidence. The report went viral for a while, but when Rahman returned, the news disappeared.”

Teaui closed his eyes and took a long breath. “Hyung… Iltae beat my classmate brutally.”

“Your classmate? Who?”

“That man who always used to ask me for rides—you remember him?”

“Yes. What did he do this time?”

“I was at the mall with Iltae. He was busy picking clothes, and that bastard suddenly came out of nowhere, grabbed my hand, and hugged me. Iltae saw… and he lost control. He beat him.”

“Wrong timing,” Jeaui said firmly. “Don’t think too much. He’s obedient—it’s all that matters.”

Teaui’s voice lowered, troubled. “No… his anger reminded me of Ilay. Today, he looked exactly like his shadow. Jehan is obedient… but Iltae—he frightens me sometimes.”

“Teaui, Jehan is worse than Rauman, but he’s obedient. Iltae is the same—obedient. That’s the only reason your classmate is still alive. Teaui we chose this life, so they’re our responsibility. You’re not happy?”

Teaui shook his head quickly, his voice softening. “No, hyung… I love my family. I love Ilay and my son.”

“Then don’t think too much,” Jeaui reassured him. “Sleep peacefully. Good night, Teaui.”

“Good night, hyung…” Teaui whispered, lowering the phone, his heart still unsettled.

“Dad,” Iltae called from behind.

“Yes?” Teaui turned his face.

Iltae hugged him from behind. “Dad… are you mad at me?”

“No, Iltae. Why would I be mad at my dear son? Did you eat? I cooked cheese pasta for you.”

“Yeah, it was so delicious! You learned cooking from Grandma, right?”

Teaui smiled faintly. “No… your grandparents never let us inside the kitchen. I only learned when I used to live alone with hyung.”

“I heard you traveled a lot,” Iltae said, sitting down on the grass while Teaui sat on the bench. Resting his head in his father’s lap, he looked up with curiosity. “Dad… where did you meet dad? I’m so curious. And Uncle Jeaui… how do you know Uncle Chris?”

Teaui’s hand gently brushed through his son’s hair. “I met your dad in Germany. When we stayed for a while in Paris. That’s where I met Chris—we became friends. Then we came to Germany, and during a gathering, me and hyung bumped into your Dad..… and your Uncle Rauman.”

“Wow, how romantic!” Iltae’s eyes sparkled. “Was it love at first sight?”

Before Teaui could answer, a voice echoed behind them.

“Love at first sight—from me and Rahman’s side,” Ilay interrupted with a smirk as he walked toward them. “Not toward your dad or your Uncle Jeaui.”

“Why ? Dad and Uncle are damn handsome, though."Uncle Rauman’s a bit scary… but not for Uncle Jeaui,” Iltae said.

“Rauman is a bastard. If there’s ever a competition for the number one bastard, Rauman will win first place,” Ilay muttered.

“Pffft—” Iltae tried to hold back his laugh.

“Shut your mouth, Ilay,” Teaui warned.

“That bastard is Jeaui’s servant anyway.”

“I said shut your mouth, Ilay, before I beat you.” Teaui gave him a sharp look. “What about you?”

Ilay raised his hands in mock defense. “I’m a good man, you know, kitten. Your dad thought I was some kind of bad guy.”

Teaui shot him a dead stare. “Iltae, I’ve never met a more gentle and decent man than your dad Ilay.”

“Including your Uncle Rauman and Uncle Rich. It’s because of that bastard Richard that I’m even here.” Teaui muttered.

"Thanks for the compliment, Teaui."

"Welcome, My dear husband."

Suddenly, Iltae’s phone buzzed. He glanced down and saw Jehan and Ciran spamming stickers in their group chat.

“Those little bastards…” he muttered. “Dad, I think Jehan and Ciran need a good physicist. Their screws are loose.”

“Fix their appointment with me, I’ll fix them,” Ilay said with a smirk.

Iltae burst out laughing.

Teaui raised a brow. “Don’t you get tired of bullying those poor kids?”

“When did I ever bully them?” Ilay scoffed.

“Didn’t you always break Jehan’s toys whenever he came here?”

Ilay turned his face away. “I never did that.”

“And didn’t you throw Ciran in the pool when he was too young?”

“He bit me! And instead of saying sorry, he glared at me—the exact same way Chris used to glare at me.”

Ilay muttered under his breath, “Chris’s kid is just like a copy-paste of him.”

Taeui shot him a look and pointed at Iltae. “What about him?”

“My kitten is cute—just like you,” Ilay replied, lips curling into a small smile.

But Iltae wasn’t paying attention. His gaze was fixed on the main gate, where someone was walking closer, a briefcase in hand. The light was dim, but the figure was unmistakable—it was Kyle, his big, big uncle.

The boy’s eyes lit up. Without a second thought, he darted behind a tree, waiting. As Kyle reached Ilay and Taeui, a finger tapped his shoulder. When he turned, a phone flashlight illuminated Iltae’s glowing face right behind him.

“AHHHHHHHHHH!” Kyle’s scream tore through the night.

The shout startled Taeui so badly he clutched his chest, nearly screaming himself. “What happened to you!?”

Kyle fell to the ground, heart pounding, only to feel a body cling onto him. Iltae rubbed his face against his uncle’s chest like an eager puppy. “Big big uncle! I missed you so much!”

“You little punk…” Kyle’s soul nearly escaped his body. For a full minute, he lay staring at the sky, dazed. “I survived when rick was young, but it seems this time I’ll die.”

When he finally recovered, he turned his head toward Taeui, who was still holding his chest in shock. “I wonder how you managed to give birth to that little monster.”

“I apologize, Kyle,” Taeui said gravely, his expression dead serious. “For giving birth to that little monster.” Then he looked at Ilay, blinking like a child about to cry. “Can I divorce you? I’m done—with you and your kid.”

Ilay leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Taeui’s lips. “No. Divorce isn’t allowed in our family.”

Chapter Text

Xinlu was sipping his tea when Yuri’s phone buzzed. He picked it up—just a text on the screen:

“How are you, Yuri?”

Xinlu frowned and typed back:

“Who are you?”

No reply. He waited fifteen minutes. Still nothing.
With a sigh, he stepped outside. Under a tree, Yuri sat on a bench, quietly reading, while Xinyu leaned against his back, chatting with someone on his phone.

Xinlu walked over, stopped in front of Yuri, and showed him the screen.
“Who is this?”

Yuri glanced at the phone. The number was unknown.
“I don’t know.”

Meanwhile, Xinyu was busy with chatting someone.

@IltaeRgrw: Throw your cat here, I’ll catch it.

@Meimei: Nope.

@IltaeRgrw: I’ll give you a huge amount for that cat.

@Meimei: Man, I’m rich too.

@IltaeRgrw: I’m super rich.

@Meimei: I’m super rich too.

@IltaeRgrw: Lol, you’re funny.

@Meimei: You’re funny too.

Xinlu squinted. “You get tired of me? Don’t tell me you’re cheating on me.”

“Pffft—” Xinyu clapped his hand over his mouth, trying to stifle a laugh.

“Did you just laugh, little chick?” Xinlu’s eyes narrowed.

nope father.

Yuri closed his book and looked up. “What did you just say?”

Xinyu quickly snatched Yuri’s phone and called back the unknown number, pressing speaker.

“Hello, Yuri.”

“Felix?” Yuri asked.

“Yeah. Sorry I didn’t reply earlier—my daughter suddenly came in, I lost my phone this is my new number. I was just asking Mr. Ling arrived home safely.”

“Yeah, Felix. Thanks for accompanying him,” Yuri said.

“Oh, it’s okay, Yuri.”

Xinyu burst out laughing.

Yuri’s brow twitched, and Xinlu turned his face away. “…Sorry.”

Still holding his own phone, Xinyu unknowingly tapped the call button on the open chat. The speaker was on.
Suddenly, a man’s deep voice came through.

“Hello?”

The phone slipped from Xinyu’s hand.
“Hello?”

Xinlu bent to pick it up. “Who’s he?”

Father, I think I accidentally made a call. Xinyu took his phone from Xinlu and turned off the speaker, then lifted it close to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, I just accidentally made a call to you.”
Silence.

“Hello, are you listening?”

“Yes… yeah, it’s okay.”

That voice. His voice.
iltae pressed a hand over his heart.
Dammit… what kind of pain is this? I’m too young for a heart attack.

Yuri was glaring at Xinlu nonstop.

“Yuri, please… stop looking at me like that,” Xinlu muttered, clearly uncomfortable.

Xinyu slipped down beside Yuri and wrapped his arms around him, resting his head on his father’s shoulder.

“Father Yuri, he’s always like that.”

“Yeah,” Yuri sighed, still glaring at Xinlu. “He always feels jealous like this. I’m not surprised.”

“Me too, Father. I’m also not surprised,” Xinyu chimed in innocently.

Xinlu reached over and pinched Xinyu’s cheek. “You little chick… you’re pouring gasoline between us.”

“Ahhh! It hurts, Father!”

“Stop pulling his cheek, Xinlu and apologize properly first."
With a dramatic sigh, Xinlu knelt down in front of Yuri, holding both of his hands tightly.

“Yuri, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

Xinyu couldn’t help but interrupt. “How cute.”

“If you do it again, I won't talk to you,” Yuri warned, his glare unsoftened.

“Yurrrriii, I’m younger than you. Don’t be cruel with me like this.”

“Here we go again… Father’s famous dialogue,” Xinyu teased.
Yuri burst out laughing.

“You both are making fun of me,” Xinlu said with exaggerated sadness.

“No, we’re not. Come here.” Yuri pulled him closer, resting his hand at the back of Xinlu’s head and hugging him gently.

Xinlu’s expression softened. He opened his arms wider, hugging them both tightly. “Little chick, it’s your time for a bath. Go,” he said, patting Xinyu’s cheek.

Xinyu nodded, got up, and headed toward his room. He shut the door behind him, stripped off his clothes, and walked straight into the bathroom.

The bathtub was already prepared, petals from different flowers floating lazily on the surface. The window was open, letting in the glow of the moon. Xinyu sank into the warm water, his body glistening under the silver light. His skin shimmered, each droplet catching the glow, making him look almost unreal.

A deep voice echoed in his memory. Xinyu reached for his phone, unlocked it, and opened Iltae’s profile. He scrolled through, but there was no face—only shots of Iltae’s built body and his bike.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the bathroom door.

“Young master, your lotion and face cream are ready. I’ll leave them on the table,” an old woman’s voice called out.
“Okay, ajumma. Thanks,” Xinyu replied softly.

The Ling Clan had been famous for their homemade beauty products for generations. Xinlu’s grandmother once ran the business with pride, but now the trade was long closed. The servants still prepared those creams and oils—but only for the family.

The Jeong twins had grown up using nothing but the Ling Clan’s creations. Now, at twenty-one, Xinyu had never once touched a product from the market. Not for his body, his face, or even his lips. His skin and scent carried only the legacy of his clan.

Tian Hao entered through the main gate, making his way toward Xinyu’s room. On the way, he spotted Xinlu and Yuri and quickly bowed his head in greeting.

“Hello, Uncle Yuri, Uncle Xinlu. Where’s Xinyu?”

“In his room,” Yuri answered with a warm smile.

Tian Hao nodded and hurried upstairs. He knocked lightly on the door.
“Xinyu?”

“Yeah, come in,” Xinyu’s voice came from inside. When the door opened, Xinyu stood there in a bathrobe, his damp hair falling loosely around his face.

Without hesitation, Tian Hao darted straight toward the bed where Mei Mei, the black cat, was sitting peacefully.

“Mei Mei! Mei Mei, muaah, muaah, I missed you!” He showered the cat with kisses.
“Meow.”

“Muaah!”

“Meow.”

“Stop teasing her,” Xinyu sighed, watching the scene unfold.
Abandoning the cat, Tian Hao clung onto Xinyu instead.

“Xinyu, I’m going to fail this exam. Help me! I hate math, I swear I’ll die because of it.”

Xinyu patted his head gently. “What happened?”

“My coaching teacher threw me out of class today,” Tian Hao muttered miserably.

“Pffft—” Xinyu burst out laughing.

“Don’t laugh at me!” Tian Hao pouted. Then, as if remembering something, he quickly added, “By the way, that Lukas Weaber guy DM’d you on your official account.”

“Mr. Weaber?” Xinyu raised a brow.

“Yup. Look.” Tian Hao showed him his phone. Xinyu immediately picked up his own and opened his official account.

On the screen, a new message blinked:

"Hello Mr. Xinyu, how are you? Are you still in Germany, or have you left?"

“He’s asking if I’m still in Germany,” Xinyu murmured.

“Yup,” Tian Hao confirmed casually, playing with Mei Mei’s tail.

“Should I reply?” Xinyu asked.

“I think you should. He’s your senior, after all,” Tian Hao replied matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, he’s my senior,” Xinyu said after a pause. “It would be disrespectful not to reply.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, and began typing carefully.

"Hello, Mr. Weaber. I’m doing well. I’m no longer in Germany—I’ve returned home."

Tian Hao peeked over his shoulder. “Perfect. Polite and straight to the point.”

Xinyu nodded slightly, reading it over once before pressing send.

A soft buzz echoed through the room as another message appeared on Xinyu’s phone.

@Lukas_web: Oh, I see. I want to invite you to my estate. I’m in Germany right now. Tell me whenever you visit again—we’ll meet. I was truly impressed after watching your swimming.

Xinyu’s fingers hovered over the keyboard before replying politely.

@Ling_Xinyu: It’s my honor, Mr. Weber, but I won’t come to Germany again.

A pause. Then another message blinked on the screen.

@Lukas_web: Why? You don’t like Germany?

@Ling_Xinyu: No, it’s not like that. I’m just busy with exam preparation.

@Lukas_web: Oh, I see. By the way, how old are you, Xinyu?

@Ling_Xinyu: 21.

@LukasWeb: Too young… okay. Do your best. Best of luck.

@Ling_Xinyu: Thank you Mr. weaber.

“Hey, look at this.” Xinyu called Tian Hao over and showed him a photo on his phone. “Isn’t he… a little too huge? Bigger than normal alphas.”

Tian Hao leaned closer, studying the picture of Iltae. “Whoa… yeah, he’s massive.” He scrolled down for more photos, then stopped. “Wait—who’s this guy?”

Xinyu shrugged. “Don’t know. I only chatted with him four or five times. He kept asking about Meimei.”

“Oh—look at this one.” Tian Hao pointed at a recent post. “Seems like the man behind him is his father.”

Xinyu tilted his head, examining the image with a thoughtful frown.

“Bro…” Tian Hao’s voice lowered. “I don’t think he’s an alpha. I think he’s an Enigma. I’m not sure, but he’s way too big—bigger than any alpha I’ve ever seen. And his body… it’s built differently.”

“Enigmas…” Xinyu whispered. “Why are they so rare? I still don’t get it.”

Tian Hao leaned back, repeating words he’d once heard. “My grandpa used to say, ‘Where there is the most pain, that’s where an Enigma is born.’”

“What about genes?” Xinyu asked quietly.

“Genes?” Tian Hao shook his head. “I don’t think it works like that. Just because the father’s an Enigma doesn’t mean the child will be one too. At least… that’s what I heard.”

“How strange,” Xinyu murmured. “It feels so complicated.”

“Yeah,” Tian Hao sighed. “You can’t find an Enigma easily. Male Enigmas and female alphas… they’re the rarest of all.”

“Xinyu, did you ever hear that it’s hard to find true love? That true love always asks for sacrifice?” Tian Hao asked softly.

“Yeah… I’ve heard that,” Xinyu replied.

Tian Hao leaned back, recalling a memory. “When I was really young, I overheard my grandparents talking. They said it’s not easy to give birth to an Enigma and survive. If the Enigma child lives… then either the mother or father who gave birth might not make it. And if both survive—then they’re damn lucky.”

Xinyu’s eyes lingered on the screen as he scrolled through Iltae’s photos. “How incredible…” he murmured. Then a small smile tugged at his lips. “This guy is so funny… so chill.”

Just then, a notification lit up Iltae’s screen.

@IltaeRgrw: hey cattie, you there?

A smile tugged at Xinyu’s lips as he typed back.

@Meimei: yup

@IltaeRgrw: yk my imaginary boyfriend just cheated on me… in my imagination.

@Meimei: pfffft hahahahaha man, you’re too much.

@IltaeRgrw: don’t laugh. when I find him, I’ll eat him alive.

@Meimei: poor him… now I’m worried about him.

@IltaeRgrw: what are you doing?

@Meimei: nothing, just got out of the shower.

@IltaeRgrw: you haven’t posted anything. for a moment, I thought someone kidnapped Meimei.

@Meimei: lol, she’s just playing with my friend. btw, your caption was in German—you’re German?

@IltaeRgrw: yup. I know three languages: German, English, Korean.

@Meimei: impressive. I know three too: Chinese, German, English.

@IltaeRgrw: waoh, finally I found someone who can match my vibe… except my siblings.

@Meimei: you have siblings?

@IltaeRgrw: yup, two little cousin brothers. what about you?

@Meimei: i’m a single child… sad. i wish i had siblings too.

@IltaeRgrw: take mine. both are freaks, i’m done with them.

@Meimei: lol, they’re that naughty?

@IltaeRgrw: naughty? they’re terrorists.

@Meimei: damn it—HAHAHAHAHA

Chapter Text

Morning, Tarten Mansion

Ciran was dressing for his horse riding. He wore a cream-colored frilled shirt with matching pants, paired with polished black leather boots. As he carefully buttoned his shirt cuffs, a knock sounded on the door.

“Young master,” Carlo called from outside.

“Come in, Butler,” Ciran replied.

Carlo stepped in with a slight bow. “Mr. Rauman’s manager has arrived from Riyadh with your birthday gift.”

At the mention of Rauman’s name, a bright smile spread across Ciran’s face. “Mr. Rauman?”

“Yes, young master.”

Ciran rushed toward the balcony. Down in the garden, bathed in sunlight, stood a magnificent horse. Its coat shimmered under the morning light, its mane long and silky, flowing like strands of silver. Even its hooves were dusted with soft white fur, giving it the appearance of a creature out of a fairytale.

Heart racing, Ciran hurried downstairs. Before stepping outside, he paused, ran his fingers through his hair, and composed himself before walking into the garden.

“Young master Ciran, this is your birthday gift,” Rauman’s manager said with a respectful bow. “Mr. Rauman sends his apologies for the delay, but hopes you will like it.”

The manager handed him a beautiful bag. “And this, young master, is another gift for you.” He then produced an envelope and bowed again. “Mr. Rauman also sends this card.”

Ciran accepted it with both hands, bowing slightly in return. He unfolded the card, reading the elegant handwriting:

‘Young master Ciran, forgive the delay. I was out of the country, and this horse is exceptionally rare. My men needed time to find him for you. He is already well-trained and gentle. Enjoy your rides without hesitation.
— Mr. Rauman’

Ciran’s lips curved into a quiet smile. No wonder Jehan is so polite and gentlemanly, he thought.

“Butler, bring me a card and pen,” he ordered.

Within minutes, Carlo returned with a fine card and pen. Ciran sat down, carefully writing his response in graceful strokes:

‘Mr. Rauman, I bow my head before you. Please accept my deepest greetings. This horse is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen in my life. It is an honor to receive such a beaurtiful gift from you.
— Ciran Tarten’

“What a beautiful horse,” a familiar voice spoke from behind.

Ciran turned slightly—Richard was standing there, his eyes lingering on the magnificent creature.

“Mr. Tarten,” the manager bowed respectfully.

“No need,” Richard said gently, patting the manager’s shoulder. “Come inside.”

The manager obeyed and stepped inside with Richard, leaving Ciran alone with his gifts.

Ciran carefully opened the elegant bag. Inside were two rare books—the very ones he had been searching for. Resting atop them was a small card. He picked it up with care and unfolded it.

‘A little gift for you, young master Ciran. I managed to find these for you.’
— Jehan Rauman

Ciran’s cheeks grew warm, and he bit his lip to stop a smile from spreading. How sweet… He pressed the card lightly against his chest. He’s so gentle… so much of a gentleman.

Ciran stood and handed the bag back to Carlo before stepping forward toward the horse. He lifted his gaze, eyes shining.

“How beautiful you are…” he whispered, extending a hand.
The horse raised one leg and placed it gently in Ciran’s palm, as though offering trust.

Ciran bent down, and kissed the soft white fur. The horse’s coat shimmered like something ethereal, almost unreal in the sunlight. Slowly, the animal drew back his leg, then lowered his head against Ciran’s forehead, as if saying, I am ready to serve you, my master.

With a tender smile, Ciran kissed the horse’s forehead and mounted him gracefully.

“Let’s go… I’ll give you a beautiful name soon.”

The horse neighed, rose proudly on his hind legs, and dashed toward the forest like a storm breaking free.

Ciran turned back with a bright smile. “Butler, bring my violin. I’m so happy.”

“As you wish, young master,” Carlo replied, his eyes soft with affection.

He watched the boy ride away, and for a fleeting moment, saw not only Ciran—but his late daughter. Since the day Ciran was born, Carlo could not help but see his daughter’s reflection in him—the same hair, though his daughter’s had been long enough for her to braid.

Carlo took a deep breath, eyes moist, and turned back inside.

Ciran slowed his horse at the far edge of the forest. The Tarten mansion loomed in the distance—its vast structure dominating one side, while the other was surrounded by endless trees. Tall iron bars lined the perimeter, sealing the estate. No one could come in or out, yet if one looked closely through the gaps, they could glimpse the forest inside.

Carlo soon arrived, carrying the violin. With a gentle bow, he handed it to Ciran before quietly stepping back.

Like every day, Ciran scattered grains for the birds. White pigeons fluttered down in clusters, and a few rabbits hopped closer, unafraid. Smiling softly, he lifted the violin to his shoulder, closed his eyes, and began to play.

Outside the gates, a young boy struggled with his motorbike. He paused, hearing a faint melody drift from the forest. Tilting his head, curiosity pulled him forward until he pressed closer to the iron bars.

His breath caught.

Inside, a boy dressed like a prince from a fairy tale stood with his violin, eyes closed, lost in his own world. Birds perched on branches above him, swaying gently as the breeze carried the music. Rabbits sat calmly at his feet, and a magnificent white horse stood loyally by his side.

The boy outside whispered, mesmerized, “Who said angels don’t exist?”

Compelled, he pulled out a sketchbook and began to draw feverishly, capturing every detail—the boy with the violin, the pigeons scattered around, the flowing blond hair stirred by the wind, the horse watching with quiet grace.

Suddenly, a firm hand landed on his shoulder. He flinched and turned.

“Brother…”

An older boy stood behind him, frowning. “What are you doing? You didn’t pick up your phone.”

His eyes shifted toward the bars, catching sight of the scene his younger brother had been sketching.
“Come. Let’s go home.”

“But brother, just one more look. He’s so—”

“No.”

He grabbed his younger brother by the arm and pulled him toward the waiting car.

“Please… just once more,” the boy pleaded, turning his head desperately for one last glimpse.

“Enough.” His brother’s voice was final.

The car door shut, and the melody faded behind them.

The younger brother closed his sketchbook slowly, his fingers lingering on the cover as if it still carried the warmth of the moment he had just captured. He turned his face toward the car window, hiding the ache in his eyes while the forest slipped away behind them.

His older brother glanced at him, voice calm yet heavy.
“Did you forget Dad’s words? Love is a blessing if you receive it… but if you don’t, it turns into nothing more than a curse.”

The younger brother shifted, his reflection faint in the glass. His voice came quiet but resolute.

“I remember everything. But you can’t control your heart. No matter how hard you try.”

His brother’s hand tightened on the steering wheel. Silence fell between them, only the hum of the engine filling the space. The younger boy pressed his forehead lightly against the glass, still seeing in his mind the blond-haired boy with the violin, the music, the birds, the horse—an image he knew he would never forget.

The car rolled to a stop in front of the villa. Before the engine even quieted, the younger brother pushed the door open and ran inside. His footsteps echoed through the hallway as he stormed into his room.

The study table was a mess—books scattered, papers piled, pens spilling out of their holder. With a sudden sweep of his arm, he sent everything crashing to the floor. The sound rang sharp, but he didn’t care. He pulled out his chair, sat down heavily, and open his sketchbook.

His hands trembled as he flipped to the page—the page with him. The boy with the violin.

Pulling open the drawer, he grabbed his colors and began to work feverishly. His strokes were fast, but precise, guided by the memory burned into his heart. He closed his eyes for a moment, recalling the scene with painful clarity.

The blonde strands of hair catching the breeze. The delicate curve of closed eyes lost in music. The horse’s powerful stance beside him. The flock of white pigeons, the soft fur of rabbits at his feet. Even the dry leaves swirling through the forest air. And the sunlight—oh, the sunlight—that kissed his face as though it belonged only to him.

When he opened his eyes again, his hands moved with certainty. He painted as though he had known Ciran his entire life, as though every detail had been carved into his soul.

Chapter Text

It was noon, and Ciran was getting ready to meet his designer.

He grabbed his phone, slipped it into his hand, and stepped out of his room.

As always, Carlo was waiting by the car, opening the door with practiced grace.

“This is the new location,” Ciran said, showing him the phone. “She changed her apartment.”

Carlo gave a single nod. “This society is still under construction. I’ll take you there.”

Settling into the back seat, Ciran leaned against the window, his attention fixed on his phone. He was busy texting Jehan.

@CiranTarten_: What are you doing? Thanks for the books, Jehan.

Jehan, sprawled lazily across his bed with a faint smile, typed back almost instantly.

@Jehaui_Rah: Just bored. It’s my pleasure—no need for thanks.

Ciran’s lips curved faintly as he typed again.

@CiranTarten_: How sweet. Give me a beautiful name for my magnificent horse. Will you help me?

@Jehaui_Rah: As you wish, Ciran.

The car slowed to a stop in front of the designer’s new apartment. Carlo stepped out first, as he always did, and opened the door for Ciran.

Just as Ciran set his foot on the pavement, a sudden gust of wind swept past. A loose paper flew, pressed against his face. Blinking, he peeled it away carefully, and his eyes widened.

It was a drawing—an impossibly detailed sketch of a boy playing the violin, eyes closed, lost in a world of his own. Every line captured perfection, from the soft strands of hair to the birds, the light, the forest.

Carlo’s sharp gaze caught the scene instantly. He managed to snap a quick picture of the sketch before his attention sharpened further. A boy was approaching—around Ciran’s age. Cap pulled low, headphones resting around his neck, a black mask covering most of his face.

Carlo’s instincts flared. Without hesitation, he slipped off his coat and draped it over Ciran’s head, shielding him from view. With one firm hand, he pulled Ciran gently against his chest, the other hand already brushing the back of his belt—hovering over the hidden trigger of his gun.

One wrong move, and he was ready to shoot.

“Excuse me—this is my painting,” the boy in the cap said, his voice firm.
When no answer came, he stepped closer. “Excuse me, are you listening?”

Ciran, still avoiding his gaze, quietly extended the paper back toward him. The boy snatched it, his other arm struggling to hold the rest of his sketches that the wind had scattered across the pavement.

Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed. An man man, nearly Carlo’s age, was rushing toward the cap boy.

“I said stop right there! Your brother is calling you!” the man barked.

“Fuck off, old man! Go and spend some time with your family!” the boy spat without slowing down, still running, still chasing his scattered drawings.

“I said stop, young master!” the old man shouted louder.

“Fuck off! Leave me alone, you bastard!” the boy roared back as his figure disappeared, his voice fading with the distance.

Carlo exhaled sharply, removing the coat from Ciran’s head. He placed a steadying hand on his shoulder and guided him inside.

“Are you all right, young master?” Carlo asked, scanning Ciran’s face carefully.

“Yes. I’m fine,” Ciran murmured, though his voice carried a faint heaviness.

Inside, the designer was already waiting. Her spacious hall was filled with racks of Ciran’s new collections, neatly displayed under the soft light.

“Young master, welcome. Please sit,” she greeted warmly.
Ciran sank into a chair, but his expression was distant, his mind elsewhere. Wordlessly, he pulled an old shirt of chris from the bag beside him and handed it over.

“I want fabrics like this—textures and patterns similar. Can you manage it?”

She examined the shirt carefully and nodded. “Yes, young master, but it will take some time.”

“Thanks, Lara. Send all the new outfits directly to the mansion.”

“As you wish, young master,” she replied, bowing slightly. “But it would be better if you tried them on here. That way, we can leave behind the ones that don’t fit.”

Ciran gave a faint nod, though his attention was already slipping back to that fleeting sketch.

While Ciran was inside the trial room, Carlo sat quietly in the hall, his eyes sharp as always. After a pause, he turned toward Lara.

“Mrs. Lara, how many homes are built in this area?”
“Hmm… around a hundred, Mr. Butler,” Lara answered, adjusting a stack of fabric swatches.

“Is there any high-status family living here?” Carlo’s voice was calm but probing. “I just saw a man calling a boy young master.”

Lara blinked, looking surprised. “Young master? Oh no, Mr. Butler, you must have mistaken. There’s no young master here. This community only opened a few days ago, people are still shifting in. The other side is still under construction.”

“I see, Mrs. Lara. Thank you.” Carlo gave a slight nod, though his eyes lingered with suspicion.

Soon after, Ciran stepped out from the trial room, trying on a new outfit. “Lara, I’m tired. Send the rest to the mansion—I’ll return the ones that don’t fit.”

“Of course, young master,” Lara replied politely.

By the time Ciran and Carlo left the residence, evening had draped the sky, the soft light of dusk already slipping into darkness.

At the mansion, Ciran changed into something more comfortable. With his phone and iPad in hand, he came downstairs for fresh air. He sank into a garden chair, resting his feet lazily on the one beside it.

His iPad suddenly lit up with an incoming video call—Jehan and Iltae. Like every day, it was their time to talk.

Jehan’s cheerful voice came first. “Hey, what’s up guys?”
Iltae sighed dramatically. “Nothing. I’m missing my Ling Ling.
Damn, I miss him so much.”

Ciran sat quietly, watching them, his lips pressed together. He didn’t speak.

“Ciran,” Jehan called out, noticing his silence. “Are you listening?”

“Hey brat,” Iltae chimed in, smirking. “What happened? Looks like Uncle Rauman’s horse kicked you hard.”

“Shut up, pig,” Ciran snapped, his voice sharper than usual. “He’s a gentleman.”

Jehan frowned. “Ciran, if you’re not okay, you can tell us. Your face looks pale.”

Ciran's, fingers tightening around the iPad.

“Something happened… something strange.”

Iltae leaned closer to the camera. “What? Tell me. I’ll give you the perfect solution.”

Ciran drew in a breath. “When I went to my designer today… just as I stepped out of the car, a paper came flying at me. And on that paper was my painting. So realistic—every single detail. My face, the light, the surroundings… everything.”

“Wait—your painting? Did you see it properly?” the two asked in unison.

“I’m not blind,” he muttered. “Butler even managed to click a photo.”

“Send it.”

The picture was shared, and silence stretched over the call. Curiosity on the other end slowly shifted into shock.

“Brat! How can you be so careless? Someone’s stalking you and you don’t even realize it?”

“So you’re saying I can’t even enjoy my own company inside my own mansion now?” he shot back.

The scolding fell flat on the third listener. He wasn’t paying attention to the bickering at all, eyes locked on the painting instead. Whoever drew it had captured the young master with unnerving precision—too intimate, as though every hidden emotion had been poured into the strokes. The thought unsettled him, though he’d never admit it.

The tension broke when the other boy chuckled.
“Chill. For outsiders, Ciran doesn't ’t even exist anyway.”

“Pfffft.”

“Shut up, both of you. Just like your dads.”

“Hey—you can’t say that about them.”

“Why? You feel bad? Remember when I overheard someone say the twins disappeared? When they married—to famous men like Uncle Crazy Rick and Mr. Rauman—and nobody even knew who their husbands are? The funniest part was… my dads were sitting right there, sipping tea, and they just nodded and said, ‘Yeah, the twins disappeared a long time ago.’”

That broke them completely. Iltae's laughter erupted on the line.
“Oh God—that’s hilarious.”
“I’ve heard so many times that Tarten doesn’t even have kids—HAHAHA—”

“Pffft—hahahahaha—”

“Jehannn!” Ciran snapped, voice sharp. “Didn’t I tell you to stop fooling around with him?”

“I’m sorry—” Jehan tried to smother his grin behind his hand, shoulders still shaking. “But Hyung's lines were too funny.”

“You know Jehan,” “On Ciran's birthday, people were asking each others which one of us is Tarten’s young master.”

That set him off again, laughter spilling uncontrollably.

“Shut the fuck up, both of you—you damn pig!”

“I’m missing my Ling Ling… I miss him so much, guys, help me,” Iltae sighed dramatically.

“You bastard,” Ciran snapped. “You don’t even know his name, nor which room he stayed in. You sent my butler there. You should just go fuck yourself.”

Jehan smirked. “Even your swearing sounds cute.”

“Shut your mouth Jehan,” Iltae shot back. “And you, brat—why would I fuck myself when I already have Ling Ling?”

“I’m just worried about that boy,” Ciran muttered.

“Pfffft,” Jehan snorted, trying not to laugh. “Same here. Poor him.”

Before their banter could go any further, the mansion’s alarms shrieked through the night.

Ciran froze, eyes flicking toward the forest, the iPad slipping from his hands. Chaos broke out below—the heavy doors flew open and Chirs and Richard rushed into the garden while Carlo silently drew his gun.

“What happened?” Richard asked.

“Mr. Tarten someone tried to get inside!” a guard shouted back.

Armed men charged toward the trees. Chris vaulted onto his horse in a single motion, while Richard cut to the right, throwing a sharp glance toward Ciran.

“Go to your room. Ciran.”

Ciran obeyed, retreating upstairs. From the balcony he watched, tense, while Carlo stood beneath, weapon raised.

“Shoot on sight!” the command tore through the air, and gunfire cracked into the forest. Nothing answered. No movement—only silence swallowing the trees.

“Open the gate,” came the next order.

Chains clinked as the massive iron barrier creaked apart. Chris urged his horse forward, ready to push into the dark, but a hand stopped him. Richard mounted his own horse instead, spurring it into the forest.

The hunt ended quickly. A stray dog lay dead against the electrified fence, its body charred from the current. The security system was merciless: any creature daring to climb or jump was burned alive, the alarms triggered instantly.

The forest settled again. Too quiet.

Everyone eventually returned, convinced no one would dare breach the mansion.

But high above, hidden in the branches of a tall tree, a boy watched in silence. Blood trailed down his arm where a bullet had grazed him, yet his face showed no pain. A pair of binoculars rested in his hand; he lifted them again, focusing on the balcony.

Ciran still stood there, gaze fixed on the dark forest.

"My angel… I’m not surprised. You deserve that level of security. Just look at you—you have no idea what you’ve done to me."

Chapter Text

Jehan and Iltae had been trying to call Ciran, but no one answered.

“Hyung… what if I cut that hand of his, so he can’t draw anymore?” Jehan muttered.

Iltae smirked. “Then I’ll burn the hand for you.”

“Calm down, brat. No one can enter the mansion. The distance to even reach the gates is too far, and the forest itself is untouchable.”

Jehan exhaled, finally easing. “I’m relieved now… But, hyung—why did you say Ciran doesn’t exist?”

“Because it’s true,” Iltae replied casually. “That birthday party you saw? It was the first one the uncles ever organized for him. Only office workers, family, and a few close friends were invited. Ciran was born inside that mansion and raised there. Outsiders don’t even know he exists.”

"Amazing, Hyung."

“Did you notice the main gate?” Iltae asked. “There’s no Tarten crest on it. If anyone searches for the Tarten mansion, they’ll end up at the old estate where the rest of the family lives. The uncles separated from them a long time ago. And Ciran’s cars—none of them carry the family crest. Only the uncles’ cars do. So if Ciran ever goes out, no one recognizes him… unless he introduces himself first. Understand?”

Jehan’s lips curled into a slow grin. “Tch… the hidden prince of the Tartens.”

“Yup, so go sleep, brat. Don’t think too much—call him in the morning.”

“Hyung, I want to come there.”

Iltae sighed. “Fine. If you want to come, then come tomorrow.”

“Why tomorrow?”

“Because Dad, Uncle Richard, and Uncle Rauman are flying to Paris. Something about guns—and there’s a meeting at HQ too. Uncle Chirs and Dad Teaui handle it all through conference.”

“Alright then. Done. Let’s meet tomorrow. Good night.”

“Good night, brat.”

Jehan nodded silently before ending the call.

"Ilay, Rahman, and Richard had their own empires to run, each powerful in its own right. Yet behind the scenes, the three of them were bound by a different kind of partnership—one the world didn’t know about. Together, they dealt in rare weapons, acquiring and trading guns that most collectors could only dream of.
But Raventhium was different. That weapon wasn’t for sale. It belonged solely to them."

Jeaui sat on the couch on his balcony, the place decorated so beautifully it felt like a quiet sanctuary. He heard footsteps approaching and glanced sideways. A hand reached for the doorknob—but before the door could open, a delicate yet firm hand grabbed the intruder by the collar from behind and slammed him against the wall.

Jeaui’s expression returned to its usual calm, and he lowered his gaze back to his book.

Fifteen minutes later, the sound of footsteps echoed again. This time, a small smile curved his lips. Closing the book gently, he looked up just as Rauman stepped inside.

Jeaui rose from his seat out of respect. Rauman sat down on the couch, pulling Jeaui close. One arm wrapped around his waist, the other clasping his soft hand, pressing kiss after kiss onto it without pause.

Downstairs, a girl sat on a chair with her legs crossed. She wore a crisp white shirt with black formal pants, layered with a waistcoat. Two long panels of fabric hung at her sides, completing the sharp look of a perfect butler’s uniform. Black leather heeled boots touched the floor, her hair cropped into a wolf cut at her neck. Light dark circles shadowed her eyes, but the heavy kajal lining made them sharp and piercing. A small pair of golden earrings rested in her ears, and a golden nose pin glinted faintly.

A servant knelt down before her.

“When you came to work, I told you—you’re not allowed upstairs. And yet, your hand was on the doorknob. If Roary hadn’t warned me, you would have already opened Brother Jeaui’s room.”

“I just lost my way, Miss Aarya…” the servant muttered.

She smiled faintly. “Lost your way? How funny. Men are always the same—pathetic, no matter what.”

Her voice dropped lower. “You’ve been watching Brother Jeaui for two days. You think I don’t notice?”

The servant swallowed hard, staying silent.

“Okay then,” Aarya leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. “Let me ask you—do you even know who Mr. Jeaui is?”

“Yes, Miss Aarya… you always call him Brother, so of course he must be your brother. That’s why you’re so angry,” the servant said nervously.

Aarya burst into laughter, the sound sharp and mocking. She kicked him down, pressing her heel against his neck.

Suddenly, a massive eagle swooped in from nowhere and perched on her shoulder.

“Wrong,” she hissed, her smile wicked. “He’s not my brother. He’s Mr. Rahman’s husband.” She laughed again, louder this time. “How naïve you are.”

The servant’s face went pale. “What…?” He was completely shocked—being new, he had no idea of the true ties in this house.

“So,” Aarya whispered coldly, her heel digging into his skin, “tell me what you really want from him.”

“Nothing, Miss Aarya!” the servant panicked. “I thought he was your brother… I’ve never heard him speak, so I assumed he was mute. I only wanted to give him flowers—he always looks toward the garden. I swear, I had no bad intentions.”

Finally, Aarya lifted her heel. Her voice cut sharp and final.

“This is why I hate men. You’re all so annoying. And hear me clearly—I won’t repeat myself again. This part of the villa belongs to Brother Jeaui and the young master. You step here again, you won’t walk out.”

“You said you hate men, but you’re still serving them,” the servant whispered, his voice trembling.

Aarya pressed her heel harder against his chest, eyes sharp and cold. “Some men are different,” she said, her tone cutting like a blade. “They carry one ability only—the ability to provoke women and get beaten for it just like you.”

He gasped, struggling for breath.“I never saw them as ordinary men. I’ve always worshipped them—Brother Jeaui, Mr. Rahman, and both young masters.”

Her lips curled into a faint, dangerous smile, but her heel didn’t move.

She turned her gaze toward the eagle perched on her shoulder.

“Azaar, if you ever see him here again, tear him apart without hesitation with those sharp claws of yours.”

The massive bird let out a piercing cry in agreement.
“Good girl,” Aarya whispered, stroking its feathers.

The eagle was enormous, its talons like blades—so sharp that if it descended upon anyone, survival would be nothing more than an illusion.

A Little Flashback of Aarya

Jehan was fifteen when Jeaui decided to take him to the night market. The market was famous, held only once a year, and the streets brimmed with life, lanterns, and voices.

Rauman wasn’t with them that evening—just Jeaui, Jehan, their driver, and four bodyguards in a black open jeep.

They spent hours walking among the crowded stalls, and when it was time to return, the car stood waiting in front of a narrow alley. The bodyguards were distracted, carrying Jehan’s shopping bags, when suddenly a girl stumbled out of the shadows.

Her clothes were torn, blood streaking her skin, her braid disheveled as she ran desperately. Five men followed close behind. She fell, scraped her knees, but forced herself back up. Breathless, terrified, she caught hold of Jeaui’s shawl.

“Brother, please… help me.”

Jeaui turned, his pale features shadowed beneath the dim light. Frail by nature, he often covered himself with a shawl to protect against the cold. Without hesitation, he unwrapped it and draped it over the trembling girl’s shoulders.

“What happened to you?” Jeaui’s voice was calm.

Before she could answer, a muscular man emerged, seizing her braid and yanking her back. The girl cried out in pain.

“Let her go.”

“Who the hell are you? She’s mine!” the man growled.

“I said—remove your filthy hands from her.”

“And if I don’t? What will you do?” the man sneered.

Jehan, who had been standing at his side, stepped forward without hesitation. With a swift movement, Jehan kicked the man squarely in the chest, then seized his arm and twisted it until the crack of bone echoed through the alley.

“If my father says let her go,” Jehan said coldly, “then you let her go.”

The man collapsed, screaming. At once, one of the guards lifted the girl into his arms, carrying her gently to the car and seating her beside Jeaui. The others managed to capture two of the assailants, while three slipped away into the night.

The girl had already collapsed, her head resting weakly against Jeaui’s shoulder.

When the car stopped at the villa, the guards carefully lifted her out, while Jeaui stepped down, holding Jehan’s hand.

Two of the captured men were thrown out of the jeep onto the ground. One of them staggered to his feet and began shouting.

“Mr. Jeaui, where should I take her?” a guard asked.

“Take her to the guest room and call the doctor,” Jeaui replied softly.

“Got it, Mr. Jeaui.”

The man on the ground roared in rage, spitting blood.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, interfering in my business, you bastard? I bought her! I spent money on her—she’s mine!”

Before he could say more, the butt of a rifle cracked against his mouth.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” the guard growled, pressing the steel cold against his jaw. Blood dripped down the man’s chin as he whimpered.

The air grew heavier. A deep voice came from inside.
“What happened, Jeaui?” Rahman stepped out, cigarette balanced between his fingers, his presence cutting through the tension.

Jeaui turned, taking a deep breath.

“Nothing. You were right, Rauman—some people need… treatment. Can you send them to prison for me? And make sure they never see the sunlight again for the rest of their lives.”

Rauman exhaled smoke slowly, the ember of his cigarette glowing in the dark. A faint smirk curved his lips.

“As you wish, Jeaui.”

The girl lay motionless on the bed, her breathing shallow as the doctor examined her fragile body. Jeaui sat silently at her side, his shawl still covering her, while Rauman had already dispatched men to hunt down those who managed to escape.
The doctor’s hands moved carefully, his expression grim.

“Someone beat her brutally… her back is full of wounds ” he muttered, gently cutting away the iron chains that bound her wrists. The girl had somehow managed to snap them halfway, but the cold cuffs still clung to her small, bruised feet.

He sighed as he applied medicine.

“She will regain consciousness within an hour, Mr. Jeaui.”

Jeaui gave a silent nod. His lips pressed together as he took the jar of ointment with trembling fingers. He lingered by the bedside for a moment, then quietly rose and stepped out of the guest room.

The night air was cool. Standing alone in the corridor, Jeaui lifted his gaze to the moon. Its pale light brushed across his face as he stood there in silence—waiting… waiting for the girl to wake.

A servant approached quietly, bowing his head.

“Mr. Jeaui, I’ve prepared every kind of food for the girl—fast food, home dishes, the kind children usually like. Should I bring it to her?”

Jeaui only nodded.

Ten minutes later, a trolley with three tiers of food rolled into the room. The girl stirred awake at last, blinking faintly. Jeaui was seated beside her, silent and watchful.

“What is your name?” he asked softly.

“Aarya,” she whispered.

“Aarya…” Jeaui repeated, his lips curving gently. “Such a beautiful name.”

He rose and unfolded a small table, setting it carefully over her lap. Plate by plate, he placed food in front of her.

“This food… for me?” she asked with hesitation.

“Yes,” Jeaui replied simply.

Timidly, Aarya picked up a sandwich and began to eat. Just then, Rauman entered the room. The moment her eyes landed on him, she froze, lowering the sandwich back onto the plate.

“Jeaui, I sent them away,” Rauman said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Jeaui murmured, though he did not meet his gaze.
Turning back to the girl, he softened his voice.

“Aarya, you don’t need to be afraid of him. He’s my husband. Eat as much as you want.”

He placed another plate before her—fried chicken this time.
Her eyes widened. “Why are you giving me chicken, brother? Chicken is so expensive.”

“…Expensive?” Jeaui was startled, but he quickly smiled through the ache in his chest. “Yes… you’re right, it is expensive. But you can eat it. It’s for you.”

She lowered her gaze. “Thank you, brother.”

Jeaui looked at Rauman, eyes brimming with tears. The pain inside him was unbearable.

“Aarya… can you tell me what happened to you?”

The little girl nodded, her voice trembling.
“My parents sold me to ten men because they were poor… they needed money for my brother. I cut one of their hands and escaped. I was starving. They only gave me one bread a day. Those men you saw—I asked them for food and help, but they tried to take advantage of me. So I ran away again.”

Jeaui’s hand trembled as he clutched Rauman’s kurta.

“How many days… were you with them, Aarya?”

“I’ve been running for one month,” she whispered.

Jeaui rose and forced a smile for her.
“Eat as much as you want. All this food is yours. And sleep peacefully tonight.”

When he stepped out of the room, Rauman followed. Jeaui suddenly turned and clung to him, hugging him tightly. His shoulders trembled. The man who always smiled now wept openly.

“There’s so much pain out there, Rauman… so much…”
Rauman pressed his hand against the back of Jeaui’s head, holding him steady.

“What if… what if I wasn’t there?” Jeaui’s voice cracked.

“You were there,” Rauman whispered firmly. “She’s here. Stop crying, Jeaui… you’re hurting me.”

On Jeaui’s wish, Rauman passed a new bill the very next day—reducing food prices across his territory, so no child would starve the way Aarya once did.

That night, in another room, Jehan was rolling across his bed, during a video call.

“Lil bro, I missed you!” his hyung laughed through the screen.

“Hyung, we talked in the morning!” Jehan chuckled.

“I know. But guess what, lil bro?”

“What?”

“I’m coming to Riyadh. I’ll land straight into your arms tomorrow morning—my exams are finally over!”

Jehan jumped in excitement. “Hyung, come fast!”

“Wait for me tomorrow, around nine… on the rooftop.”

The next morning, Jehan stood on the tall rooftop, the early sun brushing gold across the city. His heart pounded in anticipation.

Then—whup, whup, whup—the heavy thrum of helicopter blades filled the sky. He shielded his eyes, looking up.
From the open door, a familiar voice shouted against the roaring wind—

“JEHAN! MY LIL BRO!”

Jehan’s chest tightened with joy.

“HYUNG!” he, stretching out his arms wide.

Before the helicopter even touched the ground, Iltae leapt out, landing straight into Jehan’s waiting arms. The impact made them both laugh, breathless but overflowing with relief.

“Perfect timing, hyung,” Jehan grinned. “It’s exactly nine.”

Iltae tightened his hold, his voice steady and sure.

“I told you… I never lie to you.”

That evening, Aarya sat in front of the mirror, struggling with her tangled hair. It was long, but years without care had left it glued together in rough knots. As her small hands shook, she remembered how those men had once yanked her hair and beat her until she collapsed. Her throat tightened. She picked up a pair of scissors and lifted them toward her strands.

A calm voice interrupted her.

“You’ll ruin your hair like that, little girl. Go to a salon.”

She turned sharply. Iltae was sitting casually on the window ledge, blowing a bubblegum bubble that popped with a soft snap.

“I don’t like my hair,” she muttered.

Before Iltae could reply, Jehan came running in, breathless.
“Hyung! Let’s go, the car’s ready. Manager’s waiting!”

Iltae’s gaze flicked back to Aarya. “Who’s this little girl?”

Jehan tugged at his sleeve. “She’s Aarya. She’s thirteen… and she’s our guest.”

“Guest?” Iltae jumped down from the window, landing lightly. Without hesitation, he took Aarya’s hand.

“Then let’s go to the salon. They’ll give you a proper haircut.”
Jehan grabbed her other hand, grinning. “Hyung’s right, come on!”

Before she could protest, the two of them dragged her out of the room, their energy overwhelming her hesitation. At the salon, Iltae leaned back in the chair, pointing to her reflection.

“Wolf cut. Her hair’s bouncy—it’ll suit her.”

Aarya’s eyes widened. “But… I don’t have money, young masters.”

Iltae and Jehan smirked at the same time, pulling out their cards.

“Relax, little girl. We’ve got this,” Iltae said.

“I’ll pay,” Jehan cut in quickly.

“Move, brat. I’m the elder, so I’ll pay,” Iltae pushed him aside.

“No! Take mine!” Jehan shoved his card forward.

Iltae narrowed his eyes. “If you take his card, I’ll beat you up.”

The staff couldn’t help but laugh as the two brothers argued, pulling each other back and forth, while Aarya sat frozen in the chair—torn between tears and a smile for the first time in so long.

Flashback end

Chapter Text

The next day, two helicopters touched down at Area A-20, Dresden.

Engines roared as dust scattered across the landing zone, and two sleek black cars waited nearby.

Jehan stepped out first, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings. Beside him, Iltae adjusted his coat, his expression unreadable.

From the line of waiting men, a boy about Iltae’s age stepped forward. He offered a polite smile and extended his hand.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Andrew.”

Before his fingers could even brush Jehan’s, Iltae moved. His kick landed squarely on Andrew’s leg, sending him stumbling back.

Andrew hissed and glared up at him. “What the hell is wrong with you, psychopath?”

“You useless hacker,” Iltae muttered coldly. “You still haven’t found that boy.”

Andrew’s jaw tightened. “I’m done with you. I won’t work under you anymore.”

Iltae’s lips curled into a dangerous smirk. “Say it again.” His voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “Bastard, I gave you extra money, didn’t I?”

Andrew shot back, frustration spilling out. “You only told me he has blue eyes! How am I supposed to track someone with just that? At least give me a photo if you want results. What kind of freak are you?”

“He’s right, hyung,” Jehan cut in calmly, breaking the tension before it escalated further. He turned to Andrew. “Check this area’s surveillance for me. Can you do that?”
Andrew sighed, pulling a laptop from his bag. “Yeah, I can.”

His fingers danced over the keyboard, pulling up a series of surveillance feeds. Together, they scanned the screens.

Ciran and Carlo appeared several times, but the boy’s face was always hidden beneath a mask or a cap—impossible to identify.

“If I see him again, I’ll contact you,” Andrew muttered. His eyes darted toward Iltae with clear irritation. “Just… save me from this psychopath in the meantime.”

Iltae leaned forward, his voice calm but venomous. “You have a few months. If you can’t find him, I’ll go to China myself. But I won’t let him go.”

“You’re insane. Only God can save that boy from you now. He just bumped into you, for heaven’s sake. Forget about him.”

Iltae’s gaze hardened, his words cutting like steel.
“Do your work properly this time, Andrew… or you’re dead.”

“We’re going to a hotel. Come with me.”

“Which hotel?”

“Shut your mouth and come with us,” Iltae said, already sitting in the car.

Jehan was still staring at the surveillance footage on laptop, but he couldn’t find anything.

Meanwhile, Iltae's phone buzzed with a message.

@Meimei: Hey.

@IltaeRgrw: Hey, Cattie. What’s up?

@Meimei: Your phone is right in your hand.

@IltaeRgrw: Yup. What are you doing?

@Meimei: Nothing, just studying. I saw your reply. What about you?

@IltaeRgrw: Searching for my dream boy.

@Meimei: Man, I’m so interested in your love story. Don’t forget to tell me when you find him.

@IltaeRgrw: I’ll tell you when I find him. I’ll text you later—I’m busy, bye.

@Meimei: Bye.

They arrived at the hotel where Xinyu had once stayed. Standing at the reception desk, Iltae leaned forward.

“Excuse me, can you show us the records? We’re searching for someone.”

The receptionist shook her head apologetically. “I’m really sorry, sir, but I can’t give out records like this.”

Andrew stepped forward, flashing his ID card. “Andrew Millar, T&R. You can show us. We’re searching for someone—it’s important.”

“Wait,” Iltae stopped him. “I forgot the room number. Andrew stay here —we’re coming back after check the room number.”

While Andrew remained downstairs at the reception, Iltae, Jehan, and a young woman headed upstairs. Andrew leaned closer to the manager and whispered in her ear, “That grey-haired one is a psychopath. He won’t leave until you show him something. Please, just give me the September records—we’ll go after that.”

“I understand, sir,” the manager replied quietly.

Meanwhile, Iltae stood before Room 506.

“This is the one,” he murmured.
The girl reached into her pocket, pulling out a key. “No one’s been here since then,” she said softly, unlocking the door.
As soon as Iltae stepped inside, he froze. The air was thick with something only he could sense. His eyes closed, his chest tightening. “I can smell him…” His voice was barely a whisper. “I can feel him.”

Xinyu’s presence still lingered in every corner of the room, faint yet undeniable. Iltae’s knees weakened. Dizzy, he pressed a hand against the wall, his breath shallow. “I miss him, Jehan… I miss him…” His words broke as he collapsed, losing consciousness.

“Hyung!” Jehan caught him just in time, pulling his weight against his shoulder. He patted his Hyung's face gently. “Hyung, Hyung! Miss, water—quickly!”

“Yes, sir!” The girl rushed forward with a glass.
Jehan sprinkled the water over Iltae’s face. Slowly, his lashes fluttered, his breathing steadied. He opened his eyes, pale but a little stronger than before.

Jehan let out a shaky breath of relief. “Are you okay now?”

yeah

Andrew came with the records in his hand. “Here,” he said, when he saw Iltae slumped on the bed. “What happened to him?”

Jehan glanced up. “Don’t know. He suddenly felt dizzy and collapsed. He’s fine now.”

Andrew opened the file. “This room was booked under Felix. And the one next to it—Room 505—was booked by Tian Hao. You said his bodyguard called him Mr. Ling, right? Ling is a Chinese surname. I’m sure his name is Ling Tian Hao.”

Iltae sat up slowly, raking his fingers through his hair. His voice was low, dangerous. “Andrew… before I show you my true colors, find him. At any cost. I want him.”

He threw himself back on the bed, burying his face in the pillow. His voice cracked into a whisper, trembling with longing. “My Ling Ling…” He inhaled sharply, clutching the pillow as if it still carried a trace of Xinyu.

Andrew stood there, watching in silence. A bitter thought crossed his mind. I shouldn’t have joined T&R. Dad was right… all the Reigrows are psychopaths.

“Hyung, we should leave. We’re getting late,” Jehan said softly.

“You go,” Iltae replied, lying back on the bed. “I’ll stay here for a while. I’m fine—don’t worry about me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Iltae whispered, eyes closing as he inhaled the lingering scent in the room. “I just… want to sleep with his presence.”

Jehan studied him for a moment, then nodded. “As you wish, hyung.”

He pulled out his phone and dialed. “Hello, Carlo.”

“Yes, young master?”

“Can you bring Ciran to my villa, on the rooftop? I’ll be there within thirty minutes.”

“Got it, young master.”

Carlo ended the call and made his way to Ciran’s room.

Knock, knock.

“Young master,” Carlo said from outside.

“Yes, Butler?”

“Young master Jehan is calling you.”

At the mention of his name, Ciran’s face lit up. “Jehan? He’s here?”

“He’s arriving at his villa. We should head there too—it will take twenty minutes.”

Ciran hurried to his feet, snatching his long coat in his rush. Without another word, he followed Carlo, heart racing, as they set out for the villa.

Carlo stopped the car in front of a towering villa, its walls casting long shadows in the evening light. Ciran leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the nameplate gleaming on the wall.

Mr. Rahman
Mr. Jeaui Rahman

His eyes lingered. “Mr. Rahman used to live here?”

“Yes, young master,” Carlo replied respectfully. “Mr. Rahman—or Mr. Riegrow—stayed here with Mr. Jeaui and Mr. Taeui before their marriage.”

“How sweet…” Ciran whispered, his voice soft as he looked around. His footsteps slowed as he crossed the threshold, absorbing every detail of the place with quiet wonder.

“This way, young master. We have to go to the rooftop.”

Ciran gave a small nod, wordless but attentive, and followed.
Ten minutes later, the sharp thrum of helicopter blades broke the silence. Wind roared across the rooftop, tugging violently at Ciran’s hair and whipping the long coat draped over his shoulders.

The helicopter touched down, its doors opening with a hiss. Jehan stepped out, carrying a small bag in one hand. He slipped his sunglasses off, his sharp gaze immediately falling on Ciran—who was waiting with a faint smile curving his lips.

“This is for you.” Jehan extended the bag.

Ciran accepted it, glancing down curiously. “What is this?”

“Chocolates,” Jehan said simply.

Ciran lowered his lashes, his bangs brushing against his eyes. He held the bag delicately in one hand, while the other clutched his coat to keep it from flying away in the restless wind.

Jehan’s gaze softened. He raised his hand slowly, almost hesitant. “May I?”

Ciran met his eyes, then gave the smallest nod.
With gentle fingers, Jehan brushed aside the strands falling across his face, tucking them neatly behind his ear. For a moment, the noise of the blades faded, and all that remained was the quiet weight of their closeness.

“You’re here suddenly,” Ciran said, surprise flickering in his eyes.

Jehan slipped his sunglasses into his pocket, his voice low. “Yeah. I came here for work. Don’t tell anyone. Keep it wrapped.”

Ciran gave him a firm nod, lips pressing together in quiet agreement.

After a pause, Jehan tilted his head. “Ciran, what happened yesterday? When we were on the phone, I heard gunshots.”

“Oh, that.” Ciran’s tone was casual, almost dismissive. “A stray dog tried to enter the forest. Dad thought someone was there and… started shooting.”

Jehan frowned. “A stray dog? Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Ciran replied quickly. “Dad saw it with his own eyes.”

Jehan studied him, not convinced. His voice dropped lower, sharper with concern. “Ciran… you should tell uncles about that painting. What if someone is really stalking you?”

But Ciran only shook his head, eyes lowering. “I think it was just a coincidence. It’s not a big deal.”

Jehan’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. The sound of the helicopter blades still echoed in his ears, but louder than that was the unshakable feeling that something wasn’t right.

“Ciran, as you wish,” Jehan said quietly, his tone softer now. “But at least tell me and Hyung. Don’t hide things from us.” He reached out, resting his hand gently on Ciran’s head. “Share with me every single detail of your life.”

Ciran only nodded, though his gaze lingered on Jehan. He was just a year younger than him, yet Jehan treated him like a child—protective, just like his dads.

Jehan’s lips curved into a faint smile, but his eyes were still shadowed with worry. “I have to go now. Take care of yourself.”

“I will,” Ciran said, smiling back, though his voice held a quiet plea. “Text me when you arrive.”

Jehan gave a single nod before stepping into the helicopter. The blades roared to life, whipping the air around them, but his gaze never left Ciran. Even as the helicopter lifted off the rooftop, he kept his eyes on him, hand raised in a final wave.
Ciran stood there, watching until the helicopter became a dot against the sky and finally disappeared. His fingers tightened around the bag of chocolates Jehan had given him, as though holding onto more than just the sweets.

-----

The boy with the cap pushed open the door to his private chamber. Inside, five men were at work, their hands shaping white clay with precision. A tall statue stood at the center of the room, nearly complete.

As soon as they noticed his arrival, the workers rose to their feet.

“It’s finished, sir,” one of them said. “Shall we begin the coloring?”

“No,” the boy replied sharply. His eyes never left the statue. “I’ll color him myself. You can leave.”

The men exchanged quick glances but obeyed, filing out of the room one by one. The heavy door shut, sealing the silence.

He stepped closer to the statue—Ciran’s statue. The boy’s fingers brushed over the delicate clay violin, then down to the slender hands frozen mid-song.

“My angel…” he whispered, his voice trembling with obsession. “I’ll color you perfectly. I remember every detail.”
His fingertips lingered on the fragile sculpted fingers before bending down to press a kiss against them. “Now I can touch you.”

A hollow laugh escaped him as his hand rose to caress the clay cheek. “If you ever stood before me in reality, I would die from happiness.”

He kissed the statue’s forehead, eyes closing in a fleeting moment of bliss. Then his tone dropped, filled with hunger and despair.

“When will I be able to touch you for real? To see you up close?” His grip tightened against the statue’s chin. “But you’re locked away in that castle, unreachable. You have no idea how desperate I am… just to look at you once.”

--

Time slipped away like sand through fingers. Six months passed quietly.

In that time, Xinyu and Iltae had grown close—close friends, without even knowing each other’s true selves.
Ciran and Jehan, too, found themselves inseparable. Not a single day went by without them talking.

But in the shadows, the stalker’s obsession with Ciran grew wilder, darker, more dangerous.

One afternoon, Xinyu and Tian Hao stood before the principal’s desk.

“Ling Xinyu, Tian Hao,” the man said, removing his glasses and setting them aside. “You both passed your entrance exams with top marks. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, sir,” they answered in unison.

The principal’s tone softened, though his words carried weight. “There are too many distractions outside, so I’ll tell you here.
Ling Xinyu, you’ve been admitted to Crownleigh University in Dresden, Germany. And Tian Hao, you’ve been admitted to Silvercrest University in Berlin.”

Chapter Text

“What? We’re… not together?” Tian Hao blurted.

The principal shook his head. “No. Tian Hao, your marks were slightly lower than Xinyu’s.”

Xinyu leaned closer, whispering under his breath, “Again Germany? What the hell is going on. I worked so hard just to end up here. I can’t believe it…”

But Tian Hao forced a smile and turned to his friend. “Still… I like Germany. I’m happy. Berlin isn’t far. We can meet easily.”

Xinyu sighed, clutching his report card. “Let’s go home.”
As they left, the principal called out, “Xinyu, thank your father on my behalf for funding our college.”

“Yes, sir,” Xinyu replied politely.

At home, their families were waiting.

“Well, Xinyu?” Yuri asked, stepping forward. “Did you crack your exam?”

Xinyu grinned. “Yeah, Father.”
“And you, Tian Hao?” Yuri turned to him.

Tian Hao handed over his report card. “Very good. I was admitted to Berlin.”
“Germany, huh?” Yuri’s lips curved in approval. “Not bad.”

But Xinlu, who had been signing papers at his desk, suddenly stopped mid-stroke. His pen froze, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at Yuri.

Yuri only smiled, though his gaze held its own weight. “Not bad at all.”

At that moment, Xinyu’s phone buzzed with a notification. His lips curved into a small smile as he glanced at the screen.

@IltaeRgrw: Cattie cattie catttie. What’s up?

Xinlu’s voice broke the silence. “Xinyu.”

“Yes, Father?”

“You’ve been chatting too much lately. I’ve noticed.”

Xinyu quickly straightened, hiding his phone. “Yes, Father. He was just asking about Mei Mei.”

“Stay away from strangers. Especially online.”

“Yes, Father.”

Yuri, sensing the tension, cut in smoothly. “You both should go eat something.”

“Yes, Uncle.”
“Yes, Father.”

The boys left, and silence returned to the room.

Xinlu leaned back in his chair, a cigarette between his fingers. He exhaled slowly, his gaze dark. “Call that principal. That bastard has some personal issues with my little chick.”

Yuri picked up his phone, dialed the number, and then held it out to Xinlu.

The line clicked alive.

“Hello, how are you Xinlu?”