As Taeyang and Junseo melted into the shadows of the library exit, their phones vibrated again—more messages coming through the encrypted group chat of the seven Kims.
The first was from Hyunsik, the eldest. Would always behave like your old friend but always watching. And would trap you in the cage of his friendly words. But right now, there was nothing feigned about him. This wasn't the friendliness of a negotiator—it was pure brotherhood.
Sik hyung:
Wait—what are you doing there, HJ?! I don't remember any deal scheduled for tonight.
There was no accusation in his tone, but Hyunjae could feel the shift. The subtle demand for answers. The weight of being caught doing something he shouldn't be.
He stared at the screen, fingers lingering above the keyboard for a second longer than usual before replying.
Hyunjae:
We've got more important things to handle right now, SJ. I would accept whatever punishment you decide, after this.
There was no message for a while. Hyunjae stared at his message glowing at him and his smirk had disappeared. But of course no one could see past his guarded demeanor. To the people in the bar, he was the monster to be avoided unless you wished death. Monster in a black mask with RD initials engraved on it in red with a dragon curling around it and a small almost invisible white crown, showcasing their high rank in the syndicate, close to the corner of his left eye. All seven of them wore exactly similar masks. Except Haejoon—being the leader—had a slightly larger white crown.
Then came the inevitable.
Seungho hyung:
Don't let her leave.
Simple. Cold. Final. That was always how Seungho gave orders—like he wasn't just a tech expert but someone who had no time for disobedience.
Hyunjae's jaw tensed. He knew what Seungho really wanted to add. Beneath the words
Don't let her leave was an entire sentence unsent:
"You shouldn't be drinking again, Hyunjae."
But there wasn't time for guilt.
Helena flipped through a magazine like she wasn't infamous. Like half the global underworld didn't whisper her name in fear, and the other half didn't even dare whisper.
Dohyun chimed in next—ever the sniper, not too demanding like other but precise:
Dohyun:
Confirm the visual. Midnight black hair? Approx 5'6"? Slender yet athletic figure?
Hyunjae's eyes flicked towards her.
Below, Haseul's expression never wavered, but she subtly shifted in her seat, letting the shadows wrap tighter around her. Her gaze wandered casually—too casually—across the bar. The exits. The bouncers. Even the barmaid who'd smiled too long.
A calm predator scanning for threats in another predator's den.
And yet she didn't look up.
Didn't see the man whose smile never reached his eyes. Even when she felt it.
Hyunjae:
Confirmed. She's alone. No visible tail. Looks relaxed, too relaxed. Red Blouse. Muddy brown trench coat.
Hyunsik hyung:
Too clean. She never travels without at least one armed woman of hers, the other five. Something's off.
Haejoon hyung:
Have you retrieved the original footage, YG? Send it immediately. No risks with her. Not after last time.
Taeyang and Junseo had just slid into their car when Taeyang spoke without looking away from the road. "She never shows up randomly."
"Which means…" Junseo said, eyes narrowing as he tapped his fingers on his thigh.
"She's not the bait," Hyunsik finished, his voice crackled through the earpiece "She's the trap."
Another message came through, crisp and commanding:
Haejoon:
JS, TY—eyes on every exit. No action until HJ gives a go. We move clean or not at all.
Junseo: Copy that. Five minutes out.
Back at the bar, Hyunjae sipped his water, the taste bitter on his tongue, not from the drink but the pressure pressing down on his spine. His fingers twitched to reach for the glass of whiskey he'd abandoned five minutes ago.
But no.
Not tonight.
Tonight wasn't about escape.
Tonight was about survival.
He watched as Helena crossed her legs slowly, smirking into her glass.
Another ping.
Junseo: We're here.
Taeyang:
Ready when you are, Hj.
Hyunjae exhaled, fingers tightening around his phone.
It was time.
He leaned forward, elbows resting on the carved railing, his usual dangerous flirty demeanor returned.
'So Helena was reckless tonight.
Good.'-Hyunjae thought.
They were about to give her a practical lesson in why people like them could never afford to be reckless—especially not in this line of work. Or so he believed
Half an hour passed.
She sipped her cocktail with measured restraint, ensuring she never drank enough to even approach a state of tipsiness. Her alcohol tolerance was high, but that was hardly the point—she couldn't afford to let her guard down, not in a bar owned by another syndicate.
The drink tasted faintly bitter beneath the sweetness.
Whereas above Hyunjae was swirling his drink, with his gaze fixed on her.
She felt the piercing gaze upon her once more and decided it was best to leave.
"Boss, YG is reconstructing the footage. Move now. He's working on retrieving the real files," Hana's usually cool voice crackled through the comms—laced now with a rare edge of tension.
Helena's brows furrowed—just slightly. Subtle enough to go unnoticed by most. She had suspected Seungho might catch on. But... not this quickly.
And Hana being Hana—she would never leave a digital trace.
Her jaw tightened. The thought clouded her for a flash—'No. It wasn't supposed to unfold like this.'
Unless someone had seen her—with their own damn eyes. Not the civilians; they never dared meet her masked gaze. Not the guards posted outside the bar or tucked in shadowy corners—Haseul had slipped past them like smoke, silent and precise, leaving not a trace behind. No camera, no witness, no mistake. She wasn't the head of the Assassins—that title belonged to Harin—but Haseul had built the foundation Harin stood on. Taught her how to kill before she even knew how to breathe in this underworld. Harin had sharpened those lessons into something deadly, and Haseul? She never needed the credit.
Because Haseul—Helena—was the goddamn boss.
And if someone had still seen her…
There was only one explanation.
One of the Seven was here.
She rose to her feet—not too slow, not too fast. A movement measured. Controlled.
Her task here was done. She had already extracted what she came for.
She was just about to disappear into the shadows when a voice—smooth, dark, and far too familiar—cut cleanly through the noise behind her.
"Well, well… who do we have here?"
Her eyelids snapped shut briefly—annoyance flickering beneath her flawless calm.
Slowly, she turned, meeting a gaze that held far more than just amusement.
Hyunjae's eyes glinted with a predator's hunger, charming and calculating, every inch the notorious dealer whispered about in the city's darkest corners.
"Back off," she warned, her voice low and razor-sharp. "Unless you want to end up tangled in panties instead of bras this time."
A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips—not flirtation, but a warning.
"Dare to, and watch what happens," he murmured, the softness of his voice a thin veil over the warning it carried.
The meaning was clear.
But Helena being Helena thought—
'Pathetic. Did he really try to threaten me? Kids these days' She scoffed inwardly, her eyes cold and calculating.
"Careful there," she murmured, the edge in her voice slicing through the thick air—not an idle threat.
Her eyes flicked subtly around the room, sharp and calculating, tracing every shadowed corner, every possible exit.
Each glance mapped escape routes hidden beneath the noise and chaos—a silent promise to herself: she wouldn't be caught off guard again.
Her eyes caught Hyunjae's gaze flickering to a movement behind her—too subtle for most, but not for her.
In a heartbeat, Taeyang emerged from the shadows, blade gleaming, aimed straight at her stomach—not to kill, but to silence.
Helena spun on her heel just in time, glass of cocktail raised like a shield. The knife smashed into the crystal, shattering with a sharp crash.
The bar erupted—gasps, screams—but the chaos barely rippled through the trio.
"Gentlemen," she said, voice cold steel wrapped in silk, "cornering a woman like this—very uncivilized, don't you think?"
The ruthless boss of Black Panther, feared by half the underworld, had resurfaced now.
Hyunjae's smile twisted—half amusement, half menace—as his gaze sharpened, like a blade ready to strike. His fingers twitched at his side, restless and dangerous.
Taeyang's eyes flickered with grudging lazy respect, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He took a half-step back, but his grip on the knife remained firm.
Helena had no idea what had unfolded in the private group chat. While she played her part—glass in hand—feigning a casual sip. She wasn't aware they had been plotting. But that didn't mean she hadn't guessed by now.
Around them, the bar's noise dimmed, the crowd sensing the electric tension—ready to ignite at the slightest spark.
A shadow shifted near the back exit—too broad to be Taeyang's.
Helena's heartbeat steadied. Her eyes narrowed, calm and deadly, daring them to make the next move.
Suddenly, a pair of powerful arms wrapped around her in a crushing headlock, cutting off her breath.
Without turning behind and with reflex as sharp as a blade, she jabbed a shard of glass into his forearm—pain flared through the attacker, and he loosened just enough.
A sharp breath hissed from her lips as she drove her elbow into his chest, knocking him back.
Junseo staggered, surprised, and released his hold—but his eyes blazed with fierce fire. The legend who had taken down a hundred guards by the age of seventeen, bare-handed, was not to be underestimated.
It might sound outrageous, even unrealistic, but the rumors were true. Years of relentless training—hours on end since he was ten, while other kids were playing and hanging out—had forged him into a fighter who battled every day until he collapsed.
"Bastards," Helena spat through clenched teeth—her voice low, almost dangerously quiet, like a simmering storm barely held back.
"You want it this way?" Her fingers cracked loudly as she tied her hair into a tight bun, focus sharpening like a weapon. "Then you get it this way"
And just like that—the fight ignited. Three against one.