Seojoon POV
My phone buzzed again as I walked toward the park, fingers trembling.
"I know what you're up to."
I swallowed hard, my chest tightening.
It wasn't just the message—it was the way the world seemed to tilt beneath my feet.
Every instinct screamed danger, but I kept moving, trying to tell myself it was just paranoia.
The park came into view.
Minji was standing there, waiting.
And beside her… Taejun.
My stomach dropped.
The light glinting off his watch, the way his posture carried calm dominance—it hit me like a punch.
He wasn't angry. Not yet.
He was far worse: calculating.
I froze a few steps away, trying to understand what I was seeing.
"Seojoon." Taejun's voice cut through the air, soft, amused, precise.
I flinched.
He stepped forward, one hand in his pocket, the other brushing lightly over the jacket draped on his shoulder.
"You really thought you could plot behind my back?"
I opened my mouth, then closed it again.
"What… what do you mean?" My voice was quiet, but sharp with disbelief.
Taejun's eyes flicked to Minji.
She didn't look away.
Didn't flinch.
She simply nodded—slow, silent, controlled.
"You," Taejun said, turning back to me, "and she… planning your little revenge?" His smile was faint, almost playful, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"You think you can manipulate me?"
"I… I'm not—" I tried to speak, my throat dry, words sticking.
"—not manipulating?" Taejun's voice was calm, but the edges were sharp enough to cut steel.
He took a step closer.
I instinctively stepped back.
"You really thought I wouldn't know? That Minji wouldn't tell me everything?"
I swallowed, voice trembling. "You… you can't know everything…"
Minji didn't speak. She only held my gaze briefly, her expression unreadable.
Her silence made the world collapse around me.
I had trusted her, shared fragments of my pain, my plan, everything… and now, it felt like the air had been ripped from the space between us.
Taejun chuckled softly, almost mockingly.
"You're still too naive, Seojoon. Still too predictable."
He paused, letting the words hang like smoke.
"I wonder… did you really think you could play games and not be caught? Did you really think I'd let you scheme and plot without consequences?"
My hands clenched into fists.
"I—I don't care about you anymore," I said, trying to sound firm.
The words came out thinner than I expected.
Even to myself, they sounded like lies.
"Oh?" Taejun raised an eyebrow, amused, leaning slightly closer.
"I don't think you understand. This isn't about you. It's about the pieces you think you can move. The game you think you're controlling. It's all… still mine to decide."
I froze.
"What… What do you want from me?" My voice cracked despite my effort to stay steady.
Taejun's smile sharpened.
"You?" He tilted his head. "Nothing… yet. But everything your actions touch—everything you care about—will pass through my hands first. Do you understand?"
I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came.
Minji still didn't say anything.
Just a faint nod.
A single, small motion that made my chest tighten with betrayal and panic.
"You think you can act without consequences?" Taejun continued, voice low, precise.
"The boy, Seojoon. He's precious. Do you understand what I mean by precious?"
My stomach twisted.
I didn't answer.
Couldn't answer.
Minji's gaze flicked to me, then to Taejun.
She didn't speak.
Not one word.
Her silence, calm and deliberate, hit harder than any blow.
"I hope you remember," Taejun said quietly, leaning closer, "who really has control here. Not your plans. Not your revenge. Not your courage. Me."
I swallowed hard, struggling to keep my legs from giving way.
"You—you can't…" I began, voice almost a whisper.
He leaned back slightly, still smiling faintly, still radiating that cold power.
"Can't what, Seojoon? Play your games? Manipulate? Survive? You'll see soon enough. The pieces… are already moving."
I wanted to scream.
To yell. To cry. To punch.
But my body refused.
I couldn't move.
I couldn't speak.
Minji said nothing.
And that silence was louder than any words.
It was permission, betrayal, and warning all at once.
I wanted to run.
I wanted to grab her and demand answers.
I wanted to fight.
But Taejun's presence pinned me in place, his shadow long and suffocating in the fading sunlight.
He took one last step back.
And then—without another word—he walked away.
Minji didn't move.
She just turned her gaze to the horizon, leaving me standing alone.
The air felt thick, the park too quiet, the world too small.
And in that quiet, I realized:
Nothing about this would be easy.
Nothing about him had ever been easy.
And Minji's silence… was a question I didn't yet know how to answer.
I didn't move from the park bench for a long time.
The world continued—children laughing, leaves skittering across the walkway, the distant hum of traffic—but none of it reached me.
Minji's silence had anchored itself in my chest.
Not condemnation.
Not reassurance.
Just… nothing.
I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to steady the trembling inside me.
My mind raced faster than my heart could beat.
She didn't lie… she didn't speak… she just nodded.
Did she betray me? Or is this some trap to protect me?
Every possibility twisted my gut tighter.
Every memory of Taejun—the control, the cruelty, the calm precision—flooded back.
I had underestimated him before.
I wouldn't again.
I opened my eyes. Minji was still sitting there. Silent. Watching the horizon.
I swallowed hard.
"…Minji," I whispered.
No answer.
"…Are you… helping him? Or me?"
Her eyes flicked to me for a fraction of a second.
No words.
Just that calm, unreadable look.
And that faint nod again.
Panic clawed at me.
I wanted answers.
I wanted assurance.
I wanted someone—anyone—to tell me that the world hadn't tilted so completely off its axis.
Instead, I realized: I was on my own.
I clenched my fists.
"I won't let him win," I muttered under my breath.
"I don't care what it takes… I'll fix this."
Minji's gaze softened, though still unreadable.
She didn't say a word.
But somehow, the weight of her silence gave me a strange clarity.
I didn't need her permission.
I didn't need her confirmation.
I needed a plan.
Every small detail, every memory of Taejun's patterns, every error he had made before—they all swirled in my mind.
And I began to map it out.
Slowly. Carefully. Step by step.
I didn't speak.
I didn't look at her.
But I knew she understood: the silence wasn't an agreement. It wasn't betrayal.
It was simply… Let me decide.
"Fine," I whispered, more to myself than to her.
"I'll do this my way."
The sun dipped lower. Shadows stretched long across the park.
I felt the first spark of determination in months—not weak, not pleading, not desperate.
Just fire.
And in that silence, I knew something:
Taejun may control the pieces.
But I would learn how to play the game.
And when I did… he would see that the boy he discarded could rise again.
Minji finally spoke, her voice quiet but firm.
"I won't stop you, Seojoon. But be careful. He will know every mistake you make."
I nodded once.
No words came out.
But the resolve in my chest hardened.
It didn't matter what Taejun thought.
It didn't matter how small or weak I had been.
This time… I wouldn't be powerless.
The park fell into quiet again, the fading sunlight painting long shadows across the path.
And I sat there, hands clasped, heart racing, mind already turning toward the first move in a game that had already begun.
The morning felt heavier than usual.
The city thrummed around me, oblivious to the storm brewing in my chest.
I clutched my phone tightly, staring at Minji's name.
Her silence yesterday had been both a curse and a gift.
She hadn't guided me, hadn't comforted me—but she hadn't stopped me either.
And that meant it was entirely my fight now.
I exhaled sharply and shoved the phone into my pocket.
"The first move," I muttered.
"The first real step."
I knew Taejun's company.
I knew his patterns.
Every week he left traces, made small predictable choices, trusted the wrong people with the right secrets.
I had studied them for months now, quietly, from the shadows, from every corner where I could gather scraps of his empire.
Minji had handed me leads in the past.
Quiet, simple hints, never revealing her full hand.
Yesterday's silence only told me she trusted me to act.
Not because she believed I could win… but because she knew I had to.
I started by contacting one of Taejun's minor partners—someone I had carefully watched stumble under pressure before.
I phrased it casually, neutral, friendly.
Nothing suspicious.
But the questions I asked, the details I collected… they were pieces of a puzzle only I could assemble.
Halfway through the conversation, my hand shook slightly.
Old memories of being powerless surged through me.
But I closed my eyes, pressed my palms against them, and whispered:
Not anymore. Not this time.
When I finished the call, I leaned back in my chair and exhaled slowly.
I felt the first spark of control in years.
Small, fragile, but undeniably there.
Minji was waiting outside when I stepped out.
She didn't speak.
She didn't need to.
Her mere presence was enough to anchor me, to remind me why I was doing this—not for revenge, not just for justice, but for every piece of myself Taejun had tried to erase.
"Do you think you can do it?" she asked quietly, just above a whisper.
I met her gaze, letting my eyes show the fire she couldn't speak for.
"I don't think," I said firmly.
"I know your capability to protect your son."
What did she mean about that. My heart sting hearing it.
Minji's lips curved into the faintest smile.
And then, just like that, she turned and walked away.
Her silence still held more weight than any advice, any words could.
I watched her go, then turned back toward the street, toward the city, toward Taejun's empire.
Every step I took from that moment onward was deliberate.
Every choice, careful.
Every plan, calculated.
The first move had been made.
And Taejun—he wouldn't know what hit him until it was too late.
But the fire in my chest reminded me of one truth:
This wasn't just a game.
This was war.
And I had waited too long to start losing.