The café was a lie.
From the outside, it looked like any other upscale glass-fronted corner spot — espresso machines humming, soft jazz playing, windows fogged with warmth.
But Haru knew better.
It wasn't a café.
It was a filter.
The kind of place powerful men met behind the illusion of civility.
The kind of place his family used to negotiate ruin.
Haru walked in like he still owned it.
Because technically… his family still did.
The hostess didn't ask for his name. She simply nodded and led him past the cozy booths, down a side corridor, through a locked door with no sign.
A private room.
No windows.One table.Two glasses already waiting.
And one man sitting with his fingers steepled like he was bored of waiting for the storm.
"You got taller," said the man without looking up.
"You got richer," Haru replied. "Not better."
Kwon Jihoon.
Cousin. Twenty-three.Son of the family's most politically connected branch.One of the few people Haru hadn't burned a bridge with — not because he trusted him, but because Jihoon never pretended to be clean.
Jihoon looked up, smiled lazily.
"I see exile hasn't ruined your taste in violence."
"I'm not here for small talk."
"No. You're here because Rae's got his fingers on your girl, and you need leverage."
Haru didn't confirm it.
He didn't have to.
Jihoon poured himself a drink — something golden and too expensive.
Then gestured at the seat across from him.
"Come. Let's talk dirty blood and dirty money."
Haru sat. Stiff. Ready.
"I need access to Rae's financial trail."
"Already risky. He's been covering his footprints for years."
"You owe me."
Jihoon's grin faded just slightly.
"I don't owe you. I remember you. Different thing."
Silence stretched.Thick. Sharp.
Then Jihoon leaned forward, tone lowering.
"You love her?"
"That's not your business."
"It is now," he said. "Because you've made her a target. You think Rae's building a ring for fun? This isn't about blood sport, Haru. It's about influence."
"You think I don't know that?"
"I think you've been acting like she's a shield. She's not. She's a spark in a room full of old gas."
Haru's jaw tightened.
"She didn't ask for this."
"Neither did you. But here we are."
Jihoon pushed a small flash drive across the table.
No ceremony. No threats.
"Everything I could scrape without triggering his eyes. You'll find off-books transfers, encrypted holdings, and one name you won't like."
Haru stared at it.
"Who?"
Jihoon met his eyes, voice flat.
"Minji."
For a second — just one — Haru went still.
The kind of still that came before glass broke.
"She's not just a schoolyard backstabber, Haru. She's a pipeline. She's been feeding Rae data on Aara's moves since before you transferred."
"Why?"
"Because she thought she'd win."
Haru stood slowly.
"This ends."
"Not yet," Jihoon said, swirling his drink. "This is only the opening move. But make it count."
Back at the apartment, later that night
Haru dropped the flash drive on the table.
Aara didn't speak.
She was barefoot again, black sweatpants, hair tied up with a pencil, bruises fading on her jaw like a storm that hadn't passed.
"We have a mole," he said.
She didn't ask who.
Didn't have to.
The name was already in her throat.
"Minji."
She sat down hard.
Not from shock.From fury.
"I told her everything. Not just the fights. About my mom. About my jobs. About—"
"She sold it," Haru said. "All of it. Piece by piece. You were a currency."
Aara looked down at her hands.
Not shaking.
Just cold.
"I didn't see it coming."
"That's not weakness."
"It feels like it."
Haru crouched beside her, voice quieter now.
"You don't get to feel guilty for trusting the wrong person. That's not your sin. That's theirs."
She looked up.
"You still want me in this?"
"I want you to own it."
"And Minji?"
"We burn her.But only when everyone's watching."
That night, they planned.
Not revenge.
Not exposure.
Something worse.
Something that would humiliate Minji in the one place she thought she was untouchable:
Her own social arena.
And Rae?
He'd see it, too.
Not just that Aara couldn't be sold.
But that she'd flip the market just to spite the seller.