Myun-hyuk didn't hesitate—not even for a breath.
The moment he saw Ajin trembling, her eyes wide and unfocused, he moved straight to her. Seonghee's scream ripped through the hallway the second she looked down at her own swollen wrist, blood beading beneath the broken skin—but Myun-hyuk didn't spare her even a glance.
All he saw was Ajin.
Her breath hitched, shoulders shaking uncontrollably, and before she could collapse, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight against his chest.
"Ajin… hey… it's okay. I'm here. Look at me," he murmured, his voice steady but tinged with panic he struggled to hide.
She clutched the front of his shirt with both hands, as if he were the only solid thing in a world that had suddenly split apart. Her fingers trembled violently, her forehead pressing into him as she tried to breathe.
Behind them, Seonghee was crying—loud, frantic, dramatic—calling his name as if she expected him to turn back.
But Myun-hyuk didn't even flinch.
His hand only moved to stroke Ajin's hair, slow, grounding.
"Let's go," he whispered against the top of her head. "You're shaking too much. You shouldn't stay out here."
He lifted her gently, one arm under her knees, the other steady around her back. Ajin didn't resist—she couldn't. The shock had rooted itself deep inside her, leaving her limp in his hold, her cheek pressed against his shoulder.
As he carried her down the hallway, Seonghee's sobs echoed behind them—sharp, pitiful, and ignored.
Myun-hyuk didn't look back once.
Back in Ajin's Room
He pushed the door open with his shoulder and stepped inside. The room was dim, quiet— a sharp contrast to the chaos outside. He lowered her onto the bed with a slowness that showed how afraid he was of hurting her, even accidentally.
Her fingers were still curled in his shirt, refusing to let go.
"Ajin…" he whispered, leaning closer so she could see only him. "You're safe here. I promise."
He brushed her hair away from her damp forehead, his thumb tracing lightly along her temple. She blinked up at him, eyes glassy, still caught between fear and exhaustion.
"It's okay," he repeated softly, more to anchor her than anything. "I'm not going anywhere."
He sat beside her, one hand resting near her pillow, the other gently holding her wrist to check if she was hurt. His brows pulled together the moment he saw the faint bruise forming from where she'd been grabbed.
A quiet, controlled anger flashed through his eyes.
But when his gaze returned to her face, it softened instantly.
"Ajin… does anything hurt? Can you talk?" he asked gently, leaning closer, voice low and careful—as if the wrong tone might shatter her further.
She swallowed, her lips trembling, trying—but failing—to speak.
Myun-hyuk's heart clenched.
"Don't force yourself," he murmured, pulling the blanket over her and tucking it carefully around her shoulders. "Just rest. I'll stay right here."
He stayed seated, his hand lightly resting over hers, grounding her, calming her trembling breath.
Outside the room, Seonghee's cries faded, but Myun-hyuk didn't move an inch.
At this moment, Ajin was the only one he cared about.
Here is the continued and expanded scene, picking up exactly from your point:
Myun-hyuk didn't spare Seonghee even a glance.
While she screamed, clutching her own scraped arm, tears streaming down her cheeks, he moved only toward Ajin—fast, focused, terrified at how small she looked in that moment.
"Ajin," he called softly.
Her whole body flinched as if the sound of his voice were the only thing tethering her to the present. And then she crumpled into him—fingers trembling, breath uneven, face buried against his chest.
He wrapped his arms around her instantly, fiercely, protectively… as though the world around them didn't exist.
As though Seonghee's wails were nothing but distant noise.
"Breathe," he murmured against the top of her head. "You're safe. I'm right here."
Her fists clutched at his shirt.
He tightened his embrace, ignoring the blood on the floor, ignoring Seonghee crying louder as she realized he wasn't going to look at her—not even once.
He lifted Ajin effortlessly and carried her away, step by steady step, leaving Seonghee behind with shock twisting her face.
Back in Ajin's Room
He laid her down gently on the bed, brushing loose strands of hair away from her damp cheeks.
She stared up at him, eyes unfocused, still shaken.
"I'm fine…" she whispered, though her voice trembled.
"You're not," he answered quietly. "And that's okay."
For a moment neither spoke.
The room was still.
Her breathing slowly leveled out.
But as minutes passed… the silence began to twist differently.
A shadow crossed Ajin's expression.
Something Seonghee had said—those words, harsh and sharp—began creeping back into her mind like poison seeping through cracks.
"She said she knows things about you…" Ajin murmured, voice barely audible.
Her fingers curled tightly into the sheets.
"She looked at me like—like I'm stupid for not knowing."
Her chest tightened.
"Why would she say that? What does she know? What is she talking about?"
Her eyes flicked to Myun-hyuk's face, searching… troubled.
"Is there something about you that I don't know? Something she knows but I don't?"
Her voice wavered.
The fear wasn't from Seonghee anymore.
It was from doubt—a slow creep, colder than anything that happened earlier.
And Myun-hyuk's expression shifted—just slightly—but enough for Ajin to feel it.
Here is the next continuation, fully expanded, emotional, and flowing directly from your last scene.
I will keep the tone intense, atmospheric, and dramatic as you have been building.
Continuation
Time slipped by slowly after Myun-hyuk left Ajin's room in the care of the servants.
He had stayed by her side until her trembling settled, until her breathing softened into the faint rhythm of exhaustion rather than fear. Only then did he force himself to step out—reluctantly, as though every step away from her pulled at something inside him.
Behind the closed doors, the servants tended to Ajin, wiping her tears, adjusting her blankets, whispering soft reassurances.
But even in her half-sleep, Seonghee's words crawled beneath her skin like cold fingers.
"I know about him. I know what he did… I know what he is."
At first Ajin had pushed it away, her mind too overwhelmed by the blood, the shouting, the shock.
But now—now that everything was quiet—those words slithered back in, whispering at the edges of her thoughts.
Her brows knit even in sleep.
Her breathing stuttered.
She turned to her side, clutching the sheets.
Something inside her whispered:
"What does Seonghee know?
What truth is she talking about?
What secret of Myun-hyuk?"
And the fear she had tried to suppress began to spread again, this time silent and cold.
Jao leaned against the cold stone wall of the quiet alley, hidden in the shadow of the tall buildings that framed the city. From here, he could see him—his younger brother—walking down the street, unaware of the eyes that followed every step.
The boy had grown taller, stronger, but there was still a fragility in his movements, a carefulness born from years of fear. Jao's chest tightened, a familiar ache he had carried for years resurfacing. He hadn't approached, hadn't intervened. Not yet. Not now.
There was a part of him that wanted to rush forward, to wrap his brother in his arms and never let him face the world alone again. But another part—calculated, protective—knew that stepping into the light too soon could bring more danger, more attention. Sometimes, watching from afar was the safest way to guard someone.
His eyes never left the boy, tracing the familiar gestures—the way he paused at a corner, the way he clutched his bag tightly, the subtle glances around as though the city itself carried shadows of the past.
Jao's mind drifted back to that night, the blood, the screams, the father they had lost but could never escape. He had killed to save them both, yet the consequences had left his brother alone, left him carrying a burden he couldn't fully understand. And even now, years later, the world still demanded vigilance.
He remained in the shadows, silent and unseen, his heart heavy with both love and guilt. He would continue to watch, continue to protect, even if it meant never stepping into the same space as his brother.
Because some truths were too dangerous to confront directly.
And some bonds—stronger than blood—were guarded most carefully from the shadows.
As the boy disappeared into the crowd, Jao's grip tightened on the edge of the wall. His mind was resolute.
I will always watch over you. Always. Even if you never know I'm here.
Jao's thumb hovered over his phone as it buzzed insistently in his pocket. The screen lit up: "Ajin".
His heart skipped a beat. He hadn't expected her to reach out—not after all the chaos, the distance, the secrets. But something about the urgency in her call sent a jolt through his chest.
He answered immediately, voice low and controlled. "Ajin… what's wrong?"
Her voice came through, trembling but edged with a cold, sharp undertone he didn't recognize.
"Jao… I… I was attacked," she gasped. "Seonghee—she somehow… she tried to kill me."
Jao's grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles turning white. Every instinct in his body screamed to act, to vanish into the streets and make his way to her, to protect her. He could hear her trembling breaths over the line, the faint background noise of chaos, maybe screams or movement from servants.
"Where are you?" he demanded, his voice dangerously low.
"Villa… Italy… Myun Hyuk's place," she said, her voice faltering slightly, but with a strange composure that only Ajin could carry. "She… she came at me by the pool… knife…"
Jao's chest tightened even further. Images flashed in his mind: Ajin's poised, ruthless elegance in the face of danger, her calculating every movement, but still… she had been vulnerable.
"Stay calm," he said firmly, suppressing the surge of anger boiling inside him. "Tell me exactly what happened. Where are you now?"
"I… I'm fine," Ajin said, almost mockingly. "I… handled her. But… she knows things about Myun Hyuk… about the villa… about me. I need to—"
Jao's mind raced. Handled her? His protective instincts screamed that she was minimizing the danger, but knowing Ajin, she could very well have turned the tables. Still, the thought of her in danger, the potential for blood, risk… it made his stomach twist.
"Don't move. Don't touch anything. Stay where you are," he ordered, his voice calm but firm. "I'll figure out the rest. I'll handle her. You just… breathe. Keep your wits."
Ajin let out a small, almost amused laugh. "You always sound like my older brother… always ready to save me. But sometimes, Jao… I like to see if you really can."
The words sent a shiver down his spine—not from fear, but from the complicated knot of emotions he had long tried to bury. Ajin, ever teasing, ever bold, even in danger, had a way of cutting through the walls he had built around his heart.
"Keep your mind on surviving, not teasing," he said, voice gruff. "I'll call you back in five minutes. Don't do anything reckless."
As he ended the call, Jao's eyes hardened. Seonghee had crossed a line. She had attacked Ajin, threatened the fragile thread of her safety—and by extension, he felt, his own sense of duty reignited.
His brother's past, the chaos of their childhood, the killings, the secrets—they had all prepared him for this moment. And now, across continents, a storm was rising.
Jao didn't hesitate. He pulled out his keys, slammed the ignition in his car, and started moving. Every second counted, and he wouldn't let Ajin face this danger alone.
Because he had always protected those who mattered.
And Ajin… mattered more than he could admit, even to himself.
Jao's jaw tightened as he ended the call with Ajin, his fingers clenching the phone like it might shatter under the force. Anger roared in his chest, hot and relentless. How dare Seonghee—someone so small, so insignificant in his eyes—threaten Ajin, attack her with a knife, try to harm her beauty, her life, her hard-earned peace?
He slammed the car door and paced for a few moments, his mind a storm of fury and calculated strategy. There was no room for hesitation. No room for errors.
And just as he was about to move toward the villa himself, a convoy of police cars arrived, lights flashing, engines humming with authority. Officers in uniform moved quickly, professional and precise.
Seonghee was caught off guard. She had expected Ajin to fend for herself, or maybe even Myun Hyuk to intervene—but not the law. She struggled, her face twisted in rage, her hands clawing at the air as officers restrained her.
"Seonghee Kim, you are under arrest for assault and attempted murder," the lead officer said firmly.
Jao stepped forward, his presence commanding attention even without the badge or uniform. "Make sure she's taken away properly. I don't want her released on bail again," he said, voice low and dangerous, the kind that made grown men step back.
The officers nodded, quickly securing Seonghee and escorting her into a waiting vehicle. Her screams echoed for a moment, sharp and bitter, before fading as the car doors slammed shut.
Jao exhaled slowly, his anger still simmering but tempered by relief. The immediate threat to Ajin had been neutralized.
He leaned against the polished marble railing, thinking of Ajin lounging by the pool just hours ago—graceful, composed, untouchable. Even if she could defend herself, she shouldn't have to. Not ever again.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it for a moment, letting the adrenaline ebb. When he finally glanced, it was a message from Ajin:
"I see. Well done, big brother. Seems you still know how to handle things."
Jao smirked, despite himself. There was a dark satisfaction in knowing justice had been served. But more than that, he felt the protective bond tighten around him like armor.
Seonghee would face the consequences, the law would hold her accountable—but Jao knew this: anyone who dared threaten Ajin again would find themselves facing him first, before the world even had a chance.
Because for Jao, some things weren't just about rules or laws. They were about family. And Ajin, whether she realized it or not, was under his protection now—safe from enemies, safe from shadows, and most importantly, untouchable to those who dared challenge her.
The funeral was solemn, drenched in gray skies and muted whispers. Jun-seo bowed his head repeatedly, paying his respects to every visitor who had come to honor his grandfather. Each gesture was careful, measured—respectful, yet restrained. The weight of the day pressed on him, heavy with grief and the quiet tension of family politics.
From the corner of the cemetery, he noticed her: his mother, stepping out of a sleek black car, dressed in clothes that gleamed with wealth and power. Her appearance was sharp, almost theatrical, and she carried herself as though she had walked onto a stage built entirely for her.
Jun-seo's chest tightened. He had expected this—expected her to come flaunting riches, expecting everything to bend to her desires. But he knew the truth.
She approached with that practiced smile, the one that could charm anyone yet hide a thousand schemes. Her eyes flicked over him, over the mourners, with the faintest glint of calculation.
"Jun-seo," she said smoothly, her voice carrying over the quiet murmurs of the crowd. "I see you're doing well… paying respects to your grandfather, I see."
Jun-seo's jaw tightened slightly. He maintained his composure, bowing politely before continuing to greet the others. He let her words wash over him, a reminder of her presence, her greed, and her ambitions.
Inside, she was calculating every angle—assuming that the family fortune, the property, and the wealth accumulated over decades would fall under her control. She didn't know that his grandfather had left explicit instructions.
Jun-seo's eyes caught the family lawyer, standing discreetly nearby, holding the sealed documents of the will. His grandfather's intention had been clear: the estate, the properties, and all assets would pass directly to Jun-seo.
The thought gave him a quiet satisfaction. His mother's expectations would crumble when the inheritance was revealed. Every ounce of her entitlement, every smug calculation, would be met with the reality she hadn't anticipated.
She approached closer, her eyes glinting with ambition. "Jun-seo… I assume everything will eventually come under my name, correct?"
Jun-seo smiled faintly, bowing again, the respect in his posture masking the fire in his eyes. "Mother… everything my grandfather wished, he left for me. The estate, the property… everything. I will honor his wishes."
The smile on her face faltered, though she tried to mask it with charm. The reality of the situation hadn't yet fully hit her—but it would. And Jun-seo, calm and collected, knew the power of patience.
As the ceremony continued, Jun-seo's heart was heavy with both grief and satisfaction. He mourned the loss of a man who had shaped his life, but he also recognized the quiet triumph of justice—honoring his grandfather's wishes, despite the schemes of those who thought money could bend morality.
Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the faintest promise: some battles are won not with anger, but with foresight. And Jun-seo had plenty of both.