The café smelled of burnt espresso and ambition. Yena Park sat across from Yoochan, her crimson nails tapping the table. She'd chosen a corner booth, shadows draping her like armor.
"You have five minutes," she said, glancing at her diamond-studded watch. "Convince me you're not a delusional child."
Yoochan slid a folder across the table. Inside: FutureTech's projected quarterly losses, leaked military contracts, and a photo of her father's mistress—details no seventeen-year-old should know.
Yena's mask slipped. Just for a breath. "Who the hell are you?"
"The man saving your company." He leaned forward, moonlight catching the Kang crest on his cufflinks. "Joonho's offering 50 billion won. I'll double it."
"With what? Your allowance?"
"With the fact that Joonho's drones will fail their safety tests next month." Yoochan's smile was razor-thin. "Kang Tech's stock will plummet. My offer's the only life raft you've got."
Yena's phone buzzed. She ignored it. "And why would you sabotage your own family?"
Because they killed me.
"Let's call it… creative differences."
The door chimed. Cold air swept in, carrying bergamot and gun oil.
Yoochan's spine stiffened.
Joonho slid into the booth beside Yena, his smile a predator's grin. "Maknae. Fancy seeing you here."
Yena froze. "Director Kang. I didn't—"
"No need." Joonho waved her silent, eyes locked on Yoochan. "My brother's always been… playful. But business?" He tsked. "A child's game."
Yoochan's pulse roared. He bugged my phone. Or Seojun's.
Joonho flipped open Yoochan's folder. "Cute. Truly." He pulled out the mistress photo, tutting. "Though blackmail's beneath us, don't you think?"
He lit the photo with his Zippo. Flame devoured the paper, casting twisted shadows on Yena's face.
"FutureTech's price just dropped to 30 billion," Joonho said. "Take it, or I leak Park Minjae's indiscretions to the press."
Yena's knuckles whitened. "You're vile."
"Practical." Joonho pocketed the Zippo. "Well, Maknae? Still doubling my offer?"
Yoochan stared at the ashes. His mind raced. The safety tests. The stock crash. All true—but Joonho doesn't know that yet.
He laughed.
Joonho's smirk faltered.
"Hyung-nim's right," Yoochan said, sweeping the ashes into his palm. "Blackmail's crude. But insurance?" He met Yena's gaze. "Your father's mistress is pregnant. A son. Imagine the scandal if he disowns you for a male heir."
Yena inhaled sharply.
Joonho's phone buzzed—a news alert.
KANG TECH DRONES FAIL SAFETY TESTS!
Yoochan grinned. Three weeks early.
Joonho's face drained of color.
"Oops." Yoochan tossed the ashes into Joonho's untouched espresso. "Looks like your stock's the one plummeting."
Yena stood, heels cracking like gunshots. "100 billion. Final offer."
Joonho surged up. "You'll regret this."
"Already do." She tossed her card at Yoochan. "My lawyer's drafting the papers. Don't disappoint me, oppa."
The door slammed behind her.
Joonho grabbed Yoochan's collar, slamming him against the wall. Patrons scattered.
"How?" Joonho hissed.
Yoochan tasted blood. "Lucky guess."
"Bullshit. You've been snooping. Hacking."
"Or maybe…" Yoochan smiled, crimson staining his teeth. "I'm just smarter than you."
Joonho's fist connected with his jaw.
---
Yoochan stumbled into the alley, rain mixing with blood. His phone buzzed—Seojun.
Did it work?
He spat red. Barely.
Footsteps echoed. Joonho's silhouette filled the alley mouth, backlit by neon.
"You're not my brother," he snarled. "You're a ghost. A thing wearing his face."
Yoochan laughed. "Took you long enough."
Joonho lunged. Yoochan ducked, future-memories guiding him—Joonho favors his left hook—and drove his knee upward.
Joonho crumpled, gasping.
"Stay down," Yoochan panted. "Or I'll burn everything you love."
"You'll try." Joonho wiped his mouth, grinning bloody. "But I know your weakness now."
Ice slithered down Yoochan's spine.
"Lee Miyoung." Joonho spat her name like poison. "How long till she 'trips' down the stairs?"
Yoochan froze.
Joonho laughed, crawling to his feet. "Check your phone, Maknae."
A text blinked:
Unknown Number: [Attachment: Miyoung asleep in her bed. A sniper's crosshair over her heart.]
"Tick-tock," Joonho whispered.
---
Yoochan raced through the storm, the mansion gates looming like teeth.
Faster. Faster.
He burst into Miyoung's room. Empty.
"Mother!"
A whimper. The closet.
Miyoung huddled inside, clutching a bloodied letter opener. "He was here. In the walls—"
Yoochan pulled her close. Her sobs shook them both.
Outside, thunder roared.
Or maybe it was the patriarch's laughter.