Somewhere in Russia........

Thud.. thud.. thud. in the middle of a large conference hall was the only striking sound could be heard. As the horror was among the man's which were sitting around the table as the sounds only intensified. Each man at the table had blood on his hands-some still wet, other's dried over years of ruthless ambition.

In the middle of chaos was sitting a man or rather the cause of chaos. His man's were all around the conference room keeping every one hostage. While one of his man was cutting the fingers of a man brutally. The screams of the man were echoed around the hall, but for him it was like a melody to ears.

As the man sitting in the middle of chaos, was inhaling his Gurkha Royal Courtesan cigar, the puffs of the cigar was exhaling from his mouth, were creating a gloomy but a very Terrifying Aura around him. His eyes sharp and collective staring at the seen in front of him.

Just then in the quiet room where the only sounds of the man screaming in pain could be heard, came a snapping sound of finger.

His man who was about to cut the last 9th, finger halted when he heard the sound of snap. Everyone's attention went towards the man sitting in the middle.

The man stood up exhaling sharply, watching the smoke curl into the air, and crushed the million dollars cigar beneath his boots, grinding it into the spotless tiles.

He stepped towards the man who was whimpering in pain. His movements were deliberate, exuding calm control.

"Tch.. pathetic." His voice was low. The room fell into an uneasy silence, no one daring to make a sound, much less breath too loudly.

In there world, respect was bought with blood, and fear was currency. The silent room was reminder that they all knew it.

Even the slightest challenge had to be crushed beneath an iron heel, or it would fester into betrayal.

He inspect the room full of Bor, mobs, Organizatsya and mafias. "Let this be a lesson, gentlemen. Betrayal isn't just a sin... it's a Death sentence." His voice was a quiet command, sharp and emotionless, slicing throw the silent moment like a blade.

In that intense moment, he took out his

'ED Brown 1911' hand gun, which was tuck in his waistband effortlessly and, heald it towards the whimpering male's head. "See you in Hell." with that said he shoot the man on the spot. He blew the smoke away from his gun and, tuck it back in hiswaistband.

Without hesitation, he walked out of the hall. His man's following him like shadows of death.

____________________________________________

The room finally came to live, As everyone released a breath they were holding for god knows how long. As every man present there witnessed the Lifeless body of there now dead chairman of Russo group Andrey Russo. Murmur's were around the room that Andrey Russo broke one of the rules of 'Bratva'.

[Bratva: essentially meaning "the brotherhood." Used to describe the Russian organised crime network. 'Brother term signifies a sense of loyalty and connection within the criminal group.]

The Three Rules of Bratva :

• Don't Betray the Organisation.

• Don't Speak ill of One's Family.

• Protect Our Pride.

"Who was he? And how dare he interfere the Bratva." Said Denis Sidorov, the head of Bartok.

[Bartok works for a Brigadier having a special criminal activity to run, A Bratok is in charge of finding new guys and paying tribute up to his Brigadier]

"He's the youngest grandson of Jeon." Said Akim Ivanov the head of Derzhatel Obschaka.

[ Derzhatel Obschaka are bookkeepers who collects money from Brigadier and bribes the government to Obschaka. They are the money mafia intended for use in the interests of the group.]

someone gasped and said "you mean he's the grandson of Pakhan ?" there was a brief moment of silence.

[Pakhan also know as 'Boss', 'Godfather' or 'Authority', controls everything. The Pakhan controls Four criminal cells in the working unit through an intermediary called a "Brigadier." Every member has a solemn promise to serve the Pakhan.]

Boris Lipousky the head of Brigadier who was silent till now, spoke "Yes... he is the grandson of Jeon Jae Yeol.... and he's the VOR, goes by JJK." everyone present there shivered when they heard the revelation.

[Brigadier is like a caption in charge of a group. He pays tribute to Pakhan. He runs a crew which is called a Brigade. A brigade is made up of 5-6 Patsanov ('warriors').]

[VOR (literally thief) is a honorary title denoting a made man. The honour of becoming a Vor is only given to those who shows considerably leadership skills, personal ability, intellect and charisma. A pakhan or another high-ranking of an organization can decide if they are eligible to became the NEXT PAKHAN.]

The room shared wary glances, a ripple of unease sweeping across the table. They weren't used to wetness the literal death of there member- least of all by someone so young. But the air in the room had shifted, and they could feel it.

This wasn't a game anymore.

...____________________...

Somewhere in South Korea....

To be continued…

Somewhere in South Korea......

The city was alive, glowing with neon lights reflecting off the snow-kissed streets. The skyline stretched endlessly, a glittering testament to power and wealth.

High above it all, in a penthouse that overlooked the heart of Seoul, Kim Taehyung stood before an enormous glided mirror, inspecting himself with the quite satisfaction of a man who knew he was divine.

His golden hair, tousled just enough to appear effortlessly perfect, shimmered under the warm lights. His sharp features-high cheekbones, sculpted jawline, and full lips-looked like they belong on a renaissance masterpiece. His skin, smooth as marble, radiated wealth and indulgence, the product of the finest skincare routines money can buy.

He wasn't just the youngest son of the powerful Kim family- he was their crown jewel. His wealth, his looks, his unshakable sense of self-worth— all combination to make him a figure who don't need anyone's validation. Men and women alike found themselves drawn to him, but Taehyung didn't care. Their attention was fleeting, and he never gave it a second thought.

Draped in a silk robe, he took his time, sipping a glass of imported wine as he decided on his outfit for the evening. A night at Seoul's most expensive club required perfection. Not that he ever appeared anything less.

His walk-in-closet was a haven of designer pieces, each one handpicked for it's luxury

and status. He ran his fingers over a velvet blazer, then a silk shirt, finally selecting a alabastrine -white ensemble that hugged his frame just right. The way the fabric caught the light made him look untouched

—like a prince above mere mortals.

Tonight wasn't about finding anyone. It was about maintaining his position at the top of social hierarchy. Weather it was the club's most influential guests or the best-dressed people in the room, they all knew one thing: Taehyung was untouchable.

His friends Park Jimin and Jung Hoseok had been waiting in the lounge, sprawled across a leather couch, scrolling through their phones. Jimin, ever the dramatic one, let out an exaggerated sigh.

"Taehyung-ah, you take longer to get ready than anyone i know. If I didn't love you, I'd

have left already."

Taehyung smirked, slipping on his watch-a limited edition, custom-made price worth more than most people's yearly salaries.

"Perfection takes time, Jiminie. Not everyone is born this beautiful."

Hoseok, who had been quite until now, chuckled. "I think half of Seoul is waiting for you at the club already. Men and women alike."

Taehyung's lips curled into an amused smile as he wears his Gucci earrings.

"Let them wait."

With a final glance in the mirror, he grabbed his keys and walked out of his room. He's friends used to his unreal beauty. They make their way towards their own car's.

Taehyung slide into the driver's seat of his sleek, black Porsche 911, the leather seats molding perfectly to his form. His fingers brushed the steering wheel, the smooth leather cool under his touch, and he could already feel the adrenaline of the night starting to course through his veins. He didn't need the club to feel alive- but it certainly didn't hurt.

The engine roared to life as he started the car, the city lights of Seoul reflected off the windows as he drove through the bustling streets. Every turn he made was smooth, effortless just like his life- nothing ever seemed to throw him off balance. The hum of engine seemed to sync with the beat of his own pulse, and Taehyung's gaze steady as he navigated through the traffic, his eyes sharp and unwavering.

Even thought the night ahead was filled with possibilities, Taehyung wasn't thinking about the club just yet. He was thinking about the power he held in his hands-the luxury of his life, the privilege that allowed him to control his own narrative. Every street he passed, every stoplight, seemed like a reminder that he was the one who called the shots. Nothing

—no one- could touch him.

As he neared the club, his phone buzzed.

It was Jimin, always quick to check in.

You almost here?

He smirked, fingers gliding over the screen as he typed back. Five minutes.

The flashing neon lights of the club appeared on the horizon, and Taehyung accelerated, as he turned the corner and pulled into the valet area, he could already feel the eyes of the crowd outside. His car was just as much a statement as the man behind the wheel.

The valet hurried over, ready to take the car but Taehyung simply nodded, stepping out with his usual confidence. The moment his feet hit the pavement, a hush seemed to fall over the crowed, just long enough for them to appreciate his presence.

"Shall we?" Taehyung said to himself, flashing a slight smirk as he walked toward the entrance of the club, where Jimin and Hoseok were waiting.

\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_

As Taehyung walked through the entrance, the clubs energy shifted. Heads turned, conversations hushed, and for a moment, the room seemed to exist for him alone. He was used to it— the way people reacted to his presence, the way their eyes clung to him as if he were something divine.

The music pulsed, the bass vibrating through the floor, but Taehyung moved with unbothered elegance. He didn't need to announce himself; his presence alone was enough. The VIP section was already prepared, a velvet rope keeping the unworthy at bay. A waiter rushed forward, offering a selection of finest drinks, bowing slightly as he spoke.

"Mr. Kim, your usual?"

Taehyung barely spared him a glance.

"Obviously." He settled onto the plush seating, crossing his legs with effortless grace. Jimin and Hoseok joined him, but Taehyung knew they weren't the ones people were watching.

Men stared, down at him like moths to flame-some bold, some hesitant, but all captivated. Women, too, whispered behind manicured hands, hoping for a flicker of attention. Taehyung knew their desire, and it amused him.

One men— a handsome businessman, well-dressed but lacking originality-approached, confidence evident in his stride. He leaned in slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. "You're even more beautiful in person."

Taehyung titled his head, taking a slow sip of his drink before setting it down. He let the moment stretch, watching as the man's confidence wavered under his gaze.

Finally, he smiled, sharp and knowing.

"I know."

The man flattered, clearly expecting a different reaction. Taehyung let out a soft, amused sigh before turning away, uninterested. Just as he thought-unremarkable.

Jimin laughed, shaking his head. "You could at least pretend to entertain them."

Taehyung chuckled, picking up his glass again. "Why should I? None of them deserve me."

____________________________

Taehuyng let the music seep into his veins, the hypnotic bass thrumming through his body like a slow, seductive pulse. He stood from the VIP booth with the grace of a prince, smoothing out his silk shirt as he made his way towards the dance floor. Jimin and Hoseok exchanged knowing glances but said nothing- this was a scene they had witnessed countless times.

As he stepped into the sea of bodies, the energy in the club shifted. People instinctively parted for him, eyes following his every move with anticipation. He didn't need to demand attention; it was his by default.

The rhythm guided him effortlessly, his hips (taebooty never lies ) swaying in slow, fluid motions, a display of confidence that was both deliberate and natural. The lights flickered against his golden hair, casting a halo-like glow around him.

He moved like sin itself-smooth, sensual but unattainable.

Men watched with open hunger, their gazes roaming over his body, drawn to the way he moved with such effortless allure.

Women whispered, admiring him even as they know they would never have him.

Hands reached out, some hesitant, some bold, but Taehyung remained untouched, slipping through grasping fingers like silk.

A particularly daring men tried to press closer, his breath warm against Taehyung's ear. "You dance like you were made to be worshiped."

Taehyung smirked, tilting his head just enough to meet the man's gaze, his own dark with amusement. " I was," he murmured, voice smooth like honey. But just as the man leaned in, thinking he had caught something rare, Taehyung turned away, losing himself back into the music, unbothered, untouchable.

The crowed was intoxicated by him, hypnotised, yet he remained indifferent.

He wasn't here to be caught-he was here to remind them all that beauty like his was meant to be admired, not possessed.

After a while, Taehyung grew bored. The dance floor, filled with desperate hands and hungry stares, no longer amused him.

He had given them glimpse of perfection, and that was enough. With a final slow roll of his hips, he turned and walked away, ignoring the disappointed sighs and longing glances that followed him.

Back in the VIP booth, Jimin handed him a drink with a smirk. " You love to tease, don't you?"

Taehyung took slow sip, leaning back against the plush seating. " I don't tease, Jiminie. I exist. They're the one who make it something more."

Before Jimin could response, Taehyung's phone buzzed on the table. The name on the screen made him smile genuinely.

.

.

.

.

.

Appa 🐻

To be continued...

____________________________________________

This is how tae looked🤌🏻✨

Moscow, Russia.

12\12|24

2:30 pm.

A day before.

A Bugatti La Voiture Noire, behind it a convey of black SUVs rolled through.The winter air was sharp, biting, yet inside the vehicles, silence reigned. No one dared to speak.

The man sitting in the backseat was carved from ice and steel. His presence alone suffocated the air, heavy with unspoken authority. Dressed in a black suit and a tailored black coat, he exuded an elegance that made his brutality all the more terrifying. His cold, dark eyes were void of emotions, a bottomless abyss that swallowed fear, mercy and hesitation.

The moment the convoy stopped, man in dark suits lined up outside the mansion, their gazes dropping instinctively. No one looked him in the eyes. They knew better.

He stepped out, boots crunching against the snow-covered pavement, and the weight of his presence sent shivers through the guards despite their years of hardened loyalty. He didn't speak.

He didn't need to. A single glance was enough to send lesser men to their knees.

Inside the grand hall, the warm glow of the chandelier did little to soften the tension. At the far end, past the marble floors and golden embellishments, sat an old man, his presence regal, his aura undeniable.

As the younger man approached, the old Pakhan's lips curled into a knowing smirk.

His voice. rough yet steady. echoed

through the hall.

"Jeon Jeongguk"

And with that name, the entire room held it's breath.

\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_

13\12\24

9:42 pm.

Present.

The grand hall of Jeon estate was build for moments like this-moments where power shifted, where decisions carved legacies into stone. The dim light from chandeliers cast long shadows across the massive oak table, where the four cell leaders of the Bratva sat in tense silence.

They had all killed men to be here.

They had all built their empires with countless soul's.

And tonight, they were here to decide who would take the throne.

The Pakhan, Jeon JaeYeol, sat at the head of the table, his presence alone enough to silence lesser men. But tonight, their were no lesser men here-only the most powerful leaders under his

command.

Viktor Petrov, ruthless and calculating, leaned forward, his thick fingers pressing into the wood. "I have built my empire with blood," he declared, voice deep.

"My son Sergei, has fought by my side for years. He has earned his place. He knows what it takes to lead."

Denis Sidorov, scoffed adjusting the rings on his fingers. His eyes gleamed with quite arrogance as he looked at the Pakhan. "And yet, it is my son, Alexei, who has led men into battle, who has expanded our reach in St. Petersburg.

He is feared. Respected." He titled his head slightly. "That is the kind of Pakhan this family needs."

The other two leaders, Akim Ivanov and Boris Lipovsky, remained silent, their expressions unreadable. They were smart men. They knew this wasn't just about leadership-it was about

survival.

JaeYeol, exhaled slowly, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the table.

He had seen before. Men grasping for power, clinging to whatever scrap of control they could find. They didn't understand.

They were fighting for a crown that had already been claimed.

Then-

The doors swung open.

And the air changed.

The shift was immediate, suffocating.

The very atmosphere of the room thickened with something dark, something dangerous.

Boots clicked against the marble floor, each step slow, unhurried. The sound echoed through the hall, growing heavier with every passing seconds.

Every man at the table turned.

And then-

Silence.

A deep, all-consuming silence that swallowed the room whole.

Because standing in the doorway was not

just a man.

He was something else entirely.

JJK the VOR

Dressed in blue, his tailored coat draped over his broad shoulders, he moved like a shadow-like death itself. His dark eyes cold and bottomless, swept over the room with quite calculation. There was no emotion in them. No hesitation.

Only Control.

The same man who had been arguing moments ago now sat frozen. The weight of his presence alone was suffocating, passing down on them like an invisible force.

Jeongguk didn't have to speak.

They already knew.

The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, but Jeongguk wasn't in a rush.

He moved forward, steps slow, deliberate.

Every movement was precise, calculated, like a predator taking it's time with prey that had already given up the fight.

He reached the table and paused, his gaze landing on Viktor Petrov first. The older man, who had built his empire on violence and control, felt something unfamiliar crawl down his spine.

Something close to fear.

Then Jeongguk turned to Denis Sidorov.

Denis-who had always prided himself on his composure-found his fingers curling into fists against his will. His throat felt dry.

Because there was no mistaking it.

The man standing before them wasn't just

powerful.

He was inevitable.

Jeongguk tilted his head slightly, his lips curling into something that wasn't quite a smile. " You were saying?"

His voice was quiet. Almost lazy.

But the danger in it was unmistakable.

Denis opened his mouth,but nothing came out. The words that has come so easily before, had turned to dust on his tongue.

Jeongguk exhaled softly. "No? Nothing?" His eyes gleamed with something sharp, merciless. "That's what I thought."

Viktor clenched his jaw, trying to find his footing, but the confidence he had walked in with was slipping through his fingers. Still, he forced himself to speak.

"Strength alone doesn't make a leader."

He muttered, through his voice lacked it's usual force.

Jeongguk's gaze flicked to him, and Viktor felt his stomach twist.

Jeongguk leaned in slightly, just enough to erase the space between them, just enough to suffocate. "Strength is the only thing that matters," he murmured, voice like a blade pressed against the throat.

"But if you think I am only strength, then you are a durak (fool).

The words were like a death sentence.

Because it wasn't just strength that made

Jeongguk untouchable.

It was the way he looked at men-like they were nothing. Like he already planned their deaths in his mind.

Like he was waiting for an excuse to act on it.

The temperature in the room felt colder.

The silence deeper.

And in the silence, Jeon JaeYeol smiled.

The old Pakhan had been watching his grandson the entire time, his sharp eyes filled with something close to satisfaction.

He exhaled, slow and measured, before finally speaking. "You all have your say."

A pause.

"Now, hear mine."

The finality in his voice sent a shiver down the room.

"The next Pakhan of this family..."

JaeYeol's gaze locked onto Jeongguk

“... is Jeon Jeongguk."

The words fell like hammers, shattering the last remnants of resistance.

Viktor exhaled sharply, his face betraying his frustration, but he said nothing. Denis clenched his jaw, fingers curling into fists, but he, too, remained silent.

Because there was no point in arguing.

One by one, the man at the table lowered their heads.

Not in agreement.

Not in respect.

In submission.

Jeongguk let the silence stretch. Let them feel it. Let them understand exactly what had happened here tonight.

Then, finally, he smirked. Just barely.

Because now-

He was not just feared.

He was untouchable.

\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_

12 |12/24 2:30 pm.

A day before.

Jeon Jeongguk

A name that sent men to their graves with nothing but a whisper. A name that commanded fear, respect, and absolute loyalty.

Jeongguk's cold gaze meet his grandfather's unwavering,

unyielding. He moved forward with the confidence of a man who knew he was destined for the throne— one who had already claimed it in everything but title.

Jeon JaeYeol leaned back in his chair, the weight of his years hidden beneath sharp, watchful eyes. He studied his grandson like a predator sizing up it's successor.

"You keep me waiting."

Jeongguk smirked, through it held on warmth. " I came when I decided it was time."

A flicker of amusement crossed JaeYeol's face. Few dared to speak to him that way. But this was no ordinary man— this was the heir he had craved from fire and blood, the one who had proven himself more ruthless than any before him.

"Sit," the Pakhan command.

Jeongguk didn't hesitate, lowering himself onto the chair opposite his grandfather. His posture was relaxed, but the room was suffocating under the weight of his power.

JaeYeol took a slow sip of his drink before setting the glass down with a quick clink.

"You've built quite a reputation,"he said voice calm, measured. "Even my man fear your name."

"They should," Jeongguk replied, fingers tapping idly against the armrest. His voice was low, deliberate "Fear is control. And control is power."

JaeYeol chuckled, through there was no humor in it. "Spoken like a true Pakhan."

The old man leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharpening. "But power alone isn't enough. You know that, don't you?"

Jeongguk's expression didn't waver.

"Power is everything."

The old man exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "No. Power without strategy is a loaded gun with no target. And power without loyalty?" His gaze darkened.

"That's a death sentence."

Jeongguk tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something dangerous. "Loyalty is earned through fear-or through blood."

A slow smirk stretched across JaeYeol's lips. " And how many have bled for you already."

Jeongguk didn't answer. He didn't need to. They both knew the number was too high to count.

For a moment, silence settled between them like an unspoken agreement.

Then, Jae Yeol nodded. "Good. Then you're ready."

Jeongguk's gaze remained cold, unreadable. "For what?"

The Pakhan's smirk widened.

"To take what's already yours."

\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_

Seoul, South Korea

13|12|24

9:42. pm.

Present.

Before Jimin could response, Taehyung's phone buzzed on the table. The name on the screen made him smile genuinely.

.

.

.

.

.

Appa🐻

To be continued...