Rain poured like utang—never-ending and slightly traumatic.

In a tucked-away alley in Itaewon, Cyan Moon bar pulsed with late-night energy. The bass thumped like a heartbeat, neon lights flickered like they were tired of life, and behind the bar stood Kim Taehyung, 25, in a black shirt, messy curls, and a look that said “I don’t care unless you’re paying double.”

It had been a chill night so far. No broken glasses, no drunk tourists asking for soju with milk, and no idiots trying to fight for no reason.

Until the door opened.

And in walked the definition of “problema.”

Tall, dressed in black, jaw sharp enough to cut karma, and eyes darker than your ex’s intentions—Jeon Jungkook, heir to the most feared mafia family in Korea.

He stepped in like he owned the air. And to be honest, it was working.

Even the DJ paused for half a beat.

Taehyung didn’t blink.

He calmly wiped a glass and muttered, “Ay, ito na naman. Rich boy with daddy issues.”

Jungkook walked to the bar, blood on his sleeve like it was part of his outfit. The crowd instinctively gave him space.

“Whiskey,” he said, voice low.

Taehyung gave him a once-over. “You're bleeding. Want tissue or tequila?”

Jungkook stared. “You’re not afraid of me?”

“Sir, I’ve worked in five bars. I’ve seen girls fight over a hair tie and guys cry over chicken. You don’t scare me. But you are bleeding on my clean floor, so…”

Jungkook's lips twitched, amused. “Interesting.”

Before Taehyung could throw more sass, the door burst open again—with guns this time.

Four masked men stormed in like they owned the place. One pointed his gun straight at Kinn’s head.

“This ends now, Jeon!”

Taehyung sighed. “Ay naku. I just mopped the floor, you guys.”

Chaos erupted. Customers screamed. People ducked under tables.

Jungkook reached for his gun but was slightly outnumbered.

Taehyung, annoyed and already removing his earring, whispered, “I swear, I attract this kind of energy.”

With the speed of someone who's been in too many late-night brawls, Taehyung grabbed a metal tray, threw it frisbee-style at one guy’s face—BOG!—then slid over the bar like he was in an action K-drama.

He kicked another guy in the chest and yelled, “Not in my bar, you tanga!”

Jungkook, still calm as ever, took down one of the men with a headshot—clean, no effort.

Together, they were an oddly graceful duo: blood, fists, bullets, and attitude.

When the last man hit the ground, groaning, Taehyung stood up and wiped sweat off his brow.

Then looked at Jungkook.

“You done bringing your nonsense here, rich boy?”

Jungkook smirked. “You fight well.”

“I charge extra for life-threatening events. ₩20,000 per punch, ₩50,000 for flying kicks.”

Jungkook stepped closer, the smell of gunpowder and danger thick in the air. “Come with me.”

Taehyung raised an eyebrow. “Hoy. Di ako pet.”

“They’ll come after you now. You helped me. You're involved.”

“…Lintek.”

He thought of Jungwon, his baby brother waiting at home. The one person he promised to protect. The only reason he hadn't gone full gangster again.

Jungkook, seeing the hesitation, leaned in. “You want him safe? Then move.”

Taehyung rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay. Pero if I get shot, I swear babayaran mo hospital bill ko.”

Jungkook smirked. “You won’t. Unless you keep talking.”

Taehyung glared. “Sungit mo. Walang discount sa'yo.”

As they exited the bar through the back, rain still falling, Taehyung muttered, “What even is this? Some mafia love story or whatever?”

Jungkook looked at him and replied smoothly, “If it is, you just became my favorite chapter.”

Taehyung paused.

“…Cringe,” he said. But his ears turned red anyway.