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The city of Seoul was a maze of contradictions—streets lined with golden chandeliers and shadowy alleyways where the less fortunate fought for scraps of a dream that was never meant for them. Jeon Jungkook didn’t belong to either world, and that suited him just fine.
At twenty-six, Jungkook had long since learned to carve his own path, a path that often led him straight into the heart of Seoul's darkest secrets. The soft, elegant clothes he wore, chosen for their practicality over prestige, made him blend into any crowd—but it was his eyes that betrayed him. Dark and piercing, they had the kind of sharpness that belonged to a predator, not a socialite’s son. Jungkook wasn’t a pawn, and no one could convince him otherwise.
Tonight, like so many others, he sat in the dim-lit corner of a dingy café, tapping away at the keys of his laptop, his mind absorbed in the latest bit of information he’d uncovered. The rest of the café was oblivious to his presence, lost in the noise of the bustling city outside. His world was quieter, colder, always focused on the truth hidden beneath layers of lies and corruption.
Across the room, an older man with a face carved from years of hard living stared at him, an unspoken curiosity behind his cloudy eyes. He was someone he’d spoken to before, but tonight, it was clear he had no idea who he really was. To him, he was just another reporter with a sense of entitlement—a journalist from a family with more connections than he’d ever needed, chasing stories that didn't concern him.
But it wasn’t the world of the privileged that interested Jungkook. It was the people who didn’t get to choose their place in this city. he had grown up in the shadow of his family’s wealth and influence, watching his parents navigate circles of power that they never questioned. But Jungkook had always wondered: How did all this really come to be?
A quick glance at his phone—an encrypted message, a tip-off about a new shipment at the docks. Another clue in his investigation. he smirked to himself as he closed the laptop.
Jungkook was no longer simply writing the stories; she was living them. And if officials wanted a story, he would give it to them—but only on his terms.
As he stood, collecting his things, he caught the reflection of himself in the café’s window—a man with wild ambition in his eyes, a beautiful man on the verge of uncovering something that would shake the very foundations of the city. The question was, what was he willing to sacrifice to expose the truth?
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