Episode 3 – “The Test”

For most men in Aleksandr Volkov’s world, defiance came with a death sentence.

And yet, days after their confrontation in the parking garage, Kim Jun-ho walked through Seoul as though the mafia kingpin’s shadow didn’t even exist.

No hesitation. No paranoia.

Only that infuriating smirk.

Aleksandr watched from afar, hidden in the tinted windows of a black SUV parked across the street. Jun-ho strolled out of a café, the late afternoon sun gilding his sharp profile. He laughed into his phone, voice smooth and light, utterly unbothered.

“You see?” Aleksandr’s second-in-command muttered from the driver’s seat. “He doesn’t even flinch. Shall I… remind him who holds the power here?”

Aleksandr swirled the glass of vodka in his hand, eyes narrowing. “Test him. Don’t break him. Not yet.”

The first attempt came that evening.

As Jun-ho left his office, three men stepped out of the alleyway. Broad-shouldered, scarred, the kind of men who smelled of blood and cheap cigarettes. One blocked his path, cracking his knuckles.

“Pretty lawyer,” the man sneered. “Boss says you’ve been too loud lately. Maybe you should learn when to keep your mouth shut.”

Jun-ho stopped, adjusting his silk tie as though he had all the time in the world. His eyes swept over them lazily, like he was assessing trash on the sidewalk.

“And who,” he asked, his voice dripping with amusement, “told you three clowns that standing in front of me would suddenly make you relevant?”

The thug’s grin faltered. “Watch your tongue—”

Jun-ho raised a finger, cutting him off. “No, no. You watch yours. Because the moment you touch me, Seoul’s police department will have a dozen cameras replaying your every move. You think I walk home without making sure the whole street knows where I am?”

He took a step forward, his shoes clicking against the pavement, his gaze sharp enough to cut.

“Now run along,” he finished smoothly, “before you embarrass yourselves further. I don’t press charges for free.”

The men exchanged uncertain glances, but the weight in Jun-ho’s stare was heavier than their orders. Muttering curses, they backed off, vanishing into the shadows.

Jun-ho smirked, pulling his phone from his pocket. The screen glowed with a paused video—his own setup, filming the encounter from the café’s rooftop across the street.

“Too easy,” he murmured, slipping the phone away as he continued walking.

The second attempt was subtler.

A black car trailed Jun-ho the next morning, weaving behind him through Seoul’s congested streets. Most men would’ve grown nervous. Jun-ho merely lowered his sunglasses and grinned.

He slowed his pace, then suddenly ducked into a bookstore. Ten minutes later, the trailing men caught sight of him again—standing at the corner of the street, handing out autographed law journals to students, all while loudly announcing how “grateful” he was for their support.

The crowd cheered, phones raised, cameras flashing. Jun-ho turned deliberately, his gaze cutting straight through the tinted windows of the black car. He smirked and gave a little wave.

The car peeled away before the crowd could notice.

By nightfall, Aleksandr was back in his penthouse, staring out at the glittering Seoul skyline. His men stood before him, tense and silent.

“He knew,” one admitted at last. “Every step, every move… it was like he was waiting for us.”

Aleksandr’s jaw tightened. He should’ve been furious. And he was—at least, partly. But beneath the anger was something sharper.

Admiration.

Jun-ho wasn’t just clever. He was dangerous in his own way—able to bend threats into performances, twisting danger into opportunity. The man refused to cower, and that defiance gnawed at Aleksandr’s carefully constructed control.

Pouring himself another glass of vodka, Aleksandr muttered, almost to himself, “So the lawyer has teeth.”

A beat of silence followed. Then, for the first time in years, Aleksandr allowed the ghost of a smile to touch his lips.

“Good.”

Because prey that bit back… was far more fun to hunt.

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