Chapter 3: When Shadows Whisper Names

The night air was slick with the scent of secrets.

Jungkook stood in the highest room of the Eros Corp tower, glass of whiskey untouched in his hand. The city glittered like a false promise outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. Everything looked beautiful from this height—orderly, golden, quiet. But he knew better.

Below, rot festered in the corners of alleyways, behind pristine doors, and beneath silk bedsheets. He’d lived long enough to know that power was a predator. And somewhere among the wolves that prowled this city… was a ghost with a velvet voice and a masked face.

The name rolled in his mind like a question he couldn’t answer. The omega had invaded his thoughts, not just because of the impossible—scentless, recordless, fearless—but because something about him didn’t match this world. He had walked into Jungkook’s domain like he belonged there.

Like he had always been there.

And yet—he hadn’t.

Or had he?

Jungkook turned toward the screen embedded in the wall. Files. Scans. Surveillance. The AI hadn’t found a single match. Not in national databases. Not in the Omega Registry. Not even black-market archives.

It was as if he didn’t exist.

Which meant he had been erased.

And only one kind of person could disappear that perfectly—someone who had been hunted… or someone dangerous enough to become the hunter.

Elsewhere – The Omega Underground

Jimin pressed his back against the brick wall, breath coming in shallow bursts. His blond hair clung to his forehead, soaked in sweat. The scent of aggression lingered in the air—a pack of unmarked alphas had just passed the alley.

“They’re gone,” whispered a voice beside him.

Jimin exhaled and looked over at the one who had saved him—Min Yoongi. Alpha. Infamous. Scarred by too many battles, too many betrayals.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Yoongi said, tone flat. “The city isn’t safe for an unclaimed omega.”

“I’m not unclaimed,” Jimin said defiantly. “I just refuse to be marked.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow. “Brave.”

“Stupid,” Jimin corrected with a small smile.

Yoongi looked at him a little longer than necessary. Then he looked away.

“You came for him, didn’t you?”

Jimin nodded.

“Taehyung.”

Yoongi’s eyes hardened. “That name’s supposed to be dead.”

“I know,” Jimin murmured. “But he’s alive. I saw him. At Eros Tower.”

Yoongi didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

“Jungkook won’t let him go,” he said finally.

“I don’t think Taehyung wants to run anymore,” Jimin whispered. “He’s here for war.”

Back at the Tower – The First Test

V walked through the maze of corridors beneath Eros Corp with elegance that masked danger. Jungkook had summoned him not to the boardroom, but to the underground training floor—known only to a few.

It wasn’t a request. It was a challenge.

As the heavy metal doors opened, V was met with a dozen armed men, all dressed in black combat gear, flanking a vast, dim-lit room.

Jungkook stood in the center, dressed in sleek black, barefoot, eyes glowing with anticipation.

“You’re not just here for business,” he said. “You want to survive in my world? Show me how you fight.”

V pulled off his coat slowly, revealing a lean body wrapped in muscle. Not bulky. Not frail. Every line of him whispered agility.

“You think I’m fragile,” he said softly.

“I think you’re a mystery.”

“And mysteries,” V replied, stepping into the ring, “should never be underestimated.”

The fight was brutal.

Jungkook didn’t hold back.

Neither did V.

Steel clashed with instinct. Kicks, dodges, precise counters. V moved like water—flowing around blows, redirecting force. Jungkook fought with rage wrapped in calculation.

And then—it happened.

A move. A slip. A sound.

V countered one of Jungkook’s strikes with a spin and sweep, and Jungkook landed with a grunt. For a split second, as V hovered over him, panting—Jungkook’s eyes widened.

He saw it.

A scar.

On the inside of V’s left wrist. Small. Crooked. Familiar.

A memory slammed into Jungkook.

Flashback – Eight Years Ago

A fire. Screams. A boy, barely seventeen, coughing in smoke. Jungkook had broken through the mansion’s window, found the small figure curled in the flames.

Blood. Crying. A broken chain on a pale wrist.

He had carried him out. Hidden him. Tended the wounds. Then made him run before the others came.

Jungkook had never asked for his name.

But he remembered the scar.

Back in the ring, Jungkook gripped V’s wrist suddenly, flipping him with force. V’s back slammed into the mat.

“You,” Jungkook said, voice low, raw. “I’ve met you before.”

V stilled.

And for the first time, the mask slipped.

Just a little.

His voice cracked like thunder in a quiet room.

“I remember you too.”

Jungkook’s hand tightened around his wrist. “You were the boy from the fire.”