Jungkook was still slumped in the chair, barely keeping his eyes open, when the sudden shuffle of urgent footsteps caught his attention.

He looked up just as a nurse turned the corner---rushed, flushed, and clearly overwhelmed. Her eyes landed on him instantly, like she’d been searching.

“You---Jeon Jungkook, right?” she asked, already halfway to him.

His brow furrowed, straightening slightly. “...Yeah?”

She exhaled quickly. “The patient you brought in---he’s awake. And he’s not cooperating. At all.”

Jungkook blinked. “He’s what?”

“Refusing treatment, pulling the IV out, trying to leave—”

What the fuck.
Keepsake was unconscious minutes ago. He couldn’t even sit upright, let alone throw a scene.

“He’s awake?” Jungkook repeated slowly, trying to process.

“Yes, and making a mess of my ER,” she said, already grabbing his arm. “Come with me. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

Jungkook had no clue what kind of logic that was, but he didn’t argue. He got up, wiping his hands down his soaked jeans, and followed her down the corridor.

The hallway felt longer than it should, his bare skin catching the colder draft as they moved deeper into the hospital.

They turned into a room already half-loud with tension. A nurse was trying to restrain a pale, half-dressed figure still tangled in loose wires and a blood-stained sheet.

And sure enough---there he was.

Keepsake.
Sitting upright now, eyes blank as ever, mouth set in that calm, infuriating line of indifference.

He looked like he didn’t even register the chaos around him.

Jungkook’s steps slowed at the doorway.

He looked at the nurses, then back at the guy, and muttered under his breath---

"You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me."

Jungkook didn’t wait.

He crossed the room in a few fast, heavy strides, ignoring the voices behind him, ignoring the nurses who stepped back like they knew better than to interfere now.

The freak turned toward him at the last second---those same dead, unreadable eyes locking onto his.

Then, without a single fucking twitch of pain—
he stood up.

Like he wasn’t half-dead.
Like he hadn’t bled out.
Like his feet weren’t torn open not even an hour ago.

And he just walked.
Right past Jungkook.
Right toward the damn door like he didn’t give a single shit.

Jungkook blinked in disbelief.
For a full second, he thought maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe the exhaustion finally cracked his brain in two.

But no—
the freak was really doing it.

“Are you fucking serious?” Jungkook hissed.

He clicked his tongue and moved.

Fast.
Angry.
Done with this shit.

He grabbed his arm tightly and jerked him back hard enough that the guy’s back smacked lightly against his bare chest.

Jungkook didn’t stop there.

He spun him around, forcing them face to face, his grip clenching tighter around the guy’s wrist as if sheer pressure might finally force a reaction out of him.

But he just stared.
Expression flat.
Eyes too calm. Too still.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Jungkook snapped, his voice sharp, low, vibrating with tension.

No answer.

Of course.

Jungkook’s jaw tightened. His grip didn’t loosen.

Because deep down, he knew the silence was coming.
He should’ve expected it.

But that didn’t stop the heat rising in his chest.
Didn’t stop the burning question behind his teeth.

“What is your problem, huh?”

The guy blinked slowly.

Finally---something.
Not a word.
But movement.

The guy's wrist twisted weakly in Jungkook’s hold, like he was trying to pull away---soft, slow, like he didn’t even have the strength to commit to it.

Jungkook rolled his eyes so hard it made his head hurt.
The fuck was this guy even made of?
Glass and pride?

He looked down at him and noticed just how dead he looked.
Pale skin, bloodless lips, those damn blank eyes like nothing in the world could touch him.

It was getting unbearable to look at.

“I swear to fucking god,” Jungkook muttered.

He tightened his grip, fingers digging in---not enough to bruise, but enough to make a point.

Then he yanked him forward.

Hard.

Dragged him straight back inside like a storm at his heels, and practically threw him onto the hospital bed.

The guy landed with a dull thud, body folding like it barely had a will of its own.
Still didn’t blink.
Didn’t flinch.
Didn’t look surprised.

Just slowly turned his face again---those empty eyes meeting Jungkook’s fire head-on.

And then...
without hesitation--
he stood up.

Again.

Ready to leave.
Like nothing had just happened.

Jungkook’s jaw dropped. He took one sharp, stunned breath in, then narrowed his eyes.

“No, you don’t get to.”
Because now it wasn’t just about saving his life anymore.
Now it was about winning.

Jungkook took a step slow forward.
Then another.

And that freak?
That half-dead, ungrateful, stubborn freak—

Didn’t move an inch.
Didn’t back down.

Just stood there like pain didn’t apply to him, like fear was some foreign concept he never bothered to learn.

Jungkook's hand shot out, fast and rough, grabbing both of the guy’s wrists at once.

Before he could protest---if he even would---Jungkook yanked him forward, hard enough that the guy stumbled and fell into him.

Jungkook shifted, sitting down on the bed with the weight of him crashing into his lap.
Didn’t matter.
He locked his grip around both of the guy’s wrists with one hand, pinning them against his chest.
His other hand reached up, gripping him steady at the shoulder to keep him from moving.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Jungkook growled, low and breathless, voice dragging with frustration and fury.

The guy didn’t fight.

Didn’t try to twist away again.

Just... stared.
That same blank gaze, like he was watching from somewhere outside himself.

But his chest rose and fell, a little faster now.
Something shifted in those eyes.

Something small.
But enough for Jungkook to notice.

He turned to the stunned nurse frozen in the doorway.

“Do your fucking job,” Jungkook snapped.
“Treat him. Now.”

And he didn’t let go.
Not even a little.
Because if this freak wanted to act like he wasn’t human---
then Jungkook was damn well going to make sure he stayed alive long enough to remember he was.

Until he finally started to move.

Not a fight, not really---
just this slow, quiet resistance like he was trying to peel himself out of Jungkook’s grip without making a scene.
His wrists twisted under Jungkook’s hold, shoulders shifting like he was testing how far he could go before Jungkook snapped.

And honestly...
he was close.

“Stop,” Jungkook hissed, tightening his grip just enough to still him again.

But the guy kept trying.

That same blank stare.
That same passive face.
But his body moved, subtle and steady, like he refused to be here, refused to be touched, stitched, kept.

“Don’t make this harder,” Jungkook muttered, jaw clenched. “You’re the one who nearly died, remember?”

The guy didn’t answer.
Of course he didn’t.

But his body tensed again, and Jungkook could feel the strain beneath his hand---the tight line of his back, the twitch in his wrists.

“Hold still,” Jungkook snapped. “Just let them fix you and get it over with.”

The nurse hovered nervously for a beat before stepping in again, cotton and gauze in hand. She glanced at Jungkook like she was unsure if she should continue.

“Do it,” he said, not breaking eye contact with the guy in his lap.

The nurse nodded, knelt down and started working on his foot first---unwrapping the blood-soaked shirt, dabbing at the open wounds with a gentleness that made Jungkook want to look away.

The freak didn’t flinch.
Didn’t wince.
Just kept struggling---slow, quiet, persistent.

But Jungkook didn’t let him go.

“Almost done,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

He didn’t even know why he was holding him like this anymore---
why he gave a shit.

The nurse finished in silence, her hands moving fast and careful, barely brushing the guy more than necessary. Jungkook didn’t blame her---his grip was still locked around both of Keepsake’s wrists like a fucking restraint.

Once the last gauze was taped down and the bandages were secure, she rose quickly, stepping back with a hesitance that didn’t go unnoticed.

“He, uh… needs rest,” she said, tone low, almost like she was unsure if either of them would take that advice. Her eyes darted between them before she backed out of the room completely.

The second the door clicked shut, Jungkook let out a long breath, jaw tight. His eyes dropped to Keepsake---still in his lap, still not saying a word, still testing the limits of Jungkook’s grip in that slow, unsettling way.

He wasn’t fighting hard.

Jungkook knew---
the moment he let him go, he’d bolt.

That thought alone made something snap behind his teeth.

With a rough exhale, Jungkook loosened his grip and flipped the guy down onto the bed.

The freak landed flat on his back, arms still tense, legs shifting like he was about to spring up.

Jungkook stood over him, glaring.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said, voice sharp and low. “Lay the fuck down. Don’t move an inch.”

That freak blinked up at him, blank and quiet.

No yes.
No no.
Just… nothing.

~~~

Jungkook paced the hospital room like a caged animal, jaw clenched, boots scuffing against the clean tile floor with every turn.

The freak---Keepsake---was finally asleep.

Thanks to the nurse who’d all but slipped him a sedative after Jungkook violently snapped watching him try to sit up for the fifth fucking time.

Now he was out cold.
Face slack, lips slightly parted, dark lashes fanned low against pale cheeks.

Still.
Quiet.
Like someone who didn’t just turn the last 24 hours into a complete mental breakdown.

Jungkook exhaled hard, finally letting the tension bleed out of his shoulders.

His eyes drifted to the mirror near the sink and---
God.

He looked insane.
No shirt.
Jeans still damp and caked in dirt and dried blood.
Hair a wreck---still matted from lake water and whatever the hell that factory floor left behind.

He looked like someone pulled out of a crime scene.
A feral criminal with a punching problem.

Clicking his tongue, he ran a hand through his hair again and glanced once more at the hospital bed.

The guy didn’t stir.

Just laid there, face turned to the side, hair sticking to his cheek, breathing slow and even.

Jungkook stared for a second longer than he meant to.

Then finally turned and stepped out, pulling the door shut quietly behind him.

He made his way down the hall, ignoring the strange looks from staff as he headed toward the front reception.

Once there, he leaned on the counter, eyes heavy.

“Can I borrow a phone?” he asked the nurse behind the desk.

She looked up---paused at the sight of him...
and silently slid the hospital phone across the desk.

Jungkook grabbed it without a word.
He punched in Hoseok’s number, thumb heavy on the buttons.
The phone rang only twice before a groggy, annoyed voice answered.

“Who?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “It’s me, dumbass.”

There was a pause. Then Hoseok’s voice cracked through the line, fast and loud.

“What the fuck– Jungkook?! Why are you calling me from an unknown number? Where the hell have you been?! We’ve been going crazy trying to find you, you absolute dickhead. You missed the match this morning---the match, and Namjoon had to cover the whole loss—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jungkook snapped, cutting him off.

His voice came sharp, low, and tired.
He ran a hand down his face, resting his elbow on the counter. “Just… shut up, okay?”

There was silence on the line. Hoseok must’ve finally picked up on how off his tone was.

Jungkook sighed. “I’m at the hospital.”

“What—? Wait, what do you mean hospital? What happened?! Are you bleeding? Did someone stab you? Are you dying?”

“It’s not that serious,” Jungkook muttered. “Just a minor accident.”

“Minor accident?!” Hoseok screeched like he was being personally offended. “You vanish for a whole fucking day and call me from a hospital with ‘minor accident’? Do you even understand the shitstorm you’ve—”

“Just shut up and get here,” Jungkook growled, cutting him off again. “ And bring me clothes.”

“What kind? What happened to you—”

“Hoseok,” Jungkook said flatly.

A breath.

“Alright, alright. I’m coming.”

Jungkook didn’t wait for anything else.
He ended the call, cutting off Hoseok mid-rant, and let the phone drop back onto the counter.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly.

It took Hoseok half an hour to show up---just long enough for Jungkook’s headache to turn into a full-blown migraine.

When he finally walked through the hospital entrance, eyes scanning around like he was ready to throw hands with whoever looked suspicious, it took him exactly two seconds to spot Jungkook leaning against the wall, arms crossed, still shirtless, looking like a damn war survivor.

And Hoseok?
Looked appalled.

“What the hell,” he said, walking straight up, holding a plastic shopping bag of clothes like it might be diseased.
His eyes roamed Jungkook up and down, and his mouth dropped open.
“You said minor accident. This looks like you got dropped out of a plane, Jungkook. What even---why are you shirtless? Are those blood stains? What the actual—”

Jungkook snatched the bag from his hand before he could finish.

“Shut up,” he muttered. “Just wait here.”

“Wait? You’re not---are you gonna explain what--?”

“I told you to... Shut up.”

And with that, Jungkook turned and walked off toward the washroom, not even sparing a glance back.

Hoseok stood there, hands on his hips, blinking in offended silence.

Jungkook stepped back into the hall, finally dressed in something dry--black hoodie, clean jeans, hair still damp but pushed back off his forehead.

Hoseok was exactly where he’d left him, standing with that face.

The one that screamed: I need a damn explanation.

Jungkook sighed, low and long, dragging a hand down his face as he made his way over.
There was no explaining this shit.
Not really.

What was he supposed to say?

“Oh yeah, got kissed by a stranger mid-robbery, got dragged off a bridge by said stranger, saved his life twice, held his fucking feet like they were glass, and now he’s unconscious in a hospital bed and I can’t get his dead-fish stare out of my head.”

Yeah. No. That wasn’t going to fly.

So he dropped down onto the nearest chair instead, elbows on his knees, and let out a breath like the weight of the last 24 hours had finally cracked him.

Hoseok followed slowly, sitting next to him, still staring.

“You’re not gonna say anything, are you?” he asked.

Jungkook shook his head.

Hoseok let out a low whistle and leaned back.
“Must’ve been some real fucked-up shit, huh.”

Jungkook didn’t answer.
He just stared at the white wall across from them, his head already pounding again.

The freak was still asleep inside.
And Jungkook had no fucking clue what to do about it.

He just sat there, elbows on his knees, jaw clenched. The silence was pressing into his skull like a vice---until he finally cracked it open with his voice, low and dry.

“I went to the Jeon mansion yesterday,” he muttered, eyes still forward. “After the whole family dinner bullshit, I stopped at the bridge. Just wanted a smoke.”

Hoseok tilted his head, listening, finally catching a thread of explanation---but before Jungkook could even begin explaining the complete shitshow that followed—

Something pulled his attention.
A name.

Familiar.
Too familiar.

His head jerked up, eyes snapping toward the small TV mounted on the wall near reception, volume low but still clear enough.

“—Jeon Hana, daughter of the Jeon family empire---confirmed engagement to Lee Kyung, heir to LK Group—”

Jungkook’s world went still.

His breath caught, the rest of his sentence dying on his tongue.
His entire body stiffened as he stared at the screen.

There it was.
Her face.
Hana.

Smiling.
Standing next to some smug-looking fuck in a designer suit.
Reporters shouting questions, cameras flashing, flower arrangements in the background like it was all some beautiful, rehearsed dream.

Engaged.
To Lee Kyung.

What the actual—

He blinked. Once. Twice.
As if maybe he just needed to refresh his vision and the words would be different.

Hoseok followed his gaze and went quiet too.

“…The fuck?” Hoseok muttered. “Didn’t she say---wasn’t she--?”

Jungkook didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
He just stared at the screen, face blank, brain glitching.

His sister’s engagement.
Live.
On TV.

What. The actual. Fuck.

Jungkook jerked to his feet, chair scraping loud against the floor.

He didn’t hear Hoseok’s startled “what the hell?”
Didn’t care about the weird looks from the nurse behind the counter.
Didn’t even think.

He bolted.

Straight out of the hospital lobby.
Past the glass doors.

Just one thought slamming through his skull like a hammer.

Hana.
His sister.
Engaged?

To Lee fucking Kyung?

Lee Kyung.
The smarmy son of Mr. Lee---the same business prick his father had been pressuring Jungkook to marry Hyerin, the daughter of.

So that was the plan?
When he slipped out of the deal, ran off, went off the grid for one goddamn day-
his father just switched targets?
Shoved his only daughter into the mess meant for him?

The fury hit hard and fast, a sharp, white-hot pulse that roared through his chest and spread like poison through his blood.

Last night, his father had sat at the head of the table, face calm, voice smooth, demanding Jungkook "accept it"—
threatening consequences if he didn’t.

But Jungkook didn't.

And now?

His father didn’t even blink.
He sacrificed Hana instead.

"Fuck—!" Jungkook spat under his breath as he stormed toward the street, vision red.

He barely made it down the hospital steps before the roar of an engine echoed behind him.

“Jungkook!” Hoseok’s voice barked, growing louder.

Jungkook didn’t stop.
Didn’t turn around.

He was already halfway into the street when Hoseok’s bike skidded to a halt beside him, tires screeching slightly on the pavement.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Hoseok yelled, yanking off his helmet.

Jungkook’s eyes didn’t flicker. He walked straight up, snatched the helmet out of Hoseok’s hand, and in one breathless motion said, “I need the bike.”

“What? Jungkook, no, you can’t just—where are you—"

But Jungkook was already throwing a leg over the seat pushing away hoseok.

“Jungkook” Hoseok called out again, voice sharp now, alarmed. “Talk to me, goddammit—”

Jungkook paused just long enough to meet his eyes, jaw tight, something dark burning behind his glare.

“I’m going to the mansion,” he said, voice low and violent.

Hoseok blinked.

Someone was going to die today.

Too late.

Jungkook revved the engine and took off, the sound tearing down the street like a storm being let loose.

As soon he got there.
He stormed in.
Didn’t give a single fuck about the chaos he was walking into.

The gates were open---probably still welcoming whatever bloodsucking press and polished guests his father invited to this shiny little engagement circus.

He walked straight through.

The Jeon Mansion stood tall, clean, grand as ever.
But to Jungkook, it had always felt cold.
Lifeless.
Like every room was designed to make you forget how to breathe properly.

He shoved the doors open, stormed into the hall---
and it was crowded.

Men in expensive suits. Women glittering in jewelry.
Cameras flashing.
Laughter echoing.

People turned to look at him.
Some recognized him instantly.

But he didn't look at them.

He moved through the crowd like a loaded gun, ignoring the startled gasps as he passed---

He didn’t slow down.
Didn’t even blink when some security guy muttered something near the stairs.

One sharp glare from Jungkook shut him up immediately.

Then he was climbing---two steps at a time, footsteps thundering up the marble staircase.

Only one thought in his head.

He needed to see her.
Needed to hear from her own mouth what the fuck this engagement was---and why the hell their father decided she was disposable too.

His boots hit the hallway hard---each step a warning.

Jungkook didn’t stop, didn’t slow.
His breath was loud in his ears, fury clanging through his chest louder than any voice or thought.

He reached her door, didn’t knock---just shoved it open with the flat of his hand.

The room was quiet. Still.
Expensive. Polished. Just like everything in this goddamn house.

And she was there.

Hana.

Sitting alone at her vanity, delicate back straight, hands folded neatly in her lap.
A soft white dress clung to her figure---elegant, traditional, heavy like it cost more than most people’s lives.

Engagement.
His little sister.
In that fucking dress.

She turned as he entered, eyes meeting his instantly.

“Hana,” Jungkook breathed, his voice cracked through the tension, too rough.

Then he moved.

Crossed the room in long strides, every step fueled by raw disbelief, betrayal, and pure, boiling rage.

“Hana,” he said again, more forcefully now, like he could yank the answers straight out of her.

“What the fuck is going on?”

Hana flinched the slightest bit at the sound of his voice---sharp, raw, too loud for the quiet room.
Her hands curled together tighter in her lap, her gaze dropping for a second before lifting back to him.

“Jungkook,” she said softly, like she meant to calm him, like she wasn’t sitting there in a fucking wedding dress.

But he wasn’t having it.

“No--don’t,” he snapped, voice rising. “Don’t say my name like that---just answer me.”

His eyes dragged across her dress---all that clean white, soft and pressed.

But then they landed on her hand.
Left hand.

And the world just froze.

A ring.
The ring.

Jungkook stared.
For a full breath.
And then---he saw red.

He stepped forward so fast the floor creaked beneath him.

“Why,” he growled, voice shaking, “the fuck are you wearing that?”

Hana opened her mouth again, eyes wide, words slow to come.
But he didn’t give her the chance.

“Why the fuck did you get engaged to him, huh?” His voice cracked with fury. “Lee fucking Kyung? Are you out of your mind?”

Her mouth trembled like she wanted to explain, but there was nothing she could say.
Not now.
Not with that ring on her hand.

And Jungkook---
he could barely hear anything over the sound of his own pulse slamming in his ears.

“Answer me!” Jungkook growled, grabbing her arms with both hands, not hard---just enough to shake something out of her, anything.

But Hana…
Hana flinched.

His breath caught.

She never did that.
Not once in their entire goddamn lives.
She was the one who always smacked him back into sense, who shoved him off when he got too hot-headed.
The one who never let him get away with barking, no matter how angry he got.

But now—
she looked small.
Tense.
Like she wasn’t used to being touched anymore.
Like she’d been handled too much already.

Jungkook’s heart dropped somewhere low in his chest.
What the fuck had happened?

He let go immediately.
Stepped back, hands curled into fists at his sides, shaking.

His eyes flicked down to that ring again---
and the rage came surging back.

This wasn’t her.
This wasn’t her choice.
It couldn’t be.

This was his father.
This had his father’s fingerprints all over it.

Jaw clenched, Jungkook turned without a word, fury burning under his skin.
His boots hit the floor loud as he stormed out of the room, every step heavier than the last.

He hit the stairs like a shot—
fast, furious, each step vibrating under his weight.

Heads turned.
Gasps.
Whispers.

The Jeon family’s wild son was here---
in public, in broad fucking daylight—
and by the look on his face, he wasn’t here to smile for the cameras.

His eyes locked on him—
Mr. Jeon.
Standing near the front, surrounded by men in suits, face schooled into that clean, composed expression he wore like his first skin.

Jungkook pushed through them without hesitation.

“The fuck are you doing?” he snapped, voice too loud, too raw, shattering the delicate noise of conversation like glass.

His father turned, slowly, calmly---like he’d expected this.

"Jungkook," he said, almost like a greeting.

Jungkook stepped closer, not giving a single fuck.
“This what we’re doing now? You couldn’t marry me off last night so you sell Hana instead?”

The room froze.

A few guests gasped.
The press leaned in like vultures.

Mr. Jeon’s jaw ticked. Just slightly.

“Lower your voice,” he said under his breath, still composed, but his eyes darkened.

Jungkook laughed. A hollow, furious sound.!“You think I give a fuck about your little party right now?”

The older man’s gaze sharpened.
Still no emotion on his face.
Just that same deep, void stare---the one Jungkook grew up with. The one that told him everything was strategy, and nothing was personal.

“You’re making a scene.”

“You made this scene,” Jungkook growled, taking another step forward.
“You think I’d just sit back and let you marry her off to him? You don’t even give a shit, do you? You just needed someone to put in the Lee family’s leash.”

The silence between them cracked---thin and dangerous.

Jungkook’s chest was heaving, his hands clenched at his sides, every part of him shaking from the storm building inside.

Mr. Jeon didn’t shift much.
Just stood there like stone, unreadable as ever.

“You’re not going to say anything?” Jungkook’s voice hitched slightly, then sharpened. “You don’t deny it, huh? That you shoved her into this---just like you tried to shove me.”

His father’s voice came quiet. Cold.
“You forfeited your role. You disappeared.”

“That’s what this is about?” Jungkook snapped. “You couldn’t wrap a leash around my neck, so now you put one around hers?”

The older man’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
Didn’t need to.

The weight of the truth was already hanging in the air.

And then---

“Jungkook!”

A voice broke through the chaos, high and sharp with urgency.
Hana.

She ran down the staircase, dress lifted slightly in her hands to avoid tripping, eyes wide---not scared, not shaken.
But angry.

She rushed in between them, standing in front of their father, arm outstretched like she was defending him.

Jungkook froze.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded. “Move—”

“No,” she said firmly. “Stop. This isn’t what you think.”

“Hana—”

“I am doing it willingly,” she said, cutting him off.

And the silence that followed hit harder than anything.

Jungkook blinked. “What?”

“You are thinking wrong. I wasn’t forced into this,” she repeated, voice loud enough for the room to hear. “I agreed. I made this decision.”

Jungkook stared at her like she’d just spoken in another language.

The ring glinted on her hand again.

His voice came out flat, stunned.
“You’re telling me you actually want this?”

Hana hesitated.

And that pause...
that damn pause---
was all the answer he needed.

“You’re lying,” he said, quieter now, as if realizing it mid-sentence. “He made you—”

“No one made me do anything,” she said. “I’m not a little girl anymore. I know what I’m doing.”

Jungkook's teeth ground together so hard it felt like his jaw might snap.

He stepped forward in one breathless motion and grabbed Hana by the arms, not hard enough to hurt---but rough enough to make her flinch again.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he snapped, his voice loud now, too loud for the room around them. “This is him, isn’t it? Same business shit again?”

His eyes flicked over her shoulder to their father, then back to her.

“He’s been doing this our whole lives, Hana. Everything. It’s all for business---you don’t have to be part of it.”

He could feel it---everything collapsing.

His chest hurt, and his hands were trembling, but he held her still, trying to make her see it.

“I’m not letting this happen,” he growled. “Not you. Not this—”

“Stop!” Hana shoved him back with both hands, pushing him just hard enough to make him stumble a step.

“Stop creating a scene, Jungkook!” she hissed, cheeks flushed, eyes wet with fury and something else.

Jungkook stared at her, stunned.

“This isn’t about business,” she bit out. “It’s not about him. I chose this. I’ve been in love with Kyung for a while now.”

Her voice cracked slightly at the end, but she didn’t take it back.

And Jungkook---
he froze.

Cold flooded him from the inside out.

He blinked. Once.
Twice.

Staring at her like he didn’t even recognize the person in front of him.

“You… what?”

But Hana’s eyes didn’t waver.

She stood her ground---burning cheeks, trembling hands---and nodded.

“We are dating since last year.”

“I love him.”

And that was it.
That was the moment everything in Jungkook’s head just... stopped.

His heart slammed against his ribs, and something behind his eyes snapped.

“You don’t love him!” he barked, voice jagged with disbelief, his hands shaking now---not from fear, but fury. “Stop saying that shit! Stop making this up!”

He stepped back, chest rising hard, and looked past her.

Eyes locking on him.

Lee Kyung.

Standing calmly beside Mr. Jeon, perfectly put-together, smug in his silence---
like he wasn’t the root of all this fucking poison.

Like he was enjoying the spectacle.

And that was it.

That was the moment.

Jungkook’s vision tunneled, rage spiking so sharp it turned white.
No more words.
No more screaming.
No more fucking lies.

He lunged.

Kyung barely had time to shift before Jungkook’s fist came down---hard.

A clean, brutal punch to the face.

The sound cracked through the air like a thunderclap---
gasps broke across the room.
Everything fell silent.

Kyung dropped like dead weight, stumbling back into one of the ornate chairs, lip split, jaw slack with shock.

People shouted.
Security froze.
Mr. Jeon stepped forward, face still unreadable, but that void in his eyes darkened like something was boiling beneath it.

Kyung’s body barely had time to slump before Jungkook was on him again.

His blood was roaring.
His pulse was pure static.

He reached down, grabbed the bastard by the collar, and yanked him up off the floor like dead weight.

Kyung gasped, dazed, blood already running from the split in his lip.

Jungkook didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t even hear the panicked voices behind him—
the footsteps, the gasps, the chaos exploding around them.

All he saw was him.
Smirking. Standing beside their father like a son-in-law in training.

And Jungkook lost it.

His fist cracked into Kyung’s face again.
And again.
And again.

“You think this is some fucking game?”
Another punch.
“You think you can touch my family?”
Another.

Kyung tried to shield himself, but it was useless---Jungkook had him pinned, one hand gripping his collar, the other raining blows like he had no intention of stopping.

Guards scrambled, shouting his name, grabbing at his arms---
but Jungkook tore free every time.

“Get the fuck off me!” he snarled, eyes wild, blood on his hands---some of it his, most of it not.

Kyung was coughing now, trying to pull away, eyes wide with panic.
He wasn’t grinning anymore.
There was nothing smug left in his face.

Still, Jungkook wasn’t done.

“You don’t even look at her again, I swear to fucking god—!”

Four men finally managed to drag him back, two on each arm, pulling him off Kyung’s limp body.

Jungkook thrashed, snarling, fury seething through every muscle.
His eyes locked on Kyung like he’d kill him if they let go even a second too soon.

“Let me go!” he screamed. “Let me the fucking go!”

The hall was chaos.
Shouts. Phones raised. Cameras blinking.

Jungkook ripped free from their grip with raw strength.

The guards barely managed a shout before he surged forward again---
shoulder down, fist already raised.

One more.
Just one more punch.
That was all he needed to break that bastard’s face in—

But he didn’t hit Kyung.

Because something---someone---stepped in between.

Hana...
his fist froze mid-air.

He stopped.
Hand raised.
Breath shallow.

If he hadn’t pulled back in time—
God. He could’ve—

She didn’t flinch.
Not like before.
This time, she stood tall---back straight, eyes burning---not with fear.

But with something else.

Anger.

Maybe even hatred.

She dropped down, arms wrapping around Kyung, shielding him like he was something precious.
Something to protect.

Jungkook’s blood ran cold.

She looked up at him with eyes sharp and unrecognizable.

“How could you do this?” she hissed. “How dare you hurt my fiancé!”

Jungkook just… stared.

Chest heaving.
Hands limp at his sides.

Everything around him blurred into static. The voices. The flashes. The chaos.

All he could hear was her.
All he could see was that look in her eyes.

Like he was the villain.
Like he was the one tearing her life apart.

She wasn’t scared.
She wasn’t confused.
She had chosen him.

Kyung.

That low-life, polished, snake-blooded son of a bitch.
That was who she threw herself in front of.
That’s who she screamed at him for.

And Jungkook—
he didn’t feel rage anymore.
Not really.

Just this… deep, hollow snap inside him.
Like something had finally broken.

Because his sister…
his little Hana...

Had just screamed at him.

For protecting her.

Hana stood slowly, helping Kyung sit upright as he winced, blood dripping down his chin.

But her eyes never left Jungkook.

Red-rimmed.
Glassy.
But steady.

"Just go," she whispered, voice cracking as her back straightened.
"Don’t come back here. Ever again."

Jungkook didn’t react.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t even breathe for a second.

He just stood there---soaked in someone else’s blood, shoulders slumped with exhaustion, face unreadable.

The words didn’t register at first.

Because Hana---
his little sister...
she never told him to leave.

She was the only reason he ever did come back.
Every time.
Every fucking time he stepped into this house again, it was because of her.

Now she was looking at him like he was a stranger.

His lips parted, voice low and almost childlike, like he was asking something he already knew the answer to.

“So you really choose him?”

Hana didn’t hesitate.

Her eyes locked with his, and she said,
“Yes.”

One word.
Final.

Jungkook didn’t move.

He didn’t scream again.
Didn’t fight.
Didn’t hit anyone this time.

All he heard was a static ring in his ears... deafening, drowning out the voices around them.

Everything blurred.

His hands dropped limp at his sides.
His mouth dry.

Then he blinked.
Just once.
And nodded.

“Fine.”

His voice came empty. Hollow. Detached.

“I’ll go.”

He looked at her one last time, no fire in his eyes.
Just something cold, sunken, and gone.

He turned.

Took one step.

Then stopped. Looked over his shoulder---not at Kyung, not at his father.

At her.

“You were the only person here for me,” he said softly.

“And now... ”

A pause.
His expression didn’t change as he added—

“You’re dead to me.”

And then he walked away.