The air inside the abandoned warehouse had turned thick with gun-smoke and the copper tang of blood. Bodies lay twisted at unnatural angles, crimson pooling and spreading across the concrete like spilled ink. The last echoes of gunfire still bounced off the rusted metal walls when a bone-rattling explosion ripped through the building from above. The floor shuddered violently; dust and shards of glass rained from the shattered skylight. Every surviving fighter froze, weapons half-raised, hearts hammering against ribs.

"Fuck," Jimin snarled, wiping a streak of blood from his cheek with the back of his hand. "Someone's screwing with the bomb on the rooftop."

He fired his final bullet point-blank into the chest of the man lunging at him, then pivoted toward the stairwell. Before he could take two steps, a rough hand clamped onto his shoulder.

"Jungkook, I've got the roof," Namjoon barked, reloading on the move. "South wing's about to be swarming. They need you there."

Jungkook's dark eyes flashed with irritation, but he jerked his chin once in agreement and spun back into the fray.

A glint of steel caught the corner of his vision. An enemy had slipped behind him, dagger already arcing toward his spine. Pure reflex took over: Jimin dropped his empty magazine, caught the man's wrist mid-thrust, and slammed the butt of his pistol into the attacker's temple. The body hit the ground like a sack of rice. Jimin crouched, pressed the warm muzzle against the man's thigh, and fired-once. A howl of agony tore from the traitor's throat, but the bullet had deliberately missed arteries. Death would be too merciful tonight.

Then he saw it.

Across the warehouse floor, Taehyung was locked blade-to-blade with another assassin, back exposed. A second enemy stood three meters behind him, pistol rising in a perfect line with Taehyung's heart.

Time fractured.

"TAEHYUNG-WATCH OUT!"

Jimin was already moving, boots pounding over corpses, guns raised. The shot cracked like lightning. The gunman behind Taehyung dropped, a neat red hole blooming between his eyes.

Taehyung whirled, chest heaving, knife dripping. Their eyes locked for half a second-relief, gratitude, fury all colliding-then Jimin's knees buckled. Burning pain exploded along his left side. Blood poured hot and fast between his fingers.

"JIMIN! !" Taehyung's voice cracked as he lunged forward, catching Jimin before he hit the floor.

"YOONGI HYUNG!" Taehyung roared over the dying gunfire.

Yoongi came sprinting through the haze, coat flapping like dark wings. His gaze swept over the wound and his face turned to stone.

"Hospital. Now," he ordered.

"No-" Jimin rasped, forcing the words through clenched teeth. He jerked his head toward the unconscious traitor still whimpering in the corner. "Basement... first. Take that rat... alive."

Jin skidded to a halt beside them, face pale. "Jungkook 's got the traitor cuffed. We have to move, Jimin -you're bleeding out!"

"I said I'm-" The warehouse spun. Darkness clawed at the edges of his vision. The last thing he felt was Taehyung's arms tightening around him as the world went black.

"Stupid " Yoongi muttered, half fond, half furious, as he helped lift Jimin 's limp body. "Taehyung, drive. I'll keep pressure on the wound."

They vanished into the night, tires screaming against asphalt.

**[En of action sequence]**

**Jinyoung's POV - Seoul National University Hospital, 02:17 a.m.**

I had just convinced little Chae to finish her vegetables with the solemn promise of unlimited mint-chocolate ice cream once she was discharged. Her mother's exhausted, grateful smile followed me out of the pediatric ward as I rubbed the back of my neck and scanned tomorrow's surgery schedule on my tablet.

Then Ieard the shouting.

It wasn't the usual late-night family argument or drunk patient. This was raw, lethal authority laced with desperation. I picked up my pace, white coat flaring behind me.

The reception area looked like a war zone had walked in off the street. Eight men in black tactical gear formed a silent, menacing perimeter. At the center stood a tall figure in a blood-soaked shirt, one hand pressed to a shallow cut on his forearm, the other slamming a Glock onto the marble counter hard enough to make the night staff flinch.

"I said get me an OR and a trauma surgeon in the next sixty seconds or I will start putting holes in the ceiling," the man snarled.

The receptionist's voice trembled. "Sir, Dr. Lee is off-duty and-"

The pistol came up. "Do I look like I give a fuck?"

I stepped between them before anyone could die over paperwork.

"Lower the weapon," I said, calm, clinical, but loud enough to cut through the tension. "This is a hospital, not a battlefield."

The man turned. Even under the harsh fluorescent lights I recognized him-Kim Taehyung, second-in-command of the most feared syndicate in Seoul. His eyes were molten gold and exhausted all at once.

"Dr. Park Jinyoung," the receptionist whispered behind me, bowing frantically.

Taehyung's gaze raked over me-white coat, stethoscope, no visible fear. Something almost like respect flickered across his face before it hardened again.

"Save my brother," he said simply, voice raw. "Name your price."

"I don't have a price," I replied, already moving. "Ms. Choi-emergency OR 3, stat. Call anesthesia and have two units of O-negative waiting. Page Dr. Kang for assistance."

I glanced at Taehyung's bleeding arm. "You-room 146. My nurse will stitch that up. Then sit your ass down in the surgical waiting area and stay there."

For a moment I thought he'd argue. Instead he gave the smallest nod, holstered the gun, and followed orders.

Four hours later I walked out of the OR scrubbing blood from under my fingernails.

The bullet had shredded muscle and nicked an artery, but Jeon Jungkook-yes, I'd recognized the name on the chart-would live. And walk. And probably return to whatever hell he called daily life.

I found Taehyung and another man-Min Yoongi, if the rumors were correct-standing like statues in the waiting corridor. Taehyung's shirt was freshly changed but his hands still trembled faintly at his sides.

"He's out of surgery," I said. "Stable. Critical but stable. You can see him in recovery room 312 once he's moved."

Yoongi inclined his head, the gesture almost courtly. "Thank you, Doctor Park. The bill is already settled. Anything else you or the hospital needs, you have my personal number."

I nodded, too tired to ask how he'd gotten it.

Inside room 312, Jimin was awake.

Not groggy, not disoriented-awake. His eyes, blacker than midnight and twice as cold, fixed on the ceiling tiles as if he could burn holes through them with sheer willpower. Tubes and wires snaked across his tattooed chest; blood still seeped through the thick bandages wrapped around his torso, but the monitors beeped steady and strong.

Yoongi spoke first. "You scared the shit out of us, Jimin ."

"I wasn't supposed to wake up in a fucking hospital bed," Jimin answered, voice low and venomous. "Who sold us out?"

"Bambam," Taehyung said quietly, scrolling through his phone. "The rat you shot in the leg sang the second we offered him a lifeline. Thought Thai money was shinier than ours."

Jimin's lips curved-not a smile, something far darker. "Greed makes corpses."

"We've kept it quiet," Yoongi added. "No one outside the inner circle knows you're down. Yet."

A soft knock. A young nurse entered with a fresh blood bag, bowing so low her ponytail brushed the floor.

"Sirs, I-I just need to switch the IV and take one more vial. I'll be quick."

Jimin gaze slid to her like a predator finally noticing prey in the room. He didn't speak, didn't move, but the air shifted-became heavier, colder. The nurse's hands shook as she worked. When she reached across him to adjust the drip, his eyes tracked every tremor.

She finished in record time and turned to flee.

His hand snapped out, fingers locking around her wrist with terrifying gentleness.

"Leaving so soon, sweetheart?" His voice was velvet over broken glass. He tugged once-just enough to make her stumble closer. "You're shaking. Afraid of a wounded man?"

"I-I'm married," she whispered, tears welling. "Please... I have children."

For a long moment he simply studied the terror in her eyes, the way her pulse fluttered beneath his thumb like a trapped bird. Then he released her with a soft, chilling laugh.

"Run along, then."

The door slammed behind her.

Jimin 's head fell back against the pillow, the smirk gone. He stared at the ceiling again, voice dropping to a whisper that somehow filled the entire room.

"Bambam thinks he bought himself time," he murmured, almost tenderly. "He just bought himself a front-row seat to hell."

Outside the window, Seoul's neon skyline glittered-oblivious, indifferent, and soon to be painted red.

To be continued