Mid-Morning – Training Grounds, BTS Compound

The sun was harsh, but the smirk on Taehyung’s face was harsher.

“You call that a punch, Yn?” he laughed, dodging her strike. “My grandma hits harder—and she’s dead.”

Yn didn’t even blink. She ducked, swept his leg out from under him, and had her knee to his chest before he could blink.

“Your grandma must’ve been pathetic,” she muttered.

“Oof,” Jungkook’s voice rang from the edge of the mat, where he stood with his arms crossed, watching. “That’s a new record, Taehyung—down in under five seconds.”

The others snickered, Suga shaking his head. “Poor guy.”

But Taehyung just laughed from the floor, groaning. “Damn. I think I like her.”

“You’re not the only one,” Jimin muttered under his breath.

The days had blurred into rhythm—training at dawn, missions in the shadows, silence at meals—but one thing had changed.

Yn.

She still didn’t laugh.

She didn’t flirt or smile or open herself up with stories and sweetness.

But she didn’t shut them out anymore either.

She taunted back. She fought harder. And when Namjoon purposely handed her the heavier weapon, she didn’t complain—just cocked an eyebrow and said, “Trying to see me break, or trying to make me stronger?”

He smirked. “Both.”

And when Jin offered her water, she took it. Quietly. But she took it.

Breakroom – After Training

They all lounged across couches and chairs, sweat drying on their skin, laughter echoing louder than bullets.

Yn sat off to the side, towel around her neck, arms resting on her knees.

“You know,” Jimin said, flopping beside her, “I think you like us.”

She glanced at him sideways. “I like my knives more.”

“That's a yes,” Taehyung grinned.

“Tell anyone and I’ll shove a blade between your ribs,” she said flatly.

Suga raised a mock toast. “She definitely likes us.”

They all laughed, and for a moment—just one—her lips twitched.

Not a smile. But not cold either.

And Jungkook, watching from the far wall, saw it all.

She was still sharp. Still vengeful. Still unhealed.

But she wasn’t alone anymore.

And even the most dangerous wolves eventually found a pack.

After freshen up, as the group finished breakfast.

Yn stood up from her chair, wiped her mouth with a napkin, and spoke plainly.

“I want to visit my aunt. It’s been months. I haven’t even called her.”

The room stilled for a second. Jungkook didn’t look up right away, but the tension in his jaw gave him away. His fingers tapped against the table once... then stopped.

Finally, he nodded once, slow and unreadable.

“Fine,” he said. “You can go.”

Yn gave a small nod in return, not expecting anything more.

But then—

“We’ll come with you,” Taehyung announced, slinging his arm casually over the back of her chair.

Jimin nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah. Road trip.”

She blinked. “What?”

Suga leaned back with a smug smirk. “What, you thought we’d let our little warrior go out alone into the world of civilians?”

“I’m not your responsibility,” she replied coolly, grabbing her jacket.

“Too late,” Jungkook said, standing up. “They already decided you’re family.”

“I didn’t decide anything,” Yoongi muttered, but he was already putting on his coat.

“I don’t know why the hell you’re all coming,” she muttered under her breath as they walked to the car.

Jimin leaned in beside her, grinning. “Come on. She’s also our aunt now.”

Taehyung winked. “We might need to steal her secret recipes.”

Outside Mrs. Kang’s House – A Small Quiet Neighborhood

The black SUVs stood out like wolves among sheep. Curtains twitched. Neighbors stared. And still, the seven men didn’t care.

Yn hesitated at the gate, hand hovering over the bell.

Then the door flung open.

Mrs. Kang stood there, older but strong. Her eyes widened at the sight of Yn—and even more at the powerful men flanking her like a guard of honor.

“Y–Yn?” she breathed.

Yn didn’t answer with words.

She just rushed forward and hugged her tight. For a second… she was the same girl who once stumbled into this woman’s arms, lost and alone.

The boys stood quietly behind.

Mrs. Kang looked over Yn’s shoulder at them and blinked.

“And… who are these?”

Jimin grinned. “Ma’am… we’re her brothers.”

"No we're not" Jungkook said with a straight face.

Mrs. Kang blink at him. Jimin laugh nervously "uhh ignore him mam he is like this" Earning a glare from jungkook.

The scent of warm broth and herbs filled the small home. Yn sat at the kitchen table, her fingers curled around a familiar chipped mug. The others were scattered around—Taehyung and Jimin raiding the snack jars, Jin inspecting the spice rack, Yoongi silently scrolling through his phone on the couch, and Jungkook…

…leaning against the doorway, watching her.

Mrs. Kang was bustling near the stove, but her eyes flickered between Yn and the man with the midnight stare. His arms were crossed, but his focus never wavered. Not even once.

She watched how his expression shifted—not the cold mafia mask he wore for the world, but something… softer. Alert. Protective. Silent fire.

And when Yn laughed—just a little, when Hoseok teased her about her “murderous cooking face”—Jungkook blinked slowly like he was committing the sound to memory.

Mrs. Kang turned back to the pot with a small smile tugging at her lips.

Later in the garden...

The two women stood under the shade of the fig tree. Yn’s arms were crossed, posture stiff.

“You’ve changed,” Mrs. Kang said softly, her voice like the wind through leaves.

Yn didn’t reply.

“You’re stronger. Sharper.” She paused, turning her head toward the window where the boys were messing around inside. “And I can see the wall you’ve built.”

Yn lowered her eyes.

“You haven’t let anyone in for years, Y/n,” Mrs. Kang continued. “But those boys… they’re chipping away at that wall. Especially him.”

Yn’s eyes flickered toward the house instinctively.

Mrs. Kang gave a knowing look. “He doesn’t just look at you, sweetheart. He sees you.”

There was silence for a heartbeat. Two. Three.

“I don’t want to feel anything,” Yn finally whispered. “I’m afraid it’ll make me weak .”

Mrs. Kang gently reached out and placed a hand over hers. “Love doesn’t make you weak, child. It makes you remember you’re alive.”

Inside – Laughter, Teasing, and Jungkook Still Watching

Back inside, the boys were in chaos—Taehyung accidentally spilled a jar of rice, Jin yelled, Jimin snorted, Hoseok tripped over a cat figurine, and even Yoongi cracked a tiny smile.

Yn walked in silently, and the noise dipped—but only for a second.

“Oh no, Ynnie’s back,” Jimin said dramatically. “Everyone behave or she’ll stab us with a spoon.”

“You’ll deserve it,” she replied dryly, grabbing the mop.

The group laughed.

Jungkook… didn’t.

He was still leaning against the wall, one hand in his pocket, eyes locked on her like a puzzle he couldn’t solve… but wanted to.

Mrs. Kang, standing at the far end, noticed again.

She saw the softness behind his rigid stance, the way his gaze followed her every movement—not with lust, but with gravity. Like Yn was the only fixed point in his spinning world.

And for the first time, Mrs. Kang felt something stir in her chest. A quiet prayer.

If she is to belong to this dark world… let there be someone who doesn’t just protect her body… but her heart too.

The night had fallen soft and heavy. The moon hung low, silver clouds floating lazily past it. Everyone else was asleep inside—except two shadows wandering under the stars.

Yn’s arms were folded loosely over her chest as she walked beside him. Their steps crunched on the gravel path behind the house, toward the small fenced garden near the back hill.

Neither of them spoke at first.

Jungkook walked with his hands in his coat pockets, his jaw tense, his dark eyes shifting between the stars above and the woman beside him.

It was Yn who finally broke the silence.

“You don’t sleep much either,” she said quietly.

“No,” he replied. “Too many memories.”

She nodded. She understood that.

They reached the edge of the garden—where an old rosebush bloomed unnaturally red beneath the moonlight. Its petals deep and rich, almost like blood soaked into velvet.

Yn’s steps slowed.

She stared at it.

Jungkook noticed the shift in her breath, the way her hands clenched slightly.

“…Here?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

She nodded.

“We buried him here,” she said. “My uncle.”

Her voice didn’t tremble, but there was something tight behind it. Not regret. Not fear.

Just… the shadow of a wound that never quite healed.

“We did it alone,” she continued, her gaze fixed on the roses. “That night… no one heard us cry. Not even the earth.”

Jungkook’s eyes stayed on her. The glow of the moon lit half her face—the soft curve of her cheekbone, the quiet strength in her jaw, the silent storm in her eyes.

“Why here?” he asked.

“It was his favorite spot,” she said. “He used to plant roses here. He used to say....i love dark roses because it looks like someone paint it from blood.”

A bitter laugh escaped her.

“Seems fitting.”

Jungkook stepped closer, close enough to feel the weight she carried but still giving her the space she never asked for.

“You were just a kid,” he said.

“I wasn’t anything,” she whispered. “Not a child. Not a woman. Just something broken and… waiting to shatter.”

Silence.

Then Jungkook did something she didn’t expect.

He reached out and gently touched the thorny stem of one of the blooming roses. Blood welled at his fingertip where a thorn pierced him. He didn’t flinch.

“Then let this place be your graveyard,” he said softly. “Where the past is buried… and you grow above it.”

She looked at him. His voice was low, but it wasn’t commanding. Not cold. Not cruel.

It was human.

The moonlight caught in his eyes, and for a moment, he didn’t look like the devil of the underworld. He looked like a man who knew pain. Loss. Rage. And perhaps…

Hope.

A breeze whispered through the leaves.

“I don’t know if I can grow again,” she said, her voice a fragile crack.

“You already are,” he said simply. “You just haven’t noticed.”

Their eyes locked in the silence that followed. And in the garden, where dark red roses bloomed above old bones, something unspoken bloomed too.

Not love—not yet. Just understanding.

But recognition. A mirror. A bond forged in blood, silence, and moonlight.

The moment Yn and Jungkook stepped back inside, they were greeted with a sight that made both of them pause.

Taehyung was sprawled across the small couch, one leg dangling off the edge, head tilted back, snoring lightly. Jimin lay with his arm over his eyes on the carpet, muttering in his sleep. Jin was curled up in the armchair with a pillow far too small for him. Hoseok and Namjoon had apparently tried to share a blanket but ended up tangled in it like they were in the middle of a war. And Yoongi was—well, Yoongi was sitting upright against the wall, chin tucked into his chest, somehow managing to sleep in perfect silence.

Jungkook exhaled slowly through his nose. Yn blinked once, then twice, before letting out the faintest breath of laughter.

“They look like survivors after a battlefield,” she murmured.

“They are,” Jungkook replied with a half-smirk, “of their own chaos.”

Just then, the hallway light flicked on, and Mrs. Kang appeared in her soft house robe, rubbing her eyes with one hand.

“Oh dear, these boys…” she muttered, stepping carefully over Jimin’s arm. “Honestly, they’re worse than children.” She looked at Yn with a gentle smile. “Go on, sweet girl. Head to bed, you’ve had a long day.”

Yn gave a small nod, but before she could move, her eyes drifted to Jungkook.

She hesitated.

Just the smallest pause—but one that wasn’t missed.

Jungkook met her gaze. His dark eyes were unreadable, but calm. A subtle understanding passed between them. And yet… Yn didn’t say the words.

Didn’t ask if he wanted to come with her. Couldn’t.

Mrs. Kang followed her gaze, then turned to Jungkook with a raised eyebrow and a warm, teasing smile.

“You, young man, come with me. I’ll show you to your room upstairs.”

Jungkook shook his head slowly. “No need, ma’am. I’m fine right here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mrs. Kang said, placing her hands on her hips.

“I’m serious,” he said, nodding toward his men. “I’ll stay with them. It’s better if I’m here. We’ve shared worse spaces.”

He looked around the chaotic room—his brothers-in-arms snoring, curled, tangled, comfortable despite it all—and then his eyes flickered to Yn once more.

“We’re used to this.”

Mrs. Kang looked like she wanted to argue, but then paused. Her gaze followed his. She saw it.

The quiet glance. The way he watched Yn without needing to speak. Not with hunger, or power, or control—but something deeper. Something almost protective.

She folded her arms gently and gave a small sigh. “Stubborn,” she said, almost fondly. “Just like her.”

Yn’s head snapped toward her aunt, startled. “What?”

Mrs. Kang only chuckled. “Never mind. Go on, sweetheart. Get some sleep.”

With a soft glance at Jungkook, Yn finally turned toward the hallway. But just before disappearing down it, she paused—then looked over her shoulder at him.

“Good night,” she said quietly.

His gaze never left her.

“Good night, Yn.”

And with that, she vanished into the hall.

Jungkook slowly sat down on the rug, next to Yoongi’s barely conscious form. He leaned against the couch, long legs stretching out, hands folded behind his head.

Mrs. Kang watched him for a long moment.

Then, with a faint knowing look in her eyes, she said, “You're not as unreadable as you think.”

Jungkook glanced up.

Mrs. Kang gave a gentle smile and walked away.

The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the overhead bulb. The rest of the house had gone quiet—only the tick of the wall clock and the low hum of the refrigerator filled the silence.

Mrs. Kang placed two mugs of warm tea on the small wooden table, her movements slow, thoughtful. Jungkook sat across from her, no longer the unreadable mafia leader everyone feared—but just a man, curious about a girl who had looked him in the eye and dared to speak his name without trembling.

She sat down across from him, exhaling softly as she wrapped her fingers around the ceramic cup.

“She was only nine,” Mrs. Kang began quietly, her eyes fixed on the steam curling from her drink. “When her parents died.”

Jungkook didn’t interrupt. He simply listened, gaze steady, jaw relaxed but focused.

“I wasn’t her real aunt,” Mrs. Kang admitted, lips tightening into a wistful smile. “ I took her with me because she almost died that day and the reason is me, I hit her from my car. And later I got to know her parents died so I did what I thought was right. I took her with me here in my home and raised her as my daughter".

She looked up at Jungkook.

“She never cried. Not once.”

Jungkook’s brows knit slightly. “Not even when she missed her parents?”

Mrs. Kang shook her head. “Not even when she told me about her parents death. She just stood there. Silent. Not a single tear.”

A pause. Then she spoke more softly.

“Sometimes I think she learned too early that crying doesn’t bring anyone back.”

Jungkook’s hands curled around his mug.

“I used to think maybe it would change,” she went on. “That time would heal her, that love would melt that silence. But then my husband…” She faltered, throat tight. “He tried to… he touched her. When she was barely twenty.”

Jungkook’s entire body went still.

Mrs. Kang’s voice shook, but she didn’t stop.

“She didn’t scream. She didn’t run. She waited until I left the house, and when I came back…” She met Jungkook’s eyes. “She had blood on her hands and no fear in her face. She stabbed him. And I... I didn’t ask why. I didn’t need to.”

Jungkook said nothing. The cold tension in his jaw revealed everything he didn’t say aloud.

“And then I killed him from my own hands then I buried him in the backyard that night. She helped. We never spoke of it again. No police. No tears. Just a hole in the ground and silence between us And trust me i didn't regret it”.

She paused again, searching Jungkook’s face.

“She stopped being a child that day.”

He didn’t look away.

“I did everything I could for her,” Mrs. Kang continued. “Kept her fed, clothed. Protected her. But I knew she wasn’t mine to protect anymore. She built her walls. Tall ones. She wouldn’t let me in.”

She leaned forward slightly, her voice gentle. “But you… she’s letting you in, whether she knows it or not. She talks more. Looks softer around you. And when you speak, she listens—even when she pretends not to.”

Jungkook finally spoke, his voice low. “I never asked her about that night. But I knew there was something behind her silence.”

Mrs. Kang nodded. “You remind her of it, I think. The coldness. The power. The control. She doesn’t trust easily, but when she does… she doesn’t know how to stop caring.”

Another silence passed.

“I just want to ask you one thing,” Mrs. Kang said, voice steadier now. “If you bring her deeper into that world of yours… don’t turn her into something she’s already fighting hard not to become.”

Jungkook stared at the ripples in his tea.

“I didn’t bring her,” he said after a long beat. “She came to me. With fire in her chest and no place left to go. She’s not a victim anymore.”

“No,” Mrs. Kang agreed quietly. “But even fire needs someone to make sure it doesn’t burn itself down.”

Jungkook looked up at her, the faintest flicker of emotion behind his dark gaze.

“I’m not good with soft things, Mrs. Kang,” he said.

“Neither is she,” she replied with a faint smile. “That’s why you’re the most dangerous thing that could happen to each other.”

The sun had barely risen, casting a soft gold hue over the small, quiet town. The air was fresh—clean in a way the forested shadows around the mansion never were. Yn stood silently near the gate, watching Mrs. Kang wave them goodbye with a soft smile and tear-brimmed eyes.

Jungkook stood a few feet behind her, hands tucked in his pockets, unreadable as always—but watching her.

Taehyung groaned, dragging himself toward the SUV. “Do we really have to leave? I was just getting used to that soup of yours, Auntie!”

Mrs. Kang laughed, waving him off. “Go before I make you mop the kitchen.”

Jimin, of course, winked dramatically. “You do make a killer breakfast. I’m not saying I’ll marry you, but I am saying I’d visit twice a week.”

“Shut up and get in the car,” Yoongi muttered, smacking him lightly on the back of the head.

As they piled into the car, one by one, Jungkook lingered. He didn’t say anything, just gave Mrs. Kang a faint nod.

She returned it, eyes flickering to Yn—who still stood in place.

“Yn,” she called softly.

Yn turned, her expression unreadable.

Mrs. Kang walked closer and gently brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. “I saw it,” she whispered. “Whatever it is… don’t fight it too hard. Let it in, just a little.”

Yn didn’t respond. But for once, she didn’t pull away either.

She turned and walked back toward the car, her steps slower, her shoulders a little less tense.

Inside the SUV, the energy was different. Not loud and teasing like the night before—but quiet. Peaceful. A kind of unspoken understanding hanging between them.

Jin was already dozing off again. Jimin tapped lightly on his phone, and Taehyung stared out the window, humming faintly.

Yn sat by the window in the backseat, staring at the passing houses and trees.

And for the first time in a long time… she felt light.

Not just because she saw her aunt.

Not just because she escaped the bloodstained walls of her daily survival.

But because of them.

Because of Annie’s little arms wrapped around her that morning, whispering, “I’ll miss you, unnie.”

Because of the way Jimin bickered with her until she smirked without realizing.

Because of Taehyung sneaking snacks into her coat pocket and grinning like a child.

Because of the quiet glances Jungkook kept stealing when he thought she wouldn’t notice.

Something was breaking through her armor—not enough to wound, but just enough to warm.

Something soft. Something terrifying.

Something that felt almost like... family.

To be continued....