The explosion tore through the 27th floor like it had been waiting for a cue. Yoochan felt the shockwave slam into his chest, flinging him backward as fire and shrapnel devoured the hallway. Smoke flooded the narrow stairwell as the building groaned beneath its age, its bones finally breaking under a weight too long carried.
He didn't know if he screamed—there was only ringing. Hot metal. Blood in his mouth. The concrete beneath him shifted, cracked, and gave way.
He was falling.
Then: black.
---
When he woke, it was to pain.
Searing. Radiating. Something sharp was embedded in his side, and his leg twisted unnaturally. Through the haze, Yoochan saw a figure dragging him across the floor, limp as a rag doll.
"Stay with me," a voice muttered. "Come on, come on…"
Jiwoo.
He was alive.
Burned along his left arm, blood running from his temple, but alive.
He hauled Yoochan into a stairwell—what was left of one—propping him against a fractured railing. Emergency lights flickered like dying stars. Beneath them, Seoul raged with sirens.
"You led them here," Jiwoo panted. "Why?"
"I didn't… I didn't know they'd move this fast."
"You're Kang Yoochan," Jiwoo growled. "They always move fast when power shifts."
Yoochan coughed. Blood spattered onto Jiwoo's hoodie. "You saved me."
Jiwoo didn't answer.
Instead, he pulled a burner phone from his pocket and snapped it in half. Then another. Then a third.
"All compromised," he said. "We've got maybe ten minutes before they sweep the building."
"Who are 'they'?"
But Yoochan already knew.
Joonho's shadow unit. The ones no one talked about in boardrooms but everyone feared in whispers.
"They'll assume I died," Yoochan said.
Jiwoo stared at him. "Let them."
---
By the time they limped out the back stairwell, the fire trucks were already arriving—too late, too slow, always the same. A news drone hovered above, catching flames dancing across the top floors. A reporter's voice echoed through the night:
"—apartment explosion in Shingang District. Unconfirmed reports of multiple fatalities. Police suspect gas leak, though sources hint at foul play—"
Yoochan and Jiwoo slipped through the alleyway, moving like ghosts. Every breath was agony. Every step cost more than Yoochan could afford.
Eventually, Jiwoo guided him into an abandoned karaoke bar three blocks away. The kind of place no one asked questions. Behind a wall of broken machines, there was a trapdoor Yoochan never would've noticed.
"Welcome to my second home," Jiwoo said, voice grim.
They descended into darkness.
---
The bunker was crude but wired—multiple monitors displayed hacked feeds from Kang security, Seoul traffic cameras, and burner social media forums. Yoochan saw his own face flickering across news tickers.
BREAKING: KANG YOOCHAN MISSING AFTER SHINGANG EXPLOSION.
One outlet showed a blurry image of his charred suit, partially buried in rubble.
"You were right," Jiwoo said. "They think you're dead."
Yoochan's hands curled into fists. "Good."
Jiwoo turned to him. "Now you have a choice."
Yoochan looked at the younger man—his eyes still sharp despite the blood, the burns, the anger.
"What choice?"
"Stay dead. Or use the grave they gave you to bury them all."
---
They worked in silence for an hour.
Jiwoo treated Yoochan's wounds with surprising care. The younger boy moved with a methodical precision Yoochan found unsettling. Familiar.
"You were trained," Yoochan said.
Jiwoo didn't look up. "I trained myself. Every night since I was ten."
"Why?"
Jiwoo taped the last bandage. "Because your father left my mother to die in a hospital hallway while he funded his mistresses' plastic surgeries."
Yoochan looked away. "I didn't know."
"You didn't need to. You were busy trying to prove you belonged."
Yoochan didn't argue.
They were both children of Kang Daehyun. Different mothers. Same blood. Same rot.
---
Hours later, Jiwoo powered up a secure server.
"Everything I've pulled on the family," he said. "All their scandals. Their secrets. Joonho's illegal mercenary fund. Soomin's club laundering. Yuna's gambling debt trail. Even Seojun's 'righteous' law firm that takes bribes under shell donations."
He paused.
"Yours too."
Yoochan arched an eyebrow. "You kept a file on me?"
Jiwoo didn't smile. "Of course. You're the most dangerous of them all."
"Flattered."
"You shouldn't be," Jiwoo said. "You're clever. Cold. Strategic. But you're still playing his game."
"No," Yoochan said. "I'm ending it."
"Then prove it."
Jiwoo pushed a flash drive into his hand.
"This holds the kill switch," he said. "Corrupts the family server and wipes all blackmail databases. Financials. Bribery logs. Everything."
"What's the catch?"
"You have to choose when to use it. Burn the empire, or keep the leverage."
Yoochan stared at it. It felt heavier than gold.
"Why give this to me?"
"Because you'll hesitate. And I want to see what kind of monster you become."
---
Yoochan didn't sleep that night.
He sat in the bunker, staring at the monitor looping news about his 'death.' Chaebol stock prices fluctuated wildly. Kang Industries was in chaos. Board members were already debating emergency succession protocols.
And Joonho?
He was smiling on a yacht in Italy.
"Rest in peace, Yoochan," he said in a press interview, dressed in black again. "He was a troubled soul. I only ever wanted to help him heal."
Yoochan shut the feed off.
He slid the flash drive into his breast pocket.
Jiwoo had given him a weapon.
Now he just had to decide who deserved to bleed.