A Shadowed confrontation   

The meeting room was steeped in an oppressive silence, broken only by the faint hum of the projector casting shifting images on the wall. Rows of serious faces reflected the cold glow of the screen as data and plans scrolled past—smuggling routes, financial figures, coded correspondences. Hoshi entered late, his sharp gaze sweeping the room. The rigid postures, the clipped tones, and the somber atmosphere confirmed it: another routine mafia meeting. No distractions, no mistakes.

Seungcheol sat at the head of the table, his presence commanding, radiating an unspoken authority. His face was impassive, his eyes fixed on the screen, though his mind seemed elsewhere. To his right, Wonwoo leaned slightly forward, jotting notes. Jun sat back, arms crossed, scanning the faces around the table. The meeting progressed like clockwork—strategies dissected, orders given. As the final slide flicked off the screen and the room was cast in muted light, Seungcheol rose, signaling its end.

Chairs scraped against the floor, the men filed out in an orderly fashion, and the heavy door swung shut with a dull thud. Hoshi lingered behind, his expression unreadable. Wonwoo and Jun exchanged brief glances before following Seungcheol out of the room.

Seungcheol's office was as austere as the man himself: all sleek lines and muted tones, the faint scent of leather and smoke lingering in the air. Behind the polished oak desk, the city skyline stretched out like a dark promise, lights twinkling like distant stars. Seungcheol stood by the window, his broad shoulders rigid, silhouetted against the glass. His hands were clasped behind his back, a stillness about him that was more unnerving than any motion.

The others entered quietly, but the tension was palpable. Wonwoo, Jun, and Hoshi settled into the chairs across from his desk, their movements deliberate, calculated. For a moment, the room was filled with nothing but the distant hum of the city.

Finally, it was Wonwoo who broke the silence, his voice sharp and low. "What was yesterday's meeting about?"

Seungcheol didn't turn. His gaze remained fixed on the sprawling city. "It's done," he said simply, his tone offering no room for further inquiry.

Wonwoo's eyes narrowed, his patience already thinning. "That's not an answer."

Jun leaned forward slightly, his expression a careful mask of calm. "Why did you send Jeonghan back?" he asked, voice laced with an edge that betrayed his irritation.

Seungcheol's head tilted slightly, but he still didn't look at them. "I signed the contract," he replied flatly, as if that explained everything.

Jun straightened, his brows furrowing in frustration. "What contract?"

Hoshi, who had been reclining casually in his chair, leaned forward now, a sharp smile tugging at his lips. "Wait," he said, cutting Jun off before Seungcheol could reply. "Is it Viktor you went to meet?" His voice was light, almost teasing, but there was no mistaking the dangerous undertone.

Seungcheol turned just enough for his profile to catch the dim light. He gave a curt nod.

Hoshi chuckled darkly, leaning back again. "Fucking knew it," he muttered, shaking his head. His smirk widened as he ran a hand through his hair. "Should've known Viktor was pulling strings again. That bastard doesn't know when to quit."

Jun's jaw tightened. "The letter you got yesterday evening—was it an invitation from Viktor?"

Another nod from Seungcheol.

"And the contract?" Jun pressed, his frustration growing. "What does that have to do with Jeonghan?"

Seungcheol's gaze finally moved to Jun, his expression unreadable. "It's none of your business," he said, his voice cold and final.

The room went still, the tension snapping taut.

Wonwoo's fist slammed against the desk, the sharp sound echoing through the room. "The hell it's not!" he snapped, his voice a low growl. His usually composed demeanor was gone, replaced with something raw, angry. He leaned forward, his glare fixed on Seungcheol. "I don't know about you, but I care about Jeonghan. So yes, it is my fucking business."

Seungcheol's jaw clenched, but he remained silent, his expression hardening further.

Wonwoo exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before pointing a finger at Seungcheol. "I don't care what deal you made or what game Viktor's playing. You're going to explain this—everything. Right now."

The room was suffocating, the silence that followed crackling with unspoken words. Hoshi's smirk faded, replaced with a calculating look. Jun's hands tightened into fists, his gaze shifting between Wonwoo and Seungcheol.

Finally, Seungcheol turned fully, his dark eyes locking with Wonwoo's. The weight of his stare was almost unbearable, but Wonwoo didn't flinch.

The room remained frozen, the confrontation lingering like a storm about to break.F

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Flashback (the previous day evening)

Viktor Kwon lounged in his leather chair, the dim light casting sharp shadows across his angular face. His office was a fortress of opulence and control—marble floors, gilded fixtures, and walls adorned with the spoils of a life built on ruthlessness. A glass of red wine swirled idly in his hand, the crimson liquid catching the flicker of the chandelier above. Yet his sharp eyes, colder than the ice in the whiskey decanter beside him, were fixed on Choi Seungcheol.

Seungcheol stood just inside the door, his posture rigid, shoulders squared as though bracing himself for a fight. Viktor noted the tension in his jaw, the slight narrowing of his eyes—signs of a man trying too hard to conceal uncertainty. It amused Viktor, in a way. This was the man he had once molded, once admired for his unflinching pragmatism. Now, that same man was standing before him, faltering over something so laughably insignificant as a florist.

A florist. The thought alone stirred a disdainful smirk across Viktor's face.

"Ah, Seungcheol," Viktor began, his voice smooth and low, dripping with mock sincerity. He gestured lazily to the chair across from his desk. "Please, sit. No need to stand there like you're waiting for an execution. Unless, of course, you'd prefer to skip the pleasantries."

Seungcheol didn't move, his gaze steady on Viktor, though the tension in his frame betrayed him. Viktor chuckled softly, leaning forward in his chair and resting his elbows on the desk. He let his fingers intertwine, his smile widening as he examined Seungcheol like a hunter sizing up wounded prey.

"It's fascinating, really," Viktor said, his tone conversational but laced with malice. "Here I am, watching the mighty Choi Seungcheol—cold, unyielding, untouchable—crumble over a florist. Someone who doesn't belong in your world, yet here he is, tangled in it because of you." He tilted his head, feigning curiosity as his smirk deepened. "Tell me, Seungcheol. How does it feel to have a weakness?"

Seungcheol's lips tightened, but he remained silent. Viktor noted the slight shift in his weight, the smallest crack in his impenetrable exterior.

"Ironic, isn't it?" Viktor continued, his voice dropping an octave, almost a whisper. "You spent your life building walls—walls so high and so thick that no one could touch you. But now, a simple boy with flowers has breached them. How quaint." He took a slow sip of his wine, savoring the moment.

Seungcheol's hands clenched at his sides, the only indication of his fraying composure. Viktor's eyes gleamed as he decided to twist the knife further.

"Don't you see the absurdity of it all?" Viktor leaned back, spreading his arms in mock incredulity. "You've brought him into this world—a world that chews up people like him and spits them out. Did you think he'd survive here, Seungcheol? That your... feelings would somehow shield him?" The word 'feelings' rolled off Viktor's tongue with derision, like a curse.

Viktor rose from his chair slowly, his movements deliberate as he walked around the desk. He circled Seungcheol, his footsteps echoing ominously in the vast office. "But I understand," he said, his tone softening to something almost gentle—dangerously so. "Perhaps it's not about him surviving. Perhaps it's about you. About proving to yourself that you're still human, that you can still feel something after all this time."

Stopping in front of Seungcheol, Viktor bent slightly, his face inches from Seungcheol's, his smile gone. "But let me remind you, Seungcheol," he hissed, his voice as sharp as the blade hidden beneath his desk, "this world doesn't care about your humanity. It doesn't care about your boy. It will tear him apart, and it will tear you apart for caring."

He straightened and returned to his chair, retrieving a thick folder from his desk and sliding it across the polished surface. "Which brings me to this," Viktor said, his tone suddenly businesslike. "An agreement. A way to keep him out of the chaos you've dragged him into."

Seungcheol's eyes flicked to the folder, then back to Viktor. He didn't move.

"Sign it," Viktor said, his voice low but commanding. "And the boy remains safe. It's simple, really. I'll take care of the necessary arrangements, and you can go back to being the untouchable Choi Seungcheol." He paused, letting the words sink in. "Refuse, and..." He let the sentence hang, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Well, you know how I operate. There are no second chances."

Seungcheol's jaw tightened further, but Viktor could see the conflict in his eyes. He pressed on.

"Imagine it, Seungcheol," he said, his voice soft, almost tender. "Imagine what it would feel like to lose him—not in some dramatic, drawn-out way, but quietly, without warning. One moment he's there, and the next..." Viktor snapped his fingers, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet room. "Gone."

Viktor leaned forward, his eyes sharp, his tone razor-thin. "You know I'm capable, don't you? I don't make threats; I make promises. And if you think for a second I wouldn't act—" he paused, letting his words land, "—then you haven't learned a thing. I could have him erased from this world with a single phone call. No warning, no chance to say goodbye. He'd simply... disappear."

The silence that followed was suffocating. Viktor leaned back, folding his hands in his lap, his smirk returning. "But I'm not cruel, Seungcheol. I'm giving you a choice—a rare luxury in our world. Sign, and he's safe. Refuse, and... well, you've seen what I'm capable of."

The weight of Viktor's words hung heavily in the air as Seungcheol stood motionless, his face betraying nothing but the faintest flicker of inner turmoil. Viktor's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. He had planted the seeds of doubt, of fear, and he knew they would grow.

"Twenty-four hours," Viktor said finally, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "That's all you have. Decide wisely, Seungcheol."

Viktor's smirk widened as he watched Seungcheol turn and leave the room without a word, the heavy door clicking shut behind him. Viktor leaned back in his chair, lifting his glass to his lips. The game was already in motion, and he had no doubt who would come out victorious. 

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Present 

Seungcheol stood by the window of his office, the faint glow of city lights cutting through the darkened room. His silhouette was sharp, a figure carved from stone as he stared out into the cold night, unyielding and unmoving. The air in the room was suffocating, heavy with tension as Jun, Hoshi, and Wonwoo stood before him. Their expressions were a mix of anger and disbelief, shadows dancing across their hardened faces in the dim light.

"This is a fucking trap, Seungcheol," Jun growled through clenched teeth, his voice low but filled with barely restrained fury. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, veins visible as he tried to contain his frustration.

"I know," Seungcheol replied coldly, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. He didn't even turn to face them, his eyes fixed on the distant cityscape as if seeking answers in the chaos below.

"You know?" Jun's voice rose slightly, incredulous. He stepped forward, his boots thudding against the hardwood floor as he pointed a finger toward Seungcheol. "You're walking straight into Viktor's game, and you're telling me you know?"

Seungcheol finally turned, his sharp gaze meeting Jun's. His expression was unreadable, the cold fire in his eyes enough to make even Jun hesitate. "I said I know," Seungcheol repeated, his voice like steel. "And I don't need you questioning me."

Wonwoo, who had been silent until now, exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound more irritated than calm. His eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "This is reckless," he said, his tone colder than the night outside. "You're risking everything for a boy who doesn't belong in this world. A boy Viktor will use against you."

Seungcheol's jaw tightened at the comment, his lips pressing into a thin line. The tension between the men crackled like electricity, an invisible storm brewing in the room.

"This isn't about him belonging," Seungcheol said finally, his voice low but deliberate. He stepped away from the window, his presence dominating the room as he approached his desk. "This is about control. And I don't let anyone—Viktor included—dictate my decisions."

"Control?" Hoshi scoffed, leaning back in his chair with a bitter smirk. His voice dripped with sarcasm as he looked at Seungcheol. "Is that what this is? Because from where I'm standing, it looks a hell of a lot like you're losing it."

"Hoshi," Jun warned, his voice tight, though he didn't entirely disagree.

"No," Hoshi continued, sitting up straight and leveling a glare at Seungcheol. "Let's be real here. Viktor sent that letter to mess with you, and guess what? It worked. You're off your game, and now you're making moves that could blow up in our faces. You think Viktor didn't plan for this?"

Seungcheol's expression didn't waver, his voice as cold as ever when he replied. "I don't care what Viktor planned. I'll deal with him the same way I always have."

"And what about Jeonghan?" Wonwoo snapped, stepping forward and slamming his hands on the desk. The sound echoed through the room like a gunshot. "You think Viktor won't go after him again? That florist is a fucking target now, thanks to you. You can't just throw some extra security at him and hope it all works out."

Seungcheol's eyes flicked to Wonwoo, his gaze as sharp as a blade. "I'll handle it," he said, each word enunciated with chilling precision.

"Handle it?" Jun's voice was quieter now, but no less heated. "You're signing a deal with the devil, and you're dragging all of us into it. This isn't just about you anymore, Seungcheol. This affects all of us—our operations, our people."

Seungcheol remained silent for a moment, his hand resting on the edge of the desk. The weight of the room pressed down on everyone, the air thick with unspoken challenges and lingering resentment.

Finally, Seungcheol looked up, his gaze sweeping over the three men in front of him. "I'm not explaining myself to any of you right now," he said, his voice deadly calm. "I made my decision, and I'll see it through. If you have a problem with that, say it now."

Jun's jaw clenched, his teeth grinding audibly as he looked away, frustrated but unwilling to push further. Hoshi muttered something under his breath, his anger simmering just below the surface. Wonwoo, however, didn't back down.

"This is a mistake," Wonwoo said, his voice low but firm. "And you know it."

Seungcheol straightened, his full height imposing as he met Wonwoo's glare head-on. "Then we'll discuss the strategy tomorrow," he said curtly. "We'll go over every contingency, every security measure around Jeonghan's place and shop. But this," he gestured toward the contract on his desk, "is happening. Whether you like it or not."

The room fell into an uneasy silence, the tension palpable. Wonwoo shook his head in disbelief, stepping back from the desk.

"Fine," he said finally, his voice tinged with resignation but still laced with anger. "But if this goes sideways, don't expect us to clean up the mess."

Seungcheol's eyes darkened, his gaze like ice. "Noted."

Without another word, Wonwoo turned and left the room, the door clicking shut behind him. Hoshi followed, though not before throwing Seungcheol a sharp look that spoke volumes. Jun lingered for a moment, his expression conflicted, but he eventually left as well, the door closing softly in his wake.

Alone in the darkened office, Seungcheol leaned against the desk, exhaling slowly as he ran a hand through his hair. His face was impassive, but his eyes betrayed the storm raging within. The world he had built, the empire he controlled with an iron fist, was shifting beneath him—and all because of a florist who had unwittingly become the epicenter of his chaos.

Seungcheol's gaze drifted to the city lights once more, the distant hum of life outside a stark contrast to the silence in his office. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, each second a reminder of the decision he had made and the consequences that would follow.

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