A Legacy of Shadows

The grand hall was an embodiment of Viktor Kwon's legacy—cold, imposing, and meticulously crafted. Black and red dominated the decor, with velvet drapes framing towering windows and candlelit chandeliers casting flickering light over the crowd. At the center of the room stood Viktor's portrait, his sharp features immortalized in a stoic expression that seemed to pierce through the living even in death.

The air was heavy, not with grief but with anticipation. Among the crowd of elite businessmen and underworld figures, respect was feigned, and emotions masked. Funerals for men like Viktor were seldom about mourning; they were about power, alliances, and statements. Yet, amidst the sea of unreadable faces, there were cracks in the façade.

Dino, the youngest of the SVT gang, stood near the photograph, his eyes filled with unshed tears. His tough exterior faltered, and as soon as his gaze met Viktor's image, a single tear escaped, tracing a silent path down his cheek. His lips trembled, and he turned away briefly, struggling to compose himself.

Hoshi, standing rigidly nearby, glanced at Dino. His jaw tightened as he blinked rapidly, forcing back the emotions threatening to surface. He raised his chin slightly, maintaining the stoicism expected of him, but the faint glint in his eyes revealed his inner turmoil.

Jun and Vernon stood to the side, their expressions solemn, exchanging the occasional glance as they monitored the room. Wonwoo leaned against a column at the far end, his sharp eyes scanning every face, reading every subtle shift in demeanor like a chessboard in motion.

And then there was Seungcheol. He stood in front of Viktor's portrait, his hands clasped behind his back, his broad shoulders rigid, his dark suit tailored to perfection. His face was unreadable, but those closest to him could see the slight clench of his jaw, the twitch in his temple. His grief was a silent storm, locked deep within.

The sound of the large oak doors opening drew everyone's attention. Daniel, a figure almost as commanding as Viktor himself, strode into the room. His presence demanded respect; the hush that fell over the hall was immediate. Dressed impeccably, his silver hair neatly combed back, he exuded an aura of authority.

Daniel walked directly to Viktor's portrait, bowing his head briefly before stepping aside. His sharp gaze scanned the room, acknowledging Seungcheol with a slight nod. Then, as if orchestrated, Viktor's long-time lawyer entered the hall, carrying a thick folder under his arm. The crowd stirred, whispers rippling through the assembly.

After paying his respects with a deep bow to the portrait, the lawyer moved to the center of the room. He adjusted his glasses and began, his voice clear and unwavering.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for gathering here to honor the legacy of Viktor Kwon. As his trusted legal counsel, I have been instructed to share his final will and testament. Please listen carefully, as these words will define the future of his empire and the lives he entrusted it to."

The room fell into complete silence, the weight of the moment pressing down on everyone present.

The lawyer unfolded the document and began reading. His tone was precise, authoritative, each word a declaration of power:

"To Kwon Soonyoung, my nephew, I leave the Kwon Corporation in its entirety. You possess the drive and determination to lead it forward. Along with this, I leave you the Kwon Mansion—a place that has housed our legacy for generations.

To Seungcheol Choi, I entrust my mafia operations, territories, and assets. You have proven your loyalty, strength, and capability time and time again. I name you my successor in all matters pertaining to the Kwon Mafia. From this day forward, you shall lead, with all rights and responsibilities this entails.

To the SVT gang, I hereby grant full authority to absorb and oversee all branches of my organization. I trust this group to honor my legacy and operate with the unity and strength that have always been its hallmark.

The shares of my legitimate enterprises shall be sold, with the proceeds divided equally among the SVT members, to be used at their discretion.

Finally, I direct that all international properties be sold, with proceeds donated to a charitable trust under the oversight of the SVT gang. The Kwon Mafia's international bases shall continue operations under the leadership of Seungcheol Choi.

These are my final wishes, made with unwavering confidence in the individuals named herein."

The lawyer closed the folder with a deliberate snap and looked up, his piercing gaze sweeping the room. "The legacy of Viktor Kwon has now been entrusted to those he deemed worthy. His will is final, and his faith in these individuals is absolute."

The room buzzed with whispered reactions, a mix of admiration, envy, and apprehension. Some guests shifted uncomfortably; others exchanged knowing glances. But the core members of SVT stood unmoving, their presence as commanding as the legacy they had just inherited.

Daniel approached Seungcheol, his expression unreadable. "He made the right choice," Daniel said, his voice low but firm.

Seungcheol nodded, his gaze fixed on Viktor's photograph. "He gave me a responsibility, not a choice. I'll honor it."

Daniel's lips twitched into something resembling a smile. "You always were the one he believed in most. Don't let him down."

As Daniel turned to rejoin the other high-profile guests, Seungcheol exhaled slowly, his hands curling into fists before relaxing. He stepped forward, placing a hand on the edge of the portrait's frame.

"I won't let you down, Viktor," he murmured under his breath.

Around him, the SVT members exchanged quiet glances. The funeral was over, but Viktor's presence lingered, a shadow cast over their futures. In this moment, the weight of their new reality settled in, binding them together even tighter.

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Time skip (the night) 

The weight of the day lingered on Hoshi's shoulders as he stood in front of Woozi's apartment door. The paperwork, the endless condolences, and the unspoken expectations had drained every ounce of his energy. The moment his fingers pressed the doorbell, his heart thudded heavily in his chest, yearning for the only place that felt like home—Woozi.

The door opened to reveal Woozi, dressed in a simple oversized hoodie, his hair slightly messy. Concern flickered in his eyes as he took in Hoshi's worn expression. "Hoshi? Are you okay?"

Before Woozi could say more, Hoshi stepped inside and wrapped his arms tightly around him. The suddenness of the hug made Woozi freeze for a second, but the way Hoshi buried his face in his shoulder, the way his breath hitched like he had been holding it in all day, made Woozi's chest tighten.

"Hoshi..." Woozi whispered softly, his hands hesitantly resting on Hoshi's back.

Hoshi didn't reply. He simply stood there, holding on as though letting go would shatter him. Minutes passed in silence, and slowly, Woozi's arms wrapped more securely around him, his cheek pressing against Hoshi's shoulder.

Eventually, Hoshi pulled back, his eyes glassy but calm, and took Woozi's hand without a word. He led them to the bed, sitting down before suddenly lying back across Woozi's lap, his head resting against Woozi's stomach. Woozi's hands instinctively hovered in mid-air, startled by the vulnerability in Hoshi's actions.

"Hoshi?" Woozi asked softly, his tone a mixture of worry and curiosity.

Hoshi let out a long, shaky sigh, the tension visibly leaving his body as his muscles relaxed. His hands found Woozi's free hand, intertwining their fingers without opening his eyes. "Just... let me stay like this for a bit," he murmured.

Woozi's heart fluttered, a warmth spreading through his chest as he looked down at the man lying on his lap. Carefully, he lowered his hand to Hoshi's hair, his fingers threading through the soft strands. Hoshi made a small, contented sound, leaning into the touch as though it was the only thing grounding him.

The silence wasn't awkward; it was comforting, the unspoken connection between them stronger than ever.

After a few moments, Hoshi broke the quiet, his voice low and filled with a quiet determination. "I'll make him proud."

Woozi's fingers paused for a moment before resuming their gentle movements. "Of course you will," he replied without hesitation, his tone steady and sure.

Hoshi opened his eyes, tilting his head slightly to meet Woozi's gaze. "You believe in me that much?"

Woozi smiled faintly, his eyes softening. "I do. Even when you don't believe in yourself, I do."

The words settled over Hoshi like a blanket, warm and comforting. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, the first genuine one in what felt like days. "You're too good to me," he said quietly.

"And you're too hard on yourself," Woozi countered gently, his thumb brushing over Hoshi's temple.

For the first time that day, Hoshi felt like he could breathe. The weight of the expectations, the responsibilities, and the loss seemed lighter with Woozi's steady presence. He closed his eyes again, letting the rhythm of Woozi's breathing soothe him.

"You know," Woozi began softly, "you don't always have to carry everything on your own."

Hoshi hummed, his grip on Woozi's hand tightening slightly. "I know. I just... I feel like I have to be strong all the time."

"You're strong when you let yourself rest too," Woozi replied, his tone so gentle it felt like a whisper in the quiet room. "And I'm here for you, no matter what."

Hoshi didn't respond with words. Instead, he pressed a soft kiss to the back of Woozi's hand before settling deeper into his lap.

Woozi's heart swelled at the simple gesture, his fingers continuing to comb through Hoshi's hair. As Hoshi's breathing slowed and his grip loosened, Woozi realized he had fallen asleep, the day's exhaustion finally catching up to him.

Looking down at Hoshi's peaceful expression, Woozi couldn't help but smile. For all the chaos and uncertainty in their lives, moments like this made everything feel worth it. Hoshi had leaned on him, trusted him with the side he kept hidden from the world.

And for Woozi, that was everything.

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