28. Jin
The Claw Lounge stands proudly among the other establishments on the busy street. Its once-faded exterior has been transformed over the last year.
The brick facade, once crumbling, has been repurposed and smoothed over. The old neon sign that was half dead has been replaced by a tasteful, lit-up emblem that bears the Baekho’s claw.
I step out of my Genesis and cross the street like a man who has all the time in the world. The truth is, I like to admire the fruits of my labor—look up at the Claw Lounge and see how far it’s come from Jae-hyun’s days of drunken neglect.
The inside of the lounge is different these days too.
Gone is the acrid stench of cigarette smoke and stale liquor. The cloying smell of bad cologne and blood that never quite washed out of the carpets.
The lighting is moody and low, creating the kind of ambient atmosphere that fits our syndicate.
Men sit scattered around the lounge, their postures easy but alert. Their conversations differ, jackets slung over the backs of their chairs. Near the fireplace, a group of lieutenants sit hunched over a game of cards. At the bar, some soldiers drink like fishes.
They all notice me as I pass through.
They nod in respect. Acknowledgment for the authority I wield.
Over the past year, the Baekho Pa has flourished like its glory days so many decades ago. But it’s been hard-earned among me and my men. It’s not something that’s come easily. It’s not something a leader like Jae-hyun would’ve brought to fruition.
I ride the elevator to the third floor, stepping out once the doors split down the middle. The smell of clean leather and fresh lacquer hangs in the air while the carpet beneath my feet is lush and smooth. The once-faded gold trim has been redone, as has the battered wallpaper.
At the end of the hall is the solid dark-stained oak door. I stride for it, twisting the knob to open the Baekho-je’s office.
In other words, mine .
The space is almost like a new place entirely.
Gone are the gaudy embellishments Jae-hyun had prized himself on.
The giant massage chair has been disposed of.
The same can be said for the oversized television that once played pornographic films nonstop.
The hefty selection of liquor bottles has been removed for a sleek minibar with more refined taste.
Everything that was once a signifier of Jae-hyun is only a memory.
I respected him once. When I was a young Hubae working my way up the totem pole, Jae-hyun was a sharp and relentless Ho-gwi. He was the captain that served as my mentor for years. Then, when he eventually rose to become Baekho-je, I respected his rank.
But I knew what a terrible leader he was.
He was a man controlled by emotion. He was someone who put his vices above all else.
Since I’ve taken over, I’ve sought to bring prestige back to the syndicate. I’ve focused on qualities like honor and discipline, following the way of the Baekho white tiger himself.
It wasn’t easy. When I first pursued the throne, many of the others objected.
Several old, craggy lieutenants felt it was their turn in line to rule.
They challenged me, and I rose to the occasion each and every time.
I fought to secure Baekho-je, proving that no one else was fit to take the lead. I deserved the crown.
I cross the large room to the desk I’ve put by the window and slide into my seat. It’s not easy being the leader, but I’ve dedicated myself to the role. I’ve ruled with an iron fist to ensure that we maintain our reach across Busan and even expanded into other territories.
A sharp knock disrupts the quiet; two measured raps against the heavy wood.
“Enter,” I command from where I’m seated.
The door swings inward and Park Min-gyu strides inside with the kind of tight, coiled energy he’s never bothered to disguise.
He’s tall and slim, with a gangly neck that almost appears stretched out. He’s shaven the sides of his head, sporting a tapered mohawk style. Judging by the splatter of blood on his dark clothes and the fresh gash on his temple, he’s had an interesting night.
He marches to the desk without hesitation and bows his head once in greeting.
“Report from Haeundae, sir,” he rasps. “The Bulgeomhoe made another move. Tried to creep past the boundary line near the beachfront, same as last time.”
I lean back into the chair, the leather creaking faintly under my weight. “And what happened then?” I ask in a firm tone.
“They didn’t get far,” Min-gyu answers. His mouth twitches into something that isn’t quite a smile. “There was a firefight. Their crew against ours. It got messy. We dropped two of theirs. The rest scattered like rats.”
I nod slowly, the motion small but deliberate, my mind already unfurling the situation like a map.
For a year now, the Bulgeomhoe have been a thorn in our side.
A real pain in the ass. They’ve remained our fiercest rivals, refusing to adhere to territory lines and past agreements.
They plotted with Seung-min to sabotage me and the rest of the Baekho.
We’ve been forced to remind them again and again of their place.
Something we’ll do so long as they’re delusional enough to need it. They may not have learned yet. But they will.
I’m no Kim Jae-hyun. I act decisively and ruthlessly, doing whatever is in the best interest of the Baekho Pa. They’ll either fall into line or be buried by our hand.
I glance up at Min-gyu, who stands rigid like a soldier awaiting orders.
“Gather a crew,” I say calmly. “Head to their weapons warehouse. Burn it to the ground.”
Min-gyu’s mouth splits into a grin—sharp, feral, and eager—and he nods with a crack of his neck. He’s the kind of solider I appreciate most. Deferential where it matters, and eager to please and work their way up.
“It'll be done within twenty-four hours.” He pivots on his heel with military precision and marches out of the room without another word.
The heavy door clicks shut behind him, sealing the quiet back around me.
I rise from the desk, the movement slow and deliberate, and turn once more toward the window.
Below, the street is bustling even at this late hour. The entire city is like that, alive and pulsing even through the night.
It’s when we accomplish the most as a syndicate. The Baekho Pa thrives in the dark.
Under my rule, it hasn’t just survived—it’s flourished more than it has in decades, sharper and more efficient than it has ever been. I’ve dedicated my life to bringing the syndicate greatness, and I won’t stop now. I’m only getting started.
But even as I rule as the Baekho-je, I make time for the other half of myself.
The warm laughter among the sheets each morning and the hushed late-night pillow talk in the dark.
I’ve realized that I can have both. I can rule the Baekho while holding onto the part of my world that brings a different kind of happiness.
The woman I’ve fallen in love with.
I’m going to rule my empire with a ruthless hand and protect the love I’ve found with the same relentless grip. I’m disciplined and determined enough to have it all.
The door creaks as I push it open and enter my apartment. I don’t bother with the lights, familiar enough with the dark shapes and layout that it’s unnecessary this late at night.
The air is warm, carrying the faint, sweet imprint of her—notes like flowers and sunshine and tall grass that instantly remind me of spring.
Everywhere she’s been, I can always smell her. Always intoxicated by her pure scent.
I shrug off my leather jacket with one hand, letting it fall over the back of a chair in the entryway, the weight of it slipping from my shoulders with a muted thump. My boots follow, toed off and left in a neat line beside the door.
The floorboards are cool under my bare feet as I cross the apartment, each step slow, careful, the stillness of the hour settling into my bones.
In the bathroom, I strip the rest of the way down, peeling off my shirt and pants, leaving them pooled on the tiles without ceremony.
The shower hisses to life with a twist of the knob. Steam billows out in thick, comforting clouds as the hot spray washes over my skin.
I stand under the water for a long time, head bowed, the heat ringing the tension from my muscles, and washing away the remnants of the day.
Once clean, I step out and towel off in brisk, efficient movements. I pull on a fresh pair of boxers and pad toward the bedroom. The room is as dark and still as the rest of the apartment. Only the slow, gentle sound of her breathing greets my ears.
I cross in silence, taking care not to wake her.
Monroe is a small lump curled under the bedsheets. Her soft, round features are relaxed in sleep, her curls obscured by the satin bonnet she wears.
I lean down and brush a kiss against her cheek.
“Sleep soundly, Tokki-ya,” I murmur.
The happiness that swells through me is immeasurable, a tide rising so strong it leaves me breathless for a moment, stranded in the wonder of it.
Coming home to her—finding her in my bed—feels like a victory greater than any territory claimed. Any enemy crushed beneath my boot.
This is what I fight for now. She is the gift no one will ever take from me.
As long as there’s breath in my body, we’ll be together.
I slide beneath the sheets with a slow, careful motion, the mattress dipping slightly under my weight. The heat of her body seeps into mine, an immediate comfort before I even settle.
I reach out and curl an arm over the soft curve of her hip. Monroe stirs at the touch. A sleepy hum purrs from her throat. Her lashes flutter as she sleepily peeks at me.
“Hold me,” she murmurs, so quiet it might have been a dream if I hadn't felt the small, instinctive grasp of her hand against mine.
I grin to myself, a pulse of pure, aching fondness beating steadily in my chest. This is how I want to spend each night for the rest of my life. In bed with my rabbit, holding her close as she falls asleep in my arms.
Without hesitation, I tighten my arm around her and pull her even closer. She snuggles against me with no space in between us, tucking her face into my chest. I drop a kiss to the crown of her head and murmur, “Always, Tokki-ya.”
THE END
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