60
Third Person Pov
The hospital was wrapped in a heavy silence, the kind that made even the air feel afraid to move.
The lights were too bright, the smell of antiseptic too sharp.
Nurses walked quickly but quietly, heads down, speaking only when they had to.
Every sound... the beeping of machines, the soft squeak of shoes echoed like it didn’t belong there.
Behind the thick glass of the emergency theatre, doctors were moving fast. You could see their shadows and flashes of movement through the frosted glass. Taehyung was inside. His blood. His body. His name was being said softly in whispers no one dared to make too loud.
Jungkook stood there, a few feet away from the door, still as a statue.
His face was blank, but the look in his eyes could burn through steel.
It wasn’t just anger it was something that had gone past anger.
His hands were clenched so tight that his knuckles had turned white.
He wasn’t breathing fast, he wasn’t pacing he was too calm, too controlled, and that made it worse.
He looked like a storm holding itself back.
Beside him, Seokjin stood frozen. His eyes were wet, his throat tight as he stared at the glass. Every now and then, his lips parted like he wanted to say something, but no words came out. The weight in the air made his chest heavy.
Then, from the far end of the corridor, the sound of footsteps broke the silence. Everyone turned. One of Jungkook’s guards was walking toward them but he wasn’t alone.
In his arms, limp and still, was a small boy. Gyubin.
Seokjin’s breath hitched, and Jungkook’s head snapped up instantly. His eyes locked onto the child, and for the first time that night, his face shifted... just a flicker, just a crack.
“Mr. Jeon,” the guard said carefully, his voice low and tense. “He was unconscious when we entered the house. Seems like he was scared and fainted.”
Jungkook didn’t speak, his hands slowly extended forward. The guard stepped closer and placed Gyubin into his arms.
The boy was light... too light. His little body hung loose, his head resting weakly against Jungkook’s chest. He looked pale, his lashes damp, lips parted as he breathed faintly. Jungkook stared at him for a moment, his throat working, his expression blank but carried an unspoken pain.
The doctors nearby rushed forward immediately, calling for a stretcher, a nurse, oxygen. Jungkook didn’t wait. He just turned and started walking down the hall, holding Gyubin close against him. His steps were slow, steady, like he was afraid of breaking the child even more.
He entered one of the rooms and gently placed Gyubin on the bed. His fingers lingered for a second, carressing his forehead before he straightened and stepped back. His eyes stayed on Gyubin for a heartbeat longer, and then he turned around and walked out.
When the door closed behind him, the quiet came back even heavier than before.
Seokjin turned, watching Jungkook as he stood there in the dim hallway. His face looked drained, but his eyes… his eyes didn’t look human anymore. They were dark, and full of emotions that made Seokjin’s chest twist.
Jungkook didn’t say a word. The silence around him said everything. He turned his head slightly, looked through the glass at the red light over the operation theatre, and then looked back at Seokjin.
Then without a word he turned and began walking toward the exit.
His steps were calm, quiet, but there was nothing peaceful about them. Every stride felt like a promise. The guards around him straightened immediately and followed, saying nothing. His shoes clicked against the hospital floor, slow and heavy, echoing through the hall like a countdown.
Seokjin didn’t follow. He just watched him go, frozen where he stood, the faint hum of the machines the only sound in his ears.
Outside, the doors opened automatically as Jungkook stepped out into the night. The wind hit his face cold, sharp, carrying the smell of the rain that hadn’t fallen yet. The streetlights hit his figure, casting a long shadow across the wet ground. He didn’t stop walking.
Inside, the doctors shouted orders. Machines beeped. Seokjin whispered a prayer he wasn’t sure would be heard.
But Jungkook... Jungkook was already gone.
And from the way he walked calm, straight-backed, silent, it wasn’t hard to see what was about to happen next.
Something or someone was going to burn.
.
.
.
Seokjin sighed, running a hand through his hair as he saw one of the top doctors in the country rushing out of the emergency room. The man’s gloves were stained faintly with blood, his face pale with exhaustion.
“How is Taehyung?” Seokjin asked immediately, stepping forward. His voice trembled despite how hard he tried to sound composed.
The doctor exhaled, pulling his mask down slowly.
“He’s… stable for now,” he said, voice low but heavy.
“But it’s serious. He’s suffered a severe head injury and oxygen loss.
We’ve managed to control the bleeding, but—” the doctor paused, glancing toward the glass window before looking back at Seokjin, “we’ll have to monitor his brain activity closely over the next forty-eight hours. ”
Seokjin’s chest tightened. “What… what does that mean exactly?”
The doctor pressed his lips together, clearly reluctant to say more. “There’s a chance,” he said finally, his tone careful, “that he may not wake up the same.”
Seokjin frowned, his voice rising slightly, “What do you mean not the same?”
The doctor’s eyes softened. “Head trauma like this can cause changes in memory, behavior… even personality. It depends on which part of the brain was affected. Sometimes patients—” he hesitated, choosing his words carefully, “ wake up feeling like someone else entirely.”
Seokjin froze, his stomach dropping. He could barely process the words. His lips parted, but nothing came out. “You’re saying he might not even… remember?” he asked finally, voice shaking.
The doctor nodded slightly. “It’s just a possibility. We’ll know more once he regains consciousness, if he does.”
Seokjin looked past the doctor, through the glass into the room where Taehyung lay motionless under the harsh hospital light. His face looked too pale, his lips slightly parted, wires attached to his temples. Machines beeped rhythmically beside him, the only proof that he was still here.
The doctor placed a hand on Seokjin’s shoulder gently. “We’ll do everything we can, Mr. Kim,” he said softly before walking away.
Seokjin stood there for a long moment, unable to move. If Taehyung wakes up… what if he doesn’t remember any of them?
What if he doesn’t even remember Jungkook?
.
.
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The radio played softly in the corner, its static hum the only trace of life inside the dead hall. The place reeked of rust, gasoline, and fear. Moonlight leaked through the broken windows, slicing across the floor where blood stains had long dried to a brown shadow.
Jungkook sat in the center of it all, on a single chair, his back straight, his jaw tight. In his hands rested a chainsaw, silent for now but heavy with promise. His knuckles were pale against the metal handle.
Around him, fifteen men sat tied to poles and chairs, their wrists bound, eyes darting between the gunmen who lined the walls.
Among them was Akari . His white shirt was soaked with blood from an earlier beating, his lip split open, one eye nearly swollen shut. Even now, he dared to look up, trembling but defiant. He knew what was coming. Everyone in that room did.
Jungkook’s men stood like shadows behind him... silent, trained, and loyal. No one spoke. No one breathed too loudly.
Jungkook leaned forward slightly, his gaze locking onto Akari. “Bring them,” he said. His voice was steady, almost casual. “One by one.”
He paused, his tongue tracing the inside of his cheek before adding coldly, “Start with the wife.”
One of the men obeyed immediately, nodding toward the others. They grabbed the woman by her legs and dragged her across the floor. "NO PLEASE-" Her screams broke the silence, echoing off the concrete walls.
“Please!” Akari shouted, his voice cracking. “Leave her out of this! She didn’t do anything!”
Jungkook’s head tilted, but his eyes didn’t soften.
Didn’t do anything? The words replayed in his mind like an echo inside an empty skull.
Taehyung’s face flashed before his eyes pale, motionless, blood pooling under his head. The hospital’s sterile light. The faint beeping of machines.
His breath grew heavier. He blinked once, twice, and the hall returned Akari’s wife sobbing on the floor, Akari himself begging like a man trying to bargain with fate.
“You knew what would happen the moment you touched him.”Jungkook’s voice sharpened, almost slicing through the air.
He stood slowly, the chair scraping back against the floor. The sound alone made everyone flinch. Jungkook walked toward Akari’s wife, each step deliberate.
The radio continued to play in the background, some old love song that sounded wrong now, twisted against the violence of the scene.
He crouched beside the woman and stared at her. “Do you love your husband?”
She sobbed and nodded, hands shaking.
“Good.” Jungkook murmured.
The chainsaw roared to life. Its sound was deafening, a beast awakened. Sparks of metal filled the air as Jungkook lifted it slightly, the teeth glinting in the dim light.
“Mr.Jeon— please—stop!” Akari screamed, thrashing in his chair, but his restraints held. “I’ll do anything— kill me instead!”
Jungkook’s gaze flicked to him, empty and cold. “That’s exactly what I plan to do,” he said flatly. “But first I want you to watch.”
He turned to the woman, who was crawling backward, tears streaming down her face. Jungkook’s expression didn’t change. There was no anger visible now, only focus. The kind that belonged to someone who had already crossed the line between sanity and vengeance.
He pressed the blade forward... close enough for the air to split around it. The woman screamed, hands raised in hopeless defense. Akari’s cries were hoarse, his voice breaking as he struggled against the ropes.
“Jungkook, please— I swear I didn’t mean to hurt him! I just—”
“Shut up.”
The single command froze him. Jungkook’s voice wasn’t lou, it didn’t need to be. There was power in the way it carried, in the authority it demanded.
He stopped the chainsaw just inches from the woman’s neck and turned back toward Akar.
Akari's eyes darting to the machine, then to Jungkook’s face.
The scream that followed didn’t just echo, it stained the air. The sound seemed to crawl along the cracked walls, settling deep into the concrete until even silence felt alive with its echo. Men shifted uncomfortably; a few turned their heads away, and one covered his ears with trembling hands.
A last scream was heard before the woman's body fell forward helplessly. Fleshed to death.
But Jungkook didn’t move. He stood perfectly still, his gaze fixed on the lifeless body on the ground. The faint hum of the radio filled the hollow space again, the music warped and distant, as though mocking what had just happened.
Blood had splattered across his sleeve, painting his white shirt with the proof of what he’d done.
It didn’t bother him. He raised a hand, brushed away a drop from his cheek, and exhaled.
.. slow and measured. His face was a mask of stillness that somehow made him more frightening than any man screaming in rage could ever be.
He lifted his fingers and gestured lazily, almost bored. “Bring him.”
The order carried easily, sharp and quiet. His men obeyed instantly. They dragged Akari forward, the soles of his shoes scraping against the floor. He was barely conscious, his head lolling weakly until they forced him to his knees.
“Please,” Akari croaked. “Please, Jungkook—”
His voice cracked, falling apart into choked sobs.
Jungkook tilted his head slightly, studying him the way a predator might study something that was already half-dead.
“Do you know why you’re still breathing?” he asked quietly.
Akari looked up, eyes red and wet, shaking his head frantically.
“So you can understand,” Jungkook continued. His voice was low, almost calm. “So you can feel what helplessness tastes like."
Akari tried to speak, but the words tangled on his tongue. Jungkook crouched in front of him, their eyes meeting for the first time. There was nothing human left in Jungkook’s gaze just a hollow space where grief had once burned.
“Please,” he stammered, his voice broken, “please, I’ll do anything…”
Jungkook didn’t care, not about the screams, not about the blood, not about the trembling men watching from the corners.
The chainsaw roared to life again, its teeth biting into Akari’s flesh with a sound that made even the toughest men flinch. The scream that tore out of Akari’s throat filled the room, bouncing off the concrete walls until it became almost unbearable.
Blood splattered across his face and shirt, warm and thick, but he didn’t bother to wipe it away. To him, it wasn’t blood, it was justice. The kind that came too late, but came nonetheless. The chainsaw kept humming, slicing through the air as Jungkook leaned closer, his voice cold and detached.
“You should’ve thought twice before touching what’s mine.”
The scream broke into silence soon after, leaving only the buzzing of the machine and the heavy breathing of terrified men who didn’t dare look up.
When he was finally done, silence filled the hall.
.. heavy, suffocating, broken only by the low hum of the chainsaw winding down.
Jungkook’s gaze swept over the floor, where pieces of what once was Akari lay scattered.
.. hands, legs, the remains of a man who had begged for mercy.
Blood painted the tiles in uneven streaks, seeping into the cracks.
He stood still for a moment, breathing steady, the chainsaw still gripped in his hand, its blade dripping red. Slowly, he turned to his men, who stood frozen, their faces pale.
“Feed it to the sharks,” he said quietly, voice calm but cutting through the silence like a blade.
No one dared to speak. They only nodded, rushing to obey, while Jungkook walked away, the sound of his boots echoing against the blood-soaked floor.
[made this last night.]
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The emergency corridor seemed to inhale as the doors opened.
Jungkook stepped in with the kind of quiet confidence that made people move without thinking. Heads turned; nurses froze mid-step. Even the steady beeping of monitors felt suddenly too loud against the hush his presence enforced.
Dozens of men spread behind him like a shadow that never left his shoulder broad, silent, watchful. They kept a careful distance, but their formation made the CEO look like an island: alone, immovable, dangerous.
He was stained... clothes darkened at the cuffs, sleeves rolled, a smear along his forearm but the sight did not slow him.
People glanced away the way you do from a bad wound: respectful, practiced, and a little afraid.
The doctors, trained in triage and truth more than in questions of ownership, cleared the path.
They did not ask what had happened. They only let him pass.
Seokjin was the first to find words. He took a step forward and then another, the anger and the exhaustion in his face colliding. “What the hell is all this?” His voice sounded small in the big, sterile room, an ordinary human shout against a very deliberate silence.
Jungkook’s face did not change. For a long breath he simply looked at Seokjin, as if weighing whether to make this a conversation. Then he let the answer tip out, flat and unhurried.
“I killed them. All of them.” He said it like a matter-of-fact report. The sentence landed in the corridor and did not echo, it settled heavy and final. “Everyone connected to him. I destroyed his pathetic world.”
The words were blunt enough to make a dozen small movements around them stop.
Seokjin’s jaw dropped, fingers finding the lapel of his coat as if to steady himself.
He swallowed, not because he had questions about Jungkook’s capacity for violence, he knew that already but because of the absolute, frightening calm with which the confession came.
“You… what?” Seokjin’s voice was thin now. He had handled hostile boardrooms, quiet betrayals, and family crises; this was something grimmer.
Jungkook’s gaze slid away from Seokjin, past the cluster of doctors, toward the window where dawn was starting to unpick the night’s darkness. He answered without making it a drama.
"He made a choice. I made a decision.” he said.
Seokjin’s hands tightened. “Jungkook...” he said slowly. “This...this is-"
“Necessary,” Jungkook finished, gently, with none of the heat Seokjin’s word implied. The machine hum of the hospital seemed to lean in; the fluorescent lights hummed above them indifferent.
A doctor cleared his throat then, trying to reclaim the procedural air that always helped everyone breathe. “Mr. Jeon, you cannot be in the emergency area… we need room for the teams.”
Jungkook nodded once, not in submission, but as a formality.
The Ceo turned around without saying a word, his boots clicking sharply against the cold hospital floor.
His men followed close behind, one carrying a fresh shirt neatly folded over his arm.
The scent of blood trailed faintly behind him, iron and rain mixed into something heavy that made even the nurses lower their eyes as he passed.
He pushed open the door to the private room. The light flickered once before settling into a dull white. His guard handed him a fresh shirt, and Jungkook took it wordlessly, stripping off the one that clung to him with dried blood.
Seokjin followed quietly, his tone steady but strained. “Taehyung’s condition is critical,” he said. “He hit his head hard. There’s swelling in his brain… oxygen loss too.”
He paused, watching Jungkook wipe his hands clean methodically, as though removing something invisible.
“The doctors said even if he wakes up… he might not be the same person again.”
Jungkook didn’t move. He just stood there, staring down at the floor. The water dripping from his hands hit the tiles like seconds ticking too loudly.
Seokjin exhaled shakily, eyes softening.
“And Gyubin… he fainted at home. Must’ve been terrified waiting for Taehyung. The kid’s stable now, but…” his voice dropped, “he kept calling for his appa.”
No answer. Just the faint sound of fabric as Jungkook buttoned his clean shirt, slow.
“Jungkook,” Seokjin spoke again, gentler now, “the doctors said… even if Taehyung wakes up, there’s a chance he won’t remember you at all.”
The air stilled.
Jungkook froze mid-button. The muscles in his jaw flexed, and his eyes, empty and cold just moments ago flickered, breaking for the briefest second.
Then, slowly, his hands dropped from his shirt. His head lowered.
Like the moment before a building collapses.
The silence stretched too long, too heavy.
Seokjin took a small step forward. “Jungkook—”
But the CEO turned, His eyes looked distant, almost hollow, as if whatever was left inside him had burned out along with the night.
He walked past Seokjin, leaving faint drops of water or maybe blood in his wake. The door clicked shut softly behind him, and the echo of his footsteps faded down the corridor until there was nothing left.
Just Seokjin standing there… in a room too cold, too quiet.... realizing that Jungkook never looked this restless even when his eyes held the calm.
It wasn’t peace he carried anymore.
It was the kind of silence that breaks a man from the inside out.