Chapter Text
🎶Recommended track: "Into It" by Chase Atlantic
The whole damn building pulsed with music. Every beat traveled through the floor, up his boots, and straight into his chest.
Nox stepped into Velvet Halo, Seoul’s most exclusive underground club, a black mesh shirt clung to his skin beneath a sharply tailored blazer, the fabric shifting with every movement, revealing just enough to invite attention without begging for it. Silver hoops glinted in both ears whenever the strobe lights cut across his face, and the chain at his throat caught the glow in brief, deliberate flashes.
Normally, he was the one people came looking for. Tonight, it was the other way around. The police were not on his heels, and neither were the idiots he'd robbed last week. Tonight, he was the one chasing some information.
More specifically, dirt on Boss lee Jiseok, a mobster with delusions of legacy and a weakness for dancers and gambling. He had heard Lee was funneling money into a political scandal that involved the National Assembly and at least two underground cartels. Word was, he kept backups of all his insurance policies somewhere near his club lounge, encrypted drives, fake ledgers and voice memos. He was paranoid.
Well, that made him vulnerable.
He had been inside the club for less than forty-five minutes. Most of that time was spent blending in, nursing a drink, trading lazy smiles with strangers, and sharing a cigarette with a girl who had no idea what kind of man she was standing next to.
When the opportunity finally came, he slipped away from the crowd, picked the office lock, rerouted the camera feed, and searched Lee's desk. The encrypted drive was right where he'd expected it to be. Beneath it, hidden in a false drawer, sat a sealed envelope. He took both before anyone noticed he was gone.
It had gone smoother than he'd expected.
Nox did not just steal things. He stole opportunities, leverage, and the moments people could never get back.
People called him Nox because he moved like the night itself. He slipped in unnoticed and disappeared before anyone realized what had happened. By the time they reached for their wallet, opened their safe, or checked the files they swore had been locked away, he was already gone with their money, their secrets, or whatever power they thought belonged to them.
No one knew who he really was. Not the gang bosses with a price on his head, and not the men and women who spent a night in his bed. They woke to cold sheets, empty pockets more often than not, and the lingering feeling that maybe they had imagined him in the first place.
Nobody knew where he had come from. As far as anyone was concerned, he'd appeared out of nowhere, leaving nothing behind but rumors.
Some said he was the discarded son of a disgraced tycoon, raised among silk and scandal before vanishing into the underbelly that had ruined his family. Others swore he had grown up in a brothel, nimble fingers trained to steal before he could even steady his steps, survival carved into him as instinct rather than choice. Each version sounded plausible in its own way, and none of them ever quite fit.
There was one thing almost everyone agreed on, Nox never worked for anyone. He chose his own jobs, answered to no one, and disappeared the moment the work was done.
If he accepted a contract involving you, it usually meant you were already in trouble. By then, there was rarely a way out.
In just two years, he'd earned a reputation that took most criminals decades to build. More than two hundred jobs, not a single permanent alliance, and almost nothing left behind for anyone to trace. He did not have a digital footprint, either. It was as if the man simply did not exist outside the stories people told about him.
Some feared him. Others wanted to be him. The rest had made it their life's work to catch him.
☆ --- ☆
Outside, the city looked the same as always. Neon signs bled across the wet pavement while luxury cars rolled past people barely scraping by. Jimin lit a cigarette despite hating every drag of it and headed down the street without slowing.
He slid into the back seat of the taxi with a soft grunt, closing the door behind him.
"Sincheon-dong," Jimin muttered.
The driver glanced at him in the mirror. Jimin gave a somewhat polite smile, pouring all his charm into that deceptive grin and man didn’t ask questions.
Smart dude.
Jimin sank into the seat, and kept his face turned slightly toward the window, hair falling over his eyes. He looked like a student coming home from a night out.
After got out on a quiet street, he let the cab roll away, and started walking.
The apartment building was only a few blocks away. Five stories tall, with peeling paint, flickering lights, and cracked concrete, it looked just run-down enough to disappear into the neighborhood. It was not his home, at least not in any real sense. It was simply one of several places he used whenever he needed people looking in the wrong direction. As far as anyone knew, the apartment was empty. No one ever noticed him coming or going.
Jimin was halfway to the building when his instincts kicked in. Nothing obvious had changed, but something felt off. The street had gone just a little too quiet, the air a little too still. It was the kind of thing most people never noticed. But he wasn’t most people.
He adjusted the collar of his coat and shoved hands into his pockets, steps light as he melted into the pulsing streets of Seoul. Neon signs buzzed overhead. The stink of sweat, cigarette smoke, and cheap perfume trailed behind him.
Jimin wandered for a while before heading back. Fog drifted between the buildings, softening the glow of the neon signs, while the smell of fried food and rain-soaked pavement clung to the air. He cut through narrow back alleys where the pavement was cracked and the streetlights flickered more often than they stayed on. Gravel crunched beneath his boots, mixed with the occasional snap of broken glass, but his pace never changed.
Then he turned a corner, one he knew as a shortcut, and stopped cold. Someone was already there. He was leaning against the graffiti-tagged brick wall. A tall man, limbs all loose and long, hoodie pulled low over his face. Smoke curled from the cigarette hanging between his fingers, untouched, burning just for the sake of it.
The stranger stayed where he was, but Jimin could already tell he was being watched. It was the kind of stare you felt before you saw it. Then the man shifted, taking a single step into the weak glow spilling from the alley. For a brief moment, the light caught his eyes beneath the hood before the darkness hid the rest of him again.
Well, fuck, Jimin know this face.
“So,” Jimin murmured, his boots crunching half a step backward, “You finally found me.”
Namjoon didn’t blink. “We always knew where you were. We just didn’t think you were stupid enough to steal from us.”
A flicker of heat rose in his chest. Jimin wasn’t sure if it was fear or pride. “Then I guess I surprised you.” He smirked.
Tall man didn’t return the smile. “You stole from Jungkook.”
Oh. It's the one they let loose when they wanted blood on the floor. Jimin remembered now, the heavy black wallet, the dragon tattoo curling up his wrist, the split-second thrill of getting away with it at the club two weeks ago.
Namjoon kept walking forward . “And more importantly… you touched Yoongi’s stash.”
Now, that had been an accident. Jimin thought the safe was clean. he didn’t know it was his.
Yoongi, was a vicious man. They said he could walk into a room and no one would know he’d killed someone until the body hit the floor. Jimin had seen him once, high on a rooftop, silhouetted in moonlight. That grumpy man smiled at him.
And Jimin still had nightmares about it.
Namjoon was within reach now. Jimin spun on his heel and took off. The man didn’t follow, he didn’t need to.
By the time Jimin was halfway through the second alley, vaulting over a rusted fence that screeched under his weight, he heard it: footsteps behind him. They were fast and heavy, closing the distance quicker than Jimin expected, but there was nothing careless about them. It wasn’t the uneven, desperate noise of someone blindly chasing him. The rhythm was controlled, each step placed with precision, almost effortless in a way that didn’t match the situation.
Taehyung. Of course it was him. If Namjoon was the strategist and Jungkook was the one who got his hands dirty, Taehyung was the hunter. Once he started looking for someone, they rarely stayed hidden for long. People swore he could track a man through his scent alone.
He always dressed like he had stepped out of a luxury magazine. Tonight, a long black trench coat hung from his shoulders, the fabric shifting behind him as he walked.
Jimin cursed under his breath, heart pounding as he ducked behind a dumpster.
“Stop running,” his voice was low and amused. “I just want to talk.”
Jimin peeked over the edge. Taehyung stood there, hands in pockets, looking bored.
“Liar,” Jimin whispered.
Taehyung grinned in a way that felt far too certain, far too calm for the situation. It wasn’t just confidence, it was the kind of look that said everything was already decided, that whatever chance Jimin thought he fucking had was nothing more than an illusion.
And that’s when he realized he wasn’t getting out of this. Not tonight. Because they weren’t going to kill him. No, Bangtan didn’t waste talent. That much was clear now. Whatever they saw in Jimin, they had already decided it was worth keeping.They wanted to own him, all of them.
Taehyung didn’t chase after him, he didn’t need to. He just stood there, calm and unbothered, like he already knew Jimin would come out on his own sooner or later. Mischievous bastard.
And you know whats the annoying part was? He was right. It wasn’t fear that made Jimin step back or keep his distance. Jimin wasn’t scared of Taehyung. He just didn’t like the feeling of being cornered, like his choices were slowly being taken away.
“You know,” Taehyung said softly, eyes tracing younger boy like he was still deciding whether Jimin was prey or something else, “We could use someone like you.”
Jimin scoffed under his breath, easing one foot from behind the dumpster. “That’s what they all say before they bury the body.”
Taehyung laughed. “I’m not here to bury you, Nox.”
The way Taehyung said his codename made Jimins skin itch. Like he’d been waiting to say it. Like he enjoyed knowing it.
Jimin took a small step back. “Then what are you here for?”
Before he could answer, headlights swept across the alley. A black motorcycle rolled to a stop.
The rider didn’t take off his helmet right away. He just sat there, hand resting on the clutch. When Jungkook finally removed his helmet, shaking out his hair, eyes locked on him, Jimin could already tell that boy hated him.
“You got balls,” he said, stepping off the bike. “I’ll give you that.”
Jimin smiled. “I get that a lot.”
“You won’t be smiling long.”
Taehyung raised a brow but said nothing. He just leaned back against the wall, watching.
“You boys trying to scare me?” Jimin asked, eyes flicking between them. “You should’ve brought more friends.”
“Three of us is enough to bury you,” Jungkook muttered.
“Maybe,” Jimin said. “But you’d have to catch me first.”
Taehyung let out a low whistle. “You’re either brave or suicidal.”
“Neither, I just know you’re not here to kill me.”
Namjoon had caught up with them in the meantime, his tall form slipping into view next to Taehyung. His gaze was sharp, narrowing as it locked onto Jimin’s. There was no warmth in his expression, only calculation. “What makes you think that?” he asked.
Jimin hesitated for just a beat, letting the moment stretch. His fingers brushed the edge of his jacket, the fabric cool under his touch, as he reached inside, pulling out a folded piece of paper, just enough to show the edge, feeling their eyes on him as he held it.
Jimin let out a soft breath, barely above a whisper, "Because if you kill me...This ends up in the wrong hands. And I don’t think you want that."
Neither of them spoke. After a few long seconds, Namjoon closed the distance by a step. “We need to talk.”
Jimin shrugged, “Then talk.”
Namjoon’s eyes flicked briefly to Taehyung, as if to make sure they were both in sync. “Not here.”
Of course not.
“You coming with us willingly?” Taehyung asked, his voice smooth, but the edge in it was unmistakable. He wasn’t asking. He was giving Jimin an ultimatum.
Jimin smirked, feeling the rush of adrenaline creep through his veins, but he kept his voice steady. “what other choice do i have?"
That seemed to satisfy them, though it was a risk.
They didn't blindfold him. That was their first mistake.
They walked in a triangle, flanking Jimin like he might bolt. But he didn’t. Jimin wanted to see where they’d take him. Wanted to know what their home looked like, not the flashy bars or rooftops they played on for the public, but the real thing.
Turned out, the Bangtan gang had taste. The building they led him to was a far cry from the gleaming, corporate towers or exclusive bars. On the outside, it was a quiet, unassuming old brick building with second-floor windows blacked out. But as soon as he stepped inside, it hit him: this was no ordinary place.
The air was thick with the smell of coffee and something more metallic, gun oil, maybe? The walls were high, exposed concrete, raw and unpolished. Tactical gear was neatly stacked next to shelves filled with books. On the far wall, a series of monitors flickered, showing camera feeds from all over the city. It was like stepping into a high-tech safehouse, designed like an art gallery if the art happened to be forged passports and handguns.
Still, there wasn’t anything particularly special Jimin hadn’t seen before. Leather couch, an ivory table, a desk, a devil, screens over there, wait, a devil?
Oh. Yoongi.
He was seated behind the largest desk, his dark hoodie a stark contrast to the white light overhead. His hair was a mess, ruffled like he hadn’t slept in days. His hands were steepled beneath his chin, his eyes on guest before Jimin even had the chance to speak.
Taehyung broke the silence first, his voice light, almost teasing. “Look who finally showed.”
Namjoon, however, said nothing. He peeled off his coat, tossing it carelessly onto the leather couch without taking his eyes off Jimin.
Jimin let the silence stretch for a beat longer, brushing the wet from his sleeves as he stood there. His heart wasn’t racing. It should’ve been, but somehow, he felt... calm.
Yoongi stood, his chair scraping the floor as he pushed up. “Tell me you didn’t bring him here.”
Namjoon’s voice stayed level. “He had something we needed.”
“You mean the thing he stole?” Yoongi’s eyes flicked briefly to Jimin, his expression cold. “From Lee.”
Jimin shrugged, leaning slightly forward, pulling the folded document from his jacket, the document, the one he’d risked his skin for. Just one piece of paper. One coded shipping manifest.
“Technically,” Jimin said with a small, defiant smirk, “Lee never knew it was missing.”
Yoongi scoffed. “That all you brought?”
He placed the paper on the table between them. “This,” Jimin said, his fingers brushing the corner of the sheet, “is the key to blowing open Lee’s side deal with the Osaka syndicate. Twenty-seven containers, labeled as car parts. But they’re not.”
The room stilled. Namjoon was the first to move. He walked over slowly, his large frame blocking the light as he reached for the paper, unfolding it with surgical precision. His eyes scanned the page quickly, but Jimin knew he wasn’t just reading it. He was trying to find a flaw.
“Where did you get this?” Namjoon asked, his voice still cold.
“His private safe. I had ten minutes and no backup. You’re welcome.”
Taehyung let out a low whistle, impressed, but Yoongi’s gaze didn’t soften. His jaw clenched, his gaze now locked on Jimin. “And you just happened to risk your life out of the kindness of your heart?”
“No, I did it because it'd sell well to the right folk. But you got me, so you should’ve bought it.”
Yoongi took a slow step forward. like he was walking towards something dangerous. Jungkook shifted, just enough to signal he was ready, but Namjoon didn’t stop him.
“I don’t trust you,” Yoongi said, his voice low, almost a growl. “And I sure as hell don’t want you in this room.”
Jimin tilted his head, feeling the smirk tug at his lips. “Good. The feeling’s mutual.”
For a long moment, no one moved. Then Namjoon spoke again, his voice quieter this time, but still edged with something sharp that didn’t quite let the tension go. “We don’t have to like him. But we need him.”
Yoongi’s eyes flashed with disgust as he turned away, his back to Jimin as if the boy wasn’t worth the air in the room. “Then keep him on a leash.”
“I don’t wear leashes,” Jimin said, dropping onto their sofa like he owned it, crossing his arms. “But thanks for the offer.”
He didn’t expect the door to swing open with such force. Two new figures stepped inside. One had a gun strapped casually to his thigh, the other had a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Yoongi crossed his arms, turning slightly as if reinforcements had arrived. Namjoon didn’t move. Neither did Jimin.
Hoseok was the first to react. His eyes swept over new person like he was a corpse on the floor. his eyes were cold, calculating, like he was dissecting Jimin without lifting a finger. He circled around the room, walking with a smooth precision that felt like a predator stalking its prey.
“Is this him?” he finally asked, his voice flat.
“Nox,” Taehyung said with a smirk, his voice laced with amusement. “The one who robbed half the East End and made it look like a magic trick.”
Seokjin strolled in slower. He wore soft beige and cream, almost out of place for a man who’d just come from a black-market weapons deal. He looked… gentle. Trustworthy. And that was exactly why Jimin didn’t trust him.
“Well,” Seokjin said, his smile widening, “he’s cuter than I expected.”
“Flattered,” Jimin muttered.
He smiled wider. “Don’t be. I say that to dead people too.”
Hoseok finally spoke again. “You’re the one who broke into Lee’s private vault last night?”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” Jimin said, propping his ankle over his knee. “I prefer ‘confiscated what didn’t belong to him.’
“Why bring it to us?” Hoseok asked.
“Because your people missed it, or ignored it. Either way, you needed it.”
“And you just happened to want to help?”
“No,” Jimin said, bored now. “I want to get paid.”
That at least, made Hoseok chuckle low and dangerous. “He’s honest. That’s new.”
Yoongi scoffed. “He’s reckless.”
“But good,” Taehyung added, sliding onto the armrest beside Jimin.
Seokjin sat across from him, legs crossed, hands neatly folded.
“So what’s your plan now, Nox?” he asked gently. “Going to vanish again? Or are you finally going to stop running and do something that matters?”
That caught Jimin off guard, just for a second. Then he leaned forward, resting elbows on his knees.
“I don’t run,” Jimin said quietly. “I watch, i wait and I move when it matters.”
Namjoon nodded slightly. “That’s what makes you dangerous.”
“No,” Hoseok corrected. “That’s what makes him ours, if we play it right.”
Yoongi scoffed again, louder this time, and turned away like the idea physically disgusted him.
Jimin sat back and let them talk about him, as if he wasn’t there. But he was always there. And they’d learn soon enough that Jimin wasn’t here to join their pack.
He was here to outplay it.