EXCESSIVE | ᴋᴏᴏᴋᴠ

02

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The morning sun had just begun to peek over the horizon when Jungkook arrived at Club Lumière. His worn guitar case hung from his shoulder, and he clutched a sheet of music in his hand. His eyes were tired but determined. This gig could be his big break, the chance to earn some money and maybe, just maybe, start climbing out of the pit of poverty that had been his life for as long as he could remember.

The club’s owner, a gruff man named Mr. Park, had told Jungkook to come early. "We’ll see how you do during the trial," he had said, and Jungkook had spent the entire night practicing, honing his skills until his fingers were raw from strumming and his voice hoarse from singing.

As Jungkook stepped into the club, he took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. The interior was dimly lit, with a few early morning staff members moving about, preparing for the day. Mr. Park spotted him and waved him over.

"You're here early," Mr. Park said, his voice gruff but not unkind.

Jungkook nodded. "I wanted to make sure I was ready."

Mr. Park gave a curt nod. "Good. Set up over there." He pointed to a small stage in the corner of the club. Jungkook made his way over, carefully setting his guitar case down and pulling out his instrument. He tuned it quickly, his hands moving with practiced ease, and then he stepped up to the microphone.

Taking a deep breath, he began to play. The notes flowed smoothly, his fingers dancing over the strings. His voice, soft at first, grew stronger as he gained confidence. He lost himself in the music, forgetting for a moment the weight of his struggles, the constant worry about where his next meal would come from or how he would pay his rent.

By the time he finished his song, the few staff members in the club had stopped to listen, their work momentarily forgotten. There was a brief silence when he finished, and then a smattering of applause. Jungkook looked up, a small, satisfied smile on his face.

Mr. Park approached, a thoughtful look on his face. "Not bad, kid. Not bad at all. We'll see how you do tonight."

Jungkook's heart soared. Tonight. He had a chance.

---

The sun had set, and the club was starting to fill with patrons. Jungkook stood backstage, his nerves a tangled knot in his stomach. He peeked out from behind the curtain, his eyes scanning the crowd. There were so many people. His hands shook as he gripped his guitar.

Mr. Park came up behind him, giving him a firm pat on the back. "Don't mess this up," he said, his tone half-joking, half-serious. "You do good, and there might be more gigs for you here."

Jungkook nodded, taking a deep breath. He could do this. He had to do this.

He stepped out onto the stage, the bright lights momentarily blinding him. The crowd was a blur of faces, but he focused on the microphone in front of him. He strummed his guitar, the familiar notes calming his nerves, and began to sing.

His voice filled the club, a haunting melody that cut through the noise of conversation and clinking glasses. Slowly, the crowd began to quiet, their attention drawn to the young man on the stage. Jungkook sang with all his heart, pouring his soul into the music. This was his moment, and he was determined to make the most of it.

As he played, his gaze drifted towards the entrance of the club where a commotion was starting. The doors swung open, and a man walked in with an air of authority, flanked by two imposing bodyguards. Jungkook recognized him immediately: Kim Taehyung, the billionaire whose face was splashed across every major news outlet. Taehyung had a reputation that preceded him—rich, powerful, and ruthless.