Anger never builds; it only tears down. In the heat of a single moment, it can feel like strength, an armor to hide behind. But when the fire fades, all that's left are the ashes of what once mattered. Anger doesn't solve anything-it devours patienc...
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Don’t look back — you’re not going that way.
Chapter 06: Revenge
Flashes of cameras burst like fireworks across the hall, illuminating the stage where Jeon Jungkook sat poised behind the long conference table. Reporters leaned forward eagerly, microphones outstretched, their voices overlapping in a chorus of questions. The young man at the center of it all carried himself with effortless composure, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit that emphasized not only his role as a corporate leader but also the undeniable charm that had made headlines more than once.
Today, the media had dubbed him “The Greatest and Youngest CEO of All Time.” The title wasn’t undeserved. In only a few years, Jungkook had transformed his company into a global empire with thriving branches scattered across multiple countries. His business acumen was sharp, but it was his public image—polished, charismatic, and almost untouchable—that captivated people the most.
He looked like someone carved out of ambition and fortune: handsome to the point of intimidation, rich beyond imagination, and skillful enough to succeed at anything he touched. The kind of man who could command a room with just a glance. To the public, Jungkook was flawless. To hate him seemed impossible; to love him, inevitable.
But from the farthest corner of the hall, a pair of eyes burned holes into that perfect façade. Taehyung watched in silence, his hand buried deep in the oversized pocket of his black hoodie where the cold steel of a dagger rested against his palm. He had chosen the hoodie deliberately—its long sleeves and loose fit concealing every intention. For him, this day had been carved in stone: a chance to carry out the revenge he had sworn for his mother. No backup plan. No escape route. Only resolve.
The conference moved along, the atmosphere buzzing with excitement. One reporter raised her hand, smiling as she was acknowledged.
“Jungkook-ssi,” she began, her tone professional yet tinged with a playful edge, “it seems like you’ve managed to achieve everything people only dream of—wealth, success, recognition—sometimes it almost looks effortless for you. Can you share with us what keeps you grounded through all of this?”
Jungkook leaned forward slightly, his lips curving into a polite smile. “Well, it may look effortless, but it’s really not. There’s a lot of hard work and sleepless nights behind everything. What keeps me grounded is remembering where I came from, and the people who continue to support me. Success isn’t something you achieve alone—it’s built with the help of many.”
The crowd of reporters nodded appreciatively, typing furiously on their laptops. The same reporter, emboldened by his openness, pressed on with another question that caused a ripple of laughter among her peers.
“And speaking of support—people are curious about your personal life. With such a hectic schedule, how is your relationship status these days? Should we expect to hear about someone special soon?”
The room erupted with chuckles, flashes going off more rapidly as everyone waited for his answer.
Jungkook exhaled softly through his nose, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “As of now, I’m still single,” he admitted, earning a light murmur from the crowd. “Of course, I’m open to being in a relationship, but I believe in finding someone who truly understands me. Compatibility is important, and I haven’t met that person just yet.”
“Ah, so the public still has a chance!” another journalist teased, drawing a ripple of laughter.
The first reporter added with a grin, “I’m sure many will be thrilled to hear that. Everyone will be watching closely, waiting to see who the lucky person will be to capture the heart of Jeon Jungkook.”
Jungkook simply smiled again, offering no further comment, his practiced composure shielding him from the playful teasing.
But Taehyung wasn’t smiling. Hidden in the shadows, he gripped the dagger tighter. To him, Jungkook’s polished words and charming mask were nothing but lies—another reminder of the monster he believed had destroyed his mother’s life. And if the world worshipped Jeon Jungkook, then Taehyung would be the one to tear that pedestal apart.
The conference room buzzed with polite laughter after Jungkook’s response, cameras still flashing when suddenly a figure cut through the crowd. Heads turned as the atmosphere shifted—the easy rhythm of questions and answers shattered by the heavy sound of footsteps moving toward the center of the hall.
Taehyung yanked the hood of his sweatshirt over his head, the fabric shadowing his face, and walked straight into the middle aisle. His movements were fast, reckless, unplanned. He didn’t care that every eye in the room snapped to him, didn’t care about the startled murmurs rising in the air. Rage burned through him, raw and unfiltered, and it propelled his body forward like a weapon of its own.
“Who are you?!” a reporter shouted, her voice sharp with alarm.
Taehyung ignored it. His eyes were locked on Jungkook, who had fallen silent at the table. Their stares collided across the space—Jungkook’s sharp gaze narrowing in confusion, Taehyung’s blazing with fury and grief.
Security hadn’t moved yet, still unsure if this was a protester or a stunt, until the glint of steel flashed under the lights.
“Stop him!” someone barked, but it was too late.
Taehyung surged forward, his hand tightening around the dagger’s handle. In one unhesitating motion, he lunged. The blade drove into Jungkook’s chest, the sharp crack of fabric tearing followed by a collective gasp that sucked the oxygen out of the room.
Blood bloomed across Jungkook’s pristine white shirt, a dark, spreading stain just inches from his heart. The shock of it froze the hall for a split second, as if time itself had stopped.
“Die!” Taehyung spat through clenched teeth, his face twisted with ire, his whole body trembling from the violent release of everything he had held inside. His eyes never left Jungkook’s, filled with hate, grief, and desperate conviction.
But Jungkook didn’t scream. He didn’t even flinch. Instead, he stared back at Taehyung with wide, stunned eyes—as if the pain of the wound barely registered compared to the intensity of that glare. For a strange, fleeting moment, Jungkook felt caught, almost lost in those eyes. There was no room to think, only the confusing pull of that raw, broken rage burning into him.
“Get him!” someone shouted, and suddenly the room snapped back into chaos.
Security guards rushed forward, slamming into Taehyung and dragging him down. He didn’t resist. He didn’t run. His free hand still trembled as he pointed toward Jungkook, his voice hoarse and venomous.
“Die! You murderer!” he roared, his words echoing above the screams and frantic commotion. His face twisted as they forced him to the ground, fury spilling from every word, every thrash of his body.
Jungkook, meanwhile, staggered backward, his hand pressing over the wound as blood seeped between his fingers. His breaths came shallow, his body trembling under the shock, but his eyes—still locked on Taehyung as they dragged him away—were full of something other than just pain. Confusion. A question that clawed at him even as the room descended into panic.
