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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When the fire burns you down, rise from the ashes stronger.
Chapter 08: Basement
It took Jungkook quite some time to finally break away from the suffocating crowd that had gathered after the incident. Their anxious questions, their hovering concern, their desperate attempts to touch his arm and check on his wound—he brushed them all off with a cold indifference. The dagger wound, though dangerous at first glance, had missed anything fatal. He had only needed to patch it up; the bleeding had already slowed, and the pain had dulled into something he could ignore. What remained was an irritating sting, hidden beneath layers of arrogance and resolve.
By the time he arrived at his villa, his expression was unreadable, sharp like a blade. He didn’t waste even a breath.
“Where is he?” Jungkook asked the moment he stepped inside, his tone low but commanding, leaving no room for hesitation.
“He’s in the basement, Sir,” the head bodyguard answered promptly, keeping his eyes down.
Jungkook said nothing further. His long strides carried him down to the dimly lit basement.
There he saw him—the man who dared to walk into the conference and stab him without a second thought. A figure kneeling on the cold cement floor, wrists tied brutally tight behind his back, a strip of cloth still covering his eyes. Even restrained, his very presence felt volatile, like a storm caged in a bottle.
“Remove that mask,” Jungkook ordered coolly, adjusting the black gloves on his hands as though preparing for a delicate task.
One of the guards obeyed, pulling the cloth away.
For the first time, Jungkook saw the face of his attacker. He had to admit, even through his detached gaze, that the man was striking. A face carved with youthful sharpness, lips pressed in defiance, and eyes—eyes that immediately locked onto Jungkook’s with searing rage. It wasn’t just anger; it was pure, unfiltered hatred. It unsettled him, not because he feared it, but because it was unfamiliar. No one had ever dared to glare at him like that.
“State your name,” Jungkook crouched down, his tone calm but commanding, “and the reason why you hated me so much.”
Taehyung’s only answer was a sharp, wet spit that landed squarely on Jungkook’s cheek.
The guards instantly stiffened, ready to strike, but Jungkook lifted a gloved hand to silence them. Slowly, he wiped the spit away with his fingers, his expression still flat, though his jaw ticked once in irritation.
“Why would I tell you my name?” Taehyung’s voice dripped with venom. “Would you even admit that you are a murderer?”
The words barely left his mouth before Jungkook’s fist buried itself into his stomach. The blow was sharp and merciless, forcing a strangled cough out of Taehyung. He bent forward instinctively from the pain, but Jungkook’s grip on his hair yanked him back up, forcing him to remain upright.
