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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Letting go doesn’t mean you’re weak — it means you’re strong enough to stop holding pain.
Chapter 10: Use
Taehyung had fainted after crying out all the grief and venom inside him. His small body went limp in Jungkook’s arms, forcing the man to catch him before he collapsed entirely. Jungkook hesitated only for a moment, then carried him to the guest room with quiet urgency, his jaw set and his heart aching with guilt. He placed Taehyung gently on the bed, his hands lingering for a second on the boy’s temple as if making sure he was still breathing evenly.
“Prepare water. Clean him up,” Jungkook instructed firmly. His voice carried its usual authority, but underneath it was something softer, something even the maids noticed.
“Yes, Sir,” Minyoung, the head maid, bowed and quickly motioned for the others to assist.
They carefully removed Taehyung’s soiled, torn clothing, replacing them with fresh garments while wiping the sweat and dirt from his pale skin. Jungkook sat on a chair nearby, elbows resting on his knees, his dark eyes never leaving Taehyung.
“Mr. Jeon,” Minyoung asked cautiously, holding Taehyung’s discarded clothes in her hands. “Should we throw these away?”
Jungkook, seated in a nearby chair with his elbows resting against his knees, shook his head. “No. Wash them. They may hold some importance for him.” His tone was firm, almost protective.
“Understood, Mr. Jeon.” Minyoung bowed again and tucked the clothes into a basket. She signaled the other maids to leave, and they slipped out one by one, leaving only silence and the faint sound of Taehyung’s shallow breathing behind. Minyoung glanced at Jungkook knowingly, then followed the rest, closing the door softly.
Now alone, Jungkook leaned back in his chair, dragging a hand through his hair. His chest tightened with frustration and remorse. What am I supposed to do with you, Taehyung? How do I protect you when I’ve already become the monster in your eyes?
A knock on the door cut through his thoughts. Jungkook straightened, his face hardening again. “Come in.”
The door creaked open. Shintaro, one of his most trusted men, stepped inside with a folder in his hand. His expression was grave, his voice low.
“Sir, we gathered the information you asked for.” He placed the documents into Jungkook’s hand. “Everything checks out. He wasn’t lying—Kim Taehyung really is the son of Kyushu. She was found dead in her home, shot point-blank in the forehead. She was rushed to the hospital, but the wound was too severe. She died before they could save her.”
Jungkook’s eyes narrowed as he flipped through the papers, his thumb brushing over the lines of Taehyung’s birth certificate. “And the culprit?”
“No trace,” Shintaro replied grimly. “The investigation turned cold. Mrs. Kyushu wasn’t well-known in her neighborhood. No one came forward. The only person who spoke up was her son—he accused you of the crime. The detectives dismissed him as delusional and refused to pursue it further.”
Jungkook’s gaze snapped up, his voice sharp. “Who were the officers in charge?”
“Detective Shin Yeongun, and Police Officer Lee Bohyun,” Shintaro answered without hesitation.
Jungkook exhaled slowly through his nose, his jaw clenching. “Make sure both of them are suspended. Better yet, if possible, get them dismissed entirely. They mocked a grieving son and buried evidence because it was convenient. That negligence is inexcusable.”
Shintaro bowed. “Understood, Sir.” He retreated without another word.
Jungkook let out a sharp breath and turned back to the bed. His gaze softened at the sight of Taehyung, sleeping fitfully, his brows furrowed even in unconsciousness. He looked younger like this—fragile, breakable.
I’m sorry, Eomma, Jungkook thought bitterly. I hurt him. If I had known it was him, I would never have raised a hand against him.
The next morning, Taehyung stirred awake. His lashes fluttered, his brows knitting slightly at the sting of his wounds. Jungkook was seated by his bedside, a small container of ointment in hand. Without a word, he gently lifted Taehyung’s wrist, dabbing at the angry red bruises.
Taehyung’s eyes followed the motion, his lips curling into a bitter line. “Even if you treat me kindly, it won’t erase what you’ve done,” he muttered coldly.
“I don’t expect forgiveness,” Jungkook said softly, almost reverently, his thumb moving carefully over Taehyung’s skin. “I’m doing this because your mother would hate to see you hurt. If she were alive, she wouldn’t want you carrying these wounds.”
Taehyung pressed his lips together, saying nothing. His silence was heavy, but not empty—it was filled with restrained grief, distrust, and quiet defiance.
After a moment, Jungkook asked, “Now that you know I wasn’t responsible for her death, what do you plan to do?”
Taehyung turned his head, his gaze sharpening. “What else? I’ll find the truth. I’ll dig through every layer, every lie, until I uncover who murdered her. She deserves justice, and I won’t stop until I get it.”
“Then let me help you.” Jungkook’s tone was steady, but there was an edge of urgency. His gaze locked on Taehyung’s, unwavering. “The person behind this… they’re powerful. Powerful enough to erase their tracks and silence anyone who dares to question them. Alone, you’ll be their prey. With me, you’ll have protection, and resources. Use me, Taehyung. Let me be your weapon.”
He wasn’t lying. Deep down, Jungkook saw this as his only way to shield him. Because the closer Taehyung got to the truth, the greater the danger he would face.
Taehyung hesitated, weighing the offer. Finally, his lips curved into a grim smile.
“If you can promise me they’ll be punished, then I’ll accept. I’ll use you as much as I need.”
Taehyung studied him for a long moment. Logic told him Jungkook was right—he couldn’t fight this alone. Power meant everything in this world, and Jungkook had it in abundance.
Jungkook’s lips tugged into a faint smile. “I promise. They’ll pay.”
It was an agreement born not of trust, but necessity. Each had something to gain. Each had something to lose. Far from the mansion, in a hidden place where shadows gathered thicker than air, a conversation unfolded.
“Boss,” a subordinate spoke cautiously, “should we eliminate him now? The son has started digging into the case. Grief like his… it can drive a man beyond reason. He won’t stop until he finds answers.”
The figure in the high-backed chair chuckled darkly, their face obscured by shadow.
“That’s precisely why he’s useful. His hatred for Jungkook runs deep. All we need to do is feed that hatred, make him believe Jungkook is the one responsible. Once he’s under our control, he’ll do the work for us. And when his usefulness ends…” The figure tilted their head slightly, a cruel smile tugging at their lips. “…we’ll finish him the same way his mother was finished.”
The subordinate bowed. “Shall I attempt persuasion first, or use force if he refuses?”
“Either. As long as he bends to our will,” the Boss replied, their tone sharp as a blade.
“I understand. Preparations will be made.”
The subordinate departed, leaving the Boss alone with the glow of the television screen. The news anchor’s voice droned in the background, reporting a shocking event: Jeon Jungkook, heir to an empire, had been stabbed in the chest.
The Boss leaned back in the chair, watching the grainy footage of Jungkook clutching his bloodied shirt. A low, satisfied laugh slipped from their lips. Their eyes gleamed with vicious delight—this was only the beginning.
