𝑃𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑜𝑛 / 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑔

S2 ch 47

As Jiwon stepped through the front door, the soft creak of the hinges gave away his arrival. He barely had time to kick off his shoes before Jisung’s voice rang out from the living room.

"Where have you been?" Jisung’s tone was sharp, laced with suspicion. His arms were crossed, and his gaze locked onto Jiwon with an intensity that made the air in the room feel heavier.

Jiwon hesitated for a moment, debating whether to tell the truth or deflect. Before he could answer, Jisung’s eyes darted downward, catching sight of the bandage wrapped tightly around Jiwon's forearm. His expression darkened instantly.

"What the hell is that?" Jisung demanded, stepping closer. He reached out, but Jiwon instinctively pulled his arm back, his heart pounding.

"It's nothing," Jiwon muttered, but the tension in the room was already suffocating.

Minho, who had been lounging on the couch, finally sat up, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. He let out a low whistle before speaking.

"Who did that?" he asked, his voice calm but edged with curiosity. "And where did you even get it?"

Jiwon swallowed hard, avoiding their gazes. The memory of the buzzing needle, the ink staining his skin, and the thrill of rebellion still lingered in his mind. But now, under their scrutiny, it didn’t seem as exciting anymore.

Jisung’s jaw clenched, his patience already worn thin. His eyes flickered between Jiwon's face and the bandage wrapped around his arm, his fingers twitching at his sides.

"Are you serious right now?" he snapped, his voice rising. "You disappear for hours, don’t answer your phone, and come back with that? What were you thinking, Jiwon?"

Jiwon exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of their stares pressing down on him. "It's not that big of a deal," he muttered, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew they wouldn’t believe that.

"Not that big of a—" Jisung let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Do you even realize how stupid this is? Who even did this to you?"

Silence hung in the air for a beat too long. Minho, who had been quiet, finally let out a sigh and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He didn’t look angry like Jisung—just disappointed. And somehow, that was worse.

"Come on, Jiwon," Minho said, his voice quieter but heavy with meaning. "Who were you with?"

Jiwon bit the inside of his cheek, his heartbeat thudding in his ears. He could keep lying, keep dodging, but what was the point? He inhaled deeply, then finally admitted, "I was with Rafayel."

Jisung stiffened, his eyes flashing with something between anger and disbelief. "Rafayel?" He scoffed. "Are you actually kidding me right now? You let him take you to get a tattoo?"

Jiwon stayed silent, but the guilt settling in his stomach made it clear he knew exactly how bad this looked.

Minho let out another sigh, rubbing his temples. "I don’t get it, Jiwon. Out of all people, you chose him?" His disappointment cut deeper than any of Jisung’s anger.

Jisung, on the other hand, was far from calm. His hands balled into fists at his sides. "You don’t even know what you're getting yourself into, do you?" His voice dropped, quieter now, but no less furious. "You think Rafayel actually cares? He doesn’t, Jiwon. You’re just another person for him to mess with."

Jisung said this after he and Minho runned a background check on rafayel, finding out he is the russian mafias son. Jisung cared much about his son jiwon even if he didn't look like it he was always worried and cared towards the boy maybe a bit to much he got blinded by his own actions and got mad at their son often cause he didn't want him to do the same mistakes jisung and Minho themselves did when they were younger.

Jiwon's throat tightened. He wanted to argue, to tell them they were wrong, but deep down, a part of him wasn’t so sure.

-------
*time skip*

Over the past two years, Jiwon had been forced to sever all ties with Rafayel. It hadn’t been easy at first—memories of their time together had lingered like stubborn ghosts, whispering in the back of his mind. But as time passed, as Minho and Jisung tightened their control over his life, training him harder than he had ever been pushed before, Jiwon learned to let go.

He had no choice.

He was eighteen now—no longer the reckless, impulsive boy who had made foolish mistakes. Minho and Jisung had shaped him into something sharper, something deadlier. Every morning started with rigorous combat training, and every night ended with lessons in strategy, discipline, and survival. Jiwon had become proficient in hand-to-hand combat, his reflexes honed to perfection. He could disarm an opponent in seconds, his footwork swift, precise. Weapons had once felt foreign in his hands—now they felt like an extension of himself. Knives, guns, even hand-crafted blades—he had mastered them all.

But the changes weren’t just physical.

Jiwon had hardened. The boy who used to crack jokes, who once laughed without a second thought, had grown colder. His once expressive eyes were now calculating, always scanning his surroundings for threats. His emotions were buried under layers of steel, making him nearly impossible to read. If he ever felt regret, sadness, or longing, he never let it show.

Minho and Jisung, despite their own relentless lives on the run, were proud of him. The Korean police, the international authorities—they were still out there, hunting them down for their past crimes. Jisung and Minho had long since accepted that they could never live normal lives.

So they had moved again.

This time, they settled in a massive, secluded house deep in the forest. Hidden from the rest of the world, the house wasn’t just a home—it was a fortress. Surrounded by dense trees and miles of land, it was the perfect base for them. They weren’t just surviving anymore; they were thriving.

And they weren’t alone.

Bang Chan, Seungmin, Jeongin, Changbin, Hyunjin, and Felix had joined them, strengthening their ranks. They weren’t a mafia—no, they weren’t bound by the rigid structure of organized crime. But they weren’t simple criminals either. They were something else. Gangsters, mercenaries, ghosts in the shadows that other mafias feared.

Their missions varied—sometimes it was taking down rival syndicates, eliminating dangerous figures before they became a threat. Other times, they operated in the underground, dealing in secrets, weapons, and alliances that could shift the balance of power in the criminal world.

Jiwon had found his place among them, even if he had lost pieces of himself along the way. His heart no longer ached for the past. His mind was focused on the present, on survival, on power.

And yet, deep in the shadows of his mind, the name Rafayel still echoed. Buried, but never truly gone.

To be continued....