A break in. San didn't care. He never did. Money flowed, his empire grew, and that was enough. Or so he told himself. That was until he found a A boy-no, a young man-curled on the Persian rug by the fireplace, trembling like a leaf in a storm. Blood streaked his face, matting his dark hair and smearing across his cheekbones. His hands, clutching his knees, were stained red, and a deep gash on his leg oozed onto the rug, the fabric soaking up the crimson The boy was trouble, San knew that much, and trouble always brought chaos. Woosan story