⚠️ CONTENT WARNING ⚠️
The latter half of this chapter contains extremely heavy themes, including sexual assault, rape, substances abuse, murder and depictions of truly vile individuals.
Reader discretion is strongly advised.
Please read responsibly.
And if you choose to continue…
prepare your heart.
You've been warned.
****
While Foca was busy whipping his artists into shape back in New York, Luca had already arrived in South Korea—accompanied by Steffi, head of A&R, and Mythical, head of production.
As the head of all things creative—and Foca's right-hand man—Luca had been sent ahead a day early to ensure everything was exactly as planned.
And more importantly—
to make sure no nuisances got in the way.
Ie: Kang Seo-yul.
Now, Luca sat comfortably in the office of the person supposedly "in charge" of the entire award show.
Did Luca know his title?
No.
Did he care?
Also no.
And frankly, neither should you.
All you need to know is this—
he was the one in charge.
And right now?
He was sweating.
Profusely.
Because sitting across from him was someone he had never encountered before.
A different kind of presence.
A different kind of power.
Usually, with Kang Seo-yul backing him, he was the type of man who thrived in rooms like this—drunk on authority, bloated with confidence, used to bending people to his will.
But in front of Luca?
That confidence cracked.
Because suddenly—
he felt small.
Like a fish in a pond realizing, for the first time, that the water wasn't his.
That something much bigger had entered it.
A whale.
No—
an orca.
Because Luca didn't just feel dangerous.
He looked it.
Unfairly attractive. Almost offensively so.
The kind of face that made people stare first—
and regret it immediately after.
And the worst part?
He knew it.
Used it.
Weaponized it.
Daily.
As his mother always said:
If you have it, flaunt it. Why hide something meant to be admired? That's a disservice to God's craftsmanship.
According to her, when God was making Luca—
He accidentally knocked over three jars.
Sexy.
Handsome.
Hot.
All of it—dumped straight into Luca's mix.
God paused.
Looked at the empty jars.
Looked back at Luca.
"…Oops."
A shrug.
Eh. Should be fine.
And just like that—
Luca was born.
Aura farming since day one.
Now, under Luca's piercing blue gaze—
the man couldn't look away.
It felt like staring straight into a predator's eyes.
Every instinct told him to break eye contact.
To run.
But he couldn't.
Because fear had already rooted him in place.
And the worst part?
He was right.
Luca was a predator.
And he?
Prey.
Luca smirked faintly, watching the man sweat buckets despite the AC blasting like arctic winds.
Finally, the man cleared his throat and spoke.
"I assure you, sir, that LEAVEN's performance will be flawless," he began, trying—and failing—to sound steady. "Therefore, there is no need for your request to bring in your own professional team."
He swallowed.
"We cannot allow a different set of professionals to take over for just one performance. It would disrupt the flow of the show, if anything."
A pause.
A breath.
And then—
he pushed.
Because somewhere in his mind, Kang Seo-yul's name still gave him courage.
"Besides, LEAVEN is still a fairly new group," he continued. "It is, in fact, a privilege for them to open such a prestigious event like the Golden Disk Awards."
He tried to hold his ground.
Tried.
"Sir, I don't know how things are done in the US, but arrangements like this cannot simply be made here. We are not willing to take that risk."
His voice steadied—just a little.
"The people working on this show are experienced professionals. They've been in this industry for years."
A beat.
"Please… have faith in them."
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Because what the man didn't realize—
was that he wasn't reassuring Luca.
He was…
challenging him.
****
Luca simply looked at him—
and raised a brow.
Then slowly…
a menacing smirk spread across his face.
"Oh, don't get me wrong," Luca said smoothly. "I know the people working on this show are capable. That's a given."
"If that is so—" the man quickly tried to interject—
—but Luca shut him down just as fast.
"What I have reservations about…" Luca tilted his head slightly, eyes glinting, "…is the one who's really in charge."
"I—I do not understand what you mean, sir," the man stammered.
Luca let out a soft, humorless chuckle.
"Oh, please…" His voice dropped—low, sharp, dangerous. "Don't fuck with me."
A beat.
"I can smell your bullshit from miles away."
The man gulped.
Hard.
"What I mean," Luca continued, almost lazily, "is the one pulling the strings. The one giving you all this confidence."
His eyes—once almost playful—
turned cold.
"The one actually in charge of this entire charade."
A pause.
"Tell me… do you still not know who I'm referring to?"
A small smile.
"Or do I have to spell it out for you?"
And just as quickly—
the warmth returned to his expression.
Like nothing happened.
Like he didn't just rip the air out of the room.
"Now…" Luca leaned back slightly. "What do you think happens when the public finds out…"
He began counting off on his fingers, casually.
"…that the person managing the prestigious Golden Disk Awards is rigging results?"
"…that you've been embezzling a rather impressive amount of money?"
"…or that certain entertainment companies have been slipping you bribes to secure wins for their artists?"
His smile widened—pleasant.
Deadly.
"Wouldn't that make the internet explode?"
"Sir, that is malicious slander!" the man snapped, panic laced beneath his anger. "I will not stand here and be accused of such absurd claims. Do you know I can sue you for defamation?"
Luca's grin sharpened.
"Sure," he said lightly. "Go ahead. Sue me."
And somehow—
that was worse.
"But are you sure you'd win?" Luca continued, voice almost conversational. "Because for all I know, we could take this to court."
A slight lean forward.
"But can you survive it?"
Silence.
"You do realize," Luca went on, softer now, "that the person you're putting your faith in could drop you the second you outlive your usefulness."
A tilt of his head.
"You know how he operates."
His voice dipped—colder.
"People aren't people to him. They're expendable pieces on a board."
A pause.
"And once you're no longer useful?"
A small shrug.
"You're gone."
The man's face drained of color.
"So tell me," Luca murmured, "when that happens… what becomes of you?"
A step closer.
"Prison, maybe."
A whisper now.
"I hear… dropping the soap in there tends to attract a lot of attention."
A beat.
"The wrong kind."
He pulled back slightly, smiling again—like he hadn't just said something utterly vile.
"So yes," Luca said lightly, "go ahead. Sue me."
A tilt of his head.
"Just don't regret it."
Then—
he leaned in, just enough for his voice to brush against the man's ear.
"If I were you…" he whispered, "I'd start weighing my options."
A pause.
"Who actually holds more power?"
He straightened.
"The person you're betting your life on…"
A glance.
"Or us."
A faint smile.
"An entity from distant lands. Unknown. Untouchable."
Then, casually—
as if discussing the weather—
"Let's not forget… you're the one who invited LEAVEN to perform. On very short notice."
A beat.
"And in good faith… we accepted."
The smile faded.
Just slightly.
"But the moment you try to screw us over?"
His eyes locked onto the man's.
"Consider your life as you know it… over."
A pause.
And then, almost gently—
"That's not a threat."
A small smile returned.
"It's just reality."
"Because the person sitting at the very top of Bread Music…"
"Is not someone you want to mess with."
****
"But hey," Luca added lightly, "if you want to poke a sleeping bear…"
A small tilt of his head. That same dangerous smile.
"Go ahead."
A pause.
"Just don't say I didn't warn you."
And just like that—
the man visibly started re-evaluating every single life decision that had led him to this exact moment.
Because in his head?
Yeah… Kang Seo-yul would throw him away.
No hesitation.
No remorse.
Like a used condom—once you're done, you're done.
But still—
he couldn't just hand everything over.
He was a professional.
There were rules. Standards. Protocol.
Letting an external team take over for one performance?
Unheard of.
"…Fine!" he said, forcing himself to stand his ground, even if his soul was halfway out the door already. "I understand your concerns. But we still cannot allow your team to take over. That is simply out of my hands."
Luca hummed softly.
Thinking.
Then—
"Well…" he said casually, like he wasn't dismantling this man's sanity piece by piece, "how about this?"
A small smile.
"Our team oversees everything. Closely."
A beat.
"Just to make sure we don't get screwed over out of nowhere."
He leaned forward slightly.
"You may have backed down," Luca continued, voice smooth, "but who's to say the one pulling the strings doesn't have more pieces embedded within your production team?"
A pause.
"For all I know… the entire production could already be crawling with his people."
Silence.
"Please understand," Luca added, softer now—but no less firm, "I'm simply looking out for our artists."
And that?
That was the final push.
The man hesitated.
Thought.
Overthought.
Because at the end of the day—
his gut was screaming at him.
If he said no?
This wouldn't just end badly.
It would end him.
Not figuratively.
Literally.
"F-fine…" he exhaled, defeated. "Your team will be allowed to closely observe our production."
A breath.
"But only during LEAVEN's performance."
Luca's lips curled into a satisfied smirk.
"Oh," he said, standing up smoothly, "that's all we ever wanted."
He adjusted his sleeves, completely at ease.
"This was a productive conversation."
He turned to leave—
but paused at the door.
Just for a second.
"Just a word of caution…" Luca glanced back, that same ominous smile settling on his face—calm, almost beautiful—
and yet somehow…
terrifying.
"Keep my advice in mind."
For a split second—
he looked less like a man…
and more like the angel of death politely checking in.
And then—
he was gone.
The door clicked shut.
Silence.
And the moment it did—
the man collapsed into his chair.
Like he had just survived a natural disaster.
Or barely escaped one.
He tried to breathe.
Tried to collect himself.
Tried to pretend everything was fine.
And then—
his phone rang.
He glanced at the screen—
—and immediately cursed.
"Ah, shibal!"
Of course.
Him.
His thumb hovered over the answer button.
Muscle memory.
Instinct.
He always picked up.
Always.
But then—
Luca's voice echoed in his head.
If I were you… I'd start weighing my options.
A long pause.
A shaky breath.
And then—
he made a choice.
He declined the call.
And blocked the number.
Just like that.
Silence filled the room again.
He stared at his phone.
At his reflection on the dark screen.
And for the first time in a long while—
he felt fear.
Real fear.
All he could do now…
was pray.
Pray to anything—everything—
that he had just made the right decision.
****
In a certain wealthy district in South Korea—
hidden behind layers of money, influence, and silence—
sat a club known as Blazing Sun.
And inside one of its most exclusive VVIP rooms—
a party was in full swing.
The kind of party that would have every single person in that room rotting behind bars—
if the police weren't already on payroll.
Bought.
Owned.
Corrupt to the core.
Drugs flooded the space.
Not just present—
overflowing.
Tables lined with them like a buffet of destruction. Powder, pills, needles—take your pick.
Alcohol?
At this point, it wasn't even drinking.
It was replacement blood.
The air itself felt intoxicated—thick, suffocating, rotten.
And then—
there were the bodies.
Scattered.
Some barely conscious.
Some unmoving.
All used.
Discarded.
Like they were never people to begin with.
No consent.
No control.
Just silence.
And in the corner—
sat the ones responsible.
The ones who made this hell possible.
"Damn," Merth laughed crudely, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Thought you weren't into dudes, but you've been real busy on that side tonight."
Kang Seo-yul scoffed, not even sparing him a glance.
"Don't get it twisted," he muttered, voice dripping with arrogance. "I ain't gay. Never was. Never will be."
A smirk.
"I just like control."
That was it.
That was always it.
Control.
Power.
Breaking people down until they had nothing left to fight with.
His gaze flicked lazily toward the man beside him—
a once well-known athlete.
Strong.
Admired.
Respected.
Now?
Reduced.
Quiet.
Owned.
Kang Seo-yul had found his secret.
Something that would've shattered his image overnight.
And instead of exposing it—
he kept it.
Tight in his grip.
Turned it into a leash.
"Man built his whole career acting tough," Kang Seo-yul continued, voice mocking, cruel. "All that 'man's man' bullshit."
A low chuckle.
"Turns out, he's real good at keeping secrets."
The athlete said nothing.
Couldn't.
Wouldn't.
Because one wrong move—
and his entire life would go up in flames.
Career.
Reputation.
Everything.
Gone.
"So nah," Kang Seo-yul went on casually, like he was discussing business. "This ain't about preference."
A glance.
Cold.
"This is about ownership."
Merth snorted. "You're sick, man."
Kang Seo-yul smirked.
"Yeah?"
A beat.
"And?"
Silence.
Because what was there to argue?
Nothing in this room was normal.
Nothing in this room was right.
And none of them cared.
Then—
someone approached.
Carefully.
Like walking straight into a predator's territory—
fully aware they might not walk back out.
"S-sir…" the man stammered, voice shaking. "The one in charge of the Golden Disk Awards… he's not responding."
Kang Seo-yul didn't react immediately.
"What do you mean… not responding?" he asked flatly.
The man swallowed.
"H-he's blocked your number, sir."
That—
made him stop.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Kang Seo-yul turned his head.
Eyes locking onto the poor bastard in front of him.
"Blocked… me?"
The man looked like he was about to pass out.
Kang Seo-yul reached out—snatching the phone from his hands.
Dialed.
Once.
Disconnected.
Again.
Disconnected.
A third time—
same result.
Silence.
Then—
"The fuck?"
His voice dropped.
Low.
Dangerous.
Disbelief curling into something darker.
Something violent.
He dialed again.
And again—
cut off.
That was it.
Something snapped.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
But the shift in the room?
Immediate.
Heavy.
Even Merth paused.
Because whatever just broke inside Kang Seo-yul—
wasn't something you wanted to be around for.
****
The phone shattered against the wall.
Exploded into pieces.
Silence followed—
just for a second.
Then—
something in Kang Seo-yul snapped.
Completely.
Without warning, his hand shot out—grabbing the athlete by the throat.
Hard.
The kind of grip that didn't threaten—
it decided.
The man struggled instantly, instinct kicking in, hands clawing at Kang Seo-yul's wrist.
But it was useless.
Kang Seo-yul didn't even look at him.
Didn't hesitate.
Didn't care.
His grip tightened.
And tightened.
And tightened.
The athlete's movements grew frantic—
then weaker—
then desperate.
A silent, choking fight for air that no one in that room even bothered to acknowledge.
Because this?
This was normal here.
Another night.
Another victim.
Kang Seo-yul's jaw clenched, rage still simmering beneath his skin—transferring into something violent, something uncontrolled.
Not passion.
Not desire.
Just domination.
Pure, ugly power.
The athlete's body began to slacken.
Limbs losing strength.
Resistance fading.
Until—
nothing.
No movement.
No fight.
Just dead weight.
And still—
Kang Seo-yul held on.
A second too long.
Two.
Three.
Then finally—
he let go.
The body collapsed.
Lifeless.
Discarded.
Like it had never mattered.
Like it had never been a person.
"Ahh… fuck…" Kang Seo-yul exhaled, rolling his shoulders like he'd just finished a workout.
Not a murder.
Just another inconvenience dealt with.
He walked over to the sofa, shoving aside another unmoving body without a second glance—letting it hit the floor like trash.
Then he sat.
Relaxed.
Unbothered.
Like the room didn't reek of everything rotten.
A snap of his fingers—
and an attendant rushed over immediately, hands shaking slightly as he lit a cigarette for him.
Kang Seo-yul took a long drag.
Held it.
Then exhaled slowly.
"Ahh… fuck…" he muttered again, like it was the only word he knew.
A pause.
Then a bitter scoff.
"Some people are just ungrateful as hell," he said, shaking his head. "Feed 'em, build 'em up… and they still bite the hand that feeds them."
He leaned back, spreading out like he owned the world.
Which, in his mind—
he did.
"I'm practically a saint," he went on, voice dripping with mockery. "And these dogs? Can't even act like dogs."
Merth chuckled from across the room, unfazed.
"Then treat 'em like dogs," he said casually. "Discipline 'em. Break 'em in. Simple."
A beat.
Kang Seo-yul tilted his head.
Then—
he smiled.
Slow.
Twisted.
"…Huh."
"Why didn't I think of that?"
Merth grinned. "Because I'm a genius."
And just like that—
they laughed.
Like nothing had happened.
Like no life had just been taken.
Like the room wasn't filled with ruin.
And the night continued.
Filthy.
Rotten.
Untouched.
For now.
Because somewhere—
far from this place—
something was already moving.
Waiting.
Watching.
For the perfect moment—
to strike.
****
PS (WARNING! RANT INCOMING!) -
And just to be clear—
I hate them.
With a passion.
I'm the one writing them, and I still want to throw hands.
Because how dare they use dogs as a comparison?
Dogs are loyal. Noble. Pure.
Something they will never be.
The fact that they even have the audacity to say the word "dog" is offensive in itself.
Like—no.
Don't drag innocent creatures into your filth.
Argh—seriously.
Why do people like this even exist?
And before anyone comes in here saying, "Relax, it's just fiction—"
Yeah.
I know it's fiction.
And I still hate them.
Because here's the thing—
just because this is fiction…
doesn't mean it isn't real.
Stuff like this does happen.
Has happened.
Over and over again.
And what's worse?
A lot of the time, the people responsible walk away.
No consequences.
No justice.
Why?
Because they're rich.
Because they have power.
Because the system bends for them.
Simple as that.
…
Anyway.
Didn't mean to go off like that.
But yeah—
that's where I'm at.