Very Intense Panic
Cairo
Yoongi leaned against a table, casually flipping through Namjoon’s scribbled notes, the smooth jazz from Seonsaengnim still faintly echoing in his earpiece. Somewhere across the ballroom, his colleagues were handling their tasks in sync with Seonsaengnim’s beat, but Yoongi’s mind was here, narrowing in on the next phase.
Namjoon appeared beside him, glancing up from his own notes. “Ready for the next round?” he asked, not missing a beat as he moved to stand next to Yoongi.
Yoongi smirked, tapping his finger on the paper. “Always. Who’s our lucky contestant?”
Namjoon’s finger traced down the page until he stopped, his eyebrow quirking ever so slightly. “Woo Jungho.”
Yoongi’s smirk deepened, a glint of mischief lighting up his eyes. “Woo Jungho?” He dragged out the name, as if savoring each syllable. “The drama king himself? This is going to be… fun.”
Namjoon stifled a chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re terrible.”
“Hey,” Yoongi shrugged, feigning innocence, though the smile playing at his lips was anything but. “If you’re going to make a scene at someone else’s wedding, you’d better be prepared for the consequences. Or, you know, a little screen time.”
Namjoon snorted, adjusting his mask as he turned toward the ballroom. “Alright. Let’s bring in the prince of primetime. Havana’s on crowd duty, right?”
Yoongi gave a short nod, pressing a finger to his earpiece. “Havana, we need our ‘guest of honor,’” he drawled, barely containing the grin that threatened to split his face.
A few moments later, Hoseok appeared in the doorway with Woo Jungho in tow. The so-called heartthrob looked ruffled, to say the least. His previously well-groomed hair was slightly out of place, his designer suit visibly rumpled, and his expression was nothing short of murderous. Yet behind that anger, Yoongi could see the faint glint of fear in his eyes. It was like watching a deer trying to pretend it wasn’t about to be pounced on by a tiger.
Hoseok gave him a little nudge forward. “Found him lurking near the buffet,” he said with a shrug, barely containing his own amusement.
Yoongi raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he leaned back, studying Jungho with that same lazy smirk. “Enjoying the canapés, were we?”
Jungho’s eyes narrowed, his glare icy enough to freeze water, but Yoongi wasn’t fazed. In fact, he only looked more amused.
“Look, I don’t know what this is all about, but I’m not part of your little show,” Jungho spat, clearly struggling to maintain some sense of control. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
Yoongi looked at Hoseok, who only shrugged, a glimmer of feigned innocence in his eyes.
“Who you are?” Yoongi echoed, putting on a tone of exaggerated surprise. “Ah, yes, the great Woo Jungho! Drama king extraordinaire! Scourge of the 8 pm slot! Why, everyone’s talking about your work these days.”
Jungho’s face flushed, a mix of rage and embarrassment, but he didn’t move. Yoongi took a step forward, tilting his head slightly as he peered into Jungho’s eyes.
“Sit,” Yoongi instructed, his voice deceptively calm as he pointed to a lone chair in front of the camera setup. “Make yourself at home. You’ll be our guest star for this segment.”
The room was small, almost claustrophobic, with low lighting and a small setup that included two cameras and two visibly terrified moderators, both of whom were looking at Jungho as though he were their lifeline. The poor souls looked as if they’d just walked into a horror movie.
Jungho’s gaze darted around, taking in the setup, the masks, the cameras, and finally resting on the moderators, who were avoiding his gaze entirely. The expression of pure horror that spread across his face was almost too perfect. Yoongi could see the moment the pieces started to click together, the fear taking root as he realized he wasn’t just in the audience this time—he was the star of the show, whether he liked it or not.
“What the hell is this?” Jungho hissed, his voice barely a whisper as he looked back at Yoongi. “You think you can just kidnap me and put me on some bizarre reality show?”
Yoongi chuckled, that lazy, almost sleepy look still in his eyes. “Kidnap? Oh, no, no. Kidnap is such an ugly word, don’t you think?” He waved a hand dismissively. “We’re just giving you a platform, Woo Jungho. A place to… share.”
The word “share” lingered in the air, dripping with sarcasm, and Jungho visibly flinched. Yoongi leaned back, crossing his arms as he nodded toward the chair once more.
“Go on,” he prompted, a sly grin curling beneath his mask. “Don’t keep your fans waiting.”
Jungho hesitated, looking around once more, his gaze desperate, as if hoping for some miraculous escape route. But Hoseok was blocking the doorway, his stance casual but solid, and Namjoon was by the camera, his presence a silent threat. The moderators were already seated, staring at their hands as if they wanted to be anywhere else.
Finally, Jungho seemed to accept his fate. With a muttered curse, he dropped into the chair, folding his arms and glaring at Yoongi with all the righteous fury he could muster.
The moderators, however, looked as though they might faint any second. One of them shot a panicked glance at Yoongi, as if pleading for mercy, but Yoongi merely tilted his head, his eyes glinting with amusement.
“Ready to go live in five,” Namjoon announced, completely unfazed by the tension in the room. He checked a few settings, his fingers tapping on the keyboard as he prepared for the stream.
Jungho’s face drained of color, his anger quickly giving way to sheer terror. He opened his mouth to speak, maybe to protest, but Yoongi held up a hand.
“Ah, ah,” he chided, his voice a mix of mockery and delight. “Save it for the camera, Jungho. After all, this is your moment.”
Jungho swallowed hard, his jaw tight as he stared at Yoongi, the realization sinking in that there was no easy way out of this. The moderators exchanged nervous glances, clearly just as horrified, if not more so.
“Showtime, everyone,” Yoongi said, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he gave them all a mocking little salute.
*******
[Live Broadcast- Wedding Korea TV]
Screen fades in from black. This time, the set has an even more ominous feel than before. The two moderators, Kim Hyejin and Park Jinwoo, are seated behind the desk, their faces a mix of terror and forced professionalism. Hyejin’s usually flawless makeup looks a bit smudged under the lights, and Jinwoo’s hands are visibly shaking as he clutches a stack of papers. Behind them stands a man in a traditional Korean Hahoetal mask.
[Masked Man]: (dryly, voice dripping with irony)
“Good afternoon, everyone. Thanks for tuning in to our special broadcast. We’ve prepared an exclusive segment for tonight—a little treat for all you drama fans out there. Now, I know you’ve all been wondering about the real Woo Jungho.” (He leans down, speaking directly to the camera.) “That’s right. Tonight, you get to peek behind the curtain of Korea’s favorite heartthrob.”
The camera pans slightly, revealing Woo Jungho himself, sitting stiffly in a chair to the side, his face pale and lips pressed into a thin line. Though he tries to hold a composed expression, there’s a flicker of fear in his eyes.
[Masked Man]: (stepping back with a theatrical wave)
“I’ll let our trusted moderators take it from here. After all, they’ve spent years fishing for the juiciest gossip.” (He gestures mockingly at the papers in their hands.) “What’s a little truth, right?”
Hyejin and Jinwoo exchange a nervous glance before Hyejin looks down at the paper in her trembling hands. She clears her throat, forcing a small, shaky smile as she reads from the sheet.
[Kim Hyejin]:
“Tonight, we are… honored… to have with us a guest who needs no introduction. Please welcome, h-heartthrob of the nation and leading man, Woo Jungho.” (Her voice falters as she struggles to maintain her usual broadcaster tone.) “Mr. Woo, we… we have some questions for you.”
Jinwoo jumps in, his voice wavering as he clutches his paper, eyes darting nervously toward Yoongi in the mask.
[Park Jinwoo]:
“Yes… we, uh, understand that the audience is eager to know… more about your life behind the camera. A few secrets… that you’ve kept hidden.”
Jungho’s face visibly pales, but he forces a smile, his usual charm feeling stiff and hollow.
[Woo Jungho]: (clearing his throat)
“I… I don’t know what this is about. I came here as a wedding guest, not… not for this.” (His voice is barely steady, clearly struggling to maintain composure.)
[Masked Man]: (from the off)
“Oh, come on now, Jungho. You’re used to the spotlight, aren’t you? Besides, a little truth never hurt anyone… well, except maybe you.”
Hyejin shifts uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes darting between Jungho and the masked figure behind her. She glances back down at her paper, taking a deep breath.
[Kim Hyejin]:
“Uh… question one. Rumor has it that you… have a long-standing connection to tonight’s bride. A connection that’s more than just friendly.” (She forces a nervous laugh, eyes widening as she realizes the gravity of her words.)
Jungho’s jaw clenches, his gaze sharpening, though the unease is obvious beneath his carefully crafted expression.
[Woo Jungho]:
“That’s… That’s a ridiculous question. I’m here to support an old friend, nothing more.”
Jinwoo glances nervously at the next question on his paper, his fingers shaking so badly that the paper almost slips from his hands. He swallows hard before speaking.
[Park Jinwoo]:
“Mr. Woo… there are… uh, there are reports suggesting that you… may have, um… influenced casting decisions in your recent dramas by… personal persuasion with certain industry figures.” (His voice cracks at the last few words.)
Jungho’s face flushes, his polished composure slipping as he shifts in his seat. He opens his mouth to respond, but no words come out. He’s momentarily stunned, clearly not used to this kind of confrontation.
[Woo Jungho]:
“I… I don’t… I would never—”
Jungho’s eyes dart nervously to the camera, and he swallows, clearly rattled by the interrogation. Hyejin tries to compose herself, reading from the next question with a voice that’s barely more than a whisper.
[Kim Hyejin]:
“It… It’s been said that you… have been involved in… less-than-legal financial dealings to… maintain your lifestyle and… your image.”
Jungho’s face goes completely white at this. His fingers twitch, gripping the arm of his chair so tightly his knuckles turn pale. Jungho stammers, his usual smooth demeanor replaced by a frazzled expression.
[Woo Jungho]:
“Th-this… this is absurd. I don’t know what you think you’re—”
[Masked Man]: (interrupting with a mocking sigh)
“Alright, alright. I suppose our guest here needs a little motivation. Let’s move on to the real show, shall we?”
He steps forward, looming over Jungho, who looks like he might faint. Yoongi turns to face the camera directly, his mask tilted just so, exuding a chillingly calm energy.
[Masked Man]:
“Now, for all you lovely viewers out there: ever wondered what your favorite drama star might be hiding? Think you know the real Woo Jungho? Well, for a very reasonable fee, you can find out every sordid little detail.”
He holds up a card, pointing to a web address printed in stark black letters. The moderators’ faces turn ashen as they realize the gravity of this broadcast.
[Masked Man]:
“Visit www.HiddenTruths.kr and uncover secrets straight from the source. Only the best for our viewers. And trust me, you won’t want to miss what this charmer has been up to.”
Jungho’s face is now the color of parchment, his gaze fixed in horror as the weight of Yoongi’s words sinks in. He glances around wildly, as if trying to find an escape, but he’s trapped. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.
[Masked Man]: (leaning in close to Jungho)
“Smile for the camera, Jungho. Don’t want to disappoint your fans, do you?”
The screen holds for a moment on Jungho’s terrified expression, his mouth slightly open, before it abruptly cuts to black.
[End of Broadcast.]
*******
Jungkook
Jungkook paced the tent like a caged animal, his gaze sharp, his mind in overdrive. After the chilling first broadcast from Seonsaengnim, the police force had sprung into frenzied action. The initial shock had worn off, replaced by a grim resolve to tear apart every possible lead. Officers scrambled in every direction, voices raised in urgency, and every piece of equipment they had was firing at full capacity. Command had ordered additional bomb squads to scan the area, even sweeping nearby locations just in case the bastard had another surprise waiting for them.
Just then, the tense silence was shattered by a buzz from one of the tech monitors. Jungkook and Seokjin’s heads whipped around, eyes narrowing as the livestream blinked to life once more. The signal that every officer in the room had been dreading.
“Oh, shit,” Seokjin whispered, his face going pale.
Jungkook’s stomach dropped. The masked figure appeared on the screen, his cold, modulated voice crackling through the speakers as he addressed the world once more.
Jungkook’s hands were balled into fists as he watched the livestream end, his mind racing. The silence in the tent was thick, the eerie echoes of the words still reverberating in everyone’s minds. Across from him, Captain Park stood motionless, his jaw clenched in a hard line. Every officer was frozen, their faces a mixture of shock and horror as they absorbed the sheer audacity of what had just been broadcast to the entire nation.
Seokjin broke the silence, his voice a quiet mutter. “You saw the URL, right?”
Jungkook’s head snapped up. “Yeah. Get that site down, now.”
Seokjin nodded, immediately pulling out his laptop, his fingers flying over the keys. Jungkook could see the concentration on his colleague’s face, brows knit as he scanned through code and algorithms. After a tense few moments, Seokjin paused, his mouth twisting in frustration.
“It’s… not that simple,” he muttered, almost to himself.
Jungkook’s patience was already frayed. “What do you mean it’s not that simple? Just shut it down, Seokjin.”
Seokjin sighed, his fingers tapping on the desk as he tried to simplify the explanation. “Look, that website isn’t hosted on a conventional server. It’s a decentralized platform, like a blockchain network. There’s no single point of origin I can target. Plus, he’s set up multiple IP reroutes across continents. By the time we get close to one link, it’s already moved on to the next.” He glanced up, seeing the confusion on Jungkook’s face.
Jungkook crossed his arms, frustration bubbling up. “In plain Korean, please, Seokjin.”
Seokjin rubbed the bridge of his nose, clearly trying not to snap. “In plain terms, it’s like trying to catch a ghost. You can’t just cut off the site because it’s built to jump around different locations online. Every time I track it to one spot, it vanishes and reappears somewhere else, faster than I can catch it.”
Jungkook huffed, pacing. “So, we’re just supposed to sit here and do nothing while this psycho dangles dirty secrets for everyone to buy?”
Captain Park grunted, his face as grim as ever. “This is going to be a damn disaster. Imagine the kind of information he’s holding hostage—not just for Woo Jungho but for every elite of the guest list. If he’s got dirt on the wrong people…”
“Half the police force will be tearing each other apart before we even get inside,” Seokjin finished, a grim nod of agreement. He adjusted his laptop, tapping a few keys as he continued to monitor any changes to the website.
Another officer tentatively stepped forward, their face pale. “If… if this goes public, sir, every big name in Korea could be dragged through the mud. It could cause a nationwide scandal.”
Before they could continue, the sharp, shrill ring of the command center’s phone cut through the tense silence. Every head snapped towards it, and Jungkook felt a familiar chill run down his spine. He didn’t need to guess who was on the other end.
Captain Park shot Jungkook a look, his hand hovering over the phone before he finally picked it up, switching to speaker.
*******
Seonsaengnim
Taehyung stretched, hands clasped behind his head as he reclined in his chair, watching Woo Jungho struggle through the live broadcast, the Korean drama star fumbling like a fish out of water. The poor actor was a mess, squirming as his secrets got probed with uncomfortable intimacy by the hosts holding his life hostage on-air. The look on Jungho’s face—the way he tried to keep his charming smile in place while glancing nervously at the cameras—had Taehyung laughing.
“Oh, Jungho-yah,” he sighed with an exaggerated grin, clicking through to the website Yoongi had set up. Taehyung’s fingers flicked over his keyboard, pulling up the live metrics. The “Secrets of Woo Jungho” page was a massive hit, views and purchases climbing with every second. He tapped his fingers rhythmically, spinning in his chair, then shot out his hands to stop himself and refreshed the screen. The numbers were still soaring.
Everyone, it seemed, had been waiting for a taste of Woo Jungho’s real life, desperate for the secrets behind the man on the screen. The numbers skyrocketed with every refresh. Taehyung watched in delighted disbelief, occasionally spinning himself back and forth in his chair like a kid.
“Look at that, Jungho,” he laughed, his tone almost sing-song. “You’re more popular now than when you’re making those over-the-top doe eyes on screen. Maybe you should thank me, huh?”
Taehyung chuckled, rolling his eyes. “People are so predictable. They’ll devour anything scandalous if it’s served on a silver platter.” He let out a sigh, almost wistful, watching the dark side of fame play out in real-time. He didn’t intend to pull back; this was just the beginning. Soon, he’d peel back layer after layer of everyone involved, digging into secrets so filthy that even the city’s richest would be scrambling to keep their names clean. And Taehyung would be there for every minute, savoring the fall.
But for now, he had other matters to attend to.
On his desk lay a manila folder labeled Jeon Jungkook. His fingers ran over it lightly, almost affectionately, and he opened it with a flick of his wrist, skimming through the meticulous details he’d compiled on the lead investigator. Jungkook, the bulldog of the force. Ambitious, tenacious, hungry to prove himself among the city’s veterans. But it wasn’t Jungkook’s sharp mind or relentless work ethic that had caught Taehyung’s eye. No, it was the shadow Jungkook carried with him: his brother, wrongly imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit.
Taehyung chuckled, tapping on the picture clipped inside. It was an irony that Jungkook, a man driven by an obsession with justice, had wound up in his web. “Oh, Jungkook,” he murmured, shaking his head in mock pity. “If only you knew just how well I know you.”
The phone on his desk rang. He let it buzz a few times, savoring the interruption, before lazily picking up the receiver. With a cheerful, singsong tone, he answered, “Police tent, please.”
The line clicked, and a familiar voice came on, rigid and professional. “This is Investigator Jeon.”
“Oh, Investigator Jeon!” Taehyung’s voice dripped with feigned delight. “How’s the little show going over there, huh? Enjoying yourself?”
There was a long pause. Taehyung could practically hear Jungkook gritting his teeth, trying to maintain control. “You think this is funny, don’t you?” Jungkook’s voice was low, the forced calm barely covering the rage simmering beneath.
“Funny?” Taehyung repeated, drawing out the word, as though testing it. “Well, yes, actually! Funny doesn’t even begin to describe it.” He laughed, fully and unrestrained, the sound echoing through his empty apartment. “You’re all running around, grasping at straws while I’m here, sitting back and enjoying the performance.”
Jungkook’s voice came back tight and clipped. “You’re not as clever as you think you are, Seonsaengnim. This game of yours—it’s going to end.”
“Oh, it’s not a game, darling.” Taehyung’s tone dropped, playful but edged with something darker, something that sent a shiver down the line. “It’s an art form. One you couldn’t understand even if you tried.”
A breath, sharp and restrained, came over the receiver. “Is there anything we can do to end this nonsense?”
Taehyung snorted, suppressing a giggle. “Nonsense? Come on, don’t be dramatic. And as for ending it? No, no, no. Not just yet. You’re all far too entertaining.”
Jungkook exhaled heavily on the other end, clearly at the edge of his patience. Taehyung savored every second, spinning back and forth in his chair. He could almost see Jungkook pacing in frustration, jaw clenched tight, probably cracking his knuckles. The visual was delightful.
“But…” Taehyung drawled, drawing out the word as if in afterthought, “I might have something for you, just to keep things… interesting.”
“What do you mean?” Jungkook’s voice was wary, but curiosity edged in.
“Let’s call it a little challenge,” Taehyung replied, his tone brightening with excitement. “You see, there’s someone missing from my show. It’s rude, don’t you think? Everyone shows up, and one person decides to ditch. Do you know where Lee Jae-sun is?”
Jungkook hesitated. “Lee Jae-sun?”
“Yes, yes, the groom’s charming older brother. He’s supposed to be at the wedding,” Taehyung replied, spinning a little faster now, the thrill evident in his tone. “But he’s just… poof. Gone! And I hate it when people don’t show up to their own performance.”
Jungkook was silent, and Taehyung could imagine the wheels turning in his head. Finally, Jungkook asked, “What do you want with him?”
“Oh, I just want to chat. You know, the usual.” Taehyung shrugged, knowing the detective couldn’t see him, and grinned. “You have one hour to find him and bring him to the police tent. I’ll take a call there. If he’s not there… well, let’s just say I’m going to make the next broadcast very, very interesting.”
Another heavy silence from Jungkook. Taehyung relished it, feeling a strange thrill at being the one holding all the power.
“If we find him,” Jungkook finally said, voice edged with frustration, “then what?”
“Oh, Jungkook, then we talk.” Taehyung’s tone was syrupy-sweet, playful as a cat toying with a mouse. “Get him to the tent, and we’ll see where things go from there. You might even get a chance to impress me.”
“I don’t care about impressing you,” Jungkook snapped, the irritation in his voice breaking through his carefully constructed professionalism.
Taehyung stifled a laugh. “Oh, really? Then why are you still on the line, hmm? Tick-tock, Detective.” He hung up, the call ending on a high note of his gleeful laughter.
As soon as the line clicked off, he clasped his hands, letting out a deep, satisfied breath. This was just too perfect. Jungkook would be forced to scour the wedding grounds, disrupt the already frayed nerves of the wedding party, all for a man who might very well be far away from it all. The idea of Jungkook sprinting around in a panic, grappling for any sense of control, was simply too good.
He glanced back at the computer screen, watching the website stats continue to climb. Each click, each money spent, was like a small victory, a little badge for how masterfully he was orchestrating every second of this chaos. And this was just the first layer. Soon, the world would see more secrets, secrets that people would pay handsomely to learn.
He took a glance at his phone, opening the app that allowed him to monitor the radio show from the road. Taehyung smirked as he pocketed the device, knowing he could drop in at any moment to deliver another punchline to his private, twisted comedy.
With a final glance around his empty apartment, he slipped on his coat and left, locking the door behind him. He strolled through the streets, hands tucked in his pockets, heading toward a building just a few minutes away. It was the kind of building people gawked at, polished surfaces reflecting the city lights, an undeniable aura of wealth hanging over it like a designer cologne. He paused at the door, admiring the grand entrance, its clean lines and pristine stonework a picture of untouchable luxury.
He let himself into the building, a well-practiced visitor, and made his way to the quiet apartment, slipping inside with ease. Once settled, Taehyung flopped down on the couch, kicking his feet up and propping a pillow behind his head.
Now came the hardest part—waiting.
He twirled his phone between his fingers, eyeing it with a smirk. He could send a few new signals if things got dull, but for now… it was all about keeping himself entertained.
He pulled up Instagram, the app’s familiar logo greeting him as he tapped through to the profile of the bride herself: Han Yejin. Seoul’s golden girl. The very face of luxury. The poor thing was probably having a meltdown in her lace and tulle at this very moment.
Her profile opened up, showing off the perfect feed that had catapulted her to fame. Her photos were curated to perfection, each one bathed in a soft, warm filter that softened any trace of imperfection. Yejin with flowers. Yejin at Paris Fashion Week. Yejin with her perfectly groomed Maltese, the little dog’s head tilted in that too-cute way only dogs on influencers’ profiles seem to master.
As he scrolled, he found himself fascinated by the almost robotic consistency of her posts. Every photo was practically engineered to scream elegance and wealth, from the way she held her coffee cup just so to the candid shots that were anything but. Even her captions were manufactured perfection: inspirational quotes, peppered with just enough charm to look humble.
“‘A little kindness goes a long way,’” he read aloud, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Coming from someone who’d probably shove her stylist into the fountain if her hair wasn’t properly curled.”
With a gleeful grin, he scrolled further down, pausing on a picture of Yejin and her groom. They were at some exclusive event, arm-in-arm, with matching diamond-studded outfits, practically dripping in luxury.
“Poor guy has no idea his bride’s going to be more in love with her reflection than with him,” he muttered, letting out a snicker.
He clicked on her most recent post, uploaded just that morning—a candid shot of Yejin and her groom-to-be, her arm looped around his, looking every bit the fairytale princess. Her caption read, “Today, we begin our forever. #IDo”
“Forever, indeed,” Taehyung sneered, clicking on the comments.
As expected, her fans had gone wild since the hostage situation began. The comment section was now filled with a bizarre blend of worried sympathies, conspiracy theories, and outright panic.
@yejinsangel_92: “OMG, unnie, are you okay?? Please update us if you’re safe! 🙏❤️”
@sanghoonlove101: “This is a nightmare! I can’t believe someone would do this to you guys! Stay strong!!”
@hollywoodfangirl: “So much drama!! Who is this crazy person ruining the wedding of the year???”
@wealthywife_23: “Maybe her karma finally caught up with her lol… been flaunting that rich lifestyle for way too long.”
@sanghoonfan_club: “Sanghoon and Yejin will get through this together! Stay strong, oppa and unnie! 💪💪”
@real_insider_guy: “Ppl saying the groom’s family is sketchy too… maybe it’s an inside job?”
@luxlife_lover: “Anyone else think it’s fishy that no one’s made a statement yet? This has conspiracy written all over it.”
Taehyung chuckled, leaning back into the cushions, his eyes scanning each comment with barely contained glee. The range of emotions, the speculations, the paranoia—it was priceless. Yejin’s perfectly sculpted image was starting to crack, piece by piece, and the panic from her fanbase only added fuel to the fire.
He exited the comments, and for a moment, he just lay back, holding his phone up and admiring the screen, as if the profile itself was a masterpiece he’d somehow orchestrated. Taehyung knew it was petty—maybe a touch ridiculous—but watching someone so carefully put together be thrown into chaos? That was his idea of fun. It was a public unraveling, and he was the puppet master.
He shut off his phone, letting his head rest back as he stared at the ceiling with a self-satisfied grin. Tonight was truly shaping up to be his masterpiece. And now, they had an hour to track down the elusive brother of the groom—a man who, conveniently, seemed to have disappeared just as the chaos kicked off.
Taehyung could only imagine the frenzy Jungkook must be in, chasing leads, calling in favors, trying to unravel a puzzle that didn’t want to be solved.
With another laugh, he stretched, his body sinking further into the couch as he savored the thought. He wasn’t just some faceless criminal; he was the artist, crafting a world where even the powerful were puppets, dancing to his tune.
“Oh, Yejin,” he whispered to the screen. “Today really is the day. Just… not in the way you imagined.”
All he had to do now was wait, his mind drifting between the wicked satisfaction of knowing Jungkook was scrambling, the thrill of the next broadcast, and the sheer, manic joy of watching his plan unfold. Taehyung lay there, smiling, in no hurry to rush any moment. The game was his, the pieces moving exactly as he’d anticipated.