Turning Heir to Heist
Taehyung lounged across the sleek leather of his penthouse couch, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he watched the city skyline. He let his fingers drum rhythmically along the armrest, feeling that pulse of anticipation deep within.
Just a little longer ... The anticipation was half the thrill, wasn’t it? That delicious moment just before the trap snaps shut, when everyone else is still blissfully unaware of what’s about to hit them. His phone buzzed.
“Mr. Lee, this is the front desk. I’m just calling to let you know… there’s a police detective here who would like to speak with you.” came the receptionist’s crisp voice.
A spark lit in Taehyung’s eyes. Ah, Detective Jeon. Finally. The man behind the investigation, the face of the police’s response to his heist, and now, he was heading up to see him—to meet the very man who, unbeknownst to him, was orchestrating the entire thing. God, this was rich.
Maybe he could have mentioned beforehand that he himself was the groom’s older brother, but what would have been the fun in that?
As far as the police were concerned, he was just Lee Jae-sun—the dutiful, concerned brother who was helplessly watching his family get swallowed by chaos. If he’d revealed his identity too early, they might’ve asked questions he didn’t want to answer, might’ve put him under more scrutiny. This way, though? They would be too focused on Seonsaengnim to ever suspect the frail brother sitting on the sidelines.
Ah, and the “accident.” He could still feel a faint ache on his cheek where he’d slammed his face into the steering wheel for that perfect bruised effect. Pain, maybe, but worth every throb.
The memory unfolded in his mind: it all started with the call to his stuntman contact, who was more than happy to play the injured driver for a fat wad of cash. He’d even doubled the man’s rate, all to ensure the plan went off without a hitch. The scene had been set at a low-traffic intersection near the airport, one perfectly timed collision in the early hours, away from too many prying eyes.
Of course, there was the pesky matter of proving he’d been in a hospital afterward, even though he had no intention of waiting around in the ER like any ordinary accident victim. Time was something he couldn’t afford to waste—not when he was orchestrating the most complex heist of his life. So, naturally, he slipped a thick envelope to a private physician he knew, a doctor who operated quietly out of a nearby clinic, the type who didn’t ask too many questions if the price was right.
The plan had gone off flawlessly. The doctor had ushered him straight in, took one look at the “injuries” and processed the paperwork on cue. No questions, no delays. And that cast on his arm? He’d slid it off the moment he’d walked out, tucking it under his coat as he hailed a cab back to his apartment, just in time to oversee the start of the heist.
Back in the present, Taehyung smirked, lazily tracing a finger over the faint bruise on his cheek.
He pushed himself off the couch, straightening his collar with an amused huff. As if on cue, he pictured the perfect scene: Detective Jeon, the noble, self-righteous cop who believed he was saving the day, now being played right into Taehyung’s hand. He’d seen this exact type of setup in Money Heist—the Professor cozying up to the head investigator in a little café, gathering insights from his opponent, right under their nose. But meeting in a coffee shop? No, that wouldn’t work for Detective Jeon, not with his nose buried so deep in his job.
Instead, Taehyung would play the part of the worried older brother, forcing the detective to come to him, to his own territory. All he had to do now was look the part—vulnerable, concerned, barely holding it together. He brushed his hair back, positioning himself as he heard the knock on his door. Showtime.
Opening the door, he met Jungkook’s gaze with wide, distressed eyes, adding a slight tremor to his voice. “Detective?” he asked softly, drawing his shoulders in just enough to look shaken. “Is… is my brother alright? Is my family okay?”
Jungkook’s face remained impassive, though Taehyung could see the flicker of sympathy in his eyes, even if he tried to bury it. Oh, Jungkook was going to be fun to unravel. A little sympathy, a little brotherly desperation, and Jungkook would be eating out of his hand, guiding him right into the trap, one worried expression at a time.
“They’re all alive, Mr. Lee,” Jungkook replied, voice steady and cool. “Your brother is part of the hostage situation at Lotte Tower, along with the rest of the wedding party.”
Taehyung let his hand fly up to his mouth, hiding a slight smirk behind a look of panic, his fingers covering the subtle lift of his lips. His whole face twisted in carefully crafted distress. “I… I saw it on the news.” His voice broke just right, shaky and hushed. “I’d been discharged from the hospital, came home, and then… this. It’s a nightmare.”
The pity in Jungkook’s eyes grew sharper, and Taehyung drank it up, feeling the satisfaction rise within him. Jungkook’s pity was gold. In his mind, he was doing his duty, comforting a man in distress, doing what he could to help the innocent brother of a hostage, but what he didn’t know was that he was feeding Seonsaengnim every single move the police would make.
Taehyung could see Jungkook’s internal struggle, the detective battling between his duty and his sympathy. This was his masterpiece—watching as he forced his opponents to second-guess themselves, to doubt and fall into the very traps he’d laid. He glanced around the apartment, adding a final touch of reluctance as he looked back at Jungkook. “If there’s anything I can do to help, Detective… for my brother’s sake, please, just tell me.” His words were honeyed with sincerity, a perfect line delivered at the right moment.
Jungkook looked at him, assessing, perhaps suspicious, but that spark of sympathy held strong, holding him back from questioning too much. “The police believe your presence could help. We need you, Mr. Lee.”
Taehyung bit back a grin, nodding fervently, his eyes softening, a light catching in them. “Of course, Detective. I’ll do whatever you need.” But inside, his mind raced with the possibilities, each twist and turn of the plot flashing before him, each piece falling perfectly into place. As they made their way to the elevator, he stole a glance at Jungkook, barely able to contain his excitement at watching his opponent, unwittingly pulling him deeper into his trap.
Seonsaengnim wasn’t just playing a heist; he was crafting his masterpiece, and Jungkook? He was the unwitting lead, delivering the performance of his life. And Taehyung could hardly wait for the final act.
******
The police tent buzzed with tense, electric energy, and Taehyung—disguised as Jaesun—felt the tension seep into his bones. He followed Jungkook’s lead, each step calculated to perfection. As they reached the edge of the police perimeter, he took in the scene: swarming reporters, blinding camera flashes, and the towering silhouette of Lotte World Tower casting a dark shadow over the plaza. It was a spectacle, a perfect stage for him to play his role.
Behind his mask of panic, Taehyung felt a twisted thrill. This was his creation. Each panicked face, every breath held in anticipation—it was exactly as he’d planned. The world was watching, and he held them in his palm.
He forced his eyes to widen, body to tense, mimicking shock at the sight of the tower as though he could actually see “his family” trapped within. He let his fingers tremble slightly, his knuckles going white as he clenched his fists. Beside him, Jungkook was focused, scanning Taehyung with a guarded gaze. Good. He needed Jungkook to be on edge, watching him, believing his every reaction.
As they entered the tent, Taehyung’s gaze swept over the officers gathered, taking in Captain Park and Seokjin standing rigidly among the others. His mind noted each detail with cold precision, but on his face, he showed only strained worry. Just a brother, desperate to protect his family.
Taehyung’s mind spun back to the late-night rehearsal. It was hours of pacing in his apartment, timing, fine-tuning, and practically becoming two men at once. The timing had to be flawless—Seonsaengnim’s arrogance had to slice through every word, the tone smooth but ruthless.
Jaesun, meanwhile, had to sound desperate, a man unraveling in the face of crisis. Seonsaengnim’s mockery, Jaesun’s confusion—he had to catch them both with every beat and nail the timing.
Taehyung kept his expression carefully controlled, giving himself just the right amount of anxious energy to fit his ‘role’ as the concerned family member. He’d practiced the smallest details, even the tremble in his fingers, which now wrapped around the bottle of water the officer handed him.
Here he was, sitting in the lion’s den with every cop’s eyes on him, and they didn’t have a damn clue who he really was. He stifled a smirk. Keeping his face blank, he glanced over his phone screen one last time, fingers a hair’s breadth from the screen. Jungkook’s eyes followed his movement, that hawk-like gaze he always had, sharp with suspicion.
At exactly the right moment, the line rang. The tent snapped to attention, tense faces waiting for this fateful call. Inside, Taehyung’s chest thudded with dark satisfaction. He bit his lip, keeping his thrill in check, and felt the giddy little tingle of knowing he controlled every damn word about to hit that speaker.
Seokjin answered the call. “This is the Seoul Metropolitan Police. We have Mr. Lee Jaesun here with us, as requested.”
“Oh, fantastic!” Seonsaengnim’s voice crackled out, dripping with sarcasm so thick it practically made Taehyung choke on his own laughter. He watched Jaesun’s supposed ‘reaction’—that wide-eyed shock and horror he’d perfected in the mirror this morning—play out as if it were a damn masterpiece. Every muscle in his face held the right balance of dread and denial. Hell, he deserved an award.
Jaesun’s voice—his voice—quivered just right. “Are… are my family and my brother safe?”
Safe? As if. The voice on the other end scoffed, each taunting word calculated to draw every eye to Jaesun, to keep the police eating out of the palm of his hand. And god, wasn’t it working like a charm? He could almost feel Jungkook’s skepticism melting away, bit by bit, as he stared at this pitiful, helpless brother in the middle of their carefully staged tragedy.
When Seonsaengnim laughed, sharp and mocking, he had to hide the smirk tugging at his mouth. All the filthy secrets, the pried-open world, the grand reveal—ah, it was a thing of beauty. This game he was playing, where he held all the cards, where every cop around him thought they were the ones closing in on answers.
Jungkook’s fists clenched, anger simmering beneath his carefully composed expression. It was delicious. Watching him seethe, that protective anger, that spark of outrage at the ‘innocent brother’ sitting right there, within arm’s reach, and not knowing it was the same damn guy pulling every string.
Jaesun’s voice came through, even more desperate, each word like a slap of terror, helplessness, frustration. It was beautiful acting, flawless down to the faint tremble in his tone. “What do you want from me?” Taehyung could almost taste the panic in his own words.
And oh, the way Seonsaengnim responded, how the voice darkened, how he practically growled about the ‘truth’—the self-righteous, judgmental little sting he’d woven so artfully into the recording. It made Taehyung’s heart race, his pulse hammer with anticipation. Every single person in that tent hung on to every word like it was gospel.
“Guess that makes me the villain, huh?” he thought, chuckling darkly in the privacy of his mind. Because wasn’t that the beauty of it?
*******
Lee Jaesun was born with a silver spoon, and not just any silver spoon. We’re talking the kind polished by servants and plated in gold, the sort of thing that came with a price tag fit to pay a few months’ rent for the rest of us.
It didn’t start out this way, of course. His father, Lee Dongsu, founded a little tech company, fresh out of a rundown office space with more broken chairs than working computers. But it didn’t stay small. The business took off, fast-tracking Dongsu from just another tech nerd to one of the biggest names in South Korea. And with all that success came money—a disgusting amount of it.
As the bills started stacking up, so did his father’s arrogance and appetite for luxury. And, of course, he decided that his kind-hearted, humble wife was not exactly the trophy he needed to shine by his side. Two years after Jaesun was born, she was gone, discarded like last year’s model. Jaesun barely remembered her, just glimpses of a warm laugh, a gentle touch, and the scent of something comforting he could never quite recall. His father had “taken care of her”—and by “taken care,” we mean tossing her out with a settlement that was less than pocket change to him. In exchange, he upgraded to Wife 2.0: pretty, young, with an ambition to marry rich and never work again.
Jaesun’s mother, meanwhile, disappeared into the city, a forgotten name never mentioned in his presence again. And as for the new Mrs. Lee? Well, she fit right in, barely waiting a few months before bringing Jaesun a half-brother, Lee Sanghoon. The family was complete—or so the magazines said. They became the picture-perfect family, the type splashed across glossy pages, all smiles and impeccable clothes, carefully curated for the cameras.
Except, Jaesun was starting to notice things. At four years old, he was too young to understand the exact details, but there was a coldness in his father’s smile, a detachment in his stepmother’s laugh, and a whole lot of emptiness in their pristine, gilded world.
Growing up, Jaesun had it all. The finest toys, clothes, tutors, vacations. But his father had bigger plans for him: a mini-CEO in training. Business camps, finance lessons, etiquette classes—the whole shebang. Jaesun’s childhood was a daily parade of “important” people with fake smiles, long speeches on the value of a “family empire,” and a father who cared more about his golf game than his son’s curiosity about the world. Oh, and his half-brother Sanghoon? An obnoxious little brat, groomed to be everything Jaesun didn’t want to be. Sanghoon thrived in this twisted playground of wealth, adoring every golf outing, every bit of “business talk” with their father, all while Jaesun found himself suffocating.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, there was the dark twist. Around the age of ten, Jaesun discovered his mother’s fate. He’d snooped, hidden behind doors he wasn’t supposed to, caught whispers. The truth was sickening: his mother had died alone, poor, and in pain. The “family empire” had been more than able to pay for her treatment, but his father had ignored her completely. “Why waste money on the past?” his father had scoffed to his new wife over a lavish dinner. Jaesun wasn’t supposed to have heard that. But he did, and from that day, something inside him broke.
The only escape was art. Art was Jaesun’s refuge, a small rebellion his father hated but couldn’t squash. Hours were spent filling sketchbooks with abstract designs, twisted shapes, visions he didn’t fully understand but knew he needed to capture. By the time he reached high school, he’d realized he didn’t care about family empires, luxury, or board meetings. He wanted to leave. And he did, as soon as he turned 18, escaping to Europe with just enough cash and a middle finger raised toward his family’s expectations.
In Europe, he reinvented himself. He studied art history, dug into philosophy, and drank the freedom of anonymity. His sketchbooks became bolder, filled with dark commentary on the elite, scathing caricatures of wealthy aristocrats and corrupt politicians. He changed his name too. “Jaesun” was his father’s idea. But he chose “Taehyung,” a name that felt his own, and added “Kim” in honor of his mother. From that point on, Lee Jaesun was buried, replaced by Kim Taehyung—the artist who wore his mother’s name like a shield.
Europe gave Taehyung time and distance to confront his bitterness. It was a transformation, a journey from resentment to a simmering drive. The ultimate rebellion—Taehyung’s art, his name, his future—was an artform in its own right, one built on defiance and the fierce determination to expose the underbelly of the very world he was born into.
But art alone wasn’t enough. Over time, he began seeing life itself as art. The idea of a heist began to form in his mind, almost like an abstract painting he was slowly adding colors to. A heist wasn’t just about stealing—it was about sending a message, an artistic masterpiece that laid bare the lies and corruption he’d grown up surrounded by. Every detail would be a stroke on the canvas, every plan another layer. This wasn’t about money; it was about crafting the ultimate revenge, exposing the truth behind the fake smiles and empty values. And if he could burn his father’s empire to the ground in the process? Well, that was just a bonus.
Taehyung’s vision evolved as he did. What started as anger and bitterness became a focused, relentless energy. He’d make the world see, not just his father, but every last member of the corrupt elite for what they truly were. The irony was perfect: he, the rejected heir, would tear apart the very world he was supposed to inherit. Taehyung would be the masked artist unveiling the truth, stripping away the illusions they hid behind.
By the time he returned to Seoul, Taehyung was a changed man—sharp, resilient, and with a plan that would set the entire city on edge. And so, he laid the foundation for his magnum opus, his ultimate work of art: a heist that would strip his father, his family’s friends, and the entire corrupt system bare.
And thus, the birth of “Kim Taehyung”—artist, rebel, and mastermind. The enigma with a vendetta, stepping out of the shadows to turn his vision into reality.
********
It was Sunday afternoon, and the Lee family’s mansion looked like something out of an old-money lifestyle magazine. Towering windows, marble floors polished to a blinding gleam, and chandeliers that probably cost more than most people’s college tuition. The dining room table was a symbol of opulence, stretched long enough to require its own postal code, and every surface gleamed with the kind of polished shine that only comes from too much wealth and too little soul.
Seated at the table was the ever-immaculate Lee Sanghoon, dressed in a designer suit even for Sunday lunch because, apparently, relaxation didn’t apply to men with trust funds.
Across from him sat his father, Mr. Lee, an imposing figure with a smile that seemed to stop just short of his eyes, the kind of man who treated brunch like a business meeting and his family like acquisitions.
Next to Sanghoon was his picture-perfect fiancée, Han Yejin, Seoul’s ultimate influencer and soon-to-be “Princess of the Lee Empire.” She sat there with the grace of someone who knew exactly which angle the cameras (or, in this case, the family) needed.
Then there was Taehyung—well, Lee Jaesun, technically. He was leaning back in his chair, dressed in simple clothes that screamed “artsy rebel who didn’t belong,” clearly misaligned with the pristine Lee aesthetic.
Taehyung wasn’t just there to eat. He was there with a plan—an act that required him to sit through this family meal without rolling his eyes or plotting an exit strategy. No easy feat. But the wedding was coming up, and his brother’s little love affair with Yejin was a golden opportunity. It was time to play “supportive older brother” and lull the whole family into a false sense of comfort, so he could have the wedding heist of a lifetime.
As the meal progressed, Sanghoon was busy launching into a story about his latest business trip to Singapore, where he’d apparently closed a deal worth millions—he made sure to mention the number at least three times in case anyone missed it. Mr. Lee listened with the intensity of a man who had already begun grooming his prodigal son as the company’s future leader, nodding with pride that felt more like investment returns.
Taehyung waited for the moment when Sanghoon would pause, that brief second where he’d run out of ways to embellish his story. And then he struck, plastering on a bright, almost eager smile. “So, Sanghoon,” Taehyung began, drawing out the words in his best impression of sincerity, “I hear the wedding is going to be quite the event of the season.”
Sanghoon raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “What do you care about the wedding, hyung? Thought these things were beneath you.”
Taehyung laughed it off with an exaggerated shrug. “What can I say? The thought of my little brother walking down the aisle brings out the sentimentalist in me.” He ignored the eye-roll from Sanghoon and turned to his father, who was watching with the interest of someone unsure of his motives. “Actually, I’d love to help out with the preparations. Maybe with the flower arrangements? I’ve heard lilies are in season, and I have some… artistic ideas.”
The room went silent. Yejin’s eyes sparkled with a hint of curiosity, while Sanghoon looked ready to gag. But Mr. Lee seemed intrigued. “You, helping with the wedding?” Mr. Lee leaned forward, a look of faint surprise crossing his usually implacable face. “Well, well, Jaesun. Maybe you’re finally starting to understand the importance of family.” He paused, his gaze sharpening. “Your brother’s wedding is no small affair. It’s a symbol of our legacy, a statement to everyone that the Lees are not just wealthy—we’re untouchable.”
Taehyung resisted the urge to choke on his water. The irony was almost too delicious.
Untouchable? Not for long, he thought, if he had anything to say about it. But he forced a nod, lips pressed together in a fake show of respect. “Of course, Father. And it’s because it’s such an important event that I think we should pay special attention to the security measures as well. Imagine if something were to go wrong…”
At this, Sanghoon scoffed. “Security? What do you know about security?”
Taehyung shrugged nonchalantly, concealing the satisfaction simmering beneath the surface. “I might not be a corporate puppet, but I know a thing or two about protecting what’s valuable,” he replied, meeting his father’s gaze. “And who better than family to keep an eye on things?”
Mr. Lee’s expression softened, the flicker of a rare smile ghosting across his face. “Finally, Jaesun, I see you coming to your senses. Perhaps this wedding will be a turning point for you.”
“Oh, it’ll be a turning point, all right,” Taehyung muttered under his breath, reaching for his glass.
Across the table, Yejin chimed in, clearly delighted at the prospect of additional wedding help. “It would be lovely to have you involved, Jaesun. Maybe you can help with the aesthetic choices. I want everything to be perfect.” Her voice had the sugary charm of someone who rarely had to worry about anything outside of social media filters.
“Perfect is exactly what I’m aiming for,” Taehyung replied, deadpan.
Yejin beamed, clearly taking it as sincere. Sanghoon, however, was glaring at Taehyung with suspicion. “Just don’t mess anything up, hyung,” he warned, shooting a look across the table. “This wedding isn’t some kind of… art project.”
Taehyung held back a grin. Oh, Sanghoon, if only you knew how much this was an art project. A masterpiece, actually. One that would strip the Lee family’s “untouchable” empire down to its very core.
But he leaned back and raised his glass, meeting Sanghoon’s glare with a lazy, disinterested smile. “Don’t worry, little brother,” he said, voice dripping with mock reassurance. “I only want what’s best for the family.”