Blindman’s Buff
Taehyung - Seonsaengnim
The air in the room felt heavy, charged, as though it might spark at any moment. Taehyung sat in his chair, the picture of nervousness, his dark eyes fixed on Jungkook. His posture was alerted, hands clasped lightly on the table. Inside, every nerve in his body hummed like a wire stretched taut, but for completely different reasons.
Jungkook was pacing again, looking like he might wear a trench into the floor. The younger man’s hand raked through his perfectly styled hair, his jaw tight as he muttered under his breath.
“Dammit!” Jungkook growled, glaring at the wall as if it had personally offended him.
Such passion, Taehyung mused, the corners of his lips twitching ever so slightly. Jungkook was like a tiger, pacing, hunting, his sharp mind piecing together the puzzle that Taehyung had laid out before him. It wasn’t fear that sent a prickle over Taehyung’s skin; no, it was something far more dangerous. Excitement. Anticipation.
He tilted his head slightly, observing Jungkook’s every move, every sharp exhale, every flash of determination in his eyes. The way Jungkook worked through the clues was intoxicating. It was like watching a predator close in on its prey—except Taehyung wasn’t the prey. He was the puppet master, pulling the strings, and Jungkook was dancing so beautifully.
Oh, Jungkook, Taehyung thought, the words lingering in his mind like a lover’s whisper. What would you do if you knew? If you realized that the man you’re hunting is sitting right in front of you?
“Hang on,” Seokjin interjected, pulling Taehyung from his thoughts. “If it was Seonsaengnim who paid, then that raises some questions.”
“Like what?” Captain Park asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
Seokjin started rattling off theories, and Taehyung let his mind wander again, his gaze slipping back to Jungkook. The younger man was muttering to himself now, something about 300 million won and Signal’s worth.
Ah, Jungkook, if only you knew. It’s not about the money; it’s about the game. The chaos. The thrill. Taehyung’s fingers twitched slightly against the table, his urge to toy with Jungkook growing stronger by the second. It was like playing Blindman’s Buff—watching Jungkook stumble closer and closer to the truth, so earnest, so determined.
He wanted to give Jungkook a hint, to lean in and whisper, “Good boy. You’re so close.” But that wouldn’t do. Not yet. The game was too delicate, the stakes too high. He had to stay in character, had to keep the mask firmly in place.
Jungkook’s voice broke through his thoughts, sharp and resolute. “What if Seonsaengnim doesn’t care about the money?”
That got everyone’s attention—including Taehyung’s. He sat up a little straighter, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. Oh? What’s this?
“What do you mean?” Seokjin asked, his brow furrowing.
Jungkook stopped pacing, turning to face the group, his expression serious. “Think about it. What if Seonsaengnim’s already rich? What if this isn’t about money at all? What if he’s doing this… for the sake of it?”
Taehyung’s breath caught for a split second, his skin prickling with the sheer accuracy of it. Jungkook was seeing him—really seeing him—and it sent a thrill through him he hadn’t expected.
“For the sake of what, exactly?” Taehyung asked, his voice calm, measured. He tilted his head, feigning curiosity as his heart thumped with exhilaration.
Jungkook’s gaze locked onto his, and for a moment, Taehyung thought he saw something flicker in those dark eyes—suspicion, perhaps? Or was it something deeper? Something more dangerous?
“For the sake of burning it all down,” Jungkook said, his voice dropping into something almost conspiratorial. “What if this whole thing—the heist, the livestreams, everything—is about flipping off the elite? Exposing their dirty laundry and watching the chaos unfold?”
Taehyung’s chest tightened, but not with fear. No, it was pride. Pure, unadulterated pride.
You’re brilliant, Jungkook. Absolutely brilliant. If I weren’t the one you’re chasing, I’d probably kiss you right now.
The room fell silent, the weight of Jungkook’s words hanging heavy in the air.
Seokjin leaned back in his chair, his lips pursed in thought. “So you’re saying he doesn’t need the money because he’s already got it. And instead of running some elaborate get-rich-quick scheme, he’s pulling a Robin Hood?”
“Not Robin Hood,” Jungkook corrected, his tone sharp. “Robin Hood actually helped people. This guy’s not handing out gold coins to peasants. He’s just… what’s the word?”
“A narcissist?” Seokjin offered helpfully.
Jungkook smirked. “That too. But no, I mean he’s playing god. Like, ‘Look at me, I know all your secrets, and I’m gonna expose them because I can.’”
The words sent a shiver down Taehyung’s spine. Playing god. The accusation should have stung, but instead, it exhilarated him. Is that how you see me, Jungkook? As a god?
Taehyung’s fingers curled slightly against the edge of the table, his pulse quickening. Jungkook was so close—too close. But instead of dread, all Taehyung felt was a wicked sort of excitement.
“What if you know him?” Jungkook asked suddenly, his voice deliberate, careful.
Taehyung’s head shot up, his dark eyes locking onto Jungkook’s. “What?”
Jungkook stepped closer, his gaze narrowing. “You heard me.”
The silence between them was electric, charged with something neither of them could name.
Careful, Taehyung, he thought, his mind racing. Don’t let him see too much. Don’t let him get too close.
But as Jungkook studied him, his sharp eyes scanning every inch of Taehyung’s face, a part of Taehyung couldn’t help but wonder.
What if I let you see? What if I dropped the mask, just for a moment? Would you still look at me like this, like you want to solve me? Or would you run?
“Think about it,” Jungkook said softly, his voice like a low hum in Taehyung’s ears. “If Seonsaengnim really is rich—if he’s part of the same elite he’s trying to expose—then he’s been in the same rooms as you. He’s shaken hands with the same people, attended the same galas. Hell, for all we know, you’ve had champagne with him and didn’t even realize it.”
Taehyung’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out. His mind was a storm, his heart pounding in his chest.
Finally, Jungkook stepped back, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Maybe,” he said, his voice clipped. “If you think of anything—anything at all—you let me know.”
Taehyung nodded, his mask firmly back in place. But as Jungkook turned away, Taehyung allowed himself a small, secret smile.
Good boy, Jungkook. You’re getting closer. Keep chasing me. But the question is, what will you do when you finally catch me?
*******
The police tent buzzed like a hive of frantic bees, and Taehyung sat back, watching with thinly veiled amusement as chaos unfolded around him. Two factions had formed—one group scrambling to locate Signal, while the other obsessively dissected the description Signal had given of “Seonsaengnim.”
The irony of it all nearly made him laugh out loud.
Signal, too weak to withstand the pressure, had almost caved. He’d been on the verge of saying something… actionable, something that could have connected too many dots. So, Taehyung did what he always did best: intervened.
Now Signal was comfortably seated on a plane bound for some tropical paradise, armed with a new identity, courtesy of Seonsaengnim’s network.
Good luck finding him, officers, Taehyung thought, hiding a smirk as he toyed with the cap of his bottled water.
Meanwhile, the second half of the tent was devoting their energy to another futile mission: identifying Seonsaengnim based on Signal’s description. A blonde man, short, broad-shouldered, bulky—a complete fabrication. Taehyung had coached Signal to describe the exact opposite of what he really looked like. Why give the game away when you can send them chasing ghosts?
He watched a young officer pull up a lineup of photos on a laptop, each one more laughably off-base than the last.
But even amidst this chaos, one presence remained unnervingly steady: Jungkook. The lead detective hadn’t moved from his position at the edge of the tent, his dark eyes fixed on Taehyung with unnerving precision.
“Jaesun,” Jungkook called, stepping closer.
Taehyung let his head snap up as though startled, forcing his hands to twitch nervously in his lap. “Yes?” His voice came out soft, almost timid.
“Can we talk?” Jungkook’s tone was low, almost gentle, as he gestured toward a quieter corner of the tent. A small table with two chairs sat there, illuminated by the glow of a nearby lamp.
“Of course,” Taehyung replied, his voice carefully measured. He let his steps falter slightly as he followed Jungkook, shoulders rounded like a man burdened by fear.
They sat down, and for a moment, Jungkook simply looked at him. Taehyung met his gaze hesitantly, letting his lower lip tremble just enough to sell the illusion of anxiety.
“I hope I didn’t scare you earlier,” Jungkook began, leaning forward. “When I said this could be personal. I just… I can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t random.”
Taehyung lowered his eyes to the table, as though overwhelmed. Oh, Jungkook. If you only knew how deeply personal this is.
“I… It’s okay,” Taehyung stammered, his voice shaking. “I understand. You’re just doing your job.”
“Does your family have any enemies?” Jungkook’s voice was calm but insistent. “Anyone who might want to… send a message?”
Taehyung froze, letting the question hang in the air for a beat too long. Finally, he shook his head, slow and deliberate. “I don’t think so. My family… we’re not perfect, but I can’t imagine anyone hating us enough to do something like this.”
He allowed a pause, then added, “I’ve been away for a while, though. Studying in Europe. I’ve only recently come back to Seoul, so… I’m not exactly in the loop with my family’s business.”
Jungkook tilted his head, watching him intently. “Art history, right?”
Taehyung widened his eyes, letting a flicker of surprise cross his face. “How did you—”
“We reviewed your background,” Jungkook cut in, his tone matter-of-fact. “Standard procedure.”
“Right.” Taehyung forced a nervous smile, as though he was trying to mask his discomfort. “Of course. I understand.”
Jungkook nodded but didn’t look away. “It’s nothing to worry about,” he said softly, almost reassuringly. “We just want to make sure we’re not missing anything that could help us find Seonsaengnim.”
“Of course.” Taehyung lowered his gaze, feigning vulnerability. “I know you’re doing everything you can. I trust you, Jungkook.”
Jungkook’s expression softened, and for a brief moment, Taehyung could see the cracks in his armor. This wasn’t just another case for him. There was something personal buried beneath the surface.
“I know how hard this is for you,” Jungkook said, his voice quieter now. “Feeling helpless, not knowing what’s going to happen… I get it.”
Taehyung glanced up at him, letting his lips tremble just slightly. “You do?”
Jungkook hesitated, then nodded. “I know what it’s like to see your family suffer and not be able to do anything about it.”
Taehyung’s heart raced—he knew about Jungkook’s brother, of course. His own research into the officers involved in the case had been meticulous.
Jungkook’s gaze returned to Taehyung. “It’s why I’m here. Why I do what I do. To stop people like Seonsaengnim from ruining more lives.”
Taehyung swallowed hard, letting the weight of Jungkook’s words settle between them.
“You’re doing everything you can,” Taehyung said finally, his voice steady but soft.
Jungkook nodded, his jaw tight, his eyes full of determination. For a moment, the air between them felt heavy, charged with something unspoken.
And as Jungkook’s gaze lingered, Taehyung felt a strange sense of satisfaction. The boundaries between them had blurred, their roles as detective and suspect tangled in a web of deception and misplaced trust.
*******
Namjoon - Vienna
Namjoon leaned back in the chair he’d claimed as his temporary command center, staring at the massive, floor-to-ceiling windows of the Lotte World Tower’s executive suite. The sun was high, painting the bustling streets of Seoul in sharp, golden light. From this height, the chaos below looked almost serene. He allowed himself a small, grim smile at the irony.
Down there, people were panicking—police sirens blaring, reporters scrambling for any new tidbit of information, and hostages’ families praying for miracles. Up here, however, things were deceptively calm.
The ballroom echoed faintly with muffled voices—the hostages under control, their murmurs subdued by Jimin and Hoseok’s presence. Across the room, Yoongi sat hunched over his laptop, headphones covering his ears, his fingers moving with surgical precision across the keyboard.
Namjoon exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. His mind was a maze of timelines, contingency plans, and carefully crafted strategies. So far, everything was running as smoothly as Seonsaengnim had predicted. Each step of the heist had unfolded like clockwork, every potential variable accounted for.
But that didn’t mean Namjoon was ready to relax.
He leaned forward, opening the notebook that never left his side. Its pages were filled with scrawled diagrams, equations, and annotated notes, each one representing a possible scenario. The livestreams had gone off without a hitch so far, thanks to Yoongi’s genius, Jimin’s theatrical delivery, and Hoseok’s impeccable timing with the hostages. But the next one… Namjoon’s brow furrowed. The next livestream would be riskier, bolder. The stakes were about to skyrocket.
The clock was ticking, and Seonsaengnim’s radio silence only added to the tension. Until the next clue, the weight of the operation rested squarely on his shoulders.
“What’s next?” he thought, flipping through his notes.
The next livestream wasn’t just about keeping the police on edge. It was about control—showing the world that they were three steps ahead. Namjoon had already drafted the script in his head, ensuring every word, every gesture would deliver maximum impact. He could almost hear Jimin’s voice, smooth and sharp, delivering the message like the seasoned showman he was.
But preparation wasn’t just about theatrics. It was about anticipating everything that could go wrong.
Still, the lack of a signal from Seonsaengnim gnawed at him. Namjoon trusted the man—how could he not, after seeing the brilliance of the plan so far?—but the radio silence was unnerving.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Namjoon glanced up just as Jimin strolled into the suite, carrying a plate piled high with wedding buffet delicacies.
“Enjoying yourself, Barcelona?” Namjoon asked dryly, raising an eyebrow.
Jimin smirked, spearing a delicate slice of steak with his fork. “Well, Vienna, someone has to keep morale up. And let me tell you, this lobster bisque? Worth the felony.”
Namjoon snorted, shaking his head. “Glad to know you’re making the most of our high-stakes operation.”
“Hey, don’t act like I’m slacking,” Jimin retorted, plopping down onto the couch. “I’ve been down there charming the pants off those hostages all morning. Literally, one guy almost cried when I told him he could use the bathroom. I’m a hero, really.”
“Right,” Namjoon said, rolling his eyes. “Hero of fine dining, maybe.”
Before Jimin could reply, Hoseok appeared in the doorway, carrying his own plate of food. Unlike Jimin’s carefully curated selection, Hoseok’s plate looked like he’d taken a shovel to the buffet table—piles of grilled meats, side dishes, and an entire piece of cake balanced precariously on top.
“At least we’re not starving,” Hoseok said cheerfully, dropping into the chair beside Jimin. “That buffet downstairs could feed us for a week. The rich, huh? They’d rather risk a robbery than look stingy.”
“You’re not wrong,” Jimin replied, gesturing dramatically with his fork. “Honestly, though, I think I can do no other heist after this one. It’s just perfect. Top-tier catering, great view… it’s almost too nice to leave.”
“We’re not here to sightsee,” Namjoon cut in, though his tone was more amused than reprimanding.
“Relax, Vienna,” Hoseok said, flashing a grin. “We know the drill. Just grabbing a quick bite before the next act.”
Namjoon shook his head, though a small smile tugged at his lips. The city crew’s banter was oddly comforting, a reminder that even in the midst of chaos, they were still a team.
But as the others joked and ate, Namjoon’s mind returned to the task at hand.
He glanced at Jimin and Hoseok, their laughter filling the room. For a moment, he envied their ability to live in the moment. But Namjoon wasn’t built that way. He was the one who stayed up at night, running through every possible scenario, ensuring that when the time came, they were ready.
“Enjoy your lunch,” he said finally, closing his notebook with a decisive snap. “Because once Seonsaengnim gives the next signal, it’s back to work.”
Jimin raised his glass in a mock toast. “To Vienna, our resident workaholic.”
“More like our overthinking genius,” Hoseok added, grinning.
Namjoon rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the small, satisfied smile that crept onto his face. “Genius, huh? I’ll take it.”
And as the laughter echoed around him, Namjoon allowed himself a rare moment of quiet confidence. The next steps would be challenging, but they would be ready. They always were.
*******
Yoongi - Cairo
Yoongi sat at in a corner of the room, chin resting on his hand as he lazily tapped his fingers against the laptop. The screen glowed with lines of code and security feeds, but nothing required his immediate attention. Everything was running smoothly—too smoothly, if you asked him. The livestream software was prepped and ready for Namjoon’s signal. In other words, his job was done, and there was nothing left to occupy his restless mind.
He considered taking a nap. God knows he could use one. But sleeping during a heist? That wasn’t his style. Even if there wasn’t anything to do, the mere thought of being horizontal while everyone else was running around felt wrong. Still, his eyelids were starting to feel heavier, and the dull hum of the monitors wasn’t exactly helping him stay alert.
His stomach growled, interrupting his train of thought. Right, food. He glanced over at Jimin and Hoseok. The plates piled with fancy hors d’oeuvres and delicacies had looked laughably out of place amidst the tension of the heist. But Yoongi wasn’t interested in foie gras or truffle-covered nonsense. No, what he really wanted was something simple, something warm, something real. He craved instant ramen. The kind you could slurp straight out of a styrofoam cup, the kind that burned your tongue but comforted your soul. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a single packet of ramen to be found in the glitzy Lotte World Tower. All the wealth in the world, and they couldn’t even stock the basics. Rich people priorities, huh?
He sighed, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. His thoughts, unbidden, began to drift toward Seokjin. It was strange hearing from him again after all these years, especially under these circumstances. His old partner-in-crime turned straight-laced cop.
Yoongi didn’t want to admit it, but he missed the guy. The days they’d spent together in that cramped apartment, working jobs that would’ve sent lesser men to prison, had been some of the best of his life. It didn’t matter what the job was—as long as they were together, Yoongi had been happy. For him, the thrill of the work and Seokjin’s company had been enough. But for Seokjin, it had mattered. Somewhere along the way, the older man’s conscience had started to get the better of him. He’d grown tired of the endless schemes, the blurring of moral lines. Yoongi had dismissed it at the time. After all, they weren’t hurting anyone who didn’t deserve it, right? The people they scammed weren’t exactly innocent. It was just business. So why feel guilty?
But Seokjin hadn’t seen it that way. He’d wanted out, and Yoongi had let him go. He hadn’t expected to hear from him again, let alone see him working for the police. And not just any police—Jungkook’s team. Yoongi let out a bitter chuckle at the irony. Mr. Moral High Ground, working for a system that was just as corrupt as the people they used to target. Buying votes for Kang Sungim? Yeah, real noble work there, officer.
And yet… a small part of him wished things could go back to the way they were. He hated admitting it, even to himself, but he missed being partners with Seokjin. No one else had ever understood him quite like Ghost did. The way they’d clicked, the way they’d complemented each other—it was rare, and Yoongi knew it. He’d tried to bury those feelings, but they kept resurfacing, no matter how hard he pushed them down.
With a resigned sigh, Yoongi opened a new message window on his laptop. If he was going to spiral, he might as well drag Seokjin down with him. His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before he started typing.
To: Ghost
Hey, cop boy.
You still buying votes for the king of corruption, or have you moved on to more respectable hobbies? Like knitting? Maybe bird-watching?
Anyway, just wanted to say thanks for making this heist more interesting.
Don’t get too comfortable, though. And before you start moralizing, save it. I’m not in the mood for a lecture.
P.S. If you come across any instant ramen, send it my way. These rich folks wouldn’t know real food if it slapped them in the face.
Cairo
Yoongi read over the message, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. It was petty and childish, sure, but it felt good. With a click, he sent the message, knowing it would find its way to Seokjin’s encrypted inbox. Maybe it was immature to poke at old wounds, but Yoongi wasn’t in the business of emotional restraint. Not today, anyway.
Leaning back, he crossed his arms and stared at the screen. He didn’t expect a reply, but the thought of Seokjin reading it was satisfying enough. Somewhere, deep down, he hoped the message would remind Seokjin of the good times, too. But he’d never admit that—not even to himself.