How to set a trap - and fall into it yourself.
Jungkook
Jungkook’s head was spinning.
The meeting was set. Seokjin would be leaving in less than an hour. They had one shot at this—one chance to get close to Seonsaengnim, to finally meet the person behind all of this.
But there was a potential mole in the police.
Which meant they couldn’t tell anyone. Couldn’t call for backup. Couldn’t risk a single soul knowing about this plan, or it could all go up in flames before it even started.
Jungkook exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the chaotic mess of the tent but not really seeing it. His mind was running a mile a minute, cycling through excuses—plausible, realistic, undetectable excuses—that would let him step out without Captain Park breathing down his neck.
It had to be something believable. Something airtight. Something that wouldn’t raise even the tiniest bit of suspicion.
And he had—
…Absolutely nothing.
Fucking fantastic.
He dragged a hand down his face, trying to ignore the creeping headache forming at the base of his skull. Seokjin would be heading out soon, and Jungkook needed to be there, following from a safe distance, ready to step in if things went south. But how the hell was he supposed to disappear from this circus without setting off alarm bells?
“Think, Jeon,” he muttered under his breath. “Come up with something, anything—”
“Detective Jeon?”
Jungkook nearly jumped out of his goddamn skin.
Lee Jaesun had appeared behind him like a damn ghost, standing there with those wide, expressive eyes—big and beautiful—fuck, no, brain, stop that.
Jungkook swallowed, quickly masking his moment of weakness as he turned around, clearing his throat. “What?”
Jaesun hesitated for a second, as if choosing his words carefully. “I, uh… I don’t want this to come out the wrong way, but—can I leave?”
Jungkook blinked.
Jaesun shifted, glancing at the flurry of officers running around the tent. “I’ve been sitting here for hours, and everyone else is working like crazy. I just feel… useless.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking almost guilty for even asking. “I spoke with my halmeoni earlier, and I wanted to visit her. But, of course, if you need me to stay here, I will.”
Jungkook just… stared at him.
This poor guy had been stuck in this damn tent all day, doing nothing but breathing in the secondhand stress radiating from every officer in a five-mile radius. And Jungkook—who had been laser-focused on catching Seonsaengnim, on unraveling this entire mess—hadn’t even considered letting him go.
And yet—
And yet a very, very stupid part of Jungkook’s brain whispered, I don’t want him to go.
He shoved that thought into the burning dumpster where all the other stupid thoughts about Jaesun lived and cleared his throat.
Jaesun must have taken his silence the wrong way, because he quickly added, “It’s fine, though. I understand if—”
“No,” Jungkook cut in, shaking his head. “No, you can go.”
Jaesun blinked at him, surprised.
Jungkook exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll call you if we need you for anything. But you’ve been stuck here all day. You should go see your halmeoni.”
„Thanks, Detective Jeon,” Jaesun said, and there was something in his tone—something warm that made Jungkook’s brain work overtime to ignore it.
Jungkook barely managed a nod.
Jaesun hesitated, looking at him for a moment longer before adding softly, “For everything.”
His gaze lingered, searching Jungkook’s face like he was trying to figure something out. There was something… unreadable in his eyes.
A weird tension settled between them.
Not bad, not awkward—just there.
Then Jaesun dipped his head slightly. “I hope I’ll hear from you soon—hopefully with good news.”
And with that, he turned and stepped out of the tent.
Jungkook, like the absolute dumbass he was, found himself watching him go.
Something about Jaesun had already wormed its way under his skin, and for the life of him, Jungkook couldn’t figure out why. They had only met twenty-four hours ago, and yet… there was something familiar about him.
Something that made Jungkook feel like he should know him better than he actually did.
He frowned at the thought, shaking it off.
This wasn’t the time for weird gut feelings or—God forbid—any other distracting emotions.
He had work to do.
Seokjin would be heading to the meeting point soon, and Jungkook needed to get moving.
Before everything slipped through their fingers once again.
*******
Jungkook wasn’t nervous.
Nope. Not even a little.
He was just… hyper-aware.
Hyper-aware of every single step Seokjin took ahead of him, hyper-aware of the small device in his pocket pressing against his palm, hyper-aware of the cold air biting at his exposed skin, seeping through the thin fabric of his jacket.
And maybe, just maybe, hyper-aware of the fact that they were walking straight into what could very well be the biggest mistake of their entire careers.
But was he nervous?
No.
(He was lying. He was so fucking nervous.)
Jungkook had managed to slip out of the police tent with a half-assed excuse about needing to check in with the distinct regarding Signal. Captain Park had barely glanced up from his paperwork, muttered something that sounded vaguely like a dismissal, and that was all the permission Jungkook needed to get the hell out of there.
Now, he walked a few meters behind Seokjin, shoulders slightly hunched, cap pulled low over his forehead. The air was thick with the kind of tension that made his skin itch, the kind that meant something was about to go down.
Seokjin had slipped him the listening device earlier—casually, like he was just adjusting his sleeve. The older man hadn’t even looked at Jungkook when he’d done it, just murmured under his breath, “If I die, delete my browser history.”
Jungkook had rolled his eyes at the time.
Now, though? Now, he wasn’t so sure it was a joke.
He exhaled sharply, shoving his free hand into his pocket, fingers brushing against the cool, familiar weight of his gun. Just knowing it was there settled something inside him, a reminder that if things went to shit, he could do something.
Could protect Seokjin if necessary.
Because as much as Seokjin pretended he was the most capable person in the room (which, okay, sometimes he actually was), Jungkook knew the man had never done anything like this before.
Meeting the mastermind behind a heist in the middle of it?
Not exactly part of Seokjin’s usual job description.
Jungkook glanced up just as they turned a corner, leading into a more isolated part of the street. The buildings here were older, their facades worn down by time and weather. The streetlights were dim, casting long, eerie shadows against the pavement.
Perfect for a secret meeting.
Horrible for Jungkook’s nerves.
Seokjin stopped near the edge of an alleyway, just far enough from the street to avoid drawing attention. He muttered something under his breath—probably testing the bug. Jungkook resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Yes, Seokjin, I can hear you, thanks for the riveting commentary.
Then—
Movement.
Jungkook stiffened.
A man approached from the other end of the street, walking fast, his silhouette cutting through the dim light like a blade. He was dressed in dark clothing, a cap pulled low over his face, a black mask covering the lower half.
And despite the layers of anonymity, Jungkook felt his stomach twist.
Could that really be him?
Seonsaengnim.
Jungkook didn’t move, didn’t even breathe as he watched the man close the distance between them. He had to be careful. One wrong move, and this whole operation could fall apart before it even started.
Seokjin shifted slightly, turning to fully face the man. From Jungkook’s position, he could see both of them from afar, their figures swallowed in the dark.
He strained his ears, waiting for the first exchange.
Waiting for a voice that could confirm—
Nothing.
Jungkook frowned.
No words. No sound.
Instead—
Static.
A low, persistent rustling buzzed through the earpiece, like white noise, like interference, like—
Shit.
Jungkook’s stomach dropped.
A jammer. Seonsaengnim must be using a jammer. The bastard had anticipated this.
Jungkook’s grip on the listening device tightened as frustration burned through him. He could see them talking—saw Seokjin tilt his head slightly, saw the other man’s shoulders shift like he was saying something—but he couldn’t hear a damn thing.
It was like watching a silent film from hell.
Jungkook clenched his jaw, staying low in the shadows, barely daring to breathe. He didn’t move. Didn’t dare reveal himself.
But inside, his thoughts were racing.
This wasn’t good.
This wasn’t good at all.
He needed to figure out what to do, fast.
*******
Seokjin - Ghost
Seokjin wasn’t sure what he expected, but it sure as hell wasn’t this.
The man in front of him was tall, composed, a face mask covered the lower half of his face. He was wearing a cap pulled low over his forehead, the brim casting a shadow over his face, but underneath, Seokjin could see hints of black hair peeking out.
Seokjin narrowed his eyes, scanning the guy’s frame. He was a bit bulkier than expected, but the long coat made it hard to tell if he was actually broad-shouldered or just fashionably dramatic.
And yet—Seokjin couldn’t shake the unease crawling up his spine.
“Seokjin-ssi,” the man greeted, his voice smooth but unremarkable. “I’m pleased you decided to come.”
Seokjin just stared.
This guy was too normal. Where was the drama? The flamboyant lunacy? The maddening, taunting tone they had heard over those damn phone calls? This was the most infamous criminal mastermind in Seoul?
He wasn’t buying it.
“I didn’t think you’d actually show up,” Seokjin replied flatly.
At that, the man tilted his head, a small chuckle escaping him. “Oh, I’m not him.”
Seokjin’s brows shot up.
“I’m here on Seonsaengnim’s behalf,” the man continued, his tone steady. “He’s a very, very busy man. He doesn’t have the time to meet you personally.”
Of fucking course he didn’t.
Seokjin should’ve known. That sneaky, manipulative bastard. He would never be dumb enough to step into danger himself.
Seokjin let out an unimpressed sigh, his patience already thinning. “Then this meeting is pointless. I agreed to listen to his ridiculous proposal under one condition—that I get his real identity.”
The guy in the mask laughed. Actually laughed.
Oh, they were all insane.
“I assure you,” the man said smoothly, “Seonsaengnim keeps his word. If you hear him out and agree to work with him, you’ll get his identity.”
Seokjin let out a dry, humorless laugh. “And what exactly is he offering? Because I highly doubt he’s planning to pay me in anything worth my time.”
The masked man’s eyes gleamed slightly under the streetlight. “A secret.”
Seokjin’s nose twitched. He hated how that made his stomach tighten.
Because Seonsaengnim didn’t trade in money. He didn’t trade in power. He didn’t even trade in loyalty.
He traded in secrets.
And those were far more dangerous.
Seokjin scoffed, folding his arms. “So, what? A blackmail attempt? You think I’ll bend over backward just because you know something embarrassing about me?”
Another chuckle. “No,” the man said, voice light with amusement. “You misunderstand. This isn’t blackmail. The offer is a secret that you want revealed.”
That gave Seokjin pause.
What?
That was not what he expected.
He clenched his jaw, keeping his expression unreadable. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”
The man hummed thoughtfully, then pulled something from his pocket. A folded piece of paper.
Seokjin’s entire body tensed.
Before handing it to him, the man spoke again, tone serious. “You will only get the proof of this secret if you agree to work with Seonsaengnim.”
His heart pounded against his ribs.
What the fuck could Seonsaengnim possibly have that would be worth listening to?
What secret could he have that would be worth this level of confidence?
With fingers that were steady—too steady, considering how rattled he felt—Seokjin took the paper and slowly unfolded it.
He read the words.
And immediately felt the blood drain from his face.
No.
No, no, no, no.
This could not be real.
This was a trick. A lie. A psychological game.
And yet…
His hands felt cold. His stomach flipped violently. He read the words again, and again, but they didn’t change.
His entire body locked up as a horrifying, unbearable truth settled in his chest like a lead weight.
This wasn’t just some vague, easily dismissable claim. This was something that had the power to shatter everything.
He slowly lifted his gaze to the man in front of him, his voice low and taut. “…Where did you get this?”
The guy tilted his head. “Does it matter?”
Seokjin’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white around the paper. His blood was both boiling and freezing at the same time.
Because this—this—was the only offer he couldn’t refuse.
Seonsaengnim, that slippery, calculating bastard, knew that.
He knew that Seokjin wasn’t the type to sell out for money. Knew he wasn’t interested in power or chaos.
But this?
This was different.
Seokjin could feel the smug amusement radiating off the masked man. “It’s good to see you’re interested,” he said lightly.
Seokjin gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached. “Go to hell.”
The man only laughed. “You’ve seen the livestreams. You know Seonsaengnim doesn’t deal in fake secrets. You can trust the source.”
That was the problem.
Seonsaengnim was a lot of things—insane, unpredictable, a complete theatrical menace—but he wasn’t a liar.
Seokjin felt his pulse thudding in his ears. His choices had just been ripped away from him.
He had to do this.
He had no choice.
Through gritted teeth, he gave the smallest nod.
The man’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “Good. And just so we’re clear—if you betray us, this secret stays hidden. So don’t even think about running off and spilling this to your little cop friends.”
Seokjin didn’t even breathe.
Then, just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse, the man reached into his coat and pulled out a second folded paper with a seal.
“And since Seonsaengnim is a man of his word,” he said, “here’s your reward.”
Seokjin’s breath hitched.
His hands shook slightly as he took the paper and broke the seal.
Slowly. Carefully. He unfolded it.
And when he saw the name, the real identity of Seonsaengnim, written inside—
—he almost fainted.
His entire body lurched as his brain short-circuited.
What.
The.
FUCK.
This—this couldn’t be right.
He knew that name.
He knew that person.
And there was no way. No fucking way.
The masked man chuckled, clearly enjoying this way too much. He took the paper back from Seokjin, pulled out a lighter and lit it.
“Welcome to the team, Seokjin-ssi,” he said smoothly.
*******
Namjoon - Vienna
The walls of the room were thick enough to muffle the hum of murmured conversations outside, where the wedding guests remained blissfully unaware of the livestreams unfolding beyond their gilded prison. That was the beauty of Seonsaengnim’s plan. Information was a weapon, and they controlled exactly how much reached each side of the battlefield.
Namjoon exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders back as he took in the controlled disorder of the room. The city crew was gathered around, their traditional Hahoetal masks giving them the eerie air of faceless phantoms in the dim light.
Minister Kim Do-hee, was already tucked away in a private suite—probably in shock, emotionally dissecting her own career after being flayed open on live television. Namjoon had no sympathy. Another domino had fallen. Now, it was time to set up the next.
He turned toward Barcelona and Havana, who were lounging like this was a casual meet-up instead of a high-stakes hostage crisis.
“Alright,” Namjoon said, voice low but firm. “Time to collect our next guest. Chairman Lee Byung-chul. Find him and bring him here.”
Jimin stretched lazily, tilting his head. “Want him gift-wrapped, or is a bow enough?”
Hoseok grinned. “I say we just drag him by the tie.”
Namjoon sighed. “I don’t care how you do it—just get him here in one piece.”
Namjoon turned toward Yoongi, who sat in the corner with his laptop, fingers moving at a pace that suggested he was either hacking into a database or playing an extremely intense round of solitaire.
Namjoon leaned in. “It’s time. Get ready for Operation Eclipse.”
Yoongi didn’t even look up. “Already on it.”
“You sure? Because Seonsaengnim hasn’t given the signal yet.”
Yoongi finally glanced at him, unimpressed. “And? We knew this was coming. I’m not about to sit around waiting for an invitation.”
Namjoon smirked. “Good. Because I have a feeling Seonsaengnim will call for it soon.”
Yoongi just nodded, his attention already back on his screens. Whatever he was doing, it was precise, methodical—deadly. Namjoon didn’t need to know the details. He just needed to make sure everything was in place when the time came.
The room fell into a rhythm of silent preparation. Jimin and Hoseok slipped out to retrieve their guest. Yoongi continued his quiet work, hands moving with purpose. And Namjoon? He waited, pulse steady, mind sharp.
Because once Seonsaengnim gave the signal, Operation Eclipse would begin.
*******
Jimin - Barcelona
If hell had a waiting room, it would probably look a lot like this.
Jimin strolled into the grand ballroom with all the energy of a man who had just woken up from a ten-hour nap, stretched luxuriously, and had a fresh cup of coffee waiting for him. Meanwhile, the wedding guests—who had been locked in here for nearly twenty-four hours—looked like they had crawled through a war zone, only to be told they had another battle to fight.
Expensive suits were crumpled, makeup was smudged, and the desperation in their eyes was almost enough to make Jimin feel bad for them. Almost.
At the very center of it all stood Lee Sanghoon, the groom himself—though at this point, “groom” felt like a strong word. The man looked less like someone celebrating the happiest day of his life and more like someone on the brink of committing murder.
And considering his wife had been dragged out of here last night and hadn’t returned, Jimin wasn’t too surprised.
Jimin clicked his tongue as he and Hoseok walked toward their target. Chairman Lee Byung-chul was sitting stiffly among the other high-profile guests, already looking as nervous as a man with too many skeletons in his closet should be. But before they could reach him, Sanghoon stepped directly into their path, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like he might crack a tooth.
“I want to see my wife.”
Jimin tilted his head, blinking innocently. “Good day to you, too.”
Sanghoon wasn’t in the mood for games. “I don’t care what you do to me. I don’t care if you kill me right here. I just need to know that she’s alive.”
Hoseok raised an eyebrow, glancing at Jimin as if to say, Wow, this guy’s really dramatic, huh?
Jimin let out a sigh, placing a hand over his heart. “That’s very romantic of you, really. But if you’re planning on dying for love, at least wait until the honeymoon. Way more poetic that way.”
Sanghoon wasn’t amused. “Where is she?”
Jimin shrugged, a slow smirk curling at his lips. “Oh, don’t worry. She’s—” he paused for dramatic effect, then added, “—physically very well.”
The way Sanghoon’s entire face darkened in pure, unfiltered rage was absolutely delicious. For a second, Jimin genuinely thought the groom might swing at him, and honestly? He kind of wanted to see it.
But he wasn’t in the mood to dodge punches today, so he simply held up a hand. “Relax, Romeo. Your turn to play isn’t here yet. We’ve got a different guest to entertain first.”
With that, he turned away, heading toward Byung-chul. But before he could get far, he heard Sanghoon’s voice again—still sharp with frustration.
“I’m going with you.”
Jimin stopped in his tracks. He turned back around, giving Sanghoon the most exaggerated eye-roll he could muster. “Oh my god, you’re so clingy.”
Hoseok chuckled under his breath, but Jimin sighed. “Fine. Whatever. If it’ll stop you from being all moody and brooding, go with him.” He nodded toward Hoseok. “He’ll take you to your wife.”
Sanghoon hesitated for half a second before turning to follow Hoseok.
And that should have been the end of it.
Should have.
Because just as Sanghoon moved, another man suddenly stepped into their way—older, dressed in a suit that had once looked immaculate but now had the rumpled exhaustion of a man who’d been up all night.
Lee Dongsu. The father of the groom.
Jimin recognized him immediately—one of South Korea’s most powerful business tycoons, known for his iron grip on the tech market. And, apparently, also known for being a pain in Jimin’s ass.
“You are not taking my son anywhere,” Dongsu said, voice steel-edged. “I won’t let him go alone with you lunatics.”
Jimin narrowed his eyes. “Lunatics? Wow. Rude.”
Dongsu squared his shoulders, standing firm. “I don’t trust you.”
Jimin sighed. “Alright, then. Father-son bonding time, I guess.” He gestured between them. “You both can go. One big happy family reunion. Congratulations.”
Dongsu hesitated, clearly torn, but in the end, he had no choice.
Hoseok sighed dramatically. “I swear, we should start charging extra for this kind of VIP service.”
Jimin grinned. “Right? I feel like a travel agent.”
With that, Hoseok led the two men out of the ballroom, leaving Jimin alone with his actual target.
He turned toward Chairman Lee Byung-chul, who had already started to sweat—his nervousness practically radiating off of him in waves.
Jimin smiled, slow and shark-like.
“Well, well, well,” he said, taking a seat directly across from the trembling chairman. “It’s your lucky day.”
Byung-chul swallowed hard. “L-Lucky?”
Jimin nodded. “Oh, yeah. Because guess what?”
The chairman said nothing, his throat bobbing as he swallowed again.
Jimin leaned in, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“You’re next.”