“You’re mine. I own you. You’re lucky I even—”
A voice.
Cold. Low. Thunder-quiet.
“Step. Back.”
Everything stopped.
Seungho stood at the mouth of the alley like myth woken up angry.
Black coat.Tall as legend. Red under his throat like a warning.
Minseok blinked. “What the hell—”
Seungho stepped forward.
No pause. No announcement. No threat. Just motion like a sword being unsheathed.
He grabbed Minseok by the collar and slammed him into the wall so hard the brick spit dust and the light hung above flickered.
“You have three seconds,” Seungho said, “to let go and never touch him again.”
Minseok gasped. “Do you know who I—?”
“One.”
Minseok sputtered. “My father is—”
“Two.”
“I can ruin you—!”
“Three.”
Seungho didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.
“Touch him again,” he said, “and I will unmake you.”
The words didn’t rise. They dropped. Like judgment. Like stone.
Minseok reached for Haneul once more.
Seungho blocked it without looking—just a sharp movement of the shoulder, and Minseok staggered back, blinking in rage.
“This isn’t over,” he snapped, nursing his wrist. “You think you can get away with this? I know every judge in this district—”
“Leave,” Seungho said.
Minseok looked between them—Seungho like ruin, Haneul like wrath.
And fled.
Drunk. Humiliated. Mouth full of nothing.
Silence settled.
The alley steamed from breath.
