Serpent Guild Headquarters – Seoul, Korea.
The building stood tall and dark, glass panels reflecting the stormy sky. The serpent sigil—twisting in on itself like a snake eating its tail—glowed ominously on every wall.
Inside, the atmosphere was silent and sharp.
The air smelled like leather, blood, and expensive cologne.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Every staff member froze in place.
And bowed.
The man walking past them was built like a tank, his muscular arms barely contained by the sleeves of his black custom suit. His head was bald, his face angular and cold. His scarred lip twitched in irritation with each step.
This was the Guild Master of Serpent,Kwon Gyu-min ,Nickname: The Butcher of Baekdu, Rank S ,Age 43.
Behind him walked his personal secretary—a sharp-eyed man in his late twenties, tablet in hand, suit perfectly pressed,Nam Tae-jin a Rank A, his Role is a Chief Strategist.
And trailing them both like a mountain of quiet doom a man named Mok"Rank: Unknown,Role: Bodyguard , Rumored to be a failed monster hybrid, more muscle than man.
The trio reached the top floor and stepped into the executive office.
Cold. Polished. Immaculate.
Gyu-min slammed the door behind them, walked to his desk, and threw himself into the chair, kicking his legs up and crossing them on the tabletop.
Tae-jin placed a thick folder on the desk and stepped back.
"Report from the Tower incident, First Floor collapse."
Gyu-min picked up the folder, flipping through photos of crushed Serpent Guild members, incomplete footage, missing names, and fragments of emergency communications.
His eyes narrowed.
"So we lost thirty-two men."
"Yes, sir."
"And none of them made it out?"
"Only one F-rank was listed as a survivor."
Gyu-min leaned forward slowly.
"...Who?"
Tae-jin tapped a name on the page.
"Han Joon-seok."
Gyu-min paused.
Then laughed once.
A dry, humorless exhale.
"The bait kid?"
"Yes, sir."
"That runt survived? You're kidding."
Tae-jin shook his head. "I cross-checked with Hunter Registry. He was recorded alive.
Spotted near the Peace Guild site. Accompanied by a freelance reporter."
"That rat of a reporter..."
Gyu-min sat upright, eyes now sharp and full of malice.
"Find him. And if he talks, kill him."
"Understood."
"If he knows what happened in that room, we burn the whole story with him. Got it?"
Tae-jin nodded.
Gyu-min snapped his fingers once.
Mok silently turned and walked out the room like a human execution order.
The Serpent had started moving again.
And it wasn't going to stop until it found its prey.
...
The house was small.
Old.
But warm.
Joon-seok knelt beside the low table in the living room, carefully placing side dishes down as his mother bustled between the kitchen and floor. The table wobbled slightly, but the scent in the room—spicy, sweet, comforting—made it all feel perfect.
Across from him, Han Soo-yeon sat with her hands in her lap, watching eagerly.
Mi-sook hummed a soft tune as she brought over the final plate, setting it down with a bright smile.
"Here we are. Fresh tteokbokki. I hope you like it."
Joon-seok tilted his head slightly.
"Mother… what is that?"
"It's called tteokbokki. Spicy rice cakes," she said, eyes sparkling. "I think you'll love it."
"I see."
He nodded and gently placed the dish in the center.
Soo-yeon leaned forward, already beaming.
"It looks amazing. This was one of my grandma's favorite recipes too!"
Mi-sook smiled warmly.
"How is your grandmother these days?"
"Still bossing me around," Soo-yeon laughed. "But she's my biggest supporter."
Mi-sook nodded.
"That's how grandmothers should be."
The three of them sat together on the floor, legs tucked under, the small table between them. Joon-seok watched quietly as they each picked up their chopsticks.
Then he took his first bite.
Time stopped.
The moment the tteokbokki hit his tongue, something… cracked.
Flavor. Heat. Texture. Warmth.
He felt like a dying flower that had just tasted water.
Like a soldier returning from war, safe.
Like a black hole finally understanding what it meant to be full.
He blinked.
Chewed.
Froze.
His face twisted through six different expressions—confusion, bliss, shock, back to confusion, then awe.
Both women stared.
Then—
"Pfft—" Soo-yeon broke into laughter. "He's acting like he hasn't eaten in years! Look at his face!"
Mi-sook covered her mouth and chuckled.
"He's been working hard today. That's all."
She shot him a quick wink.
A little cover-up.
Joon-seok blinked again, still chewing slowly.
"Yes," he said. "That is correct."
Soo-yeon leaned back against the wall, stretching after the meal, eyes roaming casually around the room.
"Now that I think about it—your house is weirdly clean."
She scanned the corners.
"No ants. No mosquitoes. No roaches. Nothing."
She leaned forward, squinting.
"My place is practically crawling with roaches. I've tried sprays, traps—flamethrowers. What do you even use?"
Mi-sook blinked, thoughtful.
"Honestly… I don't use anything. They just stopped showing up a while ago. Even my neighbor's cat stopped coming around."
"What? That's not fair!" Soo-yeon groaned. "Do you know how many bug battles I've fought in the bathroom alone?"
Joon-seok finished his last bite and placed his chopsticks down neatly.
"Thank you, Mother. It was very good."
Mi-sook and Soo-yeon both turned to look at him.
His plate was clean. Not a grain of rice left.
"That was fast," Soo-yeon laughed.
"You really liked it, huh?" Mi-sook smiled.
The room filled with light laughter and warmth.
Just a small house.A small table.
Three people.And a moment of peace.
But—
Across the street, on the rooftop of a low-rise building, two shadows crouched in silence.
They wore tactical gear with subtle serpent embroidery, scanning the neighborhood with practiced calm.
The woman was chewing gum lazily, her white hair tied in a high ponytail. Red eyes glinted behind her binoculars as she watched the window across from them.
"Looks like this is the place," she muttered. "Confirmed visual on the kid. He's eating."
The man beside her nodded, calm and efficient. His gear was darker—he blended in.
"Yup. Target's in the home. Sitting with the reporter and an older woman. That's his mother, most likely."
"So we wait until she leaves with him, right?"
"That's the plan."
The woman smirked.
"Hey. What about the reporter?"
"What about her?"
"If she knows what happened in that tower… we can't leave her breathing."
A beat.
He nodded.
She raised her binoculars again to check if they were still eating—
And froze.
Her gum slipped from her mouth.
Because Joon-seok was staring directly at her.
Right into her eyes.
Through the binoculars.
"Sh*t!" she hissed, dropping the scope. "Did he just—?! Did he just see me?!"
The man grabbed the binoculars and looked.
Joon-seok wasn't looking anymore. Just sitting quietly beside the table.
"He's not looking. You're seeing things."
She rubbed her arms, unsettled.
"Y-Yeah. Must be. Just nerves."
But her voice didn't sound convinced.
Back in the house, Joon-seok sat quietly, eyes half-lidded.
His thoughts drifted, casual but sharp:
Those two… were watching us.
Enemy? Or… human curiosity?
Do humans usually stare like that before killing?
He blinked once.
Then smiled faintly at his mother.