Sunghoon stood quietly, his face as unreadable as a stone, as he stepped out of the blood-soaked basement. Behind him, the lifeless body of his sister Yuna remained untouched, covered now by a white sheet. Her blood still stained the floor—warm, fresh, and real. It wasn't a dream. It wasn't a nightmare.
It was his reality.
The air outside was thick with grief and rain. It was two in the morning, yet the villa was swarming with guards and distant murmurs from the townspeople who had gathered just outside the iron gates. Flashlights cut through the mist as armed men secured the perimeter.
Mr. Kim, the patriarch of the Uyama family, stood in front of the grand staircase, his back tall but trembling. His wife, Mrs. Kim, was beside him, barely holding herself upright. Her eyes were red and swollen, tears still flowing silently. Her body shook with sobs she couldn't control, and the wind tugged at her long robe like it, too, mourned with her.
The guards gave a small nod to Mr. Kim. It was time.
He stepped forward, took a deep breath, and began to speak — voice heavy, low, and cracked with pain. The public that had gathered beyond the gate pressed in closer, their faces drenched in worry and disbelief.
"My people," Mr. Kim began, each word like a stone he had to swallow. "Today, I stand before you as more than your leader... I stand as a broken father."
The crowd fell into utter silence.
"Tonight," he continued, his voice trembling, "we lost our daughter, Yuna Kim. The youngest of our family. The light of our home. Sixteen years old. A kind soul who had never harmed anyone."
Gasps and cries echoed through the masses. Several villagers fell to their knees, tears rolling down their faces. Mothers clutched their children closer. Old men removed their hats. Even the guards lowered their heads.
"She was not only my daughter," Mr. Kim went on, "she was your daughter too. She was Uyama's daughter."
Mrs. Kim collapsed then, crying openly into her hands. Sunghoon stood a few steps behind them, his face still cold, but his fists were clenched so tight that blood seeped from the crescent moons his nails left in his palm.
Mr. Kim's voice grew louder now, fueled by both sorrow and fury.
"I know you all feel fear. You want to know who would dare spill Uyama blood. Who would dare touch a flower that hadn't yet bloomed."
The crowd nodded, murmuring.
"I will not name the enemy with haste," he said, "but we all know the truth we've buried for too long."
He turned toward the crowd fully now, his eyes burning.
"There is only one force wicked enough to stain our land with innocent blood. The same force that has long craved our soil, our power, our peace."
Murmurs turned into whispers. Faces looked toward the mountains east of Uyama, where legends said the Dragon Clan held their stronghold.
"Yes," Mr. Kim said, confirming their thoughts, "it is them. The Dragon Clan."
Gasps. One woman screamed in terror.
"They are no longer just enemies of Uyama. They are enemies of peace, of humanity itself."
He paused, gathering breath. His voice cracked.
"They've taken our child."
The silence was suffocating.
"You all know that Uyama has changed. We are not the dark men we were once feared to be. Under my leadership, and my wife's heart,
Mr. Kim announced Yuna's funeral that morning, his voice trembling with grief. As he turned to leave, he uttered a sentence that pierced every heart:
"They took my flower... the flower that never had a chance to bloom."
He paused, his eyes wet, voice heavy with sorrow.
"My people, I promise you—my daughter, my love, my flower is gone. Her soulless body still lies on the floor inside... but I swear, you don't need to be afraid. If I failed to protect my daughter as a father, then as your leader, I will protect every daughter, every mother, every woman of this land.
Sunghoon carried Yuna's cold, lifeless body in his arms, his steps slow and heavy. Her head rested limply against his chest, her once bright spirit now extinguished. The house was silent, except for the echo of his footsteps and the distant, broken sobs of Mrs. Kim. As he entered Yuna's room, he gently laid her down on her bed—her favorite bed with the pink floral sheets she used to love.
Her small frame looked so fragile, so peaceful... almost like she was just sleeping.
Mrs. Kim fell to her knees beside the bed, her cries loud, raw, and painful. She clutched Yuna's hand and screamed her name over and over as if somehow, by pure desperation, she could call her back. The entire villa seemed to tremble with her grief. No one moved. No one dared speak.
Sunghoon stepped back, jaw clenched, eyes full of storm. Mr. Kim placed a hand on his son's back, a silent gesture, and the two left the room quietly, giving space to the mother's sorrow. The female servants entered shortly after, their eyes red, their movements gentle as they began the process of preparing Yuna's body with all the dignity she deserved.
Down in the basement, dimly lit by a single flickering bulb, Mr. Kim stood silently, his back straight, his hands clasped behind him. It was the heart of the villa—the command room, the place where generations of decisions had been made in blood and silence.
Across from him stood Sunghoon.
The young man who had once laughed while playing with his sister, who had once vowed to protect her, now stood frozen, shoulders stiff. His usually cold, calculating eyes were swimming with unshed tears. He stared down at his hands—hands that had held a lifeless body. Hands that couldn't save his sister.
Mr. Kim watched him for a moment, his heart breaking—not just as a father who had lost a daughter, but as a father watching his only son slip into the shadows of guilt.
He walked up to him slowly, placing both hands on Sunghoon's shoulders. "My son," he said, voice hoarse but steady. "I'm proud of you."
Sunghoon didn't respond. His jaw tightened. His throat moved as he swallowed hard.
"You carried your sister," Mr. Kim continued, eyes locked on his son's. "You didn't run. You didn't scream. You stayed strong when the world fell apart. That is what makes you my son… my heir."
Still, Sunghoon said nothing.
"She's gone now," Mr. Kim said, voice thick with sorrow. "Gone to a place where pain can't reach her. But you… you are still here. You're the reason your mother is still breathing. You're the reason I'll wake up tomorrow and fight again."
Tears finally rolled down Sunghoon's cheeks. Silently. Without shaking. He looked up at his father.
Mr. Kim nodded gently. "From today forward, I live for you. Your mother lives for you. You are 24 now. It's time."
"I've made my decision. Everything I have built—everything our ancestors bled for—will be yours. You will lead Uyama."
Sunghoon's lip quivered slightly. His fists clenched tighter.
"But listen to me," Mr. Kim said firmly, stepping even closer. "Don't let this pain harden your heart. Don't let the fire inside you burn so bright it turns you into something you're not. Revenge is coming—but it must come with honor. Not hate."
He paused, his gaze deep.
"If we become monsters to kill monsters, then we've already lost. Promise me, Sunghoon... you won't become the devil trying to destroy one."
For a long moment, there was silence.
Then, Sunghoon finally nodded.