The rain fell in thin silver lines outside the convenience store, tapping softly against the glass. Eunhwa wiped the counter for the third time that hour, more out of nerves than boredom. Night shifts were always quiet… but tonight felt different. Heavy. Like the air was holding its breath.
It was almost 1 a.m.
He should've been half-asleep by now, but the story his boss told him wouldn't leave his mind.
"There's a killer roaming around," the old man had whispered earlier, eyes darting around like someone might be listening.
"Debt victims. Bodies disappearing. The one behind it—he has a tattoo of a snake wearing a tutu on his hand. If you ever see him, just bow and pray he leaves."
Eunhwa shuddered at the memory.
Ridiculous… A snake wearing a tutu… who would even—
The door chimed.
Eunhwa froze.
Someone stepped in, tall enough that his shadow stretched across the floor before his body did. Drops of rain slid from his long white hair, falling onto a black suit that fit too well — broad shoulders, narrow waist, a frame that looked both elegant and dangerous.
His presence swallowed the store whole.
Eunhwa's breath hitched.
The man didn't look around. He commanded the space just by existing. A sharp jawline, cold eyes the shade of winter storms, and lips curved in something that wasn't exactly a smile… more like amusement at the world beneath him.
He walked straight to the alcohol aisle.
Every step slow. Heavy. Predatory.
Eunhwa couldn't move until the man placed thirty bottles of whiskey on the counter, one by one, in a deliberate rhythm. Then he set down a pack of cigarettes.
Finally, he lifted his hand.
And Eunhwa saw it.
A tattoo.
A snake wearing a tutu.
His blood went cold.
Their eyes met — and in that single second, Eunhwa felt completely, helplessly exposed. Like the stranger could see every fear, every insecurity, every fragile piece of him.
"Are you going to scan those," the man asked, voice low and smooth, "or stare at me all night?"
Eunhwa's hands shook. "S–sorry, sir."
He scanned the items as fast as he could, praying the man wouldn't notice his trembling. He could smell him — smoke, rain, whiskey, something dark beneath it. Something… dangerous.
The man leaned in slightly, studying him with quiet intensity.
"You're new," he murmured.
"I—I'm not— I work here every night."
"Hm." His eyes narrowed. "So why haven't I seen you before?"
Eunhwa swallowed hard. "I don't know, sir…"
The man chuckled. It wasn't friendly.
It was the sound a predator makes when it finds something interesting.
He tapped the counter lightly with his fingers — and the tattoo gleamed under the fluorescent light.
"You have pretty hands," he said casually. "Pretty face too."
Eunhwa felt heat crawl up his neck. "T–thank you, sir…"
"That wasn't a compliment."
His voice dipped lower.
"It was an observation."
Eunhwa looked down, unable to hold his gaze any longer.
The man paid, picked up the bags effortlessly, then paused at the door.
Without turning around, he spoke.
"Name."
"…What?"
"I asked for your name. Don't make me repeat myself."
"E-Eunhwa."
The stranger exhaled as if savoring it.
"Eunhwa."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"I'll remember that."
Then he stepped into the rain… disappearing into the night like he never existed.
Except Eunhwa could still feel him.
His voice.
His gaze.
His presence.
Like a hand around his throat.
He didn't know it yet, but his quiet life had just ended.
And Enaga Kuroda — Korea's most feared mafia king — had already decided he wanted him.