*Two Weeks Ago*
*Location: Seoul International Airport*
The buzzing city of Seoul was too invested in its own hustle and bustle. Some were thinking about barely surviving a bit longer. Some relished others' misery. Some worked day and night to fulfill basic needs for their families. Some studied to brighten a dull future. Some simply roamed the congested streets—insignificant to most, yet the whole world to someone waiting at home with open arms. Some were already implementing cunning plans to erase the vulnerable and turn the useful into pawns.
Some use injustice itself to erase injustice— Black Panther
A seemingly young woman—yet too mature for her age—emerged through the arrival gate. Every step she took radiated power, like the silence before a storm. A flame, quietly stirred, ready to dismantle the city's very structure.
She was a paradox wrapped in silk and steel. She moved with the grace of royalty, yet carried the aura of a brewing storm. Her eyes held secrets deeper than oceans, and her rare, disarming smile was laced with danger. In a world ruled by cruelty, she was both the blade and the balm. You'd never see her coming—but once she arrived, the room bent to her will. She wasn't just unforgettable—she was untouchable.
She walked with command toward a stoic man in a suit standing beside a sleek black limo. As she stopped in front of him, he bowed in respect.
"Miss Song, it's a pleasure to have the opportunity to pick you up," he said politely, formally. His voice was cold, but the submissiveness in his tone was unmistakable—submissiveness to the gorgeous yet dangerous woman before him.
She simply nodded and stepped into the car. The ride was silent, disturbed only by the occasional gust of wind. Her eyes stayed glued to her tablet—perhaps reviewing a schedule. Whether it was legal or illegal, only she knew.
"I'm back. Call an urgent meeting in an hour," she spoke into her phone. Her voice was velvety, her tone laced with authority.
A muffled, "Yes, boss," answered on the other end.
She gazed out the window, watching the now-changed hometown she had left eight years ago. Her composed expression betrayed nothing, yet a deep sense of familiarity stirred inside her.
She recalled her childhood—carefree, mischievous, full of laughter. But joy quickly gave way to pain, happy memories swallowed by tragedy.
And she remembered that night. The one that carved her into who she was today.
The most feared, ruthless, merciless, and cunning mafia queen.
'Helena', they called her in the shadows. No one knew what she looked like—her face always hidden behind a mask.
In the daylight, she was Song Haseul, heir of SongJegug. The Ice Queen of the legal world. Known not as a spoiled brat, but as a competent, poised, and powerful young woman.
Who would believe she was just twenty and still in her second year of university?
The limo pulled up to a sleek skyscraper—elegant, modern—owned by SongJegug.
As she entered the lobby, heads turned and immediately bowed. She nodded—just enough to be polite. Without hesitation, she stepped into a private lift and pressed the top-level button. Every movement was precise, calculated.
Her mind raced with emotions and strategies. Yet as she waited in the lift, her longing for a mother's touch returned, uninvited.
She knew lingering on the past was weakness. Yet... the rage built up again as she remembered that hot summer night—the one that stole her everything. Her mother.
But she hadn't returned to mourn. She had returned to uncover the truth—and avenge it.
She strode down the hallway toward the penthouse. Two bodyguards stood outside the door. It was a valid question whether they were there to protect her—or protect others from her.
No one could see the storm of emotions whirling inside her. She'd trained herself too well to hide them.
As soon as the door closed behind her, she slumped onto the couch like a deadweight. The calm, composed facade crumbled in the absence of others.
"Finally... it feels like home," she murmured.
She drifted into a brief, half-hour power nap, while her middle-aged maid—who had been with her since birth—prepared a mug of hot chocolate. She knew exactly how to comfort her young miss.
~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~
*Location: Black Panther Main Base – The Meeting Room*
The room was massive—spacious enough to torture ten men if needed. Despite the wooden table and chairs, and the neatly arranged weapons on the rack (each one used to perfection, inhumanely), nothing about it felt ceremonial. One entire wall was a digital board—covered with notes and analysis.
Five women sat calmly around the table. Do not mistake their appearance for fragility.
They had been sent by their queen three months in advance to adjust to the new environment—Seoul, so unlike their temporary New York abode.
Chaeryeong—the deadly silent right hand—sat beside the empty head chair. Taking a bullet for Haseul was a given. Even low-ranking members had done it. For Chaeryeong, loyalty went beyond action or words. She wore it like armor—but it had torn her open more than once.
The others—Lia, Yeji, Yuna, and Ryujin—were no different.
For them, taking a bullet would be mercy. Their loyalty required something far more brutal: endurance, silence, sacrifice without witness.
And now, anticipation filled the air. What would the Queen's next move be? Would she dig up buried secrets and expose traitors? Or worse—would she erase those who played even a minor role in the tragedy of eight years ago?
Measured, calm taps of heels echoed. They stood at once and bowed.
"Boss... finally, after three months," Lia said, her voice calm. Yet beneath it, relief. Relief that their leader was back. That she'd make the right move. Clean the mess with ruthless precision—no matter how harsh the outcome.
The warm scent of wood lingered, but nothing about the meeting was warm.
The meeting began. A map of Seoul lit up on the board, littered with shipment routes and the locations of allies—and enemies.
They spent the night analyzing and strategizing. Every detail mattered.
And, as always, they revisited that night. A ritual. Not to mourn—but to uncover. Each retelling brought a new sliver of information. Even the tiniest hint could unravel the truth.
No matter how sharply the crime was executed, the Queen and her inner circle weren't amateurs. Despite their youth, they had gained a level of mastery that decades in the underworld often couldn't provide.
The Queen had returned.
To erase injustice.
In her own twisted way.
And this time, the shadows wouldn't be her hiding place.
They'd be her weapon.