Yohan's bedroom, early morning
POV: In-su
In-su woke slowly, to the faint glow of sunrise filtering through gauzy curtains and the warmth of someone behind him—solid, steady, breath rising and falling in sync with his own.
He was in Yohan's bed.
More specifically, he was in Yohan's arms.
One of the Alpha's arms was wrapped loosely around his waist, their legs tangled slightly beneath the sheets. Yohan's scent clung to the linens—cool spice and faint smoke, but softened now by sleep and closeness. It made In-su's heart ache in ways he hadn't expected.
He didn't move. Not yet.
Because for the first time in a long time, he felt safe.
Not guarded. Not calculating. Just... present.
"Awake?" came a quiet voice behind him.
In-su hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah."
Yohan shifted slightly, but didn't pull away. If anything, his hand settled more firmly on In-su's hip, grounding him.
"I didn't mean to fall asleep," In-su murmured.
"I did," Yohan said. "You needed it."
A long silence stretched between them. Not uncomfortable. Just weighted.
Then Yohan's voice dropped into something more serious.
"I need to tell you something."
In-su turned his head slightly, just enough to glance back at him.
Yohan's eyes were open now. Sharp. Awake in that way he always was when danger was involved.
"It's not my men who've been sniffing around your brother," he said quietly. "Or the school."
In-su's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"There's another group. Not mine. Smaller syndicate—new players trying to carve out territory. They've been watching him. And by extension..." Yohan's thumb brushed over his side, barely there. "You."
In-su sat up a little, the warmth of the bed suddenly colder.
"Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"Because I wanted to confirm it first. And because I didn't want to scare you."
"I live in your world now," In-su said quietly. "You don't get to protect me by lying."
Yohan studied him, then gave a slow nod. "You're right."
"Who are they?"
"Not sure yet. But they're reckless. Sloppy. They've been asking about debt files your brother was tied to. They think you might be leverage."
In-su scoffed. "Great. Everyone wants a piece of the teacher now."
Yohan's voice was deadly calm. "They won't get near you. I'm putting extra security at the school, even if you hate it."
"I don't," In-su said after a beat. "Not if it's yours."
That made Yohan pause. Just for a second.
Then he leaned in, slowly, resting his forehead against the back of In-su's neck.
"You're not leverage," he said. "You're mine."
In-su's breath caught, not from fear—but from something warm, tight, and dangerously close to falling.
He turned slightly, facing Yohan now. Their eyes met, no games. Just truth hanging thick in the space between them.
"I know," In-su said softly.
And for the first time, Yohan didn't feel like a mafia boss staking a claim.
He felt like a man—terrified, protective, and starting to fall.
Elementary school, early afternoon
POV: Ho In-su
The day started like any other—chalk dust, spelling quizzes, juice boxes. In-su moved through the motions with practiced ease, even smiling through a chaotic group art project that ended with a child proudly presenting him a glitter-glued macaroni portrait labeled "Mr. Ho is my hero."
He tucked it into his desk drawer with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Because something was off.
It started as a whisper in the back of his mind. Then a prickling at the base of his neck. He'd been watched before—he knew the weight of unseen eyes.
And someone was watching now.
During lunch, he stood by the window of the teacher's lounge, sipping warm barley tea, and scanned the school grounds like he wasn't looking. He spotted two unfamiliar men leaning against a parked van just beyond the school fence. Not close enough to raise immediate alarm. But not far enough to be innocent, either.
They weren't trying to hide.
They were making sure he saw them.
In-su narrowed his eyes.
They didn't look like Yohan's people. His men were ghosts—sharp suits, pressed coats, invisible until they chose not to be.
These two were messy. Cheap shoes. Sunglasses indoors. Untrained.
New players, just like Yohan said.
He pulled out his phone, not calling—just opening the secured app Yohan had installed. It had one function: ping a tracker to the nearest team on standby.
He pressed it once.
No fuss. No panic.
Seconds later, he felt the shift in the air. One of the cars parked near the entrance—a nondescript sedan with dark windows—turned on its engine. The van across the street pulled away almost immediately, like rats scattering when the big dog arrives.
In-su didn't flinch. He just finished his tea.
But inside, he was shaking—not from fear, but from anger.
They'd come to his workplace. His safe space. His classroom.