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Chapter 1 - Chains Of Debt

The grand hall of the Choi mansion loomed dark and cavernous, lit only by the flickering chandelier overhead. Shadows stretched across the polished marble, dancing with each rumble of distant thunder. The air was cold—thick with the scent of rain and something more metallic.

Mr. Jung knelt on the floor, hands shaking violently as he clutched at Choi San's leg. Tears streamed down his face, mingling with sweat that dripped from his graying temples. His voice came out raw, each word scraping from his throat in desperation.

"Please, Mr. Choi… I beg you. Spare me. I'll do anything. Anything."

Choi San looked down, expression as empty as the hollow space between heartbeats. In one gloved hand, he held a slender pocket knife, its polished blade catching the trembling light. Slowly, almost thoughtfully, he traced the tip along Mr. Jung's cheek.

The older man flinched at the cold kiss of steel, a strangled whimper escaping his lips.

"Anything," San repeated, his voice soft as silk. A note of amusement curled at the edges of his words.

Two of San's men stood rigid behind Mr. Jung, gloved hands gripping his shoulders in a silent warning: there was no escape.

"Y-yes." Mr. Jung swallowed, his throat bobbing. "Just give me more time. I can repay you—I swear it. If you'd only allow—"

San silenced him with a single look. The sound of the storm pressed against the tall windows, as if the darkness outside wanted to be let in.

"I've given you months," San said calmly. "And all you've proven is that your empires are nothing but crumbling illusions."

Mr. Jung's face blanched. His shoulders slumped under the weight of defeat, but still he clung to one last, pitiful scrap of hope.

"Please…" His voice cracked. "My company—my legacy—everything I've built… Don't let it end like this."

San tilted his head slightly, studying the broken man at his feet as if he were a specimen in a jar.

"Your legacy has already ended," he said. "You're simply too cowardly to admit it."

Mr. Jung's gaze darted around the hall—anywhere but the predator towering over him. His hands clasped together so tightly the knuckles turned bone white.

"There must be… another way," he whispered. "Something I can give you. Something of value."

A flicker of curiosity sparked in San's dark eyes.

"Speak then."

Mr. Jung took a shuddering breath. The words lodged in his throat like shards of glass, but there was no turning back.

"My son," he forced out, voice so small it was nearly drowned by the thunder.

San went still. The blade paused against Mr. Jung's skin, pressing just enough to make him flinch again.

"Your son?" he repeated, almost idly. "Explain."

"I'm offering him to you," Mr. Jung said, each syllable tasting of bile. "As payment. You can… keep him. Use him however you wish. He's young. He's…compliant. He's worth more than any asset I have left."

Silence pooled between them, thick and suffocating.

"You're offering me your own flesh and blood," San murmured. A cold smile curved his mouth. "How noble."

Mr. Jung's head bowed, eyes squeezed shut. "He was never… He was never what I wanted in a son. He's weak. A disappointment. But perhaps you'll find him…useful."

San leaned back in his chair, one finger slowly tracing the blade's edge as he studied Mr. Jung's humiliation.

"You disgust me," he said. His tone was almost gentle, which made it worse. "But you amuse me, too."

Mr. Jung trembled, tears sliding down his face.

"Please. I'm begging you."

The storm pressed harder against the mansion. A sudden gust rattled the windows as if the night itself recoiled from what was happening inside.

Finally, San lowered the knife.

"Very well," he said softly. "Tomorrow. Bring him to me."

Mr. Jung exhaled, a sob of exhausted relief tearing from his chest.

"Thank you. Thank you, Sir. I swear you won't regret—"

San's gaze flicked to him, dark and final.

"If you fail me," he said, voice dropping to a whisper, "I will carve the debt from your skin."

Mr. Jung stumbled to his feet, heart pounding so violently he thought it might stop altogether. Without another word, he turned and fled down the corridor.

As the heavy doors swung shut behind him, silence settled in the hall once more.

San watched the doors a moment longer, then let out a quiet, humorless laugh.

"Wooyoung," he murmured to himself, tasting the name like a promise. "We'll see just how useful you are."

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