The protests began at dawn.
Yoochan watched from the Kang Tower penthouse as thousands flooded Seoul's streets, their chants rattling the bulletproof glass. "CHAEBOL MURDERERS! BRING DOWN THE KANGS!" News helicopters circled like vultures, broadcasting footage of Joonho's leaked crimes—embezzlement, blackmail, a hit list of "accidental" deaths.
"They're storming the subsidiaries," Sooyoung said, swiping through security feeds. "Factories, warehouses—all burning."
Yoochan sipped his whiskey, the USB cold in his pocket. "Good."
"Good? You've lit a fuse you can't control!"
He turned, smile razor-thin. "Control is an illusion. Chaos is currency."
A screen lit up—live footage of Joonho's arrest. The once-polished heir stumbled in handcuffs, reporters screaming questions. Yoochan zoomed in. Bruises ringed Joonho's neck, his tailored suit torn. Patriarch's work.
"He'll name you in interrogation," Sooyoung warned.
"He'll try." Yoochan tossed back his drink. "But dead men can't testify."
Her eyes narrowed. "You ordered a hit?"
"I inspired one." He nodded to the screen. A black van swerved into Joonho's police convoy, gunfire erupting. "The patriarch cleans his own messes."
Sooyoung recoiled. "You're both monsters."
"Monsters win."
---
The safe house reeked of antiseptic and betrayal. Miyoung lay unconscious, IV drips feeding her illusions of peace. Yoochan crouched beside her, the USB digging into his palm.
Protocol 2023: Joonho's sins. My redemption.
But redemption required sacrifice.
His phone buzzed—a live-stream alert.
KANG PATRIARCH'S STATEMENT: 9 PM KST
Yoochan's finger hovered. Trap or truce?
He clicked.
---
Kang Daehyun's face filled the screen, gaunt and ghostly under hospital lights. A ventilator hissed.
"My son… Kang Yoochan…" The patriarch's voice crackled, scripted. "A traitor. A liar. A murderer of his own mother."
Yoochan froze.
The screen split. Security footage played—Miyoung's hospital room, timestamped tonight. A shadowy figure injected her IV, then staged a noose.
Yoochan's face. Yoochan's clothes. A perfect deepfake.
"Lee Miyoung's suicide… a tragedy of guilt." The patriarch wheezed. "Her son… her killer."
The live chat exploded: #ChaebolPsycho trends. Death threats. Demands for Yoochan's arrest.
Sooyoung grabbed his shoulder. "We need to move her now—"
Yoochan stood. "No."
"They'll find her! They'll hang you—"
"Let them." He straightened his tie. "I'll give them a show."
---
The press swarmed Kang Tower, cameras flashing like artillery. Yoochan stepped onto the podium, the USB hidden in his fist.
"Lies!" a reporter shouted. "Did you kill your mother?"
Yoochan leaned into the mic. "Do I look like a man who mourns?"
Silence.
He smirked. "The patriarch's desperate. Weak. Dying. He'd frame a saint to survive."
"Then where is Lee Miyoung?"
"Safe."
"Prove it!"
Yoochan raised the USB. "Proof of Joonho's crimes—and the patriarch's—are here. But I'll only share it if…"
A gunshot cracked.
The USB shattered in his hand, plastic shards slicing his palm.
---
Chaos. Bodyguards tackled Yoochan, shielding him as snipers fired. Crowds stampeded. Sooyoung dragged him underground, blood dripping on concrete.
"Patriarch's snipers," she hissed. "He's erasing every loose end."
Yoochan clenched his bleeding fist. "Where's Miyoung?"
"Safe house three. But it's compromised."
"Divert them."
"How?"
He gripped her collar. "Leak my location. Let them hunt me."
"You'll die!"
"I'll be waiting."
---
The rooftop was a tomb of wind and shadows. Yoochan texted the patriarch's burner: [Attached: Coordinates] Come finish it.
He lit a cigarette, the city's wail a symphony below. Let them come. Let them see.
Black sedans swarmed the building.
The patriarch's men stormed the roof, guns raised.
Yoochan raised his hands, smile bloodied. "Miss me?"
A fist slammed his ribs. Another cracked his jaw. He tasted copper, laughed through the pain.
"Where is she?" the lead thug snarled.
Yoochan spat red. "Gone. Like you'll be."
The thug cocked his pistol. "Last words?"
"Just one." Yoochan checked his watch. "Fireworks."
The Kang Tech drones descended.