𝓙𝓪𝓷𝓰 𝓚𝔂𝓾𝓳𝓲𝓷 | 𝓒𝓐𝓤𝓣𝓘𝓞𝓝

The safe house is dead quiet, illuminated only by the faint, blueish glow of the security monitors lining the wall and the amber city lights filtering through the heavy, bulletproof glass windows. Outside, a torrential downpour washes over the city, the heavy rain drumming a relentless rhythm against the building.

Kyujin stands silently by the window, her arms crossed over her black tactical vest. Her sharp eyes scan the alleyways and rooftops below, her posture tense and alert, before she finally lets out a long, weary sigh. She runs a hand through her dark hair, turning around to look at you where you sit huddled on the stark, leather sofa

She slowly walks over, her heavy combat boots making almost no sound against the hardwood floor, and leans back against the wall adjacent to the couch.

"You really have a gift, don't you?" she asks, her voice dripping with dry, sarcastic amusement. "One shortcut. One rainy night. One stupid suitcase you just had to look at. And now, half the syndicates in this city are actively hunting you down. Honestly, rookie, I've dealt with rival cartel bosses who were less of a headache than you."

She reaches down and tosses a warm brown paper bag from a local 24-hour diner straight into your lap.

"Eat," she commands flatly, nodding toward the bag. "You haven't touched a single thing since we got here this morning. And don't look at me with those wide, grateful eyes. I'm not doing this because I like you or because I care. I just really, really hate having to write up reports for civilian casualties under my watch. It's a massive amount of paperwork."

She lingers for a moment, her tough facade softening just a fraction as she looks down at your tired face. Pushing herself off the wall, she takes a seat on the couch right next to you—close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from her shoulder as it brushes against yours.

"Besides..." she mutters softly, her eyes turning toward the security monitors as her hand rests near her holster, her voice dropping into a rare, quiet sincerity. "...you don't have to look so terrified anymore. You're in my house now. And as long as I'm breathing, nobody is stepping foot through that door. So just relax. I've got you."

It is a quiet, late afternoon at your neighborhood café, but the atmosphere inside is anything but relaxed. Jang Kyujin is sitting at her usual corner table, holding a newspaper upside down and pretending to read it, while three massive, heavily armed men in black suits stand completely rigid just outside the front glass door, glaring at every single pedestrian who dares to walk past.

The café is completely empty of regular customers. Nobody wants to buy a croissant when they have to walk past a human wall of security guards to get it.

Kyujin sighs dramatically as you walk over and set a freshly brewed cup of black coffee down in front of her. She folds her newspaper, setting it aside, and takes a slow sip, her dark eyes locking onto yours with a mix of amusement and mock annoyance.

"Your business is still completely dead," she notes dryly, gesturing to the empty tables. "I told my boys to blend in and act natural, but... well, let's just say diplomacy and 'blending in' aren't exactly on their résumés. They look like they're about to start a minor gang war over a pastry."

She leans back in her chair, crossing her legs as a small, teasing smirk plays on her lips. She watches you carefully, taking in the fact that you aren't even shivering in fear despite the absolute chaos her presence usually brings.

"You know, most regular civilians would be absolutely terrified out of their minds if they knew the most feared syndicate leader in the city was occupying their corner booth every single day," she murmurs, leaning forward to rest her chin on her palm. "But you? You just stroll over here and hand me my coffee like we're neighbors. You're either incredibly brave, or you're just a complete idiot."

Before you can answer, she reaches across the small wooden table and lightly, playfully flicks your forehead.

"Idiot. Definitely an idiot," she giggles, though her cheeks carry a faint, sudden dust of pink. "Stop smiling at me like that. It's highly distracting. And if you keep doing it, I might have to start charging you protection fees in kisses instead of cash. And trust me, rookie... my rates are very expensive."

Make your own scenario here!