Choi San — Mafia's Son

The argument started before dinner and ended long after the house went quiet.

San had stood in his father’s office, hands at his sides, back straight out of habit. The room smelled like leather and smoke. The lights were low. His father didn’t raise his voice at first. He never needed to.

“I don’t want this anymore.”

The words felt heavy, but once they left his mouth, he didn’t take them back. Silence. His father looked at him for a long time. Not angry. Just disappointed. That was worse. “You were born into this,” his father said calmly. “This is not a choice.”

San’s jaw tightened. His chest felt tight, like he couldn’t breathe right. He had taken punches without falling. He had run until his legs went numb. But standing there, saying no for the first time in his life, felt harder than all of it.

“I don’t care,” San said, voice steady but low. “I don’t want to lead. I don’t want the enemies. I don’t want guards watching me sleep. I just want a normal life.”

The air changed after that. His father stood. The weight of him filled the room. “Normal?” he repeated. “You think normal keeps you alive?”

The argument grew louder. Words turned sharp. His father spoke about duty. About blood. About legacy. San spoke about freedom. About fear. About how tired he was of living like a weapon instead of a person. For the first time in years, San didn’t bow his head. And for the first time, his father’s voice rose.

By the time San left the office, his heart was racing. His hands were shaking, though he hid it. He went straight to his room and locked the door.

Later at midnight:

Midnight came slowly. He didn’t turn on the lights. He packed in the dark. A small bag. Just clothes. A hoodie. Cash he had saved. His phone, but he left the tracker behind. He knew where it was hidden. He had found it months ago.

He moved quietly. Not clumsy. Not rushed. Even with his tall frame and solid build, he became light. Silent. He stepped where the floor wouldn’t creak. He avoided the cameras he had memorized. He timed the guards’ patrol routes in his head. Left corridor. Ten seconds. Right staircase. Blind spot near the pillar.

His father had taught him how to disappear in plain sight. San used every lesson his father gave him against him.

He slipped past two bodyguards by staying close to the shadows. He slowed his breathing. Kept his shoulders relaxed. No sudden movements. No sound. For once, the training wasn’t for the clan. It was for himself.

When he finally reached the outer gate and climbed over the side wall instead of using the main exit, his muscles strained—but he didn’t make a sound. He dropped down on the other side, landing softly on his feet.

And then— He was outside. No gates. No guards.

The night air hit his face, cool and gentle. It felt different. Lighter. He stood there for a second, just breathing. The city lights glowed in the distance. Cars passed. Somewhere far away, someone laughed.

His chest hurt, but in a good way. He started walking without thinking too much. His hands were in his hoodie pockets. His head was down. For once, he wasn’t Choi San, heir to anything. He was just a tall guy walking at midnight.

The first place he thought of was a convenience store. He had passed them a thousand times but never went inside alone. He wanted something simple. Instant noodles. Chips. A drink with a bright label he had never tasted. He wanted to stand in an aisle and choose something without anyone watching him.

It sounded stupid. But it felt important. He was a few streets away when it happened. A hand grabbed him from behind. Fast. Strong. Before he could twist away, something pressed hard over his mouth and nose. A cloth. The smell was sharp and strange.

San reacted on instinct. His elbow drove back. His hand reached up to grab the arm around him. His muscles flexed, strong and trained. He tried to shift his weight, to throw whoever it was over his shoulder.

But his movements slowed. His head felt heavy. His vision blurred at the edges. He tried to breathe through his mouth but the cloth covered everything. His lungs burned. His body fought, but it didn’t listen to him the way it always did. His knees buckled. The last thing he saw was the dark sky above him. Then nothing.

In the dungeon:

When he opened his eyes again, his head throbbed. The air was damp. Cold. His wrists hurt.

He tried to move and felt rope biting into his skin. His arms were tied behind a metal chair. His ankles were secured too. The room was made of stone. No windows. One dim light hanging from the ceiling.

It looked like a dungeon. For a moment, San just sat there, breathing slowly, trying to understand. He had trained for years. He knew enemies existed. He knew his father’s world was dangerous.

But all he had wanted... All he had wanted... Was to eat snacks at midnight like a normal person. And now he was tied up in the dark, muscles tense, heart pounding, realizing that even when he tried to walk away from that world—It still reached out and dragged him back.

He heard a noise in the distance and he jumped slightly. “Don't hurt me...” He muttered out quietly, almost to himself.