Jungkook's sketchbook trembled in his hands as he crouched in the shadowed alcove of the Velvet Abyss, the city's most notorious underground club. At nineteen, the naive art student had wandered in chasing "raw urban inspiration"—graffiti murals, flickering neon, the pulse of forbidden nightlife. But he'd stumbled into the VIP sanctum by accident, heart slamming against his ribs as he witnessed the twins in action.

Taehyung, the older brother—calm, calculating, strict—stood like a statue in his tailored black suit, barking orders to a kneeling dealer who bled from a split lip. Beside him, V, the chaotic younger twin, identical in sharp jawline and piercing gaze but wilder with tousled hair and a feral grin, pistol-whipped the man for good measure. Blood sprayed. A gunshot echoed—execution, clean and final. Jungkook's vanilla-scented skin prickled with sweat; he bit back a gasp, pencil snapping in his fist.