Chapter Text
When Yoongi receives the message from Namjoon that the Third had been killed, he hadn’t expected the sadness that washed over him at all.
Sure, he’d been plucked fresh off the streets by the guy himself, but he hadn’t exactly been near and dear to the late Son Kyung-ha, insurgence leader of the Geunbonjeog-in jopok— At least, not in the most traditional sense of the word. As a rule, Yoongi tries to remember that he’d been raised more by the violence the Third left in his wake rather than the man himself.
Mostly, it was just easier to live indebted to no one rather than in servitude to a political serial killer and all-around lunatic.
He certainly hadn’t expected to come back to Seokjin waiting for him in his apartment either. The elder had been sitting square in the middle of his cramped living room, having pre-emptively brewed a pot of something devastatingly disgusting that Yoongi refuses to call coffee.
"The Third stated in his will that in the event of his death, he would like Namjoon to ascend as the Fourth," he tells Yoongi simply, not even flinching as the front door slams shut. Drinking his fucking repulsive sugared water, Seokjin appears serene and at ease. "I, naturally, will be ascending as his right, and keeping my position as the liaison between the reigning kingpin of the Geunbonjeog-in jopok and all the other syndicates. Hoseok will be retaining his former position as our plenipotentiary within the KNPA."
A reshuffle already? Fucking Christ; Yoongi had always known that the triads prioritized efficiency above all else, but he’s not even sure if the Third’s corpse is cold yet.
"It was also stated in Third's will that he would like you to ascend as Namjoon’s left hand at this time," Seokjin continues, calm as anything. Frankly, his tranquillity in the face of this news throws Yoongi the fuck off. "If you are amenable to the idea, I will arrange for the formalities to take place right after the cremation, alongside Namjoon’s swearing-in ceremony."
And that just added to the list of things Yoongi hadn’t expected; not even a little bit, not at all.
"Do it," he says anyway, because even he knows not to fight a losing battle, and this is just one he isn’t going to win.
So the Third is dead, but he’s not out of work just yet.
Fucking figures that Son Kyung-ha manages to make him suffer, even from beyond the grave.
Hoseok comes over the next night, and he looks awful. He’s been drinking; Yoongi can smell it the second he opens the door. He knows what this is all about, too.
"Hyung," the commissioner rumbles. "I— The KNPA aren’t happy, and they— I don’t know what to—"
Yoongi hadn’t been happy before the Third had died, and he isn’t happy now. No one’s fucking happy these days, to be honest; humanity’s a rough crowd. "Okay," he says instead, locking his door and putting an arm around Hoseok’s shoulders. "Easy."
"Can’t— Hyung, the Third, he’s—"
"Yeah, I got the memo." Yoongi murmurs as he sits Hoseok down on his couch, moving to take off his dongsaeng’s shoes. The laces are tightly knotted; he resists the urge to just reach for the knife strapped to his ankle and cut a clean slice through the stupid things. "I know, but it’ll be okay, Seok. Don’t be scared."
There’s a short pause before Hoseok shakes his head sadly, his eyes welling up with tears.
Rolling the guy’s socks down his ankles, Yoongi feels conflicted as he allows the breakdown. He doesn’t know whether Hoseok’s tears are for the Third or for the precarious position the Third’s death has placed him in, but he knows that his dongsaeng needs this— Needs this more than he needs air. Hoseok’s hysterical and drunk and crying because he’s still in shock.
Yoongi sinks down on the sofa beside him and supposes that he is, too.
For a while there, he’d legitimately thought the Third was immortal.
Flashback to when Yoongi had decided to take the career path of a certified hitman. Whether it comes back to bite him in the ass on the daily is yet to be discovered.
(It’s been discovered. The answer is yes.)
Also, ‘decided’ is a really strong word where the whole ‘pet mercenary of the Third’ thing had been concerned. Yoongi had pretty much been strong-armed into it, considering it’d been the only thing he’d been raised to do.
(In all truth, Yoongi was raised to do a few other things with his fingers than pull the triggers of guns and put knives to people’s throats, but he doesn’t like thinking about things that make him feel like he’ll never be clean again for as long as he lives.)
It’s not a special story by any means, and it doesn’t have a happy ending. His birth parents, fucktards that they’d been – past tense, they’re both ashes to ashes, dust to dust by now – voluntarily got involved with the Geunbonjeog-in jopok in a bid to satisfy their own drug addictions. In a fit of impulse, they’d had Yoongi somewhere along the line. According to the way the Third told this story, they’d wanted to turn over a new leaf. Get clean, have him and raise him preciously. Their little baby boy. Ha.
According to the was the Third told this story, they’d wanted to get their shit together, and here’s the fucked up part.
The Third had let them.
At the time, nobody had understood it. He’d put Yoongi’s parents into rehab – both of them – and he’d paid for the whole process out of his own pocket. He’d even visited them personally, too. Son Kyung-ha had gotten close to them, had endeared himself to them and carved himself a neat little spot in their lives, like he was campaigning for Yoongi to be fucking named after him or some shit. Hell, from what some of the higher-ups tell him, Yoongi’s pretty sure the Third had gone as far as to buy his mother fucking flowers or a fruit basket, most days… Which had been nice. Really fucking bizarre, but nice.
For a while, at least. And then it stopped being bizarre or nice altogether.
Essential knowledge for the next part of this story; for all his flowers and fruit baskets, Son Kyung-ha was a fucking psychopath.
A lot happened. But to cut to the chase, Yoongi’s parents die the second he’s born. They’d both been vessels of an untouched product, and once they’d outlived their usefulness, they’d been made examples of to everyone else who dared even think of running from due payment to the Geunbonjeog-in jopok. As a baby, Yoongi had been left to a retired whore in one of the Third’s most prized brothels in Daegu, subsequently trained to steal his food or die trying. To escape violent beatings or endure them. To go for days on end without light, to live for years without hope.
Chiefly, he’d been trained to kill the Third’s problems.
So, quite naturally, he grows up killing the Third’s problems.
And now the Third’s gone, and Yoongi’s not exactly in the vulnerable state he’d been in as a child, and he knows he could probably ditch all this fucking bullshit. Rare as it is, he’s actually seen people walk away from the Geunbonjeog-in jopok; they don’t usually get very far, but the few that do for extended periods of time are conveniently presumed dead so as to deter anyone else from deserting. All in all, Yoongi’s pretty sure he could do it— That he knows the ins and outs well enough to disappear by now.
But.
Here he is.
Picking out a fucking suit to wear to the Third’s funeral.
"That tie is offensive," Seokjin tells him.
"Bite me," Yoongi scowls, tossing it atop a fucking pile of the stupid things. And then, just out of spite, "your existence is offensive."
"You take that back right now, Yoongi. I am a delight, an absolute—"
"You kiss your mother with that dirty, lying mouth?"
"At least I have a mother to kiss."
It’s a testament of their friendship that Yoongi snorts, because both of them are well aware that the only woman he’s even come close to viewing as a mother figure – utterly delusional, seriously – is a whore well past her best by date. "Asshole," he says – almost fondly, too – before groaning as Seokjin holds up yet another jacket that looks exactly the same as the last.
This has been going on for about a million fucking years, which is just about a million fucking years too long.
Seokjin’s come over again because he seems to be the only one who’s visibly unperturbed by this whole mess. Yoongi’s seen this pattern of behaviour before; his hyung deals with stress by suppressing it and then unleashing it onto unsuspecting victims that rise against the jo-pok. It’s not a bad thing per se; since he’s capable of directing his wrath, Seokjin’s been nothing but useful in the past where it came to releasing his stress.
Yoongi believes that Seokjin is fully capable of demolishing entire factions when he’s built up enough frustration.
… It’s actually really fucking terrifying, by all standards.
Then again, Yoongi had been thinking about his origins story just about 5 seconds before he’d been snapped back to reality by a stupid tie. He reckons he looks at Seokjin the same way most people look at him; they’re often scared and intimidated, or massively up their ass if they don’t know Yoongi’s track record too well. There’s no in between for people like Seokjin and him; people are either massively overwhelmed or underwhelmed by their presence, and that’s just the way it is.
Yoongi wishes he could tell people to be overwhelmed in advance, because the alternative fucking sucks, to be honest. Just flip through his black book; tally all the names in it against headstones in various graveyards across South Korea. Most of the names are his, some of them are Seokjin’s. All of them are in his handwriting, and he has handwriting for fucking ants.
The book is almost full. It’s his fifth volume.
He does think it’s kind of fucked up that Seokjin doesn’t even keep tally anymore, but then again, it isn’t his hyung’s job. Yoongi’s just morbidly curious about how long he’s going to be ahead of Seokjin in numbers at this point.
"Put this on," the elder demands, holding up a silk tie just as Yoongi’s thinking about whether or not they constitute as serial killers. The answer is yes. "The navy blue brings out the murderous intent constantly present in your eyes; it’s very fetching."
"Thanks," Yoongi deadpans, already so tired of this day that he’s half a second away from tossing himself clean out of the nearest window. "I mean, the murderous intent basically comes with the job description, but, you know. Just… Conveniently dismiss it as the fundamental quality of my otherwise sterling personality. That’s fine."
And that was, in fact, fine. Having Seokjin over, talking shit over suits that cost more than what he used to eat through in a solid year and a half, that’s fine. This is all fine in Yoongi’s book. Everything was going to be fine.
Except the funeral, because fuck that noise.
Surprise, surprise; the funeral is not fine. It is, in fact, fucking terrible.
(Spoiler alert; Yoongi is the least surprised person right about now; he’s quite possibly the least surprised person on the entire planet, because he’s fucking omniscient.)
Yoongi wants to spit on Son Kyung-ha’s grave and call him out for being the monster that he is. Ask him how it was fair that he’d lived way past the life expectancy of any other self-respecting triad leader in Korea when all he’d done with his time was destroy other people’s lives, their livelihoods and families. Yell at him for going off and getting himself killed, leaving behind a mess for everyone who had ever crossed paths with him, including Yoongi himself.
Tell him he fucking hates him, and that he’s glad he’s dead.
(Loves him, would forever pledge loyalty to him like the dog he was raised to be.)
He lays an iris atop the stone instead; bows his head and says his prayers. Looking up, Yoongi catches Taehyung’s eyes across the cemetery and wants to sigh at the blankness present on the younger’s face.
Yeah, it makes sense that of all people, this was something that had hit Taehyung the hardest; while Yoongi had strategically distanced himself from the Third as much as possible, that hadn’t been true for younger. The pivot of the guy’s entire world had dramatically shifted… Or rather, flat out disappeared.
Either way, Yoongi knows there are people watching, and he steps aside to let the next guy have his turn at pelting the Third’s grave with flowers. Maybe one day, when he isn’t fucking surrounded by at least 20 people who could kill him in a half second by sitting on him, he’ll come visit the Third’s grave again; spit on it then, or whatever.
No sense in crying over spilled milk.
Sometimes, it took a while for people to fall into step with each other. Yoongi remembers not liking Namjoon when they’d first met – the guy had been guarded as hell and flat out impossible to read for a solid couple of years, and something about that had just rubbed Yoongi the wrong way – but he’s never had that problem with Jeon Jungkook.
Yoongi had liked Jungkook from the very moment he met him. He’s a quick study, an all-rounder. Loyal as fuck, too; earnest and diligent— Yoongi would never have agreed to train him otherwise.
He meets up with the guy for drinks at the Hound after the funeral.
(Two killers walk into a bar. Ha ha ha.)
"Taehyung’s broken," the younger tells him after his fourth pint. "Because the Third’s gone."
"Let him break this time," Yoongi replies after his fifth, because really, he’d seen this coming— They all had. "It’ll be good for him," he adds cautiously, inexplicably relieved by the slow nod he gets for it.
‘We’ll build him back up,’ he doesn’t say, but from the look in Jungkook’s eyes, it seems like the message had been received anyway.
The severity of the news doesn't hit the Geunbonjeog-in jopok hard till the day it does, and boy, does it hit the road fucking running.
The thing about running a crime syndicate is that the bigger you are on the streets, the less likely you are to last very long. The Geunbonjeog-in jopok had never existed on the tongues of the common kkangpae, which was what had allowed it to thrive. The care that Son Kyung-ha had lacked for sanity and discretion, he’d siphoned into business; at least 75% of the syndicate’s assets were legally documented, which meant that on the surface, the government couldn’t touch them with a 10-foot pole.
The remaining 25% was the problem, and as of the Third’s death, it’s a number that's been steadily climbing alongside their notoriety. With his ascension as Namjoon’s left, it's also become Yoongi’s problem more than anyone else's, which is a pain in the fucking ass.
‘Still,’ Yoongi reflects, glancing blandly at Namjoon, ‘at least I don’t have it that fucking bad.’
(Yet.)
It’s been a grim few days, and Namjoon’s on edge— Yoongi’s known him long enough to see beyond his glacial tone and calm eyes. There’s a storm brewing in the guy, and by the look Seokjin shoots him, the eldest amongst them knew it too.
Before the Third had fucked off from the land of the living, Namjoon had been the Korean equivalent of a consigliere in the mafia; an advisor and a fixer, someone who made problems disappear no matter the cost. Now, he abruptly has the lives of over 10 million people resting squarely on his shoulders like a fucking parasite, and it shows— Shows in his eyes, in his speech… In the way he sits and walks and breathes.
Yoongi crosses his arms and closes his eyes, quiet and still as he empathises. Namjoon hadn’t asked for this – any of this – but then again, neither had he. They’d all been blindsided.
Fucking Son Kyung-ha, going off and getting himself killed.
"It’s a big problem that there isn’t an heir," Namjoon tells them gravely, like it’s news. "I’ve been made the leader courtesy of the Third’s will, but no one will recognize me as the Fourth. Our sub-contractors are pulling out, and our contacts are rapidly disappearing. Two of our alliances with other jopoks have already fallen through." Lowering his head, Namjoon interlaces his fingers as his voice wavers. "And then there’s Japan, which is a whole other circus…"
"It hasn’t been easy keeping the force at bay either," Hoseok adds with a grimace, his head lolling over the back of the couch as he sighs at the ceiling. "My guys are all over the place with this. With things being the way they are, I didn’t want anyone to attend the funeral… Aside from a few hyungs who knew the Third personally, no one went for the cremation either."
"You’ve both worked hard," Jungkook murmurs, cramped into the window seat with Taehyung sprawled on him like an oversized cat. He strokes the elder’s back languidly and slowly, like he’s trying to avoid startling him.
If that’s what the guy is doing, Yoongi can relate. These days, everyone’s tiptoeing around Taehyung till he inevitably crashes headfirst into the realization that his failsafe – his axis, his God – is gone.
"What was that about Japan, hyung?" Jungkook continues, frowning at Namjoon as Yoongi turns Taehyung and the Third’s complex history over in his head like some kind of 3D puzzle he just can't quite work out. "I haven’t been in touch with the network for the past couple of weeks."
"The Gotou-gumi are fussing about something or another," Namjoon shares, wearily pinching the bridge of his nose. "The news shouldn’t have formally reached them yet, but you of all people should know how the network is— We could be looking at another broken alliance there, and that will be a big loss, even by the standards of the higher-ups." Glancing sideways at Seokjin, he winced. "Is that on the to-do list?"
Seokjin crosses his legs and shoots Namjoon a wry look. "Everything’s on the to-do list; we just lost our king."
"Well, we’re going to need another. That’s half our problem solved, right there."
"We don’t know if one exists just yet. As of right now, re-establishing the queen's supremacy matters more."
"I— Am I the queen?"
"As the de-facto leader following the Third’s death, you certainly are."
"… Thank you."
"You’re most welcome. Besides, all of our other pieces are still in play."
"Haven’t we done away with our rooks?"
"No, we’ve prioritized the reshuffle of our knights for the past week—"
Yoongi absently wonders if any sane person’s idea of communication involves chess analogies before remembering the state of the company he keeps. Sanity’s a far cry for anyone gathered in the room, honestly, and there’s a certain comfort he takes in the fact that he isn’t alone where that’s concerned. Getting up, he moves across the room to sit at Hoseok’s feet, his head tipped back so that it rests on the commissioner’s knee.
Hoseok smiles down at him; it looks forced. Then again, most things do these days; Yoongi feels like he’s been going through the motions himself. "What are you going to do?" Hoseok asks, like he hadn’t come stumbling into Yoongi’s apartment just a day shy of a week ago, wild-eyed and unrestrained over any of this. Like he’s relaxed, even though he’s trying to take cues and follow leads. "Moving forward from here."
Too bad, to be honest; Yoongi doesn’t have any. "Live," he says simply, because for all the shit he talks, he has a masochistic streak of self-preservation running in his blood. It had been braided into him by the Third, further fortified by the trust Namjoon, Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung and Jungkook have put in him over the years. With his newly minted position within the jopok, the lives of over 4 million people will be resting solidly on his decisions in the coming weeks. His pragmatism, ability to work under pressure and survivability were all going to be put to the test. Fucking shit. "Do as I’ve always done… Do as I’m told."
"The Third is dead," Hoseok reminds Yoongi, never having been one for sugar-coating anything at the best and worst of times. Yoongi appreciates it for the most part— It still makes Jungkook wince and Taehyung still in the window seat, though. "No one’s giving you orders anymore, hyung, and even you can’t conjure an eligible heir out of thin air."
Glancing at Namjoon and Seokjin, Yoongi let out a soft snort. "Those two will figure something out." It would take some time, sure, but as far as he was concerned, he’d never met any pair that could work miracles better than Namjoon and Seokjin. "It’ll be fine… Eventually."
Maybe.
But for now, there isn't an heir, and they're completely fucked.
It’s been a week, and Yoongi’s already had to put down four of his colleagues for betraying Namjoon.
He cleans his blade on the sleeve of his latest target and lights a cigarette, waiting for clean-up to arrive. When they do, the body’s out of sight and out of mind in less than two minutes, and he goes on his way to meet Hoseok for supper.
(Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.)
Yoongi keeps the brim of his cap low and his ears plugged, making his way towards the station on foot. Once he rounds the next traffic light and the building comes into view, he stubs out his cigarette on the heel of his boot and tosses the butt into a bin. Generally, he thinks it’s ill-advised to litter right on the doorstep of the KNPA.
It’s just another Tuesday night.
He’s not afraid of having blood on his hands; Yoongi hasn’t been afraid of that for a long time. On some level, it really does speak volumes of how far he’s fallen down the rabbit hole. It’s one that the Third’s excavated, real special. Just for him.
Either way, Yoongi reflects as he gets offered some shitty 3-in-1 by Hoseok’s clerk while he’s waiting, none of this bodes well for the Geunbonjeog-in jopok’s PR.
It probably says a lot about Yoongi’s life that there may be an heir, but they're still somehow completely fucked.
Unlike the other higher-ups, Yoongi finds himself unsurprised by this news the more he thinks about it. The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Son Kyung-ha had always been a massive asshole. A big dreamer and a fucking altruist in the most cocked up sense of the word, sure, but he'd still been an asshole. The man had died trying to fight the fucking world in order to save it, and he'd ruthlessly taken countless others along for the ride.
Yoongi included; he’s just waiting on his expiry date like all the others. Like Namjoon, with his head barely above the storm. Like Seokjin, wading through allegedly shallow waters before he inevitably dropped off into the deep end. Like Hoseok, with his hands aflame with espionage and political treason. Like Taehyung, with his head deceptively in the fucking clouds and his feet rooted firmly in an Everest of bodies high enough to rival Yoongi’s own.
Even like Jungkook, which was a damn shame, because – as previously mentioned – Yoongi favoured him a lot. The kid had youth and talent and a seriously steady trigger finger; it would have been nice if he’d chosen to stay within the boundaries of the law, become a policeman or something. Jungkook definitely hadn't deserved the hand life had dealt him. He hadn't deserved Son Kyung-ha either; the Geunbonjeog-in jopok, any of it.
(Most of all, he definitely hadn't – didn't – deserve Yoongi.)
But back to the point. The higher-ups are convinced they may have an heir on their hands. Namjoon cautiously takes this to mean that they are – possibly, maybe – capable of unfucking everything.
They just need to fucking find the guy.
"First of all, we’re over 50-strong in security personnel for the Third alone. Can someone fucking explain how no one knew that the Third had a fucking kid?" Yoongi growls angrily, because seriously? For the leader of a crime syndicate, Son Kyung-ha had never erred on the side of caution. To Yoongi's knowledge, the guy had systematically managed to evade his bodyguards exactly zero times in the past decade, so who the hell had cocked up somewhere along the line? And— "— More importantly, who the hell allowed him to breed?"
"No one needs— Needed," Seokjin corrects himself primly, "to let him breed, Yoongi; he's the Third." Exasperated, he cracks his neck and rolls his eyes, adopting a jesting tone. "Sometimes I really do think you forget whose hand was on the other end of your leash, Cerberus."
For someone who responds to it as keenly as he does, Yoongi hates that call sign with the burning passion of a thousand suns. Rack up a few kills for one guy and suddenly the streets figure you’re his three-headed rabid bloodhound.
It’s also the one nickname that happens to stick. Go fucking figure.
"Woof woof," he deadpans instead, because after the massive clusterfuck of a fortnight they'd all had, Yoongi’s not in the mood for any more of this low-key 'be more respectful, he's only just died' shit— The Third’s cold, rigid corpse can fucking kiss his ass. Leaning forward, Yoongi sets his empty can on the table and reaches for his cigarettes. "Trust me, hyung, I remember; I just don't have to like it. Hell, I'd purge the memory if I could."
"You said that we have an heir," Taehyung spoke up abruptly, addressing Namjoon with his voice clear as a bell and startling everyone into silence. Understandably, considering he’s spent most of his time since the Third’s death plastered to Jungkook, muffling single words against the younger’s shirt and leaving the younger to guess what was needed. "Who is he?"
Yoongi – like Namjoon, Seokjin and Hoseok – looks at Jungkook, expecting some kind of reaction to the fact that Taehyung was – for the first time since the cremation – behaving like a functioning human being with all of his mental faculties in check.
From what he gathers, though, Jungkook is relatively unfazed.
While Yoongi’s never bothered sussing out exactly what the fuck goes on between the two, even he has to wonder what that means.
"To be more precise, a name was discovered alongside the name of one of the women Son Kyung-ha had a relationship with," Namjoon explained succinctly, unlocking his phone and pulling up a picture. The others lean in, squinting. "It was carved into the back fold of his black book, which he’d kept on his person at all times— As you can see, the words are worn and no longer prominent." Tracing a finger over the letters, he hummed. "Still, I sent it to a contact of mine in Ilsan who specializes in archaeological restoration; he was able to make out the characters for ‘Park,’ ‘Ji’ and 'Min' after extensive work done to the leather. I have people looking into the matter."
"But Park and Son?" Jungkook lifts an eyebrow. "The family name…"
"It could have been legally changed for his own protection… God knows the Third has— Had, a horde of seriously powerful enemies," Hoseok points out thoughtfully, frowning as he leans forward to look at the picture. He cocks his head, like looking at the same characters from a different angle will offer him more information. "Either way, we wouldn't know unless we investigate the matter thoroughly. It definitely has to mean something, though..."
"The Third would never do something like that without a reason," Taehyung agrees out of the blue, eyes dull as he glances at the photo on Namjoon’s screen. No one asks him to elucidate; over the years, they’ve all pretty much learned to accept that Taehyung’s the essential bible on Son Kyung-ha and all of his eccentricities. "It definitely means something; we just don’t know for sure that it points to the existence of an heir just yet."
"Exactly. This information was restricted to the upper echelons, since we’re still unsure of what all of this means," Seokjin follows up on Namjoon's explanation, taking the younger's phone in hand and pointing to the lower half of the close-up. "The coordinates of the Gotou-gumi’s headquarters have been hand carved beneath the names, right here."
As a member of the force, Hoseok clearly finds all of this more than a little doubtful. "We still can’t really take away anything from that," he murmurs, subdued and concerned. "It’s not concrete evidence, and if there aren’t any records, then my guys won’t buy into the sudden introduction of an official heir."
"So what you’re saying is that we know next to nothing about this person, or why he was even noteworthy to the Third…" Pointing at Namjoon’s screen, Jungkook frowned. "Only that they’re probably in Japan, and that they’ve been under the care of the Gotou-gumi?"
It goes deeper than that with Namjoon, Yoongi knows it does. It always fucking does. "If it really is an heir they're hiding, it’d explain why they’ve had their panties in a fucking twist for the last couple of weeks," he said slowly as he put the pieces together, remembering the younger’s concerns about their contacts in Japan the last time they’d gathered like this in Taehyung and Jungkook’s apartment.
"It's been worse than usual," Hoseok agrees hesitantly, crossing his arms and leaning back. "They've always been an antsy bunch, but as of late…"
"The Gotou-gumi and the Geunbonjeog-in jopok have been allied since the First took command on our end, but their current boss seems overtly eager to turn a profit lately…" Turning to glance at Seokjin and Namjoon, Yoongi's eyes hardened. If this Park Jimin guy really does turn out to be Son Kyung-ha's son, it's entirely possible that he's on the run right now from the Gotou-gumi— Their only heir might be living on borrowed time. "The carvings in the Third’s black book aside, how certain are we that these things – the Gotou-gumi being on edge and the discovery of a plausible heir – are related?"
"Our spies in Tokyo have informed us that the boss himself has issued a DOA on a man named Park Jimin— That's already a match for the characters we've managed to restore from the Third's black book," Seokjin told Yoongi, folding his arms and leaning back with a calculating look on his face. "A BOLO has also been disseminated through the police force for a man with the same name and description."
Jungkook considers this and nods, solemn. "I was going to bring this up later after we were done talking about the Third, but the DOA actually explains a lot," he admits, glancing at Seokjin. "My guys over there have been telling me that there's more activity than usual— Not the usual kind, either."
"The usual kind?" Namjoon enquires, lifting an eyebrow.
"Money laundering, collection of protection money… Things like that are fairly normal, but this goes above and beyond their typical rate of activity," Jungkook explains dutifully, cracking his neck loudly enough that even Seokjin frowned. "There's been a lot of movement in the vicinity of Kanto due to the Gotou-gumi's expansion in the past, but they've been settled for a few solid years now. There's no reason for their activity rates to spike enough to mirror how bad it had been then; no one's even close to rivalling them in the region."
"Even if this person doesn't turn out to be an heir, we’re still fairly convinced it’s a sign that the Gotou-gumi have taken someone important to the Third hostage," Namjoon adds, slouching forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He interlaces his fingers between his thighs, brows tightly drawn together. "It all seems too timely for it to be a coincidence, and this Park Jimin guy can’t cheat death forever. As to who gets their hands on him first, It’s a race against time now; us, or the Gotou-gumi."
Yoongi just grunts; strictly based on the timeline alone, it all made sense. "What’s your next move?" He asks.
"For now, we’ll first need to re-establish control of the network. Taehyung, I’ll need you to dog my steps for the upcoming week," Namjoon says quietly, glancing at the younger. Everyone in the underground knew what it was worth for a man as well-connected as Taehyung to appear at the side of a someone who’d just come into new power. "I’ll also require your expertise in disseminating information and gathering it; it helps that you hold your own cluster in the domestic network."
"My cluster’s expensive," Taehyung warns. As always, he caught on real quick where it came to matters of the wallet, especially when he was neck-deep in the business of buying and selling trust. "I’d do you any number of favours, hyung, but my guys are good at what their jobs, and they know it. They’re not going to do anything for free."
"No one said it was going to be for free."
Taehyung nods, seemingly appeased.
"Hoseok and I will need to attend meetings; our situation is tenuous, and many of our former alliances require pacifying," Seokjin continues, resting a hand apologetically on the commissioner’s shoulder. "We have several appointments lined up over the next few days; it’s going to be tedious."
Yawning, Hoseok tips his head over the back of his chair and looks up at Seokjin with a drowsy smile. "When is it not tedious, hyung?"
That left only Jungkook and Yoongi, both of whom exchanged knowing glances. Considering everything they’d discussed over the evening, deducing their roles in all of this was relatively easy.
They’d always been partners in getting their hands dirty.
"Fortunately, we’ve managed to secure a meeting with the boss of the Gotou-gumi," Namjoon continues, palming the back of his neck as he longingly eyes Yoongi’s cigarettes on the table between them. "We’ll send the both of you to Tokyo for a couple of days to get this guy and get out— Consider it a retrieval before anything else."
Sliding the box over, Yoongi simply acquiesces with silence. He’s come to realize that he’s far more comfortable allowing Namjoon to take the reins on his life than he'd ever been with the Third doing the exact same thing. He'd been willing to kill for the Third, but he’s found himself willing to ride and die for Namjoon. He’s proven it, too; more than once, even.
One day, he’ll have to sit down and think about what that means.
"What if they escalate it?" Jungkook asks, because he’s been around long enough to know how terse things can get between any jopok and yakuza outfit— Tenuous at best, downright fucking horrifying at worst. "What if they refuse to hand this person over, or say that they’ve never seen him before?"
"We’ll at least know that they’re lying, considering you’ll have the BOLO in black and white before you step onto a plane," Namjoon lifts an eyebrow, turning towards Hoseok as he pulls a cigarette from Yoongi's pack with practiced fingers. "How are we on getting that officially attained?"
"I cashed in a favour and expedited the process; you should have it by midday tomorrow," the commissioner murmurs, flapping a hand dismissively. "All of the hyungs are pretending they're blind while waiting on me to magically stabilize the entire situation, so I’m unlikely to get red-taped for the next couple of weeks."
Taehyung’s head lolls over the curve of Jungkook’s shoulder. "Be careful," he says quietly.
Jungkook eyes his Adam’s apple and frowns. "Always am," he says carefully.
"Extra careful," Taehyung clarifies, grunting as he sits up straight to shoot Yoongi a look. "You too, hyung. Things are shaky within the Gotou-gumi."
This immediately captures Seokjin’s interest. "What do you know that we don’t?" He asks, because despite the wealth of it that he had, it was extremely rare that Taehyung volunteered any kind of information at all. They’ve learnt not to begrudge him the discretion his profession demands, but it also serves to add severity to anything he brings to the table.
"A lot of people disagree with the boss— His business, his principles, his bastardization of the honourable yakuza culture," Taehyung recites blandly, his posture loose as he slackens. His back to Jungkook’s front, he toys with a stray thread on the frayed hem of his sleeve. "We may not be the only ones with a coup on our hands."
Hoseok looked at Taehyung sadly. "What did you do to get that information, Tae?" He asks, because he’s the only one who still dares. Tries. "What did you give them this time?"
Everyone shuts down momentarily, Yoongi observes.
There are shuttered looks, dull eyes and lowered heads. There are some lines people just don’t cross, and this was one that even Jungkook – perhaps especially Jungkook – knew not to toe. Taehyung’s never really talked about the exact nature of his work and how it had been related to the relationship he'd had with the Third, but no one’s ever pursued the matter— All they know is that his dealings are founded on the basis of equivalent exchange, and his gambles vary largely in proportion to his frame of mind at any given point.
As far as assets went, Yoongi knows they’re all pretty high up on the list. Namjoon for his foresight and strategic approach in business and pleasure and everything in between, Seokjin for his underhanded diplomatic strength and conversational prowess. Hoseok had his superior reign over a significant percentage of the KNPA to fall back on, and Jungkook’s strengths laid in his loyalty, diligence and ability to assimilate, making him the perfect sleeper agent. As for Yoongi…
Well, Yoongi’s strengths laid in more unsavoury things; the less detail, the better, really.
But Taehyung – with his photographic memory and his dominion over the network – had arguably been the Third’s greatest asset; a hidden weapon far more powerful than any emissary and executioner. Few knew of Taehyung’s true value, but those that did had given him a wide berth and knew not to touch him lest they risk the wrath of the Third and the withdrawal of his business.
Of course, this had been good for Taehyung while Son Kyung-ha had been alive. With him gone, Taehyung was now a free-for-all, first-come-first-served target on all sides, and they were all crushingly aware of this unspoken truth.
Save for shooting him a sort of dazed smile, Taehyung ignores Hoseok’s question and snaps the thread from his sleeve, allowing it to flutter to the floor and get lost in the carpet.
Meanwhile, Jungkook’s all but turned to stone. "Waiting on the BOLO aside, is there anything else holding us back?" He asks Namjoon stiffly, and Yoongi grimaces at the hardness in his eyes. Of everyone, Jungkook hates even thinking about the lengths to which Taehyung goes to keep his cluster on top of the network— The lengths he’d must have gone to in the past, earning his throne in the first place. "Or will we be leaving right as it changes hands?"
"We’d like you there and back as soon as possible, so pack your bags tonight and be ready to move out by noon tomorrow," Namjoon answers him succinctly. "I’ll provide you both with the additional details you need, but this is a covert operation. The less people know about it, the better, so don’t approach me on the matter whilst the other higher-ups are hanging around."
"I’ll assist from my end if anything goes wrong," Seokjin offered, stepping up and trying to mellow out the tension in the room. Glancing between Jungkook and Yoongi, he was able to dredge up a small smile. "Consider me a secure point of contact with Namjoon; I’ll be with him throughout the day for at least the next few weeks, anyway."
Jungkook nodded slowly in response, his eyes half lidded as he rests his forehead against the slope of Taehyung’s shoulder.
Yoongi gets up. That’s that then. "We’ll check in every hour while we're out of town," he tosses over his shoulder like a parting statement, because he knows how antsy these idiots get whenever he’s off the radar and uncontactable. It doesn’t mean he’s actually going to do it, but it does mean he avoids Seokjin’s immediate nagging on the subject. "Keep me posted about the flight details. And Kook," he adds, grabbing both his jacket off the back of the sofa and the younger’s attention, "I’ll meet you straight at the airport tomorrow. I want you with me this time, so no PSG. Pack light."
"I will," Jungkook acquiesces easily, lowering his head as Yoongi makes to leave the room. "See you there, hyung."
Satisfied, Yoongi waves to Taehyung and shoots Hoseok a sympathetic look, because he can tell that Seokjin’s not anywhere near done talking about their schedule for the upcoming week. He’s thankful he gets to escape as he shoves his feet into his boots, and within the next minute, his hand is on the knob of the door before anyone can change their mind—
"Yoongi," Namjoon stops him, hand on his shoulder and a severe look on his face.
Turning around slowly, Yoongi manages not to lose his shit, because his irritation with the world at large has less to do with Namjoon and more to do with the actual shit Namjoon is trying pretty damn hard to fix. "Yeah?" He asks instead, shooting the younger a questioning look. "What did I miss?"
For a long time, Namjoon is silent. "Come back safe," he manages eventually, and his tone says it all.
(Don’t die, hyung. We’ve already lost the Third.)
"I don’t remember giving you any reason to think I’m about to kick the bucket any time soon," Yoongi deadpans, because for fuck’s sake, Namjoon had always been like this. He retreats and clams up in the face of trauma with nothing but his thoughts for days or weeks at a time, and the end result is always the same; self-destruction, anxiety and fear. "You’ve known me for a while now, so at least have a little more faith in my survivability."
"I’m just—"
"You’re going to hurt my fucking feelings with trust that flimsy, you know."
"Hyung—"
"Nothing’s going to happen to me, you fuckwit; just relax and fix Seoul while I’m gone," Yoongi scowled, pushing past the younger and heading out the door. He had a suit to pack, weapons to pick out and plans to make. "You’re the leader, remember? That means that you’ve inherited the Third’s favour, and all of his resources. The money, the name and the people. Everyone."
‘Including me,’ he thinks but doesn’t add, because he doesn’t want to break Namjoon's heart. He just wants him to wake up and smell the fucking roses; the Third is dead, they’re seeking the Fourth, and the Geunbonjeog-in jopok is going down in flames around them. It’s a losing battle, but Yoongi is Namjoon’s Cerberus now, whether the younger likes it or not. If anything, he wants Namjoon to at least get accustomed to the idea of using him right, because there was very little Yoongi wouldn’t do to ensure that they – the six of them – came out of all of this unscathed.
A very long time ago, Son Kyung-ha once told Yoongi that he had hands made to stain the world red. As much as Yoongi hated – loved – the guy, he hadn’t exactly been wrong.
Leaning in close, he closes his eyes. "Less than a week ago, I cut my palm on an open blade and swore my loyalty to you as your left," Yoongi murmurs, steady and slow. "And a swearing-in isn’t a fucking joke, Nams. Eventually, I’ll die at the feet of one keeper or the next, and truth be told, this is a trade-up; I’ve thought it over, and I’d rather it be you than anyone else."
Better Namjoon than fucking Son Kyung-ha, at least. He actually likes Namjoon, for one thing.
Through all of this, the younger doesn’t appear convinced. "But I don’t want that from you, hyung. I don’t—" Averting his eyes, Namjoon closes them and for a moment, he looks boyish… Far too young for any of this. For the most part, Yoongi thinks they all look a little too young for any of this, even Seokjin. Even himself. "I don’t want that for anyone, least of— Least of all, you."
"But that’s how it is, and that’s the way it has to be for the Geunbonjeog-in jopok," Yoongi says flatly. Each word digs in deeper straight past the capillaries and right into the raw nerves; he can see the precise moment he triggers something in Namjoon’s utilitarian mind with the vague allusions to all of this being for the greater good, whatever the hell the greater good actually is in this clusterfuck.
And all bullshit aside, he's well aware of how fucked up he is for manipulating his best friend like that – his dongsaeng, his family – but this is who Namjoon needs to be right now in order to get through the next few weeks without fucking dying, and Yoongi is used to hating himself. More than anything, he doesn’t want Namjoon to feel that way.
To get used to feeling that way, the same way he has.
"We are the Geunbonjeog-in jopok; unyielding, unwavering, resolute," Yoongi finishes bitterly, putting his final nail in the coffin. "And if any of us are going to survive what’s to come, our leader needs to be the same."
Namjoon swallows thickly, his eyes hard and averted as his mind predictably goes into hyperspeed. Yoongi pretends not to see the distress on the younger’s face and sweeps towards the elevator, wishing that he could for once – just once – not be the person who ends up saying what everyone else is thinking.
He lets the thought linger till he gets out at the lobby, and then shakes his head free of any and all distractions for the rest of the day. The Third may be dead, but he isn’t out of a job yet; not by far. In fact, Yoongi suspects that he's going to be very busy for the next few months.
Those were tomorrow's problems, though. For now, Yoongi rounds the building to a taxi stand and boards the first cab that pulls in, telling the driver to take him back to his apartment.
For now, it's time to go on a manhunt.
Mission Objective 001: Retrieve Park Jimin from the Gotou-gumi