บททั้งหมดของ Bloodline of Sin: บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 20

Min snapped back to the present. The smell of blood faded, replaced by the smell of... Doenjang-jjigae.He looked at Jun in the apron.The contrast was too much. Min felt dirty. He felt like a monster standing at the gates of heaven, covered in mud.Jun smiled, a tentative, nervous curve of his lips."Welcome back," Jun said. "Dinner is ready."Min froze. For a second, the world tilted. That smile... it sent an electric shock straight through his solar plexus. It was warm. It was inviting. It was everything Min wanted and everything he couldn't have.I just killed a man, Min thought. I just dipped a man in acid. And you are making me soup.The yearning rose up, choking him. He wanted to fall to his knees and bury his head in that apron. He wanted Jun to wash him clean.Anger followed the yearning, hot, defensive anger. How dare Jun make him feel this way? How dare Jun look so perfect when Min felt so broken?Min scowled, his face twisting into a mask of cruelty."I need a shower," Min

The digital clock on the bedside table alarm went off for the fifth time.Han Min-jae stared at it. He hadn't slept. Or rather, he had fallen into a shallow, restless fugue state for three hours, haunted by the phantom sensation of silk pajamas sliding against his hips and the smell of peaches.He groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face. His body felt tight, coiled with a frustrating mixture of unspent adrenaline and sexual tension that refused to dissipate.Pathetic, he chided himself. You are the Chairman of the Han Syndicate. You do not pine over a boy in floral pajamas.He threw the duvet off. He needed to move. He needed to burn this out of his blood.Min’s life principle hovered for the greater part around minimalism and his bedroom was a reflection of that, but in the corner stood a Technogym treadmill that cost more than most cars. He stripped down to his boxer briefs and stepped onto the belt.He didn't start slow. He cranked the speed up to 16 km/h.Thud. Thud. Thud.His

Inside the cabin, the air was thick, pressurized with unspoken violence. Han Min-jae sat on the rear bench, his tuxedo jacket discarded on the empty seat beside him. His white shirt was splattered with small, rust-colored dots near the cuff. He was methodically reloading the magazine of the Glock 19 he had taken from the security guard, his thumb pressing each 9mm round into the casing with a rhythmic click, click, click.Opposite him, Felix Hernandez was huddled over the fold-out table, illuminated by the blue glow of a tablet. He had shed his sequined intentions for the evening and was now vibrating with a nervous energy that seemed to power the electronics in front of him.Jun sat next to Min, but the distance between them feeling closer than before. He felt like he was just a breathe away from closing the gap. He couldn’t wait to be done with all this tonight."We need bodies," Min said, his voice cutting through the hum of the engine and the drumming rain. He didn't look up from

The basement air was stale, smelling of mold and old wine.Park, limping and flanked by Min and Baek, led them to a heavy steel door behind the wine racks. There was a keypad."Open it," Min ordered, pressing the gun to Park’s spine.Park punched in the code. 7-7-1-9.The heavy bolts retracted with a groan, and then the door swung open.Min’s heart was in his throat. This was it. The end of the nightmare.He stepped inside.The room was small, a concrete cell. There was a cot in the corner. A bucket. And a figure curled up on the mattress."Father," Min whispered, the word escaping him like a prayer.He rushed forward. He fell to his knees beside the cot.The figure stirred. He turned over.He was old. Frail. His face was a map of bruises, his lip split. He looked up at Min with cloudy, terrified eyes.Min froze.It wasn't the Chairman.It was Director Kim. The Chairman’s right hand man, just as Beak was his. The man who had served the Han family for thirty years.Min stared. The disa

"Morning, sunshine," Felix chirped, his voice scraping against the heavy silence of the kitchen like a utensil on a ceramic plate. "Coffee is in the pot. It’s the expensive stuff Min hoards. Drink it before he notices."Han Jun-woo stood in the doorway, the brightness of the Seoul skyline assaulting him with it’s sparkling, entirely oblivious to the sins committed in its shadows the night before.Jun woke up with a headache that sat behind his eyes like a dull, serrated knife. He had dragged himself out of bed, showered until his skin turned pink, and tried to scrub away the phantom scent of cordite, copper and his dried up tears. It hadn't worked.When he walked into the kitchen, the scene was surreal enough to make him pause.Baek Do-hyun was sitting at the marble island, shirtless. His torso was a map of violence—old scars, burn marks, and tattoos weaving a story of survival that spanned decades. But currently, Felix—wearing one of Min’s black silk robes that was three sizes too bi