The sun rose over Seoul, casting a soft golden light over the campus of Ehwa Arts University, where the city was already buzzing with students, coffee carts, and deadlines.
In a quiet apartment on the edge of the university district, Yoo Hana pulled on her hoodie, tied her shoelaces, and stuffed a sketchbook into her bag.
To the world, she was just another 19-year-old art student.
Quiet. Polite. Always early to class.
No one asked too many questions about her past—she made sure of that.
Even her name was fake.
Because Yoo Hana… wasn't really Yoo Hana.
She was the youngest daughter of the Dragon Clan.
A girl born into shadows. Hidden away since birth.
No cameras. No family name. No public records. Just a life designed to be invisible.
The only time she saw her family was during the rare winter holidays—always short, always tense. She was told it was for her protection.
"You are the Dragon's most vulnerable piece," her mother once said. "The world must never know you exist."
She didn't fully understand what her family did.
But she knew enough.
She knew there were enemies.
She knew someone named Sunghoon Kim had nearly destroyed them.
And she knew her sister, Minji, barely survived that war.
But for the most part, Seoul was peace. Her escape.
She lived in a small third-floor apartment with plants on the windowsill and a neighbor who played piano too loud. Her days were filled with paint stains, ramen cups, and playlists that made her feel normal.
.
She didn't know her name had just been spoken inside Uyama Villa.
She didn't know a man was coming for her.
And his name… was Sunghoon.
[back in Uyama Villa…]
Mr. Kim stood alone on the villa's third-floor balcony, overlooking the gardens that once echoed with Yuna's laughter.
Everything had changed.
His once bright, fearless son was now cold, distant—almost mechanical. There were no more late-night conversations. No quiet teasing at dinner. No spark.
Just silence. And ice.
Mr. Kim blamed grief. Of course he did. What else could it be?
"Maybe… if I give him space, he'll find himself again."
That morning, he made a decision. For Sunghoon's sake. For Uyama's future.
He called a private meeting in the sunroom—just the three of them.
Sunghoon arrived first, calm as always. Hands behind his back. Expression unreadable.
Mrs. Kim arrived shortly after, thinner than usual, her hands trembling as she sat beside her husband.
Mr. Kim looked at them both.
"Sunghoon," he began gently, "I've been watching you. And I understand how much pain you carry… how much weight is on your shoulders."
Sunghoon stayed quiet.
"I know Yuna's death… changed you. And I won't pretend I understand what's going on inside you. But I know this: if you stay here—trapped in this villa, in these memories—you'll destroy yourself before you ever lead Uyama."
Mrs. Kim's eyes welled up.
"I've made a decision," Mr. Kim continued. "I want you to leave Uyama for a while. Go to Seoul. Or Busan. Wherever you want. Just… breathe again. Step away from this house. From the pain."
Sunghoon's jaw tightened slightly.
"You're not running away," Mr. Kim added. "You're preparing yourself. Because one day soon, you'll carry the entire weight of Uyama. But for now… live your life. Rebuild your heart."
The room went quiet.
And then Mrs. Kim broke down.
"No," she whispered, voice trembling. "No, I can't lose him too…"
She reached across the table, grabbing Sunghoon's hand with both of hers.
"I lost my daughter. I can't lose my son too. Please… please, Sunghoon… don't go. Stay with mama. Please…"
Sunghoon looked at her—and for a moment, something flickered in his eyes. But he didn't speak.
Mr. Kim gently placed his hand on his wife's shoulder.
"It's important," he said softly. "We need to let him go. This may be the only way we ever get our son back."
Mrs. Kim cried silently as Sunghoon finally nodded.
"I'll go," he said. "Tomorrow."
---
Later that night, as the house fell back into silence, Sunghoon stood in his room, staring at the black duffel on his bed. His expression hadn't changed. His heart hadn't healed.
But his path had become clearer.
His father thought he was escaping the pain.
But in truth, he was walking straight toward it.
The move to Seoul was no longer just a mission—it was now fully justified.
He would be close to the girl.
To the Dragon's hidden heir.
And he would begin the game exactly where no one could stop him.
Sunghoon turned to his phone, sent one message to Daejun and another to Minjun:
"Prepare everything. We leave tomorrow. Seoul."
In a small apartment across the city, Yoo Hana sipped tea beside her window, watching the city lights like stars on the ground.
She didn't know the devil had just chosen her city.
She didn't know fate had just knocked on her door.
And she definitely didn't know…
That she had already been marked.
[in uyama villa]
sunghoon stood near his desk, removing his wristwatch, unbuttoning the top of his black dress shirt, but his mind wasn't at rest. It never was anymore.
His eyes lingered on the duffel bag by the door — packed. Ready.
Then, without turning around, he spoke clearly toward the closed door.
"Daejun. Come in."
The door opened a moment later, and Daejun stepped inside silently, bowing as always. "Sir."
Sunghoon turned to face him, but this time, there was something different in his voice — not just command. Something softer. Quieter.
"Thank you," he said.
Daejun blinked. "Sir?"
Sunghoon gave a faint nod. "For everything. You've made this easier."
There was a pause. Not many ever heard Sunghoon express anything close to gratitude.
But Daejun didn't smile. He only lowered his head respectfully. "Always at your side, Sunghoon-ssi."
Sunghoon walked past him and locked the door.
"I'm trusting you with something now," he said. "Don't tell Minjun. Not yet."
Daejun looked up, surprised. "Minjun… is loyal."
"I know," Sunghoon replied calmly. "But this part… isn't for loyalty. It's for precision. And right now, I only trust you to hold that line."
Daejun nodded firmly. "Understood."
Sunghoon sat down, motioning for Daejun to do the same. His tone sharpened again, all warmth gone.
"Now tell me. Everything. About the girl."
Daejun pulled out a slim black folder and placed it on the desk. He opened it, flipping through the pages.
"She goes by the name Yoo Hana. Nineteen years old. Enrolled at Ehwa Arts University in Seoul — second year in the visual arts department."
He laid out photos — surveillance snapshots of her walking to class, entering her apartment, sketching at a café.
"She lives alone in a small rooftop apartment in Mapo district. Third floor. Minimal security. No guards. No direct communication with the Dragon Clan since her last visit five months ago. She uses cash. No digital traces. She's been trained well to live quietly."
Sunghoon leaned forward, examining the images. In one, Hana was laughing with a friend. In another, she was seated alone in a park, sketchbook in her lap, completely unaware of the world around her.
"She looks... soft," Sunghoon murmured, studying her face. "Innocent."
"Yes," Daejun replied. "Too soft to belong to a family like that. But make no mistake — she's blood."
Sunghoon's expression didn't change, but his voice lowered.
"She's their mistake."
He closed the folder, stood up, and walked back to the window, watching the wind shift the trees.
"Pack light," he said. "We leave at first light. No backup. No noise. And for now, she doesn't even know we exist."
Daejun stood. "And Minjun?"
"Keep him close — but blind. He'll know only what I allow."
Daejun nodded once more. "Yes, sir."
Sunghoon's eyes narrowed as he stared out into the dark.
"She lives peacefully now…" he whispered.
"…but that ends the moment I step into Seoul."