FTC Chapter 1(Part 1)

The detectives called them Beom Jungang—Central Tigers.

It was a name inspired by the black tiger tattoo that covered the back of their boss, Park Juncheol. With his swift movements and commanding wisdom, he embodied the spirit of a tiger ruling over an entire mountain. He wanted his subordinates to inherit that same power. For that reason, he took pride in the police referring to his organization as Beom Jungang-pa—the Central Tiger Faction.

Right before the government declared war on organized crime in 1990, Park Juncheol boldly seized control of Seoul, Gyeonggi Province, and Incheon in a flash, making the entire upper half of South Korea his domain. His survival strategy was political gangsterism. He maintained deep ties with politicians, covering for them while they covered for him. Without regional biases or stubborn allegiances, he funneled money into both ruling and opposition parties alike, ensuring that no matter how the government changed, his empire would never fall.

His business started with pachinko parlors, hostess bars, and nightclubs. It kept expanding—until 1997, when the Asian financial crisis struck, bringing him face to face with his first real threat.

That was when he realized—South Korea no longer needed brute force. It needed money.

So, he founded a company.

Domok.

The Eyes of the Blade.

The gang would handle gang affairs. The company would handle business affairs. Employees were hired through proper channels, and professionals filled key positions. It was all for the sake of making money. With a focus on trading, hotels, resorts, and golf courses, Park Juncheol expanded his company just as he had his old empire—rapidly. At some point, his organization became so corporate that the police could no longer touch it, let alone dismantle it. What started in the upper half of the country spread in less than a decade, reaching the southern regions and turning Beom Jungang into a nationwide enterprise.

And then, Park Juncheol met a child.

A boy, still not fully grown, drenched in blood from head to toe.

“Carve the tiger onto your back as well.”

Sick and dying, Park Juncheol entrusted everything to him.

Beom Jungang. Domok.

But the new boss—bore no tiger on his back.

“Haa, haa.”

A grand mansion with wide floor-to-ceiling windows. The dim glow of dawn, too early for lights to be on.

It was a night when the moon shone unusually large and bright.

Jangbal glanced at his subordinate—the man who had come with him but now lay as a blood-soaked corpse. Then, he looked up at the figure before him. His broken wrist had lost all feeling. His face twisted in pain.

With all his remaining strength, he barely pushed away the sashimi knife pressed against his throat, shoving away the man’s hand despite his shattered arm. If he let his guard down for even a second, his carotid artery would be severed. The silver blade shimmered dangerously in the moonlight.

“Nam Dojun.”

At the sound of his name, Dojun’s eyes flickered. In the eight years he had known this man, this was the first time he’d ever tried to kill him.

“Nam Hagyu’s son.”

He had once said that he would only carve the tiger onto his back after he had achieved everything.

Even after becoming the boss, he claimed he still hadn’t attained what he truly desired.

That was all Dojun knew about him.

Woo Jaebin.

The man standing before him now.

Why had he followed Park Juncheol’s wishes and refused to bear the tiger?

“Go back and tell her.”

CRACK!

A sickening crunch echoed as a bone snapped. Beneath his dark hair, his fierce eyes flared toward Dojun as if they were about to burst.

“Tell Madam to stop her bullshit.”

Like a wolf,

his gaze gleamed quietly in the darkness.

He had already taken the center of the tigers.

But what was it that he still lacked?

Angels, take this brother to paradise—
Martyrs, lead him to the heavenly Jerusalem—

“May the grace and peace of God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ be with you all.”

Beyond the sheer white veil, she saw a grand coffin adorned with a cross.

It was, without a doubt, a coffin. A box for the dead.

Why go through such lengths to decorate an empty shell?

So that God in heaven could unwrap it with anticipation?

“Dear brothers and sisters, we grieve the loss of Baek Jinwoong, a member of our Christian faith. But for us believers, death is not the end of life, but the beginning of eternal life…”

In the Lord, we shall meet again.

Her red lips silently mouthed the next verse in sync with the priest’s words. Amid the sea of mourners clad in stark black and white, her lip color stood out vividly. But it wasn’t just her lips. She alone wore a striking cobalt-blue mini dress, oblivious—or perhaps indifferent—to the glances constantly thrown her way. She simply stood there, gazing up at the crucifix at the center of the church.

Today, her father’s name felt more unfamiliar than ever.

“Lord, receive Baek Jinwoong, whom You have called from this world. Grant him eternal happiness…”

That’s Baek Seoyeon, right? Yeah, it is.

The hushed murmurs blended into the solemn atmosphere, merging with the lone crucifix at the altar.

The priest recited the prayer with a grand, almost excessive sorrow. The mourners, dressed like black and white Go stones, all bowed their heads in solemn devotion. Some sniffled, dabbing their tears with handkerchiefs. Camera flashes flickered from all directions, capturing the mourners, her elegant mother, and the cobalt-blue-clad woman in equal measure. The priest cleared his throat as his gaze flickered toward her.

“…May he join the saints in praising You. Through Christ, our Lord, we pray…”

“Amen.”

She stepped forward and placed a hand atop Baek Jinwoong’s casket. A hundred pairs of eyes focused on her in an instant.

For a fleeting moment, she murmured under her breath—

“Good riddance, Dad.”

The 169th camera flash went off.

One particular gaze lingered on her longer than the rest.

—

“You must’ve had a long journey. Thank you for coming, Chairman.”

“No trouble at all. It’s Vice President Baek who has the harder task today. My condolences.”

Wrinkled hands met and parted in a continuous exchange of formalities.

Standing still like a mannequin or a trophy, Seoyeon watched the proceedings in silence. Without bothering to cover her mouth, she let out a loud yawn. More throat-clearing sounds echoed through the hall. A corporate chairman who had been shaking hands with Hyeonju feigned ignorance, coughed lightly, and offered a respectful bow before exiting the church.

Draped in a white dress and veil, Hyeonju looked astonishingly beautiful for a woman in her fifties. Her luminous skin, her thick dark hair, the fine wrinkles that bloomed like delicate flowers—Seoyeon gazed at her mother’s hands as she bid farewell to the next guest.

So these are the hands of a woman who will one day be president.

“My condolences. It must be a difficult time for you.”

“Not at all. Thank you for coming, Chairman.”

“By now, Chairman Baek must be by the Lord’s side. I pray only for blessings upon you moving forward.”

This time, Hyeonju’s hand met that of another corporate chairman.

Unlike the previous guest who had ignored her, this one turned to look directly at Seoyeon, standing apart in cobalt blue.

“Baek Seoyeon, I presume? You must’ve had a rough time.”

His gaze swept over her like a silent tsk, scrutinizing every inch of her figure.

Hyeonju, still bowed in formality, placed a firm hand on Seoyeon’s shoulder. Seoyeon’s brows knitted tightly together.

“Regardless of how difficult it’s been, I don’t think that attire is appropriate for a funeral mass.”

Their gazes clashed, sharp as shattered glass.

Seoyeon stared at the chairman’s wrinkled eyes. A thousand possible responses flickered through her mind in an instant. Should she break it down for him, word by word? Should she deliver a sharp, succinct retort? Or should she simply ignore him?

Then, she smiled.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to wear black to your funeral.”

The chairman’s lips twitched awkwardly.

Behind them, guests who had been whispering about the cobalt-blue dress the entire mass now stole glances in their direction again.

Hyeonju, ever composed, flashed a gentle smile and lightly patted Seoyeon’s arm. Her touch was soft yet firm.

“It’s fine, Chairman. She’s my daughter, after all.”

“Ah, yes… Of course.”

The chairman hastily bowed and exited the church.

Soft funeral hymns echoed through the hall, blending with the hushed murmurs of the guests.

That was the problem. People who loved to talk.

People who would never let go of a story like this—how the family of Korea’s most powerful conglomerate might not actually get along.

“Did you want to look good in the pictures?”

“No. Dad hated blue.”

Hyunju slowly turned her head to look at Seoyeon. It was a picture-perfect movement.

“So, Mother hates blue too.”

As the next mourner approached, Hyunju quickly wiped the expression from her face and replaced it with a smile. Seoyeon, once again feeling like a mannequin, stood beside her and bowed politely. She knew she had to maintain a good impression, especially with the gallery opening soon, but she had no desire to put on a fake smile at a nauseating event like this. Here, she wasn’t Baek Seoyeon—she was simply playing the role of Chairman Baek Jinwoong’s daughter.

Mourners—no, reporters—whispered amongst themselves as they stole glances at Seoyeon and Hyunju. Their chuckles carried a certain smugness, as if they found amusement in the idea that, no matter how rich or powerful a family was, in the end, they were just as messy as everyone else.

Laugh all you want. At least for now, while I’m playing the role of Baek Jinwoong’s daughter. I don’t care if I end up tattered and worn in this role. After all, I’ve long since perfected being this family’s trophy.

“Representative Woo Jaebin.”

A man with a face that felt both familiar and unfamiliar stepped forward. His large hand, marred with scars—burns, cuts, remnants of past wounds—extended toward Hyunju for a handshake. Seoyeon watched as her mother shook hands with him like they had done it a thousand times before. For some reason, this man seemed familiar. Had their eyes met during the mass? No—rather than meeting…

He had trapped her.

Tall and clad in a black suit, he looked like some dark hero—like Batman. Among the people here, he stood in the starkest contrast to her. Seoyeon studied his face intently.

“Woo Jaebin,” he introduced himself simply, handing Seoyeon his business card. Unlike the countless other cards she had received out of mere formality, she felt compelled to actually read this one. A crisp, formal white card. Engraved on it: Woo Jaebin. CEO of Domok.

“You actually came, Representative Woo. I thought you wouldn’t.”

Jaebin’s gaze slowly shifted toward Seoyeon. From her face down to her collarbone, then to her waist—his eyes brushed over her without pretense, like the sharp edge of a blade slicing through the air.

It felt strange. Unsettling. Infuriating.

And erotic.

Very erotic.

Dark.

Sorry for being blunt, but… you’re a bad guy, aren’t you?

Seoyeon swallowed down the words that had risen to the back of her throat.