Seoul never slept. It pulsed—restless, bright, and drowning in noise—yet somewhere high above that chaos, a single window glowed in quiet defiance. Behind it stood Yoon Taehyun, eighteen years old, leaning against the cold glass of his penthouse as the city breathed beneath him. His eyes reflected the lights like they were something distant, something he was never fully part of.
To the world, he was a second-year student in an ordinary high school. To the underground, he was the cold-blooded prodigy who had clawed his way up into becoming the leader of Crew #7, the Silver Serpents—one of the twenty-one major crews that controlled Seoul's underbelly. A contradiction walking in human skin.
His phone buzzed once. A message from his only confidant, third-year senior Jang Hoyeol—the only person who knew the two faces Taehyun wore.
Hoyeol: "Garam Street situation's gone. Clean."
Taehyun stared for a moment, then pocketed his phone. No reply. Hoyeol didn't need one.
He crossed the penthouse, passing the pool of moonlight falling over weapons on the table, money bags left half-open, and the emblem of the Silver Serpents carved into metal—a serpent coiled around a dagger. Before he stepped into the elevator hidden behind a sliding bookshelf, he paused for a breath, letting the cold mask fall over him again. By the time the elevator doors opened into the basement parking lot, the ghost of Seoul had disappeared, leaving behind just another student with a cheap black hoodie and a face unreadable even to himself.
A short walk later, he unlocked his actual living space—a cramped, single-room apartment with peeling wallpaper and the faint smell of instant noodles. It was intentionally pathetic. A perfect cover. No one questioned a boy living alone in a place like this. No one looked at him twice. Here, there was no leather chair, no walls of monitors, no underground empire humming beneath his feet.
He dropped onto the thin mattress, staring up at the ceiling fan that whirred like it was struggling to stay alive. The silence pressed on him, almost comforting. This place didn't demand anything. Didn't expect anything. Didn't ask him to lead, or fight, or scare people into respecting him. Here, he could pretend for a few hours that he was just a student with homework and late-night snacks.
But sleep didn't come easily. It never did. His mind replayed the day—the way enemies bowed because they feared him, the way classmates smiled because they didn't know him, and the way Hoyeol's voice kept him grounded between two worlds he was forced to live in.
Taehyun exhaled slowly, closing his eyes.
Another day survived.
Another lie protected.
Another night without peace.
He hoped, silently, foolishly, for one thing:
Tomorrow, just let it be the same. No surprises. No complications.
And with that last weary thought, the city outside blurred, the neon softened, and sleep finally dragged him under.
Across the city, however—unknown to him—a late-night bus hissed to a stop. A girl stepped off, adjusting her bag strap, her hair catching the streetlights as she scanned the unfamiliar roads. Her name was Naie, though no one here knew her yet. She carried secrets in her silence, fear in the way she held her breath every few minutes, and a strange, fragile hope that this school—this new place—might let her start over.
She had no idea a ghost walked those halls.
He had no idea she was coming.
But Seoul, in its twisted way, had already decided their fates would collide.