Page 116 of Marked By Him

At the end of the hall is the solid dark-stained oak door. I stride for it, twisting the knob to open the Baekho-je’s office.

In other words,mine.

The space is almost like a new place entirely. Gone are the gaudy embellishments Jae-hyun had prized himself on. The giant massage chair has been disposed of. The same can be said for the oversized television that once played pornographic films nonstop. The hefty selection of liquor bottles has been removed for a sleek minibar with more refined taste.

Everything that was once a signifier of Jae-hyun is only a memory.

I respected him once. When I was a young Hubae working my way up the totem pole, Jae-hyun was a sharp and relentless Ho-gwi. He was the captain that served as my mentor for years. Then, when he eventually rose to become Baekho-je, I respected his rank.

But I knew what a terrible leader he was.

He was a man controlled by emotion. He was someone who put his vices above all else.

Since I’ve taken over, I’ve sought to bring prestige back to the syndicate. I’ve focused on qualities like honor and discipline, following the way of the Baekho white tiger himself.

It wasn’t easy. When I first pursued the throne, many of the others objected. Several old, craggy lieutenants felt it was their turn in line to rule. They challenged me, and I rose to the occasion each and every time. I fought to secure Baekho-je, proving that no one else was fit to take the lead. I deserved the crown.

I cross the large room to the desk I’ve put by the window and slide into my seat. It’s not easy being the leader, but I’ve dedicated myself to the role. I’ve ruled with an iron fist to ensure that we maintain our reach across Busan and even expanded into other territories.

A sharp knock disrupts the quiet; two measured raps against the heavy wood.

“Enter,” I command from where I’m seated.

The door swings inward and Park Min-gyu strides inside with the kind of tight, coiled energy he’s never bothered to disguise.

He’s tall and slim, with a gangly neck that almost appears stretched out. He’s shaven the sides of his head, sporting a tapered mohawk style. Judging by the splatter of blood on his dark clothes and the fresh gash on his temple, he’s had an interesting night.

He marches to the desk without hesitation and bows his head once in greeting.

“Report from Haeundae, sir,” he rasps. “The Bulgeomhoe made another move. Tried to creep past the boundary line near the beachfront, same as last time.”

I lean back into the chair, the leather creaking faintly under my weight. “And what happened then?” I ask in a firm tone.

“They didn’t get far,” Min-gyu answers. His mouth twitches into something that isn’t quite a smile. “There was a firefight. Their crew against ours. It got messy. We dropped two of theirs. The rest scattered like rats.”

I nod slowly, the motion small but deliberate, my mind already unfurling the situation like a map.

For a year now, the Bulgeomhoe have been a thorn in our side. A real pain in the ass. They’ve remained our fiercest rivals, refusing to adhere to territory lines and past agreements. They plotted with Seung-min to sabotage me and the rest of the Baekho. We’ve been forced to remind them again and again of their place.

Something we’ll do so long as they’re delusional enough to need it. They may not have learned yet. But they will.

I’m no Kim Jae-hyun. I act decisively and ruthlessly, doing whatever is in the best interest of the Baekho Pa. They’ll either fall into line or be buried by our hand.

I glance up at Min-gyu, who stands rigid like a soldier awaiting orders.

“Gather a crew,” I say calmly. “Head to their weapons warehouse. Burn it to the ground.”

Min-gyu’s mouth splits into a grin—sharp, feral, and eager—and he nods with a crack of his neck. He’s the kind of solider I appreciate most. Deferential where it matters, and eager to please and work their way up.

“It'll be done within twenty-four hours.” He pivots on his heel with military precision and marches out of the room without another word.

The heavy door clicks shut behind him, sealing the quiet back around me.

I rise from the desk, the movement slow and deliberate, and turn once more toward the window.

Below, the street is bustling even at this late hour. The entire city is like that, alive and pulsing even through the night.

It’s when we accomplish the most as a syndicate. The Baekho Pa thrives in the dark.

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