The Black Market was buried so deep underground that even regret wouldn't come looking for you here.
Flickering yellow lights hummed overhead, hanging from cracked, damp ceilings. The stalls were packed tight—rows of illegal tech, stacks of fake passports, and antique watches that definitely hadn't been in a museum yesterday. The air was thick, smelling of old metal, bitter coffee, and heavy secrets.
Junseo hated the smell. I tolerated the noise. Byung? Byung loved every second of it.
Our old friend sat behind a narrow, scarred wooden counter. He was hunched forward like a vulture, a magnifying glass pressed to his eye. The diamond we'd nearly died for rested in his palm, catching the dim light as if it were mocking the grimy room.
Byung hummed softly. It was a low, greedy sound.
"Clean cut," he muttered, tilting the gem. "No fractures. No internal damage. It's… pristine."
Junseo leaned his elbows on the counter, bouncing on his heels. "So? Stop falling in love with it and say the number already."
Byung finally looked up. His eyes were cold and professional. "This," he said calmly, "is the best price you're going to get."
He slid a small scrap of paper across the counter.
Junseo glanced at the number—and nearly hit the ceiling.
"What?!" He slapped the wood so hard the magnifying glass jumped. "Are you serious?
Do you know what we went through? High-security lasers, professional guards, and four dogs that wanted to turn my legs into chew toys! Add a few more zeros, Byung, or we're done."
Byung scoffed, leaning back in his creaky chair.
"Kid," he said, sounding unimpressed. "Only I'm offering you this much. Anyone else in this market will see two desperate thieves and offer you half. If you're lucky."
Junseo opened his mouth to argue, but Byung held up a hand.
"My boy, you know how this world works.
Clean jobs don't exist. And clean money?
That's a fairy tale."
I stayed quiet, watching the way Byung's eyes kept darting back to the diamond. He wanted it more than he was letting on.
I stood up. The movement was slow, intentional. Byung's eyes followed me as I reached over, picked up the diamond, and closed my fist around it. The warmth I'd felt in the forest was still there, buzzing against my palm.
"Okay," I said, my voice flat. "Then we'll hold onto it."
Byung's hand shot out like a spring.
"Whoa—Seolwol! Wait," he said quickly, grabbing my wrist before I could pull back.
"We're old friends. Why the drama, huh?"
I met his gaze. I didn't blink. I didn't move. "If that's your final offer, it wasn't worth the sweat we lost."
The silence stretched between us, filled only by the distant sound of someone arguing over a crate of stolen rifles. Finally, Byung clicked his tongue and sighed dramatically, as if I'd broken his heart.
"Fine. Fine!" he muttered, reaching for his pen. "I'll give you the 'Brotherhood Discount.' Happy?"
Junseo's grin returned instantly. "See? Was that so hard?"
Byung shot him a dirty look and slid a new paper across. It was enough. Not "retire on a private island" enough, but "live comfortably for a year" enough.
I released the diamond.
Junseo grabbed the heavy bag of cash, flipping through the stacks like he was counting candy. "Pleasure doing business, Byung. Don't spend it all in one place."
We didn't stay. In our line of work, staying meant talking, and talking meant getting caught. We turned and walked out, disappearing into the maze of flickering lights and shadows.
Only when we were outside—where the air was colder and the city noise was a distant hum—did Junseo finally let out a long breath.
"Hyung," he said, hugging the bag of money to his chest. "Tell me again why we don't just retire to a quiet farm and grow carrots?"
I glanced over my shoulder. The street was empty, but the hair on my arms was standing up. Something felt… off.
"Because," I replied, my eyes scanning the dark alleyways, "peace never lasts for people like us."
Behind us, somewhere in the darkness, a pair of footsteps slowed. They matched our pace perfectly. My spine tightened.
I leaned closer to Junseo and whispered, "Someone's tailing us."
His shoulders stiffened. "Don't look?"
"Don't look."
Junseo swallowed hard. "You think they're after the money… or the diamond we just sold?"
I didn't answer right away. I looked at the way the streetlights hit the wet pavement. "We're about to find out."
We kept walking. Same lazy pace. Same fake confidence. Just two guys heading home after a long night. But when we hit a crowded intersection where vendors were shouting and people were pushing past, we made our move.
We vanished.
Two seconds later, three men in dark hoodies stopped short in the middle of the crowd. Their eyes scanned the street wildly.
"What the—where'd they go?" one hissed, his hand reaching into his jacket for something heavy.
That's when Junseo stepped out from a side alley, looking bored.
"Yah," he muttered just loud enough for them to hear, adjusting his jacket. "I swear this bag gets heavier every time I walk."
The hook was set. They bit.
The three men followed Junseo as he dove into a narrow maze of brick walls. He moved fast, weaving through the turns until the group was forced to split up—two chasing him, one hesitating behind to guard the exit.
That was my cue.
The last man turned around—and walked straight into my chest.
I grabbed his collar and slammed him against the brick wall. The sound of his breath leaving his lungs was the only noise in the alley.
"Looks like we've got company," I said. My voice was a low growl.
The other two rushed back, realizing their mistake. No more games. One swung a wild hook at my face. I ducked, the punch whistling over my head, and twisted his arm.
I felt the joint groan. I didn't break it—not yet—but I made sure he felt the price of following me.
"Who sent you?" I asked, dodging a second strike from the leader.
No answer. Just a glare of pure hatred.
Junseo appeared behind the third man, looping an arm around his neck in a messy chokehold. "Hyung," he gasped, "they're rude. Not even a 'hello' or 'please give me the money.'"
The man elbowed Junseo hard in the ribs.
Junseo stumbled back, coughing and swearing.
That snapped something in me. I've always hated violence. It's messy, it's loud, and it's unprofessional. But when someone touches my brother, the rules change.
I stepped forward, my movements becoming sharp and cold.
A snap-kick to the lead man's knee. A heavy palm to his throat—just enough to steal his breath. The last one came at me with a folding knife. I caught his wrist mid-air, twisted, and slammed his head into the brick.
He slid to the ground like a ragdoll.
Silence returned to the alley, heavy and suffocating.
Junseo bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for air. "Aish… hyung. You okay?"
I checked my knuckles. "I'm fine."
"They didn't talk," Junseo added, looking at the unconscious men. "They didn't even try to rob us. They just… attacked."
Which meant the situation was much worse than a simple mugging.
"They weren't freelancers," I said, looking at the leader's tattoo—a small, faded mark on his neck. "They were sent."
Junseo's joking tone finally died. "Byung?
Did he sell us out?"
"No." I shook my head. "Byung is a greedy snake, but he's not sloppy. These guys were looking for something."
We stood there for a second, the city noise creeping back in. Junseo adjusted his jacket and tried to force a smile. "You know… for a guy who hates hitting people, you're terrifying when you're angry."
"Don't spread rumors," I replied, already walking away. "Let's go."
We left the alley before the police or the "cleaners" could arrive. Behind us, the bodies stayed still in the shadows.
And somewhere deeper in the city, a phone was ringing. Someone was reporting back that the Kim brothers were much more than just simple thieves.