Jao's motorcycle tore through the early morning haze, engine snarling like a wounded animal. His knuckles were still scraped raw from last night, but his focus was razor-sharp. The cold wind slapped against his face as he sped through the silent outskirts of the city, thoughts burning hotter than the steel beneath him.
Then—
A flicker in the rearview mirror.
One black car.
Then another.
Then another.
One by one, sleek royal vehicles slid onto the road behind him like shadows coming alive. Their windows were tinted pitch-black, no faces visible, only the unmistakable seal of Myun Hyuk's family crest gleaming in the corner of each windshield. It wasn't a chase. It was a declaration.
Jao's jaw clenched.
"So he really sent his dogs."
He squeezed the throttle and the bike burst forward, but the cars only matched his speed—smooth, effortless, hauntingly synchronized. When he took a sharp turn into an abandoned industrial sector, they followed like a flock of vultures closing in on dying prey.
Finally, Jao braked hard and skidded to a stop.
Dust rose around him in a thick, choking cloud.
The cars lined up in a perfect arc, engines humming like a low growl. Doors opened in unison, and men in black suits stepped out—broad shoulders, blank expressions, each holding a baton or a metal pipe.
Jao took off his helmet slowly, letting it drop to the ground with a hollow thud. His lips curled into a fearless smirk.
"So what? Your master too scared to show his face, so he sends you all instead?"
No one answered.
One man stepped forward. A giant—towering, expressionless, thick arms flexing beneath his jacket. He cracked his knuckles once. That was their starting bell.
Jao moved first.
He lunged at the closest man, his fist connecting with the man's jaw so hard the crunch echoed against the empty concrete walls. Another rushed him—Jao twisted, elbowed him in the throat, then kicked another square in the ribs. For a moment, he held his ground, surrounded by swinging arms and clashing metal, but unshaken.
Yet the numbers were too many.
He punched another, but a metal pipe slammed into his back.
He staggered.
A second blow caught him at the side of the head.
His vision blurred.
Still—he spat blood, lifted his chin, and snarled through gritted teeth:
"That bastard Myun Hyuk—"
He staggered forward again—
"—had the guts… to send YOU after me?! He should've come himself if he wanted me dead!"
A boot suddenly slammed down onto his cheek, forcing his face into the dirt. The giant man pressed harder, grinding his heel into Jao's face, making the bones beneath his skin creak.
Jao groaned, breath trembling.
The other men circled him like wolves finally wearing down their prey. His body was beaten, arms trembling, blood dripping from his split eyebrow. The world spun in swirls of red and gray, sound muffled as if underwater.
"That's enough," one man muttered.
"Boss said no evidence left."
Jao barely registered the words.
He felt hands grip his arms and legs—cold, unrelenting. They dragged his limp body across the gravel toward the back of a warehouse where an enormous industrial drum lay open, filled with grimy water. It smelled of rust and old oil.
They lifted him effortlessly.
His head hung.
Blood dripped slowly from his chin.
One man gave a nod.
And they shoved him down into the drum.
Jao's body folded inside with a sickening splash.
Without hesitation, they sealed the heavy metal lid shut—
And rolled the drum toward the pier.
The sound echoed through the open air:
CLANG… CLANG… CLANG…
Each impact colder than the last.
At the edge, they paused only a moment.
Then—
They tipped it over.
And the drum plunged into the dark, icy water below, sinking fast like a stone dragged straight to the depths.
A Few Hours Ago — The Call
The room was dim, the curtains half-drawn, letting in a tired line of afternoon sunlight. Ajin clutched her phone tighter than she intended to, her voice low but shaky.
"Jao… why are you doing all this? Why are you throwing yourself into danger for me?"
For a moment, there was only the sound of traffic behind him—wind rushing past, the distant blare of a horn. Then Jao exhaled, a long, broken, half-laugh.
"Because I don't have anything left, Ajin."
His tone wasn't self-pitying—it was honest, hollow, quiet.
"No career. No future. Nothing to protect. So at least… let me help you with something that matters. Even if that's all I can ever do."
"Jao—"
"Use me, Ajin. If it means helping you out of that monster's cage… then let me be useful for once."
Her lips trembled. She didn't know whether to feel anger, sadness, or guilt. The call ended before she could say another word.
Now — Back at the Dining Table
The clink of silverware against porcelain echoed in the quiet dining hall.
Ajin sat across from Myun Hyuk, her posture straight, her face a perfect mask of serenity. Not even the slight tremor in her eyelashes betrayed the storm brewing inside her. Myun Hyuk didn't touch his food anymore—his gaze had hardened, heavy, sharp.
He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms.
"Do you know how much your friend has been risking?"
His voice was low, calm, almost conversational—but the threat beneath it was unmistakable.
Ajin lifted her eyes, meeting his without hesitation. The air between them tightened.
"And how about we expose you instead?" she replied, tone smooth as silk. "Would you leave me and him alone then?"
Myun Hyuk's smile twitched—caught between amusement and warning.
Ajin didn't wait for him to answer.
With a steady hand, she picked up her phone, tapped the screen, and slid it toward him across the table.
"Watch."
The video began to play.
Rainy pavement. A dark harbor. Myun Hyuk's men—black-suited, expressionless—dragging Jao's limp, bloodied body. The recorded voices were gritty, the audio shaky, but the words cut through the room like blades.
"Boss said no mistakes this time."
"Throw him in. He won't come back up."
"Myun Hyuk doesn't want loose ends."
Then the camera caught it—the moment they shoved the drum into the water, the splash echoing cold through the speakers.
Ajin's eyes never left Myun Hyuk's face.
He watched his own crime unfold in front of him, but his expression never cracked—no guilt, no surprise. Only the calm of a man who had lived too long with blood on his hands.
Ajin tilted her head slightly, a small, mocking smile forming.
"So tell me, Myun Hyuk…
Still want to talk about who's 'risking' more?"
She sat back in her chair, her gaze sharp and unblinking, waiting to see what the monster across from her would do next—
Ajin's words hit the dining room like a blade against glass—quiet, sharp, and impossible to ignore.
Myun-hyuk's pupils thinned, just barely, but Ajin caught the reflex. The tightening of his jaw. The slight lift of his shoulder as he inhaled.
He was rattled.
He just wouldn't show it.
She stepped closer, the phone still in her hand, the paused frame of Jao being thrown into the dark water glowing on the screen like a ghost.
Myun-hyuk swallowed. The sound was faint, but in the heavy silence of the room, it felt like a thunderclap.
Still, he forced a smirk, the kind of cold, arrogant smirk he used whenever he needed to hide panic.
Ajin's eyes, however, carried no fear—only fury wrapped in elegance.
"Well, after this video gets leaked, are you sure your fame and wealth will remain on your side?" she said.
Her voice trembled—not with fear, but with the grief of Jao's death weighing inside her chest like stone.
Myun-hyuk leaned back, laughing—a hollow, mocking sound.
"And how do you plan to expose me with… this? Just a video?"
Ajin didn't flinch. Her expression only darkened, civilized on the surface but carrying a threat underneath.
She rose from her chair, slowly, letting the legs scrape against the floor.
Each step toward him was deliberate, steady, and terrifyingly calm.
"This video is just the beginning, Myun-hyuk."
Her voice was honeyed venom.
"What about your control over your ex-wife? Your secret meetings with Seonghee before you ever met me? Your little plans… the ones even your own family doesn't know about?"
She tilted her head, letting her hair fall forward slightly, shadowing her eyes as she reached him.
"The evidence is here… and the victim—me—is also here."
She stood so close he could smell the faint trace of floral perfume on her skin.
So close his heartbeat lost its rhythm for a second.
Then she smiled—sweet, cruel, and victorious.
"Good luck."
Her hand lifted, fingers sliding along his jaw with deceptive tenderness, gripping it just enough to make him feel the pressure.
"Get ready to face consequences… husband."
She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek—a kiss not of affection, but of warning.
Then she turned and walked out, heels echoing against the marble floor with the authority of someone who had already won.
Here is your expanded scene up to the passage you gave — without continuing the story beyond it.
Everything is expanded in tone, emotion, and detail exactly as your style demands:
Junseo's voice was shaking on the other side of the call, but Ajin only rolled her eyes as she walked down the marble hallway, the phone pressed lazily to her ear. Her heels clicked sharply against the tiles, echoing through the silent palace.
"Do you know that Jao has been killed?" Junseo blurted out, panic roughening every word.
Ajin's lips curled slowly, effortlessly, into a small smile. She swung the phone lightly in her hand, almost amused.
"Mm. Yes, I know," she answered, voice light—almost airy—as if he had told her someone spilled a glass of water.
There was a long silence before Junseo snapped, voice trembling with disbelief,
"…And you still have no guilt?"
Ajin paused for a moment, letting his question hang between them. Her fingers traced the edge of her phone, her smile deepening—not warm, but sharp.
"No," she replied simply, tone crystal clear. "Whatever. It's not my fault, is it?"
Junseo inhaled sharply. "Ajin—"
"He was the one who told me to use him," Ajin cut in. "He said it himself. To use him however I wanted."
She spoke with an unnervingly calm confidence, not a hint of regret in her voice.
"So whether he dies or survives… that's his own wish, isn't it?"
Her smile grew as she stepped outside into the sunlight, the breeze brushing past her hair as if celebrating her cruelty.
On the other side of the call, Junseo nearly growled, voice tight.
"Ajin… now let's stop this. Please. This will be the end of your games, right?"
He paused, waiting—hoping—desperate.
"This is the end, right?" he repeated, voice cracking.
Ajin's expression darkened. Her jaw tightened, her eyes gleaming with a silent fury and obsession.
"No," she murmured, her tone sinking into something cold and deadly.
"This is not the end. And I'm not going to stop."
Before he could say another word, she pressed her thumb to the screen.
Call Ended.
The beep echoed into the quiet air as Ajin lowered the phone, a crooked smile spreading across her lips—determined, fearless, unstoppable.