In the shadowed corridors of the Korean Government Headquarters, Minister of Defense Jae-hoon Lee convened a covert meeting under the guise of a routine security briefing. The room was sealed, mana-jamming fields humming to prevent eavesdropping, as a select group of aides and military strategists gathered around a holographic display of Neo-Seoul. Red markers highlighted Min-jun Park's home, school, and recent conflict sites, pulsing like warning signals. "The boy is a liability," Jae-hoon declared, his fire affinity flickering in his eyes. "The SDF met him first, put a hold on him for observation, but they can't recruit yet—he's underage, not even 18. As a civilian, he's bound by our laws, not their special exemptions."
An aide nodded, pulling up SDF reports. "Lukas Braun's team is watching him closely, Minister. If we move directly, the SDF could intervene, claiming international peacekeeping jurisdiction."
Jae-hoon's lips curled into a calculated smile. "Then we don't move directly. We use proxies. Black Lotus is already hunting Black Heart potentials; whisper to their contacts about Park's family. Stage an attack on his home—make it look organic. But include civilians in the mix. Hired thugs disguised as innocents, caught in the crossfire. Knowing the boy's personality—cool-headed until his family's threatened—he'll snap, awaken that Black Heart rage. If he kills civilians, even accidentally, we have grounds to arrest him under civilian mana misuse laws. Drones for footage, reporters on standby. If the SDF tries to cover it up, we expose them as overreaching."
The plan was set in motion with chilling efficiency: anonymous tips funneled to Black Lotus remnants, civilians (paid actors or coerced pawns) embedded among the attackers. The government aimed to trap Min-jun in a web of his own power, forcing him into a corner where control slipped, and gore-stained evidence sealed his fate.
That night, under a moonless sky, Min-jun returned home exhausted from the day's chaos. His father, Tae-hoon, tinkered in the garage, his raw force mana humming as he welded parts. Ji-yeon and Dong-woo were inside, Ji-yeon practicing her spark affinity with harmless lights, Dong-woo drawing quietly. Min-jun's mind whirled with Aiko's warnings and Soo-jin's lingering gaze at school, where she'd blushed through another study invite. Ji-hoon had texted, offering to crash over: "Dude, with all this cartel crap, I'm your backup. Kinetic bursts ready." Min-jun had declined, not wanting to drag his friend deeper, but Ji-hoon's childhood pact weighed on him—the promise to stop Min-jun if the Black Heart ever consumed him.
Aiko had slipped him a note: "Meet tomorrow. Eclipse Collective can help." Romance flickered in her words, but trust was fragile.
The attack came without warning. Windows shattered as Black Lotus operatives burst in, mana flares illuminating the night. Five assailants—fire-wielders, telekinetics, and acid-drippers—stormed the living room, but among them were two "civilians": a wide-eyed woman clutching a fake ID and a young man posing as a neighbor, both planted by the government to escalate the stakes.
Tae-hoon roared, blasting the first intruder with a force wave that crushed his chest, ribs cracking in a gory spray. Blood splattered the walls as the thug collapsed, gurgling. Ji-yeon screamed, her sparks igniting curtains, while Dong-woo hid under the table.
Min-jun's heart raced, his cool-headed nature kicking in. "Dad, get the kids out!" he shouted, shadows coiling like vengeful serpents. He engaged a telekinetic, Jeet Kune Do strikes amplified by mana, snapping the man's arm with a wet pop, bone protruding through skin. But the "civilian" woman stumbled into the fray, feigning terror, positioning herself in Min-jun's path.
The acid-dripper targeted Ji-yeon, corrosive spray hissing toward her. Rage boiled—memories of his mother's murder flashing—and the Black Heart flipped. Eyes blackening, shadows exploded in a frenzy, tendrils lashing out. The acid thug was eviscerated first, guts spilling in a steaming pile as shadows tore through his abdomen. The telekinetic followed, head severed in a crimson arc, rolling across the floor.
But the planted civilian—the woman—threw herself forward, as scripted, into the shadow storm. A tendril grazed her, slashing her arm deeply, blood fountaining as she screamed, "Help! He's killing innocents!" The young man joined, "Stop, please!"—but Min-jun, teetering on insanity's edge, fought to reel it back. His thoughtful core screamed: Control! Shadows retracted just in time, sparing their lives, but the damage was done—wounds gushing, the scene a blood-soaked nightmare.
Outside, government drones hummed overhead, capturing every gory detail: Black Heart rage, "civilian" casualties. Reporters, tipped off, lurked nearby, cameras ready to broadcast if the SDF interfered.
SDF vehicles screeched up, Lukas Braun leading the charge. "Park, stand down!" he bellowed, wind powers dispersing the shadows. But as operatives secured the site, government agents arrived, badges flashing. "This is a civilian matter," one declared. "Black Heart assault on non-combatants. He's under arrest."
Min-jun, heart normalizing, stood amid the carnage, blood dripping from his hands. His family huddled behind him, terrified. Aiko appeared from the shadows, having followed a hunch, her eyes wide. Ji-hoon burst in moments later, kinetic bursts ready, his smart eyes assessing the trap.
The government had played their hand—Min-jun's fate now a tug-of-war between SDF protection and state control, with reporters' flashes illuminating the night.