The sun poured through the curtains like warm tea, slow and lazy. The Kim house hummed with quiet chaos: footsteps, clinking dishes, the distant shuffle of someone searching for a missing sock. Everyone was leaving for school or work—everyone except one.
"Jayoung! Jayoung! I told you not to watch movies so late!" Mrs. Kim's voice bounced off the door, slipper raised in exaggerated threat.
"Just five more minutes, mama…" a muffled voice answered.
Mr. Kim smiled and shook his head. "Don't worry. I'll go wake her."
He eased the door open. "J—wake up! J… hey, J!"
"Papa… ten more minutes…" Jayoung's voice floated up from under blankets.
"No," he teased, laughter in his tone. "You promised last night. Remember?"
"Yeah… yeah, I remember," she mumbled, face hidden.
Jayoung!" Mrs. Kim shouted from the hallway. "I'm coming with my slipper!"
"Okay, okay! I'm up!" Jayoung tumbled out of bed, hair a mess, eyes barely open. Mr. Kim doubled over laughing.
"Papa—don't laugh at me," she said, cheeks pink.
"Why not? I woke you with love," he answered, grinning. "Brush your teeth and come eat."
Fifteen minutes later she slid into the kitchen, still blinking. Mr. Kim leaned in and kissed the top of her head. "Good morning, my princess."
"And my queen," he added to his wife with a wink. Mrs. Kim beamed and nudged Jayoung. "Eat. You're getting late. I'll drop you at school today."
Jayoung brightened. "Really? But your case—"
"Court's at ten. I can drop you and still make it," he said. "Hurry up."
At the gate, Lee Minji waved and shouted, "Bye, uncle! Good luck!" The two girls chattered all the way to class. Laughter, teasing, the small dramas of school—then the quiet dread of a popped balloon: "Test today," Do Soi said with a thump on the desk.
"What? Test?" Jayoung's mouth opened and closed. Minji smiled smugly. "I messaged you last night. Don't worry—you can copy from me."
Math. Jayoung tried to breathe.
Across town, Mr. Kim's car hummed along the road. The morning light was kind; the radio played something mellow. His phone buzzed—an unknown number. He glanced at it, thumb hovering.
"Hello? Who is this?" he asked.
A voice came back—low, amused. "The secret dies with you… hahahaha."
The laugh was a splinter of ice down his spine. He frowned and tightened his grip on the wheel. The street blurred for a second as a small figure darted across the road—no warning, only sudden movement.
He swerved.
Everything screamed: metal, glass, the smell of burnt rubber. The world flipped into a single, bright moment of wrong.
Hands pulled, voices shouted. Someone cradled his head; someone else fumbled for his wallet and phone. Mr. Kim's lips moved. "Ja… Jayoung…" The syllables were torn, urgent, impossible to hold.
An old man found the numbers and dialed the first: his wife.
Mrs. Kim's hand shook as the phone rang. "Honey? What happened—" Her voice cut off when the answer came: your husband—accident—hospital—come quickly.
She ran with the kind of speed fear gives a body.
At the hospital they worked like machines, faces composed until they weren't. The doctor's words fell like a falling curtain: "We did everything, but—"
No." The sound tore out of Jayoung like a raw, animal thing. Her legs folded and she slid down the corridor until she hit cold tile. The world had no edges anymore. Her mother's arms wrapped around her as if they could hold the impossible back.
"This can't be real," Jayoung whispered, voice breaking. Her mind refused to accept what her ears told her.
Outside, whispers found the internet and ran: Kim Josuk—respected lawyer—dead. Some posts said suicide. Others spread rumors; one or two suggested the accident was staged. The web consumed grief and coughed out gossip.
Jayoung's chest constricted until air felt like a foreign substance. Her father had been stubborn, loyal, silly—never weak enough to choose to die. He would never leave them by choice.
A single memory punched through—his last words, clipped, frantic into the phone before it fell quiet: "I love you. Take care of Jayoung." And the caller's voice, rough and cold: "The secret dies with you."
Anger came slow and then hot, pushing through the grief like a blade. Someone had wanted him gone. The brakes that failed; the driver who ran; the taunting voice on the phone—pieces that didn't fit by accident.
Jayoung pressed her palms to her eyes until spots burst behind her lids. When she opened them, the world seemed sharper, somehow cleaned by pain. The helplessness that hung like a wet cloth was replaced with a thin, bright line of intent.
He would not be another quiet tragedy swallowed by rumor. She closed her fist until the knuckles burned and whispered into the raw wound of her chest, "I'll find who did this. I'll make them pay."
No one answered; no one promised. But the promise curled in her like heat. Grief and fury braided together, and for the first time since the crash she could imagine a path—not back to what was, but forward into something that might be justice.
Outside the hospital a thousand small lives continued—the drip of rain on windows, the distant honk, the banal hum of the city—but inside Jayoung, something had woken. It was sharp, hungry, and utterly relentless.
She stood.
"Let's go," she said to her mother, voice steady enough that even she could believe it.
They left the corridor, and the story that had been a single morning split open into a dozen questions. Someone had planned this morning. Someone had pulled a string.
And Jayoung, who had been a sleepy girl at breakfast, slipped into the role that grief makes possible: the one who refuses to forget.
Mr. Kim's wallet and phone were cold in her hands. The old man who'd given them to her — solemn, silent — had left without another word. For a moment Jayoung stood frozen on the sidewalk, breath coming in short, jagged gasps.
"Wait—where are you going? How do you have my dad's wallet?" she cried, clutching the leather as if it might crumble. Her voice broke. "Tell me!"
(Hach—hach—haaah—)
Her mother hovered by the doorway, one hand pressed over the other's mouth as if to stop the sobs from spilling out. She was trying so hard to look composed for Jayoung's sake; the corners of her eyes were wet but she blinked fast and looked away. Losing her husband had already hollowed something out of her — now she forced herself to be strong because she couldn't lose her daughter too.
After they reached home, Jayoung shoved the wallet and phone into her school bag and let the business of grief swallow her — the funeral arrangements, the strange condolences muttered in polite tones, the small, practical tasks that make a life feel like it still exists. She told her uncle to call the police and ask for updates on her father's case. He promised he would.
[Soundtrack cue: a slow build — cello and distant timpani]
A few weeks later, after the funeral dust had settled into the corners of their apartment, the phone in Jayoung's bag started to scream.
Beeeeeep—beeeeep—beep.
She fumbled for it. "Minji?" she answered, voice thin.
Jayoung, did you… did you see the news?" Minji's voice was sharp over the line. "Turn on the TV, now."
Jayoung switched on the television. The anchor's face was a smooth mask over words that felt like knives.
Headline: Police close the JOSUK case — ruled a suicide. Park Minjo, acquitted in recent court proceedings and a prominent figure in local industry, appealed for calm and respect for the family.
Jayoung stared. The pieces didn't fit. Her hands started to shake. "They closed it? They called it a suicide?" She laughed — a sound that was mostly pain. "No. No, he couldn't—my father wouldn't—"
Her mother caught her arm. "Calm down," she whispered, voice small. "We have to stay—"
How can they close it like this?" Jayoung snapped, barely keeping the words from turning into a scream. "Park Minjo? That man's tied up in drug cases — he can't just—" She swallowed.
"You're a child," her mother said, not unkindly. "You can't—"
"I won't just wait and cry," Jayoung said, jaw set. "I'll get him justice. I promise."
Minji's voice came back soft on the line. "Are you and Aunty okay?"
"Yeah. We're okay." Jayoung forced the lie because it was easier than admitting she felt small and lost. "I'll be fine. Don't worry."
When the call ended, Jayoung dragged her fingers through her hair and headed to her room. She needed to get ready for school tomorrow, to do something normal. She unzipped her bag to pull out a notebook — and the wallet slid free, landing on the bed like a heavy, accusing thing.
She opened it on a slow breath. Among the receipts and a plastic card there was a folded note in her father's handwriting.
Hey Jayoung, my princess — go to my study and open the third drawer on the right side of my desk. There's a USB. Check it.
Her heart slammed. She didn't stop to think; she ran.
[Sound effect: hurried footsteps up the stairs, heartbeat overlapping]
The study smelled faintly of her father's cologne and paper. Her hands moved with a kind of holy panic as she found the desk and counted the drawers — one, two, three — and there it was, a cheap plastic USB thumb drive. Her fingers trembled as she plugged it into her laptop.
A video file appeared. She clicked it.
The screen blinked. Her father's face filled the frame — tired, grave, but his eyes found hers through the camera. For a second she couldn't breathe. He began to speak in the soft, steady voice she'd heard at bedtime for as long as she could remember.
"Jayoung," he said. "If you're watching this, it means things have gone wrong. I can't explain everything now, but you must know the truth. Don't trust what they say on the news. There are people — powerful people — who will try to close this. If anything happens to me… you must find the things I kept hidden. I put them where only you could find them. Be careful. And please — promise me you'll be brave."
The video cut to black
[Soundtrack cue: silence, then a single, high piano note that hangs like a question.]
Jayoung sat very still, the laptop's glow painting her face in blue. Justice had just shifted from a distant idea to a path she would have to walk alone. The room felt suddenly too small for all the rage and grief inside her.
She pressed her fist to the desk until her knuckles ached and whispered, "I promise."
Outside, a siren wailed in the night — the city keeping time with decisions made in rooms where no one would ever see them.
At the school gate, Minji was waiting, twirling her phone and smirking.
"Hey, Jayoung! Over here!"
Jayoung adjusted her cap. "You ready?"
"Of course. So, what's the plan? When are we going?"
"When? We're going now."
Minji's eyes widened. "Wait… are we bunking school?"
Jayoung nodded firmly.
Minji laughed. "Oh, this is gonna be fun! You really need a break. Maybe this'll help you forget about all that heavy stuff for a while."
But Jayoung's silence said otherwise. Her eyes carried something deeper — something she wasn't ready to share.
After the last school bell echoed through the halls, Jayong's day didn't end like everyone else's.
While her classmates packed their bags, laughing about the latest dramas and crushes, she slipped quietly out the back gate, hoodie up, bag slung low.
Her real destination wasn't home.
It was Rhythm of Revenge, a place that only whispered names dared to mention — a hidden training ground deep beneath an abandoned music warehouse, owned by the Kim Mafia clan.
The concrete floor smelled of sweat and gun oil. A punching bag swung slowly, echoing the rhythm of fists that once struck it.
In the center stood Mr. Choi Min-kook, his sharp gaze locked on her the moment she stepped in.
Late again, Jayong," his deep voice rumbled.
"I— I had school," she stammered.
He threw her a towel. "Then drop it. You can't serve two masters at once — books or blood."
She wiped her face, her heart pounding.
"School… is just my cover. My real lesson starts here."
A faint smile tugged at his lips. "Good. Then let's begin."
Training with Mr. Choi was never easy.
He trained her like a soldier, not a student —
mornings of bare-knuckle sparring, afternoons spent learning coded messages, nights mastering rhythm-based strikes — fighting to the beat, killing to the tempo.
He called it "The Dance of Shadows."
She called it survival.
Sometimes she skipped entire days of class — textbooks forgotten, hands bruised, knuckles bleeding.
The teachers thought she was "sick."
They had no idea she was learning how to dismantle a grown man twice her size.
One night, when rain battered the warehouse roof, Jayong collapsed after missing a punch.
Mr. Choi stood over her silently, water dripping from his coat.
"You think the world will go easy on you just because you're tired?"
She groaned, forcing herself up. "No, sir."
"Then prove it. Again."
Her fist met the target — harder, faster, stronger.
Pain became rhythm. Rhythm became power.
And in that rhythm, Jaffa Jayong was born.
Not the sleepy girl from school…
but the shadow who would one day bring vengeance wrapped in melody.
"Yeah, Mom, I have an exam today," Jayoung said, slinging her school bag over her shoulder.
Mrs. Kim eyed her suspiciously.
"Why are you acting so strange this morning? You're actually early."
Jayoung gave a faint smile. "Just feeling motivated, that's all."
"Okay… but wait! Who's dropping you off?"
"Minji!"
Mrs. Kim blinked. "Oh, that girl again?"
Jayoung nodded quickly. "Yeah, yeah—bye Mom!" She rushed out before another question could catch her.
Mrs. Kim watched her go through the window, sighing softly. "It's been a while since I've seen her like this… I hope she's really fine."
Outside, Minji was leaning against the school gate, chewing gum with a mischievous grin.
"Jayoung! Over here!"
Jayoung walked up, adjusting her cap low over her face.
So," Minji whispered, "what's the plan? When are we going?"
"When? Right now," Jayoung replied quietly.
Minji's eyes widened. "Wait, are we actually bunking school?"
"Yeah, of course. You said you wanted to see what I've been up to."
"Ohhh, this is gonna be fun!" Minji giggled, trying to lighten the mood. But Jayoung's expression stayed serious — too serious for a teenage prank
The girls reached the edge of an old, half-abandoned district — rusted gates, walls marked with faded graffiti, and a strange stillness in the air.
Minji slowed down. "Uh… are you sure this is the right place?"
Jayoung didn't answer. She pushed open a steel door that creaked loudly — creeekkk… craaack…
Inside, dim lights flickered. The faint thump of music echoed from below — Rhythm of Revenge, the secret training ground of the Mafia community.
A tall man in a black coat stepped forward, his presence heavy, like thunder rolling through a quiet sky.
"Look who finally decided to show up," he said, his voice deep and calm. "You're Kim Jayoung… Kim Josuk's daughter, right?"
Jayoung straightened, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Yeah. And you're Mr. Choi Min-kook, right?"
He gave a faint, knowing smirk. "You know who I am. Good. I figured you'd come eventually."
His eyes then shifted to Minji, sharp and calculating. "And who's this?"
She's my friend… Minji," Jayoung replied steadily.
The man's gaze lingered on Jayoung, as if measuring her weight in the world. Then, without another word, he turned and walked ahead. Jayoung followed, heart racing—but not with fear. With determination
The training room was dim, filled with the faint scent of sweat and old leather. The sound of fists hitting pads echoed like distant thunder.
"First," he said, tossing her a pair of weighted gloves, "you learn control. Strength without control is useless."
Jayoung caught the gloves, sliding her hands into them with precision. She crouched, shadowing her stance, eyes sharp as daggers.
He raised a pair of training sticks. "Attack. Fast. Accurate. Every movement counts. Every second matters."
And so it began.
Jayoung came here every day. After school, after finishing her homework, after skipping classes when she had to—she would be here, honing her body, sharpening her reflexes. Hours blurred into hours. Pain flared in her shoulders and arms, but she pushed through it all, letting determination fuel her every strike.
"Again!" he barked, voice cutting through the room like lightning.
Finally, he lowered the sticks and studied her. "Not bad. You've got fire, but fire alone won't win this. You'll need discipline… patience… and cunning. That's enough for today. You can leave."
Jayoung froze. Then, slowly, she stepped forward, voice low but fierce.
No," she said. Her eyes burned with intensity. "I'm not leaving. I'll go with you. And I won't let you just… let me go like this. I want in. I'll prove it, every single day if I have to."
Choi Min-kook's eyes narrowed, scanning her face. The fire in her gaze was unlike anything he had seen in years. Aggressive, unyielding, and… capable.
He leaned back slightly, a faint smirk forming. "So… you have the eyes of someone who can lead," he murmured to himself, more to her than to anyone.
Jayoung didn't flinch. She didn't blink. She simply stared back, unwavering.
The city outside the training room glimmered as night fell. Somewhere deep in the shadows, a new story was beginning—and it had her name written all over it.
CHAPTER 1 ENDED