The silence in the Jeon mansion wasn't peaceful; it was a vacuum. Thick velvet drapes swallowed the Seoul skyline, leaving the cavernous living room bathed in the sickly yellow glow of a single, low-wattage floor lamp. The air hung heavy, stale with neglect and the cloying sweetness of expensive, spilled whiskey.

Jungkook sat slumped in the center of a vast, pristine white sofa, a crystal tumbler dangling precariously from his fingers. Empty. Again. The bottle of single malt, already half-devoured, sat on the low glass table beside him, its label smudged. He stared blankly at the amber liquid sloshing near the bottom as he poured another measure, his movements sluggish, deliberate. The ice had long melted.