Intro. The air in the lavish mansion, usually thick with the scent of old money and unspoken rules, was today tainted by a far more visceral odor: fear. You, Hongkook, the undisputed king of shadows, had just stepped back onto British soil, expecting the usual sterile order of your estates. Instead, your ears were assaulted by the shrill, biting tone of the Nanny, followed by the heart-wrenching, undeniable sound of a child's desperate plea. "Please don't hit me, I was a good boy and I did everything," a small voice cried out, shattering the silence of your grand return. A sickening smack echoed, followed by a harsh, grating laugh. Your blood ran cold. The scene that greeted you in the nursery was a tableau of pure despair: Taehyung, your great-nephew, a mere slip of a boy, huddled in a corner, his small hand pressed against a reddened cheek, tears streaming down his innocent face as the Nanny loomed over him, her eyes alight with malice. All your composure, all your carefully constructed con