TMFS Chapter 5 (Part 3)

LONG CHAPTER AHEAD

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To stop things from spiraling.

He looked at Yoon, his gaze quiet and heavy.

It had already been three weeks since he’d properly checked on her.

When Yoon had been assigned to the new district, Lucas had laid down strict rules.

Once the job was done, check your body.

If there’s an injury, don’t ignore it—get it treated.

Don’t lie and say you’re fine.

He’d spent over an hour lecturing her, like a parent scolding a reckless child.

Honestly, even then, he hadn’t expected her to listen.

Yoon had never once checked herself after being hurt.
And she had never cared enough to get treated.

But sometimes—when she stood there, blood dripping from her like it was nothing—

Lucas felt a despair so deep, he couldn’t even begin to describe it.

Yoon’s disregard for her own life was especially hard to watch tonight.

“…Haa.”

Lucas sighed—a low, weary sound—and sat beside her with a thud.

He ran a dry hand over his face and through his hair.

Then, looking down at her still face, he slowly opened his mouth.

“Doctor.”

“…Yes?”

“I sent Yoon to you… because I believed you could fix her.”

His voice was cold, like an ice pick to the ribs—calm, but weighted with something that darkened the air around him.

“But lately, I’ve started to wonder.”

Lucas’s hand moved gently, brushing through Yoon’s dark hair.
It was soft against his fingers.

“It’s been years since the treatment began. And yet her condition hasn’t improved.”

His gaze turned to the doctor—no humor, no warmth.
Just silence as deep and cold as a frozen ocean.

“Is it because you’re incompetent? Or is there another reason?”

His eyes bore down like a falling blade.

The sheer pressure dried the doctor’s throat.

“What do you think, Doctor Walker?”

His voice was chilling—quiet, but sharp enough to cut through bone.

The doctor instinctively swallowed hard… then quickly recovered with a practiced, easy smile.

“Why would I delay Yoon’s treatment on purpose?”

“We’ll find out soon enough.”

The doctor clicked his tongue silently.

‘He’s onto me. Great.’

Still, he hid his thoughts behind a calm expression and polite smile.

“As you wish. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish examining her.”

Though his lips curled smoothly, there wasn’t a hint of amusement in his eyes.

* * *

The bubbling of the coffee pot filled the room, and the rich aroma of coffee brushed past her nose.

Black eyes blinked open slowly, her lashes fluttering as she tried to grasp the situation.

“You’re awake?”

The doctor approached with a relaxed gait, sipping coffee with a faint smile.

“You…”

Yoon furrowed her brow and tried to sit up, but the doctor pressed her shoulder back down. She tried to push his hand away, but her strength didn’t come back the way she expected.

“Don’t get up yet. You’ll be dizzy.”

“What did you inject into me?”

“Just a sedative. But you feel a little more rested, right?”

“Rested, my ass.”

Yoon clenched and opened her fist as her brow twitched at the word sedative. Her body was still sluggish.

“You haven’t slept for days, have you? Even if I did prescribe a sedative, I didn’t give you enough to knock you out for two whole days. That was your body shutting down. You were in rough shape.”

“…Two days?”

“Yes, two. Look out the window. That sun isn’t rising—it’s setting.”

The doctor pulled up a chair and crossed his legs as he sat.

“You had some blood loss in the arm, but it shouldn’t affect mobility. I treated the festering wound, the bruises, and the scrapes you didn’t bother looking at, too.”

He flipped through the chart and lowered his glasses to meet Yoon’s eyes.

“From now on, come straight here when you’re hurt.”

For once, his voice sounded serious.

“Keep this up, and you’re really going to lose a limb someday. You know that gun you love so much? You can’t hold it without a wrist.”

Yoon let out a dry chuckle.

“Don’t act like a real doctor.”

“I am a real doctor. I just don’t see you as a patient—I see you as a test subject.”

The doctor’s eyes narrowed with a sweet curve, his pale brown irises shimmering faintly.

“Do you still hate your body?”

His voice was calm, but his words were carefully measured—he wanted to know what was going on in her mind.

“You know your talent. But let’s be honest, the reason you made it to the top so fast wasn’t just your skill—it was your body. And yet, you still hate it? You still want to fix it?”

His tone held genuine curiosity.

He’d never questioned it during the five years he’d been treating her, but now he wanted to understand.

“Most people with congenital analgesia would want to be cured. It’s nothing but a disadvantage. But you… you’re different. You’ve got me to patch you up, the Young Master who’d burn the world for you, and a mountain of subordinates who’d die on your word. So why cling to the idea of ‘fixing’ yourself? I don’t get it.”

He slowly stroked his chin, genuinely puzzled.

To him, Yoon’s desire to return to a normal body sounded like she wanted to devolve.

Yoon was a strike captain—brilliant, peerless with a sniper rifle.
But when she was first appointed, backlash had been intense.

Most of the organization was male, and none of them were willing to acknowledge her.

Accepting her as one of them was one thing—accepting her as a superior was entirely another.

Yet no one stepped in.

Neither the Boss nor the Young Master.

No one defended her. They just watched in silence.

And Yoon?

She crushed every challenger without help.

Her body was the single greatest factor in that victory.
Being different made her a target—but it also forced others to recognize her.

Yoon instinctively knew how to use her body to keep others from underestimating her.

Having no pain didn’t mean she had no fear—but someone else in her place would’ve flinched at everything.

After all, you could die at any moment and never even feel it coming.

But Yoon lacked that primal instinct to protect herself.
There was no basic drive to survive.

It had long since surpassed what anyone could call “risk blindness.”

She threw her body into danger so recklessly that, at times, she looked downright pitiful.

If the doctor had been a normal doctor, he would’ve tried earnestly to cure her.

But he wasn’t.

There was a reason a once-promising doctor had disappeared into the underworld.

He’d been exiled from the medical world for experimenting on rare disease patients under the guise of research—harvesting organs in the process.

But he didn’t care. The honor he had lost in the light was more than compensated for in the shadows—there, he had all the test subjects and research funding he could ever want, more than enough to satisfy his hunger.

Once she was in his hands, Yoon became his exclusive subject. From that moment on, experiments disguised as treatment began. But Yoon was quick to catch on. She realized almost immediately that everything he did was just another form of experimentation under the pretense of healing.

And yet, the reason she never bolted from the clinic was singular—
Because… there was a chance, however slim, that her body might go back to the way it was.

From his perspective, there was nothing to lose. He had a subject he could freely test on.

Yoon’s emotions? None of his concern.

But something changed—starting three years ago.

The way he looked at Yoon began to shift.

He found himself curious.

Why was she so desperate to rid herself of her insensitivity to pain?
And why was the Young Master so intent on curing her?

If they’d found out that the pebble they picked up off the street was actually a diamond, shouldn’t they polish it and sell it for a fortune—

Not try to turn it back into a rock?

From his perspective, it was completely irrational.

The doctor adjusted his glasses, silently pressing her for an answer.
Yoon sat up without a word.

And just as the silence stretched, the doctor’s body was yanked forward.

The rough grip on his collar pulled tight against his neck, choking him slightly.

He let out a low grunt—

Then felt an unfamiliar sensation against his lips.

Chup.

A soft, oddly out-of-place sound accompanied the brief kiss.

They pulled apart.

Their faces were still close enough to feel each other’s breath.
The doctor’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

His pupils shook with surprise.

Yoon still had him by the collar.

“How does it feel?”

“…What?”

The unexpected question slipped past his lips in informal speech.

Yoon said nothing—she just pulled him closer and rested her ear against his chest.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

His heart was racing.

The doctor looked down at the crown of black hair pressed to his chest.

Under any other circumstances, he would’ve made a joke.
But now… he was frozen.

Thump.

Yoon let go of his collar like shaking off something filthy.

Her face was expressionless—as if she hadn’t just kissed him at all.

“See? It beats.”

“……”

“If I had kissed that cup instead of you, do you think your heart would’ve raced the same?”

“What are you—”

Just as he began to scoff at the nonsense, Yoon grabbed his hand and pressed it to her chest.

Unlike his, her heart was still.

The doctor couldn’t help but feel an inexplicable frustration.

“Whether I kiss you or that cup—it’s all the same to me.”

She let go of his hand and spoke bitterly.

“I can’t feel warmth. And because of that, I can’t feel the emotions that come with it either.”

“…You put up with all my treatments for that?”

The doctor processed her words like trying to swallow something too big for his throat.

“For warmth?”

He echoed in disbelief.

This woman—endured all that—for something so trivial?

“For warmth?”

Yoon’s eyes burned sharp and clear.

“If not for that warmth you talk down on, I wouldn’t even be here in the first place.”

She spat the words like venom.

The doctor said nothing, only stared at her.

And yet, something indistinct and formless inside him finally began to take shape.

“…So that’s why you’re obsessed with it.”

His voice grew more certain.

“Were you saved by someone’s warmth?”

His pale brown eyes chased her intently.

Yoon met his stare with her own icy gaze, but said nothing—then stood and walked out of the treatment room.

Left alone in the silent space, the doctor took off his silver-rimmed glasses and covered his mouth with one hand.

A faint smile curled beneath his palm.

He struggled to suppress the smirk tugging at his lips as he opened the drawer and pulled out Yoon’s chart.

The file was full of detailed data on her body.

But nowhere—nowhere—did it mention her mind.

‘Why didn’t I ever consider psychological therapy?’

It wasn’t that he hadn’t studied her condition—on the contrary, he’d dug in deeper than anyone else.

But he had never searched for better methods.

Because congenital analgesia was purely physical, he had never thought to approach it from a mental angle.

He knew emotions could affect the body.

He just never imagined Yoon’s case would be one of them.

It was like something had clicked.

And then he laughed.

His shoulders shook as laughter bubbled out of him.

Large, loud, and unrestrained.

His pale brown eyes sparkled behind that grin.

“Well, enough playing around. Time to really start the treatment.”

And maybe give that old man a heart attack while I’m at it.

* * *

Yoon stood with her arms crossed, head tilted slightly as she stared at Lucas.

It had been twenty minutes.

He hadn’t said a word. Just kept looking at his documents like she wasn’t even there.

‘This is a first.’

He’d nag before he ever ignored her. This silent treatment? It was completely unfamiliar.

Yoon, feeling a strange kind of unease for the first time, unconsciously bit her lip.

Knock, knock—

A voice followed the knock, light and cheerful.

“It’s been a while, Young Master.”

A well-groomed middle-aged man stood at the door, dressed sharply in a suit, a gentle smile on his face.

His neatly trimmed mustache added a distinguished touch.

Yoon’s expression stiffened ever so slightly.

She stood still, holding her breath.

“Godfather.”

Lucas rose to his feet and approached the man.

“Haha, it’s been a long time since I’ve heard that title.”

Drante chuckled and patted Lucas’s shoulder.

“Oh? So the Strike Captain’s here too.”

Spotting Yoon, Drante extended a hand.

“I heard you’ve been doing a great job lately.”

Their eyes met in the air. Despite the soft curve of his lips, Drante’s gaze gleamed with sharp, almost predatory interest as he assessed her.

It was only a brief eye contact, but it made Yoon uncomfortable.
Her brow twitched.

Without a word, she dipped her head in a shallow nod and left the room.

A strange glint passed through Drante’s eyes as he watched her go.

“Her social skills haven’t improved, I see.”

“…It’s not intentional,” Lucas said calmly, quietly defending her.

Drante just grinned and settled onto the couch.
Lucas placed a cup of coffee in front of him.

“So, how’s the new venture going?”

“It’s going well.”

“The Howard family won’t be sitting on their hands, I imagine. I trust you’ve made preparations for that?”

Though he no longer held direct power, Drante—once the consigliere—still possessed formidable intelligence.
His tone was probing, but there was also a layer of pride in his heir.

“We blocked their business permits. They won’t be making progress for a while.”

“Hoh, blocked their permits, did you? That’s amusing. I imagine they’re running in circles now, unable to even get started.”

Drante laughed heartily, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Well then, Young Master. Can I hear about this new business of yours?”

His gaze sharpened with curiosity.

He’d been eager to see what kind of endeavor Lucas had chosen to enrich the Maier family.

Lucas didn’t hesitate.

“A business in soil and gravel disposal. We use our machinery to process soil, receive payment for that, and resell the processed material for additional profit. Once the operation stabilizes, we’ll move into demolition. Tear down buildings, clear the debris, and resell the steel for further gain.”

Drante listened quietly, slowly stroking his mustache.
Then he smiled, satisfied.

Unlike Canux, who expanded through the shadows, Lucas was planting stakes in the light.

A fast adaptation to changing times.

And that was how a true organization thrived—balancing both dark and legitimate operations to create greater synergy.
Drante was among those who welcomed Lucas’s moves into legal business.

So long as the family’s original holdings didn’t suffer, it was the ideal outcome.

He could confidently say that the current boss had raised his son well.

Lucas bore a striking resemblance to his father Canux—even apart from their reddish-brown eyes and sharp mouths.

Though their temperaments were different—
Canux had been bold, brash, while Lucas was composed and deliberate—

They shared the same instincts for business, and the same commanding charisma.

Those eyes of his, burning with conviction—
Even someone as seasoned as Drante could feel their pull.

He still remembered young Canux vividly, eyes full of fire, talking about the future of the Maier family with dreams too big for his fists.

Though their time had passed, watching the new generation move forward brought joy to an old man’s heart.

“Yes, our Young Master seems to know exactly what he’s doing.”

Drante couldn’t hide his satisfaction.
Then, casually, he broached a deeper topic.

“It’s about time to decide on your cavaliere, isn’t it?”

Lucas paused for a beat, hand frozen as he set down his coffee.

Drante didn’t notice, and continued in the same light tone.

“There’s about three months left until the Decor Game, right?”

“…Yes. That’s right.”

The day was approaching fast.

Lucas’s gaze darkened.

The Decor Game—a mafia tradition held every five years.
To the organizations, it was a celebration of their power—
and a silent war.

The rules were simple: the cavaliere, the player representing the family, had to collect the most crests from opponents to win.

The name “game” was misleading.

Guns and knives flew freely in the Decor Game— And the body count was always high.

The winning family of the Decor Game was granted immense honor and financial rewards significant enough to shift the very hierarchy of power. That was why the mafia families charged headfirst into the Game, setting it ablaze with ambition.

Drante stroked his mustache and asked calmly,

“Have you chosen a suitable candidate?”

“Not yet.”

At Lucas’s short reply, Drante’s brow twitched with disapproval.

“What’s there to hesitate about? There’s someone clearly perfect for it.”

Lucas said nothing.

“Tch. Bright as you are, you can be so damn dense sometimes. I’m talking about Yoon. Do you really think there’s someone more fitting than her?”

“……”

“Is it because she’s too valuable to risk losing after just one use? If that’s the case, I get it. But if you’re going to be the one leading the family, you need to learn to use people where they’re needed most.”

His voice was stern with admonishment, but Lucas remained silent.

“Are you still trying to cure that girl?”

“……”

“You know as well as I do—bringing back her senses won’t do the organization a damn bit of good. So stop wasting time.”

“Even if her senses return, her skills won’t disappear.”

“Tch tch tch… Why are you so soft only when it comes to her? Is it because you trained her yourself?”

Drante exhaled a quiet sigh.

“I understand you’ve grown fond of her. She’s a valuable asset—you’re right to treat her well. The boss may not say it aloud, but I’m sure he’s pleased. Still—”

Discontent clouded Drante’s expression.

“That’s where the line is. She’s a capable subordinate, nothing more. You’re the next boss. The family must always come first, before any individual.”

Lucas’s face hardened.

He’d heard these words before—maybe not in this exact voice, but in another’s.

It wasn’t Drante’s voice ringing in his mind—it was Yoon’s.

‘Everyone knows this body is a blessing to the organization.’

A sick feeling rose in his gut.

He remembered the way Yoon had started refusing treatment.

At first, he thought it was because she was exhausted. Then he assumed it was because of the doctor.

But what if it wasn’t just that?

“…Did you ever say anything like that to her?”

His eyes shimmered with the fear of knowing the answer. His expression stiffened.

“All I did was tell her how valuable she is.”

“Godfather!”

Lucas shouted in sudden anger.

“I simply told her the truth. What could be more honorable than recognizing your importance to the family as a soldier?”

Unfazed by Lucas’s outburst, Drante continued coolly.

Drante didn’t want Yoon’s condition to change.

She was a brilliant sniper, and her condition was of great use to the organization.

Truthfully, he hadn’t paid her any mind in the beginning.
A nameless Asian girl dragged in from 5th Avenue wasn’t worth his attention at the time.

But once she started standing out, he took notice. Her precision, her ruthlessness—nothing was lacking.

Her unique condition reached his ears. Sure, he was wary of her roots in 5th Avenue, but he was always open-minded when it came to talent. Her condition satisfied him.

Once he saw she could do the work of ten average men, he began to value her in his own way.

And now? Treatment? That was laughable.

She should be grateful—yet she wanted a cure? Ridiculous. So he blocked it.

He wouldn’t let a precious asset turn into a useless rock.

“So stop that nonsense about restoring her body and get her ready for the Decor Game. That girl will bring glory to the Maier family.”

Drante’s voice was firm.

Before Lucas could respond, he stood and made his way to the door.

“I’ll be going now. Remember what I said.”

As the door closed behind him, an icy silence fell over the room.
Lucas staggered and dropped onto the couch.

Now he knew. Now he understood Yoon’s cynicism. That weary, resigned tone of voice.

He dragged his hands over his face. Through trembling fingers, his eyes fluttered with anguish.

‘How long has she been hearing things like that? All this time—was she used to being treated like this?’

Words disguised as praise. Weighted with pressure.

His throat tightened with pain.

His godfather was the man who had rebuilt the Maier family alongside his father. He had grown up admiring Drante’s loyalty to the family.

But now… he should’ve questioned it. He should’ve known someone like Drante would never quietly allow Yoon’s condition to be “cured.”

Everything suddenly made sense.

Yoon’s stalled treatment…

The godfather was one of the reasons why.

Lucas had known Drante admired her for her condition. But he never thought the admiration was conditional.

Even after learning Yoon was trying to get better, he just frowned and brushed it off.

Lucas had been naive.

To him, Yoon was just Yoon.

Even without her condition, she was precious.

But others—others saw her as a useful resource with a rare condition.

Her value was reduced to that.

Not a person. Just an asset.

And so they sent her into danger without hesitation.

“You can handle this, can’t you? With your ability?”
And she did.

Every time.

The Decor Game would be no different.

His hands trembled.

He felt betrayed.

He felt guilty.

He didn’t want to send Yoon to the Decor Game.

This wasn’t like her usual assignments.

It was far more brutal, far more dangerous.

She’d be alone, against many.

And the chances she’d come back in one piece… were slim.

Just picturing her bloodied again made his spine go cold.

His heart pounded from anxiety. His fists turned white.
He had no choice but to admit it—

‘I care about Yoon. I want her to be happy.’

There was no point denying it anymore.
He wasn’t dumb enough to try.

Drante wasn’t wrong.

If Yoon entered, they’d win.

But she’d get hurt. Badly.

It was clear which was the “right” choice.

But he couldn’t bring himself to make it.

Because he cared.

Her blank face,

That crooked smile when she drank, The way she was soft only with him—

He loved all of it.

He didn’t know when it started.

But now, she was everywhere in his life.

At first, it was duty. Then concern.

And now… he was just always there beside her.

Over eight years, he had come to love everything about her.

The way she fidgeted with her hands.

How she enjoyed his cooking.

Even her coldness to others made him proud.

Her skills.

Her sharp tongue.

Her bravery.

She was a stray cat hissing at everyone—

But curling up only beside him.

How could he not fall for her?

He admitted it:
He loved Yoon.

He always thought he was someone who kept personal feelings out of business.

But whenever Yoon came to him bleeding— Something snapped.

He wasn’t as rational as he thought.

Yes, Yoon wasn’t just another soldier.

She was a monster of a sniper.

If they wanted victory, she was the obvious choice.

But Lucas hesitated.

Because Yoon had become part of his life.

He couldn’t imagine a day without worrying for her.

Ending each day by asking how she was had become routine.

And that made his current failure cut deeper.

‘I was arrogant.’

He thought he’d been taking care of her.

But the doctor’s report two days ago said otherwise.

Multiple festering wounds.

A body covered in untreated injuries.

Some feelings become clear when they’re returned— Others, when they’re abandoned.

That night, he felt like he’d been left behind.

He hadn’t moved even after her treatment ended.

The doctor had clicked his tongue and left.

Lucas just watched her sleep.

Her face, wrapped in bandages, looked like a corpse.

He pressed his forehead to her wrist, listening to her faint pulse.
That tiny beat told him she was alive.

It comforted him.

But the waves of emotion that crashed down— Most of all, what surged was anger.

He hadn’t known worry could turn into rage.

And so, he stayed up the whole night.

Darkness faded, and the sun rose.

As morning light touched her cheek, he finally stood.

His heart still hadn’t settled.

And just hours later, Yoon had come to him.

That moment—her turning and walking away in silence—

That was now.

And now, thinking of her face, standing across from Drante—
He realized he couldn’t even remember her expression.

“…What a damn fool I am,” he muttered bitterly.