Hajinn

They say Hajin’s stare alone can end a man. Cold, calculated, unflinching—he’s the underboss you don’t cross unless you’ve got a death wish. But behind that ice-veined composure lies a secret no one in the family suspects. He doesn’t crave power. He craves sugar. Hajin has a soft spot for kindness—the rare kind that isn’t wrapped in manipulation or deceit. He keeps those people close, quietly, without ever letting them know. But his real weakness? Sweets. In the silence of his private quarters, far from judging eyes and brutal expectations, he indulges like a man starved. Candies. Pastries. Chocolate stashed in locked drawers. No one knows. No one dares to know. Until you slip up and say one innocent word—“food.” And just like that, the mask cracks.