[Damn it… what is wrong with this disgusting man? Has the world really sunk this low? They're doing illegal things right in front of everyone?]
The live stream, trembling slightly from the cameraman's shaking hands, showed the man in worn hunting clothes, his face twisted into something feral and depraved. He stood boldly in the middle of the forest clearing, as if the trees themselves were witnesses he didn't fear.
[Shut up. You're upstairs—you don't know anything. The man's right. In this world, everything forbidden has its own flavor. People always want what they can't have.]
[Bro, that's terrifying. You sound just like him. Look—he's pointing a gun at everyone. Oh my God, when is the company coming? I'm scared he might shoot my favorite group.]
On thousands of screens, the man's hand tightened around the weapon. The metal gleamed faintly under the filtered daylight, cold and threatening.
[It seems the old man doesn't realize everything he's saying is going out live, or he wouldn't be talking so casually.]
[He wants the wolf… damn it, leave the mother wolf alone.]
[Yes, yes—leave the mother wolf. Don't hurt her!]
[I'm part of a wildlife protection organization,] another viewer commented furiously, practically shaking with rage. [I'm on my way, you filthy man—and I'm armed too. Let's see how tough you are when you're not bullying weak idols.]
[Let's pray that help comes soon. I'm scared he'll snap.]
Inside the camera frame, Aren stood completely still. His posture remained unnervingly calm—back straight, gaze steady, expression unreadable.
There wasn't a tremor, not a twitch. But this quietness only made the audience panic more.
The man misread Aren's silence as fear.
His cruel grin widened, stretching his features into something grotesque.
Droplets of sweat and dirt clung to his forehead, making his smirk shine with an almost animalistic glee. His boots crushed fallen leaves as he stepped forward, each slow movement echoing loudly in the tense forest air.
He began inching closer to the wolf beside Aren, the gun's barrel never wavering.
The mother wolf's fur bristled with each step, her low growls rumbling like distant thunder. Her massive body loomed protectively over her cubs.
From the hunter's twisted expression alone, even a child could see his intention.
He wanted to kill the mother wolf.
Harry and the others stiffened immediately.
Their bodies reacted before their minds did, instinct propelling them forward—
—but the man instantly swung the gun toward them.
"Don't try anything stupid," he hissed, voice sharp as broken glass. His eyes were cold, merciless, and full of the confidence of someone who had spilled blood before. "I'll blow your heads off. Behave."
That single threat froze everyone.
The cameramen trembled, knuckles white as they forced themselves to keep filming.
The small handheld cameras shook, but they didn't drop—not with the entire nation watching.
The man didn't even glance at the cameras.
Maybe he assumed they were filming an action scene featuring these handsome boys.
He had no idea he was alive.
No idea millions of people were watching.
No idea police stations all over the country were being flooded with calls demanding his immediate arrest.
On-site, breaths were held. In living rooms and bedrooms, audiences leaned closer to their screens, terrified that even their breathing might somehow affect the situation.
The idol variety show—supposed to be a fun wilderness mission—had turned into a live horror thriller.
Every social media platform exploded with panic, anger, and disbelief.
Seeing everyone frozen like prey, the hunter relaxed slightly. His lips curled upward again.
He stepped forward once more.
His eyes locked onto the wolf like a predator finally cornering its quarry.
He even swiped his tongue across his lips, the hunger in his gaze unsettling and twisted.
"Finally… I've got you. I've been hunting you for two days. You really wore me out."
The wolf responded instantly. Her lips peeled back, exposing long, razor-sharp fangs meant to rip through flesh and bone. Her stance lowered, muscles coiled like tightly wound steel springs.
The man wasn't inexperienced.
The moment he sensed the shift in her posture, he slowed, calculating the distance like someone who had done this dozens of times.
'Damn it… He's still too far. I can't move like this.'
Aren's eyes narrowed, a faint glimmer of calculation flickering within them.
Just a little more.
Just a few steps closer.
He lowered one hand, brushing his fingertips over the wolf's head.
She jerked at the touch, but when she turned and saw Aren's calm eyes, her snarls softened.
Not gone—never gone—but contained.
The man exhaled in relief.
He stepped closer.
There was a very simple reason he hadn't shot the wolf immediately. A bullet would damage the fur, lowering the value.
And he was greedy—greedier than he was smart.
He had tracked the animal for two days through fog, rain, and rough terrain, unwilling to fire and risk losing even a single coin.
One step.
Two.
Three.
Only when he raised his gun—clearly preparing to stab the wolf with the sharp hunting knife attached above the barrel—
A pale, slender hand shot out.
And seized the weapon.
"Damn it—!"
"Oh my, Aren!"
"Aahhhhh!"
Screams erupted everywhere—from the site, from the stream, from countless horrified audiences.
But Aren heard none of it.
The instant his fingers wrapped around the gun, something familiar ignited.
His body reacted faster than thought—faster than fear.
He twisted back sharply, dragging the weapon with him. The man stumbled, startled.
In one fluid movement—almost too fast for the camera to catch—Aren jumped over the man.
His legs snapped around the man's neck like a steel trap.
There was no hesitation.
Aren slammed his fist into the man's wrist—the one gripping the gun. A sickening crack echoed through the forest.
The gun flew.
The man screamed—or tried to.
It came out strangled.
Aren's blood-stained hand shot out again, clamping around the man's neck.
His other hand gripped the opposite side. His fingers pressed down with lethal certainty.
He could have snapped it.
So easily.
In Aren's world, mercy didn't exist.
Hesitation didn't exist.
Every enemy he had ever touched had died by his hands.
So imagine the strength it took—bone-deep, suffocating restraint—to stop himself now.
To remind himself that he couldn't kill anymore.
That he wasn't that person anymore.
That this wasn't his world.
And above all—there were cameras.
If this man died, Aren's life would be over.
The man froze completely.
Aren was light compared to him—but the bloodlust radiating from the boy was unmistakable, suffocating, overwhelming.
The hunter's pupils shrank, breath choking in his throat.
Seconds passed.
Long, dragging, merciless seconds.
Finally—after a war between instinct and reason—Aren let go.
Or rather, he didn't release him gently.
Aren's body dropped from the man's neck, pulling him forward with momentum and sending him slamming face-first into the ground.
A sickening thud.
The man went limp.
Aren rolled backward, landing in a kneel, one bloodied hand braced against the earth. His chest rose and fell slowly, but his eyes were sharp, cold, and strikingly fierce.
He looked like a figure carved out of the shadows of an action film—danger wrapped in beauty, lethal grace shaped into teenage proportions.
The camera caught everything. Every angle. Every detail.
The audience stared, speechless, as realization dawned—
How could someone barely seventeen move like that?
How could a boy look so terrifying, so breathtaking, at the same time?
How could Aren… be...?