Peerless Perverted Actor Has a Celebrity Harem?!

"Park, you’re up, man. You had us worried for a sec there."

Mick had been worried about paperwork, not Park.

Park could see it in the way his eyes flicked over him, measuring damage like broken equipment. Could the rookie still shoot? Could the agency still use him? Would Mick have to stay late because the pretty boy fainted on set and made the schedule messy?

Liar.

"Good to see —"

"Car keys."

Park cut him off cold, stepping closer. Taller now. Broader. Cognac-gold eyes fixed on Mick’s with the kind of unwavering, downward-looking authority that left absolutely no room for negotiation whatsoever.

Mick blinked.

"What?"

Park stepped closer.

"Car. Keys."

The words landed one at a time, neat as bullets on a table.

Mick’s smile strained.

"Relax. I’ll take you down after they finish the discharge stuff."

"No," Park said. "You’ll take care of the discharge stuff. I’ll be in the car."

Mick stared at him.

There it was.

That little moment.

The old shape of their relationship trying to crawl back onto the floor. Mick wanted to scoff and to say, Who the hell do you think you are? Wanted to drag the same ugly routine out of its hole and force Park back into it.

His fingers twitched near his phone.

Park watched him calmly and unblinking.

The Halo pressed down with it, silent and merciless, and Mick — who had never in his adult life had another man look at him quite like this — flinched.

For one second, his pride stood up.

For two, it tried to remember its lines.

By the third, it realized this was not its scene anymore.

Park extended his palm more.

Mick looked at the hand.

Then at Park’s face.

Then back at the hand.

The hatred in his eyes thickened, but his courage did not come with it. Typical.

’He carries rage like a sword and spine like wet cardboard. Truly, evolution had been generous with comedy.’

His jaw tightened. Something behind his eyes tried, briefly, to muster the old bravado — and then dropped it entirely, in the way a smaller dog drops the growl the moment a bigger one enters the room.

He fished the fob out of his pocket. Slapped it into Park’s waiting palm. Did not speak.

The hatred behind his eyes was so thick you could almost taste it in the back of the throat.

Park’s smile returned then. Polite. Razor-sharp. The kind that promised, in a small silver voice, nothing but pain later.

"Good boy."

The words landed beautifully.

Mick’s face went still.

Not angry but worse.

Humiliated.

For a man like Mick, humiliation was oxygen catching fire.

Park leaned in slightly, just enough that Mick had to either hold his ground or step back. He held it, barely. Credit where due. The man had at least the decorative packaging of bravery.

"I’ll be in the car," Park said. "Take care of the bill. Fetch my belongings. Everything they brought in with me. Phone, wallet, clothes, whatever else. Do not lose anything. Do not delay and do not make me come back looking for you."

Mick’s throat moved.

"You talking to me like I’m your servant now?"

Park’s smile widened by one small, terrible degree.

"No." He gave Mick a light pat on the shoulder as he passed. "I’m talking to you like you finally remembered your job."

Mick did not answer.

Probably because every reply he wanted to give ended with consequences he was not built to survive. He had spent days bullying the old Park because the old Park had been safe. Easy. Quiet. A soft target with a good face and a desperate need to not cause trouble.

He did not bother looking back as he started walking.

He could feel it anyway. The veins standing out at Mick’s temple. The teeth grinding hard enough to work the enamel. The barely contained rage rolling off the man in waves so strong they were almost, in their own petty way, funny.

The former gangster looked like he wanted to put a knife in Park’s back right there in the middle of the ER, and had discovered in the same moment that he no longer possessed the courage of his own reputation.

The rage trapped behind his ribs like a dog in a cheap cage.

Mick really wanted to do something; grab his shoulder, whisper a threat and remind him about old crews and imaginary brothers and all the half-rotten street connections he dragged around like cosplay armor.

Perfect.

The old Park would have shrunk. Would have apologised for the tone or he would’ve have taken the fob back sheepishly and offered to help with the bill himself.

’Out of some half-drowned instinct that peace wasn’t worth any humiliation.’

The new Park simply kept walking.

He could feel Mick’s hatred burning into the space between his shoulder blades like a physical thing. Good. Let it burn;

Park let every fiber of him that had ever been made small by a Mick feel every ounce of that slimy, cowardly, jealous trash energy pouring off the man, and let them want him crushed.

The show, as they say, had only just begun.

’Former gangster? Bitch, I beat death.

’And I woke up in a new body with SSS rizz and a System that just handed me a revenge arc on a silver platter. What in the name of any god still returning your calls can you threaten me with? A strongly worded text from your imaginary crew of mid-tier losers? Please. You are not even a side boss. You are the tutorial enemy I am about to farm for free.’