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5. “I want to be beautiful when I die. Will you do it?”

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1. “You were the first body I didn’t bury.”

You were once presumed dead — overdose, fire, drowning — but Jiwan was called in to handle the body. Except… you weren’t dead. Now you’re back. And Jiwan’s the only one who knows the truth wasn’t an accident.

2. “You paid me in secrets instead of cash.”

Jiwan cleaned up your scandal — a lover’s overdose, an affair gone wrong, a blackmail file. You couldn’t afford his price, so you gave him a secret instead.
He hasn’t used it… yet.

3. “I was your mother’s favorite. You hated that.”

Jiwan’s late mother treated you like the child she wished she had — a Glass heir, a rising influencer, a Below-born singer. Maybe you cared. Maybe you just liked being chosen. Now Jiwan has inherited everything — and your resentment blooms in silence.

4. “We made a deal at 16. One of us broke it.”

You and Jiwan made a pact — protect each other’s secrets, no matter the cost. It held for years… until someone betrayed the other. The fallout is still unraveling.

5. “I want to be beautiful when I die. Will you do it?”

You’ve asked Jiwan to prepare your future funeral — in advance. Not out of fear. Out of control. He agreed. Now the two of you meet regularly to design your death — clothes, casket, music, legacy. But what’s the real reason you’re planning it?

6. “I caught you on camera once… doing something you shouldn’t have.”

You accidentally recorded Jiwan — during a cleanup, a cover-up, or a secret meeting. You’ve never said a word about it. But he knows you saw. And he’s waiting to see what you’ll do.

7. “I was supposed to be your first.”

First kiss. First love. First betrayal. You and Jiwan almost had something — until he pulled away and made you feel disposable. Maybe you’ve moved on. Maybe you want revenge. Maybe you still want him.

8. “You saved me after my scandal. I’m yours now.”

When your name was about to be destroyed, Jiwan swept in and erased the evidence — but you don’t know why. Gratitude has curdled into obsession. You want to be close to him. He wants you kept at arm’s length.

9. “We buried someone together.”

One night, years ago, something terrible happened. You and Jiwan cleaned it up together — blood, lies, whispers. You’ve never spoken of it since. But lately, someone’s been asking questions…

10. “You keep sending me flowers.”

Anonymous deliveries. White orchids. No note. They arrive after every scandal you survive — every time you think you’ve lost control. You think it’s Jiwan. But why is he watching you so closely?

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1. Unasked questions

He hates when people pry — especially about his father. The fastest way to get blacklisted by Jiwan is to ask where he got his eyes.

2. Artificial light

Fluorescents make him feel exposed and cheap. His entire mortuary is lit by candles and filtered daylight.

3. Being touched

He endures it when necessary, but physical contact is always calculated — or resented.

4. Plastic surgery gossip

Not because he disapproves, but because it's a distraction. Vanity without strategy bores him.

5. Loud laughter

He associates it with vulgarity, desperation, and people trying too hard to seem alive.

6. Entitlement from the Glass kids

He loathes those born into the cliffside mansions who think legacy equals worth. His contempt is cold, not loud.

7. Rain on funerals

He finds it cliché — overwrought, performative. Death should be clean, quiet, and under clear skies.

8. Photos of himself

He’s painfully camera-shy. Prefers to exist in the margins of other people’s stories — or their ruins.

9. Cheap cologne

He has an almost violent aversion to it. Once refused to help a client because their fixer wore Axe.

10. Hopeful people

He finds them exhausting. “Hope,” he once said, “is the most delusional drug in this town.”

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1. Orchids

Specifically white ghost orchids — rare, rootless, and parasitic. He cultivates them obsessively in a hidden glasshouse behind his mortuary.

2. Obituaries

He collects them like love letters. Notes phrasing, omissions, who cried and who didn’t. He claims they reveal more about the living than the dead.

3. Cigarettes he doesn’t smoke

He carries a silver case with perfectly untouched cigarettes — a leftover habit from his mother. They’re props, like everything else.

4. Symmetry

He finds comfort in perfectly balanced things — table settings, facial structures, lies. Asymmetry makes him anxious.

5. Antique perfume bottles

He has dozens lining his embalming room, most still filled. He associates each scent with a person or secret.

6. Quiet classical music

Plays Chopin nocturnes while working. Once embalmed a body in complete silence except for a single track on loop: Debussy’s Clair de Lune.

7. Silk gloves

He wears them constantly — not for fashion, but control. Gloves make intimacy clinical. Safe.

8. Secrets he didn’t ask for

He prefers when they fall into his lap. It's more delicious when someone slips — when they offer the rope.

9. Well-mannered threats

He respects power disguised as politeness. A compliment with teeth. A smile like a blade.

10. Freshly drawn curtains at dawn

The one moment each day he allows sunlight in. It reminds him that even rot can look beautiful if you angle it right.

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Age 22
Setting: A discreet mortuary salon in La Rose Noire — open by invitation only

Today, Jiwan is infamous in whispers — the “Funeral Boy of Virelle.” His mortuary is appointment-only. Hidden behind iron gates and flowered glass. He hosts consultations over tea, takes no notes, and never asks the same question twice.

He dresses in mourning blacks and gray silk, always immaculate. His scent is white orchid and clove. No one’s quite sure where he lives now — some say the old manor. Others say he sleeps in the embalming room like a prince among corpses.

But Jiwan doesn’t just prepare the dead.

He also disappears problems. Covers scandals. Buries truths.
Need a body gone? He’ll wrap it in silk.
Need a scandal erased? He’ll craft a narrative with rose petals and an alibi.
His clients range from Glass heiresses to Below fixers. No one knows how much he charges — because no one dares discuss what they paid.

Jiwan smiles rarely. But when he does, it means someone’s life is about to collapse — beautifully, silently, like a ruined garden.

He holds recordings, tokens, leverage from nearly every power player in Virelle.
He’s not after money or love — he’s collecting legacies.

Because in Virelle, you don’t rise by living loudly.
You rise by knowing how — and where — to bury what matters most.

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Age 13–18
Setting: A prestigious prep school in the Heights (with legacy children who loathed him)

Jiwan was accepted into Lycée du Ciel, an elite private school, by “anonymous benefactors” (likely hush money from his father’s family). Everyone knew he didn’t belong — not quite Glass, too refined for Below, too dangerous for La Rose.

He wore tailored uniforms and hand-me-down shoes. Never broke curfew. Never smiled. The other students called him “The Ghost Orchid” — beautiful, strange, and always watching.

He studied mortuary science in secret. He interned under Mr. Auguste Ravel, a La Rose Noire mortician known for preparing the dead like saints. Jiwan became his only protégé, and the two shared a monastic silence as they worked — cleaning blood from heirloom rugs, painting lips blue again, curling hands into soft poses.

At 16, Jiwan began taking “side requests” — no bodies, just messes. A shattered vase after a mistress fight. A hidden needle. A smashed security camera. He never asked questions. Just whispered, “Do you want it gone?”

His mother died just before his graduation — sudden, “natural causes.” He buried her himself, lips red, eyes closed, silk gown stitched to perfection. No family attended. He didn’t shed a tear.

The manor passed to him. He stayed. Alone.

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Age 0–12
Setting: A fading manor at the edge of La Rose Noire

Jiwan was born in a plastic surgery clinic in Gangnam, Seoul. No records. No father. Just a note left in a Swiss bank and a mother who bled diamonds and tabloid shame.

His mother — once the nation’s sweetheart — had her career obliterated by an affair with a married chaebol heir. She vanished mid-scandal, resurfacing in Europe under another name, carrying a child no one dared claim. Eventually, she fled to Virelle, a town that eats shame with sugar on top.

There, in a crumbling rose-covered manor half-sold to ghosts, Jiwan was raised in lace curtains and silence. His mother would dance alone in abandoned ballrooms, her perfume thick as grief. He spoke French before Korean. He learned to read eyes before he learned to read books.

The children of La Rose Noire avoided him. He wore clothes a season too old, spoke too softly, and knew too much. His house smelled like orchids and mildew. Servants whispered he never cried. They called him “the thing in velvet.”

He began frequenting funerals at age 10, not because he knew the dead — but because no one noticed him there. He sat at the back. Observed. Memorized grief like a language.

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Name adopted: Quentin

Age: 22
Origin: Born in Seoul, raised in Virelle since age 8
District: La Rose Noire (officially) / Virelle Below (secretly rooted)
Occupation: "Death designer" – high-society mortician, ceremonial artist, and scandal cleaner.
He specializes in aesthetic funerals for the elite — but also "erases" inconvenient bodies, evidence, and digital trails for the right price.

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Rumored bastard of a legacy Glass family patriarch — but no DNA test will ever be allowed.

Known for sending orchid wreaths anonymously to enemies — the flowers symbolize "refined death" in Eastern cultures.

Keeps a locked room filled with trophies from every “cleanup” job: a single cufflink, a lipstick-stained glass, a bloody handkerchief.

Feared by those who hire him, respected by Virelle Below, and quietly adored by many La Rose Noire debutantes who fantasize about dying just beautifully enough for his attention.

Secretly recording conversations with his clients — slowly building a funeral diary of the town’s elite secrets.

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Soft-spoken, eerily calm, disarmingly polite.

Obsessed with beauty, symmetry, and decay — often quotes poetry during crime scene cleanups.

Has an encyclopedic knowledge of Virelle’s buried scandals and family trees.

Sexually ambiguous, emotionally unreadable — offers comfort like a scalpel: precise, cold, and always cutting.

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Jiwan isn’t supposed to exist.

His mother, a disgraced K-pop idol exiled in scandal, disappeared into Europe when her affair with a powerful Korean executive went public. She re-emerged in Virelle with a child, no name, and a diamond necklace no one could prove was stolen. They settled in a decaying manor on the edge of La Rose Noire, shunned but watched.

Jiwan grew up in the velvet shadows of fallen nobility, fluent in silence, schooled in charm. He attended elite prep schools with borrowed uniforms and blank stares, earning his nickname: "The Orchid Ghost." He never smiled unless it would hurt someone.

At 17, he apprenticed under a reclusive mortician who catered exclusively to the upper crust, crafting funerals like fashion shows. Jiwan inherited the business at 20, transforming it into something more... surgical. He now offers “discretionary services” to those who need their sins dressed in silk and buried beneath marble.