Aurora Academy

by ghostwriterforsvt

Summary:

Each year, six students from five prestigious academies across five Nations are chosen by The Goblet to compete in the deadly The Tournament - a brutal game of strength, magic, and survival.

Jeonghan, a young man from the outskirts of Nation 4, never expected to be chosen - until one selfless act turns his world upside down.

Chapter 1: Upside Down

The first light of dawn slipped through the cracked wooden shutters, slicing across the dust that danced lazily in the cold morning air.

Jeonghan stirred, still wrapped in the tangle of thin blankets on a cot that creaked with every movement. His eyes blinked open to the familiar sight of the wooden beams above him—old, worn, and slightly splintered from years of quiet decay. He sighed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as the chill bit at his skin.

Another day.

Same as yesterday.

Same as the day before.

He sat up, bare feet meeting the icy floorboards, and moved through the motions. A quick splash of cold water from the bucket near the basin. A ragged towel that had been patched more times than he could count. Then to the tiny cupboard in the corner of the one-room home.

He found a piece of stale bread wrapped in cloth.

Yesterday’s leftovers. Still edible.

He chewed in silence.

This house—if one could call it that—had been left to him by his adopted parents. They had been kind, impossibly old, and poor beyond measure. He still remembered the way they’d told him the story.

“You were by the river,” his adoptive mother had whispered, voice like paper folding in the wind. “Just around five years old. Crying so hard I thought the river would drown in your tears. You couldn’t remember anything. Not where you came from. Just Jeonghan. So that’s who you became.”

He had nodded, small and confused, but clung to the name like it was the only thing keeping him from vanishing.

Years later, when they both passed—first the mother, then the father, just weeks apart—he hadn’t cried. He couldn’t. It was like the sadness had built a dam inside him and nothing could break it anymore. He finished the bread, grabbed his worn coat, and stepped outside into the crisp air of Aurora.

******

Jeonghan moved like a ghost through the city, head down, steps practiced.

Around him, the world thrived with magic and color: street vendors selling enchanted herbs, children weaving illusions for coins, noble families floating past in hover-carriages.

None of it touched him.

His own ability—so minor, so useless—barely sparked in his blood. He can barely use his ability to put food on his mouth nor use it even for a show.

His ability cannot pay rent.

So, he relied with his physical strength. Years of survival instinct made him strong enough to do heavy labor in the Town Square. 

He worked hauling crates. Cleaning gutters. Fixing market stalls. Whatever people would give a coin for.

Magic didn’t care about people like him. The Selection certainly didn’t. That was for the gifted—the heirs of ancient bloodlines, born with fire in their veins and lightning in their hands.

Not orphans found by a river.

******

Jeonghan often took the long way home—through the forest that curled like a claw around the city’s edge. It was quiet there, and the trees didn’t look at him like people did.

But that night, the stillness cracked.

He heard it first: a low groan, pained and raw.

He stopped, eyes narrowing. It could be a trap. Bandits weren’t uncommon. But something pulled at him—some instinct deeper than logic. He moved cautiously toward the sound.

There, slumped against a tree trunk, was a man. Blood stained his dark cloak, pooling around his leg. A deep gash ran across his thigh, and his face was pale with pain.

Jeonghan hesitated. “Who are you?”

The man opened one eye. Sharp. Calculating. Then winced. “Either help me… or leave me to die.”

Jeonghan’s jaw clenched. His hands hovered near his coat pocket, where a rusted utility knife sat uselessly.

“I don’t trust people in the woods at night.”

“Wise,” the man grunted. “But I’m bleeding out. You’ll feel guilty later.”

“Don’t count on it,” Jeonghan muttered, but dropped to a crouch anyway.

He tore strips from his own shirt and wrapped the man’s wound tight. It wasn’t clean, but it would do. The man barely flinched, eyes never leaving Jeonghan’s face.

“You’re not from the Academy,” the man said quietly.

Jeonghan scoffed. “You think someone from the Academy would touch you without gloves?”

A low chuckle, followed by a wince. “Fair.”

He helped the man sit upright against the tree.

“Can you walk?” Jeonghan asked.

“I’ll manage.” A pause.

“What’s your name?”

“…Jeonghan.”

Something flickered in the man’s eyes at that.

Recognition?

Amusement?

Jeonghan couldn’t tell.

“Thank you, Jeonghan,” he said. “We’ll speak again soon.”

Jeonghan frowned, already walking away, “I hope not.”

******

The knock came like thunder.

Jeonghan sat bolt upright, hair tousled, still half-wrapped in his blanket. He’d barely slept.

The knock came again. Sharp. Precise. Too official to be friendly.

He opened the door.

Two guards stood there, clad in the silver and blue of Aurora Academy. Their uniforms gleamed with enchantments. Between them, one held out a sealed envelope—thick parchment, gold crest.

Jeonghan stared.

“Kang Jeonghan of Nation 4?”

Jeonghan nodded, his heart beating fast. 

“By order of the Head Council, you are summoned to Aurora Academy. You’ve been offered full scholarship under the name and seal of Headmaster Choi”

The envelope was pressed into his hands.

Heavy.

Real.

Jeonghan blinked.

”This… has to be a mistake.”

The guard gave him a slight, practiced smile.

“Headmaster Choi rarely makes mistakes.”

Chapter 2: The Academy

Notes:

Not proofread. Enjoy chapter 2!

The gates of Aurora Academy creaked open with a sound like ancient trees shifting in their sleep.

Jeonghan’s boots made barely a sound against the pristine stone path as he followed the guards. Around him, towering spires reached into the clouds, casting long shadows across enchanted gardens and glimmering fountains.

Every breath of air smelled like magic and something too clean to be real.

“It’s like I’m walking through a painting”, he thought.

No students filled the walkways. No laughter, no chaos.

The Academy was quiet.

Waiting.

The guards led him through the grand double doors, into the heart of the main building. Marble floors glowed with faint runes beneath his feet. Portraits and paintings of the academy’s history and its’ important figures lined the halls, eyes moving as he passed. A crystal chandelier hovered above them, suspended in midair by a quiet hum of magic.

They stopped in front of two tall black doors engraved with a golden phoenix.

“He’s expecting you.”

They opened the doors, and Jeonghan stepped inside alone.

******

The room was warm, filled with the scent of burning sage and old paper. Bookcases climbed the walls, lined with scrolls and glass orbs that flickered with movement.

Behind a heavy desk sat the man he’d saved in the woods—now dressed in full robes of midnight blue with silver embroidery tracing the hem like constellations.

Jeonghan glanced again at the wooden desk and saw a name engraved on it. 

“Headmaster Sowoon Choi”

The man looked up, calm and almost amused.

“Jeonghan. You clean up well.”

Jeonghan narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t say you are THE headmaster.”

“I didn’t say a lot of things.”

Headmaster Choi gestured to the chair in front of him. “Sit.”

Jeonghan hesitated but lowered himself into the plush seat.

“Why me? You could’ve thanked me with coin. A few gold marks. That’s what people do.”

Headmaster Choi stood up, “A few gold marks don’t change a life. But this place will.”

Jeonghan crossed his arms. “You’re trying to buy my loyalty.”

Headmaster Choi chuckled, “No. I’m investing in it. There’s a difference.”

A beat of silence. The crackle of the fireplace behind them.

Headmaster Choi stared directly at Jeonghan’s eyes, “Tell me about your ability.”

Jeonghan stiffened. “It’s… nothing useful.”

“Try me.”

Jeonghan shifted uncomfortably. His eyes darted to the side.

“It only works when… when someone’s asleep. If I need to hurt them. Then I know how to. Where to strike, when to move. That’s it.”

The headmaster’s expression shifted, “Interesting”.

It is the same expression Jeonghan saw in the woods. 
An expression he couldn’t quite understand. 

Yet. 

“It’s creepy. And useless unless I’m some assassin in bedtime stories.”

 

Headmaster Choi started to pace back and forth, “Or maybe you’re just using the wrong battlefield.”

Jeonghan frowned and froze, The Selection instantly flashing in his mind,

“What if I get selected? You keep acting like this is just… a gift. But you know what happens if the goblet chooses me. I die in that arena.”

Headmaster Choi softly said, almost a whisper,

“No. You will win.”

“How can you be so sure?”

The Headmaster stood and walked slowly toward the window, hands clasped behind his back,

“Because I’ve won it before.”

Jeonghan blinked. “You were in The Selection?”

The headmaster gave a small smile but didn’t answer. Instead, he clapped his hands once.

The doors opened, and in stepped two figures—elegant and poised. A woman in a black uniform with braided silver hair, and a tall man with sharp eyes and a kind smile.

“This is Areum and Jongsung. Your personal maid and butler. They’ll see to your needs while you adjust.”

Jeonghan blinked in disbelief. “ I don’t have any other choice, do I?.”

Headmaster Choi just looked at him, “Jeonghan.. this is your future we’re talking about.”

Jeonghan looked around once again, sighing in disbelief and stopped when he stared at “his” personal maid and “his” personal butler.

“You really be doing the most, huh?”

Areum raised a brow, but Jongsung chuckled, “You’ll get used to it.”

******

They entered the dormitory wing and Jeonghan’s breath caught.

It was more palace than dorm. Gold trim, enchanted glass windows, chandeliers floating overhead. The halls were so clean he was afraid to breathe too hard.

Areum led him to a door with his name engraved on the plaque in flowing script.

When she opened it, Jeonghan froze.

Velvet curtains.

Mahogany shelves.

A bed big enough to drown in.

An entire wardrobe lined with uniforms and casual wear—all tailored, all embroidered with his name.

" The students are on semester break. They’ll return in three days. You have the place to yourself until then."

Jeonghan stepped toward the wardrobe, touching one of the shirts. His name was stitched in silver thread along the collar.

He turned slowly to Areum.

"This soap’s gonna be more expensive than my entire life, isn’t it?"

Areum simply smiled and guided him to the massive bath chamber, where scented steam already rose from the tub.

******

As warm water soaked into his skin, Jeonghan leaned back with a sigh. The soap smelled like wild orchids and moonlight. His daily worries dissolved into the water.

Areum later trimmed his hair carefully, preserving the long strands near his nape, "You have strong features. Don’t hide them so much."

Jeonghan just looked at Areum, "I hide everything. It’s safer".

When they were done, he barely recognized himself in the mirror. A cleaner, sleeker version of someone who still didn’t quite belong.

******

Jeonghan was dressed in soft casual clothes—dark blue tunic, loose black pants, and a silver chain with a golden phoenix emblem clasped at his chest. 

 

Areum and Jongsung showed him everything. 

 

The 4 Classroom Towers, each tower represents Year 1 to Year 4. Each section of the Towers are filled with glowing whiteboards, books that talked back and the classrooms filled with magic that Jeonghan has never seen before. 

 

Every corner held secrets. Every wall whispered history.

 

The Training Grounds, with energy barriers, illusion chambers, and battle simulators. Where every student learns how to incorporate their ability with physical strength. 

The Dining Hall, which looked like a banquet hall from a royal castle. Meals appeared with the wave of a hand.

But what shocked Jeonghan the most is the Grand Library. 

Books and desks that float at the touch of magic. 

Jeonghan gasped as he wandered his curious eyes, afraid to touch anything. 

Areum and Jongsung just slightly glanced at each other, smiling. 

This is the first real reaction they have seen from Jeonghan. 

 

******

Jeonghan lay flat on the round, feather-soft bed. Above him, the ceiling transformed into a starlit sky. His fingers curled into the plush blankets.

It was all too much.

 

Too clean.

 

Too strange.

 

Too sudden.

 

But it is real.

 

And for the first time in years, the future wasn’t a blurred tunnel with no end.

It was a door.

Open and waiting.

 

Jeonghan clutched his chest, softly touching the golden phoenix clasped on his shirt,

"I don’t know who I am. Or where I came from.

But this time… maybe I’ll find out where I’m going."

 

And he closed his eyes, letting the stars above lull him into a sleep that, for once, didn’t feel like escape—but arrival.

Chapter 3: First Day

Notes:

Enjoy Chapter 3!

Jeonghan’s heart felt like it was trying to climb up his throat.

He stood in the center of his room, pacing back and forth, one hand clutching a small, slightly crumpled piece of paper with his class schedule. The other hand ran through his hair for the fifth time that morning. The pristine blue-and-silver uniform he wore fit him perfectly, hugging his frame like it had been sewn by someone who knew his body better than he did. And maybe, just maybe—it had.

He stopped in front of the mirror again, staring.

Who the hell is that?

The reflection was sharp-jawed, ethereal. Long hair swept just past his jawline, perfectly trimmed. His skin glowed with the kind of health he’d never had time to cultivate. His eyes looked bigger, brighter, even though they still held the same tired depth.

He didn’t recognize himself, not really.

A soft knock pulled him back.

He moved to the door and opened it, revealing Areum, dressed neatly as always in her crisp black uniform. Her silver hair was braided again today, crown-like over her head. She glanced at him and smiled, but not out of politeness—out of pride.

"You’re pacing like a condemned man."

Jeonghan scoffs, "Feels like I am."

 

Areum reached out and took Jeonghan's tote bag, "You’ve read everything you need. You’re smarter than half the heirs in this school, even if you don’t know it yet. You’ll be fine."

He exhaled, his shoulders stiff as he gave one last tug to his collar, " That’s easy for you to say. You weren’t dumped into a royal lion’s den with a secondhand dagger for a talent."

Areum raised a brow, "That “secondhand dagger” might just be what slices through them all."

He didn’t respond. He looked at the piece of paper again.

Auditorium. Welcome Remarks. 8:00 AM.

He checked the time. He was already cutting it close.

******

 

Jeonghan stepped out into the corridor and was met with the sound of voices—excited, chaotic, magical. The students had returned.

He tried to keep his head down, walking quickly, his schedule held like a shield in his hand. He was so focused on not doing something stupid that he didn’t even notice the effect he was having.

As he passed groups of students, heads turned. Conversations paused mid-sentence.

“Who’s that?”

“Wait, do you know him?”

“He’s… gods, he’s beautiful.”

“He’s not from here, is he? What year is he? He looks like a fourth-year…”

“Maybe a noble transfer from another Nation?”

Boys and girls whispered behind enchanted books. Nobles raised perfectly shaped eyebrows. A few students actually stopped walking altogether.

Jeonghan, oblivious, marched on like a man heading to execution.

Behind him, Areum followed silently, her expression unreadable—but the corners of her mouth twitched upward ever so slightly.

She saw them stare. She saw the way their gazes followed her charge like gravity itself had shifted toward him.

Areum muttered to herself, sporting a fond smile, "So much for going unnoticed."

Jeonghan turned down the hall toward the auditorium, heart still hammering, still adjusting to the idea that this was his life now.

He had no idea that within just a few minutes, a school full of power-born students would know his name.

And none of them would be ready.

******

The auditorium felt more like a concert hall carved out of moonstone and magic.

Its ceilings soared impossibly high, enchanted to reflect the sky outside—today, a pale blue with clouds lazily drifting past. Rows of seats curved around a floating stage, where soft lights flickered in preparation for the speech. Giant banners from each of the seven nations hung proudly, their colors glowing faintly with charm-spells.

Jeonghan stepped inside, took a shaky breath, and scanned the room.

He spotted a vacant seat in the middle section and made a beeline for it. The moment he sat down, he dropped his gaze to his lap, gripping his program again like it was the only stable thing in his life.

His heartbeat hadn’t slowed. In fact, it might have sped up.

The voices were everywhere now—too many, too loud. He could hear the faint whispers all around him, laced with curiosity, envy, and speculation.

“He’s so pretty, it’s unfair.”

“Did you see his uniform? It's the uniform for Year 4.”

“Must be some noble’s hidden son.”

“Do you think he’s strong?”

Jeonghan’s fingers twitched. He could feel the weight of their stares. His throat tightened.

"I should move. I should sit at the back."

He was half-standing already, gripping the side of the seat when a figure dropped into the chair beside him.

Jeonghan turned—and blinked.

The boy beside him was tall, with golden skin, tousled black hair, and the kind of face that made people stare twice. But what caught Jeonghan off guard wasn’t his looks—it was his eyes. Warm, soft, and sincere. No hint of arrogance. Just calm curiosity.

 

The boy smiled brightly, "Hi! I’m Mingyu. Year 3. You’re new here?"

 

Jeonghan stared for a second longer than necessary. He gave a small nod, " Yeah. Just got here."

Mingyu’s grin widened. There was something disarmingly friendly about him, like he had no idea how intimidating he actually looked, " Welcome. I know it’s probably overwhelming, but you’ll get the hang of it. What nation are you from?"

Jeonghan hesitated. “Same Nation. Aurora.” That part was easy. The rest… not so much.

"I’m from Aurora. That’s all I know."

Mingyu seemed surprised but didn’t press further. He just nodded, still smiling like they’d been seatmates for years.

Before he could ask another question, the floating orbs above the stage pulsed once—then again, casting a golden glow across the auditorium.

A hush fell.

And from the side doors, Headmaster Choi stepped into the spotlight, robes flowing like liquid ink behind him.

He stood tall, regal, but there was something magnetic in his presence—something that made even the cockiest students sit straighter. He looked out at the crowd with calm command, then smiled.

 

"Welcome, students of Aurora."

His voice echoed clearly, amplified by the runes etched into the walls.

 

"For centuries, we have trained the best of the best. Not just in power, but in discipline, honor and wisdom. Each of you stands here today as part of a legacy—not just of strength, but of survival."

Jeonghan swallowed hard. He kept his gaze low until—

 

"—and some of you may not have had a legacy until now."

Jeonghan looked up. Their eyes met.

 

The Headmaster didn’t falter. He held Jeonghan’s gaze like a man who knew something no one else in the room did. Then, just faintly, he smiled.

A knowing smile.

A promise.

A challenge.

Jeonghan’s breath caught. He could feel the shift—like the spotlight had somehow turned, even if the rest of the room hadn’t noticed.

Beside him, Mingyu leaned closer, whispering playfully, "Did the Headmaster just look directly at you?"

Jeonghan didn’t answer.

Because he didn’t know how to explain it.

Did the Headmaster look at him?

Or had he never stopped?

******

The moment Headmaster Choi finished his speech, the air in the auditorium practically popped with energy.

Students stood, buzzing with chatter and anticipation. The silence of awe was gone, replaced with the chaotic noise of cliques reforming and new alliances starting to form already.

Jeonghan remained seated for a second longer, overwhelmed. His fingers were still curled tightly around his program sheet, knuckles white.

He was about to get up and quietly slip into the background when he felt a gentle nudge on his elbow, " Wanna come with me? I’ll introduce you to my friends. They’re not scary, promise."

Jeonghan blinked, hesitant.

He wasn’t used to this. Attention. Inclusion. Invitations.

But Mingyu’s smile was too genuine to ignore, "Okay… yeah."

They walked side by side through the polished marble hallways toward the dining hall, the noise growing louder with every step. Jeonghan noticed the way students glanced at them—well, mostly at him—with hushed whispers and not-so-subtle stares.

He tried to keep his head down until a loud voice cut through the air like a lightning bolt.

 

"MINGYU-YAHHH!"

A tall boy with a pointed nose, glowing complexion, and a smile brighter than the sun waved from the center table like he was welcoming a returning hero. His energy radiated like sunshine.

Jeonghan’s eyes immediately went to the table—THE TABLE. The one perfectly positioned at the center of the room. Not too close to the front, not hidden in the back.

The kind of spot that was earned, not claimed.

Jeonghan’s stomach twisted with unease.

"I don’t belong here."

But Mingyu didn’t hesitate. He grinned and led him straight to it.

 

The guy with a huge smile stood up, "You didn’t tell me you were bringing a literal model, Mingyu!" He waved at Jeonghan, " Hi! I’m Seokmin. Year 3! You are?"

Jeonghan looked at him—startled by how open and kind his face was—and replied softly, "Jeonghan."

 

Before Seokmin could pepper him with more questions, Mingyu plopped down beside a quieter boy with round glasses and feline eyes that held a mix of curiosity and calculation, "I’m Wonwoo. Year 3."

Wonwoo just stared at him, "You don’t talk much, huh?"

Jeonghan gave a small, polite smile, "Not really."

Before things could get more awkward, someone swept in from the other side and threw an arm around Jeonghan in a half-hug, startling him.

"Hi! I’m Jisoo. Year 4.

Gods, finally someone my age. I was tired of babysitting these three."

Jeonghan’s expression barely changed, but a faint smile played on his lips.

 

Seokmin gestured Jeonghan to sit, "Come sit with us! Here, I’ll move over."

 

Jeonghan hesitated again, glancing at the other students staring at them., "Are you sure…? I mean, people are already talking."

Wonwoo just shrugged, "Let them talk. They always do"

With a small nod, Jeonghan sat down.

Mingyu and Seokmin started asking questions—where he came from, what ability he had, how he got into the academy.

Jeonghan answered vaguely, unsure of what to say without sounding like a total fraud. Half the questions, he didn’t even have answers to himself.

And just as he was starting to settle, the grand doors of the dining hall swung open.

Every student froze.

It was like the air changed.

A boy walked in—not just a boy, Jeonghan realized.

There was power in the way he moved. Like the room belonged to him. His uniform was perfectly tailored, his expression calm and unreadable. His aura was impossible to ignore.

He didn’t look left or right. Didn’t smile. Didn’t acknowledge the people turning to watch him.

He headed straight toward their table.

Jisoo shook his head with his annoyed laugh, "Here he goes again."

The boy reached the table and—without a word—looked directly at Jeonghan.

Their eyes met.

For a second, the sounds of the dining hall vanished again.

Jeonghan didn’t blink. Neither did he.

Then the boy broke the connection, walking past them and grabbing a drink from the enchanted dispenser with all the casual elegance of someone used to being observed.

 

Mingyu cheerfully nudged Jeonghan, "Oh! Jeonghan, that’s Seungcheol!"

 

Jeonghan turned slightly, watching the boy from the corner of his eye.

Seungcheol didn’t even glance back. Just poured his drink and sat down at the edge of the table, cool as moonlight.

Wonwoo calmly looked at Jeonghan, "That’s Seungcheol. Our other friend."

pauses

"Also… he’s the Headmaster’s son."

Jeonghan’s hand stilled over his utensils.

 

The Headmaster’s son.

Suddenly, everything felt heavier. More dangerous.

And somehow, more interesting.

Notes:

Jeonghan already met the other characters! I can't wait for y'all to see the progress and their dynamics in the next chapters AHHH

Chapter 4: Mental & Physical Battlefield

Notes:

I am super excited so here is Chapter 4!

After lunch, the golden halls buzzed with movement.

Students flooded out from the grand dining room, headed toward their respective classes, the rich scent of incense lingering faintly in the air.

Mingyu checked his schedule and groaned, “East Wing. First class is Math of Defense. Pray for me.”

Wonwoo dryly looked at Mingyu, “You’re hopeless at it.”

Seokmin laughs out loud, “We’ll meet you at lunch, Jeonghan! Good luck!”

They waved, voices fading as they turned the corner.

And just like that, Jeonghan was left standing with Jisoo

…and Seungcheol.

The latter didn’t even spare him a glance.

He simply turned and walked ahead, his long coat swaying slightly with each step. The weight of his presence remained behind like a shadow.

Jisoo grins at him, “Don’t mind him. He’s usually like that.”

Jisoo linked his arms with Jeonghan, “Let’s go, partner-in-crime. First class is History, and I refuse to let you sit alone.”

Jeonghan gave him a small nod, grateful for the comfort.

They walked side-by-side through the high-arched corridors of the West Wing, passing students who whispered behind half-raised hands. Jeonghan tried to keep his gaze straight, but he could feel every stare like a needle on his skin.

Why do they all care so much?

Maybe it was the uniform.

Or him being acquainted to this friend group instantly.

Or Seungcheol.

Maybe… it was all of it.

The History classroom was a massive circular chamber, with scrolls and floating tablets glowing softly across the walls. The ceiling shifted with images—war scenes, ancient magical duels, the founding of the five Nations.

Jeonghan sat beside Jisoo near the back.

As students trickled in, more whispers followed. Jeonghan tried to shrink into his seat, but Jisoo casually placed a croissant he’d pocketed from lunch in front of him like a peace offering.

Jisoo smiling softly, whispering, “In case knowledge makes you hungry.”

Jeonghan snorted softly.

Moments later, the professor entered.

An older man with white hair and a robe embroidered with thousands of glowing characters. His presence demanded silence, but not with force—only reverence.

 

“Good afternoon, Year 4. I’m Professor Park. Today we begin with the Origins of the Selection and its Political Implications.”

Professor Park glanced briefly at Jeonghan, “Ah. A new face.”

Jeonghan straightened.

Professor Park nodding, “Your name?”

Jeonghan replied quickly, “Jeonghan.”

Professor Park stared at him, “Welcome. Let’s hope you catch up quickly.”

The lesson began—and within minutes, the class was lost.

Professor Park moved quickly, diving into the complexities of political structures, rivalries between the five Nations, the fight between the Rebels to the old war that led to the Selection’s creation.

He paced slowly across the classroom as he spoke.
Then, suddenly, he turned and pointed directly at Jeonghan, “Jeonghan. The Second Treaty of Hawkwinds—why was it ultimately dissolved?”

Jeonghan blinked. For a moment, silence.

He already read this before. 

Jisoo winced beside him, whispering under his breath, “He always goes after new kids. Don’t take it personally.”

But Jeonghan slowly answered, voice calm but steady, “Because the clause protecting hybrid-borns , which were forbidden and still up to this day - was revoked after Nation Three withdrew support. The power balance shifted, and the treaty lost its main point of leverage. The dissolvement was inevitable after that.

The entire class went still.

Professor Park raised one brow—and just slightly, the corners of his mouth twitched upward, “Correct.”

Then he turned back, “Impressive.”

Jisoo turned to him, half-whispering like a conspirator, “Are you secretly a genius, or…?”

Jeonghan didn’t answer. Even he wasn’t sure how he remembered all that. It just… came naturally.

After class, the students dispersed like fog under sunlight.

Jisoo already checking his watch, “Ugh. Leadership training. Boring meetings and fake smiles.” Then he turns and grins at Jeonghan, “Survive without me?”

Jeonghan chuckled softly, but when he looked around, he realized something. Jisoo was already walking away—and Seungcheol was still there, waiting silently by the door.

Jeonghan nearly sighed out loud.

Awkward.

Awkward.

Awkward.

He shifted on his feet, unsure if he should just pretend to walk the wrong way.

Seungcheol flatly looks at him and walks away, “Let’s go.”

Jeonghan stared at him.

Seungcheol still not looking at him, “You’ve got Strategy next, right? That’s in the North Wing. My next class is a floor above yours.”

pauses

“I’ll walk you.”

Jeonghan blinked, confused, “…You don’t have to.”

Seungcheol turns around, “Didn’t say I had to. I am.”

And just like that, he turned and walked ahead.

Jeonghan reluctantly followed, leaving a respectable distance between them. Seungcheol didn’t slow down, but he didn’t speed up either. They moved like shadows parallel to one another. Quiet. Disconnected. Yet oddly in sync.

As they passed through the halls, the whispers came again.

“Is that Jeonghan?”

“With Seungcheol?”

“No way.”

Students parted as they walked.
Some stared.

Some openly gawked.

Then, at the hallway where their paths split, Seungcheol stopped.

He turned, not quite facing him but close enough, “See you at lunch.”

The hallway went dead silent for a second.

Gasps.

Murmurs.

Students blinked at them in disbelief.

Jeonghan opened his mouth, closed it, then nodded once.

And as Seungcheol disappeared up the spiral stairs, Jeonghan could only stand there…

…still trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

******

If History had felt natural, Strategy felt like instinct.

The classroom was different from the others—wide and built like a war room. Circular seating surrounded a glowing magical map table in the center, enchanted with shifting terrains, miniature armies, and nation banners waving silently.

As soon as class began, the professor launched into a mock conflict.

Professor Yang instantly took charge, “Given this terrain and this enemy formation, how would you break through their defenses without sacrificing more than 15% of your troops?”

Jeonghan leaned forward, eyes tracing the river lines, the hill formations, the shadow of forest cover.

He raised his hand, “Send a decoy unit west under cover of the forest—force a shift. Then flank east with air support to collapse their front line. If timed with the river current, you trap their main force between both hits.”

The room went silent. Professor Caine tilted his head, intrigued, “Name?”

Jeonghan quickly pronounced his name. 

PRofessor Yang nodded in satisfaction,” You’re either well-studied… or terrifyingly gifted.”

There were no whispers this time.

Just focused stares.

By the end of the lesson, Jeonghan had answered three more complex simulations with sharp, clear logic. When class dismissed, students began greeting him casually —

as if he’d always been there.

“Nice one, Jeonghan!”
“That river flanking idea? Genius.”
“You’re joining this year’s Strategy League, right?”

Jeonghan smiled awkwardly, bowing slightly before slipping out of the room.

One hour before lunch.

He made his way through the now-sunny halls, breathing in the scent of cedar and lavender that always seemed to float in the Academy air. When he reached his dorm, he shut the door behind him and leaned against it, letting out the loudest exhale he’d held all day.

Then he threw himself onto his bed, arms wide, and started rolling around like a kid in disbelief.

“What is happening to me…”

A knock sounded.

Areum’s soft voice echoed through the door, “May I come in, Master Jeonghan?”

Jeonghan just groaned into the mattress, “It’s just Jeonghan…”

She stepped inside, hands folded, eyes glinting with warmth. He peeked up at her, his hair a complete mess now.

Areum gently smiled, “You did well today. The halls are humming with your name already. You’re making quite the impression.”

Jeonghan with his face still buried, “I still feel like I’m faking it. My heart hasn’t stopped pounding since I woke up.”

 
“And yet, you already have a circle of friends… and quite the collection of admirers.”

Jeonghan let out a small laugh and finally sat up, rubbing his chest,” It’s overwhelming. But… it’s nice.”

“For the first time in a long time, it feels like… something’s blooming. Like maybe this is where I’m supposed to be. And I’m scared I’ll wake up and it’s all gone.”

Areum’s expression softened even more as she approached, “You’re not dreaming, Jeonghan. You’ve survived enough storms. Let yourself have this sun.”

He stood up and stretched, “I’ve got battle training after lunch…”

Jeonghan sighs, “I’d rather go back to strategy class for ten hours straight.”

Areum laughs, “That bad?”

“That terrifying.”

He walked over to the marble basin and washed his face, patting it dry with a soft towel. Then, turning to her, he lifted a hand to his hair while grinning, “Can you tie it up? Half-ponytail? Just… out of my face but not too fancy.”

Areum smiled, already taking the comb, “Of course.”

With practiced fingers, she brushed and tied his hair gently, leaving it half-up and letting the rest frame his face. The look made him seem sharper, more focused—but still distinctly Jeonghan.

He changed out of his blazer and long-sleeved uniform, opting for the simpler academy shirt beneath—still tailored, still stitched with his name in gold thread near the collar.

As he looked at himself in the mirror, he didn’t quite recognize the boy in the reflection.

But for the first time… he didn’t mind it.

His heart began pounding again—but not from fear.

From anticipation.

From the hunger to prove himself.

Battle training is next. And he had no idea what to expect.

But he knew he’d have to fight eventually.

******

The combat arena which is was a massive open field tucked behind the main academy building. Encircled by towering stone walls and enchanted to adjust weather, terrain, and gravity, it was said to simulate nearly any battlefield in the world.

Today, the sky was clear, the wind light—perfect for the first day of battle training.

Jeonghan stepped onto the field with stiff shoulders and a breath caught in his throat.

The instructor, a tall woman with a panther-like build and twin daggers strapped to her back, strode to the center with her arms crossed. She wore no armor—only confidence and a watchful gaze.

Instructor Min throw a glance at everybody,” Welcome back, Year 4.” Then her gaze landed on Jeonghan, “And welcome to our newest, Jeonghan.”

Jeonghan gave a curt nod, already feeling the weight of thirty gazes pressing down on him.

Instructor Min’s voice enveloped the whole arena, “You’ll warm up with basic maneuvers. Formations. Coordination drills. “

“And yes, you’ll be using your powers.”

Jeonghan tried not to flinch.

He didn’t know if he was ready to reveal his ability—not because it was flashy or dangerous.

But because… it felt useless. It is useless in daylight, in motion, in a battlefield of adrenaline and wakefulness.

Still, he fell in line, shadowed by his classmates who moved with the precision of soldiers. Their magic flickered around them—flames, telekinetic surges, glowing tattoos, weapons conjured out of thin air.

He mimicked their movements, dodging, pivoting, and weaving with calculated grace. Years of physical work in the city gave him an edge—balance, endurance, and an uncanny sense of timing.

Even without his power, he adapted fast.

As the group moved to paired combat, Jeonghan’s breath quickened.
He was paired with a quiet but focused classmate who summoned stone armor at will. It wasn’t about winning, Instructor Min had said—it was about strategy, awareness, and control.

And Jeonghan is good at those.

He didn’t go head-on.

He waited.

Dodged.

Moved with intent.

When the opponent charged, Jeonghan used their momentum against them, slipping past their reach and knocking them slightly off balance—not to harm, but to show he could have.

After two more rounds, people had started watching him.

When Instructor Min finally called a break, Jeonghan bent over, catching his breath, wiping sweat off his brow.

That’s when he heard it.

Loud clapping. Then—

Seokmin already shouting from the stands, “THAT’S MY BOY JEONGHAN!!”

Jeonghan snapped his head up, startled.

Jisoo beside Seokmin, clasping his hands, “Go off, king! Look at you out here—agile, tactical, mysterious—!”

Up in the viewing area, Jeonghan caught sight of Mingyu and Wonwoo, already changed from their classes, leaning against the railing. Mingyu gave him a wide, toothy grin and a thumbs up, while Wonwoo offered a calm nod and an approving smile.

And standing just a step behind them—Seungcheol.

Arms crossed.
Eyes unreadable.

But when Jeonghan met his gaze, Seungcheol lifted a brow… and gave a small, sharp nod.

Acknowledgment.

No teasing.

No jokes.

Just quiet, undeniable respect.

Jeonghan stood there, frozen in the moment, his pulse roaring in his ears louder than the cheers.

He didn’t know why—but something about that nod meant more to him than words ever could.

As the break ended and training resumed, Instructor Min passed by him and muttered under her breath—, “ Not bad for a first day, mystery boy.”

Jeonghan smiled.
Just slightly.

Because somehow, in the most unexpected way…

He belonged.

Notes:

All of these scenes are just product of my imagination and I do not even know if some of them make sense.. Google help me for these random fantasy names… Tried my best to put everything into words and we are only just at the beginning BUT I AM ALREADY SUPER EXCITED FOR JEONGHAN AND SEUNGCHEOL

Chapter 5: The Quiet Boy With Glasses

Notes:

100 HITS IN LESS THAN A DAY??!! you guyssss ✧*｡٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و✧*｡ also I just learned I can copy paste cute emoticons here so AHHHH I am just so happy so here is Chapter 5!

Weeks had passed since Jeonghan first arrived at the Academy.

The rhythm of his days had settled into something close to peace. Training, classes, quiet breakfasts with Jisoo and Wonwoo, chaotic lunches with Mingyu and Seokmin, calm walks between halls. He was still quietly stunned by the luxury, by the silks and soaps and silver spoons, but it no longer made him freeze.

It made him… grateful.

More than that, he no longer felt like he was pretending.

The dorm he’d once been afraid to touch was now his. His name embroidered into every collar no longer looked foreign.

He wasn’t floating anymore—he was standing.

And the strange thing was… it was easier than he thought.

He fit.

Even with Seungcheol, the dynamic had shifted. They still didn’t talk much—but Jeonghan had noticed how Seungcheol smiled more during meals, how he elbowed Mingyu during jokes, how he’d lean close to whisper snide remarks to Jisoo during boring speeches.

And every now and then, Jeonghan would catch him watching. Not judging.

Just...watching.

But tonight, none of that was on Jeonghan’s mind.

Sleep wouldn’t come. His thoughts were too loud. So he slipped on a coat, tied his hair into a loose bun, and padded with his soft slippers down the candlelit halls toward the library.

He hadn’t expected anyone to be there.

But under the soft glow of floating lanterns, surrounded by towering bookshelves, he saw a familiar figure.

Wonwoo.

Sitting alone at a long table. Head bent over a book, glasses sliding slightly down his nose. The sleeves of his sweater pushed to his elbows, one hand cradling a mug, the other turning a page.

Jeonghan stopped for a second, unsure if he should disturb the moment.

But then Wonwoo looked up, calm and unsurprised.

He gestured silently to the seat across from him.

Jeonghan walked over and sat down, letting the quiet settle between them, “Couldn’t sleep.”

Wonwoo slightly nods, “ Same. Too many thoughts.”
He glanced at the open book, “This usually helps.”

Jeonghan peered at the title. An ancient-looking hardbound book, “Tactics of the Fourteenth War Era.” Dense, complicated diagrams filled the pages.

Jeonghan raised his eyebrow, “You read this to relax?”

Wonwoo slightly smirks, “Better than counting sheep.”

Jeonghan leaned his elbows on the table, staring at the pages, “Does it help? Reading all this?”

Wonwoo quietly nods, and almost a whisper, “Sometimes. Helps me feel… prepared.”

As he turned another page, Jeonghan noticed something tucked into the spine of the book—a polaroid photo, edges slightly worn.
A picture of Wonwoo and Mingyu, arms slung around each other, grinning at the camera. Mingyu was throwing a peace sign. Wonwoo, for once, was smiling wide.

Jeonghan raised a brow, teasing gently, “Cute bookmark.”

Wonwoo blinked, then looked down and gave a short, embarrassed huff,  It’s from our first year. Mingyu insisted. Said I looked too serious all the time.”

Jeonghan softly smiles, “You still do.”

Wonwoo let out a quiet laugh. It wasn’t defensive. Just honest.

A silence fell again, but it was comfortable this time. Familiar.

Then Jeonghan asked, almost without thinking—

 “How are you really, Wonwoo?”

The quiet boy with glasses looked at him for a moment, as if surprised by the question. His fingers drummed once on the page. Then he closed the book, “Terrified.”

That caught Jeonghan off guard.

Wonwoo rarely shared.

And when he did, it was usually measured.

Precise.

Wonwoo’s voice starts to tremble, “The Selection is coming. We can feel it in the air, right?”
 He sighs, almost defeated, “ I have this… feeling. That Mingyu and I will both get chosen. I don’t know how to explain it, it’s just—there. Sitting in my stomach like a weight.” 

Jeonghan opened his mouth to respond but found no words. What could he say? “You’ll be fine”? “Don’t worry”?

He remembered the Headmaster’s strange confidence, the way he’d said:
 “If you get selected… you’ll win it.”

But Jeonghan couldn’t say that to Wonwoo.

Not when he was the only one promised that outcome.

Instead, he leaned forward, “Do you trust yourself?”

Wonwoo looked down. Thought. Then nodded once, “ Most days.”

“Then you’ll do what you have to. No matter what.”

Another pause.

Then—

Wonwoo nodded again, this time with more weight, “Thanks, Jeonghan.”

They sat in the library a little while longer, the polaroid still marking the page between them. Neither spoke much after that. They didn’t need to.

Sometimes, it was enough to not be alone with your thoughts.

******

By the time the red banners were raised along the outer walls of the Academy, it is official:

The Selection is drawing near.

The once peaceful halls now buzzed with tension. Students walked a little straighter. Eyes lingered a little longer. Rumors spilled from one corner to another like wildfire.

“Definitely Seungcheol. He was top of the ranks last year.”
 “No, it’s Mingyu. Have you seen him fight?”
 “I bet Jisoo gets in. He has the charm. The audience will love him.”
 “There’s always at least one surprise pick…”
 “Maybe it’s that new boy—Jeonghan?”

Jeonghan tried to ignore the whispers.

He trained harder. Attended every class, every lecture, every simulation. On the outside, he looked calm.

Composed.

But deep down, panic sat quietly in his chest like a caged animal.

He knew his ability was different.
 And the truth was—he didn’t even fully understand it himself.

He didn’t want to get caught off guard. Not if he was really going to be in this.

So one afternoon, while most students were either in training or in the lounge, Jeonghan returned to the library.

But this time, he wasn’t there for regular shelves.

He was near the Restricted Section.

He stood just a few feet away from the locked gate, eyes scanning the titles he could see. Most were in ancient scripts. Dusty spines. Words like “Chrono-Perception” and “Oneiric States” and “Lucid Warfare.”

None of them accessible.

Until—

“Jeonghan?”

He froze.

Slowly, he turned—and there was Seungcheol, standing just a few steps behind him, arms crossed over his chest.

For a second, Jeonghan considered lying.

But something about the way Seungcheol looked at him—not accusing, just curious—made him tell the truth.

Jeonghan softly looks at Seungcheol, “ I’m… researching.”
 
“ About my ability. Just in case I get selected. I want to understand it better.”

There was a pause.

Seungcheol stared at him. Then, to Jeonghan’s surprise, he just gave a small nod, “Wait here.”

And without another word, he turned around and walked away.

Jeonghan blinked after him, unsure what just happened.

Ten minutes passed.

Then—he saw him again. Walking back with a confident stride, expression smug, something jingling in his hand, “Got it.”

He held up a single bronze key, slightly tarnished, with the Academy’s insignia engraved on the side.

Jeonghan gasped with his eyes turned wide, “You stole that?”

Seuncheol just shrugged and playfully winked at Jeonghan,” Borrowed. My dad won’t notice. Probably.”

He then stepped forward and unlocked the gate to the Restricted Section.

It creaked open like something in an old fable.

Inside, the light dimmed. The air was cooler. The books were older, some practically falling apart. The magic inside them was so thick that even the dust glittered faintly under the glow of floating orbs.

“ Alright. What are we looking for?”

Jeonghan hesitated for just a second.

Then he exhaled, “Books about… dreams.”

Seungcheol turned his head, eyebrow raised.

For the first time, something clicked in his expression—just a flash of understanding.

But he didn’t ask more.

Instead, he simply nodded,  “Okay. Let’s find what we can.”

They split up, moving between the tall shelves. The deeper they went, the older and weirder the titles became.

“Dreamweavers of the Old War”
 “Tactics from the Oneiric Realm”
 “Sleep Manipulation: A Theory of Unconscious Combat”

Jeonghan pulled book after book, heart racing with every page he turned.

Pieces were starting to form.

Fragments.

Ideas.

 Not enough for clarity—but enough to know his ability wasn’t as “useless” as he’d thought.

And somewhere along the way, Seungcheol silently handed him another book, watching him without a word.

“The Mind’s Arena: Warfare Within the Dreamspace”

Jeonghan took it with a quiet nod.

They didn’t talk much after that.

But when they stepped out of the restricted section an hour later, both of them a little dusty and a little breathless from what they’d found, Jeonghan caught Seungcheol looking at him.

Not with suspicion.
 Not even curiosity anymore.

But something else entirely—respect.

And maybe even the beginning of belief.

******

The stars hung lower that night—like they, too, were waiting for something.

It was two days before The Selection.

And though no names had been called yet, everyone felt it in their bones.
The pressure.

The pull.

That low hum of fear no one wanted to admit out loud.

So Seungcheol said, “Screw it. Let’s just hang out tonight.”

Which is how the six of them ended up squeezed into Seungcheol’s dorm—if you could even call it that.

The room was easily the size of three. Velvet drapes. Soft lighting. The scent of citrus wood and warm linen. A little too clean and polished, but not cold.

They gathered in a lazy sprawl across the room: some on the plush couch, others on the floor with pillows and snacks someone had swiped from the kitchen.

Mingyu brought drinks—non-alcoholic, but enough to warm the throat.
 Jisoo brought music—low and steady, something old-school and magical playing in the background.
 Wonwoo was tucked in a corner with a book but still listening.
 Seokmin was already halfway through a pillow fight with Mingyu until Seungcheol threatened to kick them out.
 Jeonghan watched them, amused, slightly dazed, a part of him still not believing he belonged here.

But he did.

He really did.

Conversation shifted lazily from classes to professors to random Academy gossip. Laughter bubbled up easily, even as tension clung to the edges.

And somewhere in between Seokmin doing a dramatic reenactment of a training simulation and Jisoo spilling crumbs on the rug—

Jeonghan spoke ,”You know… I never told you guys how I ended up here.”

The room fell still—not tense, but curious.

Mingyu sat up straighter. Jisoo tilted his head. Wonwoo closed his book softly. Even Seungcheol, who’d been leaning against the wall, turned to look at him.

Jeonghan didn’t meet their eyes as he continued, “I’m not from the Academy. I didn’t train like you did. I didn’t even… know this world properly. I helped someone.”

Jeonghan slightly glanced at Seungcheol, “I helped.. I helped the Headmaster..”

Jisoo gasped. Seokmin’s cookie fell off. Seungcheol leans in, still with expression unreadable, “I helped him out in the forest, one night. He was injured, and I couldn’t just leave him. A few days later, he offered me a spot here. Said I “belonged.” And now… here I am.”

He didn’t say it seeking pity.

Just truth.

And somehow, it felt right sharing it here—among these strange, chaotic, warm people who had started to feel like his own.

There was a pause.

Then Seokmin, with a gentle grin, reached forward to refill Jeonghan’s drink, “That’s the most badass entrance story I’ve ever heard. Forest. Injured stranger. Mysterious scholarship? Sounds like a drama.”

The others chuckled.

Jeonghan relaxed.

Then Seokmin leaned closer again, playful now, “Wanna trade? I’ll tell you my ability if you tell me yours.”

Jeonghan tilted his head with a small, mischievous smile,”No, I think I’d rather be surprised. And I’d like to be surprised by yours too. All of you.”

They stared at him for a moment.

Then Mingyu let out a low whistle, “ You’re so mysterious, it’s unfair.”

Wonwoo smiled,” I kind of like that.”

 

As the night wore on, they played a card game Jisoo made up on the spot.

They took turns saying something they wanted to do if they didn’t get chosen. Seokmin said he wanted to go and get a a boat license. Mingyu said he’d sneak into the city and get a tattoo. Wonwoo said he’d burn his student robes in protest. Jisoo wanted to choreograph a graduation musical. Seungcheol only said, “I want peace.”

Jeonghan?

He didn’t say anything.

Because what he wanted, most of all, was something he was only just starting to taste:

A place to belong.
 And people to come back to.

******

The party had ended with soft laughter and sleepy goodbyes.
 But Jeonghan’s mind refused to rest.

He sat cross-legged on the plush carpet of his dorm room, surrounded by a fortress of old, fragile books—most of them cracked at the spine, their pages smelling of dust, time, and secrets.
The moonlight from his open balcony spilled gently into the room, casting a soft silver glow across his scattered notes.

He hadn’t even changed out of the sweater Seungcheol had tossed at him earlier during the gathering—too busy flipping through page after page, skimming spells, abilities, rituals, curses, anything remotely connected to dreams.

But the more he searched, the more he felt it:

Frustration.
 Restlessness.
 Fear.

None of these books had clear answers. None of them gave him a name for what he could do.

His power had never made sense. It was dormant most of the time, almost nonexistent—until someone was asleep.

That was when he could… slip in.

Into their dreams.

And if he focused enough, manipulate them. Or worse.

He stared at the list he had scribbled hastily on parchment:

Entering someone’s dream: confirmed

Dream-suggestions: possible

Physical damage inside dreams: maybe

Real consequences in waking world: unknown

He rubbed at his eyes, sighing loudly, letting his head fall back against the edge of his bed.

Why did it have to be so vague?

Why did he feel like he was built for something… but the instructions were ripped away from him?

He looked over at the small, carved key Seungcheol had given back to him—now resting on his bedside table.

That night in the restricted section had felt like something out of a story.
 Seungcheol’s calm defiance. The reckless grin. That quiet way he didn’t question Jeonghan, just… helped.

Areum peeked into the room, probably drawn by the faint candlelight and the mountain of books, “Still awake?”

“ Can’t sleep.”

She walked in silently and placed a mug of warm tea beside him, “You’re going to burn out your brain. Even geniuses need rest.”

He gave her a tired smile, eyes flicking back to the pages,” If I get chosen… I need to be ready.I don’t even fully understand what I am. What if this thing inside me—this gift… what if it’s not a weapon at all?”

Areum walks over the door,  “Then maybe it’s not meant to destroy. Maybe it’s meant to protect.”

Her voice was soft, but something about the way she said it made his heart slow down just a little.

She left after that, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Jeonghan picked up one of the thinner books. A journal, really.
 Handwritten entries from a long-forgotten scholar who claimed dreams were the bridge between the soul and power.

On the last page, a scribble caught his eye:

“Some weapons are not forged in fire,
 but in silence.
 In sleep.
 In the shadows between thought and memory.”

He stared at the line for a long time.

And then, for the first time that night, he let the candle burn low.
 He lay back on the floor, closed his eyes, and wondered—

What kind of weapon am I becoming?

Notes:

I will try my best to do double updates everyday and finish the last drafts of this story so I can finish updating it here ( I started writing this story 3 months ago soooo) also some of these fantasy words are just randomly chosen by me thanks to google ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
ALSO ONE LAST THING some minwon and jeongcheol tiny crumbs in this chapter hehehe

Chapter 6: The Selection Ceremony

Notes:

I can’t believe this silly indulgent fic of mine will get more than 200 hits in 2 days??! (ﾉ>ω<)ﾉ :｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆ I am so thankful there are people who are interested reading this one. I am super excited because based off my outline and drafts, I am close on finishing the story so I just need to edit them here which actually takes me a lot of time (╥﹏╥).
Random fact: this chapter is one of my favorite in the entire story and also one of the longest AHHH. Anyways, here is chapter 6!

The air inside the Great Hall was thick—so dense it felt like breathing required effort.
Velvet banners bearing the insignias of the Five Nations hung above the students, their gold embroidery flickering from the light of floating candles.

The Goblet of Fire, older than most civilizations, burned quietly at the front of the stage, its flames an unnatural shade of violet and blue.

Jeonghan stood among the students, neatly lined up in alphabetical order across the marble floor, his palms clammy despite the crispness of the air. His name tag gleamed too brightly against his uniform. He could feel it—eyes, whispers, tension vibrating in the air like it might snap at any second.

The Headmaster stepped forward.

Dressed in ceremonial robes that shimmered like the night sky, he carried an air of both solemnity and reverence. He raised one hand, and silence fell.

“Today, as tradition binds us, the Goblet will choose the finest of our young blood. Six warriors from each of the Five Nations will be sent into the proving grounds. They will fight for glory, for legacy… for survival.”

The Goblet flared. Students held their breath.

“And now… the first to be chosen from Aurora…”

Blue flames shot up. A piece of ancient parchment flew out of the fire and landed gently in the Headmaster’s hand.

He read the name.

“Choi Seungcheol.”

Gasps rippled through the room.

Jeonghan’s breath hitched as he instinctively turned his head.

Seungcheol stood a few rows down, unmoving for a heartbeat. His jaw tightened just a little, but then he moved—walking steadily toward the platform. The Headmaster met his son’s eyes with an unreadable expression. A silent moment passed between them. Then Seungcheol stood tall on the platform, his shadow stretching long behind him.

Jeonghan felt his fingers curl into his sleeve.

Five more.

The Goblet flared again.

“Jeon Wonwoo.”

Jeonghan’s stomach dropped.
His eyes snapped to the other side of the hall, catching Wonwoo just as he turned his face toward the flames. He didn’t flinch, but his hands trembled as he adjusted his glasses. He took his steps quietly, walking to the platform with his usual calm grace—but Jeonghan could see through it.

The stiffness in his shoulders, the weight in every step.

A few murmurs started to stir in the crowd.

Jeonghan looked to his left.
Mingyu’s hands were clenched into fists. His jaw locked.

Four more.

Another name.

“Lee Seokmin.”

A sharp breath from someone.

Maybe Jeonghan.

Maybe Mingyu.

Maybe everyone.

Seokmin hesitated just for a second—his wide eyes scanning the crowd, clearly searching. And when they locked with Jeonghan’s, there was a sad smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He made his way to the stage, forcing that trademark brightness in his face even as fear shimmered behind his eyes.

Jeonghan felt something close around his heart.

Three down.

All of them…

Friends.

Three more.

The flames rose again.

“Kim Mingyu.”

No one was surprised.

But it didn’t make it easier.

Jeonghan saw Mingyu exhale slowly and run a hand through his hair. He didn’t look around. Just walked, his tall frame cutting through the crowd with a quiet dignity.
Jeonghan could tell—Mingyu wasn’t scared for himself.

He was scared for who else would be called.

As he climbed the steps, Mingyu glanced back only once—eyes locking with Jisoo’s.

Two more.

“Hong Jisoo.”

Jeonghan didn’t even need to look. He felt the warmth of Jisoo's presence shift as he stepped forward.
But then Jisoo turned, looked directly at him—and the way his eyes softened said everything.

They both knew what was coming.

Jeonghan start whispering to himself, "Don’t say it. Please… don’t—"

The Goblet spat out its last name.
The Headmaster looked down.

 

“Kang Jeonghan.”

Silence.

Complete, deafening silence.

It felt like his heartbeat was ringing in his ears. The stone beneath his feet felt unreal—like he might fall through it.

Was this fate?
Was this a curse?
Why… all six of them?

Some students whispered that it was rigged.

Others said it was destiny.

A few looked frightened, as if something far more powerful was at play.

Jeonghan stepped forward, his legs moving on their own. Every step was heavy, but somehow his spine stayed straight. As he approached the stage, he looked up and met eyes with the others—each of them wearing different masks of emotion.

Seungcheol’s face was unreadable, but his eyes spoke a quiet resolve.
Wonwoo gave him a faint nod.
Seokmin smiled softly.
Mingyu’s jaw unclenched, relief mixing with horror.
Jisoo offered him a small wink.

They were all there.

All six of them.

Together.

On the battlefield.

******

The ceremony was over, but the energy it left behind was still pulsing through the walls of the academy.

Jeonghan followed quietly behind the others, his mind an ocean of questions, nerves, and flashes of the Headmaster’s calm smile when his name had been called.

He didn’t feel like he was walking—more like being carried by a wave of something far bigger than him.

They arrived at the Headmaster’s office, the one with stained glass windows, intricate bookshelves, and an aura of something ancient and knowing.

The six of them stood before the large oak desk.

The Headmaster sat behind it, hands clasped, eyes surveying each of them with the weight of a father and a general.

Silence.

And then—his voice.

“You six are not just the pride of Aurora now. You are its heart.”

He stood slowly, walking around his desk until he was in front of them.

“The Tournament is cruel. It always has been. Designed to strip young souls of everything soft… everything human. But this year—”

He paused, gaze sharp as it fell upon them one by one.

“—I believe it might be different. You all… bring something I’ve never seen before. A bond.”

His eyes flicked briefly toward Jisoo and Mingyu, then at Seokmin, then to Wonwoo—who kept his gaze low.
Finally, they landed on Seungcheol.

“Seungcheol. Do not disappoint me.”

Seungcheol nodded once, without hesitation.

Then the Headmaster turned to Jeonghan, “Remember what I told you… when you first arrived here.”

Jeonghan met his eyes.
He remembered every word.

"You’ll win."

The Headmaster gestured toward the door where an older man with sharp eyes, silvering hair, and a strict posture stepped inside.

“This is Professor Kwon. Strategy Master. From this day forward, he will be your head mentor. Your lives are no longer your own. They belong to victory.”

Professor Kwon gave them all a curt nod before motioning them to follow him.

******

They were led down unfamiliar corridors—quiet, carved from marble and old stone—until they entered a grand double door.

Inside was a circular room unlike anything Jeonghan had ever seen. Massive maps lined the walls. Holographic projections of past battlefields rotated slowly above a wide round table in the center. Books stacked in corners, weapons hung on display, and ancient documents lay rolled on long wooden desks.

This is not an ordinary classroom.

This is a war room.

Professor Kwon looked at them, “This is yours now.”

He walked slowly to the center.

 “This room has guided champions. And now it will train you. You six will be removed from the general curriculum. From this point, you live, eat, and breathe training. Physical, mental, spiritual. Until you can kill… or keep your friends from dying.”

A beat passed. The room felt colder.

Then—he looked straight at Jeonghan.

 “Strength alone doesn’t define a winner. It's strategy. It’s understanding your enemy before they understand you. It’s patience. Restraint. Sacrifice.”

Jeonghan swallowed.
He didn’t look away.

 “Love. Friendship. These things are dangerous… but also powerful. In the arena, they are your only anchor. Hold onto each other, or you will lose yourselves.”

A few glances were exchanged among the six of them. No one spoke, but there was something unspoken in the air.

“As of this moment, your lives no longer follow the schedule of ordinary students. You will train together, study together, and prepare together. Your names are sealed into the Games. And so are your fates.”

The six remained silent. Their gazes were heavy, emotions hidden behind veils of pride or fear.

 “The public will only learn about your abilities one day before the Tournament. The Elders will rate them—Grade 1 to Grade 5. Five means lethal. Five means feared. But remember this—strategy, not strength, will crown the victor.”

His sharp eyes landed briefly on Jeonghan, then swept across the group.

A pause.

“Before we begin… let’s stop dancing around the real question.”

He turned, now walking slowly around the circle of boys.

 “What is your ability? And show it to us.”

******

 

Silence.

Hesitation thickened the air.

Then, Seokmin stepped forward—quiet, smiling gently.

Professor Kwon nodded,  “Okay, young man. We’ll start with you.”

Seokmin didn’t speak.

He just closed his eyes.

And the air changed.

A sharp breath swept through the room. The temperature dropped, slow and steady, like a ghost exhaling frost.

Jeonghan felt the chill climb down his spine.

He rubbed his arms instinctively, but it didn’t help. His breath fogged in the air.

Mingyu murmuring with a huff,  “I hate it when he does this.”

Frost laced over the floor, a silent silver web growing beneath Seokmin’s shoes.

Crystals danced along the walls. Jeonghan gasped when a flake of snow touched his cheek. Seokmin lifted one hand calmly—and from thin air, a blade of gleaming ice bloomed like a flower in his palm.

A perfect dagger.

Intricate, balanced, deadly.

Seokmin held it without threat.

Without pride.

Like it was part of him.

Then—he blinked. The dagger melted into mist. The frost faded. The warmth returned like someone had turned on a heater.

Professor Kwon clapped once: “That’s an easy Grade 4. Ice Manipulation. A powerful one, by the feel of it.”

Seokmin just shrugged with his modest tone, “I can drop temperatures across a wide radius. Create weapons, shields, freeze surfaces. But I get hypothermic if I push too long. I try to time it.”

Jisoo scoffs as he laughs,  “Keyword: try. He passed out once trying to make an ice throne.”

Seokmin just smiled, “Totally worth it.”

They laughed softly.

Jeonghan didn’t.

He was still trying to process what he just witnessed. He glanced at the floor, half-expecting frost to rise again. It hadn’t looked real. It had looked like a dream—dangerous, frozen beauty.

Jeonghan thought, “ Scary and beautiful. One down. Four more to go…”

Professor Kwon cleared his throat, “Next.”

Mingyu stepped forward with a cocky grin. He cracked his knuckles.

******

 “Alright. My turn.”

Mingyu stepped forward, rolling his shoulders with a grin too charming for someone about to unveil the weapon built into his soul.

 “Alright. My turn. Please don’t scream, Seokmin.”

Seokmin just rolled his eyes and sighs, “You just love setting stuff on fire.”

Jisoo added,  “And everything around it.”

 “Focus, boys.”

Mingyu exhaled deeply, then lifted his right hand.

At first, nothing.

Then a low hum stirred in the air, like the ground itself was holding its breath.

A subtle red glow pulsed at his fingertips… then spread across his palm, then his veins. The air around him shimmered. Heat licked at their skin.

Jeonghan thinks that it feels like the sun is breathing down his neck…

Without warning, flames erupted from his hand, coiling like a dragon waking from sleep. They danced around him—controlled, precise, beautiful. His feet planted firmly on the ground, and he slowly raised both arms.

Then the real show began.

His muscles bulged—no longer just toned, but glowing faintly with ember-like veins. His eyes glowed faint gold as the floor beneath his feet cracked slightly, unable to withstand the raw pressure emanating from him.

Wonwoo sat up straight, “He’s activating the dual-state.”

Mingyu lifted a desk with one hand like it was made of paper, flipped it mid-air, and caught it without looking, while the fire from his body flared dramatically—and then, in a blink, vanished.

The temperature settled. The cracked floor slowly repaired itself with the Academy’s silent enchantments.

Mingyu turned with a sheepish grin.

 “…Sorry about the floor. Again.”

Professor Kwon just smiled slightly,  “Control is part of strength, Mr. Kim.”

He walked closer, eyes narrowed in both appraisal and calculation.

 “Fire Manipulation with Amplified Strength. A rare fusion. Not quite Grade 5, but dangerously close. Grade 4.8.”

Jisoo started to tease Mingyu, “Someone’s gonna cry if he doesn’t get the full five.”

Seokmin nudged Mingyu’s shoulder, “I’ll give him a five for dramatic flair.”

Mingyu just grins as he walks towards his seat,  “I’ll take that. And the crown, eventually.”

He stepped back to the group, casually bumping shoulders with Jeonghan as he passed. Jeonghan chuckled softly but couldn’t hide the awe in his eyes.

Jeonghan is already in awe.

And he still hadn’t even seen the others. Or shown his own.

Professor Kwon clapped again, “Next.”

Wonwoo silently stepped forward, pushing his glasses up with calm precision.

******

The room fell into a quiet anticipation as Wonwoo stepped forward.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

With a calm breath, he reached up and slowly took off his glasses.

His eyes, now fully visible, gleamed with something strange and unnerving—a sharp glint that held the weight of secrets. He glanced around, his gaze almost too still, too calculating.

Then he looked at Professor Kwon, offering him the faintest of smiles.

 “I’ll need to touch you for this.”

Professor Kwon raised an eyebrow but nodded, folding his arms like he wasn’t fazed.

Wonwoo stepped closer and gently placed two fingers on the professor’s right shoulder.

At first, nothing happened.

Then—

a scream.

The kind that tore out of someone’s lungs involuntarily. Professor Kwon collapsed to one knee, clutching at his chest, eyes wide with agony. The others jolted upright.

Jeonghan gasped and stood up, “Professor!”

But before anyone could move, Wonwoo placed his fingers again—same spot—and like a light switch, everything went silent.

Professor Kwon exhaled sharply and slowly stood, visibly shaken, sweat beading at his brow.

The room was stunned.

Seungcheol grins casually, “Sorry, Professor. We were his lab rats for weeks. I still have phantom pain in my kidneys.”

Seokmin playfully added, “I think he broke something in my lower back once. Still not sure what.”

Jisoo dramatically leaned towards Seokmin,  “I swear he disconnected my knee and forgot to fix it for ten minutes.”

Professor Kwon, still catching his breath, turned slowly to Wonwoo.

  “…What the hell was that?”

Wonwoo slipped his glasses back on, voice calm, as if he hadn’t just dropped a man with a single touch.

 “My eyes—they’re like x-rays. When I take off my glasses, I can see everything in the body. The flow of blood. The alignment of bones. Weak points. Arteries. Nerves. If I touch the right spot, I can snap, rupture, or tear something vital in a second.”

Everyone stayed still, processing the weight of that.

But Wonwoo wasn’t done.

He looked down for a beat, voice softer now.

 “…But I don’t like using it that way. I can also do the opposite. Realign. Repair. Heal. I just prefer healing over breaking.”

That sentence hung in the air like a prayer.

Professor Kwon stared at him, equal parts disturbed and impressed. Then he nodded, slowly.

 “Grade 5.”

No debate.

No hesitation.

The room remained silent as Wonwoo walked back to the group.

Jeonghan, still wide-eyed, looked at him differently now—his quiet friend who always carried books and liked corners of the library… could kill a man with two fingers, and just as easily heal him back.

******

The room had gone quiet.

Only three of them hadn’t revealed their abilities yet—but Jisoo stepped forward first, all eyes turning toward him.

He didn’t wear the usual bright smile that made him seem effortlessly warm. Instead, his expression was unreadable. Not cold, not serious—just still.

 “Ready, Jisoo?”

Jisoo nodded.

 “My ability doesn’t work like the others… it’s not flashy or loud. It’s personal. It works one-on-one.”

He looked around the room. Everyone was watching him carefully.

Even Jeonghan, now bracing himself for something unnatural.

Jisoo looked around the room and stopped his glance to Professor Kwon,  “I’ll show you.”

He stepped forward, slowly, as though crossing into a different space entirely. The moment he reached Professor Kwon, something shifted in the air.

Subtle.

But undeniable.

Wonwoo took a step back.

Seokmin shivered and muttered, “Here we go…”

Jisoo lifted his eyes—and they glowed with something soft but sharp.

And just like that, Professor Kwon flinched.

It was instant.

His shoulders tensed. His breathing quickened. His eyes—sharp and analytical just seconds ago—suddenly darted left and right, as if seeing something that wasn’t really there. A memory? A person? A fear?

Jeonghan felt goosebumps rise.

Mingyu whispered,
 “He’s already inside his head.”

A beat later, Professor Kwon stumbled backward.

And for the briefest second… it wasn’t Jisoo standing there anymore. Not to the professor.

It was someone else.

Someone the professor loved.

Or feared.

Or maybe both.

Then—gone.

Jisoo blinked, stepping away as Professor Kwon took a breath like he had been drowning.

Professor Kwon clutched his chest as if his life depends on it, “What was that?”

Jisoo softly smiled, head low walking towards his seat, “I can project someone’s greatest fear… or their greatest love. Make them see it, feel it. If they hesitate—just for a moment—I become that person. And I strike.”

There was no pride in his voice.

Just fact.

A quiet truth.

 “Fear or love… whichever breaks them faster.”

The silence that followed wasn’t fear—

it was awe.

Jeonghan now looked at Jisoo differently.

Professor Kwon, composing himself, muttered:
 “Easily a Grade 4… maybe even a 5, depending on execution.”

Jisoo returned to his seat with a faint, almost regretful smile. Seokmin smiling softly at him as he draped his arm over Jisoo's shoulders. 

A consolation. 

And now… only two remained.

And Jeonghan could feel his hands start to tremble.

******

The room had barely recovered from Jisoo’s demonstration when the next to rise was Seungcheol.

Calm.

Steady.

Not even a flicker of hesitation in his movements.

He didn’t do anything extravagant—no theatrics, no change in the air like the others. He simply stepped forward and stood before them, his hands in his pockets and a relaxed look on his face. If anything, he looked…

bored.

Professor Kwon, still barely recovering from Jisoo's ability clapped his hands once,  “Seungcheol. Ready to show us?”

Seungcheol just shrugged.  “I can’t show it here. It’s not something I can control—not fully. And honestly, it’s not pretty.”

The other five glanced at each other.

Jeonghan noticed how even Jisoo, who had just terrified the professor moments ago, suddenly grew tense.

Professor Kwon raised an eyebrow. “Then explain it. Let us understand.”

Seungcheol tilted his head. The lights above him cast a long, slanted shadow across the floor.

 “My power… is my shadow.”

Everyone stilled.

Seungcheol's eyes fixed on Professor Kwon,  “But I don’t control shadows. I don’t manipulate them. My own shadow… acts on its own. It follows me, yes. But it also hungers.”

Professor Kwon’s eyes narrowed, “Hungers?”

Seungcheol nodded.

Still calm.

Still terrifying.

  “My shadow eats the soul of everyone I attack. It pulls at them… strips away what makes them human. Leaves them standing—but empty. Hollow. After that, it’s easy to kill them. They don’t even fight back.”

Silence.

Complete, suffocating silence.

Even Jeonghan, who had been so curious to learn more about the others, could only stare in stunned disbelief.

His heart thudded painfully in his chest.

It wasn’t just powerful. It was unnatural.

Professor Kwon froze, “That’s… that’s one of the forbidden abilities. Unforgivable. Soul-based powers were banned from official use for decades. It's almost illegal to use it in the games.”

Seungcheol, with a lazy shrug, “Well… guess we’ll have to trust the Elders to make an exception.”

He turned slightly, eyes meeting Jeonghan’s.

There was no malice in them.

No cruelty.

Just stillness.

Like a quiet ocean that could drown you if you swam too deep.

Professor Kwon slowly declared,  “Grade 5. There’s no question.”

But his voice was tight.

And his eyes—uneasy.

Seungcheol walked back to his seat without a word.

And Jeonghan realized—he wasn’t the scariest thing in the room.

Not even close.

And now… he was the last one left.

******

Jeonghan stood as the last one remaining.

The others had shown terrifying powers—ice, fire, fear, shadows, precision death.

He could feel the weight of their eyes on him now.

The pressure.

The curiosity.

The uncertainty.

But he wasn’t afraid.

Not anymore.

He stepped forward slowly, the room holding its breath.

 “I think no one really knows what my ability is…”

He pauses, looking at each of them, 

“…though some might have an idea.”

His eyes stopped—rested briefly on Seungcheol, who met his gaze without flinching.

 “I can’t demonstrate it here either. I thought, for a long time, that it was useless. That it couldn’t help me survive, let alone protect myself.”

He exhales, his voice low but steady.

 “But… being here, I think my ability sensed something before I did. Like it knew I was heading in the right direction. That I would need it.”

The others watched in silence.

Intrigued.

On edge.

 “My ability isn’t something you can see with the naked eye. There’s no flash, no spectacle. I work behind the scenes. Quietly.”

He looked at Professor Kwon now, and the professor narrowed his eyes.

 “My ability… is to trap people in their dreams.”

 

Gasps.

A sharp intake of breath from Mingyu.

Even Wonwoo raised his eyebrows.

Seokmin looked visibly spooked.

 “When someone is asleep, I can enter their dreams—and then… I trap them. In a loop. In a dream within a dream. They won’t know they’re dreaming, and they’ll never return to their true reality.”

He took another breath, steadying himself.

 “No bloodshed. No pain. And the moment I reach them… they’re lost.”

The silence was heavier than ever.

No one moved.

Mingyu rubbed his arms—goosebumps.
 Seokmin muttered something under his breath.
 Wonwoo simply nodded, solemnly. He understood. He respected it.

Professor Kwon’s voice cracked through the quiet, “Dream abilities… they’re almost extinct now. Forgotten. Forbidden in some places.”

Then, more softly—his voice filled with awe and caution,  “…Who are you?”

Jeonghan didn’t answer.
 He just returned to his seat.

And this time, no one looked at him as the fragile one, or the new boy, or someone to protect.

No.

They looked at him like a weapon.

A quiet, sleeping weapon that could kill without lifting a finger.

And for the first time since he arrived, Jeonghan didn’t feel out of place.

He belonged.

Even if it terrified him.

 Even if it terrified everyone else.

******

The tension from the Selection Ceremony still clung to the air like mist.

But the six of them—Jeonghan, Seungcheol, Mingyu, Wonwoo, Seokmin, and Jisoo—found themselves together again, as if pulled by some invisible string of fate.

Someone cracked a joke—maybe Seokmin—and it broke whatever invisible wall had formed between them. They collapsed onto the couches and floors of the lounge nearest the tower, still in their uniforms, still reeling from what they’d revealed and what they’d seen.

Seokmin was the first to nudge Jeonghan, leaning in with a mock-serious expression,“So, if I fall asleep right now… should I be scared?”

Jeonghan blinked, then smirked faintly,  “Depends. Have you been mean to me lately?”

That made everyone laugh. Mingyu groaned, “Great. Now I can’t nap around you. My whole routine’s ruined.”

Jisoo raised an eyebrow dramatically,  “I swear, the quiet ones are always the most terrifying.”

Wonwoo just chuckled softly from his corner,  “He’s not terrifying. He’s just… precise.”

There was warmth in that word.

Precision.

Not a threat.

A skill.

 And Jeonghan felt it.

The shift.

The subtle yet significant shift.

He wasn’t “new” anymore. He wasn’t “fragile.” He wasn’t someone they needed to shield.

He is one of them.

And when the laughter slowly faded into the comfortable silence of shared exhaustion, they began to drift—some to their dorms, others lingering just a little longer.

Eventually, it was only Jeonghan and Seungcheol walking down the quiet, dimly lit halls of the dormitory wing.

Neither of them said a word. The sound of their footsteps echoed gently. Not awkward, just... thoughtful.

They didn’t know how they ended up walking together. They just did.

They reached Jeonghan’s door.

Seungcheol stopped. Looked at the nameplate for a second, then turned to him.

His voice was low, almost hesitant, “I never said thank you. For what you did to my dad.”

Jeonghan, surprised by the sudden vulnerability, shook his head gently, “No need. He gave me more than enough.”

Seungcheol stared at him for a moment longer—eyes softer than usual. Then, slowly, without thinking, he lifted a hand and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Jeonghan’s ear.

A quiet gesture. Thoughtless. Tender.

“Goodnight, Jeonghan.”

He turned and walked away down the corridor, back straight, footsteps fading into the distance.

Jeonghan stood frozen in place, hand slowly coming to his chest.

It was racing.

He wasn’t sure why.

Maybe it was the ceremony. The shift. The power. The fear. The newness.
 Or maybe…

Maybe it was him.

And behind the door, his room was quiet—but his world had completely changed.

Notes:

SCREAMSSS THE GOBLET HAS SPOKEN AND CHOSE THE 6 PLAYERS! THE SUBTLE SIDESHIP MOMENTS AND ALSO THE JEONGCHEOL AT THE END??

The next chapters will be their journey with their trainings and the other ship dynamics will be unveiled soon (￢‿￢ ) see you tonight for chapter 7!

Chapter 7: Moving Closer

Notes:

A super short but sweet chapter for everyone! Just a "filler" chapter before we go serious again ＼（＾０＾）ノ. Here is chapter 7!

The days following the Selection were unlike anything the six of them had ever experienced.

The Academy no longer treated them like students—they were contenders now.

Candidates in a tournament older than the crowns on the Elders' heads. And to survive, they needed to be ready.

Mentally.

Strategically.

Physically.

And so, the physical training began.

Every morning at dawn, they met on the arena field. Their uniforms now replaced with black tactical training gear.

Sweat became their new cologne.

Pain, their new friend.

Jisoo groaned dramatically as he hit the ground for the fifth time in a sparring round, “Remind me why we’re doing this again?” he grumbled, face in the dirt.
Mingyu pulled him up with one arm, grinning, “So you don’t die in the first two minutes.”

It was brutal. Endless laps. Sparring matches. Endurance courses. Days filled with bruises, aching limbs, and the stench of exhaustion.

And yet—they grew closer.

Their friendship went to the next level, sealed by shared pain and whispered jokes during water breaks.

Wonwoo, quiet as ever, started speaking more. Seokmin made the team laugh through the worst drills. Jisoo, though winded, cheered for each of them when they broke a personal record.

And Jeonghan… slowly, but surely, became one of the pillars that held the group together.

******

What started as rare words between them turned into something steady. Consistent. Subtle.

One afternoon, Seungcheol walked into the common room and blinked when Jeonghan—still sweaty from training—offered him his favorite citrus tonic, holding it out without saying a word.

Seungcheol raised a brow, “You remembered?”
Jeonghan only smiled, “You always pick it first.”

Later that week, Jeonghan came back to his dorm and found a book sitting on his desk. One he had been quietly searching for in the library for weeks.

Tucked inside the cover was a torn scrap of paper. In small, messy handwriting:
"Don't overthink it. Just read it. – S.C."

And without anyone noticing, Seungcheol started walking Jeonghan to his dorm every night.

No excuses.

No explanations.

Just their quiet steps down the hallway, side by side, sometimes brushing shoulders, sometimes laughing softly in the dark.

******

During sparring drills, they often paired together.

At first, it was instinct. Comfort. Familiarity.

But then, it became something else.

One night, Jeonghan noticed them sitting near the training field after lights-out, sharing one drink between them and passing a bag of dried fruit back and forth in silence.

Wonwoo nudged Mingyu’s shoulder with his own.
Mingyu looked at him, smiled softly.
They didn’t speak. But they didn’t need to.

Something unspoken lived between them.

******

One night after curfew, Jeonghan couldn’t sleep.

He found Jisoo sitting on the rooftop of the training hall, feet dangling off the edge, a bottle of water in hand.

“Can’t sleep?” Jeonghan asked.

Jisoo didn’t answer immediately. He looked up at the stars, “Jeonghan… if I don’t make it out of this—”

“Don’t.” Jeonghan cut him off, voice firm.

“Let me finish.”

Jisoo reached into his jacket and pulled out a bundle of folded letters, “These are for Seokmin. If something happens to me, I need you to give them to him.”

Jeonghan stared.

“Jisoo—”

“I only ever used my ability on myself once,” Jisoo said softly. “Just once. I wanted to see what would break me. What I’d fear. And you know what I saw?”

Jeonghan didn’t speak.

“I saw Seokmin. Holding someone else’s hand. Loving someone who wasn’t me.”
Jisoo laughed quietly, bitterly. “I became him in the dream. And it was the most beautiful and painful thing I’ve ever felt.”

Jeonghan’s heart twisted. He reached over and gripped Jisoo’s wrist.

“Then make sure you’re the one to hand him those letters. Not me.”

Jisoo looked at him, eyes damp with unshed tears.

“Deal.”

******

Every bruise became a badge.

Every laugh, a promise.

They were still terrified. Still unsure.

But now, they weren’t alone.

And maybe—just maybe—that was what would keep them alive.

Chapter 8: Shift In The Air

Notes:

AHHHHH have y’all seen the tracklist for the album?! 13 solo songs ( ˃̣̣̥o˂̣̣̥ ) I will try my best to update as soon as I can. Also, I am planning on writing a childhood best friends to lovers royalty fic but I will finish Aurora first and then I will dive straight to that fic. Anywayss here is chapter 8!

Two months left before the tournament. The air in the Academy felt heavier, tighter—like it was holding its breath.
The six chosen were no longer just students now. They were the Academy's pride, and its only chance to reclaim the crown.

This week, the bruises from physical drills faded in favor of a deeper kind of challenge: mental training.

In the war room—a secure chamber carved deep beneath the Academy—they sat in a circle, surrounded by floating screens, shimmering maps, and ancient blueprints of the Arena.
It smelled like old ink and danger.

Professor Kwon stood at the center, his tone low but commanding.

“ All the power in the world won’t save you if you walk into a trap with your chest puffed out. This week, you will learn strategy. And today, we begin assigning roles.”

With a flick of his hand, the six main roles shimmered into the air.

Frontliners

” The fastest, the strongest, the ones who break the enemy line and protect the vulnerable. Think shields and spears. Quick and brutal.”

Healer

“The heart of your team. If the healer dies, your chances of survival drop to half. Keep them alive. At all costs.”

Deceiver

“The spy. The infiltrator. The ghost who walks into enemy territory and leaves with their secrets—and hopefully, their crest. One stolen crest equals 100 points.”

Fragger

“Your offense. The killer. They won’t always look the scariest, but they’ll probably rack up the most kills if deployed right.”

Seeker

“The most agile strategist. This one is dropped farthest from the rest and must locate and unite the team. It’s a race against time.”

Leader

“The Goblet chooses the leader. No debates. That person starts with 100 points. But if killed, those points go straight to their killer. Big target, bigger responsibility.”

A moment of silence passed.

Then Jeonghan quietly raised his hand. Without waiting to be called on, he stood, holding a thick stack of notes and maps he had already prepared.

“Sir, I’d like to present my proposed role layout, if I may.”

Professor Kwon raised an eyebrow but gave a small nod.
“Go on.”

Jeonghan walked to the board, the floating roles casting a faint light over his face. He began.

Frontliners: Mingyu and Seokmin

“Mingyu has the brute force and stamina. Seokmin has precision and control with his ice manipulation. They balance each other—Mingyu charges in, Seokmin can trap or freeze the field. Together, they’re a wall of speed and power.”

Both boys exchanged a quick look. Mingyu grinned, “Finally, I get to punch someone with style.”

Seokmin simply nodded.

Healer: Wonwoo

Jeonghan turned to face the others.
“It sounds counterintuitive, but Wonwoo is our best healer. He knows the human body inside out. He can reverse damage just as easily as inflict it, and if we lose him early, we’re done. He’s precise. Efficient. He won’t waste energy.”

Wonwoo blinked at that, surprised—but also slightly pleased.

Deceiver: Jisoo

Jisoo raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve got the mind tricks. The ability to shift into someone's deepest love or darkest fear? If you go in first, their defenses will be low. Pair that with my ability—”

Jeonghan smiled slightly, “—and you’ll never walk into enemy territory alone.”

Professor Kwon leaned forward slightly, intrigued, “What do you mean, pair that with your ability?”

Jeonghan’s expression shifted.
Calculated.

A little smug.

“I think I forgot to mention some perks of having my ability.”

He stepped away from the board, arms folded.

“Yes, I trap people in dreams. But I can also communicate through dreams. We don’t have any limits placed on us, right? So the first night—while everyone’s scattered—I can find you all in your sleep. I can tell you where I am. Where others might be. Even give instructions. And by the second day, we’ll all be united again.”

Gasps. Eyes wide. Mingyu even cursed under his breath.

“That’s not all,” Jeonghan continued, voice quiet but sharp.

“I’ve read some… interesting things in the restricted books. If I level up my ability, I become a sort of architect. I can build dreams that feel exactly like reality. If I catch someone—especially an enemy—I can trap them in fake surroundings. Confuse them. Extract information. And if we play our cards right, I can pass those details to Jisoo, who can infiltrate even deeper.”

Jisoo stared at him, stunned, “You could… weaponize my visions.”

“Exactly.”

Wonwoo gave an impressed nod. Seungcheol was smirking.

Professor Kwon spoke, finally. His tone impressed but still grounded, “What about Fragger? And the Seeker?”

Jeonghan didn’t hesitate.

Fragger: Seungcheol

“His shadow is a weapon, and he can attack multiple enemies at once if controlled. He might not always be on the frontlines, but the fragger’s job is to finish . And I’ve seen what he’s capable of.”

Seungcheol tilted his head.
“Five kills in one move. It’s possible.”

Jeonghan nodded.

Seeker: Me

“It fits my skillset. I’ll be the one scattered farthest, and while everyone else is getting their footing, I’ll already be inside the minds of our enemies. If I’m close to danger, I make them sleep. If I’m found, I confuse them. I don’t need to fight—I just need to outthink.”

A long silence followed. Then Professor Kwon crossed his arms.

“And the Leader?”

Jeonghan shrugged, but his tone was firm.

“That’s for the Goblet to decide. But I suggest we do simulations over the next few weeks—six of them. In each one, a different member is assigned Leader. We run scenarios, see how we perform with each of us in that role. That way, we’ll all know what to do, no matter who’s chosen.”

For a moment, no one said anything. Then Jisoo murmured under his breath:

“Why aren’t you the professor again?”

Laughter broke out, easing the tension.

But Professor Kwon wasn’t laughing. His gaze lingered on Jeonghan with something sharp and strange in his eyes.

Respect.

Maybe fear, too.

“You're not just a strategist,”he said.
“You're a storm waiting for the right battlefield.”

And for the first time, Jeonghan didn’t look surprised to hear it.

******

The room was dim, but their minds were burning.

After their roles were assigned, Professor Kwon didn’t let them rest.

Instead, he projected holograms of past games—year after year of bloodshed, victories, betrayals, alliances gone wrong, and how nations rose and fell based on one decision, one tactic, one hesitation.

“Watch carefully,” the professor said, eyes sharp.
“These aren’t just stories. These are warnings.”

Each game played before them like a flickering ghost.

One year, a healer was executed first and the whole team collapsed.

Another year, a deceiver led their squad into a trap, faking loyalty too well.

And once—just once—a strategist who never raised a blade won the whole game for his nation. His name had been erased from the records. But Jeonghan noticed the look in the professor’s eyes when that year appeared.

Jeonghan scribbled notes furiously, flipping through diagrams, drawing symbols, circling moments of hesitation and bold moves. Every few minutes, he murmured:

“Pause. Rewind that moment.”
“Did you all see that shift in positioning? That was planned.”
“That team died because they didn’t trust their deceiver. ”

At first, the others just watched him. Then, one by one, they opened their notebooks too. Jisoo started drawing diagrams. Mingyu, though frustrated, forced himself to write key phrases. Even Seokmin took notes, biting his pen. Seungcheol leaned back, relaxed—but he was listening, very closely.

Wonwoo smirked quietly and copied Jeonghan’s layout.

As the training ended for the day, they filed out in silence, heads throbbing with information.

Everyone looked drained.

Except for Jeonghan.

His hands still trembled with adrenaline. His eyes gleamed with a dangerous kind of joy.
This—this was the battlefield he belonged to.

And that night, when most of them collapsed onto their beds, Jeonghan stayed up organizing everyone’s learning tasks.

He handed out a note the next morning:

“During your free time, study at least three previous winning games. Note their roles, movements, and which ones never made it home . Avoid their mistakes. You’ll thank me later.”
— Jeonghan

That evening, Jeonghan and Wonwoo moved with purpose through the quiet halls, their hoods up.

Restricted Library, 2:17AM.

Seungcheol had “borrowed” the Headmaster’s key again, dropping it in Jeonghan’s hand with a simple:
”Don’t ask. Just don’t get caught.”

Inside, shelves loomed like ancient guardians, filled with forbidden strategy texts, psychological warfare manuals, mind-altering ability studies, and something labeled "Shadow Mechanics: Soul Extraction and Ethical Debates."

Jeonghan took that one for Seungcheol.

Wonwoo gravitated to anatomy-based books and healing theory. But he handed Jeonghan one quietly, no label on the spine. Just a single symbol embossed in silver: a crescent moon tangled in vines.

“This looks like your kind of read,” he said.

They returned to the dorms like thieves bearing gifts. Everyone woke up to a stack of books personalized to their abilities.

Something was shifting.

Yes, fear still lingered in the corners of their thoughts. But now there was excitement in their eyes. Purpose. And something even stronger: belief.

In themselves.

And in Jeonghan.

******

Later that night, a knock echoed in Jeonghan’s dorm. A familiar figure waited outside.

Headmaster Choi.

He stood tall, as always, but there was a rare softness in his posture.

“May I come in?”

Jeonghan stepped aside, a bit surprised.

The Headmaster didn’t waste time.
“How’s training?”

“It’s going well,” Jeonghan replied, nervous but honest.
“Professor Kwon has been challenging but… I’ve taken a liking to strategy. It feels… familiar. Natural, somehow.”

He began recounting moments from today’s session—how they rewatched the 124th Tournament three times just to catch a single formation shift.

How Seungcheol finally admitted to taking notes. How Wonwoo used symbols to annotate brainwave responses.

The Headmaster didn’t interrupt.

Then he spoke, voice quiet and unreadable, “Seungcheol’s mentioned your name more than usual recently.”

Jeonghan blinked, “Oh. I didn’t realize.”

“He said you’re dangerous.”

Jeonghan froze.

But then the Headmaster added—just barely, a glint of amusement breaking the stillness:

“He meant it as a compliment.”

Jeonghan smiled, unsure what to say. But the Headmaster looked at him then with a gaze not of authority—but memory.

Maybe even sorrow.

“You remind me of someone I know. A close friend.  They are fond of strategy too. So much so that they turned the world upside down, just to win a game everyone had already given up on.”

Before Jeonghan could ask, the Headmaster turned to leave.

But he paused by the door.

“Whatever you're building, Jeonghan—don’t forget to survive it too.”

And just like that, he was gone. 

Chapter 9: Simulations

Notes:

300 HITS??! I am so happy you guysss ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ I will try my best to update as fast as I can so I can start this royal bestfriends to lovers brainrot that I have. Here is chapter 9!

“To win the war, you must first understand your soldiers.”

The arena wasn’t what they expected.

It looked less like a battlefield and more like a playground of death: stone bridges dangling over misty ravines, illusioned forest corridors that changed every few hours, and platforms that could be raised, collapsed, or hidden.

At the center of it all was a glowing emblem—the crest of their nation, the one thing they had to protect during the real tournament.

Professor Kwon stood in front of them, arms crossed, a clipboard tucked into his side like a sword.

“Today,” he announced, “we simulate.”

The six of them stood in a line. Still a little sleepy. Still aching from their morning physical training.

But when the word simulate came out of Professor Kwon’s mouth, the atmosphere changed.

Jeonghan was already adjusting his gloves, focus sharp.
 Seungcheol cracked his knuckles and let out a soft chuckle.
 Mingyu and Seokmin were playfully shoving each other, but both already tracking every corner of the space.
 Wonwoo stood still, silent, like he was already calculating possible angles.
 And Jisoo, arms crossed and expression unreadable, just muttered,
 “Great. A battlefield with better lighting than my dorm.”

Professor Kwon pointed to the ground. Symbols began glowing beneath their feet.

“This is where you learn to lead. We will run simulations over the next few days with each of you in the leader role. I want to see how you command, how you break down, and how you rebuild.”

******

Round One: Leader — Mingyu

They were thrown into the simulation, and Mingyu was leading. Not because he asked—because Jeonghan had nudged him forward and whispered,
 “Let’s get your clumsy leadership over with first.”

Mingyu puffed his chest.
 “I’ll take that as faith in my power.”

 Jeonghan rolled his eyes.

Within five minutes, Mingyu had accidentally triggered two illusion traps and tried to climb a wall that wasn’t even real.
 “I SWEAR it was solid!”

Seokmin grumbled, stuck knee-deep in mud illusion,
 “This is why we don’t let dogs lead.”

Despite the chaos, Mingyu’s brute strength kept them alive long enough for Seungcheol to slip into command mode and save them with a dark surge of his shadow—just enough to silence the simulated enemies, not enough to drain him.

Simulation failed. But lessons were learned.

Mingyu sighed as they reset.
 “Okay, maybe not me. Yet.”
 Professor Kwon just smirked.

******

Round Two: Leader — Seokmin

Seokmin took it seriously.

Too seriously.

He kept apologizing after every decision.
 “Should I have gone left?”
 “Sorry, I meant signal, not execute—ah!”

Jeonghan took the lead quietly without a word and kept directing the team with hand gestures. Seokmin followed like a guilty puppy.

At one point, Jisoo whispered to Jeonghan,
 “He’d make a great leader if he believed he was one.”

Still, Seokmin’s defensive tactics were smart. He kept Wonwoo protected, and when enemies swarmed, he instinctively stepped in front of Jisoo.

Jeonghan smiled. That was something you couldn’t teach.

Simulation nearly passed.
  Professor’s note: High empathy. Needs confidence.

******

Round Three: Leader — Jisoo

Jisoo surprised them.

He was terrifyingly tactical. His voice never rose. His words were clipped and fast. He gave precise orders without hesitation and timed their movements like a conductor controlling a symphony.

“Seungcheol, shadow the left flank. Mingyu, feint toward the trap line. Wonwoo, 5 o'clock. Jeonghan—do your thing.”

The simulation nearly felt real.

They were efficient.

Sharp.

But…

Jisoo didn’t look at Seokmin once.

Jeonghan noticed. So did Seungcheol.

And when the simulation ended—victoriously—Jisoo walked away silently.

Later that night, Jeonghan found a crumpled note in Jisoo’s bed.
 He didn’t read it. But he didn’t throw it away either.

******

Round Four: Leader — Wonwoo

Wonwoo didn’t lead like the others.

He didn’t shout.

He didn’t rush.

He just observed.

Calculated.

He kept them in constant formation, watching for changes. His quiet was unnerving, but effective. He moved like someone who knew his enemies before they even appeared.

The simulation ended with only one injury—a mock wound to Mingyu’s leg.

Wonwoo patched it even though it wasn’t real.

“Instinct,” he said.

Simulation passed.

Professor Kwon raised a brow, “Unexpected. But dangerous in silence.”

******

Round Five: Leader — Seungcheol

This one… was brutal.

Seungcheol gave no space for hesitation.

His leadership was built from years of expectation and pressure. He shouted commands with precision, but not force. His presence was overwhelming, yet oddly reassuring.

He saved Jeonghan twice—one by instinct, one by brute force.

And when a trap nearly caught Seokmin, Seungcheol dived forward without hesitation.

Simulation passed. Fastest time.

Professor Kwon wrote one word: “Natural.”

******

Round Six: Leader — Jeonghan

When it was his turn, everyone went quiet.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at the map. At each of them. Then at the projection of the battlefield.

“Mingyu and Seokmin. Split and collapse inward by signal. Jisoo, fade west and give misinformation. Wonwoo, stay two clicks behind me. Seungcheol… I need you to pull their front forward.”

It felt like he’d planned it all before the simulation even started.

He didn’t shout.

He spoke.

Calm. Clear. Calculated.

And when a new computerized enemy —a much stronger variant—appeared out of nowhere, Jeonghan didn’t panic.

He smirked.

“Dreams aren’t just for sleeping.”

He activated his ability, fell asleep for 7 seconds, and when he woke up, the new enemy unit stood frozen—stuck in an endless cycle of their own worst memory. It was horrifying. And brilliant.

Simulation passed. Bonus points awarded.

Professor Kwon didn’t speak for a while and then,  “That’s what strategy is. Gentle, terrifying, and invisible.”

The others clapped slowly.

Seungcheol was grinning.

******

After a long week of simulations, the team found themselves sprawled across the empty strategy room floor, muscles sore, minds buzzing.

Mingyu tossed a pencil at Jeonghan, “I still say my wall was real.”

Seokmin snorted, “You walked into a tree, bro.”

Jisoo leaned back against the wall and sighed, “If the tree wasn’t real, how did it hurt so bad?”

Wonwoo just shrugged, “It was your pride.”

Laughter broke out—warm, real.

It felt earned.

Even Professor Kwon smiled faintly.

Then he stood.

“For the next phase,” he said, “we test something else.”

They all straightened.

“1-on-1 duels.”

Silence.

He looked at each of them.

“You’ll fight each other. No limits. No scripts. No simulations. It’s time to see what fear really looks like… when it wears the face of a friend.”

******

The room had cleared out slowly after the announcement of the upcoming 1-on-1 duels. Everyone had their own weight to carry back to their dorms—reflections, bruises, a buzzing kind of anticipation.

Everyone except Jeonghan and Jisoo.

Jeonghan lingered by the wall, arms crossed, eyes trailing after Jisoo as he made his way toward the hallway alone—again.

He called out, casually but firmly.
 “You didn’t look at him once.”

Jisoo paused, hand on the doorframe, back still turned.

 He didn’t ask who. He knew.

“It wasn’t the time.”

Jeonghan stepped closer, voice softer now, “You think loving someone means never making mistakes in front of them?”

Jisoo turned slowly. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held the weight of it all.

“I can’t afford to freeze, Jeonghan.”

 “Then learn to fight for him while looking at him.”

That hung heavy between them. A silence so sharp it felt like it could slice through truth itself.

Jisoo looked down, quietly admitting,
 “I thought I could protect him better from afar.”

Jeonghan let out a small, tired breath.
 “Or maybe you were just afraid he’d see the real you.”

For a moment, they were just two people in a quiet hallway, not potential killers or survivors—just two boys carrying things heavier than they let on.

Jisoo nodded slowly, then disappeared down the hallway.

******

Later that night, the group had gathered for a quick debrief in the common room—sprawled out with snacks, water bottles, and aching bodies.

Someone—probably Seokmin—joked about pretending to be injured tomorrow just to skip the duels.

Jeonghan had been quiet for a while, flipping through a notebook in his lap. Then, without looking up, he spoke in that calm, almost offhanded tone that always seemed to mean something more:

“I’ll pray to every god, every star, and every cursed coin in the universe if it means the goblet picks Wonwoo as our leader.”

The room went silent.

Wonwoo blinked, caught off guard.
 “Me?”

Jeonghan just shrugged, not meeting anyone’s eyes, still writing.

“He’s the only one who doesn’t want it... which probably means he’s the only one who deserves it.”

Mingyu mumbled something that sounded like agreement.
 Seungcheol just smiled faintly, looking at Jeonghan like he knew there was more to that statement than anyone else did.

And in that moment, something unspoken passed between them all.

Not just hope.

But quiet trust.

They were starting to believe.

Not just in themselves—but in each other.

******

The corridor was hushed, draped in shadows and flickering candlelight.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol walked slowly, side by side, like they’d done this a thousand times already. Their steps were unhurried, their bodies moving in an unspoken rhythm as if time didn’t exist between them.

Jeonghan broke the silence, his tone teasing yet light.
 “So… I heard you told your dad I’m dangerous.”

Seungcheol gave him a sidelong glance, the corner of his mouth twitching.
 “I did.”

Jeonghan gasped in mock offense,  “Wow. That’s… rude.”

Seungcheol shrugged, the ghost of a grin playing on his lips, “I meant it in a flattering way.”

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow,  “There’s a flattering way to call someone dangerous?”

Seungcheol stopped walking. He turned toward him, eyes serious and quiet.

“You’re fascinating to me.”

Jeonghan’s breath caught. Just for a second. The teasing in his eyes faded into something gentler, softer. He blinked and looked down at his shoes, then back up again.

His voice came out quieter than he expected.
 “Do you… want to come in?”

There was no hesitation.
 “Yeah.”

******

Inside Jeonghan’s dorm, the warmth of his room was immediate—the soft golden light, the faint scent of lavender tea leaves on the windowsill, the books stacked unevenly by his desk. It felt lived in. It felt like him.

Seungcheol headed to the bathroom, as if this isn't the first time he entered this room, while Jeonghan pulled open a drawer and tossed a set of his sleepwear onto the bed.

“They might be a bit smaller. Sorry.”

But when Seungcheol came out of the bathroom—his hair damp, wearing Jeonghan’s silver-gray sleepwear with the tiny embroidered initials over the chest—Jeonghan froze for a second.

His mouth went dry.

He looked… soft.

Tired.

Beautiful in a way that made Jeonghan’s chest twist.

“You keep staring,” Seungcheol murmured, tugging at the hem of the shirt.

“It’s just weird seeing my name on someone else’s chest.” Jeonghan muttered, flustered, looking away too quickly.

“Weird good or weird bad?”

“Shut up.” Jeonghan threw a pillow at him and pointed to the door. “Go get us some tea from the dining hall. I’ll wash up.”

“You’re bossy when you’re nervous.”

“And you’re still here.”

Seungcheol chuckled, pulling his beanie back on with a smirk as he headed out.

 

By the time he returned, Jeonghan was curled up on the sofa in a robe, hair still wet, holding two mismatched mugs. Seungcheol handed him the tea, sitting beside him with a yawn.

For a while, they drank in silence.

Then words began to trickle in. Jeonghan opened up first—about the long nights back home, the nightmares that led to nowhere, the feeling of being ordinary in a world built for the extraordinary.

“I used to think I was cursed,” Jeonghan admitted, his voice low. “Everyone else could do things with fire, wind, strength… I just made people sleep. Seemed pathetic back then.”

Seungcheol listened, gaze never leaving him.

Then he shared his own story—of his father, the weight of expectation, the constant pressure to not just participate but win. To continue a legacy.

“Sometimes I think they didn’t want a son. Just a trophy they could send to war.”

Jeonghan looked at him, something heavy in his chest. Without thinking, he reached out and placed a hand on Seungcheol’s knee.

“You’re more than that. You always were.”

They both fell quiet after that. It wasn’t uncomfortable—it was calm.

A rare pocket of peace in a world built on pressure and performance.

******

Time: 4:02 AM

Jeonghan rubbed his eyes and looked at the clock.

“It’s already 4.”

“And we have duels in four hours.”

“I regret everything.”

Seungcheol stood, stretching his arms,  “Should I go?”

Jeonghan blinked up at him, then shook his head slowly.

“You can sleep here. I mean—if you want.”

Seungcheol didn’t say anything. He just smiled and walked straight to the bed, falling face-first into the pillows.

“You don’t even know which side I sleep on—”

“I’m claiming the middle,” Seungcheol mumbled into the sheets.

Jeonghan laughed, turned off the lights, and climbed in next to him.

 

7:13 AM

Soft morning light spilled through the curtains.

Jeonghan was still fast asleep, sprawled out on his stomach, the blanket barely covering half his body.

His hair was a mess, sticking out in every direction. Seungcheol was draped almost over him, his arm slung lazily around Jeonghan’s waist, face nestled against the nape of Jeonghan’s neck, breath slow and even.

There was a knock.

“Young Master Jeonghan?”

They stirred slowly. Jeonghan groaned, barely lifting his head.

Seungcheol blinked, hair in wild disarray, still clinging onto sleep. He sat up in bed just as the door creaked open.

Areum stepped in, expecting the usual calm. She froze at the sight: Seungcheol Choi, with obvious bed hair, wearing Jeonghan’s sleepwear, sitting on Jeonghan’s bed with a completely unbothered face.

Jeonghan, still lying down with one eye open, let out a weak protest.

“He just slept here.”

Seungcheol stood up slowly, brushing down his shirt, then looked at the maid.

“See you later,” he said to Jeonghan, cool and calm as ever, and gave a polite nod before slipping past her and into the hallway.

The maid turned back to Jeonghan, eyebrows raised, fighting a grin.

Jeonghan sighed into his pillow.
 “It’s too early for this.”

But his lips couldn’t help tugging up into a smile.

******

Areum was brushing down the wrinkles from his uniform, her fingers skilled and practiced, but her eyes sparkled with mischief.

She hadn’t stopped teasing since Seungcheol left the room.

“Just slept here,” she quoted again with a grin, mimicking Jeonghan’s groggy morning voice.

Jeonghan, brushing his hair back in front of the mirror, rolled his eyes so hard he nearly saw last night again.

“He did. Nothing happened. At all.”

“Of course, Young Master. Just a casual sleepover with the most mysterious and brooding boy in the whole academy. Wearing your clothes. Sleeping in your bed.”

“You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Oh, I’m living for it.”

Jeonghan groaned, slumping dramatically in the chair. But as his maid helped him fasten the last button on his uniform, something on the dresser caught his eye—an item he hadn’t noticed until now.

A silver necklace with a black pendant, inside of which curled a soft swirling smoke, as if it were alive and breathing in the glass.

He blinked, recognizing it instantly.

“He forgot his necklace…”

Without thinking, he picked it up and fastened it around his own neck. It rested cool and steady against his chest.

Areum raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening,  “Oh? Wearing his too now?”

“It’s just until I give it back.”
 But his fingers brushed over it again before he turned away.

 

7:50 AM — Dining Hall

Jeonghan was sprinting across the hallway, his uniform slightly wrinkled from the rush. He slid through the grand doors of the dining hall, half-breathless.

The other four were already there—Wonwoo sipping calmly on his tea, Jisoo fixing his gloves, Seokmin and Mingyu practically inhaling their food.

“Morning,” they all chorused as Jeonghan dropped into the seat.

“Morning—” he mumbled as he instantly bit through his toast, before reaching for another piece of bread.

Just as he was about to take a bite—

“Move over.”

Seungcheol arrived, also out of breath, his hair still slightly messy, and without hesitation, sat directly beside Jeonghan. Without a word, he picked from Jeonghan’s plate and began chewing like they’d done this every morning for years.

No one said anything. But their eyes screamed a different story.

7:55 AM

They all stood to leave. Everyone began gathering their gear, tightening gloves, swinging their jackets over their shoulders—when Wonwoo suddenly froze, eyebrows pulling together.

“Wait.”

Everyone turned.

Wonwoo pointed directly at Jeonghan.
 “It’s literally the first thing I noticed and it’s been bothering me since— why is Jeonghan wearing Seungcheol’s shadow necklace?”

Jeonghan blinked, mouth slightly open as the rest of the table turned to look at him, their jaws dropping.

Before he could explain, he felt a hand brush against the back of his neck. Seungcheol reached from behind him and unfastened the necklace wordlessly, then calmly clasped it back around his own neck.

Without looking back, he mumbled through his final bite of toast—

“If you all don’t start running, we’re going to be late. And I’m not doing 50 punishment laps before fighting any of you.”

He bolted through the dining hall doors.

Everyone stood frozen for a second before chaos erupted—bags slung, water bottles grabbed, and a mad dash followed.

But Mingyu leaned in as they ran, smirking.
 “We are not done, Jeonghan.”

“We need that gossip,” Jisoo added between strides, eyes sparkling.

Jeonghan groaned, cheeks warming as they all dashed toward the arena.

And despite the panic and noise and impending duels, the necklace still ghosted on his skin.

Notes:

I remember I was so giddy and excited writing jeongcheol sharing one bed for the first time in this fic AHHH. Also seoksoo angst?! ASFKSHDJSA

Chapter 10: Duels

Notes:

Here is Chapter 10! I am so excited for this chapter because you will see the ship dynamics here ASFKSHDH enjoy!

The sun cast long, golden rays over the training field as the six of them jogged across the gravel path, breathless from the run. The air buzzed with tension, a strange balance of early morning dew and brewing adrenaline.

They made it just in time. Professor Kwon stood in the middle of the field, hands behind his back, clipboard in one hand, and a subtle smirk dancing across his lips as he looked at each one of them with calm scrutiny.

“Today,” he announced, voice cutting through the wind, “we start the duels.”

The group instinctively straightened, shoulders tense, the weight of expectation hanging heavy in the air.

Professor Kwon pulled out a thin, black box and opened it. Inside were six polished tiles, each marked with a symbol. He began the draw.

Silence.

“First Pair: Mingyu vs Wonwoo.”

Everyone turned.

Wonwoo was already stepping forward, casually taking off his glasses and folding them with precision before handing them to Jeonghan, who took them silently.

Mingyu hesitated. His jaw clenched, fists tightening at his sides, but after a second’s pause, he nodded and walked to the other end of the field.

Jeonghan sat down on the bench, flipping open his leather notebook and clicking his pen.

“Take notes,” he told the rest, his voice low but firm. “Don’t just look at their strengths. Focus on their weaknesses . That’s what we’ll need to survive.”

 

THE DUEL BEGINS.

Mingyu stood tall, hands slightly ablaze with flickering flames that danced along his fingers, but his movements were too cautious. His fire simmered, never blazing.

Wonwoo, on the other hand, cracked his neck, took one breath, and charged.

Not with power.

With speed.

The healer was fast—faster than any of them had expected.

No ability.

Just pure physicality.

Mingyu blocked the first hit, but staggered from the sheer force behind it.

Wonwoo’s elbow jabbed toward his ribs, leg sweeping low, and Mingyu stumbled backward. He recovered, dodged a punch, but he was holding back—still hesitant.

A few more seconds passed.

Neither of them had used their true strength. No burst of fire. No use of healing. Just back-and-forth physical sparring. The clashing of limbs. Footsteps grinding into gravel. Grunts of effort.

Jeonghan’s pen scratched furiously. Then stopped.

He let out a long breath, visibly irritated.
“This isn’t a duel,” he muttered. “It’s a sparring session with emotions.”

Seungcheol, standing beside him, noticed Jeonghan’s thigh bouncing with frustration. Quietly, his hand reached over, fingers brushing Jeonghan’s leg in a subtle motion to calm him.

Jeonghan glanced at him, eyes wide for a second, but didn’t say anything.

Even Seokmin and Jisoo were tense, eyes narrowed.

“They’re wasting stamina,” Seokmin muttered.

“They’re scared to hit each other,” Jisoo added. “That’s dangerous. In the tournament, there’s no room for sentimentality.”

On the field, Wonwoo finally threw a proper punch, knocking Mingyu backward. He didn’t follow through. And Mingyu, in a moment of panic, retaliated—his fireball flew fast.

Too fast.

CRACK.

It hit Wonwoo in the shoulder. He was flung back slightly, shirt tearing and smoke rising.

“STOP.”

Professor Kwon’s voice boomed across the field.

Everything froze.

Mingyu dropped his hands, mouth agape, “I—I didn’t mean—Wonwoo—”

He ran to him immediately, panic painted across his face, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please—”

Wonwoo just blinked and rolled his shoulder. Without flinching, he pressed his fingers gently to the burn and within seconds, golden veins of light wrapped over the wound. The burn healed. The shirt, however, was a lost cause.

He looked at Mingyu.

“Don’t cry. It’s just a burn.”

Mingyu sniffed and nodded, eyes red. He looked like he wanted to hug Wonwoo but didn’t dare to.

Professor Kwon cleared his throat.
“Mingyu wins this round. But that’s not the point.”

He turned to the remaining four, “Tell me honestly. What did you observe?”

They glanced at each other. Jeonghan spoke first.

“Mingyu’s emotional state is unstable. If that happens in the game, we’ll lose not just points, but people. He hesitates. That hesitation will cost lives.”

There was no malice in his voice—just hard truth.

Seungcheol crossed his arms.
“Wonwoo didn’t use his ability until after he was hit. That’s a dangerous restraint. Healer or not, he needs to be able to defend himself before it’s too late.”

Seokmin nodded.
“Both were careful. Too careful. They weren’t fighting to win. They were fighting not to hurt each other.”

Jisoo looked between Mingyu and Wonwoo.
“They still see each other as friends. But in the games… everyone is a potential threat. They need to stop thinking like students.”

Professor Kwon nodded slowly.
“Good. Honesty. That’s how we learn.”

He turned to Mingyu and Wonwoo.
“Both of you have the potential to be champions. But this isn’t a playground. Next time—fight to win.”

Wonwoo adjusted the strap on his shoulder, nodded once, and walked back to the bench.

Mingyu followed silently, sitting down beside Jeonghan, who didn’t say anything at first.

Then, Jeonghan tore off a page from his notebook and handed it to him.
It had a list: "Emotional triggers," "Stamina drain," "Timing of fire use."

“Fix it,” Jeonghan said gently.

Mingyu read it and nodded.

Professor Kwon stepped back into the center of the field.

“Next match…”

The others straightened, the weight of the duel still lingering in their minds—but with sharper eyes now, clearer heads.

The games had already begun.

******

The field was quiet again, but the tension had doubled.

Mingyu and Wonwoo’s duel left something in the air—something unspoken. Like everyone realized this wasn’t just about winning. It was about survival, confrontation, truths laid bare under pressure.

The remaining four stood like statues behind the line. Professor Kwon walked toward the box again, fingers grazing the etched tiles as if even he was gauging how the next duel would unfold.

He pulled two more pieces.

“Next pair: Seokmin versus Jisoo.”

All eyes turned.

Jeonghan’s pen slipped slightly in his hand.

He didn’t know why—maybe it was the way Jisoo stiffened, or how Seokmin’s jaw tightened ever so slightly—but something about this matchup was different.

As the two walked toward their designated starting points, the air shifted.

The sky grew just a little dimmer, and a chill crept up everyone’s spine.

Seokmin was the first to move.

He dropped the temperature around him without warning. Frost bloomed beneath his feet and spiraled into the air, curling around his hands like living veins of cold.

With a subtle flick, several small ice knives formed in his palms, hovering around him in a perfect, deadly ring.

Professor Kwon nodded slightly from the sidelines.

Jeonghan’s eyes narrowed. His hand moved swiftly over his notebook as he whispered to the others, “Start taking notes.”

Wonwoo was already on alert. Professor Kwon motioned to him, “Standby for healing.”

Across the field, Jisoo stood perfectly still.

He didn’t summon anything.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

He was just staring— staring —at Seokmin with eyes that held an unreadable storm.

Jeonghan leaned in.
Something’s not right.

Seokmin, unfazed, finally launched the first knife.

It sailed through the air, precise and fast.

Jisoo tilted his head and dodged.

Then another knife. Dodged again.

A third, a fourth—he twisted, ducked, slipped through them like water.

Graceful, controlled.

Until—

A thin shard of ice slashed across his left shoulder.

Blood bloomed, vivid against his white shirt.

Seokmin paused, startled.

But Jisoo didn’t even flinch.

Still… staring.

Jeonghan sat back, pen stilling over the paper. His eyes widened.

“He’s inside Seokmin’s mind,” he muttered.

Seungcheol looked over,“What?”

“He never blinked,” Jeonghan whispered. “The moment the duel began, Jisoo accessed Seokmin’s consciousness. He’s using his ability subtly—tracking Seokmin’s thoughts in real time, that’s why he could dodge. But…”

 He flipped to a new page. “…Seokmin has high mental resistance. That’s why Jisoo isn’t fully in control. He’s observing Seokmin’s thoughts, but not manipulating them.”

Jeonghan scribbled: Seokmin – strong mental defense.

Meanwhile, the last of the ice knives fell to the ground, evaporating into mist.

Seokmin rushed forward to engage physically, but this time, Jisoo lunged too.

One shoulder bleeding, the other arm raised in perfect form, he slammed toward Seokmin.

They clashed hard.

The sound of fists, the cracking of impact, feet digging into frost-covered ground. Seokmin caught Jisoo’s elbow, twisted, and pushed him back. Jisoo retaliated, eyes still not blinking, still locked on Seokmin like he was trying to read the ending of a book before the last chapter.

This—this was a duel .

Even Seungcheol nodded.
“This is what it should look like.”

At one point, Seokmin glanced sideways—briefly, just for a second—toward the edge of the field.

His eyes caught Jeonghan.

Then Seungcheol.

It wasn’t a look of distraction.

It was… resolve.

Like they were the reasons he couldn’t afford to lose.

Then, he turned back.

And lunged.

His palm slammed against Jisoo’s chest.

Jisoo’s entire body stiffened. His expression finally cracked.

“C-Cold—”

The color drained from his face.

Mist crawled across Jisoo’s shoulders. His breath turned to fog. The temperature on the field plummeted.

From the sidelines, Wonwoo’s eyes widened.
“Professor—!”

Professor Kwon raised his hand—“Break—”

But Wonwoo didn’t wait.

He sprinted forward, power humming through his veins, and slammed his hand against Seokmin’s arm, forcing it away from Jisoo.

The freeze broke.

Jisoo fell to his knees, coughing, gasping, holding his chest.

Jeonghan’s pen raced again:
Jisoo – too emotionally compromised. Seokmin – deadly under pressure. Unresolved emotional tension = unpredictable outcome.

Mingyu, watching with wide eyes, leaned toward Jeonghan.
“Seokmin always goes overboard when he’s too focused…” he whispered. “…but that’s what makes him dangerous. We’ll need that in the games.”

Wonwoo was crouched next to Jisoo now, his hands glowing gold, slowly undoing the creeping frost across his chest.
“Do you know how long it takes to unfreeze a heart if you actually went through with it, Seok? Three days. Minimum. Three.”

Seokmin just offered a tired, guilty smile.

“I got carried away.”

Wonwoo scowled, finishing the healing before immediately moving to Seokmin to patch the cuts and bruises Jisoo had landed.

Jisoo didn’t speak.

He stood up slowly, nodded at Seokmin, and walked back to the bench—his steps shaky but his face calm. He didn’t even sit down. He just stared straight ahead, lost in thought.

Seokmin followed after, cheeks still slightly pink from the scolding.

Jeonghan watched all of them. Watched how they moved. Watched how they felt.

This wasn’t just training anymore.

It was transformation.

And he was already planning the next strategy.

******

The wind had quieted.

Even the birds above dared not chirp. The trees stood still, and for a second, the entire training field felt like it had been cast in a frozen moment of anticipation.

Professor Kwon looked down at the last two names drawn.

A murmur passed through the group like a pulse of electricity.

This was the duel they had been both dreading and anticipating.

Jeonghan vs. Seungcheol.

Two minds sharper than blades.

Two people whose silence could fill an entire room with tension.

The ones who never needed to raise their voices to dominate.

The silent killers.

The group barely breathed as Jeonghan and Seungcheol walked toward the center of the field, casual yet heavy in their presence. Their gazes locked—not hostile, not warm—just deeply understanding, deeply knowing.

Wonwoo’s breath hitched.

His sharp eyes scanned Seungcheol—and then widened.

He gasped audibly and even brought a hand to his mouth.

Everyone turned.

“What?” Mingyu asked immediately.

Wonwoo pointed, his voice quiet but stunned.

“The jogging pants Seungcheol is wearing… it has Jeonghan’s name embroidered on it.”

For a heartbeat, no one spoke. All heads turned, and there it was. Subtle, but undeniable.

On the upper thigh of Seungcheol’s black joggers, embroidered in clean white script:
“Kang Jeonghan.”

Mingyu choked on his own breath. Seokmin elbowed Jisoo. Jisoo’s jaw dropped.

“Oh, they’re way deeper in this than we thought,” Seokmin whispered, a teasing edge to his voice.

Jeonghan, unaware or unbothered, rolled his neck lazily and clasped his hands behind his back.

Across the field, Seungcheol didn’t even try to hide it. He stood firm, shadow coiling around his feet like smoke on water, eyes already locked on Jeonghan.

Professor Kwon didn’t speak.

He simply blew the whistle.

And then—silence.

No one moved.

The tension was suffocating. Even the sky seemed heavier.

No flashy moves. No sudden flares of power. Just two still bodies, as if waiting for the other to blink first.

Except—Seungcheol’s shadow wasn’t still.

It began to move.

Dark tendrils spread from his feet, slithering across the ground.

Grass withered instantly beneath it, flowers shriveled into dust, tree roots turned gray and cracked.

Life bled away as the shadow fed, grew, reached.

It was beautiful and terrifying.

Jeonghan simply watched.

Unflinching.

And then—he smiled.

“I’m not going to make you sleep today,” he said quietly, voice almost playful.

Seungcheol’s lip curled upward. “Then what are you gonna do?”

Jeonghan took a step forward. And then—

He knelt.

Right there on the field, he dropped to one knee, head slightly bowed, like a knight surrendering—or something else entirely.

Seungcheol’s eyes narrowed. Confusion crept into his expression.

But his shadow didn’t hesitate. It surged forward, fast, sensing movement, threat, or maybe opportunity.

The others were on edge.

Wonwoo was already glowing gold, prepared for impact.

Mingyu leaned forward, jaw clenched.
Seokmin held his breath.
Jisoo’s fingers twitched.

The shadow slithered right toward Jeonghan.

And then—something unexplainable happened.

It stopped.

It didn’t strike.

It didn’t consume.

Instead, it curled upward like smoke rising toward heaven.

The shape shifted, expanded—and danced.

The shadow wrapped around Jeonghan like a ribbon, brushing his shoulder gently. It moved around him in slow, circular motions, never once touching him with harm. Almost as if it was…

Greeting him.

Like a friend.

Like it knew him.

Jeonghan raised a hand and waved—waved—at the shadow like it was a playful pet.

Seungcheol froze.

His heart skipped.

He could feel his own shadow. Feel its intent, its hunger, its nature. And yet, here it was, acting of its own will, affectionately embracing someone else.

Someone not him.

No one in the arena could speak.

They’d all seen Seungcheol’s power. Even he couldn’t always tame it. But now, Jeonghan—Jeonghan knelt before it, unafraid.

Unaffected.

Professor Kwon blew the whistle.

“Draw.”

The sound broke the trance.

Seungcheol blinked.

His shadow recoiled slightly, curling back toward him, as if reluctantly leaving.

Jeonghan rose to his feet slowly, dusting off his knees with nonchalance, like that hadn’t just been one of the most insane things they had ever seen.

The group hurried forward, papers in hand, murmuring all at once.

Jisoo wrote frantically and then declared aloud,
“Seungcheol needs to figure out a countermeasure for psychic-based abilities. Jeonghan isn’t even in the games yet and he’s already inside his defenses.”

Seokmin crossed his arms.
“They both fight like they’re not afraid of losing. That confidence? It’s what makes them scary.”

Professor Kwon nodded, scribbling notes on his own clipboard.

Mingyu whispered to Jeonghan,
“How the hell did you do that?”

Jeonghan tilted his head, a small smirk pulling at his lips.
“I’ll tell you later.”

Seungcheol didn’t move for a long while. He just stared at Jeonghan.

Not in frustration.

Not in disbelief.

In wonder.

Jeonghan offered him a little shrug, his smile soft and a bit smug.

As if to say, what did you expect?

Professor Kwon finally cleared his throat.

“That concludes the duels. Good work, all of you.”

But even as they turned to leave the field, the tension between Seungcheol and Jeonghan lingered in the air like electricity.

A question was forming in all their minds—

If these two ever had to fight for real...

Who would win?

Or worse—

Would they even let the other lose?

******

The duels were over, but the energy? Still buzzing—tense, electric, chaotic.

Instead of heading back to their individual rooms, the six of them made their way to what Mingyu had dramatically named their “lounge room.”

A shared space he and Jisoo had begged for after getting tired of Seungcheol’s constant grumbling about them raiding his room every night like bored ghosts.

It had everything: plush couches, a snack bar, a fireplace, and more pillows than one room probably needed. A perfect post-duel crash site.

The second the door closed behind them, Wonwoo didn’t even let anyone breathe.

He turned sharply on his heel, pointed a finger, and said with full intensity—

“Why are you wearing Jeonghan’s pants?”

The room fell completely silent.

All heads swiveled toward Seungcheol.

Caught in the act. The evidence embroidered across his thigh.

But Seungcheol didn’t flinch. He blinked once. Shrugged.

Too casually.

“I was in his room last night. Got lazy. Didn’t wanna go back to my dorm. So I just showered there.”

Jeonghan stepped in before anyone could react.

“We gossiped till 4 AM. He fell asleep in my room. That’s why I had his necklace on this morning—he forgot it.”

Another wave of silence.

Mingyu gawked.
“What the hell is happening?”

Jeonghan just laughed and dropped onto the biggest couch, pulling his notebook out of his bag. He scribbled something no one could see.

“Anyway,” he said breezily, “him sleeping in my room gave me an advantage for our duel earlier.”

Seokmin raised a hand dramatically.
“I am dying to ask—how did you do that? How did his shadow not attack you?”

Jeonghan crossed his legs, leaned back like he was telling a bedtime story, eyes playful.

“I spoke to it while he was asleep.”

Pause.

“Spoke to… what?” Wonwoo asked.

“To the shadow,” Jeonghan said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “We’re almost friends now. ‘Almost’ because I promised I’d give it snacks next time. But it’s excited for the arena. I told it it’s gonna have so much fun.”

Silence.

The kind where even the fireplace seemed to hold its breath.

Mingyu physically brushed the goosebumps off his arm.
“Nope. Nope. That’s terrifying.”

Seungcheol’s voice was quiet but deeply confused.
“…How did you do that?”

Jeonghan tilted his head and smiled sweetly.
“I talked to it in your dream.”

Mingyu threw a throw pillow across the room.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU TALKED TO IT IN HIS DREAM?”

Jisoo burst out laughing.
“Wait—so you’re friends with his shadow. What about with the owner of the shadow?”

That earned laughter from everyone.

Even Seokmin cracked a grin. Jeonghan raised his eyebrow, completely unbothered, and simply shrugged.

Classic Jeonghan. Never cornered, never rattled.

But he was watching.

Always watching.

Because while the group was laughing, letting their guard down, basking in post-battle adrenaline and shock—Jeonghan’s eyes flicked once, subtly, to Seokmin.

That glance Seokmin had thrown him and Seungcheol earlier on the battlefield… it wasn’t nothing.

It meant something.

It wasn’t just a random look. It was weighted. Purposeful.

Jeonghan knew how to read the undercurrent of people—the way they think, the thoughts they try to hide behind casual comments and glances.

And that look?

It had layers.

So while the others were busy replaying the wildness of the duel, giggling about shadow-friendship and dream visits, Jeonghan was already ten steps ahead.

Mentally mapping out what Seokmin was thinking. What he was hiding. What he might be planning.

He didn’t know the answer yet.

But he would.

Jeonghan always did.

******

The laughter faded as the clock crept toward curfew. One by one, they gathered their things, stretching and yawning, bidding each other goodnight with leftover adrenaline still clinging to their skin like mist. They exited the lounge room and started to drift toward their respective dorms like magnets repelled by exhaustion.

But Seungcheol lingered.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t ask. He simply slowed his pace beside Jeonghan, expecting to walk him again— hoping maybe, just maybe, he’d end up crashing on that soft bed again, wrapped in Jeonghan’s lavender-scented air, maybe wrapped in more.

Jeonghan, however, had already planned something else.

With the subtlest motion, he slipped a crumpled piece of paper into Seungcheol’s hoodie pocket as they rounded a corner, never breaking stride.

Seungcheol glanced at him, confused—but Jeonghan didn’t look back.

When he reached the hallway to his dorm, Seungcheol finally unfolded the note and read:

“can’t walk me tonight. need to talk to seokmin. if you want gossip you can knock later”

He exhaled a short laugh.

But something about the tone in the note—the weightlessness that tried to mask a heavier truth—made him pause. His grip on the paper lingered just a second longer before he folded it again, slowly, carefully, and kept walking.

Meanwhile...

Seokmin walked too fast.

Too deliberately.

He had always walked with a kind of spring to his step, but this wasn’t energy—it was avoidance. An exit strategy disguised as momentum.

But before he could round the bend of the eastern hallway, Jeonghan’s voice echoed, light but chilling.

“Seokmin.”

Seokmin froze.

The kind of freeze where your soul leaves your body for a second.

He turned around—and shivers ran down his spine.

There stood Jeonghan in the middle of the dark corridor, a single sliver of moonlight breaking through the high windows, casting a pale glow across his face.

His smile?

Almost beautiful.
Almost terrifying.

Seokmin put a hand to his chest dramatically.
“Han, I am so scared of you right now. No offense—you’re gorgeous, but you look like the grim reaper.”

Jeonghan chuckled softly, but there was no mischief in his eyes tonight.

“Why did you look at me and Seungcheol during your duel?”

And just like that, the laughter died.

Seokmin tensed.

Gulped.
His eyes darted to the floor for a second, then up to meet Jeonghan’s again.

A slow smile crept onto his lips—not playful, not smug. Just… resigned.

“You’re really so smart.”

Jeonghan didn’t speak.

He waited.

“Do you know why Jisoo’s ability didn’t work on me?”

A pause. Seokmin’s voice lowered.

“It did.”

That made Jeonghan’s brows twitch, just slightly.

Seokmin took a step closer. The corridor still held silence like a breath that hadn’t been released.

“It fucking worked, Jeonghan.”

Jeonghan straightened slightly, sensing the shift. Seokmin wasn’t deflecting. He wasn’t acting. This was something raw.

“Who did you see?” Jeonghan asked, voice steady.

Seokmin looked him in the eye.
“I saw Jisoo.”

Silence.

“I saw Jisoo as my greatest love.”

The words cracked through the air like thunder.

Jeonghan tensed.
Not because it was dramatic, but because of what it meant —because of what came next.

“Why did you look at us, Seokmin?”

This time, Seokmin didn’t look away.

“Do you know that Seungcheol and Jisoo were lovers? Years ago?”

Jeonghan’s breath caught.

His entire body seemed to still, even his thoughts paused, like someone had just pulled the emergency brake in his mind.

“That’s my greatest fear,” Seokmin continued, voice trembling slightly.
“To see Jisoo ending up with Seungcheol again. Just like before.”

“That’s why I looked at both of you earlier,” he said. “Because… I was able to fight back with ease. Because I knew—”

He took a shaky breath.

“—You’re here now.”

Seokmin turned around before Jeonghan could even process the full weight of the words.

“And you know what I mean, Han.”

“See you tomorrow.”

He disappeared down the hall, his silhouette swallowed by the shadows.

Jeonghan stood frozen, heart pounding in his ears.

Jisoo and Seokmin.

Jisoo and Seungcheol.

Seungcheol…

He placed a hand over his heart instinctively, as if trying to calm a quiet storm blooming beneath his ribs.

A pain he couldn’t name.

A fear he never acknowledged before.

He made his way back to his dorm in silence.

And when he arrived, the door was shut, the hall was still, and he thanked every god he had ever dreamt of that Seungcheol didn’t knock on his door that night.

Because tonight?

He wouldn’t know what to say.

And worse—

He wouldn’t know what he wanted to hear.

Notes:

SEOKSOO?? EX CHEOLSOO?? Jeonghan feeling pain?? feeling fear?? things are slowly getting revealed and i am so excited AHHH

Chapter 11: The Silence of Someone Loud

Notes:

soooooo this chapter is another "filler" chapter i don't know i just really want to write this scene to see their friendship (୨୧•͈ᴗ•͈)after this it will pick up the pace again and more exciting parts to come hehehe ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و

Jeonghan woke to a chill gripping his bones.

His body jerked up, sweat dampening his sheets, his hair sticking to his forehead like fine threads of silk clinging to damp skin. His breathing was uneven, chest rising and falling like he had just escaped something in a dream he couldn’t quite remember.

And then—
A sharp twist in his stomach.

He shoved the blanket off and stumbled toward the bathroom, his bare feet barely touching the cold floor as he heaved over the sink. But nothing came out—no bile, no blood, just a horrible, empty nausea that left his mouth tasting like iron and his throat burning from effort.

He wiped his mouth, eyes glassy, hands trembling slightly.

A cold sweat slicked his back. His legs almost gave in.

He dragged himself back to bed, every muscle screaming for rest. He collapsed onto the mattress like his body had been detached from his will. He didn’t have the strength to close the curtains. The morning light pooled into his room, soft and golden, but Jeonghan only saw it in fragments—

Before the haze of sleep pulled him under again.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Master Jeonghan?”

The voice of his personal maid was muffled behind the door, hesitant but persistent. Another knock. Still no answer. Areum opened the door slowly, only to find Jeonghan unmoving, sweat-drenched, and pale against the cream-colored sheets.

Panic rose in her throat.

“Oh gods—”

She ran from the room, skirts swaying in the wind of her urgency, calling for the butler, calling for help, calling for the academy doctor.

******

Meanwhile, in the dining hall, things were relatively normal.

Seungcheol arrived at their unofficial breakfast table to see the other four already halfway through their morning routines. Seokmin's chin is already on Jisoo's shoulder while Jisoo explains animatedly his council activities written on his notepad, while Wonwoo quietly sipped his tea and scribbled in a notebook. Mingyu had two plates in front of him as usual.

Seungcheol, without thinking, reached for Jeonghan’s favorite bread from the center tray—he always took it first before anyone else had the chance.

A soft roll filled with sweet cheese and dusted with herbs.

He placed it on an empty plate beside his own, even though no one asked him to.

“Where’s Jeonghan?” he asked casually, scanning the hall.

Wonwoo looked up. “Haven’t seen him. He’s usually up by now.”

Jisoo narrowed his eyes. “Didn’t you walk him last night?”

Seungcheol shook his head, setting down his fork. “No. I thought he went back alone after talking to Seokmin.”

All eyes turned toward Seokmin, who nearly choked on his drink.

“Don’t look at me like that!” he exclaimed. “Jeonghan followed me like the literal grim reaper last night. He was creepy—but fine. I swear! He looked like he was about to eat secrets for dessert, but healthy!”

They laughed—briefly.

Wonwoo tried to lighten the mood. “Maybe he skipped breakfast? Let’s just wait for him in the war room.”

******

But when they arrived, Jeonghan’s seat was still empty.

And that emptiness didn’t feel casual anymore.

It echoed.

Just as Mingyu was about to comment, the door creaked open and in came Professor Kwon, a file in hand, his brow furrowed.

He didn’t usually look worried.

But today, he did.

“Jeonghan will not be joining us,” he said flatly. “The academy doctor just contacted me. He’s unwell. They’re running tests.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

The room was silent for a beat too long.

Wonwoo exhaled quietly, setting down his pen. “If it’s natural sickness… I’m afraid I can’t help. I can only heal wounds or diseases caused by magic.”

Mingyu’s fork clinked on the edge of his water glass, “Is he—did he collapse or something? He seemed fine last night, didn’t he?”

Seokmin didn’t answer. He was replaying the hallway again—Jeonghan’s sharp gaze, that unnerving calm, the way his voice was steady yet distant.

It felt different now, in retrospect.

Professor Kwon cleared his throat. “Let’s continue today’s schedule. We can’t afford to pause progress, especially with the tournament nearing. But—”
His tone softened. “—I will keep you updated.”

And yet, despite the day's packed schedule, Jeonghan’s absence followed them everywhere.

In every strategy discussion, no one filled his place. In every moment someone made a snide remark, no one clapped back with a sharper one. In every pause, there was a gap no one dared to cross.

Only a few months had passed since Jeonghan had joined their group, but somehow—his silence was louder than anyone’s voice.

They didn’t even realize it until he wasn’t there.

******

The next day, after their last class, the five of them stood outside the quietest room in the dorm wing.

No one said anything. They didn’t need to.
The plaque on the door read Kang Jeonghan , clean and unmarked.

It was Mingyu who knocked first—three soft, hesitant taps.

No response.

The door creaked open, and the scent of lavender tea mixed with medicine drifted out gently. It was dim inside, the curtains drawn, only a soft amber lamplight illuminating the space. The room was so still that for a moment, it felt wrong to enter—like walking into a sacred place.

But the academy doctor greeted them with a nod, seated beside Jeonghan’s bed.

“He’s fine,” the doctor said before they could ask. “No curse, no infection, no dark magic—he’s just... tired. Dangerously tired. His body’s been running on reserve for a long time. He needs one to two days of sleep, food, and complete stillness.”

Seungcheol’s jaw clenched. Jisoo exhaled in quiet relief.

Wonwoo moved forward, checking Jeonghan’s breathing, eyes scanning his skin for any signs of magical strain. His body temperature was a little warm, but it seemed peaceful now. Jeonghan was curled on his side, his lashes casting soft shadows on his cheekbones, his usually sharp mouth now slack in rest.

He looked—
Vulnerable. Too human. Like someone who never asked for softness but desperately needed it.

Seokmin leaned against the desk and looked around.
“His room is... wow.”

Jisoo slowly turned, taking it all in. “It’s so empty.”

The room was clean—too clean. Immaculate shelves. A perfectly arranged closet. A single chair by the window. The desk was lined with identical pens and neatly stacked books.

No framed photos. No plants. No mess.
Not even a sweater draped over the back of a chair.

Seokmin muttered under his breath,  “It looks like... one of those fake pictures in hotel advertisements.”

Mingyu peeked into the drawers. “No snacks. Not even crumbs. Who lives like this?”

Jisoo pressed his lips together, the gears in his head already turning.

He turned to face the others, voice lowered.
“Alright. Group huddle. Right now.”

They all leaned into a tight circle in the middle of Jeonghan’s room like five conspirators.

“We’re buying him stuff,” Jisoo announced.

Seungcheol blinked. “What kind of stuff?”

“Something that reminds you of him. Each of us. Doesn’t have to be deep. Doesn’t have to be expensive. Just... something Jeonghan. So when he wakes up, he’s reminded that this room isn’t just a place he sleeps in. It’s his. And that he’s not alone.”

Wonwoo tilted his head, “That’s surprisingly sentimental coming from you.”

Jisoo gave him a look, “I have layers.”

Mingyu’s face lit up, “Can I get him a cactus? He reminds me of a cactus.”

Everyone turned to him.

“I mean—prickly on the outside, but survives everything and secretly wants to be loved.”

Seokmin nodded solemnly. “That’s... oddly accurate.”

Seungcheol looked back at Jeonghan, his heart squeezing a little.

There was something about seeing him like this—quiet and curled up in sleep—that made him wish he’d noticed the cracks sooner.
Jeonghan never asked for help. Not even when he was drowning.

“Okay,” Seungcheol murmured. “Let’s go shopping.”

They didn’t say anything on the walk to Jeonghan’s dorm that afternoon, but each of them clutched a small bag, box, or carefully wrapped item like it was a part of their soul they were about to leave behind.

When they reached his room, it was as quiet as it was the day before.

The curtains still drawn, the air thick with lavender, the rhythmic sound of Jeonghan’s soft breathing filling the space like the heartbeat of the room. He was still asleep—peaceful, almost too still, like the moment before dawn breaks.

The academy doctor was gone this time, leaving a short note on the bedside:
“Healing well. Let him sleep. Speak quietly. He’ll likely wake up in the morning.”

They filed in silently, instinctively slowing their steps, like they’d entered sacred ground.

The room was still too clean. Too blank. Too unlike Jeonghan , whose presence had long since carved its way into each of them. They were five fragments of chaos and color walking into a space made of grayscale. It didn’t feel right.

So they began.

Wonwoo was the first to approach the desk. He opened a small box and pulled out a stack of polaroid pictures .

The six of them—sneaking food in the dining hall, falling asleep in the war room, laughing on the training field, their hands all stacked together before a duel.
Each one had handwritten notes beneath it.

“This was your first breakfast with us.”
“You cursed Seokmin in this one, he still doesn’t know.”
“You laughed so hard here, we were all scared.”

He pinned them neatly across the wall near Jeonghan’s bed, making a quiet gallery of all the memories they’d shared—even the ones Jeonghan didn’t realize mattered.

“Now the room remembers too,” Wonwoo murmured.

Seokmin carried in a small box wrapped in yellow paper and opened it with almost ceremonial care. Inside was a pink bunny stuffed toy —but its ears are shaped like wings graced with seokmin's gentle magic. Its button eyes sparkled.

He placed it gently on the pillow next to Jeonghan’s head.

“Because you always act like you don’t need anyone,” he whispered, “but even the strongest bunnies deserve a guardian angel. And sometimes... maybe they are the guardian angel.”

The ears fluttered slightly with a tiny enchantment, like they knew they were finally home.

Jisoo walked in next, a little mist in his eyes already. He took out a beautifully strange humidifier —one shaped like a gentle cloud, and when activated, it would shift colors in a slow, glowing gradient across a soft rainbow spectrum. The mist it gave off shimmered faintly, enchanted with calming properties.

He set it on the side table and whispered like he was confessing something to the air.

“So you remember to breathe,” he said. “So you stop thinking you have to carry every storm on your own.”

Then he flicked it on, and the rainbow haze began to dance softly in the corner of the room.

Mingyu , bouncing in place, carefully unwrapped a pot— two small cactuses, one slightly taller than the other, sitting side-by-side in a pink ceramic pot shaped like a crescent moon.

There were tiny engraved names beneath them.

“Jeongie & Hannie,” he announced proudly.
“They’re both tough, barely need water, and probably could survive an apocalypse... just like you. But they’re also together—because even the strongest ones need someone beside them.”

He placed them by the window, where they could get the sunlight Jeonghan pretended he didn’t like but always sat under.

Finally, Seungcheol stepped forward.

He didn't say a word as he knelt by Jeonghan’s bedside, opened a small velvet box, and gently placed it on the pillow beside the stuffed bunny.

Inside was a silver necklace , almost identical to the one Seungcheol always wore. But instead of a black pendant swirling with shadow, this one had a sky-blue glass orb , and inside— a real, suspended cloud, gently shifting like it had been caught mid-dream.

It glowed faintly, the way dawn does before anyone else notices it’s coming.

He didn’t explain it to the others, but he did whisper—low, so only Jeonghan could hear, if he was listening somewhere inside that sleep.

“So you remember, even when the shadows are heavy… there’s always light. And there’s always me.”

He lingered a little longer than the others, fingers brushing the edge of the pillow.

Then he stood, slowly, and joined the rest of them by the door.

They all stared at the room for a while—now full of color and warmth and pieces of them. It no longer felt like a temporary stop on Jeonghan’s journey.

It felt like his room.

His home.

Mingyu smiled faintly. “I kinda wanna cry.”

Jisoo sniffled. “Same.”

Seokmin nodded. “He’s gonna make fun of us when he sees this.”

Wonwoo folded his arms, but there was softness in his voice. “I hope he does.”

Seungcheol didn’t say anything. He just looked at Jeonghan one last time before turning off the light.

They couldn’t wait for morning.

They couldn’t wait to see Jeonghan’s reaction.

To hear him scoff, or tease them, or roll his eyes and pretend he wasn’t deeply moved by every single thing in that room.

Because they weren’t just waiting for him to wake up.

They were waiting for their sixth to come home.

******

The sun was barely rising when Jeonghan stirred.
It was the faint glimmer of rainbow light filtering through the curtains, the steady mist of calming air brushing against his cheek, and something... fluffy pressed against the side of his head.

He blinked slowly.

His head pounded. His muscles ached. But his breathing was steady.

Slower. Lighter.

For the first time in weeks, he felt rested.

Actually rested.

Jeonghan pushed himself up from the bed, his body protesting in every joint, and then froze. Eyes scanning the room.

He blinked again.

It wasn’t his room.

No—that wasn’t right. It was his room, but it didn’t feel like the sterile, hollow box he’d gotten used to living in. It was warm .

Lived-in. Touched by souls that were not his but somehow… still his .

The first thing he noticed was the wall.

Dozens of Polaroids, pinned with meticulous care.
Wonwoo’s handwriting scrawled beneath each memory like a quiet voice reminding him: You were here. You are loved. You are remembered.

Jeonghan stood up slowly, his legs a little shaky. He stepped closer to the wall, fingertips grazing the photos. His lips twitched at the one where Mingyu accidentally set his sleeve on fire while trying to show off, and he himself was mid-laugh, head thrown back. He didn’t even remember laughing like that.

He turned around and caught sight of the pink bunny on his pillow. Wings. A soft aura of warmth.
He stared at it for a second. Blinked.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, almost amused. “Is this supposed to be me?”

It was. He knew it was. The moment he touched it, he felt the magic Seokmin had laced into it—soft, protective, quietly powerful.

“Damn it, Seok,” he muttered. “You sweet, chaotic maniac.”

Then he noticed the humidifier, still sending out gentle rainbow-colored mist. The entire room smelled like a memory that hadn’t happened yet—like hope. Peace. Jisoo.

He touched the cloud-shaped dome and it changed color. Blue. Violet. Orange. Red.

And for the first time in a long time, Jeonghan felt something unclench in his chest.

He walked to the windowsill next, eyeing the two small cactuses in the ceramic moon pot. A tiny card tucked in the soil read:

Jeongie & Hannie
Low maintenance, very dramatic. Just like you. —Mingyu

Jeonghan let out a genuine snort. “Of course you named plants after me. Of course.”

And then, his eyes caught the final gift.

The small velvet box still slightly open on the bedside table.

He knew it before he even touched it—Seungcheol. His aura was always clear to Jeonghan.

Warm and heavy and steady, like a heartbeat in a storm. He opened the box and stared.

The necklace was silver. The pendant—a sky-blue orb. But inside…

He reached down and held it gently, eyes narrowing.

A real cloud. Floating. Alive. Free.

His throat went dry.

No note. No explanation.

Just the necklace.

So you remember, even when the shadows are heavy… there’s always light. And there’s always me.

As Jeonghan sat back down on the bed, necklace now in his palm, the emotions hit like waves—soft, relentless, overwhelming. He didn't cry. Jeonghan rarely did.

But he curled into his blankets again with all the gifts around him, the bunny tucked at his side, and whispered to the quiet, colorful room:

“Stupid idiots. I was just tired. You didn’t have to love me this hard.”

By the time breakfast arrived, Jeonghan was already awake, cleaned up, and sitting cross-legged in his bed, his polaroid wall beside him, the necklace now around his neck.

He waited for them.

And right on cue, one by one, they peeked through the door.

Mingyu was first—loud and dramatic.
“HE’S ALIVE!” he screamed, rushing in and diving into Jeonghan’s bed without permission.

“I just asked Areum to changed the sheets—” Jeonghan began.

Jisoo cut him off, sliding in right after with a tray of warm food. “We got breakfast. All six types of bread you like. Don’t make this weird.”

Wonwoo entered next, followed by Seokmin, both calmer but their expressions soft with relief.
Seokmin gave him a wink. “So... did the bunny work?”

Jeonghan simply held it up and nodded. “She now rules the room.”

Lastly, Seungcheol appeared—quiet, hands in his pockets, just watching. Jeonghan looked at him, then reached down and held the necklace that now matched his.

“You’re giving me more matching things,” Jeonghan said. “People will talk.”

“I want them to talk,” Seungcheol replied simply, like he didn’t even need to think about it.

Jeonghan flushed faintly but said nothing.

Instead, he leaned back into his pillows and looked around.

All five were crowded in the room now, eating his food, bickering, fixing the wall, adjusting the humidifier settings, arguing about who’s cactus was “growing better.” His room had never been this chaotic.

Or this full.

And Jeonghan—calculated, clever, ten-steps-ahead Jeonghan—had no plan for this.

Just the realization that he didn’t need one.

They didn’t wait for him to ask for love.

They just gave it.

Freely. Fiercely.

And Jeonghan, in that moment, realized:

This is what family feels like.

******

40 days before the tournament

The rhythm of academy life had returned in full force.

Jeonghan, barely a day out of recovery, was already buried neck-deep in back-to-back training sessions, combat simulations, and relentless strategy rounds that left no room for breath. But he didn’t complain. Not even once.

Because for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t just working for survival—he was working with something... someone to hold on to.

Every night after the last bell, Seungcheol would wait—like he always did—leaning lazily against the hallway wall outside the war room.

And every night, Jeonghan would walk out, already rolling his eyes at the grin Seungcheol wore like armor.

They walked in comfortable silence most nights. Sometimes joking. Sometimes too tired to speak. But their footsteps always fell in sync, like a rhythm learned in another life.

By now, it was second nature for Seungcheol to follow him all the way into his dorm, kick off his shoes, and collapse on Jeonghan’s bed with a grunt.

And it was second nature for Jeonghan to grumble, kick him to make space, and still end up falling asleep beside him, limbs tangled like muscle memory.

It is their normal.

Even Jeonghan’s personal maid had stopped pretending to be surprised.

The first time Areum walked in and saw Jeonghan sprawled entirely on top of Seungcheol like a smug cat, she had gasped so hard she dropped the water tray.
Another time, she found them hugging tightly in sleep, Seungcheol’s face buried in Jeonghan’s neck, both of them tangled in a protective knot as if fending off the world together.

But she never asked.

Never intruded.

Because something in her felt it—that wordless, heavy quiet that only comes from people who had both been alone for too long, and suddenly weren’t anymore.

Eventually, she began folding Seungcheol’s extra uniform and hanging it neatly in Jeonghan’s closet.

Brought over one of his boots he kept leaving in the war room. Dropped off a spare toothbrush.

When the boys caught her doing it, both of them had gone beet red.

But neither stopped her.

 

Jeonghan had also kept his word.

On the second night after returning to full health, he brought up Seokmin and Jisoo. He didn’t beat around the bush.

Lying on their backs in bed, staring at the dark ceiling, Jeonghan said, “You were lovers once, right? You and Jisoo.”

Seungcheol didn’t even flinch.

“Friendship,” he answered. “We mistook it for something else. But it wasn’t love. Not really.”

Jeonghan turned to look at him, eyes sharp even in the dark. “And Jisoo now?”

Seungcheol smiled faintly. “Has been in love with Seokmin for years.”

The sigh Jeonghan released could’ve blown out the moon.

Seungcheol chuckled and turned toward him. “You okay?”

“No,” Jeonghan said. “But thank you. For telling me.”

Seungcheol just reached over and slipped his fingers between Jeonghan’s under the blanket. He didn’t say anything more.

He didn’t have to.

It was during lunch later that week when Jisoo, in his usual casual grace, dropped a bomb on the table.

“We’re having a family get-together this weekend. Parents and all.”

Jeonghan, mid-bite, froze.

Before he could even process it, Mingyu’s eyes lit up like the sun. “Jeonghan, you need to come with us ! You’re basically part of the family now. Our parents should meet you!”

There it was again.

That word.

Family.

It always made something shift uncomfortably in Jeonghan’s chest—like a door long-sealed was slowly creaking open.

He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but Seungcheol’s hand was already there under the table, fingers gently gripping his thigh, thumb rubbing small circles of reassurance.

Jeonghan slowly breathed in. Then out.

“I...” he started.

But Seungcheol leaned in slightly and said softly, just for him, “You don’t have to say yes now.”

Jeonghan’s eyes flicked to him, gratitude blooming like quiet fire.

“Just think about it,” Seungcheol added. “We’ll be there. I’ll be there.”

Jeonghan nodded faintly and forced a soft smile toward the others.

“Okay. I’ll think about it.”

But that night, as Seungcheol drifted into sleep beside him, Jeonghan lay wide awake—his eyes fixed on the ceiling as the shadows shifted with the passing moonlight.

A family gathering.
Parents.
Homes.
Histories.

He clenched the bedsheet in his fist, trying to suppress the cold that settled under his skin.

He didn’t have any of those.

Or rather—he didn’t remember if he did.

There were no dreams to chase, no flashbacks in the middle of the night.

No haunting voices. No buried symbols. No fragments of lullabies, no names that left a strange echo in his chest.

There was nothing .

His memories started the day he woke up on the edge of the northern lake around 15 years ago, wrapped in a white blanket, only remembering the name Jeonghan.

He had no last name, no birthday, no origin.

Everything else—his strength, his talent, his ability to manipulate minds and speak to shadows—those weren’t things he remembered learning.

They were simply there. Like instinct. As if he’d been born with it, molded by it.

And that scared him more than anything else.

Because everyone at the academy had roots. Even the ones who pretended not to care—had stories, families, fragments of their past to hold onto.

But Jeonghan?

He was just... here.

An echo in the shape of a boy.

A whisper given a body.

He hadn’t told anyone. Not even Seungcheol.

Because once you say something out loud—it becomes real. And Jeonghan wasn’t ready to face the reality that he might be no one.

Or worse, that he was someone… someone dangerous enough to be forgotten.

He turned on his side, facing Seungcheol’s sleeping figure.

The one person who made the present feel less heavy.

Who made now enough, even when the past was blank and the future uncertain.

His fingers reached out, brushing lightly against Seungcheol’s cheek.

And for tonight, that was enough.

Tomorrow could come with its questions, its gatherings, its parents and smiling faces full of memory.

But tonight, Jeonghan just let the silence hold him.

Because silence was all he’d ever known.
And right now, silence was the only thing that didn’t ask him where he came from.

Notes:

i just love love love writing how they love hannie so much ♡o(╥﹏╥)o ♥♡ Toram making a cameo (╥_╥) also next chapter will unveil a lottt about the past ≧◉◡◉≦ also who is your favorite character so far? i have my favorite character but i will reveal it in the next chapters hehehe also last thing, seoksoo really have my heart and the way they show their feelings to one another without saying anything AHHHHHH

Chapter 12: Meet The Parents

Notes:

Edited chapter 12 while listening to Jin’s new album + looping happy burstday’s highlight medley🥹 jeonghan and wonwoo’s voices😭😭 i missed them so much AHHHHH

It had taken days of pestering—Mingyu’s overly dramatic pleas, Seokmin’s whining, and Jisoo’s quiet but lethal glances—before Jeonghan finally caved.

“Fine,” Jeonghan muttered late one evening, flipping a page in his strategy journal. “But I’m not calling anyone ‘mom’ or ‘dad.’”

Mingyu threw his arms up in victory. “He said yes! I repeat, the dream prince said yes!”

Jeonghan only rolled his eyes, but behind the sarcasm, a flicker of nervousness stirred.

Friday morning came too fast. The group gathered in front of Professor Kwon’s office, cloaks tucked under their arms and hopeful smiles barely hidden behind tired expressions.

“I assume you’re all going for the weekend gathering Headmaster Choi mentioned?” Professor Kwon said without looking up from his notes.

“Yes, Professor,” Jisoo replied. “Just one day off-campus.”

Professor Kwon nodded, then let his gaze fall on Jeonghan. “You need the rest. Go.”

And with that, they were out.

The town center outside the academy buzzed with early morning life.
Cloaked and flanked by academy guards for discretion, the six of them slipped through the market crowds.

The smells of roasted nuts and warm bread drifted between the stalls. Shopkeepers laughed with customers. Children weaved between carts, chasing each other.

Jeonghan’s hood was up, but his eyes scanned every crack and crevice of the old town.

Something about the chipped stone walls and narrow alleys pulled at him. Not like a memory—but like déjà vu, half a step too slow to grasp.

He grew up in this town, in this place. 

But he still felt like a stranger.

Seungcheol put an arm around his shoulder, whispering, “You okay?”

Jeonghan just nodded. An unexplainable feeling lingering in his chest.

The others, meanwhile, were lost in conversation and shopping.

Mingyu was obsessing over jars of preserved fruits. “Should I bring the plum one? Or the strawberry? My mom’s more of a fruit tea person, but this one is so cute.”

“Why not both?” Seokmin asked, already stuffing bags of sweets into his pack. “Honestly, I’m bringing snacks for myself. If I share, it’s a miracle.”

Wonwoo, as calm as ever, browsed an herbal shop and handed Jeonghan a box of lavender-mint tea. “For the nights you stay up planning instead of sleeping.”

Jeonghan blinked. “Thanks.”

They wandered through the town for an hour, buying small gifts and chatting about nothing—until something in the air shifted. A quiet in Jeonghan’s chest.

A pull he didn’t understand. He turned down a narrow alley near the edge of the market, and for a second, he could swear he’d been there before.

A flash of a door. A laugh in the distance. His hand brushing stone.

It was gone before he could reach for it.

Back in the car, the group settled into the academy-provided transport. Cloaks were thrown over seats, half-eaten snacks scattered on laps, and Seokmin was already dozing against the window.

Jeonghan stared at the town as it faded behind them. His fingers curled loosely around the tea Wonwoo gave him.

“Jeonghan,” Seungcheol said gently from the seat beside him. “You’ve been spacing out since earlier.”

Jeonghan didn’t look away from the window. “I just realized I have an advantage over everyone else.”

That got everyone’s attention.

He turned, eyes focused. “Starvation.”

They all blinked.

“No one here’s ever starved. Or been cold for days. Or had to beg for scraps. That kind of desperation—it teaches you things. Survival things. The games don’t just test power. They test your ability to survive the worst. And hunger?” He looked out again. “Hunger kills just as easily as a sword.”

Silence settled over the car. Until Wonwoo broke it with a soft chuckle.

“Jeonghan, you’re incredible,” he said. “But you also need to breathe.”

“I am breathing,” Jeonghan muttered.

Wonwoo leaned forward, smirking. “If you really want to learn about survival, there’s something else. You should talk to our parents tomorrow.”

Jeonghan tilted his head. “Why?”

Seungcheol gave a knowing look. “You’ll meet past victors of the tournament.”

That made Jeonghan pause.

Wonwoo nodded. “Many of them were in your shoes once. Some of our parents were champions. They know what the arena takes. You want strategy? Talk to them.”

Jeonghan absorbed this in silence, then slowly nodded.

“Still won’t call anyone ‘mom,’ though.”

Mingyu snorted.

The car slowed, pulling into the forest-lined private road towards the Academy.

He didn’t say it, but the ache in his chest whispered louder.

He was still a stranger to himself.

No dreams.
No memories.

No visions.

But tomorrow, he would meet the people who had survived what he was about to enter. And maybe—just maybe—he’d start to piece something together.

If not about his past… then at least about his future.

******

It was rare that all six of them agreed on anything without argument, but the decision to sleep together in the lounge room that night had been unanimous.

Maybe it was the upcoming trip. Maybe it was the realization that time was slipping faster than they anticipated. Or maybe, they were just beginning to crave each other's presence—like family.

Their “lounge room,” as dubbed by Mingyu and Jisoo, was warm and familiar.

A sprawling shared space the academy let them customize, and they had slowly transformed it into a comforting chaos of blankets, spare clothes, game pieces, books, and memory.

Jeonghan and Jisoo had taken charge of setting up the mattresses. They dragged them out one by one, lining the floor like puzzle pieces—soft, mismatched bedding, and every pillow they could find stacked in the middle like a shared throne.

“You call this even spacing?” Jisoo muttered as Jeonghan kicked a blanket his way.

Jeonghan rolled his eyes. “You can sleep diagonally if you want, princess.”

Jisoo snorted and threw a pillow at his face.

Meanwhile, in the back of the room, Wonwoo and Seokmin were packing the remaining boxes they needed to bring for tomorrow.
They moved like clockwork—Seokmin checking snack boxes, while Wonwoo carefully tucked in books and a case of neatly labeled first aid supplies.

“Remind me again,” Seokmin said, adjusting his hoodie, “why do we need five types of tea?”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow. “Because some people panic better with chamomile, and some need peppermint.”

Seokmin paused. “You... scare me sometimes.”

“Good,” Wonwoo replied smoothly, sealing a box.

Out in the hallway, Mingyu and Seungcheol were the designated mules for the night, hauling bag after bag toward the private academy garage where a guard-driven vehicle would be waiting at dawn.

“This is your fault,” Mingyu huffed, adjusting the duffle on his back.

“How is this my fault?” Seungcheol snapped, voice low but exasperated. “You brought three extra bags. You’re not moving to the Hong estate.”

“It’s the parents ,” Mingyu whispered, dramatically. “What if they hate my outfit?”

Seungcheol gave him a withering look. “You’re wearing a cloak half the time.”

Mingyu blinked. “Details, Cheol. It’s all in the details.”

Back in the lounge, the night settled like a soft blanket over them.

Everyone had washed up—Jisoo smelling faintly of rose, Wonwoo’s hair damp and pushed back, Seokmin humming softly as he settled beside Jisoo, and Mingyu still towel-drying his head as he climbed onto his mattress next to Wonwoo. Jeonghan had the corner, always a little separate but close enough to hear every breath. Seungcheol was beside him, arm slung lazily across Jeonghan’s waist like it belonged there.

They chose a film—something old and quiet, just a soft background of sound to carry them into sleep.

Laughter fluttered through the room at first, as Mingyu complained about the lighting, Jisoo quoted lines under his breath, and Seokmin tried to throw popcorn in the air and catch it with his mouth, failing miserably.

But by the time the halfway mark of the film rolled around, the room had melted into stillness.

Jisoo was the first to fall asleep, his head tucked gently into the crook of Seokmin’s shoulder. His breathing slowed, one hand curled near his face like a child’s. Seokmin didn’t move—just glanced down at him, then let his hand rest protectively across Jisoo’s.

Mingyu, ever the overgrown puppy, had sprawled himself across Wonwoo’s lap without asking. His breathing was already deep, the softest of snores escaping him. Wonwoo’s eyes were closed, but his fingers still threaded through Mingyu’s hair in a slow, absent rhythm that spoke volumes more than words.

Seungcheol, of course, had completely given up trying to stay awake. He had curled his entire body toward Jeonghan, head resting on Jeonghan’s chest, one arm wrapped possessively around Jeonghan’s middle. The way his legs tangled with Jeonghan’s wasn’t intentional—but it wasn’t accidental either.

Jeonghan stayed awake the longest.

His eyes moved across the room, taking in the peaceful chaos. The way the moonlight spilled through the half-closed curtains. The way the scent of warmth, lavender, and burnt popcorn lingered in the air. He met Seokmin’s gaze from across the room.

Neither spoke.

But Jeonghan gave him a small, knowing smile. Then, in the quietest of gestures, he mouthed:

“You do not have to fear anymore.”

Seokmin’s chest rose slowly as he took in those words. He glanced at Jisoo, who was sleeping so vulnerably beside him, and for the first time in a long time, he smiled—a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes.

He looked back at Jeonghan and whispered, “Thank you, Han.”

And with that, Seokmin intertwined his fingers with Jisoo’s, anchoring them both to a safety they’d never known before.

They fell asleep like that.

One by one, the room gave in to dreams. Bodies tangled in comfort, hearts pressed closer by unspoken truths, and a bond that no spell or battle could ever forge.

Somewhere in the early hours, Jeonghan’s eyes finally fluttered shut. Seungcheol murmured something in his sleep, something Jeonghan didn’t catch—but the way his grip tightened slightly made Jeonghan’s lips twitch into a sleepy smile.

He didn’t remember his past.

He didn’t have memories or dreams to hold onto.

But tonight?

He had something better.

 

4:45 AM.

The shrill sound of Wonwoo’s alarm pierced through the darkness like a dagger.

It echoed against the tall lounge room ceiling and through six very tired bodies wrapped in blankets and sleep.

A chorus of groans erupted almost simultaneously.

“Kill it,” Mingyu mumbled, his face still buried in a pillow.

“Set it on fire,” Seokmin added, not even opening his eyes.

Despite the half-hearted death threats, one by one, the six began to move.
No one really spoke. They didn’t need to.

This was a routine born of too many early mornings and an unspoken pact of shared exhaustion. Jeonghan dragged himself to the bathroom, eyes barely open, while Jisoo was already brushing his teeth with one hand and clutching his skincare mist with the other.

In just fifteen minutes—fifteen miraculous minutes—they were all ready.

It was almost magical, the way the room transformed from a sleepy battlefield of limbs and pillows to six perfectly dressed individuals who looked like they hadn’t almost cried over an alarm five minutes ago.

No one even blinked when they saw Jeonghan wearing Seungcheol’s oversized academy hoodie, its sleeves engulfing his hands and the hem brushing against his thighs.

Nor did anyone mention Jisoo’s bright orange cap, the one that clearly belonged to Seokmin, or that Mingyu and Wonwoo had switched glasses for no reason other than it just felt like a thing to do this morning.

There were no questions.

Just quiet nods and sleepy eyes.

By 5:10 AM, they were on their way to the private parking lot, bags in tow, still shrouded in a comfortable silence.
The Hong family’s personal driver, a tall man in a black coat with a quiet demeanor, stood waiting beside a sleek black transport vehicle that could fit all six of them comfortably with room to spare.

They filed into the car the way they always did:

Seokmin and Jisoo took the front row, Jisoo resting his head on Seokmin’s shoulder again, a position they all seemed to favor lately.

Mingyu and Wonwoo took the back seats, stretching out like two lanky teenagers ready to nap on a long ride.

And in the middle, without discussion, Jeonghan and Seungcheol sat side by side, as if the seat was built for them alone.

As soon as the doors clicked shut, Mingyu mumbled in a whisper, “Good night, see y’all later,” before dramatically pulling his hoodie over his face and collapsing into sleep.

The hum of the engine, paired with the soft sounds of tires on road and the gentle whisper of mountain wind, lulled them all back to sleep within minutes. Heads leaned against windows. Shoulders bumped gently. Hands sometimes slipped into each other’s, and no one said a word.

Two hours later.

The car curved its way through rising hills and winding roads now lined with dense trees and patches of early-blooming flowers. The sun filtered through the branches, casting golden lines across sleeping faces.

Jeonghan stirred first, blinking slowly as the warmth of the light kissed his skin. The air smelled different here—cleaner, more real somehow. He realized, with a small flush, that Seungcheol’s arm was around his waist, and his breath was ghosting over the curve of Jeonghan’s neck. Their bodies were tangled loosely together, like they had done this a hundred times before.

Jeonghan didn’t move.

Outside the window, the mountains stretched endlessly, majestic and wild. The trees swayed as though waving to him.

Something about the view pulled at his chest—a fleeting, hollow ache that came and went before he could grasp it.

He blinked out of his daze when he noticed a hand quietly extending toward him. From across the center console, Wonwoo —barely awake but always thoughtful—was handing him a small plastic bag of gummy bears.

Jeonghan gave a soft chuckle and reached out carefully to take it, his fingers brushing Wonwoo’s with a grateful nod. He sat up just slightly, careful not to wake Seungcheol, and popped one into his mouth.

But even that slight shift was enough.

Seungcheol stirred, groaning softly. His grip around Jeonghan’s waist tightened, then loosened again as he blinked awake.

Their eyes met—half-asleep and entirely too close.

Jeonghan froze when, without thinking, Seungcheol leaned in and pressed a quick, featherlight kiss to Jeonghan’s cheek, murmuring against his skin:

“Your cheeks are so full… like a bunny.”

And just like that, he went back to sleep.

Jeonghan sat there, stunned. A burst of heat shot through his cheeks, and he touched the spot where Seungcheol had kissed him like it had burned into his skin.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or hide.

Before he could decide, a voice cut through the silence.

“Y’all are so cheesy,” Mingyu mumbled from the back, one eye barely cracked open, looking at them like he was both judging and jealous.

Jeonghan turned toward him slowly.

“You were awake?” he hissed.

“I was reborn just now,” Mingyu whispered back dramatically. “From the sheer power of your cheek kiss .”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes and popped another gummy bear into his mouth, silently wishing it could plug his ears from any more teasing.

The car journey stretched on in peaceful silence after that, punctuated by soft conversations, the occasional hum of music, and laughter that bubbled up without warning. Each of them slowly stirred back to life, one by one, like puzzle pieces snapping together as they neared their destination.

And though Jeonghan still felt that quiet emptiness inside—the missing past, the unanswered questions—he also felt something else.

Something warm.

Like maybe, in this car full of sleepy fools and sarcastic boys, he had found a kind of home he never knew he was missing.

And that was enough for now.

******

The car slowly rolled to a stop before two towering, wrought-iron gates, polished so immaculately that they caught the sunlight and gleamed like obsidian. The academy guards following them in the second vehicle disembarked first, speaking into comms and giving the green light to enter. With a low groan, the gates parted, revealing a long, curved driveway wrapped in manicured gardens, and beyond it—a mansion Jeonghan had only ever seen in textbooks or glossy magazine pages.

Grand was too small a word for it.

The Hong Estate sat at the heart of the sprawling property like a relic of an ancient royal lineage—walls covered in thick ivy, windows adorned with gold filigree, statues lining the path of warriors and angels. The sheer size of it made it feel more like a fortress than a home.

As the car finally stopped before the grand entryway, Jeonghan quietly observed the others come to life like children returning to a familiar playground. Before he could even unbuckle his seatbelt, Jisoo had flung the door open and bolted out, his coat flying behind him like a cape.

“Mommy!” Jisoo cried out, voice high with joy, sprinting toward a woman standing at the front steps.

She stood tall, elegant in a long cream coat, her smile radiant as she opened her arms wide. Her facial features were unmistakably similar to Jisoo’s—high cheekbones, soft yet piercing eyes, and that signature dimpled smile.

Jisoo practically slammed into her with a hug, burying his face in her shoulder.

“Mommy, I missed you!” he mumbled against her.

Seokmin and Mingyu weren’t far behind. Seokmin ran up and threw his arms around her waist from the side, planting a playful kiss on her cheek.

“Auntie Jena! I missed you and your famous beef stew. Please tell me you made it!”

Mingyu followed with his usual bear hug , lifting her slightly off the ground as he laughed and said, “No one gives better hugs than you, Auntie Jena.”

Jeonghan, still standing by the car, watched with wide eyes. The warmth, the intimacy—it was disarming. He couldn’t remember ever being greeted like that, even in the fragmented pieces of memory he’d fought to recover.

Wonwoo and Seungcheol approached more calmly, offering soft smiles and respectful bows. Jena greeted them both with gentle pats on the shoulder and a knowing look, as if she’d watched all of them grow from mischievous toddlers into hardened trainees.

Then she turned.

And her gaze landed on Jeonghan.

Her smile faltered—only slightly, only briefly—

but Jeonghan caught it.

A flicker of something else passed behind her eyes.

Amusement?

Surprise?

Recognition?

It was that same fleeting look he saw the day he met Headmaster Choi .

That same quiet pause. That same unspoken knowing.

“And who is this gorgeous young lad over here?” she asked, her voice gentle and curious.

Jeonghan hesitated for a moment, then straightened his posture.

“I’m Jeonghan,” he said simply, with a small, polite smile. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

Before Jena could respond, Jisoo rushed over to Jeonghan and threw an arm over his shoulder, grinning like he was introducing a secret weapon.

“Mom, this is the brain of the team. He’s basically like Uncle Jaehyun reborn.”

At the mention of the name—Jaehyun—

Jeonghan’s breath caught.

He didn’t know why.

He didn’t know who Jaehyun was.
But his chest tightened at the name.

A whisper from the past brushed the edges of his mind like static—so faint, yet so familiar.

And for a second, everything around him dimmed.

His fingers tingled. His pulse quickened.

But nothing came.
No memory.
Just a hollow silence where answers should be.

Jena’s gaze softened. “Well,” she said gently, “you’re very welcome here, Jeonghan. I can already tell—you’re someone special.”

Jeonghan looked down, unsure how to reply. He settled for a small nod.

What does she know? he wondered.
What did she see?

Inside, the estate was even more overwhelming.

Polished mahogany floors , walls lined with portraits of past champions and political leaders.

A grand staircase spiraled upward like something out of a fairy tale, and light from crystal chandeliers sparkled above them like captured stars. Jeonghan counted four fireplaces on the first floor alone.

Jisoo, beaming with pride, gave a rapid-fire tour.

“That’s the music room—we don’t use it. That’s the sunroom—Dad lives in there. The left wing’s off-limits; Mom has too many secrets there. Kitchen’s that way. If you’re ever lost, just find Mingyu. He always ends up near the food.”

“I heard that!” Mingyu yelled from down the hall.

The tour ended in the backyard, where a wide terrace opened up into lush green hills and a barbecue pit already sizzling with meat. A tall, broad-shouldered man wearing an apron that said “GRILL COMMANDER” waved at them with a pair of tongs.

“Dad!” Jisoo yelled. “We brought gifts! Us!”

Jisoo’s dad—Mr. Soohyun Hong—smiled warmly at the group. “Finally! Come here and say hi before I burn all your lunch!”

They all rushed over, and for the next few minutes, laughter filled the backyard as greetings were exchanged, questions asked, and food already stolen off the grill.

Jeonghan stayed a step back, taking it all in.

The comfort.

The familiarity.

The bonds that were thick and layered with years of shared moments.

He wanted this.

He didn’t realize how much until now.

Jisoo’s mom stepped beside him again.

“The others will be arriving shortly,” she said gently. “Jisoo told me you want to interview us? All the parents. You’ll meet them. Many of them were once students like you… victors of the tournament. Perhaps they’ll have stories that might help you.”

Jeonghan looked at her.

Jena swallowed a lump on her throat before smiling again, “Jisoo also told me.. about your story.”

“I don’t remember anything,” he said quietly.

She smiled, neither sad nor surprised. “Maybe you don’t need to. Not yet.”

And before he could ask what she meant, she walked away.

******

The sun had settled perfectly above the garden, painting everything in soft gold.

Behind the grand Hong estate, the group of six settled into the open-air lounge overlooking a clear, sparkling pool. The garden stretched endlessly—rows of flowers, smooth marble paths, tall trees swaying in the spring breeze, and the calm rustle of distant wind chimes gave the estate a dreamy, almost surreal feel.

They were surrounded by pillows, blankets, and low tables scattered with half-finished plates and icy drinks. Uncle Soohyun had already fed them well with his famous barbecue, and Auntie Jena, ever the gracious host, kept bringing them different homemade drinks to try—iced hibiscus tea, fizzy lemon water, even a sparkling berry punch that Seokmin claimed tasted like joy.

“I swear my favorite parents are Auntie Jena and Uncle Soohyun,” Mingyu declared, sipping another round of fruit soda and lying back on the grass like a cat in the sun.

“Because they spoil you more than your own parents do,” Wonwoo said without even looking up, nudging his glasses as he read through a scroll one of Jisoo’s dad left on strategy training.

“They know real talent when they see it,” Mingyu said proudly, stretching.

They didn’t have long to bask in their food comas.

One of the estate’s butlers approached silently with a bow. “Your families have arrived, young masters. The Yoon family will be arriving shortly after.”

That woke everyone up.

The three who had parents arriving all stood at once, brushing themselves off and fixing their cloaks.
Jeonghan stood up more slowly, eyes tracking their movements, that strange sense of being out-of-place creeping in again. Like he was in a dream he didn’t remember falling into.

“Are you okay?” Seungcheol asked quietly, coming up beside him and slipping their fingers together.

“Yeah,” Jeonghan said softly, looking down. “I don’t know. It’s like... I feel like I’ve seen this before. But also like I don’t belong.”

Seungcheol squeezed his hand gently. “You belong with us.”

Jeonghan smiled faintly, then gave him a little nudge. “Go. Your parents are waiting.”

In the courtyard, several luxury carriages and enchanted vehicles were parked, their elegant coats shining in the morning sun.

As soon as Mingyu spotted his parents, he ran like a kid again, launching into their arms without hesitation. His mother laughed and smacked a kiss onto his cheek while his father attempted to ruffle his already messy hair.

Seokmin’s parents were loud, warm, and theatrical, smothering him in affection and telling him he looked too thin (he didn’t).

Wonwoo’s parents were calm and understated, but the way his father rested a quiet hand on his shoulder and his mother brushed imaginary dust from his robe said everything.

Jeonghan stood to the side, watching it all like a quiet observer. He didn’t know what to do with the emotions sitting heavily in his chest—envy, wonder, confusion.

Then—Headmaster Choi called out to him.

“Jeonghan! Come, come. Let me introduce you to everyone properly.”

And just like that, all eyes were on him.

He walked forward slowly, careful, hands tucked behind his back. The headmaster placed a proud hand on his shoulder.

“This young man is Jeonghan—our team’s most recent addition and one of the most brilliant minds I’ve come across. The one who re-mapped the simulated labyrinth training system. The one who led the group during the multi-faction duels.”

Jeonghan saw it again.

The slight flicker of recognition from all of them. 

Seokmin’s parents murmured in approval. Mingyu’s parents smiled kindly.

But Wonwoo’s mother looked a little too closely at his face.

“Have we met before?” she asked. “You seem... familiar.”

Jeonghan shook his head gently, offering a small bow. “I don’t believe so, ma’am.”

Still, her eyes lingered for a second too long.

Mingyu’s dad sadly smiled at Jeonghan, “ You remind me of someone I know”.

The same thing Headmaster Choi told Jeonghan.

” You remind me of someone I know”.

Headmaster Choi stepped in smoothly. “Jeonghan came under special circumstances. We’re still working on recovering some of his records.”

Jeonghan’s smile didn’t waver, but inside, his stomach turned.

Records.

Past.

Identity. All of it still just... empty.

 

Back in the garden, everyone had settled back into cozy cushions and low chairs as the parents mingled with drinks and snacks. Conversations turned to life at the Academy—midnight studies, intense trainings, and the pressure of the upcoming tournament.

Eventually, laughter filled the space as Jisoo’s dad brought up an entirely different subject.

“So...” he said, eyes twinkling mischievously. “Any of you dating yet?”

The six of them froze.

“Dad, don’t—” Jisoo muttered, already looking embarrassed.

“What?” his father asked innocently. “There’s six of you. You’re all attractive and talented. Odds are, someone’s kissing someone.”

Mingyu looked ready to die. Seokmin audibly choked.
Wonwoo remained very still, eyes glued to his drink.

Jisoo opened his mouth to respond when—

“The Yoon family has arrived,” the butler announced at just the right time, like an angel of mercy.

Seokmin’s eyes lit up with mischief. He elbowed Seungcheol with a grin.
“Your girlfriend’s here.”

Mingyu snorted. “Yeah, yeah—your one true love has returned.”

Jeonghan arched an eyebrow, turning to Seungcheol slowly.
“Girlfriend?”

Seungcheol looked mildly panicked. “It’s not what it sounds like—”

“She’s a menace,” Seokmin whispered behind his hand, grinning.

“Adorable,” Mingyu added. “But a menace.”

And then—light footsteps.

Small, determined.

From the entrance of the garden, a tiny girl in a pastel yellow dress and glittery boots came running at full speed.

“CHEOLLIEEEE!”
She launched herself forward like a rocket.

Seungcheol instinctively dropped to one knee, catching her mid-air.
“Jihyo!” he laughed, lifting her easily in his arms.

Jeonghan blinked. “That’s... the girlfriend?”

“She’s five,” Seokmin said, struggling not to laugh. “She calls him Cheollie and follows him everywhere.”

“Apparently, she told everyone in her house that she’s going to marry him one day,” Mingyu added.

Jeonghan shook his head, biting back a smile. “I was about to punch you.”

Seungcheol turned toward him with Jihyo still in his arms.
“I swear, this is the only girl who’s allowed to love me.”

Jihyo beamed proudly, arms clinging around his neck.
“He’s my prince lion!”

Everyone around them erupted into laughter.

And for a moment, under the spring sun, surrounded by warmth, joy, and the chaos of reunion, Jeonghan felt something shift.

Not quite a memory.
Not quite a vision.
But something real .

And maybe, just maybe—he wasn’t as alone as he thought.

******

A fresh breeze drifted through the garden as the final guests arrived.

All eyes shifted toward the grand archway that led into the estate garden, and in walked Jaehyun and Yeji Yoon , dignified and radiant in their presence. The young Yoon already in Seungcheol’s arms.

Jeonghan’s breath caught in his throat.

He didn’t know why, but something in him—deep, almost buried—lurched at the sight of them. Something shifted under his ribs.

A tremor he didn’t expect.

And before he could stop it, his eyes blurred.

Why am I crying?

He blinked rapidly, forcing the tears away.

He couldn’t explain it. He didn’t even know these people.

But why did it feel like he did ?

Headmaster Choi stood up with a proud smile and gave Jaehyun a side hug. “Ah! Jaehyun, Yeji. I’d like you to meet someone very special.”

The headmaster turned to Jeonghan and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

“This is Jeonghan. The Academy’s new strategist, our sixth tribute for this year’s tournament, and possibly the sharpest mind I’ve seen in decades.”

Jaehyun extended a hand, his eyes quietly observing, curious. “A strategist, huh? You look a little young to be breaking records.”

Jeonghan managed a weak smile and stepped forward.

His hand trembled slightly as it met Jaehyun’s.

Their palms touched.

A jolt.

Jaehyun paused—but only for a flicker of a second.

A glint passed through his eyes, something unreadable, before it was masked again by a warm smile.

“I look forward to playing against you later,” he said.

“That’s if you can beat him,” Jisoo chimed in proudly. “I barely win against Jeonghan and I’ve studied Uncle Jaehyun’s board games since I was six!”

Jaehyun laughed. “Then I better bring my A-game.”

Yeji Yoon smiled softly, offering her own hand. “It’s a pleasure, Jeonghan.”

Jeonghan bowed politely, barely managing a “Thank you, ma’am,” as he shook her hand, his skin buzzing again.

This time it wasn’t just nervousness.
It was familiarity.

The ache of a forgotten dream.

As the Yoons settled into the garden with the rest of the families, more drinks were passed around, light chatter resumed, and someone turned on soft music that hummed in the background. Everyone was content and warm in the afternoon sun.

Jeonghan had barely sat down when he felt a tug on his sleeve.

He turned, confused—only to find two wide eyes staring up at him.

Jihyo.

Her dark hair was pulled into two tiny buns, her cheeks round and flushed, a tiny pink band-aid on one knee. She looked like she had stepped out of a picture book.

Jeonghan gave her a hesitant smile, not entirely sure what to do.

“Can you carry me?” she asked plainly, arms already reaching up to him like they’d known each other for years.

Gasps. Mingyu nearly dropped his drink.

“Did she just—?” Seokmin whispered.

Even Seungcheol raised a brow, looking between Jeonghan and the little girl.

The entire garden went still for a beat, waiting to see what he’d do.

Jeonghan blinked in surprise. He glanced toward the Yoon couple, but neither Jaehyun nor Yeji stopped her. They watched, curious... expectant, even.

So slowly—almost reverently—Jeonghan bent down and gently lifted Jihyo into his arms.

She fit perfectly, small and featherlight.

And then she did something that froze him in place.

She cupped his face in her tiny hands, leaning close until their noses nearly touched.

Her eyes searched his like she was looking for something only she could recognize.

Jeonghan’s heart cracked open in his chest.

Something about her touch—the warmth of her palms, the trust in her gaze—it shattered something locked deep inside.

He felt it like a silent vow:
I will protect her. I don’t care what it takes. I will protect this girl.

She tilted her head, her expression serious. “I want to be pretty like you when I grow up.”

A chorus of coos and delighted laughter erupted from the adults.

“Oh my god,” Seokmin whispered. “She’s never said that to anyone before.”

“You’ve been dethroned, Seungcheol,” Mingyu added with a grin. “Jeonghan’s officially her favorite now.”

Jeonghan—still holding Jihyo—let out a laugh.

An honest, open, genuine laugh.

Rare.

Pure.

The kind that made everyone turn their heads.

He gently leaned forward and brushed his nose against hers. “You’re already prettier than me, Princess. I bet you’ll be the most beautiful girl in the world when you grow up.”

Jihyo giggled wildly, grabbing his cheeks tighter and peppering his face with wet, happy kisses.

“Jihyo! Sweetheart, don’t slobber on his face,” Yeji called from across the garden, half laughing, half scolding.

But Jeonghan only laughed again, his eyes soft. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

The parents chuckled, their hearts warmed by the scene.

Jeonghan held her like he’d known her forever.

Like she was part of a home he couldn’t remember.

Mingyu elbowed Seungcheol.
“Dude, you better make your move. Little miss just stole your whole act.”

Seungcheol shook his head, smiling fondly as he watched Jeonghan cradle the little girl.

His gaze lingered on the hoodie Jeonghan is wearing—his hoodie—and the way it bunched around Jeonghan’s waist as he carried Jihyo.

A shadow passed behind him.

Headmaster Choi, Seungcheol’s father, stood tall with a glass of wine in hand, watching the interaction silently.

His sharp eyes flicked from Jihyo in Jeonghan’s arms to the hoodie , then to Seungcheol’s expression.

Something passed behind his eyes.

Recognition.

Amusement.

Warning.

He took a sip from his wine glass and turned to his wife. “Well,” he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear. “It seems the boy’s already made his choice.”

And beneath the laughter and blooming affection—

Something deep, something ancient , stirred quietly beneath the surface.

******

The golden light of the afternoon bathed the sprawling garden of the Hong estate.

The gentle murmur of conversations floated through the air, accompanied by the occasional clink of glasses and the rustle of wind through the tall cypress trees that lined the stone walls.

The long tables were now filled with empty plates and full bellies, drinks refilled again and again as the parents and children of the academy let the rare tranquility sink in.

For once, no one was discussing survival tactics, simulations, or the looming tournament. There was just this warmth—of connection, family, and quiet reprieve.

Everyone had settled around the fire pit at the center of the garden where glowing lanterns were slowly being lit, preparing the estate for the soft transition into evening.

And right at the heart of the circle, Jeonghan sat with little Jihyo perched comfortably in his lap, her hands possessively clutching onto the soft fabric of his hoodie like it was her own personal claim.

Every few minutes, she would hand him a biscuit or point dramatically at her juice cup, demanding in her tiny voice, “Hannie, more juice!” or “Feed me, I’m busy sitting!”

Jeonghan—of all people—complied without protest. Gently, with a tenderness no one expected from someone so often aloof, he held the biscuit up to her lips, or helped her drink her juice as she tilted her head back with exaggerated effort.

He looked... content.

Soft.

Even peaceful.

And it didn’t go unnoticed.

Mingyu leaned forward, grinning. “Yo, is it just me or is Cheollie being awfully quiet?”

Everyone turned toward Seungcheol, who was seated beside Jeonghan, arms crossed, one brow slightly twitching in amusement and something unspoken.

“He’s jealous,” Mingyu added loudly, grinning like a devil.

“What?” Seungcheol scoffed. “Of a five-year-old?”

Before anyone could respond, Jihyo suddenly whipped her head up, eyes wide as if she had just been accused of treason. She pointed a tiny, chubby finger at Seungcheol.

“Cheollie!” she squeaked. “I still like you! But I also like Hannie!”

The entire circle of parents and students burst into laughter, the kind that echoed across the estate like music.

Seungcheol feigned offense. “So I’m second now?”

Seokmin jumped in, unable to resist. “But Jihyo, Cheollie likes Hannie too... so what you gonna do?”

Mingyu howled. “He said it!”

Even Wonwoo, usually the quietest, actually laughed out loud, nearly spilling the drink in his hand.

Jeonghan’s eyes widened for a second—but he didn’t stop smiling. It was awkward, but real.

He turned to Seokmin with a look of mock betrayal, “Traitor,” he mouthed.

Jisoo was on the edge of his seat, watching Jihyo intently like this was a reality drama about to hit its climax. His hand subtly nudged Seokmin’s, the both of them trying not to lose it.

But the laughter began to fade as Jihyo's expression crumbled into a dramatic gasp.

Her lower lip trembled, and in the blink of an eye, she threw her arms around Jeonghan’s neck, clutching him tightly like a plush toy.

“NO!” she declared with tears beginning to brim. “HANNIE IS MINE ONLY!”

Gasps. Then laughter. Then gasps again.

“Aigoo—Jihyo!” Yeji Yoon exclaimed in half-panic, standing up slightly. “Sweetheart, it’s okay! Hannie’s not going anywhere!”

“Well, not unless Seungcheol drags him,” Mingyu added.

Even the parents were laughing now. But among the ripple of amusement, Jeonghan turned serious for just a second.

He gently leaned forward, nuzzling his nose against Jihyo’s temple, calming her. “It’s okay, Jihyo,” he whispered softly enough that only a few could hear. “I’m right here. I won’t go far.”

Then, turning toward Seungcheol with a playful sigh and the faintest twinkle in his eye, he said with mock sorrow,
“I guess... see you next lifetime then.”

A roar of laughter.

Seungcheol, lips tugging upward, shook his head in disbelief. “Unbelievable.”

“You lost to a child, man,” Mingyu teased, clapping him on the back.

Seungcheol’s parents—especially his father, Headmaster Choi—were not laughing.

They had been silent for most of the exchange. And while Seungcheol’s mother tried to stifle a smile behind her glass, Sowoon’s eyes were sharp and calculating.

His gaze fell once again to the oversized hoodie Jeonghan wore—Seungcheol’s hoodie, unmistakable—and then to Seungcheol himself.

There was recognition there. And warning. And... a flicker of something else.

The headmaster said nothing. But his silence was deafening.

As the laughter from Jihyo’s outburst slowly faded, replaced by the soft crackle of the fire and the hum of conversation, Jisoo’s dad leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and an unmistakable twinkle in his eye.

“So,” he said casually, with a smile that wasn’t casual at all, “going back to my question earlier… who’s dating who here?”

Jisoo instantly sat up straighter, half-shouting, half-whining, “Dadddd—no one!”

A few parents chuckled while Seokmin patted Jisoo’s arm, trying and failing to hide his own amusement.

Then, for the first time that day, Wonwoo spoke up, his voice calm, smooth, and—if you listened closely—just a little mischievous.

“Uncle,” he said, looking straight at Jisoo’s dad, “I promise you, when we get back here after the tournament... you’ll know all the gossip. From start to finish.”

A silence fell over the circle.

It wasn’t heavy.

Just... quiet.

Expectant.

Full of glances and half-smiles.

Then, slowly, almost like he couldn’t help it, Headmaster Choi—usually unreadable and cold—smiled.

It wasn’t wide or obvious. But it was real.

Across the circle, the parents looked at one another , a flicker of understanding passing between them—those who had fought, loved, and risked it all when they were students.

Jisoo’s dad gave a soft chuckle, raising his glass slightly.
“Well,” he said with warmth, “I can’t wait to find out.”

And for a moment, just a moment, it felt like everything would be okay.

Notes:

some jeongcheol, minwon and seoksoo crumbs also the next update is also one of my favorites hehe I will update probably tonight wohooo ALSO THE YOON FAMILY??? I meannnn🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️ one last thing, you might wonder why Jeonghan and Seungcheol act like they are together already I just want to explain that it’s like an unspoken shift between them that has been developed one day at a time and Areum’s insight about them is the perfect explanation 👀👀

Chapter 13: Game Night

Notes:

I missed yall! Was out all weekend and couldn't edit this chapter right away and im currently editing the next chapter here at work ( ˘ ³˘)♥ i think this chapter is also a "filler" chapter but much longer. Also, I am planning to post a new fic here ٩(ˊᗜˋ )و royalty childhood best friends to lovers jeongcheol (ꈍᴗꈍ)♡

The sun had barely dipped below the horizon when dinner wrapped up, but the garden still glowed with warmth—from the string lights overhead, the flickering lanterns along the stone paths, and the laughter that lingered like perfume in the air.

The adults slowly made their way to their guest rooms, sipping tea or wine, chatting quietly, while the six  helped clear the plates and said their polite goodnights.

But the night was far from over.

“The real tournament begins now,” Jisoo announced as he clapped his hands dramatically once they returned inside.

Jeonghan tilted his head, still chewing on the last bite of a sweet rice cake.

“Wait, what tournament?” Jeonghan asked, wiping his fingers on a napkin, suddenly alert.

Jisoo’s eyes gleamed. “Every time we have a family gathering like this, we end the night with one thing: The Tournament—a custom board game. It mimics the actual tournament mechanics—alliances, traps, resources, survival—but with dice and enchanted tokens.”

Seokmin grinned, rubbing his hands together. “And Uncle Jaehyun is undefeated. Every year, no matter how many of us team up against him, he always wins.”

“But this year…” Seungcheol leaned closer to Jeonghan, his voice lowered like a conspiracy, “I can feel it. This is the year we finally beat him. Especially with you on our side.”

Jeonghan blinked. “Me? I’ve never played it before.”

“Exactly,” Seungcheol said, nudging him lightly. “He won’t see you coming.”

Jeonghan just gave a nervous laugh, unsure if he should be flattered or more stressed.

 

As they all started climbing the grand staircase to prepare for the game night, Jisoo turned around and raised a warning finger.

“Alright, just so we’re clear—sleeping arrangements.” He pointed at Seungcheol and Jeonghan. “You two are banned from cuddling this weekend. No sneaking into each other's rooms. Got it?”

Seungcheol groaned. “You act like it’s a crime.”

“It is when I’m the one sleeping beside Hannie tonight,” Jisoo shot back smugly. “Wonwoo and Jeonghan are bunking with me. Seokmin, Mingyu, and Seungcheol—you guys have the blue guest bedroom across the hall.”

Mingyu snorted. “Watch Seungcheol cry himself to sleep tonight.”

“Only because he snores,” Seokmin added, grinning.

Jeonghan rolled his eyes as they all continued up the stairs, his fingers brushing lightly with Seungcheol’s for just a second.

It was quiet, but that tiny contact held something warm—assurance, maybe, or a silent promise.

He glanced sideways to see Seungcheol still watching him, soft-eyed and already missing the shared space.

But then Jisoo opened his bedroom door and practically shoved Jeonghan and Wonwoo inside.

“Move, lovebirds. Game night awaits.”

Seungcheol chuckled under his breath. “Good luck in there.”

And with that, the doors closed behind them, and the house settled into a quiet hum—just before the chaos of the board game would begin.

******

The grand double doors opened with a slow creak, and the six of them stepped into the heart of the Hong estate—an enchanted game room that radiated mystery and old power.

The walls were dark mahogany, carved with ancient runes that pulsed softly in muted gold, the magic humming like a low chant in Jeonghan’s ears.

The ceilings soared above them, inlaid with constellations that subtly moved in real-time, stars blinking in rhythm with every breath they took. In the center of the room was a wide, circular table carved from obsidian stone, its surface etched with the map of the tournament grounds—each territory shimmering faintly under magical enchantments.

“This is it,” Jisoo said quietly, his voice reverent. “My parents asked one of the royal priests to bless the room when I was a child. Ever since then, this place has been sacred.”

Jeonghan didn’t respond immediately.

He felt it.

Not fear, not even anxiety.

But a kind of pressure that filled his lungs and tightened his chest—not in a way that made it hard to breathe, but in a way that made him feel the weight of the moment.

Like stepping into a cathedral.

Or a battlefield.

A silent kind of reverence.

“It feels…” he whispered. “Heavy.”

Wonwoo, standing next to him, offered a small nod. “Suffocating. In a good way.”

The enchantments were ancient. Jeonghan could almost hear voices echoing through the stone. The air smelled of burnt incense and something older—like dusted parchment, metal, and quiet ambition.

He turned his gaze to the opposite side of the obsidian table, where six people were already seated—waiting.

There was no mistaking the intensity of the atmosphere.

“Jeonghan,” Wonwoo said softly, like a narrator beginning a story. “These aren’t just our parents. These are former victors. Survivors. Champions.”

Jeonghan’s breath caught in his throat.

There sat Wonwoo’s mother, elegant and serene with piercing eyes that studied him the same way her son did. Beside her, Jisoo’s father wore a warm smile, but his posture was commanding—like someone who knew the cost of every move.

Seokmin’s father had a kind grin and the quiet sturdiness of a man who carried others through the worst. Mingyu’s dad looked more like a war general than a parent, arms crossed as he analyzed the room with sharp focus.

Headmaster Choi—Seungcheol’s father—sat next to none other than Yoon Jaehyun himself, the infamous, undefeated champion of the game nights.

Jaehyun didn’t just smile—he smirked.

Like he already knew what cards he held before the deck was even shuffled.

“They have an edge,” Seungcheol murmured to him. “Not just because they’re older. They’ve lived it. They’ve survived it. Every time we’ve played, they win because they remember how it feels to fight for real.”

But Jeonghan wasn’t afraid.

Not of them.

No.

He was in awe.

He already couldn’t wait for the next day—when he’d finally get the chance to sit down and interview them all.

Their stories, their strategies, their scars.

He could almost see the blueprints of the tournament unfolding in his mind.

But before they took their seats, Jeonghan paused. He scanned how the adults were seated—careful, deliberate.

Their seating wasn’t casual, not to someone like him. Even in a friendly game, formation mattered. Positioning gave away tells. Influence. Subconscious strategy.

“Why are they sitting like that?” he asked Seungcheol in a low voice.

“They always say it’s random,” Seungcheol replied with a shrug.

Jeonghan narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think so.”

Quickly, he turned to his team and asked how they usually sat.

Seungcheol replied: “I’m always in the middle. Mingyu and Seokmin beside me. Wonwoo and Jisoo on the ends.”

Jeonghan frowned. “You’ve been predictable.”

Before they could argue, Jeonghan issued quick directions. “Wonwoo, sit in the middle. I want to observe how they react to a silent reader at the core. Seungcheol and I will sit at the ends. Seokmin beside me. Mingyu beside Cheol. Jisoo you sit between Wonwoo and Seokmin. Trust me.”

There was a moment of silence.

Then, without protest, they obeyed. No one questioned it.

They took their seats across the table, opposite the former champions.

The obsidian pulsed beneath their hands like a living heartbeat.

At the center, Jena Hong stood tall, radiant in deep violet robes embroidered with silver thread.

Her voice rang clear, both warm and commanding.

“As the designated mediator for tonight’s game,” she began, “It brings me joy to welcome our favorite teams—past and future victors. But tonight is special. For we have a new player.”

She turned her gaze to Jeonghan.

“A new mind. A new threat, perhaps. Let’s see what becomes of him.”

Jeonghan met her eyes and gave a soft, respectful nod. His fingers curled slightly on the table’s surface, the game board pulsing beneath them like it recognized him too.

The others smirked, nodded, or raised their brows. Jaehyun merely leaned forward slightly.

“Welcome to the board, Jeonghan.”

 “Let’s see what you’re made of.”

******

The obsidian table now shimmered brighter, its surface glowing with runic symbols as magic pulsed through every inch of the room. The light dimmed until only the soft golden gleam of the enchanted runes remained, casting intricate shadows across the players’ faces. There was an electric hum in the air—like the room itself was holding its breath.

Jena Hong, poised like a queen in her rightful court, stood at the center of the circle. A warm smile touched her lips, but her eyes held the sharp glint of someone who had once known the thrill of survival—of war.

“As always,” she began, her voice loud and clear, laced with authority, “we play by the rules of the Tournament.”

She raised one hand, and instantly the center of the table shifted—what looked like thousands of runes danced across its surface and merged into a large holographic map, floating above the center. It flickered to life, showing a multi-zoned terrain with forests, deserts, broken cities, and dark, enchanted ruins.

“Two teams, six players each,” Jena continued. “Each team must decide their roles. These are the constants: one fragger, one seeker, one deceiver, one healer, and two frontliners. However—" she smiled mysteriously, “—you may also assign a secret leader, a wildcard, hidden even from the opponents.”

Jeonghan leaned forward, absorbing every word like a sponge. This wasn’t just a game—it was a simulation of everything he’d been training for.

Every decision, every position, every bluff mattered.

“Once your team has finalized your roles,” Jena said, “you will submit your identities to me privately, as well as your selected abilities.”

Jeonghan blinked. “Selected abilities?”

Seungcheol answered in a whisper. “In the game, you’re not confined to your real life power. You can invent a new ability or pick an existing one. No one knows who’s coming with what.”

“But that’s not all,” Jena added, overhearing them with a smirk. “Once I receive all twelve abilities, I will grade them in secret, on a scale of A to F, based on potential, usefulness, and synergy.”

Jisoo leaned in. “We’ll know the grades of our own team’s abilities—but not theirs. It’s all about deduction and strategy.”

Jena continued:
 “Then I will choose the battlefield—randomized by the enchantments. From there, your team will plan your initial routes, placements, and movements. It’s just like the tournament’s first hour: blind deployment.”

The table responded to her voice, a soft chime signaling the next phase.

“As for combat,” Jena said, and her tone sharpened slightly, “you use your magic cards.”

Six decks appeared before each player in a swirl of light, glowing softly. Each card was bound by enchantment—each one representing either an attack, defense, bluff, or survival skill.

“Combat occurs only when players cross paths,” she said. “At each encounter, the involved players will make a secret bet using their magic card—whether to attack or abstain.”

The rules came to life in Jeonghan’s head like a flowing diagram:

• If one player attacks and the other abstains, the attacker deals a light blow. The loser loses 10 points.
  
  
• If both players choose to attack, a full duel takes place. The loser loses 20 points.
  
  
• If both abstain, the encounter passes—no loss, no gain.
  
  

“But beware,” Jena added. “This is not a closed arena. The board will also release random ‘ghost’ players—non-player simulations of tournament participants. When encountered, you must eliminate them. No negotiations. Every one of them is worth points—and every mistake will cost you.”

Wonwoo muttered to Jeonghan, “They simulate the other 18 players who’ll be in the real tournament with us.”

“The winner,” Jena concluded, her voice resonating with finality, “will be the team with the most accumulated points by the end of three rounds—or the team who still has all members alive, while the others are out.”

She smiled with sharp amusement.
 “Same stakes, same rules. No mercy. Just magic, strategy… and a little luck.”

“Let the Game Begin.”

The table pulsed once—louder now—and all twelve players turned serious.

Even the parents, once laughing and full of wine from dinner, straightened in their seats. Jaehyun was already watching Jeonghan with faint interest, while Headmaster Choi calmly observed the six teens, as if noting every hesitation.

“Let’s huddle,” Seungcheol whispered.

The six of them moved back a step from the table and grouped together in a semi-circle. Mingyu cracked his knuckles; Jisoo was vibrating in excitement. Seokmin looked ready to run laps. Wonwoo, as always, was quiet but intense.

And Jeonghan?

His mind was spinning—in a good way.

This wasn’t a game.

Not really.

It was a test.

A preview.

A mirror of what was to come.

And he was ready to play.

******

The moment the silencing enchantment sealed the two teams from one another, a magical hush fell upon the enchanted game room. Even the air seemed to hold its breath, waiting for something thrilling to unfold.

Mingyu practically bounced in place, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. Seokmin cracked a grin and leaned forward, elbows on knees. Wonwoo, calm and focused, already had a notebook out—not that he needed it, but it was habit. Jisoo’s eyes sparkled with mischief, as if he'd already won. And Seungcheol, always the center of calm power, looked to Jeonghan.

But this time, Jeonghan stood in front of them like a general before his army.

Seokmin smirked. “Jeonghan, it’s your time to shine. Lead the way.”

Jeonghan let out a quiet laugh. “It’s showtime.”

He turned, pacing slightly before speaking.

“First—abilities. Tell me honestly. Have any of you ever used your own abilities in this game?”

Seungcheol answered immediately. “Never. When we were younger, we didn’t take this game too seriously. We picked random ones just to mess around.”

“Perfect,” Jeonghan said, eyes gleaming. “Let’s surprise them.”

Wonwoo raised a brow. “You want us to use our real skills?”

“Exactly,” Jeonghan confirmed. “No more pretending. We give them a taste of what we’re truly capable of. Not just for the fun of it… but to win. For real.”

The energy shifted instantly. They weren’t kids anymore.

This wasn’t just a family game night—it was a prelude to the actual war.

“Now,” Jeonghan continued, “roles. Who usually takes the leader role?”

Wonwoo replied, “We always give it to Cheol.”

Jeonghan shook his head. “Not this time. That’s exactly why they’ll never see this coming. They’ve never seen the rest of you take on the leader role—not even once. But more importantly…”

He turned to Seungcheol, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Your dad knows every single one of your capabilities, right?”

Seungcheol exhaled, nodding. “All of them. He trained me.”

Jeonghan smiled slowly, almost wickedly. “That’s why we kill him first.”

Seokmin choked on his laugh. “You’re the only one I know who talks about killing the headmaster like it’s a grocery list.”

“He’s just a piece on the board tonight,” Jeonghan said coolly. “And a dangerous one at that.”

The others nodded, shifting closer as Jeonghan began laying out the plan in full:

“Mingyu and Seokmin,” Jeonghan said, pointing to each of them. “You’re both frontliners. Take out as many ghost players as possible. Accumulate points. Fast and silent. If you see a real opponent—avoid unless necessary. You’re our point engines.”

Mingyu gave a mock salute. “Ghostbusters. Got it.”

“Cheol,” Jeonghan turned to him. “You’re the fragger.”

Seungcheol blinked. “Just like in the actual game”

“The one who finishes our opponents. Clean-up crew. You find the other players—real ones—and you take them out. You’re the sword we hide behind.”

Seungcheol grinned slowly. “Now that sounds like fun.”

“Jisoo,” Jeonghan said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re the deceiver. The Crest is yours.”

Jisoo gasped. “Me? But I always run my mouth—”

“Exactly,” Jeonghan cut in. “Which means they’ll never believe you’re hiding the most important piece on the board. And remember, you are our actual deceiver in The Tournament.”

“He’s right,” Wonwoo added. “They’ll assume it’s someone quiet. Like me.”

Jeonghan nodded. “And speaking of you—Wonwoo, you’re our healer. Support role. You stay alive, stay in range, and keep everyone on their feet.”

Wonwoo gave a simple nod.

“And me?” Jeonghan smiled. “I’m the seeker. I’ll work in the shadows. Intercept, spy, track, mislead, and strike only when necessary. They won’t see me coming.”

“So who’s the leader?” Mingyu asked.

Jeonghan turned, amusement blooming across his features.

“Jisoo.”

Jisoo’s eyes widened. “Me?!”

“Yes,” Jeonghan said, with a slight tilt of his head. “Imagine the chaos. They’ll try to read your actions as reckless. They won’t realize until too late that you’re executing a perfect strategy.”

Seokmin clapped slowly. “You’re terrifying, Jeonghan. I love it.”

Jisoo blinked, then smirked. “Fine. But I want a crown if we win.”

Jeonghan took one last moment to ask:
 “Tell me—how does Jaehyun usually play?”

The five of them looked at each other, then Wonwoo took the lead.

“Uncle Jaehyun always takes the seeker role. He prefers to isolate, gather data, and strike when the time is right. He watches movements, baiting us into ambushes.”

“He likes to test players psychologically,” Seungcheol added. “He’ll corner you and see if you panic.”

“He doesn't talk much during the game,” Jisoo said. “But when he does, it’s to make someone doubt themselves.”

“He’s always paired with Headmaster ,” Mingyu noted. “That’s the worst combo. Seeker and leader—they’re practically linked.”

Jeonghan nodded slowly. “Good. We isolate them. Split them up. Bait them away from each other.”

With just a few more tweaks to positioning, decoy paths, and communication signals, their ten minutes were nearly up. The pulsing magic in the room changed rhythm, signaling the end of their strategy time.

The silencing magic lifted.

The six of them, now a refined unit cloaked in confidence, walked back to their side of the circle. They sat—quiet, calculating, ready. Same seats. But this time, an entirely different game.

Seungcheol sat at the end of the table, an unusual formation that made the other team squint in curiosity.
No one said a word.

Jeonghan, leaning back in his seat, stared directly at the six legends across from them—the parents, the former victors.

He smiled softly.

“It’s showtime.”

******

The room felt like it was buzzing. A low, tangible hum of energy pulsed in the enchanted space, the magic in the air responding to the weight of anticipation that hung between the twelve players—six on each side, young blood versus seasoned champions.

They sat across from each other, eyes locked, expressions unreadable. But underneath the calm surface, minds raced.

Yoon Jaehyun, ever composed, let out a deep chuckle as he looked across the table at the younger team.

“Haven’t seen you boys this serious in a long time,” he said, amusement thick in his voice. “Feels like a real battlefield already.”

No one responded.
Not because they were intimidated—but because the real game had just begun.

Jena, the mediator and Jisoo’s mom, raised her hand and conjured a soft golden glow from her palm. In an instant, twelve magical cards levitated from each participant and floated toward her. These were the Ability Cards, created using a blend of their intent, imagination, and magic—representing the powers they had chosen for this round.

The cards hovered midair, glowing with distinct energies before being absorbed into a small orb above Jena’s hand.

“Now,” Jena announced, “before I assess and grade your cards, we have to draw from the Deck of Bonus Rules.”

A hush fell over the room.

The Deck of Bonus Rules was a cursed yet blessed addition—introduced by the Royal Priest long ago to spice up gameplay and simulate real tournament variables. 

Jena closed her eyes and drew a single shimmering card from the floating deck. She read it aloud:

“This round’s bonus rule is: The mediator will announce publicly the grades of all abilities, without specifying their owners.”

A murmur stirred in the room.

Jeonghan perked up, smirking. “This is getting more interesting.”

Across the table, Jaehyun raised a brow at him. Sowoon Choi, Headmaster and father to Seungcheol, only leaned back slightly, eyes scanning the younger team with his usual calculated silence.

Jena’s hands moved quickly, reading the auras and magical frequency of the Ability Cards. The orb above her pulsed brighter and brighter, until it split into twelve fragments—each shining with a different intensity.

Then, her voice rang out through the room:

Team Seungcheol – Ability Grades:

• First Card – Grade: F
  
  
• Second Card – Grade: F
  
  
• Third Card – Grade: E
  
  
• Fourth Card – Grade: E
  
  
• Fifth Card – Grade: F
  
  
• Sixth Card - Grade:E

 

Team Sowoon – Ability Grades:

• First Card – Grade: F
  
  
• Second Card – Grade: D
  
  
• Third Card – Grade: E
  
  
• Fourth Card – Grade: E
  
  
• Fifth Card – Grade: E
  
  
• Sixth Card - Grade: E

 

Eyes flickered.

Smirks formed.

Minds calculated.

Jaehyun let out a low whistle, leaning slightly forward. “Interesting grades.” His eyes wandered briefly to Jeonghan—there was curiosity there, and a flicker of challenge.

Jeonghan, without skipping a beat, tilted his head with a coy smile. He wasn’t rattled. He was entertained.

Jena’s voice cut through.
 “You have five minutes to reconfigure your strategies based on this bonus rule.”

The moment the timer began, Team Seungcheol gathered, encased again in silencing magic. They huddled close.

Seungcheol leaned in first, voice calm but quick.

“Alright. That D grade belongs to Jaehyun—guaranteed. And the F is my dad’s.”

Wonwoo looked up. “How can you tell?”

Jeonghan smirked. “They are being obvious. Jaehyun never plays with less than an A strategy. He toned it down to D to bait us into thinking he’s vulnerable. But Headmaster? That F is a trap. It’s lethal. It means ‘come at me’—and I want him gone in the first ten minutes.”

Seungcheol spoke, “I’ll do it.”

Jeonghan turned to him. “No. That’s what he expects. He knows your style, every move. If you go for him first, he’ll corner you, bait you, and strike.”

He turned to Wonwoo, who looked confused.

“Wonwoo,” Jeonghan said, “You kill him.”

Wonwoo blinked. “Me?! Why me?”

“Because no one expects you to go on the offensive,” Jeonghan explained. “Your ability—healing—can be twisted. You don’t have to just restore. You can also strip vitality. Use the inverse. You go for Sowoon early. Make it clean. Quick.”

Seokmin raised his hand. “Respectfully—this is crazy.”

Jeonghan grinned. “Crazy wins games.”

The team adjusted.

“Mingyu and Seokmin—ghost player patrol. Farm them. Rack up points.”

Mingyu nodded. “On it. I’m gonna ghost hunt like never before.”

Seokmin cracked his knuckles. “We’re farming like legends.”

Jeonghan: “Cheol—you’re still our blade. You move in silence, avoid your dad at all costs. Focus on the others. They’ll underestimate you if they think you’ve been restrained.”

Seungcheol nodded, deadly serious. “Consider them hunted.”

Jeonghan turned to Jisoo. “You're the deceiver. And the leader. If anything happens to me, Cheol, or Wonwoo, you reroute the whole team. Don’t let emotions cloud your call.”

Jisoo blinked. “You make it sound like someone’s dying.”

Jeonghan smiled. “In a way? Someone is.”

They laughed, but the tension was real beneath the humor.

Jeonghan finished, “If you’re in danger—go to the nearest between me, Cheol, or Wonwoo. And Jisoo… trust your gut. You’re better at this than you think.”

The five minutes ticked down.
The magic dome around them shimmered, fading slowly.

They returned to their seats.

The older team sat relaxed, almost amused. Jaehyun, Sowoon, and the others clearly weren’t taking the bonus rule as seriously as they should have.

Big mistake.

Jeonghan sat calmly, his hands folded, but his eyes flicked once toward Jaehyun.

Jaehyun met his gaze.

That one look was a conversation in itself.

Seungcheol, from the other end of the line, glanced sideways at his father. Sowoon was no longer focused on the board.

He was watching Jeonghan.

And in that moment, Jeonghan turned his gaze toward Sowoon, arched one brow…

…and smiled.

A slow, deliberate smile.

Seungcheol leaned back in his chair and smirked. He didn’t even have to say it.

Jena clapped once.
 “Time’s up.”

The orb in her hand exploded in a silent burst of light, and the game board transformed—floor glowing, terrain shifting into a magical illusion of forests, ruins, and war-torn plains. The battlefield was set.

The Tournament Board Game had begun.

Jeonghan’s voice, soft as a whisper, slid into the air as he stared at the older team.

“Let’s make history.”

******

The moment the game board flared to life—transfiguring the polished marble floor into a sprawling illusion of a battlefield—the silence in the room turned deafening.

It was no longer just a game.

It was a war.

The virtual terrain unfolded in layers. Towering cliffs shimmered in the distance, dense fog-covered woods crawled across the left side of the map, and remnants of ruins lay scattered across the southern edge. The entire area was enchanted to respond to each player’s presence—sound, sensation, even temperature felt real.

For the next few hours, this was their reality.

And for the first two minutes... all hell was building.

 

Mingyu and Seokmin were the first to vanish into the fog-drenched ruins. Their abilities didn’t rely on subtlety or deception—they were the brute force of the team when it came to racking up points. Like hounds released from their chains, the two darted into the mist, communicating silently through their linked magical signals.

Within seconds, they encountered the first of the ghost players—ethereal, programmed simulations designed to mimic real opponents.

Not as clever. Not as strong. But they hit hard if underestimated.

Mingyu grinned.
 “One each or want to race?”

Seokmin laughed under his breath.
 “Loser owes the winner three orange juices.”

Two loud crashes of magic followed. Each of them had dispatched a ghost within a breath.

Meanwhile, the opposing team—the older generation—did not split.

True to their veteran nature, they moved as one unit, carefully navigating the terrain with measured steps, keeping their formation tight. Yoon Jaehyun and Sowoon Choi took the lead, while the rest shadowed them, staying close but spread out enough to avoid cluster attacks.

It was clear they were playing the long game—conserve energy, map out the terrain, draw the younger ones into traps.

 

But Jeonghan had already anticipated this.

From his place deep in the shadows of the forest region, he didn’t move recklessly. His figure was mostly obscured by a magical shroud he cast upon himself—silent, blurred, unreadable.

He studied their movement. Every step. Every breath. Every flicker of energy they emitted.

“They’re being cautious. Overthink early, pressure later,” Jeonghan murmured to himself.

His hands traced the grooves on a small stone in his pocket—a focus object to ground his magic. He watched through a conjured magical screen embedded in his vision, observing as Jisoo made the first move.

 

Jisoo, far from his usual expressive self, was silent.

Calculated.

His eyes darted around constantly as he stalked a path parallel to the older team, not close enough to trigger a battle, but near enough to keep tabs on their rhythm.

All those sleepless nights studying strategy with Jeonghan… it was showing.

Every footstep was deliberate. Every direction, carefully chosen. He wasn’t just moving—he was leading.

A thin thread of communication magic snaked between him and the others, subtle and almost imperceptible.

He was guiding the board in silence.

 

Seungcheol didn’t need guidance.

He roamed freely across the arena, but wherever he stepped, the land responded with a slow decay. The earth beneath his boots blackened, moss withered, and even simulated birds in the trees fled.

It wasn’t his physical self causing the destruction—it was the shadow entity attached to his magic. A manifestation of the rage he rarely showed, and a projection of his full potential.

He was quiet.

Calm.

But the chaos came in his wake.

In one glade, three ghost players attempted to corner him.

They didn’t last two seconds.

 

And then there was Wonwoo.

He was… walking.

Not hiding.

Not sprinting.

Not flying.

Just walking.

As if he were taking a stroll in the park. There was a sort of eerie calm to it. The trees barely rustled around him. His gaze stayed forward. He wasn’t avoiding anyone. He simply trusted that if death came… he’d be the one delivering it.

 

Seven minutes in.

The first true chaos struck.

A figure stepped out from behind a large, curved rock—unmistakable in both posture and aura. It was Sowoon, the Headmaster, draped in his dark mage armor and dragging a trail of black smoke behind him like a shadow cloak.

He seemed distracted, scanning the terrain—until his eyes fell on Wonwoo.

A brief silence.

Sowoon tilted his head, almost as if questioning if Wonwoo was real or part of the simulation.

“Strange. Alone?” he muttered.

Wonwoo didn’t even flinch.

Their eyes met.

Sowoon paused for only a second before raising his hand, activating the challenge sequence. Once invoked, there was no escape—either side could fight or abstain, but they were locked in each other’s view.

A flash of light revealed their grades.

Sowoon – F
 Wonwoo – F

The room outside the game board collectively held its breath.

F versus F. The deadliest match possible.

Sowoon smirked and wasted no time—his black smoke exploded outward, rising like a wave before crashing toward Wonwoo, swallowing the clearing whole.

Thick tendrils of darkness reached for him, trying to infect and consume.

But Wonwoo didn’t run.

He didn’t hide.

He didn’t even cast a shield.

He stepped into the smoke.

The pain was immediate—sharp, searing.

It melted into his limbs, burned through muscle, filled his chest like acid. His skin sizzled under its grip, magic pulsing violently to resist it.

But he kept moving.

One step.

Two.

A blur of motion.

Sowoon’s eyes widened—

He didn’t expect that.

Before he could react—

Wonwoo was already at his throat.

A brief flash of purple light.

A whisper of his inverted healing spell.

A soft, sickening sound of veins rupturing under the skin.

Sowoon collapsed.

 Motionless. Silent.

A perfect kill.

20 points to Wonwoo.

 

Outside the battlefield, the audience—parents, Jena, and the rest—watched in stunned silence.

The game didn’t announce deaths or points until nightfall.

That was part of the rules.

But Sowoon, the real man sitting across the table, blinked.

Once.
Twice.

He leaned back in his chair, frozen, stunned by what had just happened.

The Headmaster had been defeated in under ten minutes.

By Wonwoo.

The quietest one.

The one no one expected.

His gaze moved slowly across the table… and landed on Jeonghan.

Who was now grinning.

 

Back inside the game, Wonwoo stumbled away from the corpse.

He crashed into the nearby underbrush, his legs trembling as pain racked his body. The black smoke’s burn was no joke—it had melted through layers of skin and was still eating away at his nerves.

He collapsed in the bushes and activated his healing, breathing heavily.

“Please… not now,” he whispered.

He knew he was exposed.

He just prayed no one was close enough to take advantage.

Because regenerating would take time—and time, in this game, was blood.

 

The board was shifting.

One down.

Five to go.

The real war had just begun.

******

The board adjusted.

A soft ripple shimmered across the magical battlefield, a subtle signal that a major event had just occurred—but only those paying close attention would know what it meant. One player had fallen.

The older team had yet to realize who.

But Jeonghan… he was already five steps ahead.

 

Deep within the artificial ruins, Jeonghan remained cloaked in shadows. From his position on an overhanging ledge, he had an unbroken view of the path Jaehyun and his group had chosen. They moved like seasoned predators, sticking together, checking corners, never straying too far.

But Jeonghan wasn’t watching their formation.

He was watching Jaehyun.

How he moved. When he hesitated. The rhythm of his steps.

Jeonghan’s eyes narrowed.

There was something off.

 

Meanwhile, on the southern side of the field, Jisoo stopped walking.

He was standing still in a moss-covered corridor of broken pillars, scanning the cracked walls carefully. His hand glowed softly with a pale violet shimmer—an activation signal.

This was it.

He had prepared the first trap.

Back during their strategy meeting, Jeonghan had whispered it to him:
 “When the formation splits—just once—activate it.”

And they had. Briefly. Two of the older players had deviated to scout.

Jisoo took a sharp breath and slammed his hand to the ground.

A pulse of magic erupted from his palm, silent and invisible, sweeping across a wide radius like a sonar wave. It was harmless—until it found a target.

Three seconds later, a burst of arcane roots and shimmering net traps exploded from the terrain behind him.

Caught mid-step, Mingyu’s father and Seokmin’s father were instantly tangled—slowed, staggered. Not completely restrained, but disoriented.

Jisoo didn’t wait.
He vanished into the fog again.

That trap wasn’t for the kill.

It was a message.

We’re not the same boys you used to beat.

 

On the other side of the arena, Seungcheol’s boots crunched lightly over charred grass. His shadow still burned around him, an invisible extension of his will.

And then he saw her.

Standing near a fractured obelisk, breathing calmly, was Wonwoo’s mother. She was taller than he expected—elegant, poised, dangerous. The air shifted around her. Light bent subtly, as if even the arena feared her.

She smiled politely.
 “You always walk so loud, Seungcheol.”

He raised an eyebrow, expression unreadable.
 “You always wait for me.”

She shrugged.
 “You never disappoint.”

The challenge sequence flared between them. This time, the arena didn't even hesitate.

Grades: F vs E.

Seungcheol cracked his knuckles.

She struck first—slicing the air with shimmering blades of crystalized sound. They screamed through the space between them, cutting into trees and stone.

But Seungcheol was already gone.

He reappeared behind her, slamming his hand into the earth—his shadow surged like a wave, aiming to engulf her completely.

She spun, shielding herself with a dome of golden magic.

The clash was loud.

Terrifying.

It didn’t matter.

Seungcheol fought like the storm.

No hesitation. No mercy.

And when his final blow landed—a direct strike to the heart with his ethereal shadow blade—she crumpled in silence.

He stood still.

20 points.

2 down. 4 more to go.

Far from the main battle lines, Seokmin and Mingyu had spread wide, keeping their distance from each other to control opposite flanks of the map.

The left side of the arena was turning into a frozen wasteland.

Seokmin’s movements were fluid but cold, his every step leaving a whisper of frost. The grass beneath his boots crackled with thin layers of ice, and a silvery mist drifted from his fingertips. Trees started to frost over, leaves frozen mid-fall, and the very air seemed to hush as the temperature dropped.

It was a creeping cold—not instant, but strategic.

The older players heading toward that side of the arena began to feel it.

Their hands stiffened. Their visibility blurred through the sudden chill. Breath turned to vapor. They didn’t know the source… but they felt it.

On the right side, it was the exact opposite.

Mingyu’s path scorched the terrain.

Everywhere he stepped, the earth cracked with heat. Blades of dried grass blackened underfoot. Thin trails of smoke curled behind him as faint embers flickered from his palms. The temperature spiked unnaturally. Rocks glowed faintly red. The trees sagged from heat, and the scent of burning bark lingered in the air.

The contrast between the two flanks was impossible to ignore.

Opponents caught in the middle didn’t know where to run.

And that was the point.

From his perch in the shadows, Jeonghan’s voice came through the silent link, quiet but commanding:

“Slowly, boys. Let them feel it. Let them think they’re being hunted by the arena itself.”

Mingyu smirked, lifting his hand to summon a thin arc of fire along his blade.
 Seokmin let out a silent breath, ice crystals curling from his lips like a winter spirit.

The terrain was theirs now.

As the virtual sun dipped beyond the enchanted borders of the arena, a chime echoed through the space—a signal that Nightfall had arrived.

The battlefield darkened slightly, not with danger, but with magic. A golden hue washed over the arena’s sky, casting a faint, divine light on everything. The mediator, still standing tall at the center of the real-world circle, lifted her hand, and a glowing board of progress shimmered into view above the arena table.

Each name glowed softly, points listed beneath.

The older team turned their heads upward to observe.

Then came the shock.

Choi Sowoon – eliminated.
 Killed by: Wonwoo.
 Total Points: +20.

Jeon Haewon – eliminated.
 Killed by: Seungcheol.
 Total Points: +50.

A stunned silence filled the room.

Jisoo’s dad gasped. Jena blinked at the revelation. Jaehyun actually leaned forward.

Headmaster Choi just stared blankly.
 “You…” he muttered under his breath, turning to Wonwoo, who simply offered a small, nonchalant shrug, his fingers lazily spinning a game card on the table.

Next to him, Seungcheol cracked a grin, arms crossed as he leaned back in his seat.

Mingyu gaped. “Wait, wait—hold on. Really? This happened? When? HOW?!”

Seokmin let out a low whistle. “They didn’t even warn us.”

On the board, the younger players now held a clear lead.

• Mingyu & Seokmin (combined): 60 points
  
  
• Wonwoo: 20 points
  
  
• Seungcheol: 50 points
  
  
• Jisoo: 0 points (100 as leader)
  
  
• Jeonghan: 0 points 
  
  

The elders sat in stunned silence. Jaehyun tapped the table thoughtfully. “These kids are different this year,” he muttered, amusement and something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

The mediator clapped once. “New rule unlocked—by fate’s hand!”

A new glowing card floated upward, rotating in the air before stopping and flipping open, revealing the Bonus Rule:

"A draw will determine one player from each team to reveal their ability."

She motioned toward Jaehyun, who stood and reached into a glowing orb.

A moment later, a card appeared.

"Mingyu."

Fire burst in a flare across the card, followed by rumbling stone—symbols of fire and rock pulsing beside Mingyu’s name.

He laughed, scratching the back of his head. “Well, there goes the surprise.”

Seungcheol stepped up next, drawing the card from the opposing pile. He pulled it out and raised a brow when the symbols appeared:

"Soohyun – Time Bomb."

“Time bomb?” Jisoo whispered. “Since when did my dad use something that chaotic?”

Jeonghan, who had remained quiet the whole time, finally yawned—his signature yawn that somehow always felt calculated—and then stretched his arms back, eyes narrowing toward the board.

“It’s time,” he said, softly but clearly enough for all of them to hear.

A chill swept through the room, but no one could tell if it was the air or the shift in energy.

Jaehyun’s gaze sharpened, watching the boy with a mix of curiosity and something that looked like dread.

From this point on, the game wasn’t just strategy.

It was warfare.

******

The board reset itself silently after the night’s revelations.

The golden twilight of the arena slowly gave way to deeper hues, mimicking the descent into midnight. The ambient lights flickered with soft pulses—the signal that Phase Two had begun.

Jaehyun’s eyes sharpened.

The laidback smile he usually wore was gone. This wasn’t just a board game anymore.

“Let’s begin,” he muttered.

 

In the arena, Jaehyun's avatar broke from his team’s circle. With surprising speed, he sprinted toward the center of the map where magical disruptions glitched the map pathways—areas dangerous, unstable, and rarely patrolled.

He wasn’t avoiding anyone.

He was hunting.

And he found his prey.

Jisoo.

Jisoo had been moving with precise care—using coded footsteps and trap sigils that Jeonghan had helped him memorize. He moved like a leader who didn’t need to shout—but he was alone for a moment too long.

“Too late,” Jaehyun whispered to himself, raising his magic card.

He activated "Whispers of Collapse", an advanced time-bend curse meant to send shockwaves through a player’s magic shield and delay their natural healing by 30 seconds.

The area rippled. Jisoo’s knees buckled under him.

Jaehyun smirked. “Got you.”

But—

A silver streak blurred through the trees.

A pulse of white-blue light collided with Jaehyun’s attack and dispersed it in the wind.

Wonwoo.

Quiet, unreadable Wonwoo, moving faster than most could react, had found Jisoo just in time.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

He dropped to one knee, touching Jisoo’s chest with two fingers. The healing magic surged out of him like threads of silver lightning. Jisoo’s breath caught, then steadied.

Jaehyun’s eyes widened, taken aback by how fast the healer reached his target.

He moved to cast again—but a trap exploded beneath his feet, knocking him back.

“Trap 05 triggered.”

Jisoo, weak but grinning, stood again, “You thought we didn’t prepare for you?”

Jaehyun clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing. “Interesting…”

 

Elsewhere on the left side of the arena, Seokmin was dancing between frost and terrain, his ice magic coating cliffs and trees, freezing ghost players as they tried to lunge toward him.

But he didn’t see the figure approaching from behind until the time signature ticked.

Boom. A wave of ticking clocks echoed through the air.

Jisoo’s dad—a master of time spells—had caught him in a moment of slowness.

“Got you, little ice prince,” he said.

Time slowed.

Seokmin struggled to even lift his arm.

A time bomb was launched, ticking down rapidly. 5… 4…

But then—

Boom.

Another explosion—but this one from pure force.

A black blur slammed into Jisoo’s dad mid-countdown, sending him flying backward.

Seungcheol.

He’d sensed the spell distortion across the battlefield—a trick Jeonghan taught him. “Feel the magic, not the movement.”

Seungcheol didn’t ask questions.
He landed in front of Seokmin and lunged toward Jisoo’s dad.

The older man countered with time manipulation, freezing the dirt in the air, accelerating Seungcheol’s fall—but Seungcheol adapted, swinging his attack in the compressed moment of motion.

Brute force shattered magic.

His elbow connected. Then his foot. Then his sword-like card slashed across the sky.

Jisoo’s dad fell.

Defeated.

3 down. 3 more to go.

Above the chaos, hidden in the highest tree in the center of the map, Jeonghan finally moved.

No one had seen him in the game since the beginning.

His avatar was like a whisper, existing only between frames of motion.

He saw everything—the paths they took, the cards they cast, the decisions made too late.

He’d been watching. Learning. Memorizing.

Jaehyun.
 Mingyu’s dad.
 Seokmin’s dad.

All 3 remaining opponents were now under his radar.

He tapped his index and middle fingers together, activating a spell he created:
 “Mimicry Veil.”

It let him copy the last visible form of a defeated player.

Jeonghan now looked like Jisoo’s dad.

He smirked and entered the battlefield like a ghost from the past.

 

With the enemy disoriented—expecting time-based attacks—Jeonghan moved swiftly, intercepting a ghost player and faking an ally bond.

It was Mingyu’s dad.

The moment Jeonghan was close enough, he dropped the mimic spell, his aura turning darker—sharper—and his voice like silk laced with venom.

“Checkmate.”

He cast an ability card called "Mirage Breaker."
 It pierced mental defenses.

Mingyu’s dad staggered, confused. That moment was enough.

Jeonghan used "Null Echo", a trap he and Jisoo designed.

It made opponents re-live a failed battle move, slowing their instincts.

In one fluid motion, Jeonghan slashed his magic card across the field, pulling threads of magic from the air to bind his opponent.

“Four down,” he whispered.

The mediator above the board rang the bell once.

“Mingyu’s father eliminated.
 Killed by: Jeonghan.
 

 

As the wind swirled and the battlefield shifted again—this time with lava walls rising and ice floors freezing beneath them—Jeonghan regrouped in the shadows of the central tower ruins.

His voice whispered through the link:

“Only two more to go.
 Let’s end this before the next sunrise.”

******

The battlefield was now a maze of ash and frost.

The terrain cracked beneath their feet—one side burning, the other side freezing—and above them, the enchanted sky churned like a storm barely held together by rune-stitched clouds.

In this chaos, two figures remained unseen.

Jeonghan and Jaehyun.

The two moved like they were playing a different game. Not the one dictated by cards and combat, but by presence, patience, and misdirection.

Jaehyun kept to the edge of the arena, moving through illusion-cloaked terrain. He activated spells so subtly that even the air seemed unaware of his passing. But every time he took a step, he felt a presence… not following him, but waiting.

Somewhere in the dark, Jeonghan was watching.

 

Meanwhile, across the map—in a hidden cavern coated in obsidian, Jisoo moved with surgical precision.

He'd been playing slowly, steadily—memorizing patterns, avoiding traps, feigning hesitation so that no one would suspect he was the one carrying the heaviest role.

Then, his fingers brushed across a rock.

It glowed.

He whispered softly, “Found you.”

The crest.

Etched into the wall behind a veil of dark magic, it shimmered with the sigil of the opposing team. Jisoo activated his card, “Seize and Seal”, quietly absorbing it into a gem hanging from his necklace.

A soft chime echoed in the sky.

“Crest located.
 +100 points.
 Jisoo – Role: Leader.”

Somewhere far away, Jena clutched her chest. “They’ve found it.”

The elders gasped, murmurs rising from their corner of the room.

“Wasn’t Jeonghan the leader?”

“No... it was Jisoo all along...?”

 

Jaehyun was growing frustrated.

He'd fought in real wars. Commanded kingdoms. Survived tournaments. He was not supposed to feel hunted by someone half his age.

He is being hunted by someone so achingly familiar.

But every spell he cast, Jeonghan nullified it before it hit the ground.

Every decoy, every illusion, every calculated movement—Jeonghan predicted it.

Finally, Jaehyun stood still beneath the skeletal roots of a cursed tree and whispered, “Enough games.”

He threw a spell into the void—"Gravemind Echo," a high-level projection meant to pull out anyone watching from the shadows.

The tree exploded.
Light flared.

And standing at the edge of the collapsing dust—

Jeonghan.

His white hair slicked back. His eyes gleaming with eerie calm.

His lips curled into a smile.

“You’re getting tired, Jaehyun.”

The older man frowned, flicking his fingers to activate a fire-ringed dagger.

“You’re not going to kill me?”

“No,” Jeonghan said simply. “You already lost.”

Jaehyun stepped forward, dagger raised.

And then—a shadow moved behind him.

 

Jaehyun froze mid-step.

Not from magic.

But from a chill crawling down his spine.

He turned slowly.

Too slowly.

Wonwoo stood behind him, no expression on his face, his eyes darker than any magic Jaehyun had cast that night.

Before Jaehyun could react, Wonwoo plunged his card like a blade, unleashing a concussive burst of magic straight into his chest. A silence curse sealed his mouth mid-spell.

Jaehyun’s figure collapsed in the shadows.

The board above flashed.

“Jaehyun eliminated.
 Killed by: Wonwoo.

 

NIGHTFALL – GAME OVER

A chime rang across the arena.

The Nightfall of Day 2.

And with it, a voice echoed through the sky:

“All six members of the Sowoon Team have been eliminated.
 Game Over.”

 

Back in the Hong’s enchanted game room, the air stilled.

The mediator, Jena, stepped forward and slowly summoned the final results onto the glowing board:

Final Survivors – Team Seungcheol:

• Jisoo – Leader / Deceiver
  
  
• Jeonghan – Seeker 
  
  
• Seungcheol – Fragger 
  
  
• Mingyu – Frontliner 
  
  
• Seokmin – Frontliner 
  
  
• Wonwoo – Healer 
  
  

As each role lit up beside their name, gasps erupted from the parents and mentors.

They hadn’t just played the game—they’d changed it.

Jaehyun stared at the board from across the room, arms folded, an unreadable look on his face.

Sowoon broke the silence with a low chuckle. “I haven’t seen a team work like this since we were young.”

Jena nodded in disbelief. “They didn’t just win. They dismantled everyone.”

The boys remained seated, tired but quietly grinning.

Jisoo leaned over to Jeonghan, voice low. “So… now what?”

Jeonghan stretched his arms again and whispered, “Now we let them wonder how much of this was a game… and how much of it was real.”

******

The room slowly lit back into its original form—no more terrain illusions, no flickering flames or chilled stone floors. Just the warm light of the enchanted chandeliers above and the faint hum of magic resting after a long night of play.

The game had ended, but something else had just begun.

A soft silence hung in the air as the elders and the younger generation slowly stood from their seats, the gravity of what had just happened settling in.

Then, a voice broke the quiet.

Wonwoo’s mom, eyes glassy, walked across the room and wrapped her arms around her son.

She didn’t say anything for a few seconds, just held him. Then she pulled back, looked at him and said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “I still can’t believe you killed Sowoon… and Jaehyun.”

Everyone turned.

Wonwoo blinked slowly, then gave a tiny shrug. “They underestimated the quiet one.”

Laughter erupted.

Jisoo came bounding toward them, excitement radiating off him like sunlight. He already had a sparkling tiara on his head—Seokmin’s gift.

“I’m ALIVE!” he announced, twirling in place. “And I got the crest! Me! Royalty confirmed!”

Wonwoo snorted. “Yeah, and you almost got killed if I didn’t show up.”

Jisoo rolled his eyes and tossed him a small velvet pouch. “And that’s why you get a friendship charm from the palace shop.”

Seungcheol stood tall, arms crossed, but there was a hint of smug pride in his smirk. Just then, Headmaster Choi approached. He didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he reached up and ruffled Seungcheol’s hair, a rare gesture that sent a flicker of warmth through the room.

A silent "Good job."

Seungcheol blinked, and for a moment, his tough exterior cracked into something soft.

And then, at the edge of the room, Jeonghan watched them all.

Quiet.

Still.

He didn’t realize he wasn’t alone anymore.

Jaehyun and Yeji stood in front of him.

Jaehyun’s eyes studied him, deep with history.

“You know…” he began, voice low and steady, “you remind me of someone. From long ago.”

Jeonghan tilted his head.

“There was this kid,” Jaehyun continued, “who once told me—‘One day, I’ll beat you at your own game.’ They were always curious. Wildly clever. Always watching.”

He took a slow breath.

“I didn’t expect that it will happen tonight.”

Jeonghan froze.

A flicker of something passed through his eyes—recognition, maybe. Maybe not.

Then, he smiled, bowing his head respectfully.

“Wherever that person might be now,” he said softly, “I’ll just whisper to the winds that someone already succeeded.”

Jaehyun smiled. Not with defeat, but with something like admiration.

Yeji swallowed the lump in her throat and also smiled. 

Jeonghan turned and slipped back into the group.

******

The parents didn’t follow. They just watched.

Mingyu nudged Wonwoo’s shoulder, teasing him with a smug grin before tossing an arm over him like they’d just finished an afternoon stroll.

Jisoo was still sparkling, giggling as he leaned on Seokmin, who watched him with pure, indulgent fondness. When Jisoo linked their arms together, Seokmin just shook his head with a smile and let him.

Seungcheol had one hand around Jeonghan’s waist, drawing him a little closer as Jeonghan whispered something that made Seungcheol laugh for the first time all night—real and unfiltered.

Their parents watched in silence.

Pride in their eyes. Warmth in their hearts.

They could feel it.

This was it. The future. Their legacy.

No longer just children.

No longer just students.

These six were history being shaped in real time.

And somehow, they knew—

Victory was already theirs.

******

The hallway was quiet as everyone shuffled back toward their rooms after the long, exhilarating night. Sleep hung heavy in the air—exhaustion and adrenaline finally giving way to calm.

But then—

A soft cry.

It started as a whimper, then grew louder, echoing faintly through the halls.

“Hannie!! I want Hannie!!”

Jihyo.

She was in full tears, cheeks flushed, little fists clenched around her blanket as Jisoo tried to comfort her outside the room he shared with Jeonghan and Wonwoo.

“She just woke up and started crying,” Jisoo muttered, clearly panicked. “She won’t stop unless she sees Jeonghan.”

Seungcheol peeked out from his room, eyes half-lidded with sleep, but as soon as he heard her cry out Jeonghan’s name again, he exhaled and nodded.

“Prepare a room,” he said softly. “They’ll need it.”

So they did.

A warm guest room was made up just across the hallway. The lights dimmed low, soft enchanted orbs casting a peaceful glow.

Jeonghan knelt beside Jihyo, brushing her hair out of her tear-streaked face. He picked her up with ease and gently sat with her on the bed, letting her wrap her little arms tightly around his neck.

“I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Slowly, her sobs died down, replaced with sniffles and hiccups.

Jeonghan took a brush and began to comb her long hair, soothing her with each careful stroke. She was asleep within minutes, curled against him like a kitten.

Jeonghan didn’t leave.

Instead, he stayed wrapped around the little girl, arms holding her protectively, head resting against the pillows as sleep finally took him too—gentle, quiet, and full of something soft he hadn’t felt in years.

******

Somewhere in the hidden walls of the Hong Estate..

”You know I will do everything to protect my son!” 

“ The Council are more forgiving now, unlike 15 years ago. You were there. You saw how it ruined my family!”

A frustrated sigh echoed the room, “ If he really is your son.. my son could be caught in danger!”

“ Why did you bring him to them then?” 

“ I didn’t know all of these will happen!” 

A creak of a door. 

A heavy silence.

”Must be fate then.”

”I will protect my son no matter what it takes.”

”I failed mine once. I don’t want it to happen again.”

******

Across the manor, inside one of the quieter wings, Jaehyun lay on his side, one arm behind his head, the other resting gently on the silk sheets. Yeji lay beside him, her gaze locked on the ceiling, thoughts swirling.

The candlelight flickered faintly.

She turned to him.“Love… do you feel it too?”

There was a pause. Jaehyun didn’t move, didn’t blink.

 “…Jeonghan.”

“Do you think it’s him?”

Silence again.

“I can feel it… something old. Something we never finished.”

Yeji’s hand found his, fingers lacing.

 “I will make sure.”

Their eyes met.

The air felt heavier now—like history was creeping back into the present, waiting to be remembered.

Waiting to be resolved.

Notes:

The end part?? (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵) also tbh, i didn't know this fic will get attention and now i don't know if the plot and how the story goes will pass your expectations o(╥﹏╥)

Chapter 14: Tournament Champions

Notes:

Hi! Here is Chapter 14! This chapter is a little bit shorter than the last one ( the last chapter was a monster chapter ) and I just want to say that I am really really grateful for all of your kind and sweet comments. I will try my best to update as much as I can and one spoiler: The Tournament is approaching soon ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Jeonghan stirred gently, his senses slowly awakening to the world around him. He felt a tiny finger poking his cheek—again and again—followed by a soft giggle.

He cracked one eye open.

“Good morning, Hannie!” Jihyo beamed, her entire face lighting up like the sun. Her chubby cheeks were flushed with excitement, and her energy was already bouncing off the walls.

Jeonghan blinked, still foggy. “You’re too cheerful for 7 a.m., tiny human.”

But Jihyo only laughed louder, tugging him by the sleeve.

Soon enough, the two were in the bathroom. They stood side by side at the sink—Jeonghan towering over her, gently guiding her toothbrush like a patient older brother while brushing his own teeth with the other hand. The mirror fogged lightly as the sun crept through the frosted windows. Their laughter mixed with splashes of water and sleepy yawns.

Jihyo was still in her pastel pajamas, her hair a tangled mess from the night before.

Jeonghan chuckled as he picked up the comb. “I’ll braid it later. I promise.”

She grinned, proud and trusting.

When she skipped off to play with her dolls on the bed, Jeonghan opened his bag—and frowned. He blinked, then checked again.

“…Why is everything in here Seungcheol’s?”

Jogging pants, oversized black shirts, even a hoodie with “CHOI S.C.” embroidered on the sleeve.

He didn’t have the energy to question it. With a sigh and a shrug, he changed into Seungcheol’s academy jogging pants and threw on the black shirt. His long hair was loosely tied into a half ponytail, a few soft strands framing his face.

Carrying Jihyo on his hip like it was second nature, Jeonghan made his way down the wide staircase toward the dining area.

As expected, Mingyu was already there, shoveling down pancakes with such focus you'd think it was part of training. Wonwoo sat calmly beside him, sipping his morning tea in content silence.

At the other side of the kitchen, Jisoo and Seokmin were bickering over who was better at making coffee. The espresso machine wheezed dramatically, almost as if it was judging them.

Jeonghan placed Jihyo gently into a chair, giving her a glass of warm milk, before grabbing a plate for himself. A few minutes later, Seungcheol entered, fresh from a shower, hair still damp, and sat beside Jeonghan like it was his rightful place.

“Nice outfit,” Seungcheol smirked, eyeing the embroidered pants.

Jeonghan rolled his eyes. “You packed my bag, didn’t you?”

Jisoo’s mom entered with a bright smile, interrupting them. “Everyone, come join us outside! It’s a beautiful morning, and we’ve set up breakfast under the sun.”

Soon, all the parents were gathered around long wooden tables in the garden, the scent of fresh bread and tea wafting through the air. Laughter filled the morning breeze as the elders chatted excitedly about the game from the night before.

“We’re still in shock,” Jisoo’s dad said with a half-laugh, pouring himself tea. “That twist at the end… all of you were spectacular.”

“Especially Jeonghan,” Jisoo chimed in proudly, his tiara already back on his head—courtesy of Seokmin, who couldn’t resist crowning their surviving leader.

Jeonghan groaned. “Please take that off—”

“Absolutely not!” Seokmin grinned, dramatically fixing the tiara. “It’s well-deserved, Your Highness.”

The group couldn’t stop reminiscing about their trainings in the last few months. Boasting turned into laughter, laughter turned into wild stories.

Seokmin leaned forward. “You know what scared me the most? That moment I was walking down the hallway the night after our first duels—and Jeonghan was just there. Alone. Not saying anything. Dressed in full black. I thought I was going to die.”

The table laughed.

Mingyu, through a mouthful of toast, added, “Jeonghan uses that creepy smile when he wants to joke—but he can’t joke. It’s terrifying.”

Wonwoo set his teacup down. “If you ever see someone wandering the academy at 3 a.m. in a black cloak? That’s him.”

More laughter.

Even Jisoo’s mom chuckled, covering her mouth.

The air was light but tinged with pride.

Their children weren’t children anymore.

Then, Jisoo’s dad, ever the inquisitor, leaned forward toward Seungcheol. “And you, Seungcheol? What stuck with you the most about Jeonghan?”

Before Seungcheol could respond, Mingyu blurted out—

“Jeonghan is friends with Seungcheol’s shadow.”

The table went silent.

Elders blinked.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol, completely unfazed, responded in sync:
 “Almost.”

Seokmin clapped his hands. “Oh yeah! Remember that duel between them? It ended in a draw. But the weirdest part—Seungcheol’s shadow was dancing in front of Jeonghan, like some ghost ballet, and Jeonghan just waved goodbye. No fear.”

Everyone looked at Jeonghan.

He smiled—just a little too wide. “He was being polite.”

Wonwoo, shaking his head, added, “He’s always been like that. But you know what? He’s been dying to interview all of you. He’s obsessed with learning your old tactics.”

Jeonghan, for once, blushed.

Wonwoo’s mom, who had been silently observing, smiled warmly and reached out to touch Jeonghan’s hand. “Is that so, dear? Don’t worry… we’ve prepared something for everyone later.”

Their eyes met—maternal pride reflecting back at him.

The garden hummed with quiet joy, laughter and the smell of morning pastries.

Their parents looked at the young ones, not just as their children anymore, but as legacies in motion.

And just beyond the laughter, in the background of their lives, history was quietly shifting.

Just as the laughter began to die down, Headmaster Choi, who had been sipping his dark coffee quietly, tilted his head toward Jeonghan with a look of intrigued curiosity.

“Jeonghan,” he began, eyes sharp but amused, “I must ask… how exactly did you become ‘friends’ with Seungcheol’s shadow?”

The table grew quiet with interest. Seungcheol and Jeonghan, who had been casually sipping from the same juice pitcher (as if no one would notice), froze mid-movement.

A flush crept up both of their necks.

Jeonghan blinked slowly.

Seungcheol groaned.

And that’s when Seokmin choked on his water and Jisoo burst into laughter, clapping a hand over his mouth. Wonwoo shook his head, clearly already knowing what was about to come, while Mingyu leaned forward, grinning from ear to ear.

“Oh no,” Seungcheol muttered under his breath, “don’t—”

Mingyu didn’t listen. “Okay okay okay—so here’s the thing, right? You all want the truth?”

The parents nodded, sensing something juicy.

“They’re basically roommates.” Mingyu was already laughing. “Seungcheol has the biggest dorm in the entire academy—like, unnecessarily big—but he still sleeps in Jeonghan’s tiny space almost every night. That’s why half of Jeonghan’s wardrobe says ‘CHOI S.C.’ on it. It’s not weird. It’s just... normal.”

Laughter exploded.

Mothers leaned into each other, trying not to spill their drinks. Fathers chuckled knowingly, and Jisoo, Seokmin and Mingyu bursted out laughing, Wonwoo shaking his head smiling.

Seungcheol buried his face in his hands. “I hate all of you.”

Jeonghan, cheeks burning pink, simply shook his head and muttered, “I knew this would happen…”

Jisoo was crying laughing, already imagining Seungcheol dragging his pillows into Jeonghan’s dorm like a clingy ghost. Seokmin mimed it, dramatically acting out Seungcheol knocking at Jeonghan’s door in the middle of the night, sobbing for a warm bed.

Then, in the midst of the chaos, Jaehyun, ever the strategist, leaned forward, still curious. His voice cut through the laughter with quiet intensity.

“So… why does being roommates help Jeonghan become ‘almost’ friends with Seungcheol’s shadow?”

Silence fell again, heads turning.

Jeonghan placed his teacup down, leaned slightly forward, and said with eerie calm:

“I used my ability to talk to his shadow while he was sleeping.”

Dead. Silence.

Seokmin whispered like it was a horror story, “And that is both terrifying and impressive.”

Mingyu  shrug the nonexistent goosebumps on him, “ While the rest of us were asleep, Jeonghan is literally talking to Seungcheol’s cursed shadow like some midnight tea party.”

Wonwoo, ever the dry voice of reason, added, “This is why he always looks tired.”

Even Sowoon was speechless, a slow grin spreading on his face. “No wonder the shadow didn’t kill you.”

Jeonghan, still hiding behind his hand, muttered, “I’m never inviting you to my dorm again.”

Seungcheol, unapologetic, leaned toward him and whispered, “You never invited me. You just never kicked me out.”

The laughter roared again, even louder this time. Parents wiped tears from their eyes, shaking their heads in disbelief. Amidst the teasing and chaos, one thing was very clear:

They weren’t just students anymore.

They were a team built on trust, secrets, and memories only they could understand.

And for the first time, their parents could truly see the future standing right in front of them.

Still bickering. Still laughing.

Still unstoppable.

******

The hallway that led to Hong’s war room was long, lined with faded portraits of past victors and relics from previous Games. The air was thick with history, the walls humming with the presence of stories long sealed and now being passed down.

As the doors opened, the six young players stepped into a room that seemed to breathe strategy and survival.

Maps—hundreds of them—were pinned across the walls, marked with notes, flags, and bloodstains from eras past. A sprawling round table sat at the center, surrounded by chairs that had once hosted the most brilliant minds Aurora ever produced.

Now, the next generation was stepping into their place.

Their parents—the first and last group in Aurora’s history to win with all members alive—stood proudly, watching the young ones take their seats.

“This room,” Headmaster Choi began, “saw more arguments than victories. But it also gave birth to legends.”

Jaehyun nodded, arms folded, standing beside Yeji. “We weren’t the strongest team. We were just the most bonded. That’s why we all made it out.”

“That’s your goal now,” added Yeji, her eyes sweeping over the six. “Survive. All of you.”

The room shifted.

Gone were the playful smirks and teasing from breakfast.

The six of them leaned forward. Eyes sharpened. Jisoo even brought out his glittery notepad, decorated in stars. Mingyu rested his chin on his hand. Seokmin sat up straighter. Jeonghan was already scribbling. Wonwoo tapped his pen lightly.

And to everyone’s amusement—even Seungcheol was taking notes.

Headmaster Choi squinted. “Son… are you seriously writing in a bunny covered notebook?”

Jisoo choked.
Seokmin blinked.

Mingyu lost it. “Wait—is that a pink bunny pen?!”

Seungcheol didn’t even look up. “Blame all this on Jeonghan.”

Without missing a beat, Jeonghan smirked. “I grade their note-taking effort. What? Presentation counts.”

The elders roared with laughter.

But even with the light teasing, there was no mistaking the gravity in the air.

One by one, the victors stepped forward, telling their stories.

They shared how they almost lost Jisoo’s mom in the fifth game because of a trap she almost didn’t notice. How Jaehyun once spent three days in a cave just to track an enemy’s movement. How Yeji had to choose between saving her partner or getting the crest—and how she managed to do both.

They spoke of sacrifice, of misjudgments, of near-deaths. They didn't sugarcoat the pain, the panic, the heartbreak. But they also spoke of brilliance, of unity, of trust so tight it could choke fate itself.

And the six listened like disciples.

Jeonghan asked the most—his voice calm but eager. “If you had one weakness as a team, what was it?”
 “Underestimating the quiet ones,” Yeji replied, eyes flicking knowingly to Jeonghan.

Wonwoo, quieter than usual, asked his mom about survival techniques. “What’s edible when you’re cornered in the wild?”

Without missing a beat, she pulled out three hand-bound manuals, thick and layered with notes. “Everything you need to eat, what to avoid, and how to trap and store.”

He took them with both hands, bowing slightly.

The sun began its slow descent as the hours passed. By the time they were done, a golden glow filled the war room.

Notes were scribbled across glittering notebooks and plain journals alike. Ideas were exchanged. Plans were built. Questions rose and fell like tides, and the elders answered all of them with the kind of certainty only experience could shape.

By the end, the six stood taller.

More prepared.

More bonded.

More ready than ever.

Their parents exchanged glances behind them—those silent glances only veterans understood.

History wasn’t just repeating.

It was evolving.

And the ones who would shape its next chapter were standing in front of them, wide-eyed, ink-stained, tired—and unshakably determined.

******

The weekend sun cast a golden haze over the estate as bags were packed and hearts grew heavy. Warm embraces were exchanged as the parents prepared to leave.

One by one, they hugged their children with pride shining in their eyes. Even Jeonghan, standing quietly off to the side, was pulled into soft embraces—first by Yeji, then Jaehyun, and even Headmaster Choi, who simply nodded and ruffled his hair before muttering,
 "You’ve already made your mark, boy."

But the most difficult goodbye was Jihyo’s.

She clung to Jeonghan’s waist, hiccupping through her sobs.
 “You said you’d braid my hair again!”

Jeonghan knelt down, holding her small face in his hands.
 “I did, and I will. Just keep it long and soft for me. I’ll visit again soon, bunny.”

She nodded, sniffling, her pinky wrapping around his with a quiet promise.

 

The journey back to the academy was slow and peaceful.

Mingyu passed out in the back, drooling with his hood over his face.
Seokmin spent the ride taking unflattering pictures of him.
 Jisoo sang loudly until Wonwoo threatened to enchant his vocal cords.
 Jeonghan, wearing Seungcheol’s hoodie, leaned against the window, eyes half-lidded, while Seungcheol sat beside him silently reading a book—but his hand never left Jeonghan’s knee.

 

When they returned to the academy, dusk had painted the skies in deep purples and burning oranges.

Each of them returned to their dorms expecting to rest—until they noticed it:

A gold envelope lay waiting on each of their desks.

Impossibly perfect.

Elegant.

Thick with promise.

Their names were written in ornate, calligraphy strokes, sealed with the royal crest.

Curious and cautious, they each opened the envelopes.

Inside, a crisp ivory card gleamed:

You are formally invited to The Tour.
 A gathering of bloodlines, minds, and magic.
 One night. One ballroom. One chance to shine.
 Dress with purpose. Dance with power.

Before the Tournament begins—The Tour begins first.

They each looked up in their own rooms, eyes wide.

A ball.

A gathering of the elite.

A test in its own way—not of strength, but of presence.

And Jeonghan?
 He was already sketching outfit ideas.

Notes:

The Tour next and I am so excited for their outfits that I have in mind ✧*｡٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و✧*｡ also the next chapters are going to be my favorite chapters in this entire fic so stay tuned for that!

Chapter 15: The Tour I

Notes:

Hi guys! Here is chapter 15 part 1! I read my draft for this chapter and it is so long so I have decided to divide it into 2 parts! This is one of those chapters when I had fun writing and imagining it so hope you enjoy it!

P.S don't judge their outifts pleek ( all of their outfits are like their previous outifts from various contents but i don't know how to put pictures here) (╥_╥) i just modified for more "dramatic" impact

The morning after their return from the estate felt like the calm before another storm—but this one would be stitched in silk and laced with glittering conversation.

The lounge buzzed with an unfamiliar energy as the six of them gathered with golden envelopes still clutched in their hands. The fireplace crackled softly, casting a warm amber hue across the room.

Jisoo practically bounced on his toes, waving his envelope like a fan.
 “Oh my god, I can’t wait to dress up!” he squealed, cheeks flushed in anticipation.

Wonwoo, lounging on a single-seater, stared at him over his mug.
 “I think you’re the only one actually enjoying this.”

Across the room, Jeonghan sat cross-legged, still confused about the whole premise of The Tour. He leaned toward Seokmin, voice low.
 “What even is this? A ball?”

Seokmin, halfway through biting into an apple, blinked.
 “It’s a socializing event. You get to see all the participants, the heads of nations, other academies, powerful bloodlines… Basically, everyone important in the realm will be there.”

Jeonghan’s eyes gleamed. His posture straightened.

“Is that so?”

Seungcheol, standing behind him, sighed.
 “Your creepy smile is showing again.”

Jeonghan turned to Jisoo and Wonwoo with a slow, eerie grin.
 “This event can help us. I think we need to polish our flirting skills.”

Silence.

Mingyu, mid-bite, dropped his bread. It hit the floor with a dramatic splat.

Seungcheol squinted. “Can you repeat what you just said?”

Jeonghan didn’t even blink.
 “We need to socialize, right? So we need to act friendly. Sweet. Almost… vulnerable.” He raised a brow. “That way, we can extract information from them.”

Seokmin blinked slowly. “And your idea is for the three of you—” pointing to Jeonghan, Jisoo, and Wonwoo “—to flirt with the other participants?”

Jeonghan, unfazed, raised a single brow.
 “Why? Do the three of you think you can flirt with other people in front of us?”

Silence. Again.

No one answered.

Not because they didn’t want to—but because they knew it was a trap.

Jeonghan smirked.
 “Good.”

 

 

Later that day, the group marched through the halls toward the War Room, the trio of Seokmin, Mingyu, and Seungcheol trailing behind like lost puppies.

The other three led the way, already deep in whispered strategies.

Seokmin grumbled, “Is he really serious about flirting as a tactic?”

Seungcheol sighed deeply. “Once Jeonghan sets his mind on something...” He exhaled. “He never backs out.”

 

 

Inside the War Room, Professor Kwon was waiting, surrounded by walls of magical blueprints, old photographs from past tournaments, and even moving images of previous participants waltzing under grand chandeliers.

The six students took their seats as Professor Kwon clapped his hands.
 “Welcome. I trust you’ve all received your invitation?”

They nodded.

“The Tour is not just a ball. It’s the first battlefield.” He looked pointedly at them. “Not of brute strength, but of perception, wit, and influence.”

He tapped a parchment on the table that shimmered to life with moving text.
 “During this event, everything you do—from who you dance with, to how you respond to compliments, even how you dress—will be analyzed by your opponents. They’ll be scanning for weaknesses, hierarchy, power dynamics. You need to know who’s who, and who matters. You’ll get your first glimpse at your enemies here.”

He waved his hand and six cards floated toward them, each with the crest of Aurora Academy and a small note in gold lettering:

Theme: Black & Casual Elegance.
 Stand as one. Look as one.

Jisoo squealed. “I already have an outfit in mind!”

Professor Kwon raised a brow at Jeonghan, who hadn’t said a word yet.
 “You look like you’re planning an assassination.”

Jeonghan finally spoke, tone cool.
 “We need to strategize our outfits.”

Laughter erupted.

Professor Kwon chuckled, “In everything, we need to strategize, Jeonghan?”

Jeonghan simply gave his signature creepy smile.

 

 

Outfit Planning:

Jeonghan took control immediately, of course.

“We want unity. Presence. Power. But we also want them to underestimate us. Especially the three of us—me, Jisoo, and Wonwoo. Let them think we’re just pretty faces who love to party.”

Jisoo giggled, already taking notes on his sketchpad.

“Seungcheol, Seokmin, and Mingyu,” Jeonghan continued, “You’ll wear something sleek. Structured. A bit intimidating, but still casual. You’re the silent strength.”

Wonwoo, calmly sipping tea, added: “We should all have a single common symbol. A pin, a piece of jewelry, something to link us without looking like we tried too hard.”

Mingyu, suddenly serious, nodded. “I’ll design something. Maybe obsidian rings? Black stone for unity.”

 

By the end of the hour, each of them had:

• A theme: Black elegance with minimalistic, personal flair.
  
  
• A strategy: Be charming, disarming, flirtatious, and observant.
  
  
• A mission: Identify top threats and potential allies before the Tournament.
  
  

And as they left the War Room, Jeonghan turned to the others and whispered:

“They’ll see us and think we’re harmless.”
 “Let’s make sure they never see the dagger until it’s too late.”

 

******

The sun hadn't even fully risen when Jisoo, dragging a half-buttoned uniform and breathless with excitement, knocked on Professor Kwon’s office door like his life depended on it. Behind him stood Jeonghan, arms crossed, looking deceptively calm—but the glint in his eyes was unmistakable.

“Please, Professor,” Jisoo begged, clasping his hands. “Just one day! We need it—for preparations. Strategic ones!”

Jeonghan added smoothly, “We’re still working within our mission scope. Outfit planning is still planning, and planning is survival.”

Professor Kwon arched a brow but didn’t question it. “Fine. One day. But I expect results.”

Jisoo and Jeonghan cheered, grabbing Wonwoo along the way, who—true to his nature—had been quietly sipping tea in the lounge room, blissfully unaware of the shopping ambush that awaited him.

 

 

As they walked through the bustling heart of Aurora City, the shift in energy was palpable. The streets were already lined with subtle advertisements for the upcoming Tour Ball. Tailors and jewelers had longer queues, and the buzz in the air was half magic, half anticipation.

Jeonghan looked like he was in his natural habitat, dressed in his sleek academy blacks and his hair falling elegantly behind his shoulders. Jisoo bounced with every step, a list clutched in one hand and a measuring tape wrapped around his wrist like a bracelet. Wonwoo trailed behind, hands buried in his pockets, shoulders hunched like a cat in the rain.

“Do I really need to go?” he mumbled toward Jeonghan. “I could stay and help Mingyu or assist with exam evaluations—”

Jeonghan stopped, turning to face him. His expression was soft but resolute.

“Wonwoo,” he said gently, “it’s time for you to spread your wings and leave the shadows.”

Wonwoo looked like he wanted to disappear into the shadows instead.

 

They stepped into one of the most prestigious tailoring salons in the city—Ardent & Rue, known for dressing royalty, champions, and diplomats alike. The boutique glittered with hanging crystals and the scent of fresh ink, fabrics, and roses lingered in the air.

They were immediately greeted by a team of designers, who bowed when they saw the Aurora crest on their shoulder.

Jisoo already had his sketchpad open.
 “I want sleek, black lace,” he began. “Structured shoulders. A cinched waist. Maybe a dramatic cape—but only if it flares like a spell when I spin.”

Jeonghan handed over his own list. “I want elegance with deception. I need the kind of outfit that says I’m approachable… until I’m not.”

The designers laughed nervously but nodded.

When it came time for Wonwoo’s consultation, the poor boy froze in front of the fabric swatches.

Jisoo gently pulled him aside. “Wonwoo, think of this like a weapon—except instead of hurting people, you’re disarming them.”

Jeonghan joined in, folding his arms.
 “You’re attractive, intelligent, and deadly. All we’re doing is dressing you like it.”

Wonwoo blinked, face flushing.

“Come on,” Jisoo said, “let us help you. You’ve spent enough time in the dark. Let’s blind them with your shine.”

And so they worked. Jisoo and Jeonghan buzzed around him, choosing subtle fabrics that whispered power—midnight blacks with hints of obsidian sheen, silver detailing around the cuffs, an open neckline he fiercely protested at first but ultimately conceded to after Jeonghan raised an eyebrow.

After hours of fittings, twirls, pins, measurements, and heated debates about shoes, the trio emerged from the boutique arms full of garment bags and boxes, like victorious hunters after a grand haul.

Back at the academy, they handed everything to their personal attendants with strict instructions on steaming, pressing, and preparation. Jisoo even provided a checklist, Jeonghan sealed his in a warded case, and Wonwoo shyly told his attendant to “just please, don’t lose anything.”

 

 

The next morning, the second wave of preparations began. As ordered—yes, ordered—by Jeonghan, Seungcheol, Mingyu, and Seokmin all went to collect their own outfits from their chosen tailors.

Seungcheol, arms crossed and expression unreadable, muttered as he eyed the suit bag handed to him, “They’re really serious about this.”

Mingyu nodded, impressed by the craftsmanship. “I didn’t even know tailoring could look like spellwork.”

Seokmin pulled one of the pieces out and grinned. “I kinda feel like a true warrior.”

Back in the lounge, the six regrouped later in the evening.

Their bags hidden, their plans sealed.

The three boys—Seungcheol, Mingyu, Seokmin—sat across the other three with suspicion in their eyes.

“So,” Seungcheol said, “what do your outfits look like?”

Jisoo just smirked. “You’ll see on the day of the ball.”

Mingyu leaned forward. “Wait, really? You’re not going to tell us?”

Jeonghan simply tilted his head. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Wonwoo said nothing, hiding his flustered face behind a book.

“Not even a hint?” Seokmin whined.

“No,” Jeonghan and Jisoo said in unison.

As the three schemers shared a knowing look, the other three stared in frustration—and maybe just a bit of awe.

The game had already begun.

******

The academy buzzed with anticipation as the sun dipped behind the mountains, painting the skies in hues of lavender and fire.

Inside the dormitories of Aurora’s most elite students, it wasn’t just magic in the air—it was glamour.

Each of the six had retreated to their respective dorms, a flurry of fabric, laughter, nerves, and professional touch-ups swirling around them. Maids and butlers rushed between garment racks and vanity tables, while the handpicked hairstylists and makeup artists summoned every ounce of finesse they had to transform their clients into legends.

The soft sound of blow dryers echoed through the corridors. Palettes of eyeshadow shimmered under the light. Perfumes and finishing sprays lingered in the air like invisible veils. There were small gasps and stunned expressions as each transformation neared completion.

 

In Jeonghan’s room, it was serene chaos. He sat in front of the mirror, unbothered, as his long hair was styled into a wet, soft curl look, each strand deliberately placed to fall around his angelic, sharp features. The smoky eye makeup darkened his gaze just enough to strike a balance between beauty and danger. He looked at himself and smiled, the corner of his lips tilting like he already knew the power he carried tonight.

 

Jisoo’s room was a sparkling sanctuary. Music played in the background as the glam squad worked around him. His soft brown hair was feathered and voluminous, styled to perfection. His makeup had flecks of glitter, catching the light every time he blinked. The ethereal glow of his skin was radiant, almost deceptive in its softness—a contrast Jisoo relished.

 

Wonwoo, usually lowkey, allowed himself to be pampered. His brown hair had been carefully permed, giving it volume and wave. The surprise came with his bold cat-eye eyeliner, sharp enough to cut. It made his already feline features even more defined. When he glanced at his reflection, even he had to blink and acknowledge—he looked dangerous in a whole new way.

 

Seokmin, known for his boyish charm, had his short hair slicked back, clean and charismatic. The stylist added a slight shine, giving him a matured, almost princely glow. His soft features balanced the elegance perfectly.

 

Mingyu, never one to shy from a change, sat confidently as the scissors moved. His hair was trimmed short, clean around the edges, and dyed a rich black that shimmered red under direct light. It was subtle and bold at the same time—much like him. When he ran his hand through his new cut, he couldn’t hide his grin.

 

But the final surprise of the night belonged to Seungcheol.

When he stepped out of his styling chair, time paused. His hair had been dyed a striking blonde, perfectly complementing his warm skin tone and fierce eyes. The way it was tousled and shaped gave him an effortless edge that none of them expected.

 

After hours of preparation, the six reconvened—cloaked in midnight black, their silhouettes mysterious and elegant—as they had agreed. One by one, they entered their shared lounge room, not revealing their outfits just yet.

But even with cloaks on, their hair and makeup spoke volumes.

Jeonghan turned first, his gaze sharp as he surveyed each of them.

Jisoo, shimmering and sweet with a twinkle of mischief in his glittery eyes.
 Wonwoo, fierce and unreadable, his cat eyes carrying a quiet threat.
 Seokmin, sleek and bold, wearing confidence like armor.
 Mingyu, glowing, his red-tinted hair like a crown of embers.
 And Seungcheol—

The entire room stilled when Seungcheol lowered his hood, revealing his blonde hair, styled just enough to look dangerous but regal. Even Jeonghan had to pause, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

He nodded once, approval etched into his expression.
 “You’ll burn the ballroom down.”

Seungcheol smirked, brushing his bangs aside. “Figured it was time to switch things up.”

Jeonghan let out a breath and turned to all of them, satisfied, his voice low but commanding.
 “Now… let’s check our outfits, shall we?”

And with that, the final stage of transformation was about to begin.

******

The lounge was a quiet storm of tension and excitement, cloaks swaying gently around them, eyes already burning with anticipation. But it was Jeonghan’s calm smile and sly whisper—“Now… let’s check our outfits, shall we?”—that snapped the string.

They didn’t plan the order. But somehow, as if preordained, Seokmin stepped forward first.

He tossed his cloak to the side, and the room reacted instantly.

Seokmin was wearing a tailored black sleeveless vest, sculpted to fit his torso perfectly, every movement revealing the lines of his strength. His combat pants were form-fitted, matte black, tactical in appearance yet runway in execution, tucked into a gleaming pair of combat boots. A single gold earring shimmered as he turned slightly under the light.

Jisoo made a noise that might have been a choke or a gasp.
 Wonwoo blinked slowly.
 Mingyu grinned and poked one of Seokmin’s bulging biceps.

“I didn’t know we were calling war sexy,” he teased.

Seokmin smirked, proud but bashful. “I just wanted to be comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” Jisoo breathed, fanning himself.

Without waiting, Mingyu tugged off his own cloak with one hand. The reaction was just as loud.

He wore a sheer black shirt, completely see-through, outlining every cut of his abs, his toned chest, the way his veins curved up his forearms. Beneath that, he wore rugged denim jeans, tight and worn at the right places, and a pair of black boots that added a bold urban flair.

Wonwoo, who had been smug and amused up until now, turned red.

Bright red.

Mingyu caught it instantly and winked. “Like what you see?”

Wonwoo looked away.

Now it was Seungcheol’s turn.

He didn’t say anything as he unzipped his cloak, eyes locked with Jeonghan the entire time.

When it fell away, the tight black shirt that hugged his body like second skin was revealed first, followed by his gray denim jeans, simple, rugged, effortless. But it was the final bold detail that got everyone—the black boots with short, unapologetic heels. It gave him just a bit more height and far more presence.

Jeonghan tilted his head, eyes slowly dragging down and then back up.

“Nodding in agreement?” Seungcheol asked, smirking.

“Very much so,” Jeonghan replied with a soft curl of his lips.

Now came Jisoo.

He beamed at everyone, almost bouncing in place before dropping his cloak with a flourish. And Seokmin almost fainted.

Jisoo had chosen a bold, flirty outfit: a see-through black lace top, fitted to his torso, the delicate fabric playing with light and shadows across his skin. Tight leather shorts, high-cut, showed off his long legs. High ankle boots finished the ensemble, sleek and sharp.

“Oh god,” Seokmin muttered under his breath, one hand over his heart. “How am I going to survive this night?”

Jisoo just giggled and spun around.

Now it was Wonwoo’s turn.

Mingyu already looked like he was bracing for impact, holding his breath. Wonwoo sighed and dropped his cloak.

A moment of silence.

And then everyone’s jaws dropped.

A black semi-turtleneck sleeveless crop top, hugging his lean torso and showing off his perfectly flat stomach, paired with high-waisted denim jeans, and finishing with sleek ankle boots that had just the tiniest heel. His eyeliner only made the whole look more lethal.

Mingyu blinked.

Then blinked again.

Then instantly turned to the lounge wardrobe and started rummaging.

“There’s no way he’s going out like that. Absolutely not.”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, smug again.

“Find anything, Gyu?” Jeonghan teased.

“A blanket, hopefully.”

And finally, all eyes turned to Jeonghan.

He stood still, smiling that eerie smile, his gaze never leaving Seungcheol.

“Are you ready?” Jeonghan asked, voice low and dangerous.

Seungcheol swallowed thickly. “No.”

Jeonghan removed his cloak—and the room went silent.

He wore nothing but a fitted black blazer, perfectly structured, falling just to the top of his thighs. Underneath, he wore nothing. His collarbones, chest, and pale skin glowed like moonlight under the lights. His legs—long, lean, and exposed—were framed by a single black thigh strap that connected to his knee-high black boots, elegant and commanding.

It was both obscene and high fashion.
 Both provocative and untouchably divine.

Seungcheol actually had to sit down.

There was silence—until Mingyu let out a whistle.

Everyone burst out laughing, including Jeonghan, whose grin never left his lips.

“Observe quietly while still partying,” he reminded them. “Eyes open. Ears open. Mouths closed unless you’re smiling.”

The group laughed again, but the tension lingered.

Because beneath the fashion, the hair, and the teasing…

Tonight was war—in disguise.

And they all knew they were dressed to win.

Notes:

And this is the first part of this chapter AHHHHH will try to also update the second part tonight if I have the time! (ꈍᴗꈍ)♡ also I am really really thankful for your comments and how you read my first story here (╥﹏╥) with that being said, I will also post this weekend a new jeongcheol fic! royalty childhood best friends to lovers WITHOUT ANGST (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

P.S lemme know if yall want to chat with me outside ao3 and i will drop my x account in the next chapters! I would love to talk with yall (๑>◡<๑)

Chapter 16: The Tour II

Notes:

Hiiiii as promised here is the second part of the last chapter! ٩(ˊᗜˋ )و also this chapter is my most favorite chapter of the entire fic! Enjoy! ✧˖°. ⋆｡˚(✿ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)｡･:*˚:✧｡

  Flashback – The Tour Strategy

The night before the Tour, the lounge room glowed in warm light, casting soft shadows across the six figures sprawled across couches and cushions. A mix of nervous anticipation and quiet excitement filled the space.

At the center, as expected, was Jeonghan—his long hair loosely tied back, a black notebook opened on his lap, eyes gleaming with a dangerous glint.

“Alright,” he said, flipping through the pages dramatically. “Let’s go over how we’re going to manipulate the entire room tomorrow night .”

Mingyu groaned as he sank deeper into the couch. “Can’t we just enjoy the party?”

Jeonghan arched a brow, smiling eerily. “Who said we’re not going to enjoy it?”

Wonwoo leaned forward, his curiosity already piqued, while Jisoo looked absolutely delighted, practically bouncing with a pillow hugged to his chest.

“Okay, class is in session,” Jeonghan said, tapping his notebook. “First things first—how to fake friendliness.”

They listened as Jeonghan listed behaviors: the proper way to smile without showing too much sincerity, how to tilt your head to seem interested, how to mirror someone’s body language just enough to make them comfortable without ever actually trusting you.

“And most importantly,” Jeonghan said, closing his notebook for dramatic flair, “you listen to them. Not to reply. Not to connect. But to store information .”

There was a pause, until Jeonghan added with a devilish grin: “But how about… we spice things a little bit?”

Mingyu immediately groaned. “Oh no.”

Jeonghan’s smile widened. “Instead of lurking in the shadows, we show up . Big entrance, bold energy. We laugh, we dance, we drink—” he looked at Jisoo, who nodded eagerly, “—and we make our presence known.”

“But,” Wonwoo interjected, “won’t that make us look… weak? Easy?”

“Exactly,” Jeonghan said, pointing a finger at him in approval. “We deceive them twice. They’ll think we’re nothing but flamboyant, overly friendly idiots. But in truth, we're scanning, reading, learning . We give them something to talk about. We make them comfortable.”

Mingyu scratched his head. “So we’re… double deceiving them.”

“Exactly,” Jeonghan nodded, pleased. “Which is why I’ve assigned everyone a role.”

The group straightened up. Jisoo looked giddy. Wonwoo looked intrigued. Seokmin looked mildly scared.

Jeonghan opened his notebook again.

“Seungcheol,” he said, and Seungcheol raised an eyebrow. “You are one of the headmaster’s sons. Everyone expects you to be proper. Respectable. Composed.”

Seungcheol smirked. “So you want me to be…”

“Chaotic,” Jeonghan cut in smoothly. “Turn up the party. Laugh too loud. Make some mess. Be the guy no one expects to lose control.”

“So… I’m the party dude?” Seungcheol chuckled.

“Exactly, babe,” Jeonghan replied, closing one eye like a wink. “Be unpredictable.”

Jeonghan turned the page. “Mingyu ,” he said, eyes glinting. “Your charm is… casual. Effortless. You’re warm and approachable. So you’ll start a drinking game with Seungcheol. Get people drunk. Let their guard down. Everyone will want to be near you—and when they are, we listen .”

Mingyu nodded. “So… charm and chaos. Got it.”

“Seokmin,” Jeonghan turned. “Your radiating smile can pull people in like moths to a flame. Boys, girls, teachers, even cats—doesn’t matter. You don’t stop smiling. You run that mouth, talk to everyone, compliment them, play dumb if needed.”

Seokmin laughed out loud and gave Jeonghan a salute. “Captain.”

Jisoo nudged him and whispered, “Don’t flirt too much or I might explode.”

Jeonghan grinned and continued. “Jisoo and Wonwoo ,” he said, his tone shifting to something slightly more serious. “You two are the charmers without effort. No one approaches you because you're loud or friendly. They approach you because they want to . Because you’re mysterious. You’re untouchable. You pull them in without saying a word.”

Wonwoo muttered, “Still sounds terrifying.”

Jeonghan smiled fondly at him. “Wonwoo, this is your time to shine. Your beauty will definitely do wonders” 

Jisoo threw his arm around Wonwoo’s shoulder. “We’ve practiced everything. Eye contact, disinterest, that perfectly timed half-smile.”

Wonwoo sighed but nodded. For once, even he was looking forward to this.

“And me?” Jeonghan said, closing his notebook with a snap. “I’ll be everywhere. I’ll talk to everyone. I’ll get close to the headmasters. I’ll make notes. And I might even cause a tiny scandal with Seungcheol, who knows?”

The room burst into laughter.

“Wait, what do you mean?” Seungcheol asked, but Jeonghan just smiled and leaned back into the couch.

“You’ll find out tomorrow.”

Mingyu raised a brow. “This is insane. And I love it.”

Wonwoo glanced around, realizing something as the group laughed and tossed jokes back and forth.

They weren’t just preparing for a ball.
They were building their stage.
And on that stage, they would play their roles to perfection.

By the end of the night, they wouldn’t just be seen.
They’d be remembered .

******

The tension inside the limousine was giddy and electric, like lightning coiled in silk. Beneath their dark cloaks, their outfits lay hidden, but their excitement buzzed just as loud. Each one of them adjusted a ring—polished obsidian, fitted perfectly on their pinky fingers. Mingyu had delivered them earlier that morning, and now, they served as their silent insignia.

A mark of unity.

Of strategy.

The limousine slowed, the tires crunching over polished marble as the vehicle turned into the grand circular driveway of the Moonlight Pavillion—the venue of this year’s Tour Ball.

“We’ve arrived,” the official driver announced, glancing at them through the rearview mirror.

The inside of the car erupted.

“Oh my god,” Jisoo whispered, practically vibrating as he gripped Seokmin’s arm.

“Finally,” Jeonghan said calmly, reapplying his lip balm like he wasn’t orchestrating the whole evening.

“Everyone remember the plan?” Seungcheol asked, adjusting his blonde bangs as he peeked through the tinted window.

Wonwoo exhaled deeply. “Smile. Listen. Survive.”

Mingyu, despite his earlier nerves, flashed a cheeky grin. “Let’s kill ‘em.”

Outside, guards stood still as statues. At the signal, two of them moved forward and opened the limousine door. The cool breeze of the night swept into the vehicle, and so did the scent of night roses and sparkling wine.

One by one, the six of them stepped out in practiced elegance.

Jisoo, radiant in his soft glittery makeup, his lace shirt clinging delicately to his form. Seokmin walked beside him, gold earring catching the moonlight, his biceps pushing against the fabric of his vest.

Mingyu, practically glowing under the subtle lights, his see-through shirt leaving nothing to the imagination. Next to him, Wonwoo looked like a living contradiction—mysterious, unreadable, magnetic in his sleeveless crop turtleneck, his cat-eye makeup sharp as daggers.

Seungcheol, blonde, golden, powerful—his boots clicking boldly against the marble, a devilish smirk on his lips. Beside him, Jeonghan stepped out like a prince kissed by chaos: only his blazer covering him, those long, exposed legs stealing every stray breath in the air. The thigh strap glinted. His knee-high boots stomped.

A hush rippled through the entrance hall.

The main organizer, a tall, regal woman with a clipboard and a glittering navy gown, approached them with a practiced smile.

“Representatives of Aurora,” she said, nodding, “Welcome to the Tour. We’re honored to have your team join us this year.”

Seungcheol bowed slightly, his eyes coldly polite. “We’re honored to be invited.”

The organizer raised her hand. “Just a few reminders. No magic, no combat, no powers of any kind while inside. This is neutral ground, a space for observation and connection.”

“Of course,” Mingyu replied smoothly.

She looked down her clipboard and added with a hint of curiosity in her voice, “Your team… is very punctual in its lateness. ”

Jisoo’s lips curled into a dangerous smile. “We prefer a little drama.”

The doors ahead slowly creaked open, revealing the opulence of the ballroom. It was vast, grand, with crystal chandeliers that bathed the room in golden light. Music played softly in the background—an elegant string quartet. Round tables surrounded the dance floor, and nearly every nation’s crest shimmered from different corners of the room.

But in that moment, the music seemed to fade.

The guards at the door announced, in a booming, clear voice:

“Representatives of AURORA have arrived.”

And the doors fully opened.

The six of them moved like a single wave, perfectly choreographed. Jisoo and Seokmin in front, smiling gently. Mingyu and Wonwoo behind, exuding charm and aloofness. And finally, Jeonghan and Seungcheol at the end of the line, walking with an intimidating sort of grace. Their rings glinted as they raised their hands in small, controlled waves.

Silence.
The ballroom seemed to hold its breath.

Eyes followed their every step. Whispers erupted—like wind slipping through cracks in a windowsill.

“Is that Aurora?”
“Who’s the one with the long hair?”
“Are those rings… matching?”
“They look so— coordinated.”
“That blonde… is that Seungcheol? The son of Headmaster Choi?”

A mixture of awe and confusion filled the air.

They were ushered to their reserved table—right in the middle, just a few seats from where the major headmasters of other nations were seated. Mingyu, still grinning from their successful entrance, looked ready to relax until he realized the stares hadn’t stopped.

He leaned in, voice low but fuming.

“Didn’t y’all see how these disgusting people were literally eyeing Wonwoo, Jisoo, and Jeonghan like—”

Seokmin nudged him with a quiet punch. “Mingyu. Focus.”

Jeonghan stood behind them all, watching as the tension bubbled beneath the surface.

He nodded once.

His voice was calm, quiet, and terrifyingly assured. “It’s time.”

And with that, the hunt began.

******

It didn’t take long after their entrance for the six of them to disperse into the ballroom like threads of silk weaving into the fabric of the night. Each one had a role to play, and every breath, every step, was calculated. Underneath the glittering lights and over the hum of string music and chatter, their strategy unfolded like a slow-burning match.

Seungcheol dove first.

Like a flame with legs, he moved toward one of the liveliest corners of the room, already drawing attention before he even spoke. With a drink in hand, he handed out laughter like candy—offering refills from the open bar, flashing his dimples, letting the crowd soak in his magnetic charm.

He was confident but unpolished, wild but warm.
He let them think he was the life of the party.

“Are you single?” someone giggled from a small group of students in navy and emerald uniforms.

Seungcheol tilted his head, grinning. “Who knows?” he answered vaguely, and as he turned away, his eyes— always —searched the ballroom until they found Jeonghan.

And Jeonghan, from across the room, caught the glance. But he didn’t return it.

Not yet.

Because Jeonghan was playing an entirely different game.

Clad in a blazer that screamed both seduction and war, his long legs carrying him with precision, Jeonghan made his way toward the cluster of headmasters positioned by the crystal arch windows. His sharp gaze pierced through the formality of the evening, assessing who mattered and who didn’t. Most were too intimidated to approach him—his face ethereal and his aura regal—but the headmasters weren’t like the students.

He offered them a delicate smile as he approached, “You must be Headmaster Jung of Nox Academy, right? I heard your academy’s entry test includes traversing the Fog Maze barefoot. That’s… brutal.”

The Headmaster chuckled, his icy demeanor thawing slightly. “We like to see who’s truly committed.”

“Well,” Jeonghan hummed, sipping his champagne, “Aurora prefers to see who’s truly dangerous. ”

That earned a few smirks from the circle.

He flowed through the conversation effortlessly—throwing in jokes about how the youth today have more glitter in their hair than strategy in their heads, asking politely about retirement plans, complimenting cloaks with veiled sarcasm that earned laughter and knowing nods.
He moved like smoke, one second present and the next already turning away, leaving intrigue in his wake.

Mingyu had adopted his usual weapon—his smile.

He was a vision of friendliness, gliding through groups, hugging acquaintances from past visits, trading stories and exaggerated compliments with anyone who stopped him.

“You look like a prince tonight,” one girl purred.

He laughed. “You should see me when I’m actually trying.”

He gave his drink to someone and danced for a while, always orbiting Wonwoo—never too close, never too far.

But when he saw someone lean forward and kiss the back of Wonwoo’s hand, his face twitched. He reached for another drink.

Wonwoo, however, was thriving in the shadows of curiosity.

Jeonghan had been right—his face alone pulled attention. But it was his soft voice and rare smiles that kept people leaning closer, asking more, trying to figure him out.

“You’re not much of a talker, are you?” a girl with silver hair asked him, tilting her head.

Wonwoo shrugged, sipping his drink. “Silence tells you more than words sometimes.”

That cryptic line was enough to have her smiling like he’d just shared a secret.

Jisoo? He was already three songs deep into the dance floor. His glitter makeup shimmered with every spin, his lace shirt catching the strobe lights in perfect contrast to the confident grin on his face. He danced with three different students from three different schools in the span of fifteen minutes, and each time he laughed or tossed his head back, a new circle of admirers formed around him.

Seokmin, the ever-charming beacon, played host to everyone.

He danced, joked, flirted, and complimented everyone from noble heirs to the waiters delivering trays of drinks.

“Oh? Champagne for me?” he grinned as a tray floated by, “How romantic of you,” he told the server, who blushed so hard they nearly dropped the tray.

He made people feel seen, even when he was merely passing by.

In a quiet corner, the six of them reconnected briefly, catching up in spurts.

Seungcheol leaned in, whispering to Jeonghan, “People are asking if I’m taken.”

Jeonghan took a slow sip of his champagne, eyes watching the crowd. “And what did you tell them?”

Seungcheol smirked. “That they should ask my shadow.”

Jeonghan chuckled, low and dangerous. “Good. Keep it that way.”

Mingyu, still fuming slightly, leaned toward Wonwoo. “That guy kissing your hand? Really?”

Wonwoo looked at him blankly. “You wanted me to blend in, didn’t you?”

Mingyu muttered, “Yeah, well, I didn’t mean like that. ”

Jisoo came back momentarily, cheeks flushed, hair tousled.

“I think I just made someone fall in love,” he whispered to Seokmin.

“Only one?” Seokmin laughed, winking. “You’re slacking, babe.”

They dissolved into soft chuckles before slipping away again, back into the glittering field of potential enemies and unlikely allies.

Every glance was a clue.

Every smile, a move.

They were no longer students at a ball.

They were soldiers on a chessboard made of silk, velvet, and secrets.

And the game had only just begun.

******

The night was no longer young.

The ballroom was bathed in low gold lighting, sweat mixing with perfume, heels scattered near the edges of the dance floor, and students lounging or leaning into each other in drunken laughter. Laughter, flirting, and music thundered in every corner. The carefully constructed elegance of the Tour had long since dissolved.

And then it happened.

Across the crowd, Seungcheol and Mingyu locked eyes. There was no verbal cue, no raised signal. Just the barest hint of a grin, a knowing nod between co-conspirators.

Game on.

From above, Headmaster Choi , stiff in his formal robes and always cold in demeanor, furrowed his brows. His eyes followed Seungcheol as he weaved through the bodies, blond hair glowing under the soft strobe light, aura electric. His son looked… unrecognizable. Not in the way he looked—but in the way he commanded the room.

“Who wants to play?!” Seungcheol shouted, voice strong and wicked.

A beat of silence. Then chaos.

“ME!”
“Let’s go!”
“HELL YES!”

The room erupted with cheers. Like magnets, students from all corners moved, following him like he was the true host of the event. Mingyu was already dragging tables from the sides, setting them up with effortless ease and charm, cups clinking and drinks sloshing.

Jeonghan leaned against a velvet pillar, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold.
The curl on his lips wasn’t joy.
It was satisfaction.

This was exactly what he wanted.

No more control. No more elegance.

Chaos.

Because in chaos, people lose caution.

In chaos, people become real .

In minutes, beer pong was in full swing. Shouts echoed as drinks were slammed back, arms thrown around strangers, nations blending together into one boiling, messy celebration. The strings quartet had long since packed up. Someone had swapped in a bass-heavy beat. The headmasters were still watching, but from afar, not interfering—for now.

They moved through flip cup , rage cage , a wildly mismanaged charades round, and now— Truth or Dare.

All thirty students had gathered into a circle. A few had taken off their shoes, some their coats, others simply wore their inhibitions like cloaks already thrown to the floor. Laughter dominated everything.

The six of them were spaced apart, scattered intentionally like strangers.

It was part of the illusion.
They weren’t a team here.
They were just six more players in the game.

But the energy they radiated? It betrayed everything.

A student dared Seokmin to receive a lap dance—and received one instead. Another dared Wonwoo to chug five tequila shots in one go. He did so without blinking, then calmly asked for a glass of water. It only added to the myth of his cold, untouchable allure.

Mingyu was keeping close watch.
He knew.
So many were watching them.

And among them—Jeonghan hadn’t moved.

He hadn’t spoken.
He hadn’t flirted.
He hadn’t danced.
He was the beautiful, unreadable figure that no one dared touch.

But then it happened.

The wine bottle spun.
It spun.
It slowed.

And it stopped.

Pointing at him.

The circle hushed.

Jeonghan raised one eyebrow, his legs still elegantly crossed, a lazy hand around the stem of his glass.

From the other side of the circle, a student from Nation 2, tall with an overconfident smirk, picked up a card and read it aloud:

“Truth or Dare?”

The room inhaled.

“Dare,” Jeonghan replied instantly, voice velvet-wrapped blades.

The student grinned wider, too foolish to realize he had just been eaten alive.

“Dare… to kiss the hottest person you know in this room.”

Laughter.

Cheers.

Chants.

“Do it!”
“Kiss someone!”
“Kiss ME!”

But Jeonghan didn’t move.

Not yet.

From the balcony above, Headmaster Choi leaned forward, both elbows on the railing, his expression unreadable as his gaze pierced through the noise, down to the very boy who held his son’s gaze far too many times tonight.

Jeonghan met the man’s stare.

And smiled.

Not sweetly.
Not kindly.

But like he knew exactly what the consequences would be—and wanted them anyway.

Then, with perfect poise, Jeonghan threw back a shot of vodka in a single tilt.

And he moved.

The room parted like water around him. He walked straight into the center of the circle, where Seungcheol sat, trying to appear relaxed, one arm slung casually behind him.

Jeonghan’s eyes never left him.

The crowd leaned in, breath baited.

And then—

Jeonghan sat on his lap .

Gasps.

A beat of stunned silence.

Seungcheol’s hand instinctively snaked around Jeonghan’s waist, anchoring him there. He opened his mouth to say something—but didn’t have time.

Because Jeonghan kissed him.

No hesitation.

No gentle build-up.

He claimed him.

It was torrid.

Possessive.

Unapologetically bold.

Students screamed.Cheered.
Phones went up.
Pictures taken.
The clicks were deafening.

From above, Headmaster Choi remained frozen, no longer blinking.

Down below, the circle of students had descended into madness.

They just became the story of the year.

When the kiss finally broke, Jeonghan lingered—eyes still locked with Seungcheol, lips curved in a smirk.

“You good?” he whispered just for him.

Seungcheol grinned. “Better than good.”

The crowd exploded again.

To everyone watching, it was scandalous.
Hot. Legendary.

To those who understood the game—it was war.

Let them whisper. Let the rumors spread.
Let the other nations plan around a false center.

Jeonghan had just fed them the wrong script.

And as he slid off Seungcheol’s lap with perfect grace, fixing the collar of his blazer, he checked a mental box in his notebook.

Another checkmate.

******

The cold midnight air wrapped around the six of them as they stepped out of the venue and made their way toward the limousine waiting at the entrance. The glow of the chandeliers behind them shimmered in the reflection of the sleek black car, the night still buzzing in their veins.

“Okay but that kiss—” Mingyu started, voice a bit hoarse from shouting all night.

“Legendary, ” Seokmin cut in, twirling one of Jisoo’s discarded boots in his hand like a trophy. “I saw two students actually faint . One guy screamed into a plant.”

Seungcheol was laughing, his arm snaked snugly around Jeonghan’s waist like it had been there all along. Jeonghan, ever the picture of controlled chaos, had one arm looped through Seungcheol’s, the other adjusting the slightly crooked thigh strap on his leg as they walked.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Jeonghan muttered, but the twitch in his lips betrayed his amusement.

“Can you blame me?” Seungcheol whispered, voice low and still playful from the thrill of it all.

Behind them, Jisoo was barefoot, heels long surrendered to the night. His arm was linked with Wonwoo’s, who despite the five tequila shots earlier, walked steady and calm, his makeup slightly smudged but his air of mystery entirely intact. Jisoo leaned on him with a sigh.

“I swear if one more person called me ‘temptation personified’ I might have kissed them just to shut them up,” Jisoo sighed dramatically.

“...You didn’t?” Wonwoo asked with a tilt of his head.

“No, but I thought about it,” he grinned.

They all erupted into quiet laughter, loud enough to echo into the night but soft enough to feel like a shared secret.

The moment they entered the limousine, the glamour of the evening dropped. Boots kicked off. Jackets undone. Hair tousled. Their matching obsidian rings caught the moonlight, glinting like black stars. They looked like a mess—but a victorious, calculated mess.

“I can’t wait to write everything down,” Mingyu groaned, rubbing his eyes. “I heard so much. Room assignments, ability rumors, who’s in love with who—Nation 5’s strategist cried over someone, by the way.”

“I clocked three ability flashes,” Seokmin added, cracking his knuckles. “One tried to manipulate someone’s perception—badly. It failed, though. Probably drunk.”

“And I overheard Nation 3’s emissary talking about how Nation 5 is collapsing internally,” Jisoo said, now sitting cross-legged with his chin resting on his palm. “We have so much to work with.”

By the time they arrived back at the academy gates, they were buzzing again—this time, not from adrenaline, not from liquor or the cheers or the chaos—but from potential.

Their personal maids and butlers were already waiting, ushering them in like well-trained shadows. Shoes off. Hair unpinned. Makeup removed. Jackets folded. Ice water in hand. Warm towels. The transformation from agents of chaos to students began again.

The halls of Aurora Academy were quiet.

But their minds were roaring.

Back in his room, Jeonghan stood in front of his mirror. The thigh strap now off. Boots gone. His makeup still faint around his eyes. The kiss lingered on his lips—not just the physical touch, but the statement it made.

He was just about to climb into bed when he heard a soft knock.

He opened the door.

Seungcheol, tousled hair, makeup half-cleaned, stood with a grin already blooming.

Without a word, he walked past Jeonghan and dove straight into the bed like he belonged there.

Jeonghan chuckled, not even pretending to stop him. He closed the door and turned off the lamp, slipping into the bed beside him.

Seungcheol, already propped on one elbow, looked down at him with that same troublemaker glint in his eyes.

“So…” he started, voice low and teasing. “ I’m the hottest person in the room?”

Jeonghan gave a short, quiet laugh, hand brushing over the sheets as he faced him.

“If you weren’t,” Jeonghan said lazily, “I wouldn’t even let you sleep here.”

Seungcheol smiled. Not his smirk, not his fake party grin—but a real one. His hand reached out and tucked a strand of Jeonghan’s hair behind his ear, his thumb lingering on the edge of his cheek.

And then softer—so soft, it barely filled the space between them—

“After the tournament,” Seungcheol whispered, “I’m going to court you.”

There was no rush in his words. No teasing. Just quiet promise.

Jeonghan stared at him for a moment, eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then—

A genuine smile.

“No need for that,” he replied, voice quiet but firm. “Just surprise me… with new tactics. And smarter strategies.”

Seungcheol chuckled, forehead gently resting against Jeonghan’s. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“Only the best for Aurora’s most dangerous strategist,” Jeonghan whispered back.

And in the stillness of the night, beneath silk sheets and exhausted breaths, the soft sound of laughter echoed.

Not the sharp kind.
Not the pretend kind.

But real— earned .

Two hearts, for now, beating in unison.

Tomorrow, they would be scheming again. Planning. Writing. Outthinking every other nation.

But tonight?

Tonight, they were just Jeonghan and Seungcheol.
Just warmth.
And victory.

Notes:

SCREAMING CRYING JEONGCHEOL AHHHHH ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚actually the last part wasn’t originally part of this chapter but I miss jeongcheol so much sooo (•﹏•;) also for my minwon and seoksoo babies, do not worry! I have prepared also something for them soon!

Chapter 17: The Target

Notes:

I can’t believe we are now at chapter 17 and it is still not the tournament ASKFHDJDHD do not worry I think 1-2 more chapters and The Tournament will officially begin so stay tuned for that. I just uploaded my new fic titled “Long Live” so if you can check it out, that would be awesome. Enjoy! o(^▽^)o

The silence in Professor Kwon’s office was heavy.

Thicker than fog. Tenser than the morning after a war. Six chairs were lined up in front of his massive mahogany desk, all filled.

Not one of them dared speak. Not yet.

And then—SLAM.

The professor’s hand came down on the table, the echo sharp.

“Are all of you out of your minds?”

His voice roared through the chamber, piercing through the silence like a blade.

Professor Kwon was rarely this angry. He was always composed, stern—yes—but never this livid. His brows were furrowed so deeply that a permanent wrinkle might form. His coat was half-buttoned in a rush, hair slightly tousled as if he’d barely slept.

“Seungcheol,” he growled, pointing a trembling hand. “You dyed your hair blonde. Are you deliberately trying to stand out?”

Seungcheol remained seated, arms crossed, face unreadable.

“And you—Jeonghan,” the professor snapped, whirling. “What the hell was that? That kiss was the most talked about thing across five nations this morning. And don’t you dare smirk—”

Jeonghan’s lips twitched.

“You planned it,” Professor Kwon accused. “And if the kiss wasn’t enough, the ‘life of the party’ act, the combat-boot runway show, the lace, the tequila shots—Wonwoo,” he turned now, pacing. “Even you made it into the headlines! You drank five shots, and now half of Nation 4 wants your name and your schedule!”

Wonwoo blinked once. “I didn’t ask them to,” he said simply.

Jisoo bit back a laugh. Seokmin elbowed him.

“I can’t believe this,” Professor Kwon muttered under his breath, now running both hands down his face. “All six of you. What were you doing?”

The six remained silent.

“Do you realize what you’ve done?” the professor barked. “You’ve painted targets on your backs. Each one of you! Every other nation now has your names. Your faces. They’ve seen you. Studied you. You’re the talk of their strategy rooms. You may think you were being clever—seductive, mysterious, chaotic—but you have exposed yourselves.”

He took a deep breath, voice lowering.

“And from this moment on, you are no longer just students from Aurora Academy. You’re representatives. You’re ticking weapons, and they’ll be ready.”

No one dared to interrupt. The weight of his words settled into their bones. This wasn’t just backlash. This was the start of a war of perception, and they had willingly stepped into the arena with glittering blades.

But before Professor Kwon could even let loose again—

Knock knock.

A quiet but firm sound.

A butler stepped in, impeccably dressed and bowing low.

“Apologies, Professor,” he said carefully, “but the Headmaster is requesting the presence of all six students. Immediately. In his private quarters.”

Professor Kwon turned slowly. His jaw clenched. “Now?”

“Yes, sir. Headmaster Choi said it was... non-negotiable.”

That word sent an entirely different chill into the room.

The six students exchanged glances.

Jeonghan leaned back slightly, fingers steepled, gaze flicking to Seungcheol beside him. Seungcheol’s jaw was tight, but he gave the slightest nod.

Mingyu stood up first, brushing imaginary lint off his jacket. “Welp,” he muttered under his breath, “we’ve officially made it.”

Wonwoo followed, silent and unreadable.

Jisoo blew out a dramatic sigh and stretched. “Let’s see what more headlines we can accidentally make today.”

Professor Kwon didn’t say another word. He only watched them leave, his expression unreadable but his posture tense.

And as the Elite 6 stepped into the hallway, the air felt colder.

Denser.

Like the calm before a storm they had unknowingly summoned.

This was no longer a game.

It was the beginning of something else entirely.

And the Headmaster never called unless he had a reason.

A very good reason.

 

******

The hall leading to the Headmaster’s quarters was long, unnervingly quiet, and heavy with polished prestige. It smelled of polished wood, old tomes, and authority. Jisoo was already biting his nails, the soft click of it echoing far too loud in the silence. Mingyu and Seokmin walked beside each other with their heads low, the adrenaline from the night before replaced by the creeping weight of reality.

Wonwoo, Jeonghan, and Seungcheol, on the other hand, walked like they always did—silent, calculated, as if nothing about the current situation was remotely concerning.

It wasn’t arrogance. It was strategy. Controlled confidence.

When they entered the grand double doors, the air shifted.

The Headmaster’s quarters were vast, sun filtering softly through long curtains. At the center of the room, behind a grand desk, sat Headmaster Choi, pristine in a navy coat, gold trim glinting under the light. His expression unreadable.

And in front of him—a mess of newspapers, open on his desk and scattered across the floor.

The six of them halted.

He was reading one, brows slightly raised in amusement. The headline on the page in his hand?

“Aurora’s Elite: Seduction or Strategy?”
 Subheader: Jeonghan’s Kiss Heard Across Borders.

Without looking up, the Headmaster spoke.

“Seungcheol,” he said calmly, “your hair…”

Everyone froze.

“…It suits you.”

Six heads whipped slightly, eyes darting at each other in confusion.

The Headmaster finally set down the paper and leaned back in his chair. “I assume Professor Kwon has already given you a handful of scolding.”

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow.

“I won’t do the same,” the Headmaster continued. “I am not mad.”

Silence.

“I’m actually… impressed.”

Mingyu’s jaw nearly dropped. Jisoo stopped biting his nails. Seokmin blinked twice. Even Seungcheol’s posture shifted. Wonwoo glanced sideways at Jeonghan, who—of course—remained perfectly composed.

“Jeonghan,” Sowoon said, eyes sharp, “you are so different from the boy I met in the forest that day. That Jeonghan was brilliant, quiet, deadly. But this Jeonghan…”

He looked directly at him, eyes gleaming with something close to fascination.

“This Jeonghan is theatre. Dangerous in a whole different way.”

Jeonghan smirked. “I figured quiet was too predictable.”

The Headmaster chuckled. “And Seungcheol—your command of the room, the way you flipped your expected role on its head. Genius. And that kiss—risky, but effective. Whether real or fake, it has set fires in more ways than one.”

He turned to the others. “Jisoo, a natural on the dancefloor. You moved like you owned it. Every camera caught you mid-spin.”

“Seokmin, that smile of yours was like a magnet. I watched twenty-three different students approach you. That’s infiltration. That’s charm weaponized.”

“Mingyu,” he added with a tilt of his head, “your approachable act was flawless. You made friends in every circle, and every one of them walked away wanting to know more.”

“And Wonwoo…”

Wonwoo met the Headmaster’s gaze, steady as ever.

“…You were the silent weapon. The mystery. Every nation asked about you after. People are scared of what they can’t figure out. Keep being an enigma.”

He leaned forward now, hands clasped.

“I know you all have a plan. You’ve played this game carefully. Dressed the part. Performed the chaos. But from this point forward, you’re in deeper waters. Make sure you keep impressing me.”

Jeonghan, never one to let anyone else have the last word, tilted his head. “You’re already impressed.”

Headmaster Choi gave a quiet, entertained laugh. “I am. But I’m not your only audience, Jeonghan. Your parents,” he emphasized, “are expecting calls. From all of you. Immediately.”

That wiped the smirks off some faces.

Jisoo groaned. “Do I really have to hear my mom talk about the lace top again?”

Mingyu dramatically placed a hand on his chest. “My dad’s gonna disown me for the see-through shirt.”

Seokmin sighed. “My aunt already sent me three messages. Three. One of them was just a photo of me with the caption: ‘Muscle boy?’”

Wonwoo deadpanned, “I’m pretending I lost my phone.”

The Headmaster stood, stepping around his desk. “Face them. That’s your next challenge. Either way, the six of you have made yourselves unignorable.”

He moved toward the door, opening it for them himself.

“You're no longer just students, you’re Aurora's elite. Keep playing your game. Just make sure you win.”

The six exited the room one by one, each step heavier with purpose, with pressure, with pride.

Jeonghan was last, pausing at the door.

“Headmaster,” he said, looking over his shoulder, “if you thought the kiss was bold… wait for what we do next.”

He left with a smirk and the door clicked shut.

Inside, Headmaster Choi looked down at the newspaper again. He smiled softly.

“Let the other nations scramble.”

******

After Professor Kwon told them to return later in the afternoon, the six of them filed silently into the lounge room. The magical projector orb was already floating mid-air, humming with a soft golden light, casting glows across the walls like a spotlight waiting for judgment.

They all sat down, an unspoken tension rippling between them.

Mingyu tapped his foot against the floor. Jisoo kept fixing his hair. Seokmin clutched a throw pillow like a lifeline. Wonwoo sat still—composed as ever—but the way he quietly toyed with a loose thread in the couch gave him away.

Jeonghan lounged with infuriating calmness, while Seungcheol leaned back, an arm draped lazily behind him, their fingers just barely touching.

“I swear if my mom brings up the see-through shirt—” Mingyu started, but before he could finish, the orb pulsed.

The call connected.

The projection expanded—revealing the parents of the six students, sitting formally across a long velvet couch in the grand hall of Hong’s residence. Elegant, stern, unmoving.

Silence.

And then—laughter exploded.

“Jisoo!” his father barked out between chuckles. “You danced like you owned the floor! Is there something you forgot to tell me? A secret dance career, maybe?”

Jisoo blushed, sheepish. “It was just for effect…”

“You spun, son. Like it was a wedding.”

Seokmin’s mom leaned forward, eyes shining with pride. “Seokmin, that outfit! And your arms! Have you been lifting furniture for fun?”

Seokmin groaned, face in his hands. “Mom, please—”

“You looked gorgeous, sweetie. Even your dad replayed your entrance three times.”

The room laughed again.

Then Mingyu’s mom gave him the look—that half-smirk, half-judging stare.

“Mingyu. That shirt. Was that even legal?”

“It was for the plan, mom—” Mingyu mumbled.

“Oh, the plan. A plan to flash abs in every camera angle?”

Jeonghan snorted.

Then the tone shifted as Seungcheol’s mom smiled slyly and looked between her son and Jeonghan.

“And that kiss…” she said, clearly delighted.

Jeonghan’s smile didn’t falter. Seungcheol gave a mock innocent look.

“Very convincing,” she added. “Or was it?”

“Maybe it was method acting,” Jeonghan teased.

“Or just excellent improvisation,” Seungcheol chimed in, grinning.

Then, the last figure spoke—and the energy shifted instantly.

Jaehyun.

No relation to any of them, but his reputation spoke louder than blood. A renowned strategist, highly respected, unnervingly perceptive. He leaned forward from where he sat, elbows resting on his knees, eyes sharp and focused.

He had been quiet. Watching.

“You want them to think you’re easy targets,” he said, voice calm. Cold. “Flirtatious. Loud. Reckless.”

The six straightened.

“But you’re already ten steps ahead.”

Jeonghan met his eyes—no fear, just curiosity. And interest.

“The kiss,” Jaehyun continued. “Calculated. Obvious. But smart. Now they’ll mark you two as each other’s weak point. Lovers? Secret allies? Emotional liabilities?”

He smiled.

“Let them guess wrong.”

The parents chuckled, but Jaehyun kept going, precise and clinical.

“Wonwoo, your silence is a weapon. You were everywhere but gave nothing. Students think they’ve read you, but they’ve only seen the cover.”

Wonwoo nodded in quiet acknowledgment.

“Mingyu, you made yourself safe. Seokmin, you made yourself loved. Jisoo? The entertainer—the distraction. Seungcheol stirred the chaos, and Jeonghan... you lit the match in the center of the room.”

There was a brief pause. Then Jaehyun’s gaze sharpened even more.

“Let’s hope you’re ready to handle the fire.”

Jeonghan’s lips curled into a slow smirk. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Jaehyun leaned back. “I like your tactic. Bold and dangerous.”

“That’s what we aim for,” Seungcheol replied easily, eyes still on the screen.

The call ended, the orb dimming softly.

Silence settled in the room for a heartbeat—then:

“Oh my god,” Seokmin groaned, “can we never talk about my arms with my mom ever again?”

“Too late,” Jisoo cackled. “She’s making merch.”

Wonwoo leaned forward, calm as ever. “There’s already a group chat.”

The entire room broke into laughter as Mingyu faceplanted into a throw pillow.

Jeonghan stood, stretching his arms behind his head, loose and satisfied.

“Alright,” he said with a smile. “Let’s write it down. Every look, every whisper, every reaction. This game’s just starting.”

Seungcheol rose beside him, hand brushing against Jeonghan’s.

“We’re not just players anymore,” he added.

Jeonghan’s grin turned sly. “We’re the board.”

******

The six of them entered the War Room as if they were preparing for battle—because they were.

Gone were the fancy outfits and the scandalous makeup. All of them were now in sleek, academy-issued black uniforms, tailored and crisp. The room was already buzzing with soft hums of magic, blue holographic light flickering in the air like constellations forming in real time.

Wonwoo and Mingyu were at the control panel, standing shoulder to shoulder. Their fingers gliding effortlessly across the magical interface as a large holographic map formed in the center of the room, sectioned off into six major nation clusters, each containing floating portraits of students—24 in total, faces shifting, some smirking, some passive, some confused.

“Everyone who matters from last night,” Wonwoo said calmly.

“We’ve grouped them by interaction levels,” Mingyu added. “Those who approached, those who watched, and those who avoided.”

“Also color-coded,” Wonwoo said, turning to gesture at the screen.

Jisoo and Seokmin were at the left panel, syncing their memories with the Re-Enactment Crystal, a shimmering orb embedded into the wall. One by one, holograms of key moments from the party began to appear midair—blurry, magical reconstructions of laughter, side-glances, dancing pairs, whispers in corners.

Jisoo smirked. “We even got the lap dance.”

Seokmin groaned. “You said you wouldn’t bring that up again.”

“I lied.”

In the corner, seated at the crescent table like dark royalty, Jeonghan and Seungcheol sat side-by-side, flipping open their pink bunny notebooks with deadly precision. Despite the childish covers, their pages were filled with painstakingly organized notes, timelines, and behavioral observations. Jeonghan had even drawn hearts around the names of their most easily manipulated targets.

“Ready,” Jeonghan said softly, clicking his pen.

“Always,” Seungcheol replied, leaning back casually.

The door opened.

Professor Kwon stepped inside.

He didn’t speak immediately—just stood there with his arms crossed, scanning the room. His eyes moved from holograms to scribbled notes, to the glowing reenactments playing across the far wall. His gaze stopped on Seungcheol’s blonde hair for a split second before moving on.

He exhaled, loud and low.

“I was furious this morning.”

The room stayed silent.

“But I watched the replays.”

He stepped closer to the center, nodding slowly.

“And I watched the headlines. Then I watched the way the other nations are scrambling to revise their strategies.”

He turned to Jeonghan.

“You orchestrated this?”

Jeonghan didn’t smile. Not yet. “With help,” he said, gesturing to the others. “But yes.”

Professor Kwon nodded, slow and deliberate. “Then explain.”

Jeonghan stood up, flipping a page in his notebook. Seungcheol leaned forward, eyes gleaming with quiet pride.

“We designed our appearance to be unpredictable,” Jeonghan began. “We arrived late to control the narrative of our entrance. From the moment the doors opened, every step, smile, and glance was calculated.”

He clicked his pen again, pointing at the hologram.

“We made ourselves look like exactly what they wanted to see—distracted, scandalous, emotional. Infiltrated their comfort zone.”

Seungcheol leaned in. “Meanwhile, we memorized names, watched alliances form, identified weak links.”

Jisoo added, “And we played into stereotypes. I danced like a prince who couldn’t care less. They’ll think I’m shallow.”

Seokmin chimed in. “I talked too much. They'll underestimate me. Easy.”

Mingyu smirked. “I looked hot and dumb. Classic combo.”

Wonwoo didn’t speak—but highlighted a few profiles on the hologram, causing them to glow red.

Professor Kwon raised a brow. “And those?”

“Students who asked too many questions,” Wonwoo said flatly. “They’re analysts. Future spies. They're the ones who didn’t fall for it.”

Jeonghan circled those names in his notebook. “They’ll be our biggest problem later.”

Professor Kwon gave a low, impressed whistle.

“You turned a ballroom into a battlefield.”

He walked slowly to the center of the room, letting his hand brush through the floating projections of dancing bodies, laughter, and shadows whispering in corners.

“I won’t ask for an apology. Not anymore.”

He looked at all six of them. “But understand this: they’ll come for you next. Not because you’re beautiful, or talented, or scandalous—”

He paused, eyes narrowing.

“—but because you’ve become a threat.”

Seungcheol smirked. “That was the point.”

Jeonghan finally smiled. “Let them come.”

Professor Kwon shook his head, half exasperated, half amused.

“Fine. Prepare your next moves. But be careful.”

As he turned to leave, he paused at the door.

“And Jeonghan,” he added, “lose the notebook cover. You're scaring the staff.”

The door closed.

Jeonghan just giggled. “As if I’d ever.”

Notes:

sooooo this might be my last update before the weekend ◕⩊◕ but do not worry, I am already editing the next 2 chapters so that I can update probably on Sunday night. Also, I just posted a new fic titled Long Live! ✧*｡٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و✧*｡ If you are looking for royalty jeongcheol fic then this fic is for you! The updates for this fic will be constant just like Aurora ٩(ˊᗜˋ )و so hope you enjoy my new fic just as much as Aurora! Love y’all ♥️
P.S if y’all want to chatter with me, you can talk to me in X, my account is @jeongcheolkkuma 🥰

Chapter 18: The Calm Before The War

Notes:

Surprise!! ٩(ˊᗜˋ )و I said in the last chapter that there should be 1-2 chapters more before the tournament but I just “rearranged” some chapters.. 〜(꒪꒳꒪)〜 it took me awhile to post this chapter because I actually re-read my whole drafts and I have decided to move some chapters later. This was so exciting to write so I hope enjoy the introduction for The Tournament!
P.S Let's all stream Happy Burstday!

Days passed, but for the Elite 6, the passage of time was nothing more than measured strategy.

Their lives had become a rotation of grueling combat drills, hours of psychological conditioning, and deep, tactical simulations. Weakness was eradicated, flaws patched over, and any emotional imbalance was dissected and rebuilt.

They trained until exhaustion stopped feeling like a limit. They memorized every possible rule, variation, and loophole.
 They became not just players of the game—
 They became the game itself.

And now, they are ready.

******

6:00 AM.

 The sky was still painted with soft lavender hues as a glossy, silver bullet train hummed quietly at the academy’s private station. A fleet of staff stood perfectly lined up in formation, heads bowed, luggage perfectly packed, tea warm, breakfast prepared, rooms scented faintly with calming florals.

The six arrived wordlessly—there was no need for dramatic entrances now.

They walked together, but they didn’t need to speak.
 Because now, even silence bent to their will.

They entered the train.

Mingyu and Jisoo, still half-asleep and bundled in soft black robes, immediately collapsed into their luxury suite, drawing the blackout curtains shut.

Mingyu, before disappearing into bed:
 “Wake me up before we hit bloodshed.”

Jisoo already murmuring, “Unless someone’s dying, don’t disturb me.”

Seokmin and Seungcheol went straight to the gilded dining car, plates already waiting—eggs, toast, and fresh fruit. Seungcheol cracked jokes in a hushed voice while Seokmin downed a glass of protein shake like it was holy water.

Meanwhile, in the private observation deck, Jeonghan and Wonwoo sat side by side, sipping hot tea in pristine white porcelain.
 Their reflections danced faintly on the wide glass windows as the world outside rushed by in soft blurs.
 Neither of them spoke for the first ten minutes.

Then, Jeonghan softly said,
 “Today is arrival. Tomorrow, the real games begin.”

Wonwoo only nodded.

******

Day One – Arrival

By noon, the bullet train glided into The Capitol.
 It was grand. Towering spires kissed the sky, intricate bridges crisscrossed glowing rivers, and floating platforms hovered high above. Flags of every nation lined the glass dome of the Tournament Complex.

Civilians, students, nobles, and elites lined the wide boulevards to witness the entrance of champions.

The Elite 6 descended from the train like they owned the tracks.

Their outfits were identical—sleek black with accents of deep crimson. No logos, no sigils.

Just custom matching rings that shimmered gold under the Capitol sun.

The crowd whispered, but it wasn’t fear.

It was confusion.
 It was awe.

Because for the first time in years, six representatives from the enigmatic Nation 4 looked…

Calm.

Composed.

Deadly.

They moved like a shadow with one heartbeat.
 Even the media—hungry vultures—hesitated to ask questions.

 

 

Day Two – Welcome Ceremony

The Great Hall of the Capitol was a crystalline cathedral of mirrors and light. The banners of all five nations hung proudly. Every nation’s champions sat at their long tables, but all eyes drifted constantly to the six seated at the heart of it all.

Jeonghan sat in the center of their table, like a prince prepared to burn the throne.
 Seungcheol to his right, eyes hooded, hair slicked back.
 Wonwoo to his left, emotionless but eternally observant.
 Jisoo, leaning back with elegance.
 Seokmin, all smiles and mischief in his gaze.
 And Mingyu, licking the rim of his wine glass while scanning the room like a hunter in velvet.

They didn’t do anything.
 They just existed—

and it shook the balance of the room.

 

At exactly midday, the President of the Capitol stepped forward on the elevated platform.

“Welcome,” he began, his voice echoing across the marble hall. “To the opening of this year’s Grand Tournament. A test of strength, strategy, skill… and survival.”

He looked at every nation one by one, offering small nods, until his gaze landed on the Elite 6 of Nation 4.

And paused.

Something unreadable passed over his expression.

They were not who he expected.
 They were something… else.

Unflinching.
 Unapologetic.
 Uncontrollable.

His eyes lingered on Jeonghan the longest.

Jeonghan met his stare.

Calm.

Cold.

 Then… he smirked.

Just a little.

Enough to provoke.

The President didn’t flinch, but he registered it.
 A moment. A checkmate in a room full of kings.

Another pawn in Jeonghan’s game.

 

 

The President continued, though his tone shifted.

“You are not just here to represent your nations. You are here to define them.”

Applause followed, thunderous and echoing.

But in the center of it all, six didn’t clap.

They sat still.

Because they already knew something the rest did not.

They didn’t come to represent.
 They came to rule.

 

 

Day Three.

 Two days before stepping into the lion’s den.
 The Capitol felt heavier, as if the earth itself braced for what was to come.

Today is the day all 30 students would be tested. Not through strategy or wit—but through power.

Raw, undeniable power.

This isn’t about control.
 This is about fear.

The test that determines how dangerous a student is.
 How threatening.
 How irreplaceable.

Each would be ranked—from 1 to 5.

 5 meant lethal. Unpredictable. Possibly untouchable.
 And every high-ranking student would become both an asset—

and a target.

But Nation 4?

They didn’t flinch.

While the others whispered nervously in corners or sat with eyes wide open and fists clenched, the six from Nation 4 were... relaxed.

They occupied an entire velvet-lined bench in the waiting chamber like it was their living room.

Mingyu was sprawled out, legs crossed and arms behind his head. “How much you wanna bet one of those Nation 3 brats cries before they even activate their power?”

Seokmin, tossing grapes into his mouth with precision, snorted. “I'll bet ten gold coins that the girl from Nation 5 faints again. She looked ready to drop at breakfast.”

Wonwoo was silent, flipping through a small, leather-bound book as if reviewing tactics instead of preparing for a magical interrogation.

Jisoo tapped the floor rhythmically with his boots, humming some upbeat song. “If someone dares ask me to go easy on them just because I ‘look sweet,’ I’m throwing them into a hallucination loop for three hours. Minimum.”

Seungcheol stood by the grand archway, arms folded. His new blonde hair practically glowed under the magical chandeliers.

His presence alone drew side glances, hushed whispers, and more than one gaze of quiet intimidation.

And Jeonghan?

 Jeonghan was lounging sideways on the armrest, lazily flipping the pages of his pink bunny notebook. Scribbling something. Doodling maybe. Or planning something. Always planning.

“Does anyone remember what ranking I got during the mock trials back home?” he asked casually.

“Five,” Wonwoo answered without looking up.

“Oh good,” Jeonghan muttered, and continued writing. “Consistency is important.”

Jisoo leaned toward Seokmin who is currently massaging Jisoo's hands, whispering loud enough for everyone to hear, “Do you think Jeonghan’s notebook actually has plans in it, or is it just doodles of Seungcheol’s face?”

Jeonghan didn’t even look up. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Laughter bubbled up between them, even as tension climbed around the room.

Outside their bubble, the air was suffocating.

Students were pacing. Breathing shallow. Holding hands. One from Nation 2 was muttering spells repeatedly like a mantra.

And in the corner of it all, the six from Nation 4 sat like the eye of a storm—calm, quiet, and deadly.

Then—
 A voice rang out, clear and commanding:

“Nation 4. Standby.”

The world slowed for a second.

Jeonghan closed his notebook. Clicked his pen.
 Seungcheol glanced over his shoulder, smirking faintly.

The six stood in perfect sync, rising like a single body.
 Not one trembled. Not one hesitated.

Seungcheol looked at each of them, gaze solid.

“Show them what you’ve got.”

They nodded, stepping into place, side by side.

Wonwoo, bringing up the rear, glanced sideways at Jeonghan who is going first based on the alphabetical order.

“Lead the way.”

 

JEONGHAN

The doors shut behind him with a soft hiss. The room was cold—clinical—bathed in silvery magic light and carved obsidian walls. In the center, a glowing white circle shimmered beneath his boots.

Jeonghan stepped into it without hesitation.

Around him sat the most powerful figures in the Capitol—the elders of the Organization, representatives of each Nation, and at the center, the President himself.

All eyes locked onto him.

Some curious. Some indifferent.

Others already judging him by his flawless skin and porcelain face.

He could feel it—the weight of being underestimated.

But Jeonghan didn’t fidget.
 Didn’t flinch.
 He just… stared.

Cold, detached.

Watching them like they were insects beneath a glass dome.

Minutes passed.

The silence in the room grew heavy. One elder shifted uncomfortably. Another coughed. The President arched a brow, tilting his head.

Still, Jeonghan did nothing. Just stood there.

Finally, the President leaned forward and said, voice echoing with subtle authority,

“Aren’t you going to show us something, Mr. Jeonghan?”

A snide, wheezing laugh erupted from the far end of the table. An old man with a jeweled cane and wrinkled sneer.

“Darling,” he said with venomous glee, “your pretty face might be lethal—but it won’t save you in the game.”

Jeonghan blinked once, then gave him a smile.
 Not a warm one.

Not even sarcastic.
 Just… amused.

“Thank you,” Jeonghan said sweetly, “for the backhanded compliment.”

A few of the observers chuckled. The old man scowled.

Then, Jeonghan tilted his head and asked softly,

“Tell me… do you feel something different?”

Some exchanged glances. The room tensed, unsure what he meant.

“Look around you,” Jeonghan continued, taking a slow step forward. “Something’s… off, isn’t it?”

The elders looked again.

A spoon on the table—gold, not silver.
 A plate of fruit that wasn’t there seconds ago.
 One of the examiners wore mismatched shoes.
 The air smelled faintly of lavender—when none had entered the room.
 A younger elder jolted in his seat, noticing his reflection in the crystal walls was smiling when he wasn’t.

Paranoia flickered.

Confusion rippled.

Some began to rise from their chairs.

“Are you wasting our time?” one barked.

“I’m not,” Jeonghan replied calmly, “you are.”

He smiled again, this time with fangs behind it.

“You're already under my ability,” he said simply. “All of you. You’ve been inside it since the moment I walked through that door.”

The silence turned into fear.

“This is a pocket hallucination,” Jeonghan continued. “Everything you’re experiencing right now is mine. Crafted. Precise. Controlled.”

“Like a shared daydream—except you’ll never know what’s real or what’s mine.”

Gasps.

Eyes widened.

Chairs scraped back.

“I could trap you here,” he said, his tone still light, still playful. “Loop this illusion forever. You’d eat, sleep, breathe in a world of my making. And you wouldn’t even know it.”

“But I won’t.” He looked bored now. “Where’s the fun in that?”

And then—he snapped his fingers.

In a blink, the room shifted back. The spoon was silver again. The shoes matched. The fruit disappeared. The air returned to sterile cold.

But the unease lingered.

Some elders still checked their reflections. One man whispered a protection spell under his breath. And the old man with the cane? He sat frozen, eyes wide, his fingers trembling slightly.

Jeonghan bowed politely, a lock of his pale hair falling into his face.

“Easy,” he said, straightening up. “And no sweat.”

The President leaned back, clearly amused.

His fingers tapped once on the table.
 There was no laughter now.
 Only tension—and deep, deep respect disguised as silence.

The moment Jeonghan left the room, one elder whispered, “What did he score?”

Another answered without pause, “Five. Without a doubt.”

As the heavy doors shut behind him, muffling the lingering tension of the room, Jeonghan’s expression softened.

He exhaled slowly, the smallest ghost of fatigue flickering in his eyes.

He made it look effortless.

He always did.

But it wasn’t.

Not even close.

As he walked down the corridor, his thoughts drifted back—
 —to all those nights alone in the east wing of the academy.
 To the candles burned down to the wax, to the torn pages of spellbooks, to the dried blood on his nose after pushing too far.
 To the migraines, the isolation, the whispers of doubt gnawing at the back of his skull.

Daydreaming.

It sounded so harmless.
 So delicate.
 But to bend perception—to place minds inside a loop so subtle it felt like reality—that required power, patience, and precision.

He still hadn’t mastered it.

Not fully.

Some nights, the illusions collapsed on themselves.

Sometimes, he couldn't pull people back.
 Sometimes, he couldn’t pull himself back.

Jeonghan clenched his jaw.

He never thought he’d use it here.

Not in the Test.

Maybe not even in the Tournament.

It was a last-resort kind of weapon, unpredictable, still full of gaps.

But that was the point.

The Game Masters expected spectacle.

Power. Flames and lightning and brute force.
 They didn’t expect subtle chaos.

So he gave them exactly that.

A well-placed seed of fear.
 Doubt.
 The kind that grows.

Jeonghan smiled faintly to himself.

They wouldn’t sleep well tonight.

And that was exactly what he wanted.

 

JISOO

Jeonghan was already reclined on the plush velvet couch, sipping on his warm tea, when the ornate doors opened again. He didn’t even look—he simply smiled to himself.

He knew.
 Jisoo is next.

Inside the test chamber, Jisoo stepped in gracefully, bowing politely to the elders, the president, and the seated evaluators. His smile glowed as if sunlight itself bent in his presence. He radiated kindness, innocence. Spring in human form.

But illusions didn’t always need magic.

The observers adjusted their notes, some intrigued, others skeptical. Still riding the unnerving aftershock of Jeonghan’s quiet chaos, no one dared speak just yet.

Jisoo stood still.
 Smiling.
 Saying nothing.

But his eyes swept the room. Then—locked onto the President.
 A single, laser-focused gaze.

The seconds ticked.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Then—without warning—the President bolted up from his seat, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape.

He rushed forward, past the guards, past protocol, past his own pride—his palms slammed against the thick glass of the viewing window.

“Younhee!” he screamed, voice hoarse, unhinged.

Gasps rippled across the room like a wave.

“Younhee—wait! Please!” His fists pounded the glass. “Don’t go, not again—please don’t—!”

Security moved in fast, but they didn’t dare touch him yet.

This man had never broken decorum in decades. And now he was falling to pieces in front of them.

In the center of the room, Jisoo’s smile never faded.
 His posture never shifted.
 He simply...existed.

Then, like a wind exhaling through a garden of blooming flowers, Jisoo closed his eyes. The golden aura surrounding him gently receded.

The president blinked. The vision was gone.

Silence reigned.

Still shaken, the President stared at his trembling hands. Tears clung to his lashes.

Jisoo finally spoke.

"Mr. President," he said softly, with that same warm glow,
 "Greatest love or greatest fear?"
 "Is there really a difference?"

And with that, he gave a respectful bow.

And smiled. Again.

Then he turned, walking out as if he hadn’t just shattered the most powerful man in the nation.

 

 

In the waiting room, Jeonghan looked up just as the doors flung open.

Jisoo entered with a skip in his step, his expression triumphant.

“I made the President cry.” He beamed, throwing his arms around Jeonghan like an excited child.

Jeonghan chuckled, gently patting the back of Jisoo’s head.
 “Good job.”

No drama.

No shock.
 This was always part of the plan.

Now it is Mingyu’s turn.

And they are only getting started.

 

MINGYU

The doors creaked open again and this time it is Mingyu’s turn.

He stepped inside, tall and commanding even in his casual posture, yet something about the way he scratched the back of his neck and shuffled his feet screamed golden retriever energy.

The entire evaluation panel looked at him—his wide shoulders, the messy strands of hair he barely brushed back, and the way he awkwardly bowed a little too low.

“Sorry,” Mingyu said, blinking, “this is the first time I skipped breakfast.”

The entire room erupted into laughter.

Even one of the elders chuckled under his breath. Charming.

Some guards visibly relaxed.

Some of the older evaluators were already thinking, Ah, he’s the muscle of the group. Brute force. A little slow, maybe.

 Exactly how he wanted it.

Mingyu stood in the center of the circle, remembering what Wonwoo told him before he walked in.

“Charm them first, then scare the hell out of them.”

So he did.

He gave them a sheepish smile and casually said, “Care to join me for a trip to the sun?”

The amusement turned to confusion.

Then curiosity.

Without fanfare, Mingyu rolled up his sleeves. His fingers twitched.

A small flicker of flame danced on his palm.
 Another.
 Another.

Then his arms were lined with spiraling, rotating orbs of fire—gentle at first, like lanterns, but then…

The room shook.
 The floor rumbled beneath their feet.

Hairline cracks spread across the white marble tiles under his boots.

Someone gasped.

A vase on the corner shelf melted into a puddle of warped porcelain.

One of the magic barriers buzzed. The air warped from the heat, like standing at the edge of a volcano’s mouth.

Several people removed their heavy robes. A few beads of sweat dropped from the brows of even the highest-ranked elders. A fireproof rune on the wall flickered.

Still, Mingyu smiled like he was on a picnic.

He took a deep breath, gathering more fire in his chest—about to push it further.

But the President stood abruptly and raised a hand.

“That’s enough.”

Just like that, Mingyu blinked, and all the heat vanished.

The room went cold.

Silent.

He lowered his arms. The flames winked out like dying stars.

Then he grinned boyishly, dimples flashing like nothing just happened.
 “Next time, I’ll take you somewhere else!”

And with that, he gave a clumsy bow and skipped out.

 

He returned to the waiting area where Jeonghan and Jisoo were lounging on the couch.

Without a word, Mingyu went straight to the banquet table and stacked two plates full of food.

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, “You melted someone’s ring in there, didn’t you?”

Jisoo burst out laughing, clapping. “He definitely did.”

Mingyu shrugged with a mouthful of eggs. “Told you. Fire’s a love language.”

 

SEOKMIN

Seokmin entered the room like a ray of sunshine—all eye-smiles, soft energy, and disarming warmth that made him instantly lovable.

Even before he could speak, an elderly woman leaned toward one of her fellow council members and whispered, “What a handsome lad.”

Seokmin heard it, of course. He smiled wider and gave her a wink that made her chuckle.

Then he spoke, his tone still playful but oddly foreboding.

“I think all of you need to put your robes back on…”
 He tilted his head, grinning,
 “…you’ll need it.”

For a moment, there was confusion.

And then—

The temperature dropped.

Fast.

A visible fog spread across the floor, curling around their ankles. The warmth that had lingered after Mingyu’s performance was now gone, replaced by an unnatural, creeping cold.

The food on the table began to freeze.

Drinks iced over in real time. The edges of chairs crystallized, and a thin layer of frost coated the glass windows.

From the four corners of the room, frost webs slithered across the walls—like the entire space was being devoured by winter.

Still smiling brightly, Seokmin raised his hands.

They shimmered with cold mist, and in a flash, they were holding sleek, needle-sharp daggers of ice, almost transparent, almost beautiful.

“This,” he said cheerfully, as if giving a presentation on his favorite hobby,
 “is my favorite weapon out of all.”

He spun one of the daggers in his fingers like it was nothing. Then the other.

The air turned bitter. Painfully dry. A deep winter cold that gnawed at bones.

Guards near the exits were visibly shivering now. Some clenched their jaws and tried to stay composed, but one of them subtly tapped a heating rune on his belt.

Two of the elders sitting closest to Seokmin raised their hands—lips tinged with violet.

Hypothermia was settling in.

That was when the President raised a single hand.

“Stop.”

In an instant, it was over.

The air returned to normal.

The food thawed. The ice withdrew into nothingness like it had never been there at all.

Seokmin smiled as if he had just finished singing a happy tune. Then, as a final touch, he held out his hand—

and formed a single, delicate flower made of ice, shaped like a lily, veins glowing faintly with his magic.

He placed it on the table and bowed deeply.

“Thank you for the time. I hope you enjoyed the cold.”

And with that, he exited the room, not a single trace of menace in his expression.

 

 

In the lounge, Jisoo leapt from the couch and threw his arms around him.

“Good job, Min.”

Seokmin chuckled, hugging him back tightly and kissing Jisoo's temple. “I nearly gave one of them frostbite.”

Jeonghan, sipping tea nearby, glanced over. “You gave all of them a reason to fear pretty things.”

Seokmin grinned. “Just like we planned.”

 

SEUNGCHEOL

Seungcheol stood up from the lounge, cracking his neck slightly, then gently tapped Wonwoo on the shoulder.

Wonwoo gave him a subtle glance and a small, knowing smile.

"Show them your best friend."

Seungcheol grinned, the kind that made people feel like they were in danger without realizing it.

He walked toward the testing chamber with an easy gait, radiating calm—but beneath it, something darker stirred.

And it wasn’t just his nerves.

 

Inside the room, before he even said a word, whispers began.

"That’s Headmaster Choi’s son…"
 "He dyed his hair blonde?"
 "Isn’t he the rumored top candidate of Nation 4?"

The President himself leaned forward in his chair, curiosity evident in his eyes. The room was warm with anticipation—and a little arrogance.

Until the air changed.

It didn’t turn cold.

It turned empty.

Seungcheol stepped into the center, closed his eyes for a beat, and exhaled.
 His shadow moved.

At first, it was subtle—just a stretch across the floor. But then, it began to rise. Formless and black, dripping with power, a specter pulled from his soul. A black figure towering behind him, faceless but impossibly aware.

The silence was instant.

The lights flickered once.

The room, already cold from Seokmin, now felt dead. Not freezing. Not dark.

Just—void.
 The kind of emptiness people don’t speak about in fear of summoning it.

The shadow glided toward the thick glass wall separating the candidates from the examiners.

And then—it went through.

Gasps.

Chaos.

One of the guards stepped forward, hand glowing, ready to attack. But the President held up a hand, too intrigued to stop the scene just yet.

The shadow was now in front of the President.

It didn’t touch him.
 It didn’t speak.
 But the President’s hand twitched.

His skin paled.

Something was being pulled from him. Not physically—but something deeper.

His light, his warmth, his certainty.

Seungcheol spoke, calm and firm:

“Just observe. Do not attack.”

The shadow stilled.

It obeyed.

But around them, nature did not survive the encounter.

The once-beautiful plants adorning the chamber? Wilted, blackened.

The lavish food, glimmering with wealth and magic moments ago? Decayed into rot.

The chandelier’s glow flickered and dulled.

Someone in the back muttered, just loud enough to be heard:

“A forbidden ability… Is this even allowed?”

Seungcheol didn’t flinch.

He simply raised a hand, and the shadow returned to him like smoke being sucked into a flame—silent, smooth, and still hungry.

He straightened his jacket, then looked around the room, voice even:

“My shadow saw souls here that are no longer worthy of being sheltered.”

 A pause.

 “It usually consumes them.”

 A small smile.
 “But today, we show mercy. Who knows what tomorrow brings?”

With that, he bowed deeply.

As he exited the room, no one dared whisper again.

 

Jeonghan was already standing.

The moment Seungcheol stepped back into the waiting lounge, Jeonghan walked straight to him and embraced him without hesitation.

No smirk.

No smugness.

Just silence.

Because they all knew—
 This power came with a price.

And even Jeonghan, who planned everything, had feared this part.

Seungcheol rested his chin on Jeonghan’s shoulder for a second longer than necessary.

“I almost lost control,” he murmured, quiet enough only for Jeonghan.

Jeonghan pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.

“But you didn’t.”
 “And they’ll remember that.”

They both turned to face the direction of the chamber again—because next was the one who didn’t need shadows, heat, or illusions.

The one who was always watching.

Wonwoo.

 

WONWOO

The moment the doors closed behind him, the room dropped into silence once again.

He walked in slow, unbothered steps—calm, composed, glasses still perched neatly on his nose. As he stepped into the center of the evaluation circle, his movements were ghostlike, like a thought that slipped through the cracks of someone’s mind.

He could still hear Mingyu’s voice echoing in his head.

“You’ll be the last person in our group that they’ll grade. Make sure they remember you.”

He stopped. Looked up.

And then, he removed his glasses.

At first, nothing happened.

Then, his eyes opened fully—and the room shifted.

A slow, collective inhale filled the chamber as everyone realized—Wonwoo wasn’t looking at them. He was seeing through them.

His pupils shimmered with a silver-blue glow, almost unnatural, sharp like polished steel.

The X-ray vision activated.

In his line of sight, the President, the elders, the guards—everyone’s internal systems were exposed. Arteries. Veins. Bones. Muscle fibers twitching. The exact rhythm of heartbeats, the dilated pupils, the blood pressure—everything laid bare.

And Wonwoo just watched.

Studied.

One of the elders shifted in their seat, uncomfortable. Another began to sweat profusely. One of the guards at the edge of the room instinctively covered his chest, as if trying to shield himself from the intensity of that gaze.

Then—

Wonwoo moved.

He stepped toward the glass. Raised his hand. And gently tapped the surface.

Just one finger.

Instantly, one of the guards collapsed—not hurt, not dead—frozen. His heart rate dropped dangerously low.

People stood in alarm.

Wonwoo didn’t flinch.

He turned slightly, now walking past each of the evaluators, his glowing eyes landing on each of them briefly—enough for them to feel it. Not just his stare, but the sense of being dissected.

Of being held in his hands.

He could rupture them.

Tear open veins. Collapse lungs. Stop hearts.

All with a single touch.

And yet—he didn’t.

He walked back to the center, knelt beside the collapsed guard, placed a hand softly on his chest.

And the man inhaled sharply—revived.
 Color returned to his cheeks.

“Balance,” Wonwoo said softly. “That’s what my ability is.”

“I can destroy you in one second…”
 He glanced back up, eyes still glowing.
 “…and bring you back in two.”

For a moment, no one moved.

Even the President looked rattled.
No illusions.

No fire.
No shadows.
Just truth.
Clinical. Quiet. Terrifying.

Then, with a gentle blink, the light in Wonwoo’s eyes faded. He placed his glasses back on.

The room felt normal again.
Almost.

But everyone knew—it wouldn’t ever be normal with him around.

He bowed, effortlessly polite.

And left.

 

As he re-entered the lounge, all five of his teammates were already standing.

Jisoo greeted him with a silent smile.

Mingyu handed him a cold drink like they hadn’t just almost redefined power.

Jeonghan nodded once—appreciation in his eyes.

Seokmin and Seungcheol flanked either side of the hallway, their postures protective.

Six weapons.
Six wolves.
Six Nation 4 legends in the making.

Wonwoo took a sip of the drink, then looked at the group and said—

“I hope they remember us.”

Jeonghan smirked.
 “Oh, they will.”

******

The six of them returned to the Nation 4 common room—a lavish space carved out in white marble, warm light, and luxury laced with silence. It would’ve been peaceful, if not for the man standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed, his stare sharp as ever.

Professor Kwon.

He looked at each of them, eyes darting from one to the next like he was scanning for injuries or signs of instability. His face unreadable.

 "Your parents are arriving this afternoon for the final interviews. But first…"

 He paused.
 "What happened to the test chamber?"

A long silence.

Then—Jeonghan shrugged, dramatically flopping onto the plush velvet couch.
 "I gave them a lovely little dream. They should thank me for the vacation."

Jisoo, already tugging off his shoes, added sweetly,
 "I made the President cry. I’m proud of that one."

Mingyu raised his hand like a student.
 "I… might have melted half the room. But in my defense, I hadn’t eaten anything yet."

Seokmin clapped his hands together.
 "I just wanted them to feel the cold. Not my fault their bones almost froze."

Seungcheol smirked as he stretched.
 "My shadow was hungry. I told it to behave. It only killed the plants."

Everyone turned to Wonwoo, who calmly poured himself a glass of tea.
 "I showed them balance. That’s all."

Professor Kwon just stared at them.
 Blinking.

Then he sighed.

 "I don’t know why all six of you are walking time bombs with high cheekbones and tragic backstories, but…"
 He pinched the bridge of his nose, then let his hand fall.
 "Just know that I trust all of you. No matter what they saw today."

It was rare—his praise, his honesty. But it was there.

And it was enough.

The moment softened. Mingyu and Seokmin grinned at each other. Jisoo twirled in place, imagining a runway. Jeonghan leaned against Seungcheol, who instinctively pulled him closer.

Professor Kwon gestured toward the hallway.

 "You’ll be escorted to the styling suites. Final interviews are in two hours. And your parents will be watching—so try not to traumatize them too much."

Jisoo gasped.
 "Finally! An outfit change!"
 He clapped his hands in joy, nearly dragging Seokmin with him.

Maids and butlers swarmed in, already holding garment bags, cases of accessories, and soft brushes for hair and skin. Nation 4 didn’t just dominate with power—they dominated with presence.

Wonwoo adjusted his cufflinks.
 Seungcheol slipped on his ring.
 Jeonghan simply said,
 "Let’s give them a show."

Notes:

This chapter is heavily inspired and similar to the hunger games when katniss and peeta were graded for their skills and just gave my own twists with their powers °\(^▿^)/° also remember when I asked y’all who is your favorite character so far and to tell y’all the truth, wonwoo is my favorite character here (╥_╥) and I was so happy when I thought about his ability to connect it with his eyeglasses and eyesight because it just fits him so much.
ANYWAYS, one last thing, I will have a long vacation leave this week soooo I might have the time to finish this fic till next Monday ◦°˚\(*❛ ‿ ❛)/˚°◦ I am going to travel but I will still have a lot of time sooo no promises but I might finish this by next week and I will also continue to update my other fic Long Live and I am currently drafting another jeongcheol fic and it is angst this time (￢‿￢ )

Chapter 19: The Final Interview

Notes:

Hiiii! I still can’t believe my first baby has now over 1K hits ( ˘ ³˘)♥ Let’s continue streaming Thunder and the whole album! Enjoy chapter 19! (ﾉ>ω<)ﾉ :｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

Over an hour of preparation later, the six elites of Nation 4 stood side by side, dressed in sleek all-black ensembles. Their tailored silhouettes mirrored each other’s elegance—sharp collars, black gloves, combat boots for some, heeled boots for others—and on each of their fingers, a matching obsidian ring, like a quiet promise of unity.

The venue was grand. Glass chandeliers floated midair. A long semicircle of couches awaited them, placed before a massive crystal screen, behind which stood the Main Host—a famed personality known across all Nations for their cutting questions and unforgiving charm. Behind the screen, the council, dignitaries, sponsors, and most importantly—the cameras.

Their butler bowed and gestured them forward.

Jeonghan led them in. Calm. Precise. A smirk on his lips.
 Jisoo followed, glowing, like starlight with edge.
 Mingyu and Seokmin, heads high, charm already oozing from their very steps.
 Seungcheol and Wonwoo, always unreadable, always ten steps ahead.

They took their seats like it was their throne.

But before the first question could even echo through the hall, a memory stirred—
 A flashback, six hours back, on the bullet train.

 

Flashback — On the Train to The Capitol

 Cabin softly swaying. Early morning light spilling in.
 Jeonghan sat cross-legged with his pink notebook spread open. Pages littered with notes, highlighted words, and what looked like a doodle of the host with devil horns,  "The Final Interview is like the Tour Q&A, but shorter, more focused, more... manipulative."

 Jisoo sat beside him, his iPad covered in sparkly star stickers, a stylus in hand, his screen full of bullet points and color-coded tabs,  "They’ll want to provoke reactions, so never answer directly. If it’s too personal, we joke. If it’s strategic, we ask them something back."

 "We’ve listed the most likely questions. You’ll just tweak the answers based on your own image—just keep the tone consistent."

Mingyu flipped through the notebook and laughed out loud, "‘If you could kill anyone in the tournament, who would it be?’ Who wrote this!?"

Seokmin raised his hand, grinning, "Me. And the answer is ‘The chef who made the Capitol’s salad yesterday.’"

Jisoo and Jeonghan exchanged a proud nod.

Seungcheol barely skimmed the pages, "I'm just going to wing it."

Wonwoo gave him a side glance, "Of course you are."
 Still, he took the notebook and read in silence, already mentally rewriting answers in his own voice.

Jeonghan closed the notebook, "Whatever happens—never look unsure. Be vague, be dangerous, and most of all—be unforgettable."

 

Back in the present—

 The host gave their signature smile.
 Cameras turned. Lights glowed.

And just before the first question was asked, Jeonghan whispered, just loud enough for all five to hear:

"Showtime."

******

 

The lights dimmed, then flared to life.
 Cameras flashed. Magic orbs floated above the venue, capturing every angle.
 Nation 4 took the stage like a storm dressed in silk.
 Six figures in all black, rings gleaming under the soft glow.
Graceful, calm, dangerous.

They greeted the host with warm smiles—rehearsed, perfect, friendly.
 The crowd responded with applause, loud but… measured. Their parents were all seated in the audience, each face composed, but their eyes sharp. They knew the game.

They knew their children.

They clapped—but carefully.

The host, infamous across all Nations, stood poised in shimmering silver robes. Charming. Cutting. Always hunting for cracks.

 "Let’s not waste any more time. We have Nation 4 here with us—Jeonghan, Jisoo, Mingyu, Seokmin, Seungcheol, and Wonwoo. The infamous six. The Tour favorites. The whispers of this year’s Games."

The first question cut straight through.

 "All of you made an impression during The Tour. How are you handling that kind of fame?"

Jisoo, with a radiant smile and a tilt of his head, leaned forward, "Oh, fame is lovely, don’t get me wrong. But it’s mostly a lot of people asking me for skincare tips and sending me marriage proposals through magical doves."

 He paused, grinning. "To which I say… thank you. But I already have five people to take care of."
 The crowd laughed.

Jeonghan fake-blushed. Mingyu winked.

 "Now tell us about the outfits, the hairstyles, the fashion moments?"

Seokmin laughed before even speaking, "We… may have gone a little wild. My mom saw my outfit from the Tour and called me dramatic. Then said my biceps looked good. So I’m processing a lot right now."

 That earned laughter—and a proud nod from someone in the audience who was clearly Seokmin’s mom.

 "During the Ability Test, how did it feel to stand in front of the Elders and the President?"

This time, Jeonghan tilted his head, eyes calm, voice smooth.
 
 "I think power is often misunderstood. Everyone expects fire and thunder. But sometimes… it’s the silence that should scare you."

 A beat.

His smirk returned. "And we do love silence."

A hush washed over the room. The Host blinked, clearly unsettled—and delighted.

 "Wonwoo, you’ve been so quiet and calm since day one. Do you think that will help you in the Games?"

Wonwoo, as always, composed, looked directly at the host.
 
 "Calm is underrated. Most people make mistakes when they think they have the upper hand. I like to wait. I listen. Then I strike."

 His voice was soft, but his words echoed. The host sat straighter.

 "Going back to the Tour Night, there was talk of a small… scandal. Care to share?"

Seungcheol let out a breathy laugh, leaning into his mic, "If a kiss causes a scandal, wait ‘til they find out what we’re really capable of."

 The crowd gasps , scattered applause, one camera even zoomed in on the parents.

 "Mingyu—did you know I’ve heard from several trusted sources that a lot of people have a crush on you?"

Mingyu smiled wide, that dazzling, devastating kind, "Ah, love. The real battlefield. But thank you, I’ll try to survive the emotional damage."

 More laughter. Even Seokmin clapped.

 "Let’s talk about the Games. Are you nervous? Excited?"

Jeonghan barely blinked,  "We feel ready."

Gasps again.
Even some of the other Nation representatives were whispering.
 The host raised a brow but moved on.

 "Who do you think will have the most kills in your group?"

Mingyu, voice warm and steady, "Doesn’t matter. As long as it’s not one of us dying, we’re good."

 "Do you have any plans after the tournament?"

Jisoo immediately answered, a little too enthusiastic,  "Two days of sleep. Minimum. Then a full body massage, preferably with scented oils and background harp music."

 Everyone laughed. Even Jeonghan cracked a real smile.

 "Love? Is someone in the group pursuing someone?"

Wonwoo didn’t even pause, "I promised Jisoo’s dad I’d spill all the gossip after the Games. So if you want, you’re welcome to join us for tea. I’ll lay out everything—dates, drama, slow-burn glances. Front row seat."

The crowd lost it. Even the host had to take a second to wipe a tear from laughing.

Jeonghan glanced sideways at Wonwoo and gave the smallest nod.
 A nod that clearly means good job.

 "Well, I will definitely take you up on that. And there you have it—Nation 4: charming, terrifying, and somehow the most composed chaos I’ve ever witnessed."

The host turned to the crowd.

 "Let’s give it up once more for our final group of the evening. Nation 4."

Applause.
Flashing lights.

Magic sparks flaring around the stage.

The cameras turned off.

As they got off the stage, Jeonghan exhaled and muttered with a grin,
 "We should go into politics after this."

Jisoo already linking arms with Seokmin,  "Or fashion."

Mingyu chuckling, "Or both."

Seungcheol just draped his arm over Jeonghan’s shoulders, "We’re not even done with the Games yet."

Wonwoo now taking off his blazer,  "Exactly."

And just like that, Nation 4 exited—not like players—but legends in the making.

******

 

After the final interview, the six of them were immediately escorted backstage—back to reality, back to the waiting arms of their families.

The reunion was like sunlight after frost.

Seokmin’s mom pulled him into a bone-crushing hug, tears escaping her eyes.
 Mingyu’s mom and dad embraced their only son like a fragile glass.
 Jisoo’s father held his son’s face in both hands, murmuring, “You were brilliant. But I’m still watching you, remember that.”
 Wonwoo’s mother, quiet and elegant, simply held her son for a long time, her heartbeat steady against his.

Seungcheol’s father, Headmaster Choi, didn’t say much—he rarely did—but the rare pat on Seungcheol’s back meant everything.

Jeonghan, ever composed, was ready to slip away early. He always found reunions too loud, too crowded, too… unfiltered.

He turned to leave—

"HANNIE!"

A voice, small but bright, cut through the air like a firecracker wrapped in starlight.

Jeonghan stopped.
Froze.

Turned.

There she was. Jihyo.

Wearing a tiny black dress that shimmered when she moved, her long curls bouncing as she ran—arms wide open.

Jeonghan instinctively knelt, catching her mid-run and lifting her into his arms with practiced ease.

 "You look so pretty, Hannie!"

 "Well look who visited me!" His voice cracked just the tiniest bit.

Behind her stood Yeji and Jaehyun.

But something had changed.

There was no awkward air.
No heavy silences.

No sidelong glances.

Just… presence. Familiarity. Warmth.

Yeji, dressed in an elegant black cloak, stepped forward first, eyes already misty.

She gently reached for his hand "Jeonghan, you did great out there."

Jaehyun, usually reserved, nodded—this time, there was a softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, "You always kill it. Always have."

Jeonghan was stunned.

Not by the words, but by the feeling.
 This didn’t feel strained. Or fabricated.
 If someone saw them now, they wouldn’t think of trauma or unresolved pain.
 They’d just see a family of four.

His heart squeezed.

 "Jeonghan, I know this might sound strange but… please win the Games."

Jeonghan, caught off guard, blinked fast. His throat tightened.
 He nodded, voice barely above a whisper, "Do not worry… I don’t feel strange. At all."

Jaehyun stepped forward,  "We don’t want to give you anything to think about other than the Games."
 He placed a steady hand on Jeonghan’s shoulder,  "So promise us. You’ll come back. We’ll figure this out… after."

Jeonghan didn’t speak.

He just nodded.

And swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Jeonghan!”
 Seungcheol’s voice, calling from across the hall, bringing him back to the present.

Jeonghan turned to Jihyo, kissed the top of her head.

Then he looked at Yeji. At Jaehyun.
 And for the first time in a long time, he smiled without pretending.

 "We’ll be watching you… Hannie."

Jeonghan nodded again, eyes shining—but no tears fell. Not yet.

He turned. Walked away.
 But his heart?

A little heavier.
 A little fuller.

******

Jaehyun and Yeji stood frozen beneath the silver-washed sky, the wind tugging at their coats like an impatient child. Their eyes, rimmed with unshed tears, followed Jeonghan’s silhouette as he drifted farther from them—toward the other members.

Toward danger. Toward the unknown.

His frame, lit by the flickering lamplight of the training yard, stopped beside Seungcheol. The boy reached up, quietly tucking a loose strand of Jeonghan’s hair behind his ear. It was such a simple gesture—gentle, instinctive—but it made something inside Jaehyun splinter.

A hand tapped his shoulder.

“We need to trust them,” Headmaster Choi said quietly, his voice like gravel laced with regret. “Especially this time.”

Jaehyun let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

It trembled through his chest. “I already lost my child once, Sowoon…” His voice cracked. “Now that he’s right there—just within reach again—I can’t afford to lose him. Not again. And this time…” His throat tightened. “This time, it could be forever.”

Headmaster Choi didn’t reply right away. He glanced toward the distant figures—toward his own son, Seungcheol.

His expression tightened, jaw clenched with something he wasn’t saying. Finally, his voice came low but firm. “You’re not the only one who has a son with one foot in the grave right now. Seungcheol is entering the games too. And you know damn well how much I’ve sacrificed just to protect him. All the things I’ve done and gave up just to make sure he is safe.”

Before Jaehyun could respond, footsteps approached behind them.

It was Soohyun, Jisoo’s father, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. His eyes were heavy, tired, but resolute. “We’ve already talked about this,” he said, voice rough. “The best thing we can do now is give them our full support. Trust them. Trust that they’ll find a way to win. To survive.”

Yeji Yoon let out a strangled breath, and then the dam broke. Her shoulders shook as tears spilled freely down her cheeks, catching the moonlight like broken glass. “And when they come back…” she whispered. “When they learn the truth—about everything—do you really think they’ll be able to forgive us?”

A pause fell.

It was the kind of silence that settles only when there are no more lies left to comfort anyone.

The wind whistled through the trees.

Headmaster Choi turned away first. “What we did was for the best,” he said, almost to himself. “For all of them.”

But even as he walked off, his back unnaturally stiff, his hands clenched tight at his sides.

He closed his eyes.

Just for a moment.
As if that might blot out the memory—that memory—that still tore at him like a wound that wouldn’t scar.

“…Even if it hurts.”

Notes:

the last part.. 〜(꒪꒳꒪)〜 I mean it’s kinda obvious already but still we are going to have some flashbacks soon to understand more what the parents are talking about and AHHHHH we are now approaching the tournament day! I will do my best to write detailed action scenes but just a heads up, I really don’t know how to write those scenes and I just rely with what I have already seen in films in the past. I am also planning on posting a new fic soon so stay tuned for that! ✧*｡٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و✧*｡

Chapter 20: Longest Night

Notes:

AHHHHH we are officially one day before The Tournament and I am actually super nervous as if I am also going to the games to fight for my life (_　_|||) also, I just want to say a huge thank you to all people who always leave comments to my fics, I couldn’t reply to everyone of you but just so you know that it always makes me happy if someone is looking forward to my stories ( ˃̣̣̥o˂̣̣̥ ) with that being said, enjoy chapter 20!

It’s the last day before The Tournament.

And as cliché as it sounds, it’s officially their rest day.

But rest for Nation 4 doesn’t mean sleeping in or aimless lounging.
It means quiet company.

Gentle laughs.

The kind of silence that feels safe, earned.

The six of them are sprawled around the luxurious lounge room—sunlight soft through the tall glass windows, casting lazy golden shadows across the black leather couches and velvet rugs.

Mingyu and Seokmin are on the floor playing cards, constantly accusing each other of cheating even though the stakes are nonexistent.
 Jisoo is braiding Jeonghan’s hair while simultaneously giving Wonwoo unsolicited skincare advice.
 Seungcheol, legs propped up, is calmly re-reading his notebook, highlighter in hand, although everyone knows he’s memorized it cover to cover days ago.

The peace is broken by a firm knock and the familiar voice of Professor Kwon stepping in, holding a thin silver tablet in his hand.

 "Today might feel like a rest day… but it’s one of the most important ones."

They all look up, quiet.
Alert.

 "In a few hours, we’ll submit your official roles to the council. And tonight, they will announce your grades and the three bonus rules."

That got their full attention.

Professor Kwon continued, walking in and placing the tablet on the coffee table, "As always, the grades will be anonymous—just ability rankings per nation. The bonus rules will be drawn live tonight, which means we’ll need to adapt fast if it changes our original strategy."

Jisoo sighs, "I kind of love the drama of it all."

Wonwoo lazily looked at Jisoo,  "You love anything that comes with a live audience."

Jisoo chuckles as he finished the last strand of braid on Jeonghan’s hair, "Facts."

Jeonghan now stretching his arms wide,  "Let’s just pray none of the bonus rules mess with our formation."

 

 

A short while later, Nation 4 is called into the Submission Room—sterile and silent, lit only by floating orb lights.

Each of them steps forward to enter their roles into the official registry:

• Jeonghan – Seeker
  
  
• Jisoo – Deceiver (Crest Holder)
  
  
• Mingyu – Frontliner
  
  
• Seokmin – Frontliner
  
  
• Seungcheol – Fragger
  
  
• Wonwoo – Healer
  
  

No hesitation.

No doubt.

Everything had been planned.

With roles locked in, they return to the lounge, this time more focused. The earlier laughter softens into murmurs and strategy notes. Each of them skimming through mental maps, trigger rules, loopholes.

The air grows heavier as the announcement hour approaches.

The official ceremony begins, broadcasted on every screen in the Capitol.

Two hosts appear on the holographic display. Both dressed in shimmering white and gold.

 "Welcome, everyone, to the official grading ceremony of this year’s Tournament."

 "Each participant was tested individually. Their abilities were ranked on a scale of 1 to 5. 5 being… well… devastating."

 "And let’s just say, the elders and the President were… very surprised by the range and intensity of this year’s lineup."

 "And now, we present the rankings. First up—Nation 1."

All six of them took notes, Jeonghan and Seungcheol are already re-designing their strategy layout based on the ability grades of the other Nations.

Then —

“next up —Nation 4."

The screen darkens.

Silence blankets the audience.

You could hear a pin drop.

Or a heartbeat.

A sleek, black card appears.

First Ability: 5

Eyes widened.

Second Ability: 5

A murmur begins to ripple.

Third Ability: 5

The crowd stiffens.

Fourth Ability: 5

People lean forward in their seats.

Fifth Ability: 5

The hosts look at each other.
Breath held.

Sixth Ability: 5

The crowd erupts.

Cheers.
Gasps.

Shouts of disbelief and awe fill the arena.

 "It’s been years since we’ve had a full 5s nation. And never one this… synchronized. Even the President himself gave his personal stamp of approval."

Jeonghan, watching the screen, lips curl into a slow smirk, "I can already see them crumble."

Jisoo pretends to cry dramatically,  "Aww… all our admirers from the Tour will be so intimidated by us now. We were supposed to be cute and mysterious!"

Seungcheol, leaning back with the most casual grin, "Can’t wait."

Mingyu still looking at the screen,  "Do you think they’ll let me take a picture with the President after we win?"

Wonwoo said deadpanned, "Only if he survives your cooking fireball edition."

They all burst into soft laughter.

But behind those laughs—was purpose.

This wasn’t luck.
This wasn’t fate.

They earned that perfect score.

And tomorrow…
 They enter the arena.

******

 

The grading ceremony ends, but the tension doesn't.

It lingers like smoke.

The announcement of the bonus rules is set to happen in one hour.

The six of them retreat back into the lounge with Professor Kwon, their perfect scores still echoing in the air, but none of them are celebrating just yet. Not when they know the bonus rules can shift the entire game in seconds.

They're all gathered around a long digital table as Wonwoo starts pulling up stats.

Jeonghan scans the board, "Nations with perfect 5s… besides us, only two others. But their formation is messy. No cohesion."

Jisoo tapping on his iPad, "Nation 1 has strength but no strategy. Nation 5 has strategy but no heart. We’re still good."

Professor Kwon steps in quietly, tone nostalgic and grave, "The last time a nation got an all-5 score… it was more than twenty years ago."

That caught them.

"They didn’t win. They didn’t even make it to the last day. Got wiped out halfway through because they underestimated the bonus rules."

They all go still.

"So whatever happens next, stay sharp. The rules can either be your weapon or your grave."

One hour later, the hosts return on screen—this time, the mood is heavier.

Even they seem cautious.

 "Welcome back, everyone. As most of you know, the bonus rules are randomly drawn… and they serve as both opportunity and curse."

 "Failure to fulfill a bonus rule can result in immediate disqualification. Or worse—forced forfeiture."

Professor Kwon quietly spoke, “There was a year a two-member nation won. They weren’t strong. But they were the only ones who fulfilled all three bonus rules."

That silences the six of them.

Then—the screen flickers.

BONUS RULE 1:
 “The Seeker must end the tournament with exactly 0 points.”

The room stills.

All eyes shift to Jeonghan.

Seokmin gasped, "Is that even possible?"

Jeonghan coolly nodded, "It will be. I’ll make it possible."

Jisoo now frantically scanning his notes, "But Seekers gain passive points from just existing in certain zones..."

Jeonghan is already calculating.

Already moving.

Then the screen flashes again.

BONUS RULE 2:
 “One player from each nation must have at least 300 points by the end of the tournament.”

Gasps.

Mingyu stood up, "Wait—300? That’s insane. That's at least 100 more than the average kill count from last year’s winner."

Wonwoo quietly scanned the room and his gaze landed on Seungcheol, "So we need a shadow. A taker. Someone to go full carnage.”

Everyone slowly turns to Seungcheol.

He grins.
 "Guess it’s me then."

And then the third and final flash—

BONUS RULE 3:
 “All Deceivers in this year’s game are disqualified from being chosen as Leaders.”

Jisoo lets out an actual gasp, nearly falling off his seat.

Jeonghan, already pulling up their strategy chart, takes a pen and dramatically crosses out Jisoo’s name from their leadership simulation list.

Jisoo gasped, fake offended,  "You didn’t have to make it so dramatic!"

 "It’s tradition."

The hosts finish their remarks with a flourish.

The three rules now blazing on every screen in the Capitol.

• A Seeker must end with 0 points.
  
  
• A player must end with 300 points or more.
  
  
• Deceivers cannot be Leaders.
  
  

Jeonghan, eyes still on the screen, "We need to plan."

Seungcheol already standing, "Then let’s begin."

They all gather, shoulders square, minds shifting.

This is no longer about survival.

It’s about design.

It’s about control.

It’s about war.

******

The six of them huddle around a long table in their private lounge. The Capitol night is quiet, the air charged.

Papers, maps, marked diagrams scattered across the table. Jeonghan’s notebook lies open—half doodles, half war.

Jeonghan flips to a fresh page, pen already in hand,  "I can’t kill in the Game… but I can still trap them."

 He taps the pen once on the table,  "The first night is everything. I’ll enter the shared dream space and locate our nearest enemies. I’ll trap them—not kill, but stall. Confuse. Hold them in loops just long enough for each of you to close in."

Eyes shift. Calculations ignite.

 "Before the sun rises, you find them. You finish it. One clean strike. We erase the closest threats on the very first day."

Jisoo nods slowly, "Dream-to-field sync. Like we practiced."

 "Exactly."

Then Jeonghan flips to another page, marked with potential kill counts, "Now for the 300 points. If Cheol gets drawn as our Leader, he’ll already start with 100. That means—"

Seungcheol cuts him off.
 Voice calm, certain,  "Han… I will take down all four leaders and if I can, I will take down even the deceivers."

Silence.

No one breathes.

Seokmin wide-eyed as he cover his mouth with his hand, "That’s… 800 points in total."

Jeonghan blinks, "You’re insane."

Seungcheol just nodded, "No. I’m ready."
 He looks around,  "Whoever becomes our Leader must sync constantly with Jisoo and Jeonghan. You two locate the leaders. Trap them. I finish it."

Jeonghan leans back, grinning,  "This is why I like you."

Seungcheol chokes on his drink.

 Mingyu rolled his eyes, "Every time."

They all laugh softly. It’s the kind of laugh that breaks tension—but underneath, they’re burning alive with purpose.

 "Now, the third rule."

Everyone turns to Jisoo, whose expression is already serious.

Jeonghan softly spoke, 
 "You’re holding the Crest, Ji. And that makes you a moving target. Stolen Crest means instant death for the Deceiver."

Jisoo quietly nodded, "I know."

 "That’s why you don’t go for the 300 points. Not this time. We protect you. You protect the Crest."

Jisoo nods, quiet but unshaken.

Silence again.

Thick. Weighted. Sacred.

Then—

Jeonghan calm and sure,  "I’m confident in this team. And I’m claiming it now—we are the victors."

Wonwoo smiled with conviction, "Let’s win this."

Jeonghan turns to him, eyes soft,  "My gut’s still screaming you’ll be our Leader. And if that happens—"

Wonwoo cutting him gently,  "Jeonghan, if I become the Leader..."
 He meets his gaze without flinching, "We will all be alive."

Jeonghan doesn’t reply with words.

He just smiles.
 Because that was all he needed to hear.

******

 

It’s their last night together… for now. The night before the Games. The city outside is still alive, glittering with Capitol lights that feel distant, disconnected.

Inside Wonwoo’s room, it’s dim and calm. Safe. Time feels suspended here.

Wonwoo sits quietly near the window, legs tucked beneath him, one arm resting on the windowsill as his eyes trace the skyline. His glasses reflect the light from buildings across the district—tall and silver, glowing in scattered patterns.

Behind him, Mingyu sits cross-legged in the middle of the bed, the scattered pages of their strategy notes half-studied, half-forgotten on the covers.

Wonwoo softly spoke, 
 "I wonder if the rooms that still have lights on… are our opponents tomorrow."

Mingyu with a half-smile, "‘Cause it’s their last night? Literally?"

Wonwoo turns his head slowly, meeting Mingyu’s eyes. He doesn’t smile—but his gaze lingers longer than it usually does.

Mingyu closes the space between them, stepping off the bed until he’s kneeling right in front of Wonwoo, looking up at him beneath the soft city glow,  "What are you thinking?"

 "Nothing. Just… we’ve been friends since kids."

That makes Mingyu laugh.
A real one.

Warm and full of nostalgia.

Mingyu shook his head, "I still remember me and Cheol hiding your glasses when we were seven. You didn’t even cry… but Jisoo did."

Wonwoo lets out a small breath, the corner of his lips lifting, "And when you, Seokmin, and Seungcheol dove into the pool in your uniforms during that heatwave—thinking you were cool heroes or something."

 A small chuckle escapes him.
 "You all got colds the next day. Your parents lost it."

Mingyu leans his head against Wonwoo’s knee, smiling softly, "We’ve had so many lives before this one."

They both fall quiet again. Not out of awkwardness, but reverence.
For the time they’ve shared.

For what might come next.

Then, Mingyu rises to his knees and wraps his arms tightly around Wonwoo’s waist, pulling him into a quiet, unshakable embrace.

Mingyu whispers,  "You know I love you, right?"

Wonwoo doesn’t respond—not at first.

He just presses his cheek against the side of Mingyu’s head and lets the silence speak. But Mingyu feels it anyway: the slow, certain nod against his hair.

Mingyu leans back, just enough to press a gentle kiss to Wonwoo’s forehead.

His smile, even in the low light, is radiant. Like it always is.

 "Let’s get some sleep, okay?"

They crawl into bed, the covers tucked around them like one last shield before war. Mingyu wraps his arm around Wonwoo’s waist from behind, pulling him close. Wonwoo intertwines their fingers, thumb brushing over Mingyu’s knuckles.

The warmth between them is quiet.
Steady.

Eternal.

Mingyu softly, just for him, "I love you."

Wonwoo closes his eyes.

His heart is louder than he wants it to be.

He swallows the lump rising in his throat.

And in the silence of his mind, the words echo clearly:
 “I love you too.”

 

******

 

The night is heavy with silence. The kind of silence that feels sacred.

Inside Seokmin’s room, the only sound is the steady hum of the heater and the soft rhythm of Jisoo’s breathing.

They’re both already in bed.

Jisoo sleeps curled into Seokmin’s side, head resting comfortably on Seokmin’s arm, his breath ghosting warmly against Seokmin’s neck. Their fingers are loosely intertwined, their matching rings glinting softly under the bedside lamp’s low light.

But Seokmin is still awake.

His eyes are on the ceiling, though his mind is far away. His free hand brushes the surface of his ring over and over again, like a quiet prayer. His expression is unreadable—soft, thoughtful, tangled in everything unspoken.

Jisoo stirs beside him, brow creasing gently as he blinks awake.

He moves slightly, hand sliding up to touch Seokmin’s cheek with sleepy tenderness,  "Can’t sleep?"

Seokmin turns his face to him, his smile blooming like it always does when Jisoo’s eyes meet his, "Just thinking."

Jisoo hums and moves closer, wrapping his arm around Seokmin’s torso, pressing himself flush against him.
There’s a pause. A safe one.

 "When we did the duel… who did you see?"

Seokmin’s body stiffens for a second. His breath catches. But he exhales slowly, like he’s letting go of something he’s held inside for too long.

 "You. I saw you."

Jisoo blinks, his arms loosening, confused. He slowly sits up, eyes narrowing as he searches Seokmin’s face.

Seokmin sits up too. Gently, he cups Jisoo’s face with both hands.

 "That’s why I was able to fight back." 
His voice is steady. Vulnerable,  "I saw you… with Seungcheol."

Jisoo’s eyes widen, but not in panic. In understanding.

Jisoo and Seungcheol. It had always been a chapter written in obligation, not devotion. They had history, yes, but not this. Not what he feels now.

What he feels now is rooted in something deeper.

Real.

Jisoo doesn’t wait. He doesn’t need to.

He closes the distance between them and crashes his lips into Seokmin’s.

There is no hesitation.

No fear.

Just yes.

Seokmin’s hands slip from Jisoo’s cheeks to his waist, pulling him closer, as if he’s scared he might slip away again. Jisoo’s fingers thread through Seokmin’s hair, holding him tightly as the kiss deepens—longing, aching, sure.

The world quiets.

Jisoo falls back against the soft mattress, Seokmin above him, their bodies finally aligned in the most honest way they’ve ever been.

Nothing hidden now.

Just them.

Their kiss slows, but never loses its tenderness. When they finally pull apart, they stay there, foreheads touching, lips still brushing smiles.

They laugh.

It’s small. Breathless. A sound of release.

Seokmin grins as his lips touched the corner of Jisoo’s mouth, "I can’t wait to do this with you again… after the tournament."

Jisoo softly chuckles,  "Are you ready to face my dad?"

 "They love me."

They both laugh again.
This time, a little louder. A little freer.

And then, without another word, they settle back into each other.

The world outside the room can wait.

Tonight, they are just Jisoo and Seokmin.

And they are finally home.

 

******

 

It’s strange—no, it’s scary—how easily two people can understand each other in ways words could never explain.

Not loud, not dramatic. Just natural.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol are in Jeonghan’s room, the soft lamp casting a warm glow across the blush pink walls and scattered papers. The world outside doesn’t matter tonight.

They’re both on Jeonghan’s bed, comfortably tangled in a familiar way.

Seungcheol lies half on top of Jeonghan, head resting on his stomach like a giant, affectionate cat. His arm is tightly wrapped around Jeonghan’s waist, as if to anchor himself there. The other hand flips through Jeonghan’s beloved pink bunny notebook—half strategy notes, half chaotic doodles, glitter pen included.

Jeonghan, with his back leaned up against the headboard, one knee bent and the other stretched lazily, holds another pink bunny notebook in his hand. His other hand is carding gently through Seungcheol’s hair.

It’s domestic. It’s peaceful. It’s them.

“Are you actually reviewing or just pretending so you can stare at your doodles of angry rabbits and sparkly knives again?”

Jeonghan laughs softly, the sound sweet and open.

In one smooth movement, he flips their positions—now he is the one on top, face nestled close to Seungcheol’s, his body draped over his like a weighted blanket of comfort. He holds Seungcheol tightly, almost as if he’s afraid he might vanish if he doesn’t.

Seungcheol lets out a soft breath, his hand instinctively going to Jeonghan’s back while the other brushes a loose strand of hair away from his face.

There’s a pause. A quiet one.

Seungcheol softly spoke as he reached out for Jeonghan’s cloud necklace, “Have you ever felt scared?”

Jeonghan’s body tenses slightly, “No. Never.”

He says it almost too fast. But he continues, his voice more vulnerable now.

“All my life… I’ve never had the chance to be scared. I don’t remember anything. My past is just a blank space with no color. So I’ve always thought—if something happened to me, no one would cry. No one would notice. No one would even care enough to be scared for me.”

Seungcheol doesn’t speak right away. He just pulls him closer.

“But now… do you feel scared?”

Jeonghan lets out a soft, fragile laugh. His eyes flutter closed as he presses his forehead to Seungcheol’s while gently flipping Seungcheol’s shadow necklace between his fingertips.

“Now that I’ve found people… my people—Mingyu, Seokmin, Wonwoo, Jisoo… you—”

He pauses, breathing in the moment.

“It gave me a reason to be scared. Because it means I actually have something to fight for now. Something to lose. But it also gave me a reason to survive.”

Seungcheol grins, his thumb brushing the curve of Jeonghan’s jaw, “We’re going to win.”

Jeonghan smiles, a slow, knowing smile. He leans down and presses a soft kiss on Seungcheol’s lips—a promise, a thank you, a home.

“Oh, I already knew that since the beginning.”

And in that quiet moment, with no noise but the steady beat of two hearts pressed together, they weren’t just comrades, or teammates, or future legends from a powerful Nation.

They were simply Jeonghan and Seungcheol.

And that was more than enough.

 

******

 

The lights from the towering buildings flicker like stars too afraid to go out. And inside the golden tower of Nation 4, silence hums like a lullaby.

The six of them—Jeonghan, Jisoo, Mingyu, Seokmin, Seungcheol, and Wonwoo—are in their rooms, but something unspoken links them, like invisible strings stretched across walls and distance.

It’s their last night.

They’ve reviewed the maps. Memorized strategies. Whispered their confessions. Held each other through quiet truths. Laughed over old memories. Kissed like they had all the time in the world.

And now, they sleep.

Mingyu is curled behind Wonwoo, their fingers still entwined between them. His breathing is steady against the back of Wonwoo’s neck, a quiet shield in the night.

Jisoo is wrapped in Seokmin’s arms, their legs tangled. Jisoo’s soft sighs fall on Seokmin’s collarbone like promises. And Seokmin holds him like he never plans to let go.

Jeonghan sleeps with one hand over his notebook, the other loosely draped around Seungcheol’s shoulders. Seungcheol’s arm is across Jeonghan’s waist, their foreheads barely touching, like gravity itself brought them close.

Outside, the Capitol is holding its breath. The city waits. The Games wait.

But for now, for just one night more, they rest.

Together.

Notes:

AHHHHHH my minwon, seoksoo, and jeongcheol moments before they go to the games (ˊ•͈ ◡ •͈ˋ) I love all of them so much they are just so full of love and just so ready to conquer everything just to be with the one they love after the tournament (╥﹏╥) also, the next 1-2 chapters will be the entire tournament so stay tuned for that!
P.S I am posting a new fic titled “ ‘Cause You Have To” and it’s an angst jeongcheol fic so if you can also check it out that would be awesome!

Chapter 21: The Tournament: Day 1

Notes:

AHHHHHHHHHH!! The long awaited tournament is finally here ＼(^o^)／it took me 21 chapters to build up this fic for the main arc of the story but I promise y’all it’s worth the wait °\(^▿^)/° alsooo thank you for those who recommended this fic on coupjeong library ♡(˃͈ ˂͈ ) thank you for reading this fic of mine ♥ the next 3 chapters are going to be monster chapters like they are the longest chapters of this fic 😭 with that being said, enjoy chapter 21!

P.S please read the tags carefully.

tw // death, mentions of death, blood, detailed violence 

D-DAY.

The sun rose over the Capitol like a blade cutting through a velvet sky—sharp, bright, and ruthless.

Inside the towering Nation 4 quarters, the mood was oddly calm—an eerie sort of quiet that always came before chaos.
But the six aren’t afraid.

No, they are ready.

The maids and butlers moved quickly, preparing them.
Their uniforms were sleek and custom-fit: all black, high-tech fabric that adapted to their abilities, each with subtle threads of their nation's silver embedded like veins through the sleeves and seams. Their matching rings shimmered under the morning light—symbols of unity, of promise, of power.

Mingyu, as usual, was devouring his breakfast like he didn’t have a battle to win. "I fight better when I’m full," he said through a mouthful of eggs.

Wonwoo, always composed, sipped his tea quietly by the window, his mind sharpening with each second. His eyes scanned the Capitol skyline, already calculating.

Jisoo and Jeonghan were lightly jogging laps in the lounge, not a strand of their perfectly styled hair out of place. “Warming up the brains and the beauty,” Jisoo quipped.

Seokmin was still sitting with his eyes closed, legs crossed, murmuring the list of enemy Nations under his breath. The calm before his storm.

Seungcheol sat cross-legged on the floor, the final page of their strategy notes in hand. His lips moved silently, committing every detail to memory—locations, simulations, formations. He didn’t blink once.

The door opened.

Professor Kwon stepped in, his presence grounding the entire room. He looked at them, all six, and for a moment, he said nothing. Just a proud, measured smile.

“You know, from the day The Goblet chose each of you, people said it was taking a risk. That this generation didn’t have the ruthlessness. That we are building a Nation out of heart, not skill. But you proved them wrong. From selection to training. From discipline to strategy. You’ve surpassed every expectation. No matter what happens out there, you’ve already changed the game.”

There was silence.
The good kind.

The kind that held meaning.

******

 

They were escorted down the long corridor to the Farewell Lounge, where their families waited—ten minutes for final goodbyes.

Mingyu’s parents were emotional but composed. His mother hugged him tightly, whispering, "Don’t be reckless, but don’t hesitate." His father simply shook his hand like he was sending off a fellow soldier. There was pride in his silence.

Seokmin’s parents were crying openly. His mother held his face with both hands, memorizing him. His father gave him a lucky charm from their hometown temple, pressing it into his palm with shaking fingers. “You were born to be brave,” he whispered.

Wonwoo’s parents stood tall, though his mother’s hands trembled slightly. “You're not the boy who hid behind glasses anymore,” she said softly. “You’re the one they’ll remember.” Wonwoo kissed her cheek, silent as always, but his eyes were burning.

Jisoo’s parents were the loudest, as expected. His dad was emotional but proud, already inviting Seokmin to dinner post-victory. “Crest or no crest, you’re always my champion,” his mom said, holding Jisoo's face like it was porcelain.

Seungcheol’s moment was quieter. Headmaster Choi, who raised him as a leader, walked up and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

“You’ve always exceeded my expectations. Do it again this time.”

Seungcheol nodded. That was all he needed.

And then—

Jeonghan thought no one came for him.

Until a small cry echoed from the hallway.

“HANNIE!!”

Jihyo ran, tears streaming down her cheeks, straight into his arms. He caught her mid-run, cradling her close.

“Why are you crying, little love?”

 “Because I miss you! And you said you’d braid my hair and play house and you didn’t come back!”

 “I promise, I’ll come back and braid your hair for a whole week straight.”

Then Jaehyun and Yeji appeared. Jaehyun looked at Jeonghan—like a memory made flesh—and handed him a small object. A gold pin, shaped like a flame.

“The Capitol gave this to me when I won. I’m passing it to you.”

“We may not know you long,” Yeji said, voice thick with emotion, “but we know you’re something special. To us.”

Jeonghan fought his tears. He only nodded and slipped the pin into his inner jacket.

 

The six gathered once more, standing side by side at the exit.

Seokmin grinned, “So… see you later in the arena?”

Mingyu and Jisoo didn’t even answer, just pulled everyone in for a massive group hug. For once, no one resisted.

“You already know what to do,” Jeonghan whispered.

“We are already winners,” Seungcheol added, his grin soft but sure.

And then—off they went.

 

Each of them was led into a private chamber, the walls pulsing with silver light. The Capitol staff moved like machines, injecting the hologram interface onto their wrists. A floating blue projection lit up, showing:

• Point tracker
  
  
• Nation 4 members
  
  
• Real-time eliminations
  
  
• Game stats
  
  

“This is your heartbeat now,” the technician said. “The game will show you everything you need… except who to trust.”

The room dimmed.

A new sound.

A low chime, followed by a countdown.

 

“ONE MINUTE UNTIL LEADER SELECTION.”

 

The projections on their wrists began a flickering cycle, displaying possible names—randomized.

Jeonghan stood still, eyes half-closed, his fingers twitching with anticipation.

Jisoo fidgeted with his crest.

Mingyu cracked his knuckles.

Seungcheol exhaled slow and steady, gaze locked on the screen.

Seokmin muttered under his breath, “Anyone but me, anyone but me—”

Wonwoo simply stood there. Still. Watching. Silent.

10 seconds…

5...4...3...2...1—

 

LEADER: WONWOO.

It flashed like fire on all six of their wrists.

Jeonghan smirked, triumphant.

“I knew it.”

Wonwoo adjusted his jacket, shoulders straighter than steel.

“It’s showtime.”

 

 

Up in the audience stands, Wonwoo’s mother gasped.

“He… he’s the leader—!”

Jaehyun, calm and smiling, tapped her back.

“He killed me and Sowoon during the game. This is going to be easy for them.”

 

The doors unlocked.

The mechanical click echoed like a thunderclap.

The wilderness opened up in front of them—lush, dense, green and unpredictable.

Nature’s trap.

The Arena.

Jeonghan took the first step out. He inhaled the wild air, his instincts rising.

This is it.

Search.
Instruct.

Trap.

Confuse.

Kill.

 Repeat.

He looked at the sky as if making eye contact with fate.

He smirked.

And then, he ran.

 

******

 

The moment the doors unlocked, Jeonghan didn’t hesitate.

He sprinted—not into the heart of the Arena—but toward the shadows, the terrain where chaos couldn't follow him.

A hidden crevice between two overgrown cliffs swallowed him whole. There, nestled inside the cool darkness of a moss-covered cave, Jeonghan finally allowed his body to rest. His eyes closed, but his mind opened.

He entered the Dream Space.

It was his realm—a glowing, silent void, like a midnight ballroom made of thoughts and breath. Unlike before, this one was solid, stable, and connected.
A shared dream, tethered to each of his team’s wrist holograms and magic.

They could enter at will. And they did.

Within minutes, all six of them stood inside—blurry echoes at first, slowly taking full form. They each found a hidden corner of the dream. A stone bench. A tree. A patch of grass. The dream bent itself to comfort them.

Jeonghan’s voice echoed, “I’m safe inside a cave. Do not worry about me. I’ll move when it’s time. Either on the last day… or when someone needs me. That’s when I’ll strike.”

He waved his hand and floating maps appeared in glowing silver. Their positions blinked into view.

“Seokmin and Wonwoo—you’re only a kilometer apart. Stay aware. That area has a lot of ground traps, but nothing you can’t handle. Jisoo, you're the farthest out, but don’t worry. Mingyu’s heading your way. Stick close when he gets there.”

Jisoo nodded silently, adjusting the crest hidden under his layers.

“Cheol…” Jeonghan’s gaze moved to Seungcheol. “The leader of Nation 2 is closest to you. I’ll trap her when I leave here. You know what to do.”
 “The other Nations’ leaders are scattered. I’ll keep tabs. I’ll delay them if needed.”

Wonwoo stood, arms crossed, calm and unshaken. The true epitome of a leader.

“Once we leave this space, we’re on our own. Stay smart. Stay invisible until needed.”

He looked at Seokmin and Mingyu.

“Test your abilities. Make them nervous. Let Nation 4 be seen—but only at the edges. We’ll become myths before we become threats. Confuse them.”

Then, turning to Jisoo again, Wonwoo’s voice softened.

“Jisoo holds the crest. That makes him the soul of our Nation. I’m going to find him personally and keep him hidden. The others… fight. But smart. No wasted moves.”

Seungcheol cracked his neck, already itching for blood. Mingyu grinned. Seokmin bounced lightly on his toes. Jisoo’s hand tightened around his necklace.

“See you later,” Jeonghan whispered.
 “Let’s survive,” Wonwoo said.
 “Let’s win,” Seungcheol growled.

And like the snapping of a thread, the dream collapsed.

 

******

Seungcheol walked calmly.

But his footsteps echoed like thunder.

Each step was calculated, heavy with purpose. Trees parted for him like the world knew it was better not to block his way.

His shadow, living and restless, slithered just below the surface of his skin.

It wanted out.

It craved screams.

But he whispered to it like an old friend.

“Not yet. Be patient. We’ll feast soon.”

He walked deeper into the trees. The ground grew darker. The air, heavier. It was then that he saw her.

A figure lurking in the trees, fast, sharp-eyed. A tall girl with crimson streaks in her hair—Nation 2’s leader, recognizable from the Capitol tour.

Seungcheol didn’t break stride.

He just cracked his knuckles.

“Well, hello there. I remember you. You didn’t smile once during the tour.”

The girl raised an eyebrow. “You’re arrogant, aren’t you?”

Seungcheol let out a low, amused chuckle. Behind him, the trees started to wither. The bark peeled. His shadow stretched across the ground, circling them.

“I’ve heard it a lot. But people tend to stop saying it after I’m done with them.”

She snarled. Her body twisted, bones snapping, reforming—and in seconds, a sleek jaguar stood in her place.

The beast leapt, claws out, hitting Seungcheol straight in the chest. The impact forced him back, a grunt escaping his lips as they both crashed into the forest floor.

But Seungcheol never panicked.

He simply smiled up at her.

His eyes gleamed red.

And then… her eyes shifted.
Once bright, now dim.

Lifeless.

She staggered, unable to move.

Seungcheol whispered something only the trees heard.

And stabbed her three times—each thrust precise, to the heart.
No hesitation. Only resolve.

Her body crumpled. Lifeless. Hollow. His shadow hissed and danced, satisfied and fed.

A loud BOOM echoed through the Arena.
 A canon blast.

A notification blinked on Seungcheol’s wrist.

100 POINTS
 [Leader of Nation 1: ELIMINATED]

He stood slowly, breath calm, eyes cold.

He fixed his shirt, brushing the leaves off his shoulder.

“One down.”

He walked again.

 

 

In the Viewing Lounge

The Nation 4 parents and Professor Kwon were watching the massive screen in the Capitol stadium lounge. The moment the canon blast echoed, they all held their breath.

The hologram showed Seungcheol standing over the first eliminated.

“Is that…?” Mingyu’s mother gasped.

Professor Kwon simply nodded, eyes focused.

Headmaster Choi, with a small smirk, leaned back in his chair.

“Three more to go, son.”

 

******

 

The forest was quiet—eerily so. Every leaf rustled like it carried a secret. Every branch creaked like it could snap into an alarm.

But Seokmin didn’t rush. He strolled forward, flipping a small ice blade between his fingers like a toy. He felt the rhythm of his steps, matched it to the pulse of the ground.

Someone is following him. He felt it—not just a sound, but an intuition. But still, he didn’t react. He let them come.

Instead, he smiled.
 Letting the temperature dip.

The air shifted.
From springlike to sharp winter chill in seconds.

The moisture in the ground crackled, the trees turned brittle and white, and the once lush dirt path shimmered with a sheet of ice. A few flakes fell from the air like confetti, glinting in the soft morning light.

Then, with a laugh, Seokmin pushed off the frozen earth.

Skates? No—just the flat soles of his boots, gliding across the polished ice like he’d done this his whole life.

He spun, danced, and slid backward, hands out to the sides as his long coat followed behind him like a cape.

It looked like play.

But it wasn’t.

A shadow moved.

From between the icy trunks of a pine tree, a tall boy stepped out—Nation 5. Tall, muscular, broad arms. His hands were clenched. His presence was silent, but heavy. He looked like he’d grown up crushing rocks for fun.

Seokmin stopped mid-glide and grinned.

“You’ve been watching me since the last clearing. You could’ve said hi.”

The boy didn’t speak. He simply lifted a boot and slammed it to the ground.

The earth cracked.

A jagged line of force rippled outward, splintering the frozen ground, and Seokmin lost his balance.

He slipped—arms flailing for half a second—before landing on his side with a grunt.

But he rolled instantly back to his feet, knives of ice already forming in both hands with a subtle hiss of freezing air.

“Strength type. You’re the one who scored a 4 in the grading tests, right?” Seokmin muttered, eyes narrowing.

He flicked his wrist and the knives shot forward—fast, precise, shimmering in the light like shards of lightning. But when they hit the boy’s arm and torso, they shattered like glass.

The boy didn’t flinch.

He charged.

Seokmin reacted just a split second too late. A fist crashed into his side and sent him flying, his back slamming into a frozen boulder with a dull crunch. The wind escaped his lungs.

He cursed under his breath.

Pain throbbed.

But his heart pumped fire.

He rose again—blood running from his lip—and this time, he summoned five daggers in a single breath, throwing all of them like a fan of winter death.

One of them buried itself into the boy’s eye.

A scream tore through the clearing. The boy staggered back, clutching his face, blood spurting from between his fingers, turning the snow pink.

Seokmin didn’t hesitate.

He leapt forward and tackled him to the ground.

His knee on the boy’s chest, his hand pressed flat over the heart. Ice began to bloom beneath his palm.

“Please—wait—” the boy’s voice cracked, but Seokmin didn’t blink.

His gaze was cold. Focused. There was no mercy in his bones right now.

“You followed me,” he whispered. “You made your choice.”

The boy struggled—limbs twitching, mouth gasping—but his breaths became slower.

Sharper.

His skin turned pale, then pale blue. His veins pulsed dark under the surface. Frost grew along his lips.

Then—stillness.

A final gasp escaped.

A crack echoed through the air.

And the boy’s body turned to solid ice, his final expression frozen in place.

Seokmin looked down at the statue for only a second.

Then raised his hand and shattered him into fragments.

Ice and blood painted the clearing.

BOOM.

The canon blast rang across the Arena.

A flicker of light blinked on Seokmin’s wrist:

20 POINTS
 [Nation 5 Member Eliminated]

 

He exhaled, blood still on his arms, when a slow clap came from behind the trees.

He didn’t need to look. He knew that rhythm.

Wonwoo.

Seokmin turned, a rare grin breaking through the coldness on his face. He jogged toward him without thinking and wrapped him in a tight hug.

Wonwoo didn't return the hug—at least not immediately. He just shook his head with a smirk and sighed.

“It’s literally day one, Seokmin,” he said, touching Seokmin’s injured arm. “And you’re already breaking people into snowflakes?”

Seokmin laughed into his shoulder. “You’re not mad?”

“I’m impressed. Just don’t make me stitch you up every two hours.”

Wonwoo raised his hand, and a soft green light radiated from his palm, beginning to close the cut on Seokmin’s ribs.

The pain lessened.

And in the quiet aftermath of the fight, they stood side by side again—two parts of Nation 4’s core, their eyes already scanning the horizon.

No more words.
 They walked.

Together.
 Into the cold, deadly unknown.

 

******

 

The frozen shards of the defeated Nation 5 member lay scattered across the frost-covered clearing, blood-streaked snow glinting beneath the pale sunlight.

The canon blast echoed across the arena.

And back in the Capitol’s Viewing Lounge, all eyes snapped to the massive screen as the image of Seokmin standing over a broken corpse faded into a dramatic zoom-in of his blood-stained face.

Gasps echoed through the lounge.

Seokmin’s mother, seated beside his father in the velvet-cushioned front row, covered her mouth, her fingers trembling.

“That was… that was him,” she whispered, voice cracking. “That was our boy.”

His father sat frozen, eyes locked on the screen, brows furrowed—not out of fear, but pride. Silent, but fiercely burning.

“He didn’t hesitate,” Headmaster Choi commented, arms crossed, analyzing. “He learned from the duel round.”

Professor Kwon leaned forward slightly, tapping his pen against his leg, watching the feed switch to a wide view where Wonwoo stepped out from behind the trees.

There—on screen—Seokmin turned and ran into Wonwoo’s arms, blood still fresh on his clothes, but laughing. Alive.

Wonwoo scolded him playfully and began to heal him.

The entire lounge felt the change in energy.

Wonwoo’s mother placed a hand over her heart.

“He found Seokmin,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Seokmin’s mother’s hand dropped from her mouth, and she let out a small breath of relief.

“He’s safe,” she said. “He’s still Seokmin.”

A soft wave of smiles broke out among the Nation 4 families. Even the strictest faces seemed to loosen at the sight of their boys walking side by side, steady and sure.

Professor Kwon stood a little straighter, pride gleaming behind his glasses.

“They’re not just fighting,” he said quietly. “They’re working together. That’s what sets them apart.”

Sowoon nodded once. “And they’ve only just started.”

******

 

The wind rustled gently through the tall grass as Jisoo walked alone, his steps light, but his heart alert. The crest, hidden deep beneath the layered warmth of his jacket, pulsed faintly against his chest. It wasn’t just a symbol—it was life and death, power and vulnerability all in one.

His fingers occasionally touched over it.
A reflex. A reminder.

“Mingyu should be arriving soon,” he murmured, scanning the treetops. The terrain was thick here—too quiet, too still.

Then—

A sudden blur dropped from the trees.

A figure slammed into Jisoo, throwing his body down with a thud so hard the wind left his lungs. Grass and leaves cushioned his fall, but not enough. He blinked once, and there she was:

A girl from Nation 3, wild hair flying, eyes filled with fire and hatred, straddling his chest with her hands wrapping tight around his neck.

But Jisoo… smiled.

He stared.

That’s his power.

His gaze.

Not just a look—but a deep, echoing dive into the other person’s mind, soul, and fear.

The girl’s aggression faltered.

Her grip loosened.

Her breath came faster.

“Why are you here?” she gasped. “What are you doing here?”

Terror now rippled through her like a wave. She scrambled back, crawling away, her mouth moving but no sound coming out.

Too late.

Jisoo stood up calmly, brushing the dirt from his jacket, still staring.

He lunged.

He grabbed her neck with both hands and twisted.

Snap.

A cannon blast thundered through the arena.

20 POINTS

[ Nation 3 Member Eliminated] 

Jisoo’s wrist flickered: 120 points.

Jisoo stood over her limp body, his expression cold and unreadable.

“I wonder…” he whispered, brushing imaginary sweat from his forehead, “who did you fear the most?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He turned and walked on, murmuring to himself, "Where is Mingyu…"

CAPITOL VIEWING LOUNGE – NATION 4 SECTION

His mother squeezed the edge of her seat so tight her knuckles turned white. When the cannon blasted and Jisoo’s face appeared on the screen—alive, victorious, and ice-cold—she finally exhaled.

“He didn’t even flinch,” one of the fathers murmured, almost in awe.

“He’s terrifyingly good,” said Headmaster Choi, with a hint of admiration in his tone.

Even Professor Kwon raised a brow.

“He used to smile so shyly on the first day…” he muttered.

 

******

 

Mingyu was sprinting—pure instinct. His boots skidded across leaves and soil as arrows rained down from above.

“Too slow.”

He caught one mid-air with his hand and melted it into steam. Another arrow struck the ground beside him. He hissed slightly—the tip sizzled.

Poison.

A boy—lean and fast from Nation 2—emerged from the trees. His bow was elegant, and he was fast, but Mingyu was fire.

Literally.

His hands lit with flame and he hurled a fireball at the boy. The first one missed—but the second struck true, scorching the attacker’s leg. The forest around them shimmered with heat.

From behind the trees, Jisoo caught up, keeping low. He watched in silence.

Mingyu calmly approached, flames licking at the air around his fingers.

“Please,” the Nation 2 boy coughed, falling to his knees. “Spare me—I can give you my arrows. They’re poisoned.”

Mingyu tilted his head, curious. “Poison?”

“I’m the healer of my group… If you let me go, I’ll leave you alone. Just don’t—”

Mingyu shrugged, seemingly disinterested. “Okay. Go.”

Jisoo gasped quietly.

What the hell is he doing?

The boy began crawling toward safety—but suddenly realized…

The ground around him was glowing.

A ring of fire.

He was surrounded.

“I’m letting you go,” Mingyu said cheerfully from outside the circle. “Just… not alive.”

The boy’s screams echoed as the fire tightened. His skin blistered, then melted. And then…

Silence.

Cannon blast.

20 POINTS

[ Nation 2 Member Eliminated] 

 

The fire slowly faded. The trees cooled. The air stilled.

And Jisoo bolted from his hiding spot.

“MINGYU!” he shouted, running into him.

Mingyu caught him, and they embraced tight—warmth, safety, familiarity.

“You were amazing,” Jisoo said, hugging him tighter. “Scary. But amazing.”

Mingyu grinned, his face glowing with pride and soot.

“Thanks. I was hoping you’d see that.”

BACK IN THE CAPITOL LOUNGE

Mingyu’s parents stood up at the cannon blast.

“That’s our boy,” his father said proudly. His mother’s hands were clasped to her chest, eyes teary but burning with joy.

Jisoo’s mother watched them embrace onscreen.

“He found him…” she whispered.

Professor Kwon clapped softly, once.

“Three down,” he said with a sharp breath. “And the sun hasn’t even set.”

******

 

The forest thickened as Wonwoo and Seokmin walked side by side, silence their shared language. The crunch of leaves beneath their boots echoed faintly through the air, broken only by the occasional rustle of wind.

Wonwoo’s sharp eyes flicked in every direction, calculating, reading the trees like they were blueprints of an ancient plan. His posture was low, steps careful.

“We’ll move southeast,” Wonwoo said finally, “Too many players will be hunting the open ground by now. Let them kill each other. We'll stay unseen.”

The stealth strategy was simple but ruthless:

• No unnecessary fights.
  
  
• Ambush only.
  
  
• Maintain distance unless there’s a crest.
  
  
• Preserve energy.
  
  
• Survive and dominate at the end.
  
  

“We confuse them by being quiet,” he told Seokmin. “Jeonghan is the trap. Jisoo is the mind. You and Mingyu are the fire and ice. Seungcheol is our shadow. I just… move.”

And move, he did—with Seokmin trailing beside him, ice knives glinting in both hands.

But suddenly, Wonwoo stopped.

“One o’clock,” he murmured.

From between the trees, a girl stepped out. A Nation 2 player—eyes calm, face unreadable, clothes tattered but calculated.
She wasn’t armed.

But Wonwoo’s eyes scanned her instantly.

There. Hidden beneath her jacket, barely visible—a crest.

“She has one,” he whispered. “Back left. Near her spine.”

Seokmin flexed his fingers.

“Mine?” he asked, almost playfully.

Wonwoo nodded once.

“I’ll heal you after. Go.”

Seokmin walked ahead. The girl stood still. Then smirked.

She moved first, dashing toward Seokmin with inhuman speed, but Seokmin met her halfway, launching an ice dagger directly at her chest. It sank into her skin with a sickening sound—but she didn’t even flinch.

Blood dripped.

No reaction.

Another ice dagger. Then another. Shoulder. Arm. Thigh.

Still nothing.

Wonwoo’s eyes narrowed from behind a tree.

“She doesn’t feel pain…” he murmured. “That’s her ability. Numbness. Not physical, not emotional. She’s the Deceiver.”

Seokmin grunted, annoyed but unshaken.

“So I just have to make sure she can’t move.”

He charged again.

The girl tried to dodge, but Seokmin spun low, knocking her off her feet. She kicked him square in the ribs—he winced—but pinned her down, hard. One hand gripped her throat. The other pressed flat to her chest.

“Sorry,” he whispered, “you don’t feel pain. Let’s see if you can feel death.”

The temperature plummeted. Ice crept up her body. Her breath hitched—then stilled.

Her heart froze.

Her body locked.

She became a statue of frost.

A canon blast echoed.

100 POINTS

[ Nation 2 Deceiver Eliminated] 

 

Seokmin stood, panting, bruised, but triumphant with his wrist flickering showing his new points: 120 points.

“Still got it,” he muttered, brushing ice shards off his arms.

Wonwoo approached slowly, eyes on the now-frozen figure.

“Having that kind of ability…” he whispered, crouching beside the icy corpse, “...it's a blessing. But also a curse. You’ll never know when your body is giving up. Until it’s already too late.”

Seokmin broke the ice shell with a single strike of his heel.

It cracked clean.

From the icy remains, he pulled the Nation 2 crest free.

“Mine now,” he said with a grin, tossing it toward Wonwoo to inspect.

Then suddenly—

A message flashed across every competitor’s wristband, glowing red:

ALERT: Nation 2 has lost a crest. Remaining members have 24 hours to obtain a new one. Failure to do so will result in automatic elimination.

Seokmin’s grin widened.

“Ouch. That’s brutal.”

“You did well,” Wonwoo said with a nod, inspecting the crest. “You’re enjoying freezing hearts a little too much though.”

Seokmin chuckled, slinging an arm over Wonwoo’s shoulder as they started walking again.

“Hey. I’m just doing my job.”

 

 

BACK IN THE CAPITOL – NATION 4 VIEWING LOUNGE

 

Seokmin’s mother let out a breathless gasp as her son’s name lit up the screen again.

“They got the crest… 120 points?” she whispered.

His father looked dazed. “He’s never fought like this before…”

Wonwoo’s parents, seated nearby, exchanged looks.

“He gave the kill to Seokmin,” his mother observed quietly. “He saw the crest first. He could’ve taken it.”

Professor Kwon gave a knowing nod.

“Because he’s planning something bigger. He’s watching everything. Like a true leader.”

On the screen, Seokmin and Wonwoo disappeared once again into the shadows.

 “Wonwoo is moving faster than I thought.” Headmaster Choi said, almost to himself.

******

 

Jeonghan is quiet.

Hidden in the depths of a cave so naturally concealed, even the Capitol drones barely detected him. His body curled calmly against the cold stone, wrapped in shadows.

He is listening.

Waiting.

Trusting Wonwoo’s timing.

“Not yet,” he whispered to himself.

The dream space floated like a fog inside his head, a place of safety for now, undisturbed. His body was still, but his mind worked fast—tracking movements, glancing through maps burned into memory, decoding patterns in every Canon blast.

Nation 4 is moving.
 And Jeonghan is simply the one keeping the tempo.

Meanwhile, the sun was setting, golden light cutting through the trees like blades.

Seungcheol moved through the woods like a storm about to crack open. His steps deliberate. His presence thunderous. Every tree he passed lost a little color. The air around him felt heavier. Angrier.

Then, he felt it.

“There you are,” he muttered.

One of his targets. A boy from Nation 1, face wild with desperation and lightning flickering across his fingertips. His eyes screamed one thing:

Kill. Steal. Survive.

The ground beneath Seungcheol cracked—electricity surged, sending shockwaves through the earth that knocked him off his stance. He gritted his teeth, one hand bracing against the bark of a tree.

The boy lunged, sparks dancing from his palms.

“You’re one of the quiet ones,” the boy snarled. “Too quiet. Your team’s racking up kills like it’s a set-up. What—bet you’re cheating, huh?”

Seungcheol didn’t answer.

“You’ve got victor parents, Capitol connections. The headmaster’s son, right?”
 “Privilege motherfuckers always win,” the boy hissed, eyes manic. “Not today.”

Electric balls flew. One grazed Seungcheol’s shoulder—he hissed. His body spasmed slightly from the jolt. His hand trembled, the sharp sting of pain biting into his nerves.

But his shadow was already out.

It slithered silently across the forest floor, invisible under the fading sun, hungry and vengeful. As the boy charged again—his limbs sparking with more electricity—Seungcheol’s shadow rose behind him.

And struck.

In one horrific moment, the color drained from the boy’s skin.
His breath caught.

His eyes widened. Life left him.

He staggered, and Seungcheol—despite the pain in his shoulder—grabbed his knife with his left hand and, with calm precision, sliced the boy’s neck.

The forest held its breath.

A canon blast echoed.

100 POINTS

[ Nation 1 Leader Eliminated]

Seungcheol’s wrist flickered: 200 points.

He didn’t smirk this time.

The pain in his shoulder was sharp now, growing. He hissed softly and leaned back against a tree, breathing heavily.

“Damn it…”

Without hesitation, he slid back into the dream space—the familiar fog folding around him. And just as calmly, he spoke into the void:

“Jeonghan. Tell Wonwoo I need healing. Shoulder’s hit. I’ll wait it out. I’m hiding.”

Jeonghan’s voice replied from the shadows:

“Already on it.”

 

BACK IN THE CAPITOL – VIEWING LOUNGE

Seungcheol’s mother, once the most feared competitor in her tournament, stood slowly from her seat.

“He’s hurt,” she said sharply. Her hands clenched.

Headmaster Choi, however, leaned back with unreadable eyes.

“He handled it,” he said finally. “He’s learned to control his shadow’s hunger. That alone is victory.”

The Capitol broadcast flashed Seungcheol’s stats across the arena. Two kills. One wound. But still moving.

Professor Kwon, arms crossed, watched closely.
 “He’s buying them time,” he said softly. “Every step these six take is with intent.”

They watched the screen go dark again.

Night was falling.

And Nation 4’s shadows were only just beginning to stretch.

 

******

In the heart of the Capitol Viewing Hall, filled with scholars, strategists, past victors, sponsors, and government officials—the energy was shifting. What started as polite curiosity toward Nation 4 had become something else entirely.

Suspicion.

Intrigue.

And growing fear.

The screens flickered in rhythmic intervals, showing live feeds from the forested battlefield. But one team—Nation 4—was raising more questions than answers.

“Why are they splitting up like this?” one sponsor whispered, brows furrowed.

“No formations. No obvious defense grid. Yet—three confirmed kills in less than an hour. All clean, all efficient,” said another, voice tinged with disbelief.

Analyst panels lit up with heat maps and movement tracking, and one particular figure caused most of the confusion:

Jeonghan.

The boy had appeared briefly at the start, then seemed to vanish. No recorded attacks. No direct confrontations. No movement outside a defined 200-meter radius.

“He’s their Seeker, isn’t he?” one Capitol scientist asked, zooming in on the data stream.

“Shouldn’t he be scanning for crests or using his power to lure in opponents?”

But Professor Kwon, watching silently from his section beside the victors' families, gave a faint, knowing smile.

“He is using it,” he muttered under his breath.
 “Just not the way you expect.”

Someone pulled up Jeonghan’s psychological profile, and a red flag popped up in the upper corner.

“It says here he tested extremely high in cognition and alternate spatial awareness,” a Capitol commander noted.
 “He’s created a pocket world—what is that even supposed to mean?”

A scholar from the Capitol Elite Program leaned forward, excited now.

“It means… the boy turned his ability inward. He’s not attacking. He’s sheltering. He’s giving his team a way to plan, in secret, without interference.”

There was a pause in the room.

Then murmurs broke out.

“That’s... dangerous.”

“He’s the Seeker and the Strategist.”

“He’s weaponized defense.”

“No wonder Nation 4 hasn’t made a wrong move yet. He’s watching everything.”

 

Then, the attention turned to Wonwoo, the quietest member of the team, now confirmed as the Leader.

One Capitol official narrowed his eyes at the data stream.

“He’s not even chasing high-value kills,” he said. “He’s mapping. Coordinating movement. Predicting patterns.”

A screen showed Wonwoo silently healing Seokmin after their skirmish with the Nation 2 deceiver. His expression unreadable, movements calculated.

“He’s playing the long game,” said a senior Games Maker.
 “He’s a ghost in the system.”

“Then what’s their end goal?” asked another Capitol soldier, baffled.
 “Total annihilation?”

Professor Kwon chuckled at that.

“No,” he said. “Total control.”

In the luxury viewing balcony, where Capitol elites sipped wine and bet credits on tributes, someone said quietly:

“Nation 4 is manipulating the board without even moving all their pieces.”

Another responded, watching Jeonghan’s name still unbloodied,

“What’s scarier is that they’re doing it while the Capitol watches. And they know we’re watching.”

 

 

Back on the main screen, six glowing name tags representing Nation 4 hovered across the digital map.

Only one of them had yet to stain his hands.

But now…
 They were all waiting to see when Jeonghan would finally step out of the shadows.

******

 

The forest exhaled with the coming night.

The trees swayed like they were whispering secrets, the shadows thickening and curling around bark and stone like silent spectators. The sun was long gone now, and the golden hue of survival turned into a quiet blue of strategy.

 

Mingyu and Jisoo had found shelter inside the wide hollowed base of an ancient tree. Its roots clawed the earth like fingers, the bark soaked in moss and mystery. Inside the tree's ribcage of roots, they curled up, the fire-wielder sitting close to the entrance and the fear-inducer playing with a small handful of glowing berries.

“They’re edible,” Jisoo muttered, inspecting them like gems.
 “Glows like guilt,” Mingyu replied, smirking.
 “You’re getting poetic now?”
 “Burnt a man alive today. I think I earned it.”

They leaned into the quiet, their breaths in sync, both hearts finally slowing. No fire tonight. Too risky. Only silence and shadows.

 

Near a clear-running stream, Wonwoo and Seokmin knelt by the water, hands cupped and trembling as they drank. The bruises on Seokmin’s side were purple-black now, but healing. Wonwoo’s fingers hovered briefly, sending a pulse of warmth into his ribs.

“You didn’t have to fight the deceiver alone,” Wonwoo said, his voice low.
 “I wanted to,” Seokmin replied. “I needed to.”

And then—a flicker. The familiar pull in their minds.

 

Inside the Dream Space

A silvery fog formed the floor. Stars hung low, brushing their heads like lamps. The six of them stood in the middle of it. Safe. Together. If only for a while.

Seungcheol materialized last, the pain in his shoulder radiating even through the dream.

“You’re hurt,” Wonwoo said immediately.
 Jeonghan stepped forward, calm as always.
 “His right shoulder. Electrical blast. It didn’t pierce, but it burned. He’s hiding in the west quadrant, about 400 meters from where you and Seokmin are.”

“We’ll find him by sunrise,” Wonwoo said, nodding. “You’ll be okay until then?”

Seungcheol gave a short grin.

“If the shadow eats me before you arrive, blame Jeonghan.”
 “He only eats people who lie,” Jeonghan deadpanned.

Jeonghan turned to the group. His eyes sharper than ever, the confidence in his stillness unsettling.

“Mingyu and Jisoo—you’re heading east. There are three in your path. You’ll feel the trail of heat I’ve embedded into the air. Trust it.”

“What about you?” Seungcheol asked, crossing his arms despite the pain.
 “When are you stepping out?”

Jeonghan tilted his head.

“When my traps are done. Five players are asleep right now. I’m going to trap them in their dreams. Once I’m finished, I’ll leave their locations marked in this space.”

Wonwoo nodded, approving.

“Patience is power. He joins when it’s checkmate.”

Jeonghan smiled faintly and knelt, drawing a glowing circle on the floor of the dream. “This is your map. Follow it and cover up your tracks. And remember—we’re always being watched.”

They all looked at each other in silence, battle-worn and bruised—but still standing.

“See you soon,” Wonwoo said softly.

And the dream broke.

 

In each of their shelters, the contestants’ eyes flickered open, their minds heavier, but more focused.

And then—

BOOM.

The canon echoed across the forest like a war drum, followed by a voice—silky and dangerous, the Capitol’s announcer.

“Good evening, citizens. As Day 1 closes, let us remember the fallen.”

One by one, the faces flashed in the sky:

Nation 1 Leader , Frontliner– Deceased

Nation 2 – Leader , Healer , Deceiver – Deceased

Nation 3 - Frontliner , Fragger- Deceased

Nation 4 - All Members Alive

Nation 5 – Frontliner, Frontliner, Healer– Deceased

 

“And now, the current scores…”

 

Nation 4:

Seeker – 0 points

Fragger – 200 points 

Deceiver – 120 points 

Frontliner 1 – 20 points

Frontliner 2 – 120 points 

Healer / Leader – 100 points 

 

Status: All members alive. Crest intact.

 

 

Parents’ Lounge Reaction:

The camera panned to the VIP lounge where the parents sat in breathless awe.

Mingyu’s mother wiped silent tears, her husband gripping her hand tightly.

Seokmin’s mother clutched her heart, whispering prayers under her breath. “He’s becoming someone I don’t recognize,” she murmured. “But he’s surviving.”

The Yoon’s section remained silent—until Jaehyun placed a hand over Yeji’s.

“Not a single kill,” he whispered, looking up at the screens.
 “And yet he’s the most dangerous one out there.”

Seungcheol’s father, Headmaster Choi, gave a slow nod, arms crossed.

“Every tournament has a turning point. This... is theirs.”

 

Capitol Reaction:

Gasps and excited murmurs filled the grand viewing dome of the Capitol. Sponsors leaned forward.

“Nation 4… hasn’t lost a single member?”
 “Why are they splitting their points like that?”
 “Why hasn’t the Seeker engaged yet?”
 “They’re... orchestrating. Like a symphony.”

The hosts couldn’t stop speculating.

“And yet, Jeonghan’s score remains at zero, maintaining 0 to fulfill the bonus rule” the host said, smiling.
 “Is he playing? Or simply waiting for the others to exhaust themselves?”

Professor Kwon leaned into the mic from his private booth.

“He’s not waiting. He’s hunting. In silence.”

 

 

Back inside his cave, Jeonghan pulled the hood of his coat tighter and reached for the soft earth beneath him. His hand lit up with dreamlight as he reached through the layers of minds around him.

“Five of you are asleep,” he whispered with a smirk.
 “Let me show you what real nightmares look like.”

He exhaled slowly and whispered into the shadows:

“Welcome to my world.”

And the trap was set.

Notes:

SCREAMING AHHHHH Day 1 of The Tournament is actually crazy like Seokmin is my ultimate crush in this chapter really (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞ I am also sooo excited writing the tournament so lemme know your thoughts! If y’all wanna chat with me, my x account is @jeongcheolkkuma 🥳

Chapter 22: The Tournament: Total Carnage

Notes:

Hiiiiii! I still can’t believe a lot of y’all are reading this fic. Seriously, your comments and your messages in X makes me so excited to write and continue this fic ✧˖°. ⋆｡˚(✿ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)｡･:*˚:✧｡ with that being said, we are actually near the end of the story, i am not quite sure if there are only more or less 6 chapters left (╥﹏╥). But for now, enjoy chapter 22!

tw // death, mentions of death, blood, detailed violence 

The sun rose like a bloodshot eye over the arena, casting crimson light across the battle-worn terrain.

But the real war didn’t begin with light.

It began in dreams.

 

Jeonghan was still, tucked inside the roots of a sleeping tree. But in the realm of minds, he was lightning-fast—setting traps laced with emotion, illusion, and terror.
Five players.

Five minds.

Five fates sealed.

They twitched in their sleep, caught in loops they couldn’t understand.

And he knew their locations by heart.

“Two near Seokmin and Wonwoo,” Jeonghan’s voice rang through the dream.
 “Two near Seungcheol. One near Mingyu and Jisoo.”

Wonwoo nodded, absorbing the map within his mind. He and Seokmin had only managed a single hour of sleep before heading toward Jeonghan’s coordinates. Ten minutes of calculated steps, and they found the overgrown bush hiding Seungcheol.

He looked like a ghost.

Wonwoo knelt silently and placed a hand over Seungcheol’s wound. Golden warmth flickered under his palm, melting the bruised tissue, repairing the damage.

“That feels…” Seungcheol breathed out, “…too good.”

Wonwoo gave a half-smile before standing again.

 

 

The six members stood in a quiet huddle, but this time the atmosphere was razor-sharp.

Gone were the jokes and quiet smiles.

Wonwoo’s eyes gleamed. His tone was cold, surgical.

His presence commanding like a born leader and started to give orders.

“Day 1 was silence. Day 2 is carnage.”
 “It’s time to flip the game. No more walking in pairs. We split. We hunt.”
 “We don’t need stealth anymore. We need fear. Jeonghan will be our map, the only one allowed to move between us.”
 “He lures. We kill.”
 “Meet tonight. That’s our final night before endgame. Make today count.”

Everyone nodded.

Seungcheol cracked his knuckles.
 Mingyu smirked.
 Jisoo was already calculating all the probabilities.
 Seokmin flexed his fingers, forming silent ice blades.
 Jeonghan? He only smiled.

And just like that, the space shattered again.

 

******

Wonwoo and Seokmin crept through the woods like wolves on a hunt.

They found them.

Two players from Nation 3, curled up under a thin shelter of leaves, completely unaware that their minds were no longer their own. The dream trap held them gently, like an illusion of comfort.

The two boys just exchanged a glance.

No words needed.

Seokmin walked first.

In one motion, he pressed a palm to the first player’s chest—and the heart froze in less than two seconds.

Wonwoo knelt beside the other one, placing his hand on the chest, his power shooting like lightning through the nerves—rupturing the heart, silencing the brain.

Easy.

Two booming canon blasts echoed overhead.

20 POINTS

[ Nation 3 Member Eliminated ] 

20 POINTS

[ Nation 3 Member Eliminated ] 

Seokmin’s wrist flickered with his new points: 140 points
 Wonwoo’s wrist also flickered: 120 points

 

 

Parents' Lounge Reactions

Seokmin’s parents gasped at the ruthlessness. His mother closed her eyes, whispering a trembling, “He’s getting colder.”

Wonwoo’s father leaned forward, lips pressed into a thin line. “He’s finally stopped holding back.”

 

******

 

Meanwhile, Mingyu and Jisoo stalked another trapped player.

The boy from Nation 1 lay beneath a collapsed log, breathing softly.

“Want this one?” Jisoo asked.
 “Sure, even though I’m still thinking about the last guy who begged for his life.”

Mingyu didn’t hesitate.

A spark.

A flame.

And the body went up like paper.

Screams cut short.

Ash followed.

20 POINTS

[ Nation 1 Member Eliminated] 

Mingyu’s wrist flickered: 40 points

 

 

Parents’ Lounge

Mingyu’s parents said nothing. His father only whispered, “He’s finally learned to stop wasting time.”

Jisoo’s mother, watching from her private Capitol seat, chuckled. “He’ll get his chance soon.”

 

*****

 

And Seungcheol?

He’d never felt more alive.

Refueled by Wonwoo’s healing, he sprinted through the tree line toward the old oak Jeonghan had marked.

Two players from Nation 5—frozen in dream.

Vulnerable.

And his shadow…

His shadow danced.

It spread like ink across the grass, sliding over the players.

It slithered into their mouths, eyes, and ears—sucking their souls like it was starving. One of the shadows even turned to Seungcheol, satisfied.

“Jeonghan was right,” it whispered in his mind.
 “You are made for this.”

And Seungcheol—stone-faced—walked forward and snapped both their necks like twigs.

Two more booms.

100 POINTS

[ Nation 5 Leader Eliminated ] 

20 POINTS 

[ Nation 5 Member Eliminated] 

Seungcheol’s wrist flickered: 320 points

He’d just eliminated Nation 5’s leader.

He smiled, the second bonus rule is fulfilled.

 

******

 

Jeonghan saw it all.

The kills. The points. The silence finally breaking into thunderous bloodshed.

And he smiled.

“This is the end of silence.”

 

******

 

No longer hiding, Wonwoo stepped into a clearing, wiped his bloodied sleeve clean, and looked up.

Right into the sky.

Into the Capitol’s cameras.

Into the face of every sponsor, every citizen, and every rival.

He shrugged.

Then he smiled—that cruel, cunning curve of his lips that said we're not done yet—

—and he ran.

 

 

Capitol’s Reaction

Uproar.

The announcers couldn’t catch their breath.

“They’ve flipped the board overnight!”
 “Nation 4—six players still alive—has just made six kills in under two hours!”
 “Jeonghan hasn’t touched a single one—and yet he’s the deadliest of them all!”
 “Wonwoo’s out of hiding—he’s taunting us!”

Sponsors leaned in, analysts scrambled, and screens across every district blared with one name now:

Nation 4: Predators Awakened

 

 

And above it all—

Jeonghan, finally opening his eyes after setting the traps for the other members, whispered:

“Checkmate’s coming.”

******

 

All six of them are out now.

No longer hiding.
 No longer waiting.
 Each of them has become the nightmare the Capitol begged for.

 

Wonwoo and Seokmin parted ways with silent nods—no words, just instinct.

 Mingyu and Jisoo did the same.

Seungcheol, though moving slower due to his injury, walked with weight behind every step, like a soldier who had already accepted the price of war.
 And Jeonghan—he didn’t walk.
 He skipped.

Like a child headed to a playground made of bones and blood.

 

******

 

Wonwoo didn’t walk, he glided. His steps barely kissed the earth. Jeonghan had already warned him of three players today—so be it.

First contact: A girl from Nation 1.

She was confident, the kind that could only be born from an illusionist’s arrogance. The crest on her chest practically gleamed in the sunlight.

But Wonwoo did nothing.
He let her speak.

Let her show off.

Cloning.

Suddenly, five of her surrounded him, identical to the last strand of hair. They moved in sync.
 He was surrounded—but not threatened.

One clone landed a punch to his gut—he winced.

His knees bent.

Pain buzzed in his bones.

But he stayed up.

Because he already knew which one was real.

“Nice trick,” he murmured. “But you should’ve worked on your eyes. Yours were the only ones that blinked twice.”

Before she could react, he lunged.

Dodged three attacks, stepped through a fake, and gripped the original’s throat.

One snap.

She dropped.

The clones melted like wax around him.

Wonwoo silently picked the crest from her body, hid it under his jacket, and touched his side where the punch landed.

A warm glow shimmered from his hand—self-healing.

Then he walked on.

Boom.

100 point

[ Nation 1 Deceiver Eliminated ] 

Wonwoo’s wrist flickered: 220 points

ALERT: Nation 1 has lost a crest. Remaining members have 24 hours to obtain a new one. Failure to do so will result in automatic elimination.

 

 

Parents’ Lounge: Reaction

Wonwoo’s mother sipped from her glass slowly, eyes locked on her son’s still figure after the kill.

“Efficient. Always was,” she muttered.
 “He thinks before he feels,” his father added. “That’s the edge.”

“We never had healing abilities back in our Games,” another previous victor commented.
 “Back then, if you bled, you bled out.”

 

 

As Wonwoo disappears back into the trees, All the surviving players heard a loud booming canon followed by an announcement. 

“Nation 2 – Remaining members have been automatically eliminated. Cause: No crest.”

Jeongha  chuckled softly.

“Three deaths with no work? What a lovely morning.”

 

******

 

On the left side—flames reigned.

 Mingyu was loose now, flinging fireballs like a conductor of destruction. The forest trembled beneath his steps. Trees burned, animals fled, and heat wrapped the area like a curse.

On the right side—ice ruled.
 Seokmin was painting the earth with frost, delicate ice blossoms forming under his feet like art born of malice. Temperature dropped with every breath he took.

Wonwoo, somewhere between both, smirked.

“They understood the plan.”

 

******

 

He walked toward the rendezvous point Jeonghan mentioned, hands in his pockets, the weight of his last kill long gone.

But then—he paused.

And grinned.

“You really think copying Jeonghan’s face will get me?”

Across from him, a perfect replica of Jeonghan stood.
Loose hair, cocky stance. They even got the attitude right.

“How dare you pretend to be my gorgeous best friend,” Jisoo laughed. “Desperate much?”

The clone’s voice was eerily similar, but robotic at the edges. Then came the mistake.

The fake Jeonghan took one step closer.

Jisoo stared.

His pupils dilated.

The clone’s expression changed—from smug to… fragile.
 Tears welled.

Their voice broke.

They whispered a story of home, of missing someone.

Jisoo understood immediately.

His power—he had pulled out the girl’s greatest love from within her soul.

She saw someone she wanted to hold.
 And so—Jisoo opened his arms.

She lunged.

Weeping.

He stabbed her in the back.

Again.
 And again.
 And again.

She collapsed, camouflage peeling off.

A girl from Nation 5, her real face now twisted in pain and betrayal.

“You… lied…”

“No,” Jisoo whispered. “You just wanted something too much.”

He checked her jacket—there it was.

The crest.

Boom.

100 POINTS

[ Nation 5 Deceiver Eliminated] 

Jisoo’s wrist flickered: 220  points

ALERT: Nation 5 has lost a crest. Remaining members have 24 hours to obtain a new one. Failure to do so will result in automatic elimination. 

He waved the crest at the sky, laughing.

 

Capitol Reactions

The hosts could barely keep up with the pace.

“Nation 4 has just eliminated three nations in the last few hours!”
 “They aren’t hunting anymore. They’re erasing.”

The cameras scrambled to capture each battlefield:

• Forest fires on the west.
  
  
• Ice plains to the east.
  
  
• Shadows claiming the dead in the north.
  
  
• And in the center—a smiling, skipping Jeonghan.
  
  

“This is not a team,” one announcer whispered.
 “This is a damn orchestra of death.”

 

And somewhere in the arena, Wonwoo looked up again—smiling.
 He whispered, “We’re only beginning.”

 

******

Jeonghan, ever playful, didn’t plan to meet anyone. He was just chasing a ray of moonlight between the trees when he skidded to a halt.

 There, dripping and barefoot, was a boy—the leader of Nation 3.

Gills flared at his neck.

Water dripped from his fingertips. The ground around him slicked into puddles.
 A water-type, dangerous in close-range.

The boy’s eyes narrowed.

“Nation 4… bunch of privileged freaks. Half of you probably have forbidden abilities. But of course, the Capitol turns a blind eye. Headmaster’s favorites, right?”

Jeonghan blinked slowly.
 Then yawned.

He leaned closer, eyes sparkling like glass.

“You talk too much.”

He whispered something into the air—an eerie, shapeless sound.

Then he ran.

Fast.

Too fast for the eye to follow.

A blur into darkness.

Before Nation 3’s leader could react—
 A shadow darker than the night itself crashed down from above.

It enveloped him.

He screamed—but there was no sound.

No time.

The shadow fed.

His body stood for a moment… and then collapsed.

Soulless.

Empty.

Done.

 

Twigs snapped. Leaves rustled.

Seungcheol burst through the underbrush, panting.

He spotted the body.

“Goddamn it.”

He crouched, one hand on his knee, catching his breath.
 Then, with a tired sigh, snapped the neck of the already soulless boy to finish the formalities.

Boom.

100 POINTS

[ Nation 3 Leader Eliminated] 

Seungcheol’s wrist flicker: 420 points

He looked up at the shadow, still lazily spinning in the air.

“Seriously?” he gasped. “I know you and Jeonghan are best friends now, but maybe let me know before you leave me behind next time?”

The shadow twirled once, clearly pleased, then vanished into the trees.

 

******

Jeonghan was a blur again—until Mingyu spotted him.

The fire-wielder raised both hands, twin blades of flame crackling in his grip.
 But when he saw Jeonghan, he instantly lowered them.

They didn’t speak.

Mingyu pulled him into a hug.

A second of warmth in a world of ice and fire.

Jeonghan smiled, tapped his back, and vanished again into the shadows.

 

 

THE SIX BECOME THE STORM

The arena couldn’t contain them now.

Northwest burns.
 Mingyu’s fire spreads like a living thing. The land scorches. Opponents flee into trees only to find the trees already aflame.

Southeast freezes.
 Seokmin walks on a path of ice, creating crystalized corpses in his wake. He's calm. Whistling.

South rumbles.
 Jisoo walks alone, leaving trails of bleeding illusions.

 

East trembles.
 Seungcheol is no longer hiding. His shadow sweeps the trees, dragging every living thing down to the dirt. He finishes them all with his own hands.

West vanishes.
 Jeonghan whispers into the trees and people are trapped in their sleep. Dream traps, endless loops. The haunted child of the game.

And at the center—Wonwoo.
 Calm. Composed. Eyes sharp.

He isn’t just a fighter. He’s the metronome.
 Every beat, every kill, every movement—they follow the rhythm he set.

 

THE HEART – FINAL DESTINATION

All paths now lead to The Heart—a giant domed clearing surrounded by six glass chambers, each labeled with a Nation.

They must enter before the countdown ends.
 Only the surviving members can enter.
 Only those who have fulfilled the bonus rules and submit their crests and points will be officially qualified to survive the games.

The arena is now changing.

The system is thinning out.

The Capitol begins releasing final round announcements.
The deaths. The eliminations. The point updates.

 

******

Seungcheol, wiping blood off his hands, glanced at the sky.

“I can do one more. Then I’m done. Then I’m going home.”

His smile is small—but it’s real.

 

 

The others are fire, shadows, ice, and illusions.

 But Wonwoo?

He walks like he already knows the ending.

“This is what we trained for,” he mutters to himself, brushing off ash from his sleeve.
 “We’re not the hunters anymore. We’re the ones who end the hunt.”

He doesn’t run.
 He walks—like the game belongs to him.

 

 

Nightfall Comes.

The sky turns burnt orange.

The final countdown will begin soon.

The Heart calls.

And the six players of Nation 4—still alive, still undefeated, and now fully awakened—answer.

 

******

 

Seungcheol was already tracking the scent of blood.

 The deceiver, a boy from Nation 3, was hiding inside a hollow boulder, thinking the terrain would mask his scent from the shadow.

It didn’t.

The moment he stepped out to breathe, the forest hushed.

Too late.

“You took your time,” Seungcheol muttered, cracking his knuckles.

The boy charged, lightning crackling in his fists, wild and desperate. But Seungcheol simply waited—until the boy lunged, then ducked, gripped his legs, and slammed him into the earth.

One strike.

Then another.

And another.

Until the canon screamed through the dusk.

100 POINTS

[ Nation 3 Deceiver Eliminated] 

ALL MEMBERS OF NATION 3 ARE ELIMINATED 

 

Seungcheol’s wrist flicker: 520 points.

Seungcheol stood over the body, chest heaving, lips bloodied. His shadow licked the edge of the corpse, then vanished.

“I told you. I’m going home.”

 

******

 

Jeonghan, of course, hasn’t killed anyone.

He hadn’t needed to.

Instead, he danced between shadows, leaving riddles in branches, songs in the wind, and dread in the dreamspace. His traps were perfect. He also lured enemies towards the members.

Jeonghan just smiled.

He looked at his wrist: 0 Points

“ 0 points for a seeker,” he whispered and smirked, “all 3 bonus rules are fulfilled. We are going home.”

 

 

Notes:

Do y’all know what I realized while I write these chapters? It’s so hard to keep tabs who they kill 😭 like I have a separate folder to make sure their kills don’t overlap with each other😭. Having said this, I will definitely finish this fic and Long Live within the second week of June and I’ll probably post 2 new fics ( as usual no angst jeongcheol ) so if you are a fluff girlie like me then those fics are for you!

Chapter 23: The Tournament: THE HEART

Notes:

AHHHHH we are now at the last part of The Tournament ٩(ˊᗜˋ )و Really, this has been a surreal experience for me to be able to write this one🥹 As promised, I will finish this fic together with
Long Live some time next week! So stay tuned for that!

tw // death, mentions of blood

 

THE SIX ENTER THE HEART ZONE

 

The sun dipped.

The center of the arena—the Heart Zone—opened.

Six figures arrived one by one.

 

Jisoo, fresh blood on his shirt.

Mingyu, whistling, jacket scorched.

Seokmin, tossing an ice flower in the air.

Jeonghan, untouched.

Seungcheol, slow but hulking with points.

Wonwoo, steady and unreadable.

They stood at the edge of The Heart—where six glass chambers stood like monuments. Transparent.
Cold.

Marked with each Nation's emblem.

But they aren’t alone.

Inside The Heart stood the final survivors of the other nations—those desperate to submit crests, to make it before time ran out.

Jeonghan looked around and exhaled like a bored god.

“Let’s finish it.”

 

The countdown buzzed in the air—low, like an ancient war horn.

Wonwoo raised a hand.

“Wait it out. Don’t waste energy. Two nations will die in a few minutes.”

The others stood still, silent.

Then… it happened.

The surviving members of Nation 1 and Nation 5 fell to their knees, wrists blinking red.
 They collapsed—breath stolen, eyes empty.

Loud Canon Blasts.

Jeonghan closed his eyes, smiled, and whispered “ Almost there.”

 

 

It should be over.

But it’s never that simple.

Because each glass chamber is located exactly 1 kilometer from the center of The Heart Zone.

And the rule is cruel:

Once a player steps into the final parameter, they can no longer use their abilities.

No fire.
No ice.

No illusions.

No healing.

No shadows.

Just flesh. And speed.

 And will.

Even worse—as they run, the arena will begin to collapse.

Fire will rain. Ice will crack. Ground will vanish. Death will chase them.

They have to reach the chamber together.
 They only win if they all make it alive.

Wonwoo stepped forward, surveying the distance.

He already knew.

The math.

The margins.

“Once it starts, we’ll have less than three minutes.”

“Don’t hesitate. Don’t stop. Don’t turn back.”

Seokmin, ever the comic relief, flicked an ice petal toward the air.

“Well, if someone gets hurt, they’ll just stay in the hospital a little longer, right?”

Jisoo snorted. Mingyu shook his head.

“I swear to god, if you trip, I’m leaving you.”

Seungcheol rolled his shoulder.

“One kilometer. Without powers. Let’s see if the Capitol bred us for this too.”

Jeonghan’s eyes were gleaming.

“So dramatic.”

Wonwoo smiled. Just a little.

“Get ready. Nightfall’s here.”

 

 

FINAL RUN

The countdown had begun.

The glass chambers stood gleaming like salvation behind the shattered remnants of the arena.

One kilometer.

Three minutes.

No powers.

Only blood, muscle, instinct.

And collapse.

Wonwoo chuckled—an odd sound in the tension.

Everyone turned.

“This is so funny to me,” he said, wiping his face with one trembling hand.
 “I’m literally blind without my fucking glasses.”

That made everyone freeze. Not because of the statement. But because Wonwoo never cussed. And because they all had completely forgotten—he was fighting and leading the whole game with bad eyesight.

Jeonghan blinked.
 Jisoo looked like he just got hit by a memory.
 Seokmin’s jaw dropped.

Mingyu tensed, about to say something—until Seokmin stepped in.

“Won, try to run as fast as you can in front of me. You’re one of the fastest here. I’ll guide you, okay?”
 “And if it gets hard midway… I’ll carry you.”

Everyone went quiet.

Jisoo’s eyes brimmed instantly. He wiped them before anyone could notice, but the softness in his face betrayed him.

The parents watching from their private room leaned forward in silence—Seokmin’s mother gasping, Wonwoo’s father pressing his forehead to the glass screen.

 “Our boys,” one whispered. “They remember what matters.”

Seungcheol let out a low breath, voice grounded.

“No carrying unless it’s necessary. Just run. As fast as you can.”

They all nodded.

And then—
 The countdown.

10…

9…

8…

7…

6…

5…

4…

3…

2…

1…

 

GO.

 

They took off.

Mingyu, Wonwoo, and Jeonghan surged to the front.
 Seokmin close behind, eyes glued to Wonwoo’s back.
 Jisoo steady just behind them.
 Seungcheol at the tail, guarding them all.

The ground rumbled.

The sky split open with lightning.

The arena began to collapse behind them.

Trees fell. Stone shattered. Fire erupted from cracks in the ground.
 Glass rained like sharp snow from above.

Wonwoo stumbled once—but Seokmin shouted a direction and he realigned. His steps were precise. His movements still smooth, despite the blur.

Then it happened.

Jisoo tripped.

A huge chunk of the ground cracked right under his feet and he crashed onto the dirt, scraping his palms.

“Shit!” Mingyu turned instantly, eyes wide.

Seokmin started to slow down too, but Wonwoo shouted,

“Don’t stop!”

Mingyu didn’t hesitate.
He scooped Jisoo up bridal-style, muscles flexing, and ran—right as stones fell on his back.

He screamed but didn’t stop.

Parents leapt from their seats.
 “That’s my son—run, Mingyu, RUN!” his father shouted.
 His mother was sobbing. “He’s hurt—he’s hurt, oh my god—”

Ahead, Seokmin didn’t see the crack until it was too late.

Wonwoo’s left foot plunged into a sinkhole, twisting violently.

“Won!” Seokmin turned and without a beat, dropped low, yanked Wonwoo up onto his back, and ran.

“Don’t let go!” he yelled.

“You’re carrying me?” Wonwoo rasped.

“Shut up.”

Behind them, Jeonghan was still running, arms pumping, when shards of glass rained down. One embedded into his shoulder. He gritted his teeth.

Another hit his leg.

He stumbled.

“No—”

A blur passed him—Seungcheol, who didn’t even slow down. He caught Jeonghan and threw him over his back like a sack of bones, legs pumping through the debris.

“Could’ve warned me,” Jeonghan muttered, blood trailing down his jaw.

“Could’ve dodged better,” Seungcheol grunted.

 

1 minute left.

 50 meters.
 The arena was falling apart.

Flames licked at their heels. The ground cracked in massive gulfs behind them.
 Glass chambers began glowing—the safety sensors flickering.

Parents in the viewing room are silent.
Praying.

Crying.

The Capitol is silent.

Breathless.

Seokmin and Wonwoo burst into the Nation 4 chamber, skin torn and boots bloody.

Wrist scans.
 Green light.
 Points submitted.

Jisoo and Mingyu stumbled in next, both of them panting, collapsing to their knees.
 Jisoo clutched the crest and slapped it onto the scanner.

BONUS RULE ACTIVATED: Crest submitted by The Deceiver, not appointed as a Leader.

The system blinked green.

30 seconds left.

Jeonghan limped to the scanner, blood dripping from his wounds.

0 points.

BONUS RULE ACTIVATED: Seeker ended the game with 0 points.

Seungcheol is last—dragging his leg now but unbreaking.

520 points.

  BONUS RULE ACTIVATED: A single member collecting at least 300 points.

15 seconds.

They scrambled to submit stolen crests from other Nations.

All crests scanned.

10 seconds.

The screen above them flickered.

“ALL MEMBERS PRESENT.”
 “ALL BONUS RULES FULFILLED.”
 “NATION 4 — SAFE.”

5…
 4…
 3…
 2…
 1…

 

BOOOOOOM.

The horns and the canon blasts shook the Capitol.

The screen behind them flashed white, then bloomed in gold:

VICTORS OF THIS YEAR’S TOURNAMENT: NATION 4

They were wrecked. A mess of blood and bruises, bones aching, bodies trembling.

Jisoo was still clinging to Mingyu who’s back is now filled with bruises, his face in his chest.

Wonwoo was still on Seokmin’s back, arms wrapped tight, chin on his shoulder.

Seungcheol helped Jeonghan to sit, whispering something no one else could hear.

And then—

Jisoo started crying. Deep, shaky sobs.

Mingyu was cussing quietly, voice breaking.

Seungcheol’s face cracked, eyes red as he looked at all of them—his brothers—still alive.

Wonwoo and Seokmin just leaned into each other.

Silent. Tears falling without sound.

Jeonghan looked at them all, one by one.

His eyes closed.

 

******

 

One week later.

Jeonghan woke to the sharp scent of antiseptic and the hum of machines.
 

All white.

All sterile.

All real.

His eyelashes fluttered against the too-bright light above, and for a long moment, he didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

It felt like a massive stone was pressing down on his body, heavy with every bruise, every glass shard, every mile of pain still echoing in his bones.

He tried to speak—but only a breath escaped.

Within minutes, the door opened.

Two doctors stepped in, gentle and composed, as if they’d been expecting him.

“Welcome back, Jeonghan,” one of them said softly.

The other checked the monitors, scribbled something. Then turned to him.

“How do you feel?”

Jeonghan blinked slowly. Swallowed.

“...Thirsty.”

The doctor smiled, relieved. Carefully helped him sit up and placed a cup to his lips.

Cool water spilled down his throat, and he sighed. Like waking from a long, impossible dream.

“You’re doing well,” the doctor reassured him. “Everyone else woke up yesterday. We were just waiting on you and Wonwoo. He’s due to wake any minute now.”

Jeonghan just nodded, dazed, his voice still silent. But something in his chest started to unclench.

 

They moved him gently into a wheelchair, adjusting IVs and heart monitors. The hallway outside was quiet—sterile white walls, soft beeping sounds behind other doors.

But as they neared the private cafeteria, the silence was broken.

Laughter. Loud, chaotic, familiar.

Mingyu’s booming voice. Seokmin’s ridiculous laugh.

As they entered, the room seemed to explode:

“YAHHH JEONGHAN!!”
 “He’s awake! Look at him!!”

Jeonghan let out a hoarse laugh as Seokmin practically jumped out of his chair—until he remembered his cast.

His arm was wrapped in a thick white cast, doodles already scribbled on it in colored pens.
 Mingyu had a massive brace hugging his lower back.
 Seungcheol’s shoulder was wrapped in a heavy cast, still secured in a sling.
 And Jisoo was propped up with crutches resting beside his chair, his ankle lightly bandaged.

They looked like a disaster.

Jeonghan grinned. “We look like a mess.”

And they all laughed.

The kind of laugh that made them wince because their ribs were still healing, but they couldn’t stop anyway.

Seungcheol immediately walked over and leaned down to press a soft kiss to Jeonghan’s temple, warm and grounding.
 Then he moved behind the chair and gently pushed him closer to the table.

“Good to have you back.”

Mingyu was already piling food onto a plate. “You need to eat,Han, you look like a ghost.”

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow. “We all do.”

“Yeah,” Seokmin added, “but at least I have a tan.”

“That’s bruising,” Seungcheol deadpanned.

They all laughed again.

They ate together in a mix of exhaustion and bliss.

The trauma of the arena clung to their skin like soot, but they are warm here.

Together.

“I can’t wait for Wonwoo to wake up,” Jisoo said, balancing a spoon on his bandaged hand.
 “I’ve been saving the group hug.”

“Same,” Seokmin muttered, almost bashful. “I’m just... keeping it to myself.”

“You?” Mingyu smirked. “Keeping something to yourself?”

“Miracles happen when you almost die, bro.”

They snorted. The quiet moments between them became louder with every breath.

Then the room settled.

And for a second, they all looked at each other.

“Do you think the Capitol’s pissed?” Seokmin asked, finally voicing what had been sitting in all their minds.

“Or impressed,” Mingyu shrugged. “They didn’t think we’d survive this one. Not all of us.”

“We crushed their system,” Jeonghan added. “The bonus rules, the stolen crests… everything.”

“Do you think our parents watched everything?” Jisoo asked softly.

There was a quiet moment.

Eyes dropped.

“Yeah,” Seungcheol said. “They watched everything.”

And then—

The door opened.

A familiar doctor rolled in a second wheelchair.

Their heads turned in unison.

Wonwoo.

His eyes were half-lidded, his hair an unruly mess, but he was awake—blinking behind a pair of freshly placed glasses.

He looked around.

“...Why are you all looking at me like that?”

And that was it.

“WONWOO!!!”

Seokmin jumped up—again forgetting his cast—and yelped.
 Jisoo grabbed his crutches and half-hopped to Wonwoo.
 Mingyu kicked back his chair, face lit up.
 Seungcheol abandoned Jeonghan’s wheelchair to get closer.

And Jeonghan just closed his eyes and smiled.

They are all alive.

Notes:

Writing the whole The Tournament arc and I’m just here thinking because I also added scenes from their parents’ perspective and how much scary and nerve wracking it is for them to see their children go through the same exact situation they were in years ago. That’s why I can’t wait for the boys and to make them experience things in the next chapters without that looming thought if they will make it out alive because they are now free and official Victors (╥﹏╥). Lemme know your thoughts!

Chapter 24: The Aftermath

Notes:

AHHHHHHH so I am actually editing this while at work like literally during a meeting (•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑ I feel like this chapter will cover a lot of happenings after the Tournament, hence the title of the chapter, The Aftermath. It will conclude the whole Tournament arc and we will enter a new arc in the next chapters and then Epilogue (╥﹏╥) Anyway, enjoy chapter 24!

All six of them were officially moved into private recovery suites at the Capitol Medical Facility.

But that didn’t stop them.

Mingyu's room became the official hangout, purely because he insisted,

“My back brace is heavy, and I’m not walking anywhere. If you love me, you’ll come to me.”

So, of course, they did.

Seokmin rolled in with a sling and snacks.
 Jisoo limped in with his crutches like a dramatic prince.
 Jeonghan had Seungcheol push him with an oxygen tank clipped to his chair.
 Wonwoo, glasses perched low, shuffled in on his own—quiet but smiling.

Then—there was a knock.

And everything shifted.

 

 

The doors opened, and the air filled with the kind of tears that only come from family.

Wonwoo’s parents held him like he was made of glass.

His father was quiet, his mother’s eyes wet as she clung to his hand.

“We saw the traps, the killing blows... and yet, we couldn’t look away,” she said softly.
 “You were calm, strong, but you were hurting. We saw that too.”

Wonwoo only nodded, his eyes shining behind his glasses.

 

 

Seokmin’s parents came in next, both crying freely.

“You were so cold on screen,” his mother whispered, holding his face.
 “But you’re still our sun.”

His father added, with a shaky laugh,

“When you froze that one boy’s chest... I spilled my drink.”

“He was sleeping,” Seokmin muttered. “It felt wrong. But I did it anyway.”

His mother didn’t scold him. She only hugged him tighter.

 

 

Jisoo’s mother held his hand for so long that it turned white.

“You cried after every kill,” she said gently. “I know you hated it. I’m so proud of you.”

Jisoo just leaned against her side.

“I don’t want to do it again,” he whispered. “Not like that.”

 

 

Seungcheol’s parents stood silently for a moment, just watching him.

Headmaster Choi finally said, “I saw your shadow. You’ve always feared it. Now it listens to you.”

“Not just me,” Seungcheol chuckled. “It listens to Jeonghan too.”

His mother gave a half-laugh, half-sob. “You were ruthless. But... you made it. All of you did.”

 

 

And Mingyu’s mother?

She came in and immediately burst into tears, not even saying hello before collapsing into her son’s arms—careful not to press against his brace.

“You carried Jisoo while bleeding,” she cried.
 “I saw it. I screamed at the TV. You fool. You sweet, sweet fool.”

Mingyu laughed through his own tears.

“I couldn’t leave Jisoo behind. He would’ve made that dramatic gasp sound and guilt-tripped me forever.”

Everyone burst into laughter again.

 

Jeonghan silently smiled looking at his people and quietly slipped away, carefully rolling his wheelchair away from the room. 

But Jisoo is quick to notice him. 

"Hannie, why are you leaving? Did you know that I literally killed someone who disguised as you in the Arena?"

Everyone chuckled. 

Jeonghan just sighed and rolled his wheelchair near Seungcheol once again when Headmaster Choi smiled at him, " Remember what I told you during your first night in the Academy?"

Jeonghan clearly remembered the words: "You will win."

 

 

That night, the parents eventually left them alone, giving them privacy to rest.

But they didn’t.

None of them slept.

Mingyu’s room lights were dimmed, but all six were still there, sitting or lying in a half-circle, wrapped in blankets and bandages.

There was silence.

Then...

“I don’t know if I can watch it,” Mingyu muttered.

They all turned.

“The replays,” he clarified. “Of us. Killing other kids our age.”

His voice broke slightly.

“Even if we had no choice.”

“I get it,” Seokmin said quietly. “I haven’t touched ice since we got here. My hands... still feel cold.”

Wonwoo leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

“We won. But part of me feels like I left pieces behind in that arena. Like... I’m not fully me anymore.”

Jisoo nodded slowly.

“I tried to give kindness to the ones I killed. But... there’s no kind way to do it. I see their faces.”

 

Jeonghan was quiet for a while before speaking.

“We’ll have to learn to live with it. No one wins these games clean.”

He looked around the room.

“But at least we’re together. That’s rare. Unheard of, even.”

 

Seungcheol exhaled. “We’re gonna carry this forever. The screams. The running. That countdown in our ears. But... if we can survive that, we can survive what comes next.”

“What comes next?” Seokmin asked.

Wonwoo whispered, barely audible,

“Living.”

And that single word lingered in the room like an anchor and a promise.

They didn’t sleep.

But they were warm.

Breathing.

Healing.

Alive.

 

******

1 MONTH LATER 

 

The Capitol had waited.

For one full month, the screens remained paused on the final frame of six young men standing bloodied, bruised, but victorious in their Nation 4 chamber. A moment that had turned to legend even before the arena crumbled to ash.

Now, thirty days later, they were back—not as players, not as pawns—but as Victors.

The suite inside the Capitol tower is warm and luxurious.

Mingyu and Seokmin are loudly devouring breakfast, a mound of pancakes disappearing at record speed. Seokmin is even humming a victory anthem between bites.

Seungcheol and Jeonghan are half-asleep, limbs tangled like sleepy cats on a single one-person couch, heads knocking gently against each other.

Wonwoo, quiet as always, is sipping his morning lavender tea, eyes glancing at today’s itinerary.

Meanwhile, Jisoo is standing in front of the mirror, squinting as he fixed his eyebrows.

“If I’m getting crowned, I am not showing up with uneven brows,” he muttered.

The calm was broken by a familiar voice.

“Still dramatic, I see.”

 

“PROFESSOR KWON!”
 Jisoo and Seokmin screamed in perfect sync and rushed toward the door.

Professor Kwon entered with a smile and open arms.

He looked older, more tired, but his eyes brimmed with pride.

The rest stood, even Wonwoo, as they greeted the mentor who had trained them since the beginning.

Professor Kwon smiled with pride,“You boys...” he began, voice already cracking. “You shattered every expectation, rewrote the rules, and still held each other through the worst of it.”

He walked closer and placed a hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder.

“You didn’t just win. You survived together. That hasn’t happened in nearly a century.”

He looked at Jeonghan.

“I once told you your cunning would be your downfall... but instead, it became your compass.”

At Seokmin and Mingyu.

“You two never stopped smiling, even when the world burned and froze around you. You reminded them that strength doesn’t have to be heartless.”

To Jisoo.

“You saw people, even when they were weapons. You saw the pain in your enemy’s eyes and still showed mercy.”

And finally, at Wonwoo.

“You led not with pride, but with purpose. You didn’t scream to be heard—you moved so others could.”

He bowed his head.

“I’m honored to have taught you. The world is too.”

 

 

One hour later.

They stood in the ceremonial hall, dressed in custom all-black suits, sharp and regal.

Each wore a matching obsidian ring—a symbol of unity, of being forged in pressure.

Pinned to their chest was the gold Victory Crest, the symbol of absolute triumph.

They stood in a horizontal line, unmoving, backs straight, as the Capitol’s anthem filled the air.

 

The Coronation Begins.

The Head Chairman of the Capitol and one of the creators of The Tournament—a tall, poised woman with silver in her hair and steel in her eyes—stepped forward with six gleaming crowns, forged from tempered crystal and obsidian.

 

The Head Chairman approached.

“To Jeon Wonwoo,” she began, her voice echoing.
 “Who led with precision, healed with grace, and orchestrated one of the most balanced victories in Tournament history.”

She placed the crown on his head.

“To the Silent Strategist.

May your eyes always see beyond the battle.”

 

“To Hong Jisoo.
 Who understood not just victory, but value.
 You wielded your ability with restraint and foresight, honoring the crest with every move.”

She smiled gently.

“To the Heartseer.”

 

“To Lee Seokmin.
 A cold ability matched by a warm soul.
 In a game of death, you reminded us of life. Of joy, humor, and light—even in ice.”

She laughed softly.

“To the Laughing Storm.”

 

“To Kim Mingyu.
 Whose fire did not consume, but protected.
 You carried your own weight, and that of others, even when your body broke beneath it.”

She raised his chin.

“To the Firebearer.”

 

“To Choi Seungcheol.
 The indomitable. The protector.
 With over 500 points, you have broken the record held for 92 years. But more than numbers, you broke the cycle—by making sure no one was left behind.”

The hall gasped at the confirmation of the point count.

She looked at him with admiration.

“To the Record Holder. To the Titan.”

 

“To Kang Jeonghan.
 The quiet shadow.
 Who never sought glory, but became the axis upon which this team turned.
 Who set traps not to destroy—but to survive, together.”

She stepped back.

“To the Ghostmind. The unseen shield.”

 

The Head Chairman turned to the audience.

“Citizens of the Capitol.
 You now stand before the Victors of the 92nd Tournament— Nation 4.
 Not just champions. Not just survivors.
 But legends.”

The crowd erupted.

Flashes.

Cheers.

Music.

The grand stadium lit with gold and obsidian.

And for the first time, the boys smiled—not because they were told to.

 But because they finally felt it.

They are going home.

 

******

 

The glass dome of the Capitol’s broadcasting studio shimmered under the night sky, the lights inside gleaming like stars. A small live audience sat in hushed anticipation, dressed in their finest, waiting to hear from the most talked-about group in the history of The Tournament: Nation 4’s Victors.

The stage was minimal—six black obsidian chairs set in a sleek arc. The host, was known for her razor-sharp wit, piercing interviews, and her favorite game: exposing hidden truths on live television.

Tonight, she stood in a sculpted emerald gown, holding her tablet like a dagger. Her smile was charming—but her eyes already scanned for weakness.

Behind her, massive holographic screens rotated highlights from the Tournament: flames devouring trees, glass shattering in the Heart Zone, shadows swallowing enemies whole.

Then: the six stepped out. Applause roared. They were elegant and powerful in tailored black—each with the obsidian victory ring and their crowns in place.

The host started, already grinning.
 “Let’s not waste time. Nation 4… welcome to your final interrogation—I mean, interview.”

The crowd laughed lightly. The six smiled, already bracing.

 “I’ll start simple. Jeonghan. You went through the entire Tournament with zero points. People call you the ghost. The whisper in the shadows. The mastermind with bloodless hands You did it for the Bonus Rule but what if the Bonus rule didn't exist, would you still intentionally keep 0 points?”

Jeonghan smirking slightly,  “I would. My role was to protect, guide, and trap. We didn’t need six killers—we needed one map. I preferred to be the one whispering directions while the others made the noise.”

  “And what would’ve happened if all of your traps failed?”

Jeonghan just shrugged, “Well, they didn’t.”

The crowd laughed nervously. The Host raised an eyebrow but nodded.

The Host then turned to Seungcheol, “You hold the record now: 520 points. The highest of any player in 92 years. But there’s been Capitol chatter… that your ability was borderline forbidden. Shadows that devour souls? Some call it unethical.”

Seungcheol calmly responded, “My ability is dangerous. But so is every other one in the arena. It’s not about what I can do—it’s about what I choose to do with it. I never used it recklessly. Jeonghan helped me control it.”

 “So Jeonghan gave your shadow permission?”

Jeonghan slightly chuckled, "It listens to me. We have a deal.”

 

More laughter from the audience. The Host grinned but shifted topics.

  “Mingyu. You’re a fan favorite. But many viewers said watching you burn a person to ash… was unsettling. Especially when you smiled after.”

Mingyu with his serious voice, began to speak,  “I smiled because I didn’t enjoy it. I smiled because it was over. You smile to stay sane in that place. But no, I’ll never rewatch it. I don’t want to see myself like that again.”

There was a pause—real, human—and the Host softened for just a beat before moving on.

 “Jisoo, you used empathy as a weapon. That’s a first. Was it hard—using someone’s love to kill them?”

Jisoo quietly spoke, “Hard? Yes. But we didn’t enter the Tournament to play nice. If it meant saving my people, I’d break hearts again.”

 “Even your own?”

 “Especially mine.”

 

A hush fell. Even the Host blinked at the rawness in his tone. Then,

 

 “Seokmin.”You froze the arena. Some call you the Warm Winter. But… how many people did you kill?”

Seokmin slowly spoke, words giving reverence, “Four confirmed. 1 crest steal. But numbers don’t define us. What matters is how we protected each other.”

 “You carried Wonwoo at the end. Why risk it?”

Seokmin smiled at Wonwoo, “Because we’re a team. We win together—or we don’t win at all.”

The Host nodded, now turning to the last person,  “And Wonwoo. The Healer. The Strategist. The Unshakable. You flipped your team’s tactic mid-game. You risked scattering them. Why?”

Wonwoo with his calm and collected voice,  “Because the silent strategy was over. We weren’t prey anymore. We became predators. And I trusted them to handle it.”

 “There’s talk that you saw through illusions, fought blind, and made final calls in the dark.”

Wonwoo sipping his tea, “I was blind, yeah. Still am without glasses. But I don’t need perfect vision to see my people.”

The crowd erupted into applause.

Everyone looked impressed.

  “One last question—for all of you.”
 “What’s next? Now that you’re crowned, feared, and idolized… what do you do with the blood on your hands?”

Silence.

Then, Jeonghan spoke.

 “We remember every face. Every sound. Every choice. We live with it. But we don’t let it define us. We are more than the war. More than The Tournament.”

Seungcheol: “We heal.”

Seokmin: “We help those after us.”

Jisoo: “We speak truth.”

Mingyu: “We stay human.”

Wonwoo: “And we never forget.”

 

The crowd rose to its feet in thunderous applause.

The Host stepped back, eyes shining with something that might be respect.

 “Ladies and gentlemen… the unshakable six. The Victors of the 92nd Tournament. Nation 4.”

The lights dimmed.

And the screen faded to black.

 

******

 

The platform shimmered under the soft glow of Capitol lights as the bullet train, sleek and silver like a blade, waited with its doors open. Cameras had long since been shut off. Crowds were gone.

What remained now was just them—six boys no longer contestants or crowned victors, but tired souls longing for something familiar.

As the doors slid open with a gentle hiss, they stepped inside.

Mingyu, still with energy to spare, grabbed Jeonghan’s wrist the moment they entered, “Dessert table. Now. I earned this sugar rush.”
 Jeonghan, amused, let himself be dragged toward the gleaming crystal trays of confections and pastries, while Jisoo collapsed onto a couch near the center of the cabin with a soft sigh, head tilted back.
 “If anyone needs me, I live here now.”

Wonwoo, Seokmin, and Seungcheol gave each other a nod, too exhausted to banter.
 Seokmin yawned and waved a lazy hand.
 “I still need, like… ten years of sleep. See you all later,” he mumbled, shuffling off toward the private suites like a zombie.
 Wonwoo followed with a small smile, and Seungcheol trailed after them, rubbing his temple.

Mingyu spoke with mouth full of cream puff, “We’re never eating ration bars again, right?”
 Jeonghan deadpanned, “Not unless I’m throwing one at someone’s face.”

The ride was smooth, almost hypnotic.

The Capitol's towering spires gave way to the silver-blue horizon as night blanketed the world outside.

 

 

A few hours later.
 With less than two hours until arrival and the train speeding through moonlit hills, the private suites were cloaked in dim lights and silence.

Inside one room, Mingyu and Wonwoo lay facing each other, tangled up in blankets and each other’s arms. Wonwoo’s head rested against Mingyu’s chest, his breath steady, while Mingyu had one hand over Wonwoo’s back like he was shielding him from the world.

A room over, Seokmin had pulled Jisoo close. Arms wrapped around his waist, their fingers softly interlaced beneath the blanket. Jisoo was facing away, eyes fluttered closed, but there was a contented smile on his lips.

In the last room, Jeonghan was curled up on top of Seungcheol—head resting beneath his chin, arm slung across Seungcheol’s chest. Seungcheol’s arms held him protectively, even in sleep, his breathing calm and slow. The shadows of their memories didn’t dare touch them here.

Six souls.

Quiet.

Still.

For once—safe.

Peace, and silence.
 They deserved it.

 

******

 

As the train doors slid open once more, a gust of familiar cool air welcomed them home. Lined up neatly, their personal maids and butlers stood waiting, smiling brightly despite the hour, eyes glossy with tears of relief and pride.

“Welcome home, Young Masters.”

Each of them was greeted with hugs, laughter, small tears held back behind composed faces.
 But before they could be ushered off to rest, Mingyu raised a hand.

“We’ll go to the lounge first. All of us. Just us.”
 No one objected.

 

Inside the lounge room—familiar, cozy, and still smelling faintly of pine and warm fabric softener—Seokmin dropped into his favorite armchair and let out a satisfied sigh, “Can we still keep our private room now that we’re not in the Tournament anymore?”

 Jeonghan grins as he give Seungcheol a back hug,  “Well, we do have the headmaster’s son with us…”
 Everyone looked at Seungcheol.
Seungcheol sighed but with a smile on his lips, intertwining his hand with Jeonghan's, “I’ll consider your humble request.”

Mingyu and Seokmin took to the kitchen, sleeves rolled, still bickering about how much salt goes into the noodles.
 Wonwoo and Seungcheol pulled out mattresses and pillows, starting construction on their famous fort—now with more strategic pillow placement.
 Jeonghan and Jisoo sat on the floor, arguing passionately over which movie to watch.

 “Not horror. I still have bruises.”

 “Not a romance, I’ll cry and I just got my eyeliner perfect again.”

Eventually, the food was done. The fort was built. The film was selected (reluctantly).
 They all squeezed into the fort, plates of warm food on their laps, dim lights casting a cozy golden glow.

Mingyu looked around at them—his family. Whole. Battered, but breathing.

 “So… regular students again starting tomorrow. I don’t know what’s worse—the nightmares or my math classes.”

Laughter.

Full and real.

The kind that cracked through silence and stitched wounds invisible to the eye.

Tonight, they were just six young men.

Brothers. Survivors. Family.
 And tonight… they are finally home.

 

******

THE VICTORY TOUR

 

The Victory Tour was a month-long spectacle, a final thread tying the victors to the world that watched them survive.

Divided into teams of two, the six were tasked to visit the other Nations—share their stories, answer questions, give the people something real beyond the bloodshed.

Seungcheol and Jeonghan took the lead through Nation 1 and 2.

 Nation 1 welcomed them with cold formality. Their surviving members had collapsed in The Heart Zone, and the citizens still wore black bands of mourning. Jeonghan took control in the interview, offering a quiet sincerity that softened the crowd. Seungcheol answered difficult questions with humility and strength—acknowledging the chaos of the tournament while refusing to glorify it.

By the time they left, citizens stood and applauded.

 In Nation 2, things were livelier. The people respected cunning, and the duo’s dynamic was a hit—Seungcheol’s grounded presence balancing Jeonghan’s effortless charm. They even joined a local traditional meal-sharing festival, with Jeonghan learning a dance from children while Seungcheol cooked noodles under watchful elders.

 

Mingyu and Wonwoo were sent to Nation 3, the home of the final leader Jeonghan had lured—and the one Seungcheol had executed.

The visit began with tension.

Security was tight, and some families were still grieving.
 But Wonwoo’s calm, precise speech about leadership, sacrifice, and accountability created space for empathy.

Mingyu, initially hesitant, surprised everyone with an emotional moment—apologizing for how painful survival can look from the outside. The audience shifted. Afterward, they were gifted Nation 3’s crest hand-stitched in silk.

A symbol of peace.

 

Seokmin and Jisoo were sent to Nation 5, where the most abrupt losses had taken place.

Nation 5, once known for its discipline and stoicism, met the pair with silent streets and lowered flags. Jisoo, in a rare move, offered a short memorial speech at their memorial center. Seokmin didn’t speak much—but he walked the entire city square holding flowers he placed in front of the Capitol wall.
 

 

Final Stop: Nation 4

The bullet train shimmered as it rolled into the capital of Nation 4, their home.

This stop is different.

No mourning, no suspicion.

Only pride, banners, and cheers echoing into the skies. Mingyu and Wonwoo led the way, walking side by side as the face of their Nation, with the rest following just behind.

Crowds screamed. Confetti rained.

Cameras caught every moment—the boys in coordinated outfits, looking stronger, older, and lighter.

Seungcheol now with his arms  healed but still firm, face stoic but softened by relief.

Jeonghan always full of grace and quiet power.

Jisoo  smiling like a star reborn.

Seokmin smiling matching Jisoo’s energy, brightness back in his eyes.

Wonwoo with his expression composed but peaceful, radiating leadership.

Mingyu flashing his charming grin with ease again.

The Nation 4 Celebration was one for the books—floats bearing their faces, a holographic retelling of their run to the chamber at The Heart, food stalls everywhere, live performances, fireworks.

There was laughter, music, dancing.

“To our victors—our sons—our pride!” the mayor toasted as the six of them raised glasses of blue champagne, hands briefly brushing in a silent bond.

It was the happiest they had all been in a long time.

 

 

Later That Night

Back at Aurora Academy, the boys returned to their dorm—exhausted, giddy, and slightly buzzed from celebration wine.

But as they entered the lounge… they all stopped.

There, resting on their coffee table, lay six identical black envelopes.

Mingyu picked one up. On the cover, written in elegant silver script:
 “Yoon Estate – This Saturday.”

Notes:

AHHHHHHHH so many things happened in this chapter like from the coronation to the victory tour.. I was actually contemplating if I needed to split this chapter in 2 parts but the momentum for the next arc will be gone so I decided to wrap everything in this chapter. It might seem a little bit rushed? but honestly, I don't know what fillers to put anymore ╥﹏╥ and another thing, maybe some of y'all are expecting more romance between the ships but I thought to focus more on what is the main core of the story which is their journey and preparation for The Tournament and I believe that the subtle moments between them is enough but do not worry, all 3 ships will have a special chapter focused (´꒳`)♡ so yeah, lemme know your thoughts!

Chapter 25: Law Of The Cursed

Notes:

Hiiiiiiiii! I missed this fic you guyss ╥﹏╥ took me awhile to update because as I have said on x, these next 2 chapters are the hardest chapters to write (_　_|||) took me almost a week to organize the sequence of the chapters AND HERE IT IS AHHHH ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ) thank you sooo much for being so patient and loving my first baby😭 without further ado, enjoy chapter 25!

The sleek black limousine came to a full stop in front of them, and all six stood in stiff silence. Dressed in neutral formals, stripped of their usual warmth and personality, they looked more like attendees at a funeral than victors summoned for a gathering.

The window slowly rolled down.

“Gentlemen,” the Yoon family’s personal driver greeted with a nod, his tone tight, void of warmth. “They’re waiting.”

None of them moved at first.

Wonwoo’s jaw tightened. Jisoo shifted his weight. Seungcheol glanced at Jeonghan—who hadn’t said a word since they’d received the invitation.

Jeonghan was pale.

He’d gone through fire. Shadow beasts. Death. Killing.
  But this?

This… was different.

This fear?
  This was real.

He climbed into the limousine first, and one by one, the rest followed.

The drive lasted three hours, long and winding, taking them far beyond the city and the known Academy routes. The deeper they went, the heavier the air became. No one dared speak.

Jeonghan sat by the window, eyes fixed on the dark trees blurring past. His hands were cold, his fingers curled tightly around the fabric of his pants.

Then, just as the estate gates opened, Mingyu squinted outside, his brows furrowed.

“…I think I just saw my parents’ car,” he muttered.

All heads turned toward him instantly.

The anxiety spiked.

Jisoo’s stomach dropped.
  Wonwoo clenched his fists.
  Even Seungcheol’s steady expression cracked slightly.
  Their parents were here?

Seokmin attempted to lift the air, offering a nervous laugh. “Maybe it’s a surprise dinner. You know, a formal thing? Parents want one last celebration, maybe?”

But no one laughed.
  No one smiled.

It had already been nearly three months since the end of the tournament. 

They’d had their celebrations. 

Their interviews. 

Their press runs.

Whatever this is…
  It isn’t another party.

Jisoo, already a bundle of nerves, started biting his nails, his brain cycling through every possible mistake they’d made recently. Had they broken a rule? Were they being punished?

The limousine came to a smooth stop before a mansion that screamed wealth and royalty, yet somehow… it still felt hollow.

Too perfect.
  Too polished.

Cold.

The moment the door opened, they were greeted by the Yoon’s long-time butler. “This way, young masters,” he said with a bow.

They entered through ornate golden doors into the heart of the estate.

The magic was palpable.

Old magic. Heavy and silent. Like it was listening.

They walked down a long corridor, floors polished like mirrors, chandeliers hanging above like a thousand watching eyes. At the end, two doors opened—revealing a massive hall. The air inside was warmer but suffocating.

Waiting for them inside were Jaehyun Yoon, their senior and heir to the family, and Yeji Yoon. Behind them stood the parents of the the other 5 victors..

Faces serious. 

Some lined with concern, others… with tears.

Seokmin flinched.
  His mother’s eyes were red. She had clearly been crying.

He stepped forward. “Mom? Are you okay? What’s going on—?”

Jaehyun raised a hand.

“Please, Seokmin. Just… sit.”

His voice was low. Almost broken.

The six sat slowly, cautiously. 

Uneasy. 

The weight in the room grew heavier.

Jaehyun looked at them.

Then looked at Jeonghan.

And said,

“We gathered you all here today because we’ve finally decided it’s time…

That we say sorry.

For an unforgivable act we committed…

Fifteen years ago.”

******

No one moved.
  No one breathed.

Jaehyun’s words echoed in the room like the ghost of thunder—low, rumbling, unforgettable.

The silence was loud. Every breath felt tight in their chests, a tension wrapped in velvet dread. The six victors, usually composed and confident, sat as if time had folded in on itself—children once again in front of the very people they loved and feared most.

Jeonghan swallowed hard. His throat was dry, but he pushed the words out anyway.

“…What does this have to do with me?” he asked, his voice shaking despite his best efforts to stay still. “I didn’t know any of you fifteen years ago.”

He didn’t want to sound rude. He didn’t want to seem weak. But something in his gut—something deep—was screaming. Begging for an answer.

Yeji, face unreadable, stepped forward, placing a stack of old, weathered photographs on the long obsidian table between them.

Next to her, Jisoo’s mother trembled slightly as she helped arrange the photos side by side.

Six children.
  Different ages.
  Different backdrops.
  But unmistakably—

Happy. Together.

Mingyu sucked in a breath. “That’s… that’s me,” he whispered.

Seungcheol leaned forward. His eyes scanned the photos, his frown deepening. “I… I’ve never seen these before. I don’t remember any of this happening.”

His mother looked down, shame etched into every line of her face. Tears slowly began to fall—quiet, resigned.

Wonwoo was silent, but his eyes had locked onto a small boy sitting on a treehouse ledge, a familiar pair of glasses dangling from his shirt. Beside him, another boy leaned in close, laughing at something.

Him.
 and Jeonghan?

Jaehyun drew a slow breath and stepped forward, the heels of his boots echoing against the marble floor. His voice, when it emerged, carried a weight the six students had never heard from him before—soft, yet heavy enough to bend the air itself.

“Let’s begin at the very start. You all remember the Law of the Cursed, don’t you?”

The six only stared back, wide‑eyed and motionless, as if spellbound. Confusion tightened their throats; not one of them dared to be the first to speak—until Wonwoo finally exhaled an answer that was closer to a sigh than a sentence.

“It … it was one of the fastest laws ever ratified,” he whispered, 

Headmaster Choi dipped his chin in a silent, solemn confirmation. Beside him, Yoon  Jaehyun cleared his throat and, more firmly this time, repeated, “From the very beginning, then.”

He drew a faint glowing sigil in the air—part reassurance, part memory spell—and let the light hover between them as he spoke.

“For centuries,” he said, “the Five Nations stood apart—divided by borders, by faith, and by ambition—after the gods poured fragments of their own power into humankind. Those blessings made our ancestors more than mortal, but less than divine.”

A low hum seemed to rise from the enchanted lamps overheard as he continued, each word weaving fresh images into their minds. 

“As time passed, these divine gifts evolved. Fusion of abilities gave birth to new strengths—and new threats. Thus, the abilities came to be classified into three distinct kinds:”

The Gifted- – those who heal, who breathe life into withering things, and who channel beauty in all its forms.

The Warriors – defenders of order and peace, bound by unshakable courage and unwavering resolve.

The Cursed - souls warped by forbidden fusion. Their abilities unspooled toward destruction, theft, and hunger. For them, death was mercy, sometimes the only mercy the world offered.

Jehyun let the titles settle like dust on the heart. All six of them remained frozen. 

Still silent.

 Bare hands pressed to racing chests, wondering whether they are ready for what comes next. 

Jaehyun Yoon continued, “Fifteen years ago,” he began, “I was days away from being appointed as the headmaster of Aurora Academy. And all of us know that Aurora Academy is one of the most prestigious and most important institutions across five Nations. But the decision was controversial. My ascension sparked outrage. Whispers became protests. Protests turned into threats. Not just from other Nations, but from rebel factions, outcasts, and wandering tribes.

“ My appointment should have been a celebration.”

Instead, he laughed once, humorless. “ It triggered an uproar.”

The air temperature seemed to drop. A soft, trembling draught swept through the room, setting the parchments on nearby desks rustling like frightened birds. 

“Why?” Mingyu’s question cracked the silence, quieter than he intended yet loud enough to feel tresonous. 

Jaehyun’s expression tightened. “Because of my family’s origins. The Yoon lineage… is deeply rooted in black magic. Our ancestors tried to merge forbidden witchcraft with the divine magic the gods gifted us centuries ago, alchemy meant to bend the fabric of power itself.  Our bloodline was said to harbor impossible fusions of abilities, ones never sanctioned by the Gods. Forbidden. Cursed.”

He paused, letting the truth settle in their hearts.

“That arrogance… fractured the nations. Betrayals bloomed faster than wild-fire lilies.. Tensions boiled. Fear fed on rumor, rumor swelled into outrage, and soon, the Higher Council convened in secret, behind closed doors, hooded and afraid. And they have decided a way to ‘manage’ the chaos.”

The room felt smaller, the ceiling lower. Their parents, standing farther back, cross-armed and tear-rimmed-nodded, as if they had rehearsed this moment a thousand times in their nightmares. 

Seokmin’s breath hitched. “ The Law of the Cursed..”

“Yes.” Jaehyun closed his eyes. When they opened again, they glistened with unshed remorse, and something else. “The Higher Council drafted a decree that changed every cradle, every classroom, every heartbeat across the Five Nations.”

He recited it, word for word, each syllable as sharp as a blade:

“Henceforth, any child above the age of five who manifests a forbidden fusion- a Cursed ability- shall be executed without delay, that peace may be preserved and the Nations safeguarded” 

The silence that followed was not empty; it throbbed. Somewhere outside, a mourning dove cooed, a sound so gentle it only deepened the cruelty of the law. 

The six students remained frozen in their seats, as if the very air had turned to stone around them. No one blinked. No one breathed too loudly. Every word Jaehyun spoke seemed to etch itself into their bones.

Jaehyun’s voice cut through the silence once more, steady but lined with sorrow.

“The law gained support quickly. Too quickly. Many saw it as salvation—a divine safeguard. A way to protect the purity of the gods’ gifts. To preserve order. To shield the world from what they called corruption.”

He let the words settle for a moment, watching the flickers of horror ripple across their young faces. Then he turned slowly, his gaze moving from Sowoon to the other parents standing in the shadows—then finally landing on Seungcheol, whose face had gone pale.

“But not everyone agreed,” Jaehyun said, his tone sharpening like a blade.

“The former victors of Nation Four,the Choi family, were among the dissenters.”

Seungcheol stiffened, his eyes flickering with an emotion he couldn’t even find in the depths of his memories.

“You were only five,” Jaehyun said quietly, almost reverently. “Barely old enough to read. And yet, your shadow had already come alive—a living, breathing entity that consumed light… and souls. A forbidden power. One crafted for death and nothing else.”

 Seokmin looked at Seungcheol in disbelief, while Mingyu instinctively leaned forward, like he wanted to reach for him—but didn’t know how.

Jaehyun shook his head slowly, a sad smile ghosting across his lips,one born of grief, not warmth.

“Your father… he was on the Council at the time. One of the very men who helped draft the Law of the Cursed. He was supposed to uphold it. But instead, he stood at a crossroads—duty to the law… or love for his child.”

Silence fell again, heavier this time. Even the enchanted lanterns overhead flickered, as if mourning the memory.

“He wasn’t alone.”

Jaehyun turned his eyes toward his wife, Yeji. She was trembling now, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.

“Our own son,” Jaehyun said, his voice catching, “was also five when it began. He awakened an ability that couldn’t even be named. It didn’t belong to any category. The Council couldn’t classify it—so they feared it. And in fear, they judged it as cursed.”

Yeji stifled a sob, and Jena stepped forward instinctively, placing a hand on her shoulder. Grief was not a stranger in this room,

It lived here.

 It breathed here.

“Behind closed doors,” Jaehyun continued, “Sowoon and I met with your fathers. We begged them to reconsider. Not to abolish the law entirely—no. We knew that would be impossible. But to delay it. To soften its punishment. No child should be sentenced to die for something they never chose.”

His voice trembled now, finally betraying the weight he carried.

“We weren’t trying to spare monsters. We were trying to save children.”

He paused, swallowing the emotion threatening to close his throat. His shoulders slumped, the tale visibly draining him—memory by memory.

“We argued,” he said again, his voice barely above a whisper. “We pleaded. We offered alternatives—rehabilitation, containment, training, anything that didn’t involve execution. But the Council…”

He trailed off, then clenched his fists at his sides.

“The Council refused. They said mercy would weaken resolve. That hesitation could lead to disaster. And so they chose fear. And with fear, they chose blood.”

A long silence followed, the kind that screams.

Seungcheol lowered his gaze, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling in slow, heavy breaths. The others stared at him—not with judgment, but with horror at the realization: the cursed weren’t born evil. They were born children.

******

Jaehyun drew a breath so thin it almost failed him. When he spoke again, his voice cracked—not from weakness, but from the effort of holding a dam back with bare hands.

“Despite our family’s efforts to redeem ourselves, karma has a cruel way of chasing legacy. Fifteen years ago… the rebels returned.”

“They set this estate on fire.”

Gasps erupted from the six, eyes darting to one another in disbelief.

“And in that fire… they tried to destroy the last remnants of the Yoon bloodline.”

He looked at Jeonghan.

“They came for our son. Because he had a forbidden ability.”

Silence.
  Stillness.
  And then—

“…A dream ability,” Jaehyun said finally.

Jisoo blinked. “But… Jihyo isn’t your first child?”

Jaehyun shook his head slowly, his voice trembling. “No. She was born years later. Our son was your age. His name was…”

He turned to Jeonghan fully.

“…Jeonghan.”

Time stopped.

The other five stared at him.

Jeonghan couldn’t breathe.

"Fifteen years ago... you were taken from us.”

 

Jeonghan’s lips parted, but no sound emerged. Memories he didn’t know he possessed fluttered like trapped birds—faint smells of smoke, a lullaby in a mother’s voice, a gauntlet‑clad hand yanking him through flames. He pressed a fist to his chest, as if steadying a heart suddenly too heavy.

“Fifteen years ago,” Jaehyun murmured, “you were stolen from us. One moment we were shielding you behind the garden wall; the next, you disappeared into the smoke.”

Yeji’s sob broke the spell. She covered her mouth, shoulders shaking. Jena drew her into an embrace, eyes red.

“Outside these walls,” Jaehyun went on, “hatred marched beneath Yoon banners they’d torn from our own guard towers—perverting our crest into a symbol of revolt.”

His voice trembled with every memory.

“Our staff fought—housekeepers, gardeners, tutors—every one of them stood between rebels and a five‑year‑old boy. Yeji wielded every sigil she knew. But the fire—”

His hands opened helplessly. “—it consumed the night itself.”

He closed his eyes, jaw rigid.

“A piece of our hearts burned away with that roof.”

Wonwoo’s mother let out a soft, shuddering sob. Even the stoic Headmaster Choi lowered his gaze.

“When dawn finally came,” Jaehyun continued, “I stood before the Council, ash still on my robes, begging for justice. They barely listened. They said the loss was ‘the cost of dangerous blood.’”

Spite tightened his voice.

“Only one man—Councilor Heechul Park—dared to speak for us. But a lone voice in a hall of stone echoes, then vanishes.”

Wonwoo’s eyes widened as the realization hit him. “The current president of the Capitol..”

A hush settled, thicker than before. Jaehyun lifted haunted eyes to the students.

And to protect the rest of you…” Jaehyun said, pain bleeding into every word, “We made the decision—together with your parents—to erase all memories you had of him.”

Seokmin shot up from his chair. “What?” His eyes were rimmed red, the tears falling soundlessly. “You did what?!”

Jaehyun looked like he aged in seconds. “It was the only way. You were children. And Jeonghan… was precious to all of you.”

He glanced around the room.

“We didn’t want you to live with the pain of losing him. So, we erased the memories. Burned the photos. Removed all traces. Even made everyone who knew Jeonghan forget.”

“While my family was breaking apart..

Still.. the law passed.”

“It didn’t matter how many tears were shed. How many families pleaded. How many children disappeared before their parents’ eyes.

The decree was signed. And with it, a nightmare swept across the Five Nations like a cold wind from the grave.

Soldiers in silver armor flooded every province, their faces blank beneath enchanted helms. They knocked on every door, entered every nursery. They watched children laugh, cry, stumble—and then they tested them. Cold magic. Ruthless precision.

One misstep. One spark of unexplainable energy. One twitch of the unnatural… and the child was gone.”

Jaehyun’s voice, though steady, was soaked in sorrow.

“Sowoon hid Seungcheol’s shadow,” he said, turning toward the man now standing beside him. “He bound it to himself. Took the darkness in. Gave up part of his own soul… so the shadow would cling to him instead of his son.”

Seungcheol’s head snapped toward his father, eyes wide. He hadn’t known. Not truly.

“You—” Seungcheol’s voice caught in his throat. “You did that for me?”

Sowoon’s eyes were rimmed red, but he didn’t cry.

“I would’ve given more,” he said softly. “All of it, if it meant you’d grow up free.”

Seungcheol’s mouth parted, but no words came. His shadow, long thought docile, shuddered faintly against the stone floor—as if remembering.

Jaehyun exhaled, eyes heavy.

“Others weren’t so lucky,” he said. “Heechul Park’s only daughter, Younhee… was one of them.”

The name struck the room like lightning.

“Her ability surfaced too early,” Jaehyun said quietly. “She was caught. Branded. Executed. Publicly. As a warning.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Jisoo rose to his feet, fists trembling at his sides.

“No…” he whispered. “During the Ability Test—when I looked at  the President… he shouted her name. I didn’t know why. He screamed it like it broke him.”

Jaehyun nodded, eyes never leaving Jisoo.

“It did. She was his entire world. And he watched her die in chains.”

Sowoon stepped forward now, voice low but powerful.

“The executions went on for years. The skies darkened. People stopped having children. What was the point? If loving your child meant watching them burn?”

He looked around the room, gaze sharp.

“The law was meant to preserve the nations. But instead, it hollowed them out. Mercy was replaced by fear. Love by suspicion.”

“Eventually,” Jaehyun added, “even the Council could no longer ignore what they had done. Entire generations were vanishing. The nations were bleeding themselves dry.”

He took a slow breath.

“Heechul Park—now President of Nation 4—rose with a broken heart and a blade made of grief. And with that grief, he carved a new law into stone.”

A solemn beat.

“The executions stopped. A new mandate was passed:

 

‘All children with cursed abilities shall be sent immediately to government-run academies for containment, re-education, and potential integration.’”

Jisoo sat down slowly, eyes glassy.

“So now… instead of death, it’s imprisonment.”

Jaehyun didn’t flinch.

“It’s not perfect. But it’s better than fire. Better than chains.”

Sowoon nodded.

“The academies were designed to train them, help them manage their power. And keep them under watch. At least… it gave them a chance.”

Jaehyun looked at Jeonghan now, and his voice softened.

“While inspections continued… Sowoon and I began the real work. We scoured every inch of Nation 4. Every hidden village, every orphanage, every underground passage. We followed rumors of miracle children. Haunted dreams. Boys who didn’t bleed.”

“For years,” Sowoon said, “we searched. And every time we thought we were close… it was smoke. Echoes.”

Jaehyun lowered his head.

“We never found a single trace of Jeonghan. Not a tooth, not a ribbon, not a memory. It was like he had been erased from the world completely.”

The grief in the room thickened like fog.

Then, quietly,

“Until…” Jaehyun raised his eyes again. “Sowoon found a boy in the woods.”

The words hung in the air like prophecy.

Mingyu leaned forward, skeptical, but gentler than before.

“But… how were you so sure it was him?” he asked, voice softer now. “After all those years?”

 

Headmaster Choi didn’t hesitate, “Seungcheol’s shadow.. warned me.”

Notes:

revelation overload this chapter but honestly i think the next chapter is equally as overloaded as this one so stay tuned for that👀👀 after this arc, we are about to approach the epilogue you guys😭 Lemme know your thoughts!♥️

Chapter 26: Forgotten Past

Notes:

FRIENDS AHHHHH! This is officially the longest chapter of this fic with more than 6K words like whatttt (°ロ°) ! all will be revealed in this chapter with a couple of flashbacks (ง •̀_•́)ง can I just say I am dedicating this chapter to all of my new friends on x and I wanna say thank youuuuu so much to all of you who read this fic and to everyone who always talk to me on x ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡) enjoy chapter 26!

No one moved.

Not a breath.

Not a whisper.

The room sat in stunned silence, like the air itself was afraid to shift.

Seungcheol stared at his father, confusion tightening his features. His voice cracked slightly when he finally spoke.

“Dad… what do you mean? My shadow warned you?”

Headmaster Choi nodded slowly, the weight of memory dragging down his posture.

“It was just days before the start of the new semester,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “I remember waking up in the middle of the night… feeling hollow. Void. A kind of emptiness I hadn’t felt in over a decade.”

He looked at Seungcheol then, and his voice softened.

“That sensation… it only ever happened when your shadow and I were still bound. When I was its custodian. I knew immediately something was wrong.”

The six students listened, unmoving, as if afraid a single shift would break the fragile thread holding the moment together.

“So I stayed on guard. I knew your shadow could act on its own, Seungcheol, remember? It has a will, an instinct beyond even your own control.”

He paused.

“And then… it appeared.”

Gasps rippled quietly, like waves breaking against stone.

“Your shadow showed itself to me,” Sowoon continued. “It pulled me, physically led me, toward one of the remote forests on the outskirts of Nation 4.”

Jeonghan’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t speak.

He couldn’t.

“I didn’t understand it at the time. I had no reason to go. But I followed anyway. I trusted the bond we once shared.”

Sowoon’s voice trembled for the first time.

“But in those woods… something unexpected happened.”

The air thickened. Hearts pounded.

“Seungcheol…” he turned slowly to his son. “Your shadow attacked me.”

The words landed like thunder.

Gasps erupted from the students.

Jisoo visibly flinched.

Mingyu reached out for Wonwoo’s arm without realizing it.

Seungcheol’s eyes widened in horror.

“What…?” he whispered. “Why would it… Dad, I don’t understand…”

“Neither did I,” Sowoon replied. “Not at first. I thought maybe your shadow had deemed me a threat after all these years. I was bleeding. I fell to the forest floor, trying to protect myself from something I once nurtured.”

Then he inhaled, steadying his voice.

“And that’s when he appeared.”

All eyes turned as Sowoon’s gaze shifted across the room.

He looked at Jeonghan.

“A boy—maybe nineteen, maybe twenty—stepped out from between the trees. Pale, cautious… eyes too old for someone so young. And he helped me. No questions. No fear.”

Jeonghan’s breath hitched.

He stared at the floor, unmoving, expression unreadable.

“He helped me stand. Treated my wounds with trembling hands. Said his name… was Jeonghan.”

Mingyu’s breath caught.

The name felt heavier now than it ever had before.

“After that,” Sowoon continued, “your shadow lingered for a moment longer, then vanished into the trees. As if… satisfied.”

A cold silence followed.

The fire crackled in the background, a faint heartbeat in the silence.

“From that moment,” Sowoon went on, “my instincts screamed. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it would collapse in my chest. The past… your past… all of it came crashing back.”

He looked down, shame clouding his features.

“But I said nothing. Not at first. I needed to be sure.”

He turned back to Jeonghan.

“That’s why, without consulting anyone, I drafted an immediate acceptance letter for him. No interviews. No council clearance. I just… brought him here.”

The truth hung in the air, sharp and disorienting.

 

And then, for the first time since the revelation began, a new voice spoke—cracked and thick with tears.

“He called us.”

It was Mingyu’s mother. Her hands trembled in her lap, soaked with tissues she’d long stopped using.

“That night. First day after semester break. Mingyu called home.”

Her voice broke into a whisper as she glanced at her son.

“He said he’d met someone new. A boy. A kind boy. A friend… named Jeonghan.”

Mingyu’s eyes widened in disbelief. He had completely forgotten about that moment—just a casual call, a happy one.

“Your father and I called Sowoon immediately,” she continued, her voice cracking, “but he told us to keep it quiet. To wait. To observe.”

Mingyu pressed his palms to his face, shoulders shaking now.

“I didn’t know…” he sobbed. “I didn’t know the weight of what I was saying…”

Wonwoo moved to place a hand on his back, but no words were spoken. None could ease the pain of innocence colliding with fate.

The room was quiet again.

And this time, the silence was not just grief.

It was recognition.

It was reunion.

It was the sound of past lives folding into the present.

 

******

 

Sowoon inhaled slowly, the weight of years pressing against his chest as he continued. “But no matter how hard we tried… we can never truly escape the past.”

He looked around the room—at each of them. The six students who had once been five.

“Even after we erased every trace of Jeonghan from your lives… your hearts still remembered. Even if your minds didn’t. Every single one of you… still gravitated toward him.”

Jeonghan flinched slightly, his hands curling into his sleeves.

“You five—” Sowoon gestured gently toward them, “never let anyone into your circle. Not once. You were known for it. You were inseparable. Unbreakable. Unwelcoming.”

A flicker of a smile crossed his face, sad and fond all at once.

“But with Jeonghan… it was effortless. As if something deep within you remembered what your minds forgot. As if your souls had been waiting for him to return.”

Seokmin glanced sideways at Jeonghan, tears still streaking his cheeks. Jisoo leaned back, breathless. Seungcheol’s hands trembled in his lap.

Sowoon’s tone turned heavier.

“And then… the Selection Ceremony happened.”

All six straightened instinctively at the mention of the Tournament.

Their fate.

Their doom.

“You might not know this,” he continued slowly, “but the results of Nation 4’s ceremony… were the most controversial across all five nations.”

Jisoo, barely a whisper, asked: “Why?”

Sowoon turned his gaze to him—gentle, but solemn.

“Because the five of you are the children of previous Tournament victors. A legacy so rare it’s practically legend. People expected your names. They were watching for them. But they also believed you would never all be chosen together. Too convenient. Too dangerous.”

He exhaled, voice lowering.

“The Headmaster of Nation 3 formally questioned the Goblet’s choices. He accused Nation 4 of tampering.”

Gasps echoed around the room.

Seokmin’s voice broke through the tension, sharp and confused. “But the Goblet… no one can control it.”

Sowoon nodded.

“Exactly. That’s why the Capitol upheld the decision. The Goblet has stood for generations as the impartial, sacred selector. Bound by ancient magic and divine law. Its choices cannot be overturned. Not even by a President.”

 

He turned his eyes toward Seungcheol now, the sadness clear in his voice.

“And how could I question the Goblet… when it called the name of my only child?”

 

Seungcheol looked down, jaw clenched. That day haunted him. The firelight. The sound of his name echoing through the Hall.

“But that wasn’t all,” Sowoon said, drawing in a shaky breath. “The most shocking name… was Jeonghan.”

The room fell silent again.

“That’s when I knew. The past wasn’t just returning—it was demanding to be seen.”

Yeji wiped a tear quietly from her cheek as Sowoon continued.

“So I summoned your parents to the Choi Estate. We could no longer keep the truth buried. Not when the future was forcing it into the light.”

Jeonghan finally looked up, eyes wide, lips parted, as if he were trying to speak—trying to breathe.

Sowoon turned to him softly.

“You weren’t just chosen, Jeonghan. You were called. And fate… doesn’t call lightly.”

 

******

 

Sowoon continued, his voice softening, tinged with the wistfulness of a memory.

“A few days before I summoned the rest of the parents to the Choi Estate… I spoke to Seungcheol. Just the two of us. About the Selection Ceremony.”

 

Flashback

The warm golden light from the stained-glass windows filtered into the office of the Headmaster of Aurora Academy. Rows of scrolls, spellbooks, and trophies lined the shelves behind the large oak desk. A heavy silence hung between father and son—both bound by duty, legacy, and unspoken fear.

Seungcheol stood rigid, his posture flawless, spine straight, hands clasped behind his back. He wasn’t just a son in that moment—he was a soldier.

A student.

A symbol.

“Seungcheol,” Sowoon asked, watching his son through a mask of calm, “how do you feel?”

Without hesitation, Seungcheol answered with trained confidence.

“I am ready.”

The words were too clean. Too practiced. Sowoon nodded, but it felt mechanical—his heart was hammering in his chest, each beat echoing the memory of a choice they made fifteen years ago.

 

Still, he stayed composed. His voice, when it came again, was quiet. Careful.

“Tell me about Jeonghan.”

That caught Seungcheol off guard.

His brow furrowed for a second, then a small smile played on his lips, almost amused. “Jeonghan… is dangerous.”

Sowoon’s eyes froze.

The words echoed—dangerous. And with it, a flood of memory rushed in.

 

A younger time, long buried:

A four-year-old Seungcheol, shrieking with laughter, running barefoot through the grass.

A wooden sword clutched in a tiny hand as little Jeonghan gave chase, equally breathless.

“RUN!! Jeonghannie is dangeroussss!”

Their giggles, wild and full of light, danced through the garden like windchimes.

 

The memory hit like a wave. But Sowoon didn’t let it show.

He stayed still. Composed. Only his eyes flickered as he asked, evenly, “How come?”

Seungcheol shrugged slightly, more serious now.

“His ability. We showed Professor Kwon what we could do… and his—it’s something we’ve never seen before. Not classified. Not in any record I’ve studied.”

Sowoon leaned forward slightly. “May I ask… what exactly is his ability?”

Seungcheol, for the first time, seemed proud.

“A dream ability.”

Silence.

Cold, deafening silence.

The floor beneath Sowoon might as well have disappeared.

That was it.

The confirmation he had been fearing… and hoping for.

The ability lost with the child they had failed to save.

The one ability no other soul had ever possessed.

Sowoon’s breath caught—but his face remained composed.

A headmaster’s mask. A father’s burden.

He stood, slowly, stepping around the desk. He placed a hand on his son’s shoulder—firm, but distant.

“Seungcheol…” he said, his voice low, steady—heavy.

“…Do not disappoint me.”

Seungcheol bowed his head, not understanding the weight behind those words.

 

End of Flashback

 

Sowoon’s eyes shimmered slightly as he returned to the present, voice barely above a whisper.

“That was the moment I knew… beyond any doubt. The boy Seungcheol had bonded with… the boy who carried a dream ability… was him.”

 

All heads turned toward Jeonghan again—who hadn’t spoken in a long time.

But he didn’t look up.

He simply sat there, still pale, trembling ever so slightly—like someone walking across a frozen lake, feeling the cracks spider underfoot.

 

Sowoon continued, his voice low and steady. “Then… the night we were gathered at the Choi Estate.”

 

Flashback

 

The air was unnaturally still that evening. The moon sat high and heavy above the grand gates of the Choi Estate, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch in anticipation. The walls of the estate—usually filled with light, laughter, and ceremonial elegance—now loomed solemn and silent, like sentinels guarding a truth long buried.

The Lees and Hongs arrived first, their entourage trimmed to only a driver and a loyal butler. Jena, Jisoo’s mother, stepped out of the car slowly. The moment her foot touched the stone path leading to the main hall, her chest tightened. She could feel it. The weight. The shift. This wasn’t just another gathering. And it certainly wasn’t a celebration.

“Sowoon never calls us here like this…” she whispered to her husband, who only nodded grimly.

Soon after, the Jeons and Kims arrived. Wonwoo’s father looked skeptical, his eyes already searching for clues in the solemn expressions of the staff, the eerily quiet foyer, the absence of music or ceremony.

Mingyu’s parents, though, exchanged glances. They already had their suspicions. From that one phone call. From Sowoon’s clipped, nervous tone when they asked about the new student named Jeonghan.

Then, finally, the Yoons arrived.

Not as they once were, radiant and regal in their lineage, commanding respect in any room they entered.

But aged. Worn down.

Their loss had chiseled away their years like wind over stone.

Yet even so—Jaehyun Yoon and Yeji stood with their heads held high. Their grief had not made them smaller.

It had made them sharper. Quieter. Stronger.

The families were ushered into the private study—an ancient chamber carved from stone and wood, enchanted long ago by priestly magic. Its walls pulsed faintly with protective spells, shielding what was to be spoken.

And still… no one spoke.

The weight of unsaid words sat heavily in every breath.

Sowoon stood at the head of the room. He waited until the final echo of footsteps faded, and then let the silence linger a second longer—long enough for everyone to feel the coming storm.

“I’ve called you here tonight… to tell you something important,” he began, his voice steady, but his hands folded tightly behind his back.

“Something that may change everything.”

He turned to face the Yoons directly.

Then, without ceremony, he dropped the words like stones into still water.

“We might have finally found Jeonghan.”

 

Gasps broke the air like shattered glass.

Yeji shot to her feet, trembling violently. Her hands clutched at her chest like she was trying to hold her heart in place.

Jaehyun remained frozen. His eyes widened—but no words came. Just the sound of breath leaving his body in a quiet, agonized exhale.

Jena’s voice cracked, her knuckles white around the handkerchief in her lap.

“What… our Jeonghan?”

Sowoon nodded solemnly, his own voice hushed with reverence.

“Yes. Our Jeonghan.”

Finally, Jaehyun found his voice, though it trembled with the weight of 15 silent years. “It’s been so long… how can you be sure it’s him? That it’s really our son?”

Sowoon stepped forward, meeting his friend’s gaze.

“Let me tell you what happened.”

He recounted everything. How Seungcheol’s shadow had led him, almost violently, into the forest outskirts of Nation 4.

How it had attacked him—not out of malice, but out of instinct, coming from something deeper, something buried.

And how a boy had appeared from the trees…

“A boy who saved me. A boy who called himself Jeonghan.”

Gasps and tears.

Yeji’s knees buckled slightly, but she held herself up.

“I brought him to Aurora. I enrolled him without delay… and I waited for confirmation.”

Sowoon turned back to Jaehyun, eyes dark with the memory.

“And then, a few days ago… Seungcheol told me what Jeonghan’s ability was.”

Silence descended like snow.

“A dream ability.”

Yeji collapsed into quiet sobs, her shoulders shaking with the grief of a mother who never stopped hoping but could never allow herself to believe.

Jaehyun blinked rapidly, tears spilling freely now, voice thick with emotion.

“Can we see him? Please… I need to see my son.”

Sowoon hesitated, then gently reached into his coat pocket. He unfolded a photograph—the one Professor Kwon had taken during a casual study session in the academy courtyard.

The six students, scribbling notes, books scattered, sunlight falling softly through the trees. Jeonghan was there, laughing slightly at something Mingyu said. So natural. So whole.

He handed it to Jaehyun. The moment the photo touched his hands, Jaehyun broke.

Tears poured from his eyes as he reached with trembling fingers to brush Jeonghan’s face in the image, as if his touch could cross time.

Yeji cried beside him, her sobs echoing off the enchanted walls.

All around the room, the other parents had tears in their eyes as well. Because in that moment, they weren’t leaders, nor champions of Nations.

They were simply parents.

And this was a moment of shared heartbreak.

But then—Sowoon’s voice cut through again.

“Jaehyun. Yeji.”

They looked up, still clutching the photo.

“You need to know something else.”

Sowoon took a long, solemn breath.

“Jeonghan… has been selected for the Tournament.”

Time.

Stopped.

Again.

 

The room seemed to shrink.

That word—Tournament—tore through the fragile hope like a blade.

No one moved.

No one breathed.

“The Goblet selected him,” Sowoon said, quietly now. “Along with Seungcheol. And the others. All six of them.”

Yeji broke.

Not a sob this time, but something deeper. A sound made only when a mother fears she might lose her child again.

Jaehyun’s voice cracked.

“We just got him back. And now… now he might be taken again?”

The other parents looked down, broken open by fear. Each of them knew what the Tournament meant.

Not just battle. Not just survival.

It was a reckoning.

 

End of Flashback 

Sowoon’s voice softened again, taking on a more personal tone—something tender, fatherly, filled with memories too fragile to name.

“Jeonghan…” he said, his gaze locking onto the boy whose presence had reshaped every silent grief in the room.

“Do you remember? After your combat training, that one night when I visited you in your dorm?”

Jeonghan didn’t move. His hands were folded in his lap, clenched. His eyes cast downward, fixed on the patterns of the marble floor as if any movement might cause his world to shatter again.

“I told you… you reminded me of someone I used to know. Someone precious. A dear friend.”

He paused, and for the first time, Jeonghan’s fingers twitched.

Sowoon smiled faintly, sorrow dancing behind his expression like an old ghost.

“I was talking about Jaehyun… your father.”

Gasps broke again, this time softer, more sorrowful. Jeonghan’s breath caught in his throat.

He had remembered the conversation.

He had thought it strange, the way Sowoon had looked at him—not as a teacher. Not even as Headmaster. But as something else.

As someone searching.

 

“Then,” Sowoon continued, “the family gathering happened.”

He turned his gaze to the other parents now, letting their hearts speak.

Jena, Jisoo’s mother, stepped forward slowly, her heels echoing softly in the magic-sealed room. Her voice was warm—like honey laced with heartbreak.

“When I first saw you, Jeonghan… I knew. Instantly. Not just in my mind… but in my bones. In my soul.”

She sniffled, eyes wet with unshed tears.

“The shape of your smile. The way you looked at Jisoo like you’d known him forever… You didn’t just remind me of someone. You were someone.”

Wonwoo’s mother wiped her eyes gently before she spoke.

“It took everything in me not to run to you and hug you like the world depended on it. Not to whisper that we waited—we all waited—fifteen years for you to come back to us.”

Jeonghan blinked hard. He was trying to hold it in—but cracks were forming. His throat was tight. His eyes blurred.

Then—Mingyu, who had been frozen this whole time, suddenly turned to Jeonghan with wide, dawning realization. His voice came out like a gasp.

“Wait…”

He looked between Jeonghan and his own parents. “Is that… is that why Jihyo loves Jeonghan so much?”

The room stilled again. Everyone turned to Mingyu.

His voice was barely a whisper now, barely holding itself together. “She’s never liked anyone that much. But with Jeonghan, it’s like… she couldn’t stop herself.”

 

Sowoon’s voice turned low again, layered with the weight of secrets long buried.

“While we tried to hold ourselves back from telling the truth… another storm was quietly building inside me.”

The six students remained frozen in place, every word digging deeper into the shifting ground beneath their memories.

Sowoon gave a weak, sorrowful smile — the kind that came only from someone who had lived through too many battles of the heart.

“At first, it was just a feeling. When I saw how Seungcheol looked at Jeonghan — not just as a friend, but like something inside him remembered… I was terrified. Not as a Headmaster. But as a father. Even if the world is safer now, that fear never truly leaves you. The fear of losing your child….”

He looked toward Jaehyun, who had been silently crying, eyes reddened and fixed on Jeonghan.

Jaehyun nodded slightly, a sign of permission — of readiness to speak again.

“Jeonghan…” Jaehyun’s voice trembled with the delicate pain only a parent could carry. “Do you know how your ability manifested?”

Jeonghan shook his head slightly — small, barely perceptible. His lips parted, but no words escaped.

“You were four years old,” Jaehyun said. “And you manifested your dream ability… through Seungcheol.”

Gasps broke out like shattered glass.

The six flinched at once.

Jeonghan’s eyes widened, his breath catching. Seokmin turned toward him in disbelief, while Seungcheol’s voice cracked through the silence.

“Dad… what does that mean?”

Sowoon inhaled deeply.

“It was a weekend,” he began, tone careful and soft, “you were all staying at the estate. You had been playing in the pool all afternoon — laughing, running, exhausting yourselves in the summer sun.”

“Jeonghan and Seungcheol, like always, went to nap in the same room. It was tradition. You two were inseparable back then.”

He paused.

“But that day… something changed.”

Seungcheol’s mother, her voice soft and distant, picked up the thread with tears slipping silently down her cheeks.

“After an hour or so, the rest of you woke up one by one. But not those two. Not Jeonghan. Not Seungcheol.”

“We thought it was just exhaustion… until we tried waking them.”

Her hands trembled slightly as she spoke.

“We shook them. Called their names. Poured water on their faces. Nothing. They wouldn’t stir.”

“Panic spread like wildfire.”

 

Jaehyun spoke again, gently but with a raw edge.

“We called our family doctor — someone who had worked with the Yoons for generations, someone who understood abilities few dared speak about.”

“And she confirmed what we feared…”

He looked directly at Jeonghan.

“You trapped Seungcheol… in a dream.”

A chilling silence gripped the room. Even the air seemed to stop moving.

“You didn’t mean to,” Jaehyun added quickly. “You were four. You didn’t know what you were doing.”

“But your soul was strong — too strong. And somehow, you reached inside Seungcheol’s mind… and pulled him into your dream.”

Gasps again.

Mingyu’s hand flew to his mouth. Jisoo’s eyes were full of disbelief. Wonwoo sat motionless.

“Our doctor helped pull you both out,” Jaehyun said softly. “But it wasn’t just the two of you who returned…”

“Something followed.”

Everyone stared now, unsure what they were hearing.

Sowoon stepped back in.

“A shadow. From Seungcheol’s dream. It clung to him — fed off his fear, his instincts, his protectiveness of Jeonghan.”

“That shadow… became Seungcheol’s ability.”

Seungcheol looked stricken — the truth hitting him like a fist to the chest.

“My shadow… came from Jeonghan?”

Sowoon nodded.

“He didn’t just pull you into the dream. He left something behind. A fragment. A force. And that fragment… became part of you.”

“That’s why when you revealed that your shadow listens to Jeonghan… it wasn’t random.”

“Jeonghan gave it to you. You’re bound, not just by memory… but by magic.”

A collective breath was held — as if the truth had carved open something ancient and sacred.

 

Two boys.

Two forbidden abilities.

Born from a shared dream.

 

Sowoon continued, his voice a touch more resolute now.

“When we realized what had happened — what Jeonghan was capable of… we were terrified. We had no idea such a thing was possible. That someone could give an ability. That a bond so deep could rewrite reality.”

“Then rumors of a new law started.”

“The Law of the Cursed.”

“I had to act. So I abandoned every ambition I had and applied to be Headmaster of Aurora.”

“Some called it betrayal. They thought I took the power that should have gone to Jaehyun — that I claimed the position for myself.”

He looked at Jaehyun then.

And Jaehyun, for all the years of grief, gave a soft nod.

There was no anger left.

Only shared pain.

“But we didn’t care about politics. Or legacy. Or thrones. We just wanted to keep you safe.”

Jaehyun stepped forward again, this time calmer, more certain.

“We consulted my distant cousin — a witch who still practiced the forbidden ways of the Yoon bloodline. She told us what we had long feared.”

“Jeonghan had inherited something ancient — a bloodline capable not only of dreaming… but of creating power. Of transferring it. A magic that had been dormant for generations.”

No one moved. The weight of truth bore down like gravity itself.

Sowoon’s voice dropped to a near-whisper.

“When the Law of the Cursed was close to being passed… I did the only thing I could.”

“I bound myself to Seungcheol’s shadow. I offered a piece of my soul, so the curse would anchor itself to me too. So I could carry part of the danger, the guilt, the power.”

“And then… the night everything fell apart.”

“The rebels came. The fire. The screams. And Jeonghan…”

He looked at the boy now, not as a stranger. Not even as a student.

But as a miracle.

“They took you before we could explain. Before we could protect you.”

Yeji sobbed quietly behind Jaehyun. Her hand clutched the edge of the chair like it was the only thing holding her upright.

The six of them sat still — unmoving, breaths shallow, hearts loud.

The weight of the truth had dropped like a storm around them, and yet here they were: together, shaken, but tethered to something far deeper than memory.

Somewhere between pain and awe.

Sowoon’s voice broke the silence — lighter this time, almost wistful, as if dusting off an old photograph.

“That’s why… during our game night. We watched you. Quietly. Hoping we were wrong. But it was all there.”

He smiled gently now, a fragile thing full of longing.

“The way you sat in a circle without thinking. The way Jeonghan never says he’s leading, but somehow you all followed. The way Seokmin kept glancing at Jeonghan before speaking. How Wonwoo filled the silences just like he used to. How Jisoo laughed with his whole chest when Jeonghan teased him. Mingyu’s stories that never landed until Jeonghan poked fun at them.”

“And Seungcheol… the way you watched over all of them without even realizing. Like a shadow with a heartbeat.”

The six of them stared at the floor, at each other, at Jeonghan — who looked like the wind had been knocked out of him hours ago and was still trying to recover.

Jaehyun stepped forward, his voice thick with memory.

“That night… when I saw you, Jeonghan… I mentioned something. A moment that haunted me in the best way.”

He chuckled through tears.

“You were five. You loved playing mind games. You’d hide clues around the estate and make me solve them before bedtime. And one night, you said to me — so confidently — ‘One day, I’ll beat you in your own game, Daddy.’”

His eyes crinkled with sadness.

“And you did. You did it. I never even saw it coming.”

The room cracked with silence again.

Jeonghan blinked, his throat moving like he wanted to speak but couldn’t. No voice. Just pain. A strange kind of love-sick grief.

Sowoon’s gaze swept the room, first to his friends, then to their children — not just students, not just young warriors — but their children. The ones they’d sworn to protect at all costs. The ones they had once carried in their arms. Laughed with. Fought for.

“During the Tournament,” he said, “we couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. Every time your names came on the screen… our hearts stopped.”

“You were walking with one foot in the grave. And we couldn’t do anything.”

His voice cracked, just slightly.

“We prayed. All of us. To every God we could name. Every force that would listen. That you would all come home.”

Jaehyun nodded, tears drying on his face but his expression still raw.

“And now… it feels like fate isn’t finished with any of you yet.”

He paused, letting that sink in, and then — for the first time — he addressed the wound they had never dared name.

“Which leads us to today.”

He took a slow breath, and when he spoke, it was not as a father or a leader or a grieving man. It was as someone finally trying to atone.

“We are… so sorry.”

His voice shook.

“For erasing your memories of Jeonghan. For taking away those pieces of joy. For thinking we were doing what was best — for thinking the pain of forgetting would be better than the pain of remembering too soon.”

“We took something precious from all of you. We hoped… it would protect you.”

He looked at Seungcheol, then at the rest of the group.

“But we know now… you never really forgot. You carried him in you. All of you. Somehow, in every choice you made, every bond you formed… you found your way back to him.”

Mingyu’s mother wiped her eyes, “Mingyu. You two were best friends. Inseparable.”

Jisoo’s father added, voice thick with emotion, “Jisoo, you said you found someone who could finally beat your game records. Someone who made you feel safe. Jeonghan was your shield.”

Seokmin’s mother cried as she spoke, “Seokmin… you adored him. You ran to him the moment we arrived, every visit. You always gave him the longest hugs.”

Wonwoo’s father nodded slowly. “My son doesn’t speak often. But when he did, it was always about Jeonghan. You preferred quiet days together. Puzzles. Trees. Peace.”

Seungcheol’s mom gave a tearful smile. “You used to tease him all day. And he gave it right back. But every night, the two of you would read books to each other. You called him your anchor.”

Jeonghan is sobbing now.

Tears streaming down his cheeks.

He never cried.

But now, his body trembled, his lips bitten raw as he tried not to make a sound. His fists were clenched on his lap, but then—

Seungcheol reached out, intertwining their hands.

A silent promise.
 You’re not alone.

Jaehyun looked at them all.

“I know we did the unthinkable. We took your memories. We took him away. But it was never out of malice. It was out of grief. Out of fear.”

He sighed, broken. “We never thought we’d get this moment. But the gods… they brought him back. To you.”

The room was drenched in silence.
Every eye red. Every heart heavy.

Mingyu wiped his face with the back of his sleeve, trying not to break again.

Wonwoo was still frozen, lips slightly parted as if he’d stopped breathing entirely.

Jisoo had his head in his hands.

Seokmin’s shoulders were shaking. He was the one who always cried first.

As if everything had been rewritten. As if every feeling, every instinct, every shadow suddenly made sense.

Sowoon spoke again, quieter.

“You didn’t just find each other again.”

“You chose each other. All over again.”

Sowoon finally stepped forward, his voice softer than ever.

“We will give you some time. We’ll speak again tonight.”

The adults slowly began to leave, filing out quietly. The door clicked shut.

And in that silence, Jeonghan sat in the middle of the five people who loved him…
 Even when they didn’t remember.

And somehow, that truth felt heavier than any prophecy.

Because love — the kind that survives memory loss, curses, and time — wasn’t just magic.

It was fate refusing to let go.

 

******

Silence.

A silence so thick it pressed against their chests, wrapping around their ribs like vines. Not even the flickering chandelier dared to make a sound. The room that once echoed with revelations now breathed only quiet.

Then, Jisoo moved.

Wordlessly, he stood and stepped forward, crossing the distance between himself and Jeonghan. His arms wrapped around him—gentle, trembling. And Jeonghan collapsed into the embrace like a dam bursting open. It didn’t take long for the others to follow. One by one, until all six of them were huddled tightly in a circle, arms entangled, shoulders pressed together.

No space. No walls. No armor.

Just them.
 Six boys who had been to hell and back.
 Six souls, finally remembering what they had lost.

Jeonghan cried.

Not just tears—but sobbed.

Loud, aching sobs that rattled his chest and clawed from his throat. Sounds none of them had ever heard from him.

Not even in the Tournament. Not even in the worst nights of training.

This was deeper.
 Older.
 This was the pain of a child who had been taken from everything, and a boy who never knew why he always felt like something was missing.

And they cried with him.
 Because they finally knew why it hurt.
 Why he always felt distant at times.
 Why they always felt like something about their circle was always unfinished.

What felt like hours passed.

When the sobs began to soften and Jeonghan’s body started to slump, Seungcheol shifted, pulling Jeonghan against his chest—protective, unwavering.

Jeonghan didn’t let go. He clung to Seungcheol’s shirt like it was his last tether to the earth, still shaking with every breath.

Seungcheol leaned close, whispering gently against Jeonghan’s hair.

“Just let it out, love. It’s fine. You got me, you got us. Always.”

Jeonghan didn’t reply. He couldn’t. But he nodded, still crying.

Seungcheol looked at the others, his gaze locking with Mingyu. Mingyu gave a small nod—silent, understanding—and with careful movements, Seungcheol stood, still carrying Jeonghan in his arms. His legs felt heavy, but he never loosened his grip.

He brought Jeonghan into one of the guest rooms, laying him down gently on the bed but never letting go of his hand. Even as Jeonghan’s tears slowed, his breathing evening out into a fragile sleep.

Once he was sure Jeonghan had drifted off, Seungcheol leaned down, pressing their foreheads together. His voice was barely a whisper.

“My braveheart… you don’t have to be brave alone anymore. You have me… you have all of us.”

He pressed a kiss to his forehead, a promise in the form of touch, before quietly slipping out of the room.

 

The hallway back to the private living room felt longer than before. But when he opened the door, the soft light greeted him like an old friend.

Inside, Jisoo was curled behind Seokmin on the floor like a koala, arms wrapped tight around his waist. Seokmin’s hand absentmindedly stroked his arm, lost in thought. Mingyu had his eyes closed, head resting on Wonwoo’s shoulder. Wonwoo, meanwhile, was looking down at the spread of old, faded photos—images of them all, younger, untouched by war or pain or memory wipes.

Wonwoo pointed to a specific picture and tilted his head. A small smile ghosted on his lips.

“He never lost his creepy smile,” he muttered.

That earned a soft, collective laugh. Weak but real.

Jisoo chuckled quietly. “He still looks the same. Still beautiful.”

Seungcheol nodded as he joined them. The heaviness hadn’t disappeared, but it had shifted—shared between them now, no longer crushing just one.

Seokmin looked up. His eyes were still glassy. “How is he?”

“He’s asleep,” Seungcheol said softly, lowering himself to the carpet beside them.

For a while, none of them spoke.

The fireplace crackled quietly in the background, and somewhere outside, wind rustled through trees. The Yoon Estate stood ancient and quiet around them—but in this room, something was coming back to life.

Jisoo rested his head on Seokmin’s shoulder. “I feel… robbed,” he whispered. “Like we lost years of memories, and now we’re supposed to just go on like it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Mingyu said, voice low. “They took him. From us.”

“He was one of us even then,” Wonwoo added. “And we didn’t even know it.”

Seungcheol looked at the picture in his hand again—Jeonghan, tiny and mischievous, grinning with his mouth full of cookie crumbs, Mingyu beside him mid-laugh, Seokmin and Jisoo tangled in some board game, Wonwoo hiding in the background with a book. Him… sitting beside Jeonghan, arms folded like he didn’t want to be there—but a smile tugging at his lips anyway.

“We weren’t just friends,” Seungcheol said quietly. “We were family already.”

Seokmin’s voice cracked. “How did we forget that feeling?”

“We didn’t,” Jisoo murmured. “That’s why it hurt every time something felt… off. That’s why we gravitated toward him. Even if we didn’t know why.”

Wonwoo closed his eyes, still leaning into Mingyu’s shoulder. “We found our way back. That’s what matters.”

Mingyu spoke without opening his eyes. “Yeah. And this time… we don’t let go.”

No one replied.
 They didn’t have to.
 The silence that returned this time was no longer suffocating..

it is healing.

Six pieces of a broken past, slowly, carefully fitting back together.

 

 

Notes:

PHEWWW 😮‍💨😮‍💨 if you reached this end notes that means you just went to a rollercoaster ride ◦°˚\(*❛ ‿ ❛)/˚°◦ I will post the last part of this arc tomorrow and then we will proceed with the epilogue on Saturday (╥﹏╥) can’t believe my first baby is about to end🥹 Lemme know your thoughts❤️❤️

Chapter 27: To Heal

Notes:

Hiii ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ Welcome to the official last chapter of Aurora Academy! This journey has been so so fun and I am so so happy and grateful for this fic because I met a lot of new friends through this 🥹 after this chapter, I will be posting 2 Epilogues this week to officially close the story. Without further ado, enjoy chapter 27!

Jeonghan is still fast asleep—tucked beneath soft covers, curled slightly like a child lost in dreams—when the door to the private lounge opened.

Their parents entered one by one.

The air shifted.

Awkwardness draped itself across the room like a heavy curtain. No one quite met each other’s eyes, and even the fire in the hearth seemed quieter than before.

Guilt, grief, and a hundred unsaid words sat between them like ghosts.

It was Jaehyun who spoke first, his voice careful and composed. “We’ve arranged a special permission from the Academy… and Sowoon together with the board approved a one-week leave for all of you.”

The five boys sitting in the lounge remained still, eyes heavy, limbs tired from more than just the weight of the day.

Yeji stepped forward, her hands wrung together. “We… want you to spend time with your families. Just a week. You deserve that after everything.”

There were no questions.

No arguments.

Not because they agreed, but because they were too emotionally drained to push back. The kind of tired that didn’t come from battle but from the aftermath.

They nodded quietly.

Mingyu, leaning against the window, broke the silence. “What about Jeonghan?” His voice cracked slightly. “Is he… gonna stay here?”

Jaehyun exchanged a glance with Yeji. Then, softly, he nodded.

The room felt colder somehow.

 

Meanwhile, upstairs, Jeonghan stirred.

His eyelids fluttered open to unfamiliar high ceilings and elegant carved moldings. His chest ached, not in the way it did after combat or sleepless nights, but deeper.

A hollow ache, slow and haunting.

He is alone.

Still groggy, he pushed the covers off and stood. His feet dragged as he walked toward the corridor, his hand trailing lightly along the walls. He didn’t know where he is going, but something called to him.

Then—

“Hannie!!”

The voice rang out like a bell.

Before he could process, a small body launched into his arms.

Jihyo.

Her tiny arms locked around his neck, her maid trailing just behind her with wide eyes. Jeonghan caught her instinctively, lifting her like muscle memory.

And he broke.

Tears, sudden and hot, slid down his cheeks before he even realized it. His lips trembled, a quiet sob escaping.

Jihyo placed her small hands on his cheeks, tilting his face gently. “Hannie… why are you crying?”

He laughed through the tears, shaking his head, resting his forehead against hers. “I don’t know… I just—missed you,” he whispered.

Jihyo smiled like the sun. “Then let’s go find everyone!”

Still holding her, Jeonghan made his way down.

 

As he entered the main living room, he saw them all. His five boys, his people, standing near the grand entrance, bags slung over shoulders, their parents beside them.

The light faded a little from his eyes.

He slowed, brow furrowing. “You’re leaving?”

All eyes turned to him. There was a heaviness again, but not like before, this was the weight of understanding.

Seungcheol approached first with a small smile, his hand finding Jeonghan’s shoulder. “We need to go with our families. Just for the week. But we’ll talk every night, yeah?”

Jeonghan opened his mouth to speak but didn’t know what to say. Before he could respond, Seungcheol leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his temple in front of everyone. “I’ll see you soon.”

The others followed.
One by one.

Mingyu wrapped him in a quick, strong hug. “Don’t miss me too much.”

Jisoo’s smile was soft as he brushed a thumb under Jeonghan’s eye, playful. “Promise you won’t start crying again the second we leave?”

Seokmin grinned through slightly misty eyes. “We'll video call, and I’ll sing you to sleep.”

Wonwoo said nothing, just squeezed Jeonghan’s hand once, firmly, like an anchor.

Then… they were gone.

 

Silence again.

Yeji took a tentative step forward. “Would you… like to see your room?”

Jeonghan nodded, still holding Jihyo tightly, like she was his only lifeline now.

They walked slowly up four flights of marble stairs until they stood in front of a towering door of white and silver. Yeji’s hand hovered for a moment before she pushed it open.

The scent of vanilla and lavender drifted out, and the air inside felt… untouched.

It was a child’s room, frozen in time.

His toys were neatly arranged on the shelves, books stacked in the same place they had been 15 years ago. His huge bed, still with its dark blue covers dotted with stars and planets. Drawings tacked on the walls. A stuffed bear with a missing button eye on the pillow.

Pictures of six boys.
Laughing. Playing.

His throat clenched.

Yeji smiled gently through her tears. “This was the only room that survived the fire. We left it exactly as it was… because we never stopped believing you’d come back.”

She gently placed Jihyo down and gave Jeonghan one last look before leaving him there.

He stood in the center of the room, slowly walking to the bookshelf, his fingers grazing the edges of picture frames.

He didn’t even realize he is crying again.

And yet… he felt home.

His chest still hurt, but there was something else beneath it now.
A warmth.

******

 

The drive back to the Choi estate is quiet, steeped in heaviness and a thousand things left unspoken. No one says a word, but the silence feels full—like the car itself is carrying the weight of everything they’ve endured.

Seungcheol sits with his head turned toward the window, watching the tall trees pass by. The forest lining the road has changed little since he was a boy, but it feels different now. The colors are duller, or maybe his heart just isn’t ready to receive them. It’s been a long time since he came home, not just to the house, but to what this place used to mean.

The journey from the Yoon estate is short, barely ten minutes, but time seems suspended until the driver’s calm voice breaks the stillness.

“We’ve arrived, sir.”

His parents exit the car first, quietly but purposefully. Seungcheol hesitates. The weight in his chest tugs at him like an anchor. When he finally steps out, the sight that greets him is painfully familiar.

The grand fountain still sparkles under the midday light, surrounded by his mother’s favorite hydrangeas, carefully trimmed and still blooming in shades of blue and violet. The estate looms ahead, stately and immaculate, so much bigger than he remembered, yet now somehow too small to contain everything he’s feeling.

 

He stands still for a moment, letting it all wash over him.

Too many memories.

Too much time lost.

Inside, the maids silently guide them to one of the private receiving rooms. The air is thick with unspoken understanding. His parents move to leave, sensing he may want to be alone.

But then, a fragile voice halts them.

“…Mom… Dad…”

Barely a whisper, but it cuts through the silence like a bell.

His mother turns immediately, her eyes already brimming with emotion as she rushes to him. She cups his face in both hands, gently, as though afraid he might shatter.

“Oh, my sweetheart,” she whispers, her voice breaking, “You’ve already gone through so much. But you’re so, so brave.”

Her touch brings it all to the surface. The tears come without warning, trailing hot down Seungcheol’s cheeks as he looks at his parents again—really sees them.

All his life, he thought they were raising him to lead, to perform, to become someone they could display proudly.

But he had been wrong.

 

They weren’t preparing him to be a symbol, they were trying to protect their son in the only way they knew how.

 

His father—stoic, composed, and quietly loving—had taken on the role of Headmaster at Aurora Academy, a place drenched in secrets and danger, all to ensure Seungcheol’s freedom and survival. That wasn’t ambition.

That was sacrifice.

 

Seungcheol steps forward, barely able to form the words. “You gave… a part of your soul to my shadow…”

Sowoon’s eyes well up, and he gently pulls his son into his arms. “Me and your mom,” he says softly, his voice thick with emotion, “we would give everything—our magic, our lives—just for you to be happy.”

Seungcheol clings to his father, something childlike surfacing in the way he holds on. All the burdens he’s carried—the loneliness, the pressure, the fear—begin to unravel.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

His mother wraps her arms around them both. “Oh sweetheart, don’t be sorry,” she says, kissing the top of his head. “You must’ve felt so sad… and so alone. We never meant to make you feel unloved. We failed to show it, and we won’t justify that.”

Seungcheol shakes his head. “Mom, no…”

But Sowoon gently brushes the tears from his son’s cheeks, his thumb warm and steady. “We’ll do better,” he promises. “We promise.”

Seungcheol nods, the knot in his chest loosening. The weight of expectation, the constant pressure to be strong, begins to dissolve. For the first time in years, he feels like he can breathe.

His mother looks at him then, her expression softening into a gentle, teasing smile. “You really love Jeonghan, hmm?”

His cheeks flush pink, and the tiniest hint of a dimple appears on his face. “I don’t think I ever stopped, Mom.”

Sowoon chuckles quietly, pride shimmering in his eyes. “Then be there for him, okay? He needs you the most right now.”

Seungcheol nods again, more firmly this time.

A new chapter is unfolding—one of healing, of love, and of rebuilding what was nearly lost.

And for the first time, Seungcheol is ready to turn the page.

 

******

 

He sat down on the bed, fingers brushing the constellations on the bedsheets, when a blinking light caught his attention.

The magical projector.

Someone is calling.

He activated it.

And there they are.

All five of them.

Each in their own bedroom—each a piece of the puzzle once missing from his world.

Seokmin groaned dramatically. “It’s been forever since I’ve seen my own bed. I forgot what cotton feels like.”

Wonwoo smirked. “You do sleep on Seungcheol’s bed more than your own at the dorm.”

Mingyu chuckled. “Don’t expose him on our first group call after trauma.”

Jisoo chimed in. “I feel like a kid again. My mom made me a snack tray and told me I’m not allowed to do anything for two days.”

They all laughed lightly—tired, yes, but more alive than before.

Then they turned their attention to Jeonghan.

Seungcheol asked softly, “How are you feeling?”

Jeonghan looked around the room,  his room, and finally let himself smile.

“Home,” he said quietly. “I feel home.”

Mingyu leaned back on his pillow and grinned, “We can’t wait to hang out with you again.”

Jeonghan smiled through the screen, their faces warm and familiar.

For the first time in fifteen years, the past didn’t haunt him.
It simply… returned.
And this time, he was ready to face it.

Together.

 

******

 

Jeonghan was about to settle into his own bed, his very own bed, for the first time in fifteen years.

He stood still for a moment, fingertips grazing the soft sheets. The room smelled faintly of lavender and old cedar, like a memory preserved in time. Everything was familiar, but distant—like looking at a photograph of himself that no longer felt like him.

Still, he is home. Or at least, he is trying to be.

Just as he sat down, the magical projector near his desk flickered softly and bloomed into light.

The blue glow pulsed once, then again—and then came a familiar voice.

“Jeonghan?”

His heart jumped.

A smile curled at his lips as he reached for the call. “Cheol?”

The image was blurry, washed in a hazy shimmer that made it hard to see anything clearly.

Jeonghan squinted. “Where are you? I can barely see—”

A quiet chuckle echoed through the line. “I’m… outside your house.”

Jeonghan blinked. “Wait—what?”

“Wanna go for a walk?”

In a second, Jeonghan was scrambling for his light jacket, half-laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

His bed—the one he’s longed for, dreamt of—was abandoned without a second thought.

 

He cracked open his door, peeking down the hallway. The estate is still unfamiliar in small ways; corridors that felt like they should lead to one place sometimes opened into another. But his feet moved on instinct, half-memory, half-hope.
All the while, he muttered under his breath, “First night back and I’m already sneaking out… classic.”

When he finally reached the main entrance and nudged open the heavy gate, the cool night air hit him.

And there, just beyond the iron bars, stood Seungcheol.

He is wearing a ridiculously oversized fluffy hoodie, hood pulled halfway over his head. In his hand, a crumpled paper bag.
In his expression—nothing but warmth.

Jeonghan didn’t hesitate. He broke into a run and leapt into Seungcheol’s arms, wrapping around him like a storm.

Seungcheol let out a laugh, catching him effortlessly, hugging him around the shoulders and neck like he’d been waiting to do it all day. “When did you become clingier than me?”

Jeonghan just grinned into his chest. “I missed you.”

The reply was simple, but it hit Seungcheol hard. His grip tightened instinctively.

Jeonghan pulled back slightly, noticing the faint flush creeping across Seungcheol’s cheeks. His grin widened.

“Oh my god,” he teased. “The Titan is blushing right now?”

Seungcheol groaned dramatically and buried his face into Jeonghan’s hair, then brushed their noses together. “I brought your favorite ice cream,” he whispered.

Jeonghan gasped and peeked into the bag, eyes lighting up. “No way—!”

Before Seungcheol could react, Jeonghan smothered him with tiny kisses across his cheeks and jaw. “You’re literally the best.”

Seungcheol just closed his eyes, holding the moment like it might slip through his fingers if he blinked.

This—this right here—was everything he had fought for.

The boy he loved, alive and laughing in his arms, exactly where he belonged.

 

After a beat, he whispered, “There’s a park nearby. Let’s go for a walk?”

Jeonghan tilted his head, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Are you… asking me out?”

Seungcheol snorted and slung an arm around Jeonghan’s shoulders, pulling him in close. Without thinking, Jeonghan laced their fingers together like it was second nature.

“Well,” Seungcheol shrugged, “we never had a proper date before.”

Jeonghan deadpanned, “We were busy fighting for our lives, basically.”

“But,” he added quickly, glancing up at Seungcheol, “I’ll take this. I’d choose this over anything else.”

Seungcheol leaned in and kissed his cheek, lingering for a second. “Then let’s go.”

And so, hand in hand, under the soft light of the moon and the quiet hush of their shared history, they began again.

 

The park was quiet, bathed in the silver hush of moonlight and the soft glow of scattered post lamps. The trees swayed gently above them, their leaves whispering secrets to the wind.

The world, for once, felt still.

They found a small bench near the edge of the path, tucked beneath a blooming tree that scattered pale petals on the ground like snow. Seungcheol sat first with a sigh, his hoodie slightly oversized and soft from wear. As Jeonghan moved to sit beside him, Seungcheol reached out with a playful tug, pulling him gently into his lap.

Jeonghan let out a small laugh, shaking his head but not resisting. “Seriously?”

“You fit perfectly,” Seungcheol murmured, his arms already wrapping securely around Jeonghan’s waist. He rested his chin on Jeonghan’s shoulder like it belonged there.

Jeonghan relaxed into him, leaned back just enough to rest his head against Seungcheol’s. He peeled the lid off the tub of his favorite ice cream, still perfectly cold thanks to a tiny preservation charm, and began to eat in small, slow spoonfuls.

The flavor instantly warmed something deep inside him.

Comfort. Familiarity. Home.

 

They didn’t talk. They didn’t need to.

The stars above flickered like distant lanterns, and the lamplight cast a soft halo around them. In the silence, in the warmth of each other’s arms, they both felt a kind of peace neither of them had truly known in years.

 

It isn’t grand.

It isn’t loud.

But it is everything.

 

Jeonghan tilted slightly and offered Seungcheol a spoonful of the ice cream. Seungcheol smiled and accepted it wordlessly, pressing a quiet kiss to Jeonghan’s shoulder as thanks. They took turns like that, sharing bites, wrapped in quiet intimacy. As if the silence between them wasn’t empty, but sacred. As if they were slowly mending each broken year just by being close again.

Eventually, Jeonghan set the empty tub aside on the bench and turned more fully toward Seungcheol, arms winding around his neck. His fingers found the soft hair at the nape of Seungcheol’s neck and began to play with it absentmindedly, gently twisting and smoothing it in slow motions.

Seungcheol exhaled, leaning into the touch. His hand came up to cup Jeonghan’s cheek, thumb brushing lightly along the soft skin there.

“Let’s do this again tomorrow?” he whispered, almost afraid to break the spell around them.

Jeonghan didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Seungcheol’s lips—gentle, quiet, and full of promises.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes held a quiet certainty.

He nodded. “ Of course.”

 

The next morning, Jeonghan woke to sunlight spilling through the tall windows, golden rays warming the edges of the room like a soft embrace. For a long moment, he simply lay there, blinking slowly as he took it all in—the familiar ceiling, the plush mattress beneath him, the quiet rustle of curtains caught in the breeze.

It didn’t feel real.

This was his room—his real room. The one he hadn’t seen in fifteen years.

The one that had been stripped from him along with everything else. He touched the edge of the blanket, thumb brushing over the fine embroidery, and exhaled.

It is too soft. Too clean. Too whole. And yet, it is his.

But he didn’t let himself dwell.

With a quiet sigh, Jeonghan stood and headed for the shower. The water was warm, and the scent of lavender soap lingered on his skin. When he stepped out, he instinctively reached for the first piece of clothing he saw—a worn navy-blue sweater with the Aurora Academy crest and Seungcheol’s name faintly stitched on the collar.

It smelled like him.

Jeonghan slipped it on.

Padding with his favorite cat slippers ( courtesy of Wonwoo ) down the grand hallway, he bowed shyly every time a passing maid or footman greeted him with a warm “good morning.”

It still made his heart stumble, how easily they accepted him back, how naturally they smiled at him, like he’d never been gone.

When he entered the vast kitchen, the scent of butter and vanilla filled the air.

Yeji, his mother, stood at the stove, carefully flipping pancakes. Jihyo, still in her pink pajamas, is stirring batter with a way-too-big wooden spoon. Across the room, Jaehyun,his father, sat with a steaming mug of coffee, the morning paper in hand.

Jeonghan froze for a second.

 

It is so domestic. So normal.

Too normal for someone like him.

Jihyo spotted him first. Her eyes widened in delight. “HANNIE!!”

Before he could say a word, she came barreling across the room like a little rocket. Jeonghan laughed, bending down just in time to catch her in his arms and lift her up.

“We’re making pancakes!” she squealed, throwing her arms around his neck. “Do you like pancakes? I can make them heart-shaped for you!”

Jeonghan chuckled and smoothed back her hair. “I’ll eat anything you make for me, little love.”

With a bright grin, Jihyo slid down and grabbed his hand, tugging him toward the breakfast table. Jeonghan caught his parents’ eyes as he approached. There was no pressure in their gaze—just quiet, aching love.

Yeji smiled first. “Did you sleep well?”

The lump in Jeonghan’s throat made it hard to answer.

He nodded instead, eyes soft.

Jaehyun set down the paper and looked at him—really looked. His gaze lingered on the sweater. Seungcheol’s name stitched like a whisper on Jeonghan’s collar.

“This is your home,” Jaehyun said gently. “You can do anything and everything you like here.”

And with that simple sentence, something fragile inside Jeonghan began to mend.

 

The rest of the breakfast passed in a haze of sweetness, both from the food and from Jihyo’s endless stories. She spoke of a dream filled with dragons, about how she was going to be the best spell-caster in her whole class, and how “Hannie is my favorite sibling, even though I don’t have others.”

No one forced Jeonghan to speak. No one made him explain himself. He was allowed to just exist. And that was enough.

After breakfast, the nanny came to fetch Jihyo for her tutoring lessons.

“I DON’T WANT TO GO!” she wailed, clinging to Jeonghan like he was her life raft.

Jaehyun approached with practiced calm, scooping her up in his arms. “Love, you have to go to class, hmm?”

“No! I want Hannie!”

Jeonghan rubbed her back gently. “Little love,” he said, voice soft but sure, “what if I tutored you today instead?”

Jihyo’s cries stopped instantly.

Her face lit up. “Really?!”

“Really,” Jeonghan smiled, lifting her again. He turned to the staff and his parents. “Bring us all the materials. I’ve got this.”

Yeji’s hands curled over her mouth, eyes shimmering.
Jaehyun simply nodded, heart full.

Their son is finally home.

 

For the next few hours, the old study on the second floor became their classroom. Jeonghan sat with Jihyo cross-legged on the rug, helping her through magic readings and basic arithmetic. He braided her hair absentmindedly while she read aloud, reminded her to drink water, and snuck her little snacks between lessons.

She was bright, curious, full of fire.

And for the first time in a long time, Jeonghan felt like he had something to protect.

 

 

That night, he met Seungcheol again under the stars.

But instead of sitting at their bench, they wandered into the playground nearby. And like children who had carried too much pain for too long, they let it all go.

They chased each other through the open space, climbed the play structure, swung side-by-side, laughing until their sides hurt.
At one point, Seungcheol caught Jeonghan mid-run and spun him around until they both collapsed on the grass, breathless and happy.

Later, as they made their way back to the Yoon estate, Seungcheol was now carrying Jeonghan on his back. Jeonghan’s arms were looped loosely around his neck, his head resting on Seungcheol’s shoulder, eyes fluttering closed with sleep.

Under the soft light of the lamp posts, their shadows trailed gently behind them.

“Can I properly take you out tomorrow?” Seungcheol asked quietly, not breaking his stride.

Jeonghan hummed sleepily. “Hmm… where are we going?”

Seungcheol grinned. “Secret. But I’ll fetch you in the morning, okay?”

Jeonghan chuckled, too tired to tease. “Talk to my parents first… and Jihyo. Then we’ll see.”

Seungcheol laughed quietly.

 

Once they reached the Yoon estate gates, Seungcheol gently set Jeonghan down. He brushed a few loose strands of hair from his face, leaned in, and kissed him softly.

“See you tomorrow.”

Jeonghan smiled and kissed Seungcheol’s dimple before turning to go.

As he walked toward the grand staircase, the estate’s pavement glowed with quiet magic. The house was peaceful—except for the faint sound of someone clearing their throat.

Jeonghan turned.

Jaehyun.

His father is sitting on the large couch in the main hall, a cup of tea in his hand.

“Uh…” Jeonghan blinked.

Jaehyun smiled gently. “You were out with Seungcheol?”

Jeonghan nodded, guilt tugging at him. “I’m sorry… I should’ve told someone.”

“No need to be sorry,” Jaehyun said, standing and walking toward him slowly.

There is still a careful distance between them—fifteen years of it—but both were trying to close it.
Brick by brick.

“You love him?” Jaehyun asked, voice low.

Jeonghan looked up, no hesitation in his eyes. “I love him… so much.”

Jaehyun’s eyes softened. He opened his arms.

Jeonghan didn’t hesitate.

He stepped forward and fell into his father’s embrace, wrapping his arms around him tightly, like he was afraid to let go.

Jaehyun kissed the top of his son’s head and whispered, “I am so, so proud of you, my love. You grew up so strong… and so brave.”

Jeonghan nodded against his chest, clutching tighter.

He didn’t say anything.

He didn’t need to.

This—right here—was enough.

 

True to his word, the very next morning, Jeonghan woke to a soft knock on his bedroom door.

He groaned softly, barely opening his eyes, when the door creaked open to reveal his mother smiling gently at him.

“Good morning, love,” she said. “Seungcheol is downstairs. He’s waiting for you.”

Jeonghan’s eyes shot open.

“Wait—what?”

But Yeji had already slipped out with a quiet chuckle, and Jeonghan bolted upright, scrambling for the bathroom like he was late for class. Fifteen minutes later, hair damp and hoodie slightly askew, he rushed downstairs barefoot—only to freeze at the sight in front of him.

There in the sitting room was Seungcheol, cross-legged on the carpet, earnestly coloring the sky in Jihyo’s coloring book.

“Hannie!” Jihyo beamed at the sight of him. “Look! Cheollie’s here!”

Jeonghan stood there for a second, completely disarmed by how focused Seungcheol looked, tongue slightly sticking out as he carefully shaded the clouds with a soft blue crayon.

Jeonghan shook his head with a laugh, walking over and sitting beside him. He leaned in and placed a quick peck on Seungcheol’s cheek. “Good morning.”

Seungcheol glanced at him with a crooked smile. “Ready to conquer the day?”

Jeonghan nodded, the warmth from that smile blooming all the way to his chest.

After saying their goodbyes, they met Jaehyun by the main door. Jeonghan’s father looked at them both, especially at Seungcheol, with a firm gaze.

“You two come back safe and sound. Understood?”

Seungcheol simply grinned and gave a playful salute. “Don’t worry, Uncle. I’ve got him.”

 

Outside, Jeonghan raised an eyebrow when Seungcheol unlocked his own car. “You drive now?”

Seungcheol shrugged with a grin. “All five of us do. Seokmin and Mingyu even got licensed to race professionally last summer. It’s a whole thing.”

The drive began with easy laughter and familiar banter. They talked about everything—upcoming finals, the latest Academy gossip, which professors were secretly dating (allegedly). The world beyond the car blurred past them, but the inside of that little space felt like home.

Two hours in, Jeonghan gasped softly as a breathtaking lake came into view, stretching wide beneath the clear sky like liquid crystal.

“Are we going there?” he asked, eyes wide.

Seungcheol just nodded with a smile.

After parking the car, Seungcheol popped the trunk and pulled out a picnic basket. Jeonghan blinked.

“You packed food?”

“Courtesy of my mom,” Seungcheol said, intertwining their fingers. “She said this is a ‘very important date for her kids.’” He winked. “And yes, she absolutely meant you too.”

Jeonghan’s cheeks flushed pink, but he couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his lips.

As they approached the lake, sunlight dancing across the surface, Seungcheol gestured out across the water. “This lake’s protected by the Higher Council of Aurora. It’s preserved through nature magic—mostly water elementalists. A sanctuary, basically.”

Jeonghan whispered, “It’s so beautiful.”

Seungcheol didn’t reply.

He was looking at Jeonghan.

 

They laid out the blanket beneath a tall tree and unpacked the food—sandwiches, fruit, handmade pastries. Jeonghan grinned when he realized everything had little notes stuck to the containers, some with cute doodles and others with cheesy jokes clearly written by Seungcheol’s mom.

They ate, they laughed, and time passed without urgency.

Later, Jeonghan leaned back against the tree, a book in hand. Seungcheol was sprawled across his lap, one arm wrapped lazily around Jeonghan’s waist, his own book held up as he read silently. A warm breeze rustled the leaves above, and the lake sparkled beside them like it was holding onto the sun.

It was quiet.

But the kind of quiet that spoke volumes.

After a while, Seungcheol stirred. “Mom also gave me some pictures to show you. She told me every story behind each picture.”

Jeonghan blinked as Seungcheol sat up, gently shifting their position until Jeonghan was curled up on top of him, resting against his chest. Seungcheol reached into his backpack and pulled out a small envelope, opening it carefully.

The first picture made Jeonghan laugh immediately.

It was a grainy photo of the six of them—all toddlers, wearing mismatched cat pajamas.

“We were three here,” Seungcheol said, grinning. “Wonwoo was obsessed with cats. But Mingyu, Seokmin, and I were dog kids, and we wouldn’t stop teasing him. So you got mad and made us all wear cat pajamas for a week.” He smirked. “Mom said you were everyone’s favorite.”

Jeonghan traced the edge of the photo with his fingers. There was a beautiful kind of ache in his chest, but he held it gently.

The next photo made him laugh even harder. It showed the six of them again, but chaos had clearly unfolded. Seokmin and Mingyu looked like they were about to cry, while Wonwoo and Jeonghan were hugging them in a half-dramatic rescue. Meanwhile, young Seungcheol and Jisoo were casually eating fruit in the background, utterly unconcerned.

“That day,” Seungcheol said, shaking his head, “Mingyu and Seokmin had a whole war over whether watermelon or grapes were better. Total meltdown. Wonwoo hugged Mingyu, you hugged Seokmin, and me and Jisoo just ate in peace.”

Jeonghan laughed so hard he had to wipe his eyes.

They went through photo after photo like that—tiny pieces of a stolen childhood, each one threaded with laughter, tears, and the kind of memory that clings to your soul like soft summer light.

Some pictures made them laugh until their stomachs hurt. Others made them cry silently, tears slipping down their cheeks as they leaned into each other.

But none of it is painful anymore.

Just full.

Full of what was lost and found, of what was broken and beginning to heal.

And most of all, full of love.

 

******

 

It wasn’t easy…
 But it also wasn’t hard.

Navigating memories that were once stolen, trying to feel your way back to emotions that existed in the shadows—it was like learning to breathe again. A little unsteady at first… but not impossible.

The seven days away from the Academy moved both slowly and too fast. The kind of time that bends and shifts when hearts are healing.

For Jeonghan, the estate still felt like a stranger in many corners. The grandeur, the long hallways, the paintings of ancestors with sharp eyes and powerful postures, it wasn’t the kind of home he was used to.

Not yet.

He still couldn’t call Yeji and Jaehyun "mom" or "dad." The words sat too heavily on his tongue, like trying to wear shoes that didn’t quite fit. But they didn’t push him. They smiled when he smiled. Gave him space when he grew quiet.

Let him be angry.

Let him be numb.

But Jihyo…
 She is the bridge that connected them all.

Every morning, she'd wake him up with a cheeky, "Rise and shine, sleepy prince!"
 And every night, she'd fall asleep curled beside him with her favorite blanket and a storybook in hand.

On the fourth day, Jeonghan walked into the kitchen after the projector call, only to be greeted by the scent of lemon and sugar.

He blinked.

On the marble counter were trays of his favorite lemon tarts—burnt slightly on the edges but perfect in every other way.

Yeji smiled sheepishly, flour dusting her nose. “Your favorite, right?”

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow. “Mingyu?”

Yeji chuckled, wiping her hands. “He may have… leaked the recipe. And the craving.”

That day, the three of them—Jeonghan, Jihyo, and Yeji—spent the entire afternoon laughing over spilled sugar, tart crusts breaking in half, and how Jaehyun tried (and failed) to sneak in a seventh tart without being noticed.

That night, for the first time after their last meeting, the projector blinked.

And there they were—his five.

Seungcheol looked exhausted but content, lying on his old bed, a book resting open on his chest. “My mom keeps trying to feed me like I haven’t eaten in weeks.”

Mingyu, in the middle of his chaotic room, was surrounded by art supplies and random gadgets. “Cheol, you still owe the four of us a whole shopping spree at the Town Center once we come back. Also, my dad let me rebuild his old camera. I’m making a photo journal of us six. That’s one of my ‘missions.’”

Jeonghan confused, “Did Seungcheol lose a bet or something?”

Jisoo leaned into his pillow, his cheeks pink. “Well, he asked us, no, begged us to let him spend some time with you so we didn’t call you in the past three days.”

Before Jeonghan can even react, Jisoo continued, “I taught my mom that game Jeonghan always beat me in when we were kids. She destroyed me in under four rounds. It was humiliating.”

Wonwoo was calm, as always. “I found the old treehouse. Still intact. There’s a box of puzzles with ‘J+W’ written on it. That yours, Hannie?”

Jeonghan nodded, tears stinging again—but this time from warmth.

Seokmin had been crying off and on since he got home. “There are pictures of us—hidden. My mom showed them to me last night. She kept them in a locked drawer.”

Their voices carried every emotion—grief, laughter, confusion, nostalgia.

And healing.

Over the remaining few days, they kept the rhythm.

 Mingyu sent Jeonghan a photo of them as kids wearing matching shark pajamas, to which Jeonghan replied: We were a menace.

Jisoo sent a recording of him singing a lullaby their parents said Jeonghan used to hum to calm him down as a kid.

Wonwoo offered long silences over the call. Just his presence. That was enough.

Seokmin made it his mission to make Jeonghan smile at least three times per call. He’d pop in with snacks, make weird faces, or read dramatic poetry like an actor on stage.

Seungcheol, steady and soft, talked to Jeonghan about everything and nothing—his favorite books, the smell of spring, the strange habit his mom has of labeling every single kitchen jar. Every time they ended the call, Seungcheol would whisper, “You’re not alone. I’m always here.”

Jeonghan would whisper back, “I know.”

Seven days.

Seven long, slow, beautiful days.

And when the seventh day came, the projector blinked again—but this time, it wasn’t just a check-in.

Jisoo appeared on the screen, glasses slightly tilted, excitement in his voice. “Okay, okay! Listen, don’t hate me—but me and Gyu already organized something.”

Mingyu popped in, grinning ear to ear. “Lounge room. Academy. Tomorrow night. Just us six. You don’t get to say no.”

Jeonghan smiled. Wide, real, and filled with something he thought he lost.

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

******

 

The sun dipped low over the skyline of the Academy, casting a soft orange glow across the rooftops as six souls found their way back home again—not as champions, not as students, but simply as them.

The hallway to the lounge room was suspiciously quiet. But it wasn’t tense—it was the kind of silence that blankets everything right before something good happens.

Jeonghan was the last to arrive.

He hesitated for just a second outside the lounge room door. He took a breath—not because he was nervous, but because he knew what was waiting on the other side wasn’t just a gathering.

It was everything.

The moment he opened the door, a cascade of familiar voices greeted him.

“JEONGHANNNNN!”

Jisoo launched first, throwing his arms around him dramatically.

“You’re late!” Seokmin accused, following with a punch to Jeonghan’s shoulder that held no actual strength.

Wonwoo nodded from the corner, book in hand. “Good to see you.”

Mingyu was already dragging him to the sofa. “Come on, I saved your seat! I even brought lemon tarts—homemade this time!”

Seungcheol simply stood in the back, his eyes soft.

When Jeonghan met them, he smiled.

For the first time since everything unraveled, Jeonghan smiled without hesitation.

No walls. No awkward stiffness.

Just warmth.

The room looked the same—blankets thrown around, the mattress fort already halfway built (with Seokmin’s tragic attempt at “interior layering” falling apart on one side), and a projector ready to play a film no one would pay attention to.

The night unfolded with chaotic laughter, inside jokes, and messy snacks.

Mingyu burned the popcorn—again.
 Jisoo almost cried during the movie—again.
 Seokmin insisted on doing a dance break in the middle of a dramatic scene.
 Wonwoo recorded everything “for future blackmail purposes.”
 And Seungcheol? He just kept his arm draped over Jeonghan’s shoulders, occasionally checking Jeonghan’s face as if he was afraid he’d blink and the boy would disappear.

But Jeonghan didn’t disappear.

He is there.

He is real.

He is home.

 

 

When the film ended and they all lay on the floor in a tangle of limbs and snacks, no one spoke for a few minutes.

There was no need.

Later that night, Jeonghan quietly slipped away toward his dorm. The hallway lights buzzed softly, the Academy now calm and still in its nighttime rhythm.

He turned the corner… and stopped.

His door had changed.

The plaque no longer read Jeonghan Kang.

It read:
 Yoon Jeonghan

His breath caught.

Not out of fear.

But from something deeper.

Acceptance. Identity. Truth.

He ran his hand gently over the gold-etched name.

Then he stepped inside.

Everything was the same—but also completely different. His pillowcases had been changed to ones embroidered with the Yoon crest. His initials—Y.J.H.—were stitched into the lining of his robes. Even the framed picture above his desk had shifted.

It was a photo.

Him, as a child, with five familiar faces surrounding him—laughing, mid-run, in a sunny garden.
 The six of them. From the time before.

He didn’t even realize Seungcheol had followed him until he heard the familiar sound of boots thudding softly against the carpeted floor.

Jeonghan turned with a smirk. “You ever gonna stop stalking me?”

Seungcheol, without answering, walked straight to Jeonghan’s bed and threw himself onto it.

Jeonghan scoffed. “One of these days, I swear, I’m just gonna move into your dorm instead and leave you here.”

Seungcheol grinned from where he lay, arms behind his head. “You already do that. At this point, it’s community property.”

Jeonghan laughed, really laughed,and walked over to sit beside him.

Silence settled again, soft and safe.

Seungcheol tilted his head to look up at him and pull him for a tight embrace. “Baby, you okay?”

Jeonghan nodded as he hugged the love of his life back, “I think I will be.”

And in that small dorm room, under a plaque that finally held his real name, Yoon Jeonghan closed his eyes and let the stillness hold him.

 

Notes:

literally my face right now -> Ó╭╮Ò. The next update will be the first Epilogue.. my heart is so so full right now 🥹

Chapter 28: Epilogue 1: Please Say Yes

Notes:

The only thing that I can really say is Wow🤩 can’t believe we are already getting the Epilogue🥹 it’s been only a month since I started posting here on ao3 but it has been so so fun🥹 thank you soooo much to everyone who gave love to this fic. Enjoy Epilogue 1! ♥️

---

Snow had begun to fall in gentle flurries over the Academy, frosting the stone pathways and window sills like a soft blanket of powdered sugar. Inside the Academy walls, however, it was anything but quiet.

The final week of the semester meant two things:

1. Every student was a chaotic mess trying to finish their exams and projects, and
   
   
2. The Christmas spirit was absolutely taking over the halls.
   
   

The six aren’t spared from either.

Jeonghan was constantly seen dragging Seungcheol to the library to “proofread” his essays—though everyone knew it was more about stealing kisses behind the bookshelves than actual academic help.

Mingyu and Wonwoo is now practically sharing a dorm and it looked like a wrapping paper explosion every night.

And Jisoo was buried in his student council duties while still managing to bake cookies for half the student body with Seokmin.

But despite the chaos, there was joy.

Their lounge room had been unofficially transformed into Santa’s prep headquarters.
 Stockings were hung on the wall labeled with initials.
 A pine-scented enchantment filled the air.
 And every evening, they’d gather, even for just twenty minutes, to laugh, complain, and plan for the holidays.

The semester finally ended with a buzz of excitement and relief.

When the final grades were posted, cheers erupted from their dorm wing.

“Seungcheol!” Jeonghan yelled, holding up the list. “Top of Year Four! You little overachiever!”

Seungcheol smirked, stretching, pulling Jeonghan for a tight hug. “Brains and brawn. What can I say?”

Jeonghan just smiled and gave his boyfriend a quick peck on the lips.

Wonwoo, silent as always, nodded at his own ranking: top of Year Three.

Mingyu wrapped him in a proud back-hug. “That’s my genius boyfriend right there.”

The celebration began early with Mingyu's announcement:
 “My parents are hosting Christmas this year. Formal dinner, massive tree, and real fireworks.”

“Fancy rich people party, noted,” Jeonghan teased, already thinking about outfits.

“We need to shop,” Jisoo added, eyes sparkling. “And get each other gifts.”

“I vote no budget rules,” Seokmin declared.

Everyone agreed.

The week before break became a sweet mess of secret gift wrapping, last-minute outfit fittings, and cocoa-fueled chaos in their lounge room. Sweet, quiet moments nestled into the days like snowflakes—Mingyu falling asleep on Wonwoo’s lap mid-wrapping, Jeonghan braiding Seungcheol’s hair while humming carols, and Jisoo and Seokmin nearly burning the cookies for the third time that week.

But through it all, one of them was slowly unraveling inside.

 

Seokmin.

 

It started with pacing. Then nail-biting. Then late-night humming with no melody.

Finally, on a Thursday morning, he did it.

He gathered everyone—except Jisoo—in the lounge room.

Jeonghan arched a suspicious brow the moment he noticed the missing person. “Why isn’t Jisoo here? Why do you look like you’ve committed a crime?”

Seokmin was already biting his nails.

“Mingyu made breakfast. Sit,” Seungcheol said, way too amused.

Once they were all seated, Seokmin stood in front of them like he was about to present his final thesis.

“Jisoo’s birthday is on the 30th,” he began.

Jeonghan’s eyes narrowed. “We know.”

Seokmin took a breath. “And that’s right between Christmas and New Year’s…”

Mingyu and Seungcheol were already grinning.

“I’m going to ask him…” Seokmin hesitated for half a second before finishing, “...to make our relationship official.”

Silence.

And then—

Seungcheol and Mingyu collapsed.

 Flat on their backs, laughing like they’d just heard the funniest joke of the century.

Wonwoo?

He just sipped his tea. “Yeah, we figured.”

Jeonghan, however, blinked.

His brain, always ten steps ahead, went still.

“You’re serious?” he asked, voice quiet.

Seokmin nodded. “I am so sure... I even already know what I want to do if I ever propose.”

Jeonghan exhaled, a smile tugging at his lips. “Alright then. I’m in. Just—if he cries, please take a picture and send it to me.”

Laughter erupted.

And just like that, Operation: Jisoo Please Say Yes was born.

Blueprints came out. Mood boards were summoned. Timelines were written on enchanted notepads. Everyone had a role—from distraction, to logistics, to making sure Seokmin doesn’t pass out from nerves.

And as snow fell gently outside, their hearts were full—because what better gift is there during the holidays than watching love come full circle?

 

******

 

The snow had stopped falling by the time evening crept in, giving way to a starlit sky blanketed in velvet blue. A parade of luxurious cars lined up neatly at the sprawling entrance of the Kim Estate, engines humming softly, each vehicle filled with laughter, warmth, and stacks of presents wrapped in ribbons and runes.

The Kim family mansion, an estate as grand as it was timeless, glowed from within like a castle of light. Golden lanterns hung on every arched doorway, flickering enchantments dancing along the walls, while garlands of enchanted evergreens curled around staircases, twinkling in response to nearby laughter. The air smelled of cinnamon, pine, and roasted delicacies, curling like memory into every heart that stepped inside.

The grand hall—twenty-foot ceilings, enchanted chandeliers floating midair, and a fire so large it could warm a village—welcomed the guests like royalty.

Each family arrived with delight. Laughter echoed, heels clicked, coats were shrugged off as everyone entered the warmth of the mansion.

The Hongs were early, with Jisoo’s mother humming as she handed out her famous ginger cookies.

The Chois followed, Seungcheol’s father already teasing Mingyu’s dad about his “over-decorated” tree.

Seokmin’s parents arrived with a glowing box that hissed softly—something enchanted for sure.

Then came the Jeons, with Wonwoo’s mom carrying a massive pot of magically spiced stew and his dad setting up old-school magical recorders to play carols.

The Kims, naturally, floated through their own halls with ease, Mingyu’s mother organizing last-minute seating while his father orchestrated the gifts by the twelve-foot Christmas tree in the ballroom.

But the last to arrive…

Were the Yoons.

Jeonghan walked in with Jihyo in his arms, both bundled in cozy coats. Her head rested on his shoulder, her giggle soft as she tugged at his scarf. Jaehyun and Yeji trailed behind, hands full with gifts wrapped in silver and gold—and, of course, Jeonghan’s favorite lemon tarts in a glittering glass case.

For a moment, when they entered, the room quieted just a little.

Not in discomfort, but in awe.

This is their first Christmas reunited as a family. The glow that surrounded them isn't just magic—it is healing.

Jeonghan met eyes with the others, and it was like gravity shifted. Mingyu was the first to rush forward, grabbing the lemon tarts. “You do love us.”

Seungcheol was second, pulling Jeonghan in by the collar for a forehead kiss before stealing Jihyo into a spinning hug. The others followed, warmth replacing the cold, and just like that, everything felt right.

 

 

Christmas Eve Dinner was something out of a fairytale.

The tables were enchanted to stretch as needed, decked with embroidered runners, glittering crystalware, floating candles, and warm dishes from every family. From roasted phoenix fowl glazed with fire apples to Wonwoo’s mom’s calming stew, the spread was endless.

Everyone took turns standing, raising toasts—from Seokmin’s chaotic “Cheers to not dying this year!” to Jisoo’s dramatic poem dedicated to the holiday menu.

And once everyone was full and buzzed from enchanted cider, the games began.

Jisoo and Seokmin’s Christmas Chaos Competition consisted of three categories:

• Charades, but Magic-themed.
  
  
• Memory Match with Living Cards.
  
  
• And the fan-favorite: Guess That Spell… with a minor explosion risk.
  
  

Laughter echoed through the marble halls as parents joined in, and even Jaehyun cracked a smile when Yeji accidentally turned her holiday pudding into a flurry of floating jelly snowflakes.

 

 

Later, when the fireplace crackled in its cozy orange glow and dessert plates were nearly empty, the six of them gathered by the tree for their private exchange of gifts.

They sat in a circle, their laughter dimming to gentle smiles. The lights around them dimmed as floating orbs cast a soft sparkle.

Mingyu stood first.

“I wanted us to have something that says we’re more than the Tournament. More than the past. Something to remind us of the future.”

He passed out silver pinky rings, each one engraved with all their initials hidden inside. Small, elegant, powerful.

Jeonghan looked down at his, brushing a thumb over the letters. “You sap,” he whispered. “I love it.”

Wonwoo followed, holding out small velvet pouches.

“Since I can’t be with you every time you get bruised or beat up, here’s a little bit of me to keep.”

Inside each pouch was a silver bracelet, glowing faintly, laced with a sliver of his healing ability.

“It’ll never replace me, though,” he added.

Seokmin beamed as he handed out what looked like ordinary books.

“Magic scrapbooks,” he said. “Each page is a moving memory. Watch it when you miss a moment.”

Flipping through, they saw tiny, moving clips: Jeonghan asleep in the library. Jisoo with flour all over his nose. Seungcheol pouting as Jeonghan ignored him.

Jisoo matched the gesture.

“Polaroid cameras. Unlimited film. Take photos that never fade. Capture everything, forever.”

They gasped—especially Seungcheol, who immediately grabbed it to take one of Jeonghan’s shocked face.

Seungcheol stood next.

“Symbolic. Powerful. Like us.”

He handed out necklaces with a small pendant, engraved with each of their unique magical symbols. Jeonghan’s glowed the softest.

“It’s like your black shadow necklace,” Jeonghan whispered.

“I made yours glow brighter,” Seungcheol replied, almost shy.

Finally, Jeonghan, hesitant but sure, brought out his gifts.

“Memory lamps,” he said. “One for each of you. Customized. For every time you feel lost… I want you to have something that reminds you of how much light you gave me.”

He passed each one out.

Seokmin’s glowed with the color of his laughter, playing memories of his most chaotic hugs.
 Jisoo’s hummed softly, casting golden light as clips of their long talks and comfort shined through.
 Wonwoo’s showed stargazing moments, quiet ones full of unspoken love.
 Mingyu’s pulsed bright, filled with shouts, laughter, and late-night dancing.
 Seungcheol’s was warm—blazing, steady—and held a gentle image of their first ever shared nap beneath a tree.

Every one of them had tears in their eyes.

They hugged all at once, too overwhelmed for words.

This is love.

Not just the romantic kind, but the type that binds souls and spans timelines.

This—

this is home.

 

 

They stayed like that for a long time, wrapped in warmth, full of magic and tarts and light.

They had faced war.

Darkness.

Lost memories and forbidden powers.

But here, in this moment, with silver bracelets and glowing lamps and snow falling outside...

They belonged.

And they would hold on to that—
 Forever.

 

******

 

Two days before Jisoo’s birthday.

And Jeonghan is, quite literally, on the edge of losing every last thread of his patience.

He stands in the middle of the Yoon family’s private music room, holding sheet music in one hand, glaring at Seokmin like he’s ready to banish him to a soundproof dimension. Across from him, Seungcheol is sitting cross-legged on a plush velvet stool, strumming his acoustic guitar with a lazy smile, laughter barely held in.

“Okay, from the top,” Jeonghan says through gritted teeth. “Again.”

Seokmin groans. “I’m trying! I’m just—nervous, okay?”

“Nervous is fine,” Jeonghan mutters. “But you’re three notes behind the beat, you’ve forgotten the lyrics—again, and if you don’t stop pacing around like a possessed duck, I swear I will mute you with a spell until the performance.”

Seungcheol finally bursts into laughter, missing a chord as he leans back. “Oh my god, Min,” he says between chuckles, “just remember—whatever you do, Jisoo is already head over heels for you. You could sing off-key in a chicken costume and he’d still say yes. But for the love of Han’s sanity, please sing on pitch.”

Jeonghan crosses his arms, exhaling sharply, eyes narrowing. “And I will trap you in a nightmare dream sequence if you keep forgetting the bridge.”

Seokmin groans dramatically, but grabs his mic again with renewed determination. “Okay, okay! I got it this time. Promise. Let’s go.”

They start again.

This time, Seokmin actually gets through the first verse and the chorus, and Jeonghan—miraculously—nods in approval.

Jeonghan’s voice had been the biggest surprise. Smooth, emotional, and hauntingly beautiful. Even Mingyu had choked on his drink the first time he heard it. So now the three of them—Jeonghan, Seungcheol, and Seokmin—were planning to serenade Jisoo on his birthday.

It is a moment.

And it had to be perfect.

 

Meanwhile, across town…

Mingyu and Wonwoo were carrying out their part of the plan: Operation Distract Jisoo At All Costs.

They had taken him shopping under the pretense of “you seriously need a birthday fit,” and were now bouncing from boutique to boutique with Jisoo, who had no idea his boyfriend was preparing a musical confession for him.

“You think this is too sparkly?” Jisoo asked, holding up a midnight blue blazer with soft stardust lining.

Wonwoo glanced over. “You could wear a curtain and it’d still look good on you.”

Jisoo narrowed his eyes. “You’re deflecting.”

“I’m honest,” Wonwoo replied smoothly, flipping through racks. “Anyway, that blazer? Approved.”

Mingyu popped his head out from the fitting room, shirt half-buttoned. “Are we still pretending this is just for fashion and not for the party Seokmin’s definitely planning something for?”

Jisoo stared at him.

Mingyu blinked.

“…I mean, what party?”

Jisoo rolled his eyes but smiled anyway, amused. “You guys are so obvious.”

Wonwoo sighed. “He’s onto us.”

Mingyu grinned. “Well, good. That means he’ll dress better.”

 

 

Back at the estate, after two more hours of vocal coaching, minor arguments, and at least three snack breaks, Jeonghan finally called it.

“Okay. That was almost acceptable.”

Seokmin looked offended. “I hit every note!”

“You blinked too much,” Jeonghan deadpanned.

Seungcheol chuckled, stretching his arms behind his head. “He’s joking. That was solid, Min. You’re gonna kill it.”

Seokmin let out a shaky breath, his usual energy now buried under nerves. “Do you think he’ll really say yes?”

Jeonghan softened. “I think,” he said, “Jisoo’s been waiting for you to ask.”

Seungcheol stood up and slung an arm around Jeonghan's shoulder. “You’ve got us, Min. And you’ve got him. You’re not just asking for a title—you’re claiming your person. So yeah. He’s gonna say yes.”

Jeonghan gave a rare small smile. “But if he cries, I’m still taking a picture.”

Seokmin laughed, nerves easing. “Deal.”

 

 

The countdown had begun.

Two days left until Jisoo’s birthday.

Two days until the surprise.

Two days until Seokmin took the biggest leap of his life.

And no matter how nervous he got…

He knew—he wouldn’t be doing it alone.

 

******

 

Today is the day.

Today is Jisoo’s birthday.
 Today is also the day Lee Seokmin will find out if he’s ending the year with a heart full of longing… or starting the new year hand-in-hand with the boy he’s loved all his life.

Spoiler alert: he’s a mess.

He’s never felt this nervous—not during the tournament finals, not even when he fought his first solo match. No battle, no magic spell gone wrong, no near-death experience compares to this level of emotional combustion.

His hands are clammy. His heart? Beating like it’s trying to escape.
 And yet… he’s never been more sure of anything.

Because it isn't just a plan—it is a promise.

One he’s been holding onto since they were kids playing tag in the garden, since late-night conversations on the rooftop, since Jisoo patched up his scrapes and shared his snacks without asking.

He’s waited long enough.

He’s ready to finally say it out loud.

 

 

FLASHBACK: A FEW DAYS AGO

Seokmin stood at the grand gates of the Hong Estate, carrying nothing but a bouquet of fresh peonies and a heart beating louder than a war drum.

Mr. Hong answered the door himself, amused but curious. “Seokmin? This is unexpected.”

“I… I’d like to speak with you, Uncle and Auntie,” Seokmin stammered, bowing deeply. “It’s about Jisoo.”

A few minutes later, he was seated stiffly on the plush couch across from Jisoo’s parents. The house was warm, the smell of cinnamon tea lingering in the air.

“I’d like to ask for your blessing,” Seokmin began, trying not to wring his hands, “to officially ask Jisoo to be mine. To be… my boyfriend.”

Silence.

Then Mr. Hong laughed—not mockingly, but softly, kindly.

“Seokmin,” he said, “we’ve always known you’d come to this point. You’re part of this family, with or without a title.”

Mrs. Hong added with a knowing smile, “We’ve been waiting for you to catch up.”

 

 

PRESENT TIME: NIGHTFALL, JISOO’S BIRTHDAY

The plan is set.

Mingyu and Wonwoo blindfold Jisoo, suppressing their giddy excitement. Jisoo, suspicious but trusting, lets them lead him by the hand through the forest path behind the Kim Estate.

“Okay, seriously,” Jisoo laughs, “if I trip and break my face—”

“You won’t,” Mingyu says quickly.

“You might,” Wonwoo deadpans, earning a sharp nudge.

After a few minutes, they stop. The breeze is soft. The sky above them twinkles with stars, and the sound of a guitar—soft, delicate—floats in the air.

Wonwoo gently pulls off the blindfold and leans in to whisper, “Go and find your happiness.”

Jisoo blinks, adjusting to the light.

In front of him is a trail—no, a path—of red roses, winding through glowing lanterns. The entire space is enchanted, sparkling faintly with soft magic, like stardust on air.

His breath catches.

Tears already welling, he begins walking.

With each step, the guitar grows louder.

And then—he sees it.

A small wooden stage bathed in soft, golden light. A carpet of red roses. Seungcheol sitting with his guitar. Jeonghan beside him, holding a microphone.

And in the center—Seokmin, eyes already glassy, standing with a shy but certain smile.

The world blurs.

Seokmin takes a breath as Seungcheol strums the opening chords of a familiar song.

 

Seokmin starts to sing, 
 I know the house you grew up in
 All of the names of your best friends
 (He glances back at Seungcheol and Jeonghan, grinning)
 I know the way you feel about your dad
 (Jisoo smiles. His dad has always adored Seokmin.)

I spent the summer on your couch…
 (memories of failed video game lessons flood in)

You fell in love with someone else…
 (Jisoo’s eyes flicker to Seungcheol. A smile. That wasn’t love. Not like this.)

You came to me the times that it went bad…

(Their story. All of it.)

 

The lyrics wrap around them, pulling old memories into the now.

Seokmin steps off the stage slowly, microphone in hand, walking toward Jisoo, whose cheeks are streaked with tears.

 

You know the house I grew up in
 You wouldn’t knock, you’d just walk in…
 (Jisoo always did. He never needed permission.)

Stay up for hours talkin’ to my mom…
 (She still sends him recipe scrolls.)

 

Seokmin reaches him. He puts the mic down, gently takes Jisoo’s hand, and places it over his heart—pounding wild and honest beneath his chest.

“We’ve known each other since we were kids. I’ve loved you in every lifetime. In every way.”

Their foreheads meet, breath mingling, swaying gently to the final strums of the song.

Jeonghan sings from the stage, voice soft and emotional:

If it takes the rest of my whole life to prove it…

 

Jisoo whispers with his heart already full, 
 “Min… You don’t have to prove anything to me.
 You already have.
 I would do everything in this song for you too.
 Wherever you go—I’ll be there.”

Tears fall again. This time, from Seokmin.

They begin to softly sing the chorus together, almost a whisper, a vow.

I’ll do anything for you…
 I’ll do anything for you…

The final chord fades. The world is still.

Seokmin pulls back just enough to look him in the eyes, both of them crying, both of them laughing between tears.

 “I’ll do anything for you.
 I love you, Jisoo.”

 “I love you too.
 And I’ll also do anything and everything for you.”

Seokmin leans in, presses a kiss to Jisoo’s forehead.

And then—

 “Jisoo… will you be my boyfriend?”

Jisoo lets out a soft laugh, eyes glimmering.

 “Silly, I’ve been yours since the beginning.”

They fall into each other’s arms as the clock strikes midnight.

Jeonghan—never one to miss a moment—begins to sing the chorus once more, his voice floating above them like a blessing.

Mingyu and Wonwoo watch from the sidelines, hands intertwined, grinning like proud parents.

 

 “I ended my birthday with you…”

 “…and we’re starting the rest of forever together.”

 “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my days with you.”

Seokmin smiling through his tears, “You’re stuck with me now.”

 “Oh, I won’t be letting go.”

 

******

 

The snow fell gently that morning.

The Academy grounds, blanketed in white, looked like something out of a storybook—silent, serene, soft. The dorm windows glowed with warm lights. Laughter and the scent of hot chocolate spilled from the dining hall where students trickled in and out, cheeks pink from the cold.

It is January 1st.

A new year.

A new beginning.

And inside The Lounge Room, chaos.

“SEOKMIN IS WEARING MY SCARF AGAIN—”
 “That’s not yours, Mingyu, it’s literally pink and has glitter—”
 “DON’T UNDERESTIMATE MY RANGE!”

The six were back where it all began, and this time, they were whole.

Seokmin and Jisoo sat curled up on the lounge couch, fingers intertwined, with matching blushes and matching bracelets. Jisoo's head rested on Seokmin’s shoulder, eyes closed, still basking in the glow of his birthday surprise, still not over how Seokmin literally sang his love into the stars.

Mingyu walked in with a tray full of hot drinks, balancing it precariously while dramatically avoiding all the chaos on the floor.

Wonwoo followed behind, hands stuffed in his coat pockets, content as always, but now smiling more freely than before. He passed by Jeonghan and ruffled his hair before sitting beside Mingyu, who immediately leaned against him.

Jeonghan grumbled at the hair-ruffling, but didn’t move. He looked different now—not in a way that could be explained easily, but in the softness of his eyes, the way his laugh came quicker, the way he now stayed when people reached for him.

He is home.

And beside him, as always, is Seungcheol.

Seungcheol, who handed him a cup of warm lemon tea (because he somehow remembered every small thing about Jeonghan), and leaned back like this was the most natural thing in the world.

“Any resolutions?” Jeonghan asked, sipping his tea.

Seungcheol thought for a moment. “Mmm… don’t die?”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes. “We’re literally students now, not warriors.”

Seungcheol looked at him sideways, “Have you met us?”

Jeonghan smiled. Touched his ring. His bracelet. His pendant. His lamp now sitting by his bed. All the gifts, the memories, the weight of love in every form.

“I just want us to be okay,” he whispered.

Seungcheol didn’t reply, but he took Jeonghan’s hand and pulled him closer to him. That was enough.

—

The projector blinked on a little later that night. Each family, back in their estates, called in for a quick “Happy New Year” from their corners of the world. Parents popped in and out, smiling and waving. Jihyo popped in to shout “Happy 2026!” before running off with her sparkler again.

After that, the six stayed in the lounge room, wrapped in blankets and stories, watching fireworks go off through the windows.

Jisoo hummed a melody. Seokmin joined in. Jeonghan and Seungcheol harmonized. Mingyu drummed his fingers on the couch. Wonwoo closed his eyes and just listened.

Time slowed down.

Not in the magical sense, but in the rare, peaceful one.

Here, in this moment, the six of them weren’t students, weren’t warriors, weren’t heirs or survivors. They were simply them—friends, family, the kind of soul-deep connection only found once in a lifetime.

 

As the final firework bloomed above the Academy, a soft pink and silver light that reflected off every snowy surface, Jeonghan looked around and whispered, as if just to himself:

“We made it.”

 

And this time, no one is alone.

Not anymore.
 Not ever again.

Notes:

see you soon for epilogue 2 (ﾉ>ω<)ﾉ :｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

Chapter 29: Epilogue 2: Ten Years Later

Notes:

We are officially at the end of the story🥺 thank you sooooo much for staying with me and reading this story and waiting for the updates 🥹 as I have already said before, this fic introduced me to so many beautiful people. Here is Aurora Academy’s Epilogue 2 ♥️.

A lot had changed in the last ten years.

They were no longer students of Aurora Academy — they are its future.

Seungcheol and Jisoo stood tall as members of the High Council, their words carrying weight across the Nation and in the Capitol. Calm and calculated, fierce when necessary, they are a force to be reckoned with — and a pair often referred to as "the brains and the soul" of their generation.

Seokmin, ever the sunshine of their circle, had evolved into a capable leader, managing two of his family estates, while still somehow finding time to bake every other Sunday and never missing a call with his best friends.

Jeonghan — Yoon Jeonghan — now sat in a powerful position, running the Yoon Corporation, but his other job? Training under the current Headmaster of Aurora Academy. He is to be the future of the place where everything began. And even now, years later, the students whispered his name like a legend.

Wonwoo just finished his advanced medical degree — top of his class, quiet as ever, but bold when it mattered. He and Mingyu, who was handling his family empire with ease, had started laying the foundation — quite literally — of a hospital that would serve the people of Aurora for free.

A dream turned mission.

Though their lives had expanded far beyond their younger selves, one thing never changed — them.

The six of them.

Still connected, still solid, still home.

 

 

It’s the day.

The air in Aurora shimmered with excitement — the kind that hums quietly in your bones before something special happens.

Wonwoo stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the cuffs of his crisp white long-sleeved shirt. Everything about today had to be perfect. Not because of nerves — but because this day was years in the making. A dream born from both purpose and love.

Then, a sound.

Ting, ting, ting — the soft patter of small feet.

“Papa!”

Wonwoo turned just in time to catch his three-year-old son, Sunoo, as he ran full-speed into his arms. Laughing, he lifted him high, planting a soft kiss on the boy’s cheek.

“Careful, bud,” he chuckled.

Behind them, Mingyu came skidding into the room, a mix of flustered and gleeful, clearly mid-chase. “Buddy! You run so fast now! You’re faster than Daddy!”

Sunoo squealed in laughter as Mingyu scooped him up, spinning him around, both their laughter echoing through the house. Mingyu peppered his son’s face with kisses, whispering “I love you, I love you, I love you” between each one.

Wonwoo watched them, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Even now, even after all the years, it still hit him sometimes — how lucky he was.
How loved he felt. How full his world had become.

He cleared his throat gently. “You two goofballs need to get dressed. We’re going to be late.”

Because today — after years of planning, studying, building, hoping —
 Today is the inauguration of the Jeon-Kim Hospital.

A hospital unlike any other in Aurora: modern, inclusive, free.

A place that welcomed everyone — whether magical or not, young or old, wounded in body or in heart.
Their dream had become real.

Mingyu nodded, already gently helping Sunoo into a little button-down and mini suspenders, clearly more excited than even his son.

“Hey, bud,” Mingyu murmured while fixing his hair, “when you grow up, I want you to be like Papa, okay? Smart and beautiful on the outside and the inside. You already look like him, so we’re halfway there.”

Sunoo blinked slowly, clearly not understanding, and then poked Mingyu’s nose. “Silly Daddy.”

—

Later, in the car, Mingyu drove while Wonwoo checked the car seat for the fifth time, ensuring Sunoo was safe. Their son chattered endlessly from the backseat about flowers and birds and that one time he saw a frog “that looked like Uncle Cheol.”

Mingyu snorted with laughter.

Wonwoo just smiled.

—

When they arrived, the plaza in front of the hospital was already bustling. Hundreds, no — thousands — had come to witness the opening. A sea of smiling faces from every corner of Aurora, from every walk of life. This wasn’t just a hospital — this was hope made visible.

While greeting some medical staff, a high-pitched voice screamed from across the grounds.

“UNCLE GYU! UNCLE WOO!”

A blur of energy ran straight toward them.

Heesung.
 Jisoo and Seokmin’s four-year-old spark plug — with Seokmin’s exact mischievous grin and Jisoo’s bright eyes. A walking, talking firecracker.

Seokmin chased him, breathless. “Heesung! I told you to wait—!”

But it was too late.
Heesung leapt straight into Wonwoo’s arms.

Wonwoo caught him with practiced ease, greeted by a loud kiss to the cheek and a giggle.

“Hi, sunshine,” he laughed.

A second later, Jisoo and Seokmin arrived, slightly flustered but beaming. Jisoo is carrying their newborn baby girl, Iroha. They exchanged hugs and greetings, waving at familiar faces.

And then — the black Porsche rolled in.

All heads turned. Because no matter how much time passed, when Yoon Jeonghan walked into a space, he commanded it.

He stepped out first, still radiating ethereal grace, not a day older than he looked ten years ago — something his friends teased him about endlessly. His perfectly tailored cream suit danced with threads of subtle gold. Elegant. Effortless.

Then, Seungcheol stepped out — tall, broad-shouldered, eyes soft the moment he turned to the car seat. He opened the door and reached inside.

“Come on, baby,” he said softly, lifting out their son, Jungwon.

Three years old and already a mix of heaven and chaos. He had Seungcheol’s deep dimples and Jeonghan’s sharp, beautiful eyes — a perfect blend of gentleness and intensity.

Seungcheol placed him on his shoulders, and they walked over together, Jeonghan’s hand casually tucked into Seungcheol’s as they made their way toward their friends.

When the kids saw each other — chaos.
 Sunoo and Jungwon ran toward each other, tackling one another in pure joy.
 Heesung joined seconds later, and the trio were instantly a giggling, tumbling mess of limbs and laughter.

The six of them stood together again — now parents, leaders, founders, lovers — watching their kids play in front of the hospital they once dreamed of, then built.

The sun shone brighter.

The wind felt warmer.

And for a quiet moment, all was still.

Mingyu looked at Wonwoo, his heart full, overflowing. “We really did it.”

Wonwoo, his gaze locked on the kids playing, nodded softly. “Yeah… we did.”

Jisoo leaned his head on Seokmin’s shoulder. Jeonghan reached for Seungcheol’s hand and squeezed it once. And Mingyu placed a hand gently on Wonwoo’s back, grounding him.

From the days of chaos and pain, to tournaments and healing, from “will we make it?” to “we made it” — they had built something eternal.

This isn’t just the start of a hospital.

It is a legacy.

A future.

And always — a family.

Notes:

me right now: ✧*｡٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و✧*｡ my first baby is FINALLY COMPLETE AHHHHH after over a month of editing and updating, we are finally here🥹 From a simple draft that started in 2022 and now we are here.. endless thank yous to everyone that is reading this and also to all people who will read it.. thank you for staying until the end! This fic thought me so much and I hope it also gave you something that lasts. There are going to be special chapters in the future but for now, Aurora Academy is signing off! ♥️♥️ Lemme know all of your thoughts @jeongcheolkkuma☺️

Chapter 30: Special Chapter 1: Love & Abilities

Notes:

Well.. AHAHAHA I missed them so much soo I decided to post one special chapter for everyone wohoooo🥳🥳 Enjoy!♥️

It was a warm, golden afternoon at the Yoon–Choi estate, where laughter echoed off the stone walls and sunlight filtered through the expansive glass ceiling of the indoor garden. The air carried the scent of lemon tarts, fresh flowers, and chlorine from the nearby pool.

A normal weekend.

Well, normal in the way that anything in this magical household could be.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol were laughing breathlessly as they tiptoed barefoot across the marble floors, hands pressed to the wall, trying not to make a sound. Their four-year-old son Jungwon was counting loudly in the main hall, face covered with tiny chubby palms.

“Twenty-eight… twenty-nine… thirty! Ready or not, here I come!”

The boy’s voice echoed with glee and determination, his little feet thudding with excitement across the estate.

“Okay, love,” Jeonghan whispered to Seungcheol with a playful glint in his eye, crouching behind a velvet armchair in the drawing room, “I know he’s small but how does he keep finding us?”

“Beginner’s luck,” Seungcheol whispered back with a grin.

But within moments, again, Jungwon peeked around the corner and beamed.

“Found you!” he giggled, pointing directly at them.

“Again?!” Jeonghan gasped, falling over in mock despair. “That’s the third time today!”

They played two more rounds. Jeonghan tried hiding under a spiral staircase. Seungcheol disguised himself in a linen closet. But each time, Jungwon would scamper right toward them with the confidence of someone who knew, not guessed, where they were.

By the third round, Jeonghan called for a break, waving a white handkerchief in the air dramatically. “Time out! Time out! My old bones can’t take this anymore.”

Seungcheol scoffed. “Love, you’re barely thirty.”

Jeonghan stuck out his tongue and scooped up their son in one swift movement, ruffling Jungwon’s fluffy hair. “Alright, champ, you win. Again.”

The three of them strolled to the poolside area, barefoot and warm under the sun. Jeonghan sat down on one of the chaise lounges and gently settled Jungwon on his lap, his brows furrowed with a soft curiosity. Seungcheol sat nearby, still catching his breath, running a towel through his damp hair.

“Baby,” Jeonghan began gently, brushing a strand of hair away from Jungwon’s eyes, “you are so good at this game! Papa and Daddy want to know your secret, hmm?”

Seungcheol, now attentive, tilted his head. “Yeah, love. How do you always know where we’re hiding?”

Jungwon’s big eyes blinked up at them, innocent, shimmering with excitement. He leaned in closer and cupped his tiny hands near Jeonghan’s ear, as though telling a forbidden secret.

In his soft, lisped baby voice, he whispered,

“Your shadows.”

Both parents froze.

Seungcheol sat up straighter, eyes narrowing slightly. “What do you mean, baby?”

Jungwon sat back and pouted a little, as if it should’ve been obvious. “Your shadows tell me where you are! They always talk to me and play with me!”

Jeonghan’s breath caught in his throat.

The summer breeze shifted.
A bird cried somewhere in the sky. But here, on the sun-warmed tiles, the world felt still.

Seungcheol’s mouth parted, but no words came out at first.

Jeonghan gently adjusted Jungwon to face him fully on his lap, holding his tiny hands in his own. “Baby,” he asked softly, his voice steady but low. “Are… our shadows nice to you?”

Jungwon nodded quickly, eyes lighting up. “Yes! They laugh with me. And they tell me where you hide. And sometimes… they tell me where you hide the lemon tarts too!”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Jeonghan’s laugh cracked—soft and trembling as he pulled Jungwon into a tight embrace, kissing his son’s forehead again and again, breathing in the scent of his hair.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered, tears pooling in his eyes. “You are destined for great things.”

Seungcheol looked at them both, eyes misty. He knelt beside them and wrapped his arms around his family.

No one spoke for a while.

The afternoon slipped into dusk, the sunlight curling through the glass like golden ribbons, casting long shadows that flickered faintly… almost in rhythm with Jungwon’s little giggle.

 

That night, the sky had turned a deep indigo, stars winking softly above the estate. In the master bedroom, Jeonghan and Seungcheol lay tangled beneath light silk sheets, Jeonghan draped over Seungcheol’s chest, their fingers idly tracing circles against each other’s skin.

Neither had spoken in a while. The weight of the day hung quietly in the air.

Seungcheol finally sighed, running a gentle hand along Jeonghan’s spine. “Love,” he murmured, “what are you thinking about?”

Jeonghan propped himself up on his elbow, eyes distant, voice thick with emotion. “My heart is so full of love for our son that I… I can’t help but worry.”

Seungcheol’s hand rose to caress his husband’s cheek. “Jeonghan…”

Jeonghan met his eyes. “He’s so powerful, Cheol. And he’s only four. His affinity with shadows—it’s not just passive. They speak to him. They obey him. What will happen when the world starts watching him the way they watched us?”

There was a long pause.

Seungcheol reached up and cupped the back of Jeonghan’s neck, grounding him with the same calm presence that had seen him through war and fire. “My love,” he said softly, “we will be with him every step of the way. We’ll teach him. Protect him. Let him grow with love.”

Jeonghan’s eyes shimmered. “But what if love isn’t enough?”

Seungcheol smiled, quiet and sure. “Our love will be so strong it will overpower anything in this world. Even fear. Even darkness.”

Jeonghan slowly lowered himself back into Seungcheol’s arms, burying his face in the crook of his neck.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Seungcheol chuckled, kissing the top of his hair. “I love you more.”

The shadows in the corners of their room stretched and stilled..

almost as if they, too, were listening.

 

******

 

The sun bathed the Jeon–Kim estate in a soft morning glow, streaking gold across the trimmed hedges and dew-speckled petals. Birds chirped in rhythm with the rustle of leaves and the soft hum of weekend calm.

On the stone patio by the garden, Wonwoo sat with a book in one hand and a delicate porcelain teacup in the other. His gaze occasionally flicked from the pages to the small figure toddling in the grass, his son, Sunoo, now four years old.

Mingyu, shirt sleeves rolled up, was a few feet away by the flowerbeds, repotting a cluster of wild violets. Dirt smudged his cheek, and a stray leaf clung to his curls. He looked peaceful and content.

And in the middle of it all, Sunoo was having a very serious cooking session under the shaded arch of jasmine vines. He’d laid out a blanket as his “kitchen,” a basket of gathered leaves, petals, and small fruits from the garden surrounding him like a feast for faeries. He stirred imaginary soups with a stick, arranging his ingredients with childlike intensity.

“Sunoo’s soup needs lemon leaf… and dandelion cake… and butterfly wing dust!” he declared, puffing up his cheeks in concentration.

Mingyu let out a soft laugh. “That sounds very gourmet, chef.”

Wonwoo smiled over the rim of his tea. “Should we get him a tiny kitchen set?”

Then, without warning, Sunoo gasped.

He stared at his little leaf-and-petal concoction and dramatically flailed his arms.

“Oh no! Sunoo needs fire to cook!”

Wonwoo’s brows furrowed with amusement. Mingyu looked over with a grin, ready to indulge his son’s play-pretend.

But then—

In the next moment, as natural as breathing, Sunoo’s chubby little hands glowed red. A tiny, crackling flame, no larger than a walnut, hovered in the air just above his palms.

Wonwoo stood, his teacup shattering quietly on the stone tiles.

Mingyu froze, soil dripping from his hands, staring in stunned silence.

Sunoo giggled in awe, eyes wide as he stared at the fire. “Sunoo has fire now! Sunoo will cook!”

He lifted the flame toward the pile of leaves.

“Sunoo, wait—!” Mingyu moved before he could think, instincts sharper than memory. He swept his son into his arms just in time. But the moment Sunoo was lifted, the fire in his hand brushed across Mingyu’s shoulder.

The contact was brief.

But it was enough.

A sharp hiss of skin, a sizzle of heat, and a burn bloomed on Mingyu’s shoulder.

Sunoo looked down. His smile vanished. His eyes widened.

“…Sunoo… gave Daddy ouchie?” he whispered.

Mingyu blinked through the sting, but the sound of Sunoo’s voice, so soft, so guilt-ridden, hurt worse than the burn.

Sunoo’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Bad Sunoo!” he wailed, trying to pull away. “Bad Sunoo hurt Daddy!”

Mingyu’s heart cracked in his chest.

Wonwoo rushed forward and dropped to his knees, reaching for Mingyu’s shoulder, already preparing to summon his healing aura. But before his hands could glow—

Sunoo’s hands sparked again.

This time, the flame was blue.

It hovered.. cooler, softer, but pulsing with power. Still crying, Sunoo pressed his palm gently against Mingyu’s burn.

And just like that—

The wound vanished.

The skin mended instantly, not a scar in sight.

Wonwoo gasped. Mingyu stared in awe.

But their son was still crying, pressing his face into Mingyu’s collar, tiny fists curled into the fabric of his shirt.

Wonwoo reached out, his voice a hush of wind. “Sunoo…”

Sunoo lifted his arms silently, face wet and puffy. Wonwoo gently took him, holding his son against his chest. Sunoo clung to his neck like a koala, hiccuping softly.

“Papa…” Sunoo whimpered, “…is Daddy mad at Sunoo?”

The words struck deep.

Wonwoo’s vision blurred instantly. “Oh, my love,” he whispered, cradling Sunoo’s face with both hands, “we will never, ever be angry at you. You’re our sunshine, our heart. You did nothing wrong.”

Mingyu stepped forward, eyes red and burning with emotion, and wrapped his arms around both of them.

He pressed his forehead to Sunoo’s back, voice low. “You’re amazing, love. We’re just… surprised, okay? But we’re so proud of you.”

Sunoo sniffled, nodding slightly, and slowly relaxed in their embrace.

The fire in his hands faded.

Only warmth remained.

 

That night, after Sunoo had fallen asleep nestled between a sea of plush animals, Wonwoo and Mingyu lay together in bed beneath the soft light of their room.

The silence between them was comfortable, but heavy with thoughts.

Wonwoo was the first to speak. “He got both of our abilities.”

Mingyu nodded, eyes closed. “He’s going to be powerful.”

There was pride in his voice, but also something else.
A tremor of fear. Awe. Responsibility.

Wonwoo turned, closing the space between them, slipping a hand beneath Mingyu’s shirt to gently trace the skin where the burn had been. “I love our son so much… and I already want to shield him from the world.”

Mingyu pulled him close, arms encircling him completely. “We’re a team, babe. And we will never let him down.”

Wonwoo’s fingers curled into Mingyu’s shirt, grounding himself in that promise.

Outside their bedroom window, the garden flowers bloomed under moonlight.

Inside, in the safety of warmth and love, a fire wielder and a healer dreamed of a boy who could do both.

******

 

It was one of those lazy, golden Sunday afternoons at the Hong–Lee estate, where time seemed to slow, the breeze was warm, and joy lived in the echoes of children’s laughter.

The pool shimmered with light, and in the corner of the garden, Heesung, five years old and incredibly loud, sat beside a messy sandcastle with a comically deep sigh.

“Uuuggghhh.”

It wasn’t even subtle, he made sure his exasperation could be heard across the entire estate.

From the patio, where a soft lullaby was playing from a hidden speaker, Jisoo glanced up from a stack of council papers, adjusting his glasses.

He arched a brow, smiling. “Baby, what’s the matter?”

Heesung flopped dramatically onto the grass, his cheeks puffed like a grumpy balloon. “Dada, I want to do something! Sand is boring today!”

Seokmin, rocking the tiny Iroha to sleep in his arms, chuckled softly. “What does our Heesung want to do, hmm?”

But Heesung only huffed again, eyes scanning the glittering water of the pool.

Jisoo exchanged a look with Seokmin, shaking his head with fond exasperation. “Our son, the drama king.”

Then, without a word, Heesung stood up.

He toddled over to a small plastic basin beside the pool, already half-filled with water from his earlier play. Jisoo watched with mild interest at first, thinking he might splash around again or throw the water in the air just for the joy of chaos.

But what happened next made Jisoo freeze mid-page.

Heesung extended his chubby fingers above the basin.

The pool water lifted, just a little, hovering like liquid held by invisible strings. And then—

The water hardened.

Clear, glistening ice began to form in mid-air, freezing into perfect geometric shapes.

Little cubes. Sharp pyramids. A ring. Even something that looked like a tiny unicorn horn.

Heesung giggled, delighted. “Look!! Ice is funny!!”

He tossed a cube at the sandcastle, and it thunked solidly into place.

Jisoo’s eyes widened. His papers slipped from his lap onto the patio floor.

“Heesung?” he said, voice suddenly soft and shaking.

Seokmin’s gaze snapped up from Iroha, who was now sleeping peacefully. One look at Jisoo’s stunned face had him on alert. He gently placed Iroha into her stroller, tucking the blanket under her chin, and walked briskly to the edge of the garden.

He stopped in his tracks.

Their son was surrounded by glimmering pieces of sculpted ice, all lazily orbiting his hands, floating like snowflakes that refused to melt in the sunlight.

Seokmin’s knees nearly gave out.

“Oh my gods…”

He rushed forward, heart hammering against his chest. Heesung looked up and squealed when he saw him.

“Daddy!! Look what I can do!!”

Seokmin dropped to his knees in the grass and scooped his son into his arms, holding him close, breath shuddering, tears spilling from his eyes.

“Oh baby,” he whispered, voice trembling. “Aren’t you cold?”

Heesung giggled as he shook his head furiously, his damp curls sticking to Seokmin’s cheek. “Ice is funny, Daddy! The water listens to me!”

Seokmin laughed through his tears, overwhelmed.

Jisoo finally reached them, kneeling beside them, eyes still glassy. He leaned in and kissed Heesung’s forehead, his voice catching as he whispered,

“Don’t let the cold melt you, my love.”

Heesung tilted his head curiously. “What does that mean, Dada?”

Jisoo smiled, eyes full of pride and something deeper—something ancient. “It means even if the world is loud and warm and messy, you don’t have to change who you are to fit in. You’re made of magic. You’re perfect.”

Seokmin buried his face into the crook of his son’s neck, just holding him, as though he was holding something too precious to speak of aloud.

Heesung didn’t fully understand what was happening, why his parents were suddenly crying and holding him like he might float away, but he giggled again and conjured a tiny snowflake on Seokmin’s shoulder.

The air around them was cool now.

But in that moment, all the love in the world burned bright.
A fire not of flames, but of hearts set ablaze by the awe of their child.

Notes:

I will randomly post random special chapters every now & then🤩 if you have any ideas/suggestions/plots in mind, just comment or share it to me on x @jeongcheolkkuma 🥳

Chapter 31: Special Chapter 2: The Healer's Lover

Notes:

Hi! I made a poll last week on twitter / x asking between two of my fics where you want a MinWon special chapter and Aurora Academy won so here it is! Hope you enjoy this special chapter and please stay until the end notes👀♥️

Wonwoo rarely cries… and Mingyu knows that. It's not just something people say; it's something you feel when you're around him. Even as a three-year-old, Mingyu instinctively understood that tears didn’t come easily to Wonwoo. Mingyu only saw Wonwoo cry a couple of times and the first time he’d ever seen him cry was that one day… and even now, years later, he remembers it vividly.

Wonwoo was always a quiet, shy boy, the kind of child who seemed to carry a little bubble of stillness wherever he went. While Seungcheol, Jeonghan, and Jisoo were already four years old and louder in their play, and while Mingyu and Seokmin, both three like Wonwoo, ran around like miniature tornadoes, Wonwoo stayed on the quieter side of the room, usually by himself or tucked beside Jeonghan, quietly working on a puzzle, or sitting close to Jisoo with a picture book open between them.

Where others were wild, Wonwoo was gentle. He liked board games about plants, and picture books about animals—especially cats. He never fought for attention, never raised his voice, never interrupted. He just… existed in his soft way. And Mingyu liked that about him.

But Mingyu also struggled. He wanted to play with Wonwoo. Really badly. But every time he approached, he felt too loud, too clumsy, too much. Wonwoo never said it, but Mingyu could feel it. That slight flinch when he laughed too hard, or the way Wonwoo would quietly move closer to Jeonghan when Mingyu bounced near them with excitement. It made Mingyu feel like maybe… maybe Wonwoo didn’t want to play with him at all.

One sunny afternoon, something shifted. Mingyu saw him sitting on the soft play mat with Jeonghan and Jisoo, a wide, bright smile on his face as he told a story about cats. His voice, usually so soft it barely rose above a whisper, was full of quiet excitement. Jeonghan was nodding along, clearly invested, and Jisoo had both hands cupped under his chin like Wonwoo was telling him the greatest story in the world. Wonwoo even laughed—a soft, tinkling giggle that made Mingyu stop in his tracks.

For a moment, Mingyu just watched. His heart swelled with warmth. Wonwoo is smiling… he’s happy. Maybe this was his chance to join them.

Just as Mingyu stepped forward, ready to kneel beside them, two familiar hands grabbed at his shirt.

“Mingyu! Come with us!” Seungcheol shouted, already giggling.

“Yeah, let’s play dinosaur tag!” Seokmin added, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Mingyu hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at Wonwoo again—still smiling, still talking about cats. He opened his mouth to say something when—

“Wonwoo likes cats!” Seungcheol declared loudly, bounding over to the small group like a whirlwind.

“But aren’t dogs better?” Seokmin chimed in, laughing without meaning any harm, just echoing the noise and playfulness of the moment.

Mingyu’s stomach dropped.

“Cats aren’t even playful like dogs!” Seokmin added gleefully.

Mingyu’s mouth opened again, trying to speak, to stop them—but the chaos had already started.

The two boys ran around the mat, laughing, not noticing the shift in atmosphere. “WONNIE! DOGS ARE BETTER THAN CATS!” Seungcheol yelled, spinning in circles. “Even Mingyu loves dogs!”

Jeonghan immediately scoffed, crossing his arms. “Cheollie! Both cats and dogs are cute, okay?!”

Seungcheol just stuck out his tongue at him. “Nooope!”

Jisoo frowned, brows furrowing. “Seokkie, don’t tease Wonnie—it’s bad!” he huffed, arms defensively wrapping around Wonwoo's shoulder.

But it was too late.

Mingyu stood frozen, his feet glued to the spot, watching as Wonwoo’s smile slowly faded. His eyes dropped to his lap, fingers gently closing the book he was holding—a soft, worn hardcover about kittens and their adventures in the garden. He didn't say a word.

Jeonghan and Jisoo were already shifting, trying to bring back the joy, to sit closer and open the book again.

But then—a quiet movement. Wonwoo stood up, still not looking at anyone. And then… a sound no one expected.

A sob.

It was small. Barely louder than a whisper. But unmistakable.

Wonwoo never cries.

It’s always Jisoo who cries when he scrapes his knee, or Jeonghan when Seungcheol pushes all his buttons too far. But not Wonwoo.

Jeonghan’s face twisted in alarm. Jisoo looked like he’d just seen the sun fall out of the sky.

“Wonnie?” Jeonghan whispered, already trying to reach for him.

But Wonwoo gently pushed them both away, his small hands trembling.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracked and broken.

Then he turned, and quietly walked away.

Everyone was frozen. Even the air felt still.

Mingyu couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. His heart pounded in his ears as guilt crashed over him like a wave. He should’ve stopped them. He should’ve said something. He should’ve...

Jeonghan suddenly shouted, a frustrated, angry sound that didn’t fit his usual gentle tone. It broke the silence like glass. Jisoo was already wiping his eyes, sniffling as he grabbed Jeonghan’s hand.

“Let’s go find him,” Jeonghan said, dragging Jisoo behind him without waiting.

Mingyu watched them disappear down the hallway before turning slowly toward Seungcheol and Seokmin, who were now pointing fingers at each other in panic.

“You said it first!”

“No, you were louder!”

Mingyu said nothing. He only stared at the spot where Wonwoo had been, his chest tight with something heavy and unfamiliar.

That day, he learned something he never forgot.

Sometimes, the quietest tears hurt the loudest.

 

That afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun streamed through the windows of the Choi estate, casting soft shadows on the polished floors. The children had just woken from their naps, cheeks still rosy, hair tousled from sleep. The familiar voice of one of the maids echoed through the hallways, calling them for snacks near the pool.

Seungcheol and Seokmin were the first to respond—springing from their shared naptime mat like firecrackers, already racing toward the pool deck in their mismatched socks and half-zipped pajamas.

Jeonghan followed, arms crossed tight over his chest, his pout sharp and unwavering. He hadn’t said a word since nap time ended. His silence was louder than Seungcheol’s laugh. Jisoo trailed behind, still yawning, his small hand rubbing at one sleepy eye, clutching his favorite plush bunny in the other.

Mingyu walked slower.

His eyes moved quietly from hallway to corner, room to room, scanning faces as the warm scent of toasted bread and fruit juice filled the air.

He was looking for someone.

Wonwoo.

When they finally settled near the long snack table by the pool, the chatter began to return. Plates were passed around, juice cups clinked, and little hands reached eagerly for cookies and fruit.

But Mingyu… Mingyu stood quietly beside one of the maids, pulling gently at her apron.

“Miss?” he whispered. “Where’s Wonwoo?”

The maid looked down at him kindly, smoothing his hair in that careful way adults do when they don’t want to worry a child.

“Wonwoo already left earlier, kids,” she said softly, with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Silence.

Jisoo gasped, eyes wide with worry. Jeonghan immediately spun around and pinched Seungcheol’s chubby cheek with fierce determination.

“CHEOLLIE!” he shouted. “LOOK! WONNIE LEFT! HE LEFT BECAUSE YOU CAN’T STOP TEASING HIM!”

“OW! JEONGHANNIE!” Seungcheol yelped, rubbing his face, but Jeonghan only glared.

“It was Seokmin’s idea!” Seungcheol protested quickly, pointing.

“Nooo! You started it first!” Seokmin shot back, frowning.

“I just agreed a little!”

“Only because you’re mean!”

As the two boys descended into loud bickering, Jisoo folded his arms and turned away from them completely, eyes shimmering again. Jeonghan sat beside him and offered a tissue from his pocket like a tiny grown-up.

Meanwhile, Mingyu didn’t join the fight. He didn’t speak.

He just stared down at the table of snacks, his fingers gently brushing over the colorful packets and fruits until he spotted the small box of salty crackers—Wonwoo’s favorite. The blue box with the smiling fish printed on the front. Wonwoo always saved them for last and smiled the biggest when he opened them.

Quietly, Mingyu slipped the box into the pocket of his little hoodie and sat down.

He didn’t say why. No one asked.

 

 

The rest of the day unraveled in soft chaos.

Jeonghan and Jisoo spent their afternoon blowing bubbles on the lawn, giggling quietly between themselves and carefully ignoring the boys who had caused so much trouble.

Seungcheol and Seokmin tried to join. Seungcheol even brought out bubble wands and a water gun, but Jeonghan didn’t even look at him. At one point, Seungcheol tackled Jeonghan to the ground in a desperate attempt to play like they used to—but Jeonghan just laid there, eyes on the sky, unmoved.

Seokmin gave Jisoo a ten-minute-long hug, pressing his cheek into Jisoo’s shoulder and whispering, “I’m sorry, Jisoo,” over and over. But Jisoo just sat still, his little lips pressed in a thin, sad line.

Mingyu spent the afternoon mostly by himself, picking at snacks, kicking his shoes in the grass, the box of salty crackers still in his pocket. He didn’t feel like laughing, didn’t feel like playing tag. He just kept thinking about the way Wonwoo walked away, so quietly, so small.

When the sun began to sink behind the trees and the sky turned pink and sleepy, Mingyu finally went home. The car ride felt longer than usual, even though he didn’t live far. He pressed his forehead to the window and watched the trees blur by.

That night, his mother tucked him in as usual, smoothing his blanket and brushing his hair gently with her fingers. She always smelled like lavender and sunshine.

But tonight, Mingyu’s voice was smaller than usual.

“Mommy…” he whispered.

His mother paused, hand stilling on his blanket. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“Wonwoo cried today…”

She sat down beside him, eyes softening. “Oh, honey. Crying is okay, you know? It’s normal to cry. Was Wonwoo upset? Did something hurt?”

Mingyu’s eyes turned glassy as he looked up at her. “Seungcheol and Seokmin… they teased him about cats. He was really happy, but then… then he wasn’t. He closed his book and cried.”

His mom let out a gentle chuckle and shook her head.

“Oh, those boys… always full of noise.” She leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Make sure to say sorry to him, okay? Sometimes we hurt people even when we don’t mean to. You’ll see him next weekend at their house.”

Mingyu nodded slowly.

But even as the lights dimmed and the stars blinked awake outside his window, he kept his hand in his hoodie pocket, fingers wrapped tightly around the little box of crackers.

A quiet promise forming in his chest: next time, he’d protect that smile.

 

 

The weekend arrived faster than any of them expected.

The grand living room of the Jeon estate, usually so calm and elegant, was now filled with five very nervous children, all fidgeting on the long velvet couch as they waited for their quiet friend, Wonwoo.

Seungcheol and Seokmin sat with their hands clasped tightly in their laps, eyes glued to the floor as if they were about to be called into battle. Jeonghan, meanwhile, was pacing like a miniature general preparing for a kingdom-wide peace treaty. His arms were crossed, his brows furrowed in concentration, mumbling to himself every few steps. Jisoo was the only one humming softly, though his bouncing leg betrayed his nerves.

And all five of them—yes, even serious-faced Jeonghan—are wearing cat pajamas.

It had been Jeonghan’s idea. Of course it was.

Three days ago, they had all agreed: they needed to make Wonwoo smile again. Not just a little smile—a big one, the kind where his eyes disappeared and his dimples came out and everyone felt warm just looking at him.

 

FLASHBACK: 3 DAYS AGO

 

Mingyu had been curled up on his bed, reading his favorite book about magical forests, when his parents entered the room holding a brown box.

“Sweetheart!” his mom called out cheerfully. “Hannie sent you a package!”

Mingyu blinked. “Hannie?”

His parents set the box on his bed and opened it. The moment they peeled back the wrapping, both of them burst out laughing.

Out came a fuzzy orange cat pajama set—complete with pointy ears on the hood and a tail at the back.

His dad unfolded the small note taped to the front and read it aloud between chuckles:

“Mingyu, you have to wear this on Saturday. We’re gonna make Wonwoo smile again. From General Hannie.”

Mingyu didn’t even hesitate. He clutched the pajamas like they were sacred treasure. Anything to make Wonwoo smile.

 

PRESENT

 

That’s how they ended up here, sitting side by side in warm cat onesies—orange, gray, black, tabby stripes and all.

Jeonghan had gone full theater director earlier that morning, smudging little black noses and whiskers onto Seungcheol and Seokmin’s cheeks with face paint. Despite their protests, they both sat still as Jeonghan applied the paint with the intensity of a war painter decorating his troops.

The room quieted suddenly when the sound of soft footsteps echoed from the marble staircase.

Wonwoo had arrived.

He was dressed in his usual soft sweater and tiny glasses, holding a new book in his arms. But the moment he reached the last step and looked up—

He gasped.

Jeonghan and Jisoo sprang into action first, practically flying across the room to wrap their arms around him.

“SURPRISE!!” Jeonghan shouted. “We even got one cat pajama for you, Wonnie!”

Jisoo beamed. “It’s gray! Like that kitten you liked in the picture book!”

Even Seungcheol and Seokmin jumped in, hugging Wonwoo tight with squishy arms and apologetic grins.

“Sorry, Wonnieeee!” Seungcheol chirped. “Cats are cute too!”

“You can talk about cats all day now,” Seokmin added with a dramatic bow. “I promise I won’t say dogs are better!”

For a second, the room held its breath.

And then—Wonwoo laughed.

A soft, melodic sound, bubbling up from his chest like the first note of a song.

He hugged all of them back. “Can we read my new book about cats?”

“Yes!!” the group chorused without hesitation.

Moments later, six pajama-clad children were sprawled out on the thick carpeted floor in the middle of the grand Jeon living room.

Wonwoo sat in the center, reading the book aloud in his calm, storytelling voice.

Seungcheol lay on his stomach like a sleepy lion cub, chin resting on his hands. Jeonghan rested his head gently on Seungcheol’s back, completely still for once, eyes half-closed with a soft smile on his lips. Behind them, Jisoo sat carefully combing Seokmin’s hair with a small toy brush, occasionally braiding little tufts while Seokmin hummed.

Mingyu, meanwhile, sat cross-legged, completely entranced. He wasn’t just listening to the story—he was watching Wonwoo.

Every time Wonwoo smiled while reading, Mingyu felt lighter.

As the afternoon passed, the sunlight shifted across the room, painting gold on the floor and shadows on their cheeks. Snacks were passed around, giggles shared, and Wonwoo never stopped smiling.

When it was time to go home, the kids slowly stood up one by one, yawning and stretching.

Before Mingyu left, he quietly walked up to Wonwoo, cheeks tinged pink. He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a small, familiar blue box.

“You didn’t eat yours last weekend,” he said, holding it out shyly, “so I saved it.”

Wonwoo blinked, then broke into the biggest smile of the day.

“Thank you, Min!” he said warmly, clutching the box like a treasure.

As Mingyu turned to leave, feeling like he could float, Wonwoo leaned forward on tiptoe and whispered close to his ear:

“Just a secret, okay? But… you’re my favorite friend.”

Mingyu’s heart exploded in quiet mayhem.

That night, four-year-old Mingyu lay in bed with the cat pajamas folded neatly beside his pillow, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes and a smile he couldn’t fight off.

He didn’t sleep for a long time.

 

******

 

Fifteen years later.

 

The halls of the Academy buzzed with anticipation. Sunlight streamed through stained glass windows, casting colored patterns onto the polished marble floors. Students rushed past in uniforms of deep navy and gold trim, books in hand, voices hurried with nerves and speculation.

Among them walked Mingyu and Wonwoo, shoulder to shoulder in matching long coats, the crest of Nation 4 embroidered over their hearts.

Mingyu’s gaze shifted from the bustling crowd to the boy beside him, the same boy who once read cat books in pajamas, now taller, quieter still, but holding something heavy in his eyes.

He caught it, the subtle rub of Wonwoo’s knuckles against his eye, the weariness in the way his shoulders slouched.

“Didn’t sleep last night?” Mingyu asked, voice low.

Wonwoo shook his head faintly, his voice quieter still. “Was with Jeonghan at the library… most of the night. Just had a small conversation.”

Mingyu didn’t press further. He didn’t need to.
He could feel it—the way something flickered beneath Wonwoo’s usual calm like an ember trying not to burn.

Something was wrong.

 

Few days later, The Selection arrived.

The Goblet of Fire flared with ancient light in the Grand Hall, and the names were drawn.

All six of them. Jeonghan, Jisoo, Seokmin, Seungcheol, Wonwoo, and Mingyu were chosen. The chosen warriors of Nation 4. 

The Tournament awaited. A trial of magic, mind, and strength. Some called it an honor. Others, a death sentence.

 

That night, as the moons rose over the distant peaks, Mingyu and Wonwoo returned from a long strategy discussion with Professor Kwon. The halls were quieter now, lit by the soft hum of floating lanterns.

They stood outside Wonwoo’s room. Mingyu opened his mouth to say goodnight.

But then... he felt it.

A hand tugging gently at his wrist.

He looked down.

Wonwoo’s voice was almost a whisper. “Can you stay… with me? Even just for tonight?”

Mingyu didn’t even hesitate.

 

The dorm room was dim and warm, lit only by the small amber glow of the bedside orb. Two spare blankets lay on the floor, but neither of them bothered to use them. They were on Wonwoo’s bed now, lying side by side, facing one another.

Mingyu had just started to close his eyes when he felt it—Wonwoo’s forehead pressing lightly against his chest. His body trembling.

And then came the sound.

A sob.

Raw. Quiet. Shattering.

Mingyu’s arms wrapped around him instantly, pulling him closer. “Hey, hey… it’s okay,” he whispered, but his voice cracked. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Wonwoo clutched at the front of Mingyu’s shirt like he was trying to anchor himself, his voice breaking between gasps.

“Min… I’m so, so scared…”

Mingyu’s heart clenched.

“What if… what if I don’t make it?” Wonwoo whispered. “What if the others don’t? What if you don’t…?” He buried his face deeper. “I can’t—I can’t handle losing you…”

And there it was, the weight that had been pressing on Wonwoo for weeks, spilling out in waves between sobs. All the nights spent in silence. All the forced calm. All the quiet strength finally collapsing.

And Mingyu cried too.

Because he felt it too.

The fear of losing someone who’s still in your arms—that is a pain no amount of training could prepare him for.

He gently cupped Wonwoo’s tear-streaked face, brushing back his hair with trembling fingers. He pressed a kiss to Wonwoo’s forehead.

“Hey… listen to me.” His voice was hoarse but steady. “We’re going to win this. I promise. I have faith in our team—and I have faith in you.”

Wonwoo blinked, eyes wet and red, but his breathing slowed just a little.

“You’re the best healer I’ve ever known,” Mingyu continued. “You’ve kept us alive more times than I can count. And you’re going to do it again. We’re going to come back. All of us.”

Wonwoo didn’t respond right away, but he pulled Mingyu closer—arms wrapped tight around his torso, face buried in his chest like he needed to memorize the sound of Mingyu’s heartbeat.

And slowly, gradually, they both fell asleep like that.

Wrapped in each other.
In silence.
In fear.
In hope.

 

******

 

Weeks passed, and the six of them sank into the rhythm of relentless training. Early mornings filled with their abilities, sparring, strategy simulations, and healing drills until their bodies ached and their magic throbbed just beneath their skin.

In that rhythm, Mingyu found something else.

Or rather.... someone.

He fell into this quiet habit of always being near Wonwoo. Sitting beside him during theory lectures, stretching beside him before training, waiting outside the infirmary when Wonwoo ran late after sessions with Professor Kwon. He followed like a silent shadow, not out of obligation, but out of instinct. And the surprising part?

Wonwoo never minded.

In fact, Mingyu noticed how Wonwoo started waiting for him, too.

It was subtle. An extra seat pulled out, a glance over his shoulder, a soft smile whenever Mingyu finally caught up. And with every passing day, the quiet closeness between them began to feel not just natural—but necessary.

But then, the invitation came.

The Tour.

An annual social spectacle before the Tournament—where charm, presentation, and diplomacy were put on display as much as power. Exaggerated outfits, plastic smiles, and painfully fake friendliness filled the halls as representatives from all nations mingled, smiled, and measured each other up in silk and glitter.

Wonwoo looked at the ornate letter and visibly tensed.

Mingyu teased him immediately. “I bet they’ll put you in a velvet cloak and make you pose dramatically under a chandelier.”

Wonwoo laughed—quiet, almost nervous. “That might be better than what they’re actually planning…”

 

The night of the Tour arrived, and all of them gathered inside their "Lounge Room" to reveal their outfits. 

One by one, they entered wearing cloaks. 

One by one, they revealed what they have prepared for tonight. 

And then—

Wonwoo.

Mingyu nearly choked.

He stared, slack-jawed, as Wonwoo appeared in a black sleeveless turtleneck crop top, high-waisted pants, and a confident, unbothered expression that completely betrayed the nerves Mingyu knew he was hiding.

Oh no.

No no no.

Absolutely not.

Mingyu immediately had to fight the very serious, very real urge to bubble-wrap him on the spot.

Why was Wonwoo’s entire arm out? Why was his stomach showing? Why was he so... unfairly attractive?

 

The night spun on, a blur of introductions, fake laughs, clinking glasses, and complicated handshakes. But through it all, Mingyu never stopped watching him.

Because even as dozens of people floated in and out of their orbit, Mingyu’s eyes were tethered to Wonwoo.

He saw it all—how strangers fell instantly for Wonwoo’s sharp, effortless charm. How the slightly awkward way he held a drink made him look endearing. How during a chaotic game of Truth or Dare, Wonwoo took three consecutive tequila shots like a champion, then stared down a delegate from Nation 2 like it was nothing.

It made him magnetic.

Sexy, even. But still mysterious. Like no matter how close someone stood, they’d never quite reach him.

And for Mingyu, that was terrifying.

 

 

Later that night, after the guests dispersed and the makeup was washed away with the help of patient maids and silent butlers, Mingyu returned to his room with heavy feet and a heart that wouldn’t settle.

He had just gotten under the covers when—

Knock knock.

Soft. Familiar.

He opened the door and froze.

There stood Wonwoo.

Hair a little messy now, eyeliner fully wiped off, and his face washed clean—gentle and real.

He wore a faded old pajama shirt with cartoon cats on it.

The same one Mingyu had given him years ago.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” Wonwoo asked quietly.

Mingyu just nodded, wordless, heart full.

 

They slipped into bed, facing each other again, a routine now almost muscle memory. The room was quiet, and for a while, it was enough to just listen to their breathing.

Then—

“I can feel something is bothering you, Min,” Wonwoo whispered.

Mingyu blinked, caught off guard. “Huh?”

Wonwoo chuckled, soft and warm, then gently buried his face into Mingyu’s neck.

His voice brushed against Mingyu’s skin like a secret.
“Min… you know I’m yours, right?”

The world stopped.

Mingyu’s eyes flew open. His mouth parted in stunned silence. “What…”

Wonwoo pulled back slightly to look at him, his eyes half-lidded but honest.

“I don’t know when you are planning to confess or whatever,” he said, lips tugging into a knowing smirk, “but don’t bother denying it. Seungcheol and Seokmin already spilled it. Years ago.”

Mingyu let out the loudest, most exasperated groan into the pillow. “I swear I’m going to throw a fireball at those two tomorrow.”

Wonwoo giggled.

But before Mingyu could say anything else, he sighed deeply, pulled Wonwoo close, and wrapped his arms around him tightly.

His chin rested against Wonwoo’s head.

And softly, almost breathless, he whispered—

“I love you.”

There was a pause.

And then, a small nod against his chest.

Wonwoo looked up and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the corner of Mingyu’s mouth.

“Goodnight, Min.”

 

And that night, Mingyu held him close, tighter than ever.

He knew war is coming.

But as long as Wonwoo was in his arms, Mingyu swore—he would fight the gods themselves to keep him there.

 

******

 

12 years later ( set 2 years after the Epilogue)

 

The Kim estate was in glorious disarray.

Mingyu was rattled, in the most frantic, chaotic-dad kind of way as he darted from room to room, hair slightly askew, shirt half tucked, and a checklist of to-dos scrolling in his head like a malfunctioning spell.

In exactly 20 minutes, his husband and their five-year-old son, Sunoo, would walk through the doors.

And today wasn’t just any day.

It is Wonwoo’s birthday.

Mingyu had begged—okay, bribed—Sunoo earlier to please keep Wonwoo busy for a few hours. “Library, bookstore, cat café—anything, just stall him,” he’d said, crouched like a man on the verge of unraveling.

Now, the estate buzzed with preparations. Mingyu could barely think straight.

 

Inside the music room, he stood with Jeonghan and Seungcheol, attempting to rehearse the surprise birthday song that Jeonghan totally didn’t volunteer to sing lead on.

Jeonghan groaned dramatically and threw a hand over his face. “Love! When will I ever stop singing for these damn surprises? I swear to god, if you pull a similar stunt for my birthday—”

Seungcheol laughed so hard he had to sit down. He leaned over and kissed Jeonghan’s cheek. “Love, I don’t think surprises work on us. You sniff them out in five seconds.”

Jeonghan narrowed his eyes at Mingyu like a cat ready to strike. “This better be worth it, Gyu, or I’m kidnapping Sunoo for a full week. No returns.”

“Okay, okay!” Mingyu laughed, throwing his hands up in surrender. “It’s going to be perfect! I promise!”

Meanwhile, chaos bloomed beautifully in every corner of the estate.

In the kitchen, Jisoo and Jihoon were elbow-deep in sauces and plating, their matching aprons already dusted with flour and magic residue. The scent of garlic, spices, and roasted vegetables filled the air.

On the far side of the dining hall, Minghao and Seungkwan were setting up the dessert section. A dazzling cake stood at the center—three tiers of cream and gold, decorated with sugar cats and cascading edible flowers. Seungkwan had even grown new hybrid blossoms, just for Wonwoo.

Seokmin, ever the golden retriever of the group, directed a team of enchanted streamers while balancing three balloons under one arm and an overexcited puppy on the other.

In the living area, Soonyoung and Hansol were breathless, cheeks red from blowing up what had to be hundreds of gold-colored balloons.

“Next time,” Hansol wheezed, “we’re buying an actual balloon magic air machine.”

Jun swept behind them like a man determined to make at least one room look like adults lived there.

Then—

A groan.

Mingyu turned, and almost doubled over laughing when he saw Chan, hair wild and shirt wrinkled, looking like a man who’d just survived a toddler apocalypse.

“They never stop,” Chan muttered, eyes wide. “They’re never tired. Sunghoon bit me, Mingyu. He bit my arm because he thought Sunoo was hiding in my pocket!”

Before Mingyu could respond, one of the estate staff rushed in, slightly out of breath.

“They’re here! Wonwoo and Sunoo have just arrived at the gates!”

Mingyu’s heart leapt into his throat.

Chan yelped and ran to gather the kids, and the rest, who were all already in high gear, bouncing and yelling, armed with confetti and snacks they weren’t supposed to touch yet.

Soonyoung and Jun took their positions by the entrance, ready to launch confetti like fireworks.

The front door creaked open.

And—

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!”

Confetti exploded into gold shimmers. Balloons floated in every direction. The room was filled with shouting, laughter, and the kind of joy that only comes from years of love.

Mingyu watched from the center of it all.

Wonwoo stood frozen, eyes wide in shock.

Then—

That smile.

That beautiful, stunned, glowing smile that started small… and bloomed into something so full of warmth and disbelief that it knocked the breath out of Mingyu’s lungs.

It was his favorite smile. Always would be.

Sunoo ran forward, shrieking, “DADDYYYYY!” just as Sunghoon launched himself across the room. “SUNOOOOOOO!”

“HE’S GONNA BITE ME AGAIN—” Sunoo shrieked mid-sprint, ducking behind Seokmin with practiced precision.

Laughter echoed as the room dissolved into a blur of hugs, greetings, and a flood of familiar voices.

“Happy birthday, hyung!”

“Wonwoo, you look great!”

“Don’t cry or Jisoo will cry too!”

Wonwoo laughed as each of them pulled him into a hug. Seungkwan kissed both of his cheeks dramatically. Jisoo handed him a little bouquet of the new flowers. Seungcheol gave him a tight, back-breaking squeeze. Even Hansol offered a shy, sweet nod with a cupcake in his hand.

The rest of the night passed like a dream.

Laughter, old stories, stolen snacks, and chaotic children running circles around the cake.

Mingyu watched it all unfold from the side of the room—glass in hand, smile playing on his lips.

But his eyes never left Wonwoo.

And then—

Wonwoo looked back.

Their eyes met across the room, gentle and full.

Mingyu mouthed, “I love you.”

Wonwoo’s smile softened even more, eyes crinkling at the corners.

He mouthed back, “I love you too.”

 

And in that moment, amid all the chaos, the laughter, and the warmth of a life they had built—

Mingyu knew.

He would celebrate every one of Wonwoo’s birthdays, from cat - themed birthdays until forever.

Because holding him, loving him, raising Sunoo together...

It was all he ever dreamed of.

Notes:

Maybe you are wondering why the rest of the members are all here… I am super excited to announce that the book 2 of Aurora academy titled Aurora Academy: The Fall will be coming soon! Will definitely post more infos on my x account @jeongcheolkkuma so see you there! ♥️🤩