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synity · 5 days ago

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NOT YET, BUT CLOSE

(Lee Jihoon X Fem!Reader)

*Romance, Slow Burn Romance, Healing, Unspoken Love, Mutual Pining, Idol Romance, Muse Dynamic, Drama, Psychological, Character-Driven Fiction, Slice of Life, Contemporary Fiction, Angst, comfort, Idol AU, Music, Poetic Prose, Lyrical Prose*

Content warnings:

Emotional Vulnerability, Mental Health Themes, Low Self-Worth, Insecurity, cheating, manipulation, Bottled-Up Feelings

The rain had a rhythm of its own that night. It came down in sharp, urgent strokes against the windowpane, like frantic fingertips tapping to a silent panic. Inside the small apartment, the air was thick with tension. Yn sat at the edge of the kitchen counter, fingers wrapped around a chipped ceramic mug that still held the warmth of steeped tea the only comfort in a room that was no longer hers.

He stood by the door, silhouette caught in the low glow of the hallway, like some brooding phantom etched in gold. Davon. Familiar scowl, arms crossed, eyes simmering with that same, bone-deep condescension.

"You really gonna wear that out?"

His voice was quiet, but sharp enough to cut clean through the hum of the fridge.

Yn glanced down. The floral dress she wore was soft, light, harmless something she'd picked for herself, not for anyone else. "It's just coffee," she said softly. "It’s comfortable."

Davon scoffed, stepping into the kitchen like a storm cloud swallowing sunlight. "Comfortable? Looks like something my grandma would wear. You trying to embarrass me?"

The room shrank as he moved closer. His shadow swallowed hers, and the mug trembled slightly in her grip.

"I wasn’t trying to—"

"You like a lotta things that aren't good for you."

He snatched the mug from her hand, took a long gulp. The ceramic clicked against his teeth. The smell of stale coffee and something metallic lingered in the air between them.

"Your friends. Your pipe-dreams. That law degree you worship like a Bible. They don’t pay the rent, do they?"

Then came the smirk. Always the smirk.

"You’re lucky, y’know. Having someone to keep you grounded.”

The knot in her stomach tightened. She’d heard this script before always a performance masked as protection.

"I appreciate you, Davon."

A lie. But a necessary one.

"Then act like it."

He jerked his chin toward the bedroom. "Go change into something that says you’re with me. I don’t have time for your costume parade."

She obeyed. Because she always did. And the dress which once felt like a choice now felt like a shackle.

The days didn’t pass. They bled.

One into the next, until time became a fog she couldn’t navigate. The apartment, once warm with candlelight and soft music, now echoed with silence and second-guessing. Yn shrank, not all at once, but inch by inch. Her voice, once full of conviction, began to tremble. Her laughter became an echo that stopped showing up.

“Yn, can you believe this?”

Davon’s voice crashed through the apartment like glass. She startled awake on the couch, a half-read legal brief slipping off her chest.

He was scrolling, jaw tight. “Emma just posted a picture of her new car. She’s flexing again. Bet she’s still mooching off some poor guy.”

Emma. Her oldest friend. Someone who knew her before law school, before Davon, before everything became complicated.

“Maybe she saved up?” Yn offered, her voice uncertain.

Davon rolled his eyes. “She’s always been jealous of you. Remember when she lost your favorite sweater?”

A faded memory stirred. The oversized knit. The apology. The replacement.

“People like that…” he said, voice lower now, more intimate, like a secret laced with poison, “they don’t care about you the way I do.”

The gaslight flickered.

"That’s why you need me. To keep you safe."

The restaurant was dim, the lighting warm but the tension colder than winter.

Emma sat across from her, twirling pasta on her fork. “So... Davon’s been giving you legal advice?”

Yn offered a thin smile. “He’s… involved.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed slightly. “He always is.”

The words settled uneasily in Yn’s stomach. Her mouth moved to defend him automatic, muscle memory. But before she could respond, Davon arrived, all charm and cologne, pressing a kiss to Emma’s cheek instead of hers. Yn flinched.

Emma laughed lightly. Too lightly.

“It’s fine, Davon. We just started.”

Yn saw it then the glances. The static between them. The undercurrent.

The cracks had always been there. She just hadn’t dared to look.

It shattered one rainy evening.

Davon was in the shower, steam curling under the bathroom door. His phone lay abandoned on the table for once, unlocked. For once, vulnerable.

Her heart pounded in her ears. She told herself no. But her fingers reached anyway.

The screen lit up.

Emma: Can’t wait for tonight, baby. Miss you already.

The phone dropped from her hand.

Davon emerged moments later, towel around his waist, hair wet. He froze.

“What did you do?”

“You cheated,” she said. Quietly. Brokenly. “With Emma.”

And the man who once said he loved her, who called her his light, his compass

sneered.

"You went through my phone? Are you insane?"

"No. I'm not insane. I’m betrayed. You told me she was jealous of me. That she wasn’t a real friend"

“Because she wasn’t! She threw herself at me! It was a mistake!”

"Don’t you dare blame her!" Her voice cracked, pain splintering into rage. “You destroyed me, Davon. You made me doubt everyone myself, even. You turned me into a shell.”

He shrugged, cold and careless. “Fine. Hate me. See how long you last without me.”

Two years passed in grayscale.

The world moved on, but Yn didn’t. Her apartment fell into quiet disrepair. The candles burned out. The books gathered dust. Her playlist stayed paused.

Emma’s texts went unread. Friends faded into shadows.

She went to work. Ate barely enough. Slept in pieces. The law felt like paperwork now, not passion.

She was existing, not living.

Until one humid summer night, Sora showed up relentless, hopeful Sora.

“There’s a festival. Just music, fresh air. Please come. For me.”

And Yn exhausted by her own numbness said yes.

The festival buzzed with life.

Lights painted the sky. Music pulsed under her feet. And still, she felt like a ghost, floating outside her own body.

Until someone bumped into her.

"I'm so sorry—"

She looked up. A man, hood up, mask on. But his eyes… kind. Steady. Gentle.

"No, my fault."

His voice was warm, like low notes on a guitar.

They talked. Slowly at first. Then, freely. R\&B. K-pop. SEVENTEEN. Chloe x Halle. Her favorites her self returning like long-lost friends.

He smiled with his eyes. “Excellent taste.”

Then, softly: “I’m ….Zi.”

The name hit her like sunlight.

“zi?” But the way he looked at her, really looked made it feel like she was just a un not a random woman.

They met for coffee days later.

No mask this time. Just him. The man behind the music. And her quieter, cautious, but lighter somehow.

He called her beautiful.

She called his smile rare and perfect.

Their words flowed like water.

She told him pieces of the truth. He didn’t flinch.

He told her music was both burden and sanctuary. She understood.

On a quiet night in his studio, she broke open.

"My last relationship broke me. He was cruel. Controlling. He cheated with someone I trusted."

Her voice cracked. He took her hand, held it gently.

"I’m so sorry, Yn. What he did to you was unforgivable. But it doesn’t define you."

She looked at him really looked and for the first time in years, she believed it.

Time passed differently with Woozi.

It wasn’t about grand gestures. It was late-night drives, spontaneous street food, stolen moments beneath soft lights. It was his quiet voice humming melodies she hadn’t heard yet written for her, maybe.

He never rushed her. Never pushed. Only stood by her as she rebuilt the ruins.

And slowly, she smiled more.

Not the polite smile. Not the practiced one.

The real one the one with all her teeth, wide and bright, the one she thought had disappeared with the pain.

He saw it, and smiled too.

"You’re healing," he whispered one night, his fingers brushing her cheek. “And it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Yn never forgot the past.

But with Woozi, she wasn’t haunted by it anymore. She carried it like a scar visible, maybe, but healed. A reminder of what she’d survived.

And for the first time in a long time, she could look forward not with fear, but with hope.

Because sometimes, the tiniest sunbeam can find its way through the darkest storm. And all it takes… is someone who sees you.

And chooses to stay.

|WOOZI POV|

Schedules. Deadlines. Airports. Rehearsals.

It was all noise, constant and unrelenting. His life moved fast faster than he could sometimes process. Fans saw the lights, the stage, the music. But behind all of it was exhaustion, pressure, and a quiet ache for something simple. Something real.

He hadn’t been looking for anyone. Love? No. There just wasn’t room. His days were planned down to the minute, and the idea of sharing that chaos with someone else felt unfair.

Until her.

He didn’t even know her name when she stumbled into him at the festival.

One apology. One look.

That was all it took.

There was something about Yn that tugged at him not in the loud, flashy way he was used to, but something quieter. Deeper. Her eyes carried something heavy, like she’d walked through fire and come out on the other side, still breathing but unsure how. And yet… when she smiled, it was luminous. Not forced. Not rehearsed. Just real.

That smile stuck with him.

He’d returned to the studio that night, unable to focus. The festival had been a blur until her. She wasn’t part of his world she wasn’t chasing fame or attention. Her presence felt like a still lake in the middle of his hurricane.

He didn’t know why, but he messaged her.

He wasn’t expecting her to respond. When she did, something in him clicked. Something he hadn’t felt in years.

They met for coffee. And it confirmed what he already suspected: she was different.

She listened really listened the way no one did anymore. She didn’t flinch when he spoke about music like it was both his joy and his burden. She didn’t romanticize his fame. She didn’t ask about the other members. She just looked at him. Lee Jihoon. The man behind the melodies.

He started craving that quiet with her. The soft sound of her voice. The way her eyes lit up when she talked about music her artists, her favorites. The way she’d fidget with her sleeve when she was nervous.

There was an honesty to her that disarmed him completely.

He could feel it happening the slow unraveling of his defenses.

And he let it.

He started finding her in his music.

A melody that felt like her laugh.

A lyric that reminded him of the way she looked away when complimented.

A chord progression that mirrored the warmth he felt just sitting beside her.

He hadn’t told her yet, but he was writing a song about her. Not about the pain she’d been through though he saw that too but about the way she survived it. The way she still showed up. Still smiled. Still gave, even when she was empty.

She was one of the most selfless people he’d ever met. Always asking how he was. Always putting others first, even when she was clearly running on fumes. And that broke something in him in a good way. It made him want to protect her without smothering her. Love her without owning her.

He’d had fans scream his name. He’d had strangers write love letters. But Yn?

She was the only one who made his chest ache when she laughed.

She was the only one whose silence he wanted to fill not with words, but with presence.

One night, after a long studio session, he saw her doze off on the couch beside him. She looked peaceful. Finally. Her guard down. One hand loosely gripping a half-empty mug, the other curled near her chest. He sat there, barely breathing, just watching her.

And all he could think was:

She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Not because of how she looked though she was effortlessly beautiful but because she had softness in a world that kept trying to harden her. She was brave enough to be kind. And she didn’t even know it.

He wanted to earn her trust.

Not rush her.

Not fix her she wasn’t broken.

He just wanted to be there. To be the reason her laughter came easier. To be the one who held her hand when the memories came too loud. To be patient, even when she flinched. To wait, even when it hurt. To remind her, every day, that love didn’t have to hurt.

He was falling for her. Quietly, deeply, completely.

And for once, the chaos of the world didn’t scare him.

Because he had found something real.

Someone real.

And her name was Yn.

His notebooks were full of her.

Of Yn.

Not in obvious ways. Not in cheesy lyrics or dramatic choruses. But in fragments moments he couldn’t let go of. The way her eyes crinkled when she was caught off-guard laughing. The trembling bravery in her voice when she talked about healing. The gentleness with which she moved through a world that hadn’t always been gentle with her.

She was woven into melodies, tucked between harmonies, scribbled into margins.

He had a folder private, locked, sacred. Unreleased demos. Rough. Raw. Untouched. Every song in that folder carried her fingerprint. Her light. Her story.

He never planned on showing them to her. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

When he invited her to the studio that evening, it wasn’t meant to be a grand reveal. He just wanted to share something. A track he was proud of. Something he wanted her honest thoughts on because her opinion mattered more than the public’s, more than charts, more than critics.

She sat beside him, legs curled up on the plush studio couch, her hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands, eyes curious.

“You mind if I click around?” she asked, already leaning toward the laptop.

He nodded, distracted as he adjusted the levels on the mixing board. “Go ahead. It’s the one labeled ‘Draft 9.’

But she didn’t open Draft 9.

Her fingers hovered, then clicked the wrong folder.

Untitled

The folder opened like a secret unfolding.

He heard it the soft click, the sudden change in tone. The demo that started playing wasn’t polished. No layers, no mixing, no harmonies. Just his voice. Low. Vulnerable. Paired with nothing but a haunting piano loop and the shaky strum of a guitar.

“You don’t have to try too hard You’re already my favorite part I was fine before, but now I see You’re the best thing that’s happened to me I’m falling for you again, again Like the first time, like it’s never gonna end I’m falling for you again, again And I’d do it all again, again You’re my safest place, my bestest friend I’m falling for you again (yeah) Falling for you again (uh-huh)”

The lyrics floated into the room, like a confession half-whispered to the stars.

Yn froze.

Her eyes widened, darting to his face, mouth parted in silent realization. But he didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop the music. Didn’t reach to close the laptop or scramble for an explanation.

He just looked at her.

Softly. Quietly.

As if this had always been the plan. As if this moment had been waiting.

The next song started. Another demo. Rough. Unfinished. Just his voice, raw from an overnight session, cracking at certain notes.

“Your silence isn’t quiet, it’s symphony

And I keep finding love in your pauses

Like maybe your stillness was made for me.”

He watched her. The way her fingers hovered near her lips. The way her lashes trembled. There were tears in her eyes not from sadness, but from recognition. The kind that wraps around your heart like a soft storm and says, I’ve been seen. Completely.

Still, she didn’t speak. Just let the next track play.

A stripped-down acoustic one this time. No chorus. Just a single verse he’d never managed to finish:

“You are the note I didn’t know I was missing

The verse I rewrote a hundred times

But never got right

Until you walked in.”

When the last chord faded into silence, it left the room ringing.

“I didn’t mean to—” she began, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I know.”

He leaned back in the chair, arms resting on the sides, calm. Open. “But you did.”

Her eyes searched his face, waiting for discomfort. Embarrassment. Denial.

But there was none.

“I’ve been writing about you for a while,” he admitted, voice soft, but steady. “It’s the only way I knew how to say it.”

She blinked, still stunned. “You never… I mean, you never even hinted…”

“Because it wasn’t about whether you liked me back.” He offered a small, almost shy smile. “It was about how you made me feel. About how *real* you are. How you smile even when you’re tired. How you still believe in people even when you’ve been let down. How you listen like what I say matters.”

He glanced toward the screen, where her name still hovered at the top of the open folder.

“I wrote those songs because I needed to remember you exactly as you are. Before the world touches it. Before you doubt it. You’re… you’re everything those songs are trying to be.”

She didn’t speak for a long moment.

And then, so softly he barely heard it, she whispered:

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“I didn’t want to rush you,” he said simply. “I knew you were still healing. And I didn’t want to be another weight on your chest.”

She stepped toward him, slow, almost hesitant like approaching a piece of art you don’t want to disturb. Her hand found his, gently lacing their fingers together.

“You’re not a weight, Woozi,” she said. “You’re… a safe place. You always have been.”

He smiled then. A real one. That gummy, crooked smile she loved. And for the first time, he didn’t hide it.

They stood there in the studio, fingers entwined, the room still humming with the ghost of songs never meant to be heard until now.

And it didn’t matter that they were raw, unpolished, unfinished.

Because they were true.

And that made them magic.

The silence between them wasn’t awkward.

It was full.

Full of emotion, confessions, unshed tears, and all the things words were too small to hold.

Yn looked at him really looked at him and saw every piece of him that had gone unnoticed by the world. The quiet strength. The way he gave without asking for anything back. The way he loved… in secret. Softly. Deeply.

Her heart felt like it was burning but not from pain.

From clarity.

Without saying anything else, she closed the distance and wrapped her arms around him.

She hugged him.

Tight.

Desperate.

Like she was afraid letting go would mean waking up from the most beautiful dream.

His body stiffened for just a second, stunned and then he melted into it. His arms slid around her waist, his forehead pressing lightly against her shoulder. And there, in the warmth of her embrace, the world slowed down.

She didn’t need to say it right away.

But she did. Because it was aching to be said.

“I love you, Woozi.”

His breath hitched not because he didn’t know, but because he did.

He just hadn’t let himself hope.

“I love you so much” she whispered again, voice cracking. “I’ve been holding it in because… because I didn’t think someone like you could feel that way about someone like me.”

He pulled back just enough to look at her.

His voice was hoarse. “Someone like you?”

“Someone who’s messy. Who’s been through… too much. Who’s still healing.”

He shook his head, gently cupping her cheek.

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever known,” he said. “Not in spite of what you’ve been through because of it. You still smile. You still care. You still love.”

She leaned into his touch, tears brimming in her eyes.

“I didn’t fall for a perfect version of you, Yn,” he said. “I fell for you. The real one. The raw one. Just like those songs.”

And just like that like a song finally finding its chorus they kissed.

Soft. Certain. Trembling.

It was the kind of kiss that said I see you. The kind that promised I’m not going anywhere

And in that studio, surrounded by songs never meant to be heard

Love wasn’t just written.

It was lived

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synity · 9 days ago

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Requests are open, y’all! Hihi~ I’ve been thinking about trying out some new things, exploring different styles, and pushing my creativity a little further. I’m super open-minded and excited to experiment, so if you’ve got any ideas no matter how wild, sweet, emotional, or bold I’m totally down to give them a shot! I’ll do my absolute best to shape your vision and make it match your vibe perfectly. Don’t be shy, just drop your requests and let’s have fun creating something amazing together!

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synity · 13 days ago

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𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘾𝙃𝙄𝙇𝘿 𝙊𝙁 𝘽𝙊𝙏𝙃 - Part2

(Chew Hansol Vernon x FemReader)

*Distopia, light comedy, slow burn, angst, fantasy, Speculative Fiction, Science Fiction, Suspense, Alternate History, Cli-Fi, Urban Fantasy, Magical Realism, Paranormal Thriller, Fairy Tale Retelling, Mythic Fiction, Elemental/Power-Based Fantasy.*

PREVIOUSLY ON THE CHILD OF BOTH

In the village of Kayes, where superstition rules and stories are whispered like warnings, YN wore black while everyone else wore white. She never believed in fairy tales until one swallowed her whole. A glowing book, a dragon, and a sudden separation from her best friend Liyan led YN to a school meant to teach her how to be a “princess.” But nothing felt right not the pastel dresses, the perfect smiles, or the crown they wanted to place on her head. At her side was Prince Vernon cold, composed, and frustratingly understanding. With him, YN began to see the cracks in the kingdom’s foundation. While others competed for crowns and beauty, she questioned everything: the rules, the magic, even herself. Letters crossed the forbidden bridge, linking her to Liyan, now trapped in the School for Evil. Secrets surfaced a prophecy, a pendant, and a name that echoed through the shadows: The Child of Both. In defiance of the world’s labels princess or villain YN walked a path of her own, tearing up the fairy tale written for her. But forces more ancient than magic have begun to stir. And YN? She’s no longer just a lost girl from Kayes. She’s Raya’s daughter. The Veilborn. The one who could break everything… or rebuild it.

The night sky bled with strange colors as YN and Vernon stepped out of the Veilwood, the pulse of the forest still crawling along their skin. They had the orb though its glow had faded, it pulsed faintly in YN’s chest, a quiet heartbeat of truth.

But they didn’t return unnoticed.

Eyes were waiting.

Nayoung, perched on the upper balcony of the Princesses’ Tower, saw them first. She narrowed her eyes and turned to Liyan, who stood beside her wrapped in silk and simmering jealousy.

“She’s hiding something,” Nayoung muttered. “We both saw it. Something changed in that forest.”

Liyan’s gaze lingered on Vernon, who was helping YN steady her steps. “And he’s falling for her,” she whispered, venom laced with heartbreak.

Nayoung smirked, wicked. “Then let’s make him regret it.”

Back in the secret chamber beneath the library, Seren was waiting. She paced the floor, worry etched deep into her features.

“You went to the Veilwood?” she asked, aghast. “That place could’ve *consumed* you.”

“It didn’t,” YN said. “It showed me the truth. I’m not the Child of Both. I’m the Balance.”

Seren froze. “The Balance…?”

“That’s why they’ve been trying to control me,” YN continued. “Why the principal lied about my mother. They didn’t want a queen’s daughter to change the system.”

Vernon stepped forward, voice firm. “We need to tell the entire school. Before Nayoung or Liyan twist this first.”

But Seren shook her head. “You’re not ready. Not yet. When you reveal who you are, you must be unshakable They will do everything to break you.”

The next morning, chaos unfolded. Posters appeared around the campus of both schools hand-painted, enchanted to glow. They depicted YN… as a villain. A manipulator. “The Forest Witch,” they called her. A traitor hiding among the good.

Vernon ripped down every one he could find, fury bubbling beneath his usually calm eyes.

“They’re trying to erase what she really is,” he muttered.

But YN, trembling in her dorm, stared at her reflection and whispered, “What if… what if they’re right?”

Seren stepped into the room, her voice unflinching. “They’re not. And we’re going to prove it.”

As the week unfolded, the air buzzed with tension. The Royal Trials were announced a competition where students from both schools would show their worth, their control over their power, their readiness for the world.

The winner would lead the Ball of Unity, where both schools would crown the future face of balance.

It was more than a dance.

It was a statement.

It was war masked in velvet and lace.

Liyan and Nayoung were already preparing their attacks magical, political, psychological.

And Vernon? He stood beside YN as she stared down at the trial announcement list.

Her name…blazing, sat at the top.

One night before the trials began, Vernon found YN in the courtyard, pacing in moonlight.

“I’ve been reading,” he said, holding out an old journal. “It was hidden in the Royal Archives. It mentions Queen Raya… and a prophecy.”

YN’s blood chilled. “What prophecy?”

“That the Balance would return when the world had forgotten kindness. That a child born of royal blood, hidden in shadow, would restore the veil between good and evil or destroy it forever.”

YN looked up, eyes gleaming with fire and fear. “So they’re not scared I’m dangerous. They’re scared I’m… free.”

The garden behind the School ofprincesses and princes shimmered with moonlight. Crickets chirped quietly in the distance, fireflies weaving golden threads through the air. It was the only place that felt… still.

YN sat on a stone bench, her knees drawn up, arms around them. Her mind was a battlefield the prophecy, her mother, the trials, Liyan’s betrayal, Nayoung’s twisted cruelty. Her reflection in the lake no longer looked like a stranger… but it didn’t quite feel like her either.

Footsteps approached from behind, soft but sure.

She didn’t need to turn to know it was Vernon.

He stopped beside her and sat down silently. For a moment, neither said anything.

Then she whispered, “I’m scared.”

He turned toward her, brow furrowed. “Of what?”

“That I’ll never belong anywhere,” she said, eyes still on the water. “That I’m just… too much for this side, too little for that side. That I’m stuck in between. Always.”

Vernon leaned in, elbows on his knees. “You’re not stuck. You are the between. You’re the only one brave enough to stand where no one else will.”

YN’s eyes met his, and for the first time, he smiled softly.

Then

A branch snapped behind them.

They stood instantly, alert.

From the darkness emerged a tall, slim figure cloaked in the deep blue uniform of the Villain School. Tousled dark hair, tired brown eyes, and a mischievous curve in his smirk.

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” the stranger said.

“Joshua?” Vernon blinked in disbelief.

YN looked between them. “…You know him?”

“My brother,” Vernon muttered. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Joshua shrugged and gave YN a little wave. “Rules are suggestions. And besides… something’s wrong with both schools. I can feel it.”

YN tilted her head. “You go to the School of Villains and witches?”

“Not by choice,” he said, hands in his pockets. “I was told I was too inquisitive (I couldn’t think of another word than that sorry😭) for the School of Princes. Not obedient enough. Turns out that asking questions makes people nervous.”

Vernon crossed his arms. “You disappeared. You didn’t even write.”

“I had to lay low,” Joshua replied. “But I heard the rumors. About the girl in the middle. The one who might tear the whole system down.”

His eyes landed on YN.

“You.”

YN hesitated, tense. “You don’t even know me.”

“No,” Joshua said. “But I know when the world’s afraid of someone, it usually means they’re worth listening to.”

There was a silence that settled between them, soft but charged.

“I’m here to help,” Joshua added. “From the inside.”

Vernon gave him a warning look. “Be careful.”

Joshua smirked. “Always am. But if you want to survive these Trials, YN... you’re going to need allies. And someone who knows how both sides cheat.”

YN glanced between the two brothers the prince and the rebel and for the first time that day, she felt like the ground beneath her was solid.

She had people. She had hope.

And she had no intention of losing.

The Grand Hall of the School for Princes and Princesses was unrecognizable draped in sapphire silks and glimmering chandeliers, with teachers perched high above in enchanted balconies. This wasn’t just an exam. It was a show, a judgment, a trial of soul and skill.

Each student had to demonstrate their worth their power, their poise, their destiny.

YN’s heart thundered beneath her golden-laced gown. Her curls were free for once, bouncing as she walked, though a tiny golden crown was nestled among them. It felt wrong… and right, at the same time. Like she was stepping into shoes made for her, but stolen from someone else.

The first trial was about grace. Poise. The elegance of a royal.

That’s how she ended up twirling around the golden ballroom with Vernon, under enchanted starlight, the spotlight squarely on them.

“Why do I feel like I’m being judged for how I breathe?” YN whispered as she dipped into a curtsy.

“You are,” Vernon replied, smiling softly. “But for once, let them. You’re not here to prove you’re like them. You’re here to prove you’re better.”

His hand gripped hers tighter, steady and warm.

Their eyes met. In that moment, there was no villain school, no prophecy, no shadows or curses just the prince and the maybe-queen dancing beneath enchanted stars.

But far, far above them, in the rafters…

A shadow moved.

And below the ballroom, a magic shimmered.

|Joshua’s POV|

I’ve been called many things traitor, weirdo, defector but none of them ever tried to stop me when I want something.

And what I wanted… was truth. THE truth

Sneaking out of the School for Villains isn’t for amateurs. Especially when you’re being watched by headmistresses who can sense lies in your blood. So I used what they fear most.

Witchcraft.

Forbidden. Complex. Chaotic.

My kind of thing.

I conjured an illusion not some flimsy disguise, but a living copy of myself. It sat in class, ate food, glared at other students. I even charmed it to blink at the right times. While it fooled everyone, I slipped beneath the surface.

Through tunnels.

Through magic wards.

Through shadows.

Seren met me halfway disguised as a royal maid, her eyes sharp like knives behind her innocent smile.

“Impressive illusion,” she murmured. “Still reckless.”

“I know,” I replied. “But it’s worth it.”

We crept into the palace halls, sticking to the columns. Her magic cloaked us like mist. Mine distorted the reflections in the enchanted mirrors. Then I saw her.

YN. In the center of the ballroom.

Golden light danced on her curls as she spun with my brother. Vernon always was the poised one serious, perfect, the favorite. But I knew that twitch in his brow. He was smiling… and nervous. She made him nervous.

I watched them dance. Her laughter was soft, guarded. His eyes never left hers.

And I realized something that made my stomach twist.

This wasn’t just about prophecy or power.

There were feelings in the mix now.

Real ones.

Which meant danger. Real danger.

“Joshua,” Seren whispered. “We don’t have time to stand and sigh like some love-sick bard.”

I rolled my eyes. “Relax. I’m focused.”

But as I turned my gaze from them to the stone wall beneath the ballroom, I spotted something moving beneath the marble, like a living vine of shadow magic, crawling toward YN’s feet.

I didn’t know what it was yet…

But something was coming.

And I needed to stop it before the Trials turned into a war.

Love is a distraction.

It’s messy. Loud. Unpredictable.

It turns warriors into fools and queens into statues.

It makes people… slow.

I’ve watched love ruin entire bloodlines, destroy alliances, and cloud the sharpest minds.

So when I see the way Vernon looks at her like she’s the only light in the room I don’t feel warmth.

I feel dread.

“You’re glaring again,” Seren said, glancing at me from the corner of her eye as we crept down the empty corridor behind the Royal Trophy Hall.

“I’m thinking,” I snapped.

“Loudly.”

She wasn’t wrong. My thoughts were screaming. YN had no idea just how many spells were circling her like wolves in the dark. And Vernon with his shining eyes and charming frown was too wrapped around her presence to see clearly.

We reached a concealed door behind a tapestry of Queen Cinderella’s coronation. Seren whispered an unlock spell in old tongue. The door hissed open, revealing a dim staircase lit only by green witchlight.

“I traced the cursed shimmer from the ballroom,” Seren explained. “It comes from below. The library’s sealed archives.”

I groaned. “Of course. Where else would villains hide secrets but inside *books.*”

The Archive was a place not even the headmasters entered lightly. It was where failed spells, erased students, and forbidden truths were buried literally and magically.

Rows and rows of blackened scrolls, cobwebbed tomes, and shattered crystal cases lined the walls.

Seren lit her palm with silent fire. I followed close behind.

We found a scroll sealed with dark velvet its wax seal carried the crest of Sleeping Beauty.

“Wait,” I muttered, freezing. “That’s Nayoung’s family seal.”

Seren’s eyes sharpened. “So she’s not just a jealous brat… she’s tied to a legacy of spellcraft. Royal spellcraft.”

I opened the scroll carefully, letting its contents hover in the air, words glowing in red ink.

"To create imbalance, one must trick the Balance itself. Place the child in Good. Fabricate her lineage. Feed her false memories. And when her destiny rejects her… unleash the curse."

My fingers clenched.

“It’s a setup,” I breathed. “All of it. They planned for her to fail. For her to break. She was never the child of both.”

Seren nodded, her expression tight. “They want the school to implode. And she’s their fuse.”

I didn’t say anything for a moment. Just stared at the parchment, burning its truth into my brain. The entire time, YN thought she was unworthy. A mistake.

But the mistake wasn’t her. It was them. The school. The lies.

The curse.

“She deserves to know,” Seren said, voice low.

I looked up. “Yeah. But first… we find out who wrote this.”

I turned over the scroll and there it was. A second seal. One I recognized all too well.

The Head Enchantress of the School for Princes and Princesses.

She was in on it.

I cursed under my breath.

“And Vernon?” Seren asked, cautiously.

“What about him?” I muttered.

“He loves her.”

I scowled. “Then he’s a fool. Love makes you weak.”

Seren tilted her head. “Or… it makes you fight harder.”

I didn’t respond. I didn’t want to believe she was right.

But somewhere in my chest deep, buried

was a flicker of fear.

Not for me.

Not for Vernon.

But for the girl in the ballroom who had no idea that her crown… was poisoned.

The deeper we went into the ancient underground vault, the colder it became.

Not because of temperature but because of the weight of everything unspoken.

Seren’s torchlight danced across inscriptions older than the founding of the schools. The walls whispered truths no fairytale ever dared tell.

Liyan’s name kept appearing.

First in coded messages.

Then on a list.

Then chillingly in a sealed alliance pact, inked in silver blood beside the emblem of the School for Villains.

“She’s not just a jilted best friend,” Seren said quietly, fingers running along the page. “She’s been planning this since the Sorting.”

“Jealousy isn’t a motive,” I muttered, jaw tightening. “It’s a symptom. There’s something deeper.”

I paused because I knew that kind of fury. That type of betrayal. When the world tells you a story, and you believe it… only to be cast as the villain halfway through.

We kept walking. Scrolls and shards of enchanted mirrors lined the hidden archive floor, revealing fragments of student memories.

One showed Liyan. Sitting alone by the Kayes river.

She was crying.

“She doesn’t deserve the dream. I do. I believed in it my whole life.”

Another fragment flickered.

This time, a memory she tried to erase.

Her with Nayoung. The day before the Sorting. A deal whispered beneath a silver moon:

“If we bend her story, she’ll crack. She’s not meant for Good. She’s an error.”

Seren’s face turned grim.

“She set YN up from the beginning.”

I clenched my fists. “And Vernon’s too busy dancing in flowers with her to even notice.”

The words came out more bitter than I meant them.

Seren raised an eyebrow. “You care about her.”

I scoffed. “I care about the *truth.* And she’s walking straight into a fairytale trap.”

But even I knew I was lying.

Because every time I saw Vernon smile at her…

Every time I heard her laugh, soft and golden, like it wasn’t forged in darkness…

I hated it.

Because I couldn’t protect her from it.

We emerged above ground just before sunrise, stepping out behind the greenhouse ruins.

The air smelled like lavender and betrayal.

I could hear them laughing YN and Vernon from the east courtyard.

She had flowers in her curls.

He was showing her how to levitate two golden coins.

She was smiling like nothing had ever hurt her.

I looked away.

“She’s stronger than she knows,” Seren said, watching me.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I muttered.

Because strong people still break.

And when she breaks she’ll fall alone.

Unless I stop it.

Unless I find what Nayoung and Liyan are really planning.

Unless I—

The bell rang. A summoning chime. Another trial loomed.

But so did something worse.

The feeling crawling up my spine wasn’t just from secrets anymore.

It was from envy.

Not of Vernon.

But of the part of her he had already touched

the part I was starting to understand.

And maybe…

want.

Liyan didn’t scream when the shadow pulled her into the hidden alcove near the Hall of Wills.

She simply blinked, adjusted her perfect braid, and stared at the boy who emerged.

Joshua.

Her smug smile faltered when she saw his eyes no humor, no charm. Only cold fury.

“So,” she said lightly, brushing imaginary dust from her sleeve, “the little prince of the wrong kingdom came all this way just to get lost?”

Joshua didn’t move.

“You’ve got a talent, Liyan,” he said, voice low. “For playing sweet while poisoning everything you touch.”

Her lips curled. “Is that the best insult you’ve got?”

“You’re not worth my best.” His gaze sharpened like a dagger. “You’re nothing but a glitter-coated parasite clinging to a dream that was never meant for you.”

She stiffened.

“You set her up,” he continued, stepping closer. “You crafted a perfect fairytale villain out of her so no one would see the one in you.”

“She doesn’t belong here,” Liyan snapped, mask cracking. “She never did. She’s chaos. She’s a mistake.”

“No,” Joshua snarled. “You are.”

The silence cracked like thunder.

“You speak of destiny like it’s a prize you’re owed. But you never earned anything. You just lied, and smiled, and stepped on people quieter than you.”

Her hands balled into fists. “You don’t understand”

“Oh, I do,” he hissed. “You’re not the light. You’re just addicted to the attention that comes from pretending to be it.”

He leaned in close.

“And deep down, you know she’s better than you. Stronger. Kinder. More real. That’s why you hate her.”

Liyan’s breath hitched. He saw it the flicker of fear in her eyes.

“I don’t hate her,” she whispered.

Joshua laughed, cruel and sharp. “No. You envy her. You envy that even after all your sabotage, she still shines brighter. Without even trying.”

Liyan turned her face, jaw tight.

“You think this school runs on dreams and kindness?” she said bitterly. “You think she can save it?”

Joshua stepped back.

“No,” he said simply. “She’s not here to save the school.”

Then he pointed at her.

“She’s here to expose the rot hiding behind it.”

And with that, he vanished into the shadows leaving her in silence.

For the first time, Liyan’s hands shook.

Because for once, someone had seen her.

And not the version she sold to the world

but the one hiding in mirrors she never dared face.

The library was quiet too quiet for someone like Joshua, who’d just been soaked in rage.

He burst into the secret archives, where Seren was waiting with a candle-lit map of the royal court, her brows knit in deep focus.

When she saw his face, she stood up fast.

“You saw her?”

“Liyan?” Joshua tossed his cloak aside. “Yeah. Cornered. Denied everything, of course. But her eyes were screaming guilt. She’s the spider. I don’t know how deep the web goes, but she’s in it. Twisted in it.”

Seren swallowed hard. “If she’s involved… and this goes deeper than just rivalry... YN might be in real danger.”

Joshua scoffed. “*Might*? Seren, she’s walking around like she’s in a fairytale and doesn’t even realize she’s the hunted one.”

“She’s trying her best,” Seren said gently.

Joshua spun on her.

“That’s the problem. Her best is *too soft.* Too trusting. She doesn’t see people coming until they’ve already stuck the knife in.”

Seren studied him carefully.

“You care about her.”

He flinched. “That’s not what I—”

“You’re harsh,” she said, walking closer. “But you’re only harsh when you’re scared.”

Joshua looked away.

“She’s… reckless,” he muttered. “Always throwing herself into things. Always hoping people will do good, even when they show her the opposite. She smiles too much. She gives too much. She forgives too fast.”

“And that bothers you?”

“No.” He paused. “It terrifies me.”

Silence settled between them.

“Because she’s gonna get hurt,” he said quietly. “And I can’t do anything about it.”

Seren placed a hand gently on his shoulder.

“You can be there. That’s already more than most people ever do.”

Joshua stared at the candle flame, eyes reflecting something far more vulnerable than his words allowed.

“I wish she didn’t make people love her so easily,” he muttered. “Because then maybe they wouldn’t be so desperate to destroy her.”

Seren didn’t reply.

Because that sentence said everything.

The courtyard of the School for princesses and princes had never been louder.

Trumpets blared from gold balconies. Flower petals rained down like blessings. Students shimmered in polished armor and embroidered gowns, standing tall under banners of royal crests.

The Royal Trials had begun.

YN stood at the far end of the ceremonial path, her dress tighter than usual, her curls pinned back with royal pins that felt more like weights than accessories. Her fingers were trembling, tucked behind her.

Her name had already been whispered like a scandal.

Some were waiting for her to win.

Most were waiting for her to fall.

“She’s not even supposed to be here,” a voice said behind a fan.

“She still doesn’t have a power.”

“She’s going to ruin everything.”

YN swallowed hard.

Across the field stood Nayoung in a glimmering blue gown, flanked by her usual court. Her golden crown was real today gifted by the faculty “in honor of excellence.” Her smirk was even more cutting.

And there, among the crowd of princes and warriors, stood Vernon.

His eyes never left YN.

He gave her a subtle nod. A quiet “you’ve got this.”

She tried to believe him.

But her palms were sweaty, her stomach twisting. These trials weren’t just games they were tradition. Rituals. Ancient competitions where students proved their worth, their power, their destiny.

And YN? She had… nothing.

No magical gifts. No legacy. No proof she was meant for any of this.

She stepped onto the marble platform.

The headmistress raised her hand.

“First challenge: Truth through Trial. A student must face three illusions lies made real and speak only truth to destroy them. One wrong word, and the illusion swallows them whole.”

The crowd murmured. Most looked at YN with either pity or amusement.

“YN of House Unknown. You will begin.”

A cold wind blew.

Suddenly the world around her rippled and she was alone.

Before her, the first illusion took shape.

Liyan.

But not the Liyan she knew this one was crying, holding a letter.

“You abandoned me,” the illusion wept. “You never wrote back. You never cared.”

YN’s heart jumped. “That’s not true—”

“LIAR,” the illusion hissed, eyes glowing.

YN closed her eyes.

“Okay. Maybe I didn’t write back fast enough. Maybe I didn’t know how to explain what I was going through. But I never stopped caring.I still do.”

The illusion cracked shattered like glass.

The second form emerged.

Her mother. Crowned in gold. Regal. Beautiful.

“You are not my daughter,” the queen said coldly. “You are weak. You cry. You hesitate.”

YN’s lips trembled.

“No,” she whispered. “I’m scared. But I’m brave enough to say it.”

Crack.

The third illusion was herself

A mirror of her hair wild, face bare, eyes full of fear.

“You’ll never be enough,” it said simply.

YN stared back.

“I don’t know if I ever will be,” she said. “But I’ll still try. Every day.”

The mirror exploded.

She gasped as the illusion world vanished, light pouring in.

The courtyard erupted in silence.

Then

A single clap.

Vernon.

Then Seren.

Then slowly… others.

But not Nayoung. And not Liyan, sitting among the shadows of her broken throne of jealousy.

The wind bit at his coat as he slipped back through the thorn-covered corridor of the School for Villains. Shadows moved when he moved, whispering along the walls like old secrets. The illusion spell he had cast over his bed back in the dorm still pulsed faintly holding up perfectly. No one suspected he had ever left.

Still, his heart was pounding.

He wasn’t supposed to be doing this. Sneaking between schools. Working with Seren. Obsessing over YN.

But he couldn’t help it. He needed to see.

Joshua ducked into the tallest tower of the villain school the one with a cursed telescope that showed visions from across the realms. He wiped the dust from the glass and peered in.

There she was. On the platform.

YN. Standing alone.

He scoffed at first, muttering under his breath. “She’s going to mess it up.”

But she didn’t.

One by one, she faced the illusions. The lies. The fear. She spoke truth. She trembled but didn’t break.

Joshua felt his jaw clench.

That shouldn’t impress him. He shouldn’t care.

But he did.

“I knew it,” he muttered. “She’s going to ruin everything.”

And yet… his hands were shaking.

She wasn’t just brave. She wasn’t just kind.

She was dangerous.

Because she made people believe.

And belief in Joshua’s eyes was the first step toward destruction. Love, dreams, hope they blinded people. Slowed them down. Got them killed.

But still.

She made it through the trial.

Even Vernon was clapping like some lovesick fool. Standing there like a knight from a bad poem.

Joshua’s stomach turned.

He stared harder into the telescope.

“She doesn’t belong there,” he muttered, jaw tightening. “Not with him. Not with them.”

He didn’t know what frustrated him more that YN succeeded… or that she succeeded without him.

He stood up sharply, nearly knocking the telescope over. Shadows recoiled around him, whispering. The darkness in the tower seemed to pull toward him, sensing the storm in his chest.

“No more watching,” Joshua hissed. “It’s time to act.”

He turned his cloak around his shoulders, stepping back into the spiral staircase that led down to the vaults where secrets slept and curses whispered.

He needed answers.

About YN.

About the prophecy.

And why his gut was screaming that she was going to change everything.

And maybe… not for the better.

|YN’s POV|

The aftermath of the Royal Trials left her hands trembling, even as she smiled.

Applause echoed. Vernon had pulled her gently to the side, his hand warm and steady at the small of her back, whispering “You were brilliant” into her ear.

But even with the warmth of his words…

Something cold brushed her spine.

A shiver like she was being watched. Not in the way Liyan or Nayoung stared at her like prey.

No, this was different.

Sharper.

Like someone was seeing through her.

“Are you alright?” Vernon asked, watching her face carefully.

“I… yeah,” she said, but her voice was distracted, eyes trailing toward the tall towers beyond the stone bridges. The villain school loomed in the distance. Shadows curling around the spires like secrets.

“I just… felt something.”

He didn’t ask what. Maybe he sensed it too.

She took a breath and tried to shake it off. But as they returned to the school grounds, a strange image stayed stamped in her mind.

A figure in black, barely visible, watching from above.

Familiar somehow.

That Night the mirror in her dorm room flickered.

Not magically. Not like it had with her mother.

Just a quick, glitchy blink. Like something tried to come through… and stopped itself.

She stepped closer, staring into her reflection.

Then…

For a split second her face… wasn’t alone.

Behind her, eyes.

Deep, unreadable.

Brown like melted iron and sharp as a dagger’s edge.

She gasped and spun around.

Nothing.

But her heart raced. And the image burned into her memory.

Later, During Combat Practice Vernon tossed her a sword a practice one, lightweight and caught her faltering gaze.

“You're not here with me,” he said gently.

YN blinked, shaking her head. “No, I am. Just… distracted.”

“By what?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “There’s this feeling. Like someone’s standing just behind me. Like I should know them. But I don’t.”

“Maybe it’s your power trying to warn you,” he said, watching her. “Or… maybe your heart knows something before your mind does.”

She looked up sharply at that. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Vernon smirked faintly, stepping close. “Nothing. Just… be careful who you give your heart to. Not everyone knows what to do with something that precious.”

YN didn’t respond. Her heart twisted in her chest.

Because even now with Vernon close, kind, dependable

Her thoughts kept slipping back to those eyes.

Joshua’s eyes.

Though she didn’t know him that much yet.

Didn’t know his voice.

Just his gaze, burning through glass.

Like he was part of something… meant for her.

It was past midnight. A silver mist coiled over the castle grounds like a serpent guarding secrets.

The School for princesses and princes had quieted. No whispers in the hallways, no late-night footsteps just the soft hush of the wind outside YN’s dorm window.

She tossed and turned in bed, her mind a maze of confusion and heat. Her cheeks still warmed from Vernon’s soft smiles during training, but her thoughts lingered elsewhere.

Something… someone… was out of place.

She sat up in bed with a sigh, intending to drink water, maybe clear her head.

But then

She saw it.

A book.

Sitting perfectly aligned on her windowsill, glinting under moonlight.

Her heart stopped.

It hadn’t been there before.

She reached out slowly, her fingers brushing the cover. A leather-bound journal, thick and humming with old magic. There, in deep gold embossing:

> The Child of Both: Tome II”

Her breath hitched.

That book had disappeared without a trace, as mysteriously as it had come. She never got to finish it.

Now, it had returned.

A second volume.

She held it against her chest, her heartbeat quickening.

Suddenly, her vision blurred. Her limbs tingled. The floor beneath her swayed

And then…

Darkness.

A Dream Realm

She was standing in the middle of a vast hall carved in crystal. The floor shimmered like liquid starlight, and golden pillars arched high above her, holding up a night-sky ceiling that moved like real clouds.

“Where am I…” YN whispered, turning slowly.

“Home.”

The voice was like silk. Familiar, yet foreign. Warm, but commanding.

She spun around.

A woman stepped forward.

Tall. Regal. Radiating power in a gown of flowing gold and ivory. Her curls matched YN’s. Her skin shimmered like burnished bronze under the candlelight. And her eyes.

“Mom…?”

The woman smiled softly. “Yes, little flame.”

YN’s knees nearly gave way. Her eyes welled. “You're Queen Raya. Of… Themadora. You’re my mother.”

“And you are more than you know,” her mother said, stepping closer and brushing her daughter’s cheek with a tenderness that YN hadn’t felt in years. “But you always feared the truth, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t know it,” YN whispered. “Everyone lied to me. Even the principal told me you were a warrior and a princess.”

“She told you that to contain you.”

From the shadows behind Queen Raya emerged a man dressed in a king’s armor but crowned in restraint. A noble weight sat on his shoulders. Broad, proud, elegant with golden brown curls and piercing eyes that made YN freeze.

Her breath caught. “Father?”

“I am King Thelonius. Of Themadora. Your blood is more ancient than both schools combined,” he said solemnly. “That is why they feared you.”

“Why they lied,” Queen Raya added. “Because if you knew what you truly were, child… you would shift everything.”

The Vision Deepens

Around them, the crystal hall began to change. Walls fell away into memories.

She saw herself a baby held in Queen Raya’s arms her curls already forming.

A crown of light above her head.

“She was born in balance,” Thelonius said. “Not of good. Not of evil. But of soul. That’s what they don’t understand. It’s not about black and white. You are gold.”

“And what about the prophecy?” YN asked, trembling. “Everyone says I’ll break the balance. Destroy the schools. Am I… dangerous?”

Queen Raya stepped forward. “You’re dangerous… to their lies.”

“You don’t destroy the balance, YN. You are the new balance,” King Thelonius said.

“You were never ‘the child of both’ in the way they think,” her mother added. “That title was a cage. But your real title… is The Golden Thread. The one who ties light and shadow.”

“But… I don’t have any powers,” YN muttered, pain pressing behind her ribs. “I stood there… humiliated. I had nothing.”

“You are not like them. You do not cast light, nor summon beasts,” her father said. “You are the magic between. The magic that lives in choice.”

“And it’s awakening,” Queen Raya added. “But only when you let go of the idea that you are one or the other.”

“Let your soul speak, not your fear,” Thelonius whispered. “You are not born to fit. You are born to lead.”

Suddenly, light flared all around her.

“Wait!” YN gasped. “Don’t go—”

But her mother was fading. Her father too. Their silhouettes glowing in golden smoke.

“We love you,” they said together.

“Awaken.”

Back in the dorm YN jolted awake with a gasp, the tome clutched tightly to her chest. The moon was still high, but her skin was coated in sweat. Her room was silent… but something had changed.

She opened the book again, hands trembling.

On the first page, a single phrase had appeared in gold ink.

> Not the Child of Both. The Golden Thread.”

Beneath it, a drawing a crown made of roots and stars.

Her real crest.

Tears gathered at the corner of her eyes, but for the first time…

She felt no shame.

Only wonder.

For the next few days, YN walked through the castle as if wrapped in glass.

No one knew about the dream.

No one knew about her parents Queen Raya and King Thelonius.

No one saw the new strength blooming quietly beneath her skin.

And YN liked it that way.

Because now she knew the truth:

She wasn’t what they thought. She was more.

More than “good.”

More than “villain.”

She was something else.

But while her world had changed in silence, the rest of the school was exploding in color and excitement.

Posters appeared overnight: glittering silver parchment, floating in the halls like enchanted butterflies.

THE CROWNED MASQUERADE A celebration of lineage, power, and unity. One night. One dance. One destin. Formal attire required. Partner selections… by fate.

Whispers erupted instantly. The students were buzzing. No one could stop talking about dresses, tuxes, enchanted masks, new spells. Rumors swirled: some said this ball would determine which students were destined for royalty. Others said it was a trap. Some even believed it was how the schools secretly ranked power through poise, presence… and who stood out.

At breakfast, crystal goblets floated across the Great Hall, each holding a folded card. When YN’s landed in front of her, she hesitated.

Vernon raised an eyebrow beside her. “You gonna open it or wait for it to bite you?”

She smirked and opened the note.

Inside, in neat enchanted ink:

Your destined partner for the Masquerade is:

•VERNON CHWE.

Her head snapped toward him, heart slamming like a drum.

He was already reading his.

He glanced sideways at her, lips tugging up in that infuriatingly soft way.

“I guess the stars agree with us, huh?”

She looked away, flustered. “Or it’s rigged.”

From across the hall, Liyan crushed her note without reading it.

And beside her, Nayoung’s smile cracked. Her eyes turned to YN with a venomous, gleaming calm.

“Of course,” Nayoung said to no one, “they gave her the prince.”

The castle shifted in mood. Tailors arrived from distant kingdoms. Spellcasters offered glamours. Students were given one week to prepare.

YN was measured by six floating tapes at once.

“Something bold,” the seamstress murmured, circling her. “You're a soft girl with hidden iron. That deserves gold.”

Gold.

Just like her dream.

She said nothing, but chills climbed her spine.

She caught glimpses of Vernon dancing in the gardens with the illusion instructors.

Liyan whispering with a dark-haired warlock behind the potion tower.

Nayoung laughing sweetly in the ear of a judge who was definitely bribed.

And Joshua…

Watching from the shadows.

Eyes always on her.

The Night Arrives. The castle glowed with starfire. Banners of deep blue and crimson fluttered above the ballroom. Students filed in beneath a sky enchanted with northern lights. Music floated like perfume ancient, powerful, magnetic.

YN descended the staircase in her gown of molten gold. Her curls were crowned in delicate glowing threads like vines, and her mask shimmered with stardust. She didn’t feel like herself.

She felt like her mother.

Vernon waited at the bottom, clean-cut in black velvet lined with runes. His mask was silver and regal, but his eyes softened when he saw her.

“You look like fire,” he whispered.

She blushed. “And you look like you’re about to propose to the moon.”

He grinned.

Across the Ballroom…Joshua leaned against a marble pillar, tucked into shadows. His illusion spell held strong, fooling even the sharpest professors into believing he was still at the villain school. But tonight, he was here.

Watching YN.

Watching her glow.

Seren joined him, equally hidden in soft sapphire robes. “You okay?” she whispered.

“No,” he muttered. “That dress… is a distraction.”

“She’s happy.”

“People get happy before everything burns.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I’m a realist,” he replied.

But even as he rolled his eyes, he couldn’t look away.

The plan had already started. A glimmering powder mixed into a spell in YN’s champagne.

A whisper to the band to change the rhythm halfway through the waltz.

A small hex locked in her mask’s thread.

They wanted her to trip.

To fall.

To lose control.

To expose her "lie."

But what no one knew…

Was that YN wasn’t afraid of falling anymore.

Not after meeting her parents.

Not after knowing what pulsed beneath her skin.

Because maybe, just maybe…

She wasn’t meant to dance like them.

Maybe she was meant to fly.

The ballroom was glowing.

The music soared, waltzing through the halls.

Golden chandeliers twinkled above spinning masks, glittering gowns, gliding dancers.

And YN?

She was in Vernon’s arms, floating through the dance like the dream she never thought she’d be part of.

She laughed a real, soft laugh as Vernon whispered something into her ear, something about her feet stepping on his.

She was happy.

And that was the momentJoshua snapped.

From his hidden spot in the balcony above the ballroom illusion spell still holding, fingers clenched into the marble his jaw tightened so hard it ached.

“Look at her,” Seren whispered beside him, trying to ease his breath. “She’s safe. Vernon’s with her.”

Joshua’s voice was cold.

“No. She’s surrounded by snakes. And the idiot prince is too in love to notice she’s being hunted.”

“You’re being harsh.”

“I’m being honest”

Seren sighed. “You said you didn’t care about love.”

“I don’t,” he snapped.

A pause.

“I care about her. That’s different.”

Down below, Vernon spun YN gracefully. Their movements were fluid, elegant natural.

But as the music shifted into a minor key just barely noticeable Joshua’s heart stuttered.

He leaned over the railing.

He saw it.

A glimmer of unnatural magic flickered under the dance floor. A faint thread of dark energy wrapped tightly around the golden hem of YN’s gown ready to snap.

A curse.

A public fall.

A humiliation spell.

“No!.”

Joshua’s illusion shattered like glass.

He launched off the balcony. Midair, he whispered a forbidden incantation under his breath, shadow-walking straight through the crowd and appearing between YN and Vernon right before the trap triggered.

Everyone gasped.

YN froze. Vernon spun halfway into battle stance.

And Joshua

Sliced the thread of dark magic with a single flick of fire.

BOOM.

The spell exploded upward in a burst of black ash and violet smoke, shocking the ballroom. Masks flew. Screams erupted. Professors ran in. Someone yelled for shields.

YN stumbled back stunned.

Joshua stood in front of her, breathing hard, eyes glowing with wrath.

He turned slowly to Vernon.

“You call yourself a protector?” he hissed. “And you couldn’t sense a basic entrapment curse beneath your partner?”

Vernon’s hands clenched into fists. “You broke into our school. You put her at risk.”

“I saved her. Again.”

YN stepped between them. “Stop! Both of you.”

But the tension between the Chwe brothers burned like lightning.

Royal blood, broken loyalty, and one girl caught in the middle.

Aftermath The Headmistress stormed in. The ballroom froze.

Joshua was dragged away by two enchanted guards.

YN tried to run after him but Vernon stopped her.

“Let him go. He’ll be questioned. It’s better this way.”

“But he protected me.” Her voice broke slightly.

“I know. I hate it too.”

From the crowd, Nayoung looked pale. Liyan was already slipping away into the shadows, trying to cover her tracks.

But they knew.

Everyone knew.

Joshua ruined the ball.

But he also saved YN.

And somewhere deep down, YN’s heart ached not from the spell, not from the dance but from seeing Joshua taken away before she could say one thing.

"Thank you."

It was past midnight when YN slipped out of her dorm.

The halls of the School for Princes and Princesses gleamed too brightly, polished marble and gold-trimmed walls betraying every footstep. But YN knew how to move quiet growing up in the forest taught her that. She’d snuck past hunters. Past wolves.

She could sneak past guards.

Especially now, when her mind was reeling with one single thought:

Joshua.

The boy who saved her.

The boy who burned a curse into ash in front of a thousand witnesses.

The boy who looked like he hated her but stepped in front of death for her.

Again.

Her fingers clenched tightly around the key Seren had slipped into her hand earlier.

“He’s in the Crystal Dungeons, under the Grand Hall,” Seren whispered before lights out. “Third level. Wardens rotate every hour. You have twenty minutes, tops.”

Now or never.

The stairs spiraled downward, deeper than YN imagined. The soft pastels of the upper school faded into grey stone and cold steel. Her slippers echoed as she crept past magical sensors, whispering counter-charms she’d overheard Seren mutter before.

One wrong breath, and she’d be caught.

One slip, and she’d never see Joshua again.

The final door was iron ancient, carved with runes that pulsed faint blue.

She used the key.

The door hissed open.

A narrow hallway stretched before her, torches flickering, lined with cell doors of enchanted glass.

And there at the very end sat

him.

Joshua sat on the cold bench, hands chained with glowing cuffs, hair slightly messy but his posture still perfect. He looked... tired.

His head turned sharply when he heard the door.

“You.”

YN stepped closer. “Me.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“No one ever wants me where I’m supposed to be,” she muttered.

Silence.

She stopped in front of the glass. Her hands trembled at her sides.

“You saved me.”

“You looked like an idiot with a glowing noose tied to your dress. Of course I saved you.”

“...You didn’t have to risk everything”.

He looked away. “You think I care about rules?”

“Apparently not,” she said, smiling faintly.

Another pause.

“I didn’t ask you to save me.”

“I didn’t do it for you.”

“Then why?”

Silence again. Deeper this time.

Joshua’s jaw flexed. Then finally, he said, low:

“Because when I see people hurt... when I see people being played with, used like puppets, while everyone else just stands there pretending it’s all fine I can’t shut up. I can’t sit still.”

He looked her in the eye now.

“And you, YN, are in the middle of a story that doesn’t belong to you.”

She blinked.

“My story?”

He nodded slowly. “They’re twisting it. The ‘Child of Both’… The destiny day? It’s rigged. All of it. Someone’s making you look like you’re the threat so that no one notices who the real villain is.”

She stepped even closer to the glass. “Do you know who it is?”

He looked back at her for a long moment. And then…

“I have a guess. But I need proof. And time.”

YN’s voice trembled. “They’ll take you back to the other school.”

“I can escape if I want.”

“You’re chained.”

He smirked. “Please”

Her lips curved.

He leaned forward, gaze sharpening. “But you... you need to keep going. Pretend everything is normal. Let them think you’re breaking. Let them show their cards.”

She nodded.

And then, softly: “Thank you. For protecting me.”

He shrugged. “Stop getting into trouble. It’s annoying.”

“You sound like Vernon.”

“Don’t compare me to that polished tiara-wearing buffoon.”

YN laughed. Then sobered.

“Do you hate me?”

His brows lifted. “What?”

“Because sometimes it feels like you do.”

He stared at her. Then finally said:

“I don’t hate you. I just… hate how much I notice you.”

The silence that followed felt like thunder.

Then, footsteps.

Warden.

Joshua’s eyes flashed. “Go.”

YN hesitated. “I’ll come back.”

“No,” he said sharply. “Not unless I say so.”

The warden’s keys clinked.

Joshua gave her one last look. “Go be brave, Princess. I’ve got the shadows covered.”

She ran.

“You again.”

The fourth time she visited, Joshua didn't even look up from the stone floor.

But his voice sounded different this time. Rougher. Weary.

YN wrapped her arms around herself. “Don’t act like you didn’t know I’d come back.”

Joshua scoffed softly. “I hoped you wouldn’t. But clearly, I was wrong.”

Silence passed between them like smoke.

The School for princesses and princes had grown colder since the Destiny Ball. Whispers followed YN wherever she went. Girls side-eyed her in the corridors. Boys avoided her during sword training. Even the teachers began giving her tasks meant to wear her down or test her.

But she didn’t flinch.

Because at night, she’d sneak through the glowing halls, past the golden paintings, and descend into the dungeons just to talk to him.

“I found something,” YN whispered, pressing a wrapped object against the glass. “It’s the Headmaster’s logbook. Seren helped me find it.”

Joshua lifted his head.

“What does it say?”

“That my ‘admittance’ was *signed* by someone who no longer works here. Someone named Professor Veleth. But Seren says she was exiled a decade ago... for prophecy tampering.”

Joshua's jaw tightened.

“They forged your place. To plant you here.”

YN nodded slowly.

“And they made sure I’d fail. That I’d crack.”

Joshua stood now, walking to the glass. “They want to use you. Not destroy you. That’s worse.”

She looked up at him.

“I can’t let them win.”

He watched her carefully, the dim light catching the gold flecks in her brown eyes.

“Then what are you planning?”

YN looked over her shoulder. Then pulled the key from her necklace.

“I’m letting you out.”

Joshua blinked.

“You’re what?”

“I have the override key from Seren. And the magic cuffs respond to the mirror charm Vernon gave me last week.”

Joshua’s brows furrowed. “You’re playing both of us now?”

She shrugged. “I’m just tired of playing by their rules.”

She stepped forward, hand pressed to the glass. The locks sparked.

Then click.

The barrier slid open with a groan.

Joshua stood still, staring at her.

“YN…”

“If you say this is stupid, I’ll scream.”

“I was going to say… this is going to get you killed.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Joshua’s cuffs hissed and dropped to the floor as YN completed the unbinding charm. He looked down at his freed wrists then back at her, unreadable.

“You realize what happens next, right?”

She nodded.

“You can’t go back to being invisible. They’ll be watching everything now.”

“I stopped being invisible the day I was thrown on that stage,” she said quietly. “Now I want to be seen… on my own terms.”

Joshua gave her a look that was almost admiration and almost pain.

“Then we burn the curtain down together.”

She smiled. “That’s dramatic.”

He smirked. “You started it.”

The two of them darted through the underground tunnels Seren mapped out. Joshua knew the patrols. YN knew the blind spots.

They were a rhythm.

They slipped through the final gate and emerged behind the bell tower, moonlight slanting over their faces.

“Where do we go now?” YN whispered.

Joshua looked up at the sky. “To the forest. The hidden one. The one even the School of Evil avoids.”

She blinked. “Why?”

“Because that’s where it is,” he said.

“What?”

“The prophecy’s anchor. The thing that makes it real. We destroy it… and your fate unravels with it.”

YN looked at him. “And if I am the child of both?”

He stared at her a long time. “Then we find a way to rewrite the end.”

The trees were too tall. The silence too loud. And the shadows? Too many.

“Are you sure this isn’t just a glorified garden?” YN whispered as her boot sank into a patch of glowing moss. “Feels like we’re walking through a cursed version of Liyan’s perfume shelf.”

Joshua sighed, pushing aside a thick vine. “You’re cracking jokes again.”

“Because if I don’t, I’ll cry. Or punch something. Possibly you.”

“…You need help.”

“Oh, I know.”

The moment they crossed the stone arch marking the edge of the school grounds, the temperature dropped.

The forest wasn’t on any map because no one came back from it.

The trees curled inward like ribs. Fog crept low over the ground. Even the air buzzed with a strange, silvery sound.

Joshua led, serious and silent, every step careful. YN followed, arms crossed, grumbling.

“I swear if I get eaten by a demon with no skincare routine, I’m haunting this forest and making the trees moisturize.”

Joshua didn’t laugh. He just gave her a side-eye. “How are you like this?”

“Trauma and sarcasm.”

He did try to hide it but the corner of his mouth twitched.

They reached the first checkpoint, a crumbling statue of a serpent with missing eyes.

Joshua knelt beside it, brushing aside moss.

“There’s a sigil here. Bone magic. This forest responds to bloodline markers.”

“So… you’re going to slice your palm open and activate some forbidden spell?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Lovely.”

He sliced. The blood hit the stone and the forest trembled.

The trees parted.

Behind the statue, a glowing path unfurled, bones forming a bridge through the fog.

“Come here I’ll kiss the pain way,” YN muttered.

Joshua blinked. “What?”

“What?”

They walked the bone-bridge in silence for a while, save for the occasional *crack* of dead twigs underfoot.

Then YN asked, “Why do you hate love?”

Joshua didn’t look at her. “Because it makes people foolish. Sloppy. Soft.”

She frowned. “Maybe softness isn’t a weakness.”

“It is when it gets you killed.”

YN fell silent for a beat.

“…Someone you loved died?”

Joshua stopped.

He didn’t answer.

He just kept walking.

She followed more quietly after that. But her eyes stayed on him longer than before.

By nightfall, they reached a clearing at the center stood a tree taller than any other, its trunk made of twisting mirror shards and bark made of whispering shadows.

“The Memory Tree,” Joshua whispered.

“This is what anchors the prophecy?”

“No. But it’s what can show us who created it. It stores the origin of all major truths… and all lies.”

YN stepped closer, curious.

Then the tree groaned.

Her reflection blinked at her. But this version… wore a crown. Her eyes glowed. Her smile was wicked.

Joshua moved quickly, grabbing her wrist. “Don’t touch it yet. If it senses doubt, it’ll eat you alive.”

YN blinked. “Wow. That’s… romantic.”

He gave her a look. “Seriously.”

“Alright, alright. Not touching the evil memory ball.”

They stepped forward together.

The moment their fingers grazed the bark, the forest vanished.

Now, they stood in a memory.

A castle of gold and fire. A woman with curls like YN, dressed in a royal battle cloak, arguing with a council. A man beside her tall, regal, wearing a lion ring.

“Your parents,” Joshua whispered. “That’s Queen Raya and King Thelonius…”

They watched her mother slam a scroll onto the table THE CHILD OF BOTH prophecy, written in faded blood ink.

“They’ll try to forge it,” Raya growled in the vision. “If they can’t control us, they’ll control our child. But we will never let them win.”

The image shattered.

Back in the forest, YN stumbled back.

“They knew,” she whispered. “They knew they’d try to manipulate my life.”

Joshua’s face was pale.

“You were never the child of both. You were the diversion.”

YN breathed deeply.

“So now what?” she asked.

Joshua looked at her, something fierce in his eyes.

“Now we take down the prophecy.”

As they made camp for the night, YN set out a little fire with magic herbs Seren gave her.

Joshua sat nearby, sharpening a blade.

“You know,” YN said, lying on her back, “if I do end up becoming some kind of mythological weapon of destiny… I’d like my statue to have better posture than the ones at school.”

Joshua chuckled softly.

“You’re insane.”

“And you secretly like it.”

He didn’t answer.

But he did throw his cloak over her when she shivered.

She smiled into the firelight.

The fire had long burned to glowing embers, and YN finally drifted off to sleep beside the roots of the Memory Tree, her curls tangled in her hood, mouth open just slightly.

Joshua sat alone, blade in hand, heart unsettled.

He hadn’t said it aloud but something inside that cursed tree had *called to him too.

A whisper.

A dare.

A door waiting to be opened.

And so… he stood.

Joshua pressed his palm to the bark, just as YN had done before.

But the tree shuddered.

Not in welcome… in warning.

A harsh wind whipped through the clearing, but he held his ground.

And then

Darkness swallowed him whole.

He was ten years old. Standing in the Hall of Sorting.

“I’m sorry,” the robed figure said. “You are not pure enough for the School of Princes. You’re too curious. Too sharp.”

Eleven years old. His father’s voice echoing down the marble halls

“You will make a *perfect villain,* boy. All brains, no heart.”

Twelve. Alone. Reading books of forbidden history by candlelight.

He saw every moment that made him bitter. That carved walls inside his heart.

Until finally a shadow stepped forward. A man cloaked in violet and obsidian. A mirror mask on his face.

“You know the truth, don’t you?” the masked figure said to Joshua.

“You were never meant to play anyone’s role.”

“What do you want from me?” Joshua asked, voice cold.

The man tilted his head.

“I want you to become what you were meant to be.”

Joshua gasped, yanking his hand away.

The tree cracked behind him.

And the voice echoed one last time

“The girl is not the only weapon in this story.”

Joshua turned back toward the camp, sweat on his forehead, heart pounding.

But the moment he reached YN

A rustle.

A hiss.

Then silence.

Until

SKEEEEEEEE!!

A shriek tore through the trees.

Creatures.

Not just beasts. Cursed ones.

Tall, hollow-eyed with wooden limbs and skulls tied to their backs, emerging from the shadows of the forest guardians of the ancient truth.

Joshua cursed.

He drew his blade and yelled, “YN! Wake up!”

YN jolted up, hair in wild disarray.

“WHY ARE TREE DEMONS COMING FOR ME?!”

“No time! *Run!*”

They sprinted, dodging claws and shadow-bolts. YN stumbled, but Joshua grabbed her arm.

“LEFT! TUNNEL!”

“Are we gonna die?!”

“Probably!”

She laughed at the worst time. “This is why people think you’re dramatic.”

They burst through a wall of thorns, only to land face-first in a pit of leaves… and bones.

A voice croaked from the dark:

“Well well well. The Queen’s daughter and the Broken Prince.”

A woman stepped forward, barefoot, tall, draped in tattered gold robes and shadows. Her eyes glowed white, her hair silver like moonlight.

The Dark Sorceress of the Core.

“Did you really think you could come this deep into my forest without paying a price?”

Joshua stood in front of YN, blade raised.

But YN slowly moved beside him, panting.

“We’re not here to fight,” she said. “We’re here for the truth”

The sorceress tilted her head.

Her smile… was sharp.

“Oh, little dove… You’re about to learn it.”

TO BE CONTINUED...

Did you liked this part?

#kpop #seventeen #seventeen imagines #imagine #seventeen right here #fanfiction #seventeen fanfic #fanfic #caratland #svt #vernon x reader #vernon #chwe hansol x reader #chwe hansol #chwe vernon #vernon seventeen #vernon x you #vernon x y/n

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synity · 13 days ago

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i’m going to hold your hands when i say this and i am only going to be kind about it once: ai does not belong in fandom spaces, ever. not in writing, not in art, not in video, not at all. it does not matter how bad you want to see your favourite characters kiss, or how much you need a bit of help finishing a chapter, or whatever.

make friends with artists. commission somebody. learn to draw yourself. ask for a beta read. try a writing partnership. fandom spaces are communities, so engage with them! it is about the journey and the fact that we all love something enough to create and build together about that thing.

spending 30 seconds to kill a tree and get an AI to push out some soulless empty piece of “content” is antithetical to the entire point of being engaged with fandom, and if you’ve taken to doing this you should really reconsider if you belong in these spaces with the rest of us.

37K notes · View notes

synity · 13 days ago

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I’m so amazing FRR.

#kpop #seventeen #seventeen imagines #imagine #seventeen right here #fanfiction #seventeen fanfic #fanfic #caratland #svt #Synity

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synity · 20 days ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐇

(Chew Hansol Vernon x FemReader)

In the village of Kayes, stories didn’t just entertain they determined your fate.

They said if you wore black, you were doomed to darkness. If you smiled too little, your soul was already lost. If you kept too quiet, it was because you were hiding something sinister. And if you lived alone in the woods with nothing but your thoughts and strange whispers in the trees… well, then you were just waiting to be taken.

And YN fit every rule of wrong.

Her hair curled like twisted vines, thick and wild like it had grown in rebellion. It was the kind of brown that looked darker in the shade and untamed no matter how many times she tried to tie it down. She didn’t wear bows or pastels or petticoats just the same worn black dress, the color of ashes and endings. The townspeople called her odd, sometimes a witch. Even her walk looked too proud for a girl like her, too careless, like she didn’t care how she was seen.

They whispered, “She’s already been chosen.”

But YN didn’t believe in fate. And she definitely didn’t believe in fairytales.

Which is why her best friend was such a contradiction.

Liyan was everything YN wasn’t. Golden hair like sunlight in motion, eyes the blue of untouched skies, cheeks that flushed with every compliment. She braided flowers into her hair, made wishes on dandelions, and believed that the world was ultimately good. She read stories aloud in the town square to children who adored her, about princes and curses and happily-ever-afters. And every time she glanced at YN during those tales, her eyes would beg her to believe just a little.

YN never did.

“Not everything ends in roses and rings, Liyan,” she’d say, arms crossed, half-asleep on a crooked bench beneath the willow tree. “Some stories end with blood. Or worse nothing at all.”

Liyan would only smile. “Then I’ll change the story.”

That was how they worked. The golden girl and the girl in black. Two opposites, tethered by something stronger than appearances something unspoken. YN didn’t need Liyan to save her. But Liyan wanted to try. And in return, YN always protected her.

Because Kayes loved beauty. And it feared everything else.

That afternoon, the clouds above Kayes were dull and thick like cold porridge, and the village reeked faintly of goat. Typical.

The cobblestones of the old school courtyard clacked under YN’s boots as she walked beside Liyan, arms full of mismatched books, dried ink bottles, and a rather aggressive-looking quill that kept poking her ear. Their literature teacher had asked the girls her “favorite dark-and-light duo,” as she called them to fetch a few things from the school library.

It was no secret why she liked them best.

She wasn’t like the other teachers fussy, judgmental, and constantly complaining about ink stains and untucked shirts. Madame Bijou let students speak their minds, never laughed at their dreams, and always carried a pencil behind her ear, even on weekends. She let Liyan rewrite endings to fairytales. She let YN refuse to read them at all.

“Ugh,” Liyan groaned, heaving open the dusty oak doors of the old library. “Why are books always heavier than they look?”

“Maybe because they’re full of nonsense,” YN muttered, plopping the stack on a creaky table and cracking her back.

“Don’t insult books,” Liyan scolded, brushing the dust from a golden spine. “They’re more reliable than people.”

YN didn’t answer. Her eyes were already scanning the shelves. She didn’t like to admit it, but the old place had a magic of its own. The shelves curved like waves, the candles flickered even without wind, and the oldest books sometimes whispered when you passed them.

“Help me find the poetry volumes,” Liyan said, climbing the shaky ladder. “And if you see anything sparkly, grab it.”

YN smirked but obeyed. Her fingers trailed across the cracked leather covers until one book stopped her cold.

It didn’t look like the others. It pulsed faintly green. Not emerald. Not forest. Something older like the color of enchanted moss or dragon scales in moonlight.

The title read: FATE.

“Liyan,” YN called, holding it up. “This one’s glowing. That’s probably illegal, right?”

Liyan gasped from the top of the ladder. “I know that book! I read the first page once, but the librarian snatched it from me before I could finish!”

“Did it curse you?”

Liyan dropped down, landing like a knight from a fairytale if knights wore strawberry-printed socks. She grabbed the book with reverence.

“It’s about the School,” she whispered.

“What school?”

“You know what school.”

“Nope,” YN said, backing away. “Don’t start.”

“The School for princesses and villains, YN!” Liyan said dreamily. “It’s real. It takes the chosen ones and turns them into legends. Princesses, villains, warriors… the stories come from there!”

YN made a face. “You realize how insane that sounds?”

Liyan ignored her. “There’s even a rumor that some of our missing villagers were taken there.”

YN raised a brow. “More likely they just ran from this dump.”

“Ladies,” said a warm voice behind them.

They turned to see Madame Bijou entering, arms folded, glasses tilted. “Still gossiping about that old thing?”

YN threw up her hands. “Exactly, old thing. This place barely has plumbing, and we’re supposed to believe in magic schools?”

Madame Bijou chuckled. “Oh, sweetie. Where do you think those lost villagers went? You think they’re sipping coconut water in the next town over?”

“They probably moved to the capital,” YN said.

Madame Bijou winked. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Later that night, Liyan sat cross-legged in her creaky bed, hugging the Fate book like it was a diary from the stars.

“I’m going to wish,” she whispered.

“Don’t you dare,” YN said from the floor, lying on a nest of blankets and pillows. “I made you promise.”

“I want more than this, YN. I want… magic. A kingdom. A charming prince, someone who sees me for the beautiful good soul I am.”

“This isn’t your diary, Liyan.”

“But what if I am good enough? What if I deserve that life?”

YN sat up. “You are good. But that doesn’t mean the world owes you a tiara. You think you're too special for this place? Just because it smells like feet and cow dung? It’s where we are. It’s home.”

Liyan stared at her friend.

“And if it’s real,” YN said, more quietly, “then you’re not going without me.”

A silence.

“Fine,” Liyan mumbled. “I won’t wish.”

YN sighed in relief. “Good.”

But she did.

One week later, after a warm river swim and raspberry bread for lunch, YN wandered to their secret spot a hidden garden behind the ruins, guarded by vines and mushrooms. A place just for them.

There, on the mossy rock, was a note.

I’m sorry, YN. But I can’t live here anymore. I have to try. I have to believe. If this is what takes me there, then I’ll never forget you. Love, Liyan.

YN’s chest caved in. The betrayal, the loneliness, the stupidity.

She ran.

Branches whipped her arms as she charged through the forest, eyes blazing with hurt. She knew where Liyan would go. The river stone circle. The place where stories echoed strongest.

She arrived breathless, heart racing—and saw her.

Liyan, standing in the circle, whispering ancient words from the Fate book, arms raised like a cursed priestess.

“LIYAN!” YN shrieked.

Liyan flinched.

“Are you crazy?!”

“I—I had to!”

“You promised! I have NO ONE but you!”

“You don’t get it!” Liyan screamed. “You chose to be hated, YN!” Liyan suddenly snapped. “You wear black like it’s armor, you push everyone away. Maybe you belong here. But I don’t. I can’t do that anymore! I was made for more!”

“No, you were made to be my friend.”

But before either of them could speak again the ground split.

The sky turned red.

A roar like death echoed through the trees.

A beast black-scaled, winged, enormous—tore through the air.

A dragon.

It flew at them with burning eyes.

“RUN!”

YN grabbed Liyan’s hand and they sprinted, hearts pounding, the earth quaking behind them.

The dragon dove.

They screamed.

It scooped them both up massive claws around their waists. Wind screamed past. YN shouted, “DROP ME! I didn’t ask for this, YOU STUPID DRAGON!”

Liyan, meanwhile, beamed with joy.

“It’s real! It’s real HAHA!”

The castle loomed ahead.

Two halves: one of pastel glass and sunlight, one of jagged black stone and storms.

The dragon veered left toward the black.

“No, no, no!” Liyan shrieked, panicking. “NOT THAT ONE! I’m pretty I’m cute!”

It dropped her.

She fell screaming into the School for villains.

YN gasped, eyes wide. “Wait what?”

“This has to be a mistake!” she yelled. “That’s MY school!”

But the dragon veered toward the glowing pastels.

“NO, DROP ME! I DON’T BELONG HERE EITHER!”

And just like that it did.

She crash-landed in a shower of flowers and glittering vines, right in the middle of a shocked courtyard.

Fairies flitted by, eyeing her from head to wingtip.

Her curly hair was wild. Her dress was still black.

One fairy snorted.

“Hi,” YN said awkwardly. “I’m just, um, looking for the exit. I think there was a clerical error. I’m not from here. Haha.”

A woman appeared, tall and regal in a shining pink dress. The Principal.

“Oh, sweet child,” she said gently. “There was no mistake. You are one of us.”

YN blinked. “What…? No. Nope. That’s not. I’m- Look at me! I wear combat boots!”

“I’m Miss Anemaria, Headmistress of Good,” the woman said, smiling.

“Well, Miss Pinkish-Dress, no offense but I’m gonna go find that exit myself.”

Before she could take another step, a fairy zapped her arm with a sting of magic.

“Oww! Hey! I thought y’all were supposed to be the nice ones!”

YN rubbed her arm, fuming.

“Y’all are not good,” she muttered. “Y’all are evil”

The fairies hissed.

YN groaned. “This place is worse than Kayes…”

YN stood in front of the ornate mirror, staring at the stranger staring back.

The dress she wore was too pink an overwhelming pastel hue, layered in silky folds and stitched with white broderie anglaise. The bow in her hair perched proudly, tucked into the high bun they had forced her curls into. Two strands framed her face like vines trying to escape. Her cheeks were dusted with blush, her lips glossed in a sugary rose tint. She looked like something out of Liyan’s storybooks.

She side-eyed her reflection, unimpressed. “You look like a cursed cupcake,” she muttered under her breath.

The door creaked, and she instinctively stiffened.

Into the room glided the principal, tall and graceful, her gown a whisper of ivory and pale gold. She smiled like a gentle sunrise, warm and calm. Everything about her seemed made of glittering kindness.

“My, you look beautiful, my dear,” she said, hands folded delicately. “So much like her.”

YN’s brow creased. “Her?”

The principal stepped closer, her expression softening. “Your mother.”

YN blinked. “You knew her?”

“Knew her? Who didn’t? ” The woman smiled fondly, as if the memory still walked beside her. “She was one of our most beloved. A rare spirit brave, fierce, and dazzling. She could wield a sword like a knight and still bow her head to listen. A warrior princess, through and through.”

YN’s breath caught in her throat. “She went here? To the School for….princesses?”

The principal nodded. “She walked these halls with pride. Not because she fit in but because she chose to shine. Just like you will.”

YN glanced at herself again in the mirror, then back at the principal. “Yeah… but she probably didn’t look like this.”

“She did. It wasn’t pink but she did..” The principal’s voice was quiet but firm. “She wore the bow. She wore the pink and blue. Not because it made her good but because she knew that goodness is not about how you look… it’s about who you become. She wore it like armor, and then she made it hers.”

YN swallowed. She didn’t say anything for a moment, her eyes flickering down to the dress. The bow.

“I don’t feel like her,” she finally whispered.

“You don’t have to,” the principal replied gently. “You are you. And she would be so proud of that.”

YN’s hands fidgeted at her sides. She looked once more into the mirror, this time not with disgust… but something else. Something like doubt mixed with wonder. She didn’t rip the bow off.

She let it stay.

“…Can I at least take off the heels?” she mumbled.

The principal laughed, light as fairy dust. “No promises, my dear. But you’ll get used to them.”

And with a wink, she stepped back toward the door. “Remember: destiny may bring you here, but choice makes you stay.”

YN was left alone once more.

She looked at her reflection still sugar-coated and stranger-like.

But this time, she didn’t flinch.

The School for princess and prince was beautiful.

Too beautiful.

The air smelled like sugar and lavender. Everything was pastel walls in buttery yellows, staircases swirling like whipped cream, roses blooming out of literal teacups. The students walked like swans, laughing with perfect teeth and never a hair out of place. They spoke in elegant tones and curtsied before every meal. Even the unicorns that roamed the garden had better posture than YN.

And YN?

YN looked like a wolf in a cupcake shop.

She sat stiffly in her first class Beautification 101 as a chipper girl named Briona applied a third layer of glitter to her cheeks without asking.

“You’ve got the perfect bone structure for shimmer,” Briona cooed. “Like a rebellious princess in exile. It’s very… retro…”

“I’m not trying to be retro,” YN grumbled, turning away. “I’m trying not to be here.”

“You’re funny,” Briona giggled. “I like you.”

YN didn’t respond. Instead, she glanced out the enchanted window, where a thick dark forest loomed in the distance. At the far end, barely visible through the mist, stood the twisted towers of the School for Villains. Black stone. Gargoyles. Spiked turrets. And somewhere in there.

Liyan.

YN’s stomach twisted. She hadn’t seen her since the dragon dropped them off. No one had. They were forbidden from speaking to the other school. “The Balance must be preserved,” the teachers said. Princesses, princes & warriors. and villains & witches must remain separate.”

But YN didn’t care about the Balance.

She cared about her best friend.

Later that night

The dorm was too quiet, and the bed too soft. Everyone was asleep by candlelight, curled in silk sheets with pink plushies and glowing dream jars.

YN, on the other hand, had one thing on her mind.

Wearing her nightgown and stolen boots from the supply closet, she crept out of her room, slipping past snoring fairies and glittering chandeliers. The halls twisted like candy mazes, but YN had studied the map she stole from the Headmistress's podium. She knew where she was going.

The bridge.

The only connection between the two schools.

It stood like a line drawn between two worlds half glistening in moonlight, the other half swallowed by shadow. Gargoyles guarded the Evil side, their red eyes glowing like dying embers.

YN crept across, her heartbeat wild in her ears.

“Liyan,” she whispered into the wind. “Where are you…”

Suddenly, a rustle. Then voices.

YN ducked behind a pillar. Down below in the Villain courtyard, figures moved. Students in black. One of them had long golden hair tangled and wild, not braided, not perfect. Even from here, YN knew that walk.

Liyan.

She stood surrounded by others girls in spiked dresses, boys with too-sharp teeth. Liyan looked furious, her arms crossed, her lips curled into a disgusted snarl.

“I don’t belong here!” she yelled. “I’m not like you! I’m good!”

The others laughed. Someone threw a worm at her.

YN’s fists clenched.

She was about to call out when

“Who goes there?” barked a voice from behind.

YN spun around.

A fairy floated in the air behind her, wand pointed at YN’s chest, eyes narrow with suspicion.

“Oh. Uh hi!” YN smiled nervously. “I was just… on a walk?”

“A walk? Really?,” the fairy repeated flatly.

“Yep. Night air. Really helpful for digestion.”

The fairy narrowed her eyes. “This area is restricted. Return to your dorm or face consequences.”

YN gave one last glance across the bridge. Liyan was gone.

She exhaled. “Fine.”

As she walked back into the School for Good, the fairy hovering behind her like a security drone, YN couldn’t shake the look on Liyan’s face.

Panic. Anger. Betrayal.

And worst of all fear.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

And if no one else was going to fix it…

YN would.

Even if it meant breaking every single rule in this stupid fairytale school.

The next morning, YN was dragged into the Headmistress’s office by two annoyed fairies, her boots soaked in dew and her dress slightly wrinkled from her nighttime escape attempt.

The principal sat behind her desk, graceful as ever, but this time her smile was tight.

“Miss YN,” she said calmly. “The bridge between Good and Evil is not a garden path for midnight strolls.”

YN shifted in her seat. “I was just looking around. Getting familiar with the layout.”

“The restricted layout?” one fairy muttered.

“I got lost,” YN added flatly. “I have a tragic sense of direction.”

The principal raised an eyebrow. “I understand the transition is difficult. But here at the School for Good, we abide by rules, not instinct.”

“Tell that to my friend across the bridge.”

There was a long silence.

The principal finally sighed and waved her wand. “You are hereby assigned double etiquette duty, three days of unicorn grooming, and a mentorship under Prince Vernon to learn proper decorum and representation. Dismissed.”

YN’s jaw dropped. “Prince Vernon?! That guy with the royal stick up his—”

“Dismissed,” the principal repeated with a firmer voice, but not without a flicker of amusement in her eyes.

Later that day…

The courtyard buzzed like a beehive.

Girls gasped and giggled. Boys straightened their tunics. Rose petals literally fell from the sky.

Prince Vernon had arrived.

He was tall, elegant, and held himself like he’d trained under every sword master in the kingdom. His armor shimmered like moonlight on silver, and his dark hair fell slightly over his forehead in a perfectly accidental way. His eyes, however, were what silenced crowds: steel-gray, focused, and incredibly bored.

He walked straight, saying nothing, until.

“Vernon! Over here!” squealed a voice.

Enter Nayoung.

The most popular girl at the School for Good. She floated over like a perfume cloud in a fitted blue satin dress, her golden curls perfectly arranged in a side braid. Everyone knew her mother Sleeping Beauty or also known as Aurora. And like her, Nayoung had mastered the art of looking sweet and sounding poisonous.

She clutched Vernon’s arm dramatically. “You poor thing, you look exhausted. Mentoring YN? That’s practically volunteer charity work.”

Vernon didn’t react. He merely glanced past her and fixed his eyes on YN.

She stood nearby, arms crossed, watching him with visible annoyance.

“She’s not even wearing the regulation slippers,” Nayoung whispered loudly. “Or, like, blending in. That bun? Those curls? It’s like she fell out of a tree.”

YN raised an eyebrow. “Good to know you’re observing me like a wildlife documentary.”

Nayoung gasped with a hand over her heart. “Oh, darling, that was almost witty. Progress!”

Vernon stepped forward, breaking the tension like a sword through silk. He stopped in front of YN.

“You’re the one who broke curfew.”

YN tilted her head. “You’re the one with the shiny armor. Congratulations.”

The corner of Vernon’s mouth twitched. Maybe irritation. Maybe something else.

“You’ll follow my schedule. Sword training at dawn. History at noon. Etiquette drills before dinner.”

“I already have etiquette class,” YN said.

“Then you’ll take mine too,” he replied coolly.

Nayoung giggled behind him. “Oh my goodness, Vernon! I think she might actually combust.”

“Not before I stab someone with a hairbrush,” YN muttered.

Vernon turned to walk away. “Let’s see if you survive the week.”

As YN followed him toward the training grounds, Nayoung called out sweetly, “Be careful, Vernon! If she trips, it might be over for both of you!”

YN didn’t turn around.

But her hand was already itching for that metaphorical hairbrush.

It was late afternoon when the sky turned gold, and YN finally escaped Vernon’s endless drills. Her arms ached from sword stances, her head pounded with useless history facts about princesses with glass slippers, and she had lost all feeling in her toes from curtsying over a dozen times.

But at least for now, she was alone. Sort of.

Behind the Ever Courtyard, fairies rustled about the hedges, delivering letters and fluffing flower beds. YN sat beneath a swan-shaped fountain, plucking petals from a flower she didn’t recognize, muttering to herself.

“She’s lucky if I ever speak to her again… Liyan and her stupid fairytales… dumb dragons…”

Just then, on the other side of campus, trouble was blooming.

Inside the Perfume Hall, Minah, Nayoung’s closest companion and shadow in every possible way, was returning from the fairy drop-off zone with a pink envelope in her hands. She wasn’t supposed to be snooping, but the fairy who flew in looked… different. Dressed in deep gray, wings like smoke.

Minah opened the envelope with a dainty flick of her nail. Her eyes scanned the letter.

Then they widened.

With a squeal, she bolted down the hallway in her glass slippers, nearly slipping twice.

“You are not ready for this,” Minah gasped, shoving the letter into Nayoung’s lap during tea hour.

Nayoung took a sip of rose blossom tea, tilted her head, and slowly unfolded the parchment.

It was written in rushed script. The paper smelled like dirt and pine.

Dear YN, I know you’re mad at me. I don’t blame you. I broke my promise. But I just wanted a life where I didn’t feel small. I wanted a prince and a purpose and to be someone important. This place… the School for Villains… it’s not what I imagined. It’s darker. Colder. I miss you. I miss laughing by the river. Please don’t forget me. If you get this, send me something back. Even if it’s just a flower or a single word. Love, Liyan

There was a pause.

Then Nayoung broke into a slow, wicked smile. “Oh my. Our little outsider has a pen pal.”

Minah giggled. “I bet she was hoping for a prince and got rats and curses instead.”

“Poor girl,” Nayoung said in a syrupy voice, folding the letter carefully. “Still wearing black inside, even if she’s dressed in pink.”

“She’s clearly breaking school rules.”

“And I’m clearly doing her a favor,” Nayoung replied with a smirk.

That evening…

YN was heading back to her dorm, hair loose from frustration, cheeks flushed. As she passed the Perfume Hall, Nayoung’s voice floated toward her like a poisoned lullaby.

“YN!”

YN turned, already sighing.

Nayoung stood beside a rose arch, lips glossed and eyes lit with faux sweetness. “I have a surprise for you!”

“I hate surprises.”

“Oh, you’ll love this one,” she said, pulling out the folded letter.

YN’s heart stopped.

Nayoung handed it to her like a gift. “From your best friend.. I know how hard it is to adjust when you don’t belong anywhere.”

YN snatched the paper, eyes devouring the words.

Liyan’s handwriting. Her words. Her regrets.

Something in her chest cracked open.

“She’s breaking rules by sending that,” Nayoung added. “But don’t worry. I didn’t tell anyone. Yet.”

YN’s fists clenched around the letter.

“You think I care what rules she broke?”

“I think you care too much,” Nayoung said, walking away. “Which is exactly why you’ll never survive in a school for princesses and princes.”

As she disappeared around the corner, Minah followed, laughing behind her hand.

YN didn’t chase. She simply stood there, the letter trembling in her hand, unsure if the ache in her chest was anger… or loneliness.

The candle flickered as YN hunched over her desk, back straight like a guilty shadow. The dorm was silent—her roommate long gone to a tiara etiquette seminar, and the Ever deans asleep in their towers.

Her fingers trembled as she scribbled the reply:

Liyan, I hate you a little right now. But I miss you more. You lied, you left, and you still think stories save people. They don’t. I’m proof. This place doesn’t want me. They smile with knives here. But… I’m still here. Because someone has to remember who we are. Don’t write again. Or do. I don’t know. I just wish you were sorry face to face. – YN

She folded the note with a shaky breath and reached for a petal a tiny white one she had saved from the enchanted willow tree near the training grounds. The fairies used them as messengers, and she’d figured out how to charm one barely.

She whispered the enchantment, the words clumsy on her tongue.

But before the petal could lift

“What are you doing?”

YN froze. Her head snapped up.

Vernon stood at the door, arms crossed, golden crest glowing faintly on his uniform. His brow furrowed, expression unreadable.

She jumped to her feet. “I—it’s not what you think.”

He raised a brow. “You’re sending a note. Across the bridge. That’s exactly what I think.”

YN’s face flushed. “Look, if you’re gonna report me, do it fast. I’ve had enough lectures today. Might as well get expelled with fireworks.”

He didn’t move. The silence stretched.

Then, he stepped forward and held out his hand.

She tensed. “You want to read it?”

“No,” he said flatly. “I want to make sure you don’t botch the spell.”

Her breath caught. “Wait, what?”

He crouched beside the table, examining the flower. “Your rune charm was off by two syllables. You would’ve cursed the petals into exploding.”

“…That explains the last one.”

Vernon didn’t laugh. He rarely did. But his gaze softened just slightly.

“You’re not the only one who’s broken rules for someone.”

She blinked. “You?”

He said nothing for a moment. Then: “My brother…Joshua, he’s in the School for villains. He didn’t belong there. But the headmasters never make mistakes, right?”

YN’s lips parted in surprise. “You have a brother?”

“He wasn’t golden enough,” Vernon said quietly. “Too much shadow in him. But he was good. The kind of good this place doesn’t like. So I sent him a letter once. I got whipped for it.”

YN stared. “So why are you helping me now?”

He looked at her, calm and sharp like a sword she couldn’t dodge. “Because you looked like him. Not in your face. In your fire.”

He reached over, adjusted the petal gently, and recited the charm with precision. The letter glowed softly, rising into the air.

“Send it now. Before I change my mind.”

YN blinked, eyes stinging. “You’re not going to tell?”

Vernon stood. “I believe in consequences. But I also believe in mercy.”

He paused at the door. “You’re not like the others, YN. You keep trying to run from this place, but maybe it’s the only place strong enough to hold what you are.”

Then he was gone, the door shutting quietly behind him.

And YN, still gripping the faint warmth of her letter’s light, watched it disappear into the night sky confused, touched, and more afraid of hope than she had ever been of darkness.

The week after the letter incident, YN tried to stay low.

She attended her mirror manners classes. She learned to curtsy until her knees ached. She practiced kindness with tea and small talk though most of her conversations ended in silence or sarcasm. The girls in her dorm still avoided her like she carried a curse in her curls.

And Nayoung? She was watching. Closely. Too closely.

“Careful with your words, dear,” she said with her syrupy voice as YN offered a handkerchief to a first-year girl crying in the corridor. “You’re not trying to prove anything, are you?”

YN smiled tightly. “I was just helping.”

“Oh, I know. You’re so good at pretending.”

YN clenched her teeth and walked away.

But the tension followed her like perfume in the halls.

That Friday, the test came.

A surprise announcement in the Rose Courtyard. Dean Emmelia stood on a floating shell throne, flanked by flittering fairies and enchanted flower stems that bowed to her every word.

“My darlings,” she chimed. “Today, we’ll see who among you can be brave even when no one is watching. Even when it costs you something.”

The challenge was called The Mirror Trial.

Each Ever student was paired with someone they didn't like… or didn’t know. And inside a mirrored maze in the enchanted gardens, they’d face trials of character. But here’s the twist:

Only one could win. And both could lose.

YN felt her heart drop when the pairings were announced.

“Nayoung, daughter of Sleeping Beauty… and YN.”

A chorus of gasps. A few suppressed giggles. Nayoung’s perfectly glossed lips curled.

“Oh delightful,” she said. “Let’s hope your curls don’t trip you.”

YN said nothing.

Inside the maze, the world changed. The mirrors whispered. They twisted reality. In the first room, a thorn bush grew across the path. It gleamed with poison-tipped needles.

Nayoung gasped. “It’s real. I can’t ruin my dress.”

YN, without thinking, tore her sleeve, wrapped her hand, and began breaking the vines.

“Are you serious?” Nayoung barked. “You’re going to bleed for this?”

YN gave her a look. “I’d rather bleed than wait for a prince to carry me.”

By the third chamber, they were both limping. YN had helped Nayoung dodge a collapsing bridge. Nayoung had refused to say thank you.

Then came the final test.

A broken fountain with two goblets. One held water. The other held a sleeping poison.

Only one could drink the water. The other would pass out and whoever fell would lose the challenge.

“Drink,” the mirror whispered. “Choose. Only one passes.”

Nayoung looked at her, eyes calculating.

“You want to be here so bad? Drink the poison,” she said. “That would be good of you.”

YN stood silent.

“I could drink it instead,” Nayoung offered innocently. “But we both know I’m more likely to get expelled if I fail. You? You don’t belong here anyway. Might as well prove your point.”

YN’s throat burned. This school hated her. The students feared her. The fairies still flinched at her curls. She had every reason to drink the water and walk away the winner.

But…

If she failed, no one would care.

If Nayoung failed, she would be humiliated. Maybe even sent home. Her mother was a famous Ever. The scandal would be royal.

And though YN didn’t like her, she couldn’t bring herself to destroy her.

“Fine,” YN muttered. “You win.”

She grabbed the goblet of poison and drank.

Her knees hit the floor seconds later.

She woke up in the infirmary hours later. Vernon was sitting beside her, arms crossed, face unreadable.

“You lost,” he said plainly.

YN sat up groggily. “Great. Can’t wait for Nayoung’s victory parade.”

“She passed the trial. You didn’t.”

YN blinked. “…So I’m getting expelled?”

Vernon stood slowly, then placed something on her bed. A small golden brooch. Shaped like a shield.

“Only one passed. But only one was worthy.”

YN stared. “What?”

“You failed the game,” Vernon said. “But you passed the test. This wasn’t about victory. It was about choice.”

He paused at the door. “You made the right one.”

She looked down at the shield. It shimmered faintly, humming with magic. Not pink. Not pastel. Just gold. Strong.

Something stirred in her chest a flicker of worth she didn’t understand yet.

At the School for Villains and Witches, rage burned hotter than any fire spell.

Liyan paced her dorm floor, the note she had written to YN crumpled in her fist untouched, unread.

She had slipped it across the Bridge of Fate days ago. Wrapped in a petal-sigil spell, enchanted to reach the School for Good. But no letter came back. No whisper. No answer.

Her eyes glistened. Her jaw clenched.

“Did she forget me already?”

Her voice echoed through the room, but no one answered.

That’s when Liyan stopped asking questions. And started making vows.

News spread fast: the Royal & Dark Assembly was happening a once-a-year event where both schools would attend a shared ball announcement, seated in the Hall of Mirrors. Every prince, princess, warrior, villain, and witch would be there.

But the real stage wasn’t the pathway down the hall.

It was the unspoken game of power, presence, and intimidation.

They were told to wear their finest. To prepare a small display of their gift.

A walk. A statement. A warning.

The Hall of Mirrors was divided in half.

One side shimmered in gold, glass, and glimmer. Pink, green, white every pastel shade known to fairyland bloomed in the seats of the School for Good.

The other side flickered with shadow and smoke. Black, violet, silver chaos made elegant. Students of the School for Villains slouched, smirked, or sparkled with veiled menace.

And down the middle: the glowing white runway. A place to prove your worth.

Liyan spotted her immediately.

YN sat across from her in a poofy pink dress, hair pinned with silver clips, lips painted rose. But it wasn’t the makeup that made Liyan’s heart twist it was the way she laughed. So easily.

And beside her? Vernon.

Smirking at her sarcasm. Leaning in close to say something only she could hear. His arm brushed hers once, and she didn’t move away.

Liyan’s fists curled. Her smile? Feral.

“You don’t get the fairytale, YN. That was always meant to be mine.”

Nayoung was seething too. She sat at Vernon’s other side, posture perfect, jaw tight.

*“She took my seat. She took my moment. I’ll make sure she regrets ever breathing near me.”

Then the announcement came.

“Royal Students and Villainous Kin,” the deans declared. “It is time to begin the Walk of Power.”

First: Nayoung.

She floated down the runway with poise. Birds flew behind her in synchronized patterns. A deer bowed at her feet. Flowers bloomed in her wake.

She curtsied dramatically. The hall clapped.

Vernon looked… unimpressed.

then other students showing what they can do.

Then came Liyan.

She vanished into air.

Then reappeared in a twist of flame.

The students gasped.

She spun like a whisper, her fingers leaving trails of heat. Her smile sharp, her eyes blazing.

Someone whispered, “She’s dangerous.”

She bowed without breaking eye contact with YN.

“Remember me now?” her gaze said.

Then came Vernon.

He levitated six feet off the ground, cloaked in wind and starlight. His eyes glowed faintly violet. A sphere of telepathic energy spiraled around him words, thoughts, fire, and ice.

When he landed, the room went silent.

He didn’t bow. He didn’t need to.

And then… YN.

She walked up the runway with quiet footsteps.

Every eye turned to her. Every breath held in.

Her dress shimmered pale pink under the chandeliers. But inside, she was trembling. Because she had nothing.

No fire. No invisibility. No levitation.

Just her.

She turned to the crowd, deadpan. Her voice carried.

“Guys… I have nothing. I don’t know what you expected, for real.”

A beat of stunned silence. Then Nayoung’s laugh cracked the air. Loud. Ugly. Whispers erupted across both sides of the hall.

“Is this a joke?” “She’s powerless?” “She doesn’t belong here.”

Even villains snorted.

Fairies covered their mouths.

Even a few professors whispered to each other in disbelief.

But Vernon didn’t laugh.

He leaned forward in his chair. Eyes narrowing.

YN took a deep breath, turned, and walked back down the runway with her head held high. She didn’t cry. Not here. Not in front of them.

But she was burning inside. And not with shame.

With anger. With hurt. With the feeling that she wasn’t enough for either side.

Liyan smirked. Nayoung smiled coldly.

Let the war begin.

That night, the air in the School for Good smelled too sweet.

Like wilting roses and melted sugar.

YN walked back from the Hall of Mirrors, heels in her hand, the hem of her dress dragging across the marble. She hadn’t spoken to Vernon. She hadn’t even looked at Liyan again. Not after that.

Her head pounded. Her cheeks still stung from forced blush. The pink in her dress made her feel like a joke. A lie stitched in satin.

They all laughed.

And she had nothing.

Nothing but

Crunch.

She froze. Whirled around.

Nothing.

The hallway was empty. Only torches lined the walls, flickering.

She shook it off. Maybe a student… or maybe her imagination.

But as she turned the corner into the courtyard near her dorm, something shifted in the air. Colder. Thicker.

Like breath on her neck.

She turned again fast.

Still… no one.

But something was off.

The garden path had twisted. Trees bent in the wrong direction. The ivy on the walls pulsed faintly.

And the moon?

Gone. Covered in a thick, unnatural cloud.

She picked up her pace.

Not running. But not slow. Almost to the dorm steps.

WHISPERS.

Behind her.

But not in words.

Just… sound.

Crawling down her spine. In her ears. In her bones.

Then

“You don’t belong here.”

A voice. A man’s voice. Low. Cold.

She whipped around. Nothing.

“But you were chosen anyway.”

Then a shadow peeled off the stone arch.

Tall. Broad. Its eyes not glowing but swirling. Like fog inside glass.

YN stumbled back, her spine hitting the dorm wall.

Her hands trembled. “Who are you?”

The shadow cocked its head.

“You ask the wrong question, girl in pink. You should ask what you are.”

Its voice was made of wind and dirt. Ancient and cracked.

She tried to scream, but the air felt glued to her lungs.

“I saw you,” it said, moving closer. “At the Hall. Powerless, yes… but something else. Something even you don’t know yet.”

She clenched her fists. “Back off”

It stopped.

“You have no magic,” it rasped. “And yet I smell a power older than any spell.”

It leaned in. A hand made of mist touched her cheek.

“Your mother… did she tell you everything?”

YN’s breath caught.

“My—what do you know about my mom?”

“Not yet,” it whispered. “But you will. When the first glass cracks and the Ever Ball begins… you’ll be hunted.”

YN’s eyes widened.

The shadow began to dissolve, like ink sinking into the floor. As it vanished, it left behind one thing:

A black rose, at her feet.

Still warm. Still beating.

She didn’t sleep that night.

And in the morning?

The rose had turned to ash.

By sunrise, YN’s eyes were ringed with shadows darker than her dress had ever been.

The ash from the black rose was gone.

Swept away like it had never existed.

But the feeling that cold voice, that gaze like a storm with no sky lingered like a bruise on her mind. She didn’t tell anyone. Not Vernon, not the Headmistress, and definitely not any of the pastel girls who side-eyed her whenever she passed.

Even when the fairies tied her hair into a high braid and stuffed her back into another laced-up dress lavender this time she said nothing.

Not when Nayoung whispered, “Still no magic? Poor thing. Maybe you were meant for the stable.”

Not even when she passed Vernon in sword class and he looked at her for a moment longer than usual.

She kept her head down.

Until that afternoon.

Until she opened her dorm locker.

And found a book that hadn’t been there before.

It was wrapped in deep red velvet, stitched with gold thread that shimmered faintly—like veins. Tucked inside was a note in no one’s handwriting she recognized.

For the one who was never meant to choose Because the story chose her first.

The cover of the book wasn’t titled in ink or paint. The title had burned itself into the leather:

THE CHILD OF BOTH

YN swallowed hard.

Her fingers hovered over the worn edges.

She looked around.

No fairies. No roommates. No fluttering skirts or suspicious glances.

Just her.

And the book.

She sat on her bed. Flipped it open.

And instantly her name was the first thing written on the first page.

Not just once.

Dozens of times. Etched into a family tree of names written in strange languages. In fading, ancient alphabets. Between a crest that looked suspiciously like the seal of the School for Evil… and another that shimmered faintly like the School for Good.

One root. Two schools. Her name.

But what truly made her blood go cold was the illustration on the second page.

It was a girl.

Curly brown hair. Wild eyes. In a black dress…

Standing on the line between Good and Evil.

Hands stretched out one holding light. One holding fire.

And beneath it:

She will break the laws of balance. Not because she wants to. But because she must. She is the Child of Both.

A knock on the door made her snap the book shut.

She shoved it back into the velvet wrap and slid it beneath her bed just as one of the fairies peeked inside.

“Headmistress wants to talk to you”

The walk to the Headmistress’s office felt longer than usual.

Every gold-trimmed portrait on the walls seemed to tilt slightly as YN passed eyes following her, judgment hiding behind every gentle smile.

She swallowed, clutching the hem of her lavender dress, her knuckles pale.

What if they found the book? What if they knew?

The office was on the highest level of the crystal tower, wrapped in ivy that shimmered in daylight but whispered at night. The door opened before she could knock, as if the building itself had been waiting.

“Come in, my dear,” said the Headmistress, seated behind her desk of glass and gold.

YN stepped inside.

“I didn’t do anything,” she said quickly, hands up. “If this is about sword class, Vernon was literally”

The Headmistress raised a soft hand, silencing her with a small smile.

“No trouble,” she said. “Not yet.”

YN blinked. “Then why am I—”

“Do you know what today is?” the Headmistress interrupted.

YN frowned. “Uh… Wednesday?”

The Headmistress laughed softly, the kind of laugh you couldn’t tell was genuine.

“Today is the eclipse of balance. A rare alignment that happens only when the magic of Good and Evil reaches equal strength.”

YN tilted her head. “And… what does that have to do with me?”

The Headmistress stood, walked toward a bookshelf. She pulled out a thin, dusty volume and placed it on the table.

It opened by itself.

To a picture.

Of the same girl from YN’s secret book.

Only… this time, she was older. Wiser. With flames in one hand and light in the other, crownless and barefoot.

“She was called the Child of Both,” the Headmistress whispered. “A soul born not of one side, but forged in the space between. Neither all-good, nor all-evil. She lived… once. Or perhaps, she will.”

YN stared, heart thundering. “You think that’s me?”

“I think you feel like you don’t belong because the world was never meant to hold someone like you,” said the Headmistress. “And because your story hasn’t been written yet. Not fully.”

YN’s voice cracked. “But I don’t have magic.”

“Don’t you?” the Headmistress asked, softly.

Then, she walked over and placed a hand on YN’s chest.

“Magic doesn’t always bloom in plain sight. Sometimes it’s a question of… when.”

There was a pause.

YN looked away. “If I’m not like the others… why keep dressing me like one of them?”

The Headmistress smiled gently. “Because even if you weren’t meant to be here you’re here now. You don’t need to be like them. You only need to be… yourself.”

She walked to the window, gazing out over the pink and gold fields of the school.

“Tell me, YN… when you first arrived, did you feel fear?”

YN nodded.

“And when that dragon took Liyan… did you feel anger?”

“…Yeah.”

“And when Nayoung laughs at you, when you’re alone, when everyone expects you to be something you’re not… do you still choose to be kind?”

YN didn’t answer.

Because that answer was obvious.

The Headmistress turned to her again.

“Then whether you believe it or not, my dear, that is your power.”

Later That Night

YN returned to her dorm with her mind storming.

The book still hidden beneath her bed. The whispers in her ears returning.

She barely slept.

When she did, the shadows returned.

Only this time… they spoke.

You don’t belong here. She doesn’t want you anymore. Your story ends in fire. You are not a princess. You are not a witch. You are alone.

She woke up in sweat.

And under her bed, the book had reopened by itself.

A new sentence burned into its page:

The balance will break. And you will choose.

In the Great Garden Hall, draped with enchanted ivy and floating candles, the air shimmered with perfume and panic. Students from both schools stood in formation, split cleanly down the middle.

Princesses in tulle and tiaras. Witches in black silks and scowls. Warriors with blades sheathed in gold. Sorcerers with rings that pulsed with power.

It was the first time in decades that both schools gathered together outside of training or combat.

But tonight was different.

Tonight was about connection.

The Headmistress of the School for Good stood on the marble dais, beside the Dean of Villain a tall, veiled woman with violet eyes and a voice like wind through dead leaves.

Together, they raised their hands. Silence fell.

“The Eclipse Ball,” the Headmistress began, “will take place in two days' time, on the longest night of the season. A celebration of harmony between our schools, and a test of balance between our souls.”

“Each student,” the Dean of Evil continued, “will be assigned a partner from the opposing school. Chosen not by bias… but by the Starlight Scroll.”

Gasps.

The Starlight Scroll was old. Ancient. A self-writing parchment enchanted by the founders of both schools. It glowed only under moonlight, and when asked a name… it revealed destiny.

Fairytales had begun from less.

A golden scroll unraveled mid-air with a trail of glittering ink. Names began to etch themselves slowly.

Vernon of the School for Good – paired with: ???

A pause. Ink swirled. And then

Vernon of the School for Good – paired with: YN.

Stunned silence.

Nayoung’s face froze mid-smile. She looked ready to crack her mirror.

Liyan across the aisle in her sharp red-and-black uniform looked like she'd swallowed glass. Her eyes narrowed, fingers tightening around her sleeves.

YN’s face dropped.

“No no no…” she whispered. “There must be another YN. Maybe Yan. Yen. Yana?”

But everyone was already turning. Staring. Whispering.

The scroll continued, naming others:

Nayoung – paired with: Salem of the School for Villains. Liyan – paired with: Elias of the School for princesses and princes.

Liyan scoffed, lips curling. Elias, a princely boy with freckles and kindness in his eyes, waved at her awkwardly. She didn’t wave back.

Meanwhile, YN was frozen. Still processing.

Beside her, Vernon gave a stiff bow.

“Looks like we’re partners,” he said.

YN blinked at him. “You’re not… mad?”

“I don’t waste energy on what I can’t control,” he replied coolly. “But don’t embarrass yourself. Or me.”

YN rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Prince Sunshine.”

“…You're welcome, Disaster Princess.”

A beat passed.

And Vernon though stoic smirked, just a little.

Later That Evening

Back in the School for Good dormitory, Nayoung stormed into her private suite, her minions behind her.

“She gets Vernon?! VERNON?! That peasant mistake of a girl?? Her hair’s not even straight! Her eyeliner’s always crooked! She reads weird books!”

Her best friend, Minhee, tried to calm her. “Maybe the scroll made a mistake?”

Nayoung hissed, “The scroll doesn’t make mistakes. But I will.”

She held up the note from Liyan the one she’d intercepted weeks ago. The one YN never received.

“If YN wants to play princess,” she purred, “let’s remind her of the curse she was always meant to carry.”

“Try to smile, dear, or at least pretend you’re not plotting your own escape.”

YN glared at the fairy seamstress poking her with another enchanted pin. “I’m smiling on the inside.”

The ball prep room of the School for Good was a glitter-coated battlefield. Gowns that changed color by mood hung from silver racks. Magical corsets tightened with a single sigh. Fairies flew in synchronized flocks, tying ribbons and curling strands of hair. Laughter echoed from girls who had waited for this night their whole lives.

YN stood stiffly on the center platform, drowning in layers of tulle, pink organza, and floral embroidery. A massive bow had been planted on the back of her waist. Her hair was in a loose, voluminous bun gold dust sprinkled through the strands and a pair of sparkling slippers had latched onto her feet like eager vines.

She looked like a frosted cupcake.

“I look like I got sneezed on by a unicorn,” she muttered.

“Unicorns don’t sneeze, darling,” a fairy corrected, tightening the bodice with alarming force. “They sparkle with intent.”

YN nearly fell over.

Meanwhile… across the bridge…

Nayoung lounged in her velvet chair, combing through Liyan’s plan for the night of the ball.

“She’s still weak,” Liyan muttered. “She doesn’t even know her powers yet.”

“Which is precisely why we strike at the dance,” Nayoung added. “In front of everyone. One mistake, and she’s expelled. Or worse…shamed.”

Liyan stared at the flickering candle between them.

“She’s forgotten me,” she whispered, voice lined with bitterness. “She replaced me… with him.”

“She doesn’t deserve the fairytale,” Nayoung replied. “We do.”

And then she smiled—poised, vicious, and perfect.

“Let’s make sure the clock strikes midnight… just for her.”

that night.

YN thought she could sneak into the Moonlit Garden Room without anyone noticing. She was wrong.

The moment she stepped in barefoot, dressless, wearing only her training uniform and wild curls Vernon was already there, waiting in silence. The marble glistened beneath his boots. Floating candles danced above his head.

“Oh. You,” YN muttered.

“You’re late,” he said without turning. “And unprepared.”

“I’m never late. Time’s just inconvenient.”

Vernon exhaled through his nose. “We have two nights until the ball. You have to learn to waltz.”

“Waltz?” YN blinked. “Is that the one where you spin and pray you don’t vomit?”

He stepped forward and offered his hand. “You spin, yes. And try not to step on my boots.”

She hesitated… then placed her hand in his.

The music began, summoned by a charm hidden in the stones. A soft, wistful melody. They moved awkwardly at first YN kept tripping, muttering apologies, and Vernon kept catching her before she hit the floor.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” he said quietly.

YN looked up at him. “…Says the perfect prince.”

“Perfection’s a performance,” Vernon said, almost too quickly. “I’ve mastered the role. Doesn’t mean I believe in it.”

That stopped her. For once, she didn’t have a snarky comeback.

They kept dancing.

And somewhere between the second spin and the twelfth step, something shifted.

The music slowed.

Vernon’s grip softened.

YN’s heartbeat did not.

But beyond the garden walls…

A tiny enchanted mirror flickered inside a crow’s feather, floating in midair.

Watching. Recording.

And in the darkness beyond, Liyan’s eyes shimmered with anger.

“She’s smiling,” she whispered. “With him.”

“She’ll regret it,” Nayoung said behind her. “Let’s make sure her dance ends with a fall.

The ballroom fell into stunned silence.

No more waltz. No more whispers. Just the hum of YN’s power something ancient, something forbidden vibrating in the air like a storm that hadn't quite passed.

She stood frozen in the center, the black-and-silver glow still swirling faintly around her fingers. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. Her heart was thudding so loudly she swore the whole room could hear it.

Then came the voices.

“She cursed the floor!”

“She’s a witch!”

“No, a spy from the School for Villains!”

“Her power’s unnatural!”

“She’s dangerous.”

The Headmistress of Good finally stepped forward, her voice calm but razor-sharp.

“Everyone. Return to your dormitories. Immediately.”

The magic that surged behind her tone made the entire ballroom shudder.

Later That Night – The Headmistress’s Tower

YN sat in the center of a gold-trimmed office. Her gown had been changed for a plain white shift. Her makeup scrubbed away. Her hair hung loose and heavy around her face, still slightly damp from cold water.

She felt stripped. Wrong. Like something evil had been cracked open inside her.

“I didn’t… mean to do anything,” she whispered.

The Headmistress observed her from behind a desk. A flickering truth-or-lie orb hovered nearby, glowing yellow neither truth nor falsehood. Just uncertainty.

“We reviewed the ballroom,” the Headmistress finally said. “There was no curse placed on the floor. It was you. Your magic reacted instinctively.”

“But I’ve never had magic.”

“Every student has magic,” the Headmistress said softly. “But yours… it’s ancient. Wild. Not born of either school. You’ve been wearing our gowns and walking our halls, but perhaps you’ve been something else all along.”

YN’s throat clenched. “So… what now?”

“We’ll be watching. Carefully. One more slip, and we’ll have no choice but to transfer you to the School for Evil if they’ll even take you.”

A chill swept through her spine.

Outside the Tower

Vernon leaned against the wall, arms crossed, jaw tight. He didn’t pace. He didn’t fidget. He just waited.

When the door opened and YN emerged, she looked smaller somehow shoulders curled inward, face pale.

He straightened. “They’re letting you stay?”

“For now,” she muttered.

“Good.”

She looked up at him. “You don’t think I’m a monster?”

His eyes locked onto hers. “No. But they’re going to try to make you believe you are.”

A silence.

Then his voice dropped lower, dangerous: “What they did to you someone set that up.”

Her breath caught. “Who do you think it was?”

He turned his head slightly. Across the quad, Liyan and Nayoung watched from the shadow of a tree, Nayoung’s arms crossed smugly, Liyan pretending to look regretful but Vernon saw through it.

His stare was cold steel. Disappointed. Disgusted.

YN followed his gaze.

“Don’t look at them,” Vernon said. “They don’t deserve it.”

That Night.

She didn’t sleep.

She sat curled on her windowsill, the charm bracelet still glowing faintly on her wrist. The book The Child of Both lay open beside her, flipped to a page that now pulsed with ink like living script:

You are not meant to belong in their world. You were born to change it.

Her reflection stared back from the window not the polished princess with pink cheeks.

But someone in between. Someone unknown.

And behind her, barely visible in the moonlight… a new shadow moved.

Watching. Waiting.

YN sat in her room, the glow of The Child of Both book casting strange shadows against the walls. Her thoughts churned, heavy and confused, when a faint knock came at her door.

Her heart skipped.

“YN? Are you awake?” a soft voice whispered.

She looked up to see a girl she barely knew Seren from the School of Princesses and Truth. Seren’s silver hair shimmered like moonlight, her eyes calm but piercing.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want,” Seren said, stepping inside quietly. “But I think you need to hear this.”

YN folded her arms, wary. “Who are you? Why now?”

Seren took a slow breath. “I’m one of the few who knows the truth behind the schools.”

YN’s eyes narrowed. “I’m already drowning in lies.”

Seren’s lips curved in a small, knowing smile. “It’s worse than that. You’re not the Child of Both. You’re a pawn.”

YN’s breath caught. “What do you mean?”

Seren lowered her voice. “The schools are locked in a war not just of good and evil, but of power and control. Liyan and Nayoung… they aren’t who they pretend to be. They’re using you to tip the scales.”

YN shook her head. “I don’t belong anywhere. I’m just… me.”

Seren stepped closer. “You belong more than you know. But if you don’t start fighting back, they’ll break you before you even realize what’s happening.”

YN looked down, the weight of Seren’s words sinking deep. “How do I fight when I don’t even know who I am?”

Seren smiled gently. “That’s what I’m here to help you discover.”

From beneath her cloak, Seren produced a small, intricately carved pendant glowing softly with a pale blue light.

“This belonged to the last true Child of Both. It’s a key. A guide. And it’s waiting for you.”

YN reached out, fingers trembling.

“For now,” Seren said softly, “just remember: not all fairy tales have happy endings. But some have the power to rewrite the story.”

The night deepened as Seren sat beside YN, the glowing pendant resting between them like a fragile promise.

“YN,” Seren whispered, “the pendant will help you see what’s hidden—not just around you, but within you. Close your eyes and let it guide you.”

Hesitant but desperate, YN shut her eyes. A warmth spread from her chest outward, like a gentle flame stirring to life. Shapes and colors danced behind her eyelids—shadows of memories, flashes of emotions she never understood.

Then a voice echoed softly inside her mind, clear yet unfamiliar: You are more than the labels they give you. You are the bridge between light and shadow.

Suddenly, YN gasped and opened her eyes. The room was the same, yet she felt… different. Stronger. Lighter. The tangled knot of doubt inside her loosened just a little.

Seren smiled. “Your power is balance. You hold the rare gift to blend both sides of the school the light and the dark. But you must learn to trust yourself first.”

YN’s fingers curled around the pendant. “How do I control it?”

“That’s why I’m here. We’ll train in secret. You’ll learn to harness your energy without fear. Because once you do, no one will be able to use you again.”

Meanwhile, in the shadowed halls of the School of Good, Vernon paced with clenched fists.

He had intercepted a whispered conversation between Nayoung and one of her closest allies plans layered with deceit and venom, aimed directly at YN.

His eyes burned with silent fury.

“She’s not the villain here,” Vernon muttered to himself. “But if I don’t act, she’ll be crushed under their schemes.”

Determined, Vernon sought out a trusted mentor an old professor known for uncovering hidden truths.

“Someone’s manipulating the balance between the schools,” Vernon explained, voice low. “YN’s in danger. I need to protect her… but I need proof.”

The mentor nodded gravely. “Then you must watch closely, listen carefully. The greatest betrayals come dressed as friendship and kindness.”

Vernon’s jaw tightened. “Then I’ll make sure the truth wins.”

The candlelight flickered softly as YN, Seren, and Vernon huddled over ancient tomes in the hidden alcove beneath the library. Dusty pages whispered forgotten truths as they pieced together legends, prophecies, and fragments of YN’s story.

“See here,” Seren pointed, her finger tracing a delicate illustration of two intertwined symbols one bright and one dark. “This is the emblem of the Child of Both the one who’s supposed to bring balance between the schools.”

Vernon frowned. “But YN, your story… it’s different. We found mentions of a queen from Themadora, with golden-brown curls just like yours. It says she was a powerful ruler—strong, wise, and… not just a warrior or princess, but a queen.”

YN bit her lip, eyes flickering with disbelief. “But the principal… she said my mother was a warrior princess. She never mentioned a queen.”

Seren shook her head gently. “Sometimes, what they tell you is only part of the truth, sometimes to control you. Your real story…it’s hidden for a reason.”

The hall buzzed with tension as students gathered, whispers swirling like autumn leaves. Today was the Day of Destiny—the moment when YN was supposed to fulfill the prophecy and break the balance between the two schools.

All eyes were on her.

YN stood in front of the grand mirror in the school’s hall, her heart pounding. She gripped the edges of the frame, willing herself to find strength.

Then, the mirror shimmered and the principal’s voice echoed in her memory: “Your mother was a warrior and a princess, YN.”

But the reflection shifted.

A regal figure emerged clad in shimmering gold, with golden-brown curls flowing like a river of sunlight. It was not a warrior or princess. It was Queen Raya of Themadora, radiant and commanding, standing beside King Thelonius. Both carried the same golden-brown curls that YN inherited, their eyes full of fierce love and strength.

Gasps filled the room.

The students, the faculty none had expected this.

YN’s voice trembled as she whispered, “That’s my mother?”

Seren nodded. “Your true bloodline is royal, YN. The queen you never knew. The legacy you carry isn’t just about fighting or surviving it’s about leading.”

Vernon’s eyes softened with admiration, standing steadfast by her side.

The crowd’s murmur turned into stunned silence.

YN wasn’t the Child of Both after all. She hadn’t broken the balance.

She was something else.

And in that moment, YN finally realized the truth she had been running from not her darkness, not the rumors, but the untold power hidden within her royal blood.

Seren led YN and Vernon through a tunnel beneath the library, torches flickering against stone walls etched with symbols older than the schools themselves. At the end of the corridor was a concealed chamber—forgotten, sealed by spells even the faculty didn’t remember.

“This was once used by the royal warriors of Themadora,” Seren whispered. “Your people. Your ancestors. I had a feeling it would respond to you.”

As YN stepped inside, the room stirred.

The air grew warm, golden dust rising around her like fireflies. Glyphs across the walls pulsed in response to her heartbeat.

Vernon looked at her with quiet awe. “It’s like it’s alive.”

YN swallowed. “Or like it remembers me.”

Their training began in secret. At midnight. In silence. Under moonlight.

Vernon trained her physically swordsmanship, precision, grounding. “Not every battle is won with magic,” he’d say, gently correcting her grip. “And not every victory is loud.”

Seren trained her spiritually guiding her to listen to her instincts, to her bloodline, to the stories that had been buried deep inside her.

And then… the powers came.

It started small. A flicker of golden light around her hands when she protected Vernon from a collapsing pillar. A breeze that shifted in her favor when she was out of breath. A pulse in the air when someone lied in her presence.

“She’s not just magical,” Seren murmured one night, watching YN float an entire bookshelf back into place. “She’s aligned with something ancient. A power that doesn’t choose sides. Not light. Not dark. But truth.”

YN trembled. “Why would I have something like that?”

Vernon, ever composed, answered before Seren could. “Because the world has been lying to itself for too long. And you were born to reveal the truth.”

One night, as she trained with a sparring sword, YN lost control.

A surge of emotion her fear of being used, her confusion, her loneliness rushed up from her core. Her eyes burned gold. The wind howled. The stone floor beneath her cracked.

Fire, light, and shadow danced from her palms.

Vernon dropped his weapon. “YN”

She was gasping. Trembling. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want to…”

Seren knelt beside her, holding her shoulders. “You’re awakening. It’s messy. But you’re not dangerous not unless they make you believe you are.”

And Vernon, who rarely offered softness, said quietly, “You’re not alone anymore.”

One day, Seren didn’t show up.

Instead, a note appeared on YN’s pillow, written in quick, urgent ink:

“They're watching you. The balance is shifting again. Be ready. — S.”

And then came a second note this one slipped under her door in an envelope sealed with black wax.

It bore no name.

“The crown isn’t the only thing you’ve inherited. You are more than royalty. You are a weapon. Soon… you’ll have to choose what to become.”

The sun was dipping low, casting long shadows that stretched like claws over the edge of the Villain School grounds. Beyond the towering black iron gates lay the Veilwood a dense, twisted forest rumored to be ancient beyond memory, home to secrets and dangers no student dared explore.

But YN had no choice.

Seren’s warning echoed in her mind: “They’re watching you. The balance is shifting again.” And the cryptic note: “You are more than royalty. You are a weapon.” She had to find the truth buried in Veilwood before Nayoung, Liyan, or worse, the dark forces lurking inside, struck first.

Vernon was waiting for her at the edge of the forest, his face set with grim determination. “No one else can come. This has to be between us.”

YN nodded, heart pounding. “I’m ready.”

Together, they crossed the threshold.

Into the Dark

The forest swallowed them in darkness, the canopy thick and suffocating. Every step was cautious, every sound amplified—twigs snapping, whispers like silk on skin, eyes that glinted from the shadows.

Vernon raised his hand, and a faint blue light shimmered between his fingers, casting a ghostly glow on the gnarled roots.

Suddenly, the ground trembled. From the shadows emerged a figure half-human, half-shadow, eyes burning like coals.

“Who dares enter the Veilwood?” it hissed.

YN stepped forward, steadying her voice. “I seek the truth about my bloodline. The truth that can restore the balance.”

The shadow being studied her. “Few who come here leave unchanged… or alive.”

With a flash of light, the figure vanished, replaced by an old woman clad in robes woven with leaves and fire.

“I am the Guardian of the Veilwood,” she said softly, eyes piercing yet kind. “You carry the blood of Themadora, but your path is tangled with darkness. To claim your power, you must face what you fear most.”

YN’s chest tightened. “What do I have to face?”

The Guardian extended her hand, revealing an orb glowing with swirling gold and black mist.

“This is the Heart of Balance. It will show you your deepest truth. But beware it reveals not what you want, but what you need.”

YN took the orb, and instantly the forest fell away.

She was standing in a mirror chamber her reflection shattered into a thousand fragments. Each shard showed a different version of herself: the princess, the warrior, the invisible girl without powers, the liar for survival, the betrayed child.

A voice whispered from the darkness, “You are none of these alone. You are all.”

Tears blurred her vision. “But what am I really?”

The orb pulsed warmly.

“You are the Balance,” the Guardian’s voice echoed. “Light and dark, power and vulnerability. Your true strength lies in acceptance, not perfection.”

Return and Resolve

Back in the Veilwood, Vernon’s hand found hers, grounding her.

“You faced it,” he said quietly. “And you’re still standing.”

YN nodded, the orb’s warmth fading but the lesson searing into her soul.

“We have to tell Seren. We have to prepare. Nayoung and Liyan won’t stop and now… neither will the darkness.”

Vernon’s eyes flicked toward the forest edge, where shadows seemed to shift with a mind of their own.

“This is just the beginning.”

to be continued….

Did you like it?😭

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synity · 21 days ago

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I have a cute idea

Chan and the reader have been married for a long time, the two are sitting together in the garden when he remembers the first time they met, telling her what he felt and that she will always be the most beautiful woman for him, like grandpa and grandma, you know…

YOU AND I CREATE MAGIC

The afternoon sun filtered gently through the trees, casting speckled shadows on the worn stone path of your little garden. It was quiet except for the chirping of birds and the occasional rustle of leaves dancing in the breeze. You and Chan sat side by side on the old wooden bench its paint chipped, cushions a bit faded but it had held the weight of so many quiet afternoons like this one.

Your fingers rested lightly against his, and he gave your hand a little squeeze.

“Do you remember,” he started, his voice a little raspy with age but still full of that familiar warmth, “the first time we met?”

You smiled without opening your eyes. “At that café, right?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “You were wearing that yellow scarf. You had a book in your hands but you kept looking out the window like you were waiting for someone.”

He paused, letting the memory settle between you like a soft blanket.

“I remember thinking… I’ve never seen someone look so peaceful and so far away at the same time. I didn’t even know your name, but my heart just—" he laughed under his breath, shaking his head, “it started doing gymnastics. Like, real somersaults.”

You opened your eyes and turned to look at him. His hair had gone silver years ago, but he still had that boyish smile. Still had that sparkle when he talked about you.

“I was so nervous when I asked if I could sit with you,” he continued, voice quieter now. “And when you said yes, I remember thinking, ‘This. This is how everything begins.’”

You squeezed his hand, your heart swelling like it always did when he looked at you like that like you were still twenty-five, still the girl in the yellow scarf, still the one who made his heart trip over itself.

“And now look at us,” he said with a soft laugh, “Sitting here with wrinkles and matching mugs and a garden we barely manage to weed.”

You both giggled at that.

“But you know,” he added after a beat, voice lowering, “you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Still the only one who can stop time just by smiling at me. Even with your hair graying and your back aching sometimes…” He turned, looking at you like he was seeing you for the first time all over again. “You’ve always been beautiful. And you always will be.”

You reached over and gently cupped his cheek, his skin soft and warm beneath your fingertips. “And you, Lee Chan,” you whispered, “are still the boy who made my heart flip in that café.”

You sat there in silence for a while, your fingers interlocked, the breeze humming between your shoulders like a lullaby written just for the two of you.

Love didn’t need fireworks anymore. It lived in soft smiles, old benches, shared memories, and hands that still held on even after all this time.

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synity · 21 days ago

Note

hey!! Love you writing! I was wondering if you could do one when Jun and his costar fall in love??

IS IT?

(Wen Junhui x Fem!Reader)

*Romantic Melodrama Slice-of-Life*

Y/N didn't expect anything from this drama just a script, a paycheck, and long nights on set. She had done these projects before. Acting was a job, not a dream. But something about this one felt different.

Maybe it was the script, titled IS IT? a slow-burning love story between two people who kept missing each other in life until fate forced them to collide again. Or maybe… it was her co-star.

Jun.

He wasn’t loud. He wasn’t overbearing. He was just there present in every scene, and somehow still lingering even after the director called cut.

They were cast as two people who had once been in love as teens, separated by life, reunited as adults on opposite sides of the same broken memory.

From day one, Jun was kind offering her a warm tea when her hands were cold, gently pointing out a scene mark she missed, smiling that quiet smile when she nervously stumbled over her lines. It was subtle. So subtle that Y/N didn’t realize she had started waiting for his presence until he wasn’t around.

They had a scene Episode 4, Scene 9.

Their characters were supposed to sit across from each other at a bus stop after years apart. The dialogue was short. Just two words:

"Is it... you?"

Jun had looked at her really looked and for a moment, the camera disappeared, the script vanished, and she felt like she was back in high school, facing her first love again.

The director had whispered, “Cut,” but no one moved. Not even Jun.

As the episodes went on, so did their story. And not just the scripted one.

He started texting her late at night.

> *“Hey, let’s run the lines for Episode 10.

But somehow the conversation always drifted to music, food, the smell of rain, and their shared love for indie movies.

She began noticing things.

How Jun always ordered two drinks from the café truck one for him, one for her, without asking.

How he walked just a little slower when they left set together, as if waiting for her to match his pace.

And the way he looked at her not like she was a co-star, but like she was a mystery he wanted to solve piece by piece.

But no one said anything.

Because on set, love was just acting.

Then came the kiss scene.

Episode 12. Rooftop. Rain. Confession.

It was written as a dramatic turning point he was supposed to grab her, confess, and kiss her as thunder roared behind them.

The rain machine poured. The cameras rolled.

Jun’s hand slid behind her neck. His eyes flickered with something unsure… something real.

“Y/N,” he said, barely above a whisper, “I don’t know if this is acting anymore.”

And then he kissed her.

Soft. Like a question.

And she kissed him back like an answer.

When the director yelled “Cut,” no one moved. The staff stood in silence, and Jun didn’t let go. Their breaths mingled. Their eyes held each other like they were scared the truth might slip away.

But after that night… things became quiet. Not distant. Just uncertain.

They went back to being professional. Smiling for cameras. Pretending that kiss didn’t happen more than once in their heads.

The final episode approached. The last scene a train station farewell. His character was leaving. Hers was staying. A bittersweet goodbye.

She stood on the platform. He walked up to her. The camera was rolling, but neither remembered the lines.

Jun looked into her eyes.

The train roared in the distance. Their last moment on screen.

“Y/N,” he said, voice shaking like the rails under their feet, “Is it?”

She blinked.

This wasn’t in the script.

“Is it what?”

He stepped closer. Not as his character. As Wen Junhui.

“Is it real? What I feel when I see you? When I think of you? When I miss you even when you’re just on the other side of the trailer”

She didn’t let him finish.

She kissed him.

The train passed by. The crew held their breath.

And when she pulled back, her answer was simple.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I think it is.”

IS IT wasn’t just a drama. It was the beginning of something unscripted.

Of something real.

#kpop #seventeen #seventeen imagines #seventeen right here #fanfiction #imagine #seventeen fanfic #fanfic #caratland #svt #wen junhui icons #junhui x reader #wen junhui #moon junhui #seventeen junhui #junhui fluff #jun seventeen #seventeen jun

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synity · 21 days ago

Note

Heyy!

I was wondering if you’d be up for writing a Scoups fic sometime! Honestly, I’m not picky about the plot I’m just really craving some good Seungcheol fluff and/or angst right now. Totally no pressure if you’re not feeling it, but I’d love to see what you come up with if you’re down. Thanks so much either way!! 💗

ESE DÍA DIFERENTE

(Choi Seungcheo! X Fem!Reader)

Chosen Family, Bittersweet, Slice of life, Contemporary Romance, Healing, Redemption, Emotional Drama

This story is inspired by real-life experiences and emotions that I have lived through and witnessed. While the characters and events are fictionalized, the feelings of heartbreak, healing, and hope are deeply personal and genuine.😭

Seungcheol's life used to be simple. Not in the sense of easy, but in the way that love felt safe and real. When Maria came into his world, it was as if all the scattered pieces of his life finally found their place.

She was stunning bright-eyed, full of laughter, and with a smile that seemed to light up every room she entered.

From the moment they met, there was a spark he couldn't ignore.

He remembered their first date vividly a small, cozy café tucked away in the city's quieter streets. Maria had laughed at his awkward jokes, her eyes sparkling with genuine joy. They talked for hours, about everything and nothing, until the sun dipped below the horizon and the city lights flickered on.

"That was... really nice," Maria had said softly as they stood outside, the cool night air wrapping around them.

Seungcheol grinned, feeling his heart pound.

"I'm glad you think so. I don't usually do this kind of thing, but with you... it felt different."

She smiled back, touching his hand lightly. "Me too."

From then on, their lives intertwined like the vines of a climbing rose. They shared meals, secrets, dreams. Seungcheol found himself planning a future he never dared imagine. Maria wasn't just his girlfriend; she was his partner, his best friend, the person he wanted beside him through every storm and calm.

One evening, a few months into their relationship, they sat on the rooftop of his apartment building. The city sprawled beneath them, glittering like a galaxy.

"I can't wait to marry you, Seungcheol," Maria whispered, her fingers laced through his.

He pulled her close, heart swelling. "Soon. Soon, we'll have that life.

They dreamed aloud about the wedding white flowers, soft music, dancing under the stars.

Maria talked about picking out a house, maybe near the beach where they could watch sunsets every day. Seungcheol listened, believing every

word.

But life rarely stays perfect for long.

Small cracks began to form, almost imperceptibly at first. Maria started staying out later than usual, her phone always locked tight, a new layer of distance settling between them.

When he asked, she smiled and reassured him.

"Nothing to worry about, babe. Just work stuff."

Seungcheol wanted to believe her. Wanted so badly to trust the woman he loved with all his heart.

One afternoon, he waited for her at the café where they often met after work. She arrived late, flustered, avoiding his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, slipping into the seat opposite him. "I've just been... busy."

"Is everything okay?" he asked gently, searching her face.

Maria forced a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Yeah, really. Just tired, that's all."

Seungcheol nodded, but the seed of doubt had been planted.

Weeks passed, and the distance grew.

One rainy night, unable to shake the gnawing feeling in his chest, Seungcheol decided to surprise Maria at her apartment. He arrived unannounced, his heart pounding with hope and fear.

The door was slightly ajar.

He stepped inside, the scent of unfamiliar perfume hitting him first.

Then he heard voices soft laughter, whispered words not meant for him.

Seungcheol's breath caught in his throat as he crept closer to the living room.

There, on the couch, was Maria wrapped in the arms of another man.

Time froze.

His world shattered.

Maria looked up, eyes wide with shock.

"Seungcheol! What are you doing here?"

He swallowed the lump in his throat, pain crackina his voice. "How lona?"

She didn't answer.

The man shifted uncomfortably.

"I thought we had something real," Seungcheol said, voice breaking. "I trusted you."

Maria's face crumpled, guilt flooding her features. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to-"

"Why?" he interrupted, pain cutting through him like a knife. "Why do this to me? To us?"

She looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

Seungcheol turned and left, the cold rain outside soaking him as he walked aimlessly, feeling like every step took him further from the man he used to be.

Days blurred into nights. He barely ate, barely slept. Friends called, but he couldn't answer. His phone was filled with messages from Maria, apologies and explanations, but he couldn't bring himself to respond.

One night, alone in his dark apartment, he stared at the ring he had bought for her. The ring he never got to give. It felt heavy in his hand, a symbol of a future erased.

"I was going to marry you," he whispered into the emptiness. "How did it all fall apart?"

Seungcheol's life crumbled, but somewhere deep inside, beneath the pain, a flicker remained. A faint, fragile hope that maybe, someday, he could find his way back from the darkness.

The days stretched on like endless shadows.

The colors of the city dimmed, and the laughter that once filled his ears turned into a distant echo, a haunting reminder of what was lost.

Seungcheol moved through his routine like a ghost going to work, answering emails, smiling at meetings but inside, he was unraveling.

His apartment, once a sanctuary filled with memories and hope, now felt like a cold cage.

The bed where two souls once dreamed of forever was empty, a silent testament to the promises broken. He often found himself staring at the ceiling late into the night, the weight of silence pressing down on his chest.

Friends tried to reach out.

"Cheol, we miss you," his closest friend, Joshua called one evening. "Let's grab dinner, talk it

out."

But Seungcheol shook his head, forcing a hollow smile. "Not tonight. I'm just tired."

The truth was, he was tired not just physically, but from the ache that refused to fade. From the betrayal that replayed in his mind like a cruel song.

He walked the city streets aimlessly, searching for something to fill the void. Sometimes he found himself in the park, watching couples holding hands, their happiness like salt on a wound. He envied their laughter, their ease, the simple beauty of love that now seemed so distant to him.

One rainy afternoon, he sat alone in a quiet café, fingers tracing the rim of his empty cup. The barista placed a fresh coffee in front of him with a gentle smile.

"Rough day?" He asked kindly.

Seungcheol nodded faintly, managing a small, grateful smile. "You could say that."

He wondered if he knew the weight he carried the loneliness, the heartbreak. But he didn't want to burden anyone with his pain. He had learned to keep it locked inside, behind a carefully crafted mask.

At work, he tried to focus, burying himself in projects and meetings. But the silence in his office was deafening. Every time his phone buzzed, his heart leapt, hoping for a message that never came.

His family noticed his change the quiet that replaced his usual warmth, the shadows under his eyes.

"Seungcheol, are you okay?" his mother asked one evening, concern etched in her voice.

He forced a smile, shaking his head.

"I'm fine. Just... tired."

But inside, he felt fractured. Like a beautiful vase smashed on the floor some pieces sharp and jagged, others missing entirely.

One night, as rain pattered against his window, he sat by the glass, tracing droplets with a trembling finger. He thought about the future he once dreamed of, now crumbled like ashes in his hands.

"I don't know how to move on," he whispered to the empty room. "How do I heal when everything I believed in was a lie?"

His phone lit up suddenly a notification from a florist's shop nearby, advertising fresh spring blooms. He scrolled through the pictures of vibrant flowers, their delicate beauty stirring something deep inside.

Maybe... maybe a small step. Maybe a way to feel something real again.

Unbeknownst to him, that moment, fragile as it was, would lead him somewhere new somewhere he hadn't dared to dream.

The days that followed were a blur of muted colors and hollow routines. Seungcheol woke each morning feeling like he was carrying the weight of the world or maybe just the weight of himself. The silence inside his apartment pressed in on him, thick and suffocating. Sometimes, he’d catch himself reaching for his phone, only to remember there was no one to call.

constant hum of meetings and deadlines distracted him, but it also reminded him how far away he’d drifted from the life he’d imagined. His colleagues noticed the change how his laughter no longer reached his eyes, how his smile felt forced, like a mask he wore to hide the cracks beneath.

One evening, after a long day, Seungcheol found himself standing in front of a small flower shop he hadn’t noticed before. The sign was simple, adorned with delicate script, and the warm glow from inside spilled onto the sidewalk. Drawn by something he couldn’t name, he stepped inside.

The air smelled of earth and petals, soft and comforting. Rows of colorful flowers stretched out before him roses, lilies, tulips each one vibrant, alive. For a moment, he forgot the ache in his chest. He ran his fingers gently over a cluster of soft pink peonies, their petals fragile but full of life.

The shopkeeper, a kind-faced woman with gentle eyes, smiled at him. “Looking for something special?”

Seungcheol hesitated. “I’m not sure… Maybe just something to brighten the day.”

She nodded knowingly. “Flowers have a way of doing that.”

He picked a small bouquet of white daisies simple, pure, hopeful. As he held them, a small flicker of something new stirred inside him not quite happiness, not quite peace, but a fragile thread of hope.

Days passed, and Seungcheol found himself returning to the flower shop more often, drawn by the quiet beauty and the unexpected comfort it offered. He started to care for the flowers he bought, learning how to nurture something delicate and alive. It was a small act, but it reminded him he was still capable of caring even if it was just for petals and leaves.

Slowly, very slowly, the sharp edges of his pain began to soften.

He still carried the scars of his heartbreak they were a part of him now but amid the wilted parts of his life, there were hints of growth. A fragile, quiet strength was taking root.

In the moments between work and sleep, he found himself thinking less about what he’d lost, and more about what might still be waiting.

Seungcheol didn’t know it yet, but this small change a bouquet of daisies, a few quiet moments in a flower shop was the first step toward a new beginning.

It was a quiet Sunday morning, the kind where the sky was pale and the air still. Seungcheol found himself walking the familiar route to the flower shop, hands tucked into the pockets of his beige coat. The streets were calm, and the gentle clink of wind chimes above the flower shop door greeted him as he stepped inside.

He had begun to find comfort in these visits not because he needed flowers for any particular reason, but because it was one of the few places where his chest didn’t feel so heavy.

“Back again,” the florist a warm, gentle woman with tired but kind eyes said with a soft smile.

Seungcheol nodded. “Yeah. I guess I’ve started to like it here.”

The woman chuckled. “People who come back to flowers again and again are usually the ones trying to heal.”

He looked down, quiet. “Yeah… I guess that’s true.”

Just then, the sound of soft footsteps came from behind the wooden curtain separating the back room from the front. A voice, lighter and younger, floated in.

“Mom, do you know where you put the shears? The sharp ones?”

Seungcheol looked up instinctively, and that’s when he saw her.

You.

You stepped out, dressed casually in a light sweater and jeans, a faint smudge of dirt on your wrist as if you’d been helping with potting or organizing. You weren’t in the least like the perfectly polished women Seungcheol used to be surrounded by. There was something grounded about you something real. A small frown rested on your face as you looked around for the missing shears.

“Oh,” you said, stopping short when you noticed someone else in the shop. You straightened up. “Sorry I didn’t know there was a customer.”

Your mother smiled. “This is Seungcheol. He’s been coming here a lot lately.”

You gave a polite nod. “I’m YN her daughter. Just visiting today.”

“Nice to meet you,” Seungcheol replied quietly, something uncertain flickering behind his eyes.

You reached behind the counter, finally spotting the shears and holding them up in triumph. “There they are. Thought I was losing my mind

Seungcheol chuckled softly, and the sound surprised even him. It had been a long time since he’d laughed like that not out of politeness, not to fill silence, but because something genuinely amused him.

Your mother raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you.

“You said you were looking for something simple today?” she asked, redirecting Seungcheol gently.

“Yeah… something calm. Nothing too bright. Maybe white or soft blue.”

You turned your head, curiosity piqued. “That sounds like hydrangeas.”

“Hydrangeas?” he echoed, unfamiliar.

You stepped closer, motioning toward the back of the store. “We just got some fresh blue ones in this morning. I’ll show you.”

He followed, not entirely sure why only that your voice was soft, and your presence wasn’t overwhelming. As you gently lifted a hydrangea pot, the petals catching light like quiet silk, Seungcheol felt something stir in him.

“They symbolize gratitude and deep understanding,” you explained, setting the pot down in front of him. “But… also regret and apology. I always found that bittersweet.”

“Sounds like life,” he murmured.

You looked up, meeting his eyes for a moment. Something unspoken passed between you not recognition, not attraction, but something deeper: understanding.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Exactly.”

Your mother called from the front, and you gave him a small smile before turning away.

As he paid and stepped out of the shop with the potted hydrangea in hand, Seungcheol found himself glancing back once.

You were standing at the counter now, laughing at something your mother said, your eyes crinkling with warmth.

He didn’t know your name until five minutes ago. He didn’t know anything about you what you did, where you lived, what you dreamed of.

But for the first time in what felt like forever, he wanted to know.

And that… felt like something new was beginning.

From that day on, Seungcheol’s visits to the flower shop became more frequent and less about the flowers.

He never admitted it, not even to himself, but he always hoped you’d be there. Sometimes you were tying ribbons around bouquets, sweeping fallen petals, or leaning behind the counter as you talked with your mother. And sometimes you weren’t. On those days, he still bought something small. A sprig of eucalyptus. A single daisy. A lavender stem. Just to justify the visit.

“Still going with calm tones?” you teased one afternoon, walking beside him as he studied a row of soft lilacs.

“They’re peaceful,” he replied with a faint smile. “I need peace.”

You didn’t pry. That was something he noticed about you. You didn’t ask about the sadness in his eyes, or the slight hesitation in his laugh. You didn’t fill silences with questions. You just let them breathe.

“Lilacs symbolize rebirth, you know,” you offered gently. “Like… letting go.”

He glanced at you, something quiet and grateful in his expression. “Then maybe I should take two.”

You grinned.

A few days later, it was raining soft and steady. Seungcheol entered the shop, hair damp, coat speckled with droplets. You were wiping down the window glass, humming something low under your breath.

“You’ll catch a cold,” you said without looking, your voice warm. “There’s tea in the back if you want to sit for a bit.”

He hesitated.

“You sure?”

“Mm-hmm,” you said, finally turning toward him. “You’ve earned regular customer privileges by now.”

That was the first time he sat with you at the little wooden table behind the shop. The kettle steamed softly as you poured two cups of barley tea. The smell of damp earth and petals wrapped around both of you like a blanket.

“I used to drink this with my grandmother,” you said, wrapping your hands around the warm mug. “She always said it tastes like patience.”

Seungcheol sipped slowly. “Then it’s perfect for me.”

The rain continued to fall.

You didn’t speak about your past. He didn’t speak about his. But the silence wasn’t awkward. It felt… comforting. Shared. Like the two of you had been sitting across from each other for years in another life.

The next time he came, you weren’t there.

He tried not to be disappointed. Your mother told him you had classes that day and wouldn’t be back until the weekend. He picked out a soft pink carnation anyway, but as he walked home with it tucked into his coat pocket, it wasn’t the same.

He didn’t know why.

She was just someone he met in a flower shop.

Just someone who smiled at him when the rest of the world felt cold.

Just someone whose voice stayed in his head longer than it should have.

He saw you again a week later kneeling in the back garden behind the shop, replanting new seedlings.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

You looked up, smiling beneath your bangs. “Hey, yourself. Thought we lost you to a rival florist.”

He laughed, crouching beside you. “Never. You and your lilac wisdom got me hooked.”

You looked at him then, the dirt on your hands, the scent of fresh soil and morning light all around you.

“You’re smiling more lately,” you said.

That caught him off guard.

“I am?”

You nodded. “You were carrying a storm before. Now it’s more like… a quiet sky.”

His chest tightened at the honesty in your voice. You weren’t complimenting him. You were noticing him. Seeing him. Not who he used to be. Not who he pretended to be.

But who he was now broken, healing, and quietly blooming again.

It was late afternoon the kind where the golden light trickled through the flower shop windows and everything felt slow, like the world was taking a breath.

YN had just left to run an errand. The shop was quiet. Seungcheol lingered, pretending to browse, but really… he just didn’t feel like going home yet.

“Sit down, son,” her mother said suddenly, wiping her hands on her apron. “You’ve been pacing around those lilies like they owe you rent.”

He blinked in surprise, then laughed softly, lowering himself into the wooden chair near the counter.

“You always call me that,” he said. “Son.”

She gave him a long look, gentle but serious. “That’s because I see you like one.”

A lump formed in Seungcheol’s throat. No one had said something like that to him in a long, long time.

She poured tea without asking she always did and slid the cup across to him.

“You remind me a lot of her,” she said quietly, nodding toward the door where you’d left moments ago. “Before everything fell apart.”

He looked up, eyes curious.

“I know that weight you carry. The silence. The smile that never quite reaches. You think you’re hiding it well, but I’ve seen it before.”

Her voice dipped, laced with memory. “She was like that too.”

Seungcheol’s lips parted. “YN?”

She nodded slowly.

“Three years ago. A betrayal from a friend she trusted more than family. It shattered her. Broke her spirit in ways I didn’t even know were possible.”

Her eyes misted, but she didn’t look away.

“She shut everyone out. Wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t speak.

She stopped sketching, stopped writing, stopped building things all the things that made her her.” She shook her head gently.

“This girl could turn scraps into art. She was brilliant. Always making, always dreaming. But after that betrayal, she stopped breathing life into anything.”

Seungcheol swallowed, his voice low. “What brought her back?”

“A lot of time. A lot of silence. And a little bit of kindness.” She looked at him knowingly.

“Sometimes we forget that pain doesn’t need to be solved. It just needs to be witnessed.”

That struck him deeply. He looked down at his tea, then at her again. Her eyes didn’t judge. Didn’t pity. They understood.

“I was supposed to get married,” he said, the words falling from his mouth for the first time without shame. “To someone I thought… loved me. Maria.”

The name tasted bitter.

“She cheated,” he continued, voice tight. “With someone I trusted. It wasn’t just the betrayal it was the life we built. All those promises. All those mornings where I thought I was happy…”

He trailed off. His hands trembled lightly.

“She left me in pieces,” he whispered. “And I don’t even know who I am anymore without her.”

The older woman reached across the table, placing her hand over his.

“Oh, my son,” she said softly. “You don’t have to know right now.”

He looked at her.

“You know what’s the worst thing about pain?” she asked. “It makes us think we’ve lost who we were forever. But sometimes, we’re just… paused. Waiting to be found again. Not by someone else. But by ourselves.”

Tears brimmed in his eyes, but he didn’t let them fall.

She smiled. “YN was known around this neighborhood for her creativity. Her spark. Her quick mind. And when all of that disappeared, everyone thought she’d never return to herself.”

A small, proud smile touched her lips.

“But look at her now. Laughing again. Creating again. Breathing again.”

Seungcheol closed his eyes for a moment. It wasn’t healing not yet. But it was relief. Like someone had reached into his soul and turned on the lights, even if dimly.

The older woman stood and ruffled his hair gently like a real mother would.

“You don’t have to rush. But don’t let that girl fool you either. She understands pain better than anyone. That’s why she’s so gentle with yours.”

As she returned to the flowers, humming to herself, Seungcheol sat still for a long time tea growing cold in his hands, something unspoken blooming in his chest.

Not love.

Not yet.

But something warmer than grief.

And something softer than regret.

Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as lost as he thought.

YN wasn’t the kind of person to press.

She noticed things in quiet moments how Seungcheol always avoided love songs playing on the radio, how he never talked about the past, how sometimes he stared a little too long at a single flower like he was trying to remember something he lost.

She noticed how his laugh came with a pause. Like he had to check with himself if it was okay to feel joy again.

She noticed and she didn’t say a word.

Not at first.

But she stayed.

When he dropped by the flower shop, she started setting aside little things without asking a new chamomile bloom she thought he’d like, a folded napkin with a quote she scribbled, a cookie her mom made that she knew he wouldn’t buy but always finished.

She didn’t try to cheer him up.

She didn’t try to fix the invisible heaviness he carried.

She just… offered herself.

And one evening, after a sudden downpour soaked the streets and left the world smelling like wet soil and green things, she handed him a towel and said quietly:

“You don’t have to tell me what happened, Seungcheol.”

He looked at her.

Her eyes were calm. Steady. Not filled with pity, but with recognition.

“I just want you to know… whatever it is you don’t have to carry it alone every day.”

Seungcheol blinked, lips parting but no words came. No one had ever said that to him. No one had noticed without asking.

“Some days are harder than others,” she continued softly, “I know that. I’ve had days where I couldn’t even get out of bed, where I hated the idea of being seen.”

He froze. Those words he knew them.

“But someone told me once,” she smiled gently, “that pain doesn’t mean you’re broken forever. It just means you’re still healing.”

His throat tightened. It felt like she was peeling open a window in him he didn’t even know was locked shut.

“You remind me of myself back then,” she said.

He raised his head slowly, brows drawn.

“I know that look. That quiet ache. That… pause before speaking like you’re afraid your voice doesn’t matter anymore.”

Silence stretched between them not awkward, but real.

Then finally, he whispered, “It does. With you, it does.”

YN smiled, that small kind of smile that doesn’t scream joy but offers peace.

“Then I’ll keep listening,” she said.

Seungcheol felt something shift in him that night not big, not dramatic just a flicker of warmth, a sense of not being invisible.

Someone saw him.

Not the perfect him. Not the smiling version he used to be with Maria.

But this version the one with bruised hope and a slow heartbeat.

And for the first time in a long time, that felt like enough.

The sun had just begun to set, its honey-colored light spilling over the quiet streets like a golden blanket. Seungcheol was walking back home from the gym, earbuds in, sweat cooling on his skin, when he saw her YN’s mother, standing outside the local grocery store, struggling with two heavy bags balanced awkwardly in each hand.

He blinked, instantly pulling his earbuds out. “Ma’am—! Let me help.”

She turned, a little startled, and then broke into a warm smile. “Ah, Seungcheol! My strong son!” she laughed, clearly relieved. “I got a little ambitious today.”

He jogged over and easily took the bags from her hands, surprised at the weight.

“What’s all this?” he asked with a grin.

“I’m making a chocolate cake,” she said proudly, “for YN and her siblings. They’ve been working so hard. Saturday’s our tradition they all come over to cook for me, so I wanted to surprise them first.”

Seungcheol nodded, amused and touched. “That sounds… really sweet. Literally.”

“You should come in too,” she added, unlocking her gate. “There’s always more than enough. And you deserve something sweet.”

He hesitated for only a second. But her tone that motherly certainty made it impossible to say no.

They entered her home through the small garden pathway where vines crept gently along the white fence, and tiny flowerpots lined the windowsills.

The door opened straight into a veranda covered in trellises and potted blooms, the scent of lavender and basil lingering in the warm air.

Inside, the house felt like a hug soft light, floral cushions, wooden beams that creaked with memory, and the faint scent of vanilla.

But just as they stepped into the living room, a wave of music and laughter burst through the space like sunshine.

Seungcheol stopped, blinking in surprise.

There they were YN and her siblings, Julián, Savanah, Alvaro, barefoot on the wooden floor, crowded around the TV with microphones in hand. A karaoke video blared on the screen, a spirited Spanish song with vibrant rhythms. They were singing well, more like shouting half the lyrics with big grins, correcting each other mid-line, then bursting into giggles when someone completely botched the chorus.

“No no no! That’s corazón, not camarón!” one of the brothers shouted.

“Oh shut up, boy!” YN yelled back, laughing so hard she had to hold onto the couch for balance.

It was chaos.

And it was beautiful.

Seungcheol stood frozen for a moment, bags still in hand, as the warmth of that moment wrapped around him pure, untamed joy.

“Don’t just stand there,” her mom said quietly, smiling beside him. “Come into the kitchen. Let’s let them sing their hearts out while we make some peace in the form of chocolate.”

He followed, still a little dazed.

Through the living room past the burst of music and dancing limbs into the kitchen that smelled like butter, sugar, and home.

“I used to sing like that once,” her mother said, putting on an apron and chuckling to herself. “But now my singing’s reserved for burnt rice and angry saucepans.”

Seungcheol laughed. He felt something loosen inside of him like his ribs had been tight for too long, and finally someone was letting him breathe.

He began unpacking the bags without being asked. Eggs, flour, dark chocolate, ripe bananas, cocoa powder.

“I haven’t felt this… alive in a while,” he admitted quietly, as the sounds of off-key Spanish harmonies drifted in from the next room.

Her mother glanced at him, knowingly. “That’s what happens when you walk into a place where people are allowed to be messy. Loud. Real.”

She handed him a whisk. “And now you’re part of the recipe.”

Seungcheol grinned, shaking his head.

A part of him still ached. Maria’s betrayal hadn’t vanished. But here in this flower-filled home, with the hum of love echoing through walls it didn’t own him.

He stirred the batter, laughter ringing from the living room, as if music could stitch together the broken corners of him he thought no one would ever touch again.

And for the first time in a long time… he didn’t feel like a guest in someone else’s joy.

He felt welcome in it.

The chocolate cake was a hit rich, slightly warm from the oven, with just the right amount of bitterness in the dark chocolate and love in every slice. Plates were scattered across the coffee table, mugs half-filled with café con leche and cinnamon tea.

By now, the sun had fully dipped below the horizon, leaving the little house bathed in amber and fairy lights strung up along the veranda. The earlier laughter had softened into that easy kind of silence that only families comfortable with each other share.

Seungcheol leaned against the archway between the kitchen and living room, sipping tea, soaking it all in.

That’s when Julián, YN’s older brother, pulled out his guitar and began to strum. Not wildly — gently. Like a whisper across water.

The room shifted. Quiet fell. Heads turned.

Then he started singing. His voice was low, soulful, raw.

And just like that, the room transformed. This wasn’t karaoke anymore.

This was… intimate.

YN’s voice slipped in next.

Soft at first. Feather-light. But growing with each line. Her tone was warm, honeyed, but carried a kind of ache that made Seungcheol freeze mid-sip.

She and Savanah harmonized like it was muscle memory the kind of blend you don’t learn, but grow into.

Their voices tangled like vines lifting, falling, blooming in every verse.

Alvaro stood and began to rap the bridge from “Alto Suspiro,”

effortlessly flowing into the rhythm with the kind of charisma that filled the entire room. He danced between lines, punctuating lyrics with laughter and footwork that had even their mom clapping to the beat.

It wasn’t rehearsed. It wasn’t performative.

It was who they were.

Songs written from years ago maybe never released but clearly carried like sacred things. Memories put to melody. Shared pain made art. Family bound not just by blood, but by sound.

Seungcheol sat down slowly on the couch, caught in the current.

He watched YN the whole time how her eyes sparkled when she hit the chorus, how her hands moved as if sculpting the air, how the sadness in her voice didn’t dim the light but made it realer.

She was laughing now, spinning with Savanah in the middle of the room while Julián kept playing and Alvaro clapped off-beat just to annoy them.

Seungcheol smiled.

A real one.

Not one he forced. Not one he practiced in mirrors.

A smile that ached in his cheeks because it had been so long since he’d worn one that fit.

And deep inside, somewhere quiet, he thought

So this is what it feels like to witness joy that isn’t pretending.

And for the first time, he didn’t feel like an outsider watching through a window.

He felt like he’d been invited in.

Like maybe just maybe he’d found a place where his silence was allowed… until he was ready to sing too.

The music had faded. The laughter had softened. Now only the hum of summer crickets and the scent of leftover cake remained.

Everyone had slipped into that mellow post-celebration mood scattered across couches and kitchen stools, some dozing off, others half-whispering stories with full bellies and warm hearts.

But Seungcheol?

He’d slipped outside.

The porch creaked as he settled into the old wooden bench near the jasmine vines, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together. He stared out into the little garden, now dim and silvery under the moonlight.

He didn’t know what he was feeling, really.

Something between gratitude and grief.

Something quiet.

He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“You okay?” Her voice was soft. So soft, he nearly didn’t hear it.

He turned.

There she was YN, barefoot, holding two mugs in her hands, hair slightly tousled, cheeks pink from laughing too much. A little piece of cake crumb on her shirt.

He nodded gently, managing a smile. “Yeah. Just… needed some air.”

She handed him a mug and sat beside him, the bench sighing beneath them.

“Chamomile,” she said. “It’s all that’s left.”

“Perfect,” he murmured, taking it.

For a while, they just sat there shoulder to shoulder, watching the moonlight glaze the tops of the flowerbeds, the way light wind rustled through the leaves.

“You sing beautifully,” he said at last, his voice low. “All of you. But… especially you.”

She looked over, a bit surprised. “Thanks,” she said, then looked down at her mug. “We grew up that way. Music was how we got through things. It’s always been… therapy, I guess.”

He nodded, staring ahead again. “I don’t think I realized how long it’s been since I’ve been around something so… alive.”

She glanced at him, studying the side of his face in the pale light. “You’ve been through something,” she said softly. Not as a question just… a truth.

He didn’t speak at first.

Then: “Yeah.”

Another breath.

“It was a lot. I thought I had it all figured out. The life, the woman, the path.” His throat tightened a bit. “But it was all… a lie.”

YN stayed quiet, letting the silence hold him.

“I gave everything,” he added, voice barely above a whisper. “And I didn’t even see it coming.”

There was a long pause. Then she said, gently, “You know… my mom told me once that some betrayals don’t just break your heart they break your compass. You stop knowing where to walk. What to trust. Even in yourself.”

He looked at her, surprised.

She gave a half-smile, a little sad.

“I’ve been there.”

They didn’t have to say more.

The silence between them now wasn’t awkward. It was full.

He looked at her again the way her hair caught the breeze, the way her eyes held stars in them without even trying and he felt it:

This wasn’t just safety. This was presence.

And maybe, for the first time since everything fell apart, someone wasn’t just near him someone was actually with him.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

“For what?”

“For… this. For not asking me to be

okay. Just letting me be.”

YN smiled, turning her face toward the wind.

“I don’t expect people to be okay,” she said. “I just hope they don’t walk through the dark alone.”

And that night, Seungcheol didn’t.

Saturday became sacred.

It wasn’t planned. Seungcheol never asked to be there but every week, he was. Not because anyone told him to. Not even because YN’s mom expected it. But because he wanted to be.

At first, he came early just to help her carry groceries again.

Then it was: “Cheol, can you chop the onions?” “Cheol, help Julián fix that loose chair?” “Cheol, come taste this too salty or perfect?”

By the third week, he was showing up with extra flowers for the kitchen table, and a Tupperware of marinated chicken he’d made the night before “just in case.”

The siblings stopped treating him like a guest.

Alvaro playfully insulted him mid-cooking.

Savanah taught him how to fold dumplings without letting them burst.

Julián invited him to strum the guitar with him in the late afternoons, even if he didn’t play.

And YN?

She watched it all unfold quietly.

Seungcheol laughed more now. Not loud but genuinely. His posture had relaxed. He took more photos of flowers, asked about songs, offered to wash dishes, and even stayed late to help clean the backyard.

She’d catch him looking around, soft-eyed, like he couldn’t believe this was real.

And maybe that’s when she realized it.

It didn’t hit like thunder. It didn’t bloom like roses. It was quieter.

She noticed it in the way he listened not just to respond, but to understand.

She noticed it when he helped her little cousin braid her doll’s hair for two hours straight just because she asked.

She noticed it when he looked at her like her silences made sense.

She fell. Slowly. Surely. Stupidly. Like water collecting in the same place until it became a river.

And she couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Mom…”

Her mother turned from her recipe book, peeking over her reading glasses.

“Yes?”

YN bit her lip, twisting the string on her hoodie sleeve. “Can I… tell you something? But you can’t tell the others.”

Her mom raised a brow. “You’re not pregnant, right?”

“Mom!” she laughed, swatting her arm.

“Okay, okay. Go on.”

She sat down next to her, nervous. “I think… I think I’m falling for Seungcheol.”

Her mom didn’t speak.

Not because she was shocked. But because… she wasn’t.

“I just I didn’t plan to,” YN continued. “I just started noticing him… you know? The way he talks, the way he makes space for people. He’s gentle. He’s kind. Even when he’s hurting.”

She looked down.

“And it scares me. Because I was so broken before. You remember. And I swore I wouldn’t trust easily again. But with him… I don’t feel scared.”

Her mom reached over, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“My sweet girl,” she said softly, “I knew the moment you stopped humming sad songs in the kitchen.”

YN looked up, blinking. “What?”

Her mother smiled. “You hum again. You laugh with your belly. You come alive when he walks into the room, even if you don’t notice it.”

She paused.

“And if you trust him with that heart of yours… I think he’ll treat it gently. Like it’s something sacred.”

That night, YN stood alone by the porch steps, watching Seungcheol play cards inside with Alvaro and Julián laughing, groaning when he lost a round, swearing they were cheating.

And she realized her mom was right.

She didn’t want grand fireworks. She didn’t want sweeping romance. She just wanted him as he was, as she was.

Maybe next week, she’d tell him.

But for now?

She just wanted to watch the man she loved start to feel like he belonged again.

Instead, he went to the veranda sat on the bench again under the vines, mug of cold tea in his hand, heart thudding too loud to ignore.

He didn’t know what to do with the knowledge.

But for the first time in what felt like forever, someone had looked at his scars and didn’t flinch.

She… wanted him.

Not the perfect version of him. Not the “used-to-be” him. Not the could-have-been fiancé.

Him. Now. Still healing.

And as he looked out at the moonlight blanketing the flower beds, he whispered to himself:

“Maybe I can love again.”

The stars had fully bloomed in the sky by the time YN stepped outside.

She carried a half-empty glass of strawberry soda, not because she was thirsty but because her heart was restless. Her legs moved before her mind caught up. She had too much to think about, and somehow… she knew where to find him.

And there he was.

Sitting on the veranda bench like he always did when the noise of the world got too heavy one hand nursing a lukewarm mug of tea, the other absentmindedly running across the wooden armrest.

The jasmine vines above danced in the breeze.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” she asked softly.

He looked up, startled for just a split second before something gentle flickered in his eyes.

“No,” he said. “Too much in my head.”

She nodded, walking over, sitting beside him but not too close. She didn’t want to disturb whatever stillness he had carved out for himself here.

They sat in silence.

The air buzzed with crickets and leftover laughter from inside.

After a few moments, Seungcheol finally spoke voice low, almost afraid to shatter the stillness.

“I didn’t mean to hear it.”

YN blinked. Her heart dropped.

“What?”

“In the kitchen,” he added. “Earlier. I was coming to see if your mom needed help. And then I heard you talking to her.”

Silence. Her breath caught in her throat.

“I should’ve left,” he continued, voice even. “But I froze. I wasn’t trying to… eavesdrop. I swear.”

She didn’t answer.

Not because she was mad.

But because her cheeks burned. Her fingers clenched around her glass.

He turned to her slowly, expression unreadable at first until she met his eyes.

And in them… there was no judgment.

Only something soft. And raw. And real.

“You said you weren’t scared when I looked at you.”

She nodded, barely able to breathe.

“That’s funny,” he whispered. “Because when I look at you… I don’t feel lost anymore.”

Her gaze snapped up to meet his.

He offered a small, almost shy smile like a man still learning how to love again with hands that had once held all the wrong things.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted. “Not yet. I’m still figuring things out. Still healing. But if there’s even a small part of you that wants me the way I already want you…”

He looked down, then back up eyes glistening but steady.

“I’ll try. For you, I’ll try.”

YN didn’t speak. She reached out, slowly, letting her fingers brush against his a quiet answer that said:

“You don’t have to know how. Just don’t run. I’m here. I’ll be here.”

They sat like that for a while hands barely touching, hearts whispering louder than words ever could.

Under jasmine vines, on a porch soaked in moonlight, two broken people found something neither of them thought they’d deserve again:

A second chance.

Two Years Later

The living room was filled with sunshine, warmth, and the scent of lavender from the open windows.

YN sat on the couch, eight months pregnant, her feet resting on a pouf while she scribbled baby name ideas into a notebook half of them crossed out already.

In the kitchen, Alvaro and Seungcheol stood at the counter, chopping vegetables and chatting between sips of mango juice.

“She kicked again?” Alvaro asked, glancing at YN from the doorway.

“Hard,” Seungcheol smiled, placing a hand over his heart. “I think she’s training for the national team already.”

Alvaro chuckled. “You ready to be a girl dad?”

“More than ready,” Seungcheol said with a dreamy sigh. “I’ve already bought four books on how to braid hair.”

“Bro,” Alvaro laughed, slapping his shoulder. “You’re gonna cry the first time she says ‘appa.’”

“I cried when she hiccupped during the ultrasound,” Seungcheol admitted, not even ashamed.

They both laughed.

Then a pause.

Alvaro leaned against the counter, a little more serious. “You know… I’ve never seen her this happy before. Not even close.”

Seungcheol looked up, eyes soft.

“Me neither.”

There was a long silence. Not awkward. Just… full.

“She saved me, man,” Seungcheol added quietly, voice breaking the stillness. “Without even trying. Just by being… her.”

“She would say you did the same.”

Seungcheol smiled as he looked over at her again YN, humming to the baby in her belly, head tilted toward the sun.

And in that moment, he didn’t feel like a man who had been broken.

He felt like a man who had been rebuilt with laughter, second chances, warm kitchens, porch conversations, and a kind of love that healed without asking permission.

129 notes · View notes

synity · 24 days ago

Text

What could be better than this?

(Kim Mingyu X FemReader)

*Romantic comedy, light angst, fluff, a bit of jealousy drama*

There’s something deeply ironic about Kim Mingyu.

He’s tall. No tall-tall. He walks into rooms and ducks under door frames. He’s got muscles for days and hands so big they can wrap around your entire face like a catcher’s mitt. His voice? Deep, like the ocean. Intimidating. Dangerous even. Strangers glance at him once and instinctively move out of the way.

But YN knows the truth.

Kim Mingyu is a baby. A six-foot-two, golden-retriever-of-a-boyfriend baby.

And right now, that baby is wrapped around your torso like a human octopus, arms tucked around your waist and face buried in the crook of your neck, whining softly every five seconds.

“But I miss you,” he murmurs for the fifth time in the last three minutes.

“Mingyu,” you laugh, trying to gently push him away, “I just went to throw the trash out.”

“And that was 143 seconds without your love,” he pouts, looking up with those massive, sparkly eyes that could put Bambi to shame. “Do you even care about me anymore?”

You roll your eyes affectionately. “Don’t be dramatic.”

He gasps. “Don’t be dramatic? Baby, you just committed emotional abandonment—”

You shut him up with a kiss, which is really the only way to stop Kim Mingyu when he’s on a roll. He melts instantly, sighing happily like a puppy who’s been given treats and belly rubs all at once.

Life with Mingyu is filled with spontaneous bear hugs, clingy back hugs while you're cooking, and constant little touches a hand on your thigh when you're watching movies, pinkies linked while walking down the street, and surprise kisses dropped on your cheek when you're doing literally anything that isn’t giving him attention.

It’s like dating a very affectionate dog. A very, very hot affectionate dog.

He snores loudly. He hogs the blanket but always gives it back when you shiver. He eats like a growing teenage boy (spoiler: he isn’t, but try telling him that), and when he gets sick, he gets whiny.

“Mingyu, it’s just a cold,” you say, tucking him into the couch with tissues, tea, and extra fuzzy socks.

“But I’m dying,” he sniffles. “Tell the members I loved them. Burn my cologne collection. Give Boo the snacks in my drawer—”

“I’m literally going to strangle you with this blanket,” you grumble, but you kiss his forehead anyway.

He grins smugly through his red nose and tissues. “See? You love me.”

God help you. You do.

But for all the soft, clingy, adorable puppy-boyfriend behavior, there’s another side to Kim Mingyu that comes out when he’s jealous.

Not many people have seen it. But you have. And it’s… intense.

It starts subtle — a shift in tone, a sharpness in his usually soft eyes, the way his arm tightens just a little too much when he wraps it around you. He doesn’t yell, doesn’t sulk. But the atmosphere changes.

Take the incident with Taeyong.

You and Mingyu were at a mutual friend’s party. You had run into Taeyong from NCT, someone you knew from university, and had struck up an easy conversation. He was sweet, complimented your outfit, laughed at your jokes and that was the beginning of the end.

From across the room, you could feel it: Mingyu’s gaze. Heavy. Unblinking.

When you finally returned to him, he didn’t say a word. Just wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you close, his jaw tight.

“Baby,” you said, confused, “are you okay?”

He didn’t answer. Just looked at you with that unreadable expression.

Later, in the car, the tension exploded.

“Was he flirting with you?” Mingyu asked, voice low, the playful tone completely gone.

You blinked. “What? No. Taeyong’s just friendly.”

Mingyu clenched the steering wheel, knuckles pale. “He touched your arm.”

“I—he always does that. We’re friends—”

“You laughed at everything he said.”

“Mingyu—”

“Do you like him?”

Your heart stopped. The question felt like a punch. You turned to him, shocked. “Are you seriously asking me that?”

He didn’t answer.

You softened, realizing what this was really about. “Hey. Look at me.”

He didn’t.

So you reached for his hand, prying his fingers from the steering wheel. “Kim Mingyu. I’m yours. Always. You don’t have to be scared.”

His walls crumbled in an instant.

“…I just—” his voice cracked, “you’re everything to me, and when I see someone else making you smile like that…”

“You get possessive,” you finished gently.

“…Yeah.”

You kissed his knuckles. “I only want your stupid jokes and your clingy hugs and your dumb fake dying whenever you get the sniffles.”

He looked at you with wide, teary eyes. “You mean it?”

“I’d tattoo it on my forehead if it makes you feel better.”

His smile returned instantly, the scary-jealous aura melting away into puppy-love mode again. “Let’s do matching tattoos.”

“Oh god.”

One time, you were talking with Joshua, who had always been the sweetest, most respectful guy in Seventeen. But Mingyu still hovered behind you like a looming shadow, his presence radiating that possessive, quiet storm energy.

Joshua chuckled nervously. “You okay, Gyu?”

Mingyu gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Just making sure my girlfriend’s not being stolen.”

Joshua looked at you. “He’s joking, right?”

You patted Mingyu’s arm. “Depends. Did you offer me snacks or touch my shoulder? Those are his triggers.”

Joshua blinked.

Mingyu just smirked.

Despite everything the drama, the jealousy, the suffocating cuddles at 2 a.m. even when you're dying of heat being with Mingyu is like living in the middle of a warm sunbeam.

He brings you coffee with little hearts drawn in the foam. He texts you hourly when you’re apart.

“I just saw a dog and it made me think of you. Because I love you. And also because it was drooling.”

He sings to you off-key in the shower. He begs you to let him style your outfits and acts like your biggest fan when you wear the stuff he chooses.

“You’re slaying, baby. Vogue will call any minute.”

He never lets a day pass without reminding you in a million little ways that he loves you.

And sometimes… when he’s sleeping, all curled around you, arms locked tight like you might vanish if he lets go… you realize there’s nowhere safer than being loved by someone like Kim Mingyu.

Your big baby.

Your jealous guard dog.

Your giant, beautiful, clingy puppy of a man.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have him any other way.

424 notes · View notes

synity · 25 days ago

Text

SAY CHEESE

(Kim Mingyu X FemReader)

*slice of life, fluff, strangers to lovers*

Kim Mingyu had always found beauty in the ordinary. A crumpled napkin catching golden light, a child’s muddy shoes left on a porch, the fleeting smile of a stranger. Photography wasn’t just a hobby it was how he understood the world.

So when he flew to Jamaica for a break from city life, his camera came first in the packing list. Every morning, he wandered through local markets, beaches, and winding alleyways, capturing splashes of color, spontaneous laughter, the curve of a palm tree against the sky.

But on his third day, something shifted.

He was at a street festival in Kingston, music echoing through the humid air, jerk chicken sizzling on grills, locals dancing with joy. And there she was.

Her.

She wasn’t posing. She wasn’t even aware of him. She was simply laughing head thrown back, long curly hair catching the breeze, a hibiscus flower tucked behind her ear. She was surrounded by friends, sipping from a cold cup of pineapple juice, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

Click.

Mingyu didn’t even think his fingers moved instinctively. He captured her mid-laugh, turning to whisper to a friend, leaning against a wooden stall painted in bright reds and yellows. It wasn’t staged. It was real. And she was stunning.

“Yo, YN look,” one of her friends nudged her, pointing directly at him.

She turned, curious. Their eyes met. Mingyu froze, camera still in hand.

Instead of frowning or hiding her face, she smiled.

Playfully, she struck a pose one hand on her hip, another flicking her curls over her shoulder. Then she chuckled and turned back to her friends like it was nothing.

He stood there, stunned.

Over the next few days, fate played a little game.

He saw her again at a small food stall on a beachside road. She was barefoot, sand clinging to her ankles, licking mango juice from her fingers. He lifted his camera and before the click, she glanced up and smiled knowingly.

Another day, she was walking her dog through a quiet neighborhood. He was photographing murals, and there she was in the corner of the frame. He hadn't meant to catch her. She hadn’t noticed that time. But when he looked through the lens later, there she was againnatural, vivid, glowing.

They never really talked? not yet. Just stolen glances, soft smiles, a shared laugh across a crowd.

She was his muse now not in the possessive sense, but in the way a spark ignites something unexpected.

And Mingyu didn’t chase her. He simply let it be. Jamaica, with all its color, rhythm, and magic, had given him a girl who lived like light in a bottle. Unpredictable. Joyful. Beautiful.

And he kept capturing her, quietly, sincerely one photograph at a time.

It was the fifth time he saw her. This time, she was alone.

She sat at a coconut stand near the beach, legs crossed, sketchbook in hand, pencil moving lazily. The breeze tousled her hair and her sunglasses sat low on her nose.

Mingyu debated for a moment, heart thumping against his ribs.

*Maybe now.*

He approached slowly, camera hanging from his neck, sweat clinging to his palms. She looked up, recognized him instantly, and smiled like she’d been expecting him.

“Hey,” she said first, her voice as warm as the island sun.

He laughed awkwardly. “Hey. Uh—sorry if it’s weird. I’ve… seen you around.”

“I noticed,” she said, raising an eyebrow, teasing. “You have quite the sneaky camera.”

His cheeks flushed. “I swear I’m not a creep. I just… you always look so full of life. It's hard not to capture it.”

“Aww that’s the most flattering thing someone with a camera has ever told me,” she giggled, closing her sketchbook. “Sit. You owe me a name.”

“Mingyu,” he said, taking the seat beside her. “Kim Mingyu. Photographer. Tourist. Occasionally awkward.”

She laughed again. “Nice to meet you, Occasionally Awkward. I’m YN.”

There was a moment of comfortable silence. The kind that’s rare for strangers.

“You’re really talented,” Mingyu added, gesturing to the closed sketchbook.

She shrugged, smiling. “It’s just doodles. I like capturing people, too. Faces, expressions. But with pencils instead of a lens.”

“So we’re both artists in disguise,” he said, tapping his camera.

“More like accidental soul-catchers,” she smiled. “You steal moments, and I steal emotions.”

He chuckled, and then quietly asked, “Would you let me take your photo? Like, on purpose this time?”

She tilted her head, pretending to think. “Hmm… Will I get paid with mangoes ?”

“I can offer two coconuts and a pineapple juice.”

“Deal.”

He lifted his camera. She didn’t pose not really. She just sat there, laughing, brushing her curls again, resting her chin in her hand.

Click.

Then she looked directly into the lens and said, “You better not fall in love through your viewfinder.”

He lowered the camera, stunned. “Too late.”

The sun had dipped low, painting the sky in deep oranges and pinks. Waves crashed gently in the background, and the smell of salt and jerk spices lingered in the air. Mingyu and YN sat side by side on a driftwood log by the beach, their toes buried in warm sand.

He had been quiet for a while, fiddling with his camera.

“You alright, Camera Guy?” she asked softly, bumping her shoulder into his.

He glanced at her and smiled, a little shyly. “Yeah… just organizing some shots.”

She leaned in, eyes flicking to his hands. “Can I see?”

Mingyu hesitated for a moment. Not because he didn’t want to show her but because so much of her lived there in that camera roll.

But then he nodded and handed it over. The screen lit up. The first picture was of her.

Laughing. On the first day he saw her. Hair wild in the wind, flower tucked behind her ear, eyes crinkled with joy.

“Oh wow…” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

She swiped.

Another photo of her sipping from a straw, sunlight caught in the curve of her cheekbone.

Swipe.

Dancing in the crowd, her hands raised, a blur of movement and freedom.

Swipe.

Pulling her hair into a bun, unaware of the lens. Lost in her world.

“You…” she started, then paused, lips parting slightly. “You really took all these?”

Mingyu rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I just… couldn’t help it. You were…beautiful.”

She laughed, cheeks blooming pink. “I look like I’m in a movie.”

“You are,” he said quietly. “At least in mine.”

That made her go still.

Swipe.

A photo of her walking by the mural he’d seen her near once. Her back was to the camera, but her silhouette was unmistakable.

“Were you following me?” she teased.

He laughed nervously. “No! I swear. Coincidences. Magical ones, I guess.”

She looked at him. “You saw me. Even when I wasn’t looking.”

He met her gaze. “I always did.”

Her fingers hovered over the camera screen for a moment, then lowered it to her lap. “You’ve seen more sides of me than most people in my life.”

“That’s kind of the magic of photography,” he whispered. “It catches the parts of us we don’t know we’re giving away.”

There was a pause. She shifted slightly closer, knees now brushing.

“And what do I give away?” she asked softly.

Mingyu looked at her, really looked.

“Freedom. Fire. Softness. Realness. All at once.”

YN smiled, looking down as if hiding how much that hit her.

Then she looked up at him again, locking eyes.

“Take one more,” she said.

He blinked. “Now?”

She nodded. “But not of me alone.”

Then she leaned into his side, warm and gentle, and smiled at the lens.

He raised the camera slowly.

Click.

Their first photo together. Not an accident. Not a stolen moment. But a memory they made intentionally.

193 notes · View notes

synity · 27 days ago

Text

ANACONDA

(CEO!Kim Mingyu X FemReader)

(angst, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, CEOAU, tension, longing, emotional conflict. Slow Burn, Drama, Office Romance)

CONTENT WARNING: This story contains themes of emotional abuse, workplace harassment, obsession, manipulation, and trauma. It explores the psychological impact of toxic power dynamics in a professional setting. While the narrative evolves toward healing, love, and empowerment, some scenes may be emotionally triggering or distressing, especially for readers who have experienced similar situations.

Please read with care and prioritize your well-being. You are not alone support is available.

Seoul, 2025. A city bathed in neon lights and ambition, where dreams were sold as easily as they were broken, and success smelled of burnt coffee and long boardroom hours. In the heart of Gangnam, skyscrapers loomed like titans, each one fighting for the crown of supremacy in South Korea’s relentless corporate battlefield.

Among them, the tallest and most notorious belonged to Kim Mingyu, a name spoken with reverence and resentment alike.

Kim Mingyu was ruthless, sharp, and unapologetically dominant. His company, KM Group, had swallowed over five enterprises in the last two years alone. Young, dangerously good-looking, and with more money than entire conglomerates combined, he lived a life that shimmered with excess. Everything he touched turned into profit. His private office was on the 97th floor of the sky-piercing KM Tower, complete with floor-to-ceiling glass, a custom Italian espresso machine, and a cold elegance that mirrored the man himself.

But no one ever talked about how his eyes lingered too long on the skyline at night, as if searching for something more.

A few blocks away, hidden behind slightly worn walls and flickering overhead lights, stood the offices of CS Enterprise. The company had once been a powerhouse respected, solid, but now it struggled to breathe under the weight of debt and missed deadlines. Still, Y/N, the secretary of the infamous CEO Choi Sangmin, showed up every day with ironed shirts and a calm smile.

Y/N wasn’t the type to complain.

She’d grown used to Sangmin’s snide remarks, his impossibly high demands, the way he made her work overtime and then criticized the coffee she made. To the outside world, she was just another employee a paper pusher, a face in the crowd but to anyone who looked closely, she was something rare.

Smart. Composed. Beautiful in an understated way.

People remembered her fox-like eyes sharp, observant, and unreadable and the smile she always wore even when she was clearly exhausted. She carried herself with grace, like someone who had long ago learned how to survive in chaos.

She didn’t believe in love stories. Or fairy tales. Life had shown her otherwise.

It was raining the day their worlds collided.

Y/N had ducked into a small coffee shop off the corner of Samseong-dong, her heels clicking softly against the wooden floors. Her umbrella dripped water near the counter as she ordered a simple iced americano. No whipped cream. No syrup. She didn’t have time for sugar not when Sangmin had sent her on yet another useless errand in the middle of a downpour.

She was soaked, frustrated, and on the verge of snapping.

Meanwhile, Kim Mingyu sat three tables away, hidden behind his laptop and the low hum of jazz music. He wasn’t supposed to be there his driver had taken a wrong turn, and his meeting had been rescheduled. He rarely had time for moments like these. But something about the storm outside had drawn him in.

And then he saw her.

She hadn’t noticed him yet. She was standing by the counter, flipping through her soaked planner, muttering to herself about deadlines and Sangmin’s impossible schedule. Her black blouse clung to her skin slightly from the rain, her hair pinned back in a way that exposed her slender neck, and when she looked up to thank the barista with a small smile.

His heart stopped.

Those eyes. That smile.

There was something about her that unsettled him. He didn’t believe in fate. But in that moment, she looked like something ripped from a life he never got to live.

When she finally glanced around and their eyes met for a second too long, it was as if something had cracked.

And then she turned away and walked out, coffee in hand, her umbrella fluttering back open like a shield.

He didn’t know her name. She didn’t know his. But for the first time in a long time, Mingyu was curious.

He would’ve forgotten. He should’ve. But he didn’t.

The image of her haunted him for days weeks even. He told himself it was nothing. A stranger in a coffee shop. Yet he found himself going back, hoping to see her again.

She never showed.

Not until three weeks later, when CS Enterprise came knocking.

Choi Sangmin’s company was crumbling. Rumors spread like wildfire across corporate Seoul. Investors were pulling out. Stock prices were bleeding red. And finally, in a move no one saw coming, Sangmin reached out to his greatest rival, Kim Mingyu, for help.

A meeting was arranged.

Mingyu sat at the head of a glass boardroom, his fingers steepled, eyes unreadable as Sangmin walked in, carrying false confidence like cheap cologne.

“I need an investor,” he said. “Or a merger.”

Mingyu tilted his head. “Why should I help you?”

And then Sangmin, annoyed and irritated, barked at the glass door, “Y/N! Bring the files in.”

The door opened with a soft click.

Mingyu turned, prepared to dismiss whoever it was.

And the world stopped.

It was her.

The coffee shop girl.

Y/N.

His breath caught in his throat. She stood there in a navy pencil skirt, blouse tucked neatly, a tablet in one hand and a manila folder in the other. Her eyes those same fox eyes met his.

Time slowed. The noise of the room blurred. She blinked once, twice, clearly recognizing him.

But she didn’t falter.

Not even for a second.

She walked forward with practiced elegance, handed him the file, and acted like she didn’t remember him at all.

Something burned in Mingyu’s chest. Confusion? Anger? Interest? He couldn’t tell. All he knew was that his heart had started to race.

As she turned to leave, Sangmin snapped, “Wait outside. I might need you again.”

Y/N paused, nodded silently, and stepped back.

Mingyu watched her every move.

His rival’s secretary.

The woman who haunted his dreams.

The girl he never forgot.

And suddenly, this meeting wasn’t about business anymore.

The meeting ended with numbers and fake smiles.

Sangmin left with promises written in fine print, while Mingyu sat silently in his boardroom long after the door had closed, fingers tapping against the polished table as the scent of her perfume still lingered in the air floral, soft, bittersweet.

But it wasn’t just her smile he remembered this time.

It was the way her shoulders had stiffened the moment Sangmin barked her name.

It was the way she kept her eyes downcast after handing over the file.

It was the tight, almost invisible way her fingers clenched the folder.

Something wasn’t right.

In the following days, Mingyu did what he always did best he started watching.

CS Enterprise had requested several follow-up meetings to beg for an investment, and Sangmin made no attempt to hide his desperation. Every time, he brought Y/N along like she was part of his briefcase.

But Mingyu noticed things. Subtle things.

She was the one preparing the documents. She was the one catching errors Sangmin made during presentations. She was the one quietly emailing updates, adjusting schedules, fixing his sloppy work yet Sangmin never thanked her.

He only yelled. He barked. He belittled.

And worse… sometimes, he leered.

One late evening, Mingyu stayed back at the office, pacing in his office with the city glowing beneath him. The lights of Seoul bled through his windows in a kaleidoscope of dreams and failures. Something in him itched, restless, almost furious, and he didn’t understand why until he remembered the moment in the hallway earlier that day.

Y/N had stepped out of the elevator alone, arms full of binders. Mingyu had just rounded the corner when he saw Sangmin press his palm against the wall, cornering her with a smirk.

“You should smile more when you’re around me, sweetheart,” Sangmin had said with a chuckle. “That frown of yours makes people think I’m abusing you.”

She didn’t smile.

She just nodded. Quiet. Composed.

And then Sangmin leaned closer, voice a whisper Mingyu barely caught.

“Don’t act cold with me, Y/N. You owe me too much to act like you’re too good for a little attention.”

It took everything in Mingyu not to punch the wall.

He waited.

And when the next meeting ended, Mingyu took the opportunity to stop her before she left.

“Miss Y/N,” he called, voice smooth but sharp.

She turned, bowing slightly. “Yes, Mr. Kim?”

He could see the way her professionalism clicked into place like armor. Perfect posture. Blank expression. But those eyes flickered with a trace of caution.

He gestured toward his office. “Just a moment, if you don’t mind. I’d like to ask you something privately.”

She hesitated. Her fingers clutched the tablet tighter. “If it’s regarding the CS documents, I’d prefer if my CEO were present.”

“It’s not about the documents.”

Silence.

Then she stepped in.

He closed the door softly behind her.

“Sit,” he offered.

She didn’t.

He admired her defiance, even if it was subtle. There was pride in the way she held herself. Strength in her silence. But he saw the fatigue under her eyes, the exhaustion she tried so hard to conceal.

“I’ll be direct,” he said finally. “I’ve noticed the way Sangmin treats you.”

Her face didn’t change.

“Secretary Y/N,” he continued, more gently this time, “I don’t know what’s keeping you in that position, but if you need help-”

“I don’t.”

Her voice was sharp.

Clear.

Final.

Mingyu blinked. “You don’t?”

She looked him straight in the eye. “I don’t need your pity, Mr. Kim. Whatever you think you’ve seen is none of your business.”

It was the first time she’d spoken to him without the mask of formality. And still, her voice didn’t waver, but her fingers trembled slightly as she held the tablet to her chest.

Mingyu took a deep breath. “It’s not pity.”

“Then what is it?”

“Concern.”

She laughed once short and bitter. “I’m just a secretary. You’re the most powerful CEO in Seoul. We’re not in the same world.”

He stepped closer.

“You’re right. You’re not just a secretary. That’s exactly the problem. You do everything. You run his entire company behind the scenes, and he treats you like trash.”

She didn’t answer.

“You deserve better,” he added softly.

A long silence stretched between them. His words hovered in the air like fragile glass too delicate to hold, too painful to drop.

Finally, she turned toward the door.

“I appreciate your concern, but I have to go,” she whispered.

“Miss Y/N”

She stopped.

And when she looked back, her eyes shimmered with something between sadness and pride.

“Some of us don’t have the luxury of choosing better. We just survive.”

Then she left.

Mingyu stood in his office, fists clenched, heart pounding.

He didn’t know when it happened, but somewhere between that rainy coffee shop and now, he’d started to care too much.

And he wasn’t going to stand by and do nothing anymore.

Even if it meant breaking her pride, ruining her loyalty and waging war with her boss.

Because Kim Mingyu had never lost a battle.

And this time, his heart was on the front line.

(Y/N’s Point of View)

Silence had a sound.

It was the low hum of the air vent in the corner of the room. The ticking of the cracked clock on the wall. The soft click of her keyboard as she typed with aching fingers. It was past 1 AM. The office was empty. The only light that remained spilled from her cubicle a dim, artificial glow that couldn’t warm the ice in her chest.

She should go home. But home didn’t exist anymore. Not when her life revolved around a man who tore pieces of her apart day by day.

Choi Sangmin.

CEO of CS Enterprise. Her boss. Her tormentor.

She had once believed in loyalty. In working hard. In respect. But that belief had become a prison. A sick, invisible chain around her neck, pulling tighter each time she dared to look up.

She was finishing the quarterly analysis when the door slammed.

Her blood froze.

Heavy, angry footsteps.

He was drunk again.

She could smell it before she even turned around the bitter stench of whiskey and rage.

“You’re still here?” he snapped.

Y/N stood quickly, brushing the dust off her skirt, bowing slightly. “I was just finishing the-”

“You think I give a damn what you’re finishing?”

His voice sliced through her spine. She didn’t speak. She knew better.

Sangmin staggered closer, eyes bloodshot, tie loose and mouth twisted into a sneer. He grabbed a mug from her desk and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the wall.

She flinched. Hard.

“I asked you to re-do the financial forecast two hours ago,” he growled. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice you skipped the client losses?”

“I didn’t skip them,” she whispered. “I was double-checking the figures-”

“Don’t you dare talk back to me.” He raised his voice. He always raised his voice before

Slap.

Her head whipped to the side.

Her cheek burned. She staggered back. The room spun.

“You act like you’re indispensable,” Sangmin hissed. “Let me remind you you’re a replaceable pawn. Just a pretty face with a weak spine.”

Tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them away. He hated when she cried. He fed on it.

He stepped closer.

“Why would you make me the villain on the story huh? I’ve always wanted you and you know it” His hand slammed down on the desk beside her, making her jump. “I made you. Everything you have is because of me.”

“No,” she said quietly, trembling. “I worked for it.”

Wrong answer.

His fist came down on her laptop.

The screen cracked in half, sparks flickering before it died completely. She gasped softly, and his face twisted in satisfaction.

“You work because I allow you to. You breathe in this office because I let you.”

He grabbed her wrist tightly, pulling her toward him. “If you ever roll your eyes at me in another meeting again, I’ll rip your contract and blacklist you from every firm in Seoul.”

She yanked her hand back.

It took everything in her. Every ounce of courage left.

“I’m not scared of you,” she lied.

He laughed, then stepped away slowly, mockingly.

“Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and vile. “But don’t forget who signs your paychecks.”

With that, he walked out, slamming the door behind him.

She didn’t move.

The ringing in her ears wouldn’t stop. Her laptop lay in pieces. Her documents were soaked in spilled coffee. Her skin stung. Her chest felt hollow.

She stared at her reflection in the glass partition messy hair, red cheek, eyes swollen with shame.

Not sadness.

Shame.

How had she let it get this far?

How had she let herself rot in this cage?

She wanted to scream. But there was no one to scream to. She wanted to cry, but she didn’t want to give him that. Not even in private.

So instead, she sank to the floor, legs folded, head in her hands. Her silent sobs were the only sound in the room. No one would find her. No one ever stayed this late.

No one ever saw her.

She was invisible but not invincible.

And maybe… Maybe tomorrow, she wouldn’t survive another slap. Maybe next time, he wouldn’t just break her laptop. Maybe next time, he’d break her.

But she would never ask for help. Not yet.

Because asking for help meant admitting she was weak. And she still wanted to believe she was strong.

Even if she was dying inside.

The hallway outside her apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

Even the buzzing streetlights seemed to dim in her presence as if they, too, were ashamed to witness her like this.

Y/N fumbled with her keys, hands trembling so badly the metal scraped against the doorknob. She dropped them once. Twice. Her fingers wouldn’t cooperate. Her breath came in ragged bursts, and the silence behind her felt like a pair of invisible eyes watching her crumble.

Finally, the door opened.

And the second she stepped inside, she locked it.

Click.

Click

Chain.

Bolt.

Like it would protect her from the memories still crawling on her skin.

Her apartment was dark and still the same as always. The little lavender-scented candle on the counter. The pile of untouched books on the nightstand. Her favorite sweater folded neatly on the chair. Everything looked normal. Safe.

But she wasn’t.

She stood in the middle of the room like a stranger in her own life.

Her heels dropped from her hands to the floor. She kicked them away like they were a threat. Her coat followed, then her bag. Her fingers reached for the light switch, but stopped halfway.

No. She didn’t want to see herself right now.

She walked through the dark instead slow, barefoot, shaking until she reached the mirror in the bathroom.

And when she looked up

She didn’t recognize herself.

Her cheek was still red. A small cut along her jaw. Mascara smudged in streaks under her wide, glassy eyes. Her blouse was wrinkled and stained with coffee. Her bottom lip was bleeding slightly from where she’d bitten it to keep from screaming.

She looked… hollow.

A ghost of who she used to be.

She stared. And stared. And stared. Waiting for the tears to come.

But they didn’t.

There was nothing left.

She turned on the faucet, cupped water in her hands, and washed her face. The cold shocked her skin, but it didn’t fix anything. It couldn’t.

Nothing could.

She peeled off her blouse and skirt and changed into her oversized t-shirt the one she always wore when she was sick or hurting. Then she sat on the floor beside her bed, legs pulled to her chest, blanket wrapped around her shoulders like armor.

And that’s when she whispered:

“What am I doing?”

Three words that broke something inside her.

She had once dreamed of becoming something great. Of building a name for herself. Of standing on her own two feet, respected and proud. She had worked harder than anyone in her class. Graduated top of her year. Taken job offers no one else would even consider just for the chance to climb.

She had survived every cold winter in Seoul alone, eating instant ramen and budgeting electricity bills just to afford her rent. She had skipped meals, ignored illness, and put every ounce of strength into her job.

For what?

To be broken by a man who saw her as a puppet?

To be slapped in the face, screamed at in boardrooms, humiliated in front of clients?

She curled tighter into herself.

“Why didn’t I leave?” she whispered.

Because she couldn’t.

Because she had nowhere else to go. Because pride didn’t feed you. Because silence was easier than scandal. Because the corporate world protected men like him.

And because the world was cruel to women who made noise.

Her phone buzzed.

She looked at the screen.

It was a message from her boss.

"Report due 7AM. Fix your attitude."

No apology. No remorse. Not even an attempt to pretend he hadn’t just hit her.

She stared at the screen, hands shaking again.

And for a moment Just a moment She imagined throwing the phone against the wall. Quitting. Disappearing.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she placed it on silent, turned it over, and buried her face in the pillow.

And there, in the suffocating dark, she let herself cry. Really cry. Ugly, shaking sobs that ripped out of her like a storm.

She cried for the girl she used to be. The girl who thought hard work protected you. The girl who smiled too politely and bowed too deeply and kept her mouth shut too long.

She cried until her throat was raw and her voice was gone.

And then

She stopped.

Wiped her tears. Took a deep breath.

And whispered to herself:

“Just one more day.”

Because that’s how survival worked.

One day at a time. Until something anything changed.

(Mingyu's Point of View)

There were two things Kim Mingyu knew better than anyone:

Business. And people.

He had built an empire by trusting his gut. Stock markets could lie. Competitors could bluff. But people their eyes, their habits, their energy they never lied for long.

And right now, something wasn’t right.

He sat in the boardroom, flipping through the latest proposal Sangmin had submitted a desperate attempt to keep CS Enterprise from crumbling but his mind wasn’t on the numbers.

It was on her.

Y/N.

She wasn’t there.

She was always there.

Every single meeting, every scheduled appointment, trailing behind Sangmin with a stack of files clutched tightly to her chest. Always quiet. Always efficient. Always professional even when her boss barked at her like she wasn’t human.

But today? She was gone.

No call. No show. No one mentioned her.

Mingyu leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose.

The last time he’d seen her just three days ago she’d looked… different.

Worn out. Pale. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. Her hands had been shaking when she passed him the report. And she’d avoided his gaze completely, like eye contact might unravel her.

Something had twisted in his chest then, but he hadn’t known why.

Now he did.

He clicked his pen rhythmically against the table as Sangmin rambled across from him, practically begging with flowery business language. Mingyu wasn’t even listening. He was watching the empty seat next to him the one Y/N usually occupied.

She always sat small. Like she didn’t want to be noticed. But Mingyu always noticed her.

Especially her eyes. Those soft fox-like eyes they’d haunted him ever since the first time they met at that café downtown.

He remembered the gentle way she’d stirred her coffee, how her smile had curled shyly when she caught him staring. She hadn’t known who he was, and he hadn’t known she was Sangmin’s secretary. Just two strangers, brushing past fate like it meant nothing.

God, he wished he’d asked her name that day.

But now… he knew too much. And yet, not enough.

Because her absence today?

Felt wrong.

He knew Sangmin was a monster in the quiet ways. The kind of man who wrapped his cruelty in politeness when the cameras were on. Mingyu had seen glimpses. The demeaning way he snapped his fingers. How he called Y/N “the girl” instead of her name. The veiled threats masked as jokes.

But now?

He felt it in his bones.

Something had happened.

He cleared his throat, interrupting Sangmin mid-pitch.

“Your secretary,” Mingyu said flatly. “She’s usually with you.”

Sangmin froze. Just for a beat.

Then forced a smile. “Y/N’s feeling under the weather. Probably a cold. She’s… delicate.”

Delicate?

Mingyu’s jaw tightened.

“I see,” he said. But he didn’t.

Because Y/N wasn’t delicate.

She was strong.

He’d seen it

in the way she stood through verbal attacks without flinching, how she carried two dozen files without complaint, how she took notes in perfect detail even while being dismissed.

No. She wasn’t fragile. She was just tired.

And Mingyu had a terrible feeling that her “cold” was really something darker.

The meeting ended. Papers were signed. Promises were made. But Mingyu’s mind stayed on her.

Back in his office, he loosened his tie and stared out the tall glass windows.

He had no right to care. She wasn’t his. Hell, she wasn’t even an employee of his company.

But there was something in him that refused to let this go.

He opened his laptop and pulled up internal contacts. Her name wouldn’t be there she worked for Sangmin but maybe he could find the café where they’d met. Or maybe

He paused.

Why was he doing this?

Why did it bother him this much?

Because she had smiled at him once and it had felt like sunlight. Because in a world full of wolves in suits, she was soft-spoken truth. Because even when her voice shook, she still stood tall.

And because he couldn’t stand the thought of her being hurt.

Not when he could stop it.

Mingyu didn’t sleep that night.

He tried.

He laid in bed, suit jacket draped over the back of the chair, the city lights blinking outside his penthouse window but his mind wouldn’t slow down. His thoughts spun in quiet circles, always returning to the same thing.

Y/N.

The seat she should’ve filled. The smile she didn’t wear. The way Sangmin had called her delicate, like she was a burden instead of a person.

It made his blood boil.

He wasn’t one to obsess not like this. He was always polite, always calm, the kind of CEO who made time for every employee, who brought birthday cake to the breakroom and remembered names and favorite drinks. He was professional. Reasonable.

But this? This felt personal.

By morning, he had made up his mind.

At first, he tried the polite route. Called CS Enterprise directly. Asked if she was available.

“She’s out sick,” the receptionist replied. “Still resting at home.”

Still.

His grip tightened on the phone.

He thanked her, then hung up.

Not good enough.

Sangmin hadn’t even bothered to show concern. Hadn’t mentioned sending flowers. Or checking in. Or asking if she needed anything.

If Mingyu didn’t know better, he’d think her boss was hoping she wouldn’t come back.

Which was exactly why

He had to find her.

It took two calls and a little bit of digging, but eventually he found her address. Technically, it was company property listed under CS Enterprise some old studio apartment they gave junior employees on a temporary basis.

He didn’t tell anyone where he was going.

Just grabbed his coat and left, heart pounding louder with every block the car passed.

The building was small, tucked between two laundromats, and older than it should’ve been. Cracks in the bricks. Rust on the intercom. He rang the bell three times.

No answer.

He stared up at the window.

Curtains drawn.

He rang again.

Still nothing.

He almost gave up.

But then He saw her.

Barely.

Just a glimpse of her silhouette moving past the curtains. But it was enough.

His breath caught. He stepped back from the door, afraid of scaring her.

“Y/N,” he called softly, voice laced with concern. “It’s me. Mingyu.”

Silence.

He waited.

Then, slowly… the door cracked open.

Only a little.

And there she was.

Hair loose. Eyes tired and guarded. A sweater too big for her frame. Her face was bare, but beautiful even now. Especially now.

His heart broke.

“Hi,” he breathed. “You… you okay?”

She blinked. Didn’t answer.

Of course she didn’t. What was she supposed to say?

No, I’m not okay?

No, my boss hit me and humiliated me?

No, I can’t breathe anymore in this world?

Instead, she looked down.

He stepped back, respectful.

“I’m sorry for just showing up. I just la I’ve been worried. You weren’t at the meeting. You’ve never missed one.”

She still said nothing.

“I don’t know what happened,” he said gently, “but… I know something isn’t right.”

Her eyes flickered. Her grip tightened on the doorframe.

He took a breath. Then said what had been building in his chest for days:

“Y/N. Leave him.”

She froze.

He stepped a little closer not enough to threaten. Just enough so she’d hear the tremble in his voice.

“Please,” he whispered. “I don’t know what that bastard did, but I know he doesn’t respect you. I see the way he treats you. It’s not normal. It’s not okay. It’s not” his voice cracked, “it’s not what you deserve.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away quickly.

He saw them anyway.

“I’ve been thinking about you nonstop,” he admitted, finally dropping the shield. “Since the coffee shop. Since that stupid meeting. And I know I don’t know everything, but if you worked for me” he paused, heart hammering, “I would treat you like a human. Like someone worth listening to. I would protect you.”

She looked away.

“I’d never shout at you. Or order you around like you’re nothing. I’d make sure you took breaks. Ate lunch. Slept. Laughed. I’d never make you feel small.”

Still, she didn’t open the door.

So he whispered one last thing:

“If you were mine… I’d treat you right.”

The words hung heavy between them.

Her lips parted. Her eyes widened. She looked like she wanted to speak to scream, to cry, to collapse but pride held her in place.

Then

The door closed gently in his face.

Not slammed. Just… closed.

Mingyu stared at the wood for a long time.

And for the first time in years, the man who had built an empire, won every negotiation, and stood above the world

Felt completely helpless.

After the door closed softly, Mingyu stood on the cracked concrete steps, heart pounding in frustration and worry. He wanted to shout, to knock again, but he held himself back. He knew pushing too hard would only scare her away.

So, instead, he did the only thing he could.

He pulled out his phone.

“Y/N it’s Mingyu. I’m sorry for coming unannounced. But please know I mean every word. I’m here when you’re ready. You don’t have to face this alone.”

He stared at the message long after pressing send, hoping she would read it.

Minutes turned to hours.

No reply.

Mingyu’s phone buzzed. It was a colleague from his company.

“Boss, the meeting with Sangmin just got moved up. He wants to talk to you ASAP.”

Mingyu glanced out the window, thinking of Y/N alone in that dim apartment.

He made a decision.

Work could wait.

He was going back.

The next day, Mingyu stopped by the coffee shop where they first met.

The barista smiled when she saw him. “You’re looking for her, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “Do you know if she’s been coming here?”

“She hasn’t been around in a few days. But you should leave a note, just in case.”

Mingyu scribbled a quick note on a card:

Y/N, I’m not giving up. When you’re ready, I’ll be waiting. You deserve better.

He left it with the barista and walked out, a little lighter but still aching.

Over the next weeks, Mingyu sent messages gentle, kind, never demanding.

He sent flowers to her office (with a note: For strength when you need it.) He asked his people to watch out for her, making sure no one bullied or pushed her further.

No matter how many times she closed the door in his face literally and figuratively Mingyu stayed.

Because some things were worth fighting for. Because sometimes, all someone needs is to know they’re not alone.

And Mingyu knew:

Y/N was worth everything.

Days turned into weeks, and still no word from Y/N.

Mingyu’s usual confidence was tested like never before. He was used to commanding boardrooms, making deals, and controlling every variable but Y/N was a mystery he couldn’t crack, a gentle flame just out of reach.

Every morning, he made it a point to check in. Not to demand or rush, but just to let her know she was seen.

Good morning, Y/N. Hope today brings you a moment of peace. If you need anything, I’m only a call away. Remember to eat today. You’re stronger than you think.

Sometimes, he’d walk past her office building, pretending it was coincidence. His eyes would scan the windows, hoping for a glimpse of her.

His coworkers noticed.

“Boss, you’re always checking for her. Doesn’t that distract you?” He just smiled softly. “She’s not just anyone.”

One evening, he left a small package at her doorstep: a plush blanket, a book of poetry, and a handwritten note.

For the cold nights when you feel alone. I hope you find warmth somewhere even if it’s just in these words.

He didn’t expect a reply.

But what he did get was a small change.

The next day, a faint smile from the barista when he dropped by, saying, “She asked about you today.”

It was progress.

Slow.

Fragile.

But real.

Mingyu reminded himself that sometimes love wasn’t a blazing fire sometimes it was a quiet, steady flame that refused to go out.

And he was ready to wait as long as it took.

It was a quiet evening when it happened.

Y/N sat curled on her small couch, the weight of days pressing down like stones on her chest. Her hands trembled as memories of Sangmin’s harsh words and cold touches swirled in her mind, each one a sting, each one a bruise she hid behind her forced smiles and sharp silence.

Her phone vibrated softly on the table. A message from Mingyu:

I’m outside. I don’t want to rush you, but if you want to talk, I’m here.

Her breath hitched.

For the first time in weeks, the loneliness felt unbearable.

Her fingers hesitated, then dialed.

When Mingyu’s voice came through warm, steady, gentle she felt tears spill over like a dam breaking.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” she whispered.

“Say whatever you want,” Mingyu replied softly. “I’m listening.”

And so she did.

The truth tumbled out the fear, the pain, the exhaustion of pretending everything was fine.

The nights she cried alone. The fear of going back to the office. The way Sangmin’s eyes darkened when she hesitated. How small and invisible she felt.

Mingyu didn’t interrupt. He just listened. And when she finished, he spoke his voice unwavering.

“You’re not alone anymore. Not with me.”

Y/N let out a shaky laugh through tears. “I don’t deserve someone like you.”

He smiled, though she couldn’t see it. “You deserve so much more than you think.”

That night, something shifted.

The walls she’d built around her heart began to crumble because sometimes, the strongest thing you can do is let someone in.

The sleek glass door slid open with a soft click.

Y/N stepped inside, taking in the polished marble floors, the hum of printers, and the occasional laughter echoing from coworkers on break.

At the center of the storm sat Mingyu, fingers flying over his keyboard, brows furrowed in focus. His usual crisp suit was perfectly tailored, his presence commanding yet calm.

She cleared her throat softly.

He looked up, surprised but quickly masking it with a composed nod.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” he said, voice steady.

Y/N smiled wryly and leaned against the doorframe. “You never give up, do you? Like a puppy that just won’t quit.”

Mingyu’s eyes twinkled with a mixture of amusement and warmth. “Guilty as charged. But only when it comes to things I care about.”

She took a hesitant step inside, letting the noise of the office bubble around her laughter, casual chatter, the click of heels on the floor.

“It’s different here,” she admitted quietly. “You all seem… happy.”

Mingyu closed his laptop gently, giving her his full attention. “People work hard, but they’re treated well. That makes all the difference.”

Y/N’s gaze softened, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little.

“Thank you for not giving up on me,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Mingyu stood, taking a step closer. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just getting started.”

They sat across from each other in Mingyu’s office the sunlight cutting clean lines through the blinds, the distant hum of conversation outside like background music.

Mingyu had offered her tea, but Y/N barely touched it. Her fingers played with the rim of the cup, her eyes scanning the floor, his desk, anywhere but his face.

Until finally, she looked up.

“I… I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” she said softly.

Mingyu tilted his head, giving her his full attention.

“That night,” she continued, her voice trembling slightly. “When you came to my door… and said, ‘If you were mine, I’d treat you better.’”

She paused, swallowing.

“What did you mean by that?”

A silence settled in the room, thick and trembling.

Mingyu leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes locked onto hers not flinching, not dodging.

“I meant exactly what I said,” he replied quietly. “That if I had the chance if you were mine I’d never let you feel worthless. Never let you cry yourself to sleep. Never let anyone speak to you like you’re disposable.”

Y/N's breath caught in her throat.

He continued, voice steady but filled with emotion, “I wouldn’t just be your boss. I’d be your partner. I’d lift you up, not push you down. Respect you, admire you, and never stop reminding you how incredible you are. Not because you’re useful. But because you’re you.”

She stared at him, stunned into silence.

The air between them crackled with something unspoken not lust, not romance, not yet but something far more fragile and sacred.

A promise.

Y/N’s voice was just a whisper. “You’re not like him.”

“No,” Mingyu said. “And I never will be.”

Y/N never believed someone like Kim Mingyu could exist not in her world, at least.

He was the type of man she thought only existed in fiction. But the more she saw of him, the more real he became.

She’d seen him serious eyes like steel when he led meetings, voice cutting through silence with precision.

She’d seen him joyful breaking into a crooked grin as he played with office interns during lunch breaks, folding paper airplanes with the interns like a child.

She’d seen him silly pouting when his favorite snack ran out in the vending machine or doing little dances when he won a deal.

And she’d seen him… soft.

Always soft with her.

Never once had he raised his voice, even when he was frustrated. He wasn’t perfect, but he was safe.

And that, more than anything, made her heart slowly, quietly fall for him.

It was different from infatuation. It wasn’t dramatic or explosive.

It was in the way she felt calmer when he was around. The way her smile lingered longer after reading his messages. The way her nightmares stopped haunting her when he simply said, "You’re not alone anymore."

But love, too, meant courage.

And so she went back.

To that office.

To the cage.

Choi Sangmin didn’t even look up when she entered. His voice was sharp.

“You’re late.”

She stepped forward, chin high but hands clenched in her coat. “I came to give my resignation.”

Silence.

He looked up slowly. His smirk didn’t reach his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“I’m done,” she said, firmer this time. “I won’t let you control me anymore.”

Something shifted in his expression. Gone was the feigned charm. Gone was the aloof CEO.

What stood before her was obsession. And danger.

“You think you can just leave me?” he hissed, standing from behind the desk. “I’ve been in love with you for years, Y/N. Years.”

Her stomach churned.

“I watched you smile at everyone else but me. Watched you run to that puppy-eyed rival of mine”

“Stop,” she whispered, taking a step back.

Sangmin rounded the desk, his eyes wild. “He’ll throw you away. I never would. I waited. You owe me. You’re mine.”

And then he reached for her.

His hand gripped her wrist, pulling her forward roughly. She yelped, trying to wrench away.

“I should’ve done this a long time ago”

But before he could lean closer, she slapped him.

Hard.

The sound echoed in the room like thunder.

She wrenched free, chest heaving, eyes wet and burning.

“You don’t love me,” she said. “You want to own me. That’s not love. That’s cruelty.”

She turned and ran.

Out of the office. Out of the building. Out of the prison he had tried to trap her in.

And as her tears fell, all she could think of was Mingyu the man who never forced, never pulled, never claimed her like property.

He just… stayed.

And now, she needed to see him.

The glass doors of Choi Enterprises slid open with a mechanical hush as Y/N stumbled out into the cold daylight.

She wasn’t even fully aware of where she was going. Her hands trembled in her pockets, her breath uneven, chest tight. Every step away from him felt like a war she barely had the strength to fight.

Her skin still crawled from his touch.

Her soul still screamed from what he said.

You’re mine.

The street was bustling, but it was all a blur until her shoulder hit something firm, solid, and real.

And suddenly, strong hands steadied her.

“Y/N?”

Her head snapped up.

Kim Mingyu.

Tall. Warm. Alarmed. And very much there.

His brows furrowed instantly as his eyes scanned her messy hair, smudged mascara, a trembling lip she was desperately trying to bite back.

“Y/N…” he whispered, voice thick with worry. “What happened?”

She opened her mouth.

Nothing came out.

Her throat was raw. Her eyes wide. Her body shaking.

Then his expression changed as if something heavy clicked into place.

His gaze lifted past her.

And landed on the man stepping out of the building behind her.

Choi Sangmin.

His tie was loose, his collar undone, and his lips were curled in a smug, victorious smirk.

Mingyu’s body went still.

Dead still.

His hand on Y/N’s back twitched not from hesitation, but from pure, explosive rage slowly boiling under his skin.

For the first time ever, Kim Mingyu wasn’t smiling.

He wasn’t soft. He wasn’t boyish.

He was silent fire.

Y/N noticed the change in him, and her fingers gripped his coat. “Please don’t, Mingyu, don’t cause a scene…”

But he didn’t even look at her.

His eyes were glued to the man who hurt her.

The man who dared to put hands on her.

The man who called her his.

“I need you to stay right here,” Mingyu said softly. Gently. But it was the gentleness before a storm.

Y/N grabbed his wrist. “Please, just let it go-“

“No,” he said, voice like steel wrapped in silk. “He crossed the line.”

He turned, walking toward Sangmin with slow, controlled steps. Like a lion who didn’t need to roar to be feared.

Sangmin chuckled as Mingyu approached. “Wow. Kim Mingyu, stepping off his golden throne for a secretary? How noble.”

“You put your hands on her,” Mingyu said quietly, eyes dark. “You pushed her. Cornered her. You thii would let it slide?”

Sangmin sneered. “She was confused. I was helping her.”

Mingyu stepped closer. “You think that’s love? Obsession. Possession. Manipulation. That’s what you call love?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Sangmin hissed. “She’s been mine from the beginning.”

“She’s not a prize,” Mingyu snapped, his voice rising. “She’s not yours to own. She’s a person. And if you ever touch her again, or speak her name with that filth in your voice, I’ll personally make sure your name disappears from every boardroom in this country.”

Sangmin scoffed. “You wouldn’t-”

“I would,” Mingyu growled, eyes blazing. “You think because I’m polite, I’m weak? Because I smile, I won’t burn you to the ground?”

He leaned in, voice low and venomous.

“You touched someone I care about. That’s the only warning you’ll ever get.”

Sangmin stared back, face twitching, jaw clenched but something in him faltered.

Because this wasn’t puppy Mingyu.

This was a man protecting someone like his life depended on it.

Mingyu turned on his heel and walked back, his coat fluttering behind him like a cape, like armor.

Y/N stood frozen where he’d left her, heart hammering.

He said nothing at first just gently shrugged off his own coat and draped it around her trembling shoulders. The warmth of it, the scent of him and safety made her finally breathe again.

His hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Let’s go.”

She didn’t ask where.

Because when he said home, it didn’t sound like a place.

It sounded like him.

Mingyu’s penthouse was the kind of place people only saw in magazines. High ceilings. Floor-to-ceiling windows. A skyline that glittered like stardust. Expensive art. Sculpted furniture.

But none of that registered with Y/N when she walked in.

All she felt… was safe.

Mingyu didn’t say anything. He didn’t push. He didn’t demand answers or explanations.

He just held her coat open gently, helping her slip out of it. Then he handed her a hoodie his hoodie soft, oversized, and impossibly warm.

“You can shower first if you want,” he said, voice quiet. “There’s a towel in there, and I’ll bring you something to drink.”

She nodded, still shaking a little. Her voice refused to come out, but her eyes… her eyes said everything.

He watched her disappear into the bathroom. And when the door closed, Mingyu finally let out the breath he had been holding in since the moment he saw her break outside that building.

He clenched his fists.

What the hell did Sangmin do to her…?

Fifteen minutes passed. She came out in his hoodie and sweatpants that were hilariously too long for her. Her damp hair fell around her face, and the soft cotton of the hoodie swallowed her small frame.

“Cute,” he said without thinking, holding back a smile. “You look so adorable.”

She sat on the couch, hugging her knees. “I feel like a ghost.”

He walked over, sat beside her, and without a word, pulled her into his chest.

Just wrapped his strong arms around her like she could disappear if he let go.

She buried her face in his chest, and for a long moment, they didn’t move.

His heartbeat was steady. Loud. Real.

Her trembling stopped slowly.

He leaned down and whispered near her temple, “You’re safe now. No one can hurt you here.”

Y/N clutched the fabric of his hoodie. “Why are you being so kind to me?”

He pulled back just enough to look at her. “Because you deserve kindness. Because no one should treat you like you’re disposable. Because I saw you standing under rainclouds, and I want to be your sun.”

That’s when her eyes filled again.

Tears rolled silently down her cheeks.

“I was so scared,” she whispered. “He didn’t let me go. He kept saying I was his. Like I was just… something on a shelf.”

Mingyu’s jaw tightened, but he stayed calm for her.

He gently cupped her cheeks and wiped the tears away with his thumbs. “You’re not an object, Y/N. You’re brilliant. Funny. Gorgeous. You’re light.”

She looked up at him.

And in that moment, with all the soft lamps behind them, and the city glittering beyond the window, he looked like something divine.

“I meant it,” he said gently. “That night… when I said, ‘If you were mine, I’d treat you better.’ I didn’t just mean better than him. I meant better than the world.”

He leaned in slowly, and gave her every second to pull away.

She didn’t.

Their lips met in the softest kiss like silk brushing against silk. Gentle, comforting, warm. A promise disguised as touch.

Not hunger.

Not desperation.

Just care.

When they broke apart, he kept his forehead against hers and whispered, “You can stay here tonight. Or as long as you want. Even forever.”

Y/N laughed softly through her tears. “You’re like a baby in a giant man’s body.”

“I am your baby tho,” he pouted dramatically, already wrapping his arms around her again. “I need cuddles. And affection. And you by my side.”

She giggled, really giggled, and he beamed proudly.

He grabbed a plushie from his couch a ridiculous pink penguin and shoved it in her arms. “This is Poongie. He’s been guarding my house since college.”

“You named your plushie?”

“Shut up, he has feelings.”

He dragged her to the oversized couch, made her lie down, then snuggled up beside her like a giant puppy demanding attention. His legs were too long, his arms were everywhere, and he was clingier than static in winter.

“Let’s play twenty questions,” he mumbled into her shoulder. “But I only ask you the questions I wanna know.”

“That’s not how the game works”

“Shhhh.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling.

And as he lay beside her, arms wrapped around her waist like he’d never let her go, she realized something:

For the first time in a long time… she wasn’t afraid.

The morning sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Mingyu’s penthouse, casting golden light across the hardwood floor.

Y/N stirred in the plush cocoon of his couch, the scent of fresh espresso and caramelized sugar drifting through the air. She blinked slowly, and when her eyes adjusted, she saw him barefoot in a black hoodie and sweats, messy bed hair, humming to himself as he flipped pancakes in the kitchen.

He noticed her gaze instantly.

His whole face lit up. “Good morning, sunshine.”

She sat up, brushing her hair back, cheeks warm. “You’re actually cooking?”

He stuck out his tongue. “Hey. I may look expensive, but I make mean banana pancakes. With chocolate chips, because healing requires chocolate.”

He brought over a plate and set it on the coffee table like a proud kid. “Taste test?”

Y/N smiled for the first time that morning and took a bite. “…Okay, this is actually amazing.”

“I accept apologies in pancake form.”

She giggled.

Mingyu watched her for a second too long, like he still couldn’t believe she was here in his home, in his hoodie, smiling like the world didn’t almost destroy her a day ago.

But that moment of peace didn’t last long.

Buzz.

Her phone, still stuffed in her bag from yesterday, suddenly lit up on the kitchen counter.

She hadn’t turned it off.

Mingyu glanced at the screen.

His chest tightened.

The caller ID said “CEO Choi Sangmin.”

Her body went rigid.

Her fingers curled into her sleeves, and her breathing hitched.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

He didn’t touch it. Didn’t reach for it. Just walked to her side, sat beside her, and gently wrapped his arms around her again.

“Block him,” Mingyu said softly. “You don’t owe him anything. Not an answer. Not a goodbye. Nothing.”

Y/N swallowed hard. Her hand trembled as she reached for the phone. She stared at the screen.

The call ended.

But within seconds…

A message arrived.

Sangmin: You think hiding behind that man makes you safe? I made you. You’re mine. Come back, and I’ll pretend this didn’t happen.

Her hands dropped the phone like it burned her.

Mingyu picked it up, eyes scanning the message.

His jaw clenched. His body stiffened. “He’s insane.”

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. “He has so much power. So many connections. If I fight back-”

“I’ll protect you.”

Her head snapped toward him. “Mingyu-”

“No,” he said firmly. “You’re not going to live in fear. You didn’t deserve any of what he did to you. And he doesn’t own you.”

His hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing away the single tear that escaped. “You’re not going back there. Ever. And he’s never touching you again. I swear it on my name.”

“But… I worked there for so long. All my records, my personal info he has access to everything.”

“Not anymore,” Mingyu said.

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated… then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a sleek black USB.

“I’ve already had my legal team start gathering things. Paper trails. Employee statements. Audio files. Even stuff from board members who resigned over his behavior.”

Her lips parted in shock.

He looked down, sheepish. “I started digging the night I saw you cry. Something told me there was more behind your silence. I had to know. I needed to know.”

Tears brimmed again, but they didn’t fall.

She took the USB gently from his hand.

“You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I did,” he whispered, leaning closer. “Because if someone hurt you, and I did nothing… then who am I?”

A long silence settled between them.

Y/N exhaled slowly, fingers clutching the USB like it was hope in physical form.

“He’ll come for me,” she said softly. “He always does.”

“Then let him try,” Mingyu said, gaze fierce. “Because this time, you’re not facing him alone.”

Monday 05 July 2025

The boardroom was colder than usual.

Sterile white walls, the polished glass table reflecting the fluorescent lights like a mirror.

Y/N’s heart hammered in her chest as she followed Mingyu inside.

Her palms were sweaty, but Mingyu’s hand found hers beneath the table, steadying.

At the far end sat Sangmin, eyes sharp, lips curling into a smug smile that didn’t reach them.

“So,” Sangmin said smoothly, voice calm but dripping with menace, “You’ve brought your CEO to play bodyguard, Y/N?”

Mingyu didn’t flinch.

He sat down confidently, his gaze locking with Sangmin’s without a hint of intimidation.

“This isn’t a game, Sangmin,” Mingyu said, voice low but lethal. “You’ve crossed lines that won’t be ignored.”

Y/N swallowed, then took a shaky breath.

“I’m here to resign,” she said, voice stronger than she felt. “Effective immediately.”

Sangmin laughed, cold and sharp.

“You think I’ll let you go that easily?”

He leaned forward, eyes narrowing.

“I own everything connected to you—your work, your reputation, your future. Walking away isn’t an option.”

Mingyu’s voice cut through the tension.

“You don’t own her. Not her past, not her present, and certainly not her future.”

Sangmin’s smile twisted.

“You really think you can protect her? From me?”

Mingyu’s jaw tightened.

“I’m not just going to protect her,” he said. “I’m going to expose you. Every dirty secret, every abuse, every threat.”

He slid a thick file across the table.

Sangmin’s eyes flicked to it.

Inside were testimonies, audio recordings, emails proof Mingyu’s team had painstakingly collected.

“You’ve been hiding for too long,” Mingyu said.

Sangmin slammed his fist on the table, voice rising.

“You’ll regret this. All of you.”

Mingyu didn’t back down.

His eyes softened as they flicked to Y/N.

“Do you want to say anything?”

Y/N swallowed her fear and met Sangmin’s gaze.

“I’m not afraid anymore.”

A silence fell.

Then Sangmin stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly.

“This isn’t over.”

Mingyu stood too, blocking Sangmin’s path.

“No, it’s over.”

He motioned to Y/N.

“Let’s go home.”

Y/N looked at Mingyu, her heart pounding not with fear, but with something new.

Hope.

Strength.

Love.

Together, they walked out of the room, leaving Sangmin behind.

348 notes · View notes

synity · 1 month ago

Text

aww I love your writting🤗🤍🤍🤍 and I absolutely appreciate reading this!!!

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ [pre-debut > pretty u era]

You had always known love didn’t look the same in every household.

And yours came in structured sentences. Conditional encouragement.

A string of “If you just tried harder,” and “We’re only saying this because we want what’s best.”

Even as a kid, you'd feel like a black horse in the family register — always just a little too loud, too different. Your dream of standing on stage had been more tolerated than supported, like a wild hair they assumed you’d eventually grow out of.

But you didn’t.

You applied anyway. Trained anyway. Pushed anyway. Became an idol anyway.

You still remembered the night you told them you’d passed the final round at Pledis, and your father’s first words were, “But what about your actual future?”

They barely acknowledged your training life - let alone you debut.

Achievements came and went with a flat “congratulations” when Seventeen's first album dropped, your mother sending a text two weeks late, asking if you’d be visiting for Chuseok.

And somewhere along the way, your already-tense relationship with your parents turned into a thread, a line stretched so thin, it barely held. Calls became rare. Their voices, even rarer.

Which was why moments like this always stung more than you’d admit.

“Eomma!” Hoshi shouted gleefully into his phone. “We did it—yes! First place!”

Beside him, Mingyu grinned through tears, already facetiming his entire family. “No, no, Mom, we really won!”

Vernon paced with his phone pressed to his ear, his signature grin accompanied a bright expression. Chan pulled out his phone too, face lighting up. Jun and Hao rattled off excited mandarin, too fast for you to catch.

The backstage room after first music show win was filled with elation - and the soft buzz of family on speakerphone. One by one, the members turned to share their joy, grinning wide, holding back happy tears as they passed phones around to talk to parents who had watched every step of the way.

You?

You stood a little off-centre, clapping through the shock, heart hammering against your ribs. You’d done it. After years. The nights. The fights. The exhaustion.

But your hands stayed in your lap. Phone silent. No number to dial.

You looked up at the members, watching Seungcheol laugh through tears on the phone, nodding at whatever his father was saying. Jeonghan passed his phone to Joshua so they could greet each other’s parents, even cracking jokes mid-call.

A lump lodged itself in your throat.

You sat down on the bench, quietly wiping under your eye before it ruined the makeup. You hoped no one noticed.

One of your most painful moments with your parents came raw, quiet, and defining in its own way.

You remembered it had rained that day.

Not the heavy, dramatic kind. But the slow, lingering drizzle that clung to the sky like an apology it didn’t know how to say.

You stood outside your high school, uniform sticking slightly to your shoulders from the humidity. The ceremony had just ended. Clusters of students buzzed across the school's foyer - laughing, hugging, posing for photos with beaming parents.

Your fingers curled tighter around your phone.

No messages.

No calls.

Your classmates' laughter rang louder than usual. Beside you, a friend's mother was fixing the collar of his shirt, scolding him playfully for wearing mismatched socks on this special day. In the distance, another classmate was locked in a bear hug with her sister. Ones’ dad had even brought flowers despite being alone.

Your stomach churned.

You swiped up your screen and called home for the third time that day.

Ring.

“What is it?”

Your mother’s voice. Clipped. Tired.

“Mom,” you exhaled, a smile stretching across your lips involuntarily. “I just finished. The ceremony is over.”

You gulped. “Are you...on the way?”

A beat of silence passed. Then an audible sigh.

“I thought i told you already?” your mother said, tone already impatient. “Your father had a meeting, and I’m out at lunch with a friend right now.”

“But everyone else’s parents—”

“I have to go now, didn't I tell you not to call me if it’s not an emergency?”

That always stung more than it should.

You tried to swallow it. “Okay, bye. I love–”

The line clicked off before you could finish.

You stared at the phone. It felt heavier than usual.

The crowd thinned around you. Your homeroom teacher passed by with a smile. “Hey, no photos with your family?”

You opened your mouth - then shut it, shaking your head with a polite grin. “They’re busy.”

Jeonghan sat beside you a moment later, his voice was gentle.

“Didn’t call them?”

You swallowed hard and shook your head. “They don’t really…keep up with this stuff.”

He didn’t press - just nodded once, leaning back beside you in silence.

For a few long seconds, the both of you just sat amidst the noise and joy - wrapped in a quiet bubble.

And then, slowly, he held out his phone toward you.

“Want to call mine?” he said with a tiny smile. “They’re basically the team parents at this point. They’ll cry if they hear from you.”

You blinked, heart twisting - not just at the offer, but at the gentleness behind it. The understanding.

“Mom asks if you’re free for brunch next weekend, by the way,” Mingyu jumped in the conversation, nudging another line on his phone towards you. “She’s making your favorite. Already prepped the ingredients and all.”

You blinked. “You told her about today?”

He shrugged, casual. “She was watching the live broadcast before I could.”

There it was again - the ache, but lighter this time. Softer. Mingyu’s mom always remembered your birthday. Jeonghan’s mom never forgot to sent you hand cream in the winter. Seungcheol’s dad once came all the way to the dorm to help you fix a broken faucet, muttering, “I can’t have my daughter living like this.”

And every time you expressed the smallest bit of hesitation - that maybe you didn’t belong in their family circles - they brushed you off.

“You’re one of us,” Hoshi had said once, arms thrown around your shoulders. “No one here celebrates without you.”

You thought of that now - the quiet seat in their loud celebration, and how even without blood ties, warmth had found you anyway.

You gave them a small smile, pushing their phones back to them.

“Tell your mom I’ll bring dessert.”

Mingyu grinned. “Bring an extra portion, I want in too.”

You let yourself believe - even just a little - that maybe home wasn’t always where you came from.

Sometimes, it was who came for you.

At the gates of the school - like a slow-motion dream - a wave of familiar faces turned came your way.

Seungcheol, leading the charge, grinning wide.

Jeonghan with two large bouquets, barely able to hold them straight.

Hoshi bouncing on his toes, holding a helium balloon that bobbed above his head.

Joshua, holding a card with your name written in careful cursive.

And behind them - all of them. The whole group.

Even Jun, who’d been limping from a minor ankle injury the day before, jogged toward you with a paper crown.

The rain had stopped by now - leaving a wave of warmth just after the cold from before.

“There she is!” Seungkwan cheered, lifting his camcorder to start a video.

“Our graduate!” Vernon chimed in, handing you a can of coke like it was champagne.

You blinked, overwhelmed.

“What– what are you guys doing here?”

“We’re here for you, duh,” Chan beamed, looping his arm with yours. “Did you really think we wouldn’t come?”

“But the practice–”

“Rescheduled,” Woozi shrugged. “They can’t argue when thirteen of us complain at once.”

“You didn’t think you’d celebrate this alone, did you?” Jihoon asked, nudging your shoulder.

You looked at the boys - flushed from running, arms full of flowers, some in their oversized tracksuits, all out of place and yet exactly where they were meant to be.

And your vision blurred suddenly.

Not from the phone call earlier. But because despite everything - despite the ones who never showed up, these boys always did.

“Yah, don’t cry now,” Hoshi said, gently adjusting your uniform. “You’ll ruin your photos.”

“You mean our photos,” Jeonghan grinned, pulling you into a hug, bouquet squished between. “You’re not escaping our individual graduation pics.”

As they pulled you through the corridor and into the school field, you realized something you would carry with you forever.

this read is inspired by @synity 's 'Love speaks for itself', thank you so much for letting me write this !! everyone pls give it a read~

595 notes · View notes

synity · 1 month ago

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Hiii just wanted to check in to see if you're okay! How did the surgery go ? Is there anything else to worry about or also needs treatment ? Are you completely healed or still in the process / is it a long term thing ? I hope you're okay and will come back to us soon ❤️❤️❤️

Another update, guys 🥺🩺

So… I haven’t gotten the surgery yet. A lot’s been happening. I’ve seen a gastroenterologist, a dermatologist, an ORL (ENT), and a general surgeon. Basically, I flew to Turkey last Monday, and had my first appointments on Wednesday.

I started with the gastroenterologist because of my stomach issues I’ve been throwing up a lot, even after drinking water or taking medicine. I was diagnosed with an ulcer back in 2021, and I always assumed everything I’m feeling now was due to anxiety or stress. But the doctor said my symptoms aren’t normal for an ulcer. He explained that before blaming stress or anxiety, they always check with two MRIs one abdominal and one cerebral because you never know.

Then I saw a dermatologist for my skin problems 😭 because my face is way darker than my body, and I’ve been struggling with hyperpigmentation. She gave me a sunscreen and a proper skincare routine to follow fingers crossed 🤞🏽

After that, I saw the general surgeon. He did a biopsy 12 needles in my left breast. He said he’s not sure yet if it’s malignant or benign, but he’s confident it’s not dangerous. What he does know is that it’s big, thick, painful, and needs to be removed, maybe next week.

As for the abdominal MRI the stomach looked clean, but they saw lesions and a lot of blood… and today I found out that I’m gluten intolerant, caffeine intolerant, and I already knew about the lactose 😭 So I’m now forbidden from eating a long list of things including: chocolate, apples, oranges, lemons, pastries, sauces, cream, potatoes, tomatoes, peanuts, bananas, kiwis, garlic, sandwiches, cookies, mango, coconut, peaches, pineapple, guava, jams, pepper, cinnamon, cumin, turmeric, paprika, ginger, yam, cassava, plantain, meat, fish, beans, lentils, peas, milk, yogurt, cake, oil (except olive oil), butter, margarine, cocoa and more that I for sure forgot about… In short: no fun allowed. 😭

Then came the brain MRI they found a cyst in my brain. They didn’t know where it’s located or what caused it, so I had to see both the dermatologist and the ORL again. If both say it’s clean, then they said it might be psychological. We saw both. They said everything looked fine but the ORL did find another cyst in my nose, which he said I’ve had since birth and it’s harmless. So that means the brain cyst is likely psychological.

That’s it for now. Thank you for reading all of this if you did. Sending love to all of you 💗🤍 I’m trying to stay strong and positive 🙏🏽

#kpop #seventeen #seventeen imagines #imagine #seventeen right here #fanfiction #seventeen fanfic #fanfic #caratland #svt #update post #carats #artists on tumbkr #writers on tumblr

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synity · 1 month ago

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When The Ocean Calls You

(Hong Joshua X FemReader)

*Rivalry/Enemies-to-Lovers, slow-burn, emotional tension, Coming-of-Age, Family Drama, emotional depth Surf Culture/Coastal Lifestyle, Social Class Divide Slow-Burn, Social Class Divide*

DISCLAIMER:

When the Ocean Calls You is an original story inspired by the Netflix series Surviving Summer. Like Surviving Summer, this story explores themes of teenage rivalry, friendship, family struggles, and the intense world of competitive surfing. The characters, plot, and events in When the Ocean Calls You are entirely fictional, created as a tribute to the spirit and atmosphere of the show.

This story is set in New South Wales, Australia, capturing the coastal lifestyle and surf culture that plays a central role in the characters’ lives. While SURVIVING SUMMER is set in Shorehaven beach!”

NOTE:

Hey everyone! I’m super excited to finally share the first episode of my original series When the Ocean Calls You. Y/N Marlowe (you) a self-made surfer from New South Wales, Australia and Joshua Hong, the privileged star from an elite surfing academy. It’s a story about family, friendship, and fighting for your place in the waves and in life. I poured a lot of heart into this, so I hope you feel the passion and tension from the very first page.

The salt hung thick in the air. The tide crashed violently, as if echoing the storm inside Y/N Marlowe.

She stood barefoot on the golden sands of New South Wales, her surfboard held like a sword, eyes trained on the water. Her sea-tossed braid swung over her shoulder part habit, part armor.

“Marlon!” she called out sharply.

Her older brother and squad coach turned from where he was setting up the flags.

“You’re late,” he said with a smirk.

She raised a brow, “Was early enough to beat Avalon here.”

Behind her, the New South Wales Squad gathered like a storm of sunburnt limbs and fearless hearts.

There was Hayley, the Brooklyn-born firecracker who could wipe out and laugh like it was comedy. Bodhi, strong, silent, and focused. Emma, brainy with the sharpest read of waves. Matthew, always cracking jokes, even while carving 360s. Austin, a tactical surfer who never backed down from a reef break.

Their training wasn’t polished. Their gear wasn’t sponsored. But what they had was raw skill, natural rhythm with the ocean, and grit that no money could buy.

That’s what made them dangerous.

That’s what made Avalon Academy nervous.

A sleek, black van pulled up, sparkling clean, with tinted windows and elite surfboards stacked like trophies. From it emerged the wave of rich, perfectly trained Avalon elites surfing’s private-school mafia.

Leading them was Joshua Hong.

Korean-American. Born in LA, trained in Hawaii, and molded into Avalon’s golden boy. Sharp. Intense. Controlled. And Y/N’s sworn enemy since she was twelve.

“Y/N Marlowe,” he called out, a smirk on his face. “Still surfing like your board’s too big for you?”

Y/N’s eye twitched.

“Joshua,” she responded coolly. “Still wearing wetsuits like you’re scared of the water.”

Behind him, the Avalon squad fanned out like shadows.

Vernon, sarcastic and too smart for his own good. Mingyu, towering and intimidating but loyal to his team. Yena, bold and strategic, never without a biting remark. Eunji, clean-cut and precise, a wave-slicing machine. Mae, unreadable and always ten moves ahead. And Wonwoo, the quiet genius who surfed like poetry.

The tension between the squads wasn’t new.

It was war, every year.

TRAINING TIME — NEW SOUTH WALES SIDE

Marlon clapped his hands to get their attention.

“Listen up. Avalon’s here early, which means they’re prepping harder than usual. You know what that means.”

“Trial season,” Hayley groaned.

“Yup,” Marlon said. “And this year’s the one. New format. New rules. No second chances.”

Matthew raised a hand. “What if we just break their boards?”

“Might be illegal,” Emma muttered. “Sadly.”

Y/N rolled her shoulders and walked toward the ocean. The sea called her like a second home no drama, no rivalry. Just rhythm.

But before she could paddle out...

Joshua stepped onto the waterline.

She paused.

He paused.

Then, without a word, both charged into the waves.

They cut through the water like two rival storms carving, duck-diving, snapping turns like they were born for this. Each trying to outmaneuver the other. Each trying not to notice how easily they danced around the same swell.

The others watched from the beach New South Wales on one side, Avalon on the other as their leaders battled silently in the surf.

Marlon narrowed his eyes.

“Why does it always have to be them?” he muttered.

BONFIRE NIGHT

As the sun dipped below the horizon, New South Wales lit a bonfire. It was tradition salt in the air, fire on the sand, stories that softened rivalry into family.

Y/N sat cross-legged, watching the flames crackle. Hayley passed her a can of soda.

“Thought you were gonna punch Joshua mid-turn,” she joked.

“I was considering throwing my board at his face,” Y/N muttered.

“But you didn’t,” Hayley said. “Because deep down, you wanna beat him fair.”

Y/N didn’t answer.

Because maybe, somewhere inside, Hayley was right.

FLASHBACK: AGE 12, AVALON BEACH

Y/N had wandered onto Avalon’s private training beach with her hand-me-down board, hopeful and wide-eyed.

Joshua had seen her.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he’d said, voice already sharp.

“Why? The ocean’s free.”

“Not this part.”

He didn’t smile. He didn’t help. And when she fell trying to copy his cutback he laughed.

That laugh burned into her forever.

The next morning, the Surf Australia Trials Director arrived in aviators and a clipboard. Everyone Avalon and New South Wales gathered around.

“New format for this year’s national Trials,” she announced. “Two squads. Mixed pairs. One Avalon. One New South Wales. You’ll be partnered and judged together.”

Gasps. Protests.

“That’s insane!” “We can’t work with them.” “Is this punishment?!”

Marlon stepped forward. “Coach Marlowe here. With all due respect, how do we expect them to collaborate when they’ve been raised on rivalry?” The director didn’t flinch. “Because that’s surfing. Conditions change. Teammates shift. Life doesn’t ask who you like.”

The list was taped to the board. Everyone surged forward. Y/N shoved through the crowd, heart thudding. She found her name.

Y/N Marlowe – Joshua Hong

The words hit like a wipeout. Joshua appeared beside her. “This is a joke, right?”

“I wish.”

Their gazes met ten years of rivalry between them. Now they were on the same team. Y/N turned and walked away. Joshua didn’t stop her. But deep down, they both knew: The ocean didn’t care about enemies.

Only survival.

The wind howled through the coastal trees. A battered white van pulled up outside a rustic surf lodge tucked between towering cliffs and choppy tides. A faded wooden sign read: “OFFICIAL TRIALS PREP CAMP — NO SIGNAL, NO COMFORTS, JUST WAVES.”

Y/N stepped out, hoodie up, board strapped to her back.

Right behind her, a sleek Avalon SUV rolled up. And, like a plot twist she already hated, out stepped Joshua, calm and polished in his sponsor-branded gear. They locked eyes.

“Kill me now,” Y/N muttered.

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Joshua replied smoothly.

The lodge had been split in two dorms: Avalon and NSW mixed. Unbelievable.

Y/N dropped her duffel next to Hayley’s bunk. Emma, Bodhi, and Matthew were already claiming beds. Hayley was filming the chaos on her cracked phone.

“Room with your nemesis. That’s some reality TV stuff,” she grinned.

Y/N flopped onto the mattress. “This is my nightmare.”

Just then, a second door opened.

Joshua stepped in, followed by Vernon, Mingyu, Mae, and of course Wonwoo.

“You’ve got to be joking,” Y/N said.

“Oh, we’re bunkmates?” Joshua deadpanned. “Try not to cry.”

Hayley smirked. “This is gonna be so fun.”

-COACHES ROOM-

Marlon paced.

“They’re going to kill each other,” he said, hands on his hips.

The Trials Director, Ms. Clarke, didn’t look concerned. “Or they’ll become the strongest pair on the coast. You’ve seen the footage. Together, they read waves like twins.”

Marlon scoffed. “They hate each other.”

“Perfect,” Clarke said. “Sometimes the ocean puts the wrong people on the same wave... and something genius happens.”

The sun was scorching. The tide rising. The judges set up cameras and buzzers.

“Paired heats start now!” a coach announced. “NSW and Avalon mixed. You’ll compete as duos. Timing, chemistry, communication. Let’s see if you can work with your rivals.”

Pairs were called.

Emma was paired with Vernon. Hayley with Yena (instant chaos). Matthew with Eunji. Austin with Mae.

And finally...

“Y/N Marlowe and Joshua Hong —heat 4. You’re up.”

Y/N adjusted her leash, jaw tight. “Don’t screw this up.”

Joshua raised a brow. “Just follow my lead.”

She scoffed. “In your dreams.”

They paddled out in silence. The waves were rougher today. Unforgiving.

From the shore, all eyes watched. Even Marlon had gone quiet.

Joshua and Y/N hovered, waiting. Then a perfect set rolled in.

Joshua started first, riding the clean right break. His lines were sharp, polished.

Y/N caught the left bold, unpredictable, her body moving with a rhythm no school could teach.

Then came the joint wave. Two riders. One swell.

They launched into it like enemies racing to survive.

And for the first time they synced.

Her spin met his cutback. His aerial opened into her reverse turn. A perfectly timed crossover that left the coaches speechless.

They rode the wave until it died in perfect silence before dropping off the side and floating on their backs, panting.

“Holy crap,” Y/N muttered.

“That was... terrifying,” Joshua said.

She laughed. Just once. And for a brief moment, it wasn't war.

That night, as the sky turned navy, everyone gathered around a campfire again.

Hayley roasted marshmallows next to Y/N.

“You looked like you actually... liked him out there,” she teased.

“I did not.”

“You didn’t hate him.”

“Okay maybe I a little didn’t hate him.”

Meanwhile, on the other side of the circle, Joshua sat near Vernon and Mae, watching the firelight flicker against Y/N’s face.

“She’s not terrible,” he muttered.

Mae raised an eyebrow. “You’re in trouble.”

Vernon sipped his water. “This is either the start of peace… or the start of war 2.0.”

SCENE 7 — FLASHBACK (JOSHUA’S POV)

Joshua was 14. Avalon’s prized rookie. Training in the icy waters of Victoria.

He’d seen Y/N again at a comp.

She wiped out hard. Board snapped.

He remembered standing there, frozen, watching her get back up alone.

No sponsor. No team rushing over.

But she paddled back in like nothing happened.

That image never left him.

Later that night, Y/N snuck outside, the sea whispering her name. She needed air.

Joshua followed, silent. They stood beside the dark ocean, moonlight glimmering on the waves.

“Why do you surf?” she asked suddenly.

He hesitated. “Because it’s the only time I’m not pretending to be perfect.”

She nodded.

“I surf because the water doesn’t care who I am.”

They didn’t look at each other. But something shifted.

It wasn’t peace.

But it wasn’t war either.

Not anymore.

The next morning, Marlon scanned the performance charts.

Y/N and Joshua: Highest score in the first heats.

He frowned. “This is either a miracle... or a disaster waiting to happen.”

What nobody knows yet... Is that Avalon’s director is secretly manipulating the mixed team results, wanting Joshua to sabotage the pair so Avalon reclaims the title. But Joshua isn’t sure anymore.

Because for the first time in his life...

Y/N doesn’t feel like the enemy.

And the ocean?

It’s starting to call them together.

Y/N sipped on a juice box, legs crossed on the dusty beanbag. Her laptop balanced on her knees, camera gear laid out beside her.

Y/N: “Hey Marlon! Can you help me shoot a docu-style thing? Like... my journey here. It could be cool for sponsors and stuff.”

Marlon was already halfway out the door, whistle around his neck and clipboard in hand.

MARLON: “I can’t. I’ve got four back-to-back trainings and the juniors coming in for beginners’ class. Ask Alex.”

Y/N: “He said he’s got a meeting with his dumb crypto friends.”

Marlon answered: “Then find someone else, I’m swamped.”

Y/N: “Cool. Yeah. Sure.” *she says quietly, slightly disappointed.

The tide was gentle. Sky a pale blue. Waves smooth as silk.

Hayley, camera in hand, stood knee-deep in the sand, filming Y/N paddling out.

Hayley (behind the camera): “Alright, you doing great!”

Y/N flashed her a grin and sprinted into the water.

As Hayley adjusted the camera, someone stepped up beside her.

Marlon: “So... she asked you?”

Hayley didn’t flinch.

Hayley: “Well, you were busy. So yeah.” Marlon crossed his arms, watching his sister slice through the water like it was her second skin. “Mom always said she’d be a great surfer.” He said.

“She was always the optimist.” He chuckled. “It drove her mad.” Hayley glanced at him.

Marlon moved away, Hayley never stopped the recording.

Back in the water, Y/N was already carving through a wave, her laughter echoing over the surf.

Back in their Crib, next to the ocean.

Y/N was editing the clips, headphones on.

A soft smile formed as she watched herself catch her third clean barrel of the day. Then Marlon voice came through:

“She was always the optimist…It drove her mad.”

Y/N paused.

Rewinded. Played again.

And again.

The smile faded.

Y/N stormed out of her room, socks skidding across the floor. Marlon and Alex were watching a docuseries on shark migration.

“OI. I’m not doing beginners’ class tomorrow.”

Marlon “Wait, what? What do you mean?!”

Y/N: “I said I’m not showing up. Tell the kids to paddle around each other.”

“What the hell, Y/N?! You always do this! Every time we rely on you, you flake. It’s in one ear and out the other!”

“Why do you even want me there when you clearly think I’m not even that good?!” That was her last straw! “What?! Y/N Where did you get that from?”

“She was always the optimist.” *she imitated him.

Silence. “...No. No, Y/N. I wasn’t talking about you. I was talking about Mom. Our mother. To Hayley. You are great.”

A beat. Y/N’s jaw clenched. Voice dropped.

Y/N: “When Mom was sick… you weren’t there. Neither of you.”

She turned to look at her older brother Alex, scrolling on his phone. “Ooooh, this looks heated.” Alex said Raising his hands to the air. “I’m gonna get some popcorn. Bye.”

He walked out.

Y/N glared after him, then locked eyes with Marlon. “You left. You were both gone. She and I we were fine! Just us. That’s all we needed.”

“Y/N…”

But she was already grabbing her jacket and slamming the front door behind her.

Y/N sat on the sand, knees hugged to her chest.

The moon lit the sea like silver glass.

In the distance, waves whispered memories. Her and her mom dancing barefoot in the water. Her mom brushing the salt from her hair. Her mom saying, “You’ve got the ocean in your blood, baby girl.”

Tears welled up.

She wiped them fast.

Marlon sat on his bed, shoulders heavy. He opened a drawer and pulled out a photo:

Y/N at 11, grinning, standing next to their mom, holding her first surfboard. On the back, scribbled in faded ink:

"She’ll be better than all of us. Watch her fly. – Mom"

He sighed. Regret painting every inch of his face.

Next morning, surf lodge kitchen

Rain taps against the windows, soft and steady. The air smells like toast and ocean wind.

Hayley stirs a mug of tea in silence. She glances at the clock on the wall. 7:42 AM. Still no sign of y/n.

Marlon walks in, hair messy from a rough night’s sleep, hoodie thrown over his head. He looks exhausted.

Hayley hands him a mug without a word. He takes it, murmurs, “thanks.”

Hayley leans on the counter, watching the grey sky through the window.

"she didn’t come back last night," she says finally.

Marlon doesn’t respond. Just presses his thumb against the warm ceramic like he’s grounding himself.

Hayley turns to him, voice softer now.

“you okay?”

He doesn’t look up. “i don’t know.”

She waits. And when he doesn’t speak, she does.

“she’s right, you know. about everything.”

He tenses. But hayley doesn’t flinch.

“you weren’t there. neither was alex. you both left her.”

Marlon finally looks at her, guilt in his eyes.

"i couldn’t do it, hayley. i couldn’t watch mum disappear like that. i thought if i focused on coaching, on making the squad better… it would numb it."

"it numbed *you*," hayley says, "but not her."

The tide is low.

y/n sits curled up at the edge of a hidden cove, a place only she and her mum used to visit. It’s quiet here. Peaceful. But today, even the waves sound sad.

She scrolls through her phone, watching the clip again.

"she was always the optimist."

"it drove her mad."

She exhales sharply and tosses her phone into the sand. It doesn’t break just lies there, face-down like it’s tired too.

Footsteps crunch behind her. “thought i might find you here.” y/n doesn’t turn around. Marlon steps beside her slowly, unsure if he’s welcome.

“mum used to bring you here after school,” he says quietly.

“yeah. said it was our secret.”

“she never brought me,” he admits.

y/n shrugs. “maybe she knew you’d leave.” the words sting. marlon winces.

“I deserved that.”

silence.

He sits down beside her, not too close. Just enough.

“I didn’t mean what you think I meant, y/n,” he says, voice raw. “when I said ‘she was the optimist’... I was talking about mum. not you.”

y/n doesn’t say anything.

“you’re not like her,” he continues. “you’re better. braver.”

She finally turns to him, eyes full of unshed tears.

“then why did you leave me?”

marlon swallows hard. “because i was scared. because i thought being strong meant ignoring pain. i thought... i thought if i didn’t look back, i wouldn’t break.”

“well i did break,” she says quietly. “and no one noticed.”

he reaches out, slowly. “i notice now. y/n looks at his hand for a long moment and then, finally, takes it.

later that night, surf lodge living room

the rain hasn’t stopped. thunder rumbles far away, soft like a memory.

y/n sits with a blanket over her shoulders, hair still damp from the walk back.

alex walks in with a bowl of popcorn.

“so, you made up with mum junior?” he says, plopping onto the couch.

“shut up,” y/n mutters.

marlon enters behind her, dropping onto the armrest with a groan.

“if you’re not gonna help with beginners class tomorrow, at least take over afternoon drills.”

y/n smirks. “so now you want me there?”

“always did,” he says. “just didn’t say it enough.”

alex throws a popcorn kernel at both of them. “group therapy is cute and all but let’s watch a movie.”

“only if it’s not one of your weird sci-fi thrillers,” y/n warns.

“deal.”

They press play. For a while, it’s just the sound of the storm and the quiet hum of the TV.

And for the first time in a long time, things feel... okay.

The beach is buzzing with excitement. The first major local comp of the season. Vendors setting up, sponsors hanging banners, kids from all over New South Wales checking in. The waves? Perfect.

y/n stands near the registration tent with hayley, emma, matthew, bodhi, and austin. The self-made squad.

On the other side of the tent: joshua and his crew Vernon, Mingyu,Yena, Eunji, Mae, and Wonwoo. The elite academy kids. Every one of them in matching wetsuits with their academy logo stitched in gold.

y/n spots them and rolls her eyes.

“they all look like they shower in arrogance,” Emma mutters.

"or money," Bodhi adds, smirking.

Hayley leans closer to y/n. “just beat him this time, okay?”

y/n squints toward joshua, who’s already staring her down. His arms are crossed. Eyes sharp.

"watch me."

Joshua’s stretching near the rocks when y/n walks past. he doesn’t even try to hide the glare.

“you ready to choke again like last comp?” he throws casually.

y/n pauses, smirks. “you mean the one you won cause your coach manipulated the heats?”

Joshua snorts. “keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

“don’t call me that.”

“touchy.” y/n steps closer, just enough to make his jaw tense.

“you might be rich, Joshua, but out here?” she jerks her chin toward the ocean. “it’s not about money. it’s about guts.” he leans in, voice dropping.

“and you don’t have enough of them.” they stare at each other. fire. pure fire. Matthew calls her name from across the sand.

“good luck out there,” Joshua says with a fake smile. “you’ll need it.”

the crowd cheers as the surfers paddle out. water sprays, the horn blares. y/n, joshua, and two other local surfers are in the same heat.

y/n paddles fast, carving waves with sharp precision. joshua follows, smooth but technical. The judges are watching closely.

each time y/n catches a clean ride, joshua pushes harder. more aggressive. more determined. it's like they’re dancing, but with knives.

they’re not just surfing. they’re trying to break each other.

on the final wave of the heat, they both go for it. the same wave. shoulder to shoulder.

“back off!” y/n yells.

joshua doesn’t.

they collide.

the judges blow the horn. whistles go off. the crowd gasps.

they both tumble hard into the water, boards tangled.

back on shore, their coaches are yelling at the judges. y/n storms out of the water, pulling her leash off.

Marlon jogs up, furious. “what the hell happened?!”

“he cut me off!” y/n shouts, wringing water from her hair.

on the other side, Joshua’s coach is ranting about “reckless amateurs.”

Vernon is trying to hold joshua back. “you’re gonna get penalized if you keep mouthing off, man.”

Mingyu adds, “she’s in your head.”

Joshua scowls. “she’s been in my head since always.”

it’s quiet. too quiet.

y/n rewatches footage hayley filmed of the heat. the tension. the fall. the looks.

a comment notification pops up on the screen.

“they’ve always had beef. maybe it’s love-hate 👀”

y/n groans. “absolutely not.”

but Hayley, standing behind her, just smirks.

“you sure?”

Episode 1.

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