#decanting day

[elslittlestories]

The end of the long sleep

or Decanting day #2

All it takes is one comment, and here I am writing more about how clone are born! It was fun figuring a way to write Tech's mind (and possibly hinting at a thing or two). Hope you like it !

This is part of a series of snipets of the batch's early life. Follow the whole series with the #Dita's nursery for deviants and divergents

Words count : 745

POV: Tech

The long sleep is finally over. My ears are the first to wake up—beeps, louder than in my dream, and new sounds—then the cold sets in. I shiver. My eyes flutter open—bright!—and close. Something hums next to me. I try opening my eyes again, slowly. Why is the white so bright?

“Greetings CT-8324. Your decantation was a success. Please stand up and put your uniform on.”

My name is CT-8324—What is decantation?

I blink, squinting my eyes until the white isn’t so blinding. I prop myself up and flex my fingers and toes. My body tingles. I am CT-8324. I am awake. The medical droid—round shapes, yellow eyes—stares down at me.

“He-hello,” I say.

The sound vibrates through my throat and mouth. I try again, it’s less shaky. I smile. I can talk!

The droid helps me with my clothes—blue pants, blue tunic—What does that symbol on the shoulder means? My limbs are stiff and it’s hard to get them out of the sleeves. When I’m done, I skip off the bed—Cold!

The hard floor under my feet surprises me. I test the feeling, shifting my weight from one leg to the other. My head is at the mattress’ height. I take a small step. I can walk! I never walked before, but it’s as if my body knows what to do on its own.

I circle around my bed—blurry screens, metal arms coming out of the wall, big machines—with the droid hovering behind me, insisting that I put on my shoes. On the next beds, two boys—dark hair, cupper skin, round cheeks—lies with a small machine attached to their face.

“What happened to them?” I ask, approaching the first one.

“CT-8956 suffered a brain aneurism during his decanting. It’s unlikely he’ll wake up.”

What is an aneurism? —What is the decantation? Oh no, I remember this one. It’s like birth—Why can’t he wake up?

“Why?”

“His brain sustained heavy damages. The probability of him being terminated is high.”

“Terminated?”

“Yes.”

I frown. I’m not sure what the word means, but it sounds like the end. I reckon it’s a bad thing. I turn to the other boy.

“What about him?”

“CT-9732 woke up too soon and went into respiratory distress.”

I look at the machine covering his mouth and nose, and listen to the sound that comes and goes with the rise and fall of the boy’s chest.

“He can’t breathe?”

“That is correct.”

“Are you going to terminate him too?”

“There is still a possibility that his condition improves. My estimation is a 68% chance of recovery.”

68%. That’s a big number. It must be good. I step closer to the bed and look at the screens behind him. A blur of blue and white and yellow and red.

“Are there only three of us?”

“You are part of the 36th batch, which consists of…”

The droid’s eyes flicker.

“…1849 successfully decanted clones.”

That’s an even bigger number! —Where are the others? —I am a clone—What is a clone? —If I am from the 36th batch, how many clones are they all in all? —Oh! I remember now, a clone is a being created from another being, like a copy. Then are we all brothers?

Before I can pick a question, the door whooshes open and a woman—blue coat, brown hair, pale skin—steps in with another medical droid. She kneels before me—gray eyes, mole on her cheek—and smiles:

“Hi, Honey. How are you feeling?”

I tilt my head. She smells strange. How do I feel?

“Awake,” I tell her.

She raises her eyebrows and chuckles.

“Fair enough. I’m Dita, and this is Zee.”

She points at the droid. It looks exactly like the one I spoke too before, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to differentiate them.

“We’re here to take you to the nursery.”

I look back at CT-9732.

“Don’t worry. I’ll come back for him when he wakes up.”

I nod and wiggle my toes. The floor feels nice. I hope he wakes up.

She stands up, asks Zee to take my shoes from the other droid and holds out her hand to me.

“Would you like me to carry you or do you prefer to walk?”

“Walk!”

She chuckles again. I like that sound.

“Go on, then. Breakfast is waiting for you, you must be hungry!”

I frown. Am I?

[gun-roswell]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: CC-2224 | Cody, 501st Legion Members (Star Wars: The Clone Wars) Additional Tags: Inspired by Fanart, Birthday Fluff, Dialogue-Only, Clone Troopers Deserve Better (Star Wars), Fluff and Fun, short fic Series: Part 11 of The Clone Wars One Shots, Part 36 of Fandom Shorts Summary:

Random takes and scenes in space and time for various fandoms I love as inspired by Fan Art and the Fandom in general.

Happy Decanting day, Commander Cody!

Part of Fandom Shorts // The Clone Wars One Shots series

[horsefigureoftheday]

Horse figure of the day: Rémy Martin Champagne Decanter

[funakounasoul]

Back in March, Emi suffered a pretty nasty allergy attack, almost to the point of anaphylactic shock! She's obviously okay, but thoughts arose in the ManaEmi House for a "what if" scenario: What if Manami wasn't aware of what happened until Emi had posted those Stories about the incident?

Bonus drawing that probably happened after the first two doodles:

[id-be-home-with-you]

I was already so damn intrigued by the genetic dynasty part of empire and then they turned it into a fucking trajedy?? I’m eating this shit up so bad

[neometalpussy]

time to do stuff (read webcomics & play games yay) for a couple hours then store time. la la la

[some-stars]

do any perfume nerds follow me, i just tried robert piguet's fracas (the modern formulation) and im having an out of body experience. i keep sniffing the tiny patch of skin i applied it to and making rude guttural involuntary noises

[lightthewaybackhome]

New Halloween shirt! How cute is this???

I love the days when my work is more physical even though they are more fatiguing. Wednesday and Saturday are typically my two high physical activity days. And boy, howdy! Today was busy. Started early, ran errands, planted my lavender, my coral honeysuckle, and some ranunculus. Decanted some more of my laundry room, made cranberry wassil, tossed old food, froze the soup I made on Saturday, wrote an article for the blog, and caught up the dishes! I'm beat!

Thrifted cool bucket:

Decanted more of my laundry supplies! Looks so pretty!

[bluberryfields]

Yes, Empire

LEE PACE Foundation S02E01 "In Seldon's Shadow"

[councilestatebarbie]

i can't get over that kraken players gf trying to capitalise on the increased interest in wags with her little copy-paste tiktok vlogs just to get 20 likes

[elslittlestories]

27 stars

or Decanting day #3

The last of this 3-part short story revolving around Tech and Wrecker's decanting day. I feel like my writing is still rusty but it was fun to play around the different POVs. If you want to discuss this or my AU in general, please feel free to slide in my DMs ����

The whole story is available on AO3

POV: Dita (my OC)

Words count: 1 238

“The decanting process of CT-8324 [ndla: Tech], CT-8956 and CT-9732 [ndla: Wrecker] has begun,” says Zee.

“Honey, Sunshine and Baby,” I silently correct them as they start broadcasting the kid’s bio-charts on the main console.

I’m not allowed to access anything else, but after over two years of those charts have become as informative as a holovid. I can tell from Baby’s heartbeat rate that the anesthesia isn’t kicking in…I drag a stool in front of the console and sit. Please let there be a good outcome this time! I don’t think I can wait another 2 months with the nursery empty…

Ten minutes is, Honey and Sunshine seem to be having a smooth decanting, but Baby is awfully tachycardic. Soon he’ll be in respiratory distress, they always are when the anesthesia fails. Poor thing, I wish the Kaminoans would find a way to prevent that!

And here it is. Baby’s CO2 levels are skyrocketing. I clench my fist. What are they waiting for? This kid needs to be intubated!

A flash of red distracts me from Baby. Sunshine’s blood pressure has dropped dangerously! My throat tightens. Brain hemorrhage. A massive one judging by the numbers plummeting. Same thing that took the two kids from the previous batch and many more before. I don’t know what the Kaminoans are trying to do, but they’re obviously messing with something they shouldn’t if this keeps happening!

I take a glance at the board where all my kids are pinned. 17 pictures. 26 stars…They’re going to keep Sunshine for observation—and whatever experiments they’re doing—during the next 24 hours, but I already know he’s going to be the 27th star.

At least Honey is doing fine. They’re going to call me in to pick him up in a little less than an hour. Baby should be fine too in a day or two, and this place will finally be alive again.

After one last look at the screen, I slid off the stool and head to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, I smile to myself. I’ve filled it with enough blue milk to feed a squad or two. I overdid it, but I’ve been dreaming of pouring some in a baby bottle for months now!

I don’t care what the doctors say, this is the smoothest way to acclimate the kids’ tummy to proper food after having been fed through an IV for so long while they’re in their tubes. Besides, those mad scientists would have to give an ounce of care about what I do here to find out about it. As Nala Se put it during my job interview, I’ve been given total freedom to achieve their goal. Which is good little soldiers that follow orders…

I wake up with a start and it takes me a moment to remember I settled in bed with Honey to help him fall asleep. He’s curled up against me, his hand is griping my collar, and his head is resting on my arm. That’s what awoken me: I can’t feel my left hand and the rest of my arm are pins and needles.

Carefully, I shift him on my chest and flex my arm to regain sensations. He mumbles, wiggles a little before going still, his little body rising and falling to his breathing. The cards I gave him earlier are scattered all over the bed. He’s already memorized all of the species! I’ve never seen a kid like him. Asking so many questions and grasping some complex concepts so easily.

It’s a shame these children are brought to life in such awful conditions, and meant to become soldiers, but I can’t help but be thankful for the little time I get to spend with each of them. I squeeze Honey into a hug and peck the top of his head. Officially, I’m here to ensure they become obedient enough for the Kaminoans’ standard. But I’d be damned if I didn’t do my best to give them as much love and care as I can while doing so!

I hope Baby will join us tomorrow. His vitals were last time Zee checked, but like most of the kids who experienced a bumpy decanting process, he’s taking some time to wake up. It’ll be good for the boys to be together. One thing that never changes is how clones hate loneliness.

I try to focus on Honey’s breathing to prevent my mind from wandering off to those who left. I can’t help but think about 99, alone and out of reach in the main training building. I’ll have to send him a message. He’ll be happy to know about the newborns. For now, it needs to only be in…and out…and in…

Sunshine’s charts glow red on the console. Below them, Baby’s are all nominal. It’s been 24 hours, the doctors are going to call it for both of them any minute now. I twirl the star-shaped pin between my fingers.

From the corner of my eyes, I can see Honey downing his blue milk, sitting on the floor by the window. A rare ray of sun pierces through the clouds and casts its light on the floor. He reaches out to touch it, or maybe just feel the warmth.

The console beeps. Sunshine is offline. I purse my lips and walk to the board. That’s 27 little stars now…I’m not sure there’s anything waiting for us after we die, but if there is, I hope they all found each other.

“CT-9732 [ndla: Wrecker] is ready for transfer,” Zee informs me, bringing me back to reality—How long have I been staring at that board?

Honey snaps his neck to me.

“Can I go with you?”

I don’t have the heart to say no. I don’t think the doctors would care anyway. I hold out my hand and wait for him to stand up and come to take it.

“He’s still sleeping, though,” I warn him.

“How do you know?”

I point at the screen, “His heart rate is slow.”

Honey squints, then lifts his face up to me, frowning.

“It’s still early for physiology lessons,” I chuckle. “Come on, they don’t like to wait.”

We make our way to the lab’s med bay, Honey ahead, pulling at my hand me all along. I’m amazed he remembers the route! Although, the feeling is washed over by a burst of anger when I see Sunshine’s body have already been dealt with. His bed empty, the monitors turned off. It’s not exactly a surprise, but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how fast they discard these poor kids.

I force myself to focus on Baby who’s lying on the next bed. Zee gently removes his captors and I bend over him to wrap his covers around his necked body. I slip my arms under the boy, lift him, cradle him onto my chest and adjust his position so his head nests in my neck. Someone left a gurney nearby, but I want Baby to experience human warmth as soon as possible.

Honey pats his brother on the back. With a tilt of my head, I invite him to follow me outside. There’s no need in staying in this awful place longer than we have to. As I walk out, I can feel a tug on the covers where Honey has grabbed onto the fabric. This, at least, softens my heart.

[gun-roswell]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: CC-1010 | Fox & CC-3636 | Wolffe Characters: CC-1010 | Fox, CC-3636 | Wolffe Additional Tags: CorrieWeek2024, CorrieWeek, CC-1010 | Fox-centric, CC-1010 | Fox Day (10/10), Fluff, Fox Day Bonus Fic, Cosplay, 100x500, Spooktober Series: Part 10 of CorrieWeek, Part 26 of Spooktober, Part 5 of 100x500 Summary: Fox is playing some dress-up with Wolffe and then lets his Arooo! out.

Inspired by fanart of @catawampuscorner


@corrieweek

*** “Hey Foxy, wanna do something fun today? It’s your decanting day after all!” Wolffe was visiting his bff and having some ideas on how to spend the day. “Waddaya having in mind Wolffie?” “Well, I got us these.” Pulls out two sets of costumes, one of a wolf and another of a fox. “You serious?” “Totes!” Fox was getting interested though. Getting up, after downing last of his caf, strolling over to Wolffe and his oversized tote, as this was supposed to be a fun day after all. “Well, gots the good stuff here of course, courtesy of Toast and Soup.” Wolffe then pulled out two flasks of the Brew as concocted by the two clones keeping up the party going for the clones.Fox picked on bottle up and checked the label one it. The skull and bones donning it, without too much else. “Yeah, Soup and Toast!” Fox chuckled. “Gotsta love them two and their famous concoctions. They're fiery if nothing else!” Indeed the liquors the duo concocted were famous and notorious as well, alas no complaints so far. Well none too many anyway. There was that one incident… “So, you wanna head out?”“Yeah, Wolffie, let’s go!”

CONT on AO3

***

[bluberryfields]

The only reason I started and continued watching Foundation

You got me, Apple TV+

Lee Pace as Brother Day

FOUNDATION | "In Seldon's Shadow" | 2.01

[horsefigureoftheday]

Horse figure of the day: Jim Beam Appaloosa Decanter

[gastronominho]

Em outubro acontece o Decanter Wine Day

Tintos, brancos, rosés e espumantes de mais de 60 produtores de vinhos estarão em degustação no evento da importadora em São Paulo

Tintos, brancos, rosés e espumantes de mais de 60 produtores de vinhos estarão em degustação no evento da importadora em São Paulo O evento é uma oportunidade para apreciar cerca de 200 rótulos selecionados por Adolar Hermann, fundador da Decanter, e a equipe da importadora, que conta com o premiado Tiago Locatelli como head sommelier. 30% do valor serão revertidos em créditos para compra de…

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Pairing: Mafia Ateez OT8x Reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, angst, poly ateez, violence and weapons, mafia ateez, organized crime, parental death and grieving process, bullying, possessive and controlling behavior,

Summary: When Y/n Ricci is forced to marry Kim Hongjoong—leader of the notorious ATEEZ organization and one of eight men who cruelly abandoned her seven years ago—she finds herself trapped in their heavily guarded compound with the ghosts of her past. As she navigates the dangerous world of mafia politics and her own wounded heart, Y/n discovers that all eight powerful, irresistible men still harbor deep feelings for her, suggesting an unconventional solution to their shared dilemma. But before she can consider forgiving them, let alone loving them again, she must uncover the dark secret that tore them apart—a truth that could either heal their fractured bonds or destroy them all completely.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

18+ only- No Minors

Chapter 1: Ice in your Veins

The crystal decanter shattered against the wall, sending shards of glass and amber liquid cascading across your father's office.

"You've lost your goddamn mind!" you shouted, your chest heaving with each ragged breath. "An arranged marriage? What century do you think we're living in?"

Your father, Don Ricci, didn't even flinch. He simply stared at you with those cold, calculating eyes—the same eyes that had ordered countless men to their deaths. The same eyes you'd inherited.

"Y/n," he said, his voice steady and low. "You've always known this day would come."

"Known? Known?" you spat the word like venom. "I never agreed to be some bargaining chip in your twisted game of power."

He sighed, rising from his leather chair to pour himself another drink from a second decanter—as if he'd anticipated your outburst. Of course he had. Your father always seemed to know what cards would be played before they were even dealt.

"This isn't a game, cara mia. It's survival." He swirled the amber liquid, watching it catch the light. "The Ricci family needs this alliance."

"Then make it with guns and money like you always do," you hissed. "Not with your daughter's life."

"The Kim family has always been our ally. Hongjoong's father and I have been friends since before you were born," he said, his expression softening slightly with nostalgia. "But times are changing. The old alliances need to be... reinforced."

"So call him up for dinner like you used to! Remember those Sunday gatherings with all the families?" Your voice cracked. "You don't need to sell your daughter to maintain a friendship!"

Your father's eyes narrowed. "This isn't just about friendship, Y/n. This is about survival. The Russo family is encroaching on all our territories. Together, our families are stronger."

You laughed bitterly. "So you're afraid of them? The great Don Ricci, trembling before—" You froze mid-sentence, the full implications hitting you. "Wait. Kim? As in Kim Hongjoong? That Hongjoong?"

Your father's eyes met yours, a flicker of understanding passing through them. "Yes. The same boy you used to run around with. You and those eight boys were inseparable once—until they weren't."

The name hit you like a physical blow. You gripped the edge of his desk to steady yourself, memories flooding back in a dizzying rush—laughter shared under summer stars, secrets whispered in the darkness, and then... nothing. Seven years of nothing.

"No," you whispered. "Anyone but him."

Your father watched you carefully, more perceptive than you'd given him credit for. "I thought you'd be pleased. You were close once, all of you. The sons of my most trusted allies." He paused, studying your reaction. 

You turned away, unwilling to let him see the pain in your eyes. "Apparently we weren’t as close as I thought."

"I don’t have the energy for you tonight," he sighed. "This alliance is necessary. The Kim, Park, Jeong, Kang, Choi, Song, and Jung families—we've controlled this city for generations. Now we need to ensure it stays that way for generations to come."

"How considerate of you," you sneered, finding your voice again. "And I suppose Hongjoong has already agreed to this?"

"He has. In fact, it was his father who proposed it."

Something sharp and painful twisted in your chest. So that's how it was. The boy who had once sworn he would always protect you had agreed to make you a prisoner in your own life.

"Did you ever stop to wonder," you asked quietly, dangerously, "why they all disappeared from my life? Why your 'trusted allies' sons suddenly wanted nothing to do with me?"

Your father's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. "The world we live in is complicated, Y/n. Boys become men. Priorities shift."

"Bullshit," you spat. "Something happened. Something you're not telling me."

Don Ricci set down his glass with deliberate care. "What I know is that we need this alliance, and Hongjoong is willing. That's all that matters now."

* * *

Across the city, Hongjoong stood at the window of his penthouse office, staring out at the glittering skyline. Behind him, Seonghwa watched his leader carefully, noting the tension in his shoulders.

"You told Don Ricci you'd marry his daughter," Seonghwa said, not a question but a statement.

Hongjoong didn't turn. "I did what was necessary for the family."

"And what about Y/n?" Seonghwa asked, his voice carefully neutral. "Do you think she'll agree?"

A bitter smile crossed Hongjoong's face. "Y/n doesn't have any more choice in this than I do." 

Seonghwa stepped closer, lowering his voice though they were alone. "She doesn't know why we left. What we did to protect her."

"And she never will," Hongjoong said sharply, finally turning to face his consigliere. His eyes were hard, resolved. "That was the agreement. We stay away, she stays safe. And now..."

"Now you're bringing her back into our world," Seonghwa finished for him.

Hongjoong's hand tightened around the tumbler of whiskey he held. "Her father's losing control. The Russo family is closing in. If we don't step in now, she'll be caught in the crossfire regardless."

"Our fathers always intended for the families to unite this way," Seonghwa mused. "It was discussed even when we were children."

"But none of them could have predicted what happened seven years ago," Hongjoong replied grimly.

"And what will you tell her? After seven years of silence?"

Hongjoong downed the rest of his drink in one swift motion. "Nothing. The past stays buried."

"She won't accept that," Seonghwa warned. "You know how she is."

A flash of something—perhaps pain, perhaps fondness—crossed Hongjoong's face. "Yes," he said quietly. "I remember exactly how she is."

* * *

You paced your bedroom like a caged animal, anger burning through your veins. The door was locked—not by your father's order but by your own hand. You needed space to think, to breathe, to process the bomb that had just been dropped on your life.

Hongjoong. After all this time.

You grabbed the nearest object—a porcelain figurine—and hurled it at the wall, taking grim satisfaction in watching it shatter. It didn't help, but at least it was something.

Seven years ago, they had been your everything—Hongjoong and the others. More than friends, they had been your chosen family, your confidants, your safety in a world where your last name made you both royalty and target. The sons of your father's closest allies and business partners, you'd grown up together in the sheltered world of mafia royalty. And then one day, without warning or explanation, they were gone. No calls. No messages. Nothing but cold silence and empty promises.

And now Hongjoong had the audacity to agree to marry you? Like you were nothing more than a business transaction?

You grabbed your phone, scrolling to a number you'd never deleted but never called. Your thumb hovered over it.

A soft knock at your door interrupted your thoughts.

"Miss Y/n?" It was Paolo, your father's most trusted bodyguard. "Your father wants you downstairs. The Kim and Park families have arrived to discuss the arrangements."

You froze, your heart stuttering in your chest. "Already? They're here now?"

"Yes, miss. Your father says you have ten minutes to make yourself presentable."

You wanted to scream, to throw something else, to lock yourself in and refuse to come out. But you were a Ricci. And Riccis didn't hide.

"Tell my father I'll be down," you called back, your voice steadier than you felt.

As Paolo's footsteps faded away, you caught your reflection in the mirror. Wild eyes, flushed cheeks, hair tumbling in disarray around your shoulders. You looked dangerous, unhinged.

Perfect.

If Hongjoong thought he could waltz back into your life and claim you like a prize, he was about to learn a painful lesson. You might be forced into this marriage, but you'd be damned if you made it easy for him.

You reached for your closet, pulling out a black dress that hugged every curve, cut just low enough to be a distraction, just high enough to maintain the appearance of respect. You applied your makeup with deliberate precision—red lips, smoky eyes, sharp enough to cut.

Armor, in its own way.

Ten minutes later, you descended the grand staircase of your family home, each step measured and deliberate. You could hear voices from the main drawing room—your father's deep rumble, and then another voice that sent a jolt through your system.

Hongjoong.

You paused outside the door, steadying yourself with one deep breath, and then another. You weren't that heartbroken teenage girl anymore. You were Y/n Ricci, daughter of one of the most feared men in the city. And you were about to face the ghosts of your past.

With one final steadying breath, you pushed open the door and stepped inside, your eyes immediately finding his across the room.

Time seemed to stop as your gaze locked with Hongjoong's for the first time in seven years.

The room fell silent as you stepped inside. 

Five men turned to look at you—your father, his consigliere Antonio, and three figures from your past. Mr. Kim and his son Hongjoong stood near the fireplace, while Seonghwa lingered slightly behind them, ever the faithful shadow.

"Ah, Y/n," your father's voice broke the silence. "Come greet our guests."

You moved forward with practiced grace, your heels clicking against the marble floor like a ticking bomb. Your eyes remained fixed on Hongjoong, cataloging the changes seven years had brought. Gone was the boy with bright eyes and an easy smile. In his place stood a man, sharp-edged and dangerous, dressed impeccably in a tailored black suit. His hair, once a wild mop, was now styled with deliberate precision, dark strands falling just above eyes that watched you with maddening impassivity.

"Mr. Kim," you greeted Hongjoong's father first, extending your hand with a polite smile. "It's been too long."

The older man took your hand, his grip firm. 

"Y/n. You've grown into a beautiful young woman." His eyes crinkled with what seemed like genuine warmth. "Your mother would be proud."

You kept your smile in place, though the mention of your mother sent a familiar pang through your chest. "Thank you."

Then you turned to Hongjoong, letting your smile cool several degrees. "Mr. Kim," you said again, the formal address a deliberate reminder of the distance between you now.

Hongjoong stepped forward, taking your offered hand. His touch sent an unwelcome jolt of electricity up your arm—a physical betrayal you refused to acknowledge.

"Miss Ricci," he replied, his voice deeper than you remembered. "A pleasure to see you again."

"Is it?" you asked, arching a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "I wouldn't have guessed, given the circumstances."

Hongjoong's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes—perhaps surprise at your directness. "The circumstances are... complex."

"They always are in our world, aren't they?" You withdrew your hand from his grasp, turning to the third visitor. "Mr. Park. I see you're still following Hongjoong around like a loyal puppy. Some things never change."

Seonghwa's lips twitched slightly—not in anger, but what almost looked like appreciation for your barb. "Miss Ricci. Sharp as ever."

"One of us has to be," you replied coolly.

There was a time when you would have greeted these men differently—when Hongjoong would have been "Joongie" and Seonghwa would have been "Hwa." When you would have thrown your arms around them without hesitation, your laughter filling the room. But that time was long gone, buried under seven years of silence and unanswered questions.

Your father cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should sit and discuss the arrangements."

"An excellent suggestion," Mr. Kim said, gesturing toward the seating area.

You took a seat in a high-backed chair, crossing your legs elegantly as the men arranged themselves on the surrounding sofas. Hongjoong sat directly across from you, his dark eyes never leaving your face.

"As we've discussed," your father began, "the marriage will take place in three months' time. This will give us adequate opportunity to prepare and to announce the union to our associates."

"Three months?" you interjected, your voice carrying a dangerous edge. "How generous of you to give me a whole season to prepare for my own wedding."

Your father shot you a warning look, but Mr. Kim merely chuckled. "Your daughter has your spirit, Don Ricci."

"Sometimes too much of it," your father muttered.

Hongjoong leaned forward slightly. "Three months is standard for arrangements of this nature. It allows for proper preparations while not delaying the benefits of our alliance."

"Benefits," you repeated, the word dripping with disdain. "How romantic. Tell me, Hongjoong, do you always discuss marriage in terms of profit margins and strategic advantages?"

A muscle in Hongjoong's jaw twitched. "In our position, romance is a luxury few can afford."

"And yet here I am, being auctioned off like a prized mare. Quite the luxury indeed."

"Y/n," your father warned.

But Hongjoong raised a hand. "It's alright. Y/n has every right to express her... reservations."

"How magnanimous of you," you said with a saccharine smile. "Granting me permission to have feelings about my own life."

Hongjoong's eyes narrowed slightly, but you caught it—the briefest twitch at the corner of his mouth, a ghost of the smile you once knew so well. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, but you'd seen it. Somewhere beneath that cold exterior, your words had reached him.

"Perhaps," Seonghwa suggested smoothly, "Miss Ricci would like some time to discuss the arrangement privately with Hongjoong. After all, they will be spending their lives together. Some initial conversation might ease the transition."

Your father nodded. "An excellent idea. Y/n, why don't you show Hongjoong to the garden? Antonio and I have some additional matters to discuss with Mr. Kim and Seonghwa."

It wasn't a request. You stood, smoothing down your dress. "Of course. This way, Mr. Kim."

You led Hongjoong through the double doors and into the hallway, your back straight, your steps measured. Neither of you spoke as you walked through the house and out to the garden—the same garden where you had all played as children, where secrets had been shared and promises made. Promises that had ultimately meant nothing.

Once outside, you turned to face him, crossing your arms. "Well? Shall we discuss flower arrangements and honeymoon destinations? Or would you prefer to skip straight to dividing up territories and body counts?"

Hongjoong didn't rise to the bait. He stood with his hands in his pockets, the evening breeze ruffling his perfectly styled hair. For a moment, in the fading light, he looked almost like the boy you'd known.

"You've changed," he said finally.

"Did you expect me to stay frozen in time?" you asked. "The same naive girl waiting for her friends to return?"

"No," he admitted. "But I didn't expect... this."

"This?"

"This version of you. Cold. Hard." His eyes traveled over you, lingering on your face. "Beautiful in a way that cuts."

You refused to let his words affect you. "We all become what we need to survive. You taught me that lesson quite effectively."

"I suppose I did," he murmured, moving past you to look out at the garden. "Do you remember when we used to sneak out here at night? All of us?"

"I remember a lot of things," you said flatly. "None of them relevant to our current situation."

Hongjoong turned back to you, his expression unreadable. "Is that how you want to play this, Y/n? Pretending the past never happened?"

"Isn't that exactly what you did?" you shot back, unable to keep the edge from your voice. "Seven years, Hongjoong. Seven years without a word. And now you want to reminisce like old friends?"

Something flashed in his eyes—pain, perhaps, or regret. But it was quickly masked by that infuriating control. "You're right. The past is irrelevant. What matters is our future arrangement."

"Arrangement," you repeated. "Not marriage. Not partnership. Arrangement."

"Would you prefer I lie to you? Dress this up as something it's not?"

"I would prefer not to be traded like a commodity," you snapped. "But since that ship has sailed, I'd at least like to know why you agreed to this. What possible benefit could you gain from marrying someone who clearly despises you?"

Hongjoong stepped closer, close enough that you could smell his cologne—sandalwood and something darker, more complex. "Maybe I enjoy a challenge."

You let out a harsh laugh. "Is that what I am to you? A challenge to be conquered?"

"No," he said, his voice suddenly serious. "You're much more dangerous than that."

Before you could respond, he reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with unexpected gentleness. The casual intimacy of the gesture stole the breath from your lungs.

"Our fathers have made their decision," he said quietly. "We can fight it and make ourselves miserable, or we can find a way to make it work."

You stepped back, breaking the spell of his proximity. "And how exactly do you suggest we do that? Start fresh? Pretend you and the others didn't rip my heart out and stomp on it?"

A flash of guilt crossed his features. "I don't expect you to forget. Or forgive. But for both our sakes, we need to find a way forward."

"There is no 'we,' Hongjoong. There's you and your precious family, and there's me, doing what I must to survive—just as I've done since you all abandoned me."

Hongjoong's jaw tightened. "You know nothing about what happened."

"Whose fault is that?" you challenged.

For a moment, it seemed like he might actually tell you something—anything—to explain the past. But then his expression closed off again, the wall between you solidifying.

"Some things are better left buried," he said finally.

You laughed, the sound brittle in the evening air. "How convenient for you."

Hongjoong studied you for a long moment, his dark eyes taking in every detail of your face. "You know, despite everything, that fire in you—it's still there. They couldn't take that away."

"They?"

But he was already turning away. "We should go back inside. They'll be waiting."

As you followed him back toward the house, you couldn't help but wonder who "they" were, and what exactly Hongjoong thought had been taken from you. But one thing was certain—beneath his cold, controlled exterior, the boy you once knew still existed. You'd seen it in that fleeting almost-smile, heard it in the softness that had crept into his voice when he spoke of the past.

And that realization was far more dangerous than his indifference could ever be.

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