#rich kids au

[yongility]

NEO TV # i like me better when i'm with you ꗃ╭╯ jung jaehyun. ──────── chapter ⵌ 1 : the boy with the bloddy knuckles.

𒄬 genre: slowburn / angst / suggestive / gang au / rich kid au / e2l

𒄬 warnings: drug use mention / gang activity / fights / use of weapons / adult language / nsfw scenes / illegal activities / mentions of cheating / toxic family enviroment / addictions / manipulation / insecurities / illegal street racing / death mentions / jeno is jaehyun's brother / lots of angst.

𒄬word count: 10k.

if you want to be in the taglist, just lemme know;) enjoy!

At SM City, things were simple.

Either you were born on the North side of the city where everything was filled with luxuries, privileges, incredible status, and the newest and most expensive things in the world, or you were born on the South side, where your childhood and adolescence could never be enjoyed because you would live surrounded by illegal businesses, in which eventually you would end up being a part of even if you didn't want to.

There was no third option.

There never was, and it wasn't expected that there would be.

SM City was radiant and beautiful... as long as you were in the Kwangya area because as soon as you set foot in the Neo Zone; things turned completely dark. Things were not always like this precisely; at some point in the past, despite the notorious differences between these two areas, Kwangya and Neo Zone had a synchrony that created an almost perfect balance and kept the city in maximum beauty.

But it was impossible to keep things that way.

Being part of the North side had its advantages: wealth, privilege, extravagant parties, designer clothes, and everything anyone could want, it would be in their hands as soon as they asked for it. Did you want a trip to the other side of the world? Done. Did you want the latest Louis Vuitton outfit? Of course. Did you want the newest car? Okay. Having it was as easy as asking for it.

They only followed one rule: do not approach Neo Zone unless your life depended on it... which would never happen.

While growing up on the South side was something peculiar. It didn't matter what you dreamed of, it didn't matter your future aspirations or your talents. Just by being born in Neo Zone; your life was already prescribed.

You would end up becoming a drug dealer, a hitman, or anything that involved ilegal businesses. Those were your only options. There were no others.

Did you want to get out of Neo Zone? Yeah, good luck with that.

On the South side, bad moves, riots, and problems were so common now that residents were accustomed to it. They began to accept their life and what destiny had prepared for them, even if it wasn't what they wanted.

Your age didn't matter, nothing mattered; as soon as you turned fourteen years old, you started your initiation into the Neo Zone gang. Each person had a different initiation and they had to complete it if they wanted the support and respect of the other inhabitants of Neo Zone, if not... you would end up fighting for your life alone. Without anyone's help, without anyone's support, and ending up being a nobody.

Welcome to Neo Zone, where there is an area as bright and welcoming as day and another as cold and dark as night.

SM City was a small city, which meant there had to be at least one place where the inhabitants of Kwangya and Neo Zone had to mix and live together, and that place was none other than the high school. They shared the hallways, shared classes, the cafeteria, and that was not pleasant for either side.

Despite the always existing differences between the south side and the north side, the one thing the Mayor couldn't deny Neo Zone was education for its youth, and even though there were protests from Kwangya's parents about that abrupt mix, the mayor's idea would never change.

Because deep inside, he believed that the power of education would change his students and turn those Neo Zone vandals into good and promising individuals.

However, this opportunity served a completely different purpose for the youth of Neo Zone.

Because... What better place to do their business when it was Friday and many were looking to have a bit of fun on their weekend? It was no secret that the youth of Kwangya would take any opportunity to squander their millions of wones on some party made every new weekend. A party surrounded by the most expensive alcohol, the most relaxing and crazy drugs, and surrounded by hormonal teenagers who spent their time having sex whenever possible.

Jung Jaehyun wished that his business was different.

The boy let out a heavy sigh, frustration evident as he rubbed the bridge of his nose, quickly glancing at his friend before returning his gaze to the slender boy in front of him, who had his head bowed, hands and lips trembling and sweat drops were running down his forehead from fear.

Anyone facing Lucas Wong and Jung Jaehyun would feel fear.

"Look dude, this is the third time this week that I've come to look for you" Jaehyun said with a deep voice.

"I know, I know. It's just that..."

"I don't want to hear another lame excuse, you've given me enough of those already" he interrupted, dangerously approaching and grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, clenching his fists in it "look, I'll make things clear to you; you owe money to my boss, that shit you asked for is expensive, do you get it? He gave you a week and a half to pay for it, and guess what? The deadline ended... how long ago, Lucas?"

"Five days ago" Lucas, who was standing just behind his friend with his arms crossed over his chest, answered, flexing his muscles.

"Right, five days ago" Jaehyun affirmed, then looked to the side where the boy's Tesla was parked. He huffed with a sideways smile and returned his gaze to him, shaking his head slightly. "Those drugs won't pay for themselves, and you know it. You had a deadline to give us the money, and my boss was kind enough to wait for your little delay, and guess what? He's not very happy about it" he continued explaining without releasing his grip. The boy in front of him swallowed hard and nodded. "Daeho, you're surrounded by money, how hard can it be for someone like you to pay a few wones for the drugs you enjoy so much at those damn parties you throw?" he received no response, only seeing fear in Daeho's eyes and the fact that he couldn't give a good answer was starting to bother him.

He pushed him slightly with the collar still in his hands. Jaehyun clenched his jaw, and Daehyun closed his eyes momentarily.

"Jaehyun, let him go, I think he gets it" Lucas intervened when he saw his friend's white knuckles from the tight grip and knowing that if Jaehyun's patience was pushed further, things wouldn't end well.

"Sorry, I'm really sorry" Daehyun nervously apologized.

— Being sorry won't do a shit... your car is new, isn't it?"

At Jaehyun's unexpected question, Daeho furrowed his brow and shifted his gaze to Lucas, who simply nodded, then looked back at Jaehyun and swallowed hard.

"Yes, it is."

"Hmm, I see" Jaehyun examined the car meticulously, then scoffed and looked back at Daehyun with a smirk. "It's incredible to know that you can afford a damn car that costs much, much more wones than the money you owe us."

"My... my dad paid for the car. The money... the money is from my parents" Daeho stammered "I can't ask my dad for money for drugs, he would kill me" Daeho explained, avoiding Jaehyun's gaze and receiving a stern look from him.

"You should have thought about that before asking for them, you shitty addict" Jaehyun muttered, and Lucas placed his hand on his friend's shoulder, trying to calm him down.

"Let me talk to him" he requested, and Jaehyun, looking back at Daeho, finally released his grip, stepping back a bit, allowing his friend to continue. "Alright, Daeho, here's how it is: you owe us, your deadline ended a while ago, we've come to look for you three times already, and no matter the excuses you keep making up, you still haven't paid us. We want the money tomorrow, or the next visit won't be us, but our boss personally. And if you fear an angry Jaehyun, you should fear our boss more" he clarified while giving some not-so-gentle pats on his back.

"Tomorrow, at eight sharp, we want the money" Jaehyun announced, getting closer to the boy again.

"Tomorrow is Saturday, there's no school. Where am I supposed to give you the money?" Daeho asked, confused.

"We've looked for you several times, haven't we?" he questioned, not getting a response. "Haven't we?

"Yes."

"Good, tomorrow we have a race. Go to Neo Zone's main street and find us, we want the money with you" he requested, still smiling.

"Jaehyun..." Lucas called, and he shook his head.

"No Yukhei, we've given him many chances" he declared, approaching Daeho "Next time, you should think twice before asking us for more drugs if you won't pay on time.

Jaehyun turned around to walk away from the boy with Lucas by his side, but suddenly he stopped and chuckled. Returning to Daeho, he gave him a smile that made him even more nervous. Jaehyun looked around, making sure they were the only three people in the parking lot, and before Lucas could say or do anything, Jaehyun's fist hit Daeho's stomach, making him cough and place his hands on his abdomen, letting out groans of pain.

"Next time, don't play with us, you little brat" Jaehyun patted his back and winked.

Lucas hurried to take his friend by the arm and lead him away while muttering curses. They walked together to Jaehyun's car, and once they arrived, they got in. Lucas let out a heavy sigh as he shook his head, looking at his friend.

"I don't want to listen to you" Jaehyun spoke as he leaned back in his seat.

"We came to give him a little scare so he'd pay up, not for you to beat him up and ask for the money at tomorrow's race. Are you nuts?" Lucas asked, looking at him with disdain. "If Daeho goes to Neo Zone, they'll tear him apart, and you know it. As soon as he sets foot there, they'll know he's from Kwangya, and he won't be welcomed with flowers and claps."

"I gave him plenty of chances, and he didn't take them. Whatever happens to him next is not my problem," murmured Jaehyun as he tapped the steering wheel with his thumb. "Look, Lucas, I sold him the stuff, I asked the boss to give him a week and a half to pay, and now that he hasn't, the boss is getting on my nerves. He either pays or I make him pay. It's that simple."

His friend sighed and scratched his head as he looked out the window.

"At least make sure he doesn't have a rough time tomorrow."

Jaehyun scoffed. "Whatever. I couldn't care less about that rich boy"

(Y/N) opened the large door of her house, and before she could say anything, Daeho took her by the arm and started walking with her trailing behind him. (Y/N) furrowed her brows and followed the confused boy, who began to climb the stairs and she almost stumbled trying to keep up with his pace. Her cousin continued the journey, then entered her room and locked the door. (Y/N) sat on her bed, breathing heavily, and gave a disapproving look to the boy in front of her.

"Could you stop acting like a damn paranoid and tell me what's going on?"

Just over half an hour ago, when she had arrived home from school, Daeho had called her sounding a bit nervous and asking if her parents were home. (Y/N) asked for the reason for his state, but he simply replied saying that he would come to her house and explain everything in there.

And not knowing what was going on was also making her nervous.

"Okay, it may sound strange, but I really need your help," Daeho pleaded, looking at his cousin with a plea in his eyes.

She looked at him confused and tilted her head, trying to decipher the look of the boy in front of her.

"What did you do this time, Daeho?" (Y/N) asked. "I'm not going to lie to your parents again if that's what you want."

"No, that's not it," he hurriedly replied.

"Then what is it?" she asked, crossing her arms.

They had grown up together, sharing everything from an early age. Wherever Daeho did... (Y/N) would also. Did she enroll in music lessons? Well, Daeho did too. Did he want to go to a summer camp? (Y/N) did too. They did everything together, they were always there for each other, and that's why they knew each other so well, too well, and every time Daeho said he needed help, (Y/N) couldn't help but to feel anxious. Her cousin always found a way to get into trouble, and the person who was always there to get him out of trouble was none other than his dear cousin.

"Hmm," Daeho scratched his head. "I need you to lend me some money," he said almost in a whisper, but loud enough for her to hear.

(Y/N) burst out laughing, and Daeho looked at her seriously, which made her realize that her cousin was not joking, and she furrowed her brow in confusion.

Of all the things she expected her cousin to ask for, money was the last thing on her mind.

Both families were among the wealthiest in the area. Their parents, being siblings, shared the same royalties in the family company. The same company that would soon be in their hands. Their parents were known for the international business they conducted, for the galas they organized to donate money to the city, and for the luxuries everyone knew they had. Money was never a problem for the Hwang families, so why was her cousin asking her for a loan?

"Money? Isn't it easier to borrow from your parents than from me?" she asked with a smirk.

"I can't ask them for money; I exceeded the limit for this week and now I'm grounded, they blocked my bank account for two weeks" he explained with frustration.

"Well then, how much money do you need?" she asked again.

"A few wones," he replied without looking at her.

"How much is 'a few wones'?"

Daeho sighed and nervously scratched his head before looking at her again. He closed his eyes for a moment and, without opening them, he replied, "545,000 wones."

(T/N) widened her eyes and then shook her head.

"545,000 wones?" she repeated, and he nodded. "What do you need that for?"

"It doesn't matter what it's for," he hurried to say.

"Well, it matters if you're asking me for a loan," she said simply.

The girl knew he could have expensive tastes, but she didn't know how he had exceeded his weekly money limit when the week wasn't even over yet, and he still needed more money. The same money he didn't want to ask his parents for.

So no, her cousin wasn't acting normal, and that worried her. First, he called her nervously asking if he could come to her house, then he took her to his room while asking if his parents weren't home, and now he asked her for money without intending to tell her what it was for.

What trouble did you get into, Hwang Daeho?

"If you don't tell me what you need the money for, I won't lend it to you," she warned him, and seeing that she didn't get a response, she got up from her seat and stood in front of her cousin, pointing a finger at his chest. "Fine, I won't give it to you, and I'll also tell my uncle that you asked me for money."

Daeho widened his eyes and shook his head hastily, taking his cousin's hands and looking at her with pleading eyes, pouting, and speaking, "Please, don't tell Dad, I don't need a lecture right now," she looked neutral, "(Y/N), please."

"Tell me what you need the money for, I won't tell anyone, and I'll lend you as much as you need. Even more, but be honest."

He sighed for the thousandth time that day and finally relented.

"It may or may not be that I asked for drugs..."

"What?" she interrupted. "Daeho, you told me you wouldn't use anymore," she said angrily.

"I'm sorry, okay?" he said, raising his hands defensively, "but we had that party two weeks ago, and I couldn't bear to spend a whole night with my parents and all those people asking me about my future, when I don't even know if I want to keep getting up every day!"

(Y/N) knew the pressure her cousin felt about his future because she felt the same pressure. Being the next in line for an international company left many people wishing, and every chance they got, they bombarded them with the same questions about it. Making both of them wonder if they were good enough to fill the big shoes their parents would leave behind. If they were capable enough to be the leaders their parents were. They knew they had carried that weight since they were little, that their lives were already determined from the moment they were in the womb. (Y/N) knew her place and her responsibilities. She was aware that any mistake she made would affect her future. She couldn't make any mistakes, not even one, or it would be the next topic at their father's business meetings.

Just like Daeho was.

She had always been like that; upright, responsible, making sure things went as they should. Almost perfect. The pressure was even greater on her, after all, many didn't trust her just because she was a woman. They believed that really the only one who could take over the company in the future was Daeho, and that hurt her pride because she tried. Really, she did. She put all her effort into that company, even when she was still in high school and didn't have time for her university career yet. However, from an early age, she was involved in the business world, she wanted to do more and be more. Because she needed to be the pride of her family. Her father's pride. There was nothing else she wanted more.

She wished she could shut people up.

And Daeho, on the other hand, was different. All eyes were on him, expecting him to be the only leader in the future, but Daeho hated everyone's attention.

Everyone's attention except his parents.

If there was one thing different between (Y/N) and Daeho's families, it was their parents. Daeho's parents were absent. They were always away on business trips, in the office, or anywhere but home. That was part of the reason why he was so close to (Y/N); during his childhood, he spent more time with his aunt and cousin than with his own parents. And that led him to do things that would catch their attention. Daeho was known as the rebel, yet people still expected a lot from him. He always threw parties whenever his parents were away on trips in the hope that they would return soon and spend time with him. He spent money on unnecessary things so that his parents would call him when they were away, and among all his needs to get their attention, it led him to drugs.

"(Y/N), I know I said I would quit it," the boy spoke again. "But believe me, right now it's the least of my worries. I need to pay for that stuff tomorrow, and I can't ask my parents," he explained impatiently.

"God, Daeho," she sighed. "Okay, I'll give it to you," she rolled her eyes and went to her bag, opened it, took out her wallet, took all the bills she had in there, then went to her desk and took a little more from one of her boxes. "Who do you owe the money to?"

Daeho swallowed hard at the question and looked at her guiltily.

"To... Jaehyun," he murmured, and she slapped her forehead with her hand.

Jung Yoonoh, or as many knew him: Jaehyun. If someone described him in simple words, it would be: leather jackets, tattoos, cigarettes, gangs, and drug deals. If she described Jaehyun, it would be with a single word: danger.

He wasn't just a drug dealer. Jaehyun was always in fights and in bad situations. Jaehyun participated in illegal races. He was the one who showed up to first period with bruised knuckles, a split lip, and a cigarette in his mouth. He was the one teachers respected – or rather feared – and never messed with him. He was the one you wouldn't look at for more than five seconds for fear that it might bother him, and things would end badly. Jaehyun screamed danger at its finest, and that caught the attention of many people.

However, if you wanted good stuff to have a good time, to escape your worries, or simply to annoy your parents, Jaehyun was the person you should go to. It wasn't a secret that he was one of the dealers at the high school. Hell, even the principal knew. Everyone did. He and his group of friends were the people you should stay away from if you wanted to be okay, the only reason you could or should communicate with them was to make a deal. Nothing else.

Being from Neo Zone, he was the last person you wanted to associate with, and there was Daeho, buying stuff from him, then owing him money, and asking her to lend it to him.

"Of all the people you could have asked for your damn drugs and then stay in debt, did it really have to be Jaehyun?" she asked with frustration, hitting him on the head. "You could have gone to that guy Taeyong. At least he has a bit more manners," Daeho lowered his gaze, and she sighed, "Okay, take the money and promise me... promise me that you'll never buy drugs again, much less from Jaehyun," she asked.

Daeho took the money from her hands and nodded with a smirk.

His cousin really was his savior.

"When do you have to give him the money?"

"Tomorrow," he replied as he put it in his wallet, looked at his cousin, and swallowed hard. "I might have to go to..."

"Please don't say Neo Zone, please don't say Neo Zone," she begged in whispers.

"Neo Zone," Daeho said again, lowering his gaze. His cousin covered her face with her hands while shaking her head vigorously. She sighed; why did her cousin always find a way to get into trouble? Revealing her face, she walked straight to her bed, where she threw herself onto it, grabbed her pillow, and put it on her own face before letting out a frustrated scream.

Daeho sat on the small couch in the room, looking at the money in his hands while thinking about all the possible scenarios that could happen the next day.

Of all the places her cousin could go, it had to be there... it had to be Neo Zone. She imagined what could happen as soon as he set foot there, and the thought that maybe her cousin wouldn't come out of there scared her. They had never set foot there; they didn't know for sure how things were done, but it was enough to hear the rumors about that area to fear it.

Now Daeho would go and get involved there.

And she would have to do something to make sure he came out with all his limbs intact.

She removed the pillow from her face and let out a heavy sigh, got up from the bed, and sat on it. She looked at her hands for a moment and anxiously played with her fingers. She thought about the words that would come out of her mouth: would she regret saying them? Possibly, could something go wrong? Maybe, but that's who she was. She would take care of her loved ones' lives before her own, because that's (Y/N) for you.

"I... I'll go with you," she said almost in a whisper. Daeho raised his eyes extremely quickly, almost panicked, looking at his cousin. He couldn't risk her, he couldn't put her in danger.

"(Y/N), you won't go. You'll stay here; we won't even argue about this," Daeho spoke, standing up and looking at her defiantly.

"It's my money you're carrying with you; I'm involved in this, and I'll go with you because I need to know that you'll be okay," she also said, standing up.

"Listen, me going to Neo Zone is already stupid and dangerous, you going with me is even more so I don't want to put you in danger; if something happens to me? Fine, it's under my responsibility, but I couldn't bear the guilt if you get hurt."

"Daeho, I won't let you go alone. We've always done things together. If you're in trouble, I want to help you. Just like you would if it was me," she explained, raising her voice.

"(Y/N), I really don't want to argue about this. You're not going..." he was interrupted.

"In one way or another, I'll go with you. Whether you want it or not ," she finished, crossing her arms.

Daeho looked at his cousin for a moment, analyzing her face. He knew that once she had made up her mind about something, there was no turning back. She was stubborn and determined, and if she had said she would go with him, she would.

He sighed and nodded.

"Fine, but I swear to you, (Y/N), if something happens to you, I'll never forgive myself," he said sincerely.

"Don't worry about me; worry about not making me regret going with you," she replied with a small smirk.

Daeho rolled his eyes and shook his head with a small smile.

Of course, his cousin was like that.

"You'll have to wear something less conspicuous," Daehyun spoke, breaking the moment.

"What do you mean by less conspicuous?" she asked, tilting her head.

He approached his cousin and put his hands on her shoulders, then looked her straight in the eyes.

"(Y/N), you can't go dressed like a rich girl. You'll attract too much attention, and it won't be good for you," he explained.

(Y/N) narrowed her eyes and shook her head, removing her cousin's hands from her shoulders.

"And what do you suggest?l she asked sarcastically.

Daeho smirked and shrugged.

"Just wear something that doesn't look like it costed you millions" he replied.

(Y/N) looked at her cousin incredulously and sighed.

What was she getting herself into now?

(Y/N) took a quick look at the large mirror in her room and observed the clothes she had put on. Nothing extravagant, nothing expensive, nothing that screamed her social status. If she could keep a low profile, she would, and she hoped it would work.

She didn't know how to feel. Fear and nerves were running through her body and could be seen reflected in her eyes; her hands were sweating, and she had to wipe them on her pants, letting out a long, heavy sigh, trying to erase all the negative thoughts that came to her mind.

Would something happen to Daeho and her while they were in Neo Zone? She hoped not; she hoped they would just hand over the money and leave that place as soon as they could.

She grabbed her bag with her belongings inside and left her room as quietly as possible. She walked almost on tiptoe along the long hallway, passing her parents' room with great care and approaching the stairs. She checked the time on her wristwatch; it was seven thirty in the evening. The way to Neo Zone would take them about fifteen minutes, and hopefully, they would be there by the agreed time.

She cursed Jaehyun with all her being for getting them into this, but she cursed her own cousin even more for getting involved in these situations.

She began to descend the stairs, one by one and carefully. Her cousin was at the main entrance of the house, waiting for her, and the last thing she wanted right now was to run into one of her parents.

And it seemed that was exactly what she asked for.

"(Y/N)," her mother's voice was heard behind her from afar. "Where are you going?"

The girl closed her eyes for a brief moment and cursed under her breath. She adjusted her posture and turned around to see her mom leaning on the second-floor railing.

"Um, I'm going out with Daeho," she replied, moving her head slightly.

"Oh, has Daeho come?" her mother asked.

"Hmm yes, he's waiting for me outside," she replied.

"Well, where are you and Daeho going?" her mother asked again, this time getting closer to her daughter, descending the stairs and stopping before her.

(Y/N) swallowed hard. Lying to Daehyun's parents when he got into trouble was easy... lying to her own parents was something different. Very different. She tried not to move her hands anxiously as she always did, a movement that everyone in her family knew, something that betrayed her every time something happened.

She clenched one of her fists at her sides to avoid doing it and cleared her throat.

"Daeho said something about seeing a new movie and then going out to dinner. You know that my uncles are traveling this week, and you know how lonely Dae feels when they're not around," (Y/N) murmured the last part.

Her mother looked at her from above and squinted her eyes for a few seconds, then smiled as she nodded. She raised her hand and brought it to her daughter's cheek to stroke it slowly, causing her to hold her breath.

"Of course, dear. Keep your cousin company, offer to spend the night here so he doesn't feel lonely until your uncles arrive," she said, then pushed one of her hair strands behind her ear. She then gave her daughter a quick once-over and wrinkled her nose a bit. "Poor choice of clothing, dear. Too casual. Remember who you are; you can't go around like that... looking like a homeless. What will our associates say if they see you like this?" She put her hand on the girl's shoulder, feeling the fabric's material and wrinkled her nose.

(T/N) fought with herself not to roll her eyes right there and push her mother's hand away abruptly. She hated it when her mother told her what to do, what to wear, or what to say. She hated the phrase she always used against her, "remember who you are." It made her feel so small, as if her status or her way of acting were more special than what she thought. Than her own thoughts.

"Of course, mother," she replied simply, as she always did. No matter how many times she tried to gather the courage and say everything she felt... it never worked. Her mother's gaze would always manage to intimidate her, and she was tired of it.

She turned around to continue her way and walked through the entire place from the stairs to the main door. She left her house after a while, crossed the main yard until she reached the entrance. She greeted the security men with a simple nod, and they opened the doors for her to finally exit. Her cousin's Tesla was in front of her; as she got in, she saw Daeho tapping lightly on the steering wheel with one of his fingers.

"Why did you take so long?" Daeho asked impatiently.

"My mother stopped me as I was leaving my room," she replied, taking a deep breath.

Her cousin didn't reply; instead, he started the car and drove off. None of them spoke throughout the journey, possibly because of the anxiety it caused them. The city looked increasingly different as they approached the Neo Zone area. The streets were now darker and lonelier; (Y/N) could feel her chest pounding strongly. Her hands were sweating, and she felt a slight pressure on her chest.

May nothing go wrong tonight.

She shifted her gaze forward and finally could see the lights of Neo Zone in the distance. A few more minutes, and they would enter what would determine whether they would continue to live or not.

Was she being dramatic? It was just a part of the city. It couldn't be as bad as they painted it, right? Maybe everything they had heard from their parents or older people about that place was just an exaggeration.

Right?

She didn't even notice it. She didn't even feel when her cousin's car stopped. Daeho let out a sigh and lightly tapped the steering wheel in frustration.

"Well, we arrived on time," her cousin murmured, (Y/N) nodded, and they both got out of the car.

A few meters away from them, they could see a bunch of people. Some drinking, others smoking, others dancing, and others having passionate sessions with others. The music volume was loud, too loud for a public place. However, the car engines could be heard over it. Loud and clean. (Y/N) remembered Daeho mentioning that there would be a race... one that surely wouldn't be legal.

Daeho stood beside her, and they looked at each other. He nodded slightly, and together they began to blend in with the crowd. For a moment, they thought they had gone unnoticed. It seemed that many people were busy with their own business to even notice them.

Or so they thought.

(Y/N) stayed close to her cousin, who was leading the way for both of them. She bumped into some people from time to time, but none bothered to turn and look at them. It wasn't until Daeho felt a hand on his chest stopping him and causing (Y/N) stopped abruptly, colliding with her cousin's body.

"Oh, well," a deep voice spoke. "Who are you?" asked the broad-shouldered man. His arm muscles were large and with a particular tattoo. The Neo Zone one.

The girl swallowed fearfully and stayed behind her cousin.

Great. Just great.

"Excuse us," Daehyun spoke, trying to keep walking, but again the man stopped him.

"I hadn't seen you around here before," the man spoke again. "I repeat, who are you?"

(T/N) looked around, now seeing more people cornering them. The difference between them could be noticed. It was clear that neither she nor Daehyun fit in there. It was clear they weren't part of Neo Zone.

That had been a bad idea. A very bad idea.

Someone took her by the arm and separated her a bit from her cousin. They did the same with him. Placing him right in front of the big man, who impatiently awaited an answer.

"Aren't you the Hwangs?" someone asked from afar. Upon hearing her last name, (Y/N) turned her head to see who had spoken, seeing one of her schoolmates among the crowd.

She forgot that several people there attended the same school.

"Oh, the Hwangs?" the man questioned. "As the kids of Hwang Inc’s owners?”

Before anyone could even say anything. The crowd parted, and the tall figures of Jung Jaehyun along with Lucas Wong appeared. Jaehyun stood between the man and Daeho and smiled slightly, patting him on the shoulder.

"Calm down, Hanseok. They're with me," Jaehyun said firmly. He turned to look over his shoulder at the Hwang cousins and clicked his tongue.

"Hmm," the man, now known as Hanseok, looked at each boy and then at Jaehyun. "What are you doing associating with someone from Kwangya?" Hanseok approached the girl, and before he could get too close to her body, Jaehyun stopped him by placing his hand on his chest and Lucas slipping in front of her.

"Business," the boy replied. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to take him... take them to the boss," Jaehyun stopped looking at Hanseok and changed his gaze to the Hwang cousins. "Let's go."

Neither Daeho nor (Y/N) uttered a word. They both followed Jaehyun and Lucas, who were heading towards what seemed to be a garage, which was surrounded by cars and was dimly lit. (Y/N) swallowed hard and kept walking. Thanks to Hanseok, all eyes were on them. They could feel each of them staring at their bodies, watching them meticulously. Waiting for a wrong move to pounce on them and tear them apart.

The air was tense, and Jaehyun knew it.

Now he was having second thoughts about bringing Daeho here.

But screw it. Daeho had let him down. He owed money to his boss, and his boss was being a painful nuisance in his balls.

He glanced back to see the Hwang cousins; Daeho walking cautiously and (Y/N) behind him trying to look calm, although she actually looked like a scared little mouse.

He clicked his tongue and shook his head. The idea was to bring only one Hwang. Just Daeho, why did he bring his cousin along? Something wouldn't end well tonight.

“I don’t remember telling you that you could bring someone with you” Jaehyun said without looking back at them. “The deal was only you coming, not your cousin as well” they both could hear the anger in his voice”

And before Daeho could answer, she spoke “I tagged myself along” (Y/N) said. “It wasn’t Daeho’s idea”

“I thought someone like you would know better” he gave them a side smile and scoff”.

Lucas stood beside him, and both stopped when they reached the entrance of the garage. Two of his boss's bodyguards were guarding it and looked at them with superiority.

"Cheol Uk, the boss is waiting for us," Jaehyun explained, looking neutral.

"Only two people can enter," Cheol Uk replied nonchalantly. Jaehyun and Lucas looked at each other, and the former sighed. He nodded and turned to the Hwang cousins with no expression on his face.

"You brought the money with you, right?" he asked Daeho, who nodded eagerly. Jaehyun clicked his tongue and looked at Cheol Uk. "The boy and I will enter."

Daeho quickly turned to look at his cousin, and she could see a bit of panic in his eyes at the thought of leaving her alone, but she straightened up and smiled slightly, mouthing a "I'll be fine."

"Lucas will stay with her," Jaehyun told Daeho, who turned to look at the mentioned.

"I'll take care of her," he assured, approaching the girl and nodding at her.

Jaehyun gave Daeho a little push, and they both approached the entrance even more, the bodyguards inspected Daeho, making sure he didn't have any weapons with him, and once they saw he was clean, they allowed them to enter.

(Y/N) swallowed when she saw her cousin's body disappear through the entrance.

Everything will be fine. Everything will be fine.

She felt Lucas Wong's presence beside her. Both standing side by side, saying nothing, and the atmosphere was weird. (Y/N) began to play with her fingers unknowingly and moved one of her feet slightly. Lucas looked everywhere except at the girl. He didn't know what to say because the situation wasn't really the best. His boss was angry, and he knew what his boss was like when he was in that state, so he didn't want to make (Y/N) panic right there because he wouldn't know how to calm her down.

It had been a bad idea of Daeho to bring her here.

The brunette straightened her back and with a little curiosity, she looked around. The night had completely fallen by then, the full moon reflected on them, and the lights of the city and the place created a contrast. The music could still be heard even from where they were. And from there, in her position, she could be a perfect spectator of what that scenario was.

The car engines roared, the girls in mini skirts stood in the middle of the highway to announce the start of the race. The young people, who were also (Y/N)'s classmates, drank effusively as they moved their bodies to the rhythm of the music. Some had a cigarette between their lips, others brought their nostrils to what seemed to be a key and inhaled strongly from it, and their eyes widened when the substance was inside them.

Lucas let out a sigh that (Y/N) could perfectly hear, looking at him, she noticed how the boy put his hand in his jacket pocket and from there took out a small bag and some papers to roll. He placed the substance on the paper and rolled it carefully, then after a moment, brought it to his mouth and lit it. He inhaled deeply, furrowing his brow slightly, and slowly released the smoke from his lungs, causing it to reach the girl, who coughed when she smelled the smell of that substance reach her nostrils.

"Do you participate?" she asked, trying to break the ice.

"In what?"

"In the races."

"Sometimes," Lucas replied. "Not right now because I'm fixing my car, the last race didn't end well," he continued.

"Oh..."

"Jaehyun does it," the boy said as he took another drag of his cigarette, then offered it to the girl, who quickly declined. "He's one of the best in the area."

"Is it fun?... racing like that?" she questioned, looking at the highway.

"Yes, it is," he replied simply, bringing the cigarette to his lips, sucking slightly, and holding the smoke in his lungs. "It's really a stress reliever, and it's even more fun when you get the final prize," he released the smoke, and this time, he didn't receive a response from the girl, but she remained silent and continued to watch the show in front of her.

A few minutes passed... (Y/N) lost track of time, but it really seemed like many minutes had passed, but finally, the garage door opened, and she looked up with shining eyes to see her cousin. However, she found only Jaehyun arriving at the place. (Y/N) frowned and looked behind Jaehyun's shoulder, searching for Daehyun, but the door closed, and he never came out.

A pressure in her chest became present, and she walked to the door to try to open it, but she was stopped by Cheol Uk himself. She tapped her chest a bit to let her go. Mumbling a couple of nonsensical things and kicking before feeling the pressure of a hand on her arm, holding her back. Cheol Uk sure had strength and was beginning to hurt her arm.

Where's Daeho? Where's Daeho? Where's Daeho?

If something happened to Daeho, she wouldn't know what to do. She wouldn't know how to react.

She didn't know at what point, but someone’s hands took her from behind and separated her from Cheol Uk. They moved her away from the door a bit, and then she slightly felt her feet touch the ground. She couldn't focus on what was happening.

(Y/N) always used to worry, and maybe that was her weakness. Thinking that something could happen to one of her loved ones drove her crazy in every imaginable way, and now there was Daeho, on his own, inside a garage with some mobsters. What if it ended badly? What if he got shot? What if he got stabbed?

"(Y/N)," she heard a voice calling her, and after shaking her head, her attention focused on the boy in front of her. On Jaehyun. Who looked at her with one of his eyebrows raised and without any emotion on his face.

"Where's Daeho? Why didn't he come with you?" she asked hurriedly.

Jaehyun glanced quickly at Lucas and then returned his gaze to the girl.

"My boss wanted to talk to him alone," he explained.

"Why?"

"He owed money, his deadline expired almost a week ago. It wasn't just a few wones he owed, and my boss wanted to make a few things clear to him," he explained again, staying neutral.

She swallowed and then squeezed her eyes shut.

It was now or never.

She had never imagined in her life trying to do business with someone from Neo Zone, much less with someone like Jaehyun, but as they said somewhere, "desperate times call for desperate measures." So there she was, on a Saturday night at an illegal race, with her cousin inside a garage with other mobsters, Jung Jaehyun in front of her, and her hands sweating like they had never done before.

So, to protect her cousin from future problems, she would have to do it.

"Jaehyun?" she called softly. Jaehyun looked up at that, his name, his nickname, sounded so different coming from the lips of that girl that it almost sent a chill down his spine. How weird that felt. "Can I talk to you?" she asked, and Jaehyun looked at her with confusion, then glanced at Lucas, who was in a similar state, and nodded. (Y/N) cleared her throat and smiled sideways. "Alone."

Again, a look of confusion crossed his face, and he glanced at his best friend, who was already moving away from both of them. He looked at the girl and noticed how she lightly played with her fingers. Then, she followed his gaze and immediately stopped her hand movements, embarrassed and feeling her cheeks heat up a bit.

"What do you need?" he asked, looking into her eyes, and before she could say a word, he spoke again. "I won't sell you drugs if that's what you want."

(Y/N) frowned and quickly shook her head.

"Hey! I'm not Daeho, I don't put that stuff in my body, and that definitely wasn't what I wanted to talk about," she replied, pointing at him with one of her fingers.

Jaehyun thought she looked cute with her annoyed face.

"Well, then enlighten me," he asked with a sideways smile.

She cleared her throat again and unconsciously started playing with her fingers again.

Yes, that was definitely a tic.

"I... wanted to ask you something," she murmured, and when she didn't receive a response from the boy, she continued. "Could you... could you stop selling to Daeho?" she asked without looking him in the eyes. Why couldn't she meet his gaze?

He chuckled softly and then received a glare from her.

"Oh, are you serious?"

Jaehyun looked at her in surprise for a few seconds. He observed every detail about her. From her slightly furrowed eyebrows to her lips that were almost pouting. Then to her hands that played with each other, and then to her clothes, which were very different from what he usually saw her wearing at school. This was more casual; it didn't scream 'look at me, I'm the heir to a billion-dollar company.' This felt more like her, it suited her very well.

But he shouldn't get distracted. Especially not by someone like Hwang (T/N). So he scoffed and gave her a sarcastic smile.

"I'm sorry, Angel, but business are business. I can't stop selling to Daeho just because you ask me to. He's my client, after all, not you" he said, crossing his arms.

"You know my name, Yoonoh," she snapped, mirroring Jaehyun's movement and crossing her arms.

"You know not everyone is allowed to call me Yoonoh," he approached her with a furious look.

His name was something different. Only his family and very close friends called him that, and no one outside that circle could or should call him that. It just wasn't allowed.

So now she was coming and doing it?

"Don't sell anything to Daeho," she asked again, this time with firmness.

"Business. Are. Business," he repeated, emphasizing each word.

"Let's negotiate then," (Y/N) challenged. "How much money do you want?" Without hesitation, Jaehyun burst into laughter and shook his head slightly, making the girl look at him with annoyance and clench her jaw.

Was Jung Jaehyun really laughing at her? Who did he think he was?

"Angel, things don't work like that," Jaehyun teased, running his tongue over his lips. "You won't just come here and tell me what to do or not do, who to sell my shit to and who not to. That's just how things are," he explained with some gestures.

"Listen, Yoonoh," she placed her index finger on the boy's chest and tried to push him, although it was in vain. Jaehyun was stronger and managed to stay in place, not even moving an inch. Jaehyun lowered his gaze a bit to see her eyes and narrowed them, but at that moment, it didn't intimidate her. "Daeho promised not to use again, but I know him. As soon as his parents leave the city again and he feels lonely, he'll come looking for you to buy more stuff. One of the times he did, it ended badly. They punish him every two weeks because he's overspending, and I don't want him to be late with his payment again, because now he's there," she pointed to the garage. "With your boss, who's angry, and I don't know what he's capable of. Daeho has changed a bit since he started using. I'm afraid it might become an addiction and end badly. He lost weight. He's sleeping less. I don't want his habits to change and harm him. If my uncles find out about this, they're capable of anything, even sending him away until he changes those thoughts," she sighed and moved away from Jaehyun a bit. "Daeho is like a brother to me. We've always been together, and I'm afraid something will happen to him, either because of an addiction, a late payment, or whatever. I promised myself I would always take care of him, but I'm failing, and if I can do something to change that now, I will. Just... just stop selling to him."

She murmured the last part, and after a few seconds, she looked into Jaehyun's eyes, hoping to find a response in them, but she saw nothing. Not even an emotion. Nothing. They were flat. Empty.

Why did she think that was a good idea?

Everyone thought that the great Jung Jaehyun had no weaknesses. Or at least that's what he always showed. That was his facade. A tough guy, a dealer who had been through so much that nothing scared him. That was his life, or at least that's what others believed. His body was covered in scars, possible results of the many fights he had had throughout his life. His character was cold, a result of all the hard things he had been through. Of everything that being and belonging to Neo Zone meant.

Of everything that being Jung Jaehyun meant.

Of course, he wouldn't accept the deal with (Y/N) just because of her sentimentalism.

Of course not.

"Ugh, forget it. I shouldn't have even thought about asking you that," (Y/N) murmured as she walked away from him and let out a small sarcastic laugh. Had she forgotten who the boy in front of her was?

But Jung Jaehyun did have weaknesses. Deep down inside him. Amidst everything he presented to the world, they existed, and although no one might know them, they lived with him; and Jeno, his little brother, was one of his weaknesses. He had spent his whole life trying to take care of his brother, trying to prevent him from ending up like him. Trying to keep him away from anything that could hurt him, and if taking on a great responsibility within Neo Zone, even if he hated it, to take care of him, it was necessary... he would do it.

His family would always come first.

Then, the image of a Sicheng came to his mind, causing his throat to dry up and his eyes to close for a moment. Listening to (Y/N) talk about her cousin and how she felt the responsibility for him fell on her somehow shook him. Maybe there was something similar between them.

Something small but significant.

He sighed, debating internally.

“Do you want to negotiate? Then let's negotiate” his voice came out thick and a bit hoarse, (Y/N) turned slightly, surprised by the words that had come out of Jaehyun's mouth. “So, what do you have to offer me?” he prompted, raising his eyebrows.

(Y/N) moved her bag hanging from one of her arms to the front and began searching for her wallet. When she opened it, she remembered something: she didn't have any cash with her.

“Hmm, I don't have cash, but we can go to a nearby ATM and I can give you whatever you want” she said hurriedly, then Jaehyun laughed.

“So, you're offering me money, angel?”

“Well, yes, what do you need?”

Jaehyun made a pensive gesture and placed one of his hands on his chin. Then he looked at the girl and smiled slightly.

“Are you doing well in school?” he asked. Of course, she was doing well in school; she was the top of her class. (Y/N) nodded without understanding. “Alright, do my homework for the rest of the year.”

She frowned and looked at him incredulously.

“Of all the things you could ask for, you want... me... to do your homework?” she asked, confused.

“Look, I'm not doing well in some classes, and the principal warned me that if I didn't improve or maintain my grades, I'd have to drop out. And do you know what that means? That's right, no school, no clients. No clients, no money. No money, angry boss. Do you understand what I'm saying?” he asked, and she nodded “so do my homework, give me your notes, and let's make a deal.”

“You want my notes too?” she asked incredulously “besides, wouldn't it be easier if I gave you money? With whatever you ask from me, you could surely quit working. You wouldn't have to sell drugs anymore.”

Jaehyun scoffed and shook his head. “Do you really think it's that simple?”

“I mean… yes” she replied simply “I give you money, then you won't have to work on your own and stop selling. See? We both win” she said triumphantly.

However, he laughed. “Things don't work like that here, sweet cheeks. It's not just selling and that's it, there are other things, and things aren't that simple. Maybe where you live, it is. But not here. I can't just quit the business like that.”

(Y/N) sighed and looked into Jaehyun's eyes, trying to find something in them. Can't quit the business? She was sure that if Jaehyun was smart enough and asked for enough money, he could survive a few months without needing to continue his drug deliveries and without getting into trouble. So why would he pass up an opportunity like this?

“Jaehyun, just give me a number and I'll write you a check.”

“It's not just about the money for me!” he exclaimed annoyed “look, I'm not here for this... it's not something you'll understand, and it's not something I'll bother explaining to you. It was nice talking to you, Hwang, but I don't want your money” Jaehyun finished, turning around and walking away from the girl without saying anything else.

She closed her eyes and cursed under her breath.

“Wait... do you want my notes and for me to do your homework?”

He smiled slightly and turned around to face her again. Looking at her cynically.

“And a coffee every Monday, like those rich kids drink you have… Oh! And also, if I ever ask you for something, you'll have to do it” Jaehyun spoke playfully.

“What? Will I be your maid or something?”

“Deal?”

“Jaehyun...”

“Deal?” he emphasized this time, raising one of his eyebrows and giving her a hard look. Extending one of his hands, and she looked at him hesitantly.

Was it really necessary to shake hands?

Moreover, of all the things she could give him; money, clothes, jewelry... damn, she could even buy him a plane ticket to an island and a free vacation if she wanted to... did he decide that she would do his homework for the rest of the year, in addition to treating her like his servant whenever he pleased?

Jaehyun sure was interesting.

“Is there any catch?” she asked hesitantly, looking at the boy's hand.

“Take it or leave it. I can continue selling to your cousin, it’s up to you if you want to close the deal or not” he shrugged. (Y/N) gave him one last look and without saying anything else, she took Jaehyun's hand in hers and shook it.

“Deal” she murmured, looking at him directly.

Jaehyun gave her a sideways smile while still shaking her hand and nodded cynically. (Y/N) swallowed hard and quickly let go of the boy's hand.

She hoped he would keep his word, because as soon as he broke it, she would forget who he was, and she herself would kick his ass if necessary.

“It was nice doing business with you, Hwang (Y/N).”

Hopefully, she wouldn't regret doing business with Jung Jaehyun.

What could go wrong?

“You know that Daeho can go to any other dealer, right? I'm not the only one he can call” he questioned a bit obviously.

“I know” she replied, letting out a sigh “You take care of making your part of the deal, and I'll take care of the rest” he looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Do you know that you also can't go around offering deals or money to other dealers just because your cousin keeps getting into trouble?”

“I know, Jaehyun! I know..”

“The deal I made with you has been innocent. Believe me, another dealer won't ask you for homework and class notes. They'll take advantage of your vulnerability” Jaehyun commented “I'm just saying, be careful with who you talk to and who you get involved with. This is not your zone, you had never set foot here before, you have no idea how things are handled in business here, and nobody... nobody will spare a thought for your little story of the protective cousin who wants to save her cousin from an overdose.”

“You did it though” (Y/N) retorted defiantly.

Jaehyun sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumbs: “Look, I'll stop selling to Daehyun because I keep my word, but you can't make every dealer in Neo Zone do the same. Much less by offering deals to anyone who crosses your path, because money won't be the only thing they'll ask for in return” he continued, this time looking her up and down, making her feel small under his intense gaze. (Y/N) bit her cheek inwardly and then cleared her throat.

“I can take care of myself, thanks for your concern, Yoonoh” she replied with a fake smile.

“I'm not concerned” Jaehyun responded with a smile as he turned around “And (Y/N)?” he saw her over his shoulder “don't call me Yoonoh again. Good luck with your mission of taking care of your cousin as if he is a child, you can leave or stay, maybe you want to see me run.”

When Jaehyun was far enough from her sight, the garage door opened and a Daeho was pushed by Cheol Uk, until his cousin fell to the ground, letting out a groan and placing his hand on his abdomen as he writhed in pain, causing (Y/N) to run towards him with panic evident on her face. She knelt beside him and took his face to examine it, identifying the bruise on his cheek, the cuts on his eyebrow and lip, and the blood running from the latter.

Daeho smiled slightly and after coughing, spoke weakly: “The debt has been paid”.

You're an idiot, Hwang Daeho.

a/n: taglist is open! thank you for reading! wait 4 the next chapter! I’m a sucker for cliche stuff so as soon as this fic popped in my mind I had to write it down, english isn’t my first language tho.

next part

[hitoshi-yuuto]

Haikyuu rich kids AU

AU where some of the characters are rich kids

They have known each other since their childhood, because they hung out in the same social circle (Rich kids)

Hinata Shouyou

- Son of the richest man in the world, makes him the second richest person in the world.

-Spoiled kid born with a diamond spoon in his mouth, Tends to spend money as if he had it infinitely (which is the case)

-He didn't have any friends when he was younger because everyone was after he's money, he created a false identity in high school and was able to have his first real friends (Karasuno)

-His language of love is giving gifts, he doesn't know how to show his love otherwise.

-He bought the Karasuno High School to donate more funds to the volleyball clubs

- Is better at volleyball than in the canon since he has been playing since he was a kid with his friends, and he pays volleyball players to teach him.

-He fell in love with Kageyama when Karasuno learned that he was rich and that Kageyama's only reaction was: All I care about are your volleyball skills.

Sakusa Kiyoomi

- Coming from a family of famous doctors/hospital directors and son of the CEO of most of the greatest pharmaceutical companies and laboratories around the world.

-He and Sachirō support each other as people who don't want to follow in their family's footsteps.

-Even if he doesn't want to become a doctor, it runs through his veins and he's very good at it.

-He and Shouyou were best friends until they were 13 years old, since then they say they hate each other but we all know it's a lie.

-When he fell in love he thought he was sick, it put all the hospitals on alert.

Komori Motoya

-Son of the mania of the restaurant and food industry in the world.

-Loves to take friends to great restaurants

-Is a fine cook

-Spend his time inviting Kiyoomi and Atsumu to great romantic restaurants.

-He is the sponsor of Onigiri miya

Semi Eita

- Son of the Emperor of Japan, his family is everywhere in Japanese politics, his father is also the owner of seven of the biggest car brands.

-One day someone annoyed him, and he got him kicked out of the country, don't annoy the next emperor.

-Surprisingly his family supports his dream of being a singer, his aunt says that it will make a great image of him when he becomes emperor.

-Spend his time mocking Shirabu saying that he is going to become his empress.

Lev Haiba

- Son and heir of the most powerful mafia in the world

- As kill someone for the first time when he was eight years old.

- When they are old enough, he and Alisa will share the mafia as co-leaders

-He lived in Russia for the first 10 years of his life, before moving to Japan to be protected from a war, then decided to stay in Japan until he was 18 years old because he liked it so much. (Help Alisa manage the Japanese branch)

- Having grown up in the mafia world his standards are very different, he will be able to talk seriously about torturing someone while smiling.

-Also better at volleyball for the same reason as Hinata

-He confessed to Yaku at graduation, he expected a rejection and then panicked when Yaku told him yes, "you had to say no I'm a mobster I've killed people!" Yaku still said yes and if seven years later he finds himself killing someone to protect Lev it's between Lev and him alone. (Lev was devastated to have let Yaku dirty hands)

Hirugami Sachirō

- Son of the most famous volleyball player, his family is filled with super famous celebrities.(Lots of actors)

- One word from him and your reputation is ruined

- He has seen, heard, and done too many things, even if the end of the world comes tomorrow, he won't blink twice.

-He has a LOT of followers on his social media

-He's the reason Hoshiumi is the most followed volleyball player on the internet.

Yahaba Shigeru

-His parents run a really popular clothing chain in Japan.

-He was not born rich, his parents became rich when he was like twelve, He was then thrown into the lion's cage that are the rich children, and he was adopted by the group of weirdos above

-Being the only one who didn't grow up from this background, he is the only one with a real conscience, if you ask him he'll say that he is a babysitter.

-Aoba johsai seriously wonder how he manages Kyoutani, Yahaba will answer that compared to the six psychopaths he is simple.

When they met

Shouyo Kiyoomi & Motoya 4/5 years old

Eita & Sachirō 8/7/6 years old

Lev 10/11/12

Shigeru 12/11/13

Sorry for the mistakes, English is not my first language 😅

[writer-freak]

Chapter 1: The Letter | Haikyuu Au

Pairings: TBA (there are gonna be different endings)

Word count: 2,6k

Warnings: None for this specific chapter, oc side characters

A/n: This is the first chapter of a longer project! I haven’t settled on a title yet (open to ideas 👀), but there will be a full masterlist with like a summary and everything coming soon (I have some trouble making it). This is just the first chapter and some things are still going to get explained.

The whole story is a drama with lots of tension, secrets, soft angst, romance and smut. Hope you enjoy and maybe stay for the ride in the long run (also this is gonna be cross posted on AO3 and over there I have also included the summary)

(P.S. There will be gender-neutral, female, and male reader versions for each chapter.)

The envelope is thicker than any other paper you’ve ever touched.

Fancy ivory paper with a gold trim. Wax seal stamped with a Latin crest you had to Google to figure out what it meant. The letter smells like cologne—very expensive cologne—and the paper doesn’t bend like normal envelopes do. You almost feel guilty opening it, like you're destroying something precious.

But you open it anyway, hands trembling.

“Dear [Last Name],

We are pleased to inform you of your conditional acceptance into Veritas University, one of the most prestigious institutions in the country…”

You blink. You reread. You check the name, the address, your hands again, like this letter was meant for someone else and got dropped off with you by mistake.

It continues:

“Given your exceptional academic performance and demonstrated potential, an invitation to our academic community has been extended through a special arrangement. Please be aware that such arrangements are considered sensitive, and we encourage discretion regarding the circumstances of your admission to ensure your smooth integration into the social and academic fabric of the university.”

Discretion. Smooth integration. You get the message.

Don’t tell anyone you got in on a scholarship. Don’t tell anyone you’re not rich. And definitely don’t mention the strange phone call that came just before the letter. Or the name that you heard in that call.

You fold the letter carefully and place it back in the envelope, like maybe that’ll stop your heart from hammering out of your chest.

It doesn’t.

You think back to a conversation you’d had with your bestie Mira a few months ago—well before the letter, before the phone call, a time where Veritas was still a laughable dream at best.

“So, get this” she’d said dramatically over iced coffee, twirling her straw between her fingers. “You know that place Veritas? That fancy university with the Latin name that sounds like it comes with a crazy blood pact?”

You snorted. “What about it?”

“So like it’s basically Hogwarts for rich kids. I read somewhere that their dining halls have chefs trained in actual Michelin-star kitchens. Like, plural.”

“Sounds fake.”

“No, dude. Anyone who gets in there is set for life. Like, cursed with success. You graduate from Veritas and someone just hands you a glass office and a six-figure trust fund.”

You’d rolled your eyes and said without thinking:

“Obviously all of them that I have heard about are rich kids who are gonna inherit their parents’ business or whatever. That place isn’t for regular people to then get rich afterwards.”

“Exactly!” Mira had leaned across the table, wide-eyed. “It’s like the Ivy League’s mysterious, prettier, colder cousin. Nobody even applies there—they all just get like hand picked. Like royalty. I swear by god that if I ever find out where this place is I’m gonna sneak in there and find me a rich hot husband”

You laughed at the time. You don’t laugh now.

Because now you're holding an invitation.

And your hands are shaking.

“Are you okay?”

Your mom’s voice comes in from the kitchen, soft but with a nervous tinge—like she’s trying not to sound like she’s been pacing around this whole time. You walk out with the letter still in your hand, unable to find the words.

Your dad looks up from his laptop, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Well?”

You hold up the envelope like a offering. “I actually got in like the call was real.”

They both go still. Then, in perfect sync, they erupt.

Your mom gasps and rushes over to hug you, and your dad lets out a long, stunned whistle. He stands, wrapping an arm around both of you. 

For a second, all your worries disappear. You let yourself breathe it in: pride, warmth, your mom’s hand on your back, your dad squeezing your shoulder like he still can’t believe you’re actually here.

Then your mom pulls back, brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitate. “There’s… a part in the letter. It says I shouldn’t tell anyone how I got in. That it’s a ‘sensitive arrangement.’”

Your dad frowns, reaching for the envelope. He reads the paragraph silently, lips thinning.

“They don’t want you to say you got in on a scholarship?” your mom says, blinking. “Why?”

You shrug, even though you know the answer. “They probably think if people find out I’m not rich, it’ll make things harder. Or awkward. I don’t know.”

“Because heaven forbid anyone on that campus interacts with a normal person” your dad mutters. “What a load of—”

“Hey” your mom warns gently, but her face is pinched too.

There’s a short beat of silence.

“I’m proud of you” your dad says, looking you dead in the eye. “This doesn’t change that. But if it ever becomes too much—if you ever feel like hiding who you are is the price for being there—you call us. Got it?”

You nod, blinking quickly.

Your mom patted your head like she used to when you were little. “We raised you to be brilliant. Not to pretend.”

You smile. But you also tuck the letter back in its envelope and slide it into your backpack. You’re already learning how to be careful.

Packing is… oddly quiet and emotional in weirdly small ways.

You fold your favorite sweater like three times before placing it in your suitcase, even though it’s already fraying at the cuffs. You dig out the mug your little cousin made for you in pottery class ( it's lumpy, weird, but perfect in its own way) and nestle it between socks like a treasure.

Your dad buys you a new power bank and slips a twenty into your pencil case when he thinks you’re not looking. Your mom bakes your favorite muffins and cries when she burns the last batch, but laughing through her tears.

The night before you leave, you sit on the back porch with your parents under a string of mismatched fairy lights and just…take everything in.

It’s a warm night. The stars shining beautifully in the dark night sky.

“I’m going to miss this” you say quietly.

“We’re going to miss you,” your mom replies, holding your hand.

You don’t say anything. You just listen to the crickets and try to remember this feeling—home.

The next morning, you meet Mira at the usual spot. A little coffee shop tucked between a laundromat and a florist, with chipped mosaic tables and weird rotating chalkboard quotes.

It smells like cinnamon and burnt espresso beans, and you’re not sure if the A/C’s broken or just never actually worked. The barista knows your names without asking. Mira always orders something iced and obnoxiously sweet.

You sip your drink slowly, counting the scratches on the table, trying to ignore how Mira keeps looking at you like you’re already halfway gone.

“So,” she says finally, “you nervous?”

“Nah,” you lie. “It’s just school.”

“Just school,” she echoes, with an eye roll. “You’re literally going overseas for it. I bet you’re going to end up with a secret society nickname like ‘the Oracle’ or something.”

You laugh, but it’s tight in your throat. Mira leans forward across the table.

“Okay but—real talk? Like are you not telling me about it because they have a weird cult on campus. I know it’s like a fancy place and you can’t entirely tell me about it but like.. is it weird? “A little.”

“Weird like, weird food and fancy fountains? Or weird like someone disappears and no one talks about it?”

“I mean... probably both.”

She grins, then sighs, falling back into her chair.

“Ugh, you’re abandoning me internationally now? What am I supposed to do when I start spiraling at 2 a.m.?”

“I’ll still have Wi-Fi. Probably...”

“Not the same. I can’t even stalk you properly considering you’ll probably be too busy to post anything. And what am I supposed to tell people? That you vanished into some academic Bermuda Triangle?”

You smile, but your heart tugs.

To her, you’re just “heading abroad to a weird-sounding academic program”some vague, exclusive opportunity you couldn’t explain without giving too much away. She never got to see the name Veritas. You never showed her the letter. You weren’t allowed to.

“You’re gonna miss this, though, right?. Us. The shop. The smell of fried donuts and stress sweat.”

You smile. “Already do.”

You both go quiet. She stirs her drink with the end of her straw until the ice clicks against the sides.

“I hope they don’t ruin your brain” she mutters. “Or your heart.”

“I think my heart’s pretty break-proof.”

“You better text me” she says. “Like, at least lie and tell me things are boring. I can’t be the only one rotting in this boring place.”

You promise you will. You both pretend like the goodbye right now doesn’t sting like hell.

The day you leave, you take a bus. Then a very long train ride. Then another bus. And then a taxi payed by the College for you. No private car. No airport lounge. Just headphones and old seats that you are sinking into but not in a good way.

And eventually… the gates appear.

Completely made of iron and towering, the main entrance to Veritas University feels like the start of a different world. You can see the Primus dorm building in the distance, marble and incredible. Somewhere out there, the elite are probably already lounging by their dormitory pool, sipping some sparkly drinks.

You pull your duffel bag higher on your shoulder and follow the signs toward Dorm Novus.

It’s farther out than you expected.

Past the fancy roads and down a narrow walkway with slightly cracked cobblestones and street lamps, there’s a plain gray building tucked almost behind a line of trees. You pass a couple of other students on the way, all in designer sunglasses and with sleek brand name luggage. No one makes eye contact.

When you finally reach the door to your floor—B3, the basement level—it sticks. You have to push with your full weight before the door groans open.

The hallway smells like lemon cleaner and damp tile. You walk past a series of heavy doors before stopping at your own: B3-07.

Tiny brass numbers. Scratched. Slightly crooked.

You open it and find… well.

It’s not terrible.

The room is… modest. Plain, but clean. Not cold, but not luxurious either. A single bed, a sleek desk bolted to the wall, a neutral carpet, and a window that looks out onto the back lot. The view is uninspiring: hedge, stone, hedge.

There’s no chandelier. No en-suite marble bathroom. No designer lighting.

It’s about the size of your bedroom back home—maybe a little wider now that you're looking at it closer. You’re grateful it’s a single room, at least. That was probably intentional. Someone thought putting you with a roommate would be risky.

You drop your bag onto the bed and run your fingers across the desk.

Everything feels so sterile. Like no one’s ever lived here. You’re half-expecting a voice to come over the intercom and say “Simulation complete.”

You start to unpack slowly, piece by piece. T-shirts, jeans, one blazer you borrowed from your mom’s closet, even though you don’t know when you’ll ever wear it. You put your books on the shelf—a stuffed animal you won at a claw machine, the fantasy novel you read three times last year, your DVDs and some small little trinkets.

Then you reach the photo.

You and your best friend, Mira, making stupid faces in front of your favorite coffee shop. She’d drawn cat ears on your foreheads with eyeliner that day. You tuck the photo into the edge of your mirror frame, the smile on your face in the picture a little too bright to be fake.

You stare at it a moment longer than you meant to. It’s strange, how something as small as a Polaroid can make you homesick before classes have even started.

She didn’t even know where you were really going.

But sitting here now, inside this impossibly elite school, surrounded by people whose names you probably read in the news before, it comes back to you. That one night. That one conversation with Mira you’d almost forgotten.

“Okay, listen,” she’d said over the phone, half-whispering like she was leaking state secrets. “I went down a rabbit hole on that university—Veritas University, and like now I'm totally sure it’s a cult for rich kids.”

“Sounds promising.”

“No, I mean it. If you Google who goes there, it’s like a society page from hell. Legacy heirs, oil money, tech empires, models with trust funds. It’s terrifying. The Miya twins go there—I think. And definitely Wakatoshi freaking Ushijima.”

“Should I know who that is?”

“God, yes. You live under a rock but even then I bet you heard about them. My cousin’s obsessed with his family—the Ushijima Group. They own everything. Real estate, fashion houses, international resorts. Literal billionaires. He was in Forbes before he could even drive. Doesn’t even post on social media and he’s still trending.”

You hadn’t said much back then. Just smiled awkwardly and changed the subject, like you always did when Mira started talking about high society stuff.

You didn’t think it would ever matter.

But now you’re here. At that school. The one you pretended wasn’t real.

And all those names she mentioned? They’re not magazine headlines anymore. They’re people. Faces. Potential classmates. They’ll walk past you in designer shoes, drive cars worth more than your neighborhood, and laugh about vacations at places could only imagine to go to in your wildest dreams.

You’d remembered the name Ushijima, though after that talk. Obviously you knew him even if you didn't remember the name at that time.

The Ushijima Group was one of those empire names that floated through news segments and stock tickers like a ghost. Real estate, luxury brands, global holdings—you name it. His family had it. Their faces were regulars in glossy business magazines and elite family features.

Wakatoshi himself? He was practically myth-level. Some kind of golden boy who looked like he was carved from marble and groomed for power since birth. Attending galas before he hit puberty, photographed shaking hands with people who leaded countries, and somehow almost never saying a word in public. The kind of guy who didn’t need an online presence because his name alone did the networking.

And now, somehow, impossibly… you’re at the same university as him.

Not just him—there were others, too. Names you would regularly see on forums, in competitions, on social media: the Miya twins, Oikawa, Tsukishima. People with last names that were brands, legacies that were locked into place before they ever took a test.

Veritas didn’t just collect students. It curated heirs.

You pull out your phone, thumb hovering over the browser icon.

Just one search. That’s all it would take. A quick look. You’d know exactly what names to brace yourself for. What kind of world you’re really walking into.

You bite your lip, staring at the blank screen.

Should you?

Your heart's already pounding. And what if it makes it worse? What if you see faces you've seen on magazine covers, or be able to put faces to names you’ve read in headlines about people who live in mansions bigger than your whole block?

You let out a slow breath… and lock your phone again.

You don’t need to know.

If you start googling people now, you'll be stuck looking at the world from behind glass—already an outsider before you’ve even stepped into your first class.

Better to go in blind. Better to find out who they are face-to-face, if you have to.

Your laptop slides into place on the desk. You lay your comforter over the bed—navy blue, very soft, and smelling like home. A tiny candle holder sits near the window, unlit. You’re not even sure if they allow candles here, but it just makes you feel more at home.

You pull out the letter one more time and press your fingers to the corner of the wax seal.

Veritas University. A place for the elite. For the bloodlines and boardrooms. For the kind of people who get written about before they turn twenty. And you.

You lie down, folding your arms behind your head. The room hums with a faint mechanical buzz. You stare up at the smooth, white ceiling and wonder what the air feels like in the other dorms.

Probably cleaner. More expensive.

But you don’t need marble. You just need a chance. And someone already gave you one—even if you still don’t know why.

You’ll figure that part out later.

For now, you’re not here to belong. You’re here to survive.

Chapter 2: The first step

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

[lily-blue]

Baby, we’re more alike than you think

☆ characters: rich kid!eunwoo & rich kid!you ☆ genre: rich kids au, college au ☆ warnings: bullying, implication of sexual assault (it crosses the reader’s mind at one point, but doesn’t happen for real) ☆ request: DV24. form this prompt list ☆ summary: Eunwoo doesn’t like to be cornered, so he turns the tables and leaves you with no other option but to beg for his mercy ☆ words: 1,4k ☆ dedicated to: @dat-town​​ ♥

Most people would have called you an idiot for pretending that you weren’t part of one of the most influential families in your country - in a prestigious university, no less -, but you liked having friends who liked you for who you were rather than for how much your father’s company was worth, hence you couldn’t stop the act.

It had started out completely unintentionally, though; you had sat next to this cute brunette on your first day of university and seeing the Demon Slayer keychain dingling on her bag, you had asked her about her favourite character since you were also a fan. You had hit it off right from the start - as soon as Yuqi had picked the Water Hasihra whom you, too, had a soft spot for -, and in-between lectures and seminars, you had slowly discovered at least half a dozen things you had in common. You had never become friends with someone so cool so easily. It had felt like it had been written in the stars.

Considering that you two had many things to talk about, obviously your financial situation or family background hadn’t come up immediately. And if you had wanted to be honest, you had preferred it that way. However, the difference between your lives had become painfully obvious when entering the university canteen, some spoiled brats had felt the need to push Yuqi’s tray out of her hand and her on the ground. Their reason? It had been to put her back to her place and simultaneously humiliate her for being on scholarship.

Your throat had closed up as the realisation had hit you, but you quickly regained your cool. You could have easily put an end to the harrassment if you had introduced yourself properly - being the youngest child and the only daughter in your family, you hadn’t been shown off to the public yet -, but one look at the anger on your friend’s face had said it all: Yuqi wouldn’t have appreciated a rich kid’s help. On the contrary! She might have given up on you and your friendship altogether before you could have formed a strong enough bond. So you had said nothing.

Instead, you had crouched down beside your friend and helped her up, dragging her out of the canteen, all the way to a more secluded part of the campus. You hadn’t talked a word about her scholarship, but you had let her vent about the entitled nepo babies of your country and in a matter of mere months, you two had become the loudest spokespersons on the injustice in your university.

Being a Communication major, your assigned role was to write juicy, exposing articles about your fellow university students who abused their family’s power and while most of the time you were well-hidden in the shadows, behind your laptop, sometimes you had to put yourself out there to investigate. This was how you ended up in an empty tutoring room on the second floor of your school’s library with Cha Eunwoo whose lackeys had left the two of you alone as soon as the young heir had told them to.

‘Give me your phone!’ The boy demanded and while a teeny-tiny part of your brain was aware that you should have been more afraid, you were too pissed to do as he said. The only people who could boss you around were your parents and grandparents and even them rarely did so. Who was he to think you were his servant?

‘You mistake me for those losers. I don’t have to do anything you tell me to,’ you reminded him with a scoff, your perfectly made locks bouncing as you put your whole chest into this disrespectful, lowkey mocking gesture. You didn’t break eye contact. In fact! You kept your chin high.

‘I don’t like repeating myself,’ Eunwoo said, his facial expression so cold, you could feel the chill it sent down your spine when he took a step closer to you. However, you were your father’s daughter and despite your poor-girl-act, you had pride.

You linked your arms in front of your chest and let a lopsided grin adorn your rose-tinted lips.

‘Look at that. We actually have something in common,’ you mocked, enjoying the smallest cracks on his mask even though it didn’t take long for him to hold onto his self-control. He had clearly moved in the same circles as you would have done if your parents hadn’t been so protective over you.

Your grip tightened around your phone a little when Eunwoo took another step closer to you, but you refused to show how intimidated you really felt until your back hit one of the white walls. Because then… then you gulped. And that was a telltale sign, blood in the water. Just like a shark, the boy seemed ready to tear you to pieces.

‘Oh, we have a lot more in common than you let your pathetic little friends in on,’ Eunwoo said while he brushed a stray lock behind your ear. His touch was burning even though his finger barely grazed your jawline. 

He leaned closer, so that his lips were right next to your earshell. Your heart was beating in your throat.

‘You like airing our dirty laundry, don’t you? How about we do that to yours. Wouldn’t you like that?’ He taunted you, his voice barely above a whisper and yet, at that moment it felt like he was talking into a microphone. A loudspeaker. ‘One more thing in common.’

He knew. Cha Eunwoo knew that you were faking it.

He knew and he enjoyed his leverage on you, which made your blood boil.

‘Fuck off,’ you pushed the boy further with both of your hands, but after the initial surprise faded, you lost your adventage. He invaded your personal space once again, effortlessly.

Eunwoo squeezed your cheeks, your lips puckering all sulkily.

‘Ah-ah. Let’s do something about that mouth of yours,’ he taunted you and for a second, by the way he was staring at your lips, you thought he would kiss you.

You yelped when he dug his fingers into the soft flesh in the crook of your neck and pushed you on your knees. What was happening? Would he… you tried to turn your head away, but  his grip was too firm. Would he force you to suck him off in the library? He wouldn’t have, would he?

‘Start to beg. And don’t forget to kiss my feet while you’re at it,’ Eunwoo said and while his demand was outrageous, the relief you felt when you realised that he didn’t intend to rape you outpowered your annoyance.

Actually, you were so caught up in your slowly dissolving fright and the reassurance that his covered crotch in front of your face was a mere consequence of your heights that you lost touch with reality for a second.

Why were you kneeling in front of him? What had he said? 

‘Beg for what?’ You asked, more confused than anything, which earned an eye roll from the boy. He crouched down in front of you and shook his head as though he was disappointed, as if you should have cared what he was thinking about you.

‘To keep your secret, of course. Though, if you want something else, too… Well, I might give it to you if you’re asking for it nicely,’ he shot a disgusting grin at you, smug and suggestive, which made you want to spit at his face.

You almost did so.

‘Go to hell,’ you mumbled under your nose, finally able to look away with his hand off your body. Still, it didn’t make you feel less caged. His closeness in itself chained you to the wall, and you hated it.

You hated him.

You hated that even though he knew who you were it didn’t shield you from his cruelty. That he didn’t give two damns about your family, but could use them against you at the same time.

‘Your friend works in the school library in her free time, doesn’t she? Should I go and find her?’ He asked, clearly amused and you bit into your lower lip to suppress another curse. He was clearly unaffected by your words and you really shouldn’t have risked pissing him off for real, should you?

As much as you would have liked to tell him to feel free to look for Yuqi and leave you the fuck alone, a part of you knew the girl would have hated you not only for lying, but for being rich as well. There was no way she would have forgiven you if Eunwoo had aired your dirty laundry and you loved Yuqi.

The possibility of losing her made your hand shake. When Eunwoo stood up and nudged your shin with his foot, you pressed your lips together and bowed.

You refused to let him see your tears fall when your lips touched his designer shoe.

the end.

[hautmondehqs]

⋇ attention all! we have some good news incoming!

by the majority of votes, it seems like we'll be pushing forward with our reopening tomorrow on october 22 { kst }! all acceptances will be made by today so please keep an eye out for yours. if you are interested in joining us for the grand reopening, go ahead and send in an application! thank you for choosing hautmondehqs, the admins are beyond grateful for a second chance and we cannot wait to begin a new chapter with all of our precious vips! let's go on for a long time together ♡

[blankjournal]

Recommended for our weekly theme!

top of the world [na jaemin]

SUMMARY | things had always been the same in the world of na jaemin— him sitting on a throne above everyone else. that was the natural order. but the world as jaemin knew it began to shake after a few fated encounters with someone at the bottom of the food chain. PAIRING | rich kid! na jaemin x female! reader GENRE | private school! au, one sided e2l lmao, a dash of fake dating, romance, heavily suggestive themes, lots and lots of sexual tension and power dynamics HSFJHF WARNINGS | bullying (lots of it), public humiliation, mildly nsfw, borderline smut, implied smut, swearing, jaemin being a literal asshole, this fic might not be for everyone JSFDH so if you’re uncomfortable please look away <33 also please tell me if i missed anything thank you WORD COUNT | 15.6k TAGLIST | @capablemork8299 @grungiejaems @bat-shark-repellant @radiorenjun @patchi-chi @perfchimchim @junglekooks @jjongsmystar @yourmagnanimousholiness @jjikyuu @lavender-rain @lilycrystalll @ovelha-colorida-v @jenoji @goldenclosethobi  @jimjamjaemin​ @yoongischeeksluv​ @lvingjaem @danishmiilk @softietaeyong @victorriasworld @miyrisa @justineasian @fullsuhnshine @sehunniepot @neoct-zen @dreamlesswonder86 @netwrkluv @blu-blooded

a/n: FIRST OF ALL i’m very very sorry this took so long to finish ; - ; but it’s here now so!! yeah!! to be honest, there’s no actual plot because once again this stemmed from my desire to be stepped on by a na jaemin <33 that being said, please don’t picture this as our angel nana and instead the devil that was na jaemin during the make a wish promotions, enjoy

Na Jaemin was on top of the world.

He had everything at his disposal— diamond rings, designer jackets, and a line of people bending themselves backwards just to appease him. His future was already secured; laid down on his feet and all he had to do was walk. It was everyone’s dream to have both a pretty face and zeroes that seemed to have no end. Jaemin knew well of that.

Perhaps that was why he had an ego that reached the skies.

Na Jaemin was on top of the world, and everyone else belonged underneath his feet.

As they should be. The blonde boy hummed to himself as he walked down the halls of Neo Academy, people making way for him as he passed by. It was amusing to Jaemin, the familiar glint of fear in their eyes as they scurried to move away, refusing to meet his gaze because they knew that one stray glance will have them pressed face down on the floor by his leather Testoni’s. Jaemin smiled, satisfied, because it was the fear that gave him power.

Keep reading

[joinhmhqs]

✦ㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝒈𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒐𝒘𝒏𝒆𝒓 𝐨𝐫 ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒕 ?

⋇ the stories of your muse are all yours to write! we've set the exciting premise, curated a space that encourages writing, and been blessed with a bunch of warm and engaging writers ready to welcome another lovely addition to the cosy collective; so what are you waiting for? start laying down your ideas today and bring your wonderful muse here to hautmondehqs where creativity, inspiration and opportunities are endless. 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫.

[writer-freak]

Chapter 2: The First Step | Haikyuu Au

Chapter 1: The Letter

Pairings: TBA (there are gonna be different endings)

Word count: 3,3k

A/n: So just a heads up I know basically nothing about finance, so I asked my dad and consulted Google for everything I wrote here. If anything’s inaccurate, I take absolutely zero responsibility 😅.

Here the link for this fic on AO3 just in case

The first morning doesn’t feel real.

You wake to the low hum of the vents, the faint mechanical buzz mixing with the thin streaks of sunlight coming in through the narrow dorm window. The pale yellow rays cut across your navy comforter, striping the blank walls and desk. For a second, your brain forgets.

And then it sinks back in.

Veritas University.

You lie there for a moment longer, staring up at the white ceiling. The quiet hum of the room fills the space where your thoughts should be.

Yesterday, you were still home. Yesterday, this was some distant, impossible future you couldn’t even really imagine. Yesterday, your mom had cried over a burned batch of muffins. Your dad thought he was sneaking when slipping money into your pencil case, you’d sat on your porch under those cheap string lights and tried to memorize just everything you were feeling.

And now… this.

You sit up slowly, that now familiar twist pulling at your stomach, not quite fear, not quite excitement. Just the feeling of how much has changed in so little time.

You’re actually here.

In a world you’d only heard stories about. 

Drawing in a steady breath, you finally pull yourself up and move over to the closet. The limited amount of clothes looks even more sparse in the daylight, mostly plain clothes now that you really look at it.

And then, hanging neatly at the front, the two most expensive pieces of clothing you own, technically you didn’t even buy them.

The Veritas University jacket and hoodie.

Both had arrived carefully packaged in a welcome parcel, folded in crisp tissue paper that looked incredibly expensive for thin paper. Deep maroon with the Veritas crest embroidered in perfect gold thread across the chest. Soft, but heavy fabric. The jacket, especially, was clearly tailored to the standards of the university's image, sleek enough not to look out of place next to the students who arrived wearing labels you couldn’t afford to pronounce.

You’re not naive. You know exactly why they gifted them to you. You could’ve technically afforded to order them yourself if you saved carefully, but for two items of clothing, it would’ve been an obscene amount. The kind of purchase that would have sat like a pit in your stomach afterward.

This way, it was handled for you. A small push to help you blend in. Just enough polish to avoid questions at the beginning.

You run your fingers over the embroidered crest for a moment, then pull the hoodie on. The fabric is plush against your skin, far softer than anything you would normally allow yourself to buy. It feels like a strange kind of armor. Not to stand out. Not to impress. Just to survive the first glance from others.

You catch your reflection briefly in the mirror. You look… fine. Presentable. Hopefully invisible, if you play it right.

After double-checking your bag and schedule, you pull up the campus map on your phone one more time, even though you’ve stared at it enough where you should have memorized most of the routes by now. The campus is so vast and complicated that you still feel like you need it as an anchor.

You hesitate for a second longer before finally stepping toward the door.

Then you exhale.

First day. First class. First step.

You step outside into the morning air.

The campus looks like something pulled straight from a curated photo spread.

Every hedge trimmed into flawless precision, some even into fancy shapes. Stone walkways polished clean like no one has ever dared to scuff them. Towering buildings rise like gleaming monuments, reflecting the cloudless sky.

Sleek black cars idle along the smooth curb lanes, their engines humming softly while uniformed drivers open doors with practiced ease. Students walking around dressed in specifically curated outfits that could easily pay off an entire year’s worth of tuition for a normal student. Handbags you’ve only seen in glossy magazine pages, sunglasses with brands you recognize more from runways than actual stores.

You pass one girl gracefully gliding down the steps in heels that would give you a brain aneurysm if you saw the receipt.

But here and there, scattered you catch others wearing the same maroon Veritas hoodie you pulled on this morning. 

Some wear it out of caution, first-years like you, unsure of the unofficial dress codes and general unwritten rules. For others, it's worn with some kind of wide-eyed excitement, the kind that only really exists in the first few weeks of being here, before reality sets in. Like an unspoken badge of I really made it.

That enthusiasm tends to fade once everyone settles into the rhythm of who belongs where. But right now? The sea of maroon still dots the crowds.

You adjust your bag and keep walking, following the path displayed on your phone screen.

As you move through campus, glimpses of the dorms catch your eye, some grand and sprawling, others a bit older, ivy-draped or angularly modern. Even without knowing exactly which one is which you could already make it out just based on the looks themselves.

Some of them just oozed with old money and prestige. Others feel quietly ambitious. And then, further out, there’s your own dorm. Novus.

Still Veritas, but not the part anyone tours first at least if they have the choice.

You draw in a slow breath, pulling yourself back to focus.

The lecture hall comes into view ahead, an imposing mix of smooth stone and glass. Sleek without trying too hard, just enough to show how much money Veritas has.

Students file inside almost like choreographed, sliding into place like they've been rehearsing for this moment their whole lives.

Inside, the auditorium rises in clean, perfect tiers.

You pause just inside the door, taking in the room quickly. You made sure to arrive early enough not to be rushing in at the last second, but not so early that you’d end up sitting alone in an empty hall, painfully exposed while everyone trickled in around you.

Safe timing.

The space is already filling in, not packed yet, but enough that certain areas feel claimed. Small clusters of students have already settled in, chatting quietly or scrolling on their phones.

You don’t know the rules yet. Not really. But you can almost feel them hovering in the air.

Certain seats just feel occupied, not physically, but by unspoken claim. The closer rows seem full of perfect confident postures and designer outfits, but you don’t dwell on it. Not now. Your priority is simple: find a seat that doesn’t feel dangerous or draws attention.

Your eyes scan the rows, not too close to the front, not so far back that you’ll stick out as avoiding everyone.

Then you spot him.

Mid-level, somewhere right in the middle. Hoodie like yours. Orange hair that kinda stands out. He’s sitting alone, casually scrolling through his phone like none of this fazes him.

Something about him just feels... safe.

Neutral. Approachable. Like someone else who might still be figuring things out, at least that is what you hope.

The middle feels right. Not too bold. Not too invisible. Exactly the kind of balance you’ve been aiming for since you arrived.

You make the decision before you can overthink it.

“Is this seat taken?” you ask quietly.

He looks up, blinking, then smiles like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Nope. All yours.”

Relief washes over you as you slide into the seat.

“First day?” he asks as you settle your bag.

You nod, offering a small smile. “Yeah. Transfer student.”

Hinata tilts his head slightly. “Already? It’s still pretty early in the year for a transfer.”

You give a small, half-laugh. “Yeah. Guess I figured I’d make things extra difficult for myself .”

He holds out a hand, grin still bright. “Shōyō Hinata. Novus, first year.” He says it casually, like it means nothing at all, just a fact, not something to be embarrassed about.

You shake his hand, offering your name in return, your voice still a little soft.

Hinata glances at you with curious warmth. “Are you Novus too? Or one of the others?”

You hesitate for half a second, still adjusting to how easily he asks but you nod. “Yeah. Novus.”

His grin widens like that somehow confirms something good. “Nice! Honestly, it’s not so bad. Everyone kind of sticks to their dorm group at first anyway, but Novus people are usually pretty cool. Something like survival bonding, I guess.”

You can’t help but let out a faint laugh, the tightness in your chest easing just a tiny bit.

“I... kind of almost started overthinking where to sit.” you admit. “I figured this spot seemed safe enough.”

Hinata chuckles, leaning in slightly like he’s about to share state secrets. “Good instinct. This is one of the usually safe zones.”

You raise a brow. “Is it really that complicated?”

“Oh, yeah,” he says, grinning like it’s some ridiculous joke only people here get. “Unofficial seating chart. Not actually written down anywhere, but trust me, you figure it out pretty fast or somebody will just tell you about it if you break any of the rules.”

He gestures casually toward the front rows. “Primus always takes the front-center. That’s basically their personal stage. Magnus usually claims the seats behind them. Vespers kind of sit more to the sides closer to the windows.”

You follow his gesture briefly, but mostly you’re just absorbing how casually he is about  navigating this invisible system.

“And Novus?” you ask.

Hinata shrugs lightly, still smiling. “Technically? We just take whatever’s left. It’s kind of like... everyone else picks first, and then we fill in the gaps.”

He leans in slightly, voice still easy. “Honestly, though, anyone can sit wherever they want if they really feel like it. If someone from Primus wants a seat further back, they’ll take it, and nobody’s gonna argue. Same with Magnus or Vesper sometimes shifting around.”

He pauses for half a second, adding casually, “Sometimes people invite others to sit in their zone too, but that’s usually just close friends. You’ll mostly see the same people sitting together every time.”

He grins. “Makes it easier for everyone to know where not to sit.”

You exhale softly. “Good to know.”

He flashes you a reassuring smile. “Honestly? You picked a pretty good first seat. Especially because you are sitting next to me.”

Before you can say anything else, the doors click shut and the professor enters.

An older man steps to the podium with the kind of quiet authority that makes you sit up a little straighter without even realizing. His silver hair is short, slightly tousled but neat, and his glasses rest low on his nose as he surveys the lecture hall with sharp, observant eyes.

"Good morning," he says, voice calm but clear. "I am Professor Yasufumi Nekomata. This course is Global Financial Power Structures and Societal Influence."

His gaze sweeps across the room. “For some of you, this will be familiar material. For others… this may be your first time seeing how these systems truly operate.”

The words aren’t meant as a threat, but you feel the weight of them settle in your stomach like a heavy stone.

“We will be examining international holdings, generational wealth structures, and the global influence of consolidated power across industries.”

He pauses, his eyes lingering briefly toward the front rows where the perfectly polished students sit almost like this class was designed specifically for them.

Then his tone softens slightly. “For those who feel overwhelmed: take notes. Ask questions. Fall behind here, and you will struggle to catch up. But if you keep up, you may leave this class seeing the world quite differently.”

Your stomach tightens.

How the world truly operates.

It’s a different kind of class than anything you’ve taken before. Back home, even your most advanced courses talked about economics in clean, theoretical terms, supply and demand, market patterns, statistics in textbooks.

But here, this is about people who run everything, for people who are part of the families running everything. About systems you’ve only ever glimpsed at in headlines. You’re not only learning how markets work. You’re learning who controls them.

The first slide appears, projected onto the massive screen at the front of the hall.

Webs of companies and family empires fill the screen, hidden investments, layered businesses, and connections that stretch across borders like spider silk.The terms start coming fast, wealth consolidation, offshore structuring, multigenerational asset protection.

You scramble to keep up, your pen flying across the page. Your notes are already a mess of arrows, underlines, and desperate scribbles. Some students type with practiced ease on sleek tablets or laptops, scrolling back and forth between digital charts and pre-prepared notes like this is all familiar ground.

For you, there’s no buffer. No shortcut. No one that you can easily ask later to explain anything to you. You can’t afford to fall behind.

The questions start not long after.

"Mr. Kinoshita" Professor Nekomata calls, turning to one of the students seated confidently near the front, "please define third-tier diversification."

The boy barely needs to think. His answer comes out polished, rehearsed, like someone reciting a family rulebook they've grown up studying.

"Third-tier diversification refers to a diversification strategy where a company expands into unrelated businesses or industries, typically with limited or no synergy with its existing operations. This often involves entering markets with little to no connection to the company's core competencies or supply chain."

The words roll off his tongue like they belong to him. Like they’ve always belonged to him.

The professor nods with mild approval, moving on to the next student.

And slowly, the pattern reveals itself:

Primus first. Magnus next.   Occasionally Vesper. Never Novus.

You focus hard, forcing yourself not to glance around, not to let the silence around your section get to you. Instead, you just write, filling line after line with notes you’re not even sure you fully understand yet.

But you’ll figure it out.

You have to.

Hinata leans in slightly between slides, voice dropped to a whisper. "Still breathing?"

You manage a thin, quick smile. "Define breathing."

He grins and flashes you a small thumbs-up, though you can tell he’s just barely keeping up too. His notes are filling quickly.

Professor Nekomata clicks to the final slide.

The diagram that appears nearly makes you stop writing altogether.

An intricate web of companies, trusts, and financial structures fills the screen, lines crisscrossing between industries, continents, and offshore holdings like a spiderweb across the globe.

And there, positioned near the center:

USHIJIMA HOLDINGS GROUP.

Your stomach tightens.

You knew the name. Of course you did. Everyone heard it, even if just in passing conversations, or in your case from Mira’s stories about powerful families. You knew they were rich. You knew they were important.

But seeing it laid out like this seeing how many layers and threads that name controlled was something else entirely.

This wasn’t just wealth. This was reach.

Sectors you never even thought about, agriculture, energy, media holdings, healthcare subsidiaries quietly tucked beneath larger shells.

You’d never really paid attention to global finance before. It always felt like something far removed from your world, something that didn’t concern people like you. But here, on this screen, you could see exactly how far from small this place really was.

Professor Nekomata’s voice cuts smoothly back in.

"By our next lesson, I expect each of you to submit a preliminary structural analysis of this conglomerate. Include leverage points, at least three vulnerability pathways, and supporting evidence for each."

No one dares complain aloud.

The soft chime signals the end of class. Too soft, given how heavy your brain feels.

Around you, students move quickly, bags zipped, tablets slipped into leather briefcases, discussions reigniting as though they hadn't just dissected the world’s power structures for over an hour.

You sit frozen for a beat longer, catching your breath.

First class down. Thousands more to go.

Finally, you start packing your notes, messy, cramped pages filled with barely legible scribbles you’ll have to decipher later. How fun.

Hinata waits for you at the aisle, still lingering as though to make sure you don’t get left behind in the rush.

“You made it,” he says with a grin, falling into step beside you.

“Barely,” you breathe out.

Hinata chuckles. “Profs here love to start strong. I’m still getting used to it myself, honestly.”

The two of you weave through the marble hallway as voices float past, quiet conversations about vacation homes, private investments, mergers you barely understand.

As you both step into the wider central hall, Hinata glances up, his expression equal parts impressed and a little overwhelmed.

"This place still doesn’t feel real sometimes," he admits, laughing softly. “Like... I know I’m here, but it still feels like someone else’s world half the time.”

You nod, because honestly, you know exactly what he means.

“So... um, do you want to maybe trade numbers?” Hinata asks, tone casual but warm. “In case you need help. Or just, you know, wanna hang out.”

You blink, surprised but relieved. “Yeah. That’d actually be great.”

You hand him your phone, angling it slightly to hide the scratches on the screen. He doesn’t even blink, just inputs his number and hands it back.

“There. Now you officially know someone.”

You let out a small breath. “Thanks.”

The two of you round the corner and then it happens.

The entire air shifts.

You feel it before you see it. The crowd ahead parts with eerie smoothness, like water folding around an invisible force. Conversations drop into hushed whispers, some cutting off entirely. No one stares directly. 

At the center of the ripple walks a group. And leading them—

Him.

Even without any formal introduction, you know exactly who he is.

Wakatoshi Ushijima.

The heir.

The name that had wormed his way back into your mind ever since you arrived here, you were half-convinced you’d never cross paths with someone like him. Even with all the stories Mira told you, the photos she showed you with wide eyes, none of them fully prepared you for the reality.

He walks like gravity itself bends around him. Calm, steady steps. Shoulders squared, back impossibly straight. His jacket fits with absolute precision,  sharp lines, tailored to perfection, the deep black fabric catching the light in a way that makes it look almost heavier, richer than anything else in the hallway. Every inch of him looks curated. Untouchable.

You almost can't help but hear Mira’s voice in your head: He was in Forbes before he could even drive.

And now here he is. The real deal. Walking a few feet in front of you like he’s stepped straight off one of those glossy business articles she obsessed over.

Around him moves a small orbit of others most equally polished, equally untouchable.

Your eyes catch on one of them as they pass tall, with sharp features and striking red hair that falls just slightly into his eyes. His expression is different from the others: not distant or dismissive, but almost amused. Like he’s watching something only he understands. His lazy grin carries something unsettling beneath the surface.

And then, he glances at you.

Just for a heartbeat, his eyes meet yours. Direct. Sharp.

Your breath catches. You quickly drop your gaze, pulse jumping slightly.

Whoever he is, you get the immediate sense, it’s better not to draw attention here.

The group glides past without a word. Not out of rudeness they just simply don’t need to acknowledge anyone. The world moves around them. Not the other way around.

Only once they’ve disappeared down the hallway do the conversations around you gradually start again, as if someone has lifted the invisible pressure.

“Yeah…” Hinata mutters softly beside you, voice a little quieter now. “You can kinda feel the temperature drop when they walk past.”

You swallow. “Primus.”

He nods. “Exactly.”

The echo of their footsteps still seems to linger behind, like a presence that hasn’t quite faded yet.

And somehow even as you keep walking you know: This was only the beginning.

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

[hautmondehqs]

⋇ revamp completed !

greetings golden vips and prospective members, after a few busy days of constructing the necessary changes for the collective, the admins are excited to finally present an improved haut monde!

before we open our golden gates again, we'd like to make sure that we have a steady size of members to kick off with. please peruse the links below to access all the important information; such as new regulations, new activity expectations and the addition of 2 new skeletons! we hope to see you around the high society!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤrules | muses | skeletons | locations | requested | apply | askbox

14 / 16 members for our reopening !

dreamcatcher / sua ⋇ jiyeon choi { aphrodite / the heiress }

nct / jungwoo ⋇ yujin na { daisy }

oh my girl / arin ⋇ suhee kang { athena / the daughter-in-law }

stray kids / bang chan ⋇ seojoon ‘sj’ jung { venom }

stray kids / felix ⋇ phoenix lee { baby martini }

stray kids / hyunjin ⋇ ezekiel hwang { z / the elitist }

stray kids / lee know ⋇ yejun kim { adonis / the son }

twice / sana ⋇ riho shiraishi { coppelia }

twice / tzuyu ⋇ tiffany zhou { four }

txt / beomgyu ⋇ subin park { valentine }

soloist / jeon somi ⋇ sienna im { babydoll / the diva }

soloist / kim sejeong ⋇ miran choe { black swan }

actress / krystal jung ⋇ ara lee { rarity }

actress / roh yoonseo ⋇ haeyi jang { celestine / the philanthropist }

[joinhmhqs]

✦ㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓 𝐨𝐫 𝒎𝒐𝒅𝒆𝒍 ?

⋇ the stories of your muse are all yours to write! we've set the exciting premise, curated a space that encourages writing, and been blessed with a bunch of warm and engaging writers ready to welcome another lovely addition to the cosy collective; so what are you waiting for? start laying down your ideas today and bring your wonderful muse here to hautmondehqs where creativity, inspiration and opportunities are endless. 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫.

[enhaflixer]

pjs - Signed, Sealed & Undone. - Part 1

A TIME TRAVEL CONTRACT MARRIAGE FIC -PART 2 OUT NOW

Synopsis: Fake marriage proposals are a tired billionaire trope.

But when Jay Park—former golden boy of Park Industries, now chaebol exile—comes back from disgrace (and back in time), he’s got one goal: rewrite the past before it destroys him.

When you, an unassuming journalist with nothing to lose, get an offer of a lifetime, you’re sure it’s a mistake.

A contract, a relocation to Seoul, and one fake wedding later, you’re still trying to convince yourself none of this is real. The only problem? Neither of you seem to remember where the performance ends and something devastatingly real begins.

Release Date: 8th March, Part 2 - Monday 10th March

WC: 13K CW (18+ MDNI) : fake marriage, slow-burn romance, power dynamics, corporate intrigue, arranged marriage trope, emotional angst, unresolved sexual tension, longing glances across boardrooms, contract loopholes, financial manipulation, morally gray billionaire!Jay, forced proximity, family expectations, betrayal, public displays of affection (for the cameras, obviously), enemies-to-allies-to-lovers, suppressed feelings, business politics, one bed trope (but make it corporate), dramatic confessions, late-night whiskey-fueled arguments, high society drama, backhanded compliments as flirting, dramatic departures followed by even more dramatic returns, lingering touches that mean too much, feelings clause not included in the contract, deep intimacy, power dynamics in a romantic context, possessive tendencies (but soft), light dominance/submission themes, clothing being undone at a painfully slow pace, tension so thick it could shatter glass, breathless dialogue, interrupted kisses that lead to frustration, and the inevitable realization that this was never fake at all.

-

The Original Timeline

Five Years Ago

The first and only time you met Jay Park was at the gallery opening of your college roommate's photography exhibit in New York. You wouldn't have been there at all if Priya hadn't practically begged you to help her make up the numbers.

"Just mingle for an hour," she'd pleaded over coffee that morning, eyes wide with artistic desperation. "Drink free champagne, eat expensive hors d'oeuvres, and pretend to understand modern art. I need this exhibit to succeed. My parents are still convinced I should have become a doctor."

So you'd ventured out into the crisp October evening to a renovated warehouse in Chelsea that now housed the Klein Gallery.

The moment you walked in, you regretted your decision.

The gallery was crowded with Manhattan's elite—people whose casual conversations name-dropped summer homes in the Hamptons and winter getaways in Aspen. You recognized a few faces from glossy magazines—a popular actress, a tech entrepreneur, a fashion designer.

You spotted Priya across the room, surrounded by attentive listeners, looking nothing like the frazzled artist who had practically lived in sweatpants throughout college. Tonight she was transformed—elegant in a silk jumpsuit, her long black hair swept into an artful updo.

Not wanting to interrupt her moment, you moved toward the bar, securing a glass of champagne that definitely wasn't the top-shelf variety promised. Glass in hand, you began the obligatory circuit of the room.

Priya's work had always struck you as technically skilled but emotionally distant. Tonight's collection—titled "Urban Dissolution"—featured black and white images of city landscapes in various states of decay. To your untrained eye, several looked like artistic shots of garbage.

You were examining one such photograph when someone spoke beside you.

"It's quite terrible, isn't it?"

The voice was pleasant—a warm baritone with just the slightest hint of an accent.

You turned to find a man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit studying the same photograph with thinly veiled amusement. He was handsome in that polished, untouchable way of the extremely wealthy—perfect hair, perfect posture, everything about him screaming old money.

Under normal circumstances, you might have nodded politely and moved on. Men who looked like him rarely engaged in genuine conversation at events like these.

But something in his expression—a hint of genuine mischief beneath the polished exterior—made you respond honestly.

"I wouldn't say that," you replied diplomatically. "Art is subjective."

"So is food poisoning, but we can still recognize it when we experience it." He gestured toward the photograph with his champagne flute. "This is visual food poisoning."

A startled laugh escaped you, drawing disapproving glances from a nearby couple examining the same piece with exaggerated intensity.

"That's my friend's work you're insulting," you said, lowering your voice.

"Ah." He didn't look remotely embarrassed. If anything, his smile widened, creating a small dimple in his left cheek. "Then I assume you're here out of obligation rather than appreciation."

You studied him more carefully. There was no malice in his expression, only genuine amusement and refreshing honesty.

"Isn't everyone at these things?" You glanced around the gallery. "Half the people here couldn't distinguish between a masterpiece and a child's finger painting, but they'll all have very strong opinions."

"Touché." His smile reached his eyes, transforming his face from merely handsome to genuinely compelling. "I'm Jay."

"Just Jay?" You raised an eyebrow. "No family name? No title or position that should impress me?"

"Tonight, just Jay." He seemed to appreciate that you didn't immediately offer your name in return. "And you are?"

"Just someone who defends her friends' artistic endeavors, no matter how questionable."

"Loyalty," he nodded, as if noting something important. "An underrated quality in rooms like this, where allegiances change with the season's trends."

There was something wistful in his observation, a flash of genuineness beneath the practiced charm. Before you could respond, a commotion near the entrance drew your attention.

A group had arrived, their entrance causing a ripple effect through the crowd—backs straightening, conversations pausing, attention shifting.

"Duty calls," Jay murmured, his expression cooling. The playful stranger who had joked with you was vanishing, replaced by someone more controlled. "It was refreshing to meet you, Just Someone."

And then he was gone, moving toward the new arrivals. You watched as he transformed with each step—shoulders squaring, chin lifting, smile shifting from genuine to practiced.

He bowed respectfully to an older couple at the center of the group, clearly his family. The woman—elegant, with silver-streaked black hair—examined the gallery with the cool assessment of someone accustomed to making judgments that mattered.

It was only when Priya rushed over that you realized who you'd been talking to.

"Do you know who that was?" she hissed, gripping your arm. "The Jay Park. Park Industries! The Korean conglomerate that's expanding into American markets. Did you get his number?"

"We just talked about your photographs," you said, suddenly feeling out of place in your carefully selected but obviously off-the-rack dress. "He called them visual food poisoning."

Priya's expression didn't even flicker. "Jay Park insulted my work? That's practically a career highlight!" She snapped a discreet photo. "Wait until I tell my parents—they'll finally believe this wasn't a waste of my education."

You watched as Jay circulated through the room with practiced ease, his charisma deployed with strategic precision. The man who had stood beside you making irreverent comments might as well have been a different person entirely.

As you left the gallery hours later, you glanced back once to find Jay watching you from across the room. For just a moment, his public mask slipped, and he gave you a small, conspiratorial smile.

You never saw him again. Not in person, anyway.

Three Years Ago

"PARK HEIR ENGAGEMENT ANNOUNCED: JAY PARK TO WED ITALIAN HEIRESS"

The headline splashed across your phone screen during your morning subway commute. Normally, you'd have skipped past such celebrity gossip, but the name caught your attention—that brief memory of champagne and honesty in a New York gallery.

Curious, you tapped the article.

"Jay Park, 29, heir to the Park Industries empire, announced his engagement yesterday to Seraphina Visconti, 26, daughter of Italian shipping magnate Giorgio Visconti. The match unites two of the most influential business families across continents after a whirlwind romance of six months.

"'Seraphina represents everything the Parks value—business acumen, family loyalty, and global vision,' said Chairwoman Soo-min Park in a statement.

"The couple met during Park Industries' expansion into European markets. Sources suggest the marriage will cement a strategic partnership potentially worth billions."

Below the text was a photograph of Jay with his arm around a stunning woman with olive skin and a camera-ready smile. He looked exactly as you remembered—handsome, composed, untouchable. But something about his eyes seemed different. Harder, perhaps. The smile that had crinkled their corners in the gallery was nowhere to be seen.

You stared at the image longer than was reasonable for someone who had spoken to the man exactly once. There was something almost theatrical about the pose, the smiles, the carefully framed opulence.

"Good for him," you muttered, closing the article as the subway reached your stop. "Hope they're very happy together."

You found yourself wondering if he'd made that woman laugh genuinely, or if their relationship was built on the kind of performance you'd witnessed when his family arrived at the gallery.

You didn't think about Jay Park again for a long time.

Last Year

"PARK INDUSTRIES HEIR DISGRACED: JAY PARK REMOVED FROM FAMILY COMPANY AMID SCANDAL"

This headline caught your eye during lunch break. The photograph showed Jay leaving a building, face partially obscured, expression hidden behind dark sunglasses. Even in disgrace, he wore an impeccably tailored suit, though his tie was loosened and his normally perfect hair disheveled.

Something tightened in your chest at the image. You tapped on the article, pushing your salad aside.

"Jay Park has been removed from his position following allegations of corporate espionage and fraud. The Seoul Economic Prosecutor's Office confirmed yesterday that Park is under investigation for his role in the controversial merger between Park Industries and Hanjin Global.

"'Evidence suggests Mr. Park orchestrated the theft of proprietary information to facilitate the merger on terms exceptionally favorable to Park Industries,' stated Chief Prosecutor Kim. 'This represents a serious breach of corporate ethics and possibly criminal misconduct.'

"Sources revealed that Chairwoman Soo-min Park, Jay's mother, personally signed the termination papers. 'It was like watching an execution,' said one executive. 'The family cut him off completely. No defense, no second chances.'

"Adding personal tragedy to professional disgrace, Park's engagement to Italian heiress Seraphina Visconti was terminated shortly before the scandal broke."

You frowned at your screen. Something about the story felt wrong—the swiftness of his family's abandonment, the convenient timing of the broken engagement, the way everyone seemed to distance themselves simultaneously, as if following a coordinated script.

But what did you know? You'd met the man once, years ago. That brief interaction hardly qualified you to judge the situation or the complex dynamics of global corporate politics.

Still, you couldn't shake the memory of his genuine smile, so different from the corporate mask he'd worn for his family. The way he'd spoken about loyalty as an underrated quality.

"Rough fall from grace," your coworker commented, noticing the article on your screen. "Guess even the mighty Parks can't escape karma."

"I guess not," you agreed absently. But privately you wondered what karma had to do with it. From what little you knew of chaebol families, they created their own destinies—and occasionally, their own destruction.

Over the following months, you occasionally saw follow-up articles. The investigation seemed to drag on without clear resolution. Some outlets questioned aspects of the evidence. Others suggested political motivations behind the prosecution.

But as the story faded from headlines, you found yourself wondering sometimes what had happened to the man who had once made you laugh in an art gallery—the man who, for a brief moment, had seemed genuinely human beneath the wealth and privilege.

Four Months Ago - Jay's Perspective

Jay Park stood at the window of his empty apartment, watching Seoul's lights glitter below. The city looked exactly the same as it had before his life imploded—indifferent to his disgrace. Photographers still camped outside his building, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fallen heir.

The penthouse that had once been featured in architectural magazines now echoed with emptiness. Most of the art and furnishings were gone—some seized in the investigation, others reclaimed by his family when they'd cut him off.

His phone—a new one, with a number known to fewer than five people—vibrated on the counter. He ignored it. The nearly empty bottle of scotch beside it held more appeal. He poured another measure into a glass that didn't match the crystal tumblers he'd once collected.

Jay took a long sip, noting with detached interest that his hand no longer shook. Progress, of a sort. The first few months after his downfall, he could barely hold a glass steady.

The evidence against him had been impeccable. Each document, each testimony, each transaction record forming a perfect constellation of guilt. So perfect that, had he not known with absolute certainty he was innocent, he might have believed it himself.

That was the elegant brutality of it—the case was built not on crude forgeries, but on actual actions he had taken, actual meetings he had attended, all recontextualized to tell a story of corruption rather than innovation.

By the time he understood what was happening, the narrative had solidified. His former fiancée had disappeared back to Italy. His family had closed ranks against him. His so-called friends had vanished overnight.

"You always were too trusting, Jongseong."

His mother's words, delivered as she personally collected his company credentials. Not in private—she had ensured there were witnesses. The perfect chairwoman, putting corporate ethics above family loyalty.

He'd spent his entire life trying to prove himself worthy of the Park name, only to be discarded the moment it became expedient.

His phone vibrated again. A text from his attorney: "Prosecutor offering deal. Meet tomorrow."

Jay didn't bother responding. There would be no deal. Not because he was noble, but because accepting a deal meant accepting guilt. And while the world might believe him guilty, he refused to validate the lie.

He returned to the window, scotch in hand. Somewhere in that landscape were the people who had orchestrated his downfall. Were they celebrating still? Or had they already moved on to their next target, his destruction just another successful transaction?

One photograph lay face-down on the counter—Seraphina smiling beside him at their engagement party, her eyes fixed on the camera with practiced warmth. The perfect couple. The perfect alliance. The perfect lie.

"I never saw it coming," he murmured. "Not from you."

That was the truly unforgivable part—not the betrayal itself, but his blind failure to anticipate it. All the signs had been there: her sudden interest when the Hanjin merger was first discussed, her questions about his meetings, her friendship with his cousin.

But he'd been too enthralled with the idea of her—the perfect partner who fit the plan he'd constructed for his life.

Jay drained his glass. He should sleep. Tomorrow would bring more meetings, more denials, more evidence of his spectacular fall.

He was turning from the window when it happened—a sharp, stabbing pain behind his eyes, so intense he dropped his glass. It shattered as he clutched his head, the pain expanding outward like a supernova.

The room tilted sideways. His hand passed through the wall as though it were mist. The familiar contours of his apartment seemed to dissolve, replaced by swirling darkness.

His last conscious thought was strangely clear, cutting through the pain:

I would do it all differently.

Jay opened his eyes to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar curtains.

No—not unfamiliar. His old curtains, from his suite in the family compound. The heavy navy drapes his mother had replaced three years ago.

He sat up with a jolt, banging his head against the headboard with an undignified thud.

"What the—" he muttered, rubbing his forehead while blinking at his surroundings.

This room had been redecorated after he moved out. The traditional furniture, the blue walls, the precise arrangement of his diplomas—all of it had been erased when his mother decided the space needed to "reflect the modern sensibilities of Park Industries' future."

Jay scrambled out of bed, tangling himself in sheets he hadn't slept in for years—1,000 thread count Egyptian cotton in navy blue, not the minimalist white linens of his apartment.

He stumbled to the bathroom. The face that stared back from the mirror made him grip the countertop until his knuckles went white.

"Impossible," he whispered.

The face was his, but not the one he'd seen yesterday. No dark circles. No stress lines. No gray hairs at his temples. This was him from... before.

"I've lost my mind," he announced to the empty bathroom. "This is what a psychotic break feels like."

He splashed cold water on his face, half expecting the hallucination to dissolve.

Back in the bedroom, his phone chimed. Not the anonymous device he'd been using since his disgrace, but his old phone—the one with the Park Industries logo, the one seized by prosecutors.

He approached it like it might explode, picking it up between two fingers.

The calendar notification made him drop the phone directly onto his foot.

"Son of a—" he yelped, hopping awkwardly.

He snatched up the phone again and stared at the date.

Five years in the past.

Another notification: "Meeting with Chairman Kang's team at 11. Merger exploration talks. Confidential."

Kang. The first domino in what would become his downfall. The meeting that would eventually lead him to Seraphina Visconti.

"This can't be happening," he said, running his hands through his hair until it stood in a manner his perfectly-coiffed future self would find horrifying.

The bedroom door suddenly swung open. Jay yelped and grabbed a decorative pillow to cover his chest.

His mother's executive assistant, Mrs. Joseph, stood in the doorway, her expression somehow even more judgmental as she took in his disheveled state.

"Mr. Park," she said with glacial formality, "your mother wishes to remind you that the board meeting begins in forty-five minutes."

"Mrs. Joseph," Jay managed, clutching the tasseled pillow, "what day is it today?"

One perfectly plucked eyebrow rose a millimeter.

"It is Tuesday, Mr. Park. The 17th of October, 2018."

Five years in the past. Confirmed by the human calendar that was Mrs. Joseph, who had never been wrong about a date in twenty years.

"Thank you. Please tell my mother I'll be there."

Mrs. Joseph nodded and closed the door.

Jay stood frozen before bursting into motion, pacing and gesturing wildly.

"Time travel isn't real," he informed his empty room. "This is a complete psychological break."

He stopped in front of the mirror, pointing an accusatory finger at his reflection.

"You are having a nervous breakdown."

His phone chimed again. A text from his cousin Danny: "You look like hell on the security feed. Board meeting in 44 minutes. Pull yourself together."

Jay glanced at the discreet camera in the corner, then back at his phone.

Other people could see him. Other people were interacting with him. This wasn't just in his head.

"I've gone back in time," he whispered, testing the words. "I've gone back in time!"

A hysterical laugh bubbled up from his chest. He had a second chance. A chance to avoid Seraphina. A chance to prevent the merger catastrophe. A chance to protect himself from betrayal before it began.

Then he froze, composing himself. If this was real, he needed to be strategic.

"Park Jongseong," he told his reflection sternly, "pull yourself together. You have a board meeting in forty-three minutes. And then you have a life to completely rebuild."

As he headed for the bathroom, he caught himself whistling. Park Jongseong didn't whistle. Park Jongseong was dignified, serious, and focused at all times.

But then again, Park Jongseong also didn't time travel. So perhaps some new rules were in order.

Forty-two minutes later, Jay found himself seated in the most uncomfortable chair in Seoul—not because of its design, but because of who surrounded it.

The Park Industries boardroom was exactly as he remembered it from before its renovation. Twenty-four seats around a massive mahogany table, each position equipped with a recessed screen and an elegant portfolio. The room smelled of sandalwood and concentrated power.

And around him sat the very people who would one day abandon him without hesitation.

His mother, Chairwoman Soomin Park, presided at the head, her silver-streaked hair in a severe chignon. His father sat opposite, expression fixed in the distant contemplation that had always characterized their relationship. Next to him was Uncle Jiho, whose vote would be first to condemn Jay when the time came. Beside his mother sat Aunt Mina, who would publicly declare his actions "disappointing but not surprising."

They were all watching him. Or perhaps he was just paranoid. Hard to tell which was more reasonable when you'd time-traveled into your younger body.

"The Q3 projections for the semiconductor division," droned CFO Yun. "As you can see, we're exceeding targets by 4.3% despite supply chain challenges..."

Jay nodded mechanically, trying to appear engaged while his mind raced. He kept catching himself staring at people who shouldn't be noteworthy—like Director Kang, who would later introduce him to Seraphina Visconti.

"Jongseong."

He jerked upright, realizing his mother had addressed him directly.

"I—" he began, having no idea what had been asked. "Could you repeat the question?"

A flicker of annoyance crossed his mother's face. "I said, do you have the projections for the European market expansion? The ones you insisted were ready for board review?"

Right. The European expansion. The document that would eventually lead to the Visconti partnership. The first step in his downfall.

"I've been reconsidering those projections," he said, his voice sounding strange in his ears. "I believe we should focus on domestic consolidation before extending into Europe."

A heavy silence fell over the room. In the original timeline, he'd aggressively championed European expansion for months.

"You've been... reconsidering," his mother repeated, each syllable precisely weighted. "Since last night's strategy meeting, where you presented a seventy-page report detailing exactly why European expansion cannot wait?"

Jay cleared his throat, tugging at his suddenly tight collar. "I've had some... insights."

"Insights," she echoed flatly.

"Yes. About... market volatility." Jay caught sight of his reflection in the darkened screen—he looked like someone trying to defuse a bomb while wearing oven mitts. "And geopolitical considerations. Brexit currency fluctuations. You know. Business... things."

Director Kang frowned. "But your analysis specifically addressed Brexit concerns, concluding they presented opportunity rather than obstacle."

"Well, people can change their minds," Jay said, a bit too forcefully.

His mother set down her pen—never a good sign. "Are you feeling well, Jongseong?"

"Perfectly well. Never better."

"You look flushed. And you're sweating."

Jay reached up, mortified to find his forehead damp. Park Jongseong did not sweat in board meetings.

"It's rather warm in here."

"It's sixty-eight degrees, as always," his mother replied. "Your grandfather had similar symptoms before his stroke. The disorientation. The contradictory statements."

"I'm not having a stroke," Jay said, horrified that this conversation was happening in front of the entire board.

"He said the same thing," contributed his aunt helpfully. "Right before he tried to sign a merger agreement with a potted plant."

"I know what day it is," Jay offered as proof of his mental faculties. "It's Tuesday, October 17, 2018."

This did not have the intended effect. If anything, his mother's concern deepened.

"Yes," she said slowly. "Most people with calendars know the date. More relevant is your explanation for this sudden policy reversal."

Jay scrambled for a plausible explanation that wouldn't sound like 'I've seen the future and it ends with all of you betraying me.'

"I received some... intelligence," he said finally. "About certain European partners. It requires verification before we proceed."

This, at least, was the language of business his mother understood. Her expression shifted from concern to calculation.

"What intelligence, and from whom?"

"I'd prefer to discuss that privately," he said, finding his footing. "After I've confirmed some details."

His mother studied him, then gave a slight nod. "Very well. We'll revisit the European strategy next week."

As the presentation resumed, Jay exhaled slowly, only to catch his father watching him with an evaluative expression he couldn't quite interpret.

His phone vibrated. Grateful for the distraction, he discreetly checked the message.

From Jake: Dude, what was THAT? Your mom thinks you're having a stroke, and Danny says you were talking to yourself this morning. Also, Priya's exhibition is Friday, don't forget you promised to come. Her parents are visiting from Mumbai and she's freaking out.

Jay blinked, momentarily confused. Priya? Jake's girlfriend. The photographer. The exhibition.

A distant memory stirred—something about an art gallery in New York, some terrible photographs, and...

He frowned, trying to recall. There had been someone there, hadn't there? Someone he'd spoken to briefly. He couldn't remember a face or name, just a vague impression of a genuine laugh and an honest conversation.

He typed back: Not having a stroke. Just reconsidering some strategies. What time Friday?

Jake's reply came instantly: 8PM, Klein Gallery in Chelsea. Wear something that makes you look less corporate robot, more human person.

Jay tucked his phone away, the half-formed memory already fading as more pressing concerns demanded his attention.

"Jongseong, do you have anything to add to Director Park's assessment?"

Jay looked up to find the entire board staring at him again. He hadn't heard a word of what Director Park had said.

"I think Director Park's assessment is... comprehensive," he managed, having no idea what he was endorsing.

"He asked for your input on canceling the Daewon acquisition."

"Right." Jay straightened. The Daewon acquisition—a company they had purchased and later sold at a significant profit in his original timeline. "I believe we should proceed with the acquisition. Their patent portfolio alone justifies the investment."

Director Park nodded approvingly. "Exactly my point."

Jay relaxed marginally, only to tense again when his mother spoke.

"That's interesting, considering Director Park just recommended we cancel the acquisition due to their overvalued patents."

The room fell silent. Jay felt heat creeping up his neck.

"I was... testing to see if anyone was paying attention?"

His mother's sigh could have withered steel. "We'll take a ten minute recess. Jongseong, my office. Now."

As the board members filed out, his father paused briefly beside him.

"Whatever's going on with you, fix it before your mother decides you need medical intervention. Or worse, reassignment."

With that less-than-comforting advice, Jay followed his mother to what would undoubtedly be the most awkward conversation of his newly-regained past life.

"Close the door," his mother instructed as they entered her office, a minimalist sanctuary of glass and steel.

Jay obeyed, steeling himself for the dissection that was about to occur.

"Sit," she commanded, taking her place behind a desk large enough to land a small aircraft.

He complied, automatically adjusting his posture to the rigid formality expected. Twenty-nine years of conditioning didn't disappear even with temporal displacement.

"What is happening with you?"

"Nothing serious, I assure you. Just a temporary—"

"That was not a board performance worthy of a Park," she interrupted. "You contradicted yourself, failed to pay attention, and gave the impression of someone who is either incompetent or unwell. Neither is acceptable."

"I apologize, Mom. It won't happen again."

The moment the word left his mouth, Jay was surprised at his own casualness. Mom. Not "Mother" or "Chairwoman" as he'd taken to calling her in professional settings.

His mother's expression softened almost imperceptibly—visible only to someone who had spent a lifetime learning to read her minute facial cues.

"It's been a while since you've called me that in this office," she noted, neither disapproving nor sentimental. The Parks might be ruthless in business, but family was family. "Though it doesn't exempt you from explaining your behavior this morning."

"I'm simply... reconsidering certain aspects of my approach."

"Your approach," she echoed skeptically.

"Yes. I've been thinking that perhaps I've been too rigid. Too focused on following a preset path without questioning whether it's the optimal route."

Her expression shifted subtly. "And this revelation came to you when, exactly?"

"Recently," he hedged.

"I see." She tapped one nail against her desk. "And does this 'reconsideration' include your personal life as well?"

Jay tensed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you've spent five years claiming to be too focused on your career for serious relationships, despite my repeated reminders that a suitable marriage is an essential component of your position. If you're reconsidering 'preset paths,' perhaps this is an area you might prioritize."

And there it was. In the original timeline, this conversation had led to his first introduction to the Visconti family.

"I don't believe my focus should be on marriage at this time," he said carefully.

"And yet you're now suggesting we delay European expansion, which leaves you with considerably more bandwidth." She opened a drawer and removed a slim folder. "I've taken the liberty of updating your candidate dossiers."

Of course she had. In his mother's world, suitable marriage partners were assessed with the same due diligence as potential acquisitions.

"I appreciate your thoroughness, but I'll handle this aspect of my life myself."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. "You've been 'handling it yourself' since graduation, with no results. The Kang family has been quite direct about their interest in an alliance through their daughter."

Jay suppressed a grimace. Se-yeon Kang. The woman who had introduced him to Seraphina at her father's request.

"The Kangs are not a suitable match," he said sharply.

"On what basis?"

On the basis that they were integral to his destruction, he thought bitterly.

"I have concerns about their long-term business ethics," he said instead.

"Interesting." She made a note on her tablet. "I wasn't aware you had investigated the Kang operations."

"I make it my business to be thorough."

"Perhaps you're not as distracted as you appeared in the boardroom, then."

Jay recognized the familiar pattern—his mother testing him, probing for weaknesses. In his first life, he'd been so desperate for her approval that he'd missed the manipulation.

"I should prepare for the Kang meeting," he said, rising. "I'll need to review the materials given my reconsideration of our European strategy."

She nodded, dismissing him with a wave. "Don't embarrass yourself again. The board already thinks you're following in your grandfather's neurological footsteps."

At the door, he paused. In his previous life, he'd walked out of this office and directly into the trap being laid for him.

"One more thing," he said. "Who originally suggested the Visconti Group as a potential European partner?"

If the question surprised her, she didn't show it. "I believe Chairman Kang mentioned them at the economic forum in Davos. Why?"

"Just mapping connections. It helps me visualize the relationship web."

Her eyes narrowed slightly—the look she gave when recalculating her assessment. "Your grandfather used to say something similar. Before the stroke, of course."

With that parting barb, she dismissed him.

As Jay left, his phone vibrated again. Another text from Jake:

Almost forgot—Priya says to bring that friend of yours from the investment firm if he's still in town. She needs all the connections she can get.

Jay frowned. What friend from what investment firm? He didn't recall...

And then it clicked. The half-remembered interaction from the gallery. There had been someone else there that night—not just the person he'd spoken to, but someone he'd been introduced to later.

If he attended this exhibition, he might run into that person again—the one whose laugh he vaguely remembered. Not that it mattered particularly. Just a curious coincidence in his reshuffled timeline.

He pocketed his phone, mind already turning to more immediate concerns. The Kang meeting. The European strategy. The trap he needed to dismantle piece by piece.

A random stranger he'd once met at a gallery was hardly worth dwelling on when he had an entire future to reconstruct.

Autumn in New York welcomed Jay with crisp air and streets still gleaming from an afternoon shower. He stood outside the Klein Gallery in Chelsea, straightening cuffs that needed no adjustment.

The city felt different now—full of possibility rather than the shame and failure it would represent in his original timeline. Here, five years before his downfall, no photographers lurked hoping to catch the disgraced Park heir. He was just another wealthy visitor, anonymous in a city that specialized in ignoring the important.

The past three days had been a calculated offensive against his future ruin. Altered procurement strategies. Reassigned personnel. Extensive documentation that couldn't be manipulated later. He'd even faced down Kang himself, politely declining the European expansion that would eventually lead to his destruction.

All while maintaining the perfect Park Jongseong façade.

This trip to New York offered both strategic cover and unexpected relief. For a few precious hours, he could breathe without the weight of his name.

He checked his watch. He was early, deliberately so. Jake and Priya would arrive in twenty minutes, giving him time to assess the gallery and determine if his half-remembered encounter would repeat itself.

But the vagueness didn't matter. What mattered was the opportunity to alter one small variable in the equation of his life.

Since his mother had mentioned marriage in her office, a strategy had been forming in his mind. In the original timeline, the months following this trip had seen increasing pressure about his relationship status. His mother had begun introducing him to eligible candidates—all with their own agendas, all connected to the world that would eventually close ranks against him.

And then came Seraphina. Perfect, beautiful, accomplished Seraphina. The woman who would eventually help orchestrate his destruction.

But what if he removed that variable entirely? What if he preempted the whole process? Elementary business strategy: block your opponent's best move before they make it.

Inside, the gallery was minimalist—white walls, polished concrete floors, strategic lighting. Jay moved through the space with practiced ease, accepting champagne from a passing server.

Priya's work was exactly as he remembered—technically proficient but emotionally distant. Black and white urban landscapes hinting at decay and renewal. He paused before one he remembered discussing in the original timeline—the one he'd compared to food poisoning.

"Considering an acquisition?" a voice asked. Not yours. The gallery owner—Klein himself.

"Just appreciating the composition," Jay replied smoothly.

He scanned the room peripherally. The space was filling with the expected crowd—moneyed New Yorkers performing interest in emerging artists, critics with studied expressions of judgment.

But no sign of you.

A flicker of concern crossed his mind. Had his earlier manipulations altered the timeline so significantly that you wouldn't attend?

"Mr. Park!" Priya approached with nervous energy

"The exhibition looks excellent," Jay said, offering Priya a polite air-kiss. "Your work has evolved considerably."

A kind lie. Her work was exactly as he remembered it.

"That means so much coming from you," Priya gushed. "Jake said you've been impossibly busy with the European expansion plans."

Jay shot Jake a warning look, but his friend merely shrugged.

"Sorry, forgot it was all very hush-hush and corporate espionage-y." Jake clapped Jay's shoulder. "You look terrible, by the way. In an expensive, tailored way, but still terrible. Are you sleeping these days?"

In his first life, Jay would have bristled at such criticism. Now, after everything, he felt unexpected gratitude for Jake's honesty. He'd forgotten this about their friendship—how Jake treated him as a person, not the Park heir.

"Sleep is for those without quarterly projections," Jay replied dryly.

"You're not fine, you're just good at faking fine. The Park family specialty." Jake surveyed the crowd. "Speaking of fake, look at all these people pretending to understand Priya's art when half couldn't tell profound commentary from pictures of garbage."

Priya elbowed him. "My parents will be here any minute. Please pretend to be cultured."

"Fine. I'll practice my 'this speaks to me spiritually' face." Jake grinned and headed for the bar.

"He's impossible," Priya sighed affectionately. "But he's been amazing with my parents. Even learned Hindi phrases for my father."

Jay nodded, remembering with a pang how Jake and Priya's engagement had been "postponed" after his disgrace. No one wanted ties to a pariah, not even his oldest friend.

"Jay?" Priya studied him. "Are you okay? You seem... different somehow."

Before he could answer, the gallery's atmosphere shifted—the crowd parting for Priya's parents. She excused herself, leaving Jay alone.

His mind returned to his strategy. He needed someone who could occupy the space Seraphina would fill, disrupting the timeline ending in his ruin. Someone far removed from his world.

You—if you showed up—would be perfect. Not for any particular quality, but for what you weren't. You weren't connected to his family's web of alliances. You had no ties to competing conglomerates. You carried no hidden agenda.

Your ignorance of his world wasn't a liability—it was your greatest asset. You couldn't be manipulated by the forces that orchestrated his destruction because you existed outside their sphere.

It wasn't personal. He didn't need a soulmate; he needed a shield. The fact that he remembered your laugh was merely incidental. A convenient connection point for his strategy.

The gallery door opened, admitting a gust of cool air and a latecomer—you.

Recognition hit immediately. How had he forgotten so many details? Your self-conscious movements. Your genuine curiosity instead of affected boredom.

Jay moved toward you before consciously deciding to, drawn by the chance to rewrite this small piece of his past. He intercepted you at the photograph he knew you'd examine—the one you'd defended despite its quality.

He reminded himself: this was strategy, not sentiment. Business, not emotion. This was about survival.

"It's quite terrible, isn't it?" Jay said, repeating his original words.

You turned, and he was struck by your direct gaze—no calculation, just human curiosity.

"I wouldn't say that," you replied, amusement tugging at your mouth. "Art is subjective."

"So is food poisoning, but we recognize it when we experience it." He gestured with his champagne. "This is visual food poisoning."

A startled laugh escaped you—genuine, unguarded. The sound hit Jay with unexpected force. For a moment, his calculated facade cracked, replaced by a genuine impulse to connect.

He pushed the feeling aside. Focus on the objective.

"That's my friend's work you're insulting," you said quietly.

"Ah. Then you're here from obligation rather than appreciation?"

"Isn't everyone?" You glanced around. "Half these people couldn't distinguish masterpieces from finger paintings, but they'll have strong opinions borrowed from the last opening."

The conversation unfolded exactly as before—eerie yet comforting.

"I'm Jay," he said, memorizing your face.

"Just Jay? No impressive title?"

"Park. Jay Park. But I'd prefer to be just Jay tonight."

You assessed him with refreshing directness. "And what does Just Jay do when not critiquing photography?"

Another deviation from the original timeline. A small ripple that could grow into a wave.

"Corporate strategy," he replied vaguely. "Nothing as interesting as defending questionable art. And you are...?"

The gallery door opened, and Jay felt a cold jolt as his family entered, causing the usual ripple through the crowd. His mother, father, relatives—all unaware they would eventually abandon him when convenient.

This was the moment. Originally, he'd left without your name, swept back into the path leading to Seraphina and his destruction.

Not this time.

"I should warn you," he said conspiratorially, "I'm about to transform into someone less honest and more boring. Corporate obligation." He nodded toward his family. "But before I do—your name? In case our paths cross again."

Behind this casual request lay his entire strategy. Your name would be the first stone in his new foundation.

As he waited, his gaze intensified slightly. To you, it might seem like normal interest. To him, it was the focus of someone placing extraordinary significance on an ordinary exchange.

This wasn't just about a name—it was about architecture. The careful redesign of his future. And you, unknowingly, were about to become a cornerstone.

"Y/N"

-

The syllables hung in the air between them for a moment. Jay's smile shifted—genuine now, not the practiced expression he deployed at corporate functions.

"It's been a pleasure meeting you, Y/N." He reached for your hand, a brief, professional clasp. "Unfortunately, duty calls."

He slipped you his card—not the formal Park Industries one, but a sleeker personal version with just his name and private number. A deliberate choice. The first move in his new game.

"Perhaps we'll cross paths again," he said. His tone casual, but his gaze wasn't. It held yours a moment longer than social convention dictated.

Then he was gone, transforming with each step toward his family. Shoulders squaring. Expression cooling. The brief glimpse of honest humanity tucked away beneath the polished exterior of Park Jongseong, corporate heir.

You watched him bow to his mother, exchange handshakes with other family members, fluidly inserting himself into their formal orbit. The man who had made irreverent comments about art seemed to evaporate entirely.

"The exhibition demonstrates impressive technical skill," Jay's mother observed an hour later, champagne flute held at a precise angle. "Though the subject matter is rather... conventional."

This assessment came after a methodical circuit of the gallery, during which the Park family had drawn considerable attention without seeming to notice it.

"Priya has potential," Jay replied diplomatically. "Her composition exhibits strong understanding of negative space."

Art criticism wasn't the point of this conversation, and they both knew it. His mother was watching him carefully, calculating something behind her perfect smile.

"I spotted you speaking with someone earlier," she mentioned with practiced casualness. "Before we arrived."

And there it was. Nothing escaped her notice.

"A friend of the artist," Jay said, matching her casual tone. "We were discussing the merits of contemporary photography."

"I see." His mother's gaze swept the room, locating you within seconds where you stood chatting with Priya near the bar. "Not the usual social circle you frequent."

"Perhaps that's refreshing." Jay sipped his champagne, strategic in his mild defiance. "One tires of the same conversations."

His mother's eyebrow arched slightly—the equivalent of open surprise from anyone else.

"Interesting," she said, recalculating variables in her mental dossier. "Does this relate to your sudden disinterest in the European expansion?"

"Not directly," Jay replied. "Though both reflect a broader reassessment of paths worth pursuing."

She studied him with the penetrating gaze that had intimidated business rivals for decades. "You've changed, Jongseong. Since when, I'm not certain. But something is different."

"Growth isn't change, Mother. It's evolution." He'd never spoken to her this way in his first timeline—confident but not confrontational. "The core remains the same."

His father approached, ending their private exchange. "The Visconti Group's representative just arrived," he informed his wife. "The one you wanted to meet."

Jay's pulse quickened. In the original timeline, this casual introduction had been the first seed planted. The beginning of his eventual destruction.

"Another time, perhaps," Jay interjected smoothly before his mother could respond. "I promised Jake I'd speak with some potential collectors. His girlfriend would be devastated if the night wasn't successful."

His father's expression registered mild surprise at this unusual prioritization of friendship over business.

"Of course," his mother said, analyzing this new data point. "Family supports family's associates. That's the Park way."

The subtle reminder of obligation came with her practiced smile. Not a reprimand, but a note being filed away for future reference.

Jay inclined his head respectfully and moved away, circulating through the crowd with practiced ease. He exchanged pleasantries with critics, complimented the gallery owner, and strategically positioned himself near a group of potential collectors, laying groundwork for a purchase that would help Priya's career.

All while remaining acutely aware of your location in the room.

-

Two hours later, Jay found himself in a strategic position near the coat check as you prepared to leave. The gallery had begun to empty, the initial excitement of the opening fading into the routine pattern of a Thursday night in Chelsea.

"Leaving so soon?" he asked, timing his approach to appear coincidental.

You looked up, surprise flickering across your face. "Just Jay. I thought you'd be trapped in corporate obligation all night."

"A temporary reprieve." He smiled. "The family business discussions have moved to dinner at Le Bernardin."

"Very fancy," you commented. "I'm headed for much humbler fare—the subway and takeout."

Jay glanced at his watch. "Actually, I find myself with an unexpected hour before I need to join them. Perhaps you'd allow me to buy you a proper dinner? There's an excellent place just around the corner." He kept his tone casual, the invitation seemingly spontaneous.

You hesitated, studying him with that direct gaze he found so refreshing. "Why would you want to have dinner with a complete stranger when you clearly have more important places to be?"

The directness of the question caught him slightly off-guard. In his world, people rarely questioned Park Jongseong's motivations to his face.

"Because you're the only interesting conversation I've had all evening," he replied, allowing a hint of genuine feeling to color his words. "Everyone else is either trying to sell me something, impress me, or secure an introduction to my mother."

You considered this, head tilted slightly. "And what makes you think I'm not doing the same?"

Jay laughed—a real laugh, not his polished social chuckle. "The fact that you just asked that question, for starters."

Something in your expression softened. "One hour. And it had better be good food."

"I never compromise on quality," Jay assured you, suppressing the satisfaction of a well-executed strategic move. "The restaurant is just three blocks from here."

As you walked together into the crisp autumn evening, Jay maintained the perfect balance of professional distance and personal interest. He asked about your work (freelance journalism), your history with Priya (college roommates), your thoughts on New York's cultural scene (overpriced but occasionally transcendent).

Each piece of information carefully filed away. Each response analyzed for potential complications or advantages to his developing strategy.

The restaurant—an upscale Italian place with discreet lighting and well-spaced tables—provided the ideal setting for his purposes. Impressive without being intimidating. Exclusive enough to require his name for a last-minute table, but not so ostentatious that it would make you uncomfortable.

"So," you said once you were seated and had ordered, "are you going to tell me what Park Industries actually does? Or am I supposed to pretend I don't know you're practically royalty in South Korea?"

Again, that directness. Jay found himself genuinely smiling.

"Technically, we do everything from semiconductors to shipping," he replied. "But that's hardly dinner conversation. I'd rather hear more about your work. Journalism must give you a unique perspective."

"Nice deflection," you noted, but allowed the conversation to shift.

For fifty-three minutes, Jay executed a perfect performance of genuine connection. He asked thoughtful questions. Shared carefully selected personal anecdotes. Displayed just enough vulnerability to seem authentic without revealing anything truly significant.

He studied your reactions, adjusting his approach subtly based on what resonated. When you responded to his dry humor, he offered more. When certain topics sparked genuine interest in your eyes, he explored them further.

A strategic seduction—but not a romantic one. He was securing an ally. Establishing a connection outside the corrupted network that had eventually destroyed him.

When his phone vibrated with a text from his mother, he allowed himself a calculated show of reluctance.

"Duty calls," he said, echoing his words from earlier in the gallery. "I've enjoyed this conversation more than you know."

"It was surprisingly pleasant," you agreed with a hint of amusement. "Despite the suspicious circumstances."

He signaled for the check. "Suspicious?"

"Wealthy heir suddenly interested in random gallery-goer? That's either the beginning of a romance novel or a cautionary tale." You smiled to soften the words. "I'm still deciding which."

Jay laughed again, caught between strategic calculation and genuine appreciation of your perception.

"Perhaps neither," he suggested. "Perhaps just two people enjoying conversation without agenda."

"Everyone has an agenda," you replied, gathering your things. "Even if they don't recognize it themselves."

How right you were. If only you knew the elaborate mental chess game he was playing, with you as a central piece.

Outside the restaurant, he made his final move of the evening—perfectly calibrated for maximum effect without seeming too eager.

"I'll be in New York for another two days," he said casually. "If you're free tomorrow evening, perhaps you could show me a part of the city tourists don't usually see. Something authentic."

The invitation was designed to appeal to your evident independence and local knowledge. To position you as the expert rather than the pursued. A subtle flattery that didn't register as manipulation.

"I might be available," you said, considering. "Depends on my deadline."

"Of course." He nodded respectfully. "You have my number. No pressure either way."

As he hailed a taxi for you, he allowed his hand to brush yours briefly—a manufactured moment of connection carefully designed to seem accidental.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he said as you stepped into the cab. "I hope to hear from you tomorrow."

You smiled through the window, giving a small wave as the taxi pulled away.

Jay watched until the taillights disappeared into Manhattan traffic, then straightened his tie and hailed his own car. His expression shifted seamlessly from warm interest to cool calculation.

Phase one: complete. You had been introduced into the equation. A new variable with the potential to disrupt the entire sequence leading to his downfall.

As his driver navigated toward Le Bernardin, Jay mentally mapped the next steps. He would need to provide his mother with enough information to satisfy her curiosity without triggering her strategic instincts. Plant seeds with his father about potential advantages of connections outside their usual network. Begin building documentation that would position you as a completely independent connection, not part of any competing corporate interest.

His phone buzzed with a message from his cousin Danny: Mom says you're acting strange. She wants intel on whoever you were talking to at the gallery.

Jay smiled tightly. The family machine was already turning its attention to this unexpected development. Exactly as he'd anticipated.

He typed back: Just making connections. Nothing significant.

Let them underestimate this move. Let them dismiss you as a casual interest, a temporary distraction.

By the time they recognized the strategic importance of what he was building, it would be too late. The timeline would be irreversibly altered.

And Jay Park would never again find himself standing alone in an empty apartment, betrayed by everyone he had trusted.

Another message appeared on his screen—this one from an unknown number.

Tomorrow, 7pm. Wear comfortable shoes and nothing that screams "I'm worth kidnapping for ransom." – Y/N

Jay allowed himself a moment of genuine satisfaction. The pieces were moving exactly as he'd calculated.

Tomorrow, the real work would begin.

-

The next evening proved Jay's instincts correct. You were indeed the perfect variable to introduce into his equation.

You arrived at the designated meeting spot in Washington Square Park wearing jeans, a well-worn leather jacket, and boots that suggested you actually walked places rather than being chauffeured. Jay had followed your instructions, trading his usual bespoke suit for dark jeans, a cashmere sweater, and shoes that would survive more than a board meeting.

"You clean up nicely," you said, appraising his attempt at casual attire. "Almost pass for a normal person."

"My greatest performance yet," he replied with a self-deprecating smile. "Where to first?"

"That depends. What's your tolerance for authenticity? Real New York isn't exactly five-star accommodations."

Jay's smile widened. "Test me."

And you did. For the next three hours, you led him through a New York he'd never seen despite countless business trips. Hidden speakeasies accessed through fake phone booths. A Ukrainian diner where the servers scowled and the food defied description but somehow tasted like memory. A rooftop garden secretly maintained by an elderly couple who'd been cultivating it since the 1970s.

Throughout the evening, Jay maintained his careful balance—genuinely enjoying himself while strategically gathering information. Your job prospects (promising but unstable). Your family situation (supportive but financially modest). Your relationship status (refreshingly unattached).

Each piece of data confirmed what he'd hoped: you were the perfect candidate. Independent enough to make your own decisions, stable enough to be reliable, ambitious enough to appreciate opportunity, and disconnected enough from his world to be safe from manipulation.

"Admit it," you said as you sat on rusty chairs atop the secret garden, city lights spread before you. "This is better than whatever fancy restaurant your family's at tonight."

"Infinitely," Jay agreed, and meant it. The evening had been unexpectedly liberating. Here, he wasn't Park Jongseong, heir and corporate prince. He was just Jay, a guy experiencing New York's hidden corners with an interesting woman. "Though my mother would need smelling salts if she saw these chairs."

You laughed, the sound still as honest as he remembered. "Why do I get the feeling you're not often allowed to just... exist? Without expectations or performance metrics?"

The observation was so accurate it momentarily disrupted his careful strategy. For a second, he considered telling you everything—the time travel, his disgrace, his desperate plan to rewrite his future.

But of course, that was impossible. Who would believe such madness?

"The privileges of my position come with corresponding obligations," he said instead, allowing a rare glimpse of genuine feeling. "My path was charted before I was born."

You studied him in the dim rooftop lighting. "And you've never considered drawing your own map?"

Jay looked out over the city, contemplating how to answer. The strategic response would be something vague but intriguing. But something about this night—about you—made him unexpectedly honest.

"I'm attempting to redraw certain sections now," he said quietly. "It's... complicated."

"Family complications or business complications? Or are they the same thing for you?"

"Inextricably intertwined," Jay confirmed. "The Parks don't separate business from family or family from business. It's all one ecosystem."

"Sounds suffocating."

"It can be," he admitted, surprising himself again with his candor. "But it's also... secure. Structured. There's comfort in knowing your role."

"Until the role becomes a cage," you observed.

The conversation was veering dangerously close to truth. Jay redirected gently.

"What about you? No family business directing your path?"

You shook your head. "Just student loans and rent directing my career choices. Not exactly the same scale of problems."

"Different cages," Jay said. "Different gilding."

A comfortable silence fell between you. Below, the city pulsed with energy—millions of lives intersecting, diverging, each on their own trajectory.

"I should probably get you back to civilization," you said eventually. "Before your security detail reports you missing."

Jay checked his watch, surprised to find it was nearly midnight. The evening had passed with unexpected swiftness.

"I've dismissed security for the night," he said, rising from the rusty chair. "But you're right, it's late. Let me walk you home."

You shook your head. "That defeats the purpose of me showing you hidden New York. I'll walk myself home like a proper New Yorker."

"At least let me get you a car."

"The subway is faster this time of night."

Jay smiled at your stubbornness. Another quality that made you ideal for his purposes. "Then I'll accompany you to the subway."

As you descended from the rooftop, Jay made his decision. The evening had confirmed everything he needed to know. You were perfect—self-sufficient, perceptive, and most importantly, unconnected to the web that would eventually try to destroy him.

It was time to set his actual plan in motion. Earlier than he'd originally calculated, but the opportunity was too perfect to ignore.

Outside the subway entrance, you turned to say goodbye. "This was surprisingly enjoyable, Just Jay. You're not at all what I expected."

"Is that a compliment?"

"An observation." Your smile took any sting from the words. "Maybe I'll see you next time you're in New York."

It was the opening he needed. Jay took a calculated breath.

"What if it were sooner than that?" he asked, carefully casual. "What if I had a proposition for you?"

Your eyebrows rose slightly. "A proposition sounds suspiciously like business."

"Perhaps a merger of interests," Jay said, watching your reaction closely.

"I'm not qualified to consult for Park Industries, if that's where this is going."

"Nothing to do with the company. This is personal." Jay paused, choosing his next words carefully. "Would you have dinner with me tomorrow? There's something I'd like to discuss that could be mutually beneficial."

Wariness crept into your expression. "That sounds ominous."

"It's not illegal or immoral," he assured you. "Just... unusual. But I think you might be the perfect person for it."

"Now I'm definitely concerned."

Jay smiled, allowing genuine warmth to show. "Trust me enough for one more dinner? If you hate the proposal, we part as friends with an interesting story about the time a Korean businessman made you a strange offer."

You studied him for a long moment. "Fine. But a public place, and I reserve the right to walk out if things get weird."

"Perfectly reasonable terms," Jay agreed. "I'll text you the details."

After you disappeared down the subway steps, Jay hailed a car back to his hotel. His mind was already composing the proposal, weighing phrases and possibilities. The timing was delicate. Too direct, and you'd be justifiably alarmed. Too vague, and you'd dismiss it as absurd.

But if presented correctly, with the right incentives and assurances...

It could work. It had to work.

-

The restaurant Jay selected for their final evening was elegant without being ostentatious. Private enough for serious conversation but public enough to meet your safety requirements. He arrived early, ensuring the perfect table—secluded but visible, with clear sightlines to exits.

You arrived precisely on time, wearing a dress that suggested you'd taken this meeting more seriously than yesterday's casual exploration. Good. It indicated you were intrigued enough to make an effort.

"I half-expected to be stood up," Jay said as you sat down.

"I considered it," you admitted. "But curiosity won out. I spent all day trying to imagine what this mysterious proposition could be."

"And your theories?"

"Either you're recruiting me for corporate espionage, or this is an elaborate setup for asking me on a real date."

Jay smiled. "Neither, though the second option is less absurd than the first."

The waiter brought menus and wine recommendations. Jay ordered for both of you—not to control, but to expedite. The sooner pleasantries were addressed, the sooner he could present his case.

Once the preliminary course was served and privacy assured, Jay leaned forward slightly.

"Before I explain, I want to establish context," he began. "My family situation is... complicated. As the heir to Park Industries, certain expectations exist regarding my personal life."

You nodded, waiting for him to continue.

"Among these is the expectation that I'll marry strategically. Someone who enhances the company's position, preferably from a compatible business family."

"Arranged marriage in the 21st century?" You raised an eyebrow. "That seems archaic."

"It's framed as 'guided choice,'" Jay explained. "But the outcome is essentially predetermined. The candidates all fit a specific profile, vetted extensively by my mother."

"And you don't want that," you guessed.

"I've seen where that path leads," Jay said carefully. "It's not favorable."

"So what does this have to do with me?"

Here was the critical moment. Jay took a measured breath.

"I'm proposing an alternative arrangement. A marriage of convenience, with clearly defined parameters and mutual benefits."

Your expression froze. "Excuse me?"

"I know how this sounds," Jay said quickly. "But please hear me out before deciding."

You sat back, arms crossed. "I'm listening, but this better be good."

"What I need is someone outside my world. Someone my mother can't manipulate or compromise. Someone with no hidden corporate agenda or family ambitions." Jay held your gaze steadily. "Someone like you."

"And what exactly would I get from this arrangement, besides the obvious headache?"

"Financial security," Jay said simply. "Complete financial independence. A generous settlement that would eliminate your student loans, housing concerns, and career pressures. You'd be free to pursue your writing without worrying about making rent."

He could see the calculation happening behind your eyes. The journalist weighing an unbelievable story.

"This would be a temporary arrangement," he continued. "Two years maximum. After which we would part amicably, with your financial future secured and my family obligations satisfied."

"You're serious," you said, realization dawning.

"Completely."

"But why me? You could find countless women willing to make this deal."

"Because you don't want anything from me except what we explicitly agree to," Jay explained. "You don't care about the Park name or legacy. You have no connection to our business rivals. You're honest, independent, and most importantly, you see me as a person, not a position."

You were silent for a long moment, processing.

"What would this arrangement involve... practically speaking?"

"A legal marriage. A public relationship that appears genuine. Attendance at certain family and business functions. Cohabitation in Seoul, though with separate living spaces." Jay outlined each point precisely. "No romantic or physical obligations whatsoever."

"And after two years?"

"A quiet divorce with a generous settlement. You return to your life with complete financial freedom. I gain time to secure my position without my mother's interference."

You studied him intently. "What aren't you telling me? This seems too... calculated."

Jay hesitated. How much could he safely reveal without sounding deranged?

"My mother is pushing me toward a specific alliance that would be disastrous," he said finally. "I need to block that move decisively. Your presence provides that blockade."

"Corporate chess using marriage pieces," you murmured.

"An apt metaphor."

The waiter arrived with the main course, forcing a pause in the conversation. Jay waited patiently as you considered his proposal.

"I'd have to move to Korea," you said finally. "Learn a new language, navigate a completely foreign business world, pretend to be in love with someone I barely know."

"All significant challenges," Jay acknowledged. "Hence the substantial compensation."

"How substantial?"

He named a figure that made your eyes widen slightly.

"Plus all living expenses, travel, and a housing allowance upon our separation," he added. "Financial security for the foreseeable future."

You took a sip of wine, buying time to think. Jay remained silent, giving you space to process.

"Why should I trust you?" you asked finally. "No offense, but this sounds like the beginning of a thriller where the protagonist never returns from Seoul."

"A valid concern." Jay reached into his jacket and removed a USB drive. "This contains a draft contract outlining everything we've discussed, plus insurance clauses to protect you. Have your own lawyer review it. Make any reasonable amendments."

He placed the drive on the table between you.

"I don't expect an answer tonight," he continued. "Take time to consider. Research me, the company, the arrangement. I'll be in New York three more days."

You didn't touch the drive. "Are you always this prepared?"

"I don't propose convenient marriages on a whim," Jay said with a hint of humor. "This is a strategic decision for both of us."

"And if I say no?"

"Then we enjoy this excellent meal, I thank you for considering it, and we part as friends with an unusual story."

You finally reached for the drive, turning it in your fingers thoughtfully.

"Two years of my life," you mused. "Pretending to be someone I'm not."

"Or two years experiencing a world few ever see from the inside," Jay countered. "With material for the book you mentioned wanting to write. And afterwards, complete freedom to pursue whatever you wish."

He could see the writer in you considering the possibilities. The practical side weighing the financial security. The cautious part still suspicious of his motives.

"I'll think about it," you said finally, slipping the drive into your purse. "That's all I can promise right now."

"That's all I ask." Jay raised his glass slightly. "To unusual propositions and careful consideration."

You hesitantly clinked your glass against his. "To whatever the hell this is."

The rest of dinner passed in lighter conversation, Jay deliberately steering away from the proposal to give you mental space. As they finished dessert, he sensed you had more questions brewing.

"Just ask," he said gently. "Whatever you're thinking."

"Why marriage?" you asked bluntly. "Why not just date someone your mother doesn't approve of until this mysterious alliance threat passes?"

A perceptive question. Jay had prepared for it.

"Because dating is easily dismissed as temporary infatuation. Marriage is definitive. It removes me completely from the candidate pool and blocks the specific alliance my mother is orchestrating."

You nodded slowly. "And there's really no romantic component to this? No hidden agenda where you're hoping for more?"

"None whatsoever," Jay assured you. "This is a business arrangement with clearly defined boundaries. Any personal friendship that develops would be separate from our agreement."

Outside the restaurant, you paused before parting ways.

"This is insane," you said, shaking your head slightly. "Completely insane."

"From a conventional perspective, yes," Jay agreed. "But sometimes unconventional solutions are necessary for unusual problems."

"I'll call you," you said. "After I've thought about it. And possibly had my head examined."

Jay smiled. "I look forward to hearing from you, whatever your decision."

As you walked away, Jay allowed himself a moment of cautious optimism. You hadn't immediately rejected the idea. You'd taken the contract. You were considering it.

Phase two: initiated.

The path to avoiding his destruction was unconventional, certainly. But with each step, each calculated move, he was redrawing the map of his future.

And for the first time since waking up five years in his past, Jay felt something akin to hope.

-

"He asked you to what?"

Priya's voice carried across the café, drawing glances from nearby tables. You winced, motioning for her to lower her volume. Two days had passed since Jay's proposal, and you'd finally broken down and called Priya. Some things were too bizarre to process alone.

"Keep it down," you hissed. "I haven't decided anything."

"Sorry," Priya whispered dramatically, leaning across the table. "But you can't drop 'Korean billionaire wants me as his contract wife' and expect normal volume control."

You stirred your coffee absently. The USB drive sat heavy in your bag, untouched since the dinner. Every time you considered plugging it in, reality reasserted itself. People didn't just get propositioned for fake marriages by corporate heirs. Not in real life.

"Maybe I imagined it," you said. "Stress-induced hallucination."

"Honey, you don't hallucinate trust fund provisions and prenuptial terms." Priya tapped the table emphatically. "And Park Industries is the real deal. My cousin works in finance and says they're basically royalty in Korea."

You sighed, glancing at your phone. Three missed calls from your editor about a deadline. Two emails from your landlord about the rent increase. A notification about your student loan payment.

Normal life, insistently demanding attention while some alternate universe beckoned from a USB drive.

"What would you do?" you asked.

Priya considered this, stirring her chai thoughtfully. "I'd wonder why me. Of all the women in New York—hell, in the world—why pick someone he met at my mediocre exhibition?"

"He said I don't want anything from him. That I see him as a person, not a position." You shrugged. "And apparently I'm not connected to any rival companies."

"That's... oddly specific." Priya frowned. "Like he's running from something."

A memory flashed—Jay on the rooftop garden, talking about redrawing sections of his path. The wistfulness in his voice when he mentioned roles becoming cages.

"Maybe he is," you murmured.

"Look, Y/N, this is either the strangest fantasy or the most interesting opportunity of your life." Priya grabbed your hand. "But either way, you should at least read the contract. Writer curiosity, if nothing else."

You nodded slowly. She was right. Whatever this was—elaborate joke, midlife crisis, legitimate offer—you couldn't make a decision without information.

"What about Seoul?" you asked, voicing one of the hundred practical concerns cycling through your mind. "My life is here."

"Your life is a studio apartment with questionable plumbing and editor who underpays you," Priya said bluntly. "Seoul has universal healthcare and a subway system that actually works."

"And a language I don't speak."

"And a completely fresh start, financial security, and material for that book you've been talking about writing since college." Priya squeezed your hand. "I'm not saying do it. I'm saying don't dismiss it without considering the insane possibility that this fever dream might actually be real."

Your phone pinged—a text from Jay:

No pressure on your decision. But if you'd like to discuss further, I'll be at the same restaurant tonight at 8. Whether you come or not, I enjoyed our time together.

Priya peered at the message. "Polite. Not pushy. Gives you space." She raised an eyebrow. "For a corporate shark offering a fake marriage, he's surprisingly... decent?"

"That's what makes this so confusing," you admitted. "He seems genuine, even when discussing something completely manufactured."

"Maybe that's why he thinks you'd be good at this. You're both honest about the dishonesty." Priya sat back. "So, are you going tonight?"

You stared at your phone, the mundane world of deadlines and bills momentarily suspended as you considered stepping further into whatever alternate reality Jay Park occupied.

"I guess I'll start by reading the contract," you said finally.

Priya grinned. "That's my practical journalist. Verify, then trust."

"I didn't say I trust him," you protested.

"Honey, you wouldn't have called me if you weren't already halfway to saying yes."

You opened your mouth to argue, then closed it again. She wasn't entirely wrong.

Whatever this was—fever dream or opportunity—you couldn't shake the feeling that Jay Park had seen something in you that even you hadn't recognized. Something valuable enough to upend both your worlds.

And despite every rational objection, part of you wanted to find out what it was.

-

After accepting Jay's proposal, everything moved quickly, but not without moments that made you question the purely contractual nature of your arrangement.

The first time you caught yourself actually looking at Jay—not as your contractual fiancé but as a man—was during a video call about logistics. He'd just finished a workout, answering your call in a fitted t-shirt damp with sweat, hair disheveled in a way you'd never seen before.

"Sorry for my appearance," he'd said, seemingly unaware of how the thin fabric clung to his chest and shoulders, revealing a physique usually hidden beneath perfect tailoring.

"It's fine," you'd replied, fighting to keep your eyes on his face rather than the defined muscles visible through his shirt. "We were just discussing flight details, right?"

You'd blamed your distraction on the strangeness of the situation. Just a natural reaction to an objectively attractive man. Nothing more.

-

Your Korean lessons began three weeks after you'd accepted his proposal. The language was challenging, but Jay insisted on joining occasionally, his pronunciation impeccable as he demonstrated sounds your English-trained mouth struggled to form.

"Fuck," you muttered one evening, dropping your head to the table after another failed attempt at a particularly difficult honorific. "I'm never going to get this right."

Jay looked up from his laptop, eyebrows raised. "I've never heard you swear before."

"I'm usually more professional," you admitted. "But this language is kicking my ass."

He closed his computer and moved to the chair beside you. "Try again. It's all in the tongue placement."

You made another attempt, mangling the syllables spectacularly.

"No, like this." Jay demonstrated slowly, exaggerating the mouth movement. You found yourself staring at his lips, noticing their perfect shape, the way the bottom one was slightly fuller than the top.

After your third failure, he sighed. "May I?" he asked, gesturing toward your face.

You nodded, not entirely sure what he was asking permission for.

He reached out, placing his thumb gently against your lower lip. "You need to press your tongue here, behind your teeth, not against your palate."

Heat surged through you at the unexpected contact. His thumb lingered, moving slightly against your lip as he demonstrated the position. Your eyes locked, and something shifted in his expression.

"Try again," he said softly, his voice lower than before.

You attempted the word, hyperaware of his fingers still resting lightly against your jaw.

"Better," he murmured, his eyes dropping to your mouth. "Almost there."

The air between you thickened. His hand should have moved away by now. It hadn't.

"Jay," you said, barely audible. Not a question, just an acknowledgment of whatever was happening.

For a moment, you thought he might lean in. Instead, he blinked and withdrew his hand, clearing his throat.

"That's enough for today," he said briskly, returning to his original seat. "You're making progress."

But that night, alone in your room, you caught yourself touching your own lip where his thumb had been, replaying the moment when his professional demeanor had briefly cracked.

-

Three weeks in, during dinner at a restaurant in Tribeca, Jay brought up the public aspects of your arrangement.

"We need to discuss how we'll appear as a couple," he said, his tone practical but not cold. "Physical boundaries. Forms of address."

"Like pet names?" you asked, taking a sip of wine.

"Exactly." He seemed relieved you understood. "In Korea, especially in my position, excessive public displays would seem inappropriate. But certain... intimacies are expected between engaged couples."

"So hand-holding, yes. Making out in boardrooms, no." Your joke earned a genuine smile from him.

"Precisely." He hesitated, then added with uncharacteristic uncertainty, "And regarding names..."

"What do people usually call you? Besides Jay or Mr. Park?"

His expression shifted subtly. "My mother calls me Jongseong. Business associates use Mr. Park. No one has ever used anything... affectionate."

The admission felt strangely vulnerable coming from him.

"What would you be comfortable with?" you asked.

His eyes met yours directly. "I've always thought 'babe' or 'baby' seemed... nice. Natural." The words seemed difficult for him to say, as if admitting to a secret preference. "But only if it feels comfortable for you."

The request surprised you – this controlled, strategic man wanting something so ordinary, so human.

"I can try that," you said, watching as relief softened his features. "Might take practice to say it without feeling weird, though."

"We have time to practice," he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

-

Shopping for your new wardrobe didn't happen in a fairy tale montage. Instead, it involved practical discussions of events you'd attend, climate considerations, and cultural norms.

"These social signifiers matter to my family," Jay explained as you examined a designer dress that cost more than your rent. "But your comfort matters to me."

"To our arrangement," you corrected gently.

He paused, meeting your eyes. "Yes. And to me personally."

The statement hung between you, neither acknowledged nor dismissed as you continued through the high-end boutique. The personal shopper brought Jay a selection of suits to try as well, and despite your best intentions, you found yourself watching as he emerged from the fitting room in each new outfit.

The last one—a charcoal gray suit cut to perfection—made you momentarily forget the contract entirely. The tailor knelt, making adjustments to the trousers while Jay stood in front of a three-way mirror. The jacket emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, the tailored pants fitting perfectly across his ass.

You didn't realize you were staring until Jay's eyes met yours in the mirror, one eyebrow raising slightly. You quickly looked away, heat rising to your cheeks at being caught.

When you glanced back, the corner of his mouth had lifted in a small, satisfied smile.

-

Your parents were understandably shocked by the engagement announcement. The video call with them and Jay could have been disastrous, but he navigated it with surprising warmth.

"I understand this seems sudden," he told them, his formal demeanor softened. "I value your daughter's independence and perspective. Those qualities are rare in my world."

Later, alone, your mother had texted: "He's careful with his words around you. Watches how you react. Not sure if that's good or concerning."

"Still deciding," you'd replied honestly.

Six weeks after your agreement, you found yourself helping Jay pack for Seoul in his hotel suite, the reality of what you'd committed to finally sinking in.

"Second thoughts?" he asked, noticing your silence.

"Seventh or eighth, at least," you admitted.

You expected a strategic reassurance. Instead, he sat beside you on the edge of the bed, not touching but close.

"I have them too," he said quietly. "This arrangement... it's unusual for both of us."

"You seem so certain about everything."

"I'm certain about what I'm avoiding," he clarified. "Less certain about what we're building."

The honesty was refreshing. Not romance, but genuine transparency.

"Let's try something," you suggested. "Just to see how it feels."

He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

You cleared your throat, feeling slightly ridiculous. "Could you pass me that folder... babe?"

The pet name hung awkwardly between you. Jay blinked, then a small, genuine smile formed.

"Here you go," he replied, handing you the folder, then hesitating before adding a tentative, "...babe."

You both laughed at the strangeness of it, the tension breaking.

"That was terrible," you admitted.

"Catastrophic," he agreed, his eyes crinkling with genuine amusement. "But it will get easier."

It was the first time you'd seen him truly laugh. Something shifted subtly between you – not love or even attraction necessarily, but the foundation of something human and real beneath the contractual arrangement.

Eight weeks after the proposal, you boarded his family's private jet bound for Seoul.

As the plane leveled off, Jay handed you a thin folder. "Key family members and dynamics. Not a test, just preparation."

You nodded, grateful for his understanding that you wanted to succeed at this, whatever "this" was becoming.

"Thank you," you said. Then, after a moment's hesitation, added, "...baby."

It still felt strange, but less forced. Jay's expression softened in response.

"You're welcome," he replied, his voice warm in a way it hadn't been during those first calculated conversations weeks ago.

Neither of you were in love. That wasn't part of the contract. But as the plane carried you toward Seoul, there was a growing sense that whatever performance awaited might be built on something more substantial than just legal terms.

Not romance, not yet. But a partnership forming its own unique shape – part strategy, part genuine connection, and all uncharted territory.

-

Arriving in Seoul felt like stepping into another dimension. A fleet of black SUVs with tinted windows. Security personnel with earpieces. Photographers kept at a careful distance by a team of efficient PR staff.

"Ready?" Jay asked quietly, his hand finding yours as the plane door opened.

You nodded, though "ready" seemed an absurd concept for what awaited.

The moment you stepped onto Korean soil, Jay transformed—his posture impeccable, his smile exactly the right blend of pride and discretion. His arm slid around your waist, protective but not possessive.

"Perfect," he murmured, his lips close to your ear. "Just like that."

The performance had begun.

to be continued.

-

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[magicpiano]

Bruce Wayne had a child that was somehow kidnapped right out of the hospital just hours after being born. He of them ever stopped looking despite how cold the trail had grown.

Years later there is some rouge attack and a civilian child was injured and taken to the hospital. Bruce does a DNA test on the blood found at the scene and concludes that the child is actually his long lost kid.

Dani was planning to sneak out of the hospital the moment the doctors stopped looking at her. Then Bruce Wayne of all people comes in and claims that she is his long lost child. She knows that this is very impossible because she is a clone, but Bruce won't listen to her and she really doesn't want to explain the clone thing to a "normal" stranger.

This does brings up a lot of questions about how Danny ended up living with the Fentons though.

[shmooseee]

Jason stray/catlad au

[deikshen]

Well, he (user: HeavenlyPillar666) is just a guy who only reads a webnovel out of boredom after his martial arts classes and finds himself unfortunately trapped- the plot is uninteresting in the first instance, the descriptions are long and absurd (SERIOUSLY, FIVE PARAGRAPHS TO DESCRIBE A DAMN PLANT? TEN PARAGRAPHS TO DESCRIBE A MONSTER? More action scenes than dialogue!? Who the hell is that IcedBlueBeast and why the hell does he insist on making everything SO DENSE AND SLOW?), but... one of his characters? DEFINITELY HIS FAVORITE CHARACTER IN THAT HORRIBLE WORLD. HIS MISUNDERSTOOD BLORBO. HIS BELOVED.

In a summary not summarized, a story about two twin brothers who were separated at birth, and both found their way to cultivation world in different ways. Reunited first like disciples and then Peak Lords of different peaks of the same sect, suddenly, the brother who remained with his wealthy family - Shen Yuan - was seen as something of a villain for having had kind and lovely parents, a home and an education, always portrayed as the spoiled rich kid who bought his way into the Sect, while the REAL SCUM VILLAIN ACCORDING TO HEAVENLYPILLAR666, that bitch Shen Jiu who was stolen from his family and raised as a slave and then on the streets, ended with basically a harem of peak lords, fanning himself with his fourth-rate victim role.

And the rest of that pathetic novel it's just... shit full of dramas, betrayal and eternal descriptions being an ode to finding the hundreds of ways in which Shen Yuan's inherent kindness was misinterpreted as manipulation, judged and accused of wanting to do something bad just because he comes from a rich and well-off background.

And how it should be fair after all that gaslighting and psychological torture, Shen Yuan finally agree with them!

Crack under the pressure and the mistreatment of everyone, he just decide that if everyone thought he was a villain, then he was one!!

Allying with the demons first as an informant spy and then rising to power among the court, he ended up being something like a emperor-demonic cultivator eager for revenge and proving that no matter where he came from, he would show them what he was capable of! If the Cang Qiong Mountain Sect believed that a powerful cultivator was only forged through hard work and suffering, look at him now!

So all that good revenge plot would go to shit with Shen Yuan start to fucking monsters in scenes that were almost fade to black despite the deep descriptions and CHEMISTRY between the passionate Shen Yuan and the mythical creatures to have more power for the revenge that never seemed to come... To end with a completely unsatisfying shitty ending in which Shen Yuan gave up his revenge for filial love and the power of forgiveness, giving his own life to save his fucking damnit brother's life!

Where was the cruel revenge?! The taking over of the world?! HeavenlyPillar666 is RAGING, more than anyone else in all those damn comments!! Dumbfuck author, dumbfuck novel!!!!!

...

Yea, the user HeavenlyPillar666 shouldn't have said that while choking on his damn glass of water. It's not that he thinks he could die by drowning in a glass of water, LITERALLY. That's ridiculous. It's the height of ridiculousness.

But now he is dead, and he has transmigrated into one of Shen Yuan's less filial disciples who would ultimately be the person who would hurt him the most when he turned his back on him, after having been practically raised and adored by Shen Yuan, this damn disciple who always treating his Shizun with contempt and disdain knowing his invented reputation, but despite that, he was so dear to Shen Yuan who more than once was capable of putting himself at risk for him...

No, nothing like that!! No more of that trash!!! Shen Yuan deserves MORE, and the one who now is Luo Binghe is going to make sure Shen Yuan has all of it. A happy ending, a filial disciple, someone to count on, someone to stand up for him when no one else will. Someone by his side when he decides to destroy the cultivation world, someone to HELP HIM DO IT AND GET REVENGE ON ALL THOSE ASSHOLES SONS OF A B-

If only that fucking System would stop yelling at him for being OOC. Luo Binghe already knows!!! Fuck you System!! He's not going to respond that rudely to his Shizun, he is a beautiful little sun, what's wrong with you!?

[hongjoongspoetry]

Pretend You Love Me | Choi Jongho

🥂 Summary: Jongho, heir to Choi Clothes, and you are soulmates marked by each other’s names on your wrists since birth. Instead of a fairy-tale romance, you’re stuck in a fake dating contract to restore Jongho’s tarnished image created by scandals. As you navigate public events and play the part of a cute couple, the lines between fake and real blur together. Despite your undeniable chemistry, you refuse to take him seriously due to his reckless past. As the arrangement nears its end, you must confront the truth about your feelings and whether you can move beyond the contract.

🥂 Pairing(s): Badboy!Jongho x Student!Reader

🥂 Genres/Tropes: Soulmate AU, non-idol AU, fake dating AU, fluff, humour

🥂 Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), the MC goes by the lastname Jeong, Jongho is a rich kid, the MC not so, Jongho smokes and rides a motorcycle, light alcohol consumption, a lot of teasing, pet names (pretty girl, soulmate, sweetheart & Jjong), probably incorrect portrayal of CEOs and charity events (bare with me, i'm just a girl), some kissing, adult language

🥂 Wordcount: 9.0K

🥂 Author's Note: Click the image for a higher resolution (Tumblr, I hate you). This is my first time ever writing for Jongho and also the fastest I’ve finished a fic — just 4 days, to be exact! It was a lot of fun playing around with the soulmate idea and turning Jongho into a bad-boy-ish character. I hope you all enjoy the second fic of the Cherry Blossom March Event and feel brave enough to share your thoughts with me! I'm really curious to hear what you think and have to say :3

This is all fiction and not meant to represent any idols involved in any way or form. This work is rated SFW, however it contains explicit scenes, not sexual content but descriptions of matures themes and adult language. Minors, please, read at your own risk and refrain from interacting or following my blog!

AO3 Masterpost Moodboard Event taglist

To go out with people widely. It could mean all sorts of things. A person whose presence spreads widely. Someone who possesses the ability to form broad connections and reach far with their impact, whether it be through influence, relationships or personal qualities. To go out with people widely was the meaning behind the chosen hanja of the name Choi Jongho. The same name that was imprinted on your wrist since birth in black and reminded you daily of your other half. Everyone was born with a name on their wrist that assigned them to a soulmate the moment they entered the world. All you had to go by was the names on your wrists and hope it would be someone sane. Everyone didn’t have to worry about that though as some faced a fate worse than death — their soulmate mark written in white. It symbolized the death of their significant other. One would think the word would change into red, like anger and blood, but no. You liked to think the white represented innocence, cleanliness and new beginnings, almost like an angel. 

Your soulmate mark was the same since you were welcomed to the world. Wailing loudly and alerting everyone of your arrival. It hadn’t changed over the course of your twenty-five years long life, for better or for worse. Ever since you could remember, you loved listening to the stories of how people met their soulmates. At family gatherings, you would sit on the knee of your relatives and ask them kindly to retell the moment they met their husbands or wives, but your favorite story was always your parents'.

It was a few days before New Years and both of your parents just recently turned eighteen. The biggest snowfall of the year graced Seoul, like a late Christmas miracle, and the streets were swarmed with people enjoying the freezing weather, young and old alike. Your parents hadn’t known each other by then. They lived in the same neighbourhood, but weren’t aware of just how close they were to their soulmates. Your mother, young and happy, gazed up at the snowflakes being pulled by gravity when something cold and hard struck her, followed by horrified gasps. She crouched down, cradling her head, gently pressing against the side where the snowball had hit. A few seconds later, a young man approached her, apologizing and bowing so deeply that he nearly toppled over. It was your father who had launched the snowball at his friend, misaiming and hitting your mother instead.

Little you hoped to experience a romantic encounter with your soulmate as your parents did. You would stay up way past your bedtime and fantasize of meeting your soulmate, coming up with various scenarios that changed every night, but nothing could prepare you for the surge of emotions when your eyes locked. It was your first day of high school and all of the first year students were gathered in the gymnasium, patiently waiting for the principal to call out their names and their respective classes. You sat in the fifth row on the seventh seat, hands clutching the hem of your blue plaid skirt. It was nerve wracking — starting high school, meeting new people and creating friends. Then there was the possibility of finding the one. The principal cleared his throat, probably getting dried from pronouncing all the names right after each other. You pitied him, but that sentiment flew out the window as he moved onto your class. Out of all the three hundred first years and out of your thirty classmates, one of them was named—

“Choi Jongho!” You burst into his office, letting the door bounce off the wall. 

The secretary, frantically chasing after you with desperate pleas not to disturb the designated successor of Choi Clothes, stood in the doorway, her face twisted in a mix of fear and nervousness as she failed at her job. Successor, my ass. That man didn’t know anything beyond smoking a pack of Marlboros a day, dodging his responsibilities, and defying his parents. The man in question was currently sitting behind his desk, one ankle propped on his knee, fully decked out in Valentino — a black suit that was probably bespoke, tailored to his fitting. His hair, a natural shade of dark cocoa, was parted down the middle and showcased his forehead while his hands were decorated with various pieces of jewelry, starting with big fat rings on his fingers, a golden watch and a matching bracelet. Jongho didn’t look the least phased by your appearance nor by the loud entrance. In fact, he looked as monotone as ever, but you saw the brief twitch of his fingers. While he was at the company, he wasn’t allowed to take a smoke until lunch or after work and it sure was getting to him.

“Miss Jeong,” came the annoying voice of his secretary as she began reciting the script drilled into her mind from her first day on the clock. “Mr. Choi’s schedule is fully booked this afternoon and he does not have the time to discuss–”

The rest of her sentence was drowned out as you zeroed in on Jongho and raised a brow, silently challenging him to do something. On cue, the stone cold expression morphed into sunlight seeping through an array of thunderous clouds as he broke out in a charming smile and averted his attention to the woman behind you still going on about rules and policies. Gentle as a breeze and with a faux sweetness to his words, he cut her off. 

“It’s alright, Eunij. I called her over to plan our date for the evening. We won’t be long, I promise.”

To really secure the win, Jongho flashed her his significant gummy smile that looked sweeter than sugar itself. Jongho knew he was good looking, you knew he was good looking, everyone knew he was good looking, but what they didn’t know was that he used it to his advantage for years. He would flash them a smile warm enough to melt through ice and cheesing eyes that portrayed the sweetest chocolate in the world, but his mouth wasn’t just good for a handsome distraction. More often than not, Jongho would sweet talk his way out of situations. It worked nine out of ten times. The one time it didn’t work was on you.

As expected, Eunji blushed beneath his attentive gaze and your insides turned on fire. The swirls of his name on your skin burned hotter than a blowtorch and no ice bath would save you from the stinging pain. She threw you one last look before closing the door with a gentle click that could barely be heard in the silent room. Being left alone in the solitude of his office and away from the prying eyes of his father’s employees, Jongho allowed the sugary facade to slip like cotton candy dissolving at a brief contact with water. The round eyes of a teddy didn’t find you, but rather a pair belonging to a hungry bear who’s just had his territory disturbed.

Jongho clasped his fingers together and leaned on the mahogany desk, putting his whole weight on it. “I take it you didn’t come here to give me chocolates for White Day?”

Hadn’t you known Jongho for a decade or so, you’d be confused at the teasing remark coming from a man looking anything but in the mood for playing around. You ignored the butterflies fluttering against your stomach and got straight to the point, hoping it would calm the beautiful creatures pushing you to the brink of puking.

“Why did you agree to attend the charity event on my behalf?”

“Because you’re my girlfriend?” 

“Fake-girlfriend,” you corrected him and crossed your arms. “I can’t just change my life to accommodate yours, Jongho, this wasn’t the deal. The contract explicitly said we would be under a fake guise until your name was cleared of rumours and scandals.”

“And how do you think that would happen if we don’t play the part of a happy couple? I can’t go on my own, that tells them I’m more available than ever before, especially when we recently went public with the relationship.”

You yielded under his intense gaze and changed the direction of your attention on the shelf to your left displaying various brands of alcohol ranging from pricey Japanese whiskey to Italian wine. The inside of your cheek was caught between your teeth as you contemplated your answer. He had a point, but you didn’t want to boost his already hugemongous ego. Darting your tongue out to lick at your dry lips, you turned back and found his eyes still staring into the depths of your soul as if searching for the red string that tied you together.

“Just��� Just ask me next time before you make a decision on your own, okay? That’s all I want.”

The need to defy everyone and everything danced through his veins, yet the rewarding feeling of succeeding to annoy the other party wasn’t as satisfying when you were on the receiving end this time. He flexed his jaw and the hand that slipped beneath the table to rest on his thigh clenched into a tight fist. 

“Fine…” 

“Thank you.” 

That marked the end of your conversation and you took it as your cue to leave. Jongho’s voice calling out your name brought you to a stop. You didn’t let go of your hold on the doorknob, just turned slightly to show him you were listening.

“We’ll pick you up at six PM on Friday and I’ll have Eunji send you the clothes before then.” As if having the ability to read your mind, he quickly added what felt like the most obvious thing in the world. “And yes, the dress is long sleeved.”

That was probably the sole good thing with the contract, besides the paycheck that sold you in the first place. You weren’t picky with the arrangement and went along with everything stated in the agreement — going on a few dates for publicity, holding hands, kissing, posting each other on social media, attending events and galas. Wearing clothes created by Choi Clothes came with the duty of fake-dating the heir of said agency, however you did make it clear you’d only sign the papers if all the clothes were long sleeved, reaching well over your wrist as not to disclose the soulmate mark. The easy money you once thought you’d earn by fake-dating the successor of Choi Clothes turned into a full-time job with no room for slacking off. Just a few more months, you thought and walked out of Choi Enterprises. 

It was still hard to wrap your head around everything. You recalled the day they came knocking on your door. A woman and man dressed in expensive clothes that seemed to cost more than the will your parents set aside for you. They introduced themselves as the managers of Mr. and Mrs. Choi, the owners of Choi Clothes. The ice tea you poured in the prettiest set of china you owned were left untouched as the managers — the names you have long since forgotten — explained their unexpected visit. The Chois selected you as the perfect candidate for their little stunt to ensure their son wouldn’t put the entire family line at shame and burn the whole establishment to the ground before he could even acquire the title as CEO. 

Your task was, more or less, to be the candy glued to Jongho’s side and together play the part of a couple head over heels for each other. The pair was patient as you bombarded them with questions, meanwhile they only had three — Do you have a soulmate, have you met your soulmate and how is your criminal record? The quiet voice in the back of your mind pointed out how they probably already had the answers, but didn’t want to seem totally uninterested in you.

At first, you didn’t want to do it. Not only were you going to play pretend for a good few months, but you weren’t even allowed to know who you were going to fake-date as they didn’t want you to decline the offer and run your mouth to a newspaper publisher. The fountain pen with gold swirling engravings on its sides looked scary as it lay abandoned beside the pristine contract. That quickly changed when you saw the never ending zeroes slothed after the word ‘total salary’. Your morning shift at the closest seven-eleven that was about to start in thirty minutes flashed before your eyes and you never signed something as fast as you did that contract.

Perhaps you would’ve said no if you knew the heir was going to be none else than your soulmate. The universe worked in miraculous ways and somehow always made sure to lead you back to him. A magnetic pull that steered you in every direction until you would stand before him again.

The weekend came around and so did the event taking place that Saturday afternoon. It would be marked as your second public outing as a couple feeding into the eager eyes and cameras of South Korea. Mr. Oh, Jongho’s designated driver, pulled up in a squeaky clean limousine that looked more out of place than a kitten raised by a group of squirrel monkeys in the Amazon rainforest. Mr. Oh was a kind older man inching closer and closer to his retirement, always wearing a smile and never speaking without referring to others by their titles. In the few and brief encounters you had with the man, he would always greet you with a ‘Hello, Ms. Jeong’ while opening the rear door for you despite being told to just call you by your name. The backseat was already occupied by Jongho sitting in yet another expensive suit.

The suit jacket was black with white tiger-like stripes erupting from his shoulders and reaching all the way down to his midsection. It had six silver buttons, two for practical use while the rest were there for embellishment. Jongho — never one keen on showing too much — chose to keep the jacket buttoned and you wondered how he could endure it, considering he wore a white turtleneck beneath. The pattern wasn’t what caught the eye of the beholder, rather it was the millions of bedazzles covering the whole piece, making it reflect beneath any form of light, identical to the ones on your dress. His hair was styled in a middle part and unveiled his forehead, a sight you had seen a dozen times before, but were still left breathless. It was already established that Jongho was a handsome man, however the suits created by his parents certainly brought out the best of him — accentuating his confidence, breathtaking features and magnetic presence in a way that left everyone in awe. 

Jongho brought you back to reality as he did a rundown of the charity event, what questions to expect and what answers to give, the names of some important people you would definitely speak — or at least greet — with tonight and who would exit the limousine first. You definitely missed the way his eyes ran over your figure, seemingly appreciating you in a beautiful dress from the latest spring collection of his parents. The Chois apparently had a knack for chic attires because your dress wasn’t anything over the top either, but would definitely unscrew some jaws. It was strapless and started from your bosom with a straight neckline allowing your collarbones to be captured by the crazy shuttering cameras. The dress was tight around your torso, giving a perfect picture of your figure beneath, but grew loose from your hips and down. The material didn’t stop until it grazed the ground you walked on, despite wearing a pair of black stiletto heels that were made for your feet and clicked with each step you took, announcing your arrival to everyone in a close vicinity.

Speaking of your lower body — your left leg was exposed as a long slit protruded from your upper thigh. Both of your arms were covered in black detachable sleeves reaching up to your mid bicep and cuffing around the cushion of your hand. You almost threw a fit when you took out the dress from its gigantic box and noticed the lack of sleeves on it. You were one phone call away from canceling the whole agreement hadn’t you seen the remaining parts of the attire.  To top it off, the Chois gifted you a set of golden jewelry and a black clutch handbag spacious enough to fit your phone, lipstick and wallet. The matching set of earrings, rings and necklace were nothing too outstanding, but enough to take on the elegance of a model.

“We’ll be there for an hour or two and then Mr. Oh will take you home.”

You ignored the part where it was stated Mr. Oh was taking you home and focused on his subtle slip-in of defying his parents’ rules yet again. Your brows furrowed together and Jongho suppressed the need to even out the skin between them. “No, Mr. and Mrs. Choi explicitly said we had to be there until the very end of the event.”

Jongho leaned into his seat and spread his legs further apart until one of his knees touched your thigh. A chuckle void of amusement filled the passenger compartment and he sighed as if you said the joke of the century.

“I think you should relax a little, sweetheart. My parents should be grateful I’m attending in the first place.”

You pursed your lips to keep yourself from giving your input where it clearly wasn’t wished for. Jongho looked out of the window while you admired his side profile. Jongho was the epitome of a whiplash — you never knew when he’d shake you off like a poisonous insect or help you fly as if you were an injured ladybug. His nonchalance left a bitter tang on your tongue, the similar taste after downing a beer you knew you’d puke back up in a few hours, and the imaginary Jongho was crushed in the world you created in your brain.

The karma of thinking such thoughts was instantaneous as the skin beneath your soulmate mark flared to life. You wondered if Jongho experienced repercussions whenever he was treating you badly. The rest of the drive was done in silence safe for the newest global hits playing through the speakers. Four songs later and the limousine temporarily came to a stop before the entrance of a big building looking like something straight out of a movie. A red carpet was rolled out from the doors to the street where everyone’s ride was instructed to stop and let the guests out. Mr. Oh exited first and walked around the oblong vehicle as Jongho simultaneously fixed his suit although it was free of any imperfections.

“It’s showtime, baby.”

The door opened and Jongho stepped out, an array of flashes went off accompanied by the calls of his name — the photographers begging for a crumb of his attention. Jongho straightened his jacket, offered everyone a smile and quick wave before holding out his hand to face the dark heavens. That was your cue. No one really knew who you were outside of being Jongho’s girlfriend and even after you became public, they could find little to no information about you online. Thus, you didn’t expect the clicking of cameras and flashes to multiply in your presence. You grabbed Jongho’s hand per your agreement and stepped out with your exposed leg first then, when you fully exited the limousine — an upgrade from Jongho’s death trap of a motorcycle — you smoothly looped your arm through his and firecrackers erupted on your skin at the contact.  You stood tall and got a couple of inches on him thanks to the heels, but he didn’t seem bothered by it and neither was the company otherwise you doubt they would’ve sent it in the first place.

Standing in the centre of attention wasn’t as nauseating as you originally thought it would be and whether you want to admit it or not, it was partially because of Jongho being there to anchor you. It wasn’t his forthe to whisper sweet words of encouragement, but he portrayed his support in other ways such as leading you through the overwhelming photographers, sneaking his arm around your waist and respectfully resting his palm above the curve of your hip. It helped that you rehearsed the events of the night from start to finish with Jongho and wouldn’t be in for a surprise. Taking advice from your favorite childhood movie, you put on the brightest smile of your career and moved along. The audience didn’t need to know you were finding comfort in the famous line from Madagascar. 

The inside of the venue was prettier than any other interior you had ever laid eyes on. To be frank, it wasn’t anything exceptional, but the simplicity made it appear so. The main colors of the theme were creme white and beige, and were integrated into everything. The seats were plush chairs made out of velvet material in an ashy shade of beige while the tables were round with white marble tops. There was a path leading straight down the area and separating the room into two occupied with seats on both sides. On the other end of the pathway was a slightly elevated scene where the hosts of the event and guests would give their speeches, and use the smartboard to their liking. The ceiling was the most alluring sight though. Oblong light bulbs hung from the ceiling as sheer garment circled the light in waves. It gave a sense of elegance as well as coziness. 

A waiter dressed in a simple black suit offered you champagne on a platter and while you didn’t wish to become drunk, you still needed some alcohol to get through the night, especially when you were going to meet some of Choi Clothes’ most trusted business partners. You both took a glass each and mingled around with Jongho’s arm still glued to you as if it belonged right above the swell of your hip. Not many words, if any at all, were exchanged as you mainly drank in the design of the place while simultaneously ignoring the stares and whispers of the remaining guests, all eyes glued to your forms fitting perfectly with one another like two lost pieces of a puzzle. They were all curious about the pretty lady beneath Jongho’s arm and how the reckless Choi managed to find a girl that would look past his bad habits and disrespectful personality. If only they knew. 

Jongho’s situation wasn’t entirely a secret. Everyone knew he was somewhat of a problematic guy with another style of living that wasn’t fit to his parents’ standard. They didn’t feel all too proud waking up to multiple articles of Dispatch flaunting pictures taken of Jongho leaving clubs early in the morning surrounded by boys and girls of all kinds, certainly not the kind to be invited to exclusive fashion events and charities. Jongho hadn’t changed much over the years, if you recalled correctly. He would rarely be present during lectures. He was physically there, but his mind had transcended off to dreamland long before the lesson started. The one interest he had was soccer and even that ended shortly into his second year as he got with the wrong crowd. If someone needed him, he could be found smoking on the roof or behind the back of the school with a handful of students who also had successful parents.

It was sheer luck Jongho was an only child and that his parents were in need of a successor, otherwise he would’ve been kicked to the curb a long time ago. Apparently, the Chois grew sick of his careless behaviour and gave him an ultimatum — clean up his mess or not be signed as an heir to the company. Jongho defied them like always, until his credit card ran empty and he realized his parents wouldn’t relent. He came crawling back with his tail between his legs and agreed to their proposition. You never understood him or why he acted the way he did. He had everything, practically born with a silver spoon in his mouth and it amazed you that the universe decided to tie your souls to each other. Jongho certainly wasn’t the soulmate you expected and your meeting wasn’t anywhere near the romantic encounter your parents experienced.

“Let’s take a seat before the aunties swammer us,” he whispered in your ear and led you to a table with a gentle nudge to the small of your back. 

The touch sent plausible tingles of electricity up your spine and the intensity never wavered even when he withdrew his hand to pull out your chair for you — a great play to showcase his inner gentleman. He took his righteous place on your right side, but immediately regretted it. His ploy of escaping the aunties proved to be futile as Mrs. Kang, a good business partner of Jongho’s paternal grandparents, butted into your table and plopped down on the vacant seat beside you despite her name not being on the list and began shooting invasive questions. The older lady wanted to know everything about you — your age, name, workplace, how you knew Jongho, who your soulmate was, if you and Jongho were soulmates. She pulled on the imaginary rubber band attached to Jongho’s wrist until it snapped and rebounded against his skin.

“Mrs. Kang, don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

The chatter around the table quieted down at Jongho’s sharp reply and you acted quickly to ease the tension. You placed your hand over his and gave it a firm squeeze. The motion averted his attention from Mrs. Kang to your stern gaze. A silent conversation ensued between you.

“Stop.”

“She’s the one who started it.”

“I don’t care. It won’t look good for you or your parents.”

Jongho eventually gave in and leaned back in his chair. The sudden cold shoulder on his part was him telling you he wasn’t pleased with the outcome. Not like you cared. Yes, your part of the deal was to be his fake-girlfriend, but you couldn’t just let him do as he wished to the people around him as it would reflect a bad light on you too. 

“Welcome everyone to the Fashion For Aid charity event aimed at assisting children in group homes! I want to express my sincere gratitude to everyone for attending on this fine evening…” 

The host was a man in his late sixties with a head full of hair and face clean of any. You weren’t paying much attention to what he was saying as you weren’t well versed into the fashion world, but you did your best to at least look immersed in his speech. The man to your right wasn’t looking any more interested than you did and actually managed to sit through the first five minutes of the opening ceremony, until he got bored. After that, he played a game of what-could-Jongho-do-to-annoy-his-soulmate-in-the-fastest-way-possible? He did everything to get on your nerves — drumming his fingers against the edge of the table, staring at you then looking away when you met his gaze, loudly cracking his neck and fingers, and frequently checked his phone. The moment the host finished his lengthy speech and encouraged everyone to visit the table full of sweets and drinks placed on both sides of the room, Jongho jumped from his seat, hand already reaching into the inner pocket of his suit.

“If you’ll excuse me, a man’s gotta use the bathroom.”

“Jongho!” You hissed after him, but he either didn’t hear you or blatantly ignored you. As you moved to follow him, an inkling feeling telling you the bathroom was the last place he was headed for, a wrinkly hand landed on your thigh and successfully stopped you from going after him.

“Oh, honey, it is not worth stressing over him. Youngsters like that boy don’t change and he won’t do it even with a beautiful lady by his side.”

A bucket of water spilled over you and froze all forty-three muscles in your face. You somehow managed to force the corners of your mouth up and fake a smile, but the sincerity was not evident in your eyes.

“I, uhm, don’t want him to change. Really.” You added in the end as Mrs. Kang raised a brow in non-belief. “I like Jongho as he is and I don’t think he needs to change to fit in other people's crowded boxes.”

“If you say so, dear, but… if you’re interested, I have a nephew your age who would suit you much better than Mr. Choi.” She turned in her seat and scanned the crowd for said nephew. A fire lit beneath your chair as she began waving him over.

“Oh, Mrs. Kang, that's not necessary.” The reassuring words fell on deaf ears — literally — and although you weren’t too keen on lying, you already had one rich kid to look after. “I think I heard Jongho calling for me, I’ll be right back!”

Jongho was in fact not calling you over. Jongho was gone, disappeared into thin air and abandoned you in a room full of strangers. It would be a miracle if he hadn’t asked Mr. Oh to drive him someplace, leaving you to figure out your own ride home.

“Fucking hell, Jongho,” you muttered and weaved through the crowd of successful people and nepotism babies. 

The venue was so packed with people you couldn’t even try searching for the bathrooms and opted to go back out again. The outside wasn’t void of people either, as some foreign faces stood socializing with each other, drinks in one hand and fat cigars squeezed between the pointer- and middle finger of their other hand. Not searching for more aunties or uncles to flag you down, you walked away from the people to a place that seemed vacant. Who would’ve known the universe was pulling on your red string and leading you in the direction of your soulmate. Turning the corner of the building, you stumbled over the view of Jongho crouched down behind a couple of taller bushes. Much like the other gentlemen, he too had a slim cigarette placed between his lips, dragging the poisonous smoke right into his lungs. You understood why out of all the places, he chose to smoke on the other side of the building. It was less prone to attract the paparazzi searching for something juicy to spread on social media. 

Jongho didn’t kill the glowing stick as you appeared in his peripheral vision nor did he show a sign of acknowledging your sudden appearance. You didn’t go out of your way to chastise him for smoking in a public setting either, instead you took a stance beside him while he inhaled the last of the cancer-stick and looked straight ahead. It was already stuffy just standing there in silence, you didn’t need to stare at him with questions swimming in your eyes.

The warm sun of March was replaced by the round and bright moon, allowing a certain frost to the early spring breeze. You crossed your arms over your chest and caressed the exposed skin of your bicep with your thumb in a poor attempt at subduing the coldness. The dress was beautiful, but it certainly wasn’t made for such weather and you were questioning their professionalism as they didn’t give you a coat or any other outerwear. On the other hand, Jongho had been admiring you for the last couple of seconds since you took the place beside him and the sharp goosebumps littered on your body didn’t go unnoticed by him. He balanced the cigarette between his lips and slipped the suit jacket off himself. The rustle of clothes caught your attention and before you could realize what was happening, a newfound warmth wrapped around you followed by a mild fragrance of charcoal, pine needles and espresso. 

“You don’t have to–” 

“I’m not letting my date freeze her ass off.”

You tried ignoring the harsh squeeze of your heart and a pang of heat blossoming from the center of your chest, sprouting out to the rest of your body. This was just Jongho being kind, nothing more, nothing less. Yet your heart and soulmate mark thought otherwise. The stinging smell of his cigarette was a perfect distraction and your nose scrunched at the awful burn. Jongho needed all of three seconds to take one last drag of the stick, blow it away from your face and throw it to the ground, his expensive boot coming down to turn it to speckles of ash. 

“I’m going back inside,” you announced after another minute of silence. “It won’t look good if both of us are missing.”

“Who cares what they think? They’ll always have something to say about me in the end so it doesn’t matter.”

“You don’t have to prove them right, you know?”

You didn’t get another answer after that and decided to take your leave. A warm hand circled around your wrist, their thumb grazing the covered soulmate mark and stopping you in your steps. You turned around, Jongho’s hand still on you but his eyes avoiding yours at all cost.

“...Wanna get out of here?” He eventually asked.

Another beat passed and you pressed your lips together. “We really shouldn’t, Jongho, besides it’s against the contract.”

A genuine laugh escaped him and he moved toward the opposite side of the event, rounding the corner you didn't appear from. “Screw the contract.” 

You quickly followed his lead, intrigued and worried at where he was headed. Perhaps you got worked up for nothing as a bunch of expensive cars as well as limousines were parked in neat rows, the moonlight reflecting off their polished hoods and trunks. 

“Where are you going?” You hissed and bunched one end of your dress to not accidentally step on it and twist your ankle.

“Why don’t you find out?”

How you managed to find yourself in this situation was beyond you. Not once was it stated in the contract that you would need to use Jongho’s death trap as a form of transportation, yet there you were sitting on the back of his motorcycle as he zoomed through the street. It was a miracle he successfully managed to sneak it into the parking lot without having any of the guards or chaperons turning him down. Then again, it was Choi Jongho they were dealing with. What Jongho wanted, Jongho got.

Your arms were tightly wrapped around his midsection and your eyes squeezed shut, almost believing the danger of the situation would disappear if you couldn’t see the blur of scenery whiz past you. Jongho smirked at the feel of you squeezing him to death and he purposefully revved the bike to go faster just to hear your squeaks of fear slip beneath your helmet. He wasn’t even going half the speed he was used to, but he felt just a twinge of remorse for you. The motorcycle slowed down and eventually stopped before a red light.

“You can open your eyes now,” he spoke into the built-in bluetooth in his helmet and placed his hand on your intertwined ones, rubbing his thumb against your knuckles in a soothing motion. The whipping wind was quickly drying your hands and he was cursing himself for the pair of gloves he forgot on the edge of his bed. 

You did as told, albeit opening one eye at a time just to make sure he wasn’t sugarcoating the situation. For once, you were happy about being wrong.

“How much more?” You asked, your throat dry and beginning for a sip of water. 

“We’re almost there.” The traffic light switched to yellow. “Hold on tight now.”

It took an eternity — twenty minutes — until Jongho put the motorcycle in neutral and turned off the throttle as well as the ignition switch, and allowed the weight of the vehicle to lean on the kickstand. He took off his helmet and ran his fingers through his hair, messing up the gelled strands in the process and placed the helmet on the surface of the fuel tank. You slightly released your grip on him, but were still reluctant to move as you were afraid of somehow falling off the motorcycle or tipping the whole thing over and thus let your fingers hover over his sides. Jongho’s feet were planted on the ground for extra security and comfort, and threw a quick glance over his shoulder to see you sit stiff as a board. He turned away and brought his shoulders up to his ears as he quietly chuckled to himself. The helmet was still on your head and your cheeks mushed by the pillowy cushion inside, making you look like a chipmunk with its cheeks full of nuts.

“I thought you hated her?” He asked through his giggles.

“Huh?”

“The motorcycle. I thought you hated the motorcycle, besides can you let go off me now? Unless you like touching me–”

You didn’t need to hear more to fling your hands in the air. The abrupt motion almost caused you to fall back, hadn't you grabbed Jongho’s shoulders again. It was sheer luck that he was sturdy enough not to lean back from your harsh grip. He laughed again, a chuckle that brought his gummy smile into the moonlight. It was a sound you came to like and wouldn't mind hearing for the rest of your life. The admission caused your ears to burn with embarrassment and you were grateful that the soulmate connection was limited to the scribbled name on your wrist, not giving your other half the ability to feel your emotions or hear your thoughts.

“Okay, go like this. Place this foot,” he patted the side of your left thigh, “on the ground and swing your other leg over the bike, then carefully step off. Hold onto me until you’re completely off so you don’t fall.”

His instructions were easy to follow and you managed to get off without hurting yourself, him, or damaging his prized possession. The sound of water softly washing up against the sand reached your ears and it was only when you dismounted the motorcycle that you took in your surroundings. The view was nothing short of exceptional. You stood on the sidewalk with stairs leading straight down to the riverside area, giving you a perfect view of the river. It was slightly blurry and you couldn't quite figure out why. As your hand subconsciously reached up to rub your eyes, you accidentally brushed against the visor. Unsure how to remove the helmet without discomfort, you decided to simply slide the visor up instead.

The Mapo Bridge was even prettier at night, with its blue and purple lights twinkling beneath the dark sky. At least a hundred cars drove across the bridge in the few minutes since you arrived and the sound of their tires and whirring motors added a sense of tranquility to the setting. The prettiest of it all were the cherry blossoms slipping off the branches of the Prunus serrulata trees. The ground was covered in pink and white petals, and some even landed in your hair. It was magical.

It dawned on you just where Jongho had brought you — Yeouido Hangang Park. While you were busy taking in every little detail of the scenery, Jongho retrieved his keys from the ignition and stopped beside you. He buried them in the pockets of his pants to prevent you from noticing he was fidgeting with the keys, thus keeping his dignity intact. He couldn’t have you going around thinking you were the reason behind the butterflies fluttering in his stomach and whether that was true or not would stay with Jongho, and Jongho only.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed out.

Jongho hummed in agreement, yet his eyes didn’t budge from your form. It didn’t matter that you wore stiletto heels with a designer dress, a suit jacket multiple sizes too big for you and a sports helmet on your head — you looked as beautiful as the first day he met you, all those years ago in high school. He cleared his throat and stepped in front of you, the pads of his fingers gently grazing the skin beneath your chin as he unclasped the straps of your helmet. The little click snapped your attention to his eyes full of focus that shifted from your chin up to your lips, and lastly your eyes. As if stuck in a trance unable to look away, you drowned in the warmest hue of brown molded out of the richest cacao beans in the world. Jongho slowly took hold of your helmet and began pushing it upwards, but with a gentleness you hadn’t witnessed before. He was so careful and the imagination of having your head ripped off your body didn’t come to life. 

“Thank you,” you whispered as he successfully removed the gear.

“No worries… I’m sure my mom would have my head if I let a lady walk around in designer clothes with a cheap helmet on.”

Although his intentions weren’t to tickle your belly, the sound of your laughter spread a fervor through his body and shone light on the darkest parts in him. It was contagious and he found his own lips curling up, eyes cheesing and that angelic voice of his handing out gleeful melodies to the few people taking a late-night stroll in the park. 

“Come on, let’s take a walk.” He held out his hand for you to take and you did without a second thought. “I meant your heels, but lucky for you I have two hands.”

You began withdrawing your hand, but Jongho had already laced your fingers together and refused to let go. 

“You're unbelievable,” you muttered, pretending the heat of embarrassment wasn't attacking your cheeks.

“I can live with that.” 

Jongho pulled you along toward the flight of stairs and patiently walked with you. It didn’t matter that it took five minutes to reach the bottom because he was with you every step of the way and if you said anything otherwise, Jongho would’ve argued the night was still young and that the five minutes were worth it as he got to spend them with you. He was lucky his parents chose a candidate who wasn’t insecure of themselves to the point they apologized for every minor inconvenience, because Jongho wasn’t sure how the sweet words would fit his unruly persona. The first three steps on the sand made you change your mind and you quickly removed the heels, flexing your stiff feet and releasing a breath of relief. The expensive pair of footwear were handed to Jongho who hooked his pointer- and middle finger in the heel counter while his other set of fingers were still braided with yours. 

“It’s nice here,” you admitted and looked out on the river. The other side was covered with a bunch of buildings, much like the ones behind you, and looked like a scene straight out of a movie. Where the lights of the apartments, universities and hospitals took on the looks of the stars above.

“Mmmmm, it’s quiet and empty.”

“Do you come here a lot?” 

Jongho pondered for a moment. “Sometimes… I can think easier when there aren’t a bunch of people breathing down my neck, plus the ride here helps me clear my head.”

“It’s overwhelming, right? I mean being in the spotlight constantly and having your every move watched from an early age, no?”

He shrugged. “It was at first, but… I stopped caring after a while and people stopped expecting things from me.”

You hummed in understanding and let the gentle waves wash over the conversation. The curiosity you once carried with you concerning Jongho’s defying personality simmered down to nothing and you realized it wasn’t a topic you should venture in on just yet. Instead, you changed it to something less serious. 

“You know, I didn’t think we’d see each other after high school, but look at us now. Holding hands beneath the stars�� Are you perhaps starting to like me, Jjong?”

One end of Jongho's lips curled into a shit-eating grin and his tongue poked the inside of his cheek, and you couldn't tell if it was from the nickname or from bringing up old high school memories. Jongho’s walking slowed down until both feet were planted on the sand, not bugging despite you being half a step ahead of him. You looked over your shoulder to see what was the reason for stopping. 

“I don’t know whether to be offended or flattered by the fact that you think I’m just now starting to like you.”

He shortened the distance between you, leaving barely any room for air to squeeze past your bodies. His thumb traced a never-ending circle across the back of your hand and your heels had long since dropped onto the sand, giving him the freedom to cradle the side of your face. Your breath hitched in your throat and your heart seemed to sprout a pair of angel wings, soaring in your chest at the contact of his skin on yours.

"To answer your question, soulmate, I’ve liked you since the day I saw you in that gymnasium." Jongho's eyes traveled over your face, giving each feature and detail equal attention, as if he wanted to memorize your beauty as though it were a cheat sheet for an exam. "You were dressed in that cute school uniform, your hair braided and kept out of your face, and you looked absolutely sick to your stomach. That’s when I knew our souls were made for each other. I didn’t even need to know your name or look at your wrist. I just knew."

The world went silent around you. The sloshing of water, the chorus of cute laughter and the moving vehicles were muffled sounds that didn’t reach your ears. A furious heat crawled up your back and neck, nipping at your cheeks until you were on the brink of burning up like a firework, but the rest of your body — your fingers, toes, nose and ears — were freezing cold. A massive star nearing the end of its life cycle suddenly exploded and your hearing came back. The air that had caught in your throat was let out as Jongho’s words settled in your mind.

“Jongho,” you lamely whispered in return. 

The secret you had carried for years turned out not to be much of a secret after all, and the hundreds, thousands, of people you thought you were fooling day in and day out weren’t deserving of that title. Because the biggest fool out of them all was you.

“You knew all along?” 

Jongho shrugged and tore his eyes from your dumbfounded expression down to your wrist. “It wasn’t hard to figure out.” His thumb slid up beneath your detachable sleeves, exposing the name you kept hidden for years. “I mean, it isn’t everyday I hear about a pretty girl with my name tattooed on her wrist and hers on mine.”

You didn’t know what to focus on first. The fact that he called you a pretty girl, his thumb caressing your soulmate mark or him knowing you were destined together since high school. Your tongue darted out to lick at your bottom lip and his eyes were quick to follow the brief movement. He swallowed thickly and forced them up again. 

“I take it you knew too?”

You nodded in return. “When they called out your name in the assembly and I caught the side of your face.” 

“I’m happy you didn’t approach me then,” he suddenly admitted and chuckled as your brows pinched together. “Fate brought us together in the end.”

“But we aren’t together-together.”

“Last time I checked, you pretty much signed a contract to date me.”

“Fake-date you.”

The tongue poking the inside of his cheek looked ten times more attractive beneath the moonlight, and you wanted nothing more than to run your hand through his hair and kiss that darned smirk off his face. Perhaps the soulmate bond went further than a name scribbled on the outer layer of your skin, because your wish wasn’t too far from Jongho’s. He, too, wanted to get a taste of your lips. To have some remnants of your lipstick smudge against his and guess the flavor of it — maybe strawberry or cherry, though he always took you for a coconut girl. 

He rolled his eyes and nodded. “Okay, fake-date then… Better?”

Not in the least.

“Much better.”

“It’s not for me,” he quickly added.

“Why?”

Jongho inhaled a sharp intake of air and waited, playing the scene out in his mind and weighing out his options before puking his thoughts and feelings out in an almost vacant park. “Because… I want to do stuff with you. To hold your hand, take you out on dates, kiss you, hug you and just be with you like a real couple. I want to know that the look you have when you’re with me is real, that it isn’t just a job for you. I need to know that you want me as much as I want you.”

“I have always wanted you,” you confessed shakily. “Before I even knew you, Jongho. There was nothing more I wanted than to find my soulmate and that hasn’t changed. Even when I did find you and lost you at the same time, that desire still lived within me. It still does… And when I found out you were the rich kid who needed a fake-girlfriend, it felt like the world was laughing in my face, but I realized it was giving me a second chance. Us a second chance.”

Now it was Jongho’s turn to look dumbfounded. You took his silence as a sign to continue.

“And all you had to do, Jjong, was ask. Even now. Just ask for what you want.”

The man stared at you as if heaven were beneath your fingertips, as if a single touch of your finger would bring him eternal peace and serenity. You were truly the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on and no one else could compete with your beauty — even if they were sculpted by Aphrodite herself. Jongho was never a listener — always defying and doing as he pleased. Yet this one time, the one time, he would be darned if he didn’t.

“May I kiss you?”

“Please.”

The stars aligned as his lips gently pressed against yours. Jongho was right, you tasted like coconut and it had him craving for more, yet the fear of pushing you away was greater than his need. The fingers of your free hand tangled into the side of his shirt to steady your swirling mind, but did little for your erratically beating heart. Jongho wasn’t rough nor eager to ravage your mouth with his tongue, rather on the contrary. It was a soft and lingering kiss that tested the waters. You parted to inhale air before diving in for another kiss, this one a little more urgent and daring than the first, but equally sweet. Jongho’s tongue swiped at your bottom lip and you tilted your head sideways while allowing him access. Even now with his tongue exploring your mouth, the kiss didn’t change from intimate to hungry. A fire was set in your lungs that ached for oxygen and you were left with no choice but to break apart. Jongho rested his forehead against yours, noses brushing and heavy gasps for air fanning your faces. 

“You drive me crazy,” he said between breaths.

“I’m not… doing anything.” You had to fight the smile threatening to dance across your lips. This was a whole new side to Jongho, a side you had never seen before but wouldn’t trade for the world. 

“Precisely and you still make me lose my mind.”

The stubborn smile eventually broke through and Jongho huffed out a chuckle at the gleeful expression. I’m-not-doing-anything his ass. His thumb caressed the soft skin of your cheek once and twice, but froze in motion as you asked him a question. 

“Did you really mean everything you said earlier? About the contract, I mean.”

“Yes,” he answered in a heartbeat. “If I could, I would terminate the contract, but keep this. Keep us.” 

A beat passed and then another. Your thoughts were flying wild, narrowly avoiding each other and the explosion that would ensue. 

“Let’s do it then,” you eventually said. That was the second bravest thing you had done in your life. The first would be signing the contract while running on four hours of sleep. “Let’s do it for real.”

Jongho gauged your expression, searching for any sign of uncertainty or regret. When he couldn’t find even a hint of either, he pressed his lips against yours. Affection, joy and excitement poured into the kiss, and Jongho hoped you would feel at least half of it.

Unbeknownst to the new couple, two people stood by Jongho’s motorcycle. The man wore a fancy black suit, while the woman’s dress elegantly hugged her curves as she stood effortlessly in her heels. A set of black sunglasses obscured their eyes, despite the fact that the sun had long since exchanged places with the moon. The pair seemed out of place in Yeouido Hangang Park surrounded by people dressed in casual clothing. Passersby noticed it too, shooting them strange looks, but neither of them cared. Their attention was fixed on the couple brought together by destiny.

“I knew she was the one for him,” the man proudly admitted and puffed out his chest.

The woman beside him scoffed. “Please, I was the one who found her Linkedin and recognized her name from Mr. Choi’s wrist.”

The pair gave you one last look before turning around and clambering back into the limousine, which drove them straight to the charity event. They had left the party in a hurry the moment they noticed the absence of the successor of Choi Clothes and his fake girlfriend — or should they say, his real girlfriend?

© HONGJOONGSPOETRY 2025. All rights reserved. Copying, editing, reposting or translating my work is not allowed.

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richboy!seonghwa masterlist

you’re the new girl at a prestegious school who quickly finds herself in a love triangle with the two most eligible rich boys: park seonghwa, the boy who proves himself to be the closest thing to perfect and kang yeosang, harsh bully turned love interest two. it’s an internal struggle for everyone involved, kisses behind closed doors, exposed secrets and tattered friendships, a case of choosing between something safe and easy or full of passion and intensity.

“okay but a safe gentleman is better than some brooding asshole you always fight with.”

“that is romanticism, you fool! passion and fighting and making up.”

❥ part 1

❥ part 2

❥ part 3

❥ part 4

❥ part 5

❥ part 6

❥ part 7

❥ part 8

❥ part 9

❥ part 10

❥ part 11

❥ part 12

❥ part 13

❥ part 14

❥ part 15

❥ part 16

❥ part 17

❥ part 18

❥ part 19

❥ part 20

❥ part 21

❥ part 22

❥ part 23

❥ part 24

❥ part 25

❥ part 26

❥ part 27

❥ part 28

❥ part 29

❥ part 30

status: complete

❥ bonus: richboy!mingi miniseries (coming soon)

❥ bonus: richboy!yeosang miniseries (complete)