#w: tciu | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hanibalistic · 1 year

Text

THE CLASSIFIED INVESTIGATION UNIT | STRAY KIDS.

genre | (in general of the universe) fluff, angst, friendship, action, found family au, magic au

synopsis | between meeting a new recruit and being sent to catch a criminal to do damage control, the last thing you thought would happen to you and the twins, as one of the nation's strongest trio, was getting your ass heavily kicked.

word count | 26.2k+

warning | fighting & violence, blood, injuries, descriptions of body mutilation / mentions of kidnapping & criminal activities / sacrilege

universe | tciu / here is the discord link to its world-building server if you are interested in knowing more :)

note | sonic the hedgehog. sonice the hedgehog... so nice... / thank you brat for the name :) / fight write is hard!

There was an abandoned cathedral that was never taken down. They grew trees around it instead and planted a bed of flowers on the ground surrounding it.

An old Jesus Christ statue hung in the center of the cathedral's inside; those born without a given power would turn to Christianity to have something to believe in or a community to belong to. It almost felt daunting for you to step foot into the cathedral the first time because of the existence of Han and Jisung. Somehow you always forgot that they were not the actual manifestation of an angel and a demon, and that those labels were only reification. Jisung, the angel counterpart of the twins, turned the statue upside down when he entered.

The cathedral was still empty when you arrived. It usually was vacant, saved for the leisure moments when you would visit for peace of mind even though the cathedral was broken and ugly.

The only trace of light came from the rose window above the double doors that creaked whenever they were moved, and it shone a light directly onto the upside-down statue of Christ. Unless the doors were kept open, most of the inside of the cathedral was barely visible. The wooden pews were dusted into homes of spiderwebs and unknown crawlers, and there were no designated seats for you or anybody else who would come by.

The only thing left of this holy ground was an eeriness that ran strong even before its abandonment. But at least it was far away and quiet. Hidden among trees and surrounded by cooing doves, at least the cathedral held a silence nowhere else but your bedroom at three in the morning held. But, even with that, the haunting shadows unlit by the sun seemed to have a past vengeance that would sometimes creep a cold shiver down your spine, so you did think the reason why you could find inner peace in this cathedral at all was that Jisung and Han were here.

You glimpsed at your phone to check the time before turning it off and resting it on your lap with your hands. You exhaled as you leaned your head on Han’s shoulder. He barely moved in response, already deep into concentrating ahead during this familiar waiting process. Occasionally Han would wonder how you three were often the earliest to arrive for team meetings when there were three of you while everyone else just had to prepare for one. But the issue never bothered him enough to find an answer.

“What are we doing here?” Jisung asked from where he sat up on the end of the statue’s wooden cross, breaking the silence. He swung his spread legs, barely hitting the old sculpted marble with the back of his shoes, and he carelessly suckled on the tootsie pop.

Han scrunched his nose in distaste when he glanced at Jisung’s careless demeanor. That was, in no way, an indication that he cared about anything of religious endeavors. But being a literal manifestation of a dead God himself, there was something about a tarnished statue once worshipped that was so unappealing to him. It could be resonance; his unknown creator died similarly, with their statue flipped over and nobody praying at their feet. But mostly, Han thought he didn’t like anything unconventional that Jisung did. It was a sibling thing.

“Get off the cross, Jisung,” Han scolded.

Jisung popped the candy out of his mouth and pouted. The velocity of his swinging legs increased a spiteful fraction, which proved the existence of a mischievous glint hidden in his adorable eyes drenched with faux concern. He grinned in satisfaction when he met Han's glare, knowing well that his twin brother did not care about this enough to physically make him get off his unconventional seat. If nobody planned to do that, and you decided not to verbally accost him for his disrespect, he would keep doing it.

You chuckled lowly when you felt the heavy sigh trapped within Han’s chest. Lifting your head from his shoulder, you flipped your phone over to recheck the time before looking up at Jisung. He grinned at you when you two met eyes, not a care in the world, which was how he was supposedly born to live on this Earth, ironically a sharp contrast to how he was born.

“Changbin is going to wrestle you out of there when he arrives and sees you like this,” you said.

“He’s coming?” Jisung asked with widened eyes.

“Yeah… yeah?” You looked at him with disbelief, unsure why he was surprised, but a part of you began questioning yourself upon Jisung’s confusion. “Everyone is always at these meetings.”

“Seungmin is never anywhere but his stupid, niche dude laboratory.” Jisung rolled his eyes. “It’s not even a laboratory. He just has computers in the room.”

That was partially true. Jisung was right about Seungmin’s government-provided office, which was just a basement Jeongin had convinced to be provided to their shared home, not being a laboratory. But there were more than just computers in the basement. A section of the wall covered with screens and multiple rolling whiteboards filled with scribbles and printed-out pictures of faces made an intricate system that only Seungmin and Jeongin could and were required to understand.

Additionally, there was a corner of food cabinets that Jeongin would often restock to fulfill Seungmin’s wish of never seeing the light of day again. In return, Seungmin takes down any online harassment directed toward Jeongin so he can keep his terrible attitude everywhere on broadcasts. In terms of toxic reinforcement, this duo can rival you and the twins.

“I don’t think Chan is always here for these meetings either,” Han mentioned with a tilt of his head. “But then again, he is somehow always everywhere, all the time.”

“I am, indeed, everywhere, all the time.”

You flinched at the closeness of Chan’s sudden appearance, almost jumping out of your seat as you turned your head to look behind your shoulder and found Chan smiling humorously between where you and Han sat. Han missed Chan sneaking up behind him, but he did not scare as easily as you, so within the calm processing of Chan’s abrupt emergence, he could execute retaliation by shooting a hand out to grab at Chan’s face. He missed because Chan swiftly scooted backward on the pew and leaned into the uncomfortable seat.

“Where did you even come from?” you asked rhetorically, but one wouldn’t have caught onto that without explicit mention. You brushed off the hair that rose on your skin, annoyed scoffs leaving your lips.

“Where else? From the door.” Chan pointed a thumb backward at the doors that were already closed.

You furrowed your brows. He was lying, but you could not figure out any alternative to how he could have entered the cathedral without any of you noticing him. If he went through the double doors, there should be some sensory indication of his arrival. The doors were so old that they creaked whenever they were opened. Even if Chan somehow managed to silently push one door open, the light that would temporarily shine through the gap would be impossible to miss, especially by Jisung, who was sitting directly across those doors.

However, you would not put it past Jisung to stay quiet upon Chan’s arrival. Chan wasn’t much of a stickler for good etiquette; he didn’t have the right to be with his background. If he wasn’t asked to be on his best behavior, which he has been pleaded to on multiple occasions, Jisung would gladly not do so. He wouldn’t go out of his way to behave terribly, but he was troubling enough as his regular self.

“So,” Chan kicked his feet up and rested his ankle on his knee, “what were you guys talking about?”

“I didn’t know Changbin was coming,” Jisung muttered unwillingly as he hopped off the upside-down cross. He dusted his knees which were uncovered by his shorts. This time his face held a pout.

Chan’s gaze trailed after Jisung as he moved begrudgingly toward you and Han. Jisung kicked Han’s feet when he squeezed between the space so he could sit next to you.

“Why does it matter if he is coming to the meeting?” Chan asked, amused. “Does one of the shoulder twins have a bad case of daddy issue?”

An alarmed but amazed smile slowly widened itself onto his face when the three of you simultaneously turned around to level him with an exasperated and unappreciative glare. The frequently debunked theory about you three being siblings surfaced in his head, and he shook it off with a shrug. You three were right about it being wrong, not because you would know your origin and relationship best, but because there was no way you three weren’t one unified being. The constantly coincidental rate you three operated around each other was too uncanny to be a product of just being close siblings.

“I don’t have daddy issues,” Jisung argued.

“Also, technically, Changbin isn’t our dad,” you said.

“And if anyone here has daddy issues, it should be you,” Han followed pointedly after you.

You three would do this sometimes—talk in sequences, one after the other, as if you were taking turns to speak fragments of a long sentence. The sentence you three individually utter could be put together into one prolonged sentence that, frankly to Chan, could have been said by just one of you. If not one long sentence, then you three would talk in relation to what the previous person said, adding new information but not straying from the initial point.

Chan was never a big fan of that. Everyone else brushed it off, though.

“That’s a bit harsh,” Chan mentioned dismissively. “He was your foster dad.”

“He would still be our foster dad if we didn’t choose to leave the system once we turned eighteen,” you said, putting quotation marks around the word ‘leave.’ A distasteful shrug arched at your shoulders as you scoffed at Chan’s disagreeing brows. “We were kids, but we weren’t stupid. We were just immature.”

“Were?” Chan snickered.

“We’re not laughing,” Han said. “Why else would we have to leave our previously perfect foster home for a single-parent household, where our guardian not only has no experience working with children before but was also coincidentally working for the military? The change happened immediately after the both of us were measured in the power scale test too.”

“We have been around since [Name] was born, and nothing outrageous has happened until we got transferred to the private school. Things started going downhill from there, and whose fault is that?” Jisung chimed in after pulling the tootsie pop out of his mouth. “There was no reason for them to suspect us unless ulterior motives existed. If they were truly afraid of us, they would have been smart enough to keep us in a nurturing environment, but they took us out instead and dumped us at the doorsteps of some military lackey who couldn’t give a shit about us.”

You pursed your lips together and laughed lowly once Jisung’s voice dropped. He looked down at you, confused, then back up at Han, who maintained a knowing smirk. He thought he was contributing to the conversation just fine, so why were the both of you laughing? Upon his genuinely questioning face, you laughed even louder and leaned back into Han to nudge him with your elbow.

“There is no reason to suspect us–pfff!” You wiped away an invisible tear. “That’s rich coming from you!”

“What?” Jisung screamed in his defense. “How am I the issue? Look at Han! He literally broke someone’s wrist with his bare hand!”

“Well, yeah,” you shrugged, “he had to do it.” You weren’t even sure which occasion Jisung was speaking of.

“Oh, okay!” Jisung slurred in exasperation, clearly mocking you. “When he does it, it’s necessary. But when I do it, I have violent tendencies.”

“You do have violent tendencies,” you said.

“Also, I don’t know how you could get it so wrong because you were there when it happened, but technically I didn’t break it in one go,” Han clarified with a grimace, already deduced the event his brother mentioned with little to no hints. “I fractured their bone first, and then I shattered it. It wasn’t hard to break because it was already fractured beforehand.”

You gasped in realization. “Oh, that’s what you were talking about.”

Jisung shook his head. “You didn’t know–you defended him!”

“I always assume Han only does things out of necessity.”

Chan watched you three banter away about who was more aggressive and violent. In silence, his thoughts lingered on what Jisung unknowingly revealed about how you three felt about the whole shebang you were forced to go through as children, which was that the real issue lay in the fact that you all thought Changbin didn’t care about you three.

He always forgot how uncharacteristically human you three were. Conceived by force and birthed by love, the literal manifestations of a God, the three cosmic accidents—no matter the labels the media have slapped onto the three of you to fulfill their need to make sense of your inconceivably strong ability none has received from a God before, to reason with your inhumane existence, there was no denying that ultimately you three yearned for the same thing most people did: parental affection, and a normal childhood.

Not a regular life, just a regular upbringing.

Most of the relationship problems Chan knew about you three and Changbin he heard directly from the foster father himself. Chan recognized many of the discrepancies Changbin has with you three resulted from Changbin not knowing how to be a father, which he could never have learned how to! He did not agree to foster you; he was ordered to after being selected as a capable candidate to keep watch over Jisung and Han. It was never a good idea. The authorities should have known that teenage fiery in the hands of powerful children would react terribly to the expectations of a man trained in the special forces.

The only good thing about picking Seo Changbin as the foster parent was that he was a good man. Besides the disguised abuse of keeping you three under supervision like caged animals, he cared deeply about you all, and he did all he could to make the best of the time remaining in your adolescence. Alas, while he was a good man, he was not a good father, and you three wanted affection from a parent, not a kind stranger. If he was indeed a father, he would have cut himself out of fostering you three, or at least he would have done his parenting without the government's guidance.

Immature was too harsh of a word. Ignorant, or even unknowledgeable, would be the better way to describe how you three used to feel about this because it was much more complicated than only what he could have done. There would always be what the authorities could have done to you three if Changbin didn’t agree to be your temporary guardian and did, half-heartedly, what he was told. None of you could have ever factored that into the equation as teenagers. Looking at the bigger picture and being able to analyze it was not in your bones at that age. You were still being taught how to do that.

But, ultimately, actions speak louder than words. As much as you three deny the familial relationship, you play the role of children the way most parents are familiar with.

Ignoring Changbin’s constant nags to clean your shared room; arguing about taking turns folding the laundry and washing the dishes just to end up having your dad do everything; brief answers to questions about your day during dinner; discreetly throwing snacks into the shopping cart during grocery runs; slamming the door in retaliation of being screamed at despite having the power to do so much more damage. You can say all you want about how much you disliked Changbin, but playing the role of children and letting him act as your father was a choice you all made.

It was unfair for you three to discuss Changbin the way you were, but Chan supposed that was an inevitable experience.

“Dude, he’s gone.”

“I’m not. I just tuned you three out,” Chan muttered as he swatted the snapping fingers before his face away. “Also, they’re right, Jisung. You do have violent tendencies.”

Jisung sat back down in his seat with furrowed brows. A half-hearted scoff left his lips just as he pulled the almost-finished tootsie pop out of his mouth. “I know?” He put the hard candy back inside his mouth and bit down hard to crush the ball. The stick was thrown carelessly behind his shoulder after. “We were already done with that conversation. Catch up.”

Chan smiled warmly; getting him riled up would take a lot more. He watched you three drown in short conversations, one after another, about school, work, and different variations of the same insult match. He didn’t forcefully insert himself into your discussions because he was too drowsy to handle your three ganging up on him. Whatever happened just now was enough, so he spent the next few minutes dozing off in silence until the doors dramatically opened again.

“Yang Jeongin! You are late!” Jisung hollered after he jumped off his seat.

“Yeah, today is our only day off from school,” you said without looking up from the clock on your phone.

“We weren’t gonna do anything, but still,” Han finished.

Jeongin raised a brow from the doorway. The sunlight behind him glowed over his body, making him appear like a celestial being. He let the door creak shut behind him as he shuffled to the cathedral's center at an unhurried space. Giving a nod at the upside-down statue of Christ, Jeongin walked behind the pulpit and rested his hands on the side of it. He heaved a sigh dramatically with a smile.

“Chan,” he acknowledged, “and the three musketeers.”

Han smirked even though he didn’t particularly find it funny. He knew for sure that Jeongin’s mischief was only fueled by the sulk in you and Jisung’s shoulders, even if Jeongin may not be sure whether you two were sulking because of how fashionably late Jeongin was or that he mentioned you three were going to spend the day off being unproductive anyway.

“Sorry for being late. I had a presentation today at school,” Jeongin said with a few rhythmic tilts of his head. “Then I have an emergency press conference for the stunt you guys pulled at the metro station last week!”

You were dispatched last week to fulfill one of the more straightforward BOLO requests made on the website Seungmin made to help him better seek out cases for the unit. When Hyunjin related the matter to you, he complained about the vague details Seungmin gave him before informing you of the face of the man you were asked to catch, a broad time range and the location where he would be within the time frame. You should have asked more of the request, but you remembered Hyunjin mentioning something about the website not being within the scope of the investigation unit work, making it technically a work of vigilantism to fulfill citizen requests, which would be illegal.

The vague details were Seungmin’s way of making sure none of you dumbasses (his words) could make an unnecessary mess with the police by oversharing.

That man was fast; hyper-speed was typical, but catching him during rush hour made it a hassle. You suggested taking the chase to the moving train; one way to stop a runner from escaping is to block the paths he could run to.

Before the train could reach the next station, while it was still in the middle of the railroad among shopping buildings and above car roads, you had Han manually stop it by causing a malfunction. You didn’t give him the idea to clear out a car of passengers so he could blow it up in the middle of the railroad. Han thought of that himself after Jisung jokingly pointed out that a heavy accident would stop a train. It did accomplish your goal, except Han also blew up a section of the rail where the pieces of the blown-up car fell through and landed on the road, and the remaining cars of the train approaching the hole almost followed.

Jisung clapped his hands while he barely perked up in his seat. “Oh! Han was the one who did that, not me!”

Han clicked his tongue as his eyes rolled. “Shut up. It was your idea.”

You hummed in disagreement. “Actually, I was the one who told you to do that. You just executed the plan.”

“Your plan almost killed a whole train of people,” Jeongin chimed in with a slow emphasis on each word to garner attention, almost like he was talking to toddlers. He was extremely generous by leaving out any mentions of infrastructure damage and heavily injured citizens. Then, distractedly, he waved his hand toward the three of you. “Also, stop talking in threes like that.”

“Thank you!” That was Chan.

“Seungmin should be giving us information about what I planned for you three to do later today, and Felix will fill you in on the rest. I can be the only person doing damage control, and I always have,” he briefly put a hand to his chest with an award-winning smile before his smile turned annoyed, “but I am exhausted this week, so your reckless asses are only getting thirty percent of my help.”

Jisung sneered and looked away from the pulpit. “Don’t you just have to speak into a microphone during a broadcast to brainwash people?” “Yes,” Jeongin nodded, “which I can’t be bothered to do for the mess you–”

“Han,” Jisung interjected.

“I don’t care,” Jeongin retorted with an empty, wide-eyed smile. “Just do what I ask, appease the public, and we can get this public outrage over with.”

Chan snickered from the back. His feet shook on his knee, and his eyes gleamed a certain proudness in seeing Jeongin barking (or squirming out) orders at his young age. “Han destroyed a rail built in the middle of a bustling city during rush hour,” he said. “I think this goes far beyond mere public outrage.”

Jeongin exhaled without any thoughts. Having something to say was the last thing he wanted to do, which was unfortunate because he was born to always have something to say. Whether it was about how he felt about a situation, an argumentative point crafted out of his want to be the conversation ender, or all the information from the internet Seungmin would mindlessly feed him as they shared a supposedly relaxing space. Jeongin always has something to say, and he was born to always tell them in a world where he could be inconvenienced by speech.

“People will sweep it under the rug a few months later.” Jeongin waved his hand with narrowed eyes. “Seungmin predicted that it would.”

“Everybody is different.”

“He figured you would say that too,” Jeongin muttered. “He told me to tell you, verbatim, people are only different as individuals. Many people running together turns them into a system that operates on a set of rules, which will make their actions predictable patterns, so stop coming for our decisions.”

Chan shook his head with a shrug. “I’m not coming for you two. I’m just giving a word of advice, a different perspective.”

“Unsolicited advice is unwanted and unnecessary.”

“It won’t be unsolicited if it is wanted and necessary.”

“Isn’t it tiring to talk so much, Chan?” Jeongin asked warmly and slowly to enunciate each syllable. “I know you would love to stop talking, so do that, Chan. Stop talking.”

Forced under Jeongin’s persuasion, Chan did not reply. He just smiled, his feet shaking more vigorously and his eyes staring harder at the front center of the cathedral. Those were signs of rebellion that people rarely showed Jeongin whenever he tried to charm his way into being benefitted. Chan’s jittery movement indicated that he knew Jeongin was putting him under a vocal spell and was unwillingly submitting to it.

“Why would you engage in a verbal battle with someone who has psychic power? Jeongin doesn’t have a pride big enough not to cheat his way to a win,” you muttered as you peeked behind you. When Chan deadpanned at you, your brows raised in faux realization, and you grinned. “Oh, right. You would love to stop talking.”

Jisung audibly laughed. He raised his hand to give you a firm high-five, which you barely returned. You thought a snarky remark stop being snarky if it’s shown its intended purpose, and Jisung’s high-five was doing that. He noticed your lack of enthusiasm and responded to it with furrowed brows.

You and Han were getting on his nerves through all the petty reasons he could think about. It happened before you three were pulled from a typical day to the cathedral. From you hogging the sink to wash your face when he needed to spit out the toothpaste in his mouth, to Han refusing to get him the leftover cup of bubble fruit tea in the fridge even though Han was already in the kitchen area, to the both of you ganging up on him about his (admittedly accurate) violent tendencies, and just now you refused to give him a proper high-five.

Opening his mouth and ready to scream in defense of himself, Jisung was halted to a stop when one cathedral door was kicked open. Jeongin blinked in acknowledgment upon seeing Changbin huffing by the doorway. Chan could already tell who was there by the way the door was opened, as well as the little furious taps Jisung landed on your thigh to signal you and Han about who had arrived. You didn’t react when you saw Changbin, while Han frowned.

Changbin’s main target was Jeongin, but the first thing he did was search for you three. He relaxed when he saw all of you turned to watch him by the door. Then he raised an arm to point toward the overturned Jesus Christ statue behind Jeongin.

“Hey!” he hollered, his accusing finger shaking. He was clearly talking to you three. “Which one of you turned Jesus upside down?”

You and Han simultaneously pointed toward Jisung. The odd one out dropped his jaw, the nape of his neck turning sour and red at the collective accusation. He would not have cared if it had been anyone else instead of Changbin. But Jisung knew you were right that Changbin would wrestle his soul out of him for what was done to an abandoned statue of Christ, and despite being intimidated by Changbin, he still did it anyway.

“Tattle tales!” Jisung lunged at you both with his palm. Neither of you attempted to dodge his attacks seriously.

“We told you not to do it,” Han said.

“We did,” you agreed.

Changbin rolled his eyes as his arm dropped to his side with a weak flail. Taking his hand and rubbing it over his face and hair, he grimaced at the sweat collected at the gaps of his fingers. Jeongin had instructed him to wait outside the cathedral until being given the cue to enter, but the burning sun outside made it feel as if he had been waiting for an unnecessary hour. Plus, the man in cuffs he was watching over outside was getting on his nerves for seemingly not rolling a drop of sweat despite being in suffocating clothing.

This meeting could have been held somewhere indoors with air conditioning, but no, the cathedral was the choice! Standing under the sun with a fuse on his head as he waited for Jeongin’s dramatic entrance to be over was the choice! When he barged in for some cool shade, the first thing he found was that one of his children had done something sacrilegious! It was not a good day for his betterment-still-in-progress temper.

“Hey,” Changbin turned to Jeongin and nudged his head to gesture out the door, “he’s outside.”

“Get him in here,” Jeongin said. “We’re on a tight schedule.”

“I’m surprised you know that.”

“Why is everyone coming out of nowhere today?” Upon hearing Felix's voice, Chan threw an arm over the backrest of the pew. The shaking of his feet stopped when he saw the entering of an unfamiliar man, but he kept the leg propped over the other to maintain a comfortable sitting position.

Minho, still confused as ever since he got pulled out of his prison cell this morning, examined the cathedral motionlessly through the gaps in his long hair.

He knew Jeongin, an overconfident piece of shit at a job he was supposed to be unqualified for. But since the boy was the reason he was out of prison in the first place, Minho had no other negative thoughts about him. Then there were Changbin and Felix, both of whom he had met today. Felix was docile and kept to himself because he could not be bothered, while Changbin was uptight and kept to himself because he had a job.

The upside-down cross caught his eyes. He thought he heard someone arguing about it—his eyes shifted to the side to where you three were seated. All possibly Jeongin’s age, two of which were identical with drastic differences in stylistic choices, perhaps to make it easier for them to be distinguished from each other. The formula was familiar. He had heard passing noises from prison guards about the emergence of sentient powers in the form of people and scored in the nation’s top percentile on the scaling test. A pair of twins and a host, to be specific. You three fit those criteria to a T.

Minho had no idea you were going to be here. Your presence caused a strain on his escape plan.

Initially, he only had Changbin to worry about. He calculated it during the silent car ride to the cathedral; quiet for him and Changbin, chatty for Felix and Jeongin. However, he had a notion that Felix was carrying on with the conversation out of politeness. Since Felix and Jeongin possessed passive abilities, the only threat in his vicinity was Changbin, whose ability he has yet to learn of. Minho reckoned he should worry more about Changbin’s physicality than the ability he possessed, though.

He planned that once the suppression cuff was removed, he would slap it onto Changbin and make a run for it. Jeongin’s power was descended from the God of Intelligence, but his power was verbal persuasion, meaning all Minho had to do to counter him was not to listen. He could do that. He was phenomenal at ignoring people. Whatever would happen next, things such as laying low or a change of identity, he would hash it out later. That was how he had planned to escape. But with you here, he wasn’t sure if escaping was a plausible chance.

He may have to do more than he wanted to. Should he use the suppression cuffs on you and take a risky bet with Changbin? Or should he disable the muscle man and take a risk with you?

Minho’s eyes scanned across you three to the pew behind you. His heart flinched, but his body remained motionless when he saw Chan was already staring pointedly back at him. Chan looked deep in thought but not too drowned in it that Minho could not feel the attention Chan had grounded on his face. Minho’s eye twitched when Chan smirked. Another passive ability? Could it be mind reading? Minho wished it was mind-reading. Chan looked to have a well-toned body, and he looked like he’s got some fight in him, but Minho had a lot of hands-on experience. He could take a risk.

The real problem here were you and Changbin.

“He’s plotted something,” Chan whispered after he leaned his torso forward to the three of you.

Han turned his head but kept his eyes on Minho, who was ushered to sit on the pew before you. “Who is this?”

“I don’t know,” Chan shrugged, “I’ve never met him before.”

“Is he why we are here today?” Jisung muttered, watching the back of Minho’s head. “He’s wearing a prison uniform.”

“Oh…” you exhaled quietly. Cranking your neck to examine Minho's blue suit, you finally noticed the similarities. “I didn’t know they actually look like this.”

“What else would they look like?” Han chuckled.

You shrugged, your lips quirking down dismissively. “I don’t know. I didn’t think it’d actually look like what television shows us.”

“I always thought they were orange jumpsuits,” Jisung added.

“I think they have orange jumpsuits in the West,” Han said. “I saw it on a thumbnail of an American show.”

Minho barely raised his brows during the eavesdrop. You three were idiots.

“Jeongin,” Felix called from the side when he saw that Jeongin was about to dive into a prolonged introduction. He tapped on his wrist, causing Jeongin to sigh. “Seungmin has a lead on the guy. They should leave now.”

“Of course. Nothing ever goes my way.” Jeongin rubbed his face. He then gestured toward Minho. “Take the cuffs off. We can’t be restraining him if we’re gonna ask him for a favor.”

Changbin remained in his seat for a begrudging second. When Jeongin made no further clarifications or alternative requests, he sighed and got up. He kept the annoyed murmurs inside his head, complaining about taking orders from a university student with too much ego for his own good, and he dragged his feet near Minho, not noticing the slightly growing smirk hidden behind the prisoner’s long hair.

The suppression cuffs are hand print registered instead of key-locked, so only a select few individuals could release the suppression cuffs. Patiently, Minho watched as Changbin warmed his palm against the curve of the cuff, dimming its golden gleam, and slid it over his hand.

Before the cuff was taken off his hand entirely, Minho perked his head up to catch Changbin off guard. He closed his fingers around the cuff and attempted to snatch it away from Changbin’s grasp. Changbin quickly responded, closing a fist around the curve and tugging at it. Minho tilted his head, having anticipated the reaction, aimed his free hand at Changbin’s face for his attack to be blocked expectantly. Keeping Changbin’s hand around his fist, Minho shook the cuff off both their hands, caught it before it reached the ground, and slapped it around Changbin’s wrist.

Changbin stumbled with his arm raised, his eyes searching for the cuff he could feel around his wrist. Taking Changbin’s processing time for granted, Minho whipped around and swiftly hopped on the back railing of the cathedral pew. He looked at you—no, not you, not the host. His eyes shifted to the side. Whichever one of the twins. The one who stood up in response, perhaps.

Han quickly grabbed Minho’s swung arm, missing his hand and ignoring the sharp sound of wind reverberating throughout the motion. Putting all his weight into the fall, Minho dropped from the pew and forced Han to stumble sideways for space to move. Minho landed on his feet and wasted no time shoving Han’s grip off his wrist. He doubled his punch, trying to aim for Han’s face again but decided against it last second. He realized something, an assumption that surfaced late from watching Han stand up with an arm extended to shield himself.

This could not have just been the entertaining rumors about you three’s relationship. Han was shielding you for more than just the feelings you two shared but also because you were a lifeline. You were the reason why Han and Jisung existed. If Minho wanted to copy your power, he should take it directly from the host, not the power themselves. The twins were of no use to him. You were.

Minho retracted his fist, missing Han’s face on purpose and causing the younger boy to furrow his brows. Turning swiftly, Minho’s eyes burned a hole in your face as he moved toward you.

“Woah, not so fast,” Jisung said as he shot his arm out and tried to close his hand around Minho’s wrist.

Minho huffed with a sneer; he didn’t think touching you would be easy. Still, he hated that it was proven difficult. He ducked his arm, dodging Jisung by a scrape, but Jisung instinctively blocked Minho’s advance toward you by changing the course of his hand downward instead of forward. Laughing aloud, Jisung pulled back just enough for his hand to land on Minho’s elbow. He grasped onto Minho and yanked.

“Who are you?” Jisung whispered when he came face to face with Minho, his hand tight over the prisoner’s shoulder.

Minho raised his brows, not disregarding Jisung’s bone-breaking grip. He supposed he struck a nerve when targeting at you, but he still has no plans to answer the question despite being held captive. “Maybe you’ll do.”

“What?”

Jisung peered down at his hand, which Minho had put his palm over, holding onto him and nothing else. A numbing sensation slowly cast over the covered spot, and Minho could feel it too. But it wasn’t long before the numbing sensation turned into a sharp burn. It was a feeling he could not correctly describe with words. Even though the sensation lingered only on his palm, it felt as if his entire body was overwhelmed with pressure, like a pit of fire was growing and finding an exit from within his body.

Minho held onto the heated pressure for a little before he snapped back with a curse. His fingers twitched uncontrollably until the feeling finished soothing over at a painstakingly slow rate. Jisung stepped back with a frown as he rubbed the back of his palm off Minho’s touch. He eyed Minho up and down, feeling uncertain and mildly offended that Minho flinched away from him like that. Were his hands rough? He swore he applied lotion after showers like you asked him to!

“Everyone, this is Lee Minho. He has a copy ability, like Kirby.” Jeongin introduced casually from the pulpit. Chan tilted his head and rolled his eyes up as fragments of recognition surfaced. Jeongin continued before he could chime in, “Minho, please sit down so we can proceed. And the three little pigs–“ He paused to nod at your frowns of distaste with a smile. “I would have all of you here for the recruiting process, but we have wasted too much time, so please, talk to Felix outside.”

Changbin, who was fidgeting with the suppression cuff, debated against placing it on the pew where it was within reach of Minho. As you stood up from your seat and trailed behind Han to leave, he tried shoving the cuff in his pants pocket only to find it too big to fit. He clicked his tongue and kept it in his hands; he wasn’t sure why he acted as if he couldn’t talk to you while holding something important, like a suppression cuff or boiling soup.

“Hey, you three!”

Felix widened his eyes a fraction by the door and looked elsewhere. His impatience dissolved for a minute to allow Changbin the time to get whatever he needed to say across. He would just have to make a point for you three to rush to wherever Seungmin needed you to be.

“What?” you responded. When Changbin took a beat too long to answer, you visibly sighed. “Jeongin said we wasted too much time, so we’re probably in a rush–“

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” Jeongin pointed at you.

You rolled your eyes as Jisung threw a brief middle finger up in the air at his friend. Changbin, with unsurprised disappointment, eyed him from across.

“You literally just said we’ve wasted too much time,” you said.

“I didn’t say it so you can use it to get out of talking to Changbin,” Jeongin retorted, not forgetting to give Changbin an apologetic nod when the older man turned around to stare at him in shock. “Figure out your own excuse.”

“Why are you such a bitch today?” Han asked as a complaint.

“I’m a bitch every day. It’s concerning that I wasn’t a bitch enough to you for you to see that.”

“I’m gonna beat him up,” Jisung muttered. You patted his arm as discouragement. He pushed your hand away.

Felix expected Jeongin to refrain from speaking up. He thought Jeongin didn't have to do it at all because that served no purpose other than interrupting Changbin and delaying your work even longer. He stepped forward by the door, ready to call out for your attention, but immediately stopped again when he caught Changbin raising his arm. He stepped back again, kindly letting the man have his moment.

“Do you three want to drop by later for dinner?” Changbin asked. “I attended a high school reunion party the other day and still have a lot of leftovers.”

You, Jisung, and Han shared a few glances. The silence was deafening, and watching Changbin stand awkwardly in waiting gave Chan the urge to lighten the mood. But he was focused on watching Minho’s back, discreetly observing the changing gleams in Minho’s half-covered eye as he curiously turned around to pay attention to the painfully forced conversation. Chan wasn’t sure why he had a hunch, but he predicted that if all went well, Minho would soon shield Changbin’s fatherly heart the way Felix had been, only in very different ways.

Nobody in this investigation unit was a stranger to the strained relationship Changbin has with the three of you. Seungmin and Jeongin have read each of your profiles detailing necessary information and experiences; Chan and Felix talked to Changbin a bit; Hyunjin was a close friend of you three, so he’s got the scope of every complaint you’ve had for your foster dad. And, of course, everyone has witnessed firsthand how you guys interacted with each other, which has never been smooth sailing.

Chan understood Changbin from an adult standpoint and suspected that Minho would too. But Felix saw Changbin from a child’s point of view—an emotionally healthy child, to clarify, and perhaps as someone who was projecting his wishes onto you three as well. Felix’s family lived overseas so he couldn’t see them as frequently as he hoped. The three of you reminded him of his siblings from home, and your relationship with Changbin reminded him of his own.

Standing in the face of a past legal guardian trying his best to reconnect with his children after passively harming them made him sympathetic, and seeing Changbin get rejected with such foul manners was upsetting. Felix wanted to say he would have reacted differently and would have been kinder, but he could never understand. He could never stand in your shoes. He could not begin to imagine, so he had no say in this. He only understood the value of having family near when he couldn’t, and he wished you three were nicer.

“We have never dropped by for dinner,” Han said with a faint shrug. “We’re not gonna start doing it now.”

“Oh! You should divide the portions up,” Jisung said as he made a cutting motion with his hands. “You can go days without having to spend money on food!”

“Yeah, you should do that!” you said in agreement. “It helps you eat less too. You’re packing some extra weight!”

Jisung punched your arm with laughter. As he turned around to follow you and Han to the door, he paused in realization and snapped his finger. “Oh, right!” he exclaimed. “Sorry about Jesus!”

Felix pursed his lips as you three walked past the door he held open. He looked at Changbin briefly, who smiled at his pitiful glance. Without further ado, Felix turned and left the cathedral with you.

The door shut behind him loudly, leaving the only trace of light shining on Jeongin, who maintained a respectful minute of silence before he began talking again. Changbin quietly headed to the pew Minho was seated at and sat down at a spot where their knees would not touch.

Changbin kept his gaze forward but leaned down enough to rest his elbows on his thighs. He crossed his fingers, his shoulders exhaling for him. Minho was observing his movements.

“I don’t care what decision you make today,” Changbin whispered, his voice low and firm. He showed the suppression cuff from beneath his interlaced fingers and placed it softly on the space between him and Minho. “But do not go after those three ever again.”

Minho remained silent. He understood Changbin did not warn him for his own good, even though it was clear that you three could take care of yourselves against him just fine. It was not a warning to save him from you three. It was to keep him from the man himself.

“Okay, we are settling down once and for all.” Jeongin leaned his arms against the pulpit.

“I do apologize for the emergency meeting, but we–well, Seungmin has suddenly thrown us into a complicated mess yesterday when he found a lead on a man associated with the recent, and unfortunately frequent, occurrences of missing person cases. His best guess right now is that all of the reported cases are connected to one person, and a way bigger operation is happening under our nose, under everyone’s noses, whatnot.”

Jeongin stood up straight to give himself an unnecessary pause. He was having difficulty remembering what Seungmin rambled about because he was busy memorizing appropriate answers to the press conference.

“He hasn’t found the person yet, but he’s got a lead on someone associated with them. I have the three dispatched to get them just now, which reminds me–“ He pointed at Chan. “Make sure to check your phone. I don’t know how long the three stooges will take to catch the man, but they will notify you once they do. Get in touch with Hyunjin for more information, but you’re in charge of interrogation at the department building.”

“Wait, wouldn’t you be the better option?” Chan scooted forward, a questioning smirk on his face. “A guy like that wouldn’t just answer questions, and I’m no longer prone to violence.”

“Stop working out. Maybe I’ll believe you!” Jeongin grinned sarcastically before letting his face fall flat. “But no. I’m going to be exhausted after the press conference, and I want to use the rest of my energy to study for my finals!”

Changbin blinked incredulously at Jeongin. “Wait, hold on,” he held a hand up hesitantly, “doesn’t that mean those three also have finals? They should be studying!”

“Yes, but they take the exams together, which would make it easier for them.”

“Their high school transcripts argue otherwise.”

“They enrolled into a prestigious private high school with snobby children whose one-week allowance can hire them a full-time grade A tutor, not because they are smart but because they are strong,” Jeongin said as he rubbed his eyes. With a bang, he dropped his hand on the pulpit's surface and looked at Changbin. “They also got stuck with an adult who joined the military because his grades were terrible, so I don’t blame them for having shitty high school transcripts.”

Chan gave a hearty round of applause. He did not mind it when Changbin shoved off his comforting (demeaning) pat on the shoulder.

“Good? Not good? We are moving on!” Jeongin clapped once. “Now, Lee Minho.”

Minho looked up with one brow raised. He had been listening intently to what everybody was saying, even the useless conversations slapped between valuable information Jeongin was telling. Something about what Jeongin said piqued his interest; it had something to do with what he overheard in prison, but he decided not to say anything yet. He wanted to hear about what Jeongin had planned for him first.

“As I mentioned, the unit is officially involved with a complicated case. We will still be reporting back to the head of the department, but we will also have to report a reasonable amount of information we can gather to the other investigation teams that have been working on this case for a while and have gotten little to no leads on anything,” Jeongin said. “Because of this, I have decided to expand our team by one additional member–“ He nodded at Minho. “This is where he comes in.”

Changbin squinted his eyes, processing the information rather slowly because of how incredibly ridiculous it sounded. He just escorted Minho out of prison, and he knew Jeongin knew that because it was his order. But recruiting a prisoner who has done who-knows-what to get him sentenced to life in prison was outrageous. He could barely accept Chan’s recruitment when it happened, and all Chan did were fraudulent activities.

“To give a brief introduction, we are an independent investigation team operating under the Department of Justice. There are currently nine of us, two of which are an extension of one person–the twins and their host, [Name]. You just tried to copy their power, which, pro tip, do not try again.” Jeongin waved his hand in the air, figuring out the shortest reason that doubled to explain why Minho reacted the way he did when he tried to use his power on Jisung. “A God died and turned into the twins, so each holds half of a full God’s power.”

Minho could not help but breathe out a scoff of acknowledgment.

No wonder you three were kept under watchful eyes. Putting you under the same roof as a selected military agent somehow felt reasonable. But claiming you three only scored within the nation’s top percentile in the power scaling test should cause it to lose all its credibility. The standardized metric was created based on the average output of a regular citizen, which, if disregarding other assets, would mean it was based on only a fraction of one God’s power. Possessing fifty percent of one should break the scoring system.

The nation’s top one percent was a label for people to make sense of the twins’ existence, not an accurate representation of their strength. Jeongin was right to advise Minho against using his copy ability on you again—there was a reason why the twins have to exist. His human body would never be able to hold an entire God. He was lucky to let go when he felt the pressure, and knowing that the power did not immediately kill him was informative.

“Well,” Minho muttered. “I guess they won’t be in too much trouble, after all.”

“What do you mean?” Jeongin asked.

Minho looked at him through the gaps in his hair, his eyes distant but focused. “Did you research who your friend may have gotten a lead on?”

“It’s not my job to do that, but Felix might know something.”

“My cellmate was a talkative guy,” Minho said with a shrug. “I could never get him to shut up. He keeps talking and talking. At some point, when I started to listen to him, I realized he was boasting about something. Events, accomplishments, crimes that were happening outside that he was not directly involved with but somehow felt proud of.”

Felix knocked on the cathedral door and opened it. He kept quiet when he realized Minho was speaking, but the creak of the door was loud enough to cover up Minho’s voice just enough for him to miss what was uttered.

“Wait, hold on,” Changbin held his hand out as a request to pause, “what are you trying to say?”

Minho ignored him. He turned around to look at Felix and asked, “Where did you send the three to?”

Felix looked around with wide eyes. He reached two fingers to his neck and scratched at the spot where he could feel his palpitating vein. “Huh? I’m–what’s going on?”

“Answer the question, Felix,” Changbin demanded.

“Seungmin said there was an entrance in the MH market kept in one of the stalls that led directly underground. It’s an elaborate system, and there is no map, so he told me to tell them to sniff out a guy who looks like he’s a big deal and invite him for an interrogation.”

The Magic Hub market—just its name was lousy news enough for Changbin because of its notorious reputation, not to mention the newfound knowledge of it having a renovated underground sewage system that flew entirely off the radar. Changbin shook his head. He never understood what Seungmin was planning, but he should have been the one to go there, not you three. Not even for what Jeongin claimed to be damage control for what Han did at the metro station last week.

“You sent two kids and their fragile lifeline to invite a branch head of a long-standing crime syndicate to an interrogation that will expose their operation,” Minho spoke monotonously.

“Which means?” Jeongin prompted.

“Which means?” Minho repeated with strong emphasis on each word. The corner of his eye twitched. “You can’t put two and two together, dipshit?”

“Which means bad news,” Chan said, making it known that he was still present. His eyes were unreadable, and his movement seemed fidgety. He moved up his seat so he could stand near Minho. “A crime syndicate… I think I know who he’s talking about.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “They may be the same people who hired me to pose as a high school teacher so I can steal the twins, so whoever those three are going to, they’re not gonna be fighting strangers.”

Chan got off the wrong foot with all of you, especially with the twins. Cozying up to you and helping you through being bullied in your new school while you were placed in suppression cuffs was a ploy to slap a thief’s tool onto the twins. Alas, he should have thought it through better than agreeing to steal powers with a mind of their own. The twins broke out of the thief’s box and attempted to kill Chan, but eventually, they only turned him into the faculty. The only reason why he was still alive now was because he was prosecuted and kept safe in prison.

If he was roaming free, failing a job could only mean death. But that past mattered not at the moment.

“Minho is right. They’re fighting people who had years to gather information and plan for what they are capable of,” Chan said. “They haven’t initiated anything again after I failed, though.”

“Sending them to their doorstep is suicide,” Minho said. “Do you even know who the head of the branch is?”

“You’ve got something bad to say,” Jeongin said.

“I fucking do. Get used to it if you want to recruit me as a team member,” Minho said with a smirk. “Does any of you read the news?”

“Not my favorite pastime,” Changbin replied.

Felix raised his hand timidly. He was trying to shake off the feeling that he had done something wrong even when he was only following orders. “I do.”

“We are not the only ones going after this organization. A few months ago, there was news about a special agent possessing power from the God of Ruination.” Minho sniffed when he saw the recognition on Felix’s face. “You know.”

“I know a little, yes. They can kill anything or anyone as long as they sacrifice something in return, and whatever they sacrifice has to be of equal value to what they are killing. We would have recruited them if they weren’t already working for an agency,” Felix said. “They were put on emergency leave after a failed mission. I think they almost died just to end up missing their target by a mark.”

Felix heaved a deep sigh, trying to recall precisely what he had read about on the news. He couldn’t be sure what he said because there had been rumors about the news broadcast being misguided to report false information. People were talking about the case on various discussion forums when it happened because of how unbelievable the prosecution process was. But it wasn’t the sentencing that received a skeptical outcry. It was the man who was prosecuted. The man was a nobody. Not an underdog, just a nobody. The only way he could be charged for almost killing a special agent was when he was covering for someone else, someone important.

“My cellmate who kept talking was the one who got framed for what happened to that agent,” Minho said. “He was covering for his boss, the man who survived a power that was supposed to be able to kill anyone.” He shifted his weight against the hard chair and side-eyed Changbin. “Now your kids are going after him.”

“I hate to say this, but if they’ve made plans to kidnap the twins before, they are not gonna take this second chance for granted,” Minho added as he leaned against the back of the pew. He closed his eyes and hummed solemnly. “Sending a powerless con artist to interrogate the man alone is also suicide, by the way. I would volunteer, but this unit feels like a mess, so I’m not sure about working with you people.”

“Yang Jeongin!”

Changbin was right. It should have been him. He should have gotten the job, or at least he should have been asked to tag along as backup. Sharply, he turned to glare at Jeongin, who was still cluelessly processing the newfound information. Jeongin caught his rejecting eyes and flinched in response. An anger burning inside Changbin was filled with hatred, blame, and guilt.

Jeongin should have taken his role seriously. He would not have dispatched you three to a madman if he did. He and Seungmin should have asked for a second opinion regarding his decisions. Ignorant, busy young adults taking up the responsibility for others’ livelihood? This should have never happened. But how could any of them possibly anticipate this turn of events? Not one person questioned this. Not Jeongin, Seungmin, Felix, Hyunjin, and definitely not you three, who have always come home unscathed. Jeongin sincerely thought this wouldn’t be a problem and was the best chance to cover up the metro station damage.

Jeongin would never send his friends to die on purpose. This was a genuine mistake.

Changbin sighed. He couldn’t even be angry in peace. Rubbing his wrist, he stared at the floor to concentrate on the self-induced debate in his head. He spared not another glance at anyone when he straightened himself and walked out of the cathedral. Minho followed Changbin’s back with his eyes, having held himself back from making any comments from the mere intimidating sound of Changbin’s steps.

Felix clenched his jaw to stop his teeth from clattering. He only realized his fingers displayed light tremors when he hastily took his phone out of his jean pocket. Ignoring the shaky screen, he immediately shot you multiple texts to poorly explain the situation and to urge you and the twins to turn around. He looked up between texts, witnessing Jeongin’s stable state by the pulpit, and licked his lower lip.

“It’s not your fault, Jeongin,” Chan said, his steps toward the boy tentative.

“Nobody can be faulted here because nothing will happen to them!” Felix managed out with forced laughter. “No mistakes were made!”

“Look, I’m sorry that this is all very sudden, but keep your thoughts in your head. Okay?” Chan requested lowly after he neared Jeongin. “You know what happens when you say things out loud.”

Jeongin knew, which made it all the more suffocating for him. Ever since growing up, any negative thoughts—his worries, anger, and anxiety—were pushed to the back corner of his mind because of his gifted verbal influence. He could control his power of persuasion for the most part, but negative feelings were often unpredictable due to their robust nature. If he says it out loud and means it, it will happen. If he talked about a worrisome future, it would turn out exactly as he worried it to be. Even if he was desperately willing to talk about his feelings, he could not.

Do not say he made a mistake. Do not say he was worried. Do not say he should have made a better decision. Do not say someone should help, just in case. Do not say anything. He might have sent his friends on a suicide mission, and he cannot speak about his feelings.

“Minho.” Say nothing of it. “We will not be able to reduce your sentence, but if you work for us, you get out of prison. Not free, but out of it, nonetheless.”

Minho has nothing snarky to say to Jeongin. Even though the team felt unorganized, he thought anything would be better than behind bars, so he only nodded. “Sure.”

Jeongin looked ahead at the cathedral, his eyes grazing past Felix.

Do not say anything.

Jisung scrunched his nose up and swung his hand before his face to waft off the sewage smell. He fidgeted about aimlessly; tapping his feet impatiently against the floor, ruffling his hair and wiping the oil off the bridge of his nose, rolling his hoodie sleeves up because his skin felt suffocated and rolling them back down immediately because he hated the thought of sewage air hitting against his skin. He let out a frustrated yell when Han closed the manhole.

“Jeongin did this on purpose! He wants us smelling like sewage rats!” Jisung complained. “When we’re done with this, the first thing I’m doing when I see him is punch his teeth in!”

“I don’t think Jeongin even knows where he is sending us to,” you pointed out as you pinched Jisung’s nose to urge him to simply stop smelling the area. You held on despite his playful protests. “I bet Seungmin had a say in this decision.”

“I’ll punch him too!” Jisung said, his voice coming out nasally. When he finally got your fingers off his nose, he punched the air with his fists and yelled, “It smells disgusting down here!”

Han groaned in annoyance at the fit his brother was throwing. The way Jisung’s whiny voice echoed off the spacious tunnels made him even harder to ignore. “Stop whining,” he said. “The sooner we find the man, the sooner we can get out of here.”

“Like I don’t know that,” Jisung slurred in a high-pitched voice. He pulled a face by frowning with exaggeration. “Felix gave us nothing to work with!”

“I’m sure Seungmin will send us something once he finds more information,” Han suggested doubtfully.

“There’s no service down here. I checked,” Jisung said with a pat on his pocket. “Which probably means that someone has been doing some tinkering down here.”

“Felix mentioned that this is related to the recent missing cases, right?” you said with crossed arms as you peeked over a corner to find a never-ending tunnel identical to the ones you could see from every direction. You looked down at your feet briefly, noticing the dark spots on your white shoes and letting your eyes trail along the floor, then you looked back up at the twins. “Come here, you guys.”

“He did say that, but I’m gonna bet on it being a speculation,” Han murmured as he leaned over your head to see what you were looking at. “Maybe all the cases are associated with this man, but saying this man is kidnapping all these people under the order of someone with a higher authority feels like a stretch to me. It could just be one maniac doing all of this on his own.”

“Why are we thinking so much about it? Let them do all the thinking. We can just do the punching,” Jisung said with a shrug.

“Don’t say ‘we,’ you clearly aren’t thinking about anything,” Han joked lowly.

“Actually, I was thinking about something. I was thinking about a way to get us out of here quicker.” Jisung slapped the back of Han’s head and continued to do so a few more times when Han complained with low, strangled noises paired with a glare that Jisung did not find threatening. “We should blow holes through the walls. He has got to be in here somewhere.”

You furrowed your brows in disagreement. “The market will collapse.”

“I said blow holes through the tunnel walls, not open a gaping hole on the roof,” Jisung clarified as-a-matter-of-factly.

“The tunnel walls are connected to the roof,” you waved your arms around, “which means one mistake and the whole market collapse on us!”

“Then let’s not make any mistake.” Jisung shrugged.

“Was that what Han thought when he blew up the metro rails?”

Han let his jaw drop from the side. He was paying mild attention to the back-and-forth between you and Jisung.

If he has to listen to you two argue about unimportant things, he would have to grant ownership of his hearing to you both. He got good at tuning you out and minding his business. He could do that exceptionally at home, where despite the close vicinity you three were bound to be in, ignoring you two was an ability indissoluble. But here, in the underground sewage system, he had nothing to do but listen. Not once has he chimed in, yet somehow he was roped into the conversation.

“That was uncalled for,” Han said, a hand pressed firmly over his chest.

“I’m sorry, Han, but–“ You sighed. “You did cause a lot of collateral damage for someone who could be no more than a petty thief.”

“He wouldn’t be on the BOLO list if people thought he was just stealing invaluable things,” Han argued.

“No, I think people will complain about anything when they realize that someone is listening,” Jisung said softly, his hair bouncing with his faint nods. “Give them an inch, and they’ll take a mile. The inch almost blew them up in a metro train–“ He made an explosive sound effect and mimicked a bomb exploding with his hands. “They’ll still take the mile!”

“Don’t say they should have died, even to make a point,” Han cut his twin off with a grimace.

“I’m not heartless. I wasn’t going to.” Jisung shrugged. “I was just thinking about it.”

You audibly gagged at Jisung’s response.

You never forget how cruel Jisung could be, even though he was superior to Han in terms of being empathetic. People always found him more approachable; he was outgoing, friendly, and excellent at accurately vocalizing other people’s feelings for them. You formed the theory that Jisung seemed to have an innate ability to put himself in others’ shoes due to his half of the power leaning towards a brighter, more divine magic. If only he acted on those emotional skills, then some things he says and does would be less outrageous.

“You are–” You paused to sigh, not looking at Jisung. “Unbelievable.”

“I actually don’t take that as a compliment from you.”

“Good, I wasn’t being positive,” you mindlessly said as you scooted closer to the corner. You beckoned the two to stay close to you and pointed down the tunnel. “There is less water on the ground going that way.”

“Felix said this sewage system got turned into an elaborate hideout, right?” you continued as you turned around to face the twins. “Unless that guy has a thing for smelling rotten feet, wherever in this place he decided to turn into some criminal laboratory, he will probably drain out the water.”

“I bet he just likes sewage smell,” Jisung sneered under his breath.

Han raised his brows in acknowledgment of what you said. It would make sense, although he doubted how presentable a criminal hideout has to be. But seeing the expected level of water in this place, not draining them would make it a hassle for anyone to navigate, so it made sense to get rid of the water if one wanted to turn this place remotely into a secret working spot.

“So we follow dry grounds.” Han nodded.

“It’s just an assumption, but it’s an objective,” you said. “We can go from there.”

Jisung already moved ahead of you both, jogging ahead to an intersection to look for a tunnel with lesser water on the ground. His head whipped around in all four directions before he hollered with his arm pointed outward. You and Han followed his lead without question as the plan was straightforward, and Han kept note of possible tunnel directions you three could take that also had sewage water drained out for future backtracking.

At some point, when the water was drained to leave only puddles on the floor, Jisung hopped off the restricting side road and ran about freely. You didn’t say much about the sewage water he carelessly splashed against his shoes and ankle socks when he stomped on the water, but you planned to make exaggerated sighs around the apartment when you do end up cleaning the shoes for him.

“I feel like we’re going around in circles,” you said after you stopped walking.

Jisung pursed his lips into a frown that could double as a comedic smile. “How would you know? Everywhere looks the same. We could be making progress.”

“Walking isn’t progress, Jisung,” you heaved out.

“Well…,” he played with his fingers, “what if I just blow one small hole in one of these walls?”

He has already decided that he would. Asking you for permission was a performative courtesy. He ignored your many protests with a smile and continuous reassurance that he wouldn’t mess things up like last time. Then he argued that the infrastructure damage could not be too severe if all he did was destroy one wall and that it didn’t make sense for the entire tunnel system to collapse just because one wall had fallen. As he placed his hand on the wall, he further joked about how hilarious it would be if he blew a hole and people were waiting on the other side.

“Jisung!”

An explosion muffled your voice, then by the falling of concrete and debris. Jisung uncovered his face and fanned his hand around to wave away the fog. His eyes rolled upward in anticipation, and when nothing else terrible happened, he pumped his fist silently to celebrate. He turned around to face you and Han, more than ready to boast about how he was right all along, and you should have let him blow this place up since the beginning, but he paused when he saw you both staring ahead at the broken wall.

There were people on the other side, just not waiting. Over on the other side of the wall stood two men, just enough players for the card game you saw abandoned on the foldable square table propped around the corner. They were both staring at you, which gave you the indication that Jisung and Han were invisible to them; there were no cues for Jisung to appear, and Han likely reacted before the explosion to conceal himself.

“Oh, hello.” you greeted with widened eyes and a forced giggle. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”

They looked at you skeptically, but neither gave off a feeling of hostility. Judging by their attire and choice of activity to pass the time, they were likely throwaways working under this branch of the criminal organization. You thought you could test your luck with getting information out of them; nothing in detail, just some information on where their boss was located within this elaborate sewage system. But that may risk you not only getting no valuable intel from them but also being exposed that you were up to no good. Besides, there could be more groups stationed all over this place. Getting exposed would be a hassle.

“Um…,” you kicked your feet and pointed a finger upward, “I fell down here and got lost. Do you mind showing me the way out?”

Jisung tilted his head as scoffs of disagreement shoved past his lips. He thought you would have a better plan, such as straightforwardly asking for directions to the big man. If you were afraid of suspicion, you could have easily pretended to be a foreign collaborator recently arriving in the country, given that a criminal operation was happening. There was no way these lackeys would know every person their boss kept in contact with and how everything operates, so all you really needed was a confident act, which you did not deliver.

“How did you get out of your suppression cuff?”

You rubbed the back of your neck and stared ahead at the man who spoke. “What?”

“You, go check on the other ones, see if any of them escaped.” He turned around and gestured to his colleague, who hurriedly scurried away. He clicked his tongue when his attention was back on you. “You’re a sneaky one. I don’t remember seeing your face when you lot got dropped here. I’m not sure what you’re planning, but trust me when I say things will go much easier if you just behave.”

You stumbled back a few steps once the realization hit that he may be discussing the missing cases you’ve been reading about on the news.

Seungmin’s speculation and what he just told you was a coincidence good enough for you to believe in your computer nerd of a friend. If it was true, there were a group of kidnappees here waiting to be dealt with—was it human trafficking? It was the thing you could think of. But would trafficking elders nearing their deathbeds be worth anything in this industry? That was a peculiar deviation from what you always hear about. Yet, why else would someone kidnap groups of people? It wasn’t a case of infatuation! Was it to start a cult? There were people down here. Some of them may be the missing ones!

The subtlety of your anxiety did not go unnoticed. Jisung observed the light tremors in your delayed response rate, your brain halting to constant stops as unfortunate thoughts popped into your head. You three have been at this job for two years already, which made dealing with terrible people a common occurrence. But, usually, by the time you three were assigned to catch someone, there was already ample information on who they were and what they had done. This case was on a much larger scale than you were used to. Coming face-to-face with it happening caught you off guard.

You squealed when you felt touched, your thoughts coming to a halt.

“Focus,” Han whispered into your ear as he gently pushed at the small of your back. “Follow him. He might lead us somewhere.”

You curtly nodded without peeling your eyes off the men standing before you. You decided not to move an inch, heeding the advice to behave. You doubted they would be taking you to see their boss, but you figured if you were thrown somewhere with the rest of those who were kidnapped, you could at least break them out of this place so you could have something to report back to the team.

Or at least you thought you could. Your heart rate picked up when you saw the gleaming suppression cuff the man hesitantly took out of his pocket. He looked behind him at his colleagues as if to ask for advice, weighing the cuff in his hand.

You had first-hand experience during high school when you were put on suppression cuffs as punishment for Han’s use of excessive force against a student on the first day. You remembered vividly how horrible the experience was.

Most people described the effect of the suppression cuff as annoying. People never enjoyed having a constant taken away. But the results were exceptionally terrible to you because they went beyond merely restricting your use of powers.

Jisung and Han would be temporarily erased from existence when you put on suppression cuffs; the keyword was that there were two—one for Jisung and one for Han. The cuffs themselves were not invented to extract a toll on people. However, Jisung and Han were born as an extension of you. While not developed in the same womb (the twins began as infants), the unknown God split and reattached the umbilical cord between you and the twins as a symbol of bodily and soulful attachment. The twins’ health and strength positively correlate with yours; if both twins die, you die with them.

You three were born to be together, always and forever.

Losing any of one you was the equivalent of losing a limb, an organ, a part of yourself. Suppressing their existence creates not only emotional turmoil but also gradual physiological deterioration that persists just before the point of death.

Besides those side effects, this was not the time for the twins to be put on restrictions. Additional to being an extension of yourself, the twins were your source of power. The unknown God gave all of its power for you to use; the only reason why you could not personally use it was that a human body was too fragile, hence the birth of the twins. Without them, you were as good as being powerless, which was no good at all in this context.

Your immediate response of drawing back earned you an impatient frown. He persisted, and you would admire his effort not to resort to drastic measures if you weren’t feeling so anxious. He was probably expecting you to use your power, which, if he assumed was how you blew up a hole in the wall, was something he had to look out for. However, as his patience wore thin after it was made abundantly clear that you would not cooperate, he raised his arm slowly as if charging up, then instead of hitting you as you expected, he clamped it around your wrist.

His palm was scorching hot. It was the same sensation as when you accidentally bumped your forearm against the oven rack while taking out the tray of cookies you were baking with Hyunjin at his home, except you weren’t allowed to flinch away this time. You gasped in pain, your fingers croaking as you tried to snatch your hand away from his grip. The burn on his palm was quick to fade when the man spared a glance behind your shoulders between putting the cuff on you, and immediately he saw Jisung and Han hovering over your now shrunken figure.

“Twin–twins.” he stuttered under his breath, elements of recognition slowly trickling into his brain. He released you so he could take a few strides backward, and his eyes uncontrollably followed Jisung’s hand that reached to cradle your burnt skin.

“[Name], this is a second-degree burn,” Jisung said after examining the injury.

“I know,” you groaned out.

“Okay,” he said, his voice calm as a motionless pond. He disregarded the attitude you gave him. “So let me take it. I can endure it better than you. Also, if we’re gonna fight, we need you in tip-top shape. Helps me heal faster than usual too.”

You pursed your lips together. You always hated this.

Han was out of the question regarding any abilities that could aid others; the foundation of his powers was, for lack of a better word, self-centeredness. Anything good that he can do, such as healing, he can only use it on himself. Jisung, on the other hand, can only heal others. But he must do it as a self-sacrifice, an angelic symbolism. He has to take the pain from others. Jisung’s self-healing ability fared much worse than Han's but arguably better than humans, meaning the pain would linger if not treated properly. Still, he would eventually return to his original shape.

Since Jisung has impressive physical durability, he never minded taking pain from you and, occasionally, his friends. He has been assigned the role of a healer since you were grown enough to start scraping your knees through reckless chasing. You did not bother with this gentle exchange until high school, specifically when you were put on suppression cuffs and bullied without the twins’ presence. It had been an eye-opening experience for you in the worst way possible.

Disregarding the bullying (which vaguely tired down when Hyunjin befriended you), what your schoolmates said to be horrible and insensitive to you was right. You were useless without them. You have not learned to stand up for yourself because you never had to. You only knew how to be friendly, kind, and agreeable so your peers would stop treating you with high caution. You molded yourself after the desire to be social and make friends, and your privilege was that you never had to worry about being in danger because you always had the twins around. They made you soft. They made you easy to hurt.

The suppression cuffs were taken off after school every day. For the earlier days of the punishment week, Jisung would sit by you on the floor of your shared bedroom and take the bruises from your body. Colliding with the metal lockers, pushed to the brick wall, being shoved and kicked around—nothing on the face for the teachers to notice, everything under clothing to be hidden from plain sight. Even if the teachers knew, you doubted anyone would do anything anyway. You three already knew you were in the private school the same way an animal in the zoo was placed on a stage to perform. You were there to be watched, first and foremost, not to receive an education.

You figured you should handle it on your own. You wanted to tank it as proof to yourself, more than anyone else, that you do not have to rely on the twins for everything. You stopped letting Jisung heal you and requested that they leave the students alone once punishment week was over. You needed to prove yourself to be useful and durable. You didn’t ‘need your brothers to do everything for you!’ Jisung respected your wishes. But that was after you gave him a week-long silent treatment after he decided to heal you during your sleep without permission.

“How’s their arm?” Han asked as he sneaked a peek at your injury. The developing burn was gone and transferred to a reddening spot on Jisung’s skin. You gave in due to the circumstance; if this had happened at home, you would have persisted in suffering through it. Han did not think much of it. He was glad that you wouldn’t be in pain anymore.

Jisung had rolled up his sleeve to give the injury air. The stinging pain barely bothered him. As you two approached Han, he ushered you behind him subtly and kept a firm grip on your hand in case of emergency. Looking ahead to find the men precisely where they were before he stopped paying attention, he lightly chuckled and shook his finger in their direction. “What’s going on? Is he frozen?”

“Yeah. He hasn’t moved,” Han replied.

“I think he recognized us,” you said as you pushed your head between their arms to get a better look at the men. “He did call you two twins.”

“That’s because we are,” Han said with a deadpan. You clicked your tongue and slapped his back just strong enough to make him flinch away with a playful smirk.

"It doesn't seem like he’s going to do anything. Not to you two, at least," you clarified what you meant. "What if we ask him where his boss is?”

“He's not going to sell his people out like that. Let alone the head of an organization!" Han exclaimed in a whisper, with a disbelieving huff flying out his mouth a beat after the words fell that you thought were unnecessary.

Jisung hummed with a tilt of his head. He observed the three men standing with their guard up but hadn't moved an inch still. There wasn't much to be analyzed—plain clothes, a table with a card game, one suppression cuff, a fire-type ability, and someone who left to check on the kidnappees. Jisung thought the other person might have run off to notify others of intruders, but as far as he knew, they only saw you and likely did not process you as a threat.

"He might if we give him a reason to," he muttered as he took the initiative to approach the group of lackeys.

The man glanced down at Jisung's burnt skin and up at his calm face. It was made clear that scorching heat would not bother Jisung. He didn't think it would anyway if the rumors about the twins he heard were true. It was moving like the rumors were accurate, which would pose a huge problem. This was not about him losing miserably at a match with the twins. That part has been crystal clear since the news released their power scale scores to the public. This was about the deliberate operation to steal the twins again, which had been ordered to jump into action at any given chance they could get.

A lot has changed since the first theft operation to take the twins, which Chan was involved in. It had been a disaster. The gadget—The Steal Box—used to host stolen powers broke open shortly after the twins were stuffed inside the box. At that time, the lesson learned was that stealing power in the form of individuals capable of making decisions is inefficient because it will escape and return to its owner. An additional lesson learned was that the thieving gadget may have broken due to its inadequacy in storing a lot of energy at once. Like suppression cuffs, the Steal Box breaks when used on the twins directly.

The renewed operation plan changed accordingly to what went wrong in the first one. The Steal Box was modified to be stronger than the one approved by the government and marketed to the public. But, most importantly, seconds after getting the twins inside the box, someone has to put you on two suppression cuffs to prevent them from breaking out. You would be released from the cuffs when the boss saw fit to do so, but it was never revealed what the desired circumstance to do that was. There was no need for anyone to know what the head of the branch wanted with the twins. The only thing anybody has to know was that the plan starts at any given chance, which was now.

"You want to meet the boss?”

Jisung pursed his lips into a downward smile and nodded. "Yeah. Do you know where he is?"

“For what?”

You pushed past the twins so you could talk to the man. You leveled him with a stare as you hid your arms behind your back. “Just to talk.”

“Just to talk?” he mimicked your higher-pitched, youthful voice, then he kept a sneer on his face that you weren’t sure came from a general disregard people have for the young, or a personal grudge. “Government agents coming all the way down here to a criminal hideout is not going to be here just to talk. What do you guys want?”

“You have some nerve threatening us,” Han said.

“I’m not threatening you. I’m being an asshole. You wouldn’t know someone is being a bitch if they did it to your face.”

You pursed your lips to hold back a chuckle that Jisung heartily released from his chest. There was no distinction between threatening someone and being an asshole. It was funny because Jeongin said something similar before sending you three off to the sewage system, and perhaps the man spoke some truth about how Han has a hard time telling if people were being genuinely mean. Han based a lot of others’ intentions and actions on his feelings—if he was offended, then they must be horrible; if he wasn’t offended, then they must be neutral. The kick was that he was primarily undramatic about things.

“We’re here because we suspect that your boss has something to do with the recent missing cases,” you clarified before pointing a finger toward the direction his colleague had run off to minutes ago. “Which makes it interesting that you told your friend to check on the kidnappees.”

“I’m just doing my job.”

“It’s a shitty job!” Jisung commented with a boastful smile as if he had done something heroic by verbalizing how bad holding innocent people hostage is. He pulled back his head and grimaced when you gave him a nod of pitiful approval.

“I know you are doing your job, which is why I strongly advise you to take us to your boss,” you said with a snap of your fingers. “Don’t tank a fall for someone who doesn’t care about you. It’s not a noble thing to do.”

Your heart thumped as you watched the hesitant man intently. He kept the silence in the air for a minute too long that Jisung started to cross his arms and tap his feet. The noise of his sneaker beating the floor echoed through the tunnel, a constant noise that made the man roll his eyes and break out of his trance. He dropped his hands to his side before reaching for his phone. You said nothing when he tapped briefly on the blackened screen. The man looked up after shoving the phone back in its original place.

“Follow me.”

You raised your brows, but the facial change was unnoticeable. You didn’t want anyone to notice your disbelief.

This was going too smoothly, to a point where it felt against your favor. Even though most missions have gone easy for you three because of the blatant power disparity, saved for the occasional (as Hyunjin loved to say) collateral damage, this was going far too well. Desperate people were often persistent, even in the face of utter doom. Most criminals you three have met would push through for a fleeting chance, a minor mishap, a God-given opportunity to fight back or to run. Once they get it, they will latch onto it until you rip it out of their bloody hands.

Immediately giving up and seeing you to where you needed to go was suspicious, even if it felt like you talked the man into giving up. Perhaps he was stalling when he made those thoughtful faces to trick you into believing that you were guiding his decisions, and he had an alternative plan all along that he couldn’t have you suspecting of. You brainstormed the different ways this scenario could unfold as you walked through the spacious tunnels, and there were many ways this could go.

One, you three were being led into a trap, and instead of notifying their boss of your arrival, they called for backup. Two, you were escorted to meet the big man himself, and you strike a fraudulent deal to trick him into following you to the department headquarters. Three, instead of him taking the deal, he chose not to cooperate, then you must forcefully bring him back to the department headquarters. Four, you three were tricked into walking in circles for as long as it would take for the boss to arrive after being notified of your presence, and you were set up to be ambushed.

"I have a bad feeling about this," you whispered.

"You always have a bad feeling," Jisung muttered nonchalantly, his focus maintained on keeping his walking straight for his childish satisfaction. "You had a bad feeling during our statistics exam too, and guess what?”

"We got that question wrong," Han said before Jisung could continue.

“What? We did?” Jisung exclaimed to himself as he threw his arms up in defeat. They dropped to his side loosely, bouncing and bumping off his torso. He seemed genuinely disappointed, which you figured he would be since he was the one who made up the answer. But, just as you were about to say something comforting, Jisung shrugged and pointed a finger at you and Han. "For the record, we didn't get it wrong. The boy sitting next to us did. The only wrong we did–I did! Was being too trusting!"

"You cheated?”

"We." Jisung swung his hands in a circular motion to gesture between all three of you. "We cheated."

"Jisung, why would you do that?" you asked exasperatedly. "What if the professors find out? They're going to force me back on the cuffs again during tests, and you know I won't do well when that happens!”

"Yeah, I know, but get this," Jisung held up his hands in mock surrender and a gesture of tranquility, "they didn't find out.”

"That's why the question is hypothetical," Han said immediately. "Dumb shit.”

Jisung was the last person to stop walking. Today was not going well for him! He prided himself in being optimistic and cheerful, albeit his optimism often resided in violent situations he liked to suggest. He never thought himself to be pissy (he was), but you two were getting on his last nerve! Did he do something to be ganged up on like this? He hasn’t consciously stolen leftovers in a while; he kept the bathroom clean after using it, and, well, he was loud when he was playing video games but who wasn’t? If he did something annoying, he couldn’t realize it, so why was he getting attitudes left and right?

Without realizing it, you three have stopped in your tracks to have this conversation, to have an abrupt siblings' quarrel.

"Why are you both against me today!" Jisung raised his voice after stuttering out incoherent noises.

"That's your interpretation of what we're doing," you said.

"That's your interpretation of what we're–" Jisung yapped about in a tone that exaggeratedly mimicked yours, but he was cut short when you reached out and collided your fist to his chest, punching him hard enough to stumble. Jisung glared at you with a surprised gasp he let out. When he regained his balance, he immediately retaliated by slapping you. “What the hell!”

“Don’t fucking hit me!” Shocked, but not enough to be taken back wholly by Jisung’s action, you hissed out as you advanced toward him with your arms outstretched.

Jisung readied himself, yet his only resort was to clumsily block your punches once your arms began thrashing about near his head and shoulders. You slapped the back of his head, punched his cheek off to the side where the jaw met, pulled his hair, and hit the back of his neck once you got his head to bow toward your direction. He continuously let out yells of protest, beyond irritated, as he haphazardly threw his hands around to either block or attack you. Whatever he could manage while being forced to look at the floor would do. When his fingers felt even a whiff of your hair, he latched onto it and pulled, turning the tables around.

“Gosh, you both,” Han muttered before the short string of profanity targeted toward calling you two a waste of space, childish, annoying, and aggressive all in one sentence. He marched over with the intention of pulling you two apart, but when Jisung put you in a headlock and tugged you around to make you lose your balance, Han got hit on the way, causing Jisung to direct the hostility toward him.

“Han, get out of the way!”

Like spikes unleashing, the hair on Han’s neck stood. Not only was this brawl unnecessary, but it was also dangerous. It seemed that you and Jisung had forgotten you were stooped in the middle of an underground sewage system refurbished to become a criminal hideout. Letting your guard down to resolve a quarrel with violence was the last thing to focus on. Han wasn’t even part of this brawl. He never said anything! How could Jisung yell at him like that? He cracked his knuckles and pursed his lips together, deciding he would ultimately join the sibling brawl anyway. But, as he took the first step toward you both, he paused.

The standing of his hair wasn’t from Jisung’s misplaced annoyance. There was something else in the atmosphere. Not cold, not hot, just something, someone.

A bolt of yellow caught the corner of Han’s eyes. He snapped his head upward to find it scraping past his peripheral vision and going down a path toward where you and Jisung were still grappling with each other. Cursing aloud, Han lunged his body toward you both, his hands stretched to his side. He pushed both of you out of the way of the bolt of lightning, causing it to hit and blow a small hole through the ground. Jisung let go of you immediately at the commotion, but he kept a hand near the base of your neck while you turned to look at where the noise came from.

The attack did not cease after its failed first attempt. Han’s brows were furrowed when he briefly saw a man standing near the end of the tunnel. Seconds after that was another bolt of lightning coming your way, which Han managed to deter at the cost of his arm. It seemed that the bolt pierced through his upper arm, through the bone, and took his arm with it. You flinched at the blood that splattered on your face while Han looked over and grimaced at his torn sleeve. The immense pain that came with having a limb torn off vanished when his arm regenerated within a blink of an eye; bones, vessels, flesh, skin, and all those components stretching out through what was left of his arm.

“Well,” Jisung mused, almost comedically, “that was something.”

“I’ve never actually seen you regenerate a whole arm before,” you commented as you turned away from Han. You sucked in a deep breath and harshly knocked on your chest to reduce the urge to puke. “That was disgusting.”

“That doesn’t make me feel good, [Name],” Han said with a frown.

“I would hope it doesn’t. You just got your arm torn off–“ You held up a hand to pause before turning around. You whimpered upon seeing the fallen arm on the floor and hit Jisung’s shoulder. “Oh no, your arm is still there! It’s still there!”

“How screwed do you think we will be if we bring it back and put it in Changbin’s room?” Jisung suggested then, snickering with a few shimmers of his shoulders.

Han laughed with him, giving him an approving bump on the side. “He’ll fuck you up.”

It was clear as day that the three of you were prone to be absorbed in your world, and he could not imagine there was a reason why you shouldn’t develop a lack of care for your surroundings. Nothing painstakingly dangerous has ever happened to you three. Even when a threat is presented to you, it would be reduced to child’s play at the twins’ feet, like a powerless to a powered, a powered to a God.

But there was also no doubt that a plan years in the making was finally set in motion, and he could not afford to fail. The three of you were an asset, a valuable offering to a God capable of sharing more of its magic; there was nothing like getting on a God’s good side by serving them the head of their brothers and sisters.

“Why is everyone frozen today?” you asked under your breath when you caught sight of the man who amputated Han’s arm.

He was of average height and well-built, which you could tell from the short-sleeve shirt barely fitting his torso. One side of the sleeves was ripped off to accommodate his glowing arm. Judging by the shape and the smokey smell that erupted from the two bolts thrown at you three just then, it seemed the glow came from electricity. The man has one arm made out of pure electricity strong enough to rival the lightning current; it was a gift from one of the most popular Gods in ancient and modern days, but more informatively, he may have received a power portion more significant than usual.

You let your gaze linger on him. He must be the guy Seungmin wanted you to catch. He seemed like a big deal.

“That’s a cool arm,” Jisung gawked quietly at first. Then he stuck his head out between you and Han to shout directly at the menacing stranger. “Hey! Cool arm!”

You shoved his face back with alert. “Jisung, stop!” you hissed, to which he responded with a frustrated puff of air out his nose and a few slaps at your arm.

Han inwardly condemned you two for being unable to keep still for a second while keeping his main focus elsewhere. He tilted his head as he scanned the strange newcomer thoroughly. His eyes flashed with horrific fragments before he scoffed, already making up his mind on how he felt about him. “He cut off his original arm to make this artificial one,” Han said. “I can hardly see how that’s worth the pain.”

Jisung held down a chuckle. He doubted Han would understand anything about losing a limp anyway. “You’re just jealous because you will never get a lightning arm.”

“No, Han has a point.” You shook your head after a moment of thought. “You can never hold anything with the other arm. You’ll end up frying your surroundings.”

“Oh, my bad.” Jisung rolled his eyes. “I forgot you two are banning together to go against me today.”

You clicked your tongue and shoved Jisung’s hand off your neck. Han rolled his eyes in silence, but he made a point to exaggerate his movement so that Jisung knew how annoyed he was with such a baseless accusation. Watching your attention spans collectively last no more than a few seconds was humiliating and unsurprising. The man wondered if it was the product of being a young adult drowned in a world of continuous reinforcement or if you three genuinely have no sense of danger and care for your well-being.

Regardless, your lack of focus would work in his favor.

“Remember our main goal.” Raising his electric arm, the man snapped his finger with a dead stare on your face. “The host.”

The illusional cloak unknowingly draped over your sight plopped from your eyes, and before you could process it, the tunnel was filled with people. Strangers surrounded you with one goal in mind: steal the twins. A heavy sigh released beneath your chest. This was an ambush. You were right to be alerted.

“I told you I had a bad feeling about this,” you whispered.

Jisung didn’t spare a glance at you as he unconsciously took a step forward, blocking your figure behind him. What you said was both a jab at his previous reaction and a statement on the urgency of the current situation, but he could not focus on talking back. He fixed his rolled-up hoodie sleeve to ensure it stayed away from the burnt area and subtly popped his wrist.

“We’re getting the big guy there, right?” Han asked for clarification, his arms dropped to his side and his new wrist rotating so he could get used to the muscles and joints.

“Most likely,” you replied. “We should deal with everyone else first. It’s better not to be distracted.”

Han laughed lowly. “We’re a little outnumbered.”

“We are,” Jisung mused with the tip of his tongue swiping across the corner of his lower lip. “How far can we go, [Name]?”

“Huh?” You shook your head as a confused smile grew.

Jisung faced ahead, his hands jittery as a sign of him being trigger-happy. But he waited for your response because he understood the repercussions of him possibly killing a few people along the way. He didn’t care much about the deaths he put on his hands, but he knew Jeongin sent you here as a form of damage control—if you catch a terrible person, people will more or less forgive you for destroying public infrastructures and causing a few accidental near-death experiences. If people don’t, at least it couldn’t be argued that they did something useful. He didn’t want to block those intended results into the mud because he decided to stop a few hearts on the way, and Jeongin would end up having his work cut out for him.

Make no mistake. Jisung couldn’t care less how Jeongin felt, and he still planned to punch Jeongin square in the face when they saw each other again. Depending on the reaction, he would punch Seungmin too.

“Don’t kill anyone,” you said, eyeing over to the side. “And remember, we’re here to get the big guy.”

“Yes, sir,” Jisung joked. A maniacal cackle burst through Jisung’s lip after he jumped up mid-hair and pounced on the nearest person he could see.

Despite his incredible range of magical usage, he has taken a liking to let his fists do the talking and not using magic to his advantage unless necessary. He always enjoyed the forceful feeling at the tips of his knuckles more, and he liked that he had to make accommodations to use his magic because it gave him an easy reason to keep being physical. He would try to dodge incoming attacks in combat with fewer opponents. It was another story when he was outnumbered. His focus remained on getting hits in rather than keeping his body safe. Like a masochist, pain fueled him and made his eyes glow red. It made him punch harder, run faster, and smile wider.

“He’s having fun,” you muttered, sucking in sharp air at the sight of someone’s teeth falling through the air. You could not tell if the tooth belonged to Jisung, as opposed to the blood spots on the ground where he stood.

“He’s gonna take forever to recover from this,” Han said.

“Good. That means we get to be free of work for a while.”

“You mean he’s gonna be free of work,” Han groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “If Jeongin can send us down here, you think he would stop dispatching us on missions just because–“

“Han, stop standing around!” Jisung shrieked with a fistful of someone’s hair. He carelessly dropped the fainted man on the ground so he could throw a middle finger up at Han after seeing his brother’s nonchalant expression in response.

Not allowed to react to Jisung, Han felt the goosebumps traveling through his skin and detected a presence at his side. He leisurely raised his hand, his fingers crooked with only the index finger standing straight. You ducked behind him at the blinding light that emerged in a flash while Han stared deadly into the man’s eyes, hidden partially behind his lightning arm. It took a moment for Han to relax; it was good to know that telekinesis works on the electric arm.

“You kids are so damn weird.”

As soon as Han took off the pressure around the air, the man allowed the momentum of his arm to swing his body around. He hopped, his hips moving along with the motion to kick his leg up high. Han blocked the stomp of the leg with his forearm and shoved it away. Reaching out, he grabbed the front collar of the man’s shirt. He disregarded the burn of electrocution when the man held onto his wrist in an attempt to struggle his grip off. Han quickly punched the older man’s face, returning with his palm facing flat against it so he could slam his muscular body to the nearest wall.

The man gritted his teeth, taking in the gist of Han’s natural strength through the pain. He twisted his hand around Han’s wrist but failed to break it. It did catch Han off-guard, though, and he took the chance to break free from the hole in the wall. Ducking his sudden arm swing, Han dropped to the ground and kicked his body into a cartwheel, his feet colliding against the man’s chin into an uppercut. The elder heaved an irritated groan as he snapped back to the present. He charged at Han.

Han blocked his roundhouse kick twice, and he grasped onto the man’s ankle at the third kick. Pulling at his feet to throw him across the tunnel, Han did not anticipate the grab on his shoulder, causing him to halt his movement, or else he could have been thrown along with the man. Taking Han’s confusion as an opportunity, the man grounded his other feet against the floor for leverage and quickly swung Han’s lightweight body over his shoulder. He let go, leaving Han in mid-air, and charged his electric arm enough to punch Han a few yards away to the other end of the tunnel.

Jisung looked away from the lackeys at the commotion. His eyes widened when he found his brother standing up from afar, slowly registering the fact that the man must have considerable strength. But, more importantly, the next target appeared to be you. Shoving the person before him and hopping atop their stumbling body, Jisung vanished into falling white feathers and reappeared next to you. After you dodged the man’s hand from meeting your shoulder, you hopped back to give Jisung space.

Instead of advancing, Jisung lunged toward you and tackled you into his arms, just in time to miss a punch. Before you two hit the ground, Han motioned at you both and telekinetically pulled you to where he stood.

Jisung tightened his grip on your hand once you both were back on your feet. He wiped the blood dripping from his nose and reached his tongue out to touch the smear around his philtrum. He dealt with most people gathered, leaving a reasonable number of them roaming around. But the main problem here was the man with the lightning arm. Han may have been caught off guard, but being able to push someone several yards away at such high velocity could only mean that either he was well-trained, which wouldn’t make sense regardless, or electricity was not the only power he received, which would be unusual.

Powers come in single forms, discounting the side effects. Electricity is only electricity. It doesn’t give you super strength. Unless the man pawned off an additional ability from a God, which was unheard of but might be the more reasonable explanation for his superhuman strength, there was no way he could have pushed Han that far.

“Are you okay?” Jisung asked.

“Yeah,” Han touched a hand to his ribcage, “he broke my ribs.”

Jisung knew his brother was okay. He eyed the crowd in the front, almost daring them to continue the fight.

“I didn’t say anything before, but,” Han said, “why did he need this many people here?”

“I hate to say this, Han, but more people want us dead than you think.” you gasped before gradually steadying your breathing to calm yourself.

“Yeah. Remember the first day of school?” Jisung added. “Remember what Chan did?”

Han squinted his eyes and scratched his head in recollection. That did not complicate the situation more, but it did not lighten the mood either. The newfound knowledge of the boss’s strength changed how things would turn out. The twins were not afraid, not exactly. Cautious would be a better word. Perhaps even unsure whether this was the best extent to what the older man could do.

There have never been any recorded cases of a God gifting more of their power to a human before. But it would not make sense that he was stronger than an average person even with the criminal experience, which was beginning to seem like that was the case.

“What’s the plan now?” Han asked discreetly, staring ahead at the crowd.

“We catch the guy,” you replied. “But let’s get rid of everyone else first.”

“Han, you do that,” Jisung muttered. “He was going for [Name] just then. I think he knows if they die, we die.”

Han turned to Jisung, frowning. Nobody would sit idly by once he initiates another fight, and if he were too busy handling the crowd, Jisung would have to protect you. Han was worried about his brother’s ability to hold his own without regenerative abilities and already having sustained injuries. “Can you handle it?”

Jisung raised his brows. He should be. For some reason, the distrust did not anger him. He leaned over to bump his knuckles against his brother’s arm and chuckled. “Just come help before I lose an arm.”

“Okay.” Han rubbed the tip of his nose with a smirk. “For the record, did we forgive Chan for that?”

“Oh yeah, totally,” Jisung said with a dismissive wave. “We’ll hate him again when we need to hold something against him.”

Han chuckled before he took off. The gust of wind blew against your face, forcing you to shut your eyes, and when you could open them again, the same electric glow was advancing only steps ahead of you and Jisung. Jisung got into a stance that Changbin taught him, and he focused his breathing in preparation. He thought of this as backyard training with Changbin, who may be the worst opponent he has ever encountered solely due to the veteran’s years of training and experiences. Nothing could be worse than fighting someone like that.

The electricity burnt his palm when Jisung caught a flying fist. He ignored it and tugged the older man forward, leading the path off-track to the side to ram his fist, coated with air pressure, straight at the man’s ribs. Jisung let go after the punch, stumbling slightly due to recoil but immediately regaining his balance to advance toward the man. He hopped up, ready to hand over a roundhouse kick, but vanished into white feathers and reappeared behind the man. Jisung grabbed a fist full of his hair, yanked his head downward to meet his knee, and attempted to fling him into the tunnel wall.

The man could see you before him, shrunken by yourself with neither of the twins by your side. This was what he wanted, to get you alone. He was dissatisfied just then seeing that Han was standing next to you like a guard dog; in terms of getting rid of nuisances, he would much rather fight someone without regenerative abilities. This was his chance, but his anger only built up as Jisung threw him around with stupid magic tricks. Foolish, insolent child. He could not afford to fail this operation after everything he’s done to obtain the powers he wanted.

None were enough. From his wife and children to all he had kidnapped. He needed to offer a God to another God. Imagine the gift he would receive. At some point, as his body slowly becomes accustomed to withholding more energy, he may eventually get enough power to kill a God by himself.

Before Jisung could slam him to the wall, the man reached his zapping arm up and unthinkingly gripped around Jisung’s burnt area, which had been swollen and blistered. The younger boy gritted his teeth in pain when he felt the worm-like electricity digging into his flesh—this hurt more than any attacks he tanked a moment ago fighting the group of lackeys. Jisung released the man’s hair in a hasty attempt to tug himself away when the man began to dig his nails into his skin, tearing through tissues and drawing blood. He screamed for the man to let go, his legs squirming.

You gasped horrifically at the sight and decided to dive into the scene to help. But, seeing you out of his peripheral vision, Jisung screamed at you to stop.

“No! [Name], move away!” Jisung hollered as he placed his palm out, gathering a ball of air pressure and haphazardly releasing it.

The man plummeted a few feet into the ground, and Jisung finally dropped onto the floor. You scrambled over to him and helped him up carefully. He held onto his arm, sweat lacing his hair and his face turning red as he glared at where his hand once was. The force of the air blast, the grounded nails the man had stuck into his skin, and the decaying skin due to continuous burning helped tear his hand straight off when Jisung blasted the man away from him. Jisung trembled, leaning into the pain with his eyes shut.

He was fine. It was just very unexpected.

Before you could do anything, the man emerged abruptly from the hole in the ground. Jisung pushed you away with his body and got caught by the neck. The man smirked as he lifted Jisung off the ground. “I got you two now.” He threw Jisung over his shoulder, around, and across the tunnel to where Han was. As he did so, he yelled, “Open the Steal Box!”

Han looked up and opened his arms to catch his falling brother. He clung onto Jisung as the other boy squirmed to get back on the ground, muttering incoherent demands. Han couldn't find one when he reached to feel for his hand. He could only feel the jagged end of a bone and dripping liquid on his skin. “Jisung, what happened?”

Standing alone on the other side, you quickened your breath at the accelerating situation, and more horrifically, you could recognize two words: Steal Box.

They were not trying to kill you three. They were trying to steal the twins.

“Han, get out of the way!” you screamed when you saw a familiar device being opened behind Han. Before you knew it, your legs began to move, and you were bolting toward your brothers.

You did not stop despite seeing Jisung and Han get sucked into the box. The lid closed, and for a moment, there were silence and the shuffling around of your running. As anticipated, the box shook and glowed along its developing cracks, indicating an attempt to break out. Before the pair of angered twins could bring themselves out of the blackened cage, you were yanked backward by your arms, and within a blink of an eye, two suppression cuffs slammed around your wrists. You gasped shakily as the shaking of the box paused to a standstill.

Nausea overwhelmed you, which you tried your hardest to fight off. You immediately began to grow anxious without the twins around. This was expected; your body could not handle losing an essential part of itself. You had the appearance sequence of the symptoms memorized: sweating, fuzzy eyesight that would fade in and out, burning skin, migraine, stomach pain and the urge to vomit, loss of muscle strength, and so on. And there would be a mix of feeling hollowed out in your chest while being stuffed so full of nothing that you felt suffocated.

Touching a palm to your forehead, you let yourself stumble forward to the person holding the Steal Box. Having let their guard down after knowing the twins were gone, they allow you. You fell to your knees and heaved a few deep breaths. You choked on air suddenly and threw yourself into a coughing fit. Your coughs sounded through the big tunnels, covering the sound of the man’s steps nearing.

“That was eventful.” He motioned for the Steal Box and received it gladly. He took a gracious moment to examine the box, weighing it in his hand, then leaned down to pull you up by your chin. He shook the box before you, as if to tease you of your failure. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for this?”

You pursed your lips together into a scornful grimace despite having your jaw clenched between rough fingers. “I don’t even–“ You huffed, feeling a lack of oxygen in your chest. “I don’t even know you.”

“Of course,” he hummed and dropped you leisurely to the ground. You hit your head and curled into a ball to rub at the pain. “You don’t know a lot of things.”

“I know you’re a thief!” You accused, kneeling up. “Give them back!”

“Shouldn’t your body be deteriorating?” He peered down at you before kicking your stomach to keep you down. He inhaled calmly as he looked away, his eyes focused on the Steal Box. “Give them back–don’t fuck around. Your brothers are very valuable offerings.”

You blinked in confusion. Offerings? Like worship? But you have never heard of giving physical presents to a God before. You thought they gained their powers through prayers and beliefs! Was it just an incredibly niche practice? Raising your head, you gasped between breaths to watch the man turn around and walk away. Whatever he meant, you understood that he intended to kill the twins, which you must prevent. Not just to keep yourself alive but also because you loved them.

After everything they have been through for you, this was the one thing you could do for them. You have to hold your own. You must endure this not because you have to prove that you didn’t need your brothers but because you did need them. Desperately, endearingly, you needed them. You three shared one life together, and you were meant to do so until the very end, which wasn’t this moment. You three were a whole existence, the same coin, buried in one grave. You three stick together, as best friends, as siblings, and you will love each other forever. That was why you have to get the Steal Box.

You threw yourself forward and caught onto the man’s feet. He clicked his tongue and attempted to shake you off. Then he tried to hit you with the Steal Box, leaving jagged corners on your head and temples. You clawed on his skin and jumped to your feet despite the added injuries. Putting your arms around his shoulders, you used his heavier weight as an anchor and jumped onto his body. Then you climbed over his shoulder to remain on his back before, with only malicious intent, sunk your teeth into his neck. You bit until you drew blood, until you felt both of his hands on your hair, and you let him fling you off his back.

You bounced back from the fall against your migraine’s wishes and immediately ran to snatch the Steal Box from the ground. Before you bolted away, you stomped on the man’s feet and shoved his unsuspecting self into a group of others. You kept running, spitting the scratched-off skin surface and the metallic blood out into the air and hoping your legs were taking you back to where you three came from.

Your breathing was heavier against the wind blowing against your face as you run. Clutching the box to your chest, fearing for your brothers, you felt your lungs slowly giving out. The air was turning icy and piercing in your throat, traveling like the drag of a knife against your insides. You remembered how you were never a runner. Even during school Sports Days, you always sat on the benches, cheering for others. You refused to join Changbin whenever he would take his daily jogs on weekend mornings, either. Both because you hated exercising and because your relationship with him was strained.

Drops of tears welled in your eyes at the thought of Changbin. You knew you treated him terribly today, but it would be great if he was here. You promised God that you would apologize to him if he came and saved the day.

A light explosion that landed near your feet made you trip. You stumbled, barely managed to catch yourself, and you quickened your pace with an alarmed cry. Fastened steps caught up from behind you and yanked at your hair, forcing you to stop. The tears that welled in your eyes rolled down your cheeks when you saw the man that torn Jisung’s hand off just a minute ago, but regardless of how much you feared him, you bit your inner cheek and clung onto your brothers as he tried to pull the box out of your hands.

“Give me the box.”

He sounded impatient, and he likely was because he threw you to the side by your hair, causing your back to slam against the wall on your way to the ground. He kicked you into the wall again and stomped on your hand when you tried to steady yourself, breaking some of your fingers. You let out an airy scream, your dry throat unable to produce any more shrieking noises, and you refused to let go of the box. He attempted to pry your arms off its surface, slapping and punching your curled-up body in hopes of loosening your grip. He burned your limbs with electricity, creating boiled spots over your skin. You pursed your lips and shut your eyes tight, taking the painful blows with only protecting the twins as your goal.

“You little shit, hand me the box!”

There was a gruffness in his voice when he yelled that sounded identical but also so different from Changbin’s. He may be strict, but he would never hurt you like this. He would never hurt any of you like this. You sobbed with your cheeks pressed against the box, crying for your father, striking another deal with the unknown God, and promising to be nicer like you always did when push comes to shove.

“[Name]? Han? Jisung?”

You snapped your eyes open, prayers heeded. Scrambling to scream for help, you looked up to find the man distracted as he looked for the source of the voice. Fighting against the growing pain and terrible headache, you tugged the Steal Box under your shirt, wrapped your arms around it, and pushed yourself up and forward. You ran, stumbled, caught yourself again, and kept running as you screamed for the echoes to carry your location to Changbin. If he entered the sewage tunnels the same way you three did, all you had to do was return where you came from.

“Help me! I’m here!” Your voice was hoarse and barely made it out. It sounded like a metal fork scraping against a porcelain bowl or the shrieking chalk against a blackboard.

The man was following hot at your tail, so you held your breath and pushed yourself past your body’s limit to run away from him. After a few corners turned, Changbin finally located the source of the rapid footsteps. He sighed in relief when he saw you running toward him and firmly caught you in his arms after you lunged at him.

“What happened?” he asked when he felt how shaky your body was. Your throat scratched out strangled, desperate cries through a closed mouth.

Changbin dropped to the floor with you, ignoring the water that wet the knees of his jeans, and he examined your body grimly. The twins were gone; he could tell from the cuffs on your wrists. Blood spilled from your lips and nose, some smeared across your forehead through gashes and cuts. There were bubbling spots of dead skin on your arms, and three of your fingers seemed broken.

All the injuries on top of you gradually declining health, it was a miracle you hadn’t passed out yet.

He held your face gently in his hands, wiping at the falling tears, and his eyes were unreadable but shaky. Changbin felt gutted, like someone drove a knife into his stomach and slowly began picking out his organs. Each tremor of his hands that cradled your face was a weep he couldn’t afford to let out through his mouth—he was trained not to cry, and he couldn’t as the adult in this situation either, but his heart was broken and sobbing with worry.

He asked again, his voice barely a hush. “What happened, [Name]?”

“I’m sorry,” you croaked and sniffed, hyperventilating. “I’m so sorry.”

“Okay. It’s okay.” He stroked your hair, unsure of how to respond. He was too focused on what caused all these injuries to ask for the source of your apology.

“Jisung and Han,” you cleared your throat mid-sentence as you let the Steal Box fall from your shirt, “are in here.” You continued to talk between deep, difficult drags of air. “They sucked them into a Steal Box again. I haven’t opened it, but–“ You closed your eyes at the wave of sobs bubbling up. You let it break out. “Dad, I can’t–I can’t breathe.”

He panicked and reached into his jacket for his flask, but he stopped knowing that he had never once filled it with water. Whatever was in there would not necessarily help you. But he didn’t know what else he could do. What else was he supposed to do? He should grab you now and make a run for the hospital—of course! That should be his next step, medical attention! Forget whoever did this. He could always come back to deal with it. What mattered the most now was to get you to safety.

“Oh… Jisung–Jisung’s hand got torn off,” you gestured a motion at your hand, “and he took a burn for me, and–“

Changbin could hear the wind pick up around him seconds before your voice fell flat. A lightning bolt molded into the form of a spear was traveling through the air to where he knelt, but before it could hit anything, Changbin shot his arm out and stopped it in its tracks by grabbing its body. You squealed, shuffling for the Steal Box and holding it to your chest again when the familiar heat neared. Seeing your reaction, he removed his attention from you and turned his head to glance behind his shoulder. The lightning man stood not too far away, amused but bothered by Changbin’s presence.

Changbin looked at the lightning sparkling across the bolt and back at your arms. He clenched his jaw, relaxed, and leaned toward you to brush the hair out of your face.

“Stay here,” he whispered, and he stood up.

His jaw tensed again. Taking a few steps forward, he stopped to keep at a safe distance from the man whom he now knew was behind all of this fiasco. Glancing at the lighting spear in his hand, he sneered disgustedly and curled his fingers tightly around it. His muscle flexed with a faint shake of his arm, his grip pressuring a few cracks onto the electrical weapon until it shattered. Changbin sighed with ease as he wiped the remaining specks of dust on his shirt, and he pressed his lips into a thin line when the man laughed.

He was getting better at handling his short temper. Sometimes Chan liked to joke with him about how he only began to grow impatient because he had to live with three teenagers and that most of what triggered his outbursts was associated with the three of you. He often denied that claim; he liked to think his aggression came from years of serving in the military and being forced into hostile environments. But perhaps he could see some truth in Chan’s assumption. Maybe most of his violence did come from you three because all he could feel now, as he stood opposite of the man who mapped your body with blood, was a choking rage spread across his body.

“At last,” the man mused, “daddy’s here.”

Changbin’s ears felt like popping after being muffled for too long, his listening filled with the flat noise of a high-pitched frequency. His joints ached with emotional restraints, and his muscles screamed to be exerted. His body wanted nothing more than to harm.

The man’s expression was vague, enough to let Changbin know that the man wasn’t a stranger to his past. Three years in the military, six years serving in the special forces, four years strangling down a pair of teenagers who were basically God, and an immunity to magic—compared to the inexperienced twins, Changbin would be worse to deal with. Not to mention he was pushed to his wit’s end after knowing the twins were stuffed in a box and seeing you all messed up and sobbing on the floor.

Seo Changbin would be a nightmare, and he planned to be.

“I don’t appreciate you hurting my kids,” he said, his voice monotonous.

“Well,” the man sighed. “I don’t wish to fight you.”

“I wouldn’t stress about it.” Changbin curled his hands into fists. “You won’t be fighting.”

Stepping on the shattered lightning in the process, Changbin’s slow march toward the man shifted to a jog before turning into a full sprint. The man blocked the roundhouse kick with arms crossed before his head, but even then, he was shoved back a few feet at the sheer impact. He groaned; the intensity was smiliar to Han’s punches, but unlike the younger boy, Changbin’s were heavy and certain. He aimed to immobilize using the least effort necessary instead of dishing out multiple strong blows and hoping for the best.

Changbin gave him no time to adjust to his strength. He ran toward the man and aimed for his chest, further pushing him backward. Having had enough, he finally decided to retaliate. He blocked the follow-up kick by shoving Changbin’s feet to the side.

Changbin skilfully swung his body toward its direction, leveling his feet against the ground to steady himself once it reached, and used it for momentum to swing his opposite arm at his target. The first punch was blocked, but when Changbin bluffed out the second one, he was able to land a blow successfully. The punch sounded out loud in contact, and the man felt blood trickling down his nose. He groaned in annoyance, glaring at Changbin with a burning gaze as if his arrival ruined his life, which it arguably did. Jumping back, he reached for his lightning arm and took a good chunk of it. The empty slot soon smoothed over with electricity.

“I know the lightning doesn’t work on you,” he said as he shaped the lightning into something sharp. “But I’m sure a knife still does.”

The man lunged when Changbin didn’t respond. At this point, he was more agitated than calculative; his movements began to dull predictably as he focused on injuring rather than winning.

Changbin jumped back to dodge before the tip of the knife could graze his chest, and he continued to backtrack in between ducking away from the knife’s advances. When an opening introduced itself, he grabbed the man’s wrist and disarmed him by slamming straight down on his inner elbow, souring a sensitive spot that made him lose his grip.

Changbin caught the electrical knife before it fell and jammed it into the man’s shoulder, causing his knees to buckle. Hopping high enough to land on one of those knees, Changbin pushed the man a few steps back when he shoved himself off the wobbly leg, back-flipping toward the wall and using it so lung himself at the unassuming man again. He kicked his stomach, causing the man to cough out saliva. Throwing the lightning knife into his other hand, Changbin stabbed its tip into a spot above the man’s wrist. He placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back into the tunnel wall.

He thought about it. Killing someone takes less than a second; stabbing someone was more fulfilling than shooting someone because he could feel the tightening of their flesh against the blade, desperately closing and clinging to life. It was more fulfilling, and to some degree, he thought he even enjoyed it sometimes. When he looked at the man in front of him, and flashes of your injured face appeared like fuel to fire, he thought about killing him despite having sworn off doing it again after he was discharged from the military.

“Hold still,” Changbin mumbled. He wiggled and twisted the knife sideways. The electricity made it much easier to slice through skin tissues. Once he felt it hit the bone, he applied constant pressure through a mild, sawing motion. Maybe it was the magic infused in the blade; as soon as the blade edge seeped through, the force of the blade opened the bone for itself to pass through.

You meekly looked up when you flinched at the piercing shrieks. Your eyesight was fading with a heavy fog, and you could barely distinguish which figure was who. Changbin pressed his forearm against the man’s hand to restrain the level of squirming until he, with effort, could let the knife breathe by pulling it out of the man’s arm. A squishy, plopping sound hit the ground. It was a bloodied hand. Seconds later, another thud dropped on the floor. It was the man who fainted.

Throwing the knife away, Changbin sneered down at the body before he crouched and grabbed the man’s cut hand. He swung it about lightly as he jogged over to you and knelt by your feet, his eyes no longer seeing shades of crimson.

“Hey.” he called softly as he put a hand on the Steal Box. A lock piece in the center held the lid shut; if he suspected correctly, it operated through fingerprint recognition like the suppression cuffs were. “Let’s see…”

Taking your hand, Changbin grimaced at the sight of the lifeless hand. You would definitely have a few aggressive words to say if you knew he put something so disgusting anywhere near you. Placing the hand around the suppression cuff, he watched in anticipation as it began to glow brightly before, with a click, the cuff released and rolled off your wrist. After releasing you from both cuffs, Changbin reached for the Steal Box and pressed the thumb to the centerpiece. A line of light traveled through the opening of the lid, circled the piece, and the box opened with a soft click.

A huff of cold air escaped the box as Changbin opened it. You sucked in a breath then, as if breathing in the cold air that got out, and your eyes widened abruptly at the clearing vision. A double weight pressed against your thighs. When you processed the faces in front of you, you registered that it was the twins. Han examined your injuries with a clenched jaw, his brows knitted at the center of his forehead. Jisung clung to his injured arm and gave you a reassuring smile when you two met eyes.

“We’re matching,” Jisung mumbled, pointing a finger to the dry blood on his forehead.

You chuckled at first, and then you sniffed at the tearful knot you swallowed past your teeth. Your eyes watered as you leaned against the wall, and timid sobs rolled down your face. Han pulled his sleeve over his hand so he could dap at your eyes. His voice muttered soft words of urgency that asked you not to cry. Jisung remained silent on his knees, never too sure how to comfort a deeply distraught person, but his eyes observed you, not missing a beat of your in- and exhales.

“It’s okay. We’re okay,” Han cooed, moving his knees closer to your side inch by inch. He wiped your tears and carefully plucked at the strands of hair stuck to your cheek. He kissed the crown of your head. “You’re okay.”

“Are you both feeling fine?”

The twins turned their heads and simultaneously softened when they saw Changbin kneeling by your feet. Han looked away to the back, and his lips pursed into recognition when he noticed the familiar man faintde on the floor. Jisung followed his brother’s gaze. His jaw dropped slightly at the sight, taken back as his hand flew to his wrist to feel for the cut tentatively. He could still feel the lingering pain, but it wasn’t bothering him much anymore. His breathing picked up when he noticed an identical injury on the man.

“I’m good,” Han replied before he eyed Jisung. “I’m not sure about him, though.”

“I’ll heal.” Jisung nodded.

They stayed silent after that, but the glance they shared was riddled with guilt. The kind of guilt you could see in someone when they realize they have been unreasonably horrible to someone they should not be.

“Alright. We will go to the hospital first anyway so we can get [Name] treated,” Changbin said as he stood up. He didn’t know how else to show his concern. He approached the fainted man and reached down to hoist him up so he could throw him over the shoulder. “Text Jeongin that we’re bringing him in shortly.”

“Come on,” Han said quietly as he helped you up. He frowned at how your legs trembled as you stood and how you seemed unable to stand up straight. “Do you need me to carry you?”

“No,” you grunted.

You were toughing it out, as Han assumed you have from all the injuries you sustained. There was a soft sense of pride blooming in his chest and a touch of love knowing that you did everything you could to keep them safe inside the Steal Box, just as he and Jisung did everything to keep you from harm. Not because of a mutual lifeline, but because you loved each other dearly, because you three have been with each other since birth and have never separated once, because you three make one whole.

Han didn’t think you should have to continue holding yourself up after that, but if you insisted, he would comply. Jisung followed closely next to you, cracking jokes that mocked your walking speed. Han held onto you to keep you steady, and he laughed between steps.

The apartment has never been more rowdy since you three moved out.

Hyunjin clapped at the movie on the television, causing you to look up from your phone. You frowned when you realized you had missed the scene entirely, but you decided not to bombard Hyunjin with questions. You repositioned the cross of your legs draped over his lap and sank further against the couch. Hyunjin clicked his tongue into a pout as he adjusted his seat to accommodate you. He quickly let go of the matter when the movie's pace picked up.

Felix sat on the edge of the coffee table before the couch. There was a small, pet container sitting on top surrounded by carelessly thrown colored pencils. In his hands sat a hedgehog unrolled into a comfortable position. The hedgehog, named Sonice but pronounced almost identical to Sonic as a wordplay, was one of Felix’s many emotion pets. It was also the most well-behaved one due to its representation of love, making it harder to trigger the hedgehog into its ten feet high, abominable form.

Besides you, the twins were also not paying attention to the movie Hyunjin suggested watching before dinner. Han didn’t want to start it because he knew dinner would be ready in the middle, and he would lose all interest in it once dinner was done. Jisung protested against watching it because instead of losing interest, he knew he would start shoving food in his mouth for a quick finish so he could be excused earlier to continue. Either way, the two focused more on decorating Jisung’s arm cast than the movie.

After taking you to the hospital, the doctors did sutures on some of the deeper cuts you and Jisung sustained during the mission. Your broken fingers were put back into place, and you were given a splint to prevent further injuries. Jisung was fitted for an arm cast after reattaching his hand, which he remembered to get before Changbin could drive to the hospital. Thankfully he remembered, or else he would have to wait a painfully long process for his hand to grow back, from the blood vessels to the skin and bone.

Instead of escorting him to the department headquarters, the fainted man had to be hospitalized for his injuries before he could be dealt with. Changbin handed him over to the medical staff and returned to check on you three, wanting nothing more to do with him directly while knowing he’s got one hell of a report to write later.

The spotty burns on your arms were more challenging to deal with. They were less severe than the palm burn you got as they were scattered and covered much smaller surfaces of your skin, but they felt swollen, and they stung. After applying ointments to the spots, the doctors gave instructions on daily cleaning of the wounds and changing the burn dressing. Getting the confirmation that, if the worst case scenario happens, Jisung would be here to take the fall for you, you three were discharged.

Chan looked up from setting the table when he heard the doorbell. He dropped the napkins and gave a holler into the kitchen that he would get the door. Squeezing his way through the diner chairs, he opened the door to find Jeongin and Seungmin standing outside. He smiled, partially glancing downward to see Jeongin gripping Seungmin’s hand, which would explain the uncomfortable expression on his face. Looking back up, he pursed his lips to avoid asking anything he didn’t care to know the answer to and stepped aside.

Jeongin took off his shoes and pushed them to the corner with his feet. He had been dreading this moment since he finished the press conference and got news from Changbin that you and Jisung were being treated at the hospital. Changbin didn’t say anything that was not informative, but Hyunjin raged at him through text after hearing about what happened. Hyunjin did not blame him for what happened to you three, but he found it hard not to internalize the event.

He did send you three there. If he hadn’t done that, this wouldn’t have happened.

“It’s going to be fine,” Seungmin said with a tug on Jeongin’s hand. “Come on.”

He hid behind Seungmin as he got dragged to the living room. The noise from the movie was recognizable because he overheard Seungmin watch it on speaker once. You sat on the couch with Hyunjin, the two of you sitting with your legs touching. Shifting his gaze, Han was seated on the floor, focusing on the pencil sharpener in his hands. Moving up, standing off to the side with a glass of water and a colorful arm cast, was Jisung, who stared back at him blankly.

Jisung almost forgot he was going to punch Jeongin’s teeth out. He never meant it anyway. He only said it because he was angry. Setting the glass down on the coffee table, Jisung debated if he should make a joke about that promise until, after he stood up straight, he found Jeongin shuffling toward where he stood. He blinked, confused at the quietness surrounding him and the tiny steps Jeongin seemed afraid to take. When his friend neared, he was further baffled as Jeongin slipped his arms over his body and hugged him tightly.

Jeongin sniffed back tears at his friend’s solid figure. Knowing that everything had turned out fine and nobody had died because of him gave him a sense of relief. “I’m so sorry, Jisung,” he said, his voice cracking tearfully at Jisung’s name. “I didn’t know this would happen. I’m really sorry.”

“I…” Jisung swallowed a ball of air. He felt a forgiving smile creeping on his face. At the same time, he thought that Jeongin’s apology was ridiculous because it was unnecessary. Reaching an arm up to pat Jeongin’s back, he mused, “I’m still alive.”

Seungmin chuckled from behind, but he kept his smile barely visible until you appeared near him, then it completely flattened. You squinted your eyes up at him, which he purposefully avoided looking into because he was busy counting the burn dressings on your arms. His heart sighed with exhaustion—he really miscalculated this mission, and he would spend most of his time reminding himself of this colossal mistake. He would never show it, but even then, he thought you already knew how he felt, hence why you were next to him.

“Did everyone make it out of there?” you asked.

Seungmin looked ahead at Jisung and Jeongin. He pulled a face when Jeongin jumped behind Jisung to avoid touching Sonice. Personally, he has never seen its monstrous form before. Jeongin was friends with Felix before they were introduced to each other so he has seen the pet stretch up to ten feet tall, and he swore with his life that he never wanted to see it again. Seungmin was unsure how serious Jeongin was being when he said that.

“Yes. We called a team down to escort them out,” he responded after a beat. “But those who have been missing are likely all dead.”

“Yeah, well. We can’t save everyone.” You flattened your lips into a neutral smile. Glancing up at him, you found his expression remained unchanging. You looked away, your fingers fidgeting. “Don’t think too hard about it, Seungmin.”

He stiffened, his eyes softening with an unsheathing wound, knowing you meant yourself and your brothers. Eventually, he gave you a curt nod. “Thanks.”

Growing up honing his skills to be aloof all the time was no use after years of spending time with all of you. Seungmin wondered if there were certain muscles on his face he didn’t know how to control, making it impossible for him to hide his thoughts. Chan was already good at reading people like a hawk, Han was good at predicting how people felt in general, and Jeongin was his best friend for too long not to know what he was thinking all the time.

But none of them talked to him the way you spoke to him—brief but, to him, endearing. He chalked it up to his obsession with deep research into people’s God-given abilities, which he did a lot of yours because of its peculiarity. As time passed, even though he knew a great deal about you now, he still found himself looking up things of association to you not for knowledgeable gain but just for consumption. He tried not to think about it.

Looking over to the couch, Seungmin found Hyunjin staring pointedly at him, his nails flicking against the cushion of his fingers frustratedly. He sneered at himself; Hyunjin annoyed him sometimes. Shifting his eyes, he looked to Felix, the twins, and Jeongin instead. Han kept Sonice in his palm, an affectionate smile on his face while his hand shoved Jisung away from attempting to poke at the pet. Seungmin heaved a long-awaited sigh; the twins were even more annoying.

Retreating from the wall that separated the living room and the dining area, Chan returned to the table and helped Changbin set down the reheated plate of pork cutlets. “The kids are all here.”

“Yet none of them came to help set the table,” Changbin mumbled through a heaved sigh.

“That’s okay. I got it covered.” Chan laughed as he waved his hand before his face. “Let them relax.”

Pulling the nearest chair out, Changbin rolled his eyes in defeat as he slumped onto the seat. He wiped his head of sweat that cumulated from the steamed kitchen, and his chest breathed steadily at the recognition of the younger ones’ laughing in the living room. He picked through the voices for you three, listening for your conversations. It has been an eventful day. It felt like he was dangling in the middle of a cliff, clinging onto the fortunate jutting out of a tiny ledge. Even the suffocating air of the kitchen that muffled your voices made him anxious.

It was a usual silence that filled the air. Changbin rarely spoke, let alone continuing small talks. But Chan knew well this silence was exhausted, but with a calm relief floating around a bottle of emotions he has to bring out of Changbin somehow. Mirroring the veteran’s movement, he picked the chair just across and sat down. He leaned against the slat. This was nothing but a conversation between unlikely friends.

“How are you feeling?” Chan asked.

“Hm?” Changbin’s eyes focused, and he gazed at the man sitting across from him. Gathering his thoughts, he breathed a thoughtful hum and rubbed his hand on his thigh to fill the awkwardness that existed only to him. “Much better now.”

“I reckon,” Chan huffed out positively.

“Are you still going to interrogate him?”

“Yeah, of course! Jeongin volunteered to do it himself, actually, but I thought I should be there just in case,” Chan said, rubbing his nose. “I doubt people will care about what happens to that person, but it’s best to keep the need for damage control to a minimum.”

Changbin raised his brows at the insinuation of Chan’s words. He pondered a little on Jeongin’s character, quickly pausing as he realized how little he knew about the boy. More often than not, Jeongin was putting up an act as the unit's spokesperson. Even the exaggerated disrespect was, he thought, an act untrue to his nature. Changbin could only catch a glimpse of him being an ordinary boy when his friends were in the same room, which wasn’t a frequent occasion.

“You think he’s going to kill him?”

“I think I can’t underestimate his protectiveness over his friends and his desire to avenge them,” Chan clarified.

“Well,” Changbin nodded in agreement, “I don’t think he will do anything unnecessary.”

Chan smiled a bit. “Was what you did necessary?”

“Elaborate.”

“I think you know what I’m talking about.”

Changbin tensed up. He knew exactly what Chan was referring to. Prolonging the fight when he could have quickly gone for incapacitation so that he could take out the burning across his knuckles, and pinning a weaker man to a wall to slowly brand an injury identical to the one suffered by a loved one.

“I did what I had to,” Changbin replied.

He was telling the truth. Chan knew merely from the look on his face and perhaps the context of the situation that every bit of violence was necessary not to reach the goal of the mission or to protect anybody but that Changbin needed to release the bottled-up vengeance that would have carried on with him if he never did anything. And he was satisfied with what he did because that was all he did. Years ago, he would have simply killed. As morbid as it was, giving that man a taste of his medicine after he tried to kill his children was already a leap of emotional improvement.

Chan looked ahead, seemingly forming a second opinion. Changbin wasn’t a good father in that he was unskilled at parenting, but he was a good father in that he loved the three of you immensely. In the face of that, he could not bring himself to accuse his friend of anything other than caring about you three so much that he could cut through bones and flesh. And sometimes, he wondered if he would ever do the same.

“I’m gonna go call them to eat,” Chan said as he pushed himself off the chair. He patted Changbin on the shoulder. “You should ask them to sleep over for tonight.”

“Why?” Changbin smiled, confused.

“After what happened today, they’ll feel the safest knowing you’re just down the hall,” Chan said leisurely as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. “They’ll never ask you first. You’re just going to have to take the shame to do it–“ He giggled. “You’re the dad.”

Leaving his side, Chan clapped twice as he jogged into the living room and hollered that dinner was ready. A wave of protest erupted to delay dinner time as, apparently, all of you began to pay attention to the movie. Jisung yelled the loudest when Chan stood in front of the television and snapped his fingers, a look of disapproval you all promptly ignored.

“You guys–“

“I want everyone at the dinner table on a count of three. One!“

Chan grimaced, then he rolled his eyes in both exasperation and amazement when all of you snapped your heads toward the direction of the dinning room upon Changbin’s nonchalant voice.

Seungmin shrugged when you tapped his arm furiously. Hyunjin rose from the couch and began meeting you halfway.

“Two!”

Jisung laughed as he put his hands on Jeongin’s shoulders and shoved the boy with him to the dining room. Felix trailed closely behind, almost tripping on his feet because he was busy putting Sonice in his pocket. Han made a few strides over to you, his brows raised into a smile. Hyunjin and Seungmin both frowned when he grabbed your arm and grinned as he pulled you closer to his chest.

“One!”

“No shortcut for you both,” Han joked before, within a blink of an eye, you two burst into a puff of black feathers and reappeared on top of two vacant chairs in the dining room. He brushed his arm as if to clean them and looked up to find Changbin deadpanning at him. Shrugging, Han said, “We made it in time.”

Changbin wasn’t even thinking about the countdown. He was more concerned that your clumsy reappearance almost flipped the table of food over.

63 notes · View notes

hanibalistic · 4 months

Text

THE MANOR IN WHICH | ENHYPEN.

genre | (in general of the universe) fluff, angst, friendship, action, found family au, magic au

synopsis | if one wants to test whether a person still has the power of a god, maybe the best thing to do is just ask, not try to turn them into one.

word count | 11.8k+

warning | fighting & violence, injuries (breaking of limbs; mention a lot actually) / mentions of blood, death, domestic violence, child abandonment

universe | tciu; enhypen's counterpart of the universe / same world-building discord server

note | i decided to expand the universe because i am lazy, and i hate making moodboards!!! but i love chips <3

You remember the first time Kim Namjoon injected a shot of fentanyl into your eye.

More than the abrupt pain, which was not at all unmemorable either, there were gashes of blood your left on the side of his arms. He had to pin you down under the circumstance that the medical team did not provide any method of sedation. Only a syringe, a glass bottle of fentanyl, and another empirical hypothesis on human drugs and their effectiveness in quelling your Enlightenment.

Enlightenment—Uncle Kim coined the term when he began teaching you how to control your god-given ability. It was the third and the final stage of your descension to Godhood, with the first two being Transformation and Possession, respectively. But, more than a stage in your power, Enlightenment is a sentient concept that battled for the ownership of your body. It is a punishment given to you by the God of All. It is the very thing you need to avoid descending toward.

Uncle Kim and the rest of his colleagues in the militia group that adopted you after the death of your parents were figuring out how to keep you from descending. It was no big deal. Everyone was taught to hone their powers during their teenage years. Most high schools have implemented training classes once a week to prevent disasters caused by those unfamiliar with their capabilities. Some private schools even went out of their way to renovate their sports courts to better accommodate their students, to insert training classes into the mandated curriculum, and to hire a diverse group of professionals that fit the student body.

But even then, you understood the distinction between yourself and other children.

Their power was given by the Gods. Your power was to become a God.

The fentanyl comes in when some part of Enlightenment slips past your control. The first time it happened, it had been sudden but not unrecognizable. One of your eyes had been clouded with darkness, like having your sight be draped over with a black veil. You were only able to see clearly Namjoon stumbling toward you with the syringe in his hand. You understood what must happen, and while you fought Enlightenment, the Enlightenment fought him. It was similar to getting a vaccination, except the needle wiggled and scratched to be in your skin, and you feared for your life.

But the pain was gone moments after Enlightenment returned dormant, and Namjoon’s arms were never rid of those ugly scars.

You also remembered the first time your bones twisted at the beginning phase of Godhood.

Namjoon had died months prior from murder, leaving you with scattered pieces of him to remember him by. But, just between you and the gods, nothing brought out memories of him more than how ill-equipped you were to pull yourself back from Enlightenment’s takeover alone.

One eye black and the other white, you recalled not being able to see anything. In retrospect, it made sense. You were supposed to lose access to yourself. Once Enlightenment was fully reached, the body would belong to it, and you did not deserve to see through its eyes. You later deduced that you had entered the beginning phase of the descension when your body would transform to be more fitting of a god’s image—the twisting of bones, perhaps to make your limbs malleable.

The bottle of fentanyl on the motel’s bedside table fell and shattered when you crawled to it with your arms and reached up blindly. You wouldn’t have been able to hold it with your fingers anyway, and you had doubted your ability to work through the intricacy of a syringe when you were too busy withering in pain from your broken legs. You were desperate and almost embarrassed by it, but the helplessness taught you one thing that night, a new thing, which was that impending pain was worse than actual pain.

If someone were to kill you, you would rather it happen immediately than hours later. The knowledge and the wait for death would always outshine the deed. Knowing your arms were about to be twisted into an irregular shape scared you more than feeling as if it was about to happen. In the end, accompanied by the cracks of your ankles and painstaking wails, you dipped a finger into the fentanyl on the floor and pierced it through your eyeball with your nails, slathering the drug across the back of your eye.

You left the motel the next morning and never returned.

Those have remained the most traumatic moments of your life for years. You have grown to be cautious of your body’s changes to prevent another incident of being surrounded by Enlightenment. Those around you have always diligently pointed out when one of your eyes turns black or white. Putting a needle through your eye has become less grand and intimidating with each passing occasion. Nothing much could surpass what happened to you back then.

All except one thing—

“Hi, I’m so sorry, but we’re closed.”

—customer service in the fast food industry.

It was mainly an exaggeration, but sometimes you thought you really meant it when you’d rather go through the beginning phase of Godhood Descension than explain to a customer why you would not be making them a sandwich fifteen minutes past the store’s closing hour.

The boy stalked in anyway, leaving the door to slam close behind him. You knew he heard you because his legs paused briefly when you spoke, as if his conscience wanted to listen. You rubbed your hands under the counter to hide your annoyance. You should have locked the door after flipping the open sign around. This wasn’t the first time people made it apparent that they were illiterate. You figured if someone with a physically enhancing power wanted to punch their way through, they would have done it regardless of the lock. However, that was merely an excuse to be careless. When you finally chase this customer away, you planned to text your manager about getting a metal bolted door.

Biting back a humorous smirk from the idea, you quietly cleared your throat and looked up to observe the boy in mutual silence as he stopped before the cash register. His hands were buried in his jacket pocket, but you didn’t believe he was hiding anything besides his hands. His hair has shades of blond that were irregularly placed enough to feel deliberate. He was tall, a head taller than you at minimum, but skinny like a twig, which made him less threatening. Either way, he was bothersome for barging in when you were closed and ready to head home.

“Are there any wheat bread left?”

“We’re closed.”

Niki raised a brow. He heard you the first time. If only that was a good enough reason to deter him from having to stand in front of the cash register like an idiot. Unfortunately, he has to fulfill the task given to him, or else it’s no more free housing for his sorry ass! The best he could do was to make everything quick—trailing his eyes down to your chest, he inwardly sighed at seeing the necklace shown to him before entering the restaurant. He hasn’t gotten the full scope of the mission, as in he knows what he has to do but not why he has to do it, but he knows Heeseung gave him two tasks.

First, take the necklace.

Second, bring out your power.

Shifting his weight, he shrugged dismissively and tried to continue the conversation. “So what? You can’t answer a simple question?”

“I am not serving right now. I am off the clock,” you said.

“You told me,” he retorted, his eyes widening softly. “But I didn’t ask you to make me anything. I asked if there was any wheat bread left.”

Turning your head away so you could roll your eyes, you returned your attention to him and smiled. “Why would you need to know that?”

“That’s none of your business, is it?”

In your mind, you have reached over the cash register and grabbed his tiny head with your ginormous hand, shaking the attitude out of him and some respect into him as fires circled you like halos circled an angel. Over the years of working customer service jobs in various settings, you’ve gotten fairly decent at crafting your imaginary torture scenes, where there was little torture and a lot of complaining. But this boy was mind-boggling more than usual because, despite his tall stature, he looked boyish enough to be a student. At least you haven’t met a well-adjusted adult who would color their hair in such a reckless manner.

What did that mean? This boy was out here disrespecting his elders in broad daylight.

“Please leave, or I’ll be forced to call the authorities,” you said.

Niki watched your corporate-trained smile, but he grimaced because you even thought about calling the authorities in today’s day and age.

Unique powers have grown so prevalent that there was only a fifty-fifty percent chance that a patrolling officer would meet someone whose power was scored lower than or equal to theirs. Even the usage of old-fashioned weapons, such as a gun, wasn’t foul-proof anymore, given that there were people out there who were basically a walking operating room. The law enforcement was a joke.

But—a thought passed his mind—you could be doing him a favor by letting the police handle him, not yourself. Even though he has no knowledge of the intricacies of your power, he suspected he wouldn’t want to face off with someone like you. One accidental beam shot down from Heaven, and he would be a standing stick of scorched meat.

Biting back a shudder, Niki pursed his lips in distaste at the recognition that his closest, most trusted friends had potentially sent him out on a suicide mission. Was all of this really worth free housing? Getting a job could not be too hard! He looked at your determined face, his gaze floating down to your ridiculously green outfit and the oiled screen of the cash register. Plus, you were dealing with him instead of being home with a gaming console in your hands, which you may not even be able to afford despite working late night shifts. He held back a shudder again.

Free housing was worth everything.

“Fine, I’ll leave,” he muttered. “I need something from you, though.”

You raised a brow. “It better not be a sandwich, kid.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, after waiting a beat for your guard to lower even more, he swiftly pulled a hand from his warmed pocket and shot it outward, reaching for your necklace.

You have seen this exact movement before. Besides teaching you how to control your power, Namjoon also taught you how to fight.

Since you would only be using your power a fraction at a time to avoid being consumed by it, you would be put at a disadvantage to your opponents, who would most likely be able to use all of theirs. He told you that learning how to work around a match was necessary, but you knew the real reason he needed to teach you was so you could later be used in jobs the militia group involves itself with.

You never minded it. He practically raised you all those years, so it was you giving back. He didn’t have a lot, but he made space for you in his shabby, ugly apartment and gave you allowances to spend. At some point, he had attempted to make meals to provide you with a proper diet, but he wasn’t the kind of man who should step foot in the kitchen, so there was always a trashcan full of takeout boxes. You thought he tried to clean up after himself more when you started living with him, but the house was always a black hole of trash and dirty laundry. It was no wonder he never brought any woman home, or maybe he kept your presence in mind.

He tried to give you the kind of life a normal kid would have outside of all the testing and training, and you never thought he didn’t care about you. Like you always remembered, Uncle Kim’s ugly scars never went away, and he never blamed you for anything. He patted your head after giving you medicine and went to the bathroom to clean himself up alone.

After he died, you took one of his jackets and the silver cross necklace he always wore. You sold the jacket at a pawn shop in exchange for food money, but you always kept the necklace with you.

The necklace Niki was aiming for.

“Tsk.” He clicked his tongue when you grabbed his wrist before his slender fingers could touch the necklace. He was told you were trained to fight, which was expected. By a veteran, no less. He just wished you had forgotten all about it after so many years.

Pulling his other hand out for another attempt, his arm bounced back just as you were about to grab hold of it. You slipped past him, and he took your bafflement as an opportunity to reach for the necklace. He looped his fingers around the cross and yanked it off your neck, causing you to slightly lurch forward. Your chest hit the cash register, but you didn’t allow yourself a second to process the inconvenient pain.

Hoisting yourself with both hands on the counter, you planned to jump onto the counter and tackle him, but Niki caught onto your movement quickly. Before you could jump, he focused his attention on one of your elbows and, within a second, twisted it with his head. The bone exuded a cracking noise that pierced his uncomfortable ears—he never did get used to the consequence of using his ability.

You lost your balance and fell off the edge of the register counter, your face slamming against the surface on the way down. He wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but not a second later, your functional arm shot up to use the counter as leverage to pull yourself from the ground. You emerged, panting with a nosebleed and, if Niki has to describe it, batshit crazy eyes.

But not black or white eyes.

“Give me the necklace back!” you rasped out as you crawled onto the counter slowly.

He took a few steps backward, trying to debate to what extent he was willing to continue with the mission for his safety, but his train of thought was cut short once your feet hit the ground on the other side. You ran toward him at full speed, one arm held up to grab for the necklace in his hand. He cursed audibly and raised his arm to keep the accessory out of your reach. You pushed him backward in return, deciding to get him to loosen his grip instead of prying the necklace off his hand. Niki stumbled and hit his back against the glass window. You huffed in acknowledgment; you were right. He was as frail as a twig.

Regaining his composure quickly, he blocked a blow you punched toward his face and held onto your fist. His gaze hardened as if asking you to be the one to give it up, but you ignored his face to focus on his hand. Your thoughtful expression made him frown. He didn’t know you weren’t thinking of your next move as much as you were surprised that he had the strength in him to make your arm shake in a strength battle. After a momentary struggle, you decided it wasn’t worth the effort to keep at it, so you abruptly pulled back and went in with your leg.

Niki let out a choked groan, feeling a mouthful of saliva kicked out of him as his steps stuttered in response to your feet colliding with his side. His lanky torso was bent to keep his crown lower to the ground in case of sudden dizziness, and so you wouldn’t see his twitching eye because your kick reminded him of a long-repressed memory.

He’s been beaten half to death before. He knew how a middle-aged man’s fist felt and the attacks of a chronic fighter. You must be stronger than an average person; he could figure out that much by eliminating his experiences. The only issue at hand was whether you were under the effects of adrenaline or if you were purely strong enough to kill a man with a single hit.

He has heard of some people with strength-type powers who committed manslaughter before, and he suspected the select group of people with top percentile powers could kill someone with one punch if they wanted to. You were, undoubtedly, part of that group. You haven’t killed him, though, and he didn’t think he wanted to risk finding out which one you were.

“I’ll ask again,” you huffed out lowly, your broken arm swaying from your body movement. He was still catching his breath, and you decided tonight wasn’t the night you sent an ambiguous teenager flying. “Give me my necklace back.”

Niki licked his lower lip and straightened his back. He met eyes with you.

Still no black or white eyes. He was beginning to think maybe they were fed the wrong intel.

Holding onto his side, he panted with deep inhales and quick exhales. It was mercy. Choosing to negotiate when he was occupied was a sign of mercy. You were sparing him, and it was annoying. Not even his father showed him this much restraint, and he stole something irreplaceable to you. All he did to this father was grow up kind.

That was it. That was what you reminded him of. His heart was beating out of his chest, the sound ringing heavily in his ears. He could feel the sweat roll down the side of his face, even though he hadn’t moved around nearly as much as he was used to. It was all psychological. He hasn’t felt like this since he stomped to his father’s workplace with the vengeful intention to kill him years ago.

Shifting his gaze to the corner of the floor, he corrected himself with a few slow blinks. No, it wasn’t that. He hasn’t been this scared since he found his mother lying lifeless on the living room floor after a one-week school field trip.

He slowly looked back at you—he knew your mother passed away too, and the man who took care of you after you were orphaned was killed. He felt for you. He really did. Your desperation was understandable. If someone tried to steal his mother’s remnants, he would do everything to retrieve them, too. He hated that he had to fight with you; this was the best scenario to bring out your power, which he was tasked to do.

“It isn’t worth anything,” you said. “It’s just a rusty necklace. It’s not real silver. You won’t get any good money out of it.”

It was stupid to tell him that. Sitting on the counter was a cash register stuffed with money, and if he could see the small necklace hanging around your neck, he must have noticed the register, too. He would have aimed for that instead of your necklace if he really wanted money. But why else would he take a stupid piece of junk? It couldn’t be for sentimental value, could it? Did Namjoon have a long-lost son he didn’t know of?”

“Please. The necklace means everything to me,” you pleaded. “You can take something else. I won’t say a word, I promise.”

Heat traveled to your neck, souring your nerves upon the embarrassment of not receiving a reply after begging. The necklace never wavered from his grip, though, and he never spoke to you. Pursing your lips, you huffed out a quick breath that bordered as a whimper, and then you readied yourself to advance toward him.

The boy stared at you in silence, his hair tousled and a hand pressed abasing the side of his body. You did a number on him with that kick—it was intentional, but you didn’t want to seriously injure him. He deciphered that. He knew you wouldn’t hurt him when you switched to using your mouth instead of continuing with your feet. It was unfortunate that he has to go so far despite every bits of restraint you’ve shown him.

Niki swallowed the knot in his throat as you ran towards him. He looked down at your legs and—crack! You dropped to the ground with a silent scream that got muffled when your face hit the floor.

Tears gathered in your eyes and rolled down as you arched your neck to look at your dysfunctional legs. Your bones fractured, and the pain came from near your knees. You knew that. You could feel it. It must be the boy. He was the one who broke your arm. How embarrassing! You didn’t want to lay so helplessly before him. But your legs! Your bones! It has to be his doing because it was either him, or Enlightenment was at work.

The feeling was familiar. Flashes of yourself struggling on the motel room floor passed through your eyes, when your legs bent in inhumane ways and the pieces of shattered glass cut the side of your hands. This was Enlightenment. It’s here. You could only sob, your eyes darting around to look for a nightstand and a glass bottle of fentanyl, then you tried to remind yourself you were at a restaurant, and the motel was an experience years passed.

Enlightenment must have slipped through the cracks of your mind because you got too worked up over Namjoon’s necklace being stolen. This was your fault. You succumbed to the pain of your broken limbs and subconsciously wished, for even a second, that Enlightenment would come forth and heal you. This was your fault. How dare you wish for a healthy body, you insolent brat! You want the glory of being a God and not the pain of it. You were treacherous and devious, and you deserve only the worst part of Godhood.

You sniffed away the snot rolling down your nose. Oh, wait, your legs were broken—you widened your eyes at the realization and shifted them to your legs. Broken, unmoving—oh no, oh no, oh no! What should you do now? You should crawl to your bag in the back of the kitchen or try to grab the phone on the counter. You needed to call someone, anyone. Your arms still work, correct? Moving one of them, you furrowed your brows in question. You remembered you could move both of your arms back in the motel, and you were alone, and you destroyed your eye to keep yourself human.

You were at the motel, correct? No. You were not. This wasn’t the motel. Stop thinking about that.

You felt a momentary relief, but you were unable to exhale. You couldn’t really breathe, you only now realized that. You couldn’t hear much of anything either. The air has traveled from your nose to your ears, filling them. It must be the pain—your legs were broken. Stop forgetting that. Your legs were broken. They’re broken. They’re broken. They’re broken.

You hiccuped tearfully at the knowledge that you forgot the very state you were in. You were slowly spiraling into madness. Or descending to Godhood. You have already begun forgetting yourself. Enlightenment slipped past and has already started taking over. It wasn’t the boy who did this. What boy? You were transforming. Everything Namjoon taught you has gone to waste—you miss him. You miss Namjoon. He always wore that necklace. You remembered hearing him pray to the cross before his death, begging God to show you mercy, that he was willing to take two places in Hell in return for a normal life for you.

This was your fault. You let this happen. The boy didn’t do this to you.

The boy? The boy!

Niki watched you squirm on the floor as if battling with yourself. He wasn’t sure what he could do past this point, as he had no real intention of taking the necklace from you. Attempting to step away from your fallen body, he felt a sudden grip around his ankles and glared downward. You held onto his feet with one hand and screamed at him to return the necklace. He gasped in surprise and immediately pulled his feet out of your grasp, pushing himself to the restaurant's glass doors.

Your persistence was admirable, but beyond that, it was disgusting. A body with only one functioning limb grabbing onto him was a nightmarish story to tell.

“Wait! Wait, no, please! I need help!” you wept, hyperventilated, assuming he was planning to leave you all alone to descend into Godhood. “Don’t leave me here–I’m sorry I kicked you! Please, don’t leave me like–“ you lost your voice in a sharp inhale–“don’t leave me to turn like this, please! I’m scared! I’m scared! Please, help me!”

Niki’s hands trembled as he slowly backed away from you. The door opened before his back could hit it.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Heeseung’s tone was somewhat accusatory, but Niki thought he could be imagining things. Turning around, Heeseung gestured for the quiet boy standing by him. “They’re panicking. Put them to sleep. We are going back to the manor.”

Sunghoon nodded and brushed past Heeseung and Niki to head inside the restaurant. He stepped over your body, the corner of his mouth twitching against his effort to suppress a heavy grimace at the state Niki accidentally left you in. Crouching down next to your face, he made the choice to put a hand under your head and his other over it. He did not respond to your flinch but noticed how you gradually calmed down at his touch. He pursed his lips and gave you a small smile when the corner of your eyes turned to look at him.

You blinked slowly in awareness of his presence before averting your gaze. His hand was big and gentle, and you felt his touch acknowledge your exhaustion. It took seconds for your eyes to close and your head to slump into his warm palm. Sunghoon habitually swiped a thumb over the dry river on your cheek before he released the hand on top of your head to snap his fingers near your ear. Once he confirmed that you were asleep, he carefully reached under your knees and around your back to hoist you into his arms.

Heeseung pushed open the door so that Sunghoon could walk past. He didn’t leave any comment, only flashing Niki a pointed look that was in itself a question enough. Niki frowned, huffing air into his cheeks and blowing them out in disgraceful bursts while Heeseung watched Sunghoon open the door to the backseat. He hummed in agreement when, after a monotonous debate shown through the blanking of his stare, he saw that Sunghoon opted to keep you steady in his arms instead of laying you down.

Heeseung returned to Niki after the car door closed. “Why did you do that to them?”

“You didn’t see how scary they were,” Niki retorted, pulling up the corner of his clothes to reveal a developing bruise on the side of his abdomen. He winced at the darkened skin and pulled his clothes down to cover it. “Ugh–they are strong, too. I expected it, but I really didn’t think they’d have the power without being fully–“ he rolled his eyes skyward to think–“God-like?”

Heeseung stared at the boy before looking down at the spot you were previously lying on. Judging by Sunghoon’s monotonous expression, you never allowed your power through. From start to finish, after having your necklace stolen and your limbs broken, you’ve kept it under control. Either you have insane determination, or you’ve lost your power through the years, leaving bits and pieces behind, which not only wouldn’t make you qualified enough to join The Manor, but it would have also made all of your suffering tonight in vain.

Or, even worse, he messed up and you weren’t even the person he was looking for.

Heeseung heaved a sigh. Everything was already in vain. You never ended up showing him what he needed to see. “Go back to the car. I’ll talk to you about it later.”

Niki clicked his tongue and grimaced at Heeseung’s unhidden annoyance. He really believed he could have died under your hands, and this was the reaction he received—a judgemental look and a dissatisfied sigh. He’d tell Sunghoon and Heeseung to go to Hell if he could.

“Hey, you gave me an end goal, and I worked toward it,” he said. “If you hate it so much, do it yourself next time.”

“You overdid it,” Heeseung scolded as he pulled his foldable cane out of his pants pocket. He snapped it straight and hit the side of Niki’s leg with it. “You also didn’t find out what we asked you to find out, so don’t give me an attitude and get back to the car. We’re going home.”

“Screw you,” Niki muttered, running a hand through his hair.

On his way out of the restaurant, he shoved his hand toward Heeseung’s chest. Heeseung glared at the younger boy, his hands flying up to catch the object being poorly transferred to his palms. When he looked down, he saw a silver cross necklace.

You woke up in a bedroom that wasn’t yours.

The sheets stacked on top of you were so heavy they may be designed to force you into slumber, which you’ve just woken up from an amazing one. You could not remember the last time you felt you’d slept for an appropriate amount of time, given you worked two jobs to sustain yourself. When you turned to the side, the pillow beneath your head a feathery weight that deepened according to your movements, you saw the light seeping through the edge of the tall curtains. Sitting next to the bed was a nightstand with a pot of a single fully bloomed daffodil.

It faced you, and you swore you met eyes with it.

Hastily sitting up, you slathered your hands down your body to feel for your work uniform and sighed when you realized you were still wearing it. Your arms and legs were moving normally, too. Whoever brought you here last night helped you immensely—the boy who touched your head. You have a somewhat blurry vision of his face, and you thought you didn’t get to see him for too long before you suddenly opened your eyes in this room. But you remembered you thought he was pretty.

Reaching a hand up to your neck, you touched your naked skin and gently bit down on your lower lip. Your necklace was still gone. That boy with poorly dyed hair must have taken it, or perhaps you could bet on the man who saved you to have retrieved your necklace, too. Furrowing your brows, your back slowly arched in despair, and you buried your face in your hands. The odds of getting the necklace back were slim; you’ve used up all your luck when someone even walked in and saved you from descension.

You roughened your face by rubbing it, attempting to match your movement with the frustration you felt. There was much you’ve got to do, such as explaining to your manager about what happened and, obviously, concocting a plan to get the necklace back. However, first, you believe you’ve overstayed your welcome, so you should thank the man for his hospitality and take your leave.

The room's floor was carpeted, and out in the hallway, it was waxed. But that wasn’t the point.

You were greeted with a seemingly never-ending hallway once you opened the door. Widened eyes darted from top to bottom, left to right, and then you peeked out of the doorframe to find that you were stranded in nowhere inside what you assumed to be a mansion. Silence filled the cold air, but the place was well-kept and well-lit enough to not appear eerie. Multiple closed doors were bolted to the wall you came out of, and you wondered if they served purposes other than being a hallway of guest rooms.

A curse left your lips as you walked onto the cold wooden tiles with your bare feet, your face twitching with baffled annoyance rather than amazement. It didn’t make sense that this was the kind of house you woke up to. How could the man who saved you be wealthy—irregularly wealthy, judging but the size of this building? What was he doing at a sandwich restaurant that pushes out meal deals for poor people quicker than a dog could respond to a doorbell?

“Where do I even go?” you muttered to yourself, your feet tipping left and right as you debated which side of the hallway looked more promising, even though the structure was identical. After a moment’s thought, you stopped to gather yourself.

Your priority was to find the man who saved you, but you’ve been met with an obstacle: his maze of a house. What a first-world problem to have, indeed. You could, technically, run around the place and pray that you bump into him or anyone at some point. The house was so quiet you thought you could be the only person there. However, you ran the risk of going further into the maze instead of finding a way out, which would waste both you and the man’s time, as he would have no idea where you were unless he installed cameras everywhere, which would make this house eerie.

You shook your head to get rid of your thoughts, which you supposed were the actual time-wasters. Collecting your composure again, you put your feet together and closed your eyes, letting your head dip slightly into a bow. You pressed a palm to your chest to help yourself concentrate.

“I receive the blessing that I will find what I am currently searching for,” you mumbled.

You were met with a bud outside the window when you opened your eyes. It was yellow, supposedly a daffodil, except it was the size of a utility pole. The second you saw it, though, the knot developed by the heavenly blessing you gave yourself a second ago untied itself, meaning this flower bud was one of the many answers you were searching for.

“Okay,” you nodded, admitting that you live in a world where such things are normal, “anyway.”

The daffodil bloomed open when you spun on your heels to walk away. The boy curled up inside extended his limbs to sit comfortably on the petal. When he noticed you in the hallway, he opened his mouth to let out a hoarse yell and leaned forward. The sudden weight dip made the flower tip dramatically closer to the window, and before he could react, he slammed against the glass, making you jump in shock.

You resisted the urge to respond to the noise, being very in tune with the fact that you did not want to understand why a flower was knocking on the window as if it had hands. The man released his knuckles from the window and gasped in disbelief when he saw half of the grimace on your face as you moved along, ignoring him.

“Wait, don’t leave!” he hollered through the window. “My name is Jake! I’m supposed to come check on you!”

You swallowed a gulp of saliva and spared him a glance. His glasses were perched right at the tip of his nose, likely having slipped that far when he fell and bumped against the window. His palms were pressed against the glass on either side of his head, and his lower lip jutted into a helpless pout. You noticed he was missing both of his fourth fingers, the knot of skin that sealed over the wound an uneven match. Anyway, he wasn’t the man who helped you yesterday. Although, with the size of this mansion, you wouldn’t be surprised that there was more than one resident. He could help you find who you were looking for.

Upon receiving your attention, Jake’s shoulders rose giddily. He pressed his forehead against the glass with a grin once you neared, looking down at you from the flower he threatened to slip off. “Hello, good morning.”

When you shook your head to indicate that you couldn’t hear his mutters through the window, he pulled back with a brief gasp and pointed downwards. You followed the direction of his finger, your eyes traveling to the window frame where you saw the lock. Disregarding your dubious interest in why such a tall window was designed to be opened from the bottom, you approached it and fumbled with the lock, clicking it open.

Jake dropped from the petal gingerly, the tip of his feet landing on the slim stool. The flower behind him shrunk then, leaving your sight. With immaculate balance, he maintained himself on the stool as he pressed his fingers against the bottom rail and slid the window upward to jump inside the manor. He dusted himself of invisible dirt before grinning at you, a hand bashfully waving.

“Hello, good morning,” he greeted and pointed at the opened window. “That’s what I said just now when I was outside.”

You peered off to the side before reluctantly responding with a nod. “Hey.”

“You can walk now. That’s great,” he said, gesturing to your feet.

He was still awake when the trio returned to the manor. The state you were in left him with a permanently opened jaw. He was part of the group that vetoed the plan to test for your power before bringing you to the manor, so he didn’t catch wind of the steps and procedures. But, still, he didn’t think immobilizing you to that point had been part of the plan. Heeseung and Jungwon were meticulous and determined to get their answers, but what happened to you was cruel.

He stayed to watch Niki pop your bones back in place, your head on Sunghoon’s lap so he could better keep you in a deep slumber. He had offered to carry you to the guest room and put you in bed, given that he thought Sunghoon looked exhausted, but the offer was turned down. Jake didn’t think much of it. He assumed Sunghoon grew a brief attachment to you after having to access your mind to put you to sleep.

You glanced down at them, a bitter taste circling at the tip of your tongue. You couldn’t say you had been more bothered by the pain than the potential reason behind your legs breaking. You couldn’t recall exactly what happened, but you were certain you had begged for help so you wouldn’t become a God, not to be taken to a hospital about your broken limbs.

“It wasn’t a good experience,” you commented.

“I would assume so,” he agreed before clearing his throat and shrinking into himself. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” you said. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“True, but–“ he rubbed the nape of his neck and tipped his head side to side–“it is the fault of people I know.” It took him a second to register the sudden morph of caution among your features through how your lips twitched and your gaze hardened. He immediately extended his arms when you moved away, and then he held them up in surrender.

“No, no, no! Don’t be scared! We won’t hurt you from here on, I promise!” He put one hand down to his heart, drew a cross, and pointed up at the sky. “I cross my heart and hope to die.”

You felt a cold quiver along your skin—Heaven has received Jake’s oath to you. Still unused to the passives of your power, in which your body perks at human practices related to Heaven and Hell, you rubbed your arms to rid of the goosebumps as you grimaced at Jake. “It’s not a good idea to swear to God in front of me.”

He raised his brows, his genuine grin returning gradually. “I know.”

“What?”

“I know,” he repeated. “You’re them, aren’t you? The baby who sent a down beam from Heaven and killed every infant in the NICU.”

Your parents never spoke of that accident, and you were too young to understand what the continuous protests outside your apartment meant at that time. Namjoon hid it from you by omission, not intentionally, but because he didn’t feel it was something you need to know. Still, he explained everything when you asked about the whispers traveling between social workers. You have a gift, he had told you, and it killed everyone around you. It was fortunate that it happened when you were just born. People would have been able to recognize you now if it happened later in your childhood.

“You–“ you trembled out a breath–“you knew?”

“Yeah. Technically speaking, we figured out the Heaven part on our own,” he clarified with a dismissive wave, his eyes rolling to the side. “The public doesn’t know about the Heaven part, obviously, but imagine if they did! The Government would have caught your ass so fast!”

You heaved a sigh and turned away from his big mouth, trying to block out his voice to prioritize your thoughts.

You cared about the infants you murdered more than ten years ago. You dug into their names and their families. You memorized everything about them and visited their graves periodically. You’ve done whatever you could as an attempt to repent, and you’ve come to terms with what you did as a newly born infant. It was on the news years ago. Everyone has heard of it already. You’ve got no problem with that. The issue was that Jake knew the beam you cast down was from Heaven, unlike what the news broadcast assumed to be just a random light projection power.

A lot of dirt had to be dug through for anyone to deduce that your power has an association with Heaven and Hell (and Jake got some guts of steel if he already knew and still swore to Heaven in front of you). The boy who stole your necklace yesterday must be someone he knew, then? Given that he wasn’t lying to you. What else? You have clearly been stalked for a while now, or at least researched and checked. Was the whole point of yesterday night to bring you to this place? What of the man who put you to sleep? He couldn’t possibly be part of this devious plan!

“Woah, don’t stress about it. Everyone here has been through some horrible things!” he mused.

“It’s not that! Have you guys been–wait, no!” You scratched the back of your head. “How many people–ugh, what?” You’ve got many questions and didn’t know where to begin.

“We will explain everything at breakfast,” he interrupted your self-imposed struggle with a soft nudge to your elbow. He held onto your arm to pull you along with him before letting go to walk by your side instead. “I’m getting hungry. Come on!”

Your legs automatically followed him, walking down the hallway as he doused you in chit-chat.

Most of them, you answered with silence and an occasional hum, such as random incidents that happened prior to your arrival with a bunch of strangers’ names inserted between the stories. Some of them, you felt the need to flash him a raised brow and give him an answer, namely when he enthusiastically asked if you were friends with the nation’s cosmic twins, whose power was similar to yours. You were not, but you always thought if anyone in the world understood your relationship with a God, it would be them.

Initially unwilling to pay him any mind, you found his ability to talk nonstop a relatively comfortable aspect of him. He was soft-spoken and stuttered from time to time. Mixing his words with silly laughter made him the epitome of an unthreatening presence. The man who crossed his heart and hoped to die at the promise that he would bring no harm to you from now on—your body gradually lowered its guard as he walked with you, understanding that if you needed to feel alert, he wasn’t the proper target.

“Jake,” you suddenly called. “Can I ask you something?”

He made a questioning noise from the back of his throat, immediately cutting himself off from what he was saying. “Yeah. What’s up?”

“What’s, um,” you slowly turned your head and met eyes with him. His smile made you look away briefly. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Oh!” He grinned, clapping his hands together. “Jay made traditional American breakfast. You know, with pancakes and syrup and everything.”

You nodded, your hands habitually flying up to your chest to grasp at nothing.

You’ve never had a traditional American breakfast before.

Sunghoon fidgeted with his fingers when he saw you enter the dining room with Jake. To occupy himself, he continued setting the table as Jay requested.

He was never big on talking about feelings, whether they be his or others. Ironically, he always felt the most in every room because of the nature of his power: to absorb emotions.

What originally started as a means to calm someone down slowly unraveled to be an ability to directly take away feelings. As he grew up, he learned that there were various consequences of doing that, and one of them was to induce sleep. Before he put you to a deep sleep last night, he placed his hand on your head to take your emotions away. Once you became a blank sheet of paper, you blacked out.

He has been using his psychic power since he discovered it. Still, unfortunately, his understanding of it wasn’t advanced enough to reach its full potential. Logically, since all the emotions he takes from others go inside him, if he could also swallow his own, he could just become a vacant vessel. But he hasn’t adequately learned how to do that, so he’s been forced to experience every emotion he absorbs from others. Your anxiety and anguish from last night—he would never say it, but he knew exactly how you felt.

“Good morning, everyone!” Jake mused once he neared the dining table. Turning his head left and right for a quick scan, he smiled despite the empty chairs. “It’s just us old folks, then.”

“Niki is not coming down for obvious reasons, and Sunoo wanted to stay with him,” Jay commented as he went around the table to set a plate of hash browns and scrambled eggs down. “Jungwon said he will come to see [Name] when he is ready to apologize.”

You gave Jake a quick glance at the casual drop of your name. He scrunched his nose to dissolve the tension in the air and patted your shoulder, telling you to grab any seat as long as food was in front of it. You licked your lower lip and rolled your eyes when he immediately left you after his voice dropped, running around the table to what you assumed would be his designated seat. Unfortunately, since you knew nobody else in this mansion, you thought your best choice was to sit next to Jake.

Turning to follow in his footsteps, you were abruptly greeted with a soft wall. Sunghoon put his hands up awkwardly when you stumbled backward to avoid bumping into his chest. He wanted to steady you but could not force his arms to move. He had mustered up the courage to approach you when he saw you were walking in his direction anyway. All he wanted was to do a wellness check, but he didn’t expect you to turn to him at the same time he stepped close.

When you collected your composure to look up at him, you stilled in response to him wordlessly putting his hands on your head. You remembered his face, namely his quiet eyes. It took you a while to register how intently he was staring at you, and you deliberately looked at something else to avoid making prolonged eye contact. Sunghoon’s palms cooled with gentle traces of air traveling along his veins—you were a little confused but overall calm. There was a sliver of judgment, possibly because you noticed Jake’s pancakes were overly soaked with syrup.

He removed his hands in relief once he ensured you were doing well. He reached inside his hoodie pocket to pull out a pen and a stack of tiny notecards. He scribbled something on it before flipping the card over. “How are your legs?”

“I am walking normally,” you replied with a nod and a pursed smile. Then, reluctantly, you gestured to your mouth. “You–um–you can’t talk?”

“I can. Don’t want to,” he opened his mouth to say before haphazardly writing on a notecard again. He turned it over to you. “Sign language?”

You breathed in a short gasp and shook your head. “No, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I write,” he muttered before pointing at himself. “Sunghoon.”

“[Name],” you introduced, then your mouth folded into a sneer not particularly directed at him. “You already knew that.”

“Oh my–come sit down! The food is getting cold!” Jake whined from his seat, finding it his sworn duty to ease any awkward tension in the air. Half his sentence was muffled by the cheeks full of food, but his distasteful glance and stretched-out tone told a more aggressive message than his words.

Sunghoon spared Jake a glance behind his shoulder before complying. He side-stepped you, planning to go around the table to sit at his original seat, which would be on the other side. But, before he could make it around the corner, a soft yet distinctly clear voice halted his steps with a suggestion.

“Sunghoon, go sit next to [Name].”

Heeseung limped in slowly, putting most of his weight against his trusty cane. There were no signs of distress on his face or clothes, but the beaded wetness around the tips of his hair and the fact that he was walking with his cane told everyone in the dining room that his gout flared up again. When he noticed Jay’s raised brow, silently asking about his well-being, he responded with a pursed smile. It was nothing unusual, but if he could stop having them, he’d rather that.

Jake stacked your plate with all sorts of food after you sat down, occupying himself with other tasks so he could take a breather from swallowing the sweets. You frowned at the unappealing formation he slathered your plate in—the syrup seeping under the scrambled egg, the pancakes soaked into a darker shade, and short strings of hash browns sprinkled atop three sad bacon pieces. If you weren’t so hungry, you would have openly complained about how it looked.

“How are you feeling?” Heeseung asked after he sat down with a suppressed groan. He set the cane against the table and pressed his hands together under it, looking at you expectantly. “Oh, and of course, my name is Heeseung.”

You nodded; through the process of elimination, you could pinpoint who Jay was. “I’m walking.”

“That’s wonderful,” Heeseung said, not particularly sounding like he was rejoiced to hear that. “But how are you feeling?”

Sunghoon lowered his utensils beside you and signed, “They’re feeling fine.”

“You made friends quick,” Heeseung mused as his eyes darted across Sunghoon, who answered a question directed toward you, and Jake, who he noticed dropped a mountain of food on your plate without being asked to.

The way Heeseung spoke was bothersome but not frighteningly so. Talking to him felt like talking to someone who wanted nothing to do with you yet was socially adept enough to maintain a regular conversation and trick you into thinking his disinterest was all in your head. Judging by how he motionlessly observed you, you thought you might be correct to believe it was all your imagination.

You shrugged. His low tone of voice made your agreeableness shrink. “I won’t necessarily call them that.”

“[Name]!” Jake gasped, but when he saw your grimace, a face screaming at him that he couldn’t possibly think he’d made a friend on such short notice, he pouted. “Yeah, okay.”

His disappointment—mainly the unapologetic way he showed it—returned your sympathy that Heeseung unknowingly stole by putting you under strange pressure. Your eyes softened, and your lips pulled themselves into a friendly smirk. You turned away from Jake before he could notice your demeanor change. Heeseung was still looking at you when your attention was on him again.

“I’m sure you have many questions,” Heeseung said. “I also have a few about you.”

You failed to stifle a groan. “I am the baby in the NICU.”

“We already figured that out,” he returned and leaned forward, putting his arms on the table and interacting his fingers to rest his chin on top. “We are more concerned about your power.”

You didn’t want to overthink the situation and debate if this rich and fulfilling breakfast was only a disguise to trap you in an interrogation, but with the way Heeseung hadn’t even begun to pick up his utensils since he sat down at a table full of delicious-looking food, it was becoming more blatant that you were here to be accessed instead of enjoying your meal. Tearing a fork through the hash browns, you plopped some into your mouth and chewed—either way, you were enjoying the food.

“I can answer your questions about me,” you said after swallowing your food. “But you also have to answer mine.”

“That was the plan,” Heeseung said. He leaned back and gestured toward you with his hand before using the same one to reach over to the teapot set down in front of him. He leisurely poured himself a cup of hot tea. “You can go first.”

You exhaled quietly, the light in your eyes fading to light up the back of your head, where you have constructed an investigation board with barely any evidence and strings tying it together. Your confusion regarding the situation was immense, from the purpose of your being here to the location itself, but when you were allowed to voice your concerns, you found it difficult to make sense of them. You didn’t know where to begin, but you didn’t want to let Heeseung take the rein either.

“We can start by introducing this place.”

You turned to Jay upon his suggestion. He sent you a nod. “That would be great.”

“My name is Park Jongseong. You can call me Jay,” he said. “My family owns the estate we are currently in.”

The house was not a mansion. It was a manor. Not that you could tell them apart; you only knew they have one thing in common: they’re both unaffordable. Jay’s family rarely frequented the estate in the past. Still, now that he had become the last descendant of his generation for a reason he didn’t include in the introduction, he decided to move from the city and officially make the manor his home. Along with himself, he brought Jake, his orphaned childhood best friend.

The manor currently housed seven residents—Heeseung, Jay, Jake, Sunghoon, Sunoo (a boy who grew the flower Jake sat in), Jungwon, and Niki, with whom you had a terrible first encounter yesterday night. Courtesy of Jay’s incredible sum of inheritance money, none of them were required to pay a cent to stay here. Jake laughed when he saw your eye twitch at the mention of free housing, and his laughter was not abruptly cut short by your deadpan stare.

“I do want to apologize on behalf of what Niki did yesterday,” Jay said after the brief introduction. “It wasn’t his intention to hurt you like that. I believe he panicked and made a terrible decision in the spur of the moment.”

You squinted at him, dissatisfied. “Why are you apologizing for him?”

“We are responsible for the younger ones living here,” Heeseung answered. “Niki came to live with us after his mother died a few years ago. We didn’t have to look too far to figure out it was his father’s doing, but he couldn't be prosecuted due to a lack of evidence.”

That didn’t make you less angry at him, but you felt sympathy where it was due. The fact that he was only a child made it easier to change your initially rigid impression of him. You liked to think you would have never done anything of that sort back when you were his age. Still, given the assumption that he knew who you were and what you could potentially do, perhaps he wasn’t entirely wrong to panic for his life when you attacked him for your necklace.

Besides, you did do something like that, albeit it was unintentional. Between you and Niki, you weren’t all that.

“We couldn’t let him stay with his father, so we brought him here,” Jake said, dropping his fork on the table and animatedly gesturing with his hands. “You should have seen the state he was in after he went to avenge his mom. His father beat him to a pulp in public, like in front of his colleagues and everything! That man has no shame!”

There appeared to be a pattern, which you should have deduced when Jake mentioned that everyone living in this manor has been through horrible things. Jay’s family was no longer here, Jake was orphaned, and Niki’s parents lived unfortunate lives. You looked around the table curiously, brows furrowing at Heeseung and Sunghoon. Sunghoon was quite taken aback by your sudden attention, but after spending a few seconds accessing you, he looked up at his friends from across the table and signed.

Jay stifled a chuckle. “He wanted to tell you his parents are alive and well. They just abandoned him.”

“So, technically, another orphan.” You nodded in acknowledgment. “What about you?”

Heeseung looked down at his plate as if debating his response. You waited, surprised that he didn’t have anything witty to slam at you, anything about a lack of manners and asking about people’s personal trauma after having just met them. When he looked up again, he was smiling faintly.

“Same situation.”

“Okay, so, what? This is one freaky family of orphans?” you said, sneering almost. “Am I here to be recruited?”

“Not to the parentless children club, no,” Jay said. “But to something else.”

You leaned against the back of the chair and crossed your arms, impatiently exhaling a cue for them to start getting to the main point. Jay peered off the Heeseung, and they nodded.

“Everyone here takes part in vigilante work,” Heeseung started. “Although Jay’s inheritance money should last all of us for a long time, we thought it was best that we don’t rely too much on it, especially with the unpredictable state of the current economy and the–“ he widened his eyes–“crazy property tax we have to pay just for this house.”

“What the hell are you–vigilante work?” you muttered, shaking your head in disbelief. “You guys are like one of those pretentious, morally upright people who make citizen’s arrests to, what, make the world a better place?” You lifted your arms to make quotation marks.

“We have law enforcement for a reason. The justice department literally introduced an independent investigation team.”

“You and I both know the police force isn’t helpful anymore in a world of randomized magic. Those with insignificant powers want to feel special, so they join the academy, and those with powers adequate enough to protect the public did better things,” Heeseung said. “The investigation team neglects issues on a smaller scale. Even if they don’t, they are ill-equipped to handle them. The twins alone are a walking natural hazard.”

As much as you didn’t want to agree with Heeseung, he didn’t tell a single lie. The police force, indeed, hasn’t been as helpful as the collective effort of the citizens living in a specific area. A nosy neighborhood auntie could disarm a robber faster than the police could arrive at the crime scene. And he was right that the investigation team was ill-equipped to handle regular tasks, as the collateral damage it has caused to the city has been reprehensible.

“I mean–“ You licked your lower lip and huffed displeasedly.

“Why are you upset?” Jake asked, playing with his fingers. “Do you not believe in justice?”

“I do,” you said. “I also believe it’s not our place to serve it.”

“Leave it to the vessel of a God to tell us that,” Heeseung snarked. He maintained eye contact when you snapped your head around to glare at him. He raised his brows, the tip of his tongue lightly poking against his inner cheek. “You are one, aren’t you? It’s your turn to answer a question.”

“Something like that.” You shifted on your seat and sighed. “Maybe not a vessel, not exactly.”

“I’m not too concerned about the nomenclature of it all. I just need to know if you still have that power,” he cleared his throat, “because we would like to have you in our group.”

Unfortunately for you, that was not an unreasonable request. “How do you guys work?”

“A popular website was created a while ago that allows people to post any suspicious individuals or activities they’ve witnessed. We have been picking interesting cases from there and starting our investigation,” Heeseung replied. “Once we figure out the logistics, we go in, catch the guy, and send them anonymously on their way to the station.”

“Uh-huh.” You lowered your head and asked in a humorous whisper, “Are you guys secretly trying to surpass the investigation unit?”

Heeseung’s lips stretched into an amused smile for the first time. He looked pointedly at you, his torso leaning forward as if he wanted to share a secret. “No, but it would be funny if we did that.”

“Whatever,” you scoffed. “But here’s what I don’t get–why do you need me?”

You haven’t thoroughly explored the powers of everyone present at the table yet, but you didn’t think it was necessary to recruit more manpower when Niki could be a one-man army as someone who can manipulate bones with his mind. Besides, one of the residents could literally grow a giant flower solid enough to carry a grown man inside. How hard could vigilantism really be with nutcases like them on their side?

It wasn’t as if you were easy to handle, either. You may have the power of Godhood, but it has to be activated for you to reach your full potential, and once you reach your full potential, you will no longer exist to help them. You have spent your entire life trying not to activate it. Not only that, the sentience of Enlightenment should be a threat to everyone around you. Would they be able to deal with who you’d become once you reach that point? Would they want to?

“We have been meaning to expand the scope of the cases we take,” Heeseung said. “Instead of scratching off online posts, we thought maybe it’s time to start taking orders for monetary gain. It’s always the more the merrier when it comes to those kinds of operation.”

“Right,” you muttered. “What’s in it for me?”

“You can quit all your jobs now and move in with us. It’s free housing, besides being sent to work on different cases occasionally. You can have your own room. We have a garden outside, a swimming pool at the back, and a greenhouse. Whatever you can think of,” Heeseung listed casually. “If you’re uncomfortable asking for money whenever you want something, Jay can always arrange to get you a card to use whenever you want.”

He had you at free housing and quitting your customer service jobs, but you let him finish because you didn’t want to seem too desperate to be out of your current tax bracket. The vigilante work didn’t bother you as much; it was a reasonable price to pay for everything else you would receive. As for your impressions of the manor’s residents—Sunghoon, Jake, and Jay were fine; some others you haven’t met; the rest you were cautious about, but nothing being a little avoidant wouldn’t solve.

This manor was huge. Seeing its seven residents was an option.

“Okay,” you said. “I’ll join you guys.”

Jake grinned, and Sunghoon visibly perked up at your agreement. But, before one of them could let out a celebratory holler, Heeseung waved his hands with an interrupting cough. He cleared his throat with an amused smile and settled down once again. It was great that you agreed to join the residence. However, he still needed to ensure your usefulness before offering you anything.

“We still have to make sure your ability is intact,” he said. “The whole reason we sent Niki to the shop yesterday was to check for your power, but he didn’t get an answer.”

“If you’re looking for my Godhood–um, huh? Wait a minute.”

You heard Heeseung the first time. His words were clear as day and straightforward—Niki was at the sandwich store yesterday because they needed to check if you still have your power. You understood that the first time he said it, but the depth of its connotation failed to hit you until a few beats later.

Niki was at the sandwich store yesterday. Niki tried to steal your necklace and railed you up. Niki broke your bones and triggered traumatic memories.

“You did all of that just to test out a theory?” you asked through a clenched jaw.

“Well, not to test out a theory. It’s more to answer a ques–“

“My limbs were twisted. I was crying on the floor,” you gritted out, your hand flying up to your chest to touch for something no longer there. “Do you know how important that necklace is to me? I’m sure you already knew. I’m sure you asked that boy to take it from me so you could get me to use my power.”

It must all be so fascinating to them. The idea of Godhood, the absolute power of Heaven and Hell. To them, your power was an ascension, and Enlightenment was to be reached.

But they would never understand. The guilt of accidental murders, the stress of keeping a mental cage mature enough to defend yourself against a concept inherently yours, the loneliness of self-isolation, and the pain of becoming. You’ve lost people and become alone. You’ve had people, and you were still alone. The road to the end was unforgiving, as was the destination you were cursed to tread.

They would never understand. To them, you’re just a question to be answered.

Whiteness covered your eye, glitching and twitching to make itself show. You’ve had it, it seemed. Still, it was so fascinating to Heeseung that life and death did not trigger you enough. Could anger be the defining starter instead of endangerment? Or were you just extremely good at controlling your emotions?

Everyone shot up from their seats when you pushed your way out of yours and bolted toward him. Your utensils slammed against each other when you pushed the table's edge, and the chair screeched against the floor as it got shoved. Sunghoon reached out for you, but his fingertips brushed only the faint of your hair before you were out of reach. For the first time, he understood why Heeseung requested him to sit next to you. In the worst-case scenario, he can calm you down best.

Heeseung exhaled through his parted lips and stood up. His knee hurt, but he neglected his cane to walk to an open space. He watched you make your way to him, your intention to harm evident in your aggression, but he did not respond with the same caliber. He faced you with a bland expression and, before your fist could come in contact with his face, dropped something from his hand.

A silver cross necklace dangled on his finger. You halted in recognition.

“This does not belong to me. I’m sorry I took it from you,” he said, gently reaching out for your hand. He helped you lay out your palm and returned the necklace. “I really do apologize for Niki’s actions yesterday night. I hope if you don’t forgive the event, you hold it against me instead of him, as he didn’t agree to the test.”

Your white eye twitched. Looking down at your palm, at the silver necklace, you thought you could smell the residue of blood that once stained it. You held it in your hand and pretended you could access Namjoon’s brain and know what he would do, but the cross was always a reminder that he was gone. You were never delusional enough, and he wasn’t predictable enough. You’ve grown up without his presence. Your decisions were for you to make.

And you say you wanted retaliation.

A loud smack echoed through the dining room. Jay looked down at the ground, his eyes meeting Jake’s widened ones on the way to ignore what he saw. You felt a sting on your hand, which you knew felt much worse on Heeseung’s cheek.

Heeseung closed his eyes to settle himself. He moved his jaw, clicking it as his hand moved up to touch where you’d slapped him. “I deserved that.”

“Yes,” you whispered, your eyesight coming back to you. You clutched the necklace in your hands. “It made me feel better.”

His chuckle was airy. The sudden beaming from your body, in contrast to how monotonous your voice sounded, was funny. “I suppose that’s the least I could do.”

The dining room fell silent for a moment. You watched Heeseung’s smile fade after the exchange, and for the first time, you realized how delicate his features were.

Jake leaned his torso over the table to check if you two were still talking. He pouted when he saw that there’s only a bunch of standing involved in this silence, so he clapped his hands for attention and dropped them to his side. He shrugged, his brows raised innocently. “Well, are they in now, then?”

Heeseung’s eyes softened, and he nodded.

#w: tmiw #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #enhypen x gender neutral reader #enhypen x y/n #enhypen x you #enhypen x reader #enhypen drabbles #heeseung x reader #heeseung imagines #enhypen jay imagines #jake imagines #sunghoon imagines #niki imagines

51 notes · View notes