Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"A man can fail many times, but he isn't a failure until he begins to blame somebody else." - John Burroughs

=====

The girl hangs off her boyfriend’s arm, the pulsing neon lights of the club not too far away. She giggles, leaning into him, a puff of smoke leaving his lips as a cigarette flickers with a faint orange glow between his fingers. He chuckles, tugging her along, and they flash their fake IDs at the bouncer. He offers a raised brow for a moment, taking them and looking them over. He offers them a once-over, but shrugs, and hands them back as the two slide inside with giggles. 

Behind them, a taller boy followed. The bouncer paused, but his eyes darted to the scarlet jacket on his frame – not a school blazer, but he knew what the colour meant. “You’re with them?” The boy nodded. The bouncer tilted his head – he matched him in height, and the boy’s hair was buzzed, a faint scar around his eyebrow. He looked like he should’ve been in college, perhaps he was. The bouncer chuckled at the thought – no, no one working for them would be the kind of person bettering themselves through higher education. 

“Not about to stop Woojin’s boys from doing their job,” he offers his hand, and the boy nods, clasping it, and the two pull and bump their shoulders with a thud. He chuckles, and the boy nods. 

“Appreciate it, though…” the boy paused, leaning over slightly, voice dropping an octave. Even with the bright music blaring from inside, from the curious and bored eyes of the long queue, and the couple inside wondering where their ‘bodyguard’ had gone, he could make out what the boy was saying. “Between you and me? I ain’t with Woojin.” He chuckled, patting the bouncer on the shoulder. 

The older man furrowed his brow, before a flash of recognition came over his eyes. “Ah, I see…” the boy slipped inside, following after the couple, and the bouncer hummed to himself. “He’s with that new girl…” Even between his own job, checking between more IDs and pushing out anyone who he couldn’t get away with letting inside, he hummed, his own thoughts swirling with a chuckle. 

Woojin… you’re losing control, aren’t you?

***

Nakyoung hummed, flicking through the envelope. The pocket of black paper had been filled with multiple bills, enough that she had to suppress her eyes widening. Opposite her were the various people under her ‘employ’ – far more than what she had previously. There was no point acting surprised, not when this was the world they were used to. Shock and awe would make her seem like a rookie, someone new to this world, someone incapable of challenging Woojin. 

The warehouse was an abandoned outpost that Nakyoung had taken to being a new meeting point, occasionally checking in with Kaede to see if things were going smoothly on her end – to see if she’d been noticed just yet. She supposed it was only a matter of time, as whilst the small crowd before her was meagre, it was only a small glimpse in what was to come.

They all eyed her with curiosity, and she glanced up, staring toward the taller boy standing before her, arms behind his back. She stood from the crate she was sat on, and there was a faint shake to his shoulders, because of course there was. After all, word had begun to spread – of the girl who’d set out to threaten Woojin’s reign – and that alone left everyone intimidated. According to Kaede, that was good. 

“This what you got last night?” She asked, and he nodded. She glanced back down, slipping out a few bills, before handing the envelope back to him. He regarded it for a moment, before taking it, and checking the amount. He paused, glancing up. 

“This… is more than usual,” he muttered, “More than ninety.” 

Nakyoung shrugged, “You’re new, and you did a good job last night – got a great review from our client,” she dipped her head slightly, before meeting his gaze, “Consider it a welcome bonus.” 

He smiled, faintly, before bowing. He turned, finding his place amongst the small crowd, “Man, working with these runaway rich kids sure has its benefits…” He mumbled quietly, but loud enough for Nakyoung to pick up on it. From what she gathered, not everyone in the Alliance were as down on their luck as most others – some were simply kids with money who’d gotten bored. She’d scoff, though she supposed she wasn’t in much position to judge.

A thought occurred – was that who Kaede was? She didn’t seem much like a wealthy student, though, and Nakyoung doubts Dahyun would grow so close to someone like that. She filed it away as a question to ask later.

In the meantime, her eyes turned to the remaining people within the building. Most were highschoolers, though some seemed older – perhaps college and university students, or down-on-their-luck adults who could fight well. Regardless, they’d pulled themselves over to Nakyoung’s side, and thanks to them, word had begun to spread. It was slow, and Nakyoung was hesitant to have her full name out there – after all, they’d been lucky her father hadn’t caught wind of everything yet. 

“You’ve done good work so far,” her voice echoed through the dark and damp room, slightly deeper than it usually was, a slight effect on her end to appear more serious. Based on how a few seemed to straighten, it was working. “I appreciate your loyalty so far, and I can tell you’ve all appreciated the bonuses. So far we’ve had few incidents, let’s keep it that way,” there were nods, and Nakyoung crossed her arms, “Unless you have any concerns, feel free to leave – I’m aware it’s a school night for some of you,” A few chuckles bounced through the walls, and she nodded.

With that signal, many began to file out from the room. She heard their chatter and footsteps against the floor, before soon, the warehouse was empty. Once the sounds of conversation began to grow quieter, she let out a soft sigh, rolling her shoulders, and finding herself back on the crate. She glanced up, spotting the way shadows seemed to dance on the ceiling, the way light peering in from the windows ran across the ground and occasional puddle. 

“What are you thinking about?” A voice asked, high and soft, and Nakyoung glanced over to see Kaede, offering a wide-eyed expression with a smile – cute, although the older girl only rolled her eyes. 

“That work on people?” Nakyoung asked, and Kaede’s shoulders relaxed, and she giggled, though her expression shifted only slightly. 

“You’d be surprised,” she shrugged. She stopped a few feet away from the older girl, and Nakyoung took in the sight of the shorter Japanese girl. “Seems like more people are joining you.” 

Nakyoung nodded, massaging the back of her neck, “It’s been more each night… you were right, people really were looking for a way out from Woojin…” She muttered, shaking her head as Kaede sighed. “How are things on your end? I’m guessing that’s what you’re here about.” 

Kaede grinned, confirming with a nod. Nakyoung shuffled, and Kaede paused, glancing to the space beside her. Beckoning her with a slight tilt of her head, the Japanese girl hummed, before walking over and taking her seat beside Nakyoung. The air felt slightly less cold now, and Kaede leaned back slightly, heels of her hands against the crate. “There’s a shift going on,” the shorter girl sighed, tilting her head, “A new alliance member doesn’t usually just join and amass a following like that so quickly. Some think I’m involved but,” she shrugged, glancing toward the older girl, “Who’s to say?” 

Nakyoung met her gaze, and chuckled, shaking her head, and Kaede laughed. “Hey, the more credit you take the better. Still… Wolf Park knows I had something to do with it,” she sighed, shaking her head with a smile as she glanced ahead, “Not much I can hide from them… still, works in our favour. They see I trust you, and well…” she grinned again, fox-like, “They’ll really want to meet you.” 

The older girl shifted, folding her arms again, “I caught their attention…” She muttered, realisation dawning on her, and Kaede nodded.

“Congrats,” Kaede said, and there was a hint of something congratulatory beneath it all, though she went on, “All that’s left is dealing with Woojin himself…” Kaede’s gaze turned to Nakyoung, “If we keep it up, he’ll want to challenge you, to reassert himself in everyone’s eyes. I know it isn’t your style, but maybe find some dirt on him, something to make him feel even more pressured.” 

The Korean girl nodded, “Right… thanks,” Kaede hummed, stepping off from the crate.

Kaede hummed, stepping off the crate and brushing dust from her palms. “Anyway,” she said lightly, the edge of strategy fading just a little from her tone, “you handled that well. Better than I expected, honestly.”

Nakyoung snorted. “High praise coming from you.”

“I mean it,” Kaede replied, glancing back at her, “You’re doing well… it’ll be interesting to see what kind of Top Dog you’ll become,” she smiled, eyes lit with interest and amusement. 

Nakyoung scoffed, “Well–” Her words were cut short as the older girl’s phone vibrated in her pocket.

The sound was sharp in the hollow warehouse, out of place against the distant drip of water and the hum of the city outside. Nakyoung froze for half a second before reaching for it, thumb brushing over the cracked screen as she pulled it free. One glance was all it took for the faint ease in her posture to vanish.

Appa

Just the name, no message preview, was enough to make her jaw tighten.

Kaede noticed immediately. “That bad?” she asked lightly, though her eyes sharpened with concern. Nakyoung exhaled through her nose, unlocking the phone. The message was short – too short.

We need to talk. Tonight. Come home.

The lack of warm words reminded Nakyoung of whenever she’d get called home and wind up in trouble for staying out too late or getting into another fight. It left a sense of unease writhing in her gut, and she sighed. 

“Yeah,” Nakyoung murmured, slipping the phone back into her pocket. She pushed herself up from the crate, rolling her shoulders once as if to shake something loose. “I should go.”

Kaede tilted her head, eyes unreadable. “Everything okay?”

Nakyoung hesitated, before nodding. “It will be.”

The lie wasn’t convincing, but Kaede didn’t press. Instead, gave a soft hum, and the two girls lingered in the empty space for a moment, the earlier tension replaced with something quieter, more personal.

“…Hey,” Nakyoung said suddenly, glancing sideways at her. “Thanks. For all of this.”

Kaede blinked. “For…?”

“For sticking your neck out,” Nakyoung clarified. “You didn’t have to bring me in, or open these doors. You didn’t have to take this risk with a random vigilante or get me involved in this big plan, but you did.”

The Japanese girl looked away, rubbing at the back of her neck. “I mean… it made sense,” she muttered. “You’re strong, you’re not an idiot, and you’re not–” she waved a hand vaguely, “–like him.”

Nakyoung smiled faintly. “Still. I owe you.”

Kaede scoffed. “Don’t get all serious on me now, besides, it’s not like I get nothing out of this, so don’t make it sound like I’m this saint… ” she said, but there was colour creeping up her cheeks. “Still, it’s been kind of fun so far.”

“Fun?” Nakyoung echoed, amused.

“Fun.” Kaede shrugged.

Nakyoung huffed a quiet laugh, “Let’s hope it stays that way,” she then hesitated, head tilting, as if weighing something in her mind. “When things settle a bit,” she said, “we should get food. You, me, Dahyun. Somewhere normal instead of… well, this,” she gestured to the space around them.

One of Kaede’s brows lifted in surprise. “You’re asking me out?”

Nakyoung shot her a flat look. “To eat.”

Kaede laughed, quick and bright, holding up her hands with a shit-eating grin that made Nakyoung’s eyes roll to the back of her skull. “Okay, okay. I’m joking, I don’t plan on stealing you from Dahyun,” She teased, and Nakyoung gave a slight cough, ears warm in the colder air. Kaede giggled, before nodding, smile softening. “But yeah, I’d like that.”

Nakyoung grabbed her jacket and slung it over her shoulder. “I’ll message you,” she said. “Soon.”

Kaede nodded. “Don’t disappear on me, Top Dog.”

Nakyoung rolled her eyes. “Don’t start calling me that.”

“Would you prefer Top Cat?” Nakyoung scoffs at the shit-eating grin on Kaede’s face, lightly punching the younger girl’s arm. She turned toward the exit, boots echoing softly against the concrete. She was almost out of the warehouse when Kaede spoke again.

“Nakyoung.”

She stopped.

Kaede stood a few paces back, hands tucked into her sleeves, expression unreadable. “I did some digging,” she said, tone flat. “About you.”

Nakyoung turned slowly, eyes narrowing just a fraction. “Anyone ever told you that you’re a little nosy?”

“Dahyun does, all the time, get used to it,” Kaede replied quick, shrugging.“I knew about your dad and your mom, the detectives, that part wasn’t hard to find. Play your cards right and it won’t be an issue for you,” She paused. “But what I didn’t know was about your sister.”

Something cold slid down Nakyoung’s spine. “My… sister?” she repeated, voice even despite the sudden tension coiling in her chest.

Kaede nodded. “There was an incident, about a year ago, just after your friend wound up…” She paused, shifting her weight between her feet, now choosing her words with added care. “Your sister was involved in an accident, from what I could tell. The details are… messy. Rumours, mostly, a blurry investigation even your parents got frustrated about,” her eyes remained in that same expression, and it was then Nakyoung felt unnerved, like how most who encountered Kaede usually did. “Some say it was a hit-and-run… Others say it involved Alliance territory.”

Nakyoung’s fingers curled at her side.

“She survived,” Kaede added quickly. “But it sounded bad,” the warehouse felt smaller again, the shadows pressing in. Nakyoung stared at Kaede for a long moment, searching her face, not for judgment, but for intent. A chill ran across her skin, and the younger girl raised her hands as if in surrender, meeting her gaze steadily. “I’m not bringing it up to pry,” she said. “I just… wondered if there was another reason you joined. Another reason you’re willing to go this far.”

Nakyoung looked away, toward the open doorway where evening light spilled in. For a moment, she considered brushing it off, offering something vague and dismissive.

Instead, she spoke. “There’s one thing all of my family has in common,” she said quietly. “We’re stubborn. Hardheaded to the point of stupidity, and we’re very protective of each other,” Kaede listened without interrupting. “You don’t get away with hurting one of us,” Nakyoung continued, turning back to her, eyes steady now, “Without pissing off all of us.”

Understanding flickered across Kaede’s face. Not pity. Not fear. Just recognition.

“…Got it,” she said softly, grinning now, giving a soft laugh.

Nakyoung nodded once. “I’ll see you around, Kaede.”

She stepped out into the cool night air, the city swallowing her footsteps as she headed home, toward questions she couldn’t dodge, toward a conversation she’d been putting off for far too long.

Behind her, Kaede remained in the warehouse, watching the doorway long after Nakyoung had gone, a small, thoughtful smile tugging at her lips.

“Yeah,” she murmured to herself. “Things are going to get a lot more fun with her involved…”

=====

The first thing that greets Nakyoung is the enticing aroma of her father’s cooking, as she kicks off her shoes at the entrance and pads her way down the hallway. It grows stronger, and she can see him busy at the stove, the sounds of his knife echoing against the kitchen walls, rhythmically chopping through vegetables, a pot simmering beside him. The scent is a lot, and Nakyoung’s nose scrunches slightly, already sensing the spice as her stomach growled. 

The second thing that greeted her was her sister. She felt a slight jolt to her foot, and she squeaked, hopping away as she was greeted by Hyungseo’s smile. A black coat sat on her sister’s frame, over her neatly ironed shirt and pants, hair tied back. She must’ve just come back from the office, Nakyoung realised, watching a few traitorous dark strands poke out from the ponytail. 

“What time do you call this?” She asks, a teasing glint in her eyes, and Nakyoung rolls her eyes. They briefly flicker to the cane in her sister’s grasp, and she pulls her eyes away from it, intent on not focusing on the memories that came whenever she stared too long. 

“Yah, I was busy,” she lightly smacks her sister’s shoulder, and Hyungseo seems ready to fight back, until a roll of newspaper smacks her head. 

“Agh!” Her eyes widen, and she turns, spotting their mother. If Nakyoung – as so many often said – looked more like their father, than Hyungseo was an almost spitting image of their mother. The older woman frowned, a thick brown coat over her frame, “Eomma–” 

“How old are you and how old is she, hm? Leave your sister alone,” she admonishes, and Hyungseo huffs as her mother tosses the paper aside. Her eyes dart toward Nakyoung, and soften as she approaches, “How are you then, hm? Were you out with friends?” 

Nakyoung pauses for a moment, a flicker of hesitation holding her back. She gives a soft sigh, “Something like that,” though, the moment she says it, she sees it. The knowing look in her mother’s eyes, and when her eyes flicker toward Hyungseo, she sees it too – as if her smile was strained, and her grip on the cane tightened. Her eyes move back toward her father, who’d been oddly quiet throughout the whole exchange. Something crawls in her gut, and she looks back toward her mother. 

The older woman fixes Nakyoung’s bangs, before her hand cups her cheek. “Your sister and I need to fetch some drinks – plus, we might need some new cooking oil… your dad says we have enough but–” 

“It’s not empty,” their father called without turning around. “There’s enough for one more dish.”

Hyungseo rolled her eyes. “We can literally just buy another in case.”

“Kids these days,” he shakes his head, “Just because you have money doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be economical.” 

Nakyoung almost laughs at the unimpressed look on her sister’s face, “I literally run my own – very successful – business, I don’t think I need any advice,” her father makes a noise that sounds somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, and Nakyoung feels her mother’s hands move down to her shoulders. 

“Either way, we’re getting one. Do you want anything from the shops?” 

She opens her mouth, but Hyungseo cuts her off, “I’ll pick up some watermelon juice, don’t worry,” she chuckles at the pout Nakyoung gives her, and the two head to the door, Hyungseo’s cane hitting the floor. As the two near the entrance, Kaede’s words bounced around in Nakyoung’s head, and she felt the surge of memories flood her brain, fist tightening. 

***

“Unnie!” Nakyoung’s voice tore through the air, and the thug’s head snapped up. The nearby red neon light from a restaurant’s sign seemed to wash the entire alleyway with a scarlet tint, and the thug cursed. He glanced back to Hyungseo, whose fingers curled around the chainlink fence behind her with a wince, attempting to pull herself up. Blood dripped down the side of her lip, her face swollen in some places, and her leg… Nakyoung could hardly look at the sight. 

Only one other person was in the alleyway – a young girl, huddled in a corner, no doubt the person Hyungseo had been worrying over in the voicenote she sent to Nakyoung. The thug gave one last swing toward Hyungseo’s leg, and the older woman’s screams rang in Nakyoung’s ear, and the thug dropped it and took off. 

Nakyoung hardly let him escape. She was on him almost immediately, and caught up quick. He turned, and she grabbed him, before swinging her fist toward his jaw. The force knocked around his skull, and he fell to the ground. Picking up his upper body, Nakyoung felt her lips curl into a snarl as she drew her fist back and punched him, again, and again, pummeling his face into the concrete. She hardly heard the sirens in the background, the ambulance for her sister, the cries of her father and mother. 

She only felt them pull her away from the body, but her anger never faded. 

***

When Nakyoung felt a tap on her shoulder, she jumped, and spun around, only to meet her father’s eyes. Tired, kind, soft, and she was disarmed almost immediately. “Settle down, tiger,” he chuckled, before patting her on the shoulder, “Could you set the table for me as I finish up?” 

The young girl’s eyes flickered back to the entrance – her mother and sister were now long gone, and she sighed. She glanced back toward him, the unease from earlier beginning to fade, “Sure, appa.” 

He smiled, and walked back towards the kitchen, and Nakyoung toward the table. She sets the plates out, even moves over some of the side-dishes her father had cooked up. For a moment, it’s quite, only the slight tinkling noise from whenever she moves the cutlery, or the hissing coming from some of the pots. Her father stirs, slowly, and Nakyoung bites her lip as she stops near the table, recalling his message. 

“So… how was work?” She finds herself asking, and he chuckles, quiet. 

“Good… good, pretty quiet,” he sighs, shaking his head, “If there’s one thing about this neighbourhood I don’t like, it’s how damn quiet the station is when it really shouldn’t be anything like that,” he muttered, voice low, and Nakyoung nods, “You see all these people running around and yet… my damn coworkers go out drinking every other night.” 

He shakes his head, and Nakyoung hums, “Mom probably wouldn’t be happy about that.” 

“Your mom wouldn’t be happy if I ever drank without her, let’s be clear,” he commented, and it earns a laugh from Nakyoung. He glances back for a half-second, watching his daughter’s shoulders relax, the way her eyes twinkle, and he hums, deciding now to ask. He turns, beginning to cut up another vegetable, “You know… I did hear this rumour though,” he started, and Nakyoung froze, “You know, half these cops barely pay attention to the Alliance stuff, no one really does… they’re either kids playing delinquent, or the head of a snake no one wants to wake up…” 

Nakyoung nods, stiff, and he sighs, “Though, doesn’t mean I don’t hear people talking… apparently, someone’s been making moves, attempting to usurp one of the current underlings beneath Wolf Park… can you believe it?” He chuckles, and his eyes fall to Nakyoung. Slowly, his daughter meets his gaze, and she sees it – the sharp glint to his eyes, the subtle curl of his smile, the expression of simply knowing something before Nakyoung even told him. 

“That’s… interesting…” She muttered, skin feeling cold and a shiver running down her spine. 

He nods, shrugging, “So what’s your plan?” He asks, as if just asking her about the weather or what was for dinner. Her hand grips onto the edge of the table, knuckles pale, and he goes on, “I raised you better than to rush in without a plan, is all.”

Nakyoung swallows.

The words sit heavy on her tongue, pressing against the roof of her mouth as she exhales through her nose, steadying herself. The kitchen feels smaller all of a sudden, walls inching closer as the quiet stretches. Her father waits, knife still in hand, paused mid-prep – not frozen, not tense, just… patient. That almost makes it worse.

“Before I tell you,” she says finally, voice low, careful, “you can’t stop me.”

The knife resumes its rhythm against the cutting board. Thud. Thud. Thud. Even chops, unhurried in their pace. He doesn’t look at her when he answers.

“I won’t.”

That makes her blink. She straightens, eyes snapping up to his back. “What?”

He glances over his shoulder then, one eyebrow lifting slightly, like she’s the one who said something strange. “I said I won’t.”

Nakyoung frowns. Confusion creeps in, unwelcome and disorienting. She’d braced herself for anger, for disappointment, for that familiar tightening in his jaw that meant this conversation was going to hurt. She’d expected a lecture, or worse – a flat, immovable no, right as she was getting close, and their plan was being kicked into motion. Instead, he turns off the stove beneath one of the pots and gestures toward the table with his chin.

“Sit,” he says. “You’ve been standing like you’re about to bolt.”

She hesitates, then does as told, sliding into one of the chairs. The wood creaks beneath her weight. Her father joins her a moment later, wiping his hands on a towel before sitting across from her. He rests his forearms on the table, fingers loosely interlaced. Up close, she notices the lines around his eyes more clearly. The faint crease between his brows that never quite goes away anymore. He looks tired. Not just from work, but from worries, anxieties.

“I figured you’d say something like that,” he continues, calm. “You always do.”

Nakyoung scoffs quietly. “You always said I was stubborn…”

“Yep,” he agrees, lips twitching. “You’ve not changed much, have you Nakyoung?”

The silence settles again, but this time it’s different. He’s thinking – she can tell. The way his gaze drifts, unfocused, as though he’s looking not at her, but through her, past her, toward something further.

“When you were little,” he says at last, “I used to worry I was doing something wrong.”

She blinks. “What?”

“You never cried when you fell,” he says, a smile on his lips. “Do you remember that?”

A flicker of memory surfaces – scraped knees, gravel embedded in skin, the sting that came after. Even now, she shrugs. “It didn’t hurt that bad.”

“That’s what you always said,” he murmurs. “But that wasn’t the part that bothered me. It was that you’d stand back up and look around first. Like you were checking whether anyone else was hurt – you were so young back then, but I couldn’t help but think it was instinct, that even before you could understand why you were doing it, you were more concerned about others.”

Nakyoung’s throat tightens, just slightly. “You were… what, five?” he continues. “Six? There was a boy in the neighbourhood – older than you by at least three years, a big kid. He shoved another girl off the swings and made her cry,” his mouth presses into a thin line. “Before I could even cross the playground, you were already on him.”

She exhales a quiet laugh. “I bit him.”

“You bit him,” he confirms dryly. “Hard enough to draw blood.”

She winces. “I said sorry.”

“You said you’d do it again if he touched her,” he says. “Didn’t even look scared or that you regretted it.” He finally meets her eyes then. There’s no judgment there. Just something heavy. Something tender. “That was when I realised,” he says softly, “that you weren’t a child who needed to be protected in the usual way.”

Nakyoung shifts in her seat. “Appa–”

“You’d pick fights you had no business winning,” he goes on, gently but firmly, “and somehow, you always won them. Taller kids, stronger kids, ones who’d been throwing punches long before you even knew what they were.” A faint, rueful smile tugs at his lips. “Your teachers thought I was encouraging it.”

“I mean,” she mutters, “you did teach me how to throw a punch.”

“That was after you broke a boy’s nose,” he reminds her. “You decided you were a fighter long before I had any input.”

She huffs despite herself. “I watched you,” he says. “Not to stop you, but to understand you, and what I understood was this – that you, your mother, your sister, me? We’re all… so similar. We’re all hotblooded, we don’t fight because we want to, or because we’re reckless,” he shifts, leaning forward, “We do it because we’re passionate, passionate to not see others suffer when we can help them. It’s why me and your mother joined the force, it’s why we fell in love.”

Her fingers curl against the tabletop. “It’s the same reason your sister did what she did,” he adds quietly, and the words land like a weight. 

Hyungseo’s scream echoes in her head. The wet sound of impact. The way the alley smelled like rust and rot and spilled alcohol. Nakyoung swallows hard.

“She didn’t think,” Nakyoung says, too fast. “She should’ve waited, called someone–”

“Would you?” He asks, and Nakyoung pauses, and he chuckles, “Would you have thought twice before jumping in? You would,” he adds, “But not about yourself, and it’s the same for your sister. She did think. She thought about that girl in the corner. About how scared she must’ve been.” His gaze softens. “She thought about everything except herself, and I think that’s how they set her up.”

Nakyoung looks away. “That’s how she got her leg injured,” he continues. “And that’s how you almost ended up in handcuffs if your mother and I hadn’t shown up.”

Her jaw tightens. “I would’ve handled it.”

“I know,” he says simply. “That’s the problem.”

She exhales, sharp. “So why aren’t you stopping me?” She asks, hands clenched, “I… I can tell you’re worried about whatever I’m planning, so why?”

He leans back in his chair, studying her like he’s piecing together a puzzle he’s been staring at for years. “Because every time I tried,” he says, “you found another way.”

Her lips part, then close again.

“When you started… doing things on your own,” he says carefully, “intervening where you thought the system was failing, your vigilantism, I knew.” He doesn’t specify how, he doesn’t need to. “I knew the moment you came home with bruises you wouldn’t explain. With that look in your eyes.”

Nakyoung stiffens. “You let me.”

“I allowed you,” he corrects. “There’s a difference, because no parent should allow that to happen blindly.” He folds his hands together again. “If I told you to stop, you wouldn’t. You’d just stop telling me, because I wanted to know where you were, rather than finding out the hard way.”

Her jaw and chest tightened, the worry evident in his eyes. “So I chose the lesser evil,” he continues. “I chose to know, to keep an eye on things, to step in when I could.” His voice lowers. “There are dangers you can fight your way out of, Nakyoung, and there are dangers you can’t.”

She finally looks back at him. “The Alliance,” he says, “is one of the latter.”

Her shoulders tense. “You think I don’t know that?”

“I think you know it,” he says. “But I also think you and whoever you’re working with don’t know how deep it goes.”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Like I said before, people at the station don’t take them seriously. They call them delinquents, kids playing gangster.” A humorless huff. “Or they call them a sleeping beast.”

Nakyoung’s eyes narrow.

“And you don’t wake the beast unless you’re prepared for them to bite,” he continues. “From the little digging around we were able to do, we learnt one thing – Wolf Park? They’re just the tip of the iceberg, a tail we’ve been chasing in hopes it leads to the bigger beast. You’ve done something none of my, or your mother’s, coworkers have been able to do – you’re close to catching that tail.”

She knows this. She’s built her entire plan around it. “We all made a promise, in the hospital room, when Hyungseo was told she’d probably need that cane for the rest of her life, when she was told she’d never walk properly again,” she sucked in a breath, and he sighed, “That we’d get them, we. Hyungseo and your mother also know, but they wanted me to handle this. As an officer, the law is my tool, but as a father… If Hyungseo wants revenge,” he says quietly, “I don’t know if I can go easy on them.”

Her breath catches. “But also, as a father,” he admits, voice tight now, “I am terrified.” That surprises her more than anything else tonight. “I lie awake wondering if tonight is the night someone decides to make an example out of you,” he says. “If you’ll come home bleeding, or not come home at all.”

Her chest aches, and she opens her mouth to say something, but he raises his hand. “But I have two choices,” he continues. “I can pull the plug – drag you out of this kicking and screaming, learn nothing about how the Alliance works and watch you run off and do it yourself, or…” He inhales, clearly hesitant, but steady, “I can work with you.”

Silence. “You don’t get to do this alone,” he says firmly. “Not anymore.”

Nakyoung stares at him, heart pounding. “You’d… help me?”

“We’d protect you,” he corrects. “In the ways you can’t protect yourself. If one of the officers starts sniffing too close, I push him away. If your friends decide to backstab you, we get you out. The police plan a raid and you might be there? You try and get yourself out. You do what you can to earn Wolf Park’s trust, to get close. You can grab Taejin that way, and maybe, we’ll figure out who hurt your sister.”

She swallows. “And if it goes too far?”

His gaze hardens. “Then I’ll tell you to stop. Whether that’s when you want to or not, we stop. Your mother and Hyungseo both agreed.”

She holds his eyes for a long moment, searching for the trap. The catch. But there isn’t one. Just resolve. Fear, yes, but also trust. “I’ll keep you in the loop,” she says finally. “Everything.”

He nods. “That’s all I ask.”

A breath she didn’t realise she was holding escapes her. “A-and you won’t go after some of the people I work with…” she mutters, thinking of Kaede, or Dahyun. “Appa… a lot of them are good kids, they just… got dealt a bad hand.” 

“That’s down to them, Nakyoung,” he mumbled, “If they go too far, I don’t have a choice. But… if you’re worried about your friends… I’ll do what I can.” She nods, thankful, and he sighs. “Now,” he adds, standing, “If we’re done plotting the downfall of local crime syndicates or trying to catch that bastard Taejin, I could use some help with dinner.”

She snorts, tension bleeding out of her shoulders. “Wow, so casual about it.”

“I’m trying not to think about it too hard,” he replies. “Chop the green onions.”

She rises, washing her hands before taking the knife he offers her. The familiar weight grounds her. The mundane task feels surreal after everything that’s been said. They work side by side in comfortable silence for a while, and steam curls into the air, the rhythm of cooking steadies her pulse.

“Appa?” she murmurs.

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

He pauses, just for a moment. Then resumes stirring. “Just come home,” he says quietly. “Every night you can.”

She nods. “I will.”

“Oh, and bring some friends around when you can – good ones,” he adds, “Hyungseo and your mom are starting to think you’re lonely at school… starting to believe them…” He added. 

“Appa!” She cries, and he laughs, shaking his head – because no matter who Nakyoung ended up fighting, no matter how fearless she could be, he was still her father, and she his daughter. 

=====

The hospital smells like antiseptic and something faintly metallic, a sterile tang that clings to the back of Hiro’s throat as he steps off the elevator. The doors slide shut behind him with a soft chime, too gentle for how loud it feels in his head. The hallway before him seems almost endless, a length of pale walls and moonlit windows, lights buzzing like an incessant choir of monotony. The entire world feels muted, as though the world goes silent for the people within these rooms – out of respect, or out of mourning.

He walks slowly, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. The sleeves ride up just enough that he’s vaguely aware of the ink on his forearms, half-hidden, half-exposed. He recalled the receptionist eyeing them with caution, and having to verify his relationship with the patient. Though, everyone knew where he was heading tonight, catching the flicker of some emotion he couldn’t decipher in his sister’s eyes. His mother said he should’ve covered the ink, would’ve earned him less trouble. 

He hadn’t even thought about covering them today. He hadn’t thought about much at all, truth be told, beyond the simple, terrifying fact that Mayu is here. He faintly hears crying in one of the rooms, and he pushes past, moving closer to where she was.

Hiro stops outside the door when he finds it, fingers hovering inches from the handle. For a moment, he considers turning around. Not because he doesn’t want to see her – but because he does. Because the idea of seeing her like this, after all this time, feels like stepping into a memory that’s been rotting at the edges, waiting for him to touch it, waiting for it to erode away at anything left of him.

“Don’t be a coward,” he mutters to himself under his breath, like a mantra. “Not this time.”

The door opens quietly.

The room is dimmer than the hallway, the blinds half-drawn to let in a thin wash of afternoon light. Machines line one side of the bed, their screens glowing softly, numbers and lines flickering in steady, rhythmic patterns. There’s a constant, low beeping – measured, patient, alive. It’s relieving in one way, to know she survived the fall, but dreadful in another, knowing the fate that befell her.

When he lies his eyes on her, a painful recognition strikes him.

Mayu lies in the hospital bed, impossibly still. Her hair is darker than he remembers, spilling across the pillow in loose strands. Tubes run from her arms, from beneath the thin blanket, from the ventilator that rises and falls with mechanical precision. Her chest moves in time with it, but it doesn’t feel like breathing. Not really. It feels borrowed, and his chest clenches painfully at the idea. He wonders, for a moment, if he’ll never see her smile again, and the thought freezes him in the doorway.

For a long moment, he can only stare.

She isn’t smiling. She isn’t laughing. She isn’t rolling her eyes at him for being late again, or giggling at some stupid remark he made and telling him he’s an idiot. She isn’t hanging off Nakyoung or Kotone, already planning whatever outing she had in mind. She wasn’t saying anything at all.

It’s her face, undeniably hers, and yet it feels wrong, like seeing a familiar photograph that’s been edited badly, an uncanny effect. Something he knows mixed in with something he refuses to acknowledge. The sharpness of her cheekbones when they should be round, the gentle slope of her nose, the way she seems so much less… colourful. All of it is the same and none of it is.

“Oh,” he breathes, the sound barely more than air, because what else could he say?

He closes the door behind him and takes a few tentative steps forward, as though she might vanish if he moves too quickly. He stops beside the bed, close enough now to see the subtle shadows beneath her eyes, the faint pallor to her skin. Close enough that the beeping of the monitor feels louder.

He closes the door behind him, taking a few tentative steps forward. It all feels so fragile, as if reaching out toward a glass figure, unaware of if he’d break it again. He stops beside her bed, enough to see the pallor that stuck to her skin, the shadows hanging beneath her eyes. The beeping feels louder, almost mocking, and his fist clenchens, only to loosen almost immediately.

“I…” His voice catches immediately, unused to speaking in this space. He finds himself wondering why it took over a year to see her again. The Japanese boy clears his throat and tries again. “Hey, Mayu.”

No response. Of course not.

He lets out a weak, almost humorless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “This is… uh. This is weird, huh?”

Silence answers him, broken only by the machines.

Hiro drags a chair closer to the bed and sits, elbows resting on his knees. Up close, the surrealness only intensifies. He half-expects her eyes to flutter open any second now, for her to squint at him and complain about the lighting, or tell him he looks silly hovering like that. For her to wake up, and smile, like she always did. 

“How’ve you been?” he asks softly, then winces at himself, chuckling. “God, that’s a dumb question…” He exhales through his nose, gaze dropping to her hand. It lies limp atop the blanket, fingers relaxed. He hesitates, then reaches out, wrapping his own around it carefully. Her skin is warm. That alone almost undoes him, and he feels his breath hitch. 

“I know it’s been a while,” he continues, quieter now. “I, uh… I had some stuff to take care of, took longer than I thought, still not entirely done…” He swallows. “I should’ve come sooner.”

The guilt sits heavy in his chest, a familiar weight he’s been carrying for years now, just with different labels slapped onto it. Doubt turns to regret, and hesitation becomes cowardice.

“I dyed my hair,” he says suddenly, glancing down at a lock of blonde falling into his eyes. He gives it a small tug, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “Remember that stupid thing you said? About how when we’re older, we should all dye our hair blonde? Haeun said we’d look like some idol group,” a breathy laugh escapes him. “But you… you said it’d be cool, said we’d make everyone fall in love with us.”

Hiro looks back at her, searching her face for some sign, anything, that she can hear him. He read somewhere that sometimes people in comas can listen, perhaps that’s why he’s speaking, and he wonders if Kotone had done the same. “Guess I finally did it, huh?”

The boy leans back in the chair, eyes drifting to the ceiling for a moment. “I went to America,” he says. “Played baseball for a bit – not professionally or anything, don’t get too impressed,” His mouth quirks. “Turns out I’m still pretty good with a bat.”

He glances down at his hands, flexing his fingers slightly, remembering the familiar weight of the wood or metal, the crack of impact. “It was… nice, to get back out onto the pitch. For a moment… it was like I was someone else for a while,” he pictures her smiling at the games, or dragging Kotone and Nakyoung to come with her, and his chest squeezes, his eyes starting to sting.

The blonde’s gaze flicks to his arms again, to the ink etched into his skin. “Not sure if the school’ll let me play now, though. You know how they are over here with tattoos and all that,” He snorts softly. “You’d probably tell me to just cover them up and stop whining, that I could…” He exhales, shaky, “I could do anything if I wanted to…”

His mind refuses to let him move past it – picturing hopeful eyes, an optimistic smile. He thinks of how he’d been paralysed that day, how he hadn’t stopped Haeun, how he didn’t do what he wanted to do, and someone else had to pay the price.

“I miss you,” he says, the words tumbling out before he can stop them.

His grip on her hand tightens, just a little. His shoulders begin to shake, subtle at first, then more noticeably as the dam he’s been holding up finally cracks. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

The tears come hot and fast, blurring his vision. He bows his head, forehead nearly touching the edge of the bed, his free hand scrubbing roughly at his eyes. “I should’ve been there, I should’ve stopped her, I should’ve–”

His voice breaks completely. “I didn’t know how,” he chokes out. “Every time I thought about coming back, about seeing you… I kept thinking it’d be too late. And I guess I was right, but–” He laughs weakly through his tears. “That didn’t stop me from running away.”

He presses his lips together, breathing uneven. “You always said I was bad at facing things,” he murmurs. “Said I’d rather leave than deal with the mess,” he thinks about Haeun and Kotone, “Guess you were right about that too,” he lifts his head slowly, eyes red and glassy as he looks at her again. “But I’m here now,” he says, more firmly, as if trying to convince himself as much as her. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He reaches up, carefully brushing a stray strand of hair away from her forehead. The gesture is tentative, reverent. “You don’t have to wake up right away,” he adds quietly. “Just… do it when you’re ready. Okay? I swear, I’ll…” he bites into his lip, and sighs, “I’ll be here.”

The machines continue their steady song, indifferent to his plea. Hiro sits there for a long time after that, holding her hand, talking to her about little things – about how the city feels smaller than he remembers, about the food he had in America. About how he still can’t cook worth a damn, about a classmate he had found cute, but didn’t do anything about. His voice grows steadier as the minutes pass, though the ache in his chest never fully eases.

Eventually, he feels his phone buzz, and knows it’s probably his sister. He squeezes her hand gently one last time before standing.

“I’ll come back,” he promises softly. “As many times as I can, and as long as it takes.”

He hesitates, then leans down, pressing a careful kiss to her knuckles. “Don’t give up on me,” he whispers. “I’m trying… I really am.”

With that, he straightens and heads for the door, pausing only once to look back at her – still, silent, alive.

The door closes behind him with a quiet click, leaving the room unchanged. But Hiro walks away carrying something heavier than when he arrived, and somehow, something lighter too.

=====

Jiwoo rolls her neck, still sore and stiff from how she slept that night. She grumbles something under her breath, blinking as the chill of the morning air brushed against her skin, and she adjusted her bag’s strap once again. She liked the cool air, enjoyed how it felt almost refreshing, sharpening her senses and letting the drowsiness fade, keeping her head clear. Her breath fogged before her, headphones plugged in but playing no music. 

It kept people from bothering her, she’d say whenever Yubin asked why she did it. The city had already begun to wake up, with shops turning on their signs, and delivery scooters driving by. She spotted a few familiar faces from school, though noted the thick coats covering up their blazers, and hummed. It was cool, sure, but she didn’t think it was that cold. She shrugged it off, shoes continuing to scruff against the street. 

She crossed the street, and naturally finds herself walking towards the underpass, and that’s when her eyes travel toward a small bundle of students. At first, she ignores them with a huff – probably just people talking to their friends, and she almost puts another earbud in. The last thing she needs is to be dragged into a conversation, especially this early in the morning. Yet, she hesitates, and her eyes narrow. The tall girl notes the colours of the blazers – black, pitch, and her mind recalls Minhyun. 

Her hand clenches, and she slows, taking in the sight. Three boys in black, and two smaller ones cornered against the wall of the underpass, one with cracked glasses and the other with blood dried around the corner of his lip. He was struck, and with the thought, something lights up inside Jiwoo’s chest, and she speaks before she has any time to stop. 

“Hey!” She calls out, loud enough to draw more eyes. People scurry away, and she walks closer, spotting how the students in blue seem to cower, making themselves appear smaller than they were. The students in black turn around, and Jiwoo’s eyes narrow, “The hell do you think you’re doing?” 

Immediately, she notes the difference in their blazers. Unlike Minhyun’s, the cuffs are outlined in grey, and their insignia are different too. Minhyun runs the Jackals, but these guys… They face her, and one of them balls their hand into a fist, a cocky smile on his expression, They must be Hyeju’s… the Hares. “Who the hell are you?” One of them chuckles, taking a step closer. 

Jiwoo doesn’t back down. Instead, she tilts her head, giving a slight scoff. “The girl who’ll kick your ass if you try anything stupid.” 

The boy laughs, and steps closer, and Jiwoo can feel her heart start to hammer, to feel the adrenaline run through her system. Her muscles coil, readying for his strike. Her eyes briefly flicker to his friends, both also ready, yet keeping watch, preventing the boys in the blue blazers from running away. “This doesn’t concern you,” the one in the middle, their leader, he assumes, sneers at her. 

Jiwoo hums, “It does when my school is involved.” 

At that, he chuckles. “Oh… I see,” he laughs, as do his friends, though when Jiwoo looks towards one, he pauses. He then narrows his eyes, fishing for his phone, and she glances back to the one at the centre. “You’re a blue who has no idea, aren’t you? Guess maybe people felt a little too bad about picking on some girl…” He smirks, and Jiwoo feels her skin crawl, and her hands clench as she crosses her arms. 

“What? And you don’t?” He laughs at her question, shrugging.

“Well, I guess I might as well let you know, for future reference…” He takes another step forth, almost in her face now, “But… the Blues? There’s a target on all your backs now,” his expression is marked with a single raised brow, and a lip curled into a smug smile that leaves Jiwoo feeling her bicep tensing, already wanting to punch him right in the jaw and see a tooth fly out. 

“A target?” She repeats, and he nods. 

“Aren’t you smart?” She glances back to the boys behind him, too paralysed with fear to run off, “See, Hyeju and Woojin put out this order – anyone with blue? You’re asses get kicked, no matter what,” he leans back now, brown hair falling into his eyes, “Walk a little too close to us, wear your school colours with any sort of pride? Hell, wear them at all? You get crushed, like the ants you all are… unless…” 

Jiwoo inhales, sharp, “Unless what?” She readies now, one foot sliding back, readying to tackle and throw the boy aside. She thinks his friends aren’t any stronger, and she might take them all down fairly quickly if she tried. 

“Unless Nien joins the Alliance.” 

Jiwoo freezes at that, her blood running cold. Her hand moves before she can stop it, and he flies to the side, sprawling onto the floor with a cough. One of his friends glances down, shocked, and turns his attention to Jiwoo. She raises her arm, but before a fight can break out, the third boy in black grabs his friend. “Are you insane?” The friend looks at him, enraged, and their leader coughs from the ground, lip bruised and already bleeding. 

The third looks to him, “Hyung – she isn’t just a blue, but she’s friends with Nien, look!” He thrusts his phone into his friend’s face, and Jiwoo watches his expression be coloured with surprise, brows rising and smugness draining from his face. What Jiwoo doesn’t see is a picture of the basketball team, with Nien having her arms looped around Yubin and Jiwoo in this particular instance. 

All the same, she recognises it. The minute they realise her proximity to Nien, they back off. They probably assume she’s just as good of a fighter, or that at least, if she got hurt, Nien might pay them a visit directly. She can see the gears turning in his head, and is reminded once again just how much anyone in the Alliance fears their basketball captain. He scoffs, spitting onto the ground, and his friends help him up. 

“Whatever… not fucking worth it…” He pushes them away, and ambles off, both of them on his heels. Letting out a breath, Jiwoo turns her attention to the two boys, and offers them a smile, extending a hand. 

“Sorry about that, are you guys–” They flinched. Jiwoo pauses, and she sees it, the cower, the quiet yelp. It was as though she’d raised her hand, threatening to strike them. Her brows knit together. “Hey, relax. You’re fine now.”

The other kid avoided her eyes completely. “We–we’re good…” He mumbles, though doesn’t offer any thanks. His friend, when Jiwoo looks over, carries a more soured expression. She glances around, and wonders about if they’re concerned about being harassed again.

“Walk with me,” she says when she glances back towards them. “It’s on the way to school anyway.”

They exchanged a look, passing something wordlessly between them, their eyes shaking. They looked back at her, and the shorter of the two boys, the one with the cut lip, shook his head quickly. “No. It’s fine.”

Jiwoo blinked. “It’s not a big deal, really, I can just–” 

“We said we’re fine!” His friend snaps – the taller one with cracked glasses, and Jiwoo’s eyes widen. 

“Hey…” she frowns, “Look, I was just–” 

“What, helping? You want our thanks?” He scoffs, and Jiwoo suppresses the ire growing in her, watching as his friend tugs on his blazer. 

“Y-Yah, you…” He mumbles, and his friend hisses. Jiwoo watches him shake his head, and discard his blazer into his bag, pulling out and throwing on a grey zip-up. His friend watches him, and, with unease, zips up his thick black raincoat, hiding any hint of blue underneath. “Look, we’re sor–” 

“I’m not,” his friend answers, already turning around. The smaller boy darts after him, and the boy with glasses glances back at Jiwoo, “It’s because of her and her friends we’re all in this mess anyway, if Nien just joined that stupid alliance…” He mumbled, walking off, and Jiwoo had half a mind to run after him, to throw him to the ground for such a statement. He walks off, and she calls after him, walking. 

But she stops. Because the moment she took a step forth, she saw a flash of colour in her peripheral vision. She glances over, and her eyes widen. Spray paint was plastered over the entire wall, with various messages sprayed across it. 

NIEN IS A COWARD

WE’LL BEAT YOU ALL BLUE

JOIN THE ALLIANCE

PATHETIC 

Jiwoo’s fist clenches as she stares down the messages, alongside many more now almost covering the wall, alongside crude drawings and badly drawn skulls. Jiwoo takes out her phone, taking a picture, already planning to send it to the others. She knew what this meant more than anything – the Alliance, more likely Hyeju, were about to start a fight, and Jiwoo wasn’t sure how they were meant to respond. 

=====

Woojin leaned back against the brick wall behind him, tossing the baseball into the air, before it fell back down again. The chilled breeze danced through the air, faster on the rooftops, and he let out a slow breath. He tossed the ball again, and glanced around. His blazer hung off his shoulders, though his tanned arms were set free. A black tee hid behind the white button-up, his tie nowhere to be seen, and the taller boy’s eyes glanced around. 

He could spot Miyoung and Kyungho not too far, with the boy biting on one of his fingernails, crouched in thought, whilst the girl was huddled in a thick coat, short hair swaying with the wind, texting away on her phone. Further up, looking down at everyone else, was Taejin. He may have been as young as the rest of him, but no school uniform sat on his frame. Instead, a black leather jacket, and a toothpick between his teeth, as though he were playing the role of someone from a biker gang. 

Which, Woojin supposed, wasn’t far from the truth. He tossed the ball up, letting it fall back into his palm with a quiet thud. He continued the motion, glancing around. 

Up. Down. Catch.

“So,” Woojin said lightly, glancing toward his two friends. “You dragged us up here for something?”

Kyungho and Miyoung exchanged a look, with the boy seeming more hesitant whilst Miyoung only gave a slight scoff, eyes briefly darting to where Taejin was standing. 

It was Kyungho who spoke first, the boy shaking his head. “It’s the numbers.”

The ball went up again. “What about them?” Woojin asked, and the ball slapped against his hand as he caught it, before tossing it up again.

“They’re dropping,” Kyungho said bluntly, crossing his arms and now standing. “Faster than we thought – people have been leaving our security group in droves, and it’s starting to show on the books.”

Woojin paused, and his grip around the ball tightened. He gave a quiet sigh, before tossing it up again. Miyoung hummed, keeping her phone in her grasp as she crossed her own arms, the pair now staring down the taller boy. “It’s not just cancelled jobs. People are outright leaving their posts, leaving us.”

Woojin tilted his head slightly, still facing away. “How many?”

“Six this week,” Kyungho said. “Three yesterday alone, and a lot more before that.”

The ball paused midair for half a second longer than usual before he caught it.

“…That’s annoying,” Woojin muttered.

Miyoung continued, voice tight. “They’re not just disappearing. They’re going to her.”

He didn’t need to ask who. “Kim Nakyoung…” he chuckled, “Daughter of that police detective… wonder if he knows what kind of a splash his daughter is making,” he muses, catching the ball. He glances between his friends, humming. “What do you think I should do?” He asked, his tone far too casual, and they both double-taked, whilst Taejin gave a laugh.

Kyungho blinked. “What?”

“You’re the ones worried,” Woojin said. “So, tell me, I know you both have ideas.”

For a moment, the air fell quiet, and the pair shifted. Miyoung tilted her head, her eyes darting to elsewhere, whilst Kyungho hummed, thoughtful, though Woojin could see the certainty in his eyes. He’d already had an idea, and made up his mind a while ago. He clears his throat, adjusting his glasses as they briefly flash with reflected light. 

“…Work with her,” Woojin’s hand, briefly, tightened around the ball, before he resumed throwing it. He nodded, and Kyungho continued, pushing past any remaining nerves, “A union, of sorts. People like her because she’s new blood and doesn’t need a big cut for herself, plus, she’s strong enough to beat almost all of us except you,” he frowns, “If we fight her, we split the Reds in half. If we work together…” He shrugged. “We get bigger.”

Miyoung nodded slowly. “It’d stabilise things, less panic, might even get us a new ally. Plus,” Miyoung went on, “She’s close with Kaede. Getting her on our side is basically rubbing shoulders with Wolf Park – it’d be good for our reputation too.”

Woojin hummed – it wasn’t a bad idea. Perhaps not the most comforting idea for his pride, but it’d preserve the numbers, keep the money coming in. If there’s one colour Woojin liked more than red, it was green, and if their money was alright, he’d have no complaints. Despite it, he could hear Taejin’s scoff, and all three of their eyes darted toward him.

“…Or,” Miyoung started, “We remove the reason people are leaving.”

At first, Taejin didn’t appear to react. Though, Woojin noticed the slight tension to his shoulders, and when he turned around, he smiled, toothpick between his teeth, and he shifted, moving forward, walking slow, his eyes lingering on Miyoung. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, eyes still in that lazy, half-lidded expression that Miyoung only ever described as greasy. 

His voice came out slow and almost amused, like he’d just woken up from a nap. But there was something underneath it now, something sticky and unpleasant, like oil floating on water. The kind of tone that made people instinctively check their exits.

Miyoung didn’t look away. Most people did, Woojin knew. Most people faltered when Taejin focused on them like that. He had a way of staring that felt less like eye contact and more like being sized up by something feral.

But Miyoung held her ground.

“People don’t feel safe,” she said evenly. “Some of them.”

Taejin barked out a short laugh, sharp and humorless. He pushed himself off the rooftop door with a scrape of leather against metal, boots grinding against the concrete as he straightened to his full height.

“Unsafe?” he repeated, like the word itself was ridiculous. “They’re doing protection work. Of course they’re unsafe. That’s the job.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she replied.

Her voice didn’t rise. If anything, it got quieter, which somehow made it worse.

Taejin tilted his head and started walking toward her, slow and unhurried, like a cat that already knew the bird couldn’t fly away. Each step felt deliberate. Heavy. His shadow stretched long across the rooftop as he closed the distance.

“Oh?” he said, stopping just a little too close. “Then what did you mean?”

Kyungho darted between them, using a notebook to act as a barrier, and lightly slapping both of them on the chest with it. “Cut it out,” he warned, shooting a glance toward Woojin, who nodded. Taejin scoffed, glancing back toward the older boy, chuckling. 

“Yah, you sure are playing it safe, aren’t you?” The words hang in the air for a moment, amid the distant chatter from the students beginning to pile into the school, “Why don’t you just sort this out yourself, you know? The old fashioned way?” He slams his fist into his palm, and the insinuation hits them all. Kyungho widens his eyes, and Miyoung looks away. Woojin, faintly, feels an ache in his skull, and closes his eyes. 

“What the hell are you–” 

“Beat her up,” Taejin says, spitting onto the ground, letting his toothpick be crushed beneath the heel of his boot. “Your buddy just said she’d beat everyone’s ass other than yours, but, do we even know what? You haven’t even fought her yet.” 

Miyoung clicked her tongue, “If she’s ducking him, then that means–” 

“She’s baiting him,” Taejin answered, “Not that she can’t win. Hell, I bet your glasses-friend over here thinks the same,” he glanced toward Kyungho, and the boy’s hands gripped onto the notebook tighter. “Why not rise to the challenge, put that damn bitch in her place and show everyone why you’re Top Dog?” 

Woojin sighs, low, and continues tossing the ball. “What’s the point?” He asked, shaking his head, “Like Kyungho said, we’re divided enough as is – the Reds strength is our unity. That’s already being undermined,” he glanced up, and Taejin felt a shiver run down his spine at the taller boy’s heavy gaze, “I’m not dividing everyone further by attacking one of our own.” 

Taejin watches him for a moment, then scoffs. “Coward.” 

Miyoung whips her head back towards him, “The fuck did you say–” 

“You heard me you–” He started, and Kyungho jumped between them. 

“Okay, that’s enough–” 

Their squabbling invaded the air, and Woojin felt the pain in his head grow sharper, a piercing sensation in his head and a dull ringing in his ear. He closed his eyes, head dipping, hand clenching tighter around the ball. He could still hear them arguing, hear them bickering, and felt his chest tighten. Something oozed down his face, and he paused, eyes shooting open. 

He brought a finger to his nose, and felt the fluid. When he glance down, he spotted the red liquid around his fingertips. 

Shit, the taller boy thought, shooting up and clutching his head, the ringing growing more incessant as the other three kept arguing, kept bickering, kept screaming–

He threw the baseball, hard enough that when it collided with the metal fence around the perimeter of the roof, it left a dent. A metallic crash ripped through the air and froze the other three in his tracks. He stood, back facing them, “Enough, all of you,” his voice was low, like the warning roll of thunder, and all three glanced between themselves, now standing at least a foot apart from each other. He gave a sigh, feeling the pressure in his skull ease. 

“We’ll go with Kyungho’s plan,” he started, “Though, I’ll be getting her to work beneath me – see what she wants, what she’s aiming for. If she’s smart, she’ll work with me.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Taejin asked.

Woojin shrugged. “Then we figure something out,” Kyungho and Miyoung exchange a wary look, and Woojin sighs, “You guys are all dismissed.” His friends sigh, but nod, leaving as their footsteps echo along the rooftop. The door closes with a click, and Woojin makes a hissing noise, lowering to the floor, and Taejin scoffs walking over. 

A cloth is handed before him, and Taejin hums, “Might wanna wipe your nose, boss,” he chuckles, and Woojin nods, taking it and bringing it to his nose. 

“Look… Tae… about what Miyoung said…” He starts, and Taejin rolls his eyes, “She’s right. “You’re making people uncomfortable. The girls, the younger ones,” he sighs, “I said I’d help you out if you helped me so… cut it out.”

Taejin paused for a moment, then chuckled. “You’re sounding like their big brother now.”

“I’m sounding like your boss.”

The two boys stared each other down, and Woojin stood, now towering over Taejin, yet the shorter boy gave no indication of backing down. He hummed, shaking his head, and then, the soft rustle of paper echoed in Woojin’s ears.

Woojin watched as Taejin pulled out a folded sheet of paper, offering a loose smile. The paper was crumbled around the edges, folded so none of the words were visible, only the hospital letterhead visible at the top.

“…What’s that?” Woojin asked.

Taejin waved it lazily. “Nothing much,” he stepped closer, too close, and Woojin’s hand clenched. “Just paperwork,” he said. “Medical record… you know the one – the one you found out I had, hm? The one your friends and followers know nothing about?” He grinned, all teeth, and Woojin’s eyes narrowed. 

The shorter boy sighed, cracking his neck. “Would be a shame if this went public, huh?”

Something cold slid down Woojin’s spine. “…What are you talking about?” he said quietly.

Taejin tucked the paper back into his jacket, “I appreciate you keeping me around,” he said. “Really. Means a lot,” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “But we help each other out, right? That means you don’t kick me to the curb until I’m done.”

He headed for the door, giving one last nod to Woojin.

“See you around, boss.”

The door slammed shut. Woojin watched it for a moment, before his jaw clenched. Without thinking, he swung, feeling the metal whine beneath his fist, and he gave a gasp, eyes wide and muscles coiled. “That little…” He seethed, closing his eyes. He could hear the ringing again, feel the ache in his mind, though a single text notification snapped him out of it. 

He unlocked his phone, and he raised a brow as he read over the message. 

Kyung-bro: New kid just transferred in – principal’s supposed to give him a welcome talk. Miyoung wants to know if we’re crashing it? 

Kyung-bro: Think the kid’s Japanese… Hiroshi something.

Woojin smiled, then chuckled. 

Woojin: Let’s give our new friend a warm welcome.

=====

Morning had settled properly into the street by the time Shion tugged Kaede along the sidewalk. Not the quiet, sleepy kind of morning from earlier – the city was awake now. Cars rolled past in steady streams, shop shutters were pulled open with metallic rattles, and the air carried that faint mix of coffee, exhaust, and fresh bread that seemed to define this part of town as bakeries swung their doors open. Thankfully, Kaede and Shion knew they still had some time before they had to go running into school.

It had become routine for them – to walk around for a brief while before they had to go into school, usually involving a visit to whatever bakery Shion wanted to try out that day, or sometimes to that stall that sells cute keychains, where Kaede would always try to get a matching one with Shion. The taller girl walked half a step ahead this morning, hands clasped behind her back, humming under her breath as if the day itself were something to be excited about.

Kaede trailed behind her with her usual slouch, hands shoved into her jacket pockets, expression caught somewhere between bored and resigned.

“You’re weirdly energetic this early,” Kaede muttered.

Shion glanced back, smiling. “It’s not that early. It’s almost ten.”

“That’s early,” Kaede frowned, and the taller girl only giggled.

“For you,” Shion teased.

Kaede scoffed. “Normal people don’t wake up voluntarily before noon on a day off.”

“Normal people don’t stay up until four playing games either,” Shion shot back lightly, and Kaede felt her face heat up.

The Japanese girl opened her mouth to argue, then paused. “…That’s slander…” she pouted, “I only stayed up till two this time…”

Shion giggled, and the sound made something small and warm spark in Kaede’s chest, annoying in the way all soft feelings were. Her arms felt like mush, a warm sensation passing over her body and making her head a little dizzy, more dizzy than whenever someone would throw a jab towards her head in a fight. It was disorientating in a way Kaede had yet to handle. The smaller girl clicked her tongue and looked away, pretending to study a passing bus instead.

They turned the corner, and the familiar storefront came into view – wide glass windows, warm light, and the little bell above the door. Kaede had seen this bakery before, visited it once with Shion in the past. She hummed – it wasn’t typical to see Shion revisit a same bakery, so Kaede assumed they had to have good bread, and felt her stomach rumble from her lack of breakfast.

Even from outside, the smell reached them – sweet in a way that made her mouth water, and distinctly fresh in a way that made hunger cling to her tighter.

Shion visibly brightened. “There it is…” she said, almost reverently.

Kaede raised an eyebrow. “It’s a bakery, not a shrine.”

Shion ignored her and pushed the door open, and Kaede gave a soft giggle. She supposed for Shion, it practically was a shrine. The bell gave a soft chime as the two slipped inside, and the warm air enveloped them almost instantly, and Kaede sighed, eyes closing briefly, letting the warm seep into her bones. Trays clinked somewhere in the back as a coffee machine somewhere else. Soft music drifted through the space amid the lull of early morning conversation. 

It felt… cozy, almost like being in Shion or Dahyun’s rooms, and Kaede was almost alarmed at how comforting and safe it felt.

Shion, meanwhile, stepped forward like she’d just entered paradise. “Ooh…” she breathed. Kaede watched her drift toward the display case, eyes wide, hands clasped behind her back again like she physically had to restrain herself from pressing her face against the glass, and to her credit, Kaede could understand why. Rows of golden buns and glazes pastries sat before them, various danishes with different fruits, and Kaede could already feel herself salivating. 

“This all looks unfairly good…” She murmured.

Shion scanned the counter, then glanced toward the back, eyes hopeful in a way Kaede recognised. However, Kaede watched the light fade slightly, a faint flicker of disappointment coming across her. “…Ah,” the taller girl murmured.

Kaede followed her gaze. “What?”

Shion only gives a quiet hum, “Jiwoo’s not here today… she usually works here so…” 

The realisation comes over Kaede, and she frowns, though is quick to school her expression. Did she come here… to see Jiwoo? Her heart feels a weird squeeze, and she swallows. 

“Oh,” Kaede shrugged. “Okay.”

Shion tilted her head, still in thought. “Well… it makes sense… She probably has school today like the rest of us,” she glances down at the smaller girl, “She said she usually works weekends or super early mornings.”

The Japanese girl only nods, then chuckles slightly, “…You sound like you’ve already memorized her schedule.”

Shion blinked, not fully hearing the older girl. “Huh?”

“Nothing,” Kaede muttered quickly. Something prickled in her chest, an unpleasant sensation she wasn’t familiar with. Maybe she didn’t like the way Shion said Jiwoo’s name so easily, so casually, like it fit in her mouth too well the same way Kaede’s did. The way she spoke of the name, so warm, just like how she’d say Kaede’s name, and the Japanese girl suppressed the bitter feeling.

Shion leaned closer to the glass. “She’s really nice, you know.”

Kaede stiffened. “…Yeah?”

“Mhm,” Shion nodded. “She helped me pick something last time, and she explained which breads were freshest,” she giggles, and Kaede crosses her arms, “She even gave me an extra cookie because I couldn’t decide – I didn’t find out until I opened the bag outside.”

Kaede’s eye twitched. “She sounds very… generous,” she offered flatly.

“She is!” Shion beamed, oblivious to Kaede’s turmoil. “She’s really hardworking too… She balances sports and this job – did you know she actually bakes some of these? She still somehow smiles all the time and looks out for people at our school. It’s kind of… amazing.”

Kaede stared at the pastries very hard. The pastries had done nothing wrong.

But suddenly they looked smug, a reminder of Jiwoo’s own efforts. Suddenly, the smaller girl felt a sour taste in her mouth at not attending Shion’s school, at not being able to hand off the taller girl’s arm and glare at Jiwoo whenever she got too close. Did Jiwoo talk to Shion at school? Give her free bread? Kaede could do that!

…She’d just need to learn how to bake first. The scoffs, shaking her head as she glanced to the side. “…Tch.”

Shion looked over, brows furrowing upon noticing her expression. “Hm?”

Kaede huffed, “Nothing.”

“…You’re pouting.”

The Japanese girl’s pout deepened, “I am not.”

“You are,” Shion said gently, amused. “Your eyebrows do that little angry V thing.”

Kaede immediately tried to relax her face. “They do not.”

The taller girl did her best not to laugh straight away, stifling it by bringing a hand to cover her mouth. “They do.”

A soft whine escapes Kaede’s lips, and she glances to the side, kicking the floor, “…Stupid traitorous eyebrows.”

Shion laughed again, and Kaede hated how cute that laugh was. It made it really hard to stay annoyed with how it made her heart skip a beat in her chest, and with how it made her legs feel like jelly.

Still, Kaede was nothing if not a little petty. “…So what,” Kaede muttered. “You like her that much?”

Shion blinked. “Jiwoo?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course. She’s my friend.”

Friend. The word should’ve been harmless, but Kaede’s chest still tightened. She was supposed to be Shion’s friend, the one Shion would confide in if anything happened. Perhaps it was the idea that Shion had someone else now, or perhaps it was the image of the scowl Jiwoo gave her whenever she looked at Kaede back at Seoyeon’s house, the way she still hadn’t fully relaxed when Kaede had joined them for a meal. 

She shoved her hands deeper into her pockets. “…She hates me, though.”

Shion tilted her head, her mind also running back to that day, and she hums. “I don’t think she hates you.”

The Japanese girl scoffs, “She definitely does.”

“Mm…” Shion seems doubtful, eyes glancing back towards the glass case. “I think she’s just… iffy.”

“Iffy?” Kaede raises a brow, and the taller girl sighs, linking their arms. At the contact, Kaede feels a hum leave her chest, and she shuffles closer toward Shion, and the younger girl can only sigh at the sight. No matter how many fights Kaede gets into, she’ll always be the smaller girl who loves any and all affection Shion showers her with.

It makes the taller girl gaze at the Japanese girl more softly, and she tugs her closer. “Well, Kaede… you did kind of beat up her friends.”

The reminder makes Kaede’s chest, squeeze, and she subconsciously holds onto Shion tighter. Guilt lingers in Shion’s mind, Kaede making a quiet noise. “…I was doing what I thought I had to…”

“I know,” she mumbles, close to Kaede’s hair, “But that doesn’t mean everyone will be perfectly okay with you,” Shion said gently, and Kaede opened her mouth, then closed it. She hated when Shion used that calm, reasonable tone – it made arguing feel stupid, pointless. “…Still,” Shion continued, turning her attention back to the breads, “If you like hanging out with Kotone and Lynn and everyone… it might be nice to make up with her. Maybe you’ll feel less guilty too.”

Kaede scoffed. “You say that like it’s easy.”

Shion tilts her head, returning her gaze to her friend. “You could try talking to her.”

The smaller girl pouts, huffing as she looked at the floor. “She’d probably throw a tray at me.”

“She wouldn’t,” Shion said, smiling. “She’s too nice.”

Kaede doesn’t like how confidently Shion says it, though she thinks back to when she joined Xinyu and the others for that meal. It had been awkward, though it was Jiwoo who’d broken that awkwardness by bothering Yubin and Dahyun. “That’s what makes it worse,” Kaede muttered.

Shion giggled. “You’re scared of nice people? Makes sense,” she shrugs, a teasing glint in her eyes, “You did avoid me for–”

“Shut up,” Kaede whines, ears pink as she lightly headbutts Shion’s shoulder, and the taller girl giggles. 

They fell into a quiet rhythm after that, Shion pointing out different pastries like they were museum exhibits. “This one looks fluffy… Ooh, but this one has custard…” She pouts, leaning down as she examined each pastry, and Kaede thought back to the time, to the schools they’d have to head towards soon. “Why is everything shaped so cute…”

Kaede found herself watching Shion more than the food. She noticed the way the taller girl’s eyes lit up, the way she’d rock on her heels whenever she’d spot something new and get excited. She’d watch the dark brown hair slip over her shoulder whenever she’d lean closer to the glass, the soft murmurs leaving her lips as she weighed her options for bread as if she was making a life-altering decision.

It was all annoyingly adorable, dangerously adorable, making Kaede’s chest squeeze once again.

“…Hey,” Kaede said, Shion’s eyes remaining on the display.

“Mm?”

“If you had to choose…” Kaede started, and it seemed to catch the taller girl’s attention, standing a little straighter now.

Shion looked over. “Choose what?”

Kaede stared very intently at a tray of melon bread. “…Bread or me.”

The younger girl blinked. “…Huh?”

“You heard me,” the Japanese girl gave a slight giggle, eyes now focusing on the golden buns, the scent of freshly brewed coffee now dancing through the air. 

Shion blinked. Then looked at the display.

Then at Kaede… Then back at the display. Kaede felt her own eyes slowly move toward Shion, and a mild sense of panic struck her. Why was Shion taking so long to make her mind up? Surely, this wasn’t that hard of a decision. She watched the younger girl tap her chin thoughtfully, and swore she could see a faint curl to Shion’s lips.

“…Bread,” she said.

For a few seconds, Shion only smiles, and Kaede watches her, astonished.

“…What?” The Japanese girl said, voice an octave higher than usual.

“It smells really good,” Shion explained earnestly, “Plus, warm bread on a cold day is just… the most comforting thing in the world.”

Kaede stared at her like she’d just been stabbed.

“You picked bread.”

Shion nodded, “…Yes?” as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Kaede’s head dipped slightly. “Over me.”

The taller girl shrugged, “…It’s fresh.”

She gave a quiet laugh, “I cannot believe you…” Traitorously, her lips slipped into a pout, bottom lip wobbling, and she turned away dramatically, arms crossed, shoulders hunched. She huffed, “I see how it is,” she muttered. “Betrayed. Replaced by carbohydrates. After everything we’ve been through…” 

Kaede knew she was being childish, she knew she was overreacting. Still… it stung. 

Though, to her credit, Shion panicked almost immediately. “W-Wait– I was joking– mostly–”

Kaede refused to look at her, giving another huff. “I hope the bread makes you happy,” she continued gloomily, not caring if the pair got any odd looks from anyone else in the bakery. “I’ll just… go live in the mountains, or something.”

The words almost made Shion laugh, though the sight of her smaller friend acting like this… something warm tugged at her chest, and she sighed. How could she go to school knowing Kaede was like this?! “Kaede,” Shion whined softly, stepping closer, linking their arms. “Don’t be like that…”

No response. “…You’re cuter than bread?”

Still, nothing. “…Way cuter.”

Kaede gave a slight grumble, and Shion’s eyes widened. “…Like. Way, way cuter.”

Kaede’s shoulders twitched, and Shion hurried on, cheeks pink. “And warmer, and nicer to hug – you don’t crumble into a bunch of crumbs, a-and you carry my bags before we go our separate ways –  Bread can’t do that.”

“…Hmph,” Kaede’s brows relaxed, a thoughtful expression coming across her face.

“And bread doesn’t walk me home,” Shion smiles, cheeks warm, “Or wait for me after after-school theatre stuff, or cuddle with me during movies, or glare at people who stare too long.”

Kaede glanced sideways. “…It doesn’t…” She mumbles, as if having a realisation, and Shion giggles.

“No,” Shion said firmly. “Only you do that.”

Something soft cracked through Kaede’s sulk, and she meets Shion’s eyes, hopeful and bright, in a way that fills Shion with a fond and fuzzy feeling. “…So?”

“So,” Shion smiled shyly, “I pick you.”

Kaede held the stare for another second, then another. “…You’re bad at answering questions,” she muttered, glancing away as a scarlet hue took over her skin, “You should’ve said that from the start.”

“But you’re smiling,” Shion pointed out.

“…Shut up,” she repeated, burying her face in Shion’s chest, feeling the taller girl’s laughter bubble out of her. 

Kaede was smiling, and she hated that Shion noticed. The bell chimed as someone left, a quick rush of cold air before warm air shifted around them again, and Shion made sure to hug Kaede too, for good measure. 

The taller girl eventually returned her attention back to the counter, and finally ordered three different breads “For research,” while Kaede grumbled about her being ridiculous the entire time, though still paid for it herself, and when the bag was handed over, Kaede automatically took it from her.

“I’ll carry it until we get to school,” she muttered.

Shion beamed at her. “Thanks, Ede-unnie!”

“…Yeah, yeah.”

They stepped back out into the street together.

The cool air and bright sunlight of the morning greeted them, the paper bag warm between them, and Shion was quick to link their arms again. “…Thanks for coming with me, like always,” her smile left something warm in Kaede’s chest, and the Japanese girl nodded, leaning into her.

“Just don’t pick bread next time,” she mumbles, “I don’t know if I can join you if you do that again.”

Shion laughed.

“I’ll try not to.”

=====

Hiro thinks the teacher before him looks like a stern man, with wrinkles hanging around his eyes and his lip seeming to be curled in a permanent frown. He adjusts his glasses, eyes lingering on the faint hint of ink around Hiro’s wrist, and the Japanese boy tugs his sleeve slightly in an attempt to cover it. The older man’s eyes briefly dart to the lighter coloured strands of hair atop Hiro’s head, and he offers a quiet scoff. There’s a faint buzz in the air of the teacher’s office, and Hiro glances around. 

He can spot a few eyes glancing toward him, some students curiously eyeing up the new student, whilst a few teachers regard him with caution and judgement – likely filing him away in their head as some sort of troublemaker, stereotyping him from his appearance alone. Hiro liked the ink on his skin, though he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t a faint hint of regret in his mind now. 

“Why they started letting troublemakers like you into the school, I have no idea…” The man huffs, sorting and aligning a stack of paper, “We used to be a good school until…” He sighs, shaking his head. “Listen boy,” Hiro glanced down toward him, nodding, “I’ll be frank – we’re aware of your family and your history in America, hence why you’re being allowed to attend to begin with. But cause any trouble, and you’ll get some in return.” 

The words are a warning, and Hiro swallows as he nods. The man sighs, shaking his head, “I’m aware you played baseball in the States, but as for whether you’d play here…” His eyes darted to the boy's arms again, scowling, “I’m unsure if the team would want a delinquent like you on there.” 

Hiro’s hand clenches – he knows he should defend himself, not let these words get to him. They’d marked him as trouble before even letting him speak, and it leaves a bitter sense of indignation in his blood. Before he can open his mouth, utter a single defense, heavy footsteps echo along the hallway. The cadence and heft behind each step feels… distinct, in a way it would be easy for Hiro to remember. Glancing around the room, it appears Hiro is right, with how teachers and students alike seem to shrink, shoulders hunching. 

The Japanese boy can hear the scurrying footsteps of other students rushing in the halls, quiet curses slipping from their lips. “Shit…” Hiro hears a teacher mutter, and the other students bow before slipping out of the room, as if scared of whoever was approaching. He hears the footsteps stop at the door to the office, and a low chuckle shakes the air behind the door. 

It slides open, and Hiro’s eyes widen at the boy now in the doorframe – tall, towering over every adult in the room, with tanned skin that made Hiro wonder if he was a foreigner. Tousled brown hair fell into his eyes, his own uniform seeming to strain against his skin. “Ssaem! I see you’re greeting the new kid!” His voice was low, thunderous, and Hiro felt his heart hammer, fist clenching tighter, as though a siren was going off in his head. 

This guy… he’s… The boy took a few steps forth, and Hiro felt as though the ground was shaking beneath his feet, Dangerous… 

“W-Woojin!” The teacher laughed, nervous as sweat ran down the side of his temple, “Y-Yes, I was just–” 

Woojin chuckled, and threw an arm around Hiro. The boy was strong, and though Hiro was tall in his own right, only an inch or so shorter than Woojin, he still felt dwarfed by the taller boy. “Don’t worry about it, how about I show him around, hm?” He then glanced toward Hiro, grinning, “That fine with you, friend?” Hiro gave him a quick once over, and soon found Woojin doing the same. The taller boy’s eyes flitted to the piercings in Hiro’s ear, the ink hiding beneath his sleeves, and the blonde hair.

“Damn, you got balls to show up like this,” he laughs, the sound shaking Hiro’s bones, “I dig it.”

He turns them both around, not waiting for an answer from Hiro. The Japanese boy knew what Woojin was – a fighter, the kind of student who likely ran the school with his own brand of aggression. He thought to Taejin, to that day on the roof once again, and wondered if Woojin was the same kind of person. 

The Japanese boy was so lost in thought, he almost hadn’t registered that they’d begun moving. One second he was standing stiffly in front of the teacher’s desk, the stale office air clinging to the back of his throat, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like trapped insects. The next, an arm as heavy and solid as a steel beam was draped around his shoulders and steered him toward the door with effortless authority, a file in his other hand as he read through Hiro’s transcripts.

It wasn’t forceful. It didn’t need to be – Woojin didn’t need to put in any effort to push people around, his body naturally strong enough to move you as though you were weightless. 

The hallway air felt cooler, fresher, though Hiro couldn’t tell if that was real or just the sudden absence of tension from the office. The door slid shut behind them with a quiet click, and immediately the atmosphere shifted. Students who had lingered nearby scattered like birds startled from a powerline. Conversations died mid-sentence, and shoes scuffed against the floor as people darted to their classrooms.

Hiro noticed it immediately – no one wanted to be in the way, like back with Haeun, when people parted so as to not be on the receiving end of any mocking tirade. Hiro observed it all in fragments – the way shoulders hunched, the way eyes dropped to the floor, the way students would step aside without being told. At first, Hiro wondered if it was some twisted sense of respect, but the shaking gaze told him otherwise. This wasn’t respect.

It was fear.

Woojin didn’t walk through the building with exaggerated theatrics and yelling, but with a quieter, almost certain confidence. Each step was heavy, deliberate, the kind of gait that came from someone who had never once needed to look over their shoulder.

His hand stayed hooked around Hiro’s shoulder like they were old friends.

“So,” Woojin said casually, voice rumbling low in his chest, “Welcome to our humble little prison.”

Hiro blinked. “Prison?”

Woojin grinned. “You’ll see.”

They moved down the corridor, shoes squeaking faintly against the waxed floor. Classrooms slid past on either side – glimpses of whiteboards, half-asleep students, teachers pretending not to notice the shadow crossing their doors. A few brave ones peeked out, and every single one stiffened when they recognized Woojin. Hiro felt it again – that strange, prickling awareness crawling along the back of his neck.

Woojin finally removed his arm, stuffing both hands into his pockets. “I’ll keep this short. You don’t look like the type who needs the whole ‘this is the library, this is the nurse’ tour.”

Hiro huffed softly, folding his arms over his chest. “Appreciate it.”

Woojin grinned, “I hate that crap anyway. Besides, there’s only one thing you really need to know…” They turned down another hallway, sunlight spilling through the windows at the far end. Dust floated lazily through the beams like snow. “This school,” Woojin continued, “runs a little different than what they probably told you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” He tilted his head slightly, glancing at Hiro from the corner of his eye. “I’m the Top Dog around here.”

He didn’t speak of it as something to be debated – but rather, as a fact, as a law of nature.  Hiro studied him carefully. There was no ego in his tone, no insecurity or need to convince. He truly believed himself to be at the top, and that alone felt more unsettling than anything Hiro had seen so far.

Woojin scratched the back of his neck. “Teachers pretend they run things, student council pretends they matter,” he waved them off, “But if something actually happens?” He smirked. “It comes to me.”

“You’re like… the king of the school?” Hiro asked, thinking of those cheesy American high-school movies he watched in the states.

Woojin barked out a laugh. “That’s one way to put it.” A group of boys at the water fountain immediately cleared out as they approached, with one nearly dropping his phone in his rush to leave as the two boys walked on. The taller boy didn’t even look at them. “I keep things balanced, no one steps outta line too hard, no outsiders messing with my people.”

“Your people,” Hiro repeated.

“Students,” Woojin corrected lazily. “Mostly. Alliance has a pretty big reach.”

The Alliance. Hiro almost stopped dead in his tracks. He was only slightly aware of the organisation before he left, but Anna had pulled him aside once he’d returned. She’d warned him of their reach, of their power, of how unavoidable they were, and how he was best to keep his head down. A shiver ran down his spine, and that familiar feeling of fear came over him once again. 

Coward. He mentally cursed, and darted to keep up with Woojin. The pair stepped into the stairwell, their footsteps echoing louder now. The sound bounced off the concrete walls in hollow beats. “Oh, and don’t worry about dumb stuff like uniform checks,” Woojin added, shrugging. “Hair, piercings, ink. Wear what you want.”

Hiro glanced down at his sleeves, humming. He rolled them up, exposing the dark ink against pale skin. “The teachers didn’t seem thrilled.”

“They won’t say anything.” Woojin shrugged. “If they do, tell ’em you’re with me.”

“With you?” Hiro raises a brow, and Woojin laughs, slapping the blonde’s back.

“Yeah.” He smiled, raising a thumb to point at his own chest. “If anyone gives you trouble, you come find me. Simple as that.”

It was strange. In an odd way, Hiro didn’t find the remark a threat at all. It wasn’t said with a low-hanging menace, with the implication of being expected to do something in return. Dare he say, it almost felt… protective, as if a large stray dog had decided you were part of its territory now. Hiro wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about this, opting to let his hands sit in the pockets of his school jacket.

“Thanks,” he said after a moment.

Woojin waved it off. “You’re new – no reason you should deal with the bullshit right away.”

They reached the next floor, stepping back into the sunlight-soaked hallway as the stairwell door groaned shut behind them. A couple of students lingering near the vending machines stiffened the moment they noticed Woojin and quickly made themselves scarce, shoulders hunched, conversations dying mid-sentence. The air smelled faintly of detergent and chalk.

“So,” Woojin said, “America, huh?”

He stretched his arms over his head as he walked, joints popping softly, posture loose like they were just chatting on a weekend instead of during school hours. His reflection slid along the window glass beside them – broad shoulders, easy grin, the kind of presence that swallowed space without trying, like a lion prowling its enclosure.

“Yeah.”  

Hiro adjusted the strap of his bag, the fabric squeaking against his palm. He kept his gaze forward, though he could feel curious looks trailing after his hair, his piercings, the sliver of ink peeking out near his wrist. The reflection in the window revealed the observant glint to his eyes, narrowed slightly, as if assessing the boy standing beside him – a fox taking in its new environment.

“What’s it like?” Woojin asked, curious, flicking through the file he’d picked up from the school office.

Hiro considered. “Louder, bigger, everyone’s kind of in their own world.”

Images flickered through his mind uninvited – crowded streets, neon signs, late-night sirens, strangers brushing shoulders without ever really seeing each other. Convenience stores at 2 a.m., baseball diamonds under floodlights, the constant hum of highways. It felt far away now. Like a different lifetime.

Woojin chuckled, “Sounds annoying.”

Hiro let out a breath that could’ve passed as a laugh. “It is.”

Woojin chuckled. “You played baseball there, right? Saw it on your file.”

He hooked his thumbs into his pockets again, gaze drifting toward the gym doors they were passing, as if picturing Hiro on some imaginary field. His tone wasn’t skeptical like the teacher’s had been, just assessing, measuring.

“Yeah… moved to the states to avoid some trouble,” he shrugged, “Baseball gave me something else to focus on.” Hiro rolled his shoulder absentmindedly, phantom soreness settling into the joint as memory kicked in. The weight of a glove, the sting of a fast catch. Dirt smeared across his knees. 

He hadn’t realized how much he missed it until he said it out loud. Woojin raised a brow, a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. “You any good?”

Hiro rolled his eyes, responding with a smirk of his own. “I’m good with a bat.”

There was a flicker of old confidence there, something steadier. For a second he wasn’t the new kid or the transfer or the delinquent-looking problem student. His fingers flexed unconsciously, like they were remembering the grip.

Woojin’s grin widened, almost approving as he chuckled. “Good answer.” He gave Hiro’s shoulder a firm, almost bone-rattling pat as they kept walking, the gesture heavy but friendly. Ahead of them, the hallway opened into the rest of the school like a stage waiting for something to happen, sunlight stretching long shadows at their feet as the day slowly came alive around them.

They walked past the gymnasium doors, the faint squeak of sneakers audible inside. The double doors were propped open just enough for sound to leak through – the rhythmic screech of rubber soles against polished wood, the hollow thump of a basketball hitting the floor, a whistle blowing somewhere deeper in the court. 

“This here’s the gym – we have an outdoor field too, probably where you’ll practise with the baseball team,” Woojin glanced at Hiro again. “You fight?” A tennis ball rolled to Woojin’s feet, and he hummed, picking it up before tossing it into the air, letting it fall back into his palm. The question slipped out so casually that Hiro almost didn’t register it.

The blonde blinked. “Fight?”

Woojin shrugged, “Yeah. Like actually fight,” he chuckled, “You might need to if you wanna survive around here.” Woojin finally looked at him fully now, gaze steady and appraising. Not hostile. Not challenging. Just… weighing him. Like he was trying to figure out what kind of person Hiro really was beneath the hair dye and ink. The tennis ball stilled in his hand.

Hiro felt his shoulders tighten without meaning to. His mind flickered through old memories – the mud soaking his uniform, the missing teeth, the blood filling his mouth as Kotone’s fist slammed against his fist. He inhaled, sharp,  “I did taekwondo growing up,” Hiro admitted. “But I haven’t fought anyone in a long while.”

“Mm.” Woojin hummed low in his throat, neither impressed nor disappointed. Just thinking. His gaze drifted briefly to Hiro’s legs, his shoulders, the way he carried himself – as if calculating reach, balance, weight. The way a seasoned fighter might size someone up without even realizing they were doing it.

Then the tennis ball started bouncing again, steady and rhythmic against the boy’s palm as they stepped away and continued down the hall, the sound echoing like a quiet metronome. Whatever conclusion he’d come to, he kept it to himself, for now, and it left a sense of unease in Hiro’s mind. “We should spar sometime.”

He gave the blonde a smile, and Hiro hummed.  “Sure,” Hiro said. “I’m rusty though.”

Woojin grinned. “That’s fine. I’ll go easy – you should come to this gym…” As Woojin began rambling about where to find the gym he trained at, who he trained alongside and other details, Hiro’s eyes wandered around the hall. Almost everyone seemed avoidant of him, so once he saw a head of black hair walk through the corridors almost fearlessly, he took notice. 

It was then he noticed them more closely – a girl, black hair, sharp eyes, almost like a cat–

Hiro froze. No… he thought to himself, eyes widening. He took in the girl’s posture, the way she carried herself, the echo of her footsteps. For a moment, he almost could picture Kotone and Mayu running up to her, ready to hang off her arm like always. It… it can’t be…

Nakyoung? 

The hallway’s noise and Woojin’s words started to fade, and as the girl turned the corner, Hiro felt his knees shake. He wondered how Nakyoung would react to seeing him, how she’d treat him. Before he could even rationalise it, he shook his head, “S-Sorry man, I just…” Woojin paused, and watched as Hiro darted. 

He raised a brow, “The hell… hey–” But he stopped when he noticed who Hiro was going after. “...Nakyoung? He knows her?” He watched the two disappear around the corner, and a smile danced across his expression, and he gave a quiet scoff of disbelief, before then chuckling. “Oh… this new kid…”

He thought back to their plans of attempting to pull Nakyoung to their side, “Maybe he’s more useful than I thought…” 

***

She looked older, Hiro thinks.

Not taller – he’d always towered over her and the others – but sharper somehow, leaner, as though life had sanded away anything soft and left behind a hardened fighter. Her blazer hung open, sleeves slightly rolled, hands shoved into her pockets as she walked with her head down, toned arms on display. People unconsciously made space for her in the hall, parting without thinking.

Like they knew better than to bump into her, and Hiro realised she must’ve also carved a space for herself in the school hierarchy. “Nakyoung!”

At first, she turns around, and raises a brow, as if staring at a stranger. Then, slowly, her gaze takes it in – the cheekbones, the eyes, the shape of the nose, probably also spotting the few silver teeth. It hits her then, and her eyes widen, “...Tanaka?” 

Hearing his old name in her voice almost puts him back in their old school, and it’s then he feels the sweat in his palms, and takes in the look in her eyes. Unreadable, no warmth, no anger. Just… empty, blank, shocked. Hiro swallows, “Yeah... how…” His throat seems to dry up, and his words tumble out, unsure, “...How have you been?” Is all he can manage, because how does he greet someone he hasn’t seen in over a year?

“What…” She mutters, blinking, as if not trusting her eyes. “What are you doing…?”

Hiro blinks, stumbling to speak, “A-Ah... well, I transferred here. After everything, I... I moved to the states,” he launches into the explanation almost immediately, “Mom and dad said I needed time to... find myself again. I know, I know... I look pretty different, right?” Her eyes glance over him, taking in the blonde hair, the tattoos now more boldly exposed, the light bouncing off his teeth. He probably looked a far cry from the more relaxed boy back then.

Hiro’s hand balls into a fist, “I just... I thought a lot about what I wanted to say to everyone when I came back, and…” he looked down, averting his gaze to the floor, letting out a shaky breath, “I saw Mayu…” He sniffles, shaking his head, “In the hospital... God, it's... Nakyoung, I'm so-

In one quick flash of motion, she shoves him against the wall.

It happens so fast, so fast Hiro can barely react at first. He feels her pin him to the wall by his lapel, her eyes pools of cold, dark fury, and feels his breath lodge itself in his chest. “Save it,” she almost spits, her face inches from his now. Up close, he could see the exhaustion in her eyes, the faint shadows underneath. Anger lay hidden behind her features, a constant mask she hadn’t yet learnt to put down.

“You don’t get to say her name.”

The words were cold, and the taller boy feels his chest squeeze as her gaze dragged over him with open disgust. “Tattoos, piercings…” She scoffs, pushing against him slightly harder, “You really wanted to look like one of them, huh?” The words hurt more than the shove, and when she speaks next, her voice drops low, cold and quiet. “Where is he?”

Still disorientated, he shakes his head. “Huh– what?”

“Taejin,” she hissed. “Where is he?”

He stammers for a reply under her glare, “I- Nakyoung, I swear, I-” he swallows, repressed regrets beginning to take hold. “I have no idea where he is... him or Haeun, you have to believe me…” Her gaze bores into him like a drill, and he lets out a quiet breath, “I stopped talking to them both after…”

For a moment, he wonders if she’ll even let him go. Then, her eyes widen by a fraction, and fury gives way to exhaustion, so deep that Hiro can feel it resonate in his bones. She drops him, letting go of his lapel as she takes a step back, letting him readjust and stand straighter. Once he does, she scoffs, shaking her head, a sour look on her face. “Right…” she finally mutters, “Loyalty wasn't exactly your strong suit. 

Hiro dusts himself off, and pauses, glancing up and meeting the girl’s eyes, “Nakyoung… I mean it. I really am sor-”

“Shut up.”

She snaps, voice tired and weak, as if just seeing Hiro reopened a thousand wounds she’d managed to keep closed until now. “Just shut up. Your apologies mean nothing, you know that right?” She seethes, inhaling a breath between her teeth, “You thought visiting her once was hard? Try visiting her almost every night, try seeing your best friend tied to machines that breathe for her because some girl with a fragile ego pushed her off a roof.” 

The reminder makes him wince, and Hiro remembers the ventilator’s hiss, the steady, artificial rhythm of the whole room. He hadn’t been able to stay in that room for more than ten minutes, yet she’d stayed for almost a year. “Just because you ran off to some other country, do you think that makes you any less guilty?” She jabs a finger at his chest, accusatory, “You could've stopped them, you could've fucking tried, but you didn't, did you? You let it all go to hell, and now Mayu's in the hospital, and Kotone…” 

Her voice trails off, breaking, and Hiro’s mind supplies him with worst case scenarios. “Where... where is Kotone? Is she doing-”

He’s startled when Nakyoung laughs, “How should I know?” She asks, bitter, “What right do I have to bother her?” She glares down, and finally, Hiro sees another expression he recognises – one he knows all too well. Guilt. 

Nakyoung wipes a hand across her face, “Look,” she mutters into a palm, now glaring the taller boy down, “I don't give a fuck if you start hanging out with the bullies or the loners of this school. Just…” 

She turns around, already walking away, “Just stay the hell away from me, and… and from Mayu,” she offers him one last look and scowl, “I mean it, don't even dare.”

Her footsteps blended into the hallway noise until she disappeared around the corner, yet Hiro stayed where he was, his back against the wall and his chest tight with guilt. He slid down a little, fingers curling into his sleeves, the ink feeling more like armour and a disguise more than ever before. It hurt. God, it hurt, but he didn’t blame her, not even a fraction of an amount.

Not even a little.

Because if the roles were reversed, if he’d stayed, if he’d watched someone stand by while bad people ruined Mayu’s life–

He’d probably hate himself too.

=====

The walk to school felt wrong.

Not dangerous, but wrong in the quiet, hollow way a place feels after something has already gone bad. Jiwoo noticed it the moment they all turned onto the main street. Usually, mornings around this time were loud in a familiar, comforting way, with students shouting across sidewalks, a rustle of blazers, bikes rattling past, someone always running late and swearing under their breath. 

There was colour too. The deep blue of their blazer across the courtyard, though today, everything looked muted. It was as if saturation had been removed entirely. The five of them walked together out of habit with Nien at the front, hands shoved into her pockets, Kotone beside her with her bag slung lazily over one shoulder, Lynn half a step behind scrolling through her phone, Yubin yawning openly, and Jiwoo toward the rear.

But even in a group, the air felt heavier than usual.

Students passed them quietly, too quietly, with their heads bowed down and their eyes averted, making a path whenever the five approached. Most weren’t even wearing their uniforms properly, and Jiwoo noticed it all again one by one. There was a blazer stuffed into a backpack, a school tie with the insignia missing, a hoodie zipped all the way to the chin, black sleeves tugged on like they were trying to hide something shameful.

Like they were trying not to be recognised. Kotone broke the silence first, voice low, uncertain. “This is… something.”

Jiwoo glanced sideways at her. She’d learnt that Kotone was not the type to be rattled easily – the only one in their group unbothered by deadlines or assignments, even keeping a cool head in most fights. Yet even here, her gaze was unsteady, her words marked with a sense of unease they all shared.

Yubin shoved her hands deeper into her jacket pockets and huffed out a breath that fogged in the cold air. “You’re telling me,” she muttered. “It’s like someone died. The whole school is just so… mellow.”

That was the perfect word for it, Jiwoo thinks. There weren’t crowds of angry students loudly demanding for better, there wasn’t a panicked rush of students scurrying around. Everyone was subdued, as if they were holding their breath as the school was washed over in a monochromatic light. The group’s footsteps echoed with the breeze, and  Lynn finally looked up from her phone, brow furrowed. 

“You guys heard it, right?” she said. “I… Sullin mentioned this to me recently, but people are hiding their uniform colours because they’re being threatened.”

Jiwoo watched a first-year across the street quickly tug his jacket closed when a group of older boys passed. “Threatened?” Nien asked.

Her voice was light, almost scarily so amid the heavier air. A smile sat across her lips, as it always did, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. The others noticed too – Jiwoo could tell by the way Kotone slowed slightly, by the way Yubin’s chatter died down, and the concerned hum Lynn made as she shuffled closer to Jiwoo.

Nien was rarely quiet. Yet right now, no bright or loud remarks left her as her eyes scanned the students around them.  Usually she filled the space around them like sunlight. Today, she was just… there.

Jiwoo scratched the back of her neck. “I figured it out too, earlier, ” she said. “It probably started when people graffitied the underpass,” the image flashed back immediately, of spray paint, threats, and the insults screaming across the concrete walls. Her jaw tightened on reflex. “Everyone’s terrified to wear their uniforms because other schools started targeting them,” she continued. “And to top it all off, everyone’s mad at us – mad at…”

Her words faltered, and her eyes darted to Nien, just for a second. But it felt obvious, especially with how all of their eyes briefly flickered to the older girl.

Mad at you. Because you won’t join. Because you won’t bow. Because you’re strong enough to make them nervous, but the rest of us aren’t. 

Jiwoo forced a scoff, waving it off too quickly. “It’s all dumb,” she rushed out. “It’s not like it’s our fault all of this is happening, maybe if the Alliance wasn’t such a thorn…” She shakes her head, “I wouldn’t pay any mind, captain,” the nickname came out softer than usual, hanging in the air in a way that made Nien’s shoulders relax.

Kotone clicked her tongue under her breath. “…This is just getting out of hand now…” she mumbled, and she stepped closer to Nien, peering at her face as she tugged on the older girl’s sleeve. “Nien… are you–”

“Hmm? Me?” Nien tilted her head, blinking like the question genuinely surprised her. Then she smiled wider, too bright, reminding Kotone painfully of that day in the taller girl’s room, and her stomach lurched. 

“I’m fine!” she chirped. No one bought  it for a second, but Nien kept going before anyone could press. “Look, people are struggling, so we gotta show them real school spirit, stand up for our friends, you know?” She clapped her hands together once, energy forced but determined. It did help ease a sense of confidence back into the group, faint smiles across their expressions. Even now, Nien was trying, for all of them. “Hey, why don’t we–”

“Captain!”

The shout cut through the morning like a siren. All five of them turned.

One of the basketball team’s bench players came sprinting down the sidewalk toward them, backpack bouncing wildly against her shoulders. The younger girl’s face was pale, breath ragged like he hadn’t stopped running.

She nearly tripped when he reached them. “Captain,” she repeated, bent over with her hands on her knees.

Nien’s smile faded, replaced with immediate concern. She stepped forward without hesitation. “Hm? What is it?”

“The gym,” she gasped. “It’s… they trashed it!”

Everything went still.

Jiwoo felt something cold settle in her stomach.

“…Trashed?” Lynn echoed quietly.

The boy nodded hard. “T-The hoops are smashed, banners ripped down, equipment everywhere. Someone spray-painted the walls too. It’s bad. Like – really bad…”

No one spoke for a second. The morning suddenly didn’t feel mellow anymore, gone was the overhanging sense of doom, and in its place was the growing sense of tension that wrapped around Nien’s skull in a tight band, the echo of her heart now ringing in her ears. The air was charged now, like a match hovering over gasoline, and her fist clenched.

Jiwoo glanced at Nien, because for the first time all morning, Nien wasn’t smiling at all.