[+..••¹]

[+..••] 𝖁ᥱᥣ᥎ᥱ𝗍 𝕮һᥲіᥒs

Seoul High, 7:59 a.m.The air was dead still. The kind of stillness that only came right before a storm-or before Baek Iseul walked in.

Click. Click. Click.

Her heels hit the polished floors like a countdown.

By 8:00 a.m., the corridors were already clearing. Students moved fast, like a natural reflex. You didn't make eye contact with Iseul unless you had a death wish-or a popularity complex. She didn't have to say a word. The look on her face was enough.

Effortlessly flawless. Lip tint sharp, tie loose like rebellion was part of her uniform. She walked like she had a crown no one could see-but everyone felt.

And where Iseul went, the three boys followed. Or maybe haunted her. Or maybe hunted her. It was hard to tell some days.

Park Seungtae was leaning against the lockers like they belonged to him, flashing that dangerous grin that made teachers look away and girls fall harder than common sense allowed.

Go Kyung-jun was already in the classroom-legs up on the desk, shirt untucked, playing some dumb rhythm game on his phone with the sound turned all the way up, ignoring the glares from classmates who were too afraid to say a word.

And Kwak Ki-tae? He was already scanning the crowd. He'd been there since sunrise. Not talking. Just... watching. Like always.

Iseul stepped into the classroom and stopped.

Kyung-jun didn't even look up. "Took you long enough," he said, still focused on his screen. "Your little fans almost cried."

Seungtae followed in behind her, shooting Kyung-jun a glare. "You don't talk to her like that."

"Oh?" Kyung-jun finally looked up, one eyebrow raised. "Did I forget to bow?"

"You forgot who you're talking to."

"Nah," he said, tossing his phone on the desk and giving Iseul a lazy, confident smirk. "I just don't care."

Iseul, unbothered as always, slid into her seat-back row, by the window, naturally. Her throne.

She crossed one leg over the other and pulled out a lip balm. "Can you two shut up before I lose brain cells?"

Seungtae gave her a sideways grin. "Only if you ask nicely."

Kyung-jun leaned closer, voice dropping just loud enough for Seungtae to hear. "She never asks nicely. That's what makes her fun."

Seungtae's jaw ticked.

Iseul popped the cap off her balm and applied it slowly, completely ignoring both of them. But she didn't miss the tension. She never did.

Kyung-jun leaned back again, stretching like he owned the room. "You know, if Iseul picked me, the drama in this class would be so much more entertaining."

Seungtae snapped, "You're dreaming."

"And you're sweating." Kyung-jun tilted his head with that stupid, infuriating smirk. "Scared she'll actually choose me?"

Iseul finally looked at him, her expression unreadable. "You're both annoying."

"And yet," Kyung-jun said, tapping his desk, "here we are."

The teacher walked in, immediately deflated by the atmosphere, and began class like someone who already knew they had no control. And they didn't. Not in this room.

Not with her sitting in the back.Not with Seungtae guarding her like a lion.Not with Kyung-jun pushing buttons just for the thrill.And definitely not with Kwak Ki-tae quietly slipping out, phone in hand, already preparing tonight's codes.

Because after school?

Fight Night.

And that-that was where the real school day began.

⸻

Lunch.

At Seoul High, the cafeteria wasn't just a place to eat-it was a social battlefield. Tables were claimed like territory, and everyone knew where they stood in the hierarchy. Or more importantly, where they didn't.

At the center table-raised, cleaner, untouched by the chaos-sat the Royals.

Baek Iseul didn't carry a tray. She never had to. A second-year girl placed her lunch in front of her with shaking hands and eyes that didn't dare lift. Iseul didn't even thank her.

Next to her, Seungtae slouched like a bored king, flicking pieces of his salad at the kids sitting below them.Kyung-jun was mid-snapchat, filming a student trying not to cry after tripping in front of their table.

"Post it," Seungtae said lazily.

Kyung-jun grinned. "Already on my story."

Iseul didn't look up from her phone. "You're both idiots."

Kyung-jun turned to her, all amused spark. "But sexy idiots."

Seungtae leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "You want me to shut him up?"

Kyung-jun smirked like he wanted him to try. "You can try, but I don't fight for free unless Ki-tae schedules it."

And right on cue, Kwak Ki-tae sat down with his tablet, as if summoned.

"No fighting during school hours," he said, not looking at them. "We have eyes everywhere."

"Then blind them," Seungtae muttered.

Ki-tae raised one brow. "Only if it's worth it."

Iseul finally looked up. Her gaze swept over both boys like she was bored of the circus but still the ringmaster. "You two fight like you're in love."

Kyung-jun smirked. "Maybe I am."

Seungtae's jaw flexed.

Kyung-jun leaned in, cocky grin still painted across his face. "But I don't fall. I chase. And I don't stop until I win."

Iseul tilted her head. "Then what happens if I run?"

He didn't blink. "I'll enjoy the hunt."

The table fell silent for a second. Not out of fear. Out of tension-the type that could crack the floor beneath them.

Down at the lower tables, students were sneaking glances, whispering like the Royals couldn't hear. They were wrong. The Royals heard everything. Every whisper. Every name. Every insult that dared to fly.

Iseul leaned back and sipped her drink like nothing was wrong, like she wasn't the cause of half the heart attacks in the room.

"By the way," Ki-tae said casually, pushing his phone across the table. On the screen: an encrypted message, a string of numbers and letters. "Tonight's code is out."

Kyung-jun's eyes lit up.

Seungtae cracked his knuckles.

Iseul didn't react.

She never did.

"Same warehouse?" Seungtae asked.

Ki-tae nodded. "New lineup. Bigger bets. We're pulling in outside players."

"Perfect," Kyung-jun said, grinning. "I was getting bored of local blood."

Iseul stirred her drink with the end of her straw. "And what if someone dies this time?"

Kyung-jun didn't miss a beat. "Then they die."

Seungtae looked at her. "Why? You worried?"

Iseul met his gaze, eyes sharp. "I'm wondering if you two will be next."

And the room, for just a second, froze again.

⸻

The bell rang.

Not a sound of freedom-but a reminder. Another class. Another performance. Another stage.

As students filed into the next period like sheep, Iseul took her time. She never walked with the crowd. She walked through it. And always behind her: Seungtae and Kyung-jun, a few steps apart, but equally magnetic. Ki-tae didn't follow. He disappeared when he wanted, always working in the background like a ghost no one could summon-unless he wanted to be.

They reached the third-floor hallway.

That's when Iseul saw her.

A first-year girl. Standing by the lockers. Head down. Torn blouse collar. Eyes red.

Her name was Soo-ah, and Iseul didn't remember ever speaking to her. But she knew her story.

Everyone did.

She was the daughter of a housekeeper in one of Seoul High's wealthiest families. A scholarship student. Smart. Too smart. Smart enough to have ranked just above a royal cousin in last month's mock exams.

So, of course, they came for her.

And now she stood there-trembling, clutching her bag like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

Iseul stopped. Just for a second.

Seungtae noticed and leaned in. "You wanna shut it down?"

Iseul didn't answer. Her eyes were locked on Soo-ah. Something in her jaw clenched.

Kyung-jun clocked it too. He smirked. "What's that? A guilty conscience?"

Iseul shot him a look that could kill. "I don't have time for guilt."

Then she turned-walked over to Soo-ah.

The hallway went quiet again. Always did when she moved like that.

Soo-ah flinched as Iseul approached.

But Iseul didn't hit her. Didn't insult her. She simply reached out-and adjusted the girl's uniform collar.

Soft. Silent. Precise.

"You want to survive here?" she whispered. "Don't win."

Soo-ah blinked. "W-what?"

"Don't win. Not against the wrong people. Not here. Not yet."

Then she was gone. Walking off like nothing happened. Like she hadn't just saved a girl from becoming next week's target.

Seungtae caught up to her, grinning. "That was sweet. Gross."

Kyung-jun chuckled behind him. "You're slipping, Queen."

"I don't protect her," Iseul said coolly. "I protect balance."

But the truth lingered in her eyes-just for a second.

She did care. She just didn't let anyone see it.

And in this school, where loyalty was currency and weakness got you exiled-caring was a liability.

⸻

Later, as the day dragged on, the Royals settled into their last class.

Notes passed under desks. Rumors spread like wildfire-half of them true, most of them planted by Kyung-jun.

There was talk of a new fighter coming tonight. A street rat from Busan. Heavyweight. No name. Just fists and rage.

Ki-tae had found him. Probably tracked him, too. That's what he did-he found the chaos, mapped it, controlled it.

As Iseul stared out the window, Kyung-jun whispered beside her.

"You ever wonder what we'd be if we weren't the Royals?"

She didn't look at him. "No."

He smirked. "Liar."

Seungtae leaned in from the other side. "We'd be bored. Or dead."

Iseul closed her eyes for a second.

Maybe both.

⸻

Tonight, the warehouse would burn with screams and money and blood.

But right now?

Baek Iseul sat on her throne. Still. Cold. Unbothered.

And underneath that perfect uniform, behind those guarded eyes-

She was already fighting a war no one could see.

⸻

3:43 PM.The final bell rang, but nobody at Seoul High believed school was over.

Not really.

The hallways were loud, but the energy had changed. Students moved quicker. Groups formed and disappeared like coded signals. The ones who didn't know better left fast. The ones who did? They waited-for orders. For whispers. For the code.

Iseul stood at her locker, not to grab books-she never carried them-but to wait. And as always, she didn't wait long.

Seungtae showed up first, still chewing gum he wasn't supposed to have, his bag slung over one shoulder like a prop.

"You coming straight to the warehouse?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

Iseul didn't look at him. "Obviously."

"Thought you might want a ride." He held up a key-his bike, no doubt. Black. Loud. Illegal.

From behind, Kyung-jun's voice cut in like static. "You offering her a ride, or begging for alone time?"

He had one AirPod in and an energy drink in hand, the top barely popped. Hair tousled like he'd just walked off a runway. Or out of trouble.

Seungtae stepped closer. "Say something again."

Kyung-jun grinned. "Something."

Iseul sighed, pushing off the lockers. "You both sound like stray dogs."

Seungtae muttered, "At least I bite."

Kyung-jun leaned against the locker beside hers, way too close. "And I? I charm."

She looked between them, tired but amused. "You both annoy."

Then came the vibration. Subtle. All three of their phones buzzed at once.

The code had dropped.

A message. From a hidden account. Just coordinates and numbers. To anyone else, it meant nothing.

To them, it meant everything.

Warehouse 9.Entry code: 541-JUNGLE.Start: 8:00 PM sharp.Guest fighter confirmed.Royal bets open.

They didn't speak. They didn't need to.

Behind them, students watched from the corners of their eyes, careful not to stare too long. Word spread fast. Everyone knew who got the code. Only the chosen. Only the trusted. Only the dangerous.

From down the hallway, Kwak Ki-tae appeared, already on a call, voice low.

"Security's tight tonight. No first-years inside the ring zone. Bring your own crew if you want to bet big. Royal side's covered."

He hung up and nodded once to Iseul. "We're clear."

Kyung-jun spun his drink and tossed it in the trash without looking. "I call dibs on the front seat."

Seungtae glared. "Over my dead body."

"Careful," Kyung-jun smirked. "Say that too loud and someone might make it happen tonight."

Iseul didn't say a word. She was already walking.

And just like that, the boys followed.

But Iseul didn't head straight for the warehouse with them. She had her own plan. She always did.

She slipped away from the boys the moment they were out of sight, finding her way to the sleek black car parked around the corner. It wasn't hers, but it was a tool. A means to an end.

Once inside, she slammed the door and drove, fast, with purpose. Her mind was already in the next phase-the part where she shed the student, the queen of Seoul High, and became something darker. Someone different. Someone no one saw coming.

⸻

Home.

Her house wasn't a mansion, but it was grand enough for someone who had learned to be ruthless in a world where loyalty was for sale.

Iseul entered her room, throwing her school uniform aside like it was a costume she no longer needed.

She stripped down, letting the weight of the day slip off. The royal mask, the cold stare, the untouchable persona. All of it was gone in a flash.

She pulled out the outfit she had waiting-something less delicate, more real.

A black, cropped leather jacket, tight to her form, with silver zippers that clicked like weapons. Skin-tight pants that weren't for showing off-no, they were for movement, for speed. And boots. Heavy boots. Dark, laced high, with metal accents that whispered of trouble.

She didn't need a crown tonight. Her jacket was the only one that mattered, and she wore it like armor.

As she looked into the mirror, Iseul barely recognized the girl staring back. She wasn't the polished, cold girl everyone feared at school. This was the underground queen, the one who ran the night, who commanded the fights, who ruled the chaos.

She adjusted her hair-loose, messy waves tonight-and reached for the silver chain necklace, the one that symbolized her power, her reign over this world.

She was ready.

⸻

Back at the Warehouse...

The atmosphere was already heating up. The low hum of engines, the smell of sweat, blood, and gasoline lingered in the air. This wasn't the glittering world Iseul controlled at school. This was her kingdom-where the rules didn't apply.

The sound of her heels echoed as she entered, the noise breaking the tension that had been building all afternoon. Her eyes scanned the room-familiar faces, strangers, competitors. But all eyes flickered to her as she entered.

Iseul stood tall. No fear. No hesitation.

Kyung-jun was already there, leaning against a pillar, looking like he hadn't moved from his spot. He raised an eyebrow when he saw her. "Now this is what I call fighting gear."

She didn't smile. "Nice to see you've been waiting for me."

Seungtae stepped forward next, his grin wide but knowing. "What do you think, Queen? Ready for some real fun?"

She didn't answer immediately. Instead, her gaze flicked to the underground fighters warming up in the corner, their muscles flexing, their stares calculating.

And then her attention shifted to Kwak Ki-tae, who was at the back, eyes glued to his tablet, fingers tapping furiously as he arranged the night's matches, the bets, the rules. To him, this was a business. A game. A war.

But to Iseul?

It was just another night of control. And tonight-she was taking what was hers.

⸻

The fight night was about to begin, and Iseul had just entered her arena. No more school rules. No more pretending.

Tonight, it was all about survival.

⸻

The lights in Warehouse 9 weren't bright.They were grimy, flickering, caged like the people who stepped into the ring.

The fight zone was marked in neon tape, surrounded by chains instead of ropes. No referees. No medics. Just blood, fists, and stakes. High ones.

Around the edges, people crowded close-kids from rival schools, outsiders from the streets, and the rich ones who liked to pretend they were part of it all, throwing money at violence like it made them powerful.

It didn't.

The Royals were power.

And when Baek Iseul walked in-leather and heat and no fear in sight-the crowd rippled. Eyes tracked her every move. Even the fighters paused their warmups to watch her walk past.

She didn't flinch.

Her throne wasn't some padded seat in the VIP row. No. She walked straight to the edge of the ring and stood there, chin high, watching the first fighter get dragged in.

Blood on his lip. Arms shaking.

"Too green," she muttered.

"Trash," Kyung-jun agreed behind her, drink in hand again, smirk still locked in place. He'd changed, too-black jacket, gold chain, bruised knuckles from last week's fight he claimed he didn't start.

On her other side, Seungtae stood quiet, jaw clenched. His stare never left the ring, but he was watching her just as much.

"Ki-tae's late," Seungtae muttered.

"He's never late," Kyung-jun replied, pulling out his phone. "He's probably watching us on camera. Freak."

Right on cue, a flash of light buzzed in Iseul's pocket.

𝙴𝚗𝚌𝚛𝚢𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎. 𝙽𝚘 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎. 𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝:𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍. 𝟹𝚛𝚍 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍. 𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚜. 𝚁𝚘𝚢𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢.

She looked up, eyes sharper now.

"He's not late," she said. "He's planning something."

⸻

Fights began.

The first was quick. A rookie with something to prove-he didn't last two minutes.

Second fight? Bloodier. Messier. Someone dislocated a shoulder. Money passed hands fast. No one cared about the screams.

Iseul barely blinked.

But the third round?

That's when everything changed.

A new fighter stepped into the ring. Mask on. No name. No school. Just pure energy. Rage in motion.

Seungtae straightened. "Who the hell-?"

"Ki-tae's surprise," Iseul said.

Kyung-jun grinned wide. "I love when he plays dirty."

The crowd grew louder. Some backed up. Others leaned in, hungry for whatever storm was coming.

The masked fighter rolled their shoulders and pointed-directly at Kyung-jun.

Seungtae stepped forward instantly. "You got a problem?"

But the fighter ignored him, pointing again.

And this time-

at Iseul.

A hush fell.

Kyung-jun's jaw flexed. "He's either stupid... or suicidal."

Seungtae cracked his knuckles. "I'll fight him myself."

"No," Iseul said, voice steady. "Let him come."

And in that moment, she didn't just rule the ring.

She owned it.

⸻

In the shadows, Kwak Ki-tae watched the chaos he'd carefully designed unfold.

Fingers still typing. Calculating.

Tonight was more than just another fight.

It was a test.

For power. For loyalty. For her.

And the game had only just begun.

⸻

The crowd tightened around the ring like wolves circling a fresh kill.

Phones were off. Eyes were sharp. No one dared to breathe wrong.

The masked fighter stood center ring. Calm. Still. Like they had all the time in the world-and everyone else was playing catch-up.

Iseul's gaze locked on them. "Someone's trying to be cute."

"Cute?" Kyung-jun scoffed beside her, tongue clicking. "That's not cute. That's disrespect."

Seungtae didn't say anything. He was already cracking his knuckles, flexing tension from his jaw. The way he looked at the masked stranger was less 'curious' and more 'which rib should I break first.'

Then-

The lights cut.

Total blackout.

The crowd gasped. Someone screamed. But the Royals stood still.

They'd seen this trick before.

A single floodlight snapped on, illuminating the ring. And from above, the speakers crackled.

That voice.Smooth. Dry. Infuriating.

Kwak Ki-tae.

"Ah, ah. Royals only tonight, kiddies. Step back."

"Special match. One rep. One fight. One choice."

"Iseul, you pick the fighter. Or I do."

In the VIP section, Kyung-jun groaned. "He's doing it again."

Seungtae growled. "He's pushing it."

Iseul? She smirked.

Because this was what Ki-tae did.He didn't betray them-he built the tension. Pulled the strings. Let the chaos bloom, just to see who came out bleeding.

He wasn't disloyal.He was just dangerous.

Her phone buzzed. A private message.

From Ki-tae:Consider it a warm-up. Trust me.

Iseul stared at the masked fighter. Calm. Measured. Like they were part of a setup she hadn't seen the ending to yet.

But she didn't back off.

She turned, met both boys' eyes. They were waiting. Tensed. Hungry.

"Let Kyung-jun go," she said.

Seungtae shot her a look-cut sharp with disappointment.

Kyung-jun's grin stretched wide. "Knew I was your favorite."

Iseul didn't blink. "Don't embarrass me."

"Never," he winked.

He stepped into the ring like he belonged there. Shrugged off his jacket. Rolled his shoulders once. Twice. Flexed like he had nothing to prove, and still wanted everyone to watch.

The masked fighter didn't flinch.

Bell rang.

It was on.

First hit landed hard-Kyung-jun ducked, slid right, came up with a punch to the gut that echoed. The crowd gasped. Then cheered.

Fists flew.Sweat sprayed.The air buzzed with heat and tension and something else.

Something off.

Because Iseul was watching-not the fight, but the form. The stance. The clean strikes. This wasn't street.

This was trained.

And Ki-tae knew that.

She looked up at the corner booth where he now stood, watching with arms crossed and the smuggest damn look on his face.

Not betrayal. Not disloyalty.

Just fun.

Because if Kyung-jun lost, Ki-tae wouldn't be sorry.And if he won?Ki-tae would still win.

That was his game.

And Iseul?She'd just stepped into it.

⸻

Kyung-jun stepped out of the ring, wiping blood off his cheek with the back of his hand like it was sweat.

Victorious.

Bruised, cocky, and glowing with that I-told-you-I'm-him energy.

The crowd was already turning their attention to the next bet, the next brawl-but the Royals? Their attention stayed locked in the aftermath.

Iseul didn't clap. Didn't smile.

She just watched.

Not him-Ki-tae.

High in his booth, leaning back with his boots on the table, tablet in his lap and a glass of something dark in his hand. He looked like he'd just watched a romcom instead of an illegal fight he scripted himself.

"Enjoy the show?" Iseul called up to him.

He lifted his glass like a toast.

"Always," Ki-tae said into the mic. "Ten outta ten. Would do again."

Kyung-jun rolled his eyes, pulling his jacket back on. "Could've warned me the guy was trained."

Ki-tae's voice crackled over the speaker.

"Where's the fun in that?"

Seungtae muttered something under his breath and stormed off toward the back exit, too pissed to stay quiet and too proud to say why.

Classic.

Iseul didn't stop him. She never did. He always came back.

Kyung-jun leaned on the railing beside her, bruised knuckles and smug smile.

"Tell me I looked hot."

"You looked barely in control," she said, deadpan.

He grinned wider. "So... hot."

Iseul glanced back at the ring. The blood. The spotlight dimming.

"Ki-tae's stirring things up again," she said quietly.

"He always does," Kyung-jun replied. "It's how he says 'I love you.'"

From above, Ki-tae's voice came again, perfectly timed:

"Group debrief. Ten minutes. Rooftop. Bring snacks. Or don't come."

Kyung-jun raised a brow. "Since when do we debrief?"

Iseul gave a lazy shrug. "Since he got bored again."

⸻

Ten minutes later, on the rooftop of Warehouse 9, the Royals sat on the edge of the city.

Seungtae was back, silent but present, still radiating storm energy.

Kyung-jun had chips he'd stolen from a vending machine, and Ki-tae had that smug, satisfied gleam in his eyes.

Iseul just sat between them all, leather jacket unzipped, hair tied up now, watching the lights below like they meant nothing.

"Why'd you send him?" she asked, casual, like she was asking what movie he watched last night.

Ki-tae didn't flinch. "Because Kyung-jun needed a challenge."

"I was fine," Kyung-jun argued.

"You were rusty," Ki-tae corrected.

"You're annoying," Seungtae added.

Ki-tae smiled like he just got complimented.

"Look," he said, tossing a mini speaker in the air and catching it. "If I don't shake the cage, we get bored. If we get bored, we get sloppy. And if we get sloppy-"

"Someone ends up dead," Iseul finished.

Ki-tae grinned. "Exactly."

No one argued with that.

Because they all knew it was true.

⸻

Down below, the next fight started.But the real arena was always up here-with the Royals.

And tonight?

Ki-tae had won without even throwing a punch.