[+..••¹¹]

[+..••] 𝖁ᥱᥣ᥎ᥱ𝗍 𝕮һᥲіᥒs

The Underground Arena - 2:09 AM

The elevator doors opened to silence.

No roaring crowds. No muffled beats vibrating through the walls. No buzz of illegal bets or the sound of fists hitting flesh.

Just stillness.

Cold and clinical.

The massive underground fight arena, usually bursting with energy and rage, was empty.

Except for one.

Ki-tae stood in the center, sleeves rolled, gloves on, phone in hand, like he'd been waiting hours-not minutes. The overhead lights buzzed softly, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. At his feet lay the reason for the call.

A body.

Motionless. Limp. Face turned away.

Seungtae was the first to step forward, jaw tight. "The hell is this?"

Kyung-jun, still cracking his knuckles from anticipation, looked around. "Where's the fight?"

Iseul didn't say anything yet. She was already watching Ki-tae's eyes.

Ki-tae pocketed his phone. Calm as ever. Cold as usual.

"This isn't the first time," he said smoothly. "And it won't be the last."

He walked slowly around the body like he was giving a lesson-not a confession.

"He was a thief," he continued. "Slipped through last week's scans. Sent some not-so-important things to outside eyes. Testing us. Seeing how much he could leak before anyone noticed."

Kyung-jun raised a brow. "So... you noticed?"

"I always notice."

Seungtae crouched down beside the body, flipped it slightly with his boot. "Who'd he send the info to?"

"Doesn't matter," Ki-tae said. "I wiped their connection and scorched the trail before it went further. The second he hit 'send,' I was already in his inbox. Thirty minutes later... problem solved."

"You mean killed," Kyung-jun muttered, but it wasn't judgment. Just fact.

"Yeah," Iseul said, arms crossed. "But we're not new here. Don't act surprised."

Ki-tae nodded once, sharp and emotionless. "Exactly."

Then he gave orders like he always did-sharp, clear, without room for debate.

"Seungtae. Iseul. You get rid of the dead body. Backdoor tunnels. Old coal chute, third floor. Burn site's ready."

Kyung-jun tilted his head. "And me?"

"You get rid of the blood bath," Ki-tae said, already walking toward the control panel. "Mop, bleach, the good stuff's in the cabinet behind the sound booth. You know the drill."

He paused at the edge of the platform, looked over his shoulder.

"I'll handle security. Erase the cameras. Seal tonight in a nice, quiet folder."

Then he turned and got to work.

-

The silence stretched.

Seungtae rolled his sleeves up, sighing. "Guess we're back in business."

Iseul glanced at the body once more. Not with horror. Just calculation.

"He was sloppy," she muttered. "Should've known better."

"You think it'll be you one day?" Seungtae asked as they hoisted the body into a black bag.

Iseul smirked. "If it is, you better make the cleanup look pretty."

Kyung-jun was already whistling while dragging a mop bucket over. "This place needed a makeover anyway. Red's not our color."

"You sure about that?" Seungtae tossed over his shoulder.

Kyung-jun just grinned. "I'm sure about a lot of things."

They worked in eerie rhythm-like they'd done it before. Like they had done it before.

Because in the underground, death wasn't a surprise.

It was just a matter of time.

And tonight?

It came dressed in silence and routine.

Like Ki-tae always said-"Shadows don't sleep. And neither do we."

⸻

The Underground Arena - 3:45 AM

The body was gone. The blood was mopped up, scrubbed away until the floor looked as clean as if nothing had happened. The cameras were wiped, every trace of the night's chaos erased.

Seungtae, Kyung-jun, and Iseul stood together in the center of the arena, staring at the now-empty space. It felt different, almost like the silence hung a little heavier than usual. Not because of what they'd done. No, that was nothing new.

But because for once, there was no chaos. No adrenaline pumping through their veins. No fights or blood or yelling.

Just... stillness.

Kyung-jun, the first to speak, broke the silence with his usual cocky grin, though it was quieter tonight. "I think this is the first time I've ever enjoyed a cleanup."

Iseul glanced at him, lifting an eyebrow. "You really enjoy anything that doesn't involve fighting, huh?"

"Anything that doesn't involve losing, sure," he teased back, but there was no real challenge in his voice. Just a tired playfulness.

Seungtae ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the wall. "I think I miss the noise. The crowd. Feels like we just cleaned up the whole damn place and forgot to invite anyone."

Iseul nodded slowly, her eyes drifting over the now-empty arena. The high of the underground fight was gone, replaced with something cold. Something calm.

Something that almost felt wrong.

"Guess that's the price of business," she said, her voice more distant than usual. "Get used to it. Things move fast down here. And when they stop..." She paused, the weight of her words hanging in the air. "...it's never for long."

Kyung-jun leaned against the control booth, eyes scanning the empty room. "It's strange, isn't it? We've been at this for so long, you think we'd be numb to it by now. But tonight... I don't know. It feels like we just pulled the trigger on something new."

"Shut up," Seungtae said, though his tone was less harsh than usual. "We're just tired. All of us. It's been a long night."

The three of them stood there, silent for a while longer. No one spoke up. There was no need to.

After everything they'd been through, after all the fights, the mess, the blood spilled in this place-they had learned that sometimes, the quiet was worse than the chaos.

⸻

The Morning After - Seoul High

The sun had barely risen when they walked back into school, though it was just another day for the Royals.

Iseul moved down the hall as though nothing had changed. As though the weight of the night's work was something she could shake off with a swipe of her hand. But something in her eyes was different-more distant than usual. Her smile, rare as it was, felt forced, even though she didn't show it.

Kyung-jun seemed to notice first, glancing at her with a cocked brow. "Hey, you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" she replied, voice smooth and detached.

Seungtae didn't buy it. He knew her better than that. But he didn't press. Not yet.

They reached their lockers without incident, no one daring to approach them. The tension from the underground arena was still thick in the air, but for now, it was just another quiet morning.

Kyung-jun slung his arm around Iseul's shoulder, flashing her that same cocky grin. "What do you think about a rematch, hmm? I'm feeling lucky today."

She pushed his arm off, barely glancing at him. "Maybe later. Got a few things to handle first."

"I bet," he teased.

Seungtae shot a look at Iseul. "You sure you're good?"

She nodded, just a little too quickly. "I'm fine. Focus on your own drama for once."

But even he could tell-something was off.

They stood there, the weight of the night still hanging between them, unspoken. Each of them processing in their own way. For once, there were no words.

And maybe, for once, it was better that way.

⸻

The rest of the day passed without incident. The Royals slipped back into their routines, like they always did. But beneath the surface, there was something that had changed.

Iseul kept to herself more than usual, keeping her interactions brief and cold. Kyung-jun tried to pull her into more games, teasing her as usual, but she wasn't biting. Seungtae kept his distance too, but his gaze often lingered on her, as if waiting for something to break.

Ki-tae was the only one who seemed unaffected. He always was.

At lunch, Iseul sat on the rooftop alone, eyes trained on the horizon. The soft breeze ruffled her hair as she tried to find peace in the stillness, in the absence of chaos.

Her phone buzzed.

Ki-tae: "You good?"

She stared at the screen for a moment, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Finally, she typed back.

Iseul: "I'm fine. Just need a minute."

A minute. Just a minute to breathe. To feel something other than the cold, suffocating silence of the underground.

But even she knew-it wouldn't last long.

The calm was always just a setup for the storm.