[+..••⁶]

[+..••] 𝖁ᥱᥣ᥎ᥱ𝗍 𝕮һᥲіᥒs

Seoul's skies hung low the next morning, clouds dragging like bruises over the city. At Seoul High, everything looked normal from the outside-uniforms, gossip, sneakers squeaking against tile. But between the lockers and classrooms, tension coiled like a spring waiting to snap.

Iseul leaned against her usual spot by the second floor windows, a cigarette between her fingers, though she hadn't lit it. Her gaze was fixed out on the courtyard, but her mind was somewhere else-underground, maybe. Back in the ring. Or maybe back in third grade, when everything was simpler... before boys started bleeding for her.

"Smoking's bad for your reputation, Queen," Kyung-jun said, sliding up beside her with that stupid grin, hair still wet like he'd showered ten seconds before first bell. "People might think you're stressed."

"People already think I'm the devil," she said, flicking the cigarette into her pocket. "Why not give them smoke too?"

Kyung-jun whistled. "That's hot."

She didn't look at him-but the corner of her mouth twitched, just a little.

Then-

Seungtae appeared, walking toward them with that same unbothered look, but his eyes were different. Focused. Sharp. He hadn't slept. None of them really had, not since Woo-hwan walked back into their world like a shadow they forgot to bury.

"Class?" he asked.

Iseul raised a brow. "You going soft on me, Tae?"

He said nothing, just pulled her by the wrist-not rough, but firm-and started walking.

Kyung-jun called after them, mock-offended. "And I'm just chopped liver now?"

"You're more like the garnish," Iseul called over her shoulder.

Kyung-jun clutched his chest. "Betrayal. I taught you sarcasm and this is how you repay me?"

But Seungtae didn't stop walking, and neither did she.

⸻

Later, behind the gym

Seungtae stood with his back to the wall, arms crossed. Iseul sat on a low bench, one leg up, arms dangling over her knee.

"He's planning something," Seungtae finally said.

"I know."

"He's not scared of us. Not like the others."

Iseul didn't respond at first. She looked up at him instead-really looked-and then said, "Do you remember when he hit me?"

Seungtae's jaw clenched.

"Third grade," she said. "We were at that fake garden thing the school had. I said something he didn't like. He slapped me."

Seungtae nodded. "We didn't even talk about it. We just... hit back."

"No." Iseul leaned forward, voice low. "You did. You punched first. Then Kyung-jun came in swinging like a feral cat. Ki-tae just watched."

"He always watched," Seungtae muttered.

She smiled softly. "I think that was the day I realized I didn't need a crown. I already had an army."

Seungtae looked at her, long and hard.

"You don't need to protect us," he said. "You never had to."

She smiled again-but this time it didn't reach her eyes. "That's where you're wrong."

⸻

Elsewhere

Ki-tae was already two steps ahead. He leaned over his laptop in his off-campus flat, screens glowing with names, data, feeds. The code he sent out last night triggered someone else's system. And what came back?

A name.

A location.

And something worse: a list of underground fighters being recruited by Woo-hwan. Some from Seoul High. Some from other districts.

But one thing stood out.

Tomorrow night.A new fight.Not sanctioned.Not part of the system.Trap.

He exhaled, typed something fast, and then paused.

"Iseul," he muttered. "Don't you dare try to end this alone."

But somehow...He knew she would.

⸻

The rest of the school day was unusually quiet.

At least... on the surface.

People gave Iseul space-like always. Not out of kindness, but reverence. Fear. Respect. She walked through the hallways like she owned the floor, like the sun only rose when she allowed it. But something in her silence today felt... heavier. Like she was listening to things no one could hear.

Kyung-jun noticed it first.

He dropped into the seat beside her in literature class, desk turned half toward hers, tapping his pen against her thigh like a habit.

"You're in your head again," he said softly.

"Maybe I live there," she replied, not looking up from the page she wasn't really reading.

He grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes. "That better not be a poetic way of saying you're planning something."

She finally looked at him-sharp, cool, unreadable. "Kyung-jun."

"Hmm?"

"Don't worry."

That was her tell.The most dangerous thing about Iseul Baek wasn't her fists, or the way she could have someone disappeared by lunch.It was when she said, don't worry.Because that meant she already had a plan-and no one else was in it.

⸻

After class

Seungtae was already waiting outside the door. Leaning against the wall, arms folded, eyes on her like a silent sentry. He didn't speak, not even when she passed him with the faintest smile.

But as soon as Kyung-jun appeared behind her, tossing his bag over his shoulder and leaning way too close again-Seungtae pushed off the wall.

"Iseul."

She stopped.

"I need to talk to you. Alone."

Kyung-jun groaned. "Seriously? Can we not play tug-of-war in front of a classroom?"

But she nodded.

Kyung-jun rolled his eyes. "Fine. Just don't let Mr. Serious here drag you into a warehouse or whatever."

As she followed Seungtae down the hallway, students parted like they always did-out of respect, out of habit, out of instinct.

They stepped into an empty art room, sunlight spilling in muted streaks from the high windows. Seungtae closed the door behind them.

"I don't like the look in your eyes lately."

She leaned against the paint-stained table, arms crossed, expression neutral. "Since when do you study my eyes?"

He stepped closer, voice low. "Since I realized you don't let anyone see through them."

She tilted her head. "You're poetic today."

"I'm serious."

"You're always serious."

He didn't move. Just stared.

"I know you're planning something," he said. "And if you don't tell me now, I swear to God-"

"You'll what?" she asked, voice sharp now. "Get in the way again?"

The silence was sharp. He took a breath, jaw working.

"This isn't just underground politics anymore, Seungtae," she added. "Woo-hwan's not after a crown. He wants blood."

"I'll give him mine," Seungtae growled.

Iseul's voice dropped to a whisper.

"That's why I won't let you."

⸻

Meanwhile - Ki-tae's Apartment

He lit a cigarette-not because he smoked, but because he liked the drama of it. The smoke gave him something to follow, something to distract from the fact that every thread he pulled lately led to Iseul.

Every code. Every whisper. Every trace of Woo-hwan's infiltration.

It all circled back to her.

But she hadn't said a thing.

Which meant she was planning something alone.

And that?That scared Ki-tae more than anything else.

He stared at the glowing screen. An invitation. A fight. But this one wasn't random.

This one had her name on it.

⸻