[+..••¹⁵]

[+..••] 𝖁ᥱᥣ᥎ᥱ𝗍 𝕮һᥲіᥒs

"Formal dress code. No excuses."

That was all the message said. Delivered in a gold-embossed envelope, sealed with the Royal Crest-an ancient symbol most of the Seoul High students wouldn't recognize, but the four of them knew it all too well.

Family Dinner.

It only happened once a year.

And no one skipped it.

Not Park Seungtae. Not Go Kyung-jun. Not Kwak Ki-tae. And definitely not Baek Iseul.

Because this wasn't just dinner.It was a gathering of legacy. Of alliances held together by old wine, cold smiles, and contracts signed in blood.

⸻

The next morning at Seoul High, the atmosphere buzzed differently.

The royals moved slower. More polished. Tension hummed under every perfectly tailored uniform. And while the rest of the school went about its usual chaos, the four were painfully aware that tonight wasn't about bruises or underground bets.

It was about masks. And survival.

"You think they'll serve that nasty foie gras again?" Kyung-jun muttered, leaning against Iseul's locker as she reapplied her lip gloss.

She gave him a look. "You're worried about food? They're going to ask us about succession rights and international holdings."

"I'm a multitasker," he winked. "I can chew and lie at the same time."

Seungtae appeared next to them, tie already loosened, hands in his pockets. "They're going to want updates on the school rankings. On the businesses. And probably check if we're still keeping up appearances in the underground."

Iseul didn't flinch. "Let them."

Kyung-jun grinned. "You say that like you're not going to burn the room down with a smile."

Behind them, Ki-tae finally showed up. Late, of course. But with him, it wasn't rudeness-it was ritual. He stopped by the group, tugging at his sleeve like he'd just come from a fitting.

"They'll ask about the heirloom," he said quietly.

Everyone froze for a second.

Iseul narrowed her eyes. "Which one?"

Ki-tae looked straight at her. "Yours."

A beat of silence.

Then the bell rang.

And just like that, the game shifted.

The royals disappeared from the halls of Seoul High and reappeared behind the closed doors of their luxury apartments-each of them moving like pieces on a chessboard, knowing exactly how to play the role their families had carved out for them.

⸻

Seungtae stood under the harsh bathroom lights, fingers brushing over an old scar near his jaw. He tied his tie with practiced ease, the weight of his emerald cufflinks-his family's crest-pressing into his wrists like a reminder. Tonight, he wouldn't be throwing punches. He'd be dodging them with words.

Kyung-jun blasted music too loud as he dressed. His white shirt was wrinkled on purpose. His sleeves rolled just enough to annoy the old men around the dinner table. His charm tonight would be a weapon. A mask with teeth. He whistled while he sprayed cologne-obnoxious, confident, untouchable.

Ki-tae moved in silence. Everything about him tonight was calculated. From the pattern of his tie to the time he'd appear at the palace gates. The invitation was unnecessary-he had a keycard. He didn't care about the wine, the politics, or the ancient rules. He cared about the files locked in the second floor study and the conversation Iseul was about to have with her father.

And Iseul-she didn't look at herself in the mirror when the maid finished zipping up the dress. Her gown was obsidian black, backless, with silver chains like armor against her spine. Her hair was pinned to perfection. Her heels sounded like warnings on the marble floor. She didn't need to rehearse.

She was born for this.

⸻

The Palace wasn't a metaphor. It was an actual palace.

Old-world marble halls, a courtyard larger than Seoul High's entire campus, chandeliers so massive they looked like they could crush someone on command. Guards in real suits. Cameras disguised as wall sconces. Everything smelled like wax, roses, and fear.

The four of them arrived separately. In limousines. Escorted by men who didn't smile and women who didn't blink.

They didn't speak as they passed through the grand doors. Not at first.

But once they entered the ballroom-where the real power sat waiting-they slipped into character.

Smiles sharpened.

Voices lowered.

And they blended in like perfect pieces of a monstrous painting.

⸻

"Look at them," Kyung-jun murmured to Iseul as they passed through the crowd of aging tycoons and bejeweled dowagers, all pretending they hadn't ordered hits in the 90s.

"They're smiling at me," Iseul said without looking at him.

"They're trying to own you."

"They'll die trying."

Seungtae caught up beside them, straightening his collar. "Your father's at the head table. Alone."

Kyung-jun arched a brow. "Still playing king, huh?"

"He doesn't have a son," Iseul said coldly. "He has an heir."

And it wasn't the same thing.

⸻

No siblings. No cousins. No one to pass blame to.

Just four children, born with gold spoons, raised by wolves, taught to bare their teeth in designer suits and call it etiquette.

Tonight, they laughed too easily. Clinked glasses with liars. Made silent deals with looks and subtle nods.

Ki-tae disappeared halfway through dinner. No one noticed. He wasn't needed in the light.

But he left a small message on Iseul's place card: Study. 23:45. Code: Wolf.

She tucked it into her sleeve without flinching.

Because flinching was weakness.And in Iseul's world, weakness didn't survive.

⸻

The ballroom sparkled with sickening charm. Gold light spilled off crystal chandeliers, laughter echoed hollow against marble floors, and everywhere-everywhere-the parents of Korea's most powerful families played pretend.

Old enemies sipped champagne together. Rivals kissed cheeks with too-red lipstick. And the Royals? They navigated the crowd like sharks in silk.

Their parents smiled, laughed, toasted.Filthy. Friendly. Fangs behind every forked compliment.

But it wasn't one-sided.The manipulation ran both ways.

⸻

Iseul stood beside her father, Baek Ji-hyeok, the cold, calculating patriarch of the Baek family. He was a man of few words, his smile just as sharp as his reputation. Tonight, he played the part of the benevolent father-dripping with charm, pretending to care. But Iseul knew better than anyone: the only thing he cared about was power.

He glanced at Iseul, his fingers tapping against his wine glass, and then he turned to his guests. "My daughter," he announced in that polished, chilling tone, "has always been the heart of the Baek family. Sharp, ambitious, and relentless."

Iseul gave him a cool smile, letting the compliment roll off her like water on oil. "I'm glad to be of service, Father."

The older men around them chuckled, clearly enjoying the façade.

But she could see it in his eyes-the impatience. He wanted more. The blood of a competitor. The destruction of anyone who threatened the family's legacy.

⸻

Meanwhile, Seungtae's mother, Park Ji-won, the head of the Park family, was circling through the crowd with a calculated grace. Her gaze found Seungtae at the edge of the room, arms crossed, leaning casually against the wall. She walked over to him, her smile never faltering.

"You're becoming too unpredictable, Seungtae," she said, her voice low but sharp. "People are starting to talk."

Seungtae straightened, looking at her with that mischievous glint in his eye. "Good. Let them talk. The quieter I am, the more they underestimate me."

She studied him for a moment, then tilted her head. "Underestimating you is a mistake, but I didn't raise you to be underestimated. Don't forget why you're here."

He shrugged, his eyes scanning the room. "I don't forget anything. Just not everyone needs to know everything."

"Your father might have been okay with that, but things are changing. We are changing," she replied.

Seungtae smiled, a little too widely. "I can't wait to see how far you're willing to go to keep up."

⸻

Kyung-jun was already deep in conversation with several high-profile individuals. His charm was a weapon, and he wielded it effortlessly, flitting from one influential guest to the next. His father, Go Man-shik, hovered nearby, watching his son like a hawk.

Kyung-jun wandered over after a moment, his grin unwavering as he met his father's steely gaze. "You're still counting enemies in this room, huh?"

Man-shik's lips twitched. "I'm counting allies. The ones who can help us take control."

Kyung-jun leaned against the pillar, crossing his arms. "If you've already counted them all, then you're not paying attention. You're too focused on your old enemies. You need to start paying attention to your new ones."

"You talk too much," his father muttered.

Kyung-jun smiled. "I guess that's why I'm more useful than just being in the shadows."

⸻

Ki-tae had slipped into the shadows as expected. But not for long. His father, Kwak Seung-ho, a man of extreme secrecy and ruthless dealings, would likely disappear as well.

However, unlike the others, Ki-tae wasn't looking for public approval. He wasn't even interested in the manipulative conversations happening around him. His mind was already calculating, and his eyes were scanning the room, cataloging every face, every move, every gesture.

His aunt, Kwak Mi-sun, approached him, raising an eyebrow as she watched him in silence for a moment. "You're not talking to anyone tonight. That's unusual."

Ki-tae didn't move. He simply met her gaze. "I don't need to."

"You know," she began, "the family is counting on you. You don't get to hide behind your silence forever."

Ki-tae's smile was almost too sharp for comfort. "I don't hide, Aunt. I observe. And I don't play games that waste time."

She frowned but didn't push it further.

⸻

By the end of the night, each of them had played their parents like polished strings.

Flattered. Agreed. Lied. Manipulated.

But underneath the forced smiles and pleasant chatter, none of them were fooled.

They had been born into this. Trained for this.

And as much as their families liked to pretend, the truth was always lurking beneath the surface. They were all pieces on a board-and only one could win.

But for now, at least, they would smile.

And their parents would never know the difference.