#Power Pages Consulting

[mephiles-the-jester]

i dont post about them enough,,,,these two can rotate in my brain for hours straight

[digitalmarketknowledge]

13 Technical SEO Tips You Need to Implement Right Now

Let’s face it SEO is no longer just about keywords and backlinks. These days, if your site isn’t technically sound, Google won’t even give you a second glance. Whether you're running a blog, eCommerce store, or local business website, technical SEO tips are your backstage passes to visibility, speed, and SERP success.

This isn’t just another generic checklist. We’re diving deep from the technical SEO basics to advanced technical SEO strategies. So buckle up, grab your coffee, and get ready to seriously level up your website.

1. Start with a Crawl See What Google Sees

Before you tweak anything, see what Google sees. Use tools like Ahrefs Technical SEO Guide, Screaming Frog, or Sitebulb to run a site crawl. These will point out:

Broken links

Redirect chains

Missing metadata

Duplicate content

Crawl depth issues

It’s like doing a health check-up before hitting the gym, no use lifting weights with a sprained ankle, right?

2. Fix Crawl Errors and Broken Links Immediately

Crawl errors = blocked search bots = bad news. Head to Google Search Console’s Coverage report and fix:

404 pages

Server errors (500s)

Soft 404s

Redirect loops

Remember: broken links are like potholes on your website’s highway. They stop traffic and damage trust.

3. Optimize Your Site Speed Like It’s 1999

Okay, maybe not that fast, but you get the idea.

Speed isn't just an experience thing, it's a ranking factor. Here’s how to trim the fat:

Compress images (use WebP or AVIF formats)

Enable lazy loading

Use a CDN

Minify CSS, JS, and HTML

Avoid heavy themes or bloated plugins

This is one of the powerful technical SEO guides that Google loves. Faster site = better UX = higher rankings.

4. Make It Mobile-First or Go Home

Google’s all in on mobile-first indexing. If your site looks like a disaster on a smartphone, you’re practically invisible. Ensure:

Responsive design

Readable fonts

Tap-friendly buttons

Zero horizontal scroll

Test it on Google’s Mobile-Friendly Test. Because if mobile users bounce, so does your ranking.

5. Get Your Site Structure Spot-On

Think of your website like a library. If books (pages) aren’t organized, nobody finds what they need. Make sure:

Homepage links to key category pages

Categories link to subpages or blogs

Every page is reachable in 3 clicks max

This clean structure helps search bots crawl everything efficiently a technical SEO basics win.

6. Secure Your Site with HTTPS

Still running HTTP? Yikes. Not only is it a trust-killer, but it’s also a ranking issue. Google confirmed HTTPS is a ranking signal.

Install an SSL certificate, redirect HTTP to HTTPS, and make sure there are no mixed content warnings. You’d be surprised how often folks overlook this simple technical SEO tip.

7. Use Schema Markup for Rich Snippets

Want star ratings, FAQ drops, or breadcrumbs in Google results? Use schema!

Product schema for eCommerce

Article schema for blogs

LocalBusiness schema for service providers

FAQ & How-To schemas for extra real estate in SERPs

Implement via JSON-LD (Google’s favorite) or use plugins like Rank Math or Schema Pro.

8. Eliminate Duplicate Content

Duplicate content confuses search engines. Use tools like Siteliner, Copyscape, or Ahrefs to catch offenders. Then:

Set canonical tags

Use 301 redirects where needed

Consolidate thin content pages

This is especially critical for advanced technical SEO consulting, where multiple domain versions or CMS quirks cause duplicate chaos.

9. Improve Your Internal Linking Game

Internal links spread link equity, guide crawlers, and keep users browsing longer. Nail it by:

Linking from old to new content (and vice versa)

Using descriptive anchor text

Keeping links relevant

Think of internal links as signboards inside your digital shop. They tell people (and bots) where to go next.

10. Don’t Sleep on XML Sitemaps & Robots.txt

Your XML sitemap is a roadmap for bots. Your robots.txt file tells them what to ignore.

Submit sitemap in Google Search Console

Include only indexable pages

Use robots.txt wisely (don’t accidentally block JS or CSS)

Sounds geeky? Maybe. But this combo is one of the advanced technical SEO factors that separates rookies from pros.

11. Check Indexing Status Like a Hawk

Just because a page exists doesn’t mean Google sees it. Go to Google Search Console > Pages > “Why pages aren’t indexed” and investigate.

Watch for:

Noindex tags

Canonicalization conflicts

Blocked by robots.txt

Monitoring indexing status regularly is essential, especially when offering technical SEO services for local businesses that depend on full visibility.

12. Avoid Orphan Pages Like the Plague

Pages with no internal links = orphaned. Bots can’t reach them easily, which means no indexing, no traffic.

Find and fix these by:

Linking them from relevant blogs or service pages

Updating your navigation or sitemap

This is an often-missed on page SEO technique that can bring old pages back to life.

13. Upgrade to Core Web Vitals (Not Just PageSpeed)

It’s not just about speed anymore Google wants smooth sailing. Enter Core Web Vitals:

LCP (Largest Contentful Paint): Measures loading

FID (First Input Delay): Measures interactivity

CLS (Cumulative Layout Shift): Measures stability

Use PageSpeed Insights or Lighthouse to test and fix. It's a must-have if you’re targeting powerful on-page SEO services results.

14. Partner with a Pro (Like Elysian Digital Services)

If your brain’s spinning from all these technical SEO tips, hey, you're not alone. Most business owners don’t have time to deep-dive into audits, schemas, redirects, and robots.txt files.

That’s where pros come in. If you’re looking for advanced technical SEO consulting or even a full stack of on page SEO techniques, Elysian Digital Services is a solid bet. Whether you're a startup or a local biz trying to crack the Google code we've helped tons of businesses get found, fast.

Final Thoughts

There you have 13 technical SEO tips (and a bonus one!) that are too important to ignore. From speeding up your site to fixing crawl issues, each one plays a crucial role in helping your pages rank, convert, and grow.

The web is crowded, the competition’s fierce, and Google isn’t getting any easier to impress. But with the right tools, a bit of tech savvy, and the right support (yep, like Elysian Digital Services), you can absolutely win this game.

[atcuality1]

The Power of Augmented Reality: Elevate Your Brand’s Digital Strategy

As businesses compete for attention in a digital-first world, innovative technologies like augmented reality are setting new engagement standards. Atcuality provides industry-leading augmented reality development services to help brands create interactive, engaging, and memorable experiences. Whether it’s a virtual showroom, an AR-powered mobile app, or interactive product packaging, our solutions seamlessly blend physical and digital interactions. We specialize in developing AR experiences that boost customer engagement, improve training programs, and enhance e-commerce conversions. Our team of experts works closely with businesses to craft tailored AR applications that deliver measurable results. With a focus on creativity, functionality, and user experience, we help brands stay ahead of the curve by integrating AR into their digital strategy. Experience the future of interaction with Atcuality’s advanced AR solutions.

[albertyevans]

Learn how a leading and experienced Microsoft Power Pages development & consulting services company help you to empowers your businesses of any size to create secure & engaging websites.

[redflagshipwriter]

Snatching Snitches pt 4

Masterpost

“Father.” Bruce yelped as Damian appeared, like a wraith, at his elbow. His hand convulsed to hold the 105 page treadmill manual in his grip hard enough to tear the paper cover. His heart rate picked up in that instant as his hard-won instincts to fight were ruthlessly suppressed by his conscious awareness that he was safely at his home. Bruce could not strike. He strangled his impulses, if barely.

His son ignored the reaction entirely on, blithe about startling someone who might lash out. “I require transportation.” Fuck. Christ. He could have hurt Damian.

Bruce blinked and took a moment to come back to the real world as he put down the manual he was reading. “Ah…” He racked his memory for his sons’ schedules, trying to make this interaction make sense. Nothing came to mind at 6pm on Tuesday, so he gave up and asked, “Where to?”

“Titans Tower,” Damian instructed. He glowered, his green eyes shining in the lowlight. He was, Bruce thought, adorable. Bruce was still strangling panic at the intrusive thought that he might have harmed his baby. He took a deep breath and put away the frisson of fear in order to exist in the current moment.

He kept the resulting smile off of his face, as his prickly baby would not appreciate it. “Oh?” he said mildly. Bruce stood up and brushed dust off his trousers. “Are you going to meet someone?”

“I require a consultation with one of the trainers there,” Damian reported sharply. He was all but standing at attention.

Bruce went through a mental inventory in an instant– Raven. Damian had to be intending to speak with Raven to get a tracking spell or some such for his cat. That…

Well. She would probably tell him no, but it wasn’t his place to try to shield his kids too much from the world. Besides, Damian was a persuasive young man. Perhaps she could find his kitty for him.

‘I wouldn’t mind knowing where the cat went,’ Bruce thought privately. He fetched his keys for the car in the right city, ready to escort Damian through the transportation relay to San Francisco. ‘Even if he wasn’t heartbroken, it’s troubling that a cat managed to get from Bristol to a bus depot in Gotham Central.’

That was somehow more upsetting than the fact that the cat hadn’t been seen on camera after that bus ride. The cameras were low-quality. The cat could have been hidden under seats or inside a bag. But how had the naked cat navigated Gotham’s troubled public transportation system? Most of his kids didn’t dare try.

Hopefully the damn thing hadn’t been eaten by a coyote or something. Damian would never forgive the bearer of bad news.

XXX

The flock of imbeciles at the tower of stunted titans were useless to his aims. They clustered him with bids for attention and puerile greetings. Damian stoically endured their pleasantries until he had pierced the inner sanctum and then beelined for the quarters belonging to the current head trainer.

“Raven.” He rapped at her chamber door, respectful in the presence of an aged witch. “I wish to speak with you.”

The door opened with no human touch. The buzz of demonic magic rattled around in his teeth, an unpleasant crispness to the air as Raven exercised her powers.

“Come in, Robin.” Her scratchy voice called out. He stepped inside and turned to see the woman sitting midair, cloak and hair dangling down. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes,” he said, “but not in a world shaking sense.” He confronted her head-on. “I believe that I encountered a spirit or ghost of some variety. It stayed with me for several weeks before disappearing. As I am invested in his welfare, I much desire to locate him again.”

Her eyebrows went up high on her oddly short, round forehead. “Do you have a foci- you have a whole scrapbook. Alright.” She took it from him and then blinked. “He took the shape of a cat?”

“He was clearly intelligent, and capable of walking through solid matter,” Damian laid out his case. “Undoubtedly he is more than the average feline, as he is capable of using a tablet to write in English. However, I am concerned for his welfare. When he came to me, his condition was poor and his stress was obviously high. I cannot rest without confirming his welfare. I have traced his travel to a dank pit of despair known as Amity Park, which seems to be rife with dangers for ghosts.”

If only he knew where Snitches was hiding there, Damian would simply retrieve his boy.

“Do you have any type of contract or bond connecting you?”

Damian nodded and indicated the scrapbook with a nod. “Please turn to page 62.”

Paper flipped. She regarded the gold-lined paper and the paw prints on it dispassionately. “That should work,” Raven admitted wryly. She seemed amused. “Stand by. Let’s do this now.” Her eyes flickered with an unholy light and she lifted her hands, palms-up and fingers splayed. “Let’s see what kind of answer we can get.” She tossed her hair slightly as she looked upwards and started the mutter to herself. Paper rustled in a sourceless wind.

Damian took a judicious step backwards. It was well that he did. A glistening crack in reality peeled itself open. It was virulently green.

“In you go.”

He stepped into the crack and then up a short set of mahogany stairs, into a circular office. Raven followed at his heels, floating in and peering around.

A skeleton in a blue military uniform with some unknown epaulets raised a bony hand in greeting. “Welcome to custody court, how can I help you?” He seemed unpaused by the flying girl.

Damian brandished his scrapbook with the original copy of his precious paperwork. “I adopted a ghost, as you can see.” He pointed to Snitches’s pawprint signature. “He has run away. I am extremely concerned for his welfare.”

The dead man leaned in to examine the paperwork. It very clearly had “Adoption Certificate” branded across the top in ornamental script. “That seems to be in order. You need help finding and placing him, then?”

“He needs to sue for custody,” Raven interjected. Her eyes glinted purple in the dim light. “We don’t know if there are any current guardians, but we suspect the minor is experiencing neglect.”

The skeleton grunted and hit a button on his chest. “Can we get a compliance officer in here?” He asked. “Need to look into a vulnerable minor ghost.”

Damian felt a thrill of success. Finally, he was on the right track. And everyone here seemed shockingly competent.

The compliance officer appeared in the form of a purple tinted middle aged woman, with an extremely dated hairstyle. “Good morning and evening, if you’ll provide me with a record of the child’s ecto signature, I’ll be able to do a home check.”

Damian proffered the scrapbook. “Will something in this suffice?”

She took it with a hum and started flipping through. “Oh, yes,” she said. She picked up the collection of hairs that Snitches had shed onto the pillow and absorbed it into her hand. “I’ll go find him and investigate his condition.”

“Do not alarm him,” Damian said. His stomach twisted. “He is only a little boy.”

The ghost nodded, her glasses slipping up and down her nose. “I’ll be circumspect,” she promised. Then she bustled away as the skeleton man returned with a hefty stack of paperwork.

Raven peered over his shoulder as he worked on it. “Write your name as D. Wayne,” she advised. “I have a premonition.”

He clicked his tongue against his teeth and did as she said.

The paperwork was extensive, and it took at least an hour. During that time the compliance officer reappeared. She was significantly more ruffled than she had appeared at departure. “Well!” She slicked down her hair, which had puffed out in shock from its sleek updo and was fizzing slightly.

Damian leaned over to confirm that the edges of her clothing were smoking and torn. “How was visitation?”

She made an odd high-pitched sound, almost like a hiccup. Her whole figure went static momentarily. “Why don’t we all have a look!” She held up an oval. “I would have to concur that the minor is not in a safe environment.” An image of two people in a fight fizzled into being.

Damian squinted. “I do not…” he trailed off as he really looked at them.

Of the two figures, one was a sleek and confident female figure in a rocker outfit. The other figure was awkward and somewhat gangly, extremely vulnerable and yet determined.

How very odd. But there was only one possible explanation:

“The white and black one is Snitches.”

He was not quite as cute as he had been before. Damian straightened his back to military precision and steeled himself. He would adapt. Taking responsibility via adoption was a lifelong commitment, and he would not be deterred by the loss of paws.

‘I will miss the paws.’ Damian froze. ‘The pawprints in that album are the only remaining evidence of how small my boy once was. I have already missed his childhood.’

The custody officer looked pleased. “Yes, 5 months deceased Danny Phantom, formerly Fenton.”

“Five months,” Raven mouthed quietly, appalled.

Damian reeled. 5 months. A pathetic 20 weeks of existence. He was even more a babe than Damian had realized. And now he was out there, helpless and afraid!

‘I only knew him for twenty percent of his life. I have missed almost all of his youth. I must retrieve him immediately.’

“Yes, an infant,” agreed the wellness officer. Her smile went toothy when she looked back at her still image. “He was being harassed by an older ghost when I arrived, and I had to intervene. After a wellness interview with him, I am interested in opening a case to sue for custody.”

“Excellent,” said Raven. “We would like to proceed as quickly as possible.”

“You are, of course, an adult by the standards of your species?” The officer confirmed.

Was that relevant? Damian stiffened, shocked by this turn of events.

“Yea, of course. Dick Wayne, age 32, is suing for custody,” Raven interjected. Her voice was mild and unaffected. “I’m his representation.”

…Damian nodded. He tried to look 32. Should he clutch at his joints? He settled for a grimace, as though pushing bravely through pain. Dick was very noble in his suffering, after all.

“Very well,” said the ghost cheerfully. “I’ll need copies of your personal documents to move further in this, and to do a home check, a few other things.”

‘I cannot have her come to do a home check at the manor. Father will intervene and reveal my impersonation, and then I shall not receive my child.’

“Of course,” Damian said through gritted teeth. Would Todd allow him to use a safe house, perhaps? There must be a solution. “Would tomorrow be acceptable?”

It was in a haze of planning stress that they confirmed the appointment, Raven taking the lead with her strange half smile. They stepped back through her portal into Titans Tower.

For a moment, Damian stood in shock. Then he cleared his throat. “Dick’s last name is unfortunately not Wayne,” he said.

It wasn’t the largest sticking point, but he was concerned. The paperwork had to be accurate to be legally binding.

Raven hummed. “Yes, we’ll have to adopt him for Bruce.” She shook her hair. “He has the paperwork ready, we’ll just take it and file it. Upper left desk drawer in your father’s office, in an envelope.”

“I will retrieve it,” Damian promised solemnly. “Thank you for your legal counsel.”

“No, no,” Raven said mildly. “It’s the least I can do after all that Dick has done.”

“…all that he has done to aid you recently?” Damian confirmed. He glanced at her full-on for the first time in at least an hour, confused. Her support was appreciated, but it was not expected. The situation had escalated. Truly, Dick had cultivated noble companions in his youth!

She hummed in the back of her throat. “Something like that,” Raven said vaguely. “Let’s go make Dick a legal ghost father.”

[edenesth]

03. The Enforcer — By Order of the Black Pirates

An 'Ice On My Teeth' Comeback Special Series

Pairing: gang member!Yunho x fem!reader

AU: gang au

Word Count: 22.7k

Summary: The towering enforcer of the Black Pirates, both disarming and deadly—his easy charm capable of winning over enemies, while his legendary fury dominates the battlefield. But his unbreakable facade begins to crack when he meets a psychologist during a mission—someone who can see through his carefully crafted mask, just as he can see through hers. Beneath her confident exterior lies a frightened soul lost in a dark world, and for the first time, he finds himself compelled to protect someone in a way he never expected.

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Trigger Warnings: mentions of child abuse, emotional blackmail, attempted sexual assault, scars, trafficking, blood and slight gore, language, contains dark themes in general

SERIES MASTERLIST | ATEEZ MASTERLIST

"Ryoichi Sato," Hongjoong murmured, studying the profile in his hands. "Founder of the Prestige Asylum—a supposed haven for the mentally ill. And you're telling me targeting him will benefit us... how exactly?"

Yunho gestured for him to turn to the next page. "Take a closer look, hyung. Do you notice a pattern in the patients he takes in?"

The Captain flipped through the thick file, his brows furrowing. Then, slowly, he straightened in his seat, his expression hardening. "They're... holy shit. They're all high-profile criminals. Wait—this isn't just a regular asylum, is it?" He looked up sharply at his brother, who wore a smug smile.

"Exactly," Yunho said, his tone calm but charged with conviction. "It's a front—a sanctuary for wealthy criminals. Cartel bosses, human trafficking kingpins, and, most importantly, rival gang leaders. All hiding out under the guise of being mentally unfit to face trial. And guess who's running the whole operation? A corrupt, retired official." He leaned forward, his voice lowering. "Now imagine the rise in our standing if we take these fools down and expose them. The Black Pirates would dominate the underworld again."

For a moment, Hongjoong stared at the Enforcer, his jaw slightly slack in astonishment. While their gang still held a prominent position at the top, he couldn't deny that their recent missteps had affected their reputation in the mafia world. Yunho's plan was undeniably tempting—a chance to reclaim their dominance.

But reality soon intruded, and his expression hardened. Seonghwa's precarious situation with the Red Room loomed large, the weight of unresolved tensions pressing heavily on his mind. Could they really afford to take on such a massive mission right now?

"I'm sure it all sounds good, Yunho," he began cautiously, "but—"

"Hyung, I know what you're thinking," the taller man cut in, raising a second file. "But I've already thought this through. You'll see here that Yeosang and I have everything planned out. Listen, I know things haven't exactly been smooth for us lately, but think about it—who are we? We're the Black fucking Pirates. It's time we reminded the underworld who runs this game."

The leader glanced at the new file, then back at Yunho. For a moment, hesitation flickered in his eyes, but it was quickly overtaken by a glimmer of determination. Whatever obstacles lay ahead, Yunho's unwavering confidence was infectious, and the prospect of restoring their gang's power was too enticing to ignore.

"Yeah, you're right. Let's do it."

With that, he pushed thoughts of his eldest brother's precarious situation to the back of his mind. The Captain had given him the green light, and now it was time to execute. With Yeosang's meticulous planning and Jongho's steady hand in logistics, the groundwork had been laid faster than even he anticipated.

Now, dressed in a sharp suit and carrying an air of unshakable authority, Yunho strode into the Prestige Asylum under the alias Stefano Lee, a "security consultant" hired to assess the facility's operations. From the moment he stepped through the doors, his towering presence commanded attention. Unease rippled through the staff; the occasional nervous glance cast his way only fed his confidence. Awe wasn't uncommon, either—not that it surprised him. The Enforcer knew the effect he had on people.

His steps echoed purposefully through the pristine halls, his sharp eyes taking in every detail. He allowed himself a moment of smug satisfaction, recalling how effortlessly he had sold his cover. If life had gone differently, he may have ended up on a movie set, playing the leading man. But fate had dealt him a different hand—a far grittier role to play.

And that was fine. He owed everything to Hongjoong, the man who had saved him from a life of aimless wandering. This mission wasn't just about taking down the asylum or the criminals it sheltered—it was about proving himself again, reminding the underworld of what the Black Pirates could do when they set their sights on a target.

His lips tugged into a small, confident smirk as his gaze locked onto the man he'd been waiting for. Dr Sergei Ivanov, head psychologist, walked with a cautious air that betrayed a sharp mind. He had spent days studying the asylum's organisational structure, and Ivanov's name stood out like a beacon. The man was vital, a potential key to cracking open this entire operation.

For Yunho, the next step was clear: bring the head psychologist to his side, whether through persuasion or pressure. The poor old Russian man would learn quickly—resistance wasn't an option.

Straightening his tie, he approached with the confidence of someone who already owned the room. His posture, his stride, even the slight tilt of his head—all radiated an unspoken message: You're going to listen to me, whether you like it or not.

"Dr Ivanov," he called smoothly, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. "Stefano Lee. I believe we need to have a conversation."

His tone wasn't a question; it was a declaration. Time to get to work.

From across the hall, you stood unnoticed, your gaze fixed on the interaction unfolding between your mentor and the so-called security consultant. Stefano Lee—the name had been whispered through every corner of the asylum ever since Chairman Sato announced his arrival. The founder himself had vouched for the man, boasting of his unparalleled expertise and magnetic charm.

But you'd been wary of him from the start.

Unlike the rest of the staff, who either fawned over his imposing presence or shrank under the weight of it, you felt neither awe nor intimidation. What you felt was a nagging sense of scepticism.

Stefano was too polished, his every move carefully calculated. The way he carried himself screamed confidence, sure—but in his eyes, there was something far more telling. A spark of determination that went beyond professionalism. It wasn't the kind of fire you'd expect from someone hired to conduct a mundane security assessment.

This man had an agenda.

You had written it off as mere curiosity at first, content to watch him from afar and let others fall under his spell. But now? Watching him pull Dr Ivanov aside with that charming yet no-nonsense demeanour? That was when the alarm bells went off.

He was a security consultant, for heaven's sake. What possible business could he have with the head psychologist?

Your eyes narrowed, tracking their movements as he gestured toward a side corridor. Dr Ivanov's reluctance was clear in the stiffness of his shoulders, though he followed without protest.

Something wasn't right.

The uneasy twist in your gut only tightened as you lingered, debating whether to intervene. There was no reason for you to care—not when you were already walking a thin line just by being here. But Dr Ivanov wasn't just your mentor; he was one of the few people in this institution who still had a shred of integrity left.

And Stefano Lee? He was the very embodiment of the polished predators you had learned to recognise far too well.

Your fists clenched at your sides as you made your decision. If this man thought he could play his games unnoticed, he was sorely mistaken.

You weren't about to sit back and watch.

ـــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

"Mr. Lee, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Dr Ivanov asked, his tone polite but cautious. He wore a civil smile, though the tension in his eyes betrayed the wariness beneath it.

Yunho settled into the chair across from him, his tall frame making the neat, utilitarian office seem smaller than it was. His eyes swept the room with the precision of someone who missed nothing. Sparse decor. Everything is meticulously arranged. Not a single photo or personal touch to suggest any life outside of this institution.

Work, and only work.

It was a treasure trove of deductions for the Enforcer. The absence of familial ties or sentimental keepsakes hinted at a man whose entire identity revolved around his profession. A loner, perhaps. Someone who found solace in control and order. That told the gang member all he needed to know about how to handle him.

"Ah, Dr Ivanov," Yunho said smoothly, leaning back in the chair with an air of casual confidence. "You know how thorough Chairman Sato likes to be. My job is to ensure this facility operates as securely and efficiently as possible. Cooperation from department heads like yourself will make that infinitely easier."

His tone was light, almost friendly, but his eyes carried a weight that made the head psychologist pause.

Dr Ivanov let out a small, dry chuckle, clasping his hands together on the desk. "A man dedicated to his work is always admirable, Mr. Lee. But I must admit, I fail to see how my department could have any bearing on your assessments. Surely the realm of psychology is far removed from the concerns of security?"

The scepticism was clear, though the Russian man hid it behind a veneer of civility. He was testing Yunho, trying to gauge his intent.

The taller man's lips curled into a faint smile—charming yet predatory, as if he were indulging the doctor in a harmless game of wits. "You'd be surprised, Doctor, how much overlap there can be. Security isn't just about locks and cameras. It's about people. Predicting their behaviour. Understanding their motivations."

He leaned forward slightly, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over the desk. "And from what I've gathered, you're the expert when it comes to the minds within these walls. Both staff and patients alike."

The head psychologist's smile faltered, if only for a moment before he recovered. "Flattery, Mr. Lee? I didn't take you for the type."

"Not flattery," Yunho countered, his tone hardening just enough to make his point. "Respect. The kind of respect one gives to someone with insight others might not possess. Insight that could be… very useful."

The silence that followed was heavy, the tension in the air almost tangible. The Enforcer let it hang there, his eyes locked onto Dr Ivanov's with a focus that bordered on unnerving.

"Now, Doctor," he continued, his voice dropping an octave, smooth but with an undercurrent of steel, "why don't we make this easy for both of us? I have questions, and you have answers. All I need is your cooperation. After all, it's in both our interests to ensure this institution remains… secure."

The elderly man's fingers twitched against the desk, his composure cracking ever so slightly under Yunho's gaze. He wasn't sure what game this so-called consultant was playing, but he could feel the noose tightening around him, one carefully calculated word at a time.

He adjusted his posture, his fingers steepling as he studied the man before him, his professional mask unwavering. "Mr. Lee," he began carefully, each word deliberate, "I appreciate your regard for my expertise. But forgive me if I fail to see how the psychology department intersects with your security evaluation. Perhaps if you were more forthcoming about your... intentions, I could provide better assistance."

The Enforcer leaned back in his chair, the movement slow, deliberate, and dripping with confidence, as though he owned not just the office but the very air in it. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, sharp as a knife's edge. "Intentions?" he echoed, his voice smooth, almost playful. "Doctor, my only intention is to make sure this place runs as securely as the Chairman expects. Isn't that why I'm here?"

"Of course," Ivanov replied, though the faint crack in his measured tone betrayed him. "But from my perspective, our patients and their care protocols seem far removed from your area of concern. Surely there are other departments better suited to your inquiries—maintenance, perhaps, or surveillance?"

Yunho's smirk widened, but the amusement in his expression didn't quite reach his eyes. "Oh, I've already had enlightening conversations with those departments," he said, his tone laced with charm and a trace of menace. "Very helpful people, really. But here's the thing, Doctor." He leaned forward, his massive frame casting an imposing shadow across the desk as he clasped his hands loosely. "In a place like this, the locks on the doors are only half the battle. The minds inside—those matter just as much. Don't you agree?"

The head psychologist's lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowing slightly at the repeated emphasis. "I would agree," he admitted cautiously, "but that still doesn't explain—"

"Doesn't explain what?" Yunho cut in smoothly, his voice dropping a note lower, the quiet intensity in it demanding attention. "Why I'd care about the dynamics between staff and patients? Why I'd want to understand how the people here interact with each other?" His smile returned, this time sharper, more calculated. "Doctor, wouldn't you say that understanding human behaviour is key to preventing... incidents?"

Ivanov's fingers tightened around the desk's edge, the slight movement not escaping Yunho's notice. "Naturally," the head psychologist replied, his tone measured, though unease flickered in his eyes. "But if you're implying there's something amiss with the dynamics here, I assure you—"

"I'm not implying anything," Yunho interrupted, his tone softening, though the tension in the room only grew. "I'm just a curious man doing his job. After all, the Chairman hired me to be thorough." He let his gaze drift across the sparse, clinical office before settling back on the elderly man with laser-like focus. "And I am thorough."

Dr Sergei Ivanov, seasoned in dissecting minds, found himself at a rare loss. The man before him was an enigma—a puzzle that refused to align. Something about Stefano Lee spoke of a purpose that went far beyond his supposed role. Who was this man? A mere consultant, or something much more dangerous?

The silence that followed hung thick and oppressive. Ivanov exhaled slowly, forcing himself to meet Yunho's gaze. "You certainly live up to your reputation, Mr. Lee," he said finally, his voice steady but cautious. "I see why the Chairman holds you in such high regard."

The young man chuckled, low and unsettling. "Flattery, Doctor? I didn't peg you for the type."

The psychologist's jaw tightened at having his own words thrown back at him, but he managed a thin smile. "Simply acknowledging skill where it's due. Though I must admit, your methods of information-gathering are... unique."

"It's all about perspective," Yunho replied as he stood, his deliberate movements amplifying his towering presence. "And from where I'm standing, I'd say we're off to a good start, wouldn't you?"

Dr Ivanov didn't respond immediately, his mind racing to piece together the enigma in front of him. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, a sharp knock shattered the tension, and the door swung open without waiting for an answer.

"Then I'm sure Chairman Sato would be thrilled to hear about this collaboration." Your casual tone hung in the air like a threat, and for the first time, the Enforcer's composure faltered ever so slightly. The mention of Ryoichi Sato was a card played with precision—a warning that if his intentions were exposed now, it could bring his mission to a grinding halt.

You strode in briskly, a file clutched in one hand, your eyes fixed solely on your mentor as though Stefano Lee were little more than a shadow. "Sir," you said crisply, your earlier veiled threat delivered as if it were a passing remark, "you're needed in the PICU ward. A patient is threatening suicide."

The head psychologist shot to his feet, hastily snatching the file from your hand. His gaze darted toward the gang member, unease flickering in his expression. "I-I..."

You finally turned your attention to the so-called security consultant, your expression unreadable as you placed a reassuring hand on Dr Ivanov's arm. "It's alright, sir. You go. I'll handle Mr. Lee."

"But—"

"There's no time to waste," you interjected, your voice calm yet unyielding. "Go."

Your mentor hesitated for a moment longer, then nodded reluctantly. He cast the guest a wary glance, his polite facade barely holding. "Mr. Lee," he said, forcing a tight smile, "thank you for your understanding."

Yunho inclined his head, his smile returning with practised ease as he buried any trace of unease. "The pleasure's all mine, Doctor."

With one final look, the Russian man hurried out of the office, leaving the room thick with unspoken tension as the door clicked shut behind him. Now, it was just you and Stefano Lee, his enigmatic facade meeting your calculated indifference.

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"Since you're so keen on understanding how our department operates, let me show you the patients' favourite spot," you said, your tone laced with thinly veiled sarcasm as you led him down the verdant pathways of the institution. The tension between you hung heavy in the air as the distant sound of rustling leaves mingled with the faint hum of the asylum's ever-present security systems.

The path opened into a pristine stretch of green, encircled by neatly maintained fences.

"The tennis courts?" Yunho asked, his brow arching, an edge of disbelief creeping into his voice.

You turned sharply on your heel, your piercing glare locking onto him. "Why so surprised? I thought you knew everything there is to know around here. Or…" You paused, your voice dropping into a sly mockery. "Let me guess. Maybe your research wasn't as extensive as you thought. There's a lot more to this place than meets the eye, Stefano Lee… or whatever your real name is."

He froze for a moment, the faintest flicker of surprise breaking through his carefully constructed mask. You could see the gears in his head turning, his sharp mind trying to recalibrate. But for once, it seemed, he had no immediate retort.

The Enforcer straightened, forcing a grin that was too sharp, too deliberate. "Of course, that's my real name. And you're right—maybe I should have done a better job researching my client. But I know enough about you, at least," he said, eyeing your name tag.

"Do you?" you countered instantly, one brow arching in amusement. "So you know my name. Big deal. That's basic information."

Yunho leaned back slightly, shoving his hands into his pockets in a transparent attempt to feign control. But the tension in his posture betrayed him. "I know you have a love-hate relationship with your job, Dr Prude."

There it was. That name. The one whispered behind your back by the staff who envied your success, your precision, your unapologetic ambition. It stung—because it was meant to. But you'd heard it all before. And now this stranger was trying to weaponise it against you.

"Is that all?" you asked, your voice cool and sharp like a blade. "So you know the playground gossip. Congratulations. But let me make something perfectly clear, Stefano"—you spat his name with venom—"you don't scare me."

Your words hit like a slap, and his grin faltered for the briefest moment. He was losing his footing, and you could see the frustration creeping into his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to suppress it.

"You are right about one thing, though," you continued, taking a deliberate step closer. "I do have a love-hate relationship with this job. Which is why I don't care what you're really here for. Just leave me and my mentor out of it."

He scoffed, the sound laced with disbelief. "I don't know what you mean by that. I'm only here to do my job—"

You snorted, cutting him off without hesitation. "Save the act. Do you really expect me to believe intimidating the head psychologist is part of your job description?"

The sharpness of your words sent a flicker of unease across his face, and for a moment, he seemed to lose his usual composure. You followed his gaze as it shifted—almost involuntarily—toward the tennis courts.

Your smirk widened as your eyes zeroed in on the figure lingering near the edge of the court. Clad in staff attire, the man moved with calculated casualness, but it was clear he was out of place.

"And your not-so-subtle friend over there?" you added, nodding toward Yeosang, whose attempts to blend in were painfully obvious. "He tells me more than enough about you."

His jaw tightened, his calm slipping as the realisation sank in—you'd not only seen through him but had also spotted his ally.

He shot a sharp look toward his brother, who froze, his alert eyes locking onto you. The Phantom, clearly aware his cover had been blown, remained rigid as Yunho gave a subtle shake of his head, signalling him to stand down.

The silence stretched, thick with tension, as he turned back to you. His usual confidence was cracking, the weight of your words pressing down on him like a vice.

You could see it—the frustration, the disbelief, the dawning understanding that he'd underestimated you. And it was exhilarating.

Fuck, I really underestimated her.

You sighed, observing the flicker of tension in the man's expression. Despite his best efforts to maintain an air of indifference, you could see the turmoil beneath the surface—the faint crease in his brow, the subtle tightening of his jaw. For a fleeting moment, you almost felt bad for him. Almost.

It was clear that whatever grand plans he had were now in shambles, and you were entirely to blame.

"Listen, I—" he began, his voice low, tinged with exasperation, but you raised a hand, cutting him off before he could say more.

"No," you said firmly, your tone leaving no room for argument. "You don't have to explain yourself to me. You don't owe me anything. But…" You allowed a sly smile to curl your lips as you glanced toward the Phantom, who still stood frozen by the tennis courts, visibly tense. "You might owe your buddy an apology for this failure."

Yunho followed your gaze, his lips pressing into a thin line as Yeosang subtly shifted his weight, clearly displeased at their mission running into such a huge error this early on.

You turned back to the taller man, tilting your head slightly as you regarded him with curiosity. Who were these men? What organisation were they from? You didn't need to be a genius to figure out they weren't who they claimed to be. Yunho might have come here under the guise of a security consultant, but his polished act was starting to crack under scrutiny.

Not that it mattered to you. You weren't particularly interested in who they were or why they were here. If anything, you'd be amused to see them succeed. The Chairman was nowhere near a saint, and if these strangers were here to exact some kind of revenge or justice, well… you wouldn't shed a tear.

Still, you knew better than to get involved.

"I don't know what you have planned," you continued, your voice softening just slightly, "but don't worry. I won't tell anyone about this."

His brows furrowed, his confusion evident as you took a step closer, lowering your voice. "Just stay out of my way, and Dr Ivanov's, and we'll stay out of yours. Deal?"

For a long moment, the two of you stood in silence, the weight of your words hanging heavily between you. Then, with a faint smirk, you bowed your head slightly—a gesture more mocking than respectful.

"Best of luck, Stefano," you added, your tone carrying a finality that left no room for further discussion. Without waiting for a response, you turned and walked away, your confident strides kicking up the faintest swirl of dust from the gravel path.

He remained rooted to the spot, watching your retreating figure with a mix of frustration and something he couldn't quite place—admiration? Awe?

In all his years as a member of the Black Pirates, he'd never encountered anyone who could unsettle him quite like you had. His mind raced, replaying every moment of the exchange, trying to pinpoint where he'd lost control.

Damn it.

The intelligence expert of the gang approached cautiously, his usual calm demeanour marred by a hint of irritation. "She figured us out already—how? What did you do?"

Yunho's jaw tightened at the accusation, his gaze snapping to meet his brother's. The cold sharpness in his eyes made it clear he didn't appreciate the insinuation. "I didn't do anything outside the plan. It was her... she happened. We underestimated her," he muttered, though his tone carried an odd lack of animosity when it came to you.

"Great... so what now?" Yeosang asked quietly, his eyes darting toward the path where you had disappeared, his unease evident.

The taller man exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. "Now?" he repeated, a faint, almost self-deprecating smirk pulling at his lips. "Now we regroup."

But even as he spoke, he couldn't shake the impact you'd left on him. For all his meticulous planning, you'd proven to be a wild card he hadn't accounted for—a reminder that even the sharpest strategies could falter when faced with an unpredictable force.

Yeosang nodded reluctantly and led Yunho toward a secluded area away from prying eyes. His voice dropped to a whisper. "She knows we're not who we claim to be. I say we deal with her before she gets in the way."

Yunho frowned deeply, shaking his head. "Are you insane? She's the deputy head psychologist. If something happens to her, especially right after being seen with me, it'll raise every red flag imaginable."

"So what, we're just gonna let her roam around freely, knowing full well we're here to take down her boss?" the Phantom growled under his breath, his frustration simmering beneath the surface.

"She won't say anything," Yunho replied with a certainty that only seemed to irritate Yeosang further.

"Oh, yeah? And how exactly do you know that?"

Yunho closed his eyes briefly, the memory of your calm, pointed words flashing in his mind. "Because she told me so," he said simply.

His brother let out a sharp scoff. "And you believe her? She's a damn shrink, my friend. Those types know exactly how to mess with your head—get under your skin and twist the truth until you don't know what's real anymore."

The taller man's eyes snapped open, his voice cutting through Yeosang's scepticism with an uncharacteristic sharpness. "I'm not an idiot, Yeo. I know how to spot a lie, and she wasn't lying. She may be loyal to Ivanov, but she's not loyal to this place."

Yeosang's frown deepened, his jaw clenching as he weighed Yunho's words. "Well, for our sake, I hope you're right," he muttered darkly. "Because if you're not, we're fucked."

Yunho didn't respond, his mind already turning over the possibilities. Deep down, he knew Yeosang wasn't wrong to be cautious, but he also couldn't ignore the strange certainty that had settled in his gut. You weren't their ally, but for now, you weren't their enemy either. And that was a risk he was willing to take.

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"Hyung, permission to switch targets."

The words seemed to hang in the air as Yeosang's irritation with the situation persisted. "Switch targets?"

The Captain, who had been listening in silence, finally spoke, his voice calm but sharp. "Let me guess, Yunho—you want to collaborate with the deputy head psychologist now?"

The Enforcer nodded, his gaze steady even as he bowed his head slightly, ashamed of his failure. Hongjoong's lips pursed, his expression unreadable, but he didn't speak right away.

Jongho, who had been sitting quietly nearby, leaned forward slightly, his thoughtful gaze fixed on Yunho. "You know what? That actually makes a lot of sense," he said, his voice calm and measured. "Based on what you said, she's incredibly observant and perceptive. Just the fact that she managed to see through you and spot Yeosang hyung, despite all our precautions, speaks volumes about her. If there's anyone on the inside who could be an asset, it's her."

The faintest hint of a smirk tugged at Yunho's lips at the youngest's words. He agreed wholeheartedly—you were something else.

Hongjoong sighed deeply, running a hand over his face as he considered the implications. "If we're going to shift our approach, I want this done carefully. No risks we can't manage." His voice dropped slightly, tension seeping into his words. "We're already stretched thin with Seonghwa still stranded at the Red Room. I don't want another loose thread to worry about."

Yunho nodded, his voice firm. "I'll handle it, hyung. She won't be a problem."

The gang leader's sharp gaze fixed on him. "Go ahead, then. Do what you think is best, but if this backfires, it's on you."

"Understood."

Yeosang let out an exasperated breath, his frustration was evident. "You're really putting a lot of faith in someone who works for the Chairman. Just because she hasn't blown our cover yet doesn't mean she's not a threat."

"She hasn't blown it because she doesn't want to," the Enforcer countered, his tone unyielding. "Again, she's not loyal to Ryoichi Sato—we've been over this already."

The Anchor nodded, his thoughtful expression unwavering. "If she's really disillusioned with this place, that gives us leverage. She could be the key to understanding the Chairman's weaknesses."

Hongjoong sighed again, rubbing his temples. "Fine," he said finally, his tone resigned but firm. "Do it. But tread carefully. The moment she becomes a liability, you pull out. Clear?"

"Crystal," Yunho replied without hesitation.

The leader's gaze softened just slightly, enough to show the trust he still had in his team. "Good. Now go before I change my mind."

As Yunho left the room, a faint smirk playing on his lips, Yeosang shook his head in disbelief. "This is a mistake," he muttered.

"Maybe," Hongjoong admitted, his voice measured. "But mistakes can lead to victories if you know how to play them."

"Or they can get us all killed," Yeosang muttered under his breath.

Jongho offered a faint smile. "Let's hope Yunho hyung's instincts are as sharp as he thinks they are." The room fell silent, the weight of their gamble settling heavily over them all.

The Enforcer adjusted the cuffs of his tailored coat as he stood outside the towering gates of Prestige Asylum. This time, he was alone. Yeosang had made it clear he wouldn't tag along—not because he didn't care but because watching his brother navigate the intricate dance of persuasion with you had proven too frustrating for the Phantom. Yunho didn't blame him; even he wasn't entirely sure what to expect from you.

The mansion had been tense that morning, Yeosang offering only a curt nod and a muttered "good luck" as Yunho prepared to leave. It wasn't that he didn't want this to work; in fact, Yeosang probably wanted success more than anyone else. But his scepticism about you was evident. Yunho could almost hear the Phantom's voice in his head as he walked up the familiar path leading to the asylum: Don't mess this up. Don't let her outplay you again.

Yunho smirked at the thought, his confidence unshaken. She won't outplay me. Not this time.

Inside the asylum, the sterile halls felt even quieter than before, as if the oppressive atmosphere itself could sense the weight of his intentions. He stopped at the front desk, his smooth charm carefully masking the tension simmering beneath his calm exterior. "I'm here to see the deputy head psychologist," he said with a polite smile.

The receptionist glanced up, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face. "Mr. Lee?" she asked, her tone cautious. She suppressed her reservations, silently questioning what the new security consultant could possibly want with Dr Prude. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No," Yunho replied smoothly, his tone calm yet firm, "but I believe she'll want to see me."

The receptionist hesitated briefly before picking up the phone. After a quiet exchange, she looked back at him and nodded. "She'll meet you in her office. Down the hall, third door on the left."

As he made his way, his mind replayed the events of your last encounter—a potent mix of frustration and admiration swirling within him. You had dismantled his plan with precision, exposing cracks he hadn't even considered, and yet it wasn't just your brilliance that lingered in his mind. It was the fire in your eyes, the unyielding confidence that matched his own, if not exceeded it.

He knocked twice before opening the door.

You sat at your desk, head tilted slightly as you scribbled notes into a file. For a moment, you didn't acknowledge him, but when your sharp gaze finally met his, the tension between you crackled, unspoken yet palpable. Neither of you was willing to back down.

"Back so soon, Stefano?" you asked, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "I thought you'd had enough of me last time."

He chuckled softly, closing the door behind him. "Believe it or not, I'm not here for round two of our verbal sparring match." His voice dipped slightly, deliberate and measured. "I'm here to make you an offer."

You leaned back in your chair, raising an eyebrow as if to say, This should be good. "An offer? What could someone like you possibly offer me?"

"A way out," he said simply, his confidence unwavering.

Your reaction was subtle but telling—a faint twitch of your brow, a brief stilling of your fingers as they tapped against the desk. "And what makes you think I need a way out?" you countered, your voice steady and cool.

"Because you're too smart to waste your talents here," he said, his tone softening, almost conspiratorial. "You know this place is rotten to its core. You've seen Ryoichi Sato's true nature. Why stay loyal to an institution that doesn't deserve you?"

You folded your arms, your expression inscrutable. "So, your grand plan is for me to betray my employer and join forces with… whoever you really are?"

He stepped closer, his intense gaze locking with yours, shrinking the space between you. "I'm not asking you to betray anyone. I'm asking you to work with us. Help us take down the Chairman, and in return, we'll make sure you come out of this unscathed."

You tilted your head, studying him as if weighing every word. "And why should I trust you? You're not exactly the picture of transparency."

He smirked, leaning casually against the edge of your desk. "You don't have to trust me. Trust your instincts. You've already figured out I'm not here to hurt you or Ivanov. If anything, we're on the same side."

The room grew quiet as you considered his words, the sharp gears of your mind undoubtedly working overtime. Finally, you leaned forward slightly, your voice laced with pointed sarcasm. "Huh, sounds tempting. It might be tempting for someone reckless enough to commit treason, that is. But here's the part where you're wrong—I have no intention of risking my life for your ambitious little plan. After all, if you were as confident as you pretend to be, you wouldn't need me. Thanks, but no thanks."

The rejection landed sharper than Yunho anticipated, and though he cursed internally, a part of him couldn't help but admire your resistance. "I understand your concerns," he said, his voice calm despite the undercurrent of frustration.

"You don't understand anything, Stefano," you snapped, cutting him off with a sharp edge in your tone. Your eyes burned with something deeper—an unspoken burden he wasn't privy to but knew he needed to uncover. Why were you so adamant against cooperating, especially when your loyalty to the Chairman seemed nonexistent?

"Fine," he conceded, raising his hands slightly in mock surrender. "I won't argue with you. But think about what I said. The offer won't stay on the table forever."

You narrowed your eyes at him, but there was a spark of intrigue you couldn't completely hide. "I already said no. You can take your offer elsewhere."

Straightening, the Enforcer's smirk returned, slow and deliberate. "You know damn well there's not many in this damned institution I can rely on like you. Don't be so hasty to turn me down—I'll convince you, Dr Prude."

With that, he turned and walked out, leaving you to scoff in disbelief. Alone once more, you sat in silence, frustration mingling with the undeniable curiosity he had managed to spark.

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The soft click of the door opening broke the silence in your office, pulling you from your thoughts. Dr Ivanov entered, his sharp eyes immediately locking onto yours, weariness etched into his face.

"I heard that security consultant dropped by. What does he want?" His deep voice carried a note of concern, though he masked it well.

You rose from your seat instinctively, bowing respectfully before gesturing for him to sit. "Yes, well…" you hesitated, your lips pressing into a thin line. "He wants the same thing he wanted from you. Seems his attention has shifted to me now."

The elderly man sank into the chair across from you, his brow furrowing as he absorbed your words. For a moment, he was silent, his calculating mind undoubtedly piecing together the implications of Yunho's renewed interest. "Well?" he finally asked, his voice calm but tinged with worry. "Did you agree to it?"

Your response came instantly, your head shaking as if on reflex. "Of course not, sir," you whispered fiercely. Taking such a risk was unthinkable, the potential consequences far too dire. One misstep would endanger not only yourself but your family—and his. The asylum's unrelenting grip on your lives was an invisible shackle neither of you could escape.

Ivanov's shoulders relaxed slightly, though the tension lingered in his eyes. He glanced at your hands, clenched into tight fists on the desk, a habit that betrayed the memories threatening to surface—memories that haunted you both.

"You made the right decision," he said softly, though his words felt like cold comfort. "But you know he'll come back."

"I know," you murmured, lowering your gaze. Your voice was thick with frustration, the weight of fear pressing against your chest.

Your mind drifted, unbidden, to the beginning of this nightmare, the memories as vivid as if they had just occurred. You'd been fresh out of university then, brimming with ambition and armed with a psychology degree you'd worked tirelessly to earn. Interning under Dr Ivanov had been transformative—he had seen potential in you that no one else had, vowing to guide you through your career. When the offer from Prestige Asylum came, it had seemed like a dream.

The facility's reputation was impeccable, a beacon of excellence in mental health care. It felt like winning the lottery, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity you couldn't afford to pass up. The secrecy surrounding the institution's operations hadn't raised alarms; instead, it only added to the mystique. You felt honoured to stand beside him, your combined reputation a testament to integrity and expertise.

But cracks in the perfect facade had shown themselves quickly. The work was unlike anything you'd experienced before, the protocols unsettling and alien. Patients were scarce, their places filled by high-profile criminals hidden under the guise of treatment. The truth unravelled slowly, then all at once—a grotesque revelation that had left you and your mentor reeling in horror.

You'd both tried to leave, submitting your resignations in tandem, naively believing that principles would protect you. That illusion was shattered the moment you were summoned to meet Ryoichi Sato.

The Chairman's demeanour was calm, almost cordial, as he laid out file after file. Each one contained intimate details of your family's lives—names, addresses, routines—all laid bare as leverage. His cruel smile and carefully chosen words crushed any hope of escape. "You're the best," he had said, his tone almost mocking. "Your reputations are what make this place believable. Why would I let you go when you're perfect for the role?"

Since that day, you had been trapped, your skills and moral standing weaponised to mask the institution's sinister purpose. You'd learned to live with the ever-present fear, not for yourself but for the people you loved. Even if you somehow escaped, you knew Prestige Asylum's reach would follow you.

You glanced at Dr Ivanov now, his tired eyes reflecting your own. The two of you were bound together by this shared nightmare, captives in a gilded cage. Yet, his presence was an anchor in the storm, a steadying force. He was more than a mentor now—he was family, the closest thing to a father you had in this twisted place.

For a fleeting moment, your resolve wavered. Yunho's words echoed faintly, offering an out, a faint glimmer of hope. But hope was dangerous here, fragile and easily crushed. The elderly man's steady presence reminded you why impulsive action wasn't an option. The risk was too great, the cost too unthinkable.

For them. The mantra steadied you, as it did every day. It was why you stayed, why you endured the suffocating walls of this asylum. For the people waiting for you on the outside, for the faint possibility that one day this nightmare might end. Until then, all you could do was hold the line and navigate the razor-thin path laid before you.

Your mentor checked his watch, the faint lines on his face deepening with a sigh. "I have to get back to my post now," he said, rising from his seat with a heavy air. "But if that Stefano man ever bothers you again, let me know—"

You smiled softly, cutting him off. "Don't worry, sir. I'll know how to handle him. He won't sway me." Your voice was calm but firm, a quiet reassurance you hoped would ease his concerns.

Still, the weight of Yunho's visit lingered in your mind, the mystery of his identity gnawing at the edges of your resolve. "Besides," you added, your tone growing more contemplative, "we don't even know who he really is or who he works for. A big part of me hopes whatever he's planning works out... but I know it's in our best interests to stay uninvolved. Sato's connections make him far too powerful. I doubt one organisation alone could bring him down."

Dr Ivanov studied you for a moment, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You're right. I'm more reassured now, knowing you've thought this through so carefully. Stay safe, my dear."

"Thank you, sir. You too," you said quietly, bowing your head as you rose to escort him out.

At the door, the elderly man turned back to you, his expression briefly softening. "I will. We'll be okay," he murmured, his voice laced with the kind of warmth and care that reminded you of all the reasons you trusted him so deeply.

As the door clicked shut behind him, you stood in the quiet of your office, the lingering echoes of his presence both a comfort and a reminder of the precarious line you walked. Your gaze drifted to the sterile walls around you, the faint hum of the asylum's machinery a backdrop to your thoughts.

Stay uninvolved. The words repeated themselves in your mind, a steady mantra to counter the flicker of temptation Stefano Lee's offer had planted. Whatever freedom he hinted at wasn't worth the risk—not when the stakes were this high, not when so many lives were intertwined with your own.

With a deep breath, you returned to your desk, steeling yourself once more. In a place like this, where trust was a rarity and survival meant walking on a knife's edge, resolve was the only armour you had.

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"Good morning, Dr Prude."

You sighed, the sound of his voice confirming what you already knew without needing to glance to your left. Of course, it was him—the persistent, tall, and infuriatingly handsome man who seemed to make it his mission to pester you.

"The more you call me that, the quicker you'll lose whatever slim chances you think you have," you replied, your tone sharp but laced with subtle amusement.

He smirked, nudging your shoulder lightly with his. "Ah, so you're admitting I might've had a chance otherwise?" he teased, his words carrying that familiar mix of charm and mischief.

You raised a brow, feigning indifference while suppressing the flicker of amusement threatening to surface. For a brief moment, your thoughts wandered. Under different circumstances—if you were just an ordinary psychologist and he, an ordinary man—things might have been different. You might have seen him as a potential partner, someone worth taking a chance on.

But the moment passed quickly, and you blinked away the dangerous line of thought, locking it down as you focused ahead. Damn him for being so charming. No, you reminded yourself firmly, he wasn't going to rattle you. Not now, not ever.

Letting your guard snap back into place, you shifted direction abruptly, veering deeper into the hallways where the more intensive care patients were held. "You're wasting your time, Mr. Lee. Go bother someone else. I can't help you."

He exhaled in what sounded like momentary defeat, watching as you strode off with the same confidence you always carried. But even as you walked away, his gaze lingered, catching the briefest flicker in your eyes—something unguarded, something vulnerable. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but it was enough to spark a quiet curiosity within him.

The Enforcer knew it wasn't his business, and it certainly wasn't part of his mission. Yet something about you gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, compelling him to want to know more. There was a strength about you that was undeniable, but it felt... manufactured, like a mask you wore too well.

It was as if you were holding yourself back, tethered to something invisible yet suffocating, something that bound you so tightly it stopped you from moving freely. Yunho didn't know what it was, but the thought of it bothered him. Whatever it was that weighed you down, it wasn't just your burden to bear. At least, not if he had anything to say about it.

Wait... why did he even care so much? He paused, forcing himself to refocus on the mission. That was the only reason he was here—to make use of you, to get you on his side. Yet, there was something about you that unsettled his resolve, something beyond your sharp remarks and unwavering confidence that he couldn’t ignore.

It wasn't just attraction, though he couldn't deny how drawn he was to your competence. If there was one thing he admired in a woman, it was the ability to hold her own, and you had that in spades. You carried yourself with a strength that demanded respect, but it wasn't just the surface that intrigued him. Beneath the polished exterior, there was something raw, something real.

It reminded him of himself—not the man he was now, but the boy he used to be. The boy who had once cowered in the shadow of fear, trapped in a home that offered no love, only control and pain. He had known what it was like to feel bound by circumstances, to see no way out—until the Captain of the Black Pirates found him and gave him a second chance at life. Seeing you now was like looking into a mirror of his past. You were afraid—he could sense it, even if you hid it well. But afraid of what? That question clawed at him, sparking a need to understand you better.

Of course, he told himself, this curiosity wasn't personal. No, it would only serve his mission. Learning more about you would help him coax you into cooperation. That's all it was. This was about ensuring the success of his assignment, about proving Hongjoong's faith in him wasn't misplaced. He couldn't afford to get sidetracked—not with the stakes so high.

And besides, he thought with a faint smirk, he couldn't let Mingi have the satisfaction of questioning his ability to get the job done. No, Yunho would handle this—and you—exactly as planned. Or at least, that's what he kept telling himself.

Yes, this is all for the mission.

Stepping into the intensive care unit, any thoughts of Stefano Lee were thrown out the window as you tightened your grip on your composure, your expression a carefully crafted mask despite the wild, unrelenting thrum of your heartbeat. It wasn't the work itself that unnerved you—far from it. Caring for those in need had once been your passion, the foundation of your dreams. But here, in this place, the people you were forced to deal with weren't patients in any sense of the word. They were predators masquerading as something else, wolves dressed in the clothing of the vulnerable.

"Mr. Zhou has specifically asked for you today, Doctor," the nurse in charge informed you, her tone indifferent as she handed over a clipboard you had no choice but to accept.

Of course, he had.

Zhou was among the most vile of them all—a man who thrived on the suffering of others, the mastermind of a sprawling human trafficking network. And yet, he had decided that you were to be his source of amusement. It wasn't hard to see why; you were nothing like the other women here, those who simpered and flattered him in a desperate bid to curry favour. No, your quiet defiance, your refusal to play his games, seemed to intrigue him in ways that made your skin crawl.

You hated him. More than anyone else in this twisted facility. Others dealt in drugs or gambling—abhorrent crimes, yes, but nothing compared to Zhou's grotesque trade of innocence and humanity. To you, he was the embodiment of everything that was wrong with this place, and being near him felt like willingly stepping into quicksand.

But Zhou wasn't just another criminal. He was one of Sato's prized 'patients,' his wealth ensuring a status that made him untouchable. "He's a high-paying customer," the Chairman had said, his voice dripping with disdain as he slid a photograph across his desk—one of your parents, their unsuspecting smiles now burned into your memory. "We can't afford to lose his business. Do us all a favour and keep him happy. After all, you have a family to think about, don't you? Wouldn't want anything to happen to your sweet parents."

The helplessness of that moment still clawed at you, the suffocating sense of being trapped. All you'd been able to do was nod and whisper, "Yes, sir," as your nails bit into your palms, drawing blood you hadn't even felt at the time.

Now, that same photo flashed in your mind as you clutched the clipboard with trembling hands, forcing yourself to walk toward Zhou's ward. Each step felt like another inch toward a gaping abyss, yet you kept moving. The whispers and judgemental stares of your colleagues barely registered—what did their scorn matter when the stakes were this high? Let them call you 'Dr Prude.' Let them roll their eyes and mock your cold demeanour. None of it could compare to the suffocating weight of the threat hanging over your family.

"There you are, my darling!"

The voice, sickly sweet and dripping with false affection, sent a chill coursing through your body. You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat almost choking you, before forcing your lips into a polite smile. "Good morning, Mr. Zhou," you said evenly, the calmness in your voice hiding the storm of despair and disgust that churned within.

You couldn't falter now—not when every move you made was a performance for survival.

You stepped into his ward, clutching the clipboard so tightly to your chest that your knuckles turned white. It was a flimsy barrier, but it was all you had against the man sprawled in his cushioned chair, exuding an air of unearned power. His hospital gown, clean and unassuming, was a cruel mockery of the monster you knew he was.

"Ah, my favourite doctor," Zhou greeted, his voice syrupy with mock warmth that sent a chill racing up your spine. He leaned back leisurely, his sharp eyes sliding over you like a knife against skin. "What a lovely sight first thing in the morning."

You forced a polite smile, though your throat tightened painfully. Every instinct screamed at you to run, but that was not an option. Not here. Not with him.

He gestured to the chair across from him, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Come, sit. Let's chat before we get into all those boring tests you insist on."

You took a step closer but stayed standing, your spine stiff with an invisible armour you hoped wouldn't crack. "Thank you, Mr. Zhou, but I'd prefer to get this done quickly. I'm sure you have more important matters to tend to," you said, your tone firm yet careful.

He chuckled—a low, deliberate sound that made your stomach twist. "Important matters? None more important than you, Doctor. In fact—" His smirk widened, and he patted his lap with mock invitation. "Why don't you sit here? We could get much closer that way."

The air seemed to thin as his words settled between you. Your nails dug into the clipboard, anchoring yourself as your mind raced. You couldn't let him see your terror, couldn't let him sense the way your heart thundered wildly against your ribs. The Chairman's words replayed in your mind like a sinister mantra: Don't offend him.

Keeping your mask intact, you summoned a professional smile that felt like glass ready to shatter. "That's very kind of you, Mr. Zhou, but I'll have to decline. Maintaining the proper distance helps ensure I do my job effectively. I'm sure you understand."

His smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before returning, sharper this time. He leaned back, his gaze cutting through you like a blade. "Always so professional," he mused, his voice dripping with mockery. "That's why I enjoy our time together. The chase makes it all the more satisfying."

The bile rising in your throat threatened to choke you, but you pushed it down and turned your focus to the clipboard, setting it on the table beside him. With painstaking precision, you prepared the syringe, your hands trembling ever so slightly despite your effort to steady them.

As you approached him, Zhou tilted his head, his lips curling into a twisted smile. "You know, Doctor," he drawled, his voice laced with faux sweetness, "if you'd just relax, we could have so much fun together. Don't you ever get tired of being so... rigid?"

Your pulse roared in your ears, but you forced an even tone. "I appreciate your concern, Mr. Zhou," you said softly, looping the tourniquet around his arm with methodical care. "But my focus is on ensuring your health and well-being. I take that responsibility very seriously."

His chuckle was slow and ominous, the sound of a predator circling prey. His narrowed eyes glinted with something dark as he watched you lean in to draw his blood. "You're a tough one, aren't you?” he murmured, his voice dipping lower. "I like that. But you know... everyone breaks eventually."

Before you could process his words, his arm shot out, the syringe slipping from your grasp as a gasp escaped your lips. In one swift motion, he wrapped his arm around your waist and yanked you onto his lap, his grip iron-tight.

"Come on, darling," he whispered, his breath brushing against your ear as his tone turned sickeningly sweet. "How much longer are you going to play hard to get, hm?"

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For the first time in what felt like years, Yunho's mask of calm nearly cracked. He stood frozen at the gap in the door, his breath catching as he registered the scene before him. This wasn't what he had expected when he decided to drop by and observe you at work—hoping to glean insights about your habits, preferences, and perhaps the best way to approach you.

But this?

This was a nightmare come to life.

His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, the rage coursing through him threatening to spill over. It was all he could do to keep his breathing steady. The sight of you, trapped in Zhou's grasp, was a brutal reminder of the powerlessness he once endured. It dredged up memories he thought he had buried—moments when he, too, had been forced to endure, unable to fight back, unable to say no. But while his pain had been physical, yours was a violation of an entirely different kind.

This wasn't just wrong; it was unforgivable.

The injustice of it all burned in his chest, but the Enforcer swallowed the fury. Letting his emotions take over now would do neither of you any good. He needed to act, but carefully. With a steadying breath, he placed a hand on the door handle, forcing a bright, innocent smile onto his face.

Pushing the door open, he stepped inside, his voice casual and warm, masking the storm within. "Hey, doc, I hope I'm not interrupting, but I—" He paused mid-sentence, pretending to notice the scene before him for the first time. His performance was flawless, his jaw dropping in mock surprise as his eyes widened.

"Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed, striding forward with just the right mix of alarm and authority. "What the hell is going on in here?!"

In one fluid motion, he crossed the room and reached for you, prying you free from Zhou's grip with a practised ease. You stumbled into him, trembling, your tear-filled eyes locking onto his face. If you weren't so shaken, you might have seen through his act, might have caught the cold fury simmering beneath his polished facade. But in that moment, all you could feel was the safety his presence suddenly offered.

Zhou shot up from his seat, his narrowed eyes blazing with irritation. "Who the hell do you think you are, barging in here?" he growled, his tone laced with barely contained anger.

Yunho ignored him entirely, his focus solely on you. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice soft but loud enough for the Chinese bastard to hear. He placed himself firmly between you and the criminal, his broad frame shielding you. "Did the patient get out of control? This is exactly what I warned about—no security for the psychologists? It's unacceptable!" His tone carried a sharp edge, each word a carefully veiled reminder to Zhou that, here, he was just a patient. Nothing more.

Zhou's jaw tightened, recognition dawning in his eyes. He knew exactly who Yunho was—everyone did. The new security consultant hired to oversee operations, though none of the real players dared to let him in on the darker truths of the facility. The man was an outsider, and Zhou knew better than to draw unnecessary attention to himself now.

"I-I'm fine, Mr. Lee," you managed, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to sound composed. Your hand gripped Yunho's wrist as if it were a lifeline, grounding yourself through the chaos. "Mr. Zhou just... has his episodes, but he's harmless."

Zhou's smirk returned, though it was thinner now, less certain. The irritation in his eyes was clear as he reached for the nurse call button, signalling for someone to remove this 'disruption.' For all his arrogance, he knew better than to risk crossing a line in front of the taller man.

Yunho glanced back at you, his eyes softening for just a moment before returning to Zhou, cold and unyielding. "Episodes or not, no one should have to deal with this alone," he said firmly. "I'll make sure the Chairman hears about this."

His words were a warning, a subtle reminder that Zhou wasn't untouchable. And for the first time in that suffocating ward, you felt like someone was truly in your corner.

You didn't wait for the nurse to arrive. The moment the Enforcer had diverted Zhou's attention, you made a swift exit, clutching the clipboard to your chest like a shield. The stark, sterile hallways blurred as your legs carried you on autopilot, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You didn't stop until you reached the safety of your small office, slamming the door shut behind you and locking it with trembling hands.

Your breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps as you leaned against the door, the clipboard slipping from your grasp and clattering to the floor. Shoulders quaking with silent sobs, you bit down hard on your lip to stifle any sound. You couldn't afford to break here—not now.

The knock came so suddenly that you flinched, a small gasp escaping your lips.

"Hey," Stefano Lee's voice called through the door, calm yet resolute. "Open up."

Your pulse spiked again, panic flaring anew. The last thing you wanted was to face him—not like this, with tear-streaked cheeks and shattered composure.

"I'm fine," you managed to call back, though your voice trembled, betraying your facade.

"I'm not going anywhere until you let me in," he replied firmly, though a thread of unrelenting patience was woven into his tone.

For a moment, you hesitated, your hand hovering over the lock. Maybe if you stayed silent, he'd give up. But deep down, you knew better. With a reluctant sigh, you undid the lock and cracked the door open just enough for him to see you.

His expression softened instantly. "Can I come in?" he asked gently.

You nodded, stepping aside to let him in. His presence wasn't going to change anything—you wouldn't let it—but at least you could hear him out. That much you owed him. He closed the door softly behind him, leaning back against it as his eyes swept over you in silence. Arms crossed, his gaze—once so warm—was now edged with an intensity that made you shrink under its weight.

"What the hell was that back there?" he asked finally, his voice low but laced with restrained anger. "Why didn't you stop him? Or report him? You can't let him get away with treating you like that."

You turned away, busying yourself with the scattered papers on your desk. "It's not that simple," you murmured, your voice barely audible.

"Not that simple?" His voice rose slightly, tinged with disbelief. "You're a doctor. You shouldn't have to—"

"I can't," you snapped, spinning around to face him. Tears welled in your eyes, finally breaking free as your voice cracked under the pressure. "You don't understand."

"Then help me understand," he urged, his tone softening as he took a step closer. "Explain it to me."

You shook your head, arms wrapping tightly around yourself as if to hold your crumbling composure together. "Some people don't have a choice," you whispered, the words dripping with quiet despair. "Some of us... we're here because we have to be."

Yunho froze, the weight of your words sinking in as realisation dawned. Now it made sense—the resilience in your eyes despite the exhaustion, the quiet compliance in a place that didn't deserve you. The depths of this place's corruption ran deeper than he'd thought. "What do you mean?" he pressed, though his voice was quieter now.

You didn't answer directly. Instead, your tearful gaze met his, pleading silently for him to drop the matter. "Please," you whispered, your voice shaking. "Don't get involved. Just stay out of my business. And leave me and my mentor out of yours."

His jaw clenched, his fists curling tightly at his sides as he wrestled with the storm of emotions brewing inside him. He wanted to demand answers, to tell you no one should live like this, but the raw fear in your expression stopped him cold.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. "Fine," he said, his voice even but tinged with steel. "But I want you to know I'm not letting this go."

Your head shot up, alarm flashing in your eyes. "No," you said firmly, stepping toward him. "You have to. If you do anything, they'll—"

"I won't do anything reckless," he interrupted, his tone steady and measured. "I won't let anything happen to you or your mentor. But this?" He gestured vaguely around the room, his voice dropping to a whisper. "This isn't right. And I need you to know that what you've told me has only strengthened my resolve to infiltrate this place. Listen to me—what we're doing is to bring this place down."

You stared at him, torn between the flicker of hope his words ignited and the harsh reality you'd been enduring for so long. Slowly, you shook your head, tears slipping down your face. "You don't understand... Stefano," you whispered, the name barely audible.

He paused, his expression softening for the briefest moment. "Yunho," he corrected gently, his voice low. Your eyes widened slightly at the revelation, and he continued, "My name is Yunho. And I want you to know that what I'm offering you is a way out."

You exhaled shakily, closing your eyes for a moment as his words hung heavy in the air. You knew false hope when you saw it, and you didn't want someone like him to be crushed by the weight of his own naivety. You didn't know who he really was or who he worked for, but the way he had defended you spoke volumes about his character. He wasn't like the others here. "Okay, Yunho..." you murmured softly, your voice tinged with weary resignation. "But I need you to know that you won't succeed. There's more to this place than you could ever imagine. Trust me when I say you're only going to make things worse—for yourself and for your team."

He opened his mouth, ready to argue, but the anguish in your eyes stopped him cold. The pain etched across your face was enough to silence any retort. He nodded once, his expression shifting to one of quiet determination. "I understand that nothing I say will change your mind right now," he said firmly. "I'll step back for now. But I'm not giving up on you. Just... remember that."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked out, the sound of the door closing behind him echoing in the room. The silence that followed was deafening. Slowly, you sank into your chair, burying your face in your hands as the full weight of everything came crashing down, pressing heavily on your chest.

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"Here's what you asked for," the Phantom said, tossing the files labelled with your name onto Yunho's desk. His gaze was sharp, unwavering. "I hope you haven't forgotten your main objective, because ever since meeting her, it almost feels like you have."

Yunho exhaled a slow breath, reaching for the file and flipping it open without hesitation. "Thanks, Yeo. I know you're worried, but trust me—once I convince her, she'll be a huge asset to us."

"When you convince her?" Yeosang challenged, leaning forward over the desk, eyes narrowing. "And when exactly is that supposed to happen, Yunho?"

The Enforcer rubbed his temple, exhaustion creeping into his voice. "Soon, my brother. I have no intention of letting Hongjoong hyung down—just as much as you. I know I've strayed from the original plan, but I'll set things right… with her help. And for the record, she won't be a distraction."

Yeosang let out a quiet sigh, his expression unreadable. He didn't argue further, merely giving a slow, reluctant nod before turning to leave. Just as he reached the door, he muttered under his breath, "I think she already has."

Yunho leaned back in his chair as soon as his brother was gone, flipping through the file with practised ease. His sharp eyes scanned the neatly typed lines, but it wasn't the information that initially caught his attention—it was your photo.

A small, inexplicable smile tugged at his lips as he studied the image. It was you, younger and unburdened, a spark of passion gleaming in your eyes. The confidence was the same, but there was something different—something brighter. This version of you radiated ambition, the kind of fire that belonged to someone ready to take on the world. It was almost unsettling to compare it to the person he had come to know.

The you he now knew still carried confidence, but it was subdued, weighed down by something invisible yet undeniably heavy. Behind your carefully composed exterior, there was exhaustion, an ever-present weariness hidden beneath layers of restraint. He had noticed it before but never thought much of it—until now.

Flipping through the pages, he absorbed everything. Your education, your qualifications—he committed them to memory effortlessly, piecing together an image of who you had been before joining Prestige. He could almost see it: you, bent over textbooks, scribbling down notes, fueled by a dream to make a difference.

His gaze lingered on the section about your family. Supportive parents, a stable upbringing—something he himself never had. A mentor who had guided you toward success. Yunho exhaled quietly. He was glad you had people who cared for you, yet the more he read, the more things didn't add up.

Then he found it. The moment you and Dr Sergei Ivanov had been recruited into Prestige Asylum. Everything seemed normal at first—until it wasn't. Not long after joining, the both of you had attempted to resign. Yunho's brows furrowed as he skimmed ahead, expecting to find an explanation. But there was nothing.

The resignation had never gone through.

Instead, both of you have continued working at the wretched institution up to the present day. That alone wasn't what unsettled him most—it was the fact that from the moment of that failed resignation, neither of you had seen your families since.

Yunho's jaw tightened. He didn't need to see the missing details to guess what had happened. He had seen this before, in different forms, under different circumstances. Prestige Asylum had buried the truth, manipulated the narrative. He had no doubt that whatever had taken place was the reason for the exhaustion in your eyes, the anxiety lurking beneath your composed demeanour.

But what exactly had happened?

He closed the file, fingers tapping against the cover in thought. He could make assumptions, but assumptions weren't enough. He needed confirmation. He needed the truth. And now, it seemed like you were the only one who could give it to him.

But it won't be easy.

Yunho had expected many things. He had expected frustration, dead ends, and the constant need to reassess his approach. What he hadn't expected, however, was for you to be the one to break first.

After your last conversation, he had made the difficult decision to leave you alone, to respect your plea and to keep his distance. Keeping Yeosang's words in mind, he had thrown himself back into his task, digging for evidence the Black Pirates could use to expose Prestige Asylum for what it truly was. But time and time again, he met disappointment. The asylum was airtight, designed to keep outsiders from uncovering its secrets. Despite his best efforts under his security consultant cover, all he had managed to gather were fragments—not nearly enough to bring Ryoichi Sato down. If only you had chosen to help him, he could have made real progress.

But he remembered the desperation in your voice when you had begged him to leave you and your mentor alone. And despite his own firm words, he waged an internal war, wondering if he should do as you asked. If leaving you alone was truly the right thing to do.

Unbeknownst to him, his absence had unsettled you more than you cared to admit. Even though you had been the one to ask him to stay away, you had found yourself watching him as he worked, seeing the way his frustration grew at the lack of progress. You saw the way his shoulders tensed as he left the asylum each day, his patience wearing thin.

His words echoed in your mind, refusing to be silenced.

"I'm not asking you to betray anyone. I'm asking you to work with us. Help us take down the Chairman, and in return, we'll make sure you come out of this unscathed."

At the time, the idea of helping him had seemed foolish, reckless even. But after your recent encounter with Zhou, you feared things were only going to get worse. Had it not been for Yunho, you didn't even want to think about what could have happened. Staying here and obeying orders guaranteed your family's safety for now, but Sato was a snake—who was to say he wouldn't turn on you and Dr Ivanov the moment you became disposable?

The thought of aiding Yunho in taking Prestige down had once seemed ridiculous. But what if it was your only chance at freedom?

You had seen the way he had fought for you, the way he had looked at you—not with pity, but with anger on your behalf. It had changed something in you. He had finally given you his real name. And maybe that had been the final push you needed.

So now, here he was, sitting before you in your office as you carefully pushed the files toward him. Documents filled with fabricated diagnoses and records of transactions that proved what he had suspected all along—Prestige Asylum was a shield for the wealthy and corrupt, a place where justice was bought and buried.

He stared at the papers as disbelief settled in. "What's this?" he asked, his voice quieter than usual, laced with restrained shock.

You exhaled slowly, arms crossing over your chest as if to shield yourself from what you were about to do. "Evidence you've been trying to uncover all this time but couldn't. It's not enough to take the place down, but it's something. These contain information on the patients I was assigned, at least. There are more that I have yet—"

"Thank you."

His voice was firm yet sincere, cutting you off before you could finish. Your breath hitched slightly at the way he looked at you—no gloating, no smug satisfaction, just quiet gratitude. It was disarming.

You looked away, suddenly feeling exposed. "Don't thank me yet. This… this doesn't mean anything."

Yunho tilted his head slightly, studying you. "Does it really not?"

You bit the inside of your cheek. Maybe it did. Maybe it meant more than you were ready to admit.

You had convinced yourself that you were only doing this to return the favour, to repay the debt you felt you owed him after what he had done for you. But deep down, you knew it wasn't just that.

It was the way you had seen him struggle, the way he kept pushing forward despite how difficult it was. It was the way he had saved you without hesitation, how he had looked at you like you were more than just another cog in the machine of Prestige Asylum.

And maybe, just maybe, it was because, for the first time in a long time, you wanted to believe in something again.

He carefully gathered the files, his fingers ghosting over the pages before he met your gaze once more. "This is a start."

You nodded, still uncertain, still afraid. But for the first time, you weren't entirely unwilling.

And that was enough—for now.

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Time passed, though neither of you ever acknowledged the change.

There had been no formal agreement, no spoken confirmation, but it was there—a silent understanding that you and Yunho were now working together.

You continued your daily routine, performing your duties with the same composure as always, but now with a purpose beyond survival. Every session, every document, every exchange within the asylum was another opportunity to collect evidence. Yunho, on the other hand, went on with his investigations under the guise of Prestige Asylum's new security consultant, but his work had become more efficient, more precise—because now, he had an insider.

And you had finally learned everything about him.

"I'm the Enforcer of the Black Pirates."

That was all he had to say for you to immediately understand.

The Black Pirates were no ordinary syndicate. Their name alone sent ripples through the underworld, spoken of in hushed, wary tones by the high-profile criminals this institution harboured. Ruthless, strategic, and feared, they had built a reputation as one of the most formidable forces in the underground.

At least, until recently.

Rumours had spread through the asylum—criminals whispering about the gang's latest struggles. They had become the newest target of the up-and-coming White Serpents, a rising syndicate that had been making waves with their brutal and unpredictable tactics. It wasn't just idle gossip; even Sato had taken notice.

If only these criminals, if only Ryoichi Sato himself, knew that one of the Black Pirates was now walking among them, quietly dismantling their precious asylum from the inside. You wondered if they would still be so smug.

Knowing who Yunho truly was brought you an odd sense of reassurance. It wasn't that you trusted him completely—not yet—but his reputation spoke for itself. If he had come this far, if his people had been able to shake even the strongest criminal empires, then perhaps—just perhaps—he could pull this off.

But there was still a risk.

You knew what would happen if the Chairman discovered your betrayal. Prestige did not tolerate disloyalty. You had seen firsthand what happened to those who had outlived their usefulness, to those who dared to resist. Even now, you and Dr Ivanov were still trapped in this place because of one failed attempt to leave.

And yet…

For the first time in years, your fate was in your own hands. You realised now that if you continued to stay put, this nightmare would never end. Sato would keep tightening his hold, keep pulling the strings, keep ensuring that neither you nor the head psychologist would ever see your families again.

Perhaps it was time to do something about it. For your family. For Dr Ivanov and his family. For yourself. And for the first time, that thought didn't terrify you. It gave you hope.

Hope.

A cruel, fragile thing.

It wavered in your chest as you stared down at the worn photograph in your hands, your parents' smiling faces frozen in time. You traced their features with your fingertips, your vision blurring with unshed tears. It had been so long since you'd seen them, so long since you had felt the warmth of home.

And now, you were about to write them another letter. Another carefully crafted lie. Another excuse about why you couldn't return home yet. Another attempt to reassure them that you were safe when, in reality, you had never felt more trapped.

Will this be the last time?

The thought lodged itself painfully in your mind. You wanted to believe it. You wanted to believe that this was the last time you'd have to lie to them, the last time you'd have to pretend that everything was fine, now that you had a plan—Yunho's plan.

But even as you forced yourself to write, exhaustion seeped into your bones, weighing heavier than ever. You were tired—so, so tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of surviving instead of living. Tired of never knowing if you would ever be free again.

The first tear fell before you could stop it.

Then another.

And soon, they wouldn't stop.

Goddamnit, where is she?

Yunho wandered through the dimly lit halls, searching for you. It had become routine—this quiet, unspoken agreement between you. Every evening before he left, he would find you, collect whatever evidence you had managed to obtain that day, exchange a few words, and then go on his way.

But today, your office was empty.

You had left him the files, as usual, stashed in the hidden corner you had designated in case you weren't around. Technically, he had no reason to linger. His job was done for the day.

And yet, something didn't sit right.

Your absence unsettled him in a way he couldn't explain. His mind raced with possibilities. What if something had happened to you? What if Zhou had gotten to you again? What if—

Shaking the thought away, he signalled for his driver to leave the compound, ensuring it looked as though he had left. Then, moving with the stealth he had long mastered, he slipped back inside. The unease gnawed at him as he searched.

You weren't with the patients. That, at least, was a relief.

Still, the asylum was vast, and the deeper he ventured, the heavier the silence became. It wasn't until he reached the abandoned wing that he finally found you. Sitting alone. Crying.

There you are.

His footsteps were nearly soundless as he approached, but somehow, you still sensed him. Your body tensed before you abruptly turned, raising a fist in pure reflex. He caught your wrist before you could strike, his grip firm but not forceful.

"Relax," he murmured gently, his voice softer than you expected. "It's me."

The tension in your muscles unravelled as you exhaled a shaky breath, turning away almost instantly. You wiped at your eyes in a futile attempt to erase the evidence of your tears, but you knew it was useless. He had already seen.

"Why are you still here?" you asked, your voice thick with emotion, your fingers tightening around the photograph in your lap.

Instead of answering right away, the man lowered himself beside you, close enough that his warmth pressed against the cool air of the abandoned wing. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands loosely intertwined.

"You weren't in your office, and I... just wanted to make sure you were alright," he whispered.

A lump formed in your throat at his sincerity. You sniffled, rubbing at your nose as you tried to keep your voice steady. "I'm fine."

He let out a quiet, disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. "Are you, though?"

You didn't respond. You didn't have to.

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It lingered, heavy but strangely grounding.

Your gaze dropped to the photograph still trembling in your hands. He followed your line of sight, his eyes softening as he took in the faded edges, the familiar smiles frozen in time. After a beat, he dared to ask, "Your parents? Are they… safe?"

You hesitated before giving a small nod. But there was no relief in your expression, no weight lifted from your shoulders. "They are… for now." Your voice was quiet, almost fragile. "So long as I stay here like a good dog, they will be."

His breath hitched almost imperceptibly, but you caught it.

That was all he needed to hear.

His jaw tightened, fingers curling into fists against his thighs. He had suspected you were trapped here, but now, he understood just how deep the chains ran. The safety of your loved ones bound you to this place. And somehow, that realisation cut deeper than he expected.

Yunho had seen people held captive in many ways before—by fear, by greed, by debt, by loyalty. But this? This was different.

Because it was you.

The quiet between you stretched, but neither of you felt the need to fill it. Instead, he slowly, cautiously, let his fingers relax. Then, without thinking, he reached out—not forcefully, not expectantly, but just enough for his knuckles to brush against yours where they still clutched the photograph.

A silent offer. A quiet anchor.

You didn't pull away. For the first time, you let the warmth of his presence seep into the cracks of your exhaustion.

The Enforcer's resolve solidified.

Prestige Asylum had to fall. Not just for his mission. Not just for the Black Pirates. But for you.

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As your quiet alliance with Yunho deepened, it was only a matter of time before your mentor noticed.

Dr Ivanov had always been observant. Each evening, he watched with furrowed brows as Stefano Lee left your office before departing the compound. It had happened too many times now to be a coincidence. The Russian psychologist had been aware that the so-called security consultant wasn't who he claimed to be, but now a more pressing concern took root.

Was he coercing you into helping him? Was he threatening you?

The thought weighed on him until he finally decided to confront you. He waited until he was sure the taller man was gone, then made his way to your office, knocking firmly before pushing the door open at your soft "Come in." But the moment he heard your next words, he knew. He had been wrong.

"Back so soon? Did you forget something again?"

Your words faltered when your eyes lifted to meet his as realisation struck—this wasn't the charming gang member. It was your mentor. And in that single second, Ivanov saw it in your face. You had been willingly meeting with the man.

A long sigh left the elderly man as he stepped inside. "So, you gave in?"

You quickly rose from your seat, bowing your head slightly. "Sir, I can explain."

And you did. You told him everything—how Yunho had saved you, the truth about who he really was, and the fact that he wasn't just any gang member, but the Enforcer of the Black Pirates. Throughout it all, Ivanov listened in silence, his expression unreadable. But as you spoke, something in your voice softened. You reassured him that Yunho wasn't like the criminals you both dealt with every day.

He wasn't like them.

"His real name is—"

"No." His firm response stopped you short, and for a moment, your heart sank. But then, he surprised you. His lips quirked into the smallest of smiles.

"He entrusted you with his name, not me," the head psychologist murmured. "Protect it the way he protected you."

The tension in your shoulders eased. That was all you needed to know. Your mentor understood. Without another word, he took the seat across from you, silently offering his support. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you weren't alone in this.

"I will, sir."

Back at the Black Pirates' mansion, Yunho strode down the dimly lit corridors, heading for his room after leaving the day's evidence with the Captain. Just as he reached for the doorknob, his fingers brushed against something small in his pocket.

Frowning, he pulled it out—and a quiet chuckle slipped past his lips.

A candy.

The memory resurfaced immediately.

Earlier that day, his gaze had drifted to the glass bowl of sweets on your desk. "You know," he mused with amusement, "it almost feels like the amount never lessens. Who are these even for, doc?"

You smirked, leaning back in your chair as you plucked one up. "They're for patients I like. But… as you can see, there aren't many I'm capable of liking here. Or even at all." The smirk didn't last. Reality had a way of dimming those small flickers of humour.

Before you could react, he swiped the candy from your hand, his fingers grazing yours for the briefest second. Your breath hitched. "Wha—"

"I may not be a patient," he grinned, tucking it into his pocket, "but I can be your favourite."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "You wish." His smile lingered as he turned away, the candy now his.

"Oh, great. Not you too."

A deep voice pulled him from his thoughts. He pushed the candy back into his pocket and turned to face the source.

Song Mingi.

The Firestarter leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. Yunho's expression darkened. He had grown tired of the man's recent jabs, the barely veiled resentment in his voice. "Enough, Mingi," he said, voice low and cutting. "Let's not be hypocrites."

Mingi stiffened slightly as his best friend took a step forward. "Don't start this bullshit unless you can clean up your own mess and cut off your new lady friend too." His smirk faded.

"Everyone here is doing their best," the Enforcer continued. "And if you have nothing to contribute except complaints, shut up. We all know you're in the same damn shoes. No one calls you out on it out of respect, so don't take that for granted. Don't take the anger of your own failure out on the rest of us."

Mingi's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. With that, Yunho turned and disappeared into his room, the door slamming shut behind him.

Silence stretched between the remaining brothers. And for once, the Firestarter had nothing to say. Yunho knew you were never supposed to be part of his mission. But unlike his hyungs, he wasn't blind to reality. This wasn't a distraction. You weren't a distraction. His protectiveness over you wasn't a weakness—it was fuel. A reason to push harder, to move faster.

Because if he succeeded in bringing Prestige Asylum and Ryoichi Sato down, he wouldn't just be completing his mission.

He'd be setting you free.

And he would see that through, no matter what.

That determination only strengthened as he returned to the asylum the next day. This mission had always been about taking down Sato, about gathering enough evidence to expose Prestige for what it truly was. But now, as he walked through the cold, sterile halls, he knew his purpose had expanded. He wasn't just here for the mission anymore. He was here for you. And that purpose solidified when he saw you break.

It started with an uneasy feeling. You weren't in your office. That alone unsettled him. Even on difficult days, you always managed to be where you needed to be. But not today.

His gut twisted as he searched through the institution, his steps quick but calculated, ignoring the wary glances from passing staff. By the time he reached the more secluded wing of the building, a faint sound stopped him in his tracks.

A choked, muffled sob.

He followed the sound until he reached the door of the female washroom. Pushing it open, he stepped inside—and there you were.

Standing before the mirror, gripping the sink as if it were the only thing keeping you upright. Your white doctor's coat was discarded at the side. Your sleeves were pushed up, revealing fresh burns marring your arms—small, circular wounds that made his blood run cold. Yunho felt the breath leave his lungs.

Cigarette burns.

Yunho's breath stilled. His hands curled into fists, knuckles white with barely contained fury. He had fought and bled through enough hellish places to recognise the work of a sadist when he saw it—because once upon a time, he had been on the receiving end of that same cruelty. The scars on his own body were proof. And he didn't need to ask who had done this to you.

Zhou.

That fucking bastard.

The anger roared in his veins, an unrelenting storm demanding vengeance, but he forced it down—for now. Because this wasn't about him. This was about you. And right now, you didn't need revenge.

You needed someone.

He moved slowly, careful not to startle you. His reflection joined yours in the mirror, but you remained unmoving, lost in a world of pain he could only imagine. It wasn't until he was close enough that you finally spoke, your voice fragile and raw.

"I... I refused him again. And he was furious."

His chest tightened.

Without thinking, his fingers ghosted over your wrist, an instinctive need to comfort—but the moment you flinched, he stopped, his heart twisting as you whimpered, "No... don't look at me. I'm ashamed to face you... or anyone."

The Enforcer exhaled, his jaw tightening as he fought the ache in his throat. Ashamed? The thought of you—someone so strong, so resilient—believing you had something to be ashamed of made his blood run cold.

"And why should you be ashamed?" he asked softly.

Your voice broke. "Because I'm weak."

A pained smile tugged at the corner of his lips. A smile that held years of unspoken memories, buried wounds that had never fully healed. "Then I guess I am too."

Your blurry eyes lifted to meet his in the mirror, confusion flickering through your exhausted expression. Before you could ask, he quietly unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt.

Your breath hitched.

Faded scars marred his chest—old burns, some shaped like the ones on your arms, others deeper, more jagged. Wounds left by cruel hands, by people who should have protected him.

"I was once young and defenceless, beaten and abused by the people I called my parents, all because I was the product of an accident, an unplanned birth," he admitted, voice steady but heavy. "I spent my teenage years committing petty crimes, drifting through life aimlessly because I believed I didn't deserve any better. I thought I was ruined… so I accepted my fate."

You stared at him, your own pain momentarily forgotten as you listened.

"But my leader found me. He taught me that it wasn't my fault. That sometimes, no matter how strong we try to be, we need someone to pull us out of it. He was that person for me." He took a step closer, his voice softer now, but no less firm. "And now… I just want you to know that you don't have to be strong all the time."

You finally turned to face him fully.

"Let someone else carry the weight for once." His voice was a whisper now, but it reached you in ways nothing else had. "I'm here now."

Something inside you broke. For years, you had carried the weight of your suffering alone. You had built walls, convinced yourself that no one could—or would—save you. But standing here, with him, someone who knew what it was like to be trapped in suffering, who understood what it meant to survive…

The walls cracked.

A shaky breath left your lips, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned into him. And Yunho, without hesitation, held you up.

He didn't promise that things would be okay. He didn't tell you to be strong. He simply stayed, steady and unyielding, silently promising that, for once, you weren't alone. For the first time in years, you let someone share your burden. And for the first time in years, he let someone see the scars he no longer hid behind.

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"This won't do. The evidence we've been collecting—I fear it won't be enough to take Prestige down completely. Even if we leak it to the authorities, Sato and all his friends feigning mental illness here will find a way to twist the narrative. They'll deny everything until the very end," Yunho said, his voice low but resolute.

He sat across from you in your office, a familiar sight by now. Yet, something had changed ever since that day in the washroom. Neither of you had spoken about it, but it was there—in the way his visits stretched longer, in the way his touch lingered just a moment too long, in the way your gazes held more than just strategy.

Something unspoken lingered between you, but neither of you acknowledged it. Perhaps because you both knew the circumstances wouldn't allow for more. Nothing more than this.

You bit your lip, hesitating.

Now was the time.

For days, you had debated whether or not to tell him. At first, you had kept it to yourself for his safety, or maybe it was for your own. You weren't sure anymore. But when you had told him he didn't know the full extent of Sato's operations, you had meant it.

"I…" Your voice wavered. "I do have something. Something that could destroy this place completely if it gets out."

He leaned forward, his gaze sharpening. "But?"

Your fingers curled into fists. "I have no evidence, Yunho. Sato is incredibly careful, he—"

Without hesitation, he reached across the desk, covering your trembling hand with his. His warmth steadied you, grounding you in the moment.

"Don't worry about him or the evidence," he said, voice steady, reassuring. "That's what I'm here for. Just tell me. Tell me everything you know about this place."

You swallowed hard, the weight of your secrets pressing down on you. But then his grip tightened ever so slightly—an unspoken promise. "You trust me, right?" he asked, his voice softer now.

You met his gaze, the sincerity in his eyes dissolving the last bit of doubt within you.

"I do."

Thanks to your help, Yunho's gaze stayed locked on the Chairman's office later that night, perched like a throne atop the highest floor of the main building. The faint glow seeping through the curtains barely touched the darkness of the night, but it was enough. Somewhere in that room lay the final, undeniable proof to expose Sato—and tonight, he was going to get it.

Rolling his shoulders, he tugged on his gloves, loosening his tie before throwing Yeosang a nod. "I'll leave the Records Room to you."

The Phantom smirked, tightening the straps of his gear. "This little birdie of yours best not be lying."

Yunho's jaw flexed, the protectiveness in his tone sharp. "She's not."

His brother only shrugged, adjusting his weapons before melting into the shadows. "She better not be."

With a roll of his eyes, the Enforcer turned on his heel, striding toward the Chairman's office while Yeosang vanished over the fences with practised ease. He would scour the second-best place for evidence while Yunho infiltrated the most heavily guarded room in the entire asylum. And if the security around it was that tight, there had to be a damn good reason.

And thus, the grand mission began.

Organ harvesting.

That was the truth you had given him.

Prestige Asylum wasn't just a sanctuary for criminals—it was a slaughterhouse. Yunho had seen his fair share of horrors, had waded through the filth of the underworld more times than he could count. But this? This was something else. This was monstrous. The criminals who sought refuge here weren't just evaluated by their wealth and influence. They were examined. Categorised. Sorted like cattle. The weak, the old, the ones who had nothing left to offer? They were marked. Stripped of their dignity. Stripped of their parts.

Organs—harvested, sold, and shipped off to the highest bidder.

Sato wasn't just sheltering scum.

He was butchering them.

And Yunho felt no pity for these bastards—not when their own sins had led them here. But the sheer scale of it, the grotesque efficiency, the cold, methodical way human bodies were treated as nothing more than a product—it made his stomach churn with disgust he hadn't felt in years.

And yet, in all its horror, this was perfect.

Because this was the key to bringing it all down. With solid proof, it wouldn't just be the authorities coming for Ryoichi Sato. It would be his own people. The criminals who had thought they were safe, who had paid their way into this fortress of false security, would come to a sickening realisation. They were never guests. They were inventory.

And once the truth came out, Prestige wouldn't just fall.

It would burn.

"Wait, what are you going to do now?"

Your voice echoed in Yunho's mind as he moved silently through the shadows, each step deliberate, every muscle coiled with purpose. The asylum was still, save for the occasional flicker of a distant security light. His target was near, but for a fleeting moment, his thoughts strayed—to you.

Unlike his usual self, he didn't know why he did it, but he found himself pausing. Just for a second. Just long enough to glance down at the darkened window of your office. A faint smile tugged at his lips. Were you already asleep in your quarters? Would you be furious if you knew what he was doing now? He wondered how you'd react—if you'd scold him, if you'd worry, if you'd care.

Care about him the way he cared about you.

His heartbeat stuttered at the thought, at the memory of you grasping his arm before he could leave your office earlier that evening. The genuine concern in your eyes, the slight tremble in your voice—it had made something tighten in his chest.

You were worried for him.

For him.

He could still feel the warmth of your touch, the way his hand instinctively covered yours, his thumb brushing against your skin in silent reassurance. He shouldn't have lingered, but he did. And then, for some godforsaken reason, he had winked at you, teasing, "Don't worry about it, doc. You've done all you could, and for that, I thank you. I'll take care of the rest now."

You hadn't let go.

And for a moment—just a moment—the two of you had stood there, locked in a wordless exchange that spoke louder than anything either of you could say aloud. Then he had made the mistake of looking down.

Your lips.

His resolve had nearly crumbled. He had fought everything in him to tear his gaze away, forcing himself to meet your eyes again—eyes that were no longer guarded, no longer dismissive like when you first met. No, there was a fire in them now.

And god, he liked seeing that fire.

"You better, Jung Yunho."

He had nearly groaned at the way his name sounded coming from you, low and daring. He had bitten his lip, eyes dark with unspoken thoughts before murmuring, "I promise."

And then he left—because if he hadn't, he might have done something foolish.

Now, as he shook off the memory and refocused on his mission, he felt it. The fire in you had ignited something in him too. And no matter what happened tonight, he would keep his promise.

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Yunho moved like a shadow, slipping past guards who might as well have been mannequins for all the use they were. Years of training with the Phantom had honed him into a ghost, his presence undetectable, his steps soundless. If anyone so much as blinked at the wrong moment, they'd never know he had been there at all.

The Chairman's office loomed ahead, its grand double doors guarded by two men who stood with stiff professionalism. But the Enforcer had seen better security in cheap nightclubs. A well-timed distraction—a small device flicked across the hall, producing a distant clatter—was all it took for them to step away, momentarily distracted. That was his cue. He was inside within seconds.

And he almost laughed.

That was it? Just the usual lock-picking technique? The great Ryoichi Sato, mastermind of this entire operation, was brought down by a few turns of a pick? Yunho had expected retina scanners, biometric safes, maybe even a hidden security system, but this?

Pathetic.

Shaking off his disbelief, he got to work, rifling through drawers, scanning bookshelves, even running his hands along the edges of furniture for hidden compartments. He found a safe tucked behind an abstract painting and smirked.

This was the real challenge.

Except it wasn't.

A few code attempts later—birthdates, the asylum's founding year, a few numbers from the invoices he found—and the safe clicked open. His grin vanished the second he saw what was inside.

Gold bars. Stacks of cash. A few vaguely worded invoices.

Nothing useful.

Yunho inhaled sharply, a spark of frustration lighting in his chest. This wasn't enough. They needed something undeniable, something that would expose Sato for what he truly was—a butcher masquerading as a saviour. Not meaningless transactions.

He was running out of places to search. And time.

Just as he was about to leave and search elsewhere, his fingers brushed against something buried in one of the lower drawers. He pulled it out, his breath catching slightly. A photograph.

You, smiling with your parents.

His fingers curled tightly around it as he pulled out another one. Dr Ivanov, standing with his wife and child.

Fuckin' bastard.

A sharp surge of anger coursed through him, his grip on the photos tightening. He wanted to tear them apart, to destroy the reason you're trapped in this godforsaken place. But before he could act on the impulse, a soft knock echoed through the room.

He froze. His head whipped around, every muscle tensed, every sense heightened. Had he been caught? Had the guards finally realised something was wrong?

Then, he heard it—faint but familiar. "It's me. Find a way to open this secret passage. You're in for a surprise."

Yeosang.

Yunho exhaled sharply, his heartbeat steadying as he turned toward the sound. The bookshelf near the far wall shifted slightly, as if someone was pushing from the other side. A hidden passage?

Without wasting another second, he ran his hands along the wood, searching for a mechanism. It took a few tries—pressing at different spots, pulling at certain books—until finally, something clicked. The shelf groaned as it slowly swung open, revealing a dimly lit passageway.

And there stood the Phantom, arms crossed, an infuriatingly smug grin tugging at his lips. "Seems Dr Prude wasn't lying after all."

Yunho scoffed, stepping forward. "Told you so."

With that, the brothers disappeared into the darkness below. The taller man raised a brow as he stepped into the dimly lit chamber, taking in the scene before him.

The ground was littered with bodies—some unconscious, thanks to Yeosang, and others far beyond saving. The criminals who had foolishly sought refuge in Prestige lay sprawled on cold metal tables, their chests crudely opened, the sickly scent of antiseptic failing to mask the underlying stench of blood and decay. It was clear that mere minutes ago, this room had been alive with activity—surgeons slicing, nurses assisting, transactions being made in hushed voices—until the Phantom arrived and ended it all in an instant.

"Impressive," Yunho muttered, nudging one of the unconscious workers with his boot.

The Phantom shrugged as if it were nothing. "They weren't even that skilled. Hardly worth the effort." He turned his gaze toward the far end of the room, where a row of glass walls separated them from an adjoining chamber. "Was wandering through the last few rows of the Records Room until I found a similar opening that led to this place. Figured you'd be around here somewhere."

Yunho followed his brother's nod, his attention shifting past the bloodstained operating tables to the massive archive just beyond the glass. There. He didn't need Yeosang's smirk to confirm it. It was practically a gold mine. Without hesitation, he stepped inside, his eyes immediately drawn to the endless shelves lined with thick folders. He pulled one out at random, flipping it open, and the realisation hit like a punch to the gut.

Patient files.

No, not patients.

Criminals.

Sato's team of corrupt doctors had faked their deaths, using fabricated mental illnesses as a cover for their "decline." One by one, they were marked as deceased, their medical records doctored to remove suspicion. Their organs were harvested, sold on the black market, and their bodies discreetly disposed of like garbage.

And at the bottom of each profile—cold, clinical, and damning—was a final price. The total amount each body had been worth.

His grip tightened on the folder. This wasn't just a side hustle. This was the asylum's lifeblood. The money made from these transactions didn't just line Sato's pockets—it funded Prestige's continued expansion. Every new wing, every upgraded facility, every added layer of so-called security only made the place more untouchable, burying its corruption deeper beneath a facade of legitimacy.

This was how the Chairman had managed to build a kingdom on filth and blood. By monetising both the living and the dead. By making sure that even his customers—his supposed "guests"—were nothing more than assets waiting to be cashed in.

The Enforcer exhaled sharply, shoving the file back into place. This was it. This was everything they needed. "Time to report back," he said, turning to Yeosang.

His brother grinned, already moving toward the passage. "Hongjoong hyung's gonna have a field day with this."

Yunho glanced back at the bloodstained room one last time, his jaw tightening. Sato had built this empire on greed, corruption, and death. And now, they were going to tear it all down.

But before that, there was something else he needed to do. He had told the Phantom to head back first. It was reckless to linger after the stunt they had just pulled—if security caught wind of what happened before he was off the compound, everything could come crashing down on him. But he had to do this first.

Slipping back into Sato's office with practised stealth, he made sure to reseal the hidden passage before heading straight for the drawer. His fingers found the photos instantly. A picture of you with your parents. Another of Dr Ivanov with his family.

Yeosang had called it a stupid risk, but Yunho didn't care. Something in him refused to let Ryoichi Sato keep these. He hated the idea of that bastard having something so personal, so intimate, tucked away in his possession.

This was for you.

For the sake of his own heart.

Tucking the photos neatly into his pocket, he slipped out through a side window, moving like a shadow as he made his way toward your office. He knew you weren't there, but maybe he'd leave behind a little surprise for you to find in the morning.

Only, he didn't expect to hear his name whispered from behind.

"Yunho?"

He spun around instantly, eyes locking onto your figure. You stood there in casual clothes, a stark contrast to the formal attire he was so used to seeing you in. Why were you still up? Could you not sleep? You cradled a steaming mug in your hands—coffee, he presumed—but it was the expression on your face that caught him off guard.

Shock. Then alarm.

Your feet moved before your mind could catch up. You grabbed his arm, your grip firm, urgent. "What the hell are you doing here at this time of night, you idiot?" you whisper-yelled.

He grinned sheepishly and pulled the photos from his pocket, holding them up. "Came to return these to you."

Your heart clenched. He had risked everything to retrieve them.

Before you could even begin to process the implications, the thunder of footsteps echoed down the hall. The voices of guards grew louder—searching, calling out about an intruder.

Your pulse spiked. Without a second thought, you grabbed the man and yanked him inside your office, slamming the door shut behind you just as your better judgement screamed at you for doing so. "Fuck," you cursed under your breath, your mind racing.

He was already scanning the room, searching for an escape, but there was none. The only window was too small, useless.

"In there!" a guard shouted just outside.

Panic clawed at your chest.

No time.

Without hesitation, you cupped Yunho's face. His breath hitched, his body tensing at the sudden contact. Wide, startled eyes locked onto yours. If not for the urgency of the situation, you might have laughed at how adorably caught off guard he looked.

"Kiss me," you whispered.

For a split second, the world seemed to pause. Then, he understood.

His arms wrapped around your waist just as you crashed your lips against his, your heart hammering—not just from the approaching guards but from the way he responded so instantly, so intensely. He kissed you back without hesitation.

There was no time to register that this—this was your first kiss together. No time to process the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the way his lips moved with such desperation, as if he had been waiting for this moment longer than he cared to admit.

Instinctively, he spun you around, positioning his body between you and the door just as it burst open.

"You—M-Mr. Lee? What are you still doing here?" the head guard stammered, his eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets.

The man had spent the past few months working closely with Yunho, trusting him as their security consultant. And yet, here he was—lips swollen, hair tousled, in a very compromising position with the deputy head psychologist.

You fisted the gang member's shirt as if grounding yourself before snapping, "What do you think he's doing here? You're a man too, can't you see we're busy? What's with all the ruckus anyway?"

Yunho played along perfectly, smirking against your temple before turning to the guard. "Sorry, man," he said smoothly, voice dripping with amusement. "I know this isn't exactly professional, but I promise, it's all consensual. No harm done."

The head guard's face burned at the sight of your smudged lipstick on the man's lips. He paled as realisation hit him like a freight train. He had just walked in on the security consultant and the deputy head psychologist.

"M-My apologies," he stuttered, visibly flustered. He shifted awkwardly, clearly unwilling to explain the real reason for the intrusion—because to do so would mean exposing their own illegal operations. "There's just… been a break-in. We're on the lookout for an intruder. You were right, sir. We do have room for improvement still. I uhh... we can discuss that another time. P-Please continue."

With that, he hastily backed out and shut the door behind him.

Silence fell between you and the Enforcer. Your hands were still pressed against his chest, your lips still tingling from the kiss. And that was when it truly hit you.

That was your first kiss.

Your breath caught in your throat as you hesitantly lifted your gaze to meet Yunho's. His dark eyes studied you, unreadable, but his fingers still lingered on your waist, as if he wasn't quite ready to let go.

Then, a slow smirk curled at the corner of his lips. "Well," he murmured, voice teasing, yet there was something deeper beneath it—something softer. "That was one hell of a cover-up."

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"Ahh, Stefano… how long has it been since you started working with us?" the Chairman of Prestige Asylum mused, his voice smooth as he poured whiskey into two glasses—one for himself and one for the man seated across from him.

The Enforcer leaned back comfortably, one leg crossed over the other, exuding confidence as he flashed an easy grin. "I don't know, Chairman. You tell me. Long enough for you to give me a sizable tip, I hope."

His tone was casual, his expression unreadable, but beneath the mask, he was burning with barely contained disgust. To think this man had once held power, had once been an official of the law. Now, he sat here like a king, oblivious to the empire he was about to lose. If only the world knew the true depth of his depravity.

But Yunho had one final act to play.

The evidence was secured. The truth was waiting to be unveiled. He and Yeosang had delivered everything the night before—a crucial victory after months of deception and danger. But the fight wasn't over. Not until Sato was finished.

And now, as expected, he had been summoned. He knew why.

The break-in.

Yunho wouldn't be surprised if Sato was suspicious of him. After all, his sudden appearance at the compound the night before—coincidentally during the very time the security was breached—was too convenient. Even if he had been "found" in a compromising position with you, the timing was still too perfect.

Or perhaps the Chairman simply needed his expertise. As their trusted security consultant, it was his job to assess their weaknesses—and last night had proven their defences weren't as airtight as they thought. Either way, he was prepared for this.

His brothers were on standby, waiting for his signal. He had assured them he could handle this alone, though San had been tasked with lingering nearby—mostly to keep an eye on you. You were a valuable ally, he had told them. He had promised to repay you with freedom, he had explained. But everyone knew what you truly were to him.

You weren't just a mission to him anymore. You had become something more. Something he didn't even bother denying now.

You had never been a liability, not to him and not to the Black Pirates. And for that, they had accepted you—just as they recently had Seonghwa's new companion, a woman who had proven worthy of a place among them. Perhaps even something more to the eldest than anyone dared to say aloud. But it didn't matter. She had survived hell and clawed her way out, and now, under the Gentleman's guidance, she was becoming something formidable.

Even Mingi had let go of his initial resistance after learning of the horrors she had endured at the Red Room.

Yunho could only hope for the same outcome for himself. For you.

Did you know?

Did you realise you had become his greatest motivation?

He had left you the night before, the photos finally back where they belonged—in your hands. He had watched you stroke your parents' faces through the worn paper, tears welling in your eyes. And before he could stop himself, he had leaned down, pressing a firm kiss to your cheek. Your sharp gasp had made him smirk.

As your head snapped up to meet his gaze, he had only said, "You'll see them again soon. Don't worry." His tone had been light, but the promise was real. And when you had pushed him playfully by the chest, a soft smile breaking through your sadness, he had known.

"I believe you," you had murmured.

And then he was gone.

Now, here he was, sitting across from the man who had orchestrated so much suffering. The moment he had been waiting for. The moment it would all come to an end.

"A tip, you say?"

Sato chuckled, placing the whiskey glass in front of Yunho before taking a slow sip of his own. He didn't sit. Instead, he prowled around the room, his gaze sharp as he studied the younger man. "Not sure you deserve one after messing around with my deputy head psychologist," he mused, his voice light, but his stare calculating.

He leaned down slightly as if to intimidate, but Yunho only smirked, unfazed. He swirled the drink in his hand, meeting the bastard's gaze with a bold glint of amusement.

"Oh, come on, Chairman. A little conflict of interest won't hurt, will it?" he drawled, his tone dripping with mockery. "I'll make sure to take our late-night activities elsewhere next time, hm?" He smirked, watching Sato's lip curl at the deliberate provocation. "Besides, don't we have bigger problems to deal with? Like the break-in?"

Sato's eyes darkened for a split second before he exhaled slowly, strolling back to his chair. "I suppose… as long as my staff remains loyal to me, it doesn't matter who she sleeps with in her free time." His fingers tapped against the desk rhythmically before he fixed Yunho with a pointed look. "So, tell me, what more can we do to prevent such situations from happening again?"

The Enforcer hummed, pretending to think as he glanced down at the swirling amber liquid in his glass. "I do have some ideas," he mused. "But there's just one thing I don't get."

Sato tilted his head. "And what's that?"

Yunho lifted his gaze, his expression carefully blank. "Why someone would risk everything to break into your office. I mean… it's not like you keep money or valuables in there. What could possibly be worth infiltrating such a high-security place?" His tone was innocent, but the gleam in his eyes betrayed the true weight behind his words.

For the first time, the Chairman's fingers twitched. A sharp exhale. A slow lift of his chin. And then—

"Why don't you tell me that, Enforcer of the Black Pirates?"

Silence.

The gang member's expression didn't change, but his grip on the whiskey glass tightened slightly. He looked up at the bastard, his face blank, but inside, he felt the shift in the game.

Sato grinned triumphantly. "Had fun running around with your little friend last night?" he taunted. "Enjoyed what you found? I sure hope your Captain did."

Yunho said nothing.

"Go ahead," Sato continued smoothly, pouring himself another drink. "Enjoy your little victory while you still can. Because before you even think about doing anything heroic—or shall I say foolish—know this." He leaned in, his voice dropping lower. "I have allies everywhere, inside and outside this compound. You're outnumbered."

The taller man nodded slowly, sighing as if in reluctant defeat. "You might be right…"

Sato smirked.

"But," Yunho continued, setting his glass down with a soft clink, "do your 'friends' know what you've really been up to behind the scenes?"

The room tensed.

Sato's expression flickered for just a second.

Yunho leaned forward, his voice soft but lethal. "Would they still protect you if they found out that this so-called 'sanctuary' you've built is nothing but a slaughterhouse? That you've been trapping them, bleeding them dry, taking their money while secretly preparing to harvest their organs like cattle?"

The silence was deafening.

The Chairman stared at him. Then, he burst into laughter. A slow, condescending chuckle that grew into something darker. He downed his whiskey before shaking his head.

"Like you said, Stefano. That's if they knew." He leaned back, exuding confidence once more. "But they don't. And what they don't know can't hurt them." He shrugged. "If anything, they should be grateful I'm putting their otherwise worthless lives to good use. Had it not been for me, they'd be rotting away in prison or dying in the streets. Here, they serve a higher purpose." His lips curled. "Think of it as Prestige's way of cleansing the filth of the underworld."

Yunho scoffed. "Cleansing? That's a pretty word for butchering people alive for profit."

Sato tilted his head. "Call it what you want. No one will believe you. You and your crew? You're the criminals here. Any 'evidence' you claim to have? It can be dismissed as fabrication."

The younger man chuckled, shaking his head. "You sound awfully defensive for someone who isn't worried." Ryoichi Sato's smirk twitched. Yunho leaned back. "It's almost like… you're afraid someone might believe me."

The Chairman intertwined his fingers, exhaling as if growing tired of the conversation. "You're a smart man, Jung. The Black Pirates are one of the top dogs in this world. What good does it do either of us to tear each other down when we could be working together?"

Yunho raised a brow. "And do what? Harvest organs?" He scoffed. "Sorry, not exactly our kind of business."

Sato waved a hand dismissively. "Offer us protection. In return, we'll be generous in our repayment."

Yunho tilted his head. "And if I say no?"

Sato sighed dramatically. Then, he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a file.

A familiar file.

Your staff profile.

He placed it down on the desk, tapping it lightly. "Then you leave me with no choice." He lifted his gaze, his voice soft but sharp as a blade. "Your precious little girlfriend will have to suffer in your stead."

The air in the room changed. For the first time, Yunho's smirk disappeared. He straightened in his seat, his jaw locking. "You won't be able to touch her," he muttered, his voice dangerously low. "She's under our protection."

The Chairman only smiled. "Oh, I know. But I don't have to touch her." He tapped the file again. "She isn't the problem. It's them."

Yunho stilled.

Sato's grin widened. "Her parents, Jung. You see, they may be alive, but they aren't exactly safe. And if I wanted to, I could change that in an instant. The question is… how will she feel when she finds out you were the reason she lost them? Will she still look at you the same? Will she still hold that soft spot for you?" He chuckled. "I wonder…"

The Enforcer's vision blurred red.

With a sharp inhale, he shot up from his seat, grabbing the bastard by the collar and yanking him forward. The Chairman only laughed, his eyes gleaming with twisted amusement.

"So, what do you say, Jung?" he whispered. "Come on. It's a win-win situation. You, your brothers, your girl—all safe. Isn't that great?"

Yunho's fingers clenched tighter. His heart pounded. For the first time since he started this mission—since he took on this dangerous role since he infiltrated this godforsaken place—he felt the stakes in a way he hadn't before. Because now, it wasn't just about taking down Ryoichi Sato and Prestige. It was about you.

ـــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

"Well, Stefano? What do you say?"

Sato smirked, thinking he had Yunho trapped. That the weight of his threats—the looming danger over your parents' heads—would be enough to force the Black Pirates' Enforcer into submission.

But Yunho?

He had never been one to kneel.

"How about no?"

The Chairman's expression twisted, his nostrils flaring as he clenched his fists. "No? You'll regret this."

Yunho tilted his head, then let out the laugh he had been holding back for far too long. He bit his lip, shaking his head in amusement before casually dusting off his hands. Then, in a deliberate, lazy motion, he slipped them into his pockets, as if he had all the time in the world.

"Oh, Chairman," he drawled, his tone dripping with mockery. "I don't know about that. But I would like to thank you—for being so transparent with me. It's been an absolute pleasure."

The bastard's brows furrowed, suspicion flashing in his eyes. "What the hell are you—"

Then he noticed it.

Yunho lifted his chin slightly, nodding toward the shelf behind the Chairman. Sato instinctively followed his gaze—

And his heart stopped.

There it was. The broadcasting device.

The one usually kept in the administration office. The one used to make announcements throughout the entire asylum. The one that, somehow, was now here—in his office.

And worse? The light was on.

Every fibre of his being locked up as realisation slammed into him like a freight train. His pupils dilated. His breath caught.

"Fuck."

Yunho smirked. "Oh. So you do get it."

Sato shot up from his chair so fast that it scraped against the floor with a sharp screech. He lunged for the device—

But Yunho was faster.

The Enforcer was already moving, catching the Chairman's wrist mid-air and twisting it with just enough force to make Sato stumble. "Uh-uh," Yunho tsked, shaking his head as he tightened his grip. "Too late, old man."

From beyond the office walls—

Chaos. Shouting. Screaming. The once-calm halls of Prestige were now filled with the furious voices of the criminals who had, just minutes ago, thought they were safe.

And then—

BANG!

A gunshot.

Sato flinched, his head whipping toward the door. The unmistakable crack of shattering glass followed—a riot breaking loose.

"What the fuck have you done?!" Sato roared, his face contorting in fury as he struggled against Yunho's hold. "Do you have any idea what you've just done?!"

Yunho grinned. "Oh, I do. And man, it's even better than I imagined."

The Chairman thrashed in his grip, his entire body trembling with rage. "You bastard—"

"Me?" Yunho scoffed, yanking him back. "I'm not the one who just confessed to butchering his own people on a live fucking broadcast."

Another gunshot. More screaming.

Yunho's expression didn't falter.

Sato, on the other hand—

His face drained of colour.

"You said it yourself," Yunho continued, voice smooth as velvet. "What they don't know won't hurt them." He leaned in, his breath brushing against the older man's ear. "But now they know."

Sato's breath came out ragged. He could feel it now—the weight of all those people turning against him. The same criminals who had once worshipped Prestige, who had paid millions to find sanctuary within its walls, were now out for his blood.

All because of one mistake.

One miscalculation.

His trust in the wrong man.

Yunho finally released him with a rough shove, and Sato staggered back, gripping the edge of his desk for support. His hands shook. His mind raced.

No.

No, this couldn't be happening.

"YOU!" he bellowed, reaching for the gun tucked beneath his desk. But before he could even touch it, Yunho's fist slammed into his face. Sato's head snapped to the side, blood splattering across the desk as he crashed onto the floor, groaning in pain.

Yunho shook out his hand, exhaling. "Ahh..." He flexed his fingers. "Been wanting to do that for so long."

Sato coughed, wiping the blood from his split lip as he glared up at him. "You—"

Before he could finish, a loud boom echoed from outside. The door. Someone—no, several people—were trying to break it down. Sato's breath hitched. "No, no, no—" He scrambled up, only for Yunho to kick him back down with a boot to the chest. "Where do you think you're going, Chairman?"

Sato wheezed. "You don't understand!" His voice was different now—higher, desperate. "You think those animals out there will listen to you?! You need me alive! I'm the only one who can control them!"

Yunho's expression darkened.

"Control them?" He crouched down, gripping Sato's chin in an iron hold. "You mean like cattle? Like livestock?"

Sato swallowed hard.

"You're done, old man," Yunho whispered, voice laced with ice. "And there's nothing you can do to change that now."

Another boom. The door was breaking.

The Chairman panicked. His hands shot out, grabbing onto Yunho's jacket like a drowning man grasping for air. "We can make a deal! I can still—" The office doors burst open. A flood of people—Prestige's betrayed criminals—poured in, weapons drawn, faces twisted in rage.

Sato froze. His heart plummeted as the dozens of eyes locked onto him. Murderous. Hungry. Enraged.

"There he is!" someone snarled.

"You lying piece of shit!"

"You were gonna kill us all?!"

Sato's mouth opened, but this time, there was no audience to listen. No prestige. No power. No escape.

And Yunho?

He simply stepped back, slipping his hands into his pockets once more as he glanced toward the entrance.

There, leaning casually against the doorframe—San. The Tempest smirked, twirling a knife between his fingers. "Told ya," he drawled. "He'd be real popular soon."

Yunho chuckled, looking down at Sato one last time. "Have fun, Chairman." And with that, he turned on his heel—leaving the bastard to the very people he once controlled.

ـــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

"Flowers for you, Doctor."

You blinked up from your desk, momentarily distracted from the paperwork stacked before you as your nurse placed a bouquet of bright yellow daffodils in front of you.

A soft breath of surprise left your lips as you sat up, fingertips brushing against the delicate petals. "Who are they from?"

The nurse grinned, leaning in to nudge your shoulder playfully. "Who else? Your mysterious man who drops by once in a while."

Your face grew warm, lips parting in mild protest, but before you could say anything, she winked and poked her tongue out teasingly before slipping out of the office.

With a quiet chuckle, you reached for the small white card nestled within the flowers. The scent of fresh blooms filled your senses as you carefully pulled it free, unfolding the note. The words were written in smooth, precise strokes.

"Congratulations on your new position, doc. A real one this time. I knew you'd make it. - your favourite, JYH"

You bit your lip, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Jung Yunho.

The enigma. The storm that had crashed into your life and, against all odds, saved you. You still weren't sure what exactly you were to him. Neither of you had ever defined it. Perhaps it was better that way. Perhaps he knew better than to drag you into his world, a world far too dark and dangerous for someone like you.

But even if there was nothing more, even if he could never offer you what a normal man could, it was enough. It was enough knowing that he was there. That if you ever needed him, if the shadows of the past ever came creeping back, he would come.

You exhaled softly, standing from your chair to retrieve a vase. As you filled it with water, arranging the daffodils with care, memories of that day—the day Prestige Asylum fell—flooded your mind.

The chaos. The gunfire. The shouts of fury and desperation.

And then him.

Walking towards you through the aftermath like something out of a dream—bloodied knuckles, dirt-streaked skin, and yet—looking every bit like Prince Charming.

"You're free now."

You remembered how his voice had sounded—low, rough with exhaustion, but so sincere as he pulled you into his arms. How his warmth had seeped into you, grounding you, as you clung to him.

How, in that moment, you had believed him.

And you still did.

Because despite the scars Prestige had left, despite the nightmares that still lingered in the corners of your mind, you were free. It had taken time, but you had built something new. You had found a place where you belonged, a purpose that was truly yours.

And he—

He had let you go. Because he had always known you deserved better. But before he left, before he vanished back into the world that had shaped him, he had left you one last thing. A number. A lifeline, tucked into your pocket as he had whispered, "In case you ever need me."

You had never used it.

Not yet.

But as you set the vase on your desk, watching the golden petals sway gently in the light, you found comfort in knowing that, no matter how far he was, he was always within reach.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

ـــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

The dim glow of the desk lamp flickered against the polished mahogany surface, casting elongated shadows across the lavish office. Papers lay scattered in organised chaos, but at the centre of it all was a single, closed file.

The man behind the desk tapped his fingers idly against its surface, his lips curling into a slow, knowing grin.

"Huh," he mused, almost amused. "Yet another empire taken down by the Black Pirates." He flipped the file open again, skimming over the details—the chaos at Prestige, the dramatic reveal, Chairman Ryoichi Sato's downfall.

And at the heart of it all—the Enforcer.

A man as dangerous as he was loyal.

"And yet another weakness secured," the figure murmured, leaning back in his chair. His eyes gleamed with something dark, something hungry. "This is getting a little too easy."

Across from him, his subordinate hesitated before stepping forward, a new file in hand. He swallowed, choosing his words carefully.

"Perhaps, sir," he admitted, carefully placing the next folder on the desk. "But… the Phantom seems to be the only one yet to have any weak spots."

The figure stilled. Then, slowly, he reached for the file, fingers tracing the embossed name on its cover. A spark of intrigue flickered in his gaze as he flipped it open, scanning the neatly compiled information on the most elusive member of the gang.

The corners of his lips twitched. "Does he really not?" he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

Silence.

Then, a dark chuckle.

"Why don't we present him with one?"

Y'all, I'm so sorry this chapter took me like a thousand years! Aside from the fact that work has been crazy, my perfectionism played another huge role in the delay. I'm still not completely pleased with this, but I'm hoping you lovelies would like it more than I did.

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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[words-4u]

second chance - y.g

pairing: yolanda garcia x surgeon!ex!f!reader

wc: 1.6k

a/n: i love all of the fics for robby and abbott as much as the next girl but where is the love for my ladies?? need more wlw imagines pls and thank youuu

you know how they say 'don't shit where you eat', turns out it's not a bunch of random words strung together, it's a saying for a reason and pretty sound advise. but when you first laid eyes on dr. yolanda garcia every single thing your best friend cassie mckay advised you went out the window and you dove head first into your whirlwind relationship with garcia.

it was picture perfect at first, she made you breakfast in bed whenever you had days off together, walks in the park, you even owned a dog together (which she kept since she was more emotionally invested in sammy anyway) almost a year and a half in the cracks started to appear, long nights with no calls or text, shortened answers, it just didn't seem like she wanted to be with you any longer so you did what she clearly couldn't do and broke it off.

you were devastated of course but 5 months later and you're starting to get back on your feet. the one hard rule you both agreed on was to keep it professional at work and you tried to... sometimes.

"and what do we have today?" you say walking into the buzzing trauma room.

"high power machine degloved his arm almost crushing it completely. his buddy wasn't looking and fell onto a button. freak accident," perlah says.

the new interns and med students gather around waiting to be instructed.

you walk up to the patient. "wow, i know you guys don't get paid enough for shit like this,"

he almost laughs but it's too painful. "no kidding," he grunts instead, clearly trying to mask the pain.

"sir, my name is y/n y/l/n. you feel pain anywhere else on your body?"

it was at the moment your ex walks in.

"what's up party people?" she asks before her eyes lock on you. "why are you here? this is my consult."

"the page went to all surgeons. i got here first," you shrug.

"god, i wish i had popcorn for this," langdon says as he asses the patient.

"shut up langdon," you and garcia say in unison. if you weren't in a constant state of botherment with her, you would've smiled at that.

"okay, i'll just stand here and watch," garcia says making her way to the back, eyes still trained on you.

"fine by me. it's your time wasted," you retort. "you," you say pointing to one of the newbies.

startled, she points at herself.

"yes, you. name?"

"uh, santos. trinity santos."

"okay, santos. i need you over on this side. you're gonna carefully dress this arm before we take him up for a head ct,"

"how do you know he needs a head ct. his arm is a straightforward repair," garcia pipes up.

you make it a point to look at your ex and then at the patient, "sir, when you hurt your arm, did you fall? hit your head?"

"yeah, pretty hard," he says through clenched teeth.

you give an 'i told you so' smile to garcia causing her to roll her eyes.

"i think i'm done here," garcia says walking out annoyed, which you feel pretty content with.

"nooo, it was getting so good," langdon says.

"langdon, for the love of god, get a hobby. santos, on my right," you say.

santos makes her way around. you hand her gauze. "perlah, push some morphine,"

you cover his exposed arm with the skin dangling off. screams erupt from him.

"i know, sir. we're almost done here. okay santos, wrap 'er up,"

"can't we get a nurse to do this?"

you look at her, kind of shocked, very disrespected. "excuse you?"

"garcia's probably on some gnarly case right now and i just-"

you take the gauze from her. "you're free to go, dr. santos"

"oh i- no i just meant-" "i said you can go," you turn away from her. you point to another one of the interns/med students. "dr..."

"whitaker. just whitaker. i'm ms4."

you hold out the gauze to whitaker. "is wrapping gauze on this patient a task you feel is beneath you, whitaker?"

"no, dr. y/n," he shakes his head.

"great, it's all yours," you say moving out of the way as he comes around and starts wrapping.

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

bar hangouts after long shifts got you through most of your days. you get to have your hair down, literally, and decompress from the day with your colleagues. it's essential to your survival.

mckay rants about her day. "and he was such a weirdo, like 'sir, your daughter is about to have surgery. stop trying to get my number'... god, i can't stand men,"

"amen," you say clinking your glass with hers.

"hey, as the only man here, i take offence for all of us, okay? some of us are good guys," langdon interjects.

"no, i'm not having this conversation with you again, frank, i'm just not," you chuckle.

"what? i'm just saying..." his joyful voice trails off as he stares at something, rather someone, behind you.

you look at him confused, "what are y-"

you turn around, now face to face with santos. she looks solemn and nervous and behind her... garcia.

"what the fuck is going on?" langdon whisper to mckay.

"i don't know but i feel like we shouldn't be here for this," mckay whispers back.

"we'll be at the bar," she announces to the table, dragging langdon by the hand who so clearly wanted to stay.

it was like you were in a staring competition with garcia. even after all this time, you couldn't help it, you can't take your eyes off her.

"santos, garcia... what's up?" you say stretching our words. why were they together and what did this have to with you?

"go on, santos, tell her," garcia says sternly, hands in her leather jacket. oh, she means business.

"y/l/n, i mean dr. y/l/n, i wanted to... apologize for my behaviour this morning. every case is important and every patient deserve our upmost care. i should've known better. i'm sorry," santos fiddles with her jacket zipper, avoiding eye contact.

you were just as shocked as this morning. "oh... okay, well, it's much appreciated. and you're right, you should've known better but... it's your first week and we are at a bar right now and i don't wanna talk about work, so if it's okay with you, it's water under the bridge,"

santos finally looks up, a smile adorns her face, "yeah, water under the bridge, i'd like that. thank you dr. y/l/n,"

"okay, that's all, santos. you can go now," garcia says.

santos scurries away to the other side of the bar with her age-mate colleagues leaving you with garcia.

tilting your head a bit, you give her a look, "okay, cut the bullshit, what was that about?"

"she kept bragging about getting off your case and needing a bigger challenge than wrapping gauze so i gently put her in her place," garcia shrugs like it's no big deal.

"and then brought her to do... that," you add.

"yeah, well, she was disrespecting you and i couldn't have that," garcia says with a seriousness, a protective seriousness, that you haven't seen in a while.

"i don't need you protecting me, yolanda, i'm a grown ass woman,"

"oh trust me i know you are," she says in a flirtatious manner but reigns it in quickly when she sees your deadpanned face. "i'm more than aware that you don't need my protection, but that doesn't mean i won't give it. i always will... even if you hate the sight of me."

you're silent for a moment, playing with the empty beer pint in front of you.

"i don't." you finally say. garcia looks at you, trying to decipher your words. "i don't hate the sight of you."

"you don't?" she asks, hope ever so present in her voice.

you shake your head. the next words bubbled to the surface and out of your mouth before you could stop it. "i miss you actually,"

"b-but you broke up with me? and i still don't know why."

"here's why, yolanda," you shifted in your seat to face the standing woman. "i broke up with you because you forgot about me. i don't know what was going on with you at the time and maybe i should've asked but i do know that i faded into the background. it was like... like you didn't see me anymore. so i did us both a favour."

garcia hangs her head in shame. "i-i had no idea you felt that way,"

"i'm not without fault i should've tried harder to communicate, i don't know," you shrug defeatedly .

"for what it's worth, i miss you too," she says taking one step closer to you. "and i really wanna fucking kiss you right now,"

"oh and there it is," you shake your head amused at her honesty.

"what, too soon?" she smirks.

you stare into her eyes and you know she means every word she's saying right now.

"okay, you can kiss me..." you say. garcia is quick to move in between your legs and cup your face. you put a hand on her forearm, "... on one condition,"

"name it. i'll do anything," she strokes your cheek with her thumb.

"i... want us to prioritize each other. but not like before. i mean intentionally. i... can't go through this again,"

"you won't. i promise," she says softly before drawing your face up to her hers closing the gap. a warm and comfortable feeling ran through your body as your lips touched. the kiss was soft and passionate. it would've gone on longer if your well-intentioned friends didn't ruin.

"let's goooooo!" langdon yells from the other side of the bar.

"get it girl," mckay joins in.

you pulled away from garcia laughing and slightly embarrassed. she strokes your hair. "so... does this mean i get a second chance?"

"yes... but you’re on probation so tread carefully," you say, kissing her once more, signing a new lease on your relationship.

[silent-stories]

𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐇 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

Pairing: underground fighter! noah x reader

Series summary: You’re dragged to watch an illegal fight, and after the match, you meet Noah, a fighter who seems to be battling more than just his opponents.

Tw: mentions of deceased family members, drinking.

Series masterlist

The walls of the tattoo shop were full of framed flash art and faded photos of past clients, the front counter had stickers scattered across its glass surface.

Amber was sitting in the chair across from you, legs tucked under her, scrolling on her phone as you answered the phone: a woman booking a consultation.

Nick, as usual, was posted up near the back, focused. His gloves were ink-smeared, head down as he worked on the sleeve of some guy sitting stiffly in the chair.

You wrapped up the call, set the appointment, jotted a few notes, then hung up.

“So?” Amber prompted, “You were saying?”

You gave a small, tired huff of breath and leaned back in your chair, rubbing at your temple.

“I gave him the bracelet. He gave me back my shirt...clean, actually. And for a second it was almost… good. Like, normal-good. He even smiled. He was joking around.”

Amber blinked, skeptical already.

“But then I asked him why he still fights,” you continued. “He just...flipped. Said we weren’t friends. Basically yelled at me, so I left.”

You looked over at her. She didn’t look surprised. Not really, but still a bit disappointed.

“Yeah,” she said slowly, “sounds about right.”

You tilted your head. “What does that mean?”

“It means you should probably let it go, I'm sorry.”

"Yeah, I should." You said tapping your fingertips on your sketchbook.

The tattoo machine's sound faded as Nick powered it down. He carefully wrapped a layer of plastic around the fresh tattoo on his client’s arm and then peeled off his gloves.

The guy nodded his thanks, grabbed his coat and headed out the door, the bell above it jingling behind him.

“Really, stop thinking about him,” Amber said. “He's not worth it.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re right. The whole thing is pointless. We gave each other our stuff back, and that's it.”

Amber didn’t add anything else.

A few seconds later, Nick approached you, stretching his arms over his head. “Alright,” he said, raising a brow at the two of you. “What are you girls whispering about over here?”

You shrugged, giving him a faint smile. “Nothing important. Really.”

He tilted his head, unconvinced but not pushing. “Mmm. Okay. So. The butterfly, right?”

Amber smiled. “Exactly.”

Nick reached over the counter to grab his book of tattoo designs, but his forearm accidentally knocked your sketchbook off the table. It landed on the floor with a soft thud, pages flipping open.

“Shit, sorry,” he said, crouching automatically to pick it up. But then he paused, looking down at the open page. “Wait, these are yours?”

You leaned forward, a little flustered. “Yeah.”

“Damn. You’re good.”

You gave a modest shrug. “Thanks.”

Nick handed the book back to you, grinning as he did. “No, really. Now I'm scared you're gonna steal my job.”

You chuckled.

Nick turned his attention to Amber, flipping open his design book and gesturing to different butterfly styles.

“Okay, so...” Nick pointed to a geometric one in the book. “This one’s kind of sharp and very symmetrical. Good for forearm or ankle. Clean lines.”

“Too sterile,” Amber said, wrinkling her nose. “I want it to feel…alive.”

“Alive?” Nick chuckled. “Should it breathe too?”

As they began discussing placement and color, you sat back, flipping slowly through your own sketchbook.

If it had fallen open to the wrong drawing, Nick would have asked who the hell the guy on that page was. And Amber would have probably guessed it right.

Noah's face was drawn from memory, defined jawline, but not too sharp, dark hair falling just past his eyes. His expression was serious, but in his eyes there was something softer.

You’d shaded a darker halo around one of his eyes: one of the bruises that hadn’t yet faded. There was a small cut along his bottom lip, another along his cheekbone, and a bigger one on his nose, like the last time you saw him.

And then, almost invisible unless you knew to look for them: freckles. Just a light dusting across his nose and cheeks. You hadn’t even seen them until the morning in the abandoned building he called home, when the sun slipped through the broken windows and kissed his face in just the right way.

You flipped the page before anyone could glance over. Then again. And again. Until the drawing was buried deep in the middle of the book.

Amber laughed at something Nick said, and you looked up, forcing your attention back to the moment, tapping your pencil absently on the edge of the sketchbook and telling yourself not to think about him again.

The apartment door creaked open and slammed shut again in one fluid motion, the sound echoing through the quiet living room.

You glanced up from the couch, a blanket draped over your legs, your sketchbook balanced on your knees. The pencil you’d been idly chewing on stilled as Kole strode into the room, hoodie half-zipped, hair slightly damp from the drizzle outside.

“Hey,” he said, already halfway to the kitchen. “Just grabbing something to eat real quick, then I’m out.”

You blinked. “Out? Where...”

And then it clicked.

You sat up straighter. “Again? Seriously?”

Kole opened the fridge and pulled out a plastic container, something leftover from the night before. He didn’t even bother microwaving it. Just popped the lid, grabbed a fork, and started eating cold pasta straight from the container.

“Dean told me,” he said between bites, “there’s this guy fighting tonight, maybe Leo? I don't remeber his name. Says he’s got about seventy-five percent odds to win. Can’t pass that up.”

You stared at him, unimpressed. “Kole, this shit is not football. It's illegal.”

He snorted. “Come on, don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m not. I just…” You trailed off, setting your sketchbook aside. “You’ve been going quite a lot lately.”

“It’s not like I’m fighting,” he said quickly. “I’m just watching. Betting a little. That’s it.”

“That’s still your whole night.”

He paused, chewing slower, eyes flicking toward you. “I’ll be back before midnight.”

“That’s not the point.”

There was a beat of silence.

Kole sighed and set the container down, fork still inside and walked towards you.

“I know you don’t like it,” he said. “But it’s not forever. It’s just... a thing for now.”

You exhaled, crossing your arms. “A ‘thing’ that ends with somebody in the ER.”

He gave a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Okay?”

You hesitated.

Then, finally, with a tired kind of resignation, you muttered, “Okay.”

“Okay-okay?” he asked, stepping closer. “Like... tranquility okay?”

You let out a reluctant huff of laughter. “I don’t even know what that means.”

Kole leaned down and gave you a light kiss, quick and familiar.

When he pulled back, his face was close, eyes scanning yours for a second like he wanted to say more. But he didn’t.

He just smirked. “I’ll text you if Leo gets knocked out in the first round, alright?”

You rolled your eyes. “Great. Can’t wait.”

He grabbed his keys from the dish near the door, then paused before stepping out.

“See you later, if you'll be still up.”

You didn’t answer. The door shut behind him with a dull click.

A moment passed. Then another.

Outside, the sound of his car engine hummed to life, then faded into the distance.

You sank back onto the couch, staring at the spot where he’d just been. The kiss still lingered faintly on your lips, but it didn’t bring much comfort.

You stayed on the couch for a while, wrapped in your blanket, the TV humming faintly in the background as some random movie played on Netflix. You weren’t really watching it. Every so often, you glanced at your phone, but there were no messages. Just the usual notifications: missed memes from Amber, TikTok updates, a promo email from a store you kept forgetting to unsubscribe from.

Eventually, you gave up on pretending to be invested in the movie and let your thumb wander over your phone screen, watching some tiktoks.

At some point, your eyelids started to droop. You barely noticed when your phone slipped from your hand and landed beside you on the couch. The last thing you remembered was a girl on your screen arguing with her cat.

And then—

bzzz... bzzz...

Your phone lit up, screen vibrating on the cushion.

You blinked awake, confused for a second, your neck stiff from the way you’d slouched into the side of the couch.You reached for your phone and squinted at the caller: Kole.

You answered on the second ring, voice scratchy. “Hello?”

“Hey.” His voice sounded… off.

You sat up straighter. “What’s wrong?”

There was a pause.

“I, uh… I’ve got a flat. Like, completely flat. Back right tire’s toast.”

You rubbed your eyes. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I came out for a smoke and it was just… gone. Totally flat. I didn’t even notice at first, until Dean started laughing and pointed it out.”

You frowned. “Did you run over something?”

Another pause. Then: “I don’t think so.”

You stayed silent, waiting.

Kole sighed. “Look, I can’t say for sure, but I think it was the guy who owed me money. From the bet. He didn’t take it well.”

“Are you serious?”

“I didn’t see him do it,” he added quickly. “But he was pissed and acting twitchy. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

You let your head fall back against the couch. “Jesus, Kole.”

“I know. I know. But now I need you to come get me.”

You exhaled slowly, already swinging your legs off the couch. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Late,” he admitted. “But I wouldn’t ask if I had any other way back. I swear.”

“I’ll be there in like fifty minutes.”

“You’re the best,” he said, "I'll be inside drinking something with Dean and the others."

"Alright." You hung up and went to grab your keys.

When you arrived, you made sure to park not too close. You didn’t want your car anywhere near the place, not after what had happened to Kole’s.

When you stepped out, the air was cool but it had stopped raining.

Somewhere nearby, water dripped from a pipe in slow, rhythmic taps. As you walked, your sneakers scuffed lightly against the asphalt, each step echoing just enough to make you feel too exposed.

Outside the warehouse, three men lingered. Two were huddled in a corner, cigarettes glowing between their fingers as they murmured to each other in low tones. The third paced slowly while talking into his phone.

You approached the steel door and knocked twice, and the sound echoed, sharp.

You waited.

After a moment, the door cracked open. The same guy from the last time stood there, thick arms crossed. He gave you a once-over, clearly recognizing you. Then he stepped aside.

Inside, no one was fighting, not anymore. The ring sat empty in the center of the room, and around it, clusters of people lounged or leaned against the walls, drinking, laughing and chatting.

You scanned the room. And then you saw him.

Kole was sitting on a worn-out leather couch near the far end with Dean and two other guys you didn’t know. A bottle of something half-empty in his hand, head tipped back in laughter. He didn’t see you. Didn’t even glance toward the entrance.

No urgency in his posture. No guilt. No "I called my girlfriend out of bed at almost 2 a.m. and I'm sorry" energy.

You stayed where you were, trying to decide if you should storm over or just turn around and leave him there for the night.

Then something pulled your attention.

On the far wall, half-obscured behind an old speaker and a stack of folding chairs, was a makeshift gallery, dozens of photos taped up messily, some curling at the edges. All of them from the fights.

Close-ups of broken noses, fists frozen mid-swing, blood spraying in arcs. Some people screaming. Some smiling through bloody teeth.

You stepped closer. And then your eyes landed on one in particular.

Noah.

Frozen in motion. Shirtless, chest covered in tattoos, hands still wrapped, mouth parted like he’d just let out a loud scream for the crowd. He looked flushed, victorious, a cut above his eyebrow barely scabbed.

He almost looked like he belonged here.

Suddenly, a voice behind you made you flinch.

“Ugly, right?”

You turned.

Noah stood a few feet away. Black hoodie. Hood up. Hands deep in the front pocket. His posture relaxed. You hadn’t heard him come up.

He gave a small, crooked smile. “If you want, I can sign it for you."

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“No thanks,” you said coolly, nodding once toward the photo. “I don’t need souvenirs.”

Noah’s smirk faded.

“Can we talk for a minute?”

You blinked. “Talk? Thought you didn't want to see me ever again.”

“Just… a minute. Please.”

You crossed your arms, keeping your voice low. “I didn’t come here for you.”

“I know.”

“I came to pick up Kole.”

And yeah, you were still kind of mad at Noah.

Noah’s eyes flicked over your shoulder toward the couch where Kole still sat, now leaning forward, animatedly telling a story to the guy on his right. His bottle swung loosely in his hand. Dean laughed too loudly at something, nearly knocking over a cup balanced on the floor.

Noah raised a brow. “Doesn’t look like he’s in any rush.”

You followed his gaze. And yeah, he wasn’t. Not even close.

Your jaw tightened. You looked back at Noah.

“…Okay,” you said, reluctantly.

He didn’t say anything, just turned toward the exit. As he walked, he paused at the door and pushed it open, then looked over his shoulder, waiting.

You realized he was holding it for you.

You slipped past him in silence, the night air greeting you again with its damp chill. The laughter and noise of the warehouse faded as the door closed behind you with a heavy thunk.

Noah walked a few steps ahead, then turned down the side of the building and toward a short stretch of pavement lined with a single skinny tree. Beneath it, half-hidden in the dark, sat an old wooden bench. It looked warped from weather, one leg slightly uneven, but still standing. Still enough for two.

He gestured to it wordlessly.

You followed. The sound of your footsteps on wet concrete filled the space between you.

And then you sat next to him. For a few moments, neither of you spoke.

“You’re wasting your minute, fighter boy.”

Noah huffed a quiet breath, almost a laugh, then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry. For the other day. I shouldn’t’ve snapped like that.”

You didn’t answer, just kept your eyes forward, watching the way the leaves on the tree above you trembled faintly.

“It’s just…” he went on, “I don’t like certain questions. That’s all. But that’s on me."

You glanced at him, just briefly. His jaw was set, but not in that defensive, shut-everyone-out way he’d had before. It looked more like he was holding something in, like it actually cost him to say that out loud.

You shifted slightly on the bench, crossing one leg over the other.

“It’s your business,” you said, not unkindly. “I shouldn’t have pushed.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s not your fault. Since the first time you saw me, you’ve been… I don’t know. Just, so fucking kind. No one's kind to me around here, not unless they want something.”

He gave a crooked, almost embarrassed smile.

You cleared your throat. “Well, apology accepted,” you said finally. “But mostly because I hope I get to see Alpine again.”

That earned a short laugh from him. “Figured that might be the only way back into your good graces.”

You looked over at him fully now. The hood still shadowed most of his face, but the edge of his mouth was curled up. The tightness around his eyes was less than before, like he was relieved that you were joking again.

“I still think,” he added, “you should stay away. From me. From this place but your boyfriend seems to love it, so I'm not sure I can do something about it now.”

"Yeah. I hate him sometimes." You realized how this sounded just after you said it.

“You ever tell him that?”

You sighed through your nose. “He knows I don't like this. All he does is laugh, make a joke and kiss me like it could fix everything.”

Noah tilted his head, studying you. “So why are you here tonight?”

“Because I still care. And because a flat tire in this part of town at 2 a.m. is a pretty shit situation, even for someone acting like an idiot.”

“Fair.”

After a quiet moment, filled just by the wind rustling through the leaves and the distant voices from inside the warehouse, Noah shifted slightly beside you.

“You work?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked, turned your head halfway toward him. “What?”

He repeated, slower this time, almost like he wasn’t sure it was a weird question. “I asked if you work.”

You gave him a flat look. “Oh, look at that. Mr. ‘You should stay away’ playing Twenty Questions now?”

He laughed, and god, you loved that sound.

It burst out of him unguarded, loose and warm, with that almost high-pitched edge that didn’t suit his face or his body or anything about the way he usually carried himself. But it was real. The kind of laugh you only got out of someone when you caught them off guard in the best way. When they forgot to keep their walls up.

He ducked his head a little like he was embarrassed by it, which only made you smile.

“I’m just curious,” he said, still grinning. “I don’t actually know anything about you.”

“Exactly,” you said, “And I don't about you. That’s the point. You don't tell me shit, why should I?”

He looked at you for a moment.

"If you answer my questions, I'll tell you something about me too."

"This could work."

"Good." He chuckled.

“I work in a tattoo shop,” you said eventually. “Receptionist, mostly. Scheduling, phones, paperwork. I wipe down the floor too.”

He nodded, watching you. “Cool.”

He leaned back a little, shoulder grazing yours for just a second. “You got any pets?”

You let out a breath, half amused, half thoughtful. “No. I wish. But it’s hard, you know? Taking care of something… breathing, alive… in your house.”

He didn’t say anything right away, but you felt him look at you.

Then: “I think you’d do a good job.”

That surprised you. Your eyes slid over to him. “Why?”

He shrugged, barely lifting one shoulder. “Just would. I can tell.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Come on. You’ve seen me, what? Three times? Don’t start getting poetic on me.”

He turned toward you more fully, eyebrows up. “I’m not being poetic. It’s just true.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I mean it, you have that.... something in you. Something good.”

You blinked at that. Your mouth opened slightly, like you might say something, but nothing came out at first.

Noah rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. I know that came out weird.”

“No, it’s just…” you trailed off, then offered a small smile. “Unexpected.”

He smiled back, just a little.

You gave him a slow nod. “Okay, your turn. Tell me something.”

You expected him to dodge. To crack a joke or say something vague and slippery, keep playing the part of the guy who never lets anyone in. You didn’t expect what actually came next.

Noah looked down at his hands for a moment, thumbs rubbing together, his hoodie sleeves pushed up just enough to show the scabbed-over edge of a healing scrape.

Then he said, almost too quiet to catch, “I grew up without my dad, I never knew him.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt.

“My mom died when I was twelve.” He said. “I lived with my grandparents after that. They took me in. They were... good.”

He paused. The silence stretched.

“They’re gone now too.”

You swallowed, your heart heavy all of a sudden. “Noah…”

He shook his head once, not sharply, but like he was brushing something off his own shoulders. “It was a while ago. I was maybe seventeen when my granddad passed. Nana lasted a little longer. After her, I just… started doing this. The fighting. And I didn’t have anywhere else to go, so…”

He trailed off. You didn’t press. You didn’t need to.

There was a long, quiet moment.

Your voice was soft when you finally spoke. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t know.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just nodded once, like that was enough.

You reached over, without really thinking, and let your fingers brush his sleeve lightly. A small touch. Not much. But he didn’t pull away. Didn’t even flinch.

You didn't hold his hand, even if you wanted. Didn't even touch it. But that was the closest thing to it you could do right now.

You knew it wasn’t the whole story.

You didn’t know why he kept fighting. Or why he had started in the first place, and why he didn't even consider other job offers.

You didn’t know why he refused help, why if you offered him a way out, he shut the door harder.

But this was a beginning, because he’d opened up, even if just a little.

“No reason you would,” he said quietly. “I don’t talk about it. Not with people here. Not with anyone, really.”

“Why tell me?”

He looked over at you.

"I told you there was something in you, didn't I?"

And just like that, as if you’d both quietly forgotten you were sitting just a few steps from an illegal fight club, where your boyfriend was probably still downing cheap alcohol with his idiot friends, you and Noah ended up talking for almost an hour, in the middle of the night.

The conversation had shifted less heavy aspects of your lives.

You told him about that one guy who came into the shop to get a hyper-realistic portrait of his girlfriend’s face tattooed on his ass cheek.

“Dead serious. Full shading. Dimples and all,” you said, grinning as you mimed the size of it with your hands. “And the worst part? She broke up with him three days later.”

Noah had laughed, really laughed. “That’s tragic. But also, if you’re getting someone’s face permanently inked on your ass, you gotta be prepared for heartbreak.”

Then there was the time you and your best friend got completely lost in Italy, accidentally boarded the wrong train, and ended up two towns over, arguing with a bakery owner who didn’t speak English but kept handing you pastries.

Noah listened, smiling in that quiet way he had, like he wasn’t just hearing the story, but tucking it away somewhere, saving it.

At some point, he’d pulled the hood down from his head and now his hair was falling forward, a little messy, loose in the front.

A few strands framed his face, brushing past his eyes the same way they did in the drawing on your sketchbook.

It softened him somehow. He looked less like the guy who took punches for a living and more like someone who used to be a boy, who maybe still carried the ache of being one.

He told you about his grandma, how when he was a kid, she used to make him peanut butter and pickle sandwiches, just for him.

“She thought they were disgusting,” he said, the fondness in his voice so clear it caught you off guard, “but she made them anyway. Every single time I asked.”

You made a face. “That sounds awful.”

“No,” he said, pretending to be offended. “It’s one of the best things I’ve ever eaten. I swear. The sweet from the peanut butter, the salty and sour from the pickles... it’s... genius.”

“It still sounds kinda gross.”

“I promise it's good,” he countered, a hand over his heart.

You were both smiling now. The kind of easy, involuntary smile that just happens when you’re having a friendly conversation with someone you enjoy spending time with.

He let out a breath, leaning back against the bench with a quiet sound. “I haven’t had one of those in years. Kind of miss it, actually.”

There was something gentle about the way he said it. It was not just about the sandwich, but everything it stood for, like moments spent with someone who loved you and wasn't there anymore, moments of safety, of being looked after.

And you found yourself wanting, absurdly, to find him a jar of peanut butter and the weirdest pickles you could, just to give him that again. Even for five minutes. Even if it was dumb.

You didn’t say that. You just looked at him, watching the way the glow from the streetlight hit the edge of his profile, softening every part of him.

From this angle, side by side, you could see the curve of his nose clearly. Sharp but soft at the same time, the kind of nose that made you want to draw his face over and over again, trace it with your eyes just to memorize the shape. It suited his face in a way that felt unfair. You wondered if it had ever been broken, and if so, how it had healed back still looking like that.

“You’ve got weird taste,” you murmured eventually.

He grinned. “You’ve got no idea.”

You didn’t realize how much time had passed until a sudden breeze cut through the quiet and you reached for your phone out of habit. The screen lit up with the time.

3:12 a.m.

“I should… probably go check on Kole,” you said softly, eyes still on the phone. “It’s past three.”

Noah glanced over, the faint lines of a frown tugging at his brows. “Right,” he said after a second, pushing to his feet. “I’ll come with you.”

Inside, the space had thinned out since you'd left. Most of the crowd was gone, the ring dark and still in the center of the room. A few folding chairs were tipped over. Someone’s hoodie lay abandoned on the floor. Dean was across the room, stacking empty crates with the kind of slow, distracted movement that suggested he'd been drinking too.

Kole was slumped over at a folding table near the corner, head tipped back against the wall, mouth slack. His arms dangled limply at his sides. A scattering of empty bottles formed a loose semicircle around his chair. One had rolled to the floor and lay spinning slightly from the draft you’d let in.

You sighed, already exhausted.

“Kole,” you said, shaking his shoulder gently. “Hey.”

He stirred, barely. Mumbled something incoherent into the collar of his hoodie and turned his face to the side like you were the world’s most annoying alarm clock.

“Kole, come on,” you tried again, voice firmer this time. “We need to go. It’s late.”

He groaned, made a weak attempt at lifting his head, then gave up and slumped back down.

You straightened up slowly as you looked at him, not really knowing what to do.

Behind you, Noah shifted.

You turned and met his eyes.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at Kole, then at you. Then he let out a long breath through his nose. The kind of sigh that said he couldn't care less about your drunk boyfriend, but he still was going to help. For you.

“Take one of his arms,” he said simply, already stepping forward.

You bent down, looping one of Kole’s arms around your shoulder. Noah took the other. Between the two of you, you hauled him upright. His head lolled forward, chin to chest, as dead weight as a sack of wet sand.

Noah adjusted his grip. “I got him,” he murmured, as Kole started saying something like ‘babe… m’fine…’ into the crook of your neck.

You didn’t answer.

And like that, the two of you carried him out into the dark.

Noah’s arms ached faintly from holding Kole up, but he ignored it. The guy was deadweight, reeking of sweat, booze, and some awful cologne.

Still, Noah kept a steady grip, matching your pace as you both half-dragged, half-carried him toward the door.

It had been the first time in years that Noah had opened up to someone. Even just a little. He hadn’t meant to. But with you...he hadn’t felt the usual tightness in his throat when he spoke. You felt safe.

Every time you two talked, just a little longer than the time before, he felt lighter. Like something was slowly being unhooked from inside his chest and set down, piece by piece. He didn’t feel fixed, but he felt better. And that was rare.

He kept thinking about your hand.

About how, for a second out there in the dark, you’d almost taken his. You hadn’t. Your hand had just hovered there for a moment before you brushed his sleeve instead, just the edge of his hoodie, like you’d caught yourself at the last moment. Like you’d remembered who you were supposed to belong to.

But Noah had felt it. That almost.

And now, as he walked beside you in silence, Kole’s weight dragging against him, all he could think about was how it might feel to actually hold your hand.

To feel your fingers, smaller and softer than his, sliding between his. Feel the contrast, your clean skin against his, covered in bruises and tattoos.

Would your hand flinch? Or would it fit?

He tightened his jaw and swallowed the thought.

Because now he was here, helping carry your drunk boyfriend out of a half-empty warehouse at three in the damn morning.

No, he didn’t care about Kole. Not even a little.

He remembered that night in the alley. Kole had looked down at him, grinning like a dumbass, and said thanks for getting his ass kicked so he could win a couple hundred bucks.

The guy didn’t deserve you.

Not your kindness. Not your laugh. Not your touch.

But Kole was still your boyfriend.

And Noah was doing this for you.

Because every goddamn day that passed, it got harder to pretend he didn’t care.

About you.

About the way your eyes lingered on him when you thought he wasn’t looking. About how you smiled when he tried to say something funny. About the way you’d sat with him tonight, listened to him, chatted like two people who met under better circumstances and were slowly growing closer.

He focused on putting one foot in front of the other, repeating himself that you still belonged to someone else, and that just because you didn't deserve someone like Kole didn't mean you deserved someone like him.

Noah leaned back as you finally got Kole settled in the passenger seat, the door clicking shut behind his dead weight. The guy slumped immediately against the window, cheek smashed to the glass, mouth slightly open.

You turned back to Noah, exhaling. “Jesus,” you muttered, rubbing your hands over your face.

“I give him... maybe a 3 for effort.” He said.

You snorted, the sound pulling a tiny smile from him. “Generous.”

You glanced at Kole, who made some unintelligible noise and shifted in his seat.

Noah made a face. “I hope he doesn't throw up inside.”

"Trust me, I'm hoping harder than you."

He chuckled and watched you settle into the seat, but you didn’t start the engine right away.

“Night, Noah.”

Noah gave a small nod, stepping back from the car. “Goodnight,” he said. “Drive safe, alright?”

You nodded, then reached out and gently pulled the door shut with a dull thunk.

He stood there, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, as your headlights swept across the cracked asphalt.

Noah stayed there until you drove away and he couldn't see your car anymore.

He exhaled, and finally, with one last glance down the empty road, Noah turned and made his way back toward his building.

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lacy1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme @hurricanesfollowyou @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @missduffsblog @pandora-08 @geminigirlfromfinland @bloody-spades @rumoured-whispers @astronoids

Fresh bruises tags: @1toreyouapart @respectfulrebel @dragoncopper @overmydeadbodysblog @fear-its-beauty @xslavicprincess @concreteangel92 @super-btstrash-posts @pipidoll @pipidoll @bluehairpunklol @tktstomydwnfall @jesuisunchaton @brutallysoftmuse @acatatonicpeace

[l-artemisia-del-secolo]

You almost missed the meeting regarding the new exhibit. You had to validate a few showpieces. Books mostly this time. On one of them... what was it... runes... Red cover with rubies, one could think it was painted with blood itself.

Your own reflection in the stones was teasing you. This object was powerful, it was alluring, it was dangerous. You didn't notice how others left.

You were left with the book in the storage. Who created it and why? You were not new to artifacts of presumed witchcraft. But this... it was different. As if the blood on the cover was instantly flowing changing the shades.

Oh, it was one of those days. Time didn't matter.

"Fascinating, isn't it?"

"Oh yes, it is." You didn't even look up. "Have never seen anything like this."

"Oh, I did. A very long time ago. This book belonged to ruthless people."

"What?"

She was a foreigner in this brightly lit room. Nonchalantly sitting in one of those uncomfortable chairs. When did she come in?

"We need to close the storage. All your colleagues left a few hours ago."

Hours? Really? What was she even talking about? You checked your phone. A few missed calls and messages.

Brunette was smiling at your confusion.

"Have we met before?"

"No, I'm instead of Jeff."

"What happened? I saw him yesterday."

"Oh..." Brunette was kinda lost for an instant. "He had to leave. You know. Another department. My name's Rio".

She stood up and very officially offered you her hand.

"Pleased to meet you. My name's..."

"I know everything about you."

Rio was still holding your hand. Maybe you did see her before. Those green eyes. They were mesmerising.

______

A few days passed. You didn't have time to examine the book, but you kept thinking about it. Weirdly your thoughts were coming back to it. In what circumstances something like this could be created? What was written there?

You wanted to feel that book again. Sharp edges and ancient pages.

From the book your mind wandered to the stranger. You asked your colleagues. They knew Jeff was gone, but who was instead of him - no idea. You wanted to see her again. you wanted to lose yourself in those gentle touches again.

___

A few more days. You were giving a lecture. Confident and charming you were in your element. Until you noticed those green eyes amongst the audience. Rio was catching your every move, your every word.

"You were amazing." Brunette caught you after the class. "Truly a master of your craft."

"Well, I do have a certain area of expertise."

"What a tease."

Oh, now you were definitely blushing.

"I haven't seen you at the museum." You tried to find a more safe subject.

"I was busy with other projects. I'm kinda like a consultant for confused people."

You nodded. Why was looking at you like this? As if expecting something, as if waiting for the answer.

"Well, you did find the time for the lecture."

"I found the time for the lecturer."

"I appreciate both the time and the effort."

"Yeah, you have no idea how determined I can be."

Rio winked at you. She was busy, she had to go. She chose to leave you with just a hint of satisfaction.

"Oh, and the book., It is waiting for you."

____

Rio was right. You had to concentrate on your work. Exhibit was approaching, your input was needed. You were spending more and more time with the remains of the old times. You were spending more and more time with that damned book. Those runes were not known to you. As the symbols. Looked like an interpretation of the maiden-mother-crone myth, but there was a green halo around them.

"You need coffee."

That wasn't a question. With Rio nothing was.

"Thanks." You took a sip "Oh, double espresso. How did you know?"

"Had a feeling, you like it... intense."

"Sure."

"So..." Rio nudged your shoulder to get all the attention she always required. "How is this thing going?"

"Good."

"And this?" She pointed at the book.

"Waiting for the answer from a few colleges."

"Well, I'm sure the answer is going to be fascination. But..." She took your phone and bag without asking. "you need to be someplace else."

___

Why did you even let her command? You just blinked and suddenly you were near an old theater.

"Magic show?"

Rio had tickets for the first row.

"What can I say? I was always fond of illusions."

It was noticeable. She was cheering even for the simplest tricks. She adored theatricality and tension. Except for maybe the tricks that involved cheating death. Yeah, Rio huffed in annoyance a few times.

"Well, this is not how I expected my evening to go."

Street was completely silent. You and Rio were the only ones who decided to enjoy the autumn night.

"I can tell you how all the tricks worked."

Oh, for sure Rio knew.

"It's your hobby?"

"Let's say, I've seen these shows quite a few times."

"That would destroy all the magic part of the performance, don't you think?"

Rio stopped, snapped her fingers and in the other hand a flower appeared.

"Oh, you're smooth." You laughed at the present. "So, you're into tricks."

"No, I'm more into magic."

______

It was a book of protective spells. It was supposed to save from evil and wrong, from hungry and desperate. And not protect, it was supposed to hide from the sight of darkness. Someone was supposed to be hidden in the blood of the killed. You spend hours trying to find the recipient of this protection.

"Well, that's an interesting observation." Rio put her legs on the table. You were having a dinner at your office. "Amazing."

"I'm glad you're happy with my research."

"I truly am. Do you know how those spells are supposed to be activated."

"I assume by the blood of the protected."

"Yeah, guess it could work." Rio shrugged. "Witches were never that imaginative."

It became some kind of a routine. At the beginning you didn't see Rio at all. But now she was always near. With lunches, coffees, books and affection. And whatever she was calling magic.

Rarely you could feel comfortable with someone so close. For years you preferred to be on your own. It just never clicked with anyone. But Rio... she knew you. Your tastes, your dreams, your desires. Her affection was a given, just a fact that you stumbled into. It was a weird feeling. Like you were continuing to live something you never had.

____

"I don't think you're doing it right."

You could feel Rio was close. Her hair was almost tickling your neck. There was no need for her to stay right behind you. But it apparently was the best spot to watch you translating the text.

"You're being a little distractive, Rio."

"How? I'm helping. This sign here. It clearly doesn't mean death."

"Well, that's a woman with a skull instead of a face."

"I'd say she's more about the natural order of things.'

"Maybe."

___

You were working more, you were sleeping less. You were distracted. Your dreams changed, in them you could freely read the spells. Voices without purpose were helping you. Sometimes even Rio couldn't have you all for herself.

"I brought you something."

"Huh?"

Rio was holding a dagger. Black stones, same runes.

"Just don't play with it often."

"Where did you get this?"

"It was here all the time. Kinda lost in the mess."

"Yeah."

You didn't care whether she was lying or not. Was it the other part of the story? Was it the threat or help?

You took it. Heavy with cold and sharp with pain it fit your hand properly.

"Every witch was supposed to have such a dagger." Rio took the knife. "Usually it was carved with the symbols of a greater entity, You know for protection."

She was holding your hand, caressing the palm with the cold of a steel. Still dangerous, still deadly. You didn't dare to look at her movements.

"And what entity protected this blade?"

"I think you know. You read the spells."

You could feel your skin almost succumbing to the blade. But it was so much more unbearable to have Rio so close. She was the perfection itself. You didn't care about the blade, you leaned into her.

"Fuck." you muttered under your breath. But it was too late. Your blood was spilled.

You were her prey, Rio pushed and you and the blade cut deeper, but you didn't care. She was kissing you, she was hurting you.

Dagger fell on the floor. Without breaking the kiss Rio guided your hands to the support of the table. Your wound touched the book.

Suddenly the pain shot through your whole body. You wanted to scream, but Rio didn't let you. Holding you, making you feel her passion, brunette was only deepening the kiss.

You opened your eyes. The room was on fire. Games of the primal flame were everywhere. Everything was melting away. Instead another reality was forming.

You groaned into the kiss. It was familiar. It took all the strength you had to push Rio away. She was breathing heavily.

"What the..." you looked at your palm. It was healed. "What... what happened..."

Those voices were right. Rio. It was all because of Rio.

"It was the only way..."

Her voice was trembling. You heard this already. Her plea, her apology.

"I know you." You took the book from the table. Now those spells made sense. "Rio Vidal."

"I thought... " She was choking on her regret and doubt. "I thought I wouldn't be able to find you."

"I remember..."

Rio gently touched your cheek. You didn't feel it. Suddenly there was a wall with the thickness of centuries.

"My love..."

"It was always you, wasn't it?" Your fingers were tingling. "You were always the reason."

"I don't..."

"They died because of you."

"What? No."

You grabbed her wrist. You were strong, stronger than you remembered. Purple magic was pouring from your veins. It didn't let Rio move.

"Because of you all those people were dead. You attacked innocents."

"No."

"My coven tried to hunt you. And in return you destroyed others."

'"No, no, no. These are not your memories. It's an illusion your coven gave you."

You pushed her. Rio was the plague. You remembered it. Your sisters warned you.

"I will banish you from here."

Rio didn't even think about defending herself. She needed to let you be closer.

You grabbed her by the throat. Rio only obeyed. You needed to cut out her black heart.

You waved and the dagger appeared in your hand. You were calling for your weapon. It returned to the magic that created it. But the second you were ready to swing, it burned you.

You were holding the same knife Rio gave you. It wasn't possible. Your enemy was protecting you.

"No. It's not true..."

Yes, you didn't remember. But what if... you were holding a piece of your old life. Rio was in every cell of your body. How long were you like this? How long were you far from her? You were still washed over by hate. But not because of Rio. No, you couldn't hurt her.

"I can help you..."

You shook your head in disbelief and disappeared in purple smoke.

_____

You didn't know where to go. The life you remembered wasn't yours, just as a life you were living for the last who knew how many years.

Your sisters betrayed you, they were not the only ones. Such strong magic required the assistance of the sorcerer supreme.

It doesn't matter what you were thinking about, you always were coming back to Rio. She saved you, she broke the spell. But if she was the one lying. What if she forged the blade? No, no, not possible. Not your Rio. Your Rio? What these weeks meant for you? Were you in love?

Not only your head, your blood was boiling with magic. You forgot this feeling. You were trying to control the shaking in your hands but it was just getting worse.

"Rio." you whispered.

"Yes, my love."

She appeared in front of you. Her crown was glowing in the dark. No point in playing pretend anymore.

"This blade belongs to me."

Rio nodded.

"You're the entity that is protecting me."

Nod again.

"What happened?"

"They wanted to separate us. They were afraid that you would have special treatment. And with that become too powerful for them to handle."

"Special treatment?"

"Yes." Rio hesitated. "You were the only one who could have my... favor."

"I don't understand."

"You could be invincible. I wouldn't let anything happen to you. You were one of the more powerful wielders of magic. And that was a dangerous combination. So they hid you. Sealed you in the book. It took me centuries to find you."

Your heart was aching. If it was true, your life was taken by those whom you considered family.

"And we..." You blinked away a memory. "Did we ever have a garden?"

"Oh, yes." Rio dared to come closer. "I created a pocket dimension for us. Just us. We could do whatever we wanted."

"I also remember that Rio is not your only name."

She was dreading this moment. For her only hope was left. But for you it was finally the beginning. Not the memories, but affection was guiding you. All those memories of Rio's betrayal. You had to trust your heart. Hate wasn't yours, it wasn't real.

 Yes, it was the truth. It was always Rio. The only thing you wanted was for her to be your reason for existence. And it only could be explained with memories that you couldn't fathom.

You were gravitating towards her. It was easier for you to believe in the ghost of ancient love than lose Rio. Your Rio.

"No, it's not."

For the first time Rio wasn't looking you in the eyes. You had to lift her chin. She was barely breathing, she was barely even functioning, waiting for your sentence. Regal entity reduced to a mortal.

"I'm in love with Rio, but Lady Death..." You pulled her into a kiss. This time your powers entwined with the glow being almost unbearable to be around. "...is a part of me."

"I will help you remember. I will help you return everything they've stolen from you."

"Oh yes." You smiled into her skin. "Right after I punish those who separated us."

[kuroshitsuji-wiki]

Trivia: Public School Arc and more!

A wiki is renownedly never done. However, after a major set-back and subsequent migrations, I have finally finished all major Season 4/Public School Arc-related edits on the wiki!!! (Unless wiki.gg suddenly bans the words "witch" and "werewolf," Season 5 edits should be done much quicker and with far less head- and heartache.)

While I was actually fixing up the final page on my list, I saw the news that the manga is coming back and hurried to report on that mid-page-revision. It was... interesting timing.

One of the things I was unable to do during the airing of Season 4 because I was just too busy with other stuff was going through all of Mr. K's and Yana's tweets, extracting all fun trivia, and adding them to the wiki. I have done that now, but also thought I could bundle them all up and share them here too!

Public School Arc trivia

Otoha wrote the opening "The Parade of Battlers" based on the entirety of Kuroshitsuji, particularly on Ciel's life, not just on the Public School Arc.

Ciel has a cookie in his mouth when he hurries to school in the first chapter/episode of the arc and not a piece of toast because Queen Elizabeth II apparently had cookies and tea first thing in the morning.

Soma's observation in Chapter 71 that Cole is "a bit like Ciel" was also meant to refer to the Chapter 129 reveal.

Mr. K said that Violet's drawing of Ciel and the Jabberwock could mean that he is hostile towards Ciel or that he wants Ciel to eradicate something sinister at school, like St. George did. (Per legend, St. George once killed a dragon that extorted tribute from villagers.)

In the fourth episode, Sebastian reads out a Latin poem (part of the Elegiae) to his class. They have a special languages expert on the anime team, and he apparently approved Daisuke Ono's Latin pronunication on his first try, to everyone's surprise.

While making the chapter, Yana had concerns that Ciel could not possibly throw the lantern far enough for it to land inside the Violet Wolf dorm. Mr. K brushed her off though, but later realised that he was wrong. They asked for Sebastian to help Ciel get the lantern to its destination in the anime.

The order in which the cricket teams enter the grand hall for the eve of the tournament party corresponds with their ranking in the previous year's tournament. (Meaning, in 1888, the ranking was: 1. Green Lion, 2. Scarlet Fox, 3. Violet Wolf, 4. Sapphire Owl.)

It was obvious, but Mr. K confirmed that yes, Vincent did not win the cricket tournament fairly, and that Francis and Tanaka know the truth behind the first Miracle of Sapphires.

Yana consulted the Japanese Cricket Association about the "Sword in the Stone" technique. They were surprised by her idea, but gave her the green light for it as it did not violate any rules then.

Mr. K said it is a "positive technique that proves that there is a way to fight even if you're not a star player = someone who cannot pull the sword out."

Yana actually said that what she did to Joanne Harcourt is terrible.

Tanaka and Francis' dance during the afterparty was Yana's personal highlight.

Because Eton College has a "Fourth of June" celebration (though it does not entail a cricket tournament), the tournament takes place on June 4th too. Eton College's festivities do include a boat parade though; it was the basis for Weston College's.

The director Kenjiro Okada added Maurice's little appearance in the penultimate episode.

They might not have been able to make the Public School Arc if they had not had the help of Rico Murakami, the historical advisor.

The covers for chapters 68, 71, 72, 73, and 83 were drawn in the style of Alfons Mucha, obviously.

Character trivia

Francis Midford is the only human character Sebastian is afraid of.

Agni is the strongest human character in the series.

Because Edward is the heir of a marquess, he could have been in Scarlet Fox too.

Mr. K noted that Edward's ability of "single-minded respect" might make him powerful in battle one day.

According to Mr. K, Soma just cannot read the air; still, he gets along with everyone (except Sebastian). He is also one of the few "purely good" characters in the series and always believes in the goodness of people.

Bluewer knows the Weston College rules by heart.

Clayton raises his hands extra high when Sebastian carries Ciel away after they won the tournament because that is how one claps in the Imperial Theatre. Mr. K noted that this might mean that he is actually a nice person.

Maaya Sakamoto was a bit worried for Ciel to have to go to school as he's such a loner and not good with people. He ended up positively surprising her though with how well he handled the situation.

The question of "can Ciel even do this?" actually came up during the first Public School Arc manga meeting. Yana and the others decided that Ciel gained enough experience during the Circus Arc and would be fine. Yana also noted that while Ciel "might not have grown much in terms of appearance or ability" since the first chapter, he is nonetheless "growing steadily and brazenly on the inside."

It was difficult finding a replacement for Tanaka's late voice actor Shunji Fujimura. For that reason, the team decided to bring back Mugihito who voiced Tanaka in the first Drama CD.

Lau talks like a Japanese mafia boss despite his cluelessness.

Yana remarked that Lau and the Viscount of Druitt have the odd tendency to always be there for important points in the story.

Because the Midfords are a family of swordfighters, Yana asked Aniplex to make them look strong.

Other trivia

New staff members could not believe that Kuroshitsuji has a cast full of prominent voice actors. For example, they were surprised that Finnian is voiced by Yuki Kaji.

The little "in-between/breather" chapters are difficult to animate because they often feature a different setting, different characters, different clothes, etc. They are just as demanding to make as a new season.

For basically the same reasons, "breather" chapters are amongst the most difficult/tedious chapters to make amongst the manga staff too. E.g. the boat parade and the afterparty were hard to make because so many characters appeared, many of which even needed new clothes for the occasion.

The Luxury Liner Arc was the most difficult arc to make, according to Yana's assistants: Back then, everything was still done manually, and they could not copy-paste the Bizarre Dolls, for example. The tilting ship also made things extra hard, and Yana had to make a little model out of a milk box as a visualisation help.

Death Scythes (especially Grelle's and Undertaker's) make Yana's assistants despair. Yana later asked a professional to make 3D models of them so that drawing them would be easier.

Mr. K (and another K-san from the Media Division) always supervise the voice recordings for episodes.

The design of the saucer on the cover of the Monthly GFantasy May 2024 issue is a nod to the Public School Arc.

Her research for the Public School Arc helped Yana make Twisted Wonderland.

The more sinful a person is, the stronger are their "future episodes".

I might have forgotten something, but that should be (almost?) all of them^^'

Hope we get a lot of information from Yana and Mr. K during Season 5 too!

[atcuality1]

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[truevedicastrology]

Uranus in the Houses

A Spark of Unpredictability

Uranus, the planet of revolution and innovation, adds a dash of unpredictability wherever it lands in your birth chart. Let's explore how it ignites change and disrupts the status quo in each house:

1st House: The Maverick

Forget fitting in! You're a natural-born trendsetter, drawn to the avant-garde and expressing yourself authentically. Embracing your quirks, even if they shock others, is key to unlocking your full potential.

2nd House: The Unconventional Earner

Get ready for surprises in your finances! Uranus might bring sudden windfalls or unexpected losses, prompting you to break free from traditional wealth accumulation methods. Embrace innovative ideas and unconventional ventures.

3rd House: The Quick-Witted Communicator

Communication sparks fly! You have a knack for expressing yourself in unexpected ways, sometimes shocking others with your wit and sharp insights. Embrace intellectual challenges and explore diverse perspectives.

4th House: The Unconventional Home

Your home life is anything but ordinary! Expect sudden changes in your living situation or unconventional family dynamics. Embrace the opportunity to build a unique and authentic haven.

5th House: The Rebellious Creator

Your creativity thrives on breaking the rules! You're drawn to avant-garde forms of expression and unexpected romantic encounters. Embrace your uniqueness and challenge conventional notions of love and pleasure.

6th House: The Unorthodox Work Ethic

You disrupt the traditional work environment! You might embrace unconventional methods, challenge authority, or switch careers unexpectedly. Embrace innovation and find a work space that allows you to be your authentic self.

7th House: The Unpredictable Partner

Relationships take an excitingly unpredictable turn with Uranus. You might attract unconventional partners or experience sudden changes in your partnerships. Embrace open communication and respect for individual freedom.

8th House: The Transformational Journey

Expect unexpected transformations in your personal power and finances. You might experience sudden inheritances or losses, prompting deep personal growth. Embrace the power of change and learn to let go.

9th House: The Globe-Trotting Explorer

Embrace adventure! Uranus fuels your wanderlust and desire for unconventional travel experiences. You might be drawn to exploring hidden knowledge or challenging traditional beliefs. Embrace open-mindedness and diverse perspectives.

10th House: The Unlikely Star

Your career path is anything but predictable! You might experience sudden success, unexpected career changes, or unconventional leadership styles. Embrace innovation and find a career that allows you to express your unique vision.

11th House: The Social Revolutionary

You attract like-minded rebels and dreamers! Your friendships challenge the status quo and inspire social change. Embrace collaboration and use your network to make a difference.

12th House: The Intuitive Visionary

Uranus awakens your hidden potential and psychic abilities. You might experience sudden flashes of insight or unconventional spiritual experiences. Embrace introspection and connect to your inner wisdom.

Remember, Uranus' influence is just one piece of your unique astrological puzzle. Embrace the spark of unpredictability it brings and use it to forge your own extraordinary path!

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