Lunchtime at Hwarang Academy is a spectacle in itself.

The main dining hall—one of several eating and leisure spaces on campus—resembles a five-star restaurant more than a cafeteria. Polished marble floors. Soaring glass windows that flood the space with golden midday light. Tables dressed in crisp linen and gleaming silverware.

The air hums with money.

Grilled meats. Fresh herbs. Sugar, butter, and privilege.

I sit alone at a table near the window, the outside world blurred into motionless color. My vanilla mascarpone shake sweats against the glass as I sip slowly, the cold sweetness oddly satisfying in ways many won't understand. I’m not hungry. I haven’t been since that morning.

But the taste is familiar. Predictable. Safe.

My headphones rest around my neck, close enough to deploy if the noise spikes.

Across the room, Dae sits at a central table.

Across from her is him.

Jiwon.

I learned his name before lunch. Dae texted me everything—too much information, too fast. Kim Empire. Casino strips. Smuggling rumors wrapped in money. A Swedish mother. An illegitimate son everyone pretends not to see.

Dae had come to find me after her Media Studies seminar, spilling all the additional intel she had spent the whole morning gathering. Unlike Hoon and me, she didn’t have to worry about managing her family business; she had brothers lined up as heirs to their vast network of designer boutiques and luxury franchises that dominated half of Busan’s shopping districts. Power excuses everything.

It was Jiwon’s first time in Busan. He had grown up abroad with his mother, one of Kim Dae-hwan—the dragon of Busan's Mistresses. She was just a little bit more special than the rest because she had birthed a son.

Kim’s lawful wife had only daughters. No son to pass the empire to. So the burden landed on Jiwon. He was back not by choice but by inheritance. A son raised in exile stepping in and hold everything together. 

I watch them without meaning to. Dae leans forward, animated. Jiwon glances up, eyes clashing with mine. He smiles easily, as if the whole space around us belonged to him.

My chest tightens.

I look away fast, sucking too hard on my shake, the cold biting back. Brain freeze blooms sharp and sudden. I wince, pressing my palm to my eye until it fades.

“Hey, Jay! What did I miss?”

Hoon slides into the seat across from me, menu in hand, hair perfectly disheveled. His voice snaps me back into the room. He's ruggedly handsome, eyes like dragon slits, built like a wrestler, black belt in taekwondo, known to do some damage if he wanted to.

“The whole school’s buzzing,” he continues. “Fight with a new student? And what’s Dae doing over there?”

I stare at him. My face devoid of emotion.

“Where have you been?” I accuse. If he had been there this morning, things may not have escalated as they did.

He grins. “Overslept. What happened?”

“He grabbed me again,” I say flatly. “Same guy from the club.”

Hoon’s expression darkens instantly.

“What?” His voice drops. “He’s got some nerve.”

“Dae’s handling it,” I mutter.

“Well, if she can't make him back off, I will! He responds, clenching his fist, a smug look on his face. Hoon was always ready for a fight if my peace was at stake. I stifle a smile. Then glance back toward them - Dae and Jiwon.

They’re laughing. Something's not right. 

Something in my chest twists.

At the corner table, Dae doesn’t soften her stare.

“I just told you,” she says sharply. “He has autism. He doesn’t like crowds. He doesn’t like being touched. Don’t you get it?”

“I don’t just want to be friends,” Jiwon replies calmly. “I’m attracted to him.”

Dae blinks.

“…Are you gay?”

“Bi.”

“Jay doesn’t do relationships.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s autistic.”

Jiwon laughs softly, shaking his head. “That’s ridiculous.”

Her warning comes fast and fierce.

“He’s not an experiment.”

Something shifts in Jiwon’s expression. Not anger and not offense.

Resolve.

"Do I strike you as a scientist? I don't do experiments." Jiwon says confidently, not blinking. 

Dae watches, unconvinced.

“I won’t run,” he adds. "I want to get to know Jay, for real." He sounded soft, sincere.  

Dae studies him longer than she means to, wavering.

The alarm bells don’t ring.

And that scares her, no, it makes her feel hopeful, for Jay.

“I don't know..." Dae sighs, hesitant. "Jay is extremely picky about who he lets close, and his reactions can be unpredictable and extreme. You experienced it this morning. I don't think he'll give you a chance.”

“Can you let Jay be the judge of that?”

“He wants you to back off!”

“He can tell me that himself.”

“He’s told you already – Twice,” she retaliates. 

“Why are you being so protective?”

“Because people come all the time out of curiosity. They try to get close to him, they fail, they leave, and he gets hurt!"

Jiwon’s eyes cloud, his heart tugging for Jay. He suppresses the feeling. Eye on the price. He reminds himself.

“Look, I've told you already, I don’t see him as an experiment. I’m genuinely… attracted to him.”

Dae studies him, searching for any sign of insincerity. He looks all wrong—rolled-up sleeves, tattoos peeking out from underneath his shirt collar, snaking up his neck, and out from one sleeve, down his arm to his wrist, tousled bleached hair. But his eyes are kind, and his interest did seem genuine. 

“He’ll never let you close,” She sighs, sounding more like she was trying to convince herself than him. “Just look at you,” she gestures to his exposed tattoos and wild hair. “You’re too much—too busy. It’s sensory overload for him.”

“Sensory overload?” Jiwon grins, rolling his sleeves down, securing them at the cuffs, and buttoning up his shirt. “Come on, give me a chance. I’ll dress better, I promise.”

Dae finds it oddly endearing, this tough guy was trying so hard. She laughs, and he laughs with her. “You’re so desperate,” she teases, relaxing back into her chair. “I like you.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” he says with a smile.  “Let’s be friends. I’m generous with my friends. To a fault.”

Dae twirls her ponytail around one finger.  Her eyes narrow with playful intent.

“Can you get me blueys - friend?” she asks, dropping her voice.

Ecstasy is hard to find in Busan.

Even for the privileged. 

And Dae likes to go hard on weekends.

Jiwon’s eyebrows shoot up slightly, a sly, wicked grin spreading across his lips. He leans back in his chair, exuding effortless confidence. “Consider me your personal supplier,” he replies, not missing a beat.

Dae lets out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. Jiwon laughs with her, but his eyes remain steady, promising everything he'd just said. Realizing he's serious, Dae quietens, leans in closer, her voice barely above a breath. “Wait, are you actually serious?”

He nods, holding her gaze.

“God, this is so tempting,” Dae mutters, nibbling her lower lip, her mind racing.

“What about VIP passes to your casinos?” She adds, she may as well reap full benefits.

“Done,” Jiwon says, his tone smooth and certain.

Dae hesitates, then finds herself shamelessly spilling, “Jay’s obsessed with manhwa—comic books. I know he’s been searching for the unreleased version of ‘Phantom Blade’. If you can get your hands on it, come sit with us at Lunch. If anything, I can guarantee he'll soften up to you a little."

Jiwon nods, a conspiratorial glint in his eyes. "That's all I need, beautiful, thanks!"

Dae shakes her head, half amused, half scandalized. “Jesus, I can’t believe I’m trading my friend for party favors.” She stands, pushing her chair back, “If you hurt Jay, you’re dead!” She threatens, finger pointing threateningly, before turning to saunter away, her tiny hips swaying with every step, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Jiwon’s gaze drifts back to Jay.

He's hunched over his shake, glass almost empty, straw between his lips, trying to look like he hasn't been watching them all this time.

Heat pools low in Jiwon's stomach.

Jesus.

This boy had him down bad.