They arrived at Hotel Nishiyama under the soft glow of the lantern-lit street. Daejin and Bora stood waiting at the entrance, arms crossed against the cool Kyoto air. Hanna looked much better, her skin warm again, no trace of the fever from earlier but she kept her hand looped through Junho's arm as if it belonged there.
Bora's gaze dropped to that grip, lingering just long enough for a slow, knowing smile to form.
"So…" she drawled, tilting her head, "did I miss a love story while I was gone?"
Junho's expression didn't shift, though his arm remained where it was. Seri walked ahead, face composed, while Taehyun followed at her side, both giving nothing away.
Daejin, however, didn't mask the faint crease in his brow. He said nothing, but his eyes lingered on Hanna, as if quietly trying to guess what else she had planned.
They all moved toward the lift, their reflections passing across the polished glass doors. Bora and Daejin exchanged a glance before Bora finally asked, "So… how was the little work trip?"
Daejin added, his voice even but edged, "And… what's the plan for the gala tomorrow?"
The lift doors slid open, the group stepping inside…four different reactions quietly tucked between them, none quite matching the smiles they wore. Taehyun's voice cut through the faint hum of the elevator. "Yes… the gala. How could we possibly forget about it, right?"
Bora tilted her head toward Hanna, eyes narrowing slightly. "You don't look like you're feeling great. And you're still glued to Junho's arm."
Hanna's tone was light, but her grip didn't loosen. "Just a headache. And I still have no idea what to wear tomorrow."
Junho glanced down at her, brows knitting. "Are you sure you're coming? You don't seem fully recovered yet."
"Of course," Hanna replied without hesitation, her gaze sliding toward Seri. "Why would I miss even a second of it?"
Taehyun turned to Seri. "What about you? Got a dress ready?"
Seri's expression didn't shift. "I'll be fine with what I have. If it ends up being a corporate outfit, I won't argue."
Bora laughed. "A gala in a boardroom suit? Perfect. You can close a business deal between champagne toasts."
Taehyun smirked faintly. "Well, I know where to find the dress. Freshen up and meet in the lobby by eight-thirty."
They all nodded, and Bora's eyes lit up with barely contained excitement, already imagining the possibilities.
The golden hue of sunset spilled through the tall windows of the elegant Kyoto suite. Luggage lay tossed in corners, heels abandoned where they'd been kicked off, jackets draped carelessly over chairs. The room carrying the quiet chaos of people settling in after a long, tense day.
In the bathroom, water ran steadily as Hanna stood before the mirror, her reflection sharp under the light. Seri wasn't the kind of woman she could afford to underestimate. But letting Junho remain at her side? That was a mistake. Dangerous. Unwise. She would chase what she believed was hers, and she would make sure Junho found his way back — just like before.
Taehyun dropped onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, flinging his blazer aside. One hand covered his eyes as if he'd just returned from the front lines of some invisible war.
Daejin lingered by the minibar, opening it with faint suspicion. He muttered under his breath about how energy bars were the most overpriced scam in human history.
Bora, already barefoot, stretched like a cat across one of the armchairs and exhaled loudly. "You call this rest? This is pre-gala combat prep." She squinted into a small hand mirror, applying lip balm with the slow precision of someone sharpening a blade.
In her own room, Seri opened the closet with deliberate calm. She peeled off her outer jacket, her movements unhurried, revealing the faint definition of muscles honed by years of survival. Her arm tensed as she reached for a fresh top, sliding it on slowly. The fabric brushed over the raw, faintly bruised wound on her upper arm, a thin gash streaked with dried blood. No bandage, no visible weakness. She didn't wince. She didn't flinch. She simply pulled the shirt into place, her jaw set, her eyes unreadable.
Junho, in his own room, stared at the paper bag of medicine resting in his palm, weighing the thought of knocking on her door. He turned it over once, twice, as if the answer might be written somewhere on the label.
A few minutes later, a soft chime from the doorbell broke the silence.
Seri, now in loose loungewear with her hair still damp from a quick shower, padded toward the door. She pulled it open to find Junho standing there, slightly hesitant, holding a small first aid kit.
She blinked at him. "Why are you here?"
His gaze flickered downward before meeting hers again. "I noticed your arm… I didn't know if you treated it yet. It looked like it hurt."
She watched him in silence, her gaze steady and giving nothing away.
"So…" he started, still holding the medicine, not offering it yet. "I just thought you should use this."
Seri raised an eyebrow. "Just give it to me."
"Let me treat your arm," he said quietly.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, the look almost asking if he was serious.
"You might have a hard time applying it yourself," he added, his tone steady but softer now, as though bracing for her refusal.
She didn't argue. One look at his face told her he wanted to treat her more than he cared to admit. She didn't want it, not really but without a word, she stepped aside and let him in.
The hotel room was quiet, lit by the muted glow of the bedside lamp. Outside, the night pressed against the windows, the city beyond hushed and distant. Seri sat still, her top shifted just enough to bare the wound along her arm.
Junho knelt beside her, a small bag of ointment in his hand, his gaze fixed on the injury. The silence between them grew heavier…gentle, but edged with something unspoken. Without a word, he began to clean it, his movements slow, deliberate.
The cotton brushed against her skin, dipped in ointment, touching carefully around the cut. His brow furrowed not at the task, but at everything he wasn't saying.
"I know I can't protect you… not like you've protected me," he murmured, voice low, eyes never leaving the wound.
The pause that followed felt weighted.
"But I don't like seeing you hurt."
Seri watched him—his lashes lowered, the muscle in his jaw tight, the faint tremor in his fingertips betraying him. Her breath caught as her eyes lingered on his face.
"Why?" she asked quietly.
His hand stilled mid-motion. He let out a slow exhale, as if her question cut far deeper than the wound beneath his touch.
Lifting his head, he met her gaze.
"Because every time you get hurt…" His voice dropped, roughened by something raw. "…it feels like I failed to keep you safe."
Seri's lips curved into a small, almost careless smile as she broke the silence.
"It's not me you need to protect," she said softly, but with a faint edge that didn't match the smile. "Maybe you should focus on Hanna instead. She's the one you've always needed to keep an eye on."
Junho froze for a moment, his hand still hovering near her arm. The words caught him off guard, like a shift in the air he hadn't seen coming. His brows drew together in quiet confusion.
"Why are you bringing up Hanna?" His voice was low, searching, but Seri didn't look at him…her eyes wandered toward the darkened window instead.
He sat back slightly, trying to piece together what she meant. Maybe she was right. Hanna had always been someone he promised to look after. But not in the way Seri seemed to think. His kind of protection wasn't born from choosing one person over another; it was standing where danger was, even if it meant taking the hit himself.
Junho's chest tightened. "If you think I'd ever protect someone just because they need guarding," he said quietly, "then you don't understand. Hanna isn't the only one I'd fight for."
Seri's gaze flicked to him for the briefest second, but she didn't answer. Her eyes stayed steady, her thoughts locked behind them., yet there was something in the way she held her breath like she didn't trust herself to speak without letting too much slip.
Junho's gaze locked on hers, sharp but laced with something far more vulnerable. "I don't decide who to protect based on danger. I protect the one I can't bear to lose… and that's you." He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low, unshakable whisper. "I'd rather bleed beside you than watch from somewhere safe."
Seri couldn't say anything more. She had heard enough for now. Rising from her seat, she kept her voice steady. "I think that's enough. My arm's not so bad. I'll do the rest myself. Thank you." She walked to the door, opened it, and stood waiting for him to leave.
Junho paused in the doorway, his shadow stretching across the floor. He looked at her for a long moment, searching her face. "I don't know what you're thinking," he said quietly. "I can't see it through your eyes. "But you should know… not knowing what you feel doesn't change what I feel."
He stepped past her and into the hall, the faint echo of his words lingering long after his footsteps faded.
Seri closed the door slowly, the quiet click sounding far too loud in the stillness. She told herself she could handle this but the truth pressed heavy against her chest. Hanna's words lingered, curling like smoke in her mind. She couldn't put him in danger. Not again. Not when she knew exactly what it cost.
She leaned against the door for a moment, eyes fixed on nothing, forcing her breathing to steady. She would finish this. Alone. Without asking for his help. That was the safest way for him, at least.