Chapter Text
“Shit.” Jimin heard his best friend curse under his breath at the desk beside him, drawing his attention even if unintentionally.
Normally, the young Kim’s face was expressionless. Most of the time, he looked more bored than expected from a teenager.
Taehyung didn’t seem any different as he opened the piece of paper tossed in his direction. However, after taking a good look at the content written in terrible handwriting, the student’s face darkened.
He was angry. Jimin couldn’t read the note from where he was sitting, but the way his best friend bit the inside of his lower lip before crumpling it said a lot about his state of mind.
It was obvious the content of the paper wasn’t a love confession or sincere compliments.
Watching Taehyung toss the crumpled paper ball into his backpack on the floor beside him, Jimin asked, “Tae, are you okay?”
“I hate those assholes,” Taehyung replied through gritted teeth, avoiding the prince’s question.
His best friend’s response was enough to make Jimin glare at the group of boys and girls sitting at the back of the classroom. Their perfectly neat uniforms didn’t match their malicious looks and mocking smiles.
They knew Jimin was the heir to the throne of the country they lived in. Everyone was fully aware of it. Still, nothing stopped them from provoking Park’s best friend. They knew Jimin couldn’t do much to avenge his friend.
“Kim Taehyung and Park Jimin, if you two know the material well enough to chat freely during my class, I’d like you to come up here and take my place to explain it to the rest of the class.”
“Sorry, Ms. Bae,” Jimin apologized and, noticing his friend wouldn’t say anything, gave a light tap on the teenager’s right shoulder, who seemed mentally far away. “Tae.”
Rolling his eyes, Taehyung nodded and clasped his hands together before replying in an insincere tone, “Sorry.”
Faced with her student’s response, the young-looking woman with long black hair sighed tiredly. She dealt with Taehyung almost every day for the past two years and no longer had the willpower to try to teach him proper manners.
“As I was saying before I was interrupted…” she resumed the lesson, turning her back on the noisy duo and walking to the digital board attached to the classroom wall. “The beginning of the soulmate cycle occurs when a person dies and their soul decides to wait for the soul of someone important to them. When this meeting in the afterlife happens, both souls ascend to the spiritual plane at the same time, and in this way, the Universe understands that these individuals have unfinished business. As a consequence, after the souls recover and rest enough, both will be sent again into a new life where they will eventually meet and live as soulmates. But the most important thing is that they resolve their unfinished business and forgive each other.” She concluded her brief explanation, walking around the room and making sure everyone was paying attention. “Soulmates are special parts of society. Having a soulmate is rare and only happens to about 7% of the world’s population.”
“And how do we know if we have one? And how do we find out who our soulmate is?” Kim Minah, one of the students with the highest grades in the school, asked, genuinely interested.
“It’s not like someone is waiting for you, Minah,” said Sung Jaeyoung, one of the boys Jimin and his best friend considered part of a group of jerks who loved being mean to everyone, yet were somehow admired by a large portion of the students.
Embarrassed, the girl’s cheeks turned red and her whole body shrank into her chair. She looked like she wanted to disappear, which only made everyone in the back of the class laugh even more.
“Stop being an asshole, Jaeyoung. Literally no one asked for your comment,” Jimin cut in.
“The same applies to you, little sh—.”
“I’m going to stop you right there, young man,” the teacher interrupted, stepping in front of the troublemaker’s desk to make sure he wouldn’t say anything else that could offend more people. Shortly after, she turned to the still-embarrassed student and said gently, “Minah, what happens is that when you and your soulmate look at each other for the first time, both of you will feel your hearts tighten, almost like a slight pain; your pulses will quicken, you’ll lose your breath, and then the irises of both your eyes will turn gray for a few seconds. After that, the color will change to green and finally blue until the thread of fate strengthens around both of your wrists and becomes visible to the pair. Only to the pair.”
“That’s it?” a student from the back of the room asked. “You’re tied to someone by an invisible thread?”
“Well, when the bond is formed, the pair can also hear something that marked them in their past lives for reasons that vary from person to person. And besides the thread, there are also the changes in the color of the irises, which, depending on what your soulmate makes you feel, will change color. For example, if A and B are soulmates and A is very happy because B planned a surprise birthday party for A, then A’s eyes might turn blue,” she explained with a smile, pleased to have captured the teenagers’ attention. “The same happens with the thread that connects them, since its color constantly changes according to what you and your soulmate feel for each other. Half of the thread is one color, and the other half is another. The side attached to A’s wrist represents what B feels for A, and the same happens the other way around.” She explained and then, using the small white remote in her right hand, switched the slide to one showing the meaning of each color.
Without wasting time, Jimin, like most of the other students, began taking notes from the board.
This topic would definitely come up in a future test or something similar.
Satisfied, the teacher continued: “These are the most common colors in the threads of fate and their meanings. Additionally, memories from your past life will appear occasionally.”
“For what reason?” Minah asked again.
“So that you remember why you are connected to that person,” the teacher explained, smiling sweetly at the student before returning to stand in front of the board, facing the whole class. “The thread of fate exists to keep soulmates united and, contrary to what many believe, not necessarily in a specific type of relationship. There are cases of siblings, friends, lovers, family members, and even enemies from past lives who returned as soulmates. In the end, what matters is that the Universe triggers those memories so that the people involved understand that the purpose of their bond is to forgive something and, above all, remain connected to their soulmate.” She clarified calmly. “No matter the type of relationship you have with your soulmate, it can be whatever kind of relationship you both wish to have, but both need to take care of each other and, above all, make sure both sides are okay.”
“And if the two people live far away? Does the thread stretch?” Jimin asked for the first time, curious.
“Yes, the thread stretches,” the teacher confirmed, smiling as she saw the possible future monarch nod and write something in his neatly organized notebook. “The thread is invisible—but only to others.”
“So if you have a soulmate, you can’t see other people’s threads?” Chae Yiyeon asked at one of the front desks and was immediately answered with a negative nod. “Why not?!”
“We don’t know,” she replied. “Many scholars have created theories about this phenomenon, but none have ever come close to real proof to support their thesis.” She revealed just before the bell rang loudly throughout the school. “Alright, class, that concludes today’s lesson. However, before you go, I want everyone to research and bring to the next class a theory about the conditions of the thread that you find most interesting so we can continue with a group discussion.” She asked and, despite the groans of complaint from many students, the young woman smiled and dismissed them.
“This subject sucks,” Taehyung commented as he stood up and slung his custom backpack—made by himself in his mother’s atelier—over his right shoulder. “And not to sound like I agree with those jerks, but why was Minah asking so many questions? I mean, it did sound like she wants to find a soulmate. Who in their right mind would want a soulmate?”
“I would,” Jimin replied simply, finishing putting his pencil case into his bag and closing it. “Imagine how comforting it must be to have someone you can trust and rely on for the rest of your life.”
“You already have that.” He pointed to himself, and the prince laughed at the joke that held a lot of truth.
Both teenagers considered each other their symbolic soulmates. There was no thread between them, but the emotional connection was still there, and that was enough.
Watching Jimin still smiling as he calmly and delicately finished organizing his things, Taehyung continued, “But imagine remembering your past life? That must be horrible! Not to mention someone knowing exactly what you feel. It’s invasive at best and extremely suffocating. I’d hate it so much that I’d definitely kill myself.”
“Hmm,” Jimin agreed as he put his backpack on and walked toward the classroom door beside Taehyung. “Even so, I’d still want to have a soulmate. It sounds fun.”
It was a typical sunny Saturday afternoon for most people, mostly teenagers and young adults, gathered at that particular convention center in Tokyo.
Everyone was visibly excited and eager to meet their favorite mangaka, watch breathtaking exhibitions that could amaze any fan, and, best of all, receive firsthand updates about their favorite stories and games while wearing their best cosplays and interacting with other fans.
However, aside from the fact that it was one of the biggest anime events in the world, nothing beyond what had already been mentioned truly stood out in the convention center. Not even the tall young man dressed head to toe as the well-known neutral spirit from Studio Ghibli, who moved effortlessly among the crowd, was ever approached.
In fact, most of the time, he didn’t even seem to be noticed.
“Relax, Yoon, no one’s going to notice.” He reassured his best friend, who hadn’t stopped complaining on the other end of the phone ever since he received the selfie the prince had sent in their group chat.
“You always say that, you punk. I just want to see what happens when things go to shit.” The rapper shot back, and Jungkook laughed behind his mask, completely unfazed by the older man’s words.
Truth be told, the prince was already used to these events. He had been attending conventions since he was twelve years old, and with the right cosplay, there was no way he’d get caught.
Feeling free of any anxiety, Jungkook continued, “When things go to shit, you’ll see it on Twitter’s trending topics. Until then…” He trailed off, laughing at the huff he heard from the other side of the line. “Until then, I’m just going to enjoy my time.”
“Jungkook, I’m serious. This is going to—”
“Oh my God, that guy’s Sasuke cosplay is perfect!” Jungkook exclaimed excitedly, cutting Yoongi off as he started walking quickly toward the costumed man. “I need a picture with him. I’ll talk to you later.” He hung up as soon as he reached his destination.
Approaching the said guy shyly, the prince lowered his voice and asked for a photo. The young man agreed without hesitation, having no idea who was beneath the all-black outfit and No-Face mask.
As he looked at the freshly taken picture while walking away, Jungkook felt the urge to rub it in his best friend’s face. So he quickly opened his messaging app, selected their group chat, and sent the photo along with a message about being too busy to listen to Yoongi’s worries—which, of course, resulted in a complaint from his friend.
Min Yoongi was Japan’s most successful rapper and also heir to one of the largest conglomerates in Asia. All that and he was only twenty-eight years old. Still, sometimes he acted like a grumpy old man, especially when it came to the prince, whom he often described as the younger brother he never had.
Yoongi constantly worried about Jungkook attending public events in disguise or acting recklessly. More than anything, Yoongi feared that Jungkook might get hurt. After all, he was a member of the Japanese imperial family, and yet he always found a way to wander around unprotected and alone.
Still, none of Yoongi’s warnings ever worked. And so Jungkook spent his afternoon taking pictures with strangers dressed as characters he likes, attending panels featuring highly respected professionals in the anime industry, and buying things he absolutely didn’t need. Despite his position, Jungkook couldn’t care less about politics. Fortunately for him, he wasn’t the heir, his brother was next in line and was very eager for the throne. That allowed Jungkook to ignore most of his responsibilities and try to live like a normal person, just like he had during his childhood, even if that reality felt very far away now, at twenty-two.
Because of politics, Jungkook had been born in Japan to secure his nationality, but less than a week later, he was taken to Redcliffe, Australia, where, at the time, his parents had been living for years. There, he and his brother were raised, living normal lives in a quiet suburban neighborhood where no one knew who they really were.
Those were happy years. To Jungkook, they were perfect.
But nothing lasts forever.
One phone call in the middle of the night destroyed that perfect life.
Jungkook still remembered it clearly—his father crying in the kitchen, his mother comforting him, while he and his brother sat on the couch, holding hands, unaware that everything was about to change.
That night, his uncle died. Officially, it was an accident. In reality, the imperial palace just couldn’t tell the public that the crown prince had taken his own life, unable to bear the pressure and weight that comes with the crown. With that, Jungkook’s father inherited the burden of becoming emperor, and his entire family was pulled into that fate.
Jungkook hated it.
He hated the crown, politics, economy, and even the country itself. He constantly wanted to be far away from Japan. But that week, one of his favorite events was happening. So there he was, posing for photos with strangers who admired his cosplay.
That was what Jungkook loved most about events like this. No one knew who he was and the freedom that came with it meant everything to him.
Later, Jungkook was in the middle of a purchase, genuinely pleased with the rare manga he had found, when his phone started ringing, vibrating in his hands along with the default ringtone.
Busy, he didn’t even bother to check the screen and honestly considered ignoring the call altogether. Jungkook was happy there and didn’t want his bubble of blissful ignorance about the outside world to burst. But whoever was calling him was persistent and clearly had no intention of giving up.
By the fourth call, Jungkook huffed and rolled his eyes in annoyance before finally answering without even glancing at the screen.
He already knew who it was. Only one person in his life was that annoyingly persistent. “What’s up, Dad?” he asked, studying an action figure of Inosuke wielding his dual swords.
“Jungkook, I need you to come home right now.”
“No can do, Dad. I’m at an event, and after I’m done here, I’m going to Hobi’s place to eat whatever junk I find in his fridge and—”
“Son, don’t make this difficult for me or for you.” Katsu interrupted, his tone tired, almost pleading. “I have a mission for you.”
“Oh, no.” Jungkook refused immediately, even though deep down he already knew it was pointless to do so. “Dad, no.”
“I love you. I’ll be waiting for you in my office.” The emperor said, completely ignoring Jungkook’s protest. “Be careful on your way home.”
In pure disbelief, Jungkook pulled the phone away from his ear just to make sure the call had really ended.
He knew exactly what that call meant. His father always referred to political tasks as “missions,” as if that made them sound more appealing to Jungkook.
It didn’t.
Nothing in the world could turn meetings with outdated, questionable men into something enjoyable.
It was actually draining and exhausting. And no matter how well he performed, the media would always find something to criticize—his clothes, his hair, the way he greeted someone.
Too fast. Too slow. Too serious. Too cheerful.
It was never enough. So why even try?
Defeated, Jungkook sighed, paid for the action figure he was still holding in his hand, and carefully placed it inside his black tote bag as if it were a treasure.
With the bag slung over his shoulder, his phone already open on the message app as he texted his driver to pick him up behind the venue, he headed toward the exit, walking against the flow of the crowd.
As soon as Jungkook stepped outside, the summer heat of Tokyo hit him hard. Sweat immediately began to form on his forehead and neck beneath the heavy costume, even though the walk wasn’t long.
Still, the prince didn’t let it bother him as he made his way to the meeting point.
“Good afternoon, Shibasaki,” Jungkook greeted, removing his mask as he approached the black armored SUV.
The man bowed respectfully before opening the door.
“Thank you,” Jungkook said, slipping into the beige leather seat and fastening his seatbelt as the agent walked around to the passenger side. “Good afternoon, Uchida,” he added.
“Good afternoon, Your Highness,” the driver replied. “How was your day?”
“It could’ve been better.”
As the car pulled away, Jungkook leaned his head back against the seat, already tired of everything that awaited him. He knew he’d get irritated as soon as he got home.
Accepting his fate, Jungkook just stared out the window, watching quietly as Tokyo blurred past him.“Your Highness, your brother returned from New Zealand today,” Shibasaki announced.
Jungkook immediately turned his head towards the man, interest sparking in his eyes. “And, if it helps,” the agent continued, “both His Majesty and the Crown Prince are currently at the palace… talking.”
That was enough.
Shibasaki knew exactly what he was doing.
“Do you think he’ll want to talk to me?” Jungkook asked, unable to hide the hope in his voice. “I mean, he’s busy, right? Maybe he won’t have time—and that’s okay, he usually doesn’t… And if he’s with Dad, it’s probably work-related since he doesn’t even come to family events anymore…” He kept rambling, not even noticing he was repeating himself.
“Maybe today he’ll have enough time to stay for dinner,” Uchida said reassuringly.
And just like that, Jungkook lit up, bouncing his leg, anxiously waiting to get home soon.
He didn’t know what to expect. It had been years since they’d talked properly.
Even though their rooms were right next to each other in the palace, they barely saw one another. Seokjin had spent years studying abroad in England, and even after returning two years ago, he was rarely around, always working or staying elsewhere.
Jungkook wasn’t much different. Despite having a room in the palace and an apartment in Tokyo, his true home was in Rhode Island, far from the media, far from any expectations.
There, he was just… another person. As ordinary as anyone else could be.
And Jungkook loved that.
As the car finally passed through the palace gates, it took another ten minutes before it came to a stop in front of the grand entrance of the massive building, its architecture a blend of traditional Japanese style with subtle modern touches.
It was beautiful.
“Your Highness,” Shibasaki called politely as he opened the door. Jungkook stepped out, awkwardly removing the rest of his costume until he was left in black baggy pants and an oversized white shirt. “His Majesty is waiting for you in his office.”
“Mm.” Jungkook hummed, showing he had heard. “Shibasaki, could you ask someone to take this and my bag to my room, please?” he asked, slightly embarrassed.
It wasn’t the man’s job, but he knew Shibasaki wouldn’t refuse.
And he didn’t.
With a chuckle, the security agent accepted the items and bowed in acknowledgment.
“Thank you!” Jungkook said quickly, already hurrying away—half from embarrassment, half from eagerness.
Jungkook truly wanted to see his brother more than anything. And, if he got to talk to Seokjin, then that would be even better.
Keeping his steps fast and quiet, he crossed a large portion of the palace interior, climbed the stairs to the second floor, and headed toward the south wing where his father’s office was located.
By the time he reached the dark wooden door with the gold handle, Jungkook didn’t hesitate, he turned it open immediately.
Inside, he expected to see his brother standing beside their father. But there was only one person in the room.
The emperor.
Once again, Jungkook had missed the opportunity to finally meet his brother again. Or maybe his security guards lied to him just to make him feel more eager to go home and meet the emperor.
“Hey, kiddo! How are you?” his father greeted warmly, setting aside the papers on his desk as he walked over.
“I’m trying,” Jungkook replied in the same way he often did, hugging his father and taking a deep breath to swallow his frustration. “And you?”
“Physically fine. Mentally exhausted,” his father admitted.
Jungkook nodded—he knew things had been chaotic lately.
“But we’ve already dismissed the officer responsible for ordering our ships into Korean territory.”
“Hmm. That’s good,” Jungkook said without much interest, turning toward one of the many bookshelves in the room. “These weren’t here last time I came over,” he added, glancing back. “Are they new?”
“Your brother brought them today.”
That caught Jungkook off guard.
So it was true. Seokjin had in fact been there earlier.
Maybe if I had arrived earlier…
“He said his boyfriend has taken over half the shelves in his Tokyo apartment,” his father continued casually. “So he brought these here until they finish installing the new shelves.”
“Can I borrow them?” Jungkook asked, already reaching for one before even getting an answer.
He flipped through the pages slowly. There were small creases, pencil marks, underlined sentences, and notes. All of them were made by Seokjin.
A book his brother had read and now he could read it too.
Somehow, it felt… special. Like the interaction with Seokjin that Jungkook was craving so much.
“Of course, dear,” Katsu said with a soft smile. “But that’s not why I called you here.”
“Then what is it?” Jungkook asked, still distracted by the books.
“As you know, our relationship with Korea hasn’t been good lately—”
“It never has.” Jungkook corrected.
“Exactly. And it’s gotten worse after our naval incident last week.”
“Then pull the ships out.”
“It’s not that simple. That would mean publicly admitting we failed to control our own commanders.”
“Well… that would be the truth, wouldn’t it?”
Katsu ignored that.
“We’ve decided to hold a diplomatic meeting with Korea. And I want you to go as the Crown’s representative. It will take place this Friday in Brussels.”
“My answer is no,” Jungkook said immediately.
Laughing in disbelief, Katsu asked: “May I know why?”
“The new Given movie just came out, and I want to watch it. Also, I promised Hoseok that I’d go on a work trip with him, and that’s on Thursday.”
Silence.
Katsu wasn’t amused.
“Jungkook, you’re twenty-two. I expect you to understand this isn’t a trivial matter.”
“I do. I read the news,” Jungkook replied calmly. “You’re trying to prevent a war that would be completely justified. We invaded their territory. Again.” He paused, then added bluntly: “And now you’re sending me into the lion’s den.”
“That’s not the reality.” Katsu defended himself.
“There’s no real discussion here.” Jungkook cut his dad off. “Send Seokjin. He’s the heir. It’s his job to maintain the peace and security of the country, not mine.”
“Your brother is unavailable.”
“And what could be more important than preventing a war? If he wants to be an emperor someday, he needs land and people alive to do so.”
“I’m not giving you a choice,” his father said firmly. “Korea is sending a prince who isn’t the heir, but he’s highly capable. We’ll do the same.”
Jungkook went quiet for a moment… then smirked.
That was it. Jungkook finally found the root of the reason he was there. It wasn’t necessarily because Seokjin was busy, but actually because…
“This is symbolic,” Jungkook concluded. “Sending the heir would make us look desperate, like we need a stronger figure to solve this mess, while they can send just anyone. It would also make us look bad to send an heir to a meeting with an ordinary prince.” His father’s silence confirmed it. “Fine,” the prince said at last. “I’ll do it. But after this, I want four months off from any political duties.”
“Two months.”
“Five months—and I prevent the war and bring back a trade partnership proposal.”
Jungkook didn’t even wait for an answer. He already knew he had won.
“Are we having dinner together tonight?” he asked casually, as if they hadn’t just negotiated terms involving a huge international conflict.
Katsu laughed again, shaking his head.
And Jungkook smiled too. Because despite everything, he still loved that sound.
“Your mother arrives at seven,” Katsu said, giving his son a couple of light pats on the shoulder as Jungkook balanced the stack of books in his arms.
“Alright. I’ll be in the dining room at eight.” Jungkook replied. They both knew Misaki enjoyed taking her time getting ready—an entire hour, at least. “If you need me, I’ll be in my room,” he added, already stepping away. “You know… slowly dying while studying,” he dramatized, opening the heavy door.
“Open or closed?” his father asked, playing along, referring to how Jungkook would prefer his coffin.
“Closed. No one needs to see how wrecked I look after getting my ass kicked on Monday,” Jungkook shot back, leaning casually against the door.
“What happened this time?” his father asked, now fully invested.
“I think he was more interested in the headlines about us than in me,” Jungkook admitted with a shrug. “But nothing new under the sun.” He waved lightly. “I’m going to study now. See you later.”
“We’ll talk more about it over dinner,” Katsu called after him.
“Not worth it, but thanks,” Jungkook replied before closing the door behind him.
Jungkook considered himself a decent guy. Not perfect, far from it. He knew he had flaws, plenty of them. But one thing he was sure of? None of those flaws had anything to do with how he treated his partners.
If anything, Jungkook’s problem was the opposite.
He was too romantic. Hopelessly romantic.
Jungkook loved imagining love stories and inserting himself into them, composing songs inspired by his feelings, or even by stories he’d heard. Most of those songs ended up on his YouTube channel, along with random videos he filmed with his friends.
Maybe that was part of the reason the media hated him so much.
He tried so hard to appear normal, to be just another guy, not someone burdened by a crown. But people didn’t seem to like that version of him.
Or maybe they just pretended not to. Because no matter what he did, people still watched.
And judged.
Whether he was going out with friends or seen with a new potential boyfriend, everything turned into headlines, usually filled with harsh criticism.
Especially his relationships.
People loved those.
And sometimes Jungkook started to believe them.
Maybe he really was the problem. After all, he fell in love too easily. He jumped into relationships too quickly. And they never lasted more than four months.
He knew it.
The media knew it.
But while Jungkook followed his heart, the media followed manipulation. They painted him as a reckless heartbreaker, when in reality he was just someone who wanted to love and be loved.
With his arms growing tired from carrying the books, Jungkook kept walking down the long corridor toward his room, already planning his study schedule.
He needed to review the latest news, analyze negotiation patterns, and understand his opponent before building a strategy.
It was tedious, but necessary.
“Your documents will be on your desk tomorrow morning, Your Highness.” A female voice pulled him out of his thoughts.
Jungkook looked up and froze.
There he was.
Seokjin.
Standing at the end of the corridor, surrounded by staff.
For a moment, Jungkook felt cold all over. It had been so long since he’d seen his brother up close that it almost felt unreal. It was like looking at a celebrity instead of his own brother.
The last time they’d seen each other, Seokjin had short blond hair. Now it was longer, brushing the middle of his neck, back to its natural color—dark, framing his already striking features even more.
He was… absurdly beautiful.
“I—” Jungkook started to say. Seokjin looked at him from head to toe.
Then cut him off.
“I’ll be in my room,” the crown prince told his team, his tone calm and detached. “I want the documents delivered to me no later than tonight.”
The assistant nodded.
“Are you going to have dinner with–“
But instead of stopping to pay attention to what Jungkook was trying to ask him, Seokjin just turned away and walked into his room. Without saying another word, without acknowledging Jungkook. As if he wasn’t even there.
Jungkook felt heat rise to his face from embarrassment the second the door closed. The staff kept silent, but they all looked at him with pity.
And even though Jungkook hated to be the target of pity, he still forced himself to show the workers a small, awkward smile before he lowered his head and walked towards his own room.
Everyone knew how things were between the two princes and it was always uncomfortable to witness.
Seokjin avoided Jungkook like the plague. As if Jungkook was something forbidden, dangerous.
It had been like that for six… maybe seven years.
The distance hadn’t appeared overnight—but it had become real around Jungkook’s sixteenth birthday. Before that, Seokjin had slowly started calling less, coming home less.
And no matter how hard their parents tried with family dinners and conversations, nothing worked.
Still, Jungkook never gave up.
Every single day, he called his brother and left a voicemail. He didn’t know if Seokjin ever listened, but he liked to believe he did. It was easier that way.
By the time Jungkook reached his room, he was exhausted, mentally and physically.
He shut the door behind him and leaned against it, closing his eyes. Then, he breathed in and out one, two, three times, trying to get rid of the sting in his nose, the tightness in his throat.
Jungkook wanted to cry, but he wouldn’t. Not today.
So focused on holding himself together, he didn’t notice the figure lying comfortably on his bed. Or his cat jumping on it. Until—
“For the love of everything good, Jungkook, get this demonic cat away from my Lucky Charms!”
Jungkook blinked.
There was Hoseok. Holding a bowl of cereal above his head while trying to keep the black cat away.
“Get away, Darwin!” Hoseok yelled desperately.
And just like that, his mood lifted.
“I already told you to stop eating on my bed.” Jungkook pointed out, but his voice had already softened just from seeing his friend there.
Hoseok scoffed, still holding the bowl up while trying to dodge Darwin’s relentless attempts to steal his cereal.
“Lo siento, no entiendo lo que dices,” Hoseok said dramatically, pretending not to understand even though he was born and raised in Tokyo.
Jungkook rolled his eyes, walked over, and picked up the cat, earning himself an offended meow.
“What are you even doing here?” he asked, sitting down on the bed and pressing a kiss to Darwin’s head before letting him go.
“Dunno,” Hoseok shrugged. “I was passing by and decided to come in and wait for you.”
“But how did you know I’d be here and not at my apartment?”
“I didn’t,” Hoseok admitted, grinning. “The plan was to check if Darwin was here. If he wasn’t, I’d leave. But since he was and still is…” he gestured vaguely. “Here I am.”
Jungkook huffed out a quiet laugh.
“But what’s with the sad face?” Hoseok added, narrowing his eyes.
“Hm?” Jungkook frowned. “What sad face?”
“You looked like you just came back from a funeral when you walked in.”
That made Jungkook laugh lightly.
“I ran into my brother in the hallway,” Jungkook said casually. “He ignored me, of course.”
Hoseok’s expression immediately darkened.
But Jungkook was quick to add, “He was surrounded by people. It’s normal. He was probably too busy to stop and chit-chat.”
He didn’t even sound convinced. And Hoseok definitely wasn’t buying the excuse.
Still, he didn’t push. Instead, Jungkook changed the subject: “My dad basically threw me into the lion’s den, by the way. I have to cancel our trip. I’m going to Brussels… to stop a war.”
“…A war?!” Hoseok nearly yelled, almost spilling cereal everywhere. “Like—World War type of war?!” Jungkook nodded lazily. “And why are you saying that like it’s nothing?!”
“I thought you knew,” Jungkook shrugged. “Korea’s been threatening a nuclear response. Since, you know… we invaded their waters. Again. I mean, it’s everywhere’s news.”
Hoseok froze. Then slowly reached for his phone.
“You know very well that I only read fashion and gossip magazines. Plus, if I had known about a war, I’d be packing my bags and fleeing the country with Maya and my dog,” he muttered, typing quickly.
“It’s fine,” Jungkook said calmly, grabbing some of the cereal, only to get his hand slapped away.
“It is not fine,” Hoseok shot back, eyes glued to his screen and a second later..: “Yeah, we’re screwed.”
Jungkook blinked. “What now?”
“Korea’s sending Prince Jimin.”
Silence.
“…Okay?” Jungkook tilted his head. “And?”
Hoseok stared at him as he’d just said something criminal.
“And? Jungkook, he’s basically a national angel. Everyone loves him.”
“Good for him, but that’s kind of irrelevant.”
“Yeah, but he’s also extremely patriotic,” Hoseok added. “Like… aggressively so.”
Jungkook hummed thoughtfully.
Interesting.
“And how do you even know all this?” he asked. “Didn’t you just say you only care about fashion and gossip?”
“The life of a handsome prince is gossip.”
Fair enough.
“Jimin’s the most talked-about prince over there, just like you here,” he continued. “Well, Jimin and his brother, but Songhwa’s way more private. Hot, though. Like, ridiculously hot.”
Jungkook snorted.
“Anyway,” Hoseok went on, “Jimin’s close to these two guys who are also always on my social media timeline and magazines too. You know, Kim Namjoon and Kim Taehyung.”
“It didn’t ring any bells.”
“Well, Namjoon’s a genius. Literally.” Hoseok said immediately. “Heir to a tech company—Neptun, I think. Two SKY degrees, led a development team when he was only seventeen. He’s the nice one.”
“Impressive.”
“Yeah. He also funds scholarships for people with potential, but no money.”
Jungkook nodded.
“And the other one?” he asked.
Hoseok made a displeased face.
“Taehyung. Hot as hell. Total menace.”
Jungkook raised an eyebrow.
“He’s a model and heir to luxury fashion brands. The biggest case of nepotism the world has ever seen. According to people I’ve worked with, he’s a total diva.”
“It makes sense,” Jungkook muttered.
“It does.” Hoseok agreed, grabbing another handful of cereal. “Anyway, Jimin’s got a balanced friend group. One nice and one… Ahn, you know.”
“How about Jimin?” Jungkook asked.
“Kind. Charismatic. Dangerous when it comes to defending his country. He’s third in the succession line, his grandfather is the current king. From what I know, they are pretty close to each other.”
Jungkook leaned back slightly.
Good. That made things interesting.
“…Does he have a boyfriend?” he asked casually.
Hoseok froze. Then slowly turned his head.
“This is for diplomatic reasons.”
“Sure it is,” Hoseok deadpanned.
“…Well?”
“As far as I know? No, he’s single.”
Jungkook grinned.
“Perfect.”
“You’re unbelievable,” Hoseok laughed. “Also—he hates the Japanese imperial family.”
Jungkook lit up instantly.
“Right now I do too!”
Hoseok stared at him.
“…You are part of the Japanese imperial family.”
“Well, you know… I love my family, but I hate the system.”
“Fair.”
There was a pause. Then Hoseok’s phone buzzed. He glanced down and immediately perked up.
“I gotta go.”
“All of a sudden?” Jungkook frowned.
“Yoongi wants to go out,” Hoseok said, already standing. “He wished you good luck, by the way.”
Of course he did.
They were a trio made up of Jungkook, Yoongi, and Hoseok, and all three had considered each other best friends for quite a few years.
They spent more time together than with their own families. In fact, Jungkook and Yoongi had even lived together for a whole year when the prince was younger. Hoseok had also lived with Jungkook in the past, and nowadays, he still occasionally practically lived at Jungkook’s house in Rhode Island—either to keep him company or simply to escape the chaos in Tokyo.
Sometimes Yoongi would go on a world tour and be physically away for a while; sometimes Hoseok also had to spend time away for work; and sometimes Jungkook wanted to travel on his own or with whichever boyfriend he had at the moment. Still, aside from those occasions, it was a given that if someone was looking for one of them, they would end up finding all three.
“Alright. Have a good time, you two,” Jungkook said, giving a brief wave to Hoseok, who let his smile fade when he noticed the upset expression on the prince’s face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, walking closer to the bed, his lips forming a small pout that showed his concern. “Do you want me to stay? Or would you rather come with us?”
“I don’t want to study, Hobi,” Jungkook grumbled, putting on his usual dramatic act.
“Bye, Jungkook,” Hoseok said with a laugh, placing a kiss on the other’s head before heading toward the bedroom door.
“Hobinie!” Jungkook called, stretching out the last syllables of the nickname as he flopped onto the bed and extended his fully tattooed arm toward the older man.
“Good luck studying!” Hoseok replied with a wave, closing the door behind him and leaving the prince alone once again.
Now Jungkook’s only company was Darwin, his black cat, who seemed to be looking at him with disdain for his dramatic appearance.
“I’m the one who feeds you, Darwin,” Jungkook said seriously, pointing a finger at the pet, who kept staring at him. “You don’t get to judge me,” he concluded with a grunt before stretching and dragging himself across the bed until he reached the edge of the mattress.
Only then did Jungkook gather enough willpower to force himself toward the bathroom, taking off his clothes along the way and tossing them onto the marble sink before stepping into the shower.
Later, when his skin was clean and covered with comfortable clothes, Jungkook sat by his desk and started to search for Jimin. He needed to learn a bit more about the Korean prince he was going to meet in a couple of days.
And although Hoseok’s gossip had been a good introduction, it was still just that: gossip, and only a brief one at that.
Quietly, Jungkook slid his index finger across the trackpad and moved the cursor, opening a page that displayed Jimin’s full biography.
At the top of the page, there was a small photo gallery that wouldn’t load—even after Jungkook refreshed the page dozens of times and checked other websites. In the end, the only photo of Jimin that loaded showed the prince from so far away that the only noticeable details were his dyed red hair and his entirely white outfit.
Shirt, blazer, pants, and even his shoes. Everything was white.
Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, frustrated that he couldn’t see what Jimin looked like. But while doing so, he happened to notice the time. It was still early—so it was the perfect moment to make his daily call to the same contact as always, even if he was ignored by his brother not even an hour ago.
With practiced ease, Jungkook dialed the number he knew by heart and held the phone to his ear, expression calm. His heart, however, beat a little faster, clinging to a hope he knew was foolish—that maybe this time things would be different.
It never was.
Seven years of the same routine, and still Jungkook called and told Seokjin about his day as if his brother would hear the voice messages he would leave daily.
Another ring. Then the familiar, recorded voice: “Hi there! If I didn’t answer, it’s because I’m busy. How about leaving a message after the beep? I promise I’ll listen and get back to you as soon as possible! Bye-bye.”
“Hi, Jinie!” Jungkook greeted, just as brightly as always. “So, today I went to that event I told you about yesterday, remember? It was fun. Totally safe, too. Yoongi was complaining a lot, but he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
His gaze drifted to his laptop screen, to Jimin’s photo.
Red hair. Not natural, obviously. Still, it suited him.
“But I had to leave early. Dad called me back to the palace, he said he wanted to talk.” A quiet sigh slipped out. “Apparently, you’re too busy to represent Japan in that meeting in Brussels with Korea, so… I’m replacing you. Kind of, right? I feel like you also know that Dad’s only sending me because of how the country would look if they sent you.”
He leaned back slightly, eyes still on the screen.
“Anyways, I’ll be studying all night now. Wish me luck, Jinie. I’m definitely going to need it.” A faint smile touched his lips as he skimmed a passage about Jimin’s birth, the screen’s glow reflecting in his doe eyes. “I’ll do my best. I love you. Have a good night.”
The call ended with a soft click.
Jungkook exhaled slowly, filling his lungs.
It was ridiculous. Calling every day, knowing it would go straight to voicemail. But still, Jungkook kept doing it because these were the moments when he felt closest to his older brother.
Once he was done with the call, Jungkook tossed his phone onto the desk, pulled his laptop closer, and reached for his notebook and pen.
It was time to work.
So, Jungkook read everything—Jimin’s biography, interviews, official records. Then the news. Reputable sources only.
Jungkook studied Jimin’s patterns and behaviors and it was easy to understand how persistent and calculated the other guy was.
His studies continued for days. Jungkoom dug into Korean history, the relations between Japan and Korea, and into decisions made long before he was alive until the current time.
By the time the announcement was made—naming him as Japan’s representative in Brussels—Jungkook was already prepared.
The backlash came instantly.
Criticism. Mockery. Disbelief.
Television, internet, radio—it didn’t matter. The message was the same everywhere: sending Jungkook to represent the country in such an important matter was a mistake.
Jungkook welcomed it.
Every insult, every dismissive comment against him, all worked in his favor. It was the perfect setup and he didn’t move a finger to make it go according to his plan.
Let them believe he was incompetent.
Let Jimin walk into that room thinking he was the smartest one there.
It would make everything easier for Jungkook. Especially when it was time to convince Jimin that Jungkook’s proposals benefited Korea more than Japan.
Which… wasn’t true.
By the time Jungkook realized it, he was already in Brussels.
The car door shut behind him as he stepped into the open venue, filled with sharply dressed figures and quiet tension.
When he left Japan the day before, he’d left it on the edge of chaos.
People were worried. Doubtful. Convinced he wasn’t ready.
Jungkook almost found it amusing.
Still, he knew better than to underestimate the situation. He had studied, but that didn’t guarantee victory.
Jungkook wasn’t arrogant. Or, at least, he tried his best not to be. Even more so when there were so many people watching every step he took.
The crowd of journalists was already there—cameras raised, flashes bursting as they tried to capture every possible second.
“Your Highness.” Jungkook turned to the man addressing him, his accent unfamiliar. The man bowed. Jungkook returned it without hesitation, even though he shouldn’t have due to protocol. “Bomani Duncan. United Nations.” The man introduced himself.
Jungkook offered a polite smile and a nod.
“Thank you for being here,” Duncan continued. “We hope to help both parties reach a peaceful and satisfactory resolution—one that preserves the integrity of both nations, and the world.”
“Thank you for your time and dedication, Mr. Duncan,” Jungkook replied. “I will do everything I can to ensure that peace holds, and that today becomes nothing more than an unfortunate memory for both our countries.”
“Your Highness,” Shibasaki murmured at his side. “They’re ready for you.”
Jungkook gave a small nod, turning back to Duncan with a restrained farewell before stepping away. His guards followed him instantly.
The event had been set in a manicured open garden, sheltered beneath a canopy. Elegant. Controlled.
Every step Jungkook took drew another wave of flashes, sharp bursts of light that flickered across his vision as he approached the small stage.
In a matter of seconds, the Japanese prince felt his courage drain out of him.
For a fleeting, humiliating moment, he considered running. He could just turn around and get as far away from that place as possible.
But then he looked up and saw him.
The man walking toward him carried himself with effortless elegance, the kind people spent years trying to imitate. And his beauty was striking.
Jimin wasn’t conventionally attractive. There was something distinct about him. Unmistakable.
Full lips, a slightly broad and cute nose, and pale skin. His hair was soft-looking and dyed in a deep gray, almost silver. His long legs gave him a natural grace, but Jimin wasn’t taller than Jungkook.
Jungkook was still walking while admiring Jimin’s beauty when he suddenly felt pain. It spread through his chest without warning, sharp and suffocating. His heart twisted in on itself, his breath catching as if the air had been ripped from his lungs.
What—?
Am I sick? Did I eat something bad—?
Or is this because of Jimin?
The thought was absurd.
Jimin was beautiful, yes—but not enough to make someone physically ill. That would be ridiculous.
Forcing himself to stay composed, Jungkook paused for the briefest moment, drawing in a few quiet breaths before moving again. Steadier this time. More determined.
He just needed to get off this stage. Away from the cameras. Somewhere private, where he could breathe and get a glass of water.
His steps lengthened.
Across from him, Jimin seemed to notice and also fastened his pace, his expression shifting ever so slightly, something unreadable flickering in his gaze.
They stopped at the center of the stage.
Eye to eye.
Neither bowed.
Instead, both extended a hand in a perfectly measured Western greeting—an unspoken agreement. A bow, here, would carry too much weight. Too much meaning.
Their hands met.
The cameras exploded into a frenzy—flashes bursting, shutters snapping endlessly.
And then, the pain came back, but worse.
Jungkook’s breath faltered again, his chest tightening as the strange sensation overwhelmed him. He tried to fight it, to stay grounded, but the world tilted slightly and then the sound hit him.
Gasps.
Murmurs.
A ripple of shock spread through the crowd.
Had he shown it? Had he lost control of his expression?
Alarmed, Jungkook glanced around discreetly, but froze when his eyes snapped back to Jimin.
His eyes—
Jimin’s irises were changing.
Right there. In front of him.
Gray.
Then green.
And finally, settling into a deep, vivid blue.
Jungkook stared, his grip still locked with Jimin’s, his mind struggling to catch up with what he was seeing.
Around them, chaos erupted.
Journalists surged forward, voices rising, fingers flying across keyboards and screens. Cameras flashed faster, brighter—desperate to capture every second.
Of course they were.
It wasn’t every day that two princes from opposing nations, sent abroad to prevent a war between their respective countries, formed a soulmate bond in front of the entire world.
Live.
Jungkook’s breathing turned uneven.
Slowly, he lowered his gaze to his wrist. There, he saw a thread.
Thin. Delicate. Glowing blue.
It was wrapped around his skin, lying over it so naturally that someone could say it was always there.
His stomach dropped.
I have a soulmate.
The realization landed all at once, heavy and inescapable.
What the hell am I supposed to do now?
Jungkook opened his mouth, words already forming, but stopped when he heard a voice. Someone’s laugh.
Low. Rough. Close.
It brushed against his ears like wind through leaves, soft and distant and, somehow, wrong.
Except for the fact that there was no wind. And no one else stood close enough to be the owner of that voice.
Jungkook’s eyes lifted back to Jimin, who was still staring at him just as intensely.
Then this is it. The fragment people talk about. The echo of a past life, revealed when the bond appears.
Jungkook swallowed.
Was that… Jimin?
Laughing?
The sound lingered, ghostlike, impossible to place.
Jungkook’s thoughts tangled, slipping out of his control. And the thread around his wrist tightened.