The weather had changed overnight. A sharp chill gripped the morning air, and frost clung to the school gates like silver lace. Jungkook tugged his black coat tighter around himself, the fabric heavy over his uniform. His breath came out in clouds as he walked through the school courtyard, his jaw clenched from the cold.
Taehyung had texted earlier claiming he'd arrived early to help set up the cafeteria for the conference meeting. But Jungkook knew him too well—Taehyung was definitely there for the food.
As Jungkook approached the main hallway, he barely had time to react before a girl was shoved in front of him.
"J-Jungkook—um—these are for you," she stammered, thrusting a box of chocolates into his chest like she was throwing a grenade.
Before Jungkook could respond, a hand draped over his shoulder.
"It's the third time, sweetheart," Taehyung said, appearing at his side. "If your dad could take rejection as well as you do, his restaurant might be national by now. Sadly, he can't."
The girl gasped and ran off, three of her friends chasing behind her.
"Wow," Taehyung chuckled, popping a gum bubble. "These girls are feral."
Before Jungkook could reply, a soft voice cut through the tension.
"Excuse me."
Both boys turned. A blond student moved past them, tall posture and expensive cologne trailing like winter air. Jimin. His presence was quiet, but somehow impossible to ignore.
"Sorry, Dior," Taehyung muttered as Jimin brushed by.
Jungkook said nothing, following Taehyung to their desks as the bell rang.
"Everyone, sit down," barked Mr. Kim, slamming a thick book onto his desk, making half the class jump.
"You all know the school carnival is coming up. Each class needs to put together a booth. We need three volunteers."
Silence.
While Mr. Kim waited, Jungkook and Taehyung were whispering about fencing drills, oblivious.
"Taehyung, you're the first," Mr. Kim snapped, making Taehyung jolt upright.
"No, no, sir, I—I'm not good with that stuff," he flailed. "How about Jimin? He's from London—he'd probably love the cultural experience!"
The class snickered.
"Good idea," Mr. Kim nodded.
Taehyung sighed in relief—until Mr. Kim added, "You're still going, by the way."
"Wh—what about Jungkook?" Taehyung protested, pointing at him like a lifeline. "Surely our prince has time."
Mr. Kim turned to Jungkook. "Are you free?"
"Yes, sir," Jungkook replied coolly, nodding once. His voice was calm and refined, the kind of public composure his parents had drilled into him for years. He could already see the headlines: Jeon Jungkook, National Fencer, Leads School Carnival With Grace and Poise.
This would be easy.
By lunch, Jungkook and Taehyung had made their way to the athletic fields for training.
"Dude, I swear I'm going to end you," Taehyung threatened, chasing Jungkook around in mock rage after losing a bet over lunch. Jungkook didn't flinch—he just sighed.
"Alright, listen up!" Coach J's voice boomed across the field. "We're starting the 50-meter test. One shot. If you miss the yellow, you're out."
The students fell silent, tension suddenly heavy in the air.
"Lee Man!" the coach called.
A nervous student stepped up. He took his shot, but the arrow veered off and landed just outside the yellow.
"Off!" the coach barked, already moving to the next name.
One after another, students took their shot—and failed. The coach shouted yes or no without hesitation, as if dismissing a grocery list.
Then there was one left.
"Park Jimin!"
A murmur passed through the team. Jungkook's gaze snapped up. A blond boy stepped forward, composed and quiet. The wind lifted the hem of his dark jacket as he approached the line like it didn't bother him at all.
Jungkook narrowed his eyes, watching.
"I didn't know the Dior kid was on the national team," Taehyung muttered beside him, arms crossed.
Jimin didn't look like much. Delicate hands. Slender frame. But as he picked up the bow, something in the air shifted.
He nocked the arrow with quiet precision. His movements were smooth, almost hypnotic, like he was performing a ritual. He raised the bow, eyes fixed on the distant yellow target. Everything else—the wind, the noise, the stares—fell away.
His fingers pulled the string back.
There was a long, breathless silence.
Jimin inhaled once.
Exhaled.
Then—he released.
The string snapped, slicing through the quiet like a whip.
The arrow cut through the wind in a clean arc—sharp, true, fast.
Thunk.
Dead center.
The entire field was silent for a beat. Then—
"THE FIRST PERFECT SCORE!" Coach J bellowed. Applause broke out like thunder.
Jimin bowed politely, expression unreadable, before walking back without a single word. He looked neither surprised nor smug. Just calm.
So composed it was almost haunting.
Taehyung leaned in. "So... he's perfect."
Jungkook didn't answer. He just stood there, watching Jimin walk away.
Something about the boy unsettled him—not in a bad way.
But in a dangerous one.