I arrived at the Union, the ride smooth and uneventful—except for the fact that my mind wandered on what Ralph had told me about the Veil Accord. It wasn't mentioned in the manhwa, but the existence of such an agreement made sense. The awakened had always hidden from the public eye. The World Awakeners' Association (WAA) had convened the powerful awakened nations to ensure it stayed that way.
A global-scale agreement, one shrouded in secrecy, dictating that awakeners must operate from the shadows. The rules were clear:
No revealing our abilities to the non-awakened.
No fighting in public.
No drawing unnecessary attention.
Still, some non-awakened individuals were aware—heads of state, certain government officials, ultra-rich elites, and those who married into awakened families. And probably others I wasn't aware of.
The weight of that thought lingered as the car slowed to a stop. The Union building loomed over me, its structure sleek and imposing. I stepped out, nodded at the guards (whom I'd gotten to know over the years), and made my way inside.
The moment I entered the lobby, I spotted Seongha lounging on one of the sofas, completely unaware of my presence.
A golden opportunity.
I grinned. This was too good to pass up.
Carefully, I snuck up behind him, keeping my steps light. He was too focused on his phone, probably scrolling through nonsense. Perfect.
The second I was close enough, I clasped his shoulders hard and shouted, "BOO!"
Seongha let out a high-pitched, girly scream.
Not just a yelp. A full-on scream.
Heads turned. Union agents stopped what they were doing. One guy dropped his coffee.
I was dying.
Seongha, on the other hand, looked like he was about to commit a war crime.
"The hell is wrong with you?!" he yelled, clutching his chest like a grandma who just saw a ghost.
I was wheezing. "Y-you should've seen your face!" I gasped between laughs.
"Laugh it up, bastard," he muttered, glaring at me. "Hope you choke on your food later."
"You sound so mad," I said, still trying to contain my laughter.
"I'm fuming, Rheon."
"Oh, c'mon," I grinned, patting his back. "It was just a joke."
"You scared me in a lobby full of people. My dignity is ruined."
"Your dignity was never that great to begin with."
Seongha gave me a death glare. I simply smirked.
After a few minutes of him sulking and me still holding back laughter, I clapped my hands. "Alright, let's go. The restaurant's nearby."
Seongha let out a dramatic sigh, stood up, and muttered, "If I get food poisoning, I'm blaming you."
"Wow, such faith in Yejun's family business," I said sarcastically as we walked out.
"Hey, I just got emotionally traumatized. Let me have this."
I chuckled.
-------
The walk to Yejun's family restaurant wasn't long. Close enough that taking a car would've felt ridiculous. Seongha and I moved at a chill pace, sneakers scuffing against the pavement as the city buzzed around us.
I noticed them almost immediately—two Union agents shadowing us from the other side of the street, not even pretending to be discreet. One had his jacket collar popped up like he thought he was in a noir movie. Subtle. Real subtle. I didn't mind, though. Mom probably sent them. It's just... sometimes I wish they wouldn't trail me like I'm made of glass.
I nudged Seongha, who had his face buried in his phone. "That's it," I said, nodding toward the restaurant up ahead.
He glanced up. "Oh. Looks fancy."
"It is. One of the high-end ones. Their more... 'let's-impress-foreign-diplomats' type," I said. The place had that polished look—sleek dark wood, clean glass, and a gold-lined sign that screamed 'expensive without saying expensive.'
We stepped inside. The cool air hit us like a gentle breeze after the city heat. Immediately, we were greeted by a suited waiter who bowed slightly and gave the practiced hospitality smile. "Welcome, gentlemen. I'll be taking you to the VIP room. Sir Yejun and Miss Aera are en route."
Of course they were.
We followed him through the restaurant, past full tables and soft murmurs of conversation. Seoul's elite and upper crust dined here often enough that I spotted at least three faces I recognized from some fundraiser or another. The last time I came here, they cleared out the entire place just for me. Kind gesture, sure—but unnecessary. I told Executive Beom Seok not to bother doing that again. Feels weird eating alone in a restaurant meant for hundreds.
We were seated in a sleek VIP room with a semi-frosted glass wall giving a blurred view of the main dining hall. Minimalist and elegant. Refreshers were brought out—cucumber-mint something. I didn't touch mine.
While we waited, I leaned back in the cushioned seat and turned to Seongha. "So... how's training been with the Union guys?"
He took a sip of his drink and gave a half-shrug. "Tough. I mean, catching up with them is hell—they're all built like they were born in a combat sim. But I'm managing. Still got a few weeks before school starts again."
"Once you hit twenty, you can start applying formally," I said, watching his expression.
He grinned and leaned in a little. "Think you can pull some strings for me?"
I scoffed. "Seongha, you're a Lee. Son of Hwan Lee. Nephew of Chairman Hyun-Seok. You don't need strings—you are the string."
That made him chuckle. "Yeah, yeah. But it wouldn't hurt to have South Korea's prodigy vouching for me."
I just shook my head at that, trying not to smile.
"Any word on when they'll be back?" he asked next, voice dropping just a touch. I knew he meant his father—and mine—currently overseas at the World Awakeners' Association convention in Europe.
"No clue. Dad said it depends. WAA conventions can end early... or drag for days if someone starts a political pissing contest."
That earned another laugh from Seongha just as the door opened.
Yejun and Aera entered, accompanied by the same waiter. Both were dressed to fit the ambiance—Yejun in his usual semi-casual, rich-kid style, and Aera with that subtle elegance that tried a little too hard not to look like she was trying. I stood up, greeting them with a polite nod. "You're late."
"Traffic," Yejun muttered, though I could tell from his smirk that it wasn't really traffic.
Aera smiled at me, her voice gentle. "How have you been, Rheon?"
"Still alive. So, good," I said simply.
Not long after, the food started coming in waves—grilled meats, cold seafood platters, steaming rice in stone pots, side dishes that were practically art installations. One of the perks of being friends with someone whose family owned half the culinary scene in Seoul.
Somewhere between the grilled eel and the marinated ribs, Yejun leaned forward and asked, "You planning to join the NextGen Awakener Tournament?"