Chapter 4 - THE GIFT

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Morning sure came fast.

Downstairs, everyone was already ready and waiting for me—Dad calm, Mom pretending not to be impatient, Raiden openly enjoying the suspense.

I stopped on the stairs and frowned.

She still wasn't here.

Are they expecting me to gift the air? 😒

Nonsense people.

Then—

Footsteps.

I looked up.

She came down slowly.

Her hair fell loose around her shoulders, natural waves framing her face without effort. Brown eyes calm, observant, taking in the room without reacting to it.

She wore an Alexander McQueen off-shoulder knit sweater, soft blush pink with bold black stripes, slightly oversized, slipping just enough to look careless—but it wasn't. Paired with it was a Miu Miu high-waisted pleated mini skirt in deep black, structured and sharp.

A thin Alaïa heart-detail belt cinched her waist, silver chains falling subtly at her side.

Her legs were bare, pale against the dark tones, and on her feet were Balenciaga Triple S sneakers, black, white, and beige—heavy, unapologetic.

Not delicate.

Not trying to impress.

On her ears—custom velvet bow drop earrings by Dior Joaillerie, black with fine diamond chains and small pearls catching the light when she moved.

On her wrist, a Cartier Juste un Clou bracelet, gold, minimal, dangerous in its simplicity.

The room went quiet.

Mom smiled first. "She chose this herself," she said proudly. "From the wardrobe I prepared."

Raiden nodded. "Yeah. That tracks."

I didn't say anything.

At university, she dressed the same way. Soft at first glance. Sharp when you looked closer.

She took a seat.

No greeting.

No smile.

I straightened slowly.

Yeah… this was exactly how I remembered her.

I stayed where I was, leaning against the dining table, watching her like I always did—without pretending I wasn't.

Dad cleared his throat. "Well?"

I sighed, straightened, and looked at the butler.

"Bring it."

Raiden's grin widened. "Finally."

The butler placed a flat black envelope on the table. Not a box. Not velvet. Just clean, sharp, deliberate.

I slid it toward her with two fingers.

"For you."

She looked at it for a second, then opened it.

Inside were two laminated passes, matte black with silver embossing.

BTS — WORLD TOUR: GLOBAL FINAL

ALL-ACCESS • LIFETIME VIP

Under it, another card.

PRIVATE BOX • BACKSTAGE ENTRY • MEET & GREET

ANY CITY. ANY TIME.

The room exploded.

Raiden swore out loud. "NO WAY."

Mom froze. "Ren… those aren't—"

Dad stood up slowly, disbelief written all over his face.

"…Those passes don't exist."

I shrugged. "They do now."

Raiden laughed, shaking his head. "This is insane. You didn't just buy tickets—you rewrote access."

Dad looked at me, then smiled—wide, proud, unmistakable.

"Yeah. That's definitely my DNA."

Mom exhaled, pressing a hand to her chest. "You could've warned us."

I glanced at her. "Where's the fun in that?"

All eyes turned to her.

She didn't react the way they expected.

No gasp.

No widened eyes.

She simply stared at the passes for a long moment.

Then she closed the envelope carefully and held it against her palm.

"I'll go," she said quietly.

That was it.

Not thank you.

Not I'm excited.

Just a decision.

Something sharp curled in my chest.

I tilted my head. "You don't even look surprised."

She met my gaze.

"You don't give meaningless things," she said.

At university, she used to say nothing like this.

She just let me watch her from across lecture halls, from behind seats, from reflections in glass.

She always knew.

Raiden let out a low whistle. "She's cool."

Dad nodded. "Good. She understands."

Mom smiled softly. "Then it's settled."

Later, suitcases lined the hallway.

Spain called them back.

Hugs were exchanged. Instructions given. Warnings ignored.

Mom cupped her face gently. "Take care of yourself."

Dad nodded once. "Focus."

Raiden smirked at me. "Try not to traumatize her."

I smiled easily. "No promises."

The door closed.

Silence followed.

Only the two of us remained.

She stood near the window, the black envelope still in her hand.

I watched her reflection in the glass.

Same girl I bullied at university.

Same girl who never stopped letting me.

And now—

Same roof.

Same city.

Same quiet war.