The Princess and the Pea
Taehyung aka Seonsaengnim aka Lee Jaesun
Lee Jaesun, groom’s elder brother and part-time embodiment of pure anxiety, sat perched on the edge of his folding chair in the police tent. His tailored jacket hung slightly crooked on his shoulders, his tie undone as if the stress had finally overwhelmed him. His fingers fidgeted with a pen, tapping it against his thigh in an uneven rhythm. To anyone watching, Jaesun was the picture of a man whose world was crumbling.
But beneath that carefully crafted mask of frailty, Taehyung, the mastermind orchestrating this chaotic symphony, was laughing his ass off.
The entire tent was alive with frenetic energy—police officers swarming like bees, every one of them hyper-focused on the “brilliant” plan to bug sleeping bags. Bugged sleeping bags. If he weren’t already in character, Taehyung might have doubled over in laughter right then and there.
His crew would love this.
He shifted slightly in his chair, tilting his head toward the police’s resident cybersecurity expert, Seokjin. Ah, Ghost. Seokjin, the hacker responsible for Seoul’s most infamous bank heists a decade ago, was now the one desperately working to counter Taehyung’s moves. The irony tasted delicious.
His fingers moved rapidly across the keyboard, the screen reflecting lines of code. If Seokjin was the Ghost, then Taehyung was the one haunting him. The irony made Taehyung’s chest tighten with barely restrained amusement.
Taehyung pressed his lips into a thin line, letting the edges twitch slightly, just enough to suggest discomfort. Internally, though, he was grinning like a fox in a henhouse.
“Lee Jaesun,” Jungkook’s voice broke through Taehyung’s thoughts.
Taehyung looked up, startled—or rather, appearing to be startled. His gaze met Jungkook’s, wide-eyed and teetering on the edge of panic. Oh, Jungkook, with his furrowed brows and clenched fists, the walking embodiment of justice and boyish charm.
Taehyung almost felt bad. Almost.
“Yes?” he asked, voice trembling slightly. Not too much. Just enough to suggest he was barely holding it together.
“We’re working on a plan to get these bastards,” Jungkook said, his tone firm but edged with a kindness that always caught Taehyung off guard. “Don’t worry. We’ll shut this whole operation down before they hurt anyone else.”
Oh, Jagiya, Taehyung thought mockingly, suppressing the urge to smirk. If only you knew who you’re comforting.
Instead, he nodded gravely. “I trust you,” he said, voice steadying with an air of reluctant bravery. “If anyone can stop them, it’s you.”
Jungkook’s shoulders straightened, the weight of the compliment visibly settling on him. Good. The more Jungkook focused on being the hero, the less likely he’d catch onto anything else.
Discreetly, Taehyung reached into his pocket and adjusted the settings on his phone. The app controlling the crew’s covert radio signal responded instantly, swapping the jazzy playlist to a sharp, thunderous rock anthem.
Subtle, but clear enough for his team. They’d know what it meant: the cops were up to something.
Taehyung’s lips twitched as he tucked the phone back into his pocket. Message delivered.
Jungkook turned back to Seokjin, who was furiously typing away at his laptop. “Any updates on the livestream?”
Seokjin groaned in frustration. “They’re two steps ahead. Every time I think I’ve got a lead, it’s like they’ve anticipated the move. Whoever’s running this is a genius… a psychotic one, but a genius nonetheless.”
Taehyung stifled a laugh. You flatter me, Seokjin.
Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, the tension in his posture evident. “Keep at it. We’ll find a crack somewhere.”
Taehyung kept his expression neutral, watching Jungkook pace. He’d always been fascinating to observe, this relentless determination paired with flashes of vulnerability.
The police continued their preparations for the sleeping bag operation, oblivious to the fact that their “clever” plan was already compromised. Taehyung leaned back slightly in his chair, letting his body relax as he mentally reviewed the next steps. Everything was unfolding perfectly, every piece falling into place.
As the tent buzzed with activity, Taehyung allowed himself a small, private moment of satisfaction. They were all dancing to his tune, even if they didn’t know it yet. And the best part? The night was far from over.
******
Jungkook
The police tent was a hive of controlled chaos, with officers zipping between crates and tables like worker bees in an oversized hive. Each sleeping bag—hundreds of them—was meticulously inspected and tagged before being rolled and stacked. A handful of them carried a little surprise: bugging devices, smaller than a fingernail, sewn carefully into the fabric. It wasn’t exactly cutting-edge espionage tech, but Jungkook had to admit, it was clever enough to give them a shot at cracking Seonsaengnim’s operation.
Jungkook stood in the middle of it all, one hand on his hip, the other rubbing his temple as he watched the scene unfold. His black shirt clung to him from the heat of the overhead lights, his sleeves rolled up in a way that made him look far more put-together than he felt.
Lee Jaesun, seated awkwardly on a plastic chair in the corner of the tent, looked like he’d wandered into the wrong party and stayed out of politeness. His suit—expensive, no doubt, judging by the subtle shimmer of the fabric—was crumpled enough to suggest he’d given up caring about appearances a few hours ago. His tie hung loosely around his neck, and his hair had taken on a slightly disheveled look that Jungkook wasn’t entirely sure was accidental.
If anyone else had walked into this chaos looking like that, Jungkook would’ve written them off as just another overprivileged snob caught up in something bigger than themselves. But Jaesun… Jaesun didn’t quite fit the mold. There was something about the way he sat, elbows on his knees, shoulders tense but not slouched. Like he was trying too hard to seem small.
Jungkook shook his head, forcing his focus back to the sleeping bags. They had more important things to deal with than the peculiarities of Lee Jaesun.
Still, after another minute of silent observation, he gave up and walked over to the man, his boots making barely a sound on the temporary flooring. He stood tall, his tone soft but firm. “Jaesun, you’ve been through a lot today. I think it’s time for you to head home and get some rest.”
Jaesun looked up, his dark eyes catching Jungkook’s for a moment too long. There was a depth there that Jungkook hadn’t expected—something measured, calculated even—but it vanished just as quickly, replaced by a flicker of unease.
Jaesun blinked, as if the suggestion hadn’t even occurred to him. “I can stay if you need me.”
Jungkook shook his head. “No need for that. Just stay available in case we need to contact you again—or if Seonsaengnim asks for you. We’ll keep your family safe, I promise. Let us do the work.”
Jungkook barely had time to register the movement before Jaesun was holding out a business card. It was thick, embossed, and absurdly high-quality—of course it was. Jungkook raised an eyebrow but took it anyway, his fingers brushing Jaesun’s as he did.
It was brief. So brief that Jungkook was sure it didn’t even register for Jaesun. But it registered for him.
For a split second, the brush of their hands sent a small, unwelcome tingle up his arm, like static electricity but worse. Jungkook’s immediate reaction was to shove the sensation as far down into his subconscious as humanly possible.
He slipped the card into the front pocket of his shirt with a practiced nonchalance. “Thanks. We’ll call if anything comes up.”
Jaesun smiled faintly—a polite, almost unreadable smile that Jungkook decided was probably practiced. “Anytime. Even if it’s the middle of the night.”
Jungkook nodded, his face carefully neutral. “Good to know.”
As Jaesun turned and walked toward the exit, Jungkook caught himself watching him. Not intentionally—at least that’s what he told himself—but the tailored lines of Jaesun’s suit were impossible to ignore. And the way he moved, a combination of restrained elegance and exhaustion, struck an odd chord in Jungkook’s mind.
He gritted his teeth.
Not the time, Jungkook. Focus.
Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the chaotic room.
Outside, Jaesun hailed a cab with a practiced wave, his movements deliberate and almost too calm for someone who had just spent hours inside a police tent. Jungkook watched through the transparent panel as the man climbed into the back seat and disappeared into the night.
“Jungkook,” the Captain’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
He turned sharply, refocusing on the task at hand.
“We’re moving forward with the sleeping bag delivery,” the Captain said, his tone brisk. “Your team will oversee the transfer. Make sure those bastards don’t suspect a thing.”
Jungkook nodded, his expression hardening into one of determination. “Understood.”
As the Captain gave further instructions, Jungkook’s mind sharpened like a blade, cutting through the lingering distraction Jaesun had left behind. There was no room for stray thoughts or misplaced emotions.
Seonsaengnim was a psychopath, a puppet master who thrived on chaos. If they wanted to take him down, Jungkook couldn’t afford even the smallest slip.
*******
Vienna
Namjoon adjusted his mask, its angular lines casting sharp shadows under the dim ballroom lights.
He glanced at Jimin, who was lounging against a pillar like they weren’t in the middle of a heist. The slight tilt of Jimin’s head and the lazy way he drummed his fingers against the marble screamed troublemaker.
“Barcelona,” Namjoon said, voice muffled but sharp. “Focus.”
Jimin turned his masked face toward him, hands spreading wide in mock innocence. “I’m always focused, Vienna. Just multitasking: charming the hostages and looking damn good while doing it.”
Namjoon resisted the urge to groan. “We’ve got the transfer coming up. Sleeping bags. Police. Guns. Maybe save the charisma for when it doesn’t get us killed?”
“Ah, Vienna,” Jimin sighed dramatically, tapping his mask with a finger. “You wound me. But fine, I’ll play the obedient little soldier. For now.”
The faint, rhythmic pulse of rock music hummed through their earpieces, Seonsaengnim’s subtle signal that the transfer was imminent. It wasn’t just music—it was a warning. A challenge. The rock tune felt like a ticking clock, each beat daring them to stay one step ahead.
Namjoon turned to the rest of the crew stationed around the ballroom. Havana was leaning against the bar, chatting up a pair of terrified hostages. Cairo was perched on the DJ booth, laptop balanced on his knees, looking like he was ready to fall asleep between keystrokes.
“Havana, Cairo,” Namjoon called, his tone all business. “Sleeping bag transfer. Police are involved, and they’re probably not playing nice. Be ready for anything.”
“Ready for anything,” Hoseok repeated, giving a mock salute before flashing a grin. “Got it. You want me to punch someone preemptively, or should I wait until they actually annoy us?”
“Let’s aim for no punching,” Namjoon said dryly. “Subtlety is key here.”
Yoongi didn’t even look up from his screen. “Subtlety. In masks. During a heist. Sure, Vienna, we’re the picture of discretion.”
Namjoon ignored him, already motioning for Jimin to join him. “Barcelona, you’re with me. We’re handling the transfer. Everyone else, stay on crowd control and keep your eyes on the police. If they try anything, I want to know about it before it becomes our problem.”
“Got it,” Hoseok said with a thumbs-up. “But if one of these rich idiots starts complaining about the thread count on their sleeping bag, I’m tagging you in, Vienna.”
Namjoon gave him a tight nod, already heading toward the service entrance with Jimin trailing behind.
The loading dock at Lotte World Tower was unnervingly still. Outside, a convoy of police vans sat in formation, their flashing lights casting a stark glow against the glossy tower. Officers stood stiffly by, their postures sharp, their faces unreadable masks of tension. They weren’t just nervous; Namjoon could tell. They were plotting.
Beside him, Jimin rolled his shoulders, his body language relaxed but his eyes sharp behind the mask. “So,” he murmured, just loud enough for Namjoon to hear, “what’s the plan if they decide to get trigger-happy?”
Namjoon’s lips curved into a smirk, hidden by his mask. “We make sure they don’t. Watch and learn, Barcelona.”
The officers began unloading the sleeping bags, their movements cautious. Namjoon stepped forward, his posture calm but commanding. He raised a hand—a deliberate, slow gesture—and signaled for them to stop.
“Easy,” Namjoon said, his voice steady but firm. “We’ll take it from here.”
One of the officers hesitated, his hand twitching toward his holster. Namjoon caught the movement and tilted his head. “I wouldn’t,” he said coolly. “You’re surrounded by innocent hostages, and we’ve got eyes everywhere. Any sudden moves, and this turns into a tragedy. Nobody wants that, right?”
The officer froze, his jaw tightening. Namjoon took a step closer, his presence looming. “Good. Now, drop the bags and step back. Slowly.”
Jimin, ever the opportunist, leaned in slightly. “You heard him, boys. Play nice, and maybe we’ll send you some cupcakes after this is all over.” His tone was syrupy-sweet, but there was a razor edge to it.
The officers complied, retreating just far enough to keep Namjoon satisfied. He gestured to Jimin, who moved forward with a casual swagger, picking up the first bag like it weighed nothing.
“Wow,” Jimin said, inspecting the bag with exaggerated interest. “Quality stuff. You guys really went all out. Are these hypoallergenic? No? Tsk, what a shame.”
“Barcelona,” Namjoon warned, his tone clipped.
“Fine, fine,” Jimin muttered, tossing the bag over his shoulder. “No appreciation for humor these days.”
They worked quickly, transferring the sleeping bags into the hotel while the police watched in tense silence. Namjoon didn’t miss the way one officer’s gaze kept darting toward the building. He made a mental note to have Yoongi check the surveillance feeds later.
As they finished, Namjoon caught sight of Detective Jungkook standing near the police line, his expression carefully neutral. But there was something in his eyes—a flicker of frustration, of helplessness. He looked like a man teetering on the edge, torn between duty and disbelief.
“Poor guy,” Jimin said quietly, following Namjoon’s gaze. “Bet he’s wondering how he ended up dealing with a bunch of lunatics.”
Namjoon chuckled softly. “Good. Let him think that. It’ll keep him off-balance.”
Back inside, Namjoon used the prearranged hand signals to regroup the city crew. A sharp tap to his wrist: assemble. A quick swipe of his hand across his chest: secure the bags.
The team moved like clockwork, their banter light but their actions precise. As they emptied the bags and inspected their contents, Jimin let out a low whistle.
“Well, look at that,” he said, holding up a neatly folded blanket. “Luxury in every stitch. Think they’ll let me keep one?”
“Not unless you want your cut docked,” Namjoon said, smirking.
Hoseok snorted. “You’d dock his pay over a blanket? Harsh, Vienna.”
“Discipline,” Namjoon replied, his tone mock-serious. “It’s what separates us from the amateurs.”
Yoongi looked up from his laptop, unimpressed. “Right. Because nothing says ‘professional’ like arguing over bedding.”
Namjoon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just focus, guys. We’re almost there. Keep your heads in the game.”
Jimin saluted with two fingers, a mischievous grin evident even behind the mask. “Whatever you say, Captain. Lead the way.”
And with that, they got back to work, the steady beat of rock music still playing faintly in their ears—a reminder that Seonsaengnim was always watching, always waiting for the next move.
*******
Cairo
Yoongi sat slumped on the edge of the ballroom stage, halfheartedly poking at one of the sleeping bags in front of him. The mask on his face made his already limited patience run thinner, and the distant hum of Seonsaengnim’s rock playlist didn’t help his mood.
The sleeping bags were piled haphazardly in front of him, looking more like a failed camping trip than the aftermath of a high-stakes police negotiation.
He let out a heavy sigh, slouching even further. “We’re robbing one of the most secure locations in Korea, and I’m stuck playing Goldilocks and the Three Sleeping Bags.”
Across the room, Hoseok and Jimin were going through the motions with far more flair. Hoseok—Havana—was tossing sleeping bags aside like they were sacks of flour, while Jimin—Barcelona—had somehow turned the task into a game, flipping the bags in the air and catching them with exaggerated flourishes.
“Maybe the police hid a treasure map in one of these,” Jimin quipped, balancing a rolled sleeping bag on his shoulder. “What do you think, Havana? Gold coins? A secret key?”
Hoseok chuckled. “If they did, it’s going straight into my share.”
Namjoon—Vienna—stood near the doorway, arms crossed and visibly unimpressed. “Less talking, more working. And keep it mundane, people. Nothing incriminating.” His sharp tone reminded them of the very real possibility that the police were already listening.
Yoongi groaned, tossing another bag aside. He was two seconds away from abandoning the task altogether when his hand brushed against something hard and unfamiliar inside one of the bags. His brows furrowed as he felt around again, confirming the presence of the foreign object. Without a word, he pulled a folding knife from his pocket and carefully slit open the seam of the sleeping bag.
“Hey, Cairo,” Jimin called, noticing Yoongi’s sudden focus. “Don’t tell me you’re actually taking this seriously now. What, did you find your long-lost sense of humor in there?”
Yoongi ignored him, fishing through the lining of the sleeping bag. His fingers closed around a small metallic device, and when he pulled it out, the blood in his veins turned cold. A bugging device.
His eyes darted to the others, and he pressed a finger to his lips, signaling for silence. Jimin’s usual smirk faltered as he exchanged a confused glance with Hoseok. Yoongi gestured sharply for them to follow him, making sure his steps were deliberate and quiet.
“Vienna,” Yoongi said under his breath, jerking his head toward the far side of the ballroom. Namjoon nodded, catching on immediately. He motioned for the group to leave the sleeping bags where they were and follow Yoongi to an adjacent utility room.
Once the door was securely shut, Yoongi held up the bugging device for everyone to see. The faint red LED on its surface blinked menacingly in the dim light.
“Holy—” Hoseok started, but Yoongi cut him off with a glare.
“Quiet.” He crushed the device under his foot.
Namjoon’s gaze darkened as he studied the device. “How many do you think there are?”
Yoongi shrugged. “No idea. Could be one, could be in all of them.”
Namjoon strode over, his gaze darkening as he took the device from Yoongi and inspected it. “Cairo,” he said, his voice sharp, “how sophisticated are we talking?”
Yoongi leaned back on his hands, already slipping into his role as the crew’s resident tech genius. “Standard issue for surveillance teams. Tracks audio, maybe location, depending on how it’s wired. Runs on a short-range signal, though. They’d need to stay close to pick anything up.”
“Unbelievable,” Hoseok muttered, shaking his head. “They bugged sleeping bags. Who even thinks of that?”
“Apparently the Seoul Metropolitan Police,” Jimin chimed in, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Good thing we’ve got Cairo here, playing The Princess and the Pea. Who else could’ve felt a tiny bug in all that fluff?”
“Keep talking,” Yoongi said dryly, “and I’ll test how sharp this knife really is.”
Yoongi pulled a small metal-detecting device from his duffle bag. “I’ve got this,” he said, his voice low and matter-of-fact. “It’ll help us find the rest without tearing apart every bag.”
Namjoon nodded. “Good. But we’ll sort them quietly. Don’t let the cops catch on that we know. Keep talking like everything’s normal. Mundane topics only.”
The crew returned to the main room, each member slipping seamlessly back into their tasks. Yoongi started scanning the bags with his detector, the faint beeping of the device masked by the sound of Jimin and Hoseok’s banter.
“So, Havana,” Jimin said, tossing another bag aside with a dramatic flourish. “What’s the first thing you’re buying when this is all over? A yacht? A solid gold punching bag?”
Hoseok grinned. “A punching bag that doesn’t talk back? That’d be a dream come true.”
“You wound me,” Jimin said, clutching his chest. “What about you, Cairo? Let me guess—another laptop?”
Yoongi didn’t look up. “A soundproof room. Preferably one without you in it.”
Namjoon let out a quiet laugh from the corner, where he was pretending to check inventory.
Over the next hour, Yoongi’s detector uncovered five more bugs, scattered across six of the hundreds of sleeping bags. He quietly marked each one with a piece of tape and set them aside in a separate pile.
Namjoon returned to the utility room with the marked bags and deposited them in a locked storage closet. He turned to the crew, his voice low but steady. “Good work. From now on, no critical conversations near the sleeping bags. Keep the police in the dark.”
“Got it,” Hoseok said. “So we just talk about… what? The weather?”
“Exactly,” Namjoon replied. “The more boring, the better. Let them think we’re clueless.”
Yoongi smirked, finally allowing himself a small moment of satisfaction. “Clueless, huh? That shouldn’t be too hard for some of us.”
Jimin shot him a glare, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “Careful, Princess. You might start sounding like you’re enjoying yourself.”
With the bugged sleeping bags safely stored away, the crew returned to business as usual, their mundane chatter a perfect smokescreen for the police. Somewhere in the distance, Seonsaengnim’s rock playlist continued to play, its rhythm a reminder that the game was far from over.
*******
Barcelona
The grand ballroom of the Lotte World Tower shimmered with reluctant grandeur, its chandeliers casting soft light on the anxious faces of its high-profile occupants. Rows of sleeping bags were stacked neatly along the polished floor, a stark contrast to the glittering evening gowns and tailored suits of the wedding guests. Jimin stood near the pile, one hand on his hip, the other twirling an unzipped sleeping bag like a ribbon dancer.
“Barcelona,” Hoseok said from behind him, balancing a hefty stack of sleeping bags over one shoulder. “You gonna help, or are you just auditioning for a circus?”
“Excuse you, this is art,” Jimin replied, his lips curving into a mischievous smile. “But fine. Let’s get these peasants tucked in, shall we?”
Hoseok smirked, stepping forward. “Yeah, because nothing says high society like sleeping on the floor in a ballroom.”
Jimin turned toward the crowd, his voice slicing through the tense murmurs like silk. “Ladies and gentlemen!” He spread his arms wide, the epitome of a showman. “Welcome to tonight’s exclusive premiere of The Hostage Games. Starring yours truly and my dazzling colleague, Havana.” He gestured toward Hoseok with a dramatic flourish.
Hoseok gave a mock bow, grinning. “We’ll be your hosts for the evening. Sit tight, and maybe—just maybe—you’ll make it to the credits alive.”
Some of the guests gasped. Others exchanged nervous glances. A few glared at them with unmasked fury.
Jimin grabbed the first sleeping bag and strode toward the cluster of wedding guests. His eyes immediately locked on the groom, Lee Sanghoon, who sat sulking near the center of the room, his perfectly styled hair slightly askew.
“And for our leading man,” Jimin began, holding the sleeping bag like a trophy, “a custom selection. Only the finest for the groom of the hour.” He tossed the sleeping bag into Sanghoon’s lap with theatrical flair.
Sanghoon shoved it aside and stood, his fists clenched. “Where is Yejin?” he demanded, his voice shaking with anger. “Where the hell is my wife?”
Jimin raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. “Oh, she’s somewhere cozy. Safe.”
“Don’t you dare—”
“Relax, lover boy,” Jimin interrupted, his tone laced with mockery. “You’ll see her soon enough. We’re not monsters. Well…” He tilted his head, pretending to think. “…not all of us, anyway.”
Before Sanghoon could retort, a commanding voice rang out. “You think this is funny?” Lee Dongsu, the groom’s father, rose from his chair, his towering presence drawing the room’s attention. The tech mogul’s face was a mask of rage, his eyes burning with fury. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with. The Lee family is untouchable. Do you hear me? Untouchable!”
Jimin exchanged an exaggeratedly wide-eyed look with Hoseok. “Oh no, Havana,” he said, clutching his chest in mock alarm. “What do we do? The untouchables are angry!”
The two burst into laughter, their voices echoing across the ballroom. The wedding guests shifted uncomfortably, unsure whether to feel more afraid or insulted.
“You think this is a joke?” Dongsu thundered, taking a step forward. “Do you know how many people would kill to protect this family? How many would burn the world to the ground for me?”
Jimin held up a hand, feigning boredom. “Yeah, yeah, we get it. You’re rich, powerful, blah blah blah. Newsflash: none of that matters here.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice to a dangerous whisper. “In this room, you’re just another hostage. So sit down, shut up, and try not to embarrass yourself.”
Dongsu’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t move.
“Good talk,” Jimin said with a wink before turning to the next guest.
As they worked their way through the crowd, the other high-profile guests made their presence known.
CEO Kang Sungmin, the real estate tycoon, refused to accept his sleeping bag at first. “I demand better accommodations,” he hissed. “I’m not sleeping on the floor like some commoner.”
“Aw, you’re right,” Jimin said with mock sympathy. “You’re way too special for that.” He tossed the bag at Sungmin’s chest, knocking the breath out of him. “Maybe you can build yourself a mansion out of it, huh? You’re good at building things, aren’t you?”
James Wilson, the foreign diplomat, tried a different tactic. “This is all very unnecessary,” he said smoothly, his American accent cutting through the room. “If you let me go, I can make this worth your while. Diplomatic channels, financial incentives—you name it.”
Hoseok chuckled. “Wow, you’re really bad at this. You think we don’t know who you are? Save your bribery for someone who cares.”
James’ confident façade faltered, and he sank back into his chair, clutching the sleeping bag Hoseok had dropped in his lap.
Kim Do-hee, the Minister of Defense, was the only one who didn’t complain. She accepted her sleeping bag with a calm, measured expression, her sharp eyes studying Jimin and Hoseok like they were pieces on a chessboard.
“What?” Jimin asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Hoping to spot a weakness?”
Dohee smiled thinly. “Just evaluating my opponents.”
Jimin’s smile turned icy. “Good luck with that.”
When all the sleeping bags had been distributed, Jimin clapped his hands together, drawing everyone’s attention.
“Now, listen up, folks,” he said, his voice ringing out across the room. “You’ve got a few hours to rest your pretty little heads. Sleep safe and sound.” He paused, his playful smile turning cold. “And stay quiet. Because if you don’t…”
“…the night won’t end pretty,” Hoseok finished, his grin as sharp as a blade.
The room fell silent, the weight of the unspoken threat pressing down on the guests.
Satisfied, Jimin and Hoseok turned on their heels and walked toward the exit. As they reached the door, Jimin glanced over his shoulder, his smile returning to its usual mischievous charm.
“Sweet dreams,” he said with a little wave.
In the hallway, Hoseok let out a low whistle. “Think they’ll actually sleep?”
Jimin smirked. “Probably not. But hey, fear’s a great motivator.”
Hoseok laughed, shaking his head. “You’re twisted, Barcelona. Twisted, but effective.”
Jimin grinned. “What can I say? It’s a gift.”
The two walked off, their laughter echoing softly behind them as they disappeared into the shadows.