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Chapter Text

The soft flicker of early morning sunlight crept through the curtains, casting warm, golden beams onto Hanro’s face. He flinched slightly, his brow furrowing as consciousness begrudgingly returned. With a groan, he sat up, his head pounding, his body heavy with the weight of a night poorly remembered. Running a hand over his face, he muttered internally, “What happened last night?”

Hanro blinked blearily at his surroundings, confusion settling in like a second layer of his hangover. This wasn’t his room. No, his modest apartment was a far cry from the opulence surrounding him. The walls, painted in striking shades of black and gold, spoke of extravagance. The onyx floors gleamed in the morning light, smooth and unblemished. Across from the bed, a massive flat-screen television was mounted above a sleek fireplace set against a white accent wall. And the bed—Gods, the bed. It was an enormous king-sized expanse, draped in rich black bedding that exuded luxury.

But it wasn’t the grandeur that sent alarm bells ringing in his mind. It was the mess on the floor.

Hanro’s gaze fell to the scattered clothing—his, unmistakably, but also… another set. Clothes so finely tailored, so expensive, they might as well have come with a price tag declaring them untouchable. Designer brands he could never dream of affording. Brands he wouldn’t even know how to pronounce.

Then came the sound.

A low, groggy groan from beside him. His breath hitched as he turned, his eyes locking onto the figure sprawled on the bed. A muscular frame, fur as dark as rich mahogany, lay half-buried in the covers. The stranger’s tail lay limp against the sheets, their bare back exposed, save for the thin strap of a jockstrap. Hanro’s gaze lingered for a moment too long before recognition hit him like a slap to the face.

Sun Wukong.

The name thundered in his mind, and panic quickly followed. Sun Wukong, husband to the CEO of Flower Fruit Conglomerate. One of the wealthiest, most powerful men in the region. And Hanro—stupid, reckless Hanro—had spent the night in his bed.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit,” Hanro’s mind raced as he slid silently from the bed, his movements slow and calculated. His heart pounded so loudly he was convinced it would wake the sleeping figure beside him. His mind spiraled into self-loathing. Very smart, Hanro. Sleeping with a married man. And not just any married man—this married man. Congratulations. You’ve officially hit rock bottom.

He quickly located his clothing and began pulling it on with practiced stealth, his breath shallow, his hands trembling. Once dressed, he grabbed his iPhone from the nightstand, his shoes dangling from his fingers. He cast one last glance at the room, at Sun Wukong, still peacefully unaware of Hanro’s panicked retreat.

With a deep breath, he slipped out the door, praying to every deity he could think of that no one would see him leaving.

The cold air of the hallway hit Hanro like a slap, momentarily grounding him as he stood outside the gilded bedroom door. His heart was racing, each beat hammering against his ribcage like it was trying to escape. The corridor was just as lavish as the room, with polished gold sconces lighting the way and plush black carpet muffling his hurried footsteps.

He had no idea where he was, but it didn’t matter. “Get out. Get out now,” his mind screamed.

He glanced over his shoulder, half expecting Sun Wukong to burst out of the room, or worse—someone else entirely. His stomach twisted at the thought of the CEO appearing, his expression cold and calculating, his power far-reaching. Hanro’s life would be over before he could even utter an apology.

Finding a grand staircase, he descended as quickly and quietly as possible. His reflection glared back at him in the polished surfaces of every piece of furniture and decoration he passed. Each one seemed to mock him, a reminder of just how far out of his depth he was.

As he reached the bottom, his heart sank further. There were staff. Not many—just a butler dusting a statue and a maid arranging a vase of flowers—but they were there, their uniforms crisp, their posture perfect. Hanro froze, desperately hoping they wouldn’t notice him. He was still clutching his shoes like some sort of idiot burglar.

The butler looked up. Their eyes locked. Hanro’s stomach flipped.

“Good morning, sir,” the butler said smoothly, his tone polite but with a hint of curiosity.

Hanro forced a weak smile, his brain scrambling for an excuse. “Uh… good morning,” he signed, his voice cracking slightly. “Just… heading out. Early meeting.”

The butler raised an eyebrow but said nothing further. Hanro took that as his cue to leave and hurried toward what he assumed was the front door, practically tripping over his own feet in his haste.

When he finally made it outside, he was greeted by the sight of a massive estate, its driveway sprawling and lined with sleek black cars. The sunlight was blinding, the crisp morning air biting against his skin. He had no idea where he was. No buses, no taxis, nothing remotely resembling public transportation in sight.

Hanro fished his phone out of his pocket and stared at it, his thumb hovering over the screen. Who do I even call?

His best friend, Mira? No. She’d lecture him for hours about his poor life choices. His boss? Absolutely not—he couldn’t afford to lose his job over this. A ride-share service? He checked his account balance. Barely enough for a coffee, let alone a ride across what was surely the most expensive neighborhood in the city.

“Fantastic,” he thought, his fingers tightening around his shoes. He began the long, humiliating trek down the driveway, hoping against hope that no one would stop him.

As he walked, his mind spiraled further. How had he gotten here? How had he ended up in Sun Wukong’s bed of all places? The memory of last night was still a haze—flashes of drinks, laughter, and a dazzling smile he now recognized. A mistake. A colossal, earth-shattering mistake.

The thought struck him like lightning: What if someone saw us? What if someone already knows?

Hanro stopped in his tracks, his breath hitching. He glanced over his shoulder at the mansion looming behind him, its windows like watchful eyes. Somewhere in there, Sun Wukong was probably waking up. And somewhere out there, Hanro’s carefully constructed, if mediocre, life might already be crumbling.

He swallowed hard, squaring his shoulders. “Just keep walking,” he told himself. “You’ll figure this out. Somehow.”

Chapter Text

Hanro pushed open the door to his small apartment, the familiar creak of the hinges offering a fleeting sense of relief. He hadn’t even made it two steps inside before he froze.

“Morning, birthday boy!” came Mira’s cheery voice from the couch. She was lounging comfortably, her legs tucked beneath her, dressed in her usual oversized sweater and leggings. A mug of tea rested on the coffee table, steam curling lazily into the air.

Hanro groaned inwardly. Of course, she was here. He’d given her a spare key ages ago for emergencies, and somehow, she’d decided this qualified as one.

Mira squinted at him, her cheerful demeanor fading slightly. “Wow, you look… rough. What happened to you? I mean, I know we drank a lot last night, but you look like you fought a bear and lost.” She paused, then grinned. “So, how was the rest of your birthday party?”

Hanro ignored her, shrugging off his coat and tossing it over the back of a chair. “Coffee first,” he signed, dragging himself into the kitchen.

Mira followed, curiosity sparking in her eyes. She perched on one of the barstools, watching as Hanro fumbled with the coffee machine. “You’re awfully quiet, more so than usual” she teased. “Usually, you’d be bragging about how much fun you had. Did something… interesting happen after I left?”

Hanro stiffened but didn’t answer. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down across from her, his tail twitching nervously behind him. He took a long sip, staring into the mug as if it held all the answers to his problems.

“Okay, spill,” Mira said, leaning forward. “What happened?”

Hanro sighed before signing, setting the mug down. “You have to promise not to freak out.”

Mira’s eyes widened, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Oh, this is gonna be good. I promise. No freaking out.”

Taking a deep breath, Hanro began to recount the events of the morning. He left nothing out—the lavish room, the expensive clothes, the figure in the bed, and the horrifying realization that the stranger was none other than Sun Wukong. Mira listened intently, her expression shifting from curiosity to disbelief, then to barely-contained glee.

When he finished, there was a brief silence.

Then Mira screamed.

“YOU KNOCKED BOOTS WITH SUN WUKONG?!”

Her voice rang through the apartment, and Hanro panicked. In an instant, his tail shot out, wrapping around her mouth to muffle the noise.

“Shh!” he greeted his teeth, glancing frantically toward the windows as if paparazzi might materialize out of thin air. “Do you want the whole neighborhood to hear?” He signed.

Mira’s muffled laughter vibrated against his tail. He sighed, releasing her, and she immediately burst out laughing, clutching her stomach.

“Oh, my gods,” she said between gasps. “Hanro, do you even realize how insane this is? Sun Wukong! The Sun Wukong! I can’t believe it. You’re, like, a legend now!”

Hanro groaned, burying his face in his hands before quickly signing. “This isn’t funny, Mira. His husband is literally one of the most powerful men in the city. If he finds out—”

“He won’t,” Mira said quickly, though her grin remained. “Look, it’s not like you’re going to make this a habit, right? It was a one-time thing. A wild night. And besides, it’s not your fault he’s married. He knew what he was doing too.”

Hanro shot her a look. “That’s not helping.”

Mira smirked. “Fine, fine. But seriously, Hanro, this is… wow. I mean, of all the people to—”

“Stop,” he interrupted, holding up a hand. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

Mira tilted her head, studying him for a moment. “Okay, fine. But just so you know,” she added with a mischievous glint in her eye, “if this comes out, I’ll be the first to write a tell-all. ‘My Best Friend and the Monkey King: A Scandalous Affair.’”

Hanro groaned again, but this time, there was a faint smile tugging at his lips.

As Hanro took another long sip of his coffee, trying to drown the embarrassment burning through him, his iPhone blinked on the table. The screen lit up with a notification. Before he could reach for it, Mira snatched it up with the reflexes of a jungle predator.

“Hey, give that back!” Hanro protested, his hand darting out, but Mira leaned back, holding the phone just out of his reach.

“Oh, relax,” she said, her tone teasing. “Let’s see what’s so important.”

Her eyes scanned the screen, and she suddenly froze. Her mouth dropped open, and then a hand shot up to cover it as a muffled laugh escaped her. Slowly, her wide, incredulous eyes moved from the phone to Hanro.

“What?” Hanro sighed, narrowing his eyes at her.

Mira, still suppressing her laughter, turned the phone around to show him. The moment Hanro saw the message, he nearly choked on his coffee.

Sun Wukong: Last night was fun. Hope we can do it again sometime. 😉

Hanro’s face instantly flushed a deep red, his ears burning with embarrassment. He coughed violently, sputtering into his mug, while Mira dissolved into uncontrollable laughter, her body shaking as she clutched her stomach.

“Oh my gods,” she managed to gasp between laughs, tears forming in her eyes. “He sent you a winky face! A literal winky face! Hanro, I can’t—this is priceless!”

“Give me that!” Hanro signed, grabbing the phone out of her hand. He glared at the message, as if doing so could somehow erase it. His tail twitched behind him, a clear sign of his flustered state.

“Oh, no,” Mira continued, still laughing. “This isn’t just a scandal anymore—this is a romantic scandal! You’ve officially become a bad soap opera plot!”

Hanro groaned, setting the phone down and burying his face in his hands. “Why is this happening to me?” he thought.

Mira leaned over, poking his shoulder. “Hey, on the bright side, he clearly enjoyed himself. I mean, Sun Wukong wants a second round. That’s a compliment, right?”

“Mira, I’m begging you,” Hanro said, his voice muffled by his hands. “Stop talking.”

But Mira just grinned, sitting back in her chair. “Oh, I’m not stopping. Not now, not ever. This is too good. You might regret it, but I’ll be laughing about this for years.”

Hanro groaned again, seriously contemplating how hard it would be to move to another city and change his name.

Hanro’s iPhone buzzed again, and both he and Mira froze. After the last message, neither of them was eager to see what fresh hell awaited him now.

“Another one?” Mira asked, her grin fading as she leaned forward. “Please tell me it’s not—”

Hanro hesitated, his hand hovering over the phone as if touching it might set it on fire. Taking a deep breath, he picked it up and read the message. His eyes widened, his face draining of all color, the blood seemingly rushing straight out of him.

The Bull King: I know what happened last night. Dinner. My restaurant. 8 PM. Don’t be late.

Hanro’s hand shook, the phone slipping from his fingers and clattering onto the table. He stared blankly at it, as if the message might disappear if he willed it hard enough.

Mira leaned over, her brow furrowing. “What is it?” she asked, picking up the phone. Her eyes scanned the message, and her mouth fell open in shock.

“Oh. My. Gods,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. Then, louder, “The Bull King?! He knows?!”

Hanro didn’t answer. He just sat there, pale and silent, his hands gripping the edge of the table like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

Mira waved a hand in front of his face. “Hanro? Hello? Are you even breathing?”

He finally looked up at her, his expression a mixture of terror and resignation. “I’m dead,” he signed flatly. “I’m actually going to die. The Bull King is going to kill me, Mira.”

Mira blinked, then tried to reassure him, though her voice wavered. “Okay, okay, let’s not jump to conclusions. Maybe he just wants to talk. I mean, it’s not like he sent you a death threat. It’s just dinner… at his restaurant… where he probably has complete control of the environment…” She trailed off, her eyes widening. “Okay, yeah, this is bad.”

Hanro slumped forward, his head hitting the table with a dull thud. “What do I do?” he groaned as he signed.

Mira placed a hand on his back, though her own nervousness was evident. “You go. You face him. I mean, what choice do you have? Ignoring him would just make things worse.”

Hanro lifted his head, glaring at her. “You’re way too calm about this.”

“Trust me, I’m not,” Mira said quickly. “But panicking isn’t going to help. Look, it might not be as bad as you think. Maybe he just wants to… I don’t know… talk about boundaries? Make sure it doesn’t happen again?”

Hanro groaned again, burying his face in his hands. “I’m so screwed.”

Mira sat back, crossing her arms. “Well, on the plus side, if this does go sideways, at least your obituary will be interesting. ‘Local Monkey Found Dead After Wild Fling with Sun Wukong.’”

Hanro glared at her again, but this time there was no energy behind it. “Not helping, Mira.”

She sighed, reaching for her tea. “Fine. But if you live through this, you owe me details. All of them.”

Hanro didn’t respond. He was too busy staring at the clock on the wall, the seconds ticking away like a countdown to his inevitable doom.

As the sun dipped below the city skyline, Hanro stood outside the entrance of Imperial Flame, the high-end signature restaurant owned by none other than The Bull King himself. The name alone sent a shiver down his spine, but standing in front of the lavish, dimly lit establishment, he felt like a prisoner walking toward his own execution.

His hands were clammy, his tail twitching anxiously behind him as he wiped his palms against his slacks. Maybe he should turn around. Run. Disappear. He could change his name, move to a different country, start a new life—

The maître d’ suddenly appeared before him, smiling in that polite yet impassive way that only high-class establishments could perfect. “Mr. Hanro?”

Hanro swallowed. “Uh… yeah.”

“Right this way.”

Damn it. No turning back now.

With legs that felt like lead, he followed the waiter through the restaurant. The place oozed luxury—dark wood accents, soft golden lighting, and the faint scent of expensive spices and seared meat hanging in the air. Other patrons chatted quietly over their perfectly plated meals, oblivious to the fact that Hanro was likely walking toward his doom.

Then he saw him.

The Bull King sat at a secluded table near the back, his presence commanding the space around him like a force of nature. Dressed in a sleek, perfectly tailored black suit, he exuded wealth, power, and danger. His large, muscular frame made the chair seem almost too small for him, and his sharp, onyx eyes were fixed on Hanro the moment he stepped into view.

If Sun Wukong had been all mischief and charm, The Bull King was the complete opposite—stone-cold, unreadable, and utterly menacing.

Hanro’s stomach twisted into knots.

The waiter gestured toward the table. “Your guest has arrived, sir.”

The Bull King didn’t speak. He simply gestured to the seat across from him with two fingers, his expression unreadable.

Hanro hesitated. Every instinct in his body screamed at him to turn around and flee. But he forced himself to move forward, pulling out the chair and sitting as carefully as if the wrong movement might trigger an explosion.

Silence hung between them for a long, unbearable moment. Hanro didn’t dare touch the menu in front of him. His tail wrapped tightly around his own leg, betraying just how on edge he was.

Finally, The Bull King spoke, his deep voice like rolling thunder.

“So.” His fingers tapped once against the table. “You slept with my husband.”

Hanro felt his soul leave his body.

The moment The Bull King’s words settled in the air, Hanro felt his entire body lock up. His heart pounded so hard he thought it might actually give out.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out—not that it ever did. Instead, he immediately launched into frantic signing, his hands moving so fast that even he had trouble keeping up.

I’m so sorry! I didn’t know! I swear! If I had known, I would’ve never—oh gods, please don’t kill me! It was a mistake, a huge mistake—I’m an idiot! I wasn’t thinking! I—

His chest started to burn, and he realized he was running out of breath. He inhaled sharply, his hands still flying in a blur of desperate apologies. His tail flicked in pure panic, wrapping and unwrapping around the leg of his chair like it was trying to save him from impending doom.

The Bull King just stared at him.

Then, much to Hanro’s absolute bewilderment, the man’s lips twitched. A second later, a deep, rumbling laugh shook his broad chest.

Hanro froze mid-sign.

The Bull King leaned back in his chair, shaking his head as his laughter tapered off. “Calm down, kid. You’re gonna pass out if you keep that up.” He nodded toward the untouched glass of water on the table. “Drink.”

Hanro, still frozen in stunned confusion, hesitated before grabbing the glass with slightly trembling hands and taking a long sip. His throat was dry, but the cool water helped ground him—at least a little.

The Bull King rested his elbow on the table, watching him with an amused expression. “You really thought I was gonna kill you?”

Hanro blinked rapidly, then gave a very emphatic nod.

The Bull King chuckled again. “Relax. I’m not mad.”

Hanro nearly choked on his water. He stared at the man, his fingers twitching as if trying to make sense of the words he just heard. Not mad? How could he not be mad?

As if sensing his confusion, The Bull King leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table. “Wukong and I have an open marriage.”

Hanro’s brain short-circuited. His fingers twitched again. Come again?

“We’ve had an arrangement for years,” The Bull King continued casually. “He does what he wants, I do what I want. As long as we respect the boundaries we set, it’s not a problem.”

Hanro’s mouth opened slightly, but no words—signed or otherwise—came out. His thoughts were in absolute chaos.

The Bull King smirked at his stunned silence. “Judging by your reaction, I’m guessing Wukong didn’t mention that little detail.”

Hanro shook his head so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.

The Bull King exhaled, sitting back. “Typical,” he muttered. “He always forgets to warn people before dragging them into his messes.” He picked up his glass, swirling the dark liquid inside before taking a slow sip. “That being said, I did want to meet you. See what kind of person had him texting first thing in the morning.”

Hanro’s tail puffed up in horror. He frantically signed, He texted first?!

The Bull King raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t he?”

Hanro groaned, dragging his hands down his face. This cannot be happening.

The Bull King chuckled again. “You’re jumpy. I like that.”

Hanro gave him a flat, unamused look, but the older man just smirked.

“Relax,” he said again, taking another sip of his drink. “You’re not in trouble. If anything, I should be thanking you. Wukong gets bored easily, and when he’s bored, he’s annoying.” He set his glass down with a quiet clink. “You bought me at least a few days of peace.”

Hanro stared at him in disbelief. This was… not how he expected the night to go. He had prepared for threats, intimidation, possibly even a swift and brutal end. But this?

He slowly exhaled, finally allowing his shoulders to relax just a fraction. He wasn’t going to die. Not tonight, at least.The Bull King smirked at him again. “Now that we’ve got that settled, let’s order. You look like you could use a good meal after the day you’ve had.”

Hanro slumped back in his chair, rubbing his temples. This was, without a doubt, the weirdest night of his life. Just as Hanro was starting to calm down—just as he finally convinced himself that he wasn’t about to be skinned alive—The Bull King suddenly leaned in. His sheer presence was overwhelming, radiating heat and power, and before Hanro could react, the deep rumble of his voice ghosted against the shell of his ear.

“You know…” The Bull King murmured, his tone slow and deliberate, far too amused. “Since you and Wukong get along so well… maybe next time, we should make it a party.”

Hanro’s brain immediately shut down.

His entire body locked up, his breath hitched, and before he could so much as process the words, a hot rush of blood surged to his face—and straight out of his nose.

A single drop hit the pristine white tablecloth.

The Bull King pulled back just slightly, smirking as he eyed Hanro’s very obvious reaction. “Huh. That’s cute.”

Hanro slapped both hands over his face, utterly mortified. His ears burned, his tail puffed up, and his hands frantically started signing, though his usual fluidity was gone—his gestures were clumsy, erratic, practically stuttering as if his body couldn’t decide whether to protest or panic.

Excuse me?! No, wait, what?! That’s not—this is—I mean—you can’t just—

The Bull King watched him with a slow, wolfish grin, his chin resting lazily on his hand. “You’re not saying no.”

Hanro’s frantic signing came to an abrupt halt. His hands hovered mid-air as his brain caught up to what had just been said.

Wait. Wait, wait, wait.

That was not what he was trying to say! He was trying to say many things, most of which involved screaming, running, and possibly combusting on the spot. But no?! That was definitely supposed to be in there somewhere!

The Bull King chuckled, watching the way Hanro’s expression twisted into sheer, mortified horror. “Don’t look so panicked,” he said smoothly, swirling his drink between his fingers. “It’s just a suggestion.”

JUST A SUGGESTION?!

Hanro groaned into his hands, his entire existence now a state of pure secondhand embarrassment. How did his life end up like this?!

The Bull King leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying himself. “Relax, kid. Think about it. Or don’t. Either way, Wukong’s already interested.”

Hanro immediately turned his head toward the window, pretending that he was anywhere but here, in this moment, in this reality.

The Bull King just smirked, sipping his drink. This was going to be fun.

After Hanro finally regained control of his nervous system—well, most of it—The Bull King simply smirked and motioned for the waiter to come over. With the ease of someone who owned the place (which he did), he ordered a spread of the restaurant’s finest dishes, barely even glancing at the menu.

Hanro, still shaken, let the whole thing happen without argument. He wasn’t sure he had the strength to argue anyway. So, instead of questioning why this was his life now, he sat in silence as the meal arrived—dish after dish of expertly crafted delicacies.

The Bull King ate with the confidence of a man who knew he was the most powerful person in the room. Meanwhile, Hanro picked at his food at first, his mind still reeling from the earlier suggestion, but hunger eventually won out. And gods, the food was good. He hadn’t realized how tense he was until the rich flavors practically melted on his tongue, easing something deep in his bones.

To his absolute shock, the conversation wasn’t as terrifying as he expected. The Bull King was surprisingly… normal. Well, as normal as a man like him could be. He talked about business, the restaurant, even threw in some stories about Sun Wukong’s many past exploits—some of which made Hanro’s ears burn all over again.

By the time the meal ended, Hanro was still alive, still breathing, and somehow not thrown into a ditch. Progress.

The Bull King leaned back in his chair, looking satisfied. “You’re not as skittish as I thought,” he mused, taking the last sip of his drink. “That’s good.”

Hanro gave him a look. Sir, I nearly had a heart attack at least five times tonight.

The Bull King chuckled. “Get home safe, kid.”

Hanro nodded, quickly getting up from his seat, his tail twitching as he hurried toward the exit. He had survived. He was free. He could finally breathe.

—

The moment Hanro stepped into his apartment, Mira was already waiting. She had been pacing, arms crossed, clearly on edge. The second she saw him, she rushed over.

“You’re alive!” she exclaimed. “Holy shit, I had 911 ready to go! What happened?! Did he threaten you? Did he make you sign an NDA? Do you need to flee the country?!”

Hanro, still exhausted from the night, dragged himself to the couch and flopped down. His tail dangled limply off the side as he let out a long, silent sigh.

Mira immediately sat next to him, eyes wide. “Talk!”

Hanro groaned and pulled out his phone, quickly typing out a summary before shoving it in her face.

Mira grabbed the phone and read it. As her eyes moved down the screen, her jaw slowly dropped.

“…They have an open marriage?” she whispered.

Hanro nodded, his face still slightly pink.

Mira kept reading. Then she gasped, slapped a hand over her mouth, and turned to Hanro with wide, scandalized eyes. “HE WHAT?!”

Hanro groaned, covering his face.

Mira practically screeched. “HE ASKED YOU TO—TO—WITH BOTH OF THEM?!”

Hanro flailed his hands in a desperate shut up! motion, but Mira was already losing her mind. She shoved the phone back at him. “Hanro. Hanro. You have Sun Wukong and The Bull King both looking at you like a snack and you’re sitting here acting like it’s a problem?”

Hanro signed aggressively, YES, IT IS A PROBLEM! BECAUSE I’M NOT INSANE!

Mira threw her hands up. “Listen, all I’m saying is, some people dream of this! You’re out here living a damn mythological fantasy, and you’re over here panicking?!”

Hanro shot her a look before dramatically signing, Do I look like I can handle TWO legendary figures in bed?

Mira paused. Considered. Then sighed. “Yeah, okay, fair point. You’d probably pass out in five minutes.”

Hanro groaned, burying his face in a pillow.

Mira grinned, nudging him. “So… you gonna say yes?”

Hanro threw the pillow at her. He was starting to hate his best friend.

Chapter Text

Hanro woke up feeling like he had just run a marathon. Every muscle in his body ached, and for a moment, as he lay sprawled out in bed, he wondered if Mira had somehow managed to physically drag him back into their conversation last night and shake him senseless.

But no, the exhaustion was purely mental. His mind had spent the entire night replaying the dinner, the conversation, and most damning of all—The Bull King’s suggestion.

As he groggily rolled out of bed and got ready for work, his thoughts kept looping back to it, completely uninvited.

Since you and Wukong get along so well… maybe next time, we should make it a party.

Hanro scowled at his own reflection in the mirror. Stupid. So stupid. Ignore it.

But ignoring it was impossible, because the moment he shoved the thought away, his brain immediately replaced it with something far worse—images.

Images of himself trapped between the two of them—Wukong’s mischievous grin against his neck, The Bull King’s firm grip on his waist—Nope. Nope nope nope.

He shook his head violently, trying to dispel the thoughts, but they clung to him like static electricity. By the time he got to work, his ears were hot, his tail was twitching, and he could barely look anyone in the eye.

Sitting down at his desk, he tried to focus on the reports in front of him, but the intrusive images refused to leave. The weight of two powerful bodies caging him in. The way his own hands might press against—

SLAM!

His forehead met the cold, unforgiving surface of his desk with a resounding thud.

The entire office went silent.

Hanro barely noticed. His hands were clenched in his lap, his ears burned like they had been set on fire, and he hated his brain.

A colleague hesitantly cleared their throat. “Uh… you okay there, Hanro?”

Hanro slowly lifted his head, face still flushed. He waved a hand weakly, signing a quick I’m fine, just tired, before immediately diving back into his work, pretending nothing happened.

The office resumed its usual hum of chatter, and Hanro took a deep breath, willing himself to focus.

Then the receptionist walked in carrying a large bouquet of exotic flowers.

“Delivery for Hanro.”

Hanro froze.

Everyone turned to stare at him.

The receptionist placed the lavish bouquet on his desk, the deep red and gold petals practically glowing under the office lights. The arrangement was stunning—fresh, fragrant, and expensive.

Hanro blinked. Then, as if in slow motion, he reached out and plucked the small black card nestled among the petals. His fingers trembled slightly as he flipped it open.

“Looking forward to next time.
—DBK”

Hanro’s soul left his body.

His face turned a shade of red that rivaled the flowers.

The entire office was now definitely staring.

A coworker leaned in. “Sooo… who’s DBK?”

Hanro swallowed hard and quickly signed, No one. You don’t know him.

Another coworker raised an eyebrow. “Must be someone if they’re sending flowers like that.”

The first coworker smirked. “Wait. ‘DBK’… as in Demon Bull King?”

Hanro choked on air.

The entire office gasped.

A third coworker clapped a hand over their mouth. “Oh my god.”

“No way.”

“THE Demon Bull King? CEO of Flower Fruit Conglomerate?”

“The most powerful businessman in the city?”

“Hanro… are you—are you dating the Demon Bull King?!”

Hanro let out a strangled sound, violently shaking his hands in an absolute NO, but the damage was done. The gossip had already spread like wildfire. Someone whistled. “Damn, Hanro. I didn’t know you had it in you.” buried his face in his hands. He was never going to live this down. The rest of the day dragged on at a painfully slow pace.

Hanro tried his best to focus on his work, but his coworkers refused to let him live in peace. Every few minutes, someone would sidle up to his desk, pretending to be casual, only to hit him with another highly inappropriate question.

“So… what’s he like in person?”

“Does he always smell like expensive cologne and danger?”

“Are you his kept boy now? Oh my god, do you get allowance?”

“Does he—you know—wear the horns in the relationship?”

Hanro nearly choked on his coffee at that last one. He threw his hands up in frantic protest, desperately signing STOP ASKING ME THESE THINGS, but it was no use. They were relentless.

By the time lunch rolled around, he had resigned himself to his fate.

And then his phone dinged.

He glanced at the screen, barely processing the sender before opening the message.

DBK: We’re going clothes shopping tonight. Wukong and I are inviting you to an important gala. Don’t be late.

Hanro nearly dropped his phone.

A gala?!

He reread the message three times, hoping he had somehow misinterpreted it. But no, the words stayed the same, solid and terrifying.

A gala. As in a fancy, high-profile event. As in he was going to be paraded around like arm candy by two of the most powerful men in the city.

His ears burned. His heart pounded. He was not prepared for this.

A shadow fell over him.

Mira.

She had been passing by his desk when she saw the text, and now she was staring at him with the most wicked grin he had ever seen.

She waggled her eyebrows.

Hanro’s soul ascended.

With the speed of a man fleeing for his life, he bolted from his chair and made a beeline for the bathroom, nearly knocking over a coworker in the process.He barely registered Mira’s laughter ringing out behind him. He locked himself in a stall and groaned into his hands.

This was not happening.Except it was.And somehow… he had a very bad feeling that it was only going to get worse. The moment Hanro stepped out of the office, ready to disappear into the night and process his ever-growing life crisis, a sleek, black luxury car pulled up to the curb.

Heads turned. Conversations stopped. People stared.

And then the door opened.

Stepping out with effortless grace was none other than Demon Bull King himself—imposing, powerful, and dressed in a perfectly tailored suit that probably cost more than Hanro’s yearly salary.

And right behind him—because of course—was Sun Wukong.

Hanro’s blood ran cold.

Oh no. No, no, no—

Before he could even think about running, Wukong grinned and strode right up to him. “Hanro!”

Before Hanro could react, Wukong hugged him.

Right there.

In front of everyone.

Hanro stiffened like he had been struck by lightning. His tail bristled, his ears twitched, and his entire body locked up like a malfunctioning robot.

He was very aware of every single coworker gawking at them, whispering furiously.

And he was even more aware of Wukong’s fur—soft, warm, and carrying the distinct scent of peaches and cream.

Hanro’s brain promptly blue-screened.

Wukong finally pulled back, his golden eyes practically glowing with excitement. “Man, you have no idea how happy I am to see you again! Last night was great!”

Hanro nearly died on the spot.

He opened his mouth to protest—but of course, he couldn’t—so instead, his hands flew up in a desperate, please, for the love of gods, lower your volume.

Wukong, of course, did not lower his volume.

Hanro could feel Mira’s smug stare burning into the side of his head. When he chanced a glance, there she was—arms crossed, watching with wide, delighted eyes. The second she caught him looking, she gave him a huge thumbs up.

Traitor.

A deep chuckle snapped Hanro’s attention back to Demon Bull King, who had finally approached. “Alright, let’s not keep everyone waiting.” He placed a firm hand on Hanro’s shoulder, guiding him toward the car. “We’re heading to the Phoenix Feather.”

Hanro’s breath hitched.

Phoenix Feather.

The most prestigious and luxurious fashion house in the entire city. A place where celebrities, CEOs, and literal royalty shopped.

Hanro could never afford anything from there.

Wukong gave him a cheeky grin. “Can’t go to a fancy gala looking like an office worker, right?”

Hanro signed frantically, I could’ve just rented a suit!

Demon Bull King smirked. “Not when you’re going as our guest.”

Hanro’s stomach flipped.

Before he could even think of an escape plan, both Wukong and DBK gestured toward the car.

With every single coworker still watching, judging, and whispering about him, Hanro knew he had no choice. Face burning, he got inside.And to make matters worse—instead of sitting across from them, where there was plenty of space, he ended up squeezed between them.

The car door shut. The engine purred to life.And as they pulled off, Hanro realized, Oh gods, what have I gotten myself into? The moment they stepped into Phoenix Feather, Hanro’s suspicions were confirmed—everyone knew Demon Bull King and Wukong.

Store clerks practically jumped to greet them, their polished smiles never faltering, but Hanro could see the underlying excitement. After all, when two of the most powerful figures in the city walked into a luxury boutique, it was a very big deal.

Hanro, on the other hand, felt completely out of place.

As he took his first steps inside, his eyes widened at the sheer opulence of the store’s interior. The walls were lined with every fabric imaginable—rich silks, embroidered brocades, shimmering satins. Mannequins dressed in masterfully crafted suits stood proudly on display, each one adorned with intricate patterns inspired by traditional Chinese motifs—golden dragons curling around lapels, phoenixes woven into the lining of jackets, and elegant cloud patterns dancing across sleeves.

It was breathtaking.

And completely out of his price range.

A well-dressed store clerk approached them with a polite bow. “How may I assist you today?”

Demon Bull King, ever the commanding presence, simply stated, “Hanro needs an outfit for the gala tonight.”

The clerk nodded instantly, motioning for them to follow. “Of course. Right this way, gentlemen.”

Hanro barely had time to process what was happening before he was being led to an elevator that took them to the VIP section on the top floor.

When the doors opened, he gawked.

The VIP lounge was nothing short of extravagant. Plush velvet seating, golden chandeliers, a private fitting area surrounded by mirrors—it was a literal fashion heaven.

And then came the clothes.

A long white rack of garments was rolled out before them, filled with the most gorgeous suits he had ever seen. Deep jewel tones, embroidered lapels, hand-stitched details—each one was a masterpiece.

Hanro took one look at them and immediately panicked.

He whirled toward DBK, frantically signing, I can’t accept this!

The CEO merely smirked. “Of course, you can.”

Hanro shook his head, hands moving quickly. This is too much! I can’t afford—

“You’re not paying,” DBK cut in smoothly, his crimson eyes glinting with amusement. “This is our gift to you.”

Hanro opened his mouth, then closed it, struggling for a rebuttal that didn’t exist.

As he stood there, still overwhelmed, Wukong hummed thoughtfully before wandering off toward a display case of jade accessories. “Hmm… you need something to tie it all together…”

Hanro turned just in time to see Wukong pick up a stunning jade brooch carved into the shape of a dragon, its eyes glimmering with inlaid gold. The monkey king then grabbed a pair of jade earrings, inspecting them under the light before grinning in satisfaction.

“Oh yeah, these are definitely going to look amazing on you.” Hanro felt his soul leave his body. This was way too much.And yet, with DBK standing firm and Wukong looking entirely too pleased with himself, he knew there was no way out of this. Hanro sighed in defeat.

Tonight was going to be a lot. Hanro was so mesmerized by the jacket that he didn’t even notice Demon Bull King watching him.

“Do you like it?” DBK’s voice was as smooth as aged whiskey, rich and deep, wrapping around Hanro like a velvet embrace.

Hanro’s ears twitched slightly as he felt a warm flush creep up his neck. He hesitated for a second before giving a small nod.

DBK smirked, clearly pleased with his answer.

Before Hanro could even process the moment, Wukong suddenly reappeared, practically buzzing with excitement. “Oh, you’re gonna love these,” the monkey king said, holding up a small velvet case.

Inside was a breathtaking jade dragon brooch, its body coiled elegantly with tiny golden accents embedded into the stone, making it glisten under the store’s lights. Accompanying it were two dragon-shaped ear cuffs, carved from the same rich green jade, their intricate scales detailed to perfection.

Hanro gawked.

The craftsmanship was beyond stunning. He reached out to gently trace the edge of the brooch with his fingertips, sighing in quiet admiration.

“They’ll look even better once you wear them tonight,” Wukong teased, grinning wide.

Hanro’s face darkened instantly, his tail twitching as he immediately looked away, avoiding eye contact.DBK let out a deep, rumbling chuckle. “Ah… my beautiful boys,” he mused, voice dripping with amusement and something else that made Hanro’s stomach flip.

This was going to be a long night.

Hanro took a deep breath as he stepped into the lavish dressing room, heart hammering in his chest. The moment he slipped on the jacket, it felt like he had been draped in pure luxury. The silk was impossibly smooth against his fur, the gold embroidery shimmering under the soft lighting. He adjusted the cuffs, ensuring the fabric hugged his frame perfectly, then fastened the jade dragon brooch at his lapel. The ear cuffs sat snugly against his ears, adding an extra touch of regality.

He swallowed hard, staring at himself in the mirror. This is too much. I look ridiculous… don’t I?

But the longer he looked, the more he realized—no, he looked good.

Still, nerves crawled up his spine as he stepped out of the dressing room and into the main floor.

The entire store went silent.

Every pair of eyes turned to him, lingering on the way the tailored jacket accentuated his frame, the gleam of jade against his dark fur, the sheer presence he now carried in such an opulent ensemble.

Wukong let out a low whistle, a grin spreading across his face. “Damn, Hanro… you clean up real nice.”

Bull King, however, didn’t say a word. He merely sat there, his powerful frame exuding quiet dominance as his burning gaze roamed over Hanro from head to toe. The weight of it made Hanro’s skin prickle, his face heating as he swore DBK was mentally undressing him.

Flustered, Hanro lifted his hands and quickly signed, How do I look?

Wukong didn’t even hesitate. “Sexy.”

The staff, who had been holding their breath, immediately nodded in agreement, murmuring praises about how well the outfit suited him.

DBK finally leaned back, his lips curling into a slow, approving smirk. “Perfect.” Hanro’s blush deepened as he desperately fought the urge to run back into the dressing room. This night was definitely going to be dangerous. As Hanro stood there, still flustered from all the attention, two of the store’s employees—both well-groomed lions dressed in sleek, tailored uniforms—rushed off in a blur of golden fur. They clearly took their job very seriously because, within minutes, they returned triumphantly, each holding something in their hands.

One presented a pair of stunning black loafers with golden embroidery that matched the intricate details on Hanro’s jacket. The other held up a clutch—sleek, black, and adorned with a subtle dragon motif etched in gold.

“This,” the first lion said proudly, “is the perfect finishing touch to your look.”

“No,” the second lion interjected, stepping forward. “These shoes will tie everything together. Allow me to assist you.”

Hanro barely had time to react before the first lion scoffed, pushing up his sleeves. “Excuse me? I was here first. I’ll help him try them on.”

The second lion flicked his tail and crossed his arms. “No, I will.”

“I found the shoes—”

“And I carried them up the stairs!”

The two employees squared off, tails flicking and ears twitching in challenge. Within seconds, what should have been a simple shoe-fitting escalated into a comical shoving match, the two lions bickering as they wrestled over who had the right to assist Hanro.

Hanro just… sat there.

Perched on the plush leather seat, he blinked at the ridiculous display, his expression deadpan as the two lions dramatically circled each other.

Wukong, barely holding back laughter, leaned toward DBK and whispered, “Should we break it up?” DBK, lounging comfortably in his seat with one powerful arm draped over the chair, smirked. “No. This is highly entertaining.” Hanro sighed, resisting the urge to drop his face into his hands.

The moment Bull King stood from his chair, the two lions instantly froze, their playful bickering dying in their throats. A slow, simmering tension filled the air as he strode toward them, his heavy presence commanding absolute attention. Without a word, he plucked the shoes right out of their hands, his grip firm but effortless.

The lions, sensing they had thoroughly lost this battle, exchanged glances before bowing their heads and stepping aside, properly chastised.

Hanro, meanwhile, felt his pulse quicken as DBK approached, his broad frame somehow even more imposing up close. Then, to his utter shock, the powerful CEO—one of the richest, most feared men in the city—knelt before him.

The movement was deliberate, smooth, and far too intimate.

“May I?” DBK’s voice was a deep rumble, warm yet edged with something teasing, something possessive.

Hanro swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. His hands twitched in his lap before he managed to nod, lifting one foot hesitantly.

The moment DBK’s large hands touched his ankle, a shiver ran up Hanro’s spine. Soft. His hands were softer than he expected—warm and gentle, yet firm as he slid the shoe on with practiced ease.

Before Hanro could fully process that, another set of hands joined in—Wukong’s.

The golden-furred trickster knelt beside DBK, grinning as he took Hanro’s other foot into his hands, his touch much lighter, playful even, as he slid the second shoe on.

“There,” Wukong purred, dusting off his hands dramatically. “Now you look even more irresistible.”

DBK hummed in agreement, his dark eyes raking over Hanro as he remained kneeled before him. “Perfect,” he murmured, voice rich with approval.

Hanro, bright red at this point, quickly covered his mouth with his hand, his tail flicking wildly behind him. The two most powerful men in the city had just put his shoes on for him.

And worse? They both looked at him like they wanted to eat him alive. The lions, still standing off to the side, watched the entire exchange in stunned silence before one of them whispered, “I have never been more jealous of a monkey in my life.”

After the final selections were made, the cashier carefully packaged Hanro’s outfit in the store’s signature luxury bags, tying the handles with silk ribbons. The payment process was almost comically swift—both Wukong and Bull King had handed over their platinum cards at the same time, exchanging a knowing glance before the clerk hesitated, unsure whose card to take. Bull King simply smirked and told him to charge them both, a compromise that made Hanro’s face burn with embarrassment.

With the shopping trip complete, they all headed back to the sleek black car waiting outside. The drive back to Hanro’s apartment was surprisingly peaceful, the city lights casting soft reflections against the tinted windows. Hanro held the shopping bags carefully in his lap, still unable to believe that this was his life right now.

As the car slowed to a stop in front of his apartment, Bull King stepped out first and extended a hand, helping Hanro out with surprising gentleness for someone of his size. Wukong hopped out right after, grinning as he adjusted the shopping bags in Hanro’s grip.

Hanro quickly signed, Thank you both so much—for everything. This is… beyond anything I ever expected. His tail twitched slightly, betraying his nervousness.

Wukong chuckled. “No need to thank us, Peaches,” he said, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from Hanro’s face. “We wanted to do this for you.”

Bull King nodded, his deep voice smooth as silk. “We enjoyed spending time with you.” He then took Hanro’s hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to his knuckles.

Hanro’s breath hitched, his eyes widening.

Wukong, not one to be outdone, did the exact same to Hanro’s other hand, his golden eyes twinkling with mischief as he murmured, “Sleep well, gorgeous.”

Hanro was frozen, his entire face burning red as the two pulled away and got back into the car. The engine purred to life, and before he could even process what just happened, they were gone, leaving him standing on the sidewalk in a daze. Still gripping the silk-handled bags, Hanro swallowed hard and turned toward his apartment door.

His heart was racing.

Hanro barely had a chance to process the evening before Mira yanked him inside, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She shut the door dramatically and spun around, hands on her hips.

“Spill.”

Hanro, still dazed from the luxurious whirlwind of an outing, blinked at her before signing, Where do I even start?

Mira groaned. “Oh, I don’t know—maybe with the fact that two of the most powerful men in the city just dropped you off at home like you’re some kind of VIP sugar baby?”

Hanro’s face turned scarlet, and he quickly signed, It’s not like that!

Mira smirked, crossing her arms. “Uh-huh. That’s why they kissed your hands like you’re some kind of prince and bought you an outfit that probably costs more than my rent?” She plopped onto the couch, kicking her feet excitedly. “Come on, come on, tell me everything.”

Taking a deep breath, Hanro set down the beautifully packaged bags and sat across from her, his tail twitching in mild embarrassment as he began signing his story from the moment he stepped into the car to the second DBK and Wukong pressed their lips against his hands.

With every new detail, Mira’s reactions grew more dramatic—gasping when he mentioned the VIP section, screaming when Wukong picked out the jade jewelry, and clutching a pillow like it was a lifeline when he told her about both of them kneeling to put his shoes on.

“Hanro,” she whispered, looking at him as if he had just won the lottery. “You do realize they are so into you, right?”

Hanro quickly shook his head, frantically signing, They’re just being nice!

Mira threw her hands up. “Nice?! Nice?! Babe, nice is holding the door open or paying for someone’s coffee. Nice is not two billionaires dressing you up like a doll, kissing your hands, and undressing you with their eyes in the middle of a store.”

Hanro covered his face with both hands, his ears burning. Mira cackled. “Ohhh, you’re in trouble.” She leaned in, wiggling her eyebrows. “Delicious, scandalous, threesome-level trouble.” Hanro groaned, slamming his forehead onto the armrest of the couch as Mira laughed herself breathless.

Chapter Text

Hanro stood in front of his bedroom mirror, adjusting the intricate jade dragon brooch on his lapel for what felt like the hundredth time. His outfit fit him perfectly—the tailored jacket hugged his frame in all the right ways, the golden embroidery shimmering under the warm light of his apartment. The sleek black trousers were just as flattering, and the polished loafers completed the look with effortless elegance.

Mira, sprawled on his bed, watched him like an overexcited fan at a fashion show. “Hanro,” she sighed dreamily, resting her chin in her hands. “You look stunning.”

Hanro, already flustered, signed quickly, It’s too much. I look ridiculous.

Mira sat up so fast that her tail fluffed. “Excuse me? You look like a walking fantasy. If you walked into that gala single, you wouldn’t be by the end of the night.”

Hanro groaned, covering his burning face with his hands.

Mira grinned. “You’re so lucky I’m not into guys, because I would fight Wukong and Bull King for you.”

Before Hanro could sign a response—mostly to beg her to stop teasing—there was a sudden shift in the air. A deep, smooth rumble of an engine rolled down the street before stopping right outside his apartment.

Mira gasped, scrambling to the window. “Oh my god.”

Hanro turned just in time to see a massive, jet-black limousine parked at the curb. The doors opened, and out stepped none other than Bull King and Sun Wukong.

And they looked breathtaking.

Bull King was dressed in a deep crimson suit embroidered with golden cloud motifs, his presence commanding as always. The color contrasted beautifully with his dark fur, the open collar of his shirt giving him an effortless yet powerful elegance. His massive horns gleamed under the streetlights.

Wukong, on the other hand, had opted for a traditional-meets-modern approach, wearing a deep royal blue changshan with golden accents. It fit him perfectly, the high collar emphasizing the sharp lines of his jaw. He looked both regal and mischievous, as if he could steal a priceless artifact or someone’s heart in the same breath.

Mira clutched Hanro’s arm, whispering dramatically, “They look like gods.”

Hanro, beyond flustered, was still trying to breathe when a sharp knock came at the door.

He swallowed hard.

This night was about to begin.

Hanro took a slow breath, his fingers tightening briefly around the doorknob before turning it. The door opened with a soft click.

Standing there on the threshold, illuminated by the low, golden light of the hallway, Hanro looked like a vision made real.

Wukong blinked once, twice, his golden eyes going wide as they raked from the jade dragon brooch down to the hem of Hanro’s custom-tailored jacket, then back up to his flushed face.

“…Wow,” Wukong whispered, breathless. “You’re… gods, you’re beautiful.”

Next to him, the Demon Bull King let a slow, appreciative smirk curl at the edge of his lips. His crimson gaze settled on Hanro with quiet, hungry confidence. “Nice,” he said in a voice as smooth and deep as warm velvet. “Damn good choice, handsome.”

Hanro flushed so hard his ears burned. His tail curled instinctively around his leg in embarrassment as he shyly signed, Thank you.

Before he could melt into the floor entirely, Mira suddenly appeared at his side like a gremlin summoned by flustered energy. “Hi!” she said brightly, inserting herself into the moment with zero hesitation. “I’m Mira, best friend, emotional support goblin, and unofficial stylist-slash-hype girl.”

Wukong laughed, bowing slightly to her. “Pleasure. You’ve done excellent work.”

DBK gave her a respectful nod. “He looks better than anyone else at this gala will. By far.”

Mira beamed. “I know.” She reached out and gave Hanro’s shoulder a squeeze. “Now go turn heads and make rich men weak in the knees.” She started walking past them toward the limo, tossing her hair. “I’ll be riding separately, but I’ll see you both there.”

Hanro stood there for a heartbeat, caught between breath and disbelief as the two most powerful—and most dangerously attractive—men in the city waited for him to step out into the night.

Wukong extended his hand with a warm, adoring smile.

Hanro took it. The limousine glided through the city like a shadow kissed by moonlight, its tinted windows aglow with the soft interior lights. Hanro sat quietly between Wukong and the Demon Bull King, hands folded in his lap, eyes wide as the gala venue came into view beyond the window.

It was breathtaking.

The towering glass structure shimmered like a crystal palace under the night sky, golden light pouring from its arched windows. Red silk banners bearing the gilded lotus sigil of the Flower Fruit Conglomerate waved gently in the breeze. Valets in black and gold uniforms guided glittering guests from sleek vehicles, their jewelry flashing like stars.

Hanro leaned closer to the window, his breath catching slightly. This was real. He was really here—with them.

The limo slowed to a graceful stop, and almost immediately, the chauffeur opened the door with a formal bow. From the seat to Hanro’s left, Wukong was the first to move, his movements fluid and feline. He stepped out into the night, the crowd murmuring upon seeing him, then turned and extended a hand back into the car.

“Come on, beautiful,” he said with a wink.

From the other side, Bull King moved with quiet regality, every inch the powerful CEO. He too offered a hand, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the lights of the cameras flashing just beyond the steps.

Hanro looked from one to the other, his heart pounding in his chest like ceremonial drums. Slowly, he placed a hand into each of theirs and stepped out.

The cool night air kissed his skin, but all he could feel were the eyes.

Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. Reporters, paparazzi, guests—all staring.

But neither Wukong nor Bull King let him falter.

Together, the three walked up the steps of the gala, Hanro nestled between them, arms linked. Wukong laughed and waved, charming everyone effortlessly, while Bull King offered nods and handshakes to powerful faces in silk and suits.

And Hanro?

He held on to their arms, trying to take it all in. The glittering chandeliers through the open doors. The towering floral arrangements that spilled like waterfalls of gold and red. The grand marble staircase winding upward like a path to heaven. The music—live, elegant, dancing on the air like a spell.

His heart raced. What am I doing here? Why me? Is this real?

He couldn’t help but wonder.

And yet… with Wukong’s warm hand brushing his back, and Bull King’s quiet strength beside him, Hanro walked on. Not as an outsider, not as a mistake.

The grand doors of the gala parted like a scene out of a dream, revealing a ballroom drenched in golden light and opulence. Velvet curtains lined the walls, chandeliers like crystalline suns hung from the ceiling, and every step was cushioned by plush red carpets patterned with ancient motifs. The air carried the mingled scents of lotus blossoms, incense, and high-end perfume.

Hanro clutched the arms of Wukong and Demon Bull King tightly as they entered. The monkey’s smile was radiant as always, practically glowing under the soft lighting. DBK, imposing and elegant, strode forward with a confidence that made heads turn. Their tailored suits shimmered with the subtlest embroidery—Wukong in deep crimson laced with golden clouds, and DBK in obsidian silk etched with flames.

Hanro, in between them in his stunning red and gold jacket, felt like a living flame himself—seen, dazzling… and entirely out of place.

As they moved deeper into the room, powerful socialites, CEOs, immortal dignitaries, and celebrities turned their heads to greet Wukong and Bull King.

“Sun Wukong!” cried one laughing woman in an emerald gown. “You old flirt, I haven’t seen you in centuries!”

“And Bull King,” a sharply dressed phoenix man nodded. “Still the most feared negotiator in the Eastern business ring.”

They exchanged pleasantries, chuckles, inside jokes—words that flowed like wine among old friends and powerful rivals. Hanro smiled politely, nodding along, standing just behind them now, no longer holding on but hovering like a shadow at their side.

He signed a quiet “Nice to meet you” once or twice, but most were too focused on the pair of legends flanking him to notice. One woman gave him a polite nod and moved on. Another stared at him a bit too long, clearly trying to place who he was.

Hanro’s chest tightened. He could feel the buzz in the room. The weight of legacy, power, status. These people weren’t just rich—they were woven into the fabric of myth and influence. And here he was, mute, awkward, with peach-pink blush still lingering on his cheeks from earlier.

Why am I here?

Do they even know who I am?

Am I just a novelty for the evening? A pretty flame caught between gods?

He glanced to his left. Wukong was laughing heartily with an elegant elven dignitary, one hand casually resting against the small of Hanro’s back without even thinking.

To his right, DBK was engaged in a quiet but intense conversation with the head of a powerful eastern guild, but every so often, his eyes flicked to Hanro—protective, assessing, present.

Even in the middle of gods and monsters dressed in silk and diamonds, they hadn’t forgotten him.

Still, Hanro found himself slowly stepping back, lingering by the towering flower arrangement beside the champagne fountain, letting the roar of laughter and chatter wash over him.

He didn’t belong here. Not really.

But both Wukong and the Demon Bull King had invited him.

They saw something.

And he couldn’t deny the shiver of excitement that ran through him when Wukong glanced back again and winked—like the whole party meant nothing without him in it.

Chapter Text

The gala carried on in a whirlwind of chatter, laughter, and clinking crystal, but to Hanro, it felt like he was at the center of a tug-of-war. A very expensive, flirtatious tug-of-war.

At first, he thought he was imagining it—until it became very clear.

Wukong had just returned with two glasses of champagne, one for himself and one for Hanro, offering it with a cheeky wink and a little bow. “For the most handsome man in the room,” he said with a grin, his tail swishing behind him playfully. Before Hanro could even sign a thank you, the Monkey King leaned in close, whispering something in his ear that made Hanro’s blush return full force.

But then—

“Oh, are we giving gifts now?” DBK rumbled smoothly as he approached, his voice dark and rich like aged wine. In his hands was a sleek, velvet-lined box. He opened it with theatrical flair, revealing a striking jade bracelet etched with infernal patterns and accented with tiny fire opals.

“I thought something that matched your flames would be better than bubbles,” the Demon Bull King said, slipping it onto Hanro’s wrist with reverent care.

Wukong huffed, feigning offense as he looked between the bracelet and his forgotten champagne. “Oh, so we’re pulling out priceless jewelry now? I see how it is.”

Hanro blinked, wide-eyed, caught between the two as if in the middle of a romantic battlefield.

They weren’t fighting, not really—each gesture was smooth, controlled, polished with centuries of experience—but there was a spark in their eyes. The kind that danced with mischief. A challenge between gods.

Everywhere they walked, Wukong had a hand around Hanro’s waist, and DBK would promptly place a strong palm on his shoulder. When one led Hanro to admire the gala’s famed koi fountain, the other pulled him into a slow spin across the dance floor moments later. Even when they paused to pose for a photo, both of them tried to stand closest to him—Wukong with his arm thrown dramatically over Hanro’s shoulder, and DBK with his broad hand resting possessively on the small of his back.

Hanro could only look between them with amused disbelief, cheeks burning from their attention but heart fluttering from the care behind it. These two weren’t just toying with him—they were genuinely into him. And they weren’t hiding it from anyone.

At one point, when the crowd thinned near a balcony overlooking the glittering cityscape, Hanro finally signed:

“Are you two seriously fighting over me right now?”

Wukong gave a lopsided grin. “Only a little.”

DBK’s eyes gleamed. “Can you blame us?”

Hanro rolled his eyes, biting back a smile as he shook his head. This was ridiculous. And oddly flattering.

They weren’t just competing.

They were courting.

And Hanro wasn’t hating it.

The cool night air brushed against Hanro’s skin as he stood on the balcony with the city lights stretching endlessly before him—each glimmer mirrored the dazzling night he was currently living through.

Behind him, the soft click of polished shoes echoed as Wukong leaned against the balcony railing beside him, swirling his champagne flute idly, eyes half-lidded in lazy affection. On Hanro’s other side, DBK stood like a fortress of calm power, his arms folded as he cast a side glance down at Hanro, eyes smoldering with something softer than lust—interest, curiosity… intent.

Hanro’s fingers nervously toyed with the edge of the jade bracelet DBK had given him. Every so often, he’d catch a glimpse of its carved fire opals flashing in the low lighting, and the heat in his cheeks would rise again.

He turned his gaze up to them, hands lifting as he signed, “So… what happens now?”

Wukong was the first to respond, a playful sparkle in his golden eyes. “Now? We keep spoiling you rotten.”

Hanro’s face flared pink.

DBK chuckled, low and velvety. “Don’t mind him. He’s dramatic.” He leaned in, tilting his head slightly to match Hanro’s eye level. “But he’s not wrong.”

Hanro’s eyes darted between them, completely flustered. He signed rapidly, “You’re both serious? About… this? Me?”

Wukong reached over and gently adjusted Hanro’s collar, his fingertips brushing against his neck a little too slowly. “Why wouldn’t we be? You’re smart. Adorable. And that fire of yours—” He grinned. “Burns brighter than most I’ve seen.”

DBK nodded, more reserved, but his next words were just as striking. “We’re not the type to chase for fun. When we pursue, it’s because we want something real.”

Hanro swallowed. His heart felt like it was thundering in his chest. His tail—normally controlled—was flicking erratically behind him in a mix of nerves and excitement.

Before he could reply, Mira suddenly stepped out onto the balcony, having tracked him down from across the ballroom. “There you are!” she said, slightly breathless. “Hanro, everyone inside is talking about your entourage. The CEO and the Monkey King? You’re like… a myth already.”

Then she noticed the way both DBK and Wukong were standing—close, intimate, protective. Her eyes went wide.

“Oh my gods,” she whispered. “You’re in a throuple-in-the-making, aren’t you?”

Hanro’s face turned so red it nearly matched his ornate suit. He frantically signed “No! Maybe? I don’t—”

Wukong gave Mira a wink. “Don’t worry, we’re treating him right.”

DBK smirked. “And with his permission, maybe more than right.”

Mira stared at Hanro like he’d just casually dropped he was royalty.

Hanro let out a silent scream, turned on his heel, and marched straight back inside—both flustered and giddy—his two godlike suitors following after him like a pair of perfectly tailored shadows.

The gala was far from over. And somehow, Hanro had become the star of it. The gala had only grown louder, brighter, and more intoxicating as the night stretched on. Hanro, still nestled in the warmth of the event’s high society energy, had managed to keep mostly at the side of DBK and Wukong — until they were temporarily pulled away for a press photo op.

That’s when the vultures struck.

A small group of well-dressed elites cornered Hanro near the dessert bar, their voices high and teasing.

“So… are you like, with both of them?” one asked with a wide grin, clearly entertained.

“Is it a power couple now turned into a power trio?”

“How do you keep up with them?” another chimed in, mock fanning themselves.

Hanro’s face was flushed deep red as he signed hastily, “I-I don’t know what we are yet!” but all it got him were even more delighted giggles and teasing coos.

That’s when a shadow fell over the group.

“Now this is a surprise,” a velvety voice purred.

Everyone turned, and Hanro’s eyes widened instantly. Towering over the others was a muscular, elegant Lion Beastkin in an immaculately tailored midnight blue suit. His mane was sleek, streaked with silver, and his deep-set golden eyes glittered with mischief.

“The Azure Lion,” someone whispered behind Hanro. “That’s the Azure Lion. CEO of Bluefang Tech.”

He stepped closer to Hanro with a feline grace that screamed danger and flirtation. “I was wondering when I’d get the chance to meet the mysterious young man who captured the attention of both the Demon Bull King and Sun Wukong.”

Hanro bowed his head respectfully, unsure how to respond. But the Lion didn’t wait. He reached out, brushing some imaginary lint off Hanro’s sleeve, letting his claws lightly graze the embroidered fabric.

“You’re even more stunning up close,” he said with a low growl of approval. “Tell me, have they treated you to a real dance yet? Or are they too busy showing you off like a trophy?”

He leaned in closer, clearly crossing a line now, a hand grazing the small of Hanro’s back.

Hanro froze.

And then—

A sudden, sharp chill swept the air.

A rumbling presence descended over the room as DBK and Wukong stormed across the marble floor, the crowd parting like water in their wake.

Wukong’s eyes sparked with electricity as he snapped, “Hands. Off.”

DBK was deathly silent, but his jaw was clenched, eyes glowing faintly with red firelight. His expression said all that needed saying: one more wrong move, and this elegant event would turn into a demolition site.

The Azure Lion straightened, clearly amused rather than intimidated. “Gentlemen,” he said smoothly, “I was only playing. Can’t blame a lion for being curious.”

Wukong growled. “Try curious with someone else.”

DBK took a step forward. Just one. And the sheer weight of his aura made even the nearby lights flicker.

The Azure Lion lifted his hands mockingly. “Fine, fine. I know when I’m not wanted.” He turned to Hanro, smiled with too many teeth, and said, “But if you ever get bored of fire and stone…” He winked. “You know where to find me.”

And just like that, he vanished into the crowd.

Hanro finally let out the breath he’d been holding. Wukong was at his side in an instant, brushing his shoulder off, inspecting him with a concerned frown. “You okay?”

Hanro nodded, quickly signing, “I didn’t encourage him! I promise!”

DBK’s voice was low and surprisingly gentle as he stepped in. “We know. You handled it just fine. He’s the one who’s lucky he’s still walking.”

Hanro blinked up at them, cheeks warm. The concern in their eyes wasn’t just possessiveness. It was care.

Deep care.

Then Wukong smirked. “You’re not allowed to look that good in that outfit. It’s your fault, really.”

Hanro shoved him lightly, laughing silently.

The gala resumed around them, but from that moment on, neither DBK nor Wukong strayed more than a few inches from Hanro’s side. And honestly?

Hanro didn’t mind one bit. The gala began winding down in a shimmer of laughter, clinking glasses, and slow instrumental music echoing through the marble halls. Hanro stayed nestled safely between DBK and Wukong, still glowing from the attention, though the lingering heat of Azure Lion’s earlier encounter occasionally crept back into his thoughts.

As guests filtered out, the front of the venue became a stream of luxurious cars pulling up to retrieve their masters. And then, like clockwork, a long obsidian-black limousine with golden trim rolled up to the steps, gleaming under the chandeliers.

The chauffeur opened the door with a bow, and DBK stepped forward first, offering his hand to Hanro with a small smile. “Come on, my beautiful flame.”

Hanro reached out, a bit shy, but took his hand and let himself be guided. Wukong followed behind, a mischievous bounce in his step. But as Hanro stepped up and into the limo, something made him pause.

A stare.

A burning stare.

From the side of the entrance, half-shadowed beneath an awning, the Azure Lion stood leaning against a pillar, a champagne flute in one hand. His golden eyes locked on Hanro’s form, gaze shamelessly raking over him like a predator stalking prey.

Hanro froze in place, one foot still on the step.

The Azure Lion’s lips curled into a smug grin. He tipped his glass slightly toward Hanro and whispered just loud enough for only himself to hear:

“This is going to be fun… taking Hanro as my own.”

And then he purred low in his throat, the sound full of wicked promise and challenge.

Hanro shivered.

But Wukong was behind him now, lightly pressing a warm hand to his back, snapping him out of the moment. Hanro finished stepping into the limo, letting the door shut with a muffled thud, cutting off the lion’s presence.

Inside the limo, soft lights bathed them in a warm glow. The plush interior was spacious, fitted with velvet seats, golden accents, and a chilled mini bar. Hanro settled into the seat between Wukong and DBK again, his hands still warm from earlier.

“You okay?” Wukong asked, brushing a stray strand of hair from Hanro’s face.

Hanro nodded quickly, signing, “Just tired… a little overwhelmed.”

DBK grunted in agreement. “That gala was full of too many sharks with suits on. I prefer my enemies roaring, not smiling.”

Wukong chuckled. “You just didn’t like all the people ogling our Hanro.”

Hanro went beet red, waving his hands and signing frantically, “Yours?! I—I’m not—”

“Oh, hush,” Wukong said, laughing and leaning his head on Hanro’s shoulder. “You enjoyed every bit of it.”

DBK leaned forward, his crimson eyes twinkling in the dim light. “You handled yourself well tonight. Even when Azure Lion got handsy.”

Hanro flinched slightly at the name.

Wukong’s ears twitched. “He’s bad news,” he muttered. “The kind that doesn’t know how to take no for an answer. You need to be careful with him.”

“I’ll deal with him if he tries again,” DBK added, his voice low and dangerous.

The limo turned a corner, and the city lights gave way to quieter streets, moonlight painting silver streaks on Hanro’s lap. He blinked, his body growing heavier with the late hour and emotional drain.

That’s when DBK reached across and gently took Hanro’s hand.

“Why don’t you spend the night with us?” he asked, his voice deep and smooth. “It’s late. You’ve had too much attention. Our place is quiet, secure… and we’d like the company.”

Wukong brightened. “Yeah! You haven’t even seen the koi pond in the moonlight. Or our huge bathtub. Or the mountain-view balcony where we watch the stars.”

Hanro blinked, unsure if they were being serious—until he looked up and saw both of them watching him earnestly. Not pressuring. Just… hoping.

His heart fluttered.

He nodded slowly, signing with a soft smile, “Okay. Just for tonight.”

And maybe, just maybe, for more nights after that.

The car pulled into a secluded driveway nestled between high stone walls and thick flowering hedges. Beyond the gate was a sprawling estate, elegant yet warm, with cherry blossom trees lining the walkway and paper lanterns glowing softly in the night.

Hanro followed DBK and Wukong up the steps to the front door, his heart fluttering with nervous anticipation. When the door swung open, warm lights spilled out, revealing an interior just as grand as the outside—dark wood, soft carpets, and glowing panel windows with painted scenes of mountains and clouds.

“Come in, sweetheart,” Wukong said gently, brushing his tail playfully against Hanro’s back. “Let’s get out of these fancy clothes and unwind.”

Hanro hesitated for a moment, his fingers twitching. He swallowed a lump in his throat and then nodded, stepping inside.

The two made everything feel so natural. Wukong took his jacket and laid it across a velvet chaise. DBK brought out a steaming mug of herbal tea. They didn’t rush him. They didn’t crowd him. They simply made space, gave warmth, and let him breathe.

As the evening stretched into soft hours, laughter filled the living room, the trio bathed in a golden glow beneath hanging lanterns. Eventually, the laughter faded into a gentle silence, and they found themselves in the master bedroom—large, tranquil, filled with silk sheets and the faint scent of jasmine.

Wukong stretched out on the bed in the same bold jockstrap he wore the day they first met, a wink in his eye and comfort in his posture. DBK wore elegant black pajamas that clung to his broad frame, radiating quiet power and warmth. Hanro sat between them, his cheeks flushed but his heart open.

Wukong looked at him, serious now, his amber eyes full of sincerity. “Hanro,” he said softly, “we’ve been thinking… we don’t want this to be temporary. Not just a date. Not just a moment.”

DBK’s large hand gently covered Hanro’s. “We want you in our lives. Officially. As ours. As a partner. As… someone we can love together.”

Hanro’s breath hitched. The room suddenly felt still, like time had paused for him to decide.

His hands moved with practiced grace: “Yes. I’d love that.”

The look in Wukong’s eyes melted into joy, while DBK’s strong arm wrapped around him, pulling him close with quiet reverence.

They leaned into him, each pressing a kiss—one on his cheek, the other to his temple—as Hanro closed his eyes and let the moment wrap around him like silk.

There would be time for fire. For passion. But tonight? Tonight was about love blooming—three hearts finding a rhythm together, holding each other in a world that finally felt right.

Chapter Text

Sunlight filtered gently through the silk curtains, casting soft golden patterns across the bed sheets. Hanro stirred beneath the covers, his limbs feeling weightless, like he was still floating somewhere between a dream and the echo of something magical.

He blinked his eyes open, only to realize he was alone in the bed.

The spot where DBK had slept was still warm, and a faint trace of Wukong’s sweet peach-scented fur clung to the pillow. Hanro sat up slowly, the memories of last night swirling in his head—the laughter, the whispered promises, the way they held him like he was the most precious thing in the world.

Heat bloomed in his cheeks as flashes of the night flooded back, and he quickly hid his face in his hands.

After a few moments, Hanro climbed out of bed and stretched. He slipped into one of the silk robes draped across the back of a chair and padded softly down the hall, following the faint sound of voices and the smell of something delicious.

He found them in the kitchen.

Wukong was perched on the counter, barefoot, sipping from a mug with his tail lazily swaying. DBK, shirtless and in linen pants, was at the stove flipping something on a pan with practiced ease. The warm scent of scallion pancakes and jasmine tea filled the air.

“Morning, sleepy beauty!” Wukong called as soon as he spotted him. He gave a wide grin, fangs just peeking out, then winked. “You look cute all dazed. Recovering from last night?”

Hanro froze in place, cheeks going redder than a plum. His hands began to fly in quick, flustered signs.

“Don’t say it like that!”

DBK turned, plating the food with a chuckle. “What, we’re just saying good morning. Not our fault you were the highlight of our evening.” He said it low, warm, full of pride.

Hanro covered his face again with both hands.

“Gods,” Wukong snickered. “He’s so cute when he’s flustered. I could eat him up—and not just in the way we did last night.”

Hanro whined silently through his hands, which only made the two of them laugh harder before DBK brought over a plate for him.

Breakfast was peaceful. Full of small smiles, affectionate glances, and the kind of quiet that only came when everyone felt safe.

Eventually, DBK stood, stretching before heading toward the bedroom. “We’ve got meetings this morning. Don’t get too lost in your thoughts, little ember.”

Wukong leaned over and pressed a lingering kiss to Hanro’s forehead. “Text me later, okay? We’ll plan something for the weekend.”

And just like that, the two were gone—leaving Hanro in the spacious home, sunlight warming the marble floor, the echo of laughter still in the air.

He sat there for a moment, chewing on the corner of a pancake, dazed.

Everything was happening so fast. But it didn’t feel bad. It just felt… surreal.

Reaching for his phone, Hanro opened his messages and typed out a quick line to Mira:

“Hey. You up? I need to talk. So much happened.”

Seconds later, her typing bubbles appeared.

Mira: “I’ve been waiting for this text. Spill. EVERYTHING.”

Hanro sighed, a small smile tugging at his lips.

He was definitely going to need tea for this.

Hanro didn’t even get through his second text when Mira was already calling. The ringtone barely chirped once before he answered and heard her shout:

“YOU HAD A THREESOME WITH TWO OF THE MOST POWERFUL MEN IN THE CITY AND DIDN’T TEXT ME LAST NIGHT?!”

Hanro winced and pulled the phone away from his ear, cheeks burning. He quickly signed, “I was distracted!” followed by a frantic flurry of gestures that basically meant “don’t kill me, I was overwhelmed, it just… happened!”

“Uh huh,” Mira said dryly. “You know what? I’m coming over. You’re making me tea, and I want all the juicy details. You better have snacks.”

Hanro sighed but smiled. She was going to get the whole story out of him whether he liked it or not.

⸻

Ten minutes later, Mira burst into the apartment in a whirlwind of oversized sunglasses, lounge pants, and drama. She threw herself on the couch like a soap opera star and dramatically sniffed the air.

“I smell scandal.”

Hanro rolled his eyes and handed her a steaming mug of floral tea.

“Now,” she said, tucking her legs beneath her, “Start from the limo. And don’t you dare skip the bedroom part. I want to know everything—how they touched you, how you felt, what Wukong wore, what Bull King sounded like when he—”

Hanro immediately signed, “MIRA!” face going nuclear red.

She cackled into her mug. “I’m just saying! You’ve been single forever and now you’ve bagged two fantasy-grade beasts who want you in their bed and at their business events? I need to understand your magic.”

Hanro sighed deeply and began signing slowly: “It was… a lot. But sweet. And gentle. And fun. They didn’t pressure me, they just made me feel wanted. Like I belonged.”

Mira’s expression softened, lips curling into something warm and teasing. “Okay, that’s actually kind of adorable. But also hot. Like, ‘fairy tale meets spicy drama’ hot.”

She leaned in. “So. How was it? Scale of 1 to you-woke-up-glowing?”

Hanro hid his face behind his tea mug.

Mira took that as confirmation. “GLOWING. Got it.”

They giggled, shared cookies, and Mira practically melted every time Hanro signed anything sweet about the two men. She even let out a squeal when Hanro described the moment they kissed his hands before he went inside last night.

“You better know this means they’re falling for you.”

Hanro looked down at his cup and smiled, unsure but undeniably happy.

Then Mira perked up. “Wait. You’re still mute, but they’re cool with it?”

He nodded. “They don’t even mind. They’re learning my signs.”

Mira slapped the couch. “HANRO. THEY’RE LEARNING SIGN FOR YOU. YOU’RE DONE. YOU’RE SO MARRIED.”

Hanro nearly choked on his tea.

Later that afternoon, just as Hanro was scrolling through his messages—most of which were from Wukong sending him chaotic selfies and DBK sharing tasteful food photos—a sleek, deep-blue luxury car pulled up in front of his apartment building.

Hanro peered through the window, brows furrowing. The tinted glass rolled down, revealing a sharply dressed leopard Beastkin chauffeur in a crisp charcoal suit.

“Mr. Hanro,” the driver said, his voice calm and professional, “The Azure Lion respectfully requests your company for lunch at his private estate. He has asked me to escort you.”

Hanro blinked, taken aback. Azure Lion? The same man who had been a little too handsy at the gala last night? The one who practically purred threats as he watched Hanro get into the limo?

Something twisted in his stomach—not quite fear, but certainly not comfort.

The driver noticed his hesitation. “He said he only wishes to talk. Nothing more. You are free to leave at any time.”

Hanro looked down at his phone. He considered texting DBK or Wukong, but… this wasn’t their decision. He was his own person. Besides, if Azure Lion was going to try anything, Hanro wanted to face it head-on.

He took a deep breath, nodded once, and stepped into the car.

⸻

The ride was silent and smooth, the seats buttery soft and scented faintly of cedarwood and spice. The city slowly gave way to sprawling private estates nestled in the hills, until the car turned through ornate wrought-iron gates and glided to a stop in front of a modern glass mansion that shimmered like a jewel in the afternoon sun.

The driver opened the door for Hanro.

“Right this way, sir.”

Hanro stepped out, clutching his messenger bag close to his side, and followed the driver through double doors so tall they nearly touched the ceiling. Inside, the foyer was impossibly sleek: polished marble floors, hanging gardens, and enormous windows that bathed everything in golden light.

Waiting for him at the base of the grand staircase was Azure Lion himself.

He wore a perfectly tailored navy robe with gold threadwork that shimmered like flames. His mane was brushed back into a stylish ponytail, and his smile was sharp as ever.

“Hanro,” he said, voice smooth as silk. “I’m so glad you came.”

Hanro gave a polite nod, keeping his face neutral.

Azure Lion extended a hand, but Hanro didn’t take it.

“Right,” Azure Lion said, chuckling as he pulled it back. “Straight to the point then. Let’s eat.”

⸻

Lunch was set up on the sun terrace—a long glass table with delicate porcelain dishes, steamed buns, dumplings, jasmine rice, and grilled meat served on gold-rimmed plates. A team of silent servants poured tea and stepped back.

Hanro ate cautiously, keeping his eyes on Azure Lion, who sipped his tea while watching Hanro like a cat watches a mouse—no malice, just intent.

“You’re very beautiful, you know that?” Azure Lion said, breaking the silence.

Hanro paused, chopsticks in hand.

“I can see why they like you,” Azure Lion continued. “The Demon Bull King and the Monkey King—both obsessed. But I think they’re selfish.”

Hanro narrowed his eyes.

“They want to keep you to themselves. Lock you up like some hidden gem.” His smile widened. “But I would parade you. Show you off to the world. Make you mine in every way.”

Hanro’s stomach turned. He signed firmly: “I’m not a prize.”

Azure Lion chuckled again and leaned back, swirling his tea. “Of course not. But I do love a challenge.”

The air grew tense. Hanro stood from the table, clearly done.

Azure Lion stood too, not stopping him. “Just think about it. I don’t take no for an answer easily… but I do love the chase.”

Hanro turned on his heel and walked away, heart pounding.

The driver escorted him back to the car without a word.

⸻

As the car pulled away from the estate, Hanro gripped his phone tightly and immediately began typing a message to both Wukong and DBK.

Hanro: Just had lunch with Azure Lion. He said some things. Weird things. I’ll explain when I get back.

Within seconds, both replied.

Wukong: WHAT?! I’m coming to pick you up right now.

DBK: Stay put. We’ll talk. And next time, tell us first.

Hanro leaned back in the seat, heart still fluttering with unease, the Azure Lion’s smirk echoing in his memory.

This wasn’t over.

Chapter Text

At the Azure Lion’s estate—an expansive, ultra-modern sanctuary nestled in the hills—sunlight filtered in through enormous floor-to-ceiling windows, casting golden light over sleek marble floors and silk-draped lounges. The scent of lotus blossom incense drifted gently through the air, mingling with the delicate aroma of grilled vegetables and jasmine rice wafting in from the open-concept kitchen.

The Azure Lion moved through his home with slow, deliberate grace. Today, he had chosen an elegant outfit designed to impress without trying too hard: a deep sapphire-blue changshan made of the finest silk, embroidered with pale silver cranes that danced subtly across the fabric when he walked. The mandarin collar and wide sleeves accentuated his broad shoulders and athletic frame, while a pair of slim ivory trousers completed the ensemble. A carved jade pendant rested against his chest, gleaming softly in the light.

He glanced at the table, already set for two. The finest porcelain plates were laid out, alongside matching crystal glasses and chopsticks tipped in gold. A delicate arrangement of moon lilies sat in the center of the table, their petals stark white against a black lacquered vase.

The Azure Lion looked over everything once more, his tail flicking lazily behind him. Everything was perfect.

“Hanro…” he murmured to himself, a sly smile curling on his lips. “Let’s see what makes you blush today.”

Just then, the soft sound of tires on gravel signaled the arrival of his guest. With a final adjustment to his cuffs, the Azure Lion turned and made his way to the front door, his expression unreadable—but his golden eyes gleamed with mischievous intent.

The sleek luxury car came to a gentle stop before the towering gates of the Azure Lion’s estate. Hanro shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clutching his phone tightly in one hand as the driver came around and opened the door with a polite bow.

“Master Azure is expecting you,” the driver said with a practiced smile.

Hanro stepped out slowly, eyes widening as he took in the estate. It was stunning—elegant and imposing all at once. Sculpted gardens framed the path, and koi ponds shimmered beside it like liquid gold. Everything screamed prestige and wealth, the kind that made even someone used to DBK and Wukong’s status feel just a little small.

He swallowed down his nerves and adjusted the soft cream-colored cardigan and slacks he had worn—Mira helped him pick it out for this very occasion, insisting on something “subtly irresistible.”

As he approached the massive ebony front doors, they opened before he could knock.

And there stood the Azure Lion.

Hanro blinked, eyes trailing over the striking outfit the Lion wore. That deep sapphire changshan clung to him in all the right ways, subtly flashing silken threads as he moved. His presence was magnetic—confident and smooth, a predator used to getting exactly what he wanted.

“Hanro,” Azure Lion greeted, his voice a velvety purr. “I’m so glad you came.”

Hanro offered a polite nod and signed, Thank you for the invitation.

Azure Lion stepped aside, motioning him in. “Come. I’ve prepared lunch myself. A rare treat—I usually don’t trust anyone else in my kitchen.”

Hanro stepped into the estate, shoes clicking lightly against the polished marble floor. The scent of fresh-cooked food immediately reached him, comforting and refined.

As they made their way toward the dining area, Azure Lion’s eyes didn’t leave him.

“You look lovely today,” he said casually. “Very… soft.”

Hanro’s cheeks flushed as he looked away, suddenly very interested in the interior design of the hallway.

They entered a sun-drenched dining room where a table for two sat beside an open view of the gardens. Lunch was already plated: delicately grilled miso salmon, sautéed vegetables, jasmine rice with edible flowers, and two tall glasses of sparkling elderflower tea.

Azure Lion pulled out Hanro’s chair with an elegant gesture. “Please. I hope you’re hungry.”

Hanro sat, still unsure of this sudden invitation—but intrigued nonetheless. There was a gleam in Azure Lion’s eyes, something unreadable but undeniably focused.

As he took his seat opposite Hanro, the Azure Lion smiled slowly.

“So… tell me about yourself,” he said, setting his napkin in his lap. “I already know how you taste in clothes. Now I want to know everything else.”

Hanro blinked, cheeks warming at Azure Lion’s flirtatious tone, but he composed himself quickly, taking a small sip of the elderflower tea to steady his nerves. The taste was crisp and floral—refreshing, much like the atmosphere, even if he felt like he was under a microscope.

Azure Lion leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on the back of his hand, eyes never leaving Hanro.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” he asked with a smirk, already knowing the answer. “I find that…refreshing. Most people in my circle talk far too much and say far too little.”

Hanro smiled faintly, then raised his hands to sign: I’m mute, but I’ve always found actions speak louder than words.

Azure Lion nodded slowly, as if absorbing each gesture with intense interest. “Beautifully said,” he murmured. “And you’re absolutely right. Actions… speak volumes.”

There was a pause as they both began eating. The food was exquisite—delicately seasoned, cooked to perfection. Hanro was surprised. He hadn’t expected the powerful CEO to actually know his way around a kitchen, but it was clear Azure Lion had many talents.

“So,” Azure Lion continued after a few moments, his tone lighter, “what’s it like being caught between two of the most powerful men in the city?” His smile was teasing, but there was a flicker of something serious beneath the words.

Hanro choked slightly on his rice, blushing as he signed, They’re… intense. But kind. It’s overwhelming sometimes.

“Mm,” Azure Lion hummed. “Overwhelming can be good. Or dangerous.”

Hanro paused mid-bite, tilting his head.

The lion chuckled, waving a hand. “Relax. I’m not here to pry or stir trouble. I simply like knowing who’s caught the attention of two dragons. You’re… intriguing, Hanro.”

He reached for his wine glass, swirling it with ease. “And I like intriguing things.”

Hanro gave a bashful smile, unsure how to respond. There was something magnetic about Azure Lion’s charm, the way he filled the room, even when silent. Yet he could feel the weight of something heavier beneath that charisma—like he was watching a storm smile politely before the first thunderclap.

Why invite me? Hanro signed honestly. This seems… personal.

Azure Lion didn’t respond right away. He set down his glass, his gaze sharpening ever so slightly.

“Because I’m not the type to watch from a distance when something—or someone—I desire is right in front of me.” He leaned back in his seat, claws gently tapping the table. “And because I believe you haven’t truly decided yet… who you belong to.”

Hanro’s heart thumped in his chest.

“I won’t push,” Azure Lion said smoothly. “But I don’t plan to step aside either.”

He raised his glass in a toast, eyes smoldering.

“To new beginnings.”

Hanro stared at him, stunned and speechless.

This lunch had just become a lot more complicated.

Azure Lion’s toast lingered in the air like a challenge wrapped in silk. Hanro didn’t raise his glass in return right away. He sat frozen, his fingers twitching slightly on the linen napkin resting in his lap. There was an undeniable tension beneath the elegant setting—gold-trimmed plates, glimmering chandeliers, the low hum of classical music—but none of it could drown out the storm in Hanro’s head.

Slowly, Hanro signed, I didn’t come here to be fought over.

Azure Lion chuckled, deep and rich, and leaned forward, elbows on the table now. “Is that what you think this is? A battle?” His tone was playful but edged with something razor-sharp. “No, darling. If this were a fight, I wouldn’t be serving you jasmine rice and spring rolls—I’d be baring fangs.”

Hanro narrowed his eyes, then signed, So what is this?

There was a pause.

“A proposition,” Azure Lion said finally, voice low. “Not to pull you away. Not to ruin what you have with Wukong and the Bull King—though gods know they don’t deserve you half the time. No. I want you to understand that there are other options. Other… arrangements.”

Hanro blinked. His brows furrowed.

What do you mean—arrangements?

Azure Lion stood slowly, taking his wine glass and pacing a few feet away toward the massive floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city. His golden mane shimmered under the light like a molten halo.

“I’m not interested in playing second to anyone,” he said quietly. “But I also know how rare someone like you is. Mute, mysterious, gentle, brave… and completely unaware of the power you hold over others.” He turned back to Hanro with a smile that was half admiration, half warning. “They aren’t the only ones enchanted, Hanro.”

Hanro flushed, heart hammering. He stood up halfway, ready to sign something—anything—but Azure Lion held up a hand.

“I won’t ask you to betray them. I know loyalty. But… let me be honest.” He walked back toward Hanro, slow and deliberate. “If they fumble even once—if they take you for granted, leave you in the cold, forget how delicate and fierce you are—know that there is a place for you here. With me.”

He reached forward and gently took Hanro’s hand.

“I won’t lie,” he whispered, golden eyes locking onto Hanro’s. “I want you. And I’m not afraid of fighting dragons to have you.”

Hanro stared, stunned speechless. The room suddenly felt too small. Too warm.

And then, the soft ping of a message buzzed from his phone.

Wukong: Miss you already. Hope you’re having fun. Can’t wait to see you tonight.

Hanro looked at the message… then up at Azure Lion, still holding his hand with dangerous tenderness.

This just got very complicated.

Chapter Text

Hanro all but collapsed through the door of his apartment, the soft click of it shutting behind him barely registering as his thoughts spun. He dropped his phone, keys, and the small box of dessert Azure Lion had given him on the side table, face still flushed from everything that had happened.

Mira, curled up on the couch in sweats with a bowl of popcorn, peeked over the back cushion like a predator sniffing drama.

“Okay,” she said slowly, eyes narrowing. “You left looking like a porcelain prince, and now you’re walking like your soul just got spun in a blender. What happened?”

Hanro didn’t respond at first. He simply walked over, flopped face-down into the couch beside her, and groaned into the cushion.

Mira turned fully, brushing popcorn off her hoodie. “I know that groan. That’s the ‘I just got emotionally whiplashed by someone way too hot’ groan. Spill.”

Hanro reached for his phone, opened his notes app, and began furiously typing. Then he shoved it in her face.

Hanro’s Notes
“Azure Lion invited me to his house for lunch. Said he wanted to talk. He made lunch. Wore something RIDICULOUSLY elegant. Complimented me the whole time. Told me if DBK and Wukong ever mess up, he wants me. Like… he really wants me. And then he HELD MY HAND. Mira. HE HELD MY HAND. And then—THEN—I got a text from Wukong saying he missed me. I left so fast I almost tripped down the marble staircase.”

Mira’s mouth dropped open slowly as she read, eyes growing comically wide. She blinked at him, stunned for a moment… then burst out laughing.

“Hanro. Hanro. HANRO!” she wheezed between fits of laughter, clutching her stomach. “You’re telling me you just became the central figure in a mythological love quadrangle?! What are you, the main character in a spicy epic fantasy romance?!”

Hanro signed This isn’t funny! but his red face and trembling fingers told a different story. He was flustered… and maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit flattered.

Mira composed herself with effort, wiping a tear. “Okay, okay. Let me process this. So DBK and Wukong are basically your doting boyfriends who want to spoil you and snuggle you to death—and now Azure Lion just waltzed in like some high-class villain with a golden mane and said, ‘Hey, babe, if they trip, I’m here to catch you—in silk robes.’”

Hanro slowly nodded, cheeks puffed with embarrassment.

Mira leaned in close, grinning like a devil. “So… are you interested? I mean, like, at all? Azure Lion’s got that ‘dangerous-but-deep-down-soft’ energy. I wouldn’t blame you.”

Hanro paused.

Then signed, I don’t know. He’s intense. Like… the type who sends diamond necklaces just because I sneezed.

Mira snorted. “Girl, you’re in trouble.”

Hanro nodded again, face still buried in the couch.

Trouble didn’t even begin to cover it.

Mira plopped down next to Hanro, tossing the bowl of popcorn aside as she folded her legs beneath her. Her expression had shifted from amused to intrigued — now fully in “best friend crisis mode.”

“Okay, so he’s intense,” she said, tilting her head thoughtfully. “But… are we talking scary intense or seductively dangerous intense?”

Hanro turned his head slightly, signing: He didn’t try anything outright… but it felt like he was waiting for something. Watching how I reacted. He wasn’t aggressive. Just… persistent. Confident. Calculated.

Mira hummed, brushing her bangs aside. “The worst kind. The ones who know they’re hot and have the bank account to match.”

Hanro gave her a dry look and added: He held my hand across the table and said, ‘I like the way you look when you’re confused. It’s charming.’ Who says that? WHO SAYS THAT?

Mira let out a strangled noise. “You’re not helping my theory that you’re living in a softcore shifter romance novel!”

He signed: Don’t remind me.

She laughed again, before reaching for her phone. “Okay, question — did you tell Wukong or DBK about this lunch?”

Hanro’s face went blank.

“Hanro,” Mira said slowly. “Please tell me you didn’t ghost your myth boyfriends to go have lunch with a shirt-unbuttoned-to-the-navel corporate lion.”

Hanro frantically signed: I didn’t GHOST them! I just… didn’t mention it. And Wukong texted me while I was there, so I said I was just out for lunch.

Mira facepalmed. “Oh my god. You’re the drama now.”

Hanro rolled over and groaned into the couch cushions again.

Mira patted his back. “Look, I’m not judging. But if Azure Lion is going to keep flirting with you, and Wukong and DBK already look at you like you hung the moon—you’re gonna have to figure out how to set some boundaries before this becomes a godsdamn territory war.”

Hanro nodded weakly.

Then paused. And signed: He gave me a dessert box to bring home. Should I be scared to eat it?

Mira’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Let me see it.”

Hanro grabbed the neatly wrapped gold-accented box and handed it over. Mira peeled off the ribbon like a kid at Christmas. Inside were delicate, individually wrapped pastries — clearly handmade, and clearly expensive.

She picked one up and read the tiny card tucked inside:

“To sweeten the memory of our first lunch. Yours — Azure.”

Hanro clutched his face and fell backward onto the couch like he’d been shot.

Mira grinned over him, waving the card. “Oh yeah. You’re in DEEP.”

Hanro let out a muffled scream.

Somewhere across the city…
Azure Lion stood by his balcony, wine glass in hand, golden tail swaying. His eyes drifted to his phone.

No response yet. But he wasn’t worried.

Patience always paid off.

Chapter Text

Hanro sat stiffly on the couch, his fingers tangled together in his lap while DBK and Wukong stood across from him in the living room, watching him closely. The sunlight streaming in through the massive windows of their penthouse didn’t ease the tension in Hanro’s chest. He had told them everything—about Azure Lion, the lunch, the flirting, the strange intensity of it all. Even the dessert box. Mira made him bring the card.

Wukong rubbed the bridge of his nose while DBK’s jaw flexed.

“I knew that smug puffball had his eye on you,” Wukong muttered.

DBK crossed his arms. “And you didn’t think to tell us before you went over there?”

Hanro quickly signed, I didn’t want to worry you or seem like I was doing something shady. I wasn’t sure what it was myself.

Wukong sighed but softened. He sat next to Hanro and pulled his hand into his lap, brushing his thumb across his knuckles. “Okay, okay. You’re not in trouble, peach blossom. We just want you to be safe.”

DBK nodded. “Exactly. And if this guy thinks he can just play games with you, he’s going to learn he picked the wrong couple to piss off.”

Hanro blinked, wide-eyed, but then Wukong smirked.

“But I do think it’s time we toughened you up a bit.”

Hanro gave him a look.

“No offense, baby,” Wukong said with a wink, “but you’re kinda marshmallow-core. If things get messy—and they might—you should at least know how to flip a jerk lion on his back.”

DBK chuckled lowly. “And I assume you have a plan?”

Wukong tapped his phone with a gleam in his eye. “Capoeira.”

Hanro tilted his head.

“Fluid, fast, and full of style. It’s perfect for someone with your grace,” Wukong said, clearly imagining it already. “And I know just the guy to teach you.”

⸻

Later that afternoon, Hanro found himself stepping nervously into an open-air dojo tucked behind a rooftop garden in the middle of the city. The space was vibrant—woven banners danced in the breeze, drums rested against the far wall, and the polished wooden floor felt warm beneath his feet.

And there, in the center, moving with a rhythm that felt almost like a dance, was a tall, striking figure with six long ears that flicked and twitched with each motion. His copper-toned fur glistened faintly with sweat, and he wore only loose-fitting capoeira pants that hugged his hips. His sculpted torso flexed with each powerful cartwheel, each graceful spin.

Hanro stared.

The figure noticed and smoothly ended his movement with a twist and a bow. “Well, well. You must be Hanro.”

His voice was smooth like aged rum, playful but commanding. He walked over with feline ease and offered a hand.

“I’m the Six-Eared Macaque. Wukong told me a lot about you.”

Hanro shook his hand slowly, still trying not to let his eyes dip too low.

The macaque smirked, reading the expression on his face.

“Don’t be shy. You’ll get used to seeing people half-dressed around here,” he teased, then pulled something from a shelf near the drums. It was a framed photo—an old one. Wukong, much younger, in a crisp white capoeira uniform, hair pulled back, grinning with a bruised lip.

“Wukong was my student once. Wild, cocky, and always trying to show off,” Six-Ears said, pride sneaking into his voice. “But he had potential. Still does.”

Hanro smiled as he took the photo. There was something comforting about seeing Wukong in that way—young, still growing, vulnerable.

Six-Ears clapped his hands. “Let’s get started. I’ve already got your measurements from the monkey himself. Put those feet to work. By the end of this week, I want you doing handstands and spinning kicks like it’s second nature.”

Hanro raised a brow, then signed: I bruise like a peach.

Six-Ears chuckled. “Then you’ll be a very sweet warrior, won’t you?”

And with that, training began—music rising from the drums, rhythm guiding their movements, and Hanro beginning a new chapter he never expected.

The rhythmic beat of the berimbau echoed through the dojo as the warm golden light of late afternoon filtered in through the high, open windows. Hanro’s shirt clung to his skin, his breath coming in soft puffs as he crouched low in a ginga stance, mimicking Six-Eared Macaque’s movements as best he could.

The six-eared instructor moved like wind—fluid and graceful, his feet barely kissing the ground before he transitioned into a low sweeping kick that made Hanro stumble trying to keep up. A gentle hand caught Hanro’s waist before he fell backward.

“Careful,” Six-Ears said with a chuckle, his voice low and amused as he steadied him.

Hanro’s cheeks flushed a deep pink. His hands flew up to sign a quick apology, but Six-Ears just raised a brow, his hand lingering a second longer than necessary on Hanro’s waist before stepping back.

“You’re too stiff in your hips,” Six-Ears said, circling him. “Capoeira is all about rhythm and fluidity. Let it flow.”

He moved behind Hanro and without warning, placed both hands lightly on his hips. “Relax here. Loosen up. Trust the beat.”

Hanro’s blush deepened to crimson, his muscles tensing slightly at the contact.

Six-Ears smirked as he felt it. “You’re blushing,” he teased, voice low beside Hanro’s ear. “Don’t worry—I’m still a professional.”

Hanro signed quickly: I’m not used to being touched so much during training.

Six-Ears nodded, stepping back with a respectful dip of his head. “That’s fair. Capoeira’s a close-contact art. If I ever push a boundary, you tell me. Got it?”

Hanro nodded quickly, his expression grateful and his heartbeat still a bit too fast.

They resumed practice, this time moving more dynamically. Six-Ears demonstrated a graceful Au (cartwheel), then motioned for Hanro to try. Hanro kicked up, a little clumsy, but he made it through. He landed with a small wobble and a proud smile—only for Six-Ears to catch him again as he stumbled sideways, gripping Hanro’s biceps with strong hands.

“You’re improving fast,” Six-Ears said, steadying him again. “But don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because you’re cute.”

Hanro’s eyes widened, signing frantically: Wukong and DBK will kill you.

Six-Ears laughed out loud, letting go and raising his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, peach. I know they’d string me up by my tail if I laid a finger on you. I’m just teasing.”

Despite himself, Hanro smiled, cheeks still burning. There was something oddly comforting in Six-Ears’ teasing, like a playful big brother—or a particularly attractive mentor who knew exactly how to make you sweat in more ways than one.

By the end of the session, Hanro collapsed onto the floor with a small groan, arms sprawled out beside him. Six-Ears handed him a cold bottle of water and crouched beside him, his six ears flicking in amusement.

“Same time tomorrow,” he said, tilting his head with a grin. “And don’t wear a shirt next time—it’s easier to correct your form that way.”

Hanro choked on his water.

Six-Ears winked, then walked off to stretch, the sway of his movements almost as hypnotic as the drums still playing in the background.

Hanro stared up at the ceiling, covering his red face with his towel.

What had he gotten himself into?

Hanro wiped the sweat from his brow as he caught his breath, still crouched low from a drill. His shirt clung to him like a second skin, damp with exertion. Six-Eared Macaque, standing nearby with arms crossed, raised an eyebrow as he took a slow step forward.

“You’re overheating,” he said casually. “That won’t do.”

Before Hanro could react, Six-Ears reached out and pulled the damp shirt over Hanro’s head in one fluid motion.

Hanro let out a silent gasp, startled, his eyes wide as he instinctively crossed his arms over his bare chest. His face flushed scarlet.

Six-Ears tilted his head, then let out a low laugh, tail flicking lazily. “You’re seriously shy about this?” he asked with a grin. “After how fast you picked up that negativa, I figured confidence was baked into you.”

Hanro quickly signed: I’m not used to… being seen like this.

Six-Ears chuckled again, this time a little softer. “Well, you better get used to it. Capoeira isn’t just about kicks—it’s about presence. Confidence. Expression.”

He turned, walking toward a small shelf lined with colorful items—drums, talismans, and a tray of beaded jewelry. From it, he selected two vibrant bracelets made of green, gold, and blue beads, braided with thin strands of red string.

“C’mere,” he said, motioning.

Hanro approached cautiously, his arms still half-crossed over his torso.

Without a word, Six-Ears took Hanro’s wrists and, with surprising gentleness, slipped a bracelet over each one. The beads clicked softly into place.

“There,” he said, stepping back. “You’re officially one of my students now.”

Hanro blinked, then looked down at the bracelets, running his fingers over the intricate beadwork. He felt… honored. Like this small gesture had weight beyond just decoration.

He signed: Thank you. It’s beautiful.

“You earned it,” Six-Ears replied, his tone serious for once. Then he grinned again. “And you wear it well, shirtless and all.”

Hanro gave him a deadpan look, cheeks still pink, before rolling his eyes and turning away—but he couldn’t help the small smile that crept across his lips.

As the sun began to dip behind the windows of the dojo, the air between master and student was warm—not just from sweat, but from something slowly, subtly building. Respect. Trust. And maybe, just maybe… a bit of trouble.

Six-Ears tossed Hanro a towel and gestured toward the bench. “Rest up. Tomorrow, we start on flips.”

Hanro nodded, his bracelets glinting in the setting sun.

Hanro sat on the bench, dabbing his face with the towel. His muscles ached in places he didn’t even know existed, but a quiet pride pulsed beneath the fatigue. He looked at the colorful beaded bracelets on his wrists again—symbols of belonging, of being chosen.

Across the room, Six-Eared Macaque was rolling his shoulders, watching Hanro with a sideways glance as he drank water from a metal canteen.

“You’ve got good instincts,” he finally said, setting the canteen down with a soft thud. “You move like someone who’s had to listen with his body more than his mouth.”

Hanro signed slowly, still catching his breath: I’ve always relied on my body to speak for me. Words… never came easy.

Macaque’s gaze softened just slightly, something thoughtful flickering behind his golden eyes. “That’s good. Capoeira thrives in silence just as much as it does to rhythm.”

He walked over, crouching in front of Hanro. “But I’ll warn you,” he said, voice low and serious now. “This dance—it draws people in. It’s powerful. Beautiful. You’ll find it changing how you see yourself… and how others see you.”

Hanro stared at him, unsure how to respond. The way Six-Ears looked at him—piercing, unreadable, intense—sent a subtle shiver down his spine.

Then Macaque grinned, slapping Hanro lightly on the knee. “You’ll be breaking hearts if you’re not careful, student.”

Hanro blushed hard, again, and covered his face with the towel, groaning silently while Macaque laughed and rose to his feet.

“That includes Sun Wukong,” he added under his breath, stretching his arms overhead. “He’s always been a sucker for fire.”

Hanro peeked over the towel, confused. Macaque smirked but didn’t elaborate. Instead, he turned away and grabbed a long, colorful scarf, tossing it to Hanro.

“Here. Gift from my mestre when I started out. I think it’s time it sees some new moves.”

Hanro unfolded it gently—it was beautifully handwoven, striped in gold and maroon, clearly worn but still vibrant. He signed: I can’t accept this.

“Yes, you can,” Macaque said with finality. “You’re mine now.”

Hanro’s fingers paused mid-sign, eyes widening slightly at the possessive phrasing.

Macaque turned, smirking over his shoulder as he headed toward the locker room. “My student, I mean,” he added smoothly, though his tone suggested a layered intent.

Hanro exhaled shakily and sat back down, scarf in hand, bracelets on his wrists, and thoughts spinning in all directions.

He came here to learn how to defend himself.

But it seemed he was learning a lot more than just that.

And somehow… it was only just beginning

Chapter Text

The sun was dipping low in the sky, casting golden rays through the wide windows of the dojo as Hanro toweled off, his body sore but humming with energy. The Six-Eared Macaque stretched lazily, his capoeira pants riding low on his hips, his six ears twitching every so often to distant sounds.

“Not bad for your first real session,” he said, tossing Hanro a sports drink as they walked out the front doors into the late afternoon air. “Keep this up and you’ll be able to dodge DBK’s punches and Wukong’s flirting in no time.”

Hanro laughed silently, cheeks pink, and signed: One of those is more dangerous than the other.

Macaque chuckled. “Facts.”

They crossed the dojo courtyard together, gravel crunching beneath their feet. It was quiet—too quiet.

That’s when it happened.

A sudden crack rang out, sharp and unnatural. Before Hanro could even react, Macaque’s arm was around him, pulling him behind a stone pillar. Another crack—like a whip or the shatter of concrete.

Hanro’s heart pounded. He peeked from behind Macaque’s shoulder. Across the street, something shimmered—distorted, like heat haze—but in the shape of a person.

“Someone’s tailing us,” Macaque growled low, narrowing his eyes. “And it’s not some rookie.”

Hanro quickly signed: What do they want?

“I dunno yet,” Macaque muttered. “But anyone who hides their qi like that? Not here for tea.”

Without warning, the shimmering figure darted away—vanishing into the alley.

Macaque stared after them for a long beat, then turned to Hanro. “Looks like training’s not just for show anymore.”

Hanro swallowed, nodding slowly.

Then Macaque leaned in a little closer. “You sure you don’t know anyone who’d want to keep tabs on you, Hanro? Maybe a jealous lion with a silver tongue?”

Hanro’s mind snapped instantly to Azure Lion. The man’s gaze. His words. His hands.

He nodded.

Macaque’s face darkened. “Right. Then I think it’s time I tell Wukong and the Bull King that we’ve got a problem.”

Hanro signed quickly: Should we go now?

“No,” Macaque said with a tight smirk. “First, we eat. I never go to war on an empty stomach.”

Hanro blinked, startled—then laughed soundlessly, following Macaque as they disappeared down the street, the city’s golden hour bathing them both in uncertain light.

But one thing was clear: Hanro was no longer just a bystander in this strange dance.

Someone had thrown the first move.

And now, the game was on.

The two ended up at a tucked-away rooftop café above a teahouse Macaque claimed only “old ghosts and ex-assassins” knew about. It was quiet, scenic, with a view of the city skyline just beginning to glitter under the sunset. Hanro sipped from a small cup of chrysanthemum tea while Macaque ordered enough food for four people and casually kicked his sandals off.

“Don’t let the quiet fool you,” Macaque muttered as he rolled his shoulders. “This city’s got more politics than people think. You’ve stepped into a very… delicate circle.”

Hanro tilted his head and signed: Because of Wukong and DBK?

Macaque nodded. “You’re at the center of a power couple that’s beloved and feared. A lotta people respect them, but not everyone’s happy they’re opening their lives to someone new. Especially not someone as—” he paused, giving Hanro a once-over, “—pretty as you.”

Hanro flushed and looked away, but Macaque caught the expression.

“Hey, don’t shrink,” he said, nudging Hanro’s knee under the table. “You didn’t ask for the attention, but you’ve got it. That means you need to be ready—emotionally and physically.”

Hanro signed, Even from Azure Lion?

Macaque let out a low whistle. “Especially from him. Azure’s not just a CEO. He’s charming, powerful, and very used to getting what he wants. Including people. If he’s got eyes on you… it won’t stop at flirting.”

Hanro’s hands moved quickly, his nerves twitching: So what do I do? Avoid him?

Macaque leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the table. “You don’t hide. You get stronger. You let him know—gently or not—that you’re not his to take. And if he doesn’t back down… well. Wukong’s a trickster, DBK’s a powerhouse, and me?” He flashed a sharp grin. “I’m the dirty fighter who doesn’t play by court rules.”

Hanro couldn’t help but laugh silently. His shoulders relaxed a little as the food arrived—a steaming platter of fried dumplings, sweet lotus root, and spicy tofu. He dug in with Macaque, feeling like—for the first time since meeting Wukong—he had someone else firmly on his side.

As the sun dipped fully below the horizon and the city came alive with neon and shadow, Macaque finally stood, brushing crumbs from his pants.

“Alright. You’ve had your tea and gossip. Time to go home before your boyfriends send a search party.”

Hanro signed cheekily: They’re protective.

Macaque winked. “They should be.”

On the way down the steps, Macaque’s tone turned more serious. “Listen. You’re more important than you think, Hanro. Not just to them—but maybe to something bigger. People like Azure Lion don’t get involved with just anyone. You’re in the center of something now. So stay alert.”

Hanro nodded slowly, feeling the weight of that truth settle in his chest.

As they reached the street, Macaque flagged down a sleek car already waiting for Hanro. “Go rest. I’ll call Wukong and DBK, let them know what happened. And Hanro?”

He turned.

“You ever need backup? You come to me.”

Hanro smiled and signed: Thanks, Sifu.

The Six-Eared Macaque smirked, then turned and disappeared into the night—just as quiet and unpredictable as the danger that now lingered in the city’s shadows.

Elsewhere, in a sleek glass estate overlooking the city…

Azure Lion stood shirtless before an expansive window, his muscular frame reflected against the glittering skyline. The moonlight pooled over the marble floors of his penthouse, casting long shadows behind him. A tablet rested in his hand, flickering with dossiers and photos—Hanro’s photo prominently displayed on screen.

He stared at it, running a clawed thumb along the edge thoughtfully.

“Interesting,” he murmured, his voice smooth as velvet and twice as dangerous. “So quiet. So unassuming. So theirs.”

He set the tablet down on a glass table beside a half-finished wine glass. The notes of plum and blood still clung to the air. Azure’s long tail flicked once, agitated, before he crossed the room to a side wall—pressed a hidden panel—and revealed a private study lined with confidential files, enchanted objects, and surveillance tech far above legal limits.

At the center of the room, a digital board displayed moving portraits: Bull King, Sun Wukong, and now… Hanro.

“They’ve taken in someone vulnerable,” Azure said to himself, tapping Hanro’s image. “A mute stray with a soft heart and pretty hands. They’re getting sloppy.”

He opened a live feed—surveillance footage of Hanro at the dojo, sparring with the Six-Eared Macaque. He zoomed in on Hanro, shirtless, wrists glinting with student beads.

“Tch. So Macaque’s involved now too?” He scoffed, lips curling into a half-smile. “This is getting even more amusing.”

A knock came at the study door. A well-dressed assistant, another Beastkin—cheetah—bowed as he entered.

“Sir, your invitations to the Autumn Equinox Gala have been distributed. Should I add the trio to the VIP guest list?”

Azure Lion paused for a long beat. Then: “Yes. Of course. And make sure their table is… directly across from mine.”

He turned back to the window, eyes gleaming with intent.

“I’m not done with Hanro,” he purred. “Not by a long shot. And if Bull King and Wukong want to keep him… they’ll have to prove he’s more than just a delicate little pet.”

His claws clicked once on the glass.

“Because I always get what I want. Eventually.”

The assistant bowed again and backed out swiftly, sensing the coiled tension in the room. Alone, Azure Lion stared at the city, the lights reflecting like stars in his golden eyes.

And somewhere far below, Hanro’s fate was beginning to weave itself tighter into a web of desire, rivalry, and danger.

Chapter Text

In the heart of his private atelier, beneath a chandelier shaped like a blooming lotus, Azure Lion walked slowly along a collection of bolts and swatches.

Velvets. Silks. Iridescent blends laced with golden thread.

His sharp eyes landed on a bolt of imperial purple fabric threaded with phoenix-feather patterns only visible in candlelight. He reached out, brushing his claws across it with deliberate care.

“This,” he said, “will catch the light like it’s dancing across his skin.”

He turned to the tailor—an older mink Beastkin who had dressed royalty, diplomats, and even theater gods. But never had he seen Azure Lion this focused. Or indulgent.

“I want a suit made to drape and hug in equal measure,” Azure said with a smirk. “Sharp enough to turn heads. Fluid enough to tempt hands. Something worthy of… him.”

The tailor raised a brow. “For the mute one?”

A low, dangerous smile curled on Azure’s lips. “Hanro. Yes.”

He moved to a side table where he had placed a still image—Hanro mid-spin during Capoeira training, his shirt cast aside, his chest flushed from exertion. The beads on his wrists shimmered with color, drawing attention to his exposed arms.

Azure Lion stared for a beat too long.

“His body holds more strength than he realizes,” he murmured. “It deserves to be… accentuated.”

As the tailor moved off to begin work, Azure Lion selected a pair of hand-polished loafers in deep obsidian, their sheen catching the light like a mirrored lake. He placed them gently beside a pair of accessories—an engraved obsidian tiger brooch, and cufflinks shaped like roaring lion heads with ruby eyes.

He retrieved a fountain pen from a drawer and carefully wrote on ivory paper scented faintly with sandalwood:

Hanro,
For the next time you step into a room… I want the world to see you the way I do.
Beautiful. Powerful. Undeniable.
—A.L.

The suit, shoes, and note were placed in a luxurious black-lacquered gift box lined with deep red silk, stamped with Azure Lion’s personal crest: a roaring lion entwined with a flame. He gave it one last approving look before closing the lid and tying it with a golden ribbon.

He handed the box to his cheetah assistant. “Deliver it to his apartment. Personally. And don’t come back until you see that box in his hands.”

The assistant bowed and disappeared with the package.

Azure Lion stood alone again, a purr rising in his throat as he turned back to the screen where Hanro’s sparring video looped silently.

“Soon,” he whispered to no one. “Very soon.”

Later that week, the city buzzed with anticipation as gilded leaves began to fall, marking the fast approach of the Autumn Equinox Gala—an event that combined aristocratic splendor, industry power, and mythic heritage.

Only the most elite were invited.

In Hanro’s apartment, the late afternoon sun filtered through gauzy curtains when a sharp knock rattled the door. Mira—who was sprawled on his couch sipping a matcha boba—looked up.

“I swear, if that’s another obscenely expensive delivery from one of your admirers, I’m going to scream.”

Hanro rolled his eyes with a playful smirk and went to the door.

He opened it to reveal a tall peacock Beastkin in a sharply cut red velvet coat, holding a navy blue envelope sealed with golden wax stamped with the intertwined crests of Demon Bull Industries and Cloud Crown Ventures.

“For Hanro,” the messenger said with a graceful bow before disappearing like mist on the wind.

Hanro carefully broke the seal.

Inside, the paper was thick and decadent, its edges lined with gold foil. The script shimmered in shifting autumnal hues:

You are cordially invited
to the Autumn Equinox Gala
Hosted by Demon Bull King and Sun Wukong

Date: This coming Friday at dusk
Location: The Hanging Gardens Pavilion
Dress Code: Autumnal Formal — Statement encouraged

Come not only as a guest… but as someone we are proud to be seen beside.

—W & D

Hanro’s fingers trembled slightly as he held the card. His stomach fluttered. Mira leaned over his shoulder and gasped.

“Oh. My. Gods.”

She plucked the envelope from his hands and read it aloud again, before dramatically falling back onto the couch like a swooning heroine.

“You’re not just arm candy. You’re featured arm candy now. Hanro, you’ve made it.”

Hanro’s phone buzzed on the counter.

Two messages.
One from Wukong:

You’ll look like fire under the lanterns. Can’t wait to see you in that suit.

One from Azure Lion:

I hear you’ve been invited. Wear the gift I sent you. Let’s make the night memorable.

Hanro’s cheeks turned crimson.

Mira watched the screen light up and narrowed her eyes. “Oho… So all three powerhouses are going to be there? This isn’t a gala. It’s a showdown.”

Hanro glanced down at the sealed black gift box Azure Lion had sent earlier that morning. It still sat unopened on his side table.

His heart raced.

Who would he wear the suit for?

More importantly…
What would this gala change?

Chapter Text

The morning before the Autumn Equinox Gala, Hanro woke early—heart fluttering, fingers twitching.

He had never attended an event like this in his life.

Mira was already up, sitting cross-legged on his rug with a coffee in one hand and a notepad in the other, scribbling furiously like a general preparing for war.

“Okay,” she said, tapping her pen. “We’ve got one shot to make sure you look so devastatingly good that gods, demons, and moguls alike fight to the death over you. You ready?”

Hanro signed a half-panicked maybe.

Mira grabbed his shoulders. “Wrong answer. You’re going to be glorious. But first—we open that box.”

The black gift box from Azure Lion sat in ominous silence on the coffee table. It radiated wealth. Mystery. Danger.

Hanro hesitated… then slowly lifted the lid.

Inside lay a masterpiece: a deep indigo and gold suit, cut in bold asymmetry, accented with crimson embroidery that shimmered like firelight. The lapels were edged with phoenix-feather motif brocade, and the inner lining shimmered with an abstract pattern of clouds and roaring lions.

Accompanying it were:
• A pair of custom-made black velvet shoes with golden lion-claw embroidery
• A golden chain collar piece, intricate and sleek
• A note, handwritten on silk parchment:

_For the lion-hearted beauty who deserves nothing but the finest.

I look forward to seeing you tonight.

— A.L._

Hanro’s face flushed so deeply it rivaled the maple leaves outside. Mira whistled low.

“Okay. That’s… insanely hot. But also, dangerous. If you wear this, Azure Lion will take it as a sign.”

Hanro opened his closet.
Inside hung another suit—equally stunning but in a totally different register. Midnight black with bronze accents and a sweeping long jacket. The one Wukong and Demon Bull King had chosen for him from Phoenix Feather.

He stood frozen between the two outfits, heart torn between loyalty, curiosity, and chaos.

Mira tapped her lip. “This is some romantic anime-level triangle. On one side: two literal legends in an open marriage who clearly adore you. On the other: a powerful lion who may or may not want to steal you like a dragon hoarding treasure.”

Hanro nodded slowly, anxiety rising.

Mira suddenly clapped. “We need a spa day. No arguments. I already booked a package.”

—

Later that afternoon, Hanro found himself floating in a rose-scented bath, a towel wrapped around his head, while Mira was beside him sipping cucumber water like an empress.

They got facials, mani-pedis, massages, and light energy cleansing (from a very convincing goat shaman who insisted Hanro had “entangled aura threads from multiple suitors”).

By sunset, Hanro felt physically renewed—but emotionally scrambled.

They returned to the apartment, where Mira laid both suits out on hangers, side by side.

“It’s your call, Hanro,” she said, stepping aside. “But whatever you wear… wear it for you. Not them.”

Hanro stared at the suits long and hard, each one a symbol of a choice—of who he was becoming.

Outside, twilight began to fall.

And the Autumn Equinox Gala waited.

Somewhere in the Hills — The Residence of Demon Bull King and Wukong

The Bull King stood before a mirror, tightening the silk knot of his obsidian cravat with casual precision. His horns had been polished to a rich gloss, his dark burgundy tuxedo custom-fitted and lined with red threading in subtle celestial patterns—like constellations etched in fire.

“Do you think he’ll wear the outfit we chose?” he asked without looking up.

Across the room, Wukong was perched shirtless on the vanity, golden fur damp with post-shower mist, tying the sash around his traditional-style jacket—a modern spin on Tang Dynasty formalwear. Jet-black with golden sun emblems, paired with wide-leg pants and chain-tassel boots.

“He’ll wear it,” Wukong said confidently. “He knows who made him feel seen first.”

Bull King arched a brow. “You sound very sure of yourself.”

Wukong grinned, showing a sharp canine. “I am sure. But…”

He grew thoughtful, grabbing a jade comb to brush through his damp mane.

“I also saw the way that smug lion looked at Hanro at the last gala. The way he prowled.” His grin faded. “If Azure Lion makes a move tonight—”

“I’ll break his hands,” Bull King said flatly, folding his sleeves. “Very politely. With my own.”

Wukong barked a laugh, hopping down and finally putting on his coat. “Let’s not start a fight in front of dignitaries. Yet.”

⸻

Azure Lion’s Villa – Private Dressing Wing

The Azure Lion stood shirtless in front of a towering mirror framed in ivory and moonstone, his tawny-gold fur shimmering beneath the light.

A team of stylists circled around him like satellites—adjusting the gilded shoulder mantle he wore over a sharp-cut robe made of opalescent fabric that shifted color between emerald and deep cerulean depending on the light.

On his wrists: gold cuffs inlaid with sapphire. On his finger: a ring carved from ancient jade.

“Are the deliveries to Hanro confirmed?” he asked, sipping from a wine glass.

“Yes, Lord Azure,” his assistant said.

He smiled to himself. “Good. He’ll wear my colors… and if he does, it means he’s curious. If he’s curious…”

The lion ran a claw lightly down his chest in thought, pausing at his belt. A very knowing smirk played on his lips.

“…Then tonight will be very interesting.”

One of the stylists blushed as she fixed his collar.

Azure Lion turned toward the mirror, his amber eyes glowing faintly with mischief—and something darker. “Wukong and Bull King had their fun. But there’s no game that I don’t eventually win.”

He adjusted a brooch shaped like a roaring lion’s face, then let his hand linger there, as if imagining something.

⸻

As the Autumn Equinox moon began to rise over the city, three powers dressed in shadow, fire, and gold turned their gazes toward one person:

Hanro.

And fate waited for him at the steps of the Gala.

Chapter Text

Hanro stood before the mirror, three breathtaking outfits laid out on the bed behind him—one from the Phoenix Feather selected by Wukong and DBK, another tailored by Azure Lion’s elite atelier in rich, deep teals and golds, and finally a sleek, minimal ensemble Mira had picked out “just in case he wanted to feel like himself again.”

He exhaled slowly, gaze drifting over each choice. The Phoenix Feather outfit gleamed with jade accents and a bold shoulder cut. Regal. Powerful. Wukong’s scent still lingered faintly on the collar. The Azure Lion’s ensemble shimmered like molten wealth—silk, brocade, and imported leather that whispered of lust and possession. It looked like it belonged on a throne… or a trap. Mira’s suit, simple and sharp, was grounded in muted grays and deep forest green. Familiar. Safe.

Hanro’s eyes lingered on the Azure Lion’s note again: “Let the world see the jewel you truly are.”

He set the note down. Then, hands steady, he reached for the Phoenix Feather ensemble. When he emerged in it, Mira squealed from the kitchen.

“YES. Okay, they’re both gonna combust.”

⸻

That Night – The Autumn Equinox Gala

The Gala was held in the Skyglass Pavilion, an enormous crystalline hall suspended over a glimmering koi pond, its ceilings draped in lanterns shaped like moonflowers. Elegance bled from every corner—rich silk gowns, embroidered hanfu suits, gleaming jewelry, and the hum of classical fusion jazz echoing through the warm-lit air.

Hanro arrived in a private car sent by DBK and Wukong. When he stepped out, all conversation ceased for a moment.

He shone.

The suit hugged him perfectly, green and gold threads interwoven like vines over obsidian silk. The jade dragon brooch glinted like starlight on his collar. His posture—nervous but regal—made people look twice. Maybe three times.

From across the room, DBK and Wukong turned simultaneously.

Wukong let out a low whistle and tugged his ponytail. “Oh, I’m going to be insufferable if anyone else looks at him for too long.”

DBK’s smirk was unreadable. “Then I guess we’d better get to him first.”

The crowd parted as the two made their way toward Hanro—Wukong in a deep crimson robe with gold filigree, DBK towering in black with flame motifs licking the hem. The moment they reached Hanro, Wukong swept his arm around his waist, DBK offering his other hand.

“You chose wisely,” DBK said lowly, admiring Hanro’s ensemble.

Wukong winked. “And beautifully. As always.”

But then came a crack of champagne flutes and murmuring. Azure Lion had arrived.

Dressed in a custom robe dyed like dusk and twilight, accented with gold-thread storm patterns, the Lion was flanked by aides and admirers—but his golden eyes never left Hanro.

And on his arm was a striking fox beastkin, tall and lean. It was clearly for show, and Hanro felt a chill.

The Lion approached smoothly. “Stunning,” he said, ignoring DBK and Wukong completely. “The suit is… not mine, I see. Pity. You would have looked divine in it.”

Wukong stepped forward, the air suddenly tenser. “We’re still talking about clothes, right?”

Azure Lion chuckled and bowed lightly. “Only the ones I want to take off. Eventually.”

DBK’s eyes narrowed. Hanro could feel the warmth of both their bodies flanking him like shields.

The air was electric.

And the night… was just beginning.

Hanro sipped from a crystal glass of lychee soda, trying to steady his nerves. The evening had already grown dangerously charged between Azure Lion, DBK, and Wukong, and the night was still young. He needed a break from the crowded ballroom floor, so he quietly slipped away toward the koi pond terrace—a shimmering glass walkway over a lily-strewn surface glowing with soft lantern light.

That’s where he saw him.

The Six-Eared Macaque.

He stood near the railing, backlit by the soft golden glow of hanging lotus lanterns. And he was wearing the most jaw-dropping emerald gown Hanro had ever seen.

The floor-length dress shimmered with embroidery in the shape of swirling vines and capoeira silhouettes. The long sleeves hung off his sculpted shoulders, and a slit along one side gave teasing glimpses of a powerful leg inked with tattooed mantras. His long silvery hair had been braided down his back and wrapped in emerald silk ribbon.

Hanro stopped dead in his tracks, eyes going wide, before quickly signing, “Why… the dress?”

The Six-Eared Macaque turned, caught Hanro’s expression, and gave a cheeky smile. “Because I look amazing in it,” he said, one hand confidently on his hip. “I like wearing dresses. So sue me.”

Hanro blinked, then burst into soft laughter—his hands fluttering over his mouth, shoulders trembling. The tension inside him unwound just a little. There was something refreshingly honest and grounded about the Macaque. No games. No masks. Just bold, weird charm.

“That’s the smile I like,” the Macaque said, winking and offering his hand. “Now come walk with me before the air inside turns to testosterone soup.”

Just then, Wukong appeared—wearing a black silk mandarin-style suit with red lapels and gold embroidery of heavenly clouds.

“There you are,” Wukong grinned, walking up to them both. His eyes flicked to the Macaque’s dress, and he let out a familiar laugh. “You didn’t tell me you were gonna steal the spotlight from everyone, Six.”

The Macaque shrugged. “You trained under me. You should’ve known better.”

Wukong walked up and bumped fists with him, pulling him into a quick hug. “Still dramatic as hell.”

“I learned from the best.”

Hanro watched their exchange, noting the easy warmth between them—the way Wukong softened slightly, no longer the flirty trickster or defensive protector. With the Six-Eared Macaque, he looked… at home.

And now Hanro felt something new stir inside him: curiosity, warmth—and something resembling fear. Because things were getting complicated.

Very complicated.

From the second-floor balcony that overlooked the koi terrace, Demon Bull King stood with a crystal tumbler of dark plum wine in hand, eyes fixed below.

There, illuminated by the golden glow of lanterns and the shimmer of the water beneath, stood Hanro — flanked by two wildcards.

Six-Eared Macaque, draped in emerald elegance, laughed with Hanro and Wukong like they had known each other for centuries. And maybe they had, in a way. The bond between Wukong and his old master was unmistakable, and Hanro… Hanro looked radiant. Relaxed. As if this chaos was becoming his new normal.

DBK’s gaze hardened—not with jealousy, but with realization. Hanro was no longer just the quiet, beautiful boy from accounting. He was a growing part of all their lives. And with that came danger.

“Beautiful, isn’t he?” came a voice behind him, smooth as silk and twice as slippery.

DBK turned his head slightly. Azure Lion stood beside him, sipping a golden drink and staring at Hanro with a smile far too smug for DBK’s liking.

“Still watching him from the shadows?” Azure Lion added. “Tsk. Poor boy must be exhausted juggling all this attention.”

DBK didn’t answer immediately. He took a slow sip of his wine before finally saying, “He’s not a toy, Azure.”

Azure Lion arched an eyebrow. “I never said he was.”

“You didn’t have to,” DBK said coldly, turning to fully face him now. “Your eyes say enough.”

The lion chuckled low in his throat, a rumble like a brewing storm. “If I recall, you and Wukong didn’t exactly approach him with pure intentions either. Lavish gifts, expensive suits, private limousines. And now you live with him.”

“That’s because we care about him,” DBK growled, his voice just barely kept in check. “Not just what he looks like shirtless, or how good he’ll look on your arm at these galas.”

Azure Lion’s smirk didn’t fade. “You think I don’t care?”

“I think you care more about winning,” DBK replied. “And Hanro is not a prize. He’s kind, vulnerable, and still learning how to navigate this world. If you touch him just to leave him bruised—”

“You’ll what?” Azure Lion’s gaze sharpened. “Fight me? Start a scandal? In front of the board? Because I ‘flirted too hard’ with your boyfriend?”

DBK’s eyes narrowed. “I will protect him. No matter what that looks like.”

A beat of silence passed between them — heavy, electric.

Then Azure Lion finished his drink with a little smirk and turned away, heading toward the stairs.

“Well then,” he said over his shoulder. “Let’s see who he chooses… when all the masks finally fall.”

DBK remained on the balcony, jaw tight, heart pounding. Below, Hanro laughed again at something Macaque said, head thrown back, hair catching the light like starlight.

He looked happy.

But for how long?

The gala finally began to wind down, though the shimmer of the evening still clung to Hanro like stardust as the luxury car slid through the city’s glittering skyline.

DBK and Wukong had offered to stay the night again at their estate, but sensing Hanro’s emotions, Wukong softly suggested he ride back to the estate with just him—for some quiet, just the two of them.

Hanro agreed.

The car pulled smoothly into the private drive. Wukong stepped out first, offering his hand like a prince. Hanro took it, his fingers still slightly trembling from the earlier confrontation. The tension had frayed his nerves, but Wukong’s touch grounded him. Calmer now. Safer.

Inside, the estate glowed softly under warm lantern light. The butler bowed quietly, disappearing as Wukong guided Hanro through the great hall and up to one of the smaller private lounges—cozy and intimate.

The moment the door shut behind them, the atmosphere shifted.

No crowds. No staring eyes.

Just the two of them.

Wukong turned and smiled gently, his tail swaying in slow arcs behind him. “Come here.”

Hanro moved into his arms without hesitation. The warmth of Wukong’s embrace melted away what little tension remained in his chest.

Wukong whispered against his ear, “I know tonight was overwhelming. You held yourself together better than most would have.”

Hanro pulled back slightly and signed with a shy smile, Not without you.

Wukong chuckled softly, then cupped Hanro’s cheek. “You’re stronger than you think, little star.”

Hanro’s cheeks flushed at the nickname.

“Listen,” Wukong continued, his voice softer now. “I don’t want you to carry the weight of tonight. Azure Lion loves to stir the waters—but nothing he says changes how we feel. You’re not caught between us. You’re already with us. Me and DBK—we chose you. We still choose you.”

Hanro’s eyes shimmered faintly, the raw honesty of Wukong’s words pulling emotion from deep inside him.

But what if Azure Lion keeps pushing?

Wukong smiled, pressing his forehead lightly against Hanro’s. “Then we’ll handle him. As long as you trust us. As long as you trust me.”

Hanro nodded firmly.

A quiet beat of silence hung between them, charged but peaceful. Then Wukong’s hand slowly slid from Hanro’s cheek down his jawline, tracing the elegant slope of his throat.

“May I kiss you?” Wukong whispered.

Hanro blushed furiously but nodded.

The kiss was soft—tender, lingering—nothing rushed or demanding. Just lips exploring, reassuring. Wukong’s hands wrapped securely around Hanro’s waist as Hanro’s own arms circled his neck.

For a while, they said nothing. Letting the warmth pass between them in silence. Breathing in sync. Existing only for each other in that moment.

Eventually, Wukong gently guided them to the chaise nearby, pulling Hanro onto his lap as they continued sharing quiet, delicate kisses under the glow of lantern light.

Whatever storm Azure Lion was brewing could wait.

For tonight, Hanro was exactly where he belonged.

Chapter Text

After the tension of the gala and the unspoken weight hovering over all of them, DBK and Wukong both agreed one thing was needed: normalcy.

Or at least, their version of it.

“We’ve been wrapped up in business dinners, galas, and political games for too long,” Wukong said one evening while curled up with DBK and Hanro in the lounge. “He needs a break. We need a break.”

DBK nodded. “So what do you suggest?”

“A date. One-on-one. You’ll get your turn next,” Wukong grinned mischievously. “But I’m taking him out first.”

The moment Wukong arrived at Hanro’s apartment, Hanro knew tonight wasn’t going to be anything like the opulence of the gala.

Wukong bounced into the room with two garment bags slung over his shoulders, a huge grin splitting his face as his tail flicked excitedly behind him. “Before we go anywhere, wardrobe change!” he declared.

Hanro blinked, raising a brow.

Wukong unzipped the first bag, revealing his own outfit: a fun, retro-futuristic look. His oversized hoodie was midnight black with neon green constellations scattered across it like little electric stars, while his jeans were speckled with tiny holographic dots that shimmered with every movement. But the crown jewel was the bright lime-green beanie on his head, with two plush antennae sticking up like a little cartoon alien.

Hanro couldn’t hold back his silent giggle, shoulders bouncing.

“Now for you, my handsome partner-in-crime,” Wukong grinned, dramatically unzipping the second bag.

Inside was a perfectly assembled comic book-inspired ensemble. The top was a fitted bomber jacket in bright red, printed with classic comic book exclamations: BAM! ZAP! WHAM!, trimmed with glossy black accents. The matching leggings clung to Hanro’s legs like a second skin, printed with pop-art panels of heroic poses. The shoes — oh, the shoes — were high-top sneakers in matching red and black, with tiny golden lightning bolts embroidered along the sides.

Hanro’s eyes widened. He looked between Wukong and the outfit, then back at Wukong, signing: This is ridiculous.

“Exactly!” Wukong beamed. “Tonight is about fun. No suits. No tension. Just you, me, and as many claw machines as we can handle.”

Hanro covered his mouth, hiding a soft, flustered smile, but ultimately nodded and went to change.

⸻

A short while later, when Hanro emerged from his bedroom, Wukong actually let out a low whistle.

“Hot damn. You wear ridiculous extremely well.”

Hanro’s blush deepened as he adjusted the jacket. It was bold. Colorful. A complete shift from his usual understated outfits. But something about wearing it with Wukong, in matching absurdity, made him feel… free.

“Alright, my beautiful sidekick,” Wukong grinned, offering his arm, “let’s hit the arcade.”

⸻

The drive was full of music and laughter, Wukong singing off-key to pop songs, tapping the steering wheel while Hanro silently laughed beside him.

When they finally arrived, the arcade’s neon lights reflected wildly off both of their outfits, making them look like characters who had stepped right out of a comic book themselves.

The moment they stepped inside, a few patrons even turned to admire them—clearly impressed by their coordinated, vibrant styles. Wukong, as always, soaked up the attention and leaned close to Hanro, whispering with a playful smirk: “We’re the best-looking pair here, and we haven’t even started playing yet.”

Hanro rolled his eyes fondly and signed: Let’s see if your skills match your ego.

“Oh ho! That’s how you want to play?” Wukong laughed. “You’re on, gorgeous.”

⸻

And thus began the night of their riotous, carefree arcade adventure — the perfect escape from the complicated world waiting outside.

The arcade doors slid open with a hiss, revealing a glowing world of flashing lights, buzzing machines, and upbeat retro music echoing throughout the massive hall. The entire space radiated chaotic energy — kids screaming with joy, couples laughing, and groups huddled around machines in fierce competitions.

Hanro took a moment to absorb the scene, wide-eyed. The pulsing neon lights bounced off the bold comic panels on his jacket, making him look like a living piece of pop art. Wukong watched his awestruck expression with an affectionate grin.

This is perfect, Hanro signed, barely able to contain his excitement.

“Good,” Wukong grinned. “Because we’re not leaving until we conquer this entire place.”

⸻

The Claw Machine Wars

Their first stop was, naturally, the claw machines.

Hanro gestured to a massive machine stacked with plushies — everything from classic heroes to tiny alien creatures. Wukong confidently rubbed his hands together like a man preparing for battle.

“Watch and learn, my dear student.”

Hanro crossed his arms, amused, as Wukong inserted token after token… and failed every time.

“Stupid claw!” Wukong cried, dramatically slumping against the machine.

Hanro silently laughed, his shoulders shaking as his hands moved: My turn.

With precise, deliberate movements, Hanro shifted the claw directly over a tiny superhero plush — perfectly aligned. The claw dipped, clamped, and pulled up cleanly, delivering the prize into the chute.

Wukong’s jaw dropped. “What the hell?!” he laughed. “Are you some kind of claw whisperer?”

Hanro handed him the plush and signed with a smirk: Beginner’s luck.

Wukong clutched the plush dramatically. “I’ve been shown up! Betrayed by my own date!”

⸻

Dance Floor Showdown

Next up: the dance machines. Wukong eagerly hopped onto one side, patting the opposite pad for Hanro.

“Let’s see if your feet are as dangerous as your claws.”

The music started — a fast, pulsing electronic beat. Neon arrows raced across the screen.

Hanro’s movements were smooth, fluid, but as the tempo increased, he stumbled slightly — laughing silently at his own missteps. Wukong, however, was a blur of energy, spinning and hopping with wild, showy flair. Occasionally, he winked at Hanro mid-step, earning a flustered glance every time.

When the song ended, Wukong dramatically collapsed onto his knees. “Victory!” he proclaimed.

Hanro shook his head fondly, hands signing: Show-off.

Wukong winked. “Guilty.”

⸻

The Prize Counter

Hours passed like minutes as they tackled game after game, amassing tickets and prizes like mischievous kids. Hanro managed to win a small keychain shaped like a cartoon monkey — one that looked suspiciously like Wukong himself.

He handed it over shyly.

“For me?” Wukong teased, pressing a hand dramatically to his chest. “You’re too good to me.”

Hanro signed, A little reminder of who’s better at claw machines.

Wukong burst into laughter. “You’re lucky you’re adorable.”

⸻

The Rooftop Moment

As the night wound down, Wukong led Hanro to the arcade’s rooftop terrace, where the city stretched out before them in a glittering sea of lights.

The air was cool, but not cold. The perfect contrast to the warm, glowing blush on Hanro’s cheeks from the evening’s fun.

Wukong pulled out two cans of peach soda, handing one to Hanro before leaning against the railing. “You know,” he began softly, “for a long time, it was just me and DBK. But you…” — he turned, meeting Hanro’s gaze — “you fit into our world so naturally. Like you were always meant to.”

Hanro’s chest tightened, hands hovering before signing slowly: Sometimes I don’t know where I belong.

Wukong reached out, cupping Hanro’s cheek with gentle fingers, his golden eyes full of warmth. “With us. Always.”

Hanro’s breath hitched slightly, his cheeks coloring once more. His hands moved with a shy smile: Thank you.

Wukong leaned in, brushing a light kiss against Hanro’s forehead, letting the city lights witness their quiet, growing bond.

⸻

And so ended Wukong’s night.

But across the city, Demon Bull King was already preparing his own date — one that would be far more intimate, protective, and intense.

Chapter Text

After Wukong’s wild and vibrant arcade date, it was Demon Bull King’s turn. And unlike his husband’s playful chaos, DBK had something much more elegant — much more intimate — in mind.

⸻

The Preparation

That evening, a sleek luxury car pulled up once again in front of Hanro’s apartment. But this time, the driver handed Hanro a velvet-lined black box along with a handwritten card embossed with DBK’s personal seal.

The note read:

“Tonight is for elegance and beauty. Let me show you a different world.
— DBK”

Inside the box lay a stunning outfit: a tailored, deep burgundy velvet suit with black silk lapels, paired with a dark onyx dress shirt and matching polished leather shoes. Alongside it sat a single gold cuff bracelet, engraved with intricate swirling patterns, reminiscent of DBK’s horns — a silent, intimate mark of his presence.

Hanro’s breath caught as he gently touched the fabric. It was absolutely exquisite. And once again, far more luxurious than anything he would ever purchase for himself.

Mira peeked over his shoulder, her eyes widening.
“Oooooh, he is serious tonight.”

Hanro blushed furiously as he signed: I feel like I’m being courted by royalty.

Mira smirked. “Honey… you are.”

⸻

The Arrival

As Hanro stepped out of the elevator into the grand lobby of the opera house, he spotted Demon Bull King immediately — impossible to miss.

DBK stood tall and regal in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo, his broad frame filled with natural power, his horns polished and gleaming like ivory crescents beneath the soft chandelier light. A deep crimson silk pocket square peeked from his breast pocket, matching the glow in his golden eyes.

For a brief moment, Hanro felt small under DBK’s gaze — but not in a fearful way. It was like standing before a mountain that had chosen to shelter you.

DBK’s lips curved into a slow, rich smile as Hanro approached. He reached out and gently took Hanro’s hand, brushing a kiss across his knuckles.

“You are breathtaking tonight,” DBK said softly, his voice smooth like aged wine. “Even more than I imagined.”

Hanro’s face flushed deeply as he signed, You’re making me nervous.

“Good,” DBK chuckled, his thumb softly brushing Hanro’s hand. “A little nervous tension can make a night unforgettable.”

⸻

Inside the Opera

The grand hall was filled with the city’s elites, but Demon Bull King’s presence commanded attention. As they were escorted to their private box, many eyes turned toward Hanro — some with curiosity, some with envy.

The box was perfectly positioned, giving them an unobstructed view of the stage while still offering an air of seclusion. The house lights dimmed, and the orchestra began playing the overture.

Throughout the performance — a tragic love story sung in passionate arias — Hanro couldn’t help but steal glances at DBK. The way the man sat with perfect posture, his large frame so at ease in this world of luxury, yet every few minutes his gaze would flick to Hanro, lingering, drinking him in as if the opera was simply background noise.

Hanro’s heart pounded at those glances.

⸻

Intermission

During the intermission, they stepped onto the private balcony overlooking the city. The cool night breeze carried the faint sounds of the orchestra still tuning their instruments inside.

DBK stood close behind Hanro, his voice low and deep as he spoke near Hanro’s ear.

“I want you to know something,” DBK said softly. “This world — the wealth, the power — it means nothing if I don’t have people beside me that I truly care for.”

Hanro slowly turned to face him, their faces only inches apart.

You really mean that? Hanro signed.

DBK gently took Hanro’s hands in his, his thumbs brushing over Hanro’s fingers as he looked into his eyes.
“I’ve meant it from the moment you entered my life.”

For a few quiet seconds, nothing existed but the space between them. Hanro’s pulse quickened as DBK slowly leaned forward, placing a delicate kiss against Hanro’s forehead, his lips lingering there with reverence.

⸻

The Second Act

As the opera resumed, Hanro sat closer this time, letting his arm rest against DBK’s powerful one. Occasionally, DBK would glance down at him, his lips curling into the smallest of smiles, as if silently reassuring him: You belong here.

⸻

The Afterglow

When the opera ended, DBK escorted Hanro back to the car, placing a firm but gentle hand on the small of his back, guiding him inside with the care of a gentleman who treasured what stood before him.

As the car glided through the city lights, neither spoke much — words felt unnecessary. There was only the soft hum of the tires, the warmth of shared presence, and the heavy, growing bond forming between them.

⸻

The Rivalry Builds

But elsewhere in the city, Azure Lion was already plotting his next move — and the stakes were rising.

Chapter Text

Azure Lion had been watching. Waiting. Studying.

Each step Wukong and Demon Bull King took to pull Hanro closer only fueled his desire. They were playing a delicate, elegant game. But Azure Lion wasn’t one for subtlety. He preferred spectacle, risk — the grand gesture that would leave Hanro breathless and shaken.

This time, he would outshine them both.

⸻

The Invitation

A week later, as Hanro returned home from another Capoeira training session, he found an unexpected delivery waiting for him in the hallway outside his door. A tall, slim black box stood upright, the packaging wrapped in silk cords of midnight blue and gold — Azure Lion’s colors.

Attached to the box was a single hand-written envelope sealed with a wax stamp of a roaring lion’s head.

Hanro opened it carefully. The card inside read:

My Dearest Hanro,

You’ve been swept into the world of kings and warriors, but I wish to show you another world — one of refinement, passion, and danger.

Join me for an exclusive evening at The Serpent’s Pearl, my private club.

You deserve to be worshipped properly.

— Azure Lion

Hanro swallowed nervously.

⸻

The Outfit

Inside the box lay a custom-made ensemble: a fitted black satin mandarin-collared shirt with thin gold embroidery tracing the form of two dueling dragons across the chest, accented with sapphires stitched into the eyes. Beneath it, a pair of tailored high-waist pants, sleek and formal. The shoes were equally elaborate — black lacquered leather with gilded soles.

A matching obsidian ring and ear cuff lay nestled on a velvet pillow.

Mira, peeking over Hanro’s shoulder, let out a low whistle.
“Damn. He is pulling out all the stops.”

Hanro signed quickly: I don’t know if I should even go.

Mira raised a brow, folding her arms. “You know you’re going. Just… be careful. That lion is dangerous, babe.”

⸻

The Serpent’s Pearl

That evening, Hanro was escorted in a sleek black car to an exclusive location nestled atop one of the tallest towers in the city. The Serpent’s Pearl was unlike anything Hanro had seen — a hidden world of luxury draped in midnight velvet, candlelight flickering across crystal chandeliers, and an elite crowd whose eyes all turned as he entered.

And at the center of it all stood Azure Lion.

The lion was dressed to stun — a white silk suit with a deep navy shirt underneath, the fabric shimmering subtly with every movement of his powerful frame. His golden eyes locked onto Hanro the moment he arrived, a predator watching his prize.

“Hanro,” he purred, approaching like a panther. “Exquisite doesn’t begin to describe you.”

Hanro blushed and signed: This place… it’s amazing.

“I designed it for nights like this,” Azure Lion replied, taking Hanro’s hand and placing a kiss just above his knuckles, holding his hand just a moment too long. “Nights where I can devote all my attention to beauty.”

⸻

The Dangerous Dance

The evening unfolded like a seductive dream. Azure Lion spared no expense — private dancers performed hypnotic, swirling routines as fine wine flowed. The two sat in a private balcony overlooking the marble dance floor, the distant city lights glittering through glass walls.

As they dined, Azure Lion leaned in, his voice like silk and honey.

“I know Wukong and Bull King treat you well,” he said, swirling his glass. “But they’re bound by old traditions. I can offer you something different. I can offer you freedom.”

Hanro shifted uncomfortably.

I’m not sure what you mean.

Azure Lion smiled slyly. “With me, you wouldn’t be their cherished prize trapped between two possessive hearts. You would be my equal. My partner. You deserve to rule beside someone, not be ruled over.”

Hanro felt his pulse quicken — not out of excitement, but tension. Azure Lion’s words slithered into dangerous territory.

Before Hanro could respond, Azure Lion reached out and gently brushed a stray lock of hair behind Hanro’s ear. His touch lingered, fingertips grazing the curve of Hanro’s cheek.

“My dear Hanro… imagine what we could build together.”

⸻

The Tension Thickens

Suddenly, Hanro’s phone vibrated on the table. A message from Wukong flashed across the screen:

Where are you? Are you safe?

A second one from DBK followed immediately after:

We need to talk, now.

Azure Lion noticed the phone, his smile tightening. The predator’s game was shifting. But rather than back away, Azure Lion leaned closer and whispered:

“Sooner or later, you will have to choose, my sweet Hanro.”

⸻

The Web Tightens

As the clock struck midnight, Hanro left The Serpent’s Pearl with a head full of spinning thoughts and an unsettled heart. The game was no longer about simple romance. The stakes had grown.

And somewhere far above them all, Azure Lion stood watching the city below, his voice low and dark:

“The real hunt has just begun.”

Hanro’s heart was pounding as the car pulled up in front of his apartment building. The doorman gave him a polite nod, but Hanro barely registered it. His thoughts spun like a storm — Azure Lion’s words still echoed in his head:

You deserve to rule beside someone, not be ruled over.

As he approached his door, the lights inside were already on.

They were waiting.

Taking a deep breath, Hanro unlocked the door and stepped inside.

⸻

Waiting for Him

There they were.

Wukong sat perched on the armrest of the couch, his tail flicking restlessly, golden eyes sharp but filled with concern. Demon Bull King sat across from him, his massive frame tense, arms folded, gaze steady — but beneath his usually composed expression was a deep, simmering worry.

The moment Hanro stepped in, the tension in the room thickened.

Wukong stood immediately.
“Hanro—” his voice was soft, but his eyes betrayed the emotions beneath: anxiety, fear, and protectiveness.

Demon Bull King rose more slowly. His voice was deeper, steadier.
“We were worried.”

Hanro swallowed, signing quickly: I’m fine.

“Are you?” Wukong pressed, stepping closer. “You were with him.”

Hanro froze, lowering his hands slightly.

Demon Bull King’s voice remained calm, but there was weight behind every word.
“We know where you were, Hanro. We know what Azure Lion is trying to do.”

Hanro bit his lip, hands moving again as he tried to explain:
He invited me to lunch. Then to The Serpent’s Pearl. He… he made an offer.

Wukong’s brow furrowed. “An offer?”

He said I wouldn’t be trapped between you two… that I’d be his equal.

For a moment, neither spoke.

⸻

The Truth Spills

Then Wukong exhaled sharply, pacing. “That manipulative bastard—he’s trying to wedge himself between us.”

Demon Bull King finally stepped forward, his tone softer now, but firm.
“Hanro, listen to me carefully.”
He looked him straight in the eyes.
“You are not trapped. You are cherished.”

Wukong nodded quickly, coming to stand beside DBK.
“We never want you to feel like you’re being fought over like a prize. You are here because we adore you, because we want to build a life with you.”

Hanro’s hands trembled. I know. I do.
He looked down.
But this is all new for me. I didn’t expect any of this. And now Azure Lion is… persistent.

Wukong stepped forward, gently taking Hanro’s hand in both of his.
“We know, sweetheart. And we’re not angry with you. But Azure Lion doesn’t play fair. He sees you as a prize to steal — not someone to love.”

Demon Bull King added, his voice calm but unyielding,
“And we won’t let him do that.”

⸻

A Protective Vow

Hanro looked between them, his chest tightening. Despite all the chaos, here they were — patient, protective, and loving.

What do we do? he signed finally, his wide eyes full of trust.

Demon Bull King’s lips curved into a small but fierce smile.

“We protect what we have. Together.”

Wukong’s grip on Hanro’s hand tightened just slightly, his tail curling around Hanro’s waist comfortingly.

“And if Azure Lion wants to challenge that…” Wukong added with a flash of sharp teeth, “then let him.”

⸻

The Calm Before the Storm

The three stood there, an unbreakable knot of warmth in the center of the storm building around them. The Lion’s games weren’t over — but now Hanro had made his silent choice: he wasn’t running, and he wasn’t choosing sides.

He was staying with them.

But outside their small bubble of peace, Azure Lion was already plotting his next move — and it would be bolder than ever.

Chapter Text

The afternoon sun filtered through the high windows of the dojo as Hanro arrived for his next Capoeira training session. The polished wooden floors gleamed beneath his feet, and the familiar soft rhythm of the berimbau played in the background. The Six-Eared Macaque was already waiting, standing near the center of the training space with his arms crossed and a rare, proud smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Hanro bowed respectfully, his heart light despite the storm brewing elsewhere in his life. Capoeira had become more than training — it was his sanctuary.

The Six-Eared Macaque gestured for him to come closer.

“I have something for you, meu aluno,” he said smoothly, using the affectionate Portuguese term for his student. From behind him, he produced a large, carefully wrapped box.

Hanro tilted his head in surprise, his fingers signing quickly:
What is this?

“A gift,” Macaque answered, his many golden earrings glinting under the lights. “You’ve worked hard, and it’s time you trained not just in skill, but in spirit.”

He opened the box and gently lifted out the custom uniform.

Hanro’s breath hitched.

The top was unlike any he’d seen before — a crisp, high-necked midriff shirt, the purest white, with bold, sweeping flame patterns in vibrant orange licking up from the hem and shoulders like controlled wildfire. The matching capoeira pants were cut to perfection: loose for movement but tailored just enough to flatter his frame, the same orange flames dancing along the sides. The fabric shimmered subtly, a mark of fine craftsmanship.

Macaque then reached back into the box and pulled out the final piece: the corda — the colored belt that signified his rank in Capoeira. This one was striking — orange and white interwoven, symbolizing his growth and rising skill.

He stepped forward and gently draped the corda across Hanro’s shoulders. His voice softened.
“You’ve earned your first rank. Today, you don’t just train — you represent your progress, your fire.”

Hanro’s hands trembled slightly as he touched the corda. His chest swelled with a mixture of pride and emotion. Signing with a wide smile, he replied:
Thank you. I will wear it with pride, Master.

The Six-Eared Macaque chuckled and gave him a playful wink.
“Of course you will. And besides…” — he stepped back, looking Hanro up and down — “you’re going to look absolutely gorgeous in it.”

Hanro flushed instantly, cheeks heating under the playful gaze.

“Go. Get changed. We begin the next stage of your training.”

⸻

A New Flame

Minutes later, Hanro stepped back out onto the dojo floor, now clad in his new uniform. The outfit hugged his form perfectly — elegant, bold, and filled with energy. The flame patterns seemed to move with him as he walked, his bare midriff glistening slightly under the warm light.

Macaque’s golden eyes sparkled in approval.
“Now you truly look like my student.”

Hanro blushed but grinned, feeling lighter than he had in days. As they began their practice, the tension of the outside world faded for a time, replaced by the rhythm of music, the swing of bodies, and the dance of the fire burning within him.

The music of the berimbau echoed through the dojo as Hanro spun gracefully, his body flowing like water, punctuated by bursts of sharp, fiery motion. The Six-Eared Macaque watched with an approving nod, occasionally stepping in to adjust Hanro’s form or offer a brief word of correction. The orange flames of Hanro’s new uniform danced with every movement, reflecting his growing mastery of the art.

Then, as Hanro landed from a spinning kick, the dojo doors slid open with a soft click.

Both student and master turned.

Standing in the doorway was none other than Sun Wukong — though not in his usual designer clothes or casual wear. No, today was different.

Wukong was barefoot, wearing loose white capoeira pants trimmed with gold embroidery at the seams, the fabric flowing elegantly with each subtle shift of his weight. His upper body, however, was entirely bare — the rich caramel and honey tones of his fur catching the light, every muscle sculpted like a work of art. Around his waist was his own corda, braided in red and gold — marking him as a highly advanced practitioner.

His tail flicked behind him as he stepped forward, flashing a cheeky grin that made Hanro’s heart skip.

“Well now,” Wukong said with playful mischief, “I hear my old master has been stealing away my beautiful boy to teach him all sorts of things.” His eyes danced between Macaque and Hanro. “I thought it was only fair I join in.”

The Six-Eared Macaque chuckled deeply, crossing his arms.
“So, you finally decided to stop being a spectator, little Monkey?”

Wukong winked. “Had to make sure my student was in good hands first.” His gaze slid to Hanro with warmth and heat all at once. “And clearly, you’ve been in very good hands.”

Hanro, blushing furiously, signed:
I didn’t know you practiced Capoeira too!

Wukong stepped closer, tilting his head with a grin. “Oh please — you don’t think I survived all my troublemaking in my youth without learning how to dodge, did you? Macaque taught me almost everything.”

The Six-Eared Macaque chuckled again, then clapped his hands once.
“Enough flirting. You’re both here. Let’s train.”

⸻

Dual Rhythm

What followed was nothing short of breathtaking.

Wukong and Hanro faced off under Macaque’s watchful eye. The rhythm of Capoeira filled the air as the two circled one another — Wukong’s movements fluid, teasing, almost feline in grace; Hanro’s style more fiery and sharp, like a rising flame responding to the wind.

They exchanged kicks, sweeps, and dodges, not as opponents, but as partners in an intricate dance. Their tails mirrored their motions, occasionally brushing in the air, sending electric little shocks between them.

The Six-Eared Macaque watched with a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips.

“You two,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Trouble. The both of you.”

⸻

After the Dance

After several rounds, the session slowed. Both Hanro and Wukong collapsed side-by-side on the mat, breathing heavily but smiling wide. Hanro wiped the sweat from his brow, his chest still rising and falling rapidly.

Wukong glanced over, still grinning as he nudged Hanro with his elbow.
“You’re getting good. I might have to start watching my back.”

Hanro, cheeks still pink from exertion and Wukong’s bare proximity, signed playfully:
You should always watch your back with me.

The Six-Eared Macaque shook his head fondly.
“Dangerous. Absolutely dangerous.”

The playful air in the dojo shifted. The Six-Eared Macaque’s smirk grew sharper as he stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. Wukong mirrored the motion, tail flicking with boyish excitement.

Hanro, still seated on the sidelines, sensed the tension rising like static electricity.

“You sure you want to do this?” Wukong teased, his golden eyes narrowing.

The Six-Eared Macaque gave a wicked grin.
“Let’s see if you’ve learned anything since our last real fight, Monkey King.”

Without another word, the two launched into a furious blur of motion. Their Capoeira transformed, no longer a playful spar, but a battle of masters. The air trembled as the energy between them rose, and suddenly — it happened.

Hanro’s breath caught in his throat.

Around The Six-Eared Macaque, a strange aura ignited — deep forest green, swirling like thick vines in a jungle breeze. Glittering leaves materialized at his feet, floating and dancing with every intricate kick and spin, the scent of earth and rain briefly filling the air.

Wukong responded in kind. A vibrant fiery orange aura erupted around him, alive like the crackling of a bonfire. With every step, bursts of flame rippled outward from his feet, forming little bursts of heat on the polished wooden floor.

Hanro’s eyes widened as he witnessed what could only be described as supernatural.

What… what am I seeing?
The energy wasn’t just physical — it pulsed, living extensions of their spirits.

The two clashed — kicks meeting kicks, sweeps dodged by flips, handspring counters, and cartwheels that sent sparks and leaves swirling across the dojo.

Then, Wukong let out a wild, joyous cry.
“It’s time to party!”

He spun into the air, a flaming cyclone surrounding him, his body twisting like a top at impossible speed. As the fire reached its peak, Wukong shouted:

“BRAVE DANCE!”

The flames surged outward in a radiant pulse, waves of heat rolling through the dojo like the breath of a dragon.

The Six-Eared Macaque slid back, anchoring himself low to the ground. The forest green aura thickened, his six ears twitching, listening to the rhythm of Wukong’s blazing energy. The leaves at his feet spun wildly as he planted one palm on the ground and gathered his strength.

With a sharp, commanding voice, Macaque countered:
“SONG OF THE SAVANNAH!”

The ground beneath him seemed to respond — roots and leaves surged around his form, spiraling like an emerald tornado. As Wukong’s flames charged forward, the Song of the Savannah enveloped the Monkey King’s attack, suppressing the heat with bursts of cool wind and a rain of leaves.

In one fluid motion, The Six-Eared Macaque flipped forward, delivering a powerful downward heel kick that dispersed Wukong’s flames entirely, knocking him onto his back with a controlled but decisive blow.

The dojo grew still, the last leaves and embers floating down like confetti after a grand finale.

For a heartbeat, Hanro held his breath — then both masters erupted into laughter.

“Damn!” Wukong wheezed, lying flat and grinning like a fool. “Still got it, old man.”

Macaque extended a hand to help him up, smirking.
“You’re lucky I like you, Monkey King.”

Hanro, still wide-eyed, clapped in awe — his hands signing wildly:
That was… incredible! What was that?

Wukong wiped sweat from his brow and winked.
“Call it advanced Capoeira. You’ll get there one day, babe.”

The Six-Eared Macaque simply nodded, his aura slowly fading back into normalcy.
“Every warrior has their rhythm, Hanro. Today you saw ours.”

Still breathing hard, Wukong and The Six-Eared Macaque sat down on the dojo floor, their auras now faded, leaving only the lingering shimmer of leaves and embers in the air. Hanro quickly came over, his hands signing rapidly in pure wonder.

What was that? How did you do that? That wasn’t normal Capoeira!

The Six-Eared Macaque chuckled, wiping sweat from his six ears as he motioned for Hanro to sit. His eyes gleamed with a mixture of pride and mystery.

“It’s called Advanced Capoeira, or as some of us old masters say: Axé Ascension.”

Wukong leaned back against the wall, still grinning ear to ear.
“It’s Capoeira taken beyond the body. When you’ve mastered the physical forms, your mind and soul start to pour into the rhythm. You don’t just move anymore—you express.”

The Six-Eared Macaque continued, voice smooth as silk, almost reverent.
“Capoeira is born from struggle, freedom, and spirit. Over time, when a warrior understands their personal rhythm—their ‘ginga of the soul’—it manifests as an aura. The forest you saw around me, the flames around Wukong… those are our essences answering the rhythm.”

Hanro’s eyes widened. His hands signed again:
The leaves… the fire… they’re part of you?

Wukong nodded enthusiastically.
“Exactly. My flame is my passion, my wild heart. The Six-Eared Macaque’s green aura? That’s his connection to nature and harmony—his calm strength.”

The Six-Eared Macaque added softly, “Every true capoeirista who reaches this level finds their own manifestation. Some dance with wind, some with rain, some with thunder. It’s why advanced masters call it the conversation with the world.”

Hanro sat still, feeling his pulse race. The thought that one day he might unlock his own rhythm made his stomach flutter with a mixture of nerves and excitement.

Wukong playfully bumped Hanro’s shoulder with his own.
“Don’t worry, babe. With your potential? You’ll find your rhythm sooner than you think.”

The Six-Eared Macaque leaned closer, his voice growing more serious.
“But when it happens, Hanro… it will reflect who you truly are. Every joy, every pain, every desire you hold. Capoeira leaves nothing hidden.”

Hanro’s breath caught in his throat, cheeks slightly flushed as that weight settled in.

His own soul laid bare…

Wukong winked again, breaking the tension with his usual warmth.
“Until then, we keep training. And who knows—maybe your aura will be the most beautiful of us all.”

The Six-Eared Macaque chuckled softly, but Hanro could feel his gaze lingering.
“I’m very curious to see what blooms from you, little one.”

Chapter Text

It was a rare day off for all three of them—and Hanro, Wukong, and DBK had agreed on something simple yet sweet: a movie date. But of course, nothing was ever truly simple when those two were involved.

Hanro stepped out of his apartment first, locking the door behind him just as a sleek black coupe pulled up. The passenger door popped open—and there sat Wukong, grinning from ear to ear, legs draped over the seat like he owned the world.

“Hey, beautiful,” Wukong purred. “You ready for some cinematic chaos?”

Hanro chuckled silently and slid in, immediately greeted by the earthy, smoky cologne that Wukong wore—and the shimmer of his absolutely Wukong outfit.

Wukong’s Look: He wore ripped charcoal-black jeans with celestial embroidery snaking up the sides—stars, crescent moons, and suns in gold thread. His shirt was a cropped graphic tee featuring an old kung-fu movie poster, exposing his sculpted midriff. Over it, he wore an oversized golden-yellow jacket with monkey paw prints on the sleeves. Around his neck hung a crescent-shaped pendant, and his usual jade green alien beanie completed the chaotic ensemble.

Hanro’s Look: A modern, minimalist aesthetic with a soft edge. He wore high-waisted sand-colored trousers with a wine-red tucked-in mock neck. A sheer black longline cardigan fluttered with each movement, paired with sleek sneakers and delicate earrings—one shaped like a crescent moon, the other a tiny fan. Subtle but stylish, he was a quiet flame in the crowd.

DBK’s Look: All confidence and control. He arrived a moment later in a deep burgundy suede jacket with dragon-scale embossed sleeves. Underneath, a black silk shirt half-unbuttoned to show a bit of his broad chest. Slim black pants and oxblood boots grounded the look, and a gold watch and lion pendant gave the finishing touch. A subtle cologne of sandalwood and smoke announced his arrival before he even opened the door.

“Apologies for the delay,” DBK said in that rich baritone as he opened the door for Hanro, his eyes softening. “Traffic… and indecision about which cologne to wear.”

Hanro smiled and signed cheekily: You smell expensive.

Wukong snorted and fake-fainted. “He always smells expensive! I smell exciting. Like danger… and popcorn.”

⸻

At the Cinema:

Chaos started immediately at the concession stand.

Wukong grabbed three boxes of caramel popcorn and an oversized soda.
“No way we’re watching this movie without popcorn rain!”

DBK sighed, shaking his head. “That much sugar will give you palpitations, monkey.”

Wukong stuck out his tongue. “Live a little!”

Hanro stood between them, amused, before pointing at a bento-box-style snack platter one cinema offered: mini dumplings, fruit slices, and mochi. He gave a silent please?

DBK immediately nodded and ordered two. “For you, anything.”

Wukong blinked. “Okay, but now I want one too.”

Then came the movie selection battle.

Wukong held up tickets to a campy sci-fi action flick called “Laser Fist 3000.”

“This has aliens, martial arts, explosions, and a guy who punches with satellites. Perfect date movie!”

DBK countered by flashing his own tickets. “The Lover’s Aria. It’s a period drama, based on a historical romance between rival scholars—filled with poetry, betrayal, and longing gazes.”

Hanro, overwhelmed, pointed at both… then shrugged with a why not both? gesture.

Wukong gasped. “Double feature?! He speaks my language!”

DBK smiled fondly. “Then we shall suffer through yours, Monkey King, if it means sharing the night.”

⸻

In the Theater:

Wukong sprawled out, arms casually thrown over Hanro’s shoulder. DBK sat on Hanro’s other side, one hand gently resting on his thigh.

As Laser Fist 3000 exploded onto the screen, Wukong hooted with joy, occasionally whispering dramatic lines into Hanro’s ear, making him giggle.
DBK rolled his eyes, but even he chuckled during the scene where a robot learned to love.

During The Lover’s Aria, however, DBK leaned close to whisper the ancient poetry softly in Hanro’s ear, while Wukong buried his face in Hanro’s neck dramatically whenever it got too emotional.

By the end of the night, Hanro was nestled between the two of them like a jewel in a crown, his heart full.

And all the while… from the shadows beyond the theater’s exit, a certain lion watched them go, his sharp eyes glowing like polished sapphire.

Chapter Text

The night air shimmered with heat as Azure Lion stood alone in his private atelier—a lavish chamber atop the glass-and-marble skyscraper that bore his name. Silk drapes in hues of lapis and gold fluttered gently as the balcony doors remained open, welcoming the warm city breeze.

He stood before a long glass display case, his mane pulled into a high, elegant topknot wrapped in a midnight blue ribbon. His silk robe, embroidered with spiraling golden clouds, lay open over his chiseled chest, and his fingers glided across rows of rare gemstones, handpicked fabrics, and scent bottles imported from forgotten kingdoms.

On the velvet table before him lay his next gift to Hanro: a custom-crafted accessory set unlike anything he had ever sent before.

But this time—it wasn’t just about seduction. It was about marking Hanro as his.

He had seen the way Hanro shone between Wukong and the Demon Bull King at the cinema. Comfortable. Smiling. Glowing with love.

It made Azure Lion’s jaw tense.

“I was being too subtle before,” he said aloud to no one, his tone like syrup laced with venom. “Time to show him what it’s like to be chosen by a king.”

⸻

The Gift

Three master artisans were summoned at midnight.

The first, a jewelcrafter, molded a collar-style choker from dark moonstone, embedded with tiny flecks of starlight opal. A lion insignia rested at the center, not too bold—but just enough to be noticed.
The second, a perfumer, designed a custom scent inspired by Hanro’s essence—cool morning air, soft white tea, and the warmth of sun-drenched silk.
The third, a designer, created the final touch: a translucent, midnight-blue overcoat woven from a fabric that shimmered like dew under moonlight. It was tailored to flow with Hanro’s every step, light enough to feel like second skin.

Azure Lion added a handwritten card, sealed with his personal crest in molten gold wax.

My Radiant Star,
I find myself unable to ignore the way you move, breathe, exist.
Let this be a reminder: not every gift comes with expectation—but some are born from devotion.
Wear this, and let the city see who sees you.

—Yours in power and poetry,
Azure

⸻

The Delivery

The next morning, just as Hanro was finishing breakfast at home—wearing an oversized T-shirt and sipping jasmine tea—the doorbell rang.

He opened the door to find a silent chauffeur in full uniform. Behind him was a black luxury trunk with gold trim, no larger than a hatbox.

The chauffeur bowed and presented the note atop the box before leaving without a word.

Mira poked her head out from the kitchen, croissant in hand. “Another box? From him again?”

Hanro blushed faintly and brought the box inside. He opened it gently—only for his fingers to freeze on the cool fabric of the overcoat, eyes widening as the scent reached his nose. The card fluttered into his lap.

Mira leaned over his shoulder, reading.

“Whew. That lion’s really out here writing poetry like he’s in a romance novel… I mean, I’d let him give me a closet like this.”

Hanro touched the collar delicately, both awed and overwhelmed. He wasn’t sure if it was a gift or a claim.

He looked up at Mira with conflicted eyes.

She squinted, already sensing the storm. “Babe, I love the drama—but this might be starting to feel like a power play. Be careful.”

Hanro nodded slowly, the shimmering coat catching the light in his hands. And yet… part of him couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to wear it—to walk down the street with a lion’s attention burning on his back.

Chapter Text

The morning sun poured into the open loft that Wukong and DBK shared—a stunning blend of industrial steel and lush plants, incense smoke curling through the air as lo-fi music played softly from a nearby speaker. Wukong, shirtless in yoga pants, was stretching in the living room while DBK, dressed in a loose robe, stood in the kitchen whisking eggs with serene focus.

Their peace didn’t last.

A ding from Hanro’s group chat thread made Wukong sit up. He reached for his phone lazily, expecting a selfie or a breakfast photo.

Instead, he saw a single image Hanro had sent—a photo of a velvet-lined trunk opened wide, revealing the custom-made choker, the perfume bottle, and the transparent, moonlight-kissed overcoat spread delicately across his lap.

No caption. No emoji. Just the image.

Wukong’s brow twitched. “…The hell is this?”

He sat up straighter, zooming in. “Is that his name engraved on the bottle? And that choker—oh no. No, no, no. We are not doing collars.”

DBK looked over calmly. “Let me see.”

Wukong tossed him the phone. The Demon Bull King caught it midair and stared at the screen. His nostrils flared—just slightly.

“Azure Lion sent this?” he asked, voice like distant thunder.

Wukong folded his arms. “Unless some other rich beast king is trying to brand our boyfriend like a prize horse.”

DBK’s jaw flexed. He handed the phone back slowly, then leaned against the kitchen island, arms folded across his broad chest. “He’s making a move. Trying to put a claim on Hanro.”

Wukong scowled. “A passive-aggressive move cloaked in sapphires and scented oils. Cute. Pretentious. And clearly calculated.”

They were silent for a long moment.

Then DBK said, “I’ll talk to Hanro. Alone.”

Wukong raised an eyebrow. “Not going to storm his tower and challenge him to a duel?”

“Tempting,” DBK said. “But Hanro’s already overwhelmed. We don’t want to make him feel like we’re fighting over him.”

Wukong rubbed the back of his neck. “Still. Azure Lion’s getting bolder. If he thinks he can just… drown Hanro in glitter and dominance and win, then he doesn’t know him at all.”

DBK nodded, eyes hard. “No one claims Hanro. Not unless Hanro chooses them.”

Wukong looked toward the balcony, where the wind stirred a potted fig tree. “We should remind him of what real love looks like. And not with diamonds.”

DBK’s lips curved into a rare, knowing smile. “Agreed.”

The late afternoon sun filtered in through Hanro’s apartment blinds, casting warm stripes across the wooden floors. Hanro sat on the couch, still in his loungewear, the luxurious velvet box from Azure Lion now resting on the coffee table. The perfume still shimmered like starlight inside its bottle, untouched. The choker glinted under the light, mocking him with its delicate boldness.

There was a knock at the door. Steady. Deep.

Hanro froze, then slowly got up, expecting maybe Mira—or worse, another delivery.

But when he opened the door, DBK stood there in a sleek black button-up, sleeves rolled to the forearm, carrying two takeout bags and a soft, unreadable expression.

“Dinner,” he said simply. “May I come in?”

Hanro blinked, then stepped aside with a small smile, signing, You didn’t have to.

“I wanted to,” DBK replied as he stepped in. “I figured you’d be thinking a lot. I thought food might help.”

Hanro closed the door and led him to the kitchen table, where DBK placed the bags and started unpacking carefully—steamed buns, stir-fried lotus root, and fragrant tofu. All Hanro’s favorites.

They sat in silence for a moment as Hanro slowly picked at his food.

“I saw what Azure Lion sent you,” DBK said finally, voice gentle but direct. “The perfume. The choker.”

Hanro’s hand paused mid-bite. He looked away, lips tightening, signing slowly, I didn’t ask for it.

“I know,” DBK said. “That’s what worries me.”

Hanro placed his chopsticks down and turned to him fully. He said it was a gift. That I deserve to be celebrated. I didn’t say yes. But I didn’t say no either.

DBK leaned forward on the table, his massive hands clasped. “Hanro… listen. You’re kind, and gracious, and easy to fall for. But you don’t owe anyone your time just because they flatter you with silk and silver.”

Hanro looked into his eyes, those deep storm-colored eyes that had always been soft around him. DBK wasn’t angry. He wasn’t jealous—not really. He was concerned. For him.

So what do I do? Hanro signed.

“Be honest with yourself,” DBK said. “If you’re unsure, take a step back. But if he’s crossing lines—even subtly—we’ll handle it. Together. You’re not alone, Hanro.”

The silence between them was heavy, but comforting.

Hanro reached out slowly, touching DBK’s hand.

Then he signed, I don’t want to belong to someone. I want to choose where I belong.

DBK smiled softly. “Then choose. And know that wherever you choose—we’ll always respect it. But Hanro…”

Hanro looked up.

DBK’s hand brushed the side of his cheek gently. “I hope we’re still the ones you choose.”

Hanro’s eyes shimmered, and he nodded, a quiet flush blooming on his face.

Outside, the street bustled with life. But inside, it was just the two of them, sitting in stillness, honesty, and something warm that didn’t need glitter or gold to be precious.

Chapter Text

The evening was soft and indigo-streaked by the time Hanro arrived at Wukong’s private studio loft — a chaotic, plant-filled space above a comic book shop in the arts district. Lights glowed warmly through the frosted glass, and the faint thump of funk music played from somewhere inside, accompanied by the scent of incense and roasted peanuts.

Hanro hesitated only a moment before knocking.

It took a few seconds. Then the door opened, and Wukong stood there — shirtless, sweat glistening on his toned chest, a towel slung around his neck and hair slightly damp. He blinked in surprise, then grinned wide.

“Hey, Starshine,” he said, stepping aside without hesitation. “Didn’t think I’d see you tonight.”

Hanro stepped in, signing, I needed to see you.

Wukong’s eyes flickered to his hands, then to his face — he could always tell when Hanro’s thoughts were a little heavier than usual. He tossed the towel aside and led him into the open lounge, where paint-splattered canvases, throw pillows, comic art, and punching mitts littered every surface.

“I was working out and then drawing shirtless fanart of myself as a superhero. Want to see?” Wukong teased, flopping down onto a floor cushion.

Hanro gave a tired smile and signed, Maybe later.

Wukong tilted his head. “Talk to me, gorgeous.”

Hanro took a moment to breathe, then sat beside him. His hands moved deliberately as he signed:

DBK came to talk to me. About Azure. About everything. And… I’m still thinking. But I wanted to see you. Just you. No gifts. No pressure.

Wukong’s grin softened into something more real, more vulnerable.

“Yeah?” he said, voice quieter now. “You just wanted me?”

Hanro nodded.

Wukong leaned forward, forearms on his knees. “Okay. Then you’ve got me. All of me. And not the loud, flashy version I show off when I’m trying too hard.”

Hanro looked up. Wukong’s smile dimmed into something tender, unreadable.

“I’m not just here to fight for you,” Wukong said slowly. “I want to be with you. Be the one you laugh with, train with, eat noodles at midnight with. I don’t need to win you, Hanro. I just want to be someone worth choosing.”

Hanro’s chest tightened. His fingers trembled slightly as he signed, You already are.

Wukong blinked. Then beamed — not his usual dazzling grin, but one quiet and shining. He reached out and gently cupped the back of Hanro’s head, bringing their foreheads together.

For a long moment, they just breathed.

No games. No one watching. Just quiet. Comfortable. Real.

After a while, Wukong spoke again. “Stay the night?”

Hanro smiled and nodded.

Later, they curled up on a worn sofa under a pile of mismatched blankets. Wukong held him close, legs tangled. No kisses. No touches beyond what felt safe and warm. Just the kind of intimacy that said you’re safe here, just as you are.

High above the city, in his opulent penthouse lair carved from glass, obsidian, and ambition, Azure Lion stood alone in front of a wide window overlooking the skyline.

His jaw was sharp, his silken robe a deep obsidian hue embroidered with gold thread that shimmered like living fire. Behind him, an assistant stood nervously, watching the Lion’s tail twitch once… then again.

“How many days?” Azure Lion asked, his voice low, the purr beneath it gone.

“Three, sir,” the assistant replied, adjusting his collar. “Since the gift was delivered. No formal reply. Not even a thank-you.”

Silence.

The kind of silence that buzzed.

Azure Lion finally turned away from the window. His eyes glowed like a storm contained in blue glass, and his expression was unreadable. Beautiful. Dangerous.

“I don’t get ignored,” he said, each word measured like a blade being drawn.

He stepped toward the sleek mahogany desk where the digital tablet showed a paused frame—security footage from outside Hanro’s apartment. A freeze-frame of the moment DBK had arrived with food. The two sharing quiet conversation over dinner.

He tapped to switch to the next clip.

Wukong opening the door in sweatpants, hair wild, pulling Hanro into a warm, comfortable hug. Their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces, even in the doorway.

The corners of Azure Lion’s lips twitched—just slightly. Not in amusement. In calculation.

“So,” he murmured. “The little mute has made himself a cozy nest.”

He turned to his assistant. “Get me the contact information for The Six-Eared Macaque. I have reason to believe he’s… shaping Hanro in ways I didn’t authorize.”

The assistant blinked. “M-Master Azure… he’s Wukong’s old friend, isn’t he? Wouldn’t that—”

“I’m aware of what he was,” Azure said coolly. “But power shifts. Loyalties change.”

He stepped behind his desk, fingers brushing across the rim of the unopened crystal decanter beside him. Then he paused.

“And send someone to tail Hanro. Discreetly. I want to know who else is orbiting my star.”

“But—he’s not yours, sir,” the assistant said before he could stop himself.

Azure Lion’s eyes narrowed with a flash of icy venom.

“…Yet.”

Chapter Text

The dojo was quiet that afternoon, sunlight pouring in through open panels onto the polished floors. The scent of burning sandalwood drifted through the air. The Six-Eared Macaque sat cross-legged near the back wall, bare-chested, sipping from a teacup and listening.

Not to the wind.

Not to music.

But to whispers. Footsteps. Breath. The sound of a conversation taking place far across the city in a tower too high for most to hear.

But he wasn’t most people.

And his six ears weren’t for decoration.

Azure Lion’s voice rippled across the air like velvet laced in poison: “Get me the contact information for the Six-Eared Macaque…”

The Macaque set his teacup down, calmly.

So. The pretty-boy tyrant was now reaching here.

He rose slowly, moving with a relaxed strength. His loose, black training pants shifted with every powerful step as he crossed the dojo and grabbed a worn scroll from a shelf. It bore his seal — a stylized sun with six crescent moons orbiting around it.

With deliberate care, he unfurled it and dipped his brush in ink. Writing swiftly but elegantly:

**To Azure Lion,

I don’t like being hunted.
I like it even less when my students are treated like prey.

If you want to speak to me, come with your heart in your hand and your claws sheathed. Otherwise—
You will learn why I earned the title “Echo of the Wild Sun.”

—The Six-Eared Macaque**

He folded the parchment, sealed it in a red envelope, and with a flick of his fingers, tossed it into the incense smoke.

The letter vanished in a burst of glowing ash.

He turned then, glancing toward the far end of the dojo where a second training mat had been laid out — Hanro’s space. The boy had been improving. Fast. Stronger. Quieter, yes—but not afraid to step forward anymore.

The Macaque smiled faintly.

“I won’t let him be owned,” he murmured to himself.

Then he stepped back into the ring and began his solo practice — the sound of his feet slapping the mat echoing like thunder through the bones of the earth.

Azure Lion stood before a floor-to-ceiling wall of glass in his private study, dressed in a robe woven with golden reeds and night-colored silk. A classical string quartet played softly through hidden speakers, but he wasn’t listening.

He was watching the horizon.

Plotting.

Calculating.

And then—

A sudden swirl of heat shimmered through the air behind him, curling like a ribbon of smoke.

He turned just as red embers exploded from the mouth of his central incense brazier, and in their center, something materialized: a single crimson envelope, sealed with gold wax bearing the symbol of the Six-Eared Macaque.

The flame snapped out. The envelope hit the desk with a soft, final sound.

Azure Lion stared at it for a moment.

Then he walked over slowly, claws tapping faintly on the obsidian floor. He opened the envelope with surgical precision, removed the scroll inside, and read in silence.

The air in the room changed.

No—coiled.

Azure Lion’s smile vanished as he read the lines again, his golden eyes flashing like twin blades under moonlight.

“I don’t like being hunted…
Come with your heart in your hand and your claws sheathed…
You will learn why I earned the title ‘Echo of the Wild Sun.’”

The letter trembled in his hands—not from his grip, but from the power still lingering in the ink. A mark of true martial authority. Not just poetic threats. Oaths.

“Echo of the Wild Sun,” Azure murmured. “So the rumors are true. He still holds it.”

For the first time in years, he chuckled.

Low. Dark. Genuinely amused.

“So Wukong’s master bares his teeth,” he said, flicking the letter onto his desk. “And I wonder if the student knows how dangerous his teacher still is.”

He stood there for a long moment.

Then he snapped his fingers.

A young assistant appeared in the doorway, nervous.

“Clear my evening appointments,” Azure Lion said smoothly. “Send word to our fashion house. Begin crafting something for the Autumn Solstice—something that will eclipse what I sent before.”

The assistant bowed. “Yes, sir.”

“And one more thing,” Azure said, now gently swirling a crystal of ice in his drink, his eyes distant with heat.

“If the Macaque ever sends another message that enters my home without my consent… I want wards prepared. Ancient ones. I want to know what he smells like. What direction he breathes in. Everything.”

“Yes, Master Azure.”

As the door shut again, Azure Lion sat in his throne-like chair, tail flicking once behind him.

He held no fear.

Only interest.

Only a growing desire to test the cage he was circling—and claim the creature inside.

The dojo air was hot with movement.

Hanro’s bare feet glided across the polished floor, his breath steady but fierce. Sweat clung to his furred brow, his chest rising and falling beneath the form-fitting, flame-detailed midriff of his custom uniform. Beaded bracelets clicked faintly at his wrists with each motion — markers of his training, gifts from his master.

Across from him, the Six-Eared Macaque circled like a jungle cat. Graceful. Dangerous. Unreadable.

“Again,” he said. “Flow. Not force.”

Hanro nodded, and launched forward — spinning, kicking low then high, his body twisting like water through the Capoeira rhythm. He flowed from meia-lua de frente into a flawless au batido, landing into a crouch, one hand sweeping the floor for balance.

Macaque smiled faintly. “Good.”

He moved in, fast.

Hanro barely had time to block. Their feet met in midair with a crack, Hanro stumbling back slightly — but this time, he caught himself. No flailing. No collapsing.

Just centered breath.

The Six-Eared Macaque lowered his stance. “You’re reading the space better.”

Hanro signed quickly, I’m starting to hear it. The rhythm.

“Capoeira is a language,” Macaque replied. “Body. Spirit. Environment. You don’t just fight. You speak. You make music.”

Hanro nodded, brushing sweat from his face, panting.

“Again,” Macaque said — and this time, he turned his back as if dismissing him.

Hanro blinked, confused.

Then without warning, Macaque whipped into a spinning rabo de arraia — a deceptive roundhouse kick that sliced the air like a blade. Hanro barely dodged it by flipping backward in a tight handspring, landing hard but clean.

He panted, eyes wide.

Macaque gave a wicked grin. “Lesson two: your enemy won’t always square up first. Life hits first. You answer.”

Hanro stood, trembling slightly from exertion.

But inside?

A fire was beginning to roar.

Not the kind that overwhelmed him in silence, or left him frozen under attention. No — this fire burned in motion. In choice.

For the first time, Hanro looked at his reflection in the dojo’s mirrored wall — and didn’t just see a shy monkey who signed apologies and blushed when touched.

He saw a fighter.
A dancer.
A boy on the edge of something more.

Macaque walked past him then, brushing a hand briefly across Hanro’s shoulder in approval. “You’re not just someone to protect anymore, Hanro. You’re becoming someone who can protect others.”

Hanro’s throat tightened.

But he smiled.

And nodded.

Chapter Text

The city hummed with midnight traffic as the Six-Eared Macaque walked home alone.

His coat hung loosely around his muscular frame, his usual confidence wrapped in casual stillness. The evening air was cool. He had taken the long way back from the dojo, a path that led through the quieter alleyways — he liked the silence there, the forgotten places. Easier to listen.

But tonight, the silence felt wrong.

Too still.

His ears twitched.

Then—

A shift in wind.

The sound of a step where no one should have stepped.

He spun just in time to catch the first fist with his forearm, absorbing the blow as two figures lunged from the shadows — masked, fast, merciless.

He fought. Viciously.

A blur of capoeira kicks and elbows, low spins, headbutts. One of them hit the wall with a crunch — but another came from behind. A crowbar slammed into his ribs with a sickening crack.

Macaque collapsed to one knee, wheezing — pain lancing through his side. Another blow followed. Then another. The world dimmed as boots landed on his back, fists rained down on his face.

His last thought before it all went dark was Hanro.

⸻

Later…

The sterile beep of monitors echoed faintly in the hospital room. The rhythmic sigh of a breathing machine filled the space with slow dread.

Hanro stood at the door, frozen.

His chest tightened at the sight before him.

There, in the bed, lay the Six-Eared Macaque — once fierce, proud, untouchable — now still beneath a pale blanket, bruised and bloodied. A nasal cannula curled beneath his nostrils. One eye was nearly swollen shut. His right arm was in a cast. Purple welts painted his side where the machines monitored the broken ribs beneath.

Hanro stepped in slowly, barely breathing.

He didn’t realize tears were slipping from his eyes until they hit the floor.

Who would do this to him?

He sat beside the bed and took Macaque’s hand — strong, calloused, always firm in training. It felt weak now. Cold.

Hanro’s hands trembled as he signed in the air, even knowing Macaque couldn’t see:

You didn’t deserve this.
You protected me. And now I’ll protect you.

His phone buzzed quietly.

A message from Mira:
“Heard what happened. Do not go anywhere alone.”

Hanro replied with one word:
“Understood.”

Then, without hesitation, he reached for his tablet and typed out a group message — sent to both DBK and Wukong:

Macaque was attacked. He’s in the hospital. I’m with him now. Whoever did this… it wasn’t random.

He hit send.

Then leaned in close, brushing his forehead against the edge of Macaque’s bed.

“You’re going to be okay,” Hanro whispered, his voice nothing but breath, but filled with promise.

And somewhere deep in his core — the fire stirred again. The message came through just after midnight.

Wukong was sprawled out across the marble kitchen island of their penthouse, absentmindedly spinning a spoon in a bowl of leftover mango rice. DBK — in his evening robe, glasses perched low on his nose — was flipping through quarterly reports with a cigar resting on a crystal tray nearby.

Wukong’s phone buzzed once.

Then again.

Then a third time.

He lazily glanced at the screen — until he saw the sender.

Hanro.

He blinked. Sat up straighter. Then read the message.

His breath caught.

The spoon fell to the floor with a sharp clang.

“What is it?” DBK asked, already taking off his glasses.

Wukong didn’t answer. He simply handed the phone over.

DBK read in silence.

“Macaque was attacked. He’s in the hospital. I’m with him now.
Whoever did this… it wasn’t random.”

There was a pause.

Then the phone cracked beneath DBK’s grip.

He exhaled slowly, the sound more like a growl. “Who. Touched. Him?”

Wukong’s tail whipped furiously. “It wasn’t a mugging. They targeted him. Probably jumped him when his guard was down.”

“Too clean,” DBK murmured, standing to his full height. “Too convenient.”

Wukong clenched his fists. “Hanro’s not safe.”

“And we just told him to go out and live freely,” DBK snarled, his voice slipping into something darker — more ancient.

They stood in silence for a moment. Then DBK snapped his fingers toward his office.

“Get me the full surveillance records from the 7th to 11th districts. Pull every alley camera. Every street pole. I want to see who followed Macaque. And I want their names before morning.”

Wukong turned, already pulling on a jacket.

“I’m going to the hospital,” he said. “He’s my teacher. And Hanro’s there. He’ll need me.”

DBK crossed the room in three strides, grabbing his shoulder. “Wait.”

Their eyes met — not with disagreement, but shared fury.

“We’re not reacting in panic,” DBK said. “We’re responding with power.”

Wukong narrowed his eyes, then nodded. “Then we move smart. Together.”

DBK pulled him into a brief, strong embrace. “I’ll contact our security heads. Have Hanro escorted home after visiting hours. He’s not to be left alone. Period.”

“And if this was Azure’s doing?”

DBK’s voice dropped.

“Then I stop playing nice.”

Chapter Text

The soft beep of machines.
The low hum of overhead lights.
And Hanro, still in his simple hoodie and worn jeans, sitting at Macaque’s bedside like a sentinel.

The elder Capoeira master remained unconscious, his injuries casting shadows beneath his bandages. Hanro had barely moved in hours—only adjusting the blanket, gently checking the IV lines, or scrolling through memories on his phone.

His fingers trembled around his stylus as he tried typing out messages he never sent:

“Please wake up.”
“You didn’t deserve this.”
“You said I’d be able to protect people one day… but you’re the one who got hurt.”

A soft knock on the door broke his thoughts.

He turned.

Standing in the doorway—perfect silhouettes against the fluorescent hall—were Wukong and Demon Bull King.

Hanro froze. His heart slammed into his chest. A tear slipped down his cheek before he even realized it was there.

Wukong moved first, quickly crossing the room and crouching beside Hanro without a word. His hand reached out—gently wiping Hanro’s tears away with his thumb. His other hand squeezed Hanro’s knee with fierce, grounding pressure.

Hanro flung his arms around him.

No sound. Just silence. But the hug was loud.

Wukong held him tightly, rubbing his back. “I’m here. We’re here.”

DBK entered quietly, his massive frame still but tense, golden eyes fixed on Macaque’s unconscious form. His jaw clenched as he approached the bed. The soft leather of his gloves creaked faintly as he gently placed a hand on Macaque’s uninjured shoulder.

“He didn’t go down without a fight,” DBK said softly. “But this was a message. And it won’t go unanswered.”

Hanro pulled back slightly, signing rapidly, hands trembling:

He was alone. They waited. They knew his patterns.

Wukong read the message, eyes narrowing.

“I’ll find out who,” he said quietly. “We both will.”

Hanro hesitated, then signed something slower. Was it… Azure?

DBK said nothing. But his silence spoke louder than fury.

Wukong stood, brushing back Hanro’s hair. “Even if it wasn’t him directly… it was his intention. Someone’s trying to scare you. Hurt what you care about.”

Hanro stared at the floor, fists clenched.

DBK stepped forward then, and lowered himself onto one knee so that he was eye level with Hanro. His voice dropped to a softer growl.

“Listen to me, cub. You are not a pawn in anyone’s game. And if someone thinks they can use violence to make you bend… they’ve picked the wrong throne to challenge.”

Hanro met his eyes.

The same warmth. The same fury. And for once, Hanro didn’t flinch from it. He absorbed it.

Wukong gave a small, lopsided smile. “We came to check on him. But we’re staying for you.”

Hanro signed with a soft smile: Thank you. For both of you.

DBK nodded, standing again. “We’ve already made arrangements. Guards on your building. Surveillance re-upped. Mira’s on alert too.”

Hanro’s brow lifted in concern.

Wukong waved it off. “Don’t worry, she’s taking it better than we are. Said she’s got pepper spray, stilettos, and a taser named Veronica.”

Hanro snorted silently, covering his mouth.

The moment of laughter passed gently… but not the sense of unity.

The three of them stood beside the bed, where Macaque slept on.

And in that silence — they made a vow.

The early afternoon sun poured through the stained-glass skylights of Azure Lion’s private study, casting kaleidoscopic light over ivory floors. Classical guzheng music played softly from a vintage record player, the plucked notes echoing through the vast space.

Azure Lion sat reclined on a low velvet chaise, sipping from a delicate porcelain cup of osmanthus tea when his assistant arrived — pale and fidgeting, which Azure noticed immediately.

“Speak,” Azure said, not looking up.

“There’s been… an incident,” the assistant said cautiously. “The Six-Eared Macaque was attacked last night. Hospitalized. Multiple fractures. He’s unconscious.”

Azure Lion’s brow arched slightly.

But he said nothing for a moment.

He simply sipped his tea.

Finally, he gave a quiet hum, as if someone had told him the weather was less than ideal. “How tragic,” he said, voice velvet-smooth. “Do we know who was responsible?”

“No one’s been identified yet,” the assistant replied. “Though the Wukong-Bull King household has already taken steps. Surveillance inquiries. Private investigators.”

“Mmm.”

Azure set down his tea cup with surgical grace.

Inside, gears turned.

So someone struck first. Either a loyalist with a bone to pick… or an opportunist trying to stir chaos between the city’s most dangerous figures.

And yet…

He stood and walked to the mirror — brushing a hand through his silver-blond mane, adjusting the collar of his silken indigo robe.

The Macaque was a powerful force. Respected. Feared. And now wounded.

And Hanro?

Hanro was loyal to him. Close. Shaken, surely.

Vulnerable.

Azure Lion turned from the mirror and said calmly, “Send flowers to the hospital. Rare ones. White night orchids and dragonfruit blossoms. And a handwritten note.”

The assistant blinked. “What should it say?”

Azure smiled — slow, charming, dangerous.

*To the indomitable Master Macaque,

Though we’ve not had the pleasure of formal acquaintance, know that your strength echoes through more than your movements.

May you heal swiftly — the city is quieter without your rhythm.

—Azure Lion*

“And,” Azure added, voice lowering like silk across a blade, “have it delivered in an opal-encrusted vase. Let them all know I am… watching. With concern, of course.”

The assistant bowed and rushed off.

Azure Lion returned to his chaise, laying down with a soft sigh.

“Oh, dear Hanro,” he purred to himself, gazing up at the shifting glass above. “Let’s see how your heart holds up under pressure. Grief. Loyalty. Affection.”

He closed his eyes.

And smiled.

Chapter Text

The day had passed in quiet murmurs — soft conversations between nurses, the distant murmur of televisions, and the rhythmic beep-beep of machines watching over the Six-Eared Macaque. He hadn’t stirred once since Hanro arrived that morning.

Hanro, seated faithfully at his bedside, had barely left the chair.

He scribbled in his notepad, occasionally flipping through pictures on his phone — some old snapshots of his training, some blurry ones of Wukong doing silly handstands, even one of DBK asleep with a book over his face. He smiled faintly at that one.

The door creaked open.

A nurse peeked in. “Mr. Hanro? There’s… a delivery for you.”

Hanro blinked.

She stepped aside, and two uniformed delivery men entered the room carrying a towering arrangement of white night orchids, dragonfruit blossoms, and strands of silver ivy — all blooming from an opal-encrusted vase that shimmered like frozen lightning.

The scent was intoxicating — floral, heady, rich.

Everyone in the ward stopped to look.

Hanro’s eyes went wide. This wasn’t just a gift — this was an event.

At the base of the arrangement was a black envelope, gilded in shimmering ink.
No logo. No stamp.

Just:

To Hanro.

With hesitant fingers, Hanro opened it and read the handwritten card inside.

⸻

*To the indomitable Master Macaque,

Though we’ve not had the pleasure of formal acquaintance,
know that your strength echoes through more than your movements.

May you heal swiftly — the city is quieter without your rhythm.*

—Azure Lion

⸻

Hanro’s heart skipped. His brows knit.

The note was respectful. Kind, even. But he knew better.

There was always a second voice behind Azure’s velvet words — one that whispered:

“I’m close. I see everything. And I still want you.”

He sat back in his chair, jaw tight, tail flicking with unspoken tension.

Then he signed bitterly to himself:
This isn’t about Macaque. It’s about me.

Just then, a nurse leaned over, whispering as she stared at the opal vase, “Must be someone very important to you.”

Hanro gave a tight, awkward smile.

But his mind raced.

If Azure Lion had the audacity to send this to a hospital bed…

What else was he willing to do? The hallway outside Hanro’s apartment smelled like cheap cologne, over-waxed linoleum, and someone’s forgotten takeout — a return to normalcy after the surreal day he’d just had.

But as he unlocked his door and stepped inside, the familiar scent of cinnamon and sandalwood hit him.

Mira.

“’Bout time,” her voice called from the kitchen. “I was about to call DBK and tell him you got kidnapped by a flower cult.”

Hanro blinked as he closed the door behind him, sliding his shoes off wordlessly.

He rounded the corner into the kitchen — and froze.

On his kitchen table sat a copy of the note from Azure Lion, the one from the extravagant hospital flower arrangement.

And beside it?

A single white night orchid, in a cup.

Mira leaned against the counter, arms crossed over her ribbed turtleneck crop top, one eyebrow raised dangerously high.

“I paid the delivery guys to let me take a photo of the note before they carted it in,” she said dryly. “So. You wanna start explaining why the city’s most dangerous silver-maned thirst trap is sending orchids and poetry to your hospital room?”

Hanro sighed and signed quickly, hands moving fast.

It was addressed to Macaque. Just a respectful gesture.

Mira scoffed. “Right. And I guess the opal vase was just a budget-friendly impulse.”

She stepped forward and tapped her nail against the orchid.

“Hanro, I know you want to believe in good intentions,” she said gently, “but this lion isn’t just prowling — he’s circling. Sending messages. Leaving his scent everywhere.”

Hanro looked away, shoulders tense.

Mira softened. Her voice lowered. “He hurt your teacher. Maybe not directly. But someone sent a warning, and then Azure sends a gift? That’s not coincidence. That’s orchestration.”

Hanro nodded slowly.

Then pulled out his tablet and typed something with trembling fingers.

“I don’t know what to do. He’s rich. Dangerous. And he won’t stop.”

Mira took the tablet and set it down.

“Then you don’t face him alone,” she said. “You’ve got DBK. Wukong. Me. Hell, even that smug jungle Macaque with the sexy glare.”

Hanro cracked the smallest smile.

Mira gently placed a hand on his arm. “You don’t have to fight fire with fire, Hanro. But you do have to stop pretending you’re not worth fighting over.”

He stared at her — heart aching, hands clenching.

Then nodded once. It was late evening when the news reached them — the sky outside their penthouse windows a dark velvet sea streaked with neon from the city below. DBK was reviewing final numbers from the gala’s charitable proceeds, while Wukong balanced precariously on the edge of the sofa, tossing a plum into the air and catching it with his tail just to irritate the housekeeping android.

That’s when Tang, their trusted aide, stepped into the room, tablet in hand and face unusually grim.

“There’s something you’ll want to see,” he said flatly.

DBK looked up immediately. “Talk.”

Tang slid the tablet across the marble table. “Hospital surveillance. From the East Wing. Just after Hanro visited Macaque.”

Wukong leaned forward and hit play.

A short, silent clip played: two delivery men wheeling in an impossibly extravagant floral arrangement — white night orchids, dragonfruit blossoms, silver ivy, and an opal-encrusted vase that looked like it had been stolen from a royal temple.

The camera paused on the delivery card, which the nurse held up with curiosity.

The name shimmered on the screen:

—Azure Lion

Silence.

Wukong’s tail stopped swaying.

DBK sat back in his chair, exhaling slowly through his nose. “He’s posturing.”

Wukong snarled. “He’s making a statement. ‘I’m still here. I can still reach him.’”

“It’s not about flowers,” DBK said. “It’s about territory. About daring us to respond.”

Tang cleared his throat. “It’s also worth mentioning… Mira intercepted the original note. She copied it and sent a version to Hanro’s home.”

DBK nodded once. “Smart girl.”

Wukong stood up, pacing now, golden eyes sparking. “If he thinks sending poetry and petals makes him clever, he’s in for a rude surprise.”

“Don’t lose your head,” DBK said calmly. “Yet.”

Wukong whirled. “He hurt Macaque, Baoxi! That’s my teacher. Hanro’s mentor. He’s dancing too close to the flame.”

DBK slowly stood, massive and imposing, but voice still eerily calm. “And if we flare up now, we give him exactly what he wants — chaos. Fear. Us looking volatile while he wears the mask of a gentleman.”

Wukong’s fists clenched. “Then what do we do?”

DBK’s gaze darkened.

“We show him that Hanro is not alone. That gifts sent with false affection can’t match the strength of earned love.”

Wukong’s mouth curled into a sharp grin.

“And if he wants a game…”

“We show him we wrote the rules,” DBK finished.

They stood there for a moment — two gods wrapped in business suits and ancient pride, flames and shadows waiting to be unleashed.

Then Wukong grabbed his phone.

“Texting Mira. We’re pulling Hanro out of the apartment tomorrow. He stays with us now.”

DBK nodded. “And tonight?”

A pause.

Then Wukong smiled devilishly. “Tonight, I sleep with my staff. And by staff, I mean that enchanted one that splits mountains.”

Chapter Text

Hanro woke up to the knock.

Sharp, confident, unmistakably official.

He hadn’t expected anyone — Mira had already left for work. He groggily pulled on a hoodie and cracked open the door, still brushing sleep from his eyes.

Wukong stood there.

In his usual off-duty clothes — a cropped bomber jacket, tank top, cargo joggers, and a look in his eyes that was uncharacteristically serious.

Behind him?

A black, gleaming SUV idling at the curb, and Demon Bull King standing by the passenger door, speaking softly to a driver in a tailored security uniform.

Wukong didn’t wait.

“Pack what you need. You’re moving in with us.”

Hanro blinked.

What?

Wukong stepped inside and cupped Hanro’s face gently. “No arguments. You’re not safe here. And we’re done letting people circle you like wolves.”

Hanro began signing — quick, nervous: What about Mira? What about training? My job?

Wukong smiled. “Mira’s in the loop. She’s fine and says, I quote, ‘Get your ass in that castle like the rare shiny Pokémon you are.’”

Hanro stifled a laugh.

Wukong added, “Training will continue. We’ll arrange for Macaque’s recovery to be somewhere secure, and you’ll still go to work — escorted. But home?” He gestured around the apartment. “Not anymore.”

Hanro hesitated.

Then nodded.

Inside him, something melted — the pressure of always being alone in the dark with his fears. The aching sense of being watched. Threatened. Now replaced by warmth, resolve, and something dangerously close to…

Belonging.

⸻

Two Hours Later
The penthouse of Flower Fruit Tower opened its glass-paneled doors to him like a palace.

Wukong showed him the living area — a massive lounge of sunken velvet seating, silk-draped lanterns overhead, and windows that overlooked the glittering skyline.

DBK met him at the grand staircase, dressed in a crisp charcoal vest and slacks, the heat in his gold eyes gentler now.

He offered his hand.

Hanro placed his in it without hesitation.

“Your room is at the east wing,” DBK said. “Near ours. But if you need anything, anything at all — the whole floor is yours.”

Hanro signed: This is too much.

Wukong, standing behind him, laughed. “We haven’t even shown you the koi pond yet.”

DBK added, voice low and sincere, “It’s not too much, Hanro. It’s what you deserve. Safety. Comfort. Family.”

The word hung in the air.

Family.

Hanro’s chest tightened. He gave a short nod — then, almost instinctively, reached out to hug DBK.

The great beastkin stilled—then chuckled and wrapped his thick arms around him, warm and unshakable.

Wukong leaned against the railing nearby, watching them with a small, content smile.

“We’ll cook tonight,” he said casually. “Your favorite.”

Hanro looked back, mouthing: Do you even know what my favorite is?

Wukong winked. “Nope. But I’ve got guesses.”

⸻

Later That Night…
Hanro sat curled on a sprawling sun chair on the balcony, freshly showered and warm in an oversized hoodie that didn’t belong to him (probably Wukong’s). Behind him, he could hear soft music and the scent of sizzling food wafting from the kitchen.

His phone buzzed once.

Mira had texted:

🏰 You safe?
👑 Do they have bidets and butlers?
🍲 Can I visit on weekends?

He smiled and replied simply:

I’m home.

The soft hum of music played from the tower’s speaker system — something jazzy, low, and slow — a backdrop to a quiet evening where laughter from dinner had faded into gentle silences and long looks.

Hanro sat curled on the plush couch in the den, nursing a cup of spiced tea. The city glittered behind the glass walls, a thousand stars below the sky. Wukong lounged beside him, his arm casually draped over the back of the couch. Demon Bull King was standing nearby, sleeves rolled up, drying the last of the dishes from their shared meal.

Everything felt… peaceful.

Like the hum between chords.

“Do you feel okay?” Wukong asked softly, brushing a stray curl from Hanro’s forehead.

Hanro nodded. Then signed: I’ve never felt this safe before.

Demon Bull King turned at that, his gaze gentle and impossibly warm. “That’s all we’ve ever wanted for you.”

Hanro looked between them — the fire in Wukong’s eyes, the stone-set strength in DBK’s posture, and the quiet way their concern held him at the center.

They chose him.

Not by accident. Not by impulse.

They had stayed.

And something in his chest cracked open like dawn.

He set his tea down.

Moved closer to Wukong — gently, slowly — and pressed a kiss to his cheek. The monkey’s breath caught for a beat, his playful spark dimmed by the sudden depth in the moment. Then Hanro turned, reached for DBK’s hand, and pulled him down to the couch.

There were no urgent moves. No heat-rushed touches.

Only warmth, trust, and the tremble of soft breath shared between three bodies trying to say the same thing in the dark:

I want this. I want you. I’m ready.

⸻

Much later, the fire had dimmed to glowing embers in the hearth.

The three of them lay tangled in blankets and one another. Hanro rested between them, his fingers linked loosely with Wukong’s, his legs tucked against DBK’s broad chest. A kiss had been pressed to his temple. And another behind his ear.

No one spoke.

But no one had to.

The silence was full.

And Hanro, for the first time in a long time, fell asleep without walls — surrounded not just by arms…

…but by love.

Chapter Text

It began with a buzz at the private entrance to the Flower Fruit Tower penthouse — a sharp, insistent chime that didn’t belong to anyone on their approved access list.

Wukong’s ears twitched.

DBK’s head lifted from the page he was reading on the couch.

Hanro, curled in a soft hoodie in the sun-drenched lounge, blinked up in confusion.

A pause.

Then the house AI chimed, voice even and calm:

“Visitor at the private entrance. Azure Lion.
He insists it is a personal matter.”

Wukong’s tail lashed once. “Of course he does.”

DBK stood slowly. “Let him in. But only to the receiving hall.”

Hanro’s heart jumped.

⸻

Ten Minutes Later
The great doors to the lower reception hall opened with a solemn hiss.

Azure Lion stood there in a tailored obsidian suit, his mane pulled back in a regal knot, a silver cane in one gloved hand that he didn’t need but wielded like a symbol of dominance. At his chest, a pin — a blue orchid set in platinum.

His eyes, cold and glittering, locked onto Hanro the moment he entered.

Wukong and DBK flanked Hanro protectively, but the lion smiled, charming and venomous.

“Hanro,” Azure said smoothly, voice like silk drawn over glass. “You’ve been difficult to reach.”

Hanro stood a little straighter.

He wouldn’t hide behind them.

He signed: You’ve crossed a line.

Azure’s eyes followed the movements — he’d taken the time to learn some sign, that much was clear.

“And yet,” he said, “I brought you gifts. Offered you elevation. Safety. Adoration.”

Wukong snarled. “You sent assassins after his teacher.”

The lion tilted his head. “And where, dear monkey, is the proof?”

DBK’s fists tightened, but his voice was calm and low. “We didn’t summon you here for debate. You came to our home. Say your piece and leave.”

Azure turned to Hanro again, ignoring the gods flanking him.

“I came,” he said, taking a step forward, “because I see your light. And I refuse to watch it be smothered by creatures who only want to keep it hidden.”

Hanro signed slowly, deliberately: You don’t see me. You want to own me.

That stung.

For a moment, Azure Lion’s mask cracked — just barely.

He straightened, mask sliding back into place, and exhaled softly. “Very well. You’ve made your choice.”

He looked between DBK and Wukong.

“Enjoy the illusion of safety. I won’t touch your home, or your… lovely little arrangements. But the moment Hanro steps outside the walls of this tower… the game resumes.”

And with a nod — polished, elegant, terrifying — Azure Lion turned on his heel and walked out.

⸻

The silence that followed was dense.

Wukong’s fists trembled at his sides. DBK’s jaw was tight.

Hanro stood between them, a chill rolling down his spine.

This wasn’t just a warning.

It was a promise.

The car was silent as it pulled away from Flower Fruit Tower.

Azure Lion sat motionless in the back seat, gloved fingers resting lightly atop the silver head of his cane, blue eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. The scent of Hanro still lingered in his mind — faint but distinct, like smoke and something sweet he couldn’t name.

And that look.

That defiance in Hanro’s eyes when he signed to him.

You don’t see me. You want to own me.

For most, such rejection would wound. For Azure Lion?

It was a challenge. A dare.

And beneath the polished surface of his tailored calm, the beast within him roared.

⸻

Back at the Lion’s Manor

The study was dim — all obsidian glass, dark hardwood, and sculpted dragonbone artifacts. A fire burned quietly in the hearth, low and hungry.

Azure Lion entered, discarding his gloves on the grand desk. One of his aides — a vulture beastkin in a crimson coat — stood nearby, waiting.

“The visit went… predictably?” the aide asked.

Azure poured himself a crystal glass of cherry-colored wine. “He stood between them. Not behind them. That tells me everything.”

The aide raised a brow. “So we change strategy?”

“No,” Azure said, swirling the wine in his glass. “We evolve it.”

He walked to the window, overlooking the city like a god surveying his chessboard.

“Double the surveillance around the tower. I want records of everyone Hanro speaks to, trains with, touches.” He took a sip. “And begin the next phase of the Orchid Bloom initiative.”

The vulture blinked. “You’re… deploying Orchid Bloom?”

Azure smiled faintly. “A more elegant weapon than claws. Influence. Leverage. A whisper in the right ear, a scandal in the right paper. Let’s see how well Demon Bull King protects his precious jewel when the world begins to question his judgment.”

He stepped back to the desk and opened a hidden drawer, pulling out a file — marked with a deep indigo seal: the flower sigil of his private intelligence ring.

Inside: a photo of Hanro.

Training. Smiling. Arms outstretched in motion, mid-capoeira kick.

Beautiful.

Free.

Mine, Azure Lion thought. Even if he doesn’t know it yet. Rain slicked the streets of Lotus Heights, the upscale district where polished smiles masked bloodstained legacies. Neon signs blurred in puddles. Crystal towers loomed high, but tonight, a shadow moved between them — red coat snapping, talons tapping against stone.

The Vulture Agent, known only in whispers as Seer, carried no weapons. He needed none.

Words were his blades.
Secrets, his currency.

Tonight, he came bearing both.

⸻

Stop One: The Office of Deputy Minister Xilun
The minister was already waiting in his private lounge — robe loose, two fingers of plum liquor in hand.

“Didn’t expect a visit so soon,” he murmured, voice slick with habitual corruption.

Seer smiled and placed a folder on the table. “I bring a story. Unpublished. Yet.”

The minister raised a brow and opened the folder — photos, text messages, recordings. Hanro. DBK. Wukong. An intimate dinner. Lingering touches. Documents suggesting possible conflict of interest within the Flower Fruit Conglomerate’s philanthropic branches.

Seer poured himself a drink and leaned in.

“Imagine the story: The Hero of Fire — compromised. The Primate of Stone — emotionally entangled. An unknown mute employee at the center of it all.”

Xilun’s eyes gleamed. “You want this leaked?”

“I want it whispered.” Seer’s voice dropped like a dagger. “To the Gilded Panel, to Boardwatch Weekly, to anyone who would love to question the ethics of two of the most powerful names in the empire.”

The minister gave a sharp grin. “Consider it done.”

⸻

Stop Two: The Crescent Gallery

Within the upper halls of the art elite, Seer stood across from a world-renowned critic and philanthropist — Lady Raelin — as her assistant carefully opened a sealed tube of stolen sketches: concept art for a secret product line Hanro had been helping with.

“Where did you get these?” she asked.

Seer’s answer was simple: “Do you really care?”

Her long nails tapped the edge of a photo — Hanro’s signature in the corner. “This mute boy of theirs… is he even qualified for this kind of influence?”

“That’s the question,” Seer replied silkily. “Let’s ask it loudly.”

⸻

Stop Three: The Private Chambers of Madame Fei Yuhua, Society Matriarch
One of the city’s most connected hostesses reclined on her silk chaise, a white fox curled around her ankles.

Seer bowed. “Madame, I bring… petals of concern.”

He handed her a velvet pouch. Inside: a brooch shaped like a dragon in jade — a perfect replica of the one gifted to Hanro. A subtle but unmistakable symbol.

Yuhua’s eyes glinted. “So that boy wears the Dragon Brooch now. At the Equinox Gala?”

Seer nodded. “Your circles should know he may not just be a companion. He may be a contender.”

Fei Yuhua sipped her tea. “Oh, the wives of the old houses will love that.”

⸻

By Midnight, the Bloom Had Rooted

Murmurs curled through high society like vines:

Why is he living with them?
Isn’t it unprofessional?
Does he even speak?
Is he leveraging them for power?
How much control does Hanro have over Wukong and DBK… or is it the other way around?

The Orchid Bloom Initiative was not a strike.

It was a slow strangulation —
and Hanro, sweet, soft, rising Hanro…
was now caught in the bloom’s thorns.

Chapter Text

The flower shop was calm that morning. Mira’s shift had just started, and she was elbow-deep in pale tulips when her phone vibrated.

Once.
Twice.
Then three times in quick succession.

She dried her hands on her apron, already frowning.

Text from Tariq (her cousin, who worked in gossip PR):

“Girl. Are you seeing this??”
“Tell me this article isn’t about your Hanro 😬”
[Attached: Screenshot from “Gilded Panel Weekly”]

Her stomach dropped.

She tapped the screenshot open — and there it was.

⸻

“Scandal in Stone & Fire?”
Is the Rising Artist Hanro Playing the Hearts of Gods?
Speculation Surrounds the Mute Designer Entangled with Flower Fruit Conglomerate’s Most Powerful Duo

Excerpts:

“…from orphaned dancer to inner-circle companion overnight.”
“…unprecedented access to confidential R&D projects.”
“…photos suggest cohabitation.”
“…is he being exploited, or is he exploiting them?”

There was even a doctored image of Hanro — eyes lowered, Wukong’s hand at his lower back — made to look possessive. Lecherous.

Mira saw red.

⸻

She grabbed her phone, shoved her shears in her bag, yelled, “Emergency! Tulips wait!” to her coworker, and bolted out the back door.

⸻

Twenty Minutes Later — Outside Flower Fruit Tower

“Let me through!” Mira barked at security, breathless, waving her ID. “Hanro’s emergency contact. Move!”

The guard hesitated for only a second — long enough to recognize her name, then hit the elevator panel.

The penthouse level.

⸻

Doors opened to chaos.

Hanro stood in the middle of the sunroom, holding a printed version of the article with trembling fingers. DBK stood tense by the balcony, jaw clenched. Wukong paced like a storm cloud on legs.

“Mira—” Hanro’s eyes widened as she stormed in.

“Don’t you dare say you’re fine,” she snapped, throwing her arms around him. “They’re trying to gut you in the court of public opinion, and I just got my nails done, so someone’s going to bleed today.”

Wukong tried to grin. “Well, you always know how to make an entrance.”

Mira turned, eyes blazing. “Not the time, peach fuzz. Who do we punch first?”

DBK handed her a whiskey glass.

She took it.

Drank.

Then slammed it down.

“Okay,” she said. “Listen up. If they’re launching a smear campaign, we go loud. I have contacts in public defense, freelance editors, and one rabid drag queen who lives for takedown threads.”

She turned to Hanro. “You’re not alone in this. Not on my life.”

Hanro swallowed hard, his eyes glossy with emotion.

He signed softly: Why would they go this far?

DBK spoke, voice low and tight. “Because they know they can’t defeat us in strength. So they’ll try to ruin us with perception.”

Wukong added, “They want you to doubt yourself. To make us doubt you. But that’s never going to happen.”

Mira cracked her knuckles.

“Then it’s war. PR war. Social war. Truth war.”

She looked between the three of them.

“You’re ready to fight back, right?”

Hanro stood a little taller. Then nodded.

Yes. Mira sat cross-legged on the penthouse floor, surrounded by open laptops, coffee cups, chargers, and one very judgmental cat GIF on loop.

She was in war mode.

The boys had cleared out of the lounge, giving her full control. Even DBK knew better than to stand in Mira’s way when her eyeliner was this sharp and her fury this focused.

She had one AirPod in and the other thrown across the floor.

“Okay,” she muttered to herself, typing at lightning speed. “If they want to start rumors…”

She opened Hanro’s locked portfolio.

Click.

Swipe.

Boom.

A gorgeous image of Hanro’s original capoeira-inspired fashion sketches — precise, passionate, vibrant.

“…then we give them receipts.”

⸻

Phase One: The Truth Drop

Mira crafted a post on her personal-but-popular media account:

📢 PSA: You’ve seen the lies. Now let me show you the receipts.
🧵 THREAD: Who Hanro Really Is (and Why You Should Sit Down)

Then came the photos:
• Hanro sketching from sunrise to sunset.
• Hanro training, bruised but focused.
• Hanro signing with staff, teaching Wukong how to say thank you.
• And most importantly: the original design concepts for the upcoming “Flame & Bloom” collaboration line — showing he was a lead contributor all along.

“Mute ≠ powerless.”
“Quiet ≠ uninformed.”
“Disabled ≠ disposable.”
“Hanro earned every inch of what he has.”
“And if you don’t like it… I know a good therapist.”

#HanroDeservesBetter
#HandsOffOurBoy
#FlameAndBloomRising

Within minutes… it went viral.

⸻

Phase Two: The Allies Activate

Mira didn’t wait.

She DM’d:
• Three respected disability rights activists.
• Two queer fashion bloggers with millions of followers.
• A whistleblower friend who had dirt on the publication that smeared Hanro.
• And one fiery drag queen who wielded cancelation threads like a divine sword.

All responded within ten minutes.

“OHHH they messed with the wrong flower.”
“Wait, I love Hanro’s aesthetic. Let’s GO.”
“Buckle up, I’m dropping a 30-point breakdown of media bias by noon.”

⸻

Phase Three: The Emotional Core

Mira finally turned to Hanro.

He’d been watching from the doorway, shoulders tense, unsure whether to feel grateful or horrified.

She stood and held out her phone.

“Your voice matters,” she said softly. “Even if it’s through my fingers.”

Hanro hesitated… then took it.

He typed.

“Thank you to everyone defending me. I didn’t ask for attention, just space to create. I’m not a puppet. I’m not a scandal. I’m just me. I’m still learning… but I won’t be ashamed of growing.”

Posted.

Retweeted within a minute by Wukong. Then DBK. Then a dozen major influencers. Then… the public tide began to turn.

⸻

By Nightfall:
• #HanroDeservesBetter was trending globally.
• The publication that posted the smear was flooded with backlash.
• Fans created art of Hanro with his corda and capoeira pose, labeling him “The Quiet Flame.”
• And Mira had five new sponsorship offers sitting in Hanro’s inbox.

She leaned back against the couch, exhausted but grinning.

“I told you,” she whispered, looking toward Hanro, now resting peacefully. “Nobody messes with my boy.”

Chapter Text

Azure Lion’s penthouse was bathed in golden light, the kind of rich glow that came only from imported chandeliers and victory whiskey.

He reclined on a velvet chaise, sipping lazily, eyes fixed on the holographic projector streaming the morning headlines.

“SCANDAL IN STONE & FIRE?”
“Silent Muse or Manipulator?”
“Hanro at the Center of Power Storm—”

Azure Lion smirked.

“Checkmate,” he whispered to himself. “The boy crumbles, the gods squabble, and the market turns its head toward me.”

He lifted his glass—then the screen flickered.
The headline changed.

⸻

BREAKING: PUBLIC BACKLASH TO SMEAR CAMPAIGN
‘Hanro Deserves Better’ Trends Worldwide
Gilded Panel Weekly Faces Scrutiny for Biased Coverage

⸻

The glass slipped from his paw. It shattered against the marble.

“What…?”

He scrolled, claws clicking furiously.
Posts, thousands of them. Photos of Hanro sketching. Videos of him signing with children at a charity event. Clips of his capoeira training. And threaded everywhere: Mira’s viral campaign.

“Mute ≠ powerless.”
“Quiet ≠ uninformed.”
“The Quiet Flame.”

The hashtags burned across his screen like wildfire.

#HanroDeservesBetter
#HandsOffOurBoy
#FlameAndBloomRising

⸻

Azure Lion rose to his feet, jaw clenched, tail lashing.

“How—who—” His thoughts sharpened like broken glass. “The flower girl.”

He remembered her vaguely. Mira. Too bold. Too sharp. Too insignificant to have caught his notice. And yet—she had carved a counter-offensive that not only stopped his Orchid Bloom Initiative but turned the public against him.

A thousand whispers should have broken Hanro. Instead, he now stood brighter, taller, with allies at his back.

And Azure Lion’s investment in scandal had just gone up in smoke.

⸻

A vulture agent crept into the room, head bowed. “My lord… the tide is shifting faster than expected. The smear is being labeled as classist. Ableist. Even your allies are distancing—”

“Silence.”

The word cracked like thunder. The vulture froze.

Azure Lion walked to the window, overlooking the glittering city. His reflection stared back at him—beautiful, dangerous, but for the first time in years, outmaneuvered.

His claws tightened against the glass.

“They want to play games?” His voice dropped to a low growl. “Then let them. The Orchid Bloom was but a petal. The true stem lies deeper.”

He turned, cloak swirling. “Prepare Phase Two. If whispers cannot cage him… we’ll break him with spectacle.”

****

Azure Lion sat alone at his desk, the fractured glass still glittering across the marble floor. His paw hovered over a chessboard carved from ivory and gold, pieces positioned mid-game.

His amber eyes narrowed.

“Hanro himself… too resilient. Too shielded by their affections. But those shields…” His claws tapped the bishop, sliding it across the board. “…they bleed.”

⸻

He conjured three images with a sweep of his paw—shimmering, spectral projections of the players in Hanro’s heart.
• Mira. Defiant, with her sharp pen and sharper tongue. Loyal to a fault. Already proving herself more dangerous than anticipated.
• The Six-Eared Macaque. Bruised, recovering, yet still a pillar Hanro clung to. One strike had nearly broken him, but not enough.
• DBK and Wukong. Too loud, too visible. To touch them was to declare war. But to fracture them from within…

Azure Lion let out a slow, deliberate exhale.

“It won’t be about silencing him anymore. It will be about tearing the fabric he hides behind. He must look around and find emptiness where once there was loyalty. Only then will he run to me.”

⸻

He plucked a black knight from the board and held it up to the light.

“The girl first. She thinks herself clever, a strategist. She’ll learn how fragile her world is when it collides with mine.” His lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “And the monkey… ah. I’ll let him heal. Then I’ll offer him everything he ever wanted—power, prestige, recognition. All he has to do is walk away from Hanro.”

⸻

The vulture agent returned, bowing low.

“My lord, shall we prepare more… force?”

Azure Lion shook his head, slowly. “No. Too messy. Too obvious.” He placed the knight back down and instead picked up the queen—gleaming, flawless.

“This is about hearts. And hearts break far quieter than bones.”

He leaned back in his chair, the city glittering behind him like a stage curtain.

“Begin discreet dossiers on Mira’s family and business ties. Find every weakness, every crack. And as for the Six-Eared Macaque…” A pause, his smile curving like a blade. “…prepare a messenger. He will soon receive an invitation—to a world he has only dreamed of.”

⸻

Azure Lion’s laughter echoed in the chamber, velvet and venom.

“Let us see how long Hanro stands when those he trusts most begin to falter.”

Chapter Text

The Six-Eared Macaque sat on the edge of his hospital bed, arm bound in a fresh cast, ribs aching whenever he drew too sharp a breath. The florescent lights hummed overhead, sterile, cold.

His thoughts kept circling back to Hanro—his student, his unexpected spark of purpose. Training him, seeing that stubborn determination, had reminded him of what it meant to matter. Yet now, lying here bruised and broken, he felt useless. Like dead weight.

A polite knock came at the door. A nurse slipped in, carrying a velvet envelope.

“Delivery for you, Mr. Macaque.”

He frowned. “Delivery?” He wasn’t expecting flowers or fruit baskets. Not his style, not his circle.

The nurse set the envelope down and left.

Macaque reached for it with his good hand. Black velvet. Golden wax seal, pressed into the shape of a roaring lion. His heart thumped.

He broke the seal.

⸻

To the Esteemed Six-Eared Macaque,

Your talents have not gone unnoticed. For too long you’ve been overlooked—your skills uncelebrated, your legacy overshadowed by another. You deserve more than obscurity in dusty dojos and broken bones.

I offer you a place at my side. Not as a pawn, but as an equal. I will fund your teachings, spread your art across nations, raise your name higher than even the Monkey King’s shadow. Imagine students across the world chanting your name, your style preserved in glory.

All I ask is your loyalty. Nothing more.

Should you wish to see what true power looks like, a car will wait outside your hospital tomorrow night. Step inside, and the future will open its doors to you.

— Azure Lion

⸻

Macaque stared at the letter, muscles tightening.

Overshadowed by Wukong. Forgotten, even by his own pride. How many years had he fought to prove himself? To step out of the shadow of the King who once called him “student”?

He crushed the letter in his fist—then smoothed it out again, staring at the golden ink.

“Damn you…” he whispered, voice raw. “Damn you for knowing exactly where to cut.”

His six ears twitched, listening to the silence of the hospital room. His heart thudded in his chest.

The offer was poison. He knew it. And yet—

He couldn’t stop imagining it.

Night crept slow over the city, pressing shadows against the hospital windows. The sterile beep of the heart monitor was the only sound in Macaque’s room. He sat upright, stitches pulling tight against his side, the velvet letter clutched in his good hand.

He had read it a dozen times. Maybe more.

Each word burned like a coal in his chest. Overlooked. Overshadowed. Forgotten.

Azure Lion had struck straight through his armor. Every hidden bitterness. Every frustration. Every truth he didn’t dare say aloud.

He thought of Wukong—golden, radiant, always shining brighter. He thought of Hanro—wide-eyed, trusting, looking at him like he mattered, like he wasn’t a washed-up relic in an empty dojo.

And then he thought of the offer. His art, global. His name carved into history. No more being second best.

His six ears twitched restlessly as he shoved the letter back into the drawer of his bedside table. Out of sight. Out of mind. Or so he told himself.

The hours dragged. His ribs ached. His pride ached worse.

Then—headlights.

He noticed them when the glow cut across the blinds. Bright, white beams slicing into his dim room. The low, luxurious hum of an engine purring just outside the hospital doors.

Macaque’s stomach dropped.

He shifted to the edge of his bed, wincing with each movement. Peering out the narrow slit of the blinds, he saw it: a long black car, sleek as a predator, waiting.

Right on time.

No one got out. No one knocked. The car just… waited. Like it already knew he would come.

He let the blinds snap shut. Turned. Pressed the heel of his good hand against his face.

“Don’t do it,” he muttered. His voice cracked under the strain of conviction. “Don’t you dare do it.”

His heart hammered against his bruised ribs. Every part of him screamed he should stay put, wait for Hanro, for Mira, for someone who cared.

But another voice whispered back, low and poisonous.
They’ll never respect you. Not as long as Wukong breathes. This is your chance. Take it.

The monitor beeped steadily, marking time.
The car waited, silent, patient, inevitable.

Macaque sat frozen, torn between the weight of loyalty and the ache of temptation—knowing whichever choice he made would change everything.

Macaque’s hand gripped the cold metal of the IV stand as he leaned on it, ribs screaming with every movement. He had pulled on his capoeira pants, tugged a hoodie over his battered frame, and was halfway to the hospital door.

The car idled outside. He could almost hear it calling to him. Promising. Tempting.

His hand pressed against the doorframe. One push, one step, and the rest would follow.

Then—

“Hanro?”

The soft sound stopped him cold.

He turned, ears twitching. And there was Hanro—framed in the hallway light, still in his simple hoodie and jeans, clutching a bag of takeout like it was a lifeline. His eyes went wide when he saw Macaque halfway dressed, the door cracked, the sharp glow of headlights cutting across the floor tiles.

Hanro’s hands moved before his voice ever could. Quick, urgent signing:

Where are you going?

Macaque froze. His throat worked. For once, he had no ready smirk, no cocky retort. Just silence and the ache of being caught in the act.

Hanro’s gaze flicked to the window, saw the sleek black car outside. His stomach dropped. He shook his head fiercely, stepping into the room. His hands flew again:

Don’t. Please don’t. That’s not you. That’s not who you are.

Macaque looked away, jaw tight, his six ears lowering. “You don’t get it, kid,” he rasped. “You don’t know what it’s like… to be nothing in the shadow of someone like him.”

Hanro’s reply was trembling but firm, his hands sharp in the low light:

I know what it’s like to feel small. To feel like no one sees you. But I see you. You matter. To me. To them. To all of us.

The words struck harder than any blow in capoeira.

Macaque’s chest tightened, his breath catching. He felt the sting of shame, but also—relief. Hanro’s presence cut through the poisonous whispers like sunlight through fog.

The car outside revved softly, impatient, like a predator shifting its weight.

Hanro stepped closer, gently taking Macaque’s wrist. His touch was steady, grounding. He looked up into the six golden eyes and signed one last plea:

Stay. With me.

Macaque closed his eyes, exhaling a shaky laugh that sounded almost like a sob. He let the IV stand clatter to the floor, turning away from the door.

Outside, the car idled a few moments longer before sliding away into the night, headlights fading.

Hanro helped Macaque back into bed, setting the takeout bag on the table. For the first time in hours, Macaque let himself lean on someone.

The faint hum of the city had faded now that the car was gone, leaving the hospital room wrapped in silence. Only the beeping monitor and the rustle of sheets filled the air.

Hanro sat on the edge of the bed, unpacking the takeout with deliberate care—anything to keep his hands from shaking after what almost happened. He pushed the little carton toward Macaque.

Macaque stared at it, then at Hanro. His bruised face softened in a way few ever saw. “…You really came just in time.”

Hanro signed, steady and certain: Of course I did.

Macaque chuckled hoarsely, leaning back against the pillows. “I thought I was stronger than this. All that training, all that talk about discipline—and one wolf in a fancy car nearly had me stepping right into his jaws.”

Hanro shook his head firmly. His hands spoke fast, sharp: You are strong. But strength isn’t about never stumbling. It’s about letting someone catch you before you fall.

Macaque blinked at that, ears twitching. His chest ached—not just from broken ribs. “Kid… you say things like that and you make it real hard for me to keep walls up.”

Hanro flushed at the words, but didn’t look away. Instead, he signed slowly, almost shyly: Then don’t.

The Six-Eared Macaque laughed, but this time it was softer, weary, touched with something he rarely showed—trust. He reached out with one battered hand, covering Hanro’s. His thumb brushed across the boy’s knuckles.

“…I’ve lived a long time in the shadow of someone louder, brighter, more legendary. Always the side character in someone else’s tale. But you—you look at me like I’m not just his echo.”

Hanro’s throat tightened. His hands shaped the truth: Because you’re not.

Their eyes held in the dim glow of the hospital lamp. The tension wasn’t the heavy pull of seduction like Azure Lion’s games, nor the heady fire of DBK and Wukong’s passion. It was quieter. Fragile. Real.

Macaque finally looked away first, shaking his head with a half-smile. “You’re dangerous, kid. Not ‘cause of power or politics… but ‘cause you make me believe again.”

Hanro only smiled, lifting the chopsticks and nudging the food toward him. Eat. You’ll need your strength. I’m not letting you slip away that easy.

Macaque obeyed, the silence between them now gentler—no longer empty, but shared.

Macaque ate in silence, though every motion looked painful. Hanro stayed close, making sure the water was within reach, steadying the tray whenever his hand shook too hard.

Finally, Macaque set the chopsticks down with a long exhale. His gaze drifted to the boy beside him, then to the fading bruises across his own arms.

“…Y’know, when I first agreed to train you, I thought you’d be another starry-eyed student I’d toss around for a week before you gave up. But you didn’t. You kept showing up. Sweating. Hurting. Falling flat on your ass and then standing again.”

Hanro signed, grinning faintly: Because I had someone worth learning from.

That made Macaque bark a laugh, wincing halfway through. “Flatterer.” His voice softened. “No one’s said that to me in a long time. Not without strings.”

Hanro tilted his head. No strings. Just truth.

Macaque stared at him for a long moment, then ruffled his hair with his good hand. The gesture was uncharacteristically tender, almost clumsy. “You really are something, kid. Reminds me of what I used to fight for—before the world turned messy.”

Hanro blinked, surprised, but leaned into the touch like a younger brother who didn’t know he needed it until now.

Macaque’s tone shifted lower, more serious. “Listen to me. Azure Lion’s going to keep circling you. He sees you as a prize. But you’re more than that. Don’t let him twist you into his game. If he comes after me, or Mira, or anyone else close to you—don’t carry that weight alone.”

Hanro’s reply was firm, quick with his hands: You’re not alone anymore. Neither am I.

For a moment, silence filled the room. Then Macaque smirked, shaking his head. “Damn it, kid. You just promoted yourself from student to little brother. Congratulations. You’re stuck with me now.”

Hanro’s laugh was silent but bright, his shoulders shaking as he nodded.

They sat like that for a while—teacher and student, but something more now. Not lovers, not just allies. Family carved from choice, forged in bruises and trust.

And for the first time since the ambush, Macaque let himself drift toward sleep, secure in the knowledge that Hanro was watching the door.

Chapter Text

The days passed in measured beats, like the rhythm of a berimbau string.

Macaque, still bandaged but stubborn as ever, refused to let his injuries halt Hanro’s progress. “Pain doesn’t mean stop,” he grumbled, leading him out into the dojo courtyard once his ribs allowed him to stand upright again. “Pain means adapt. Learn how to move around it.”

Hanro’s eyes were wide as ever, nodding quickly, signing: I’ll do my best.

“Your best, huh?” Macaque smirked, his six ears flicking as though catching every sound of doubt around them. “Your best isn’t enough. Not yet. But it will be.”

The training grew sharper, more demanding. Hanro’s body ached, sweat streaking down his back as he learned to balance his movements—kicks flowing into spins, dodges melting into graceful, deceptive arcs. Macaque barked corrections, his voice hoarse but steady.

“Loosen your hips—capoeira’s a conversation, not a brawl! Feel the rhythm in your spine!”

Hanro tried again, turning clumsy power into something that almost looked like dance. His tail flicked for balance, his feet kissed the floor in smoother arcs, until his movements began to find a strange harmony.

When he stumbled, Macaque caught him by the wrist, steadying him before he fell. “There. That’s the start of it. The flow. Don’t fight it—ride it.”

Hanro signed quickly, sweat dripping down his jaw: Feels like music.

Macaque grinned. “Exactly. Now you’re getting it.”

The lessons stretched late, often ending with them collapsed on the mats, side by side. Sometimes Macaque told stories—about Wukong as a younger, cockier fighter; about his own missteps; about battles fought and mistakes paid for.

Hanro listened, signing questions, his curiosity endless. Each answer carved the bond deeper, shaping Macaque from mere teacher into something steadier: a brother who had walked through shadows and was determined to help him avoid the same mistakes.

One evening, as the sun dipped low and painted the dojo gold, Macaque tossed Hanro a cloth to wipe his sweat. His voice softened.

“You’re stronger than you think, kid. Not because of your fists. Because you give a damn. That’s rarer than diamonds in this city.”

Hanro froze at the words, chest tightening, before signing slowly, I’ll make you proud.

“You already have.”

Macaque’s answer carried no hesitation.

And for once, Hanro believed it.

The apartment felt different now. Fuller.

Mira had claimed the couch with her laptop and a mug of steaming tea, scrolling through headlines, her quick fingers defending Hanro’s name in every thread and forum where Azure’s whispers still lingered.

Wukong was perched at the counter, bare feet tapping a rapid rhythm while he peeled fruit with uncanny speed, tossing slices into a bowl. He looked almost boyish out of his armor of bravado, humming under his breath, occasionally flicking a grape at Hanro just to see him flinch and scowl.

DBK—massive, immovable, but oddly domestic—occupied the stove, his apron straining against his chest as he stirred a pot with surprising gentleness. The smell of rich spices filled the air, clinging to the walls, making Hanro’s stomach growl even as he helped set the table.

And Macaque, still healing but stubborn as ever, sat in a chair with his ribs wrapped, tail flicking lazily as he watched the chaos with an expression halfway between amusement and disbelief.

It was noisy. Messy. Alive.

Hanro paused in the middle of it all, his hands resting on the edge of the table, just taking it in. For someone who had grown used to solitude, to drifting unseen at work and returning to silence at home, the warmth pressed into his chest so strongly it almost hurt.

Mira noticed first. She nudged his side with her foot, teasing. “Don’t look so sappy. You’ll ruin your mysterious mute aura.”

Hanro shot her a look and signed Shut up, which only made her laugh harder.

“Kid looks happy,” Macaque muttered, more to himself than anyone else. His six ears twitched, catching Wukong’s low chuckle.

“Course he does,” Wukong said, balancing the fruit bowl on his head just to show off. “He’s stuck with the best company in the city.”

“Second best,” DBK corrected smoothly, his deep voice rolling like thunder. “The company he keeps at the table is the best.”

Wukong rolled his eyes, but Hanro caught the tiny smile tugging at his lips.

Dinner came together—laughter between bites, Mira challenging Wukong to a game of riddles, DBK slipping extra food onto Hanro’s plate as though he hadn’t noticed, Macaque making dry comments from his chair that earned groans and chuckles alike.

By the time the plates were cleared, Hanro’s chest ached again—but not with loneliness. With the terrifying, wonderful weight of belonging.

He signed slowly, carefully, so they all could see: I’ve never had this before. Thank you.

The table quieted.

Macaque grinned softly, reaching over to ruffle his hair. Wukong looped an arm around him without hesitation. DBK clapped a hand—gently—on his shoulder. Mira leaned over and whispered, “Told you, sap.”

And for the first time in a long while, Hanro believed he had a family. The week settled into something almost ordinary—ordinary for them, at least.

Morning chaos:
DBK brewed strong coffee in a pot big enough to drown in, filling mugs before anyone else had stirred. Wukong inevitably stumbled out of bed late, mane of fur wild, tail dragging, complaining until Mira shoved toast in his mouth. Hanro was always awake first, quietly setting the table with practiced precision, like he belonged in the rhythm of it already.

Training afternoons:
Macaque returned to the dojo, ribs still sore but fire in his eyes. Hanro followed each instruction with relentless focus, his movements sharper, more fluid. Sometimes Mira dropped by, pretending she only came to watch—but she clapped the loudest when Hanro finally nailed a flowing spin-kick combination.
“You’re getting scary,” she teased. Hanro only smiled and signed: That’s the point.

Evenings:
They piled onto couches, mismatched blankets thrown over shoulders. Wukong insisted on ridiculous movies—comedies, action flicks so cheesy DBK groaned aloud—but Hanro laughed silently until his chest hurt, clutching a pillow while Mira shouted at the screen. Macaque rarely joined in, but when he did, his quiet smirk spoke volumes.

Small things, too:
• DBK teaching Hanro how to tie a proper silk cravat for the next gala, his thick fingers surprisingly deft.
• Wukong sneaking sticky peach buns into Hanro’s bag “for emergencies” and pretending he hadn’t.
• Mira snapping candid photos of them all, threatening to make a scrapbook titled Domestic Chaos: A Tragedy.
• Macaque dropping bracelets on Hanro’s wrist one night, new beads added for each milestone in training, saying only: “Progress deserves proof.”

Through it all, Hanro’s chest carried the same weight he couldn’t shake—warmth that scared him because he knew how fragile it could be. But he clung to it anyway.