Chapter Text
The chess piece was warm in Jihoon’s hand.
He tapped it against the board, staring at his opponent—a smug high schooler with more arrogance than skill. One move left. Jihoon already saw the win three turns ago. This was just theatrics now.
“Checkmate,” he said coolly, sliding the bishop into place.
Gasps and scattered claps filled the rooftop where the tournament finals were being held. Jihoon ignored them. He gathered his pieces methodically, every action neat, silent, precise.
Down below, in the schoolyard, something cracked.
Jihoon glanced over the railing.
Three boys were circling a smaller one—Minjun, a first-year who always carried two books and walked like he was trying not to take up space. The new transfer student shoved him hard into the fence.
Jihoon narrowed his eyes.
The transfer kid’s skin flickered, just for a second. Like scales underneath. His eyes glowed yellow in the afternoon sun.
Jihoon set the bishop down.
He didn’t run. He didn’t yell. He walked—quiet and fast—down the stairwell, backpack over one shoulder. He stopped in the hallway just long enough to grab a metal pole from the janitor’s closet. Not heroic. Just efficient.
In the courtyard, Minjun was on the ground. The transfer kid crouched low over him, hissing something that didn’t sound human.
Jihoon’s voice cut through. “Back off.”
The creature turned. Its face twisted—elongating, feathers sprouting from its arms. Not a kid. Not anymore. A harpy.
Students screamed. Some ran. Most froze.
The harpy lunged.
Jihoon didn’t fight it head-on. He ducked, smashed the fire alarm, and took off running—up, not out. He led the harpy back to the rooftop, heart pounding but steady.
He was already thinking.
He yanked loose wires from a busted security light, tied them between the flagpole and the roof railing. When the harpy burst through the stairwell door, shrieking, Jihoon rolled beneath it and triggered the trap.
The creature snagged the wire mid-air—wings tangled, screeching.
Jihoon raised the pole and stabbed upward, fast and hard. The harpy shrieked once more, then burst into golden dust.
Silence.
A light breeze swept across the rooftop.
Then, above Jihoon’s head, a silver glow. An owl—clear, precise, divine—flared in the sky. He didn’t need anyone to tell him what it meant.
Athena had claimed him.
Jihoon stared at the fading symbol.
Then he collapsed.
Detention again.
Soonyoung rolled the mop across the gym floor with one hand, the other tucked in the pocket of his hoodie. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, a low hum that matched the headache behind his eyes. It was quiet—too quiet. He hated quiet.
“Clean the scuff marks,” his PE teacher had barked before leaving. “And no shadowboxing this time, Kwon.”
Soonyoung didn’t respond. He never did. Not to teachers who punished him for defending someone.
Earlier that day, he’d punched a classmate square in the jaw for cornering a first-year in the hallway. The teacher didn’t care about the reason—just the bruise.
So now he was here. Alone.
Except… he wasn’t.
Behind him, a shuffle. Then a low, strange growl.
Soonyoung froze, turning slowly.
The kid he’d hit—Dongyeol—stood in the doorway. But his face was wrong. Off. Like it had been stretched. His teeth were too long. His eyes glowed yellow.
“You hit hard for a human,” Dongyeol said, voice layered like it belonged to three people.
Soonyoung tightened his grip on the mop. “You’re not a student.”
The creature smiled. “No. I’m a hunter.”
Then his body twisted. Fur exploded from his arms. A scorpion tail lashed from his back. Claws gleamed under the gym lights.
A manticore.
Soonyoung didn’t think. He moved.
He snapped the mop in half over his knee, using the wooden ends like batons. The manticore lunged, and Soonyoung ducked low, slamming a strike into its ribs. It barely flinched.
The thing swung its tail. It scraped Soonyoung’s shoulder, tearing fabric, drawing blood. He gritted his teeth, spun, and kicked the creature straight in the face.
He hit the wall. Hard. His side ached. Vision blurred.
But something burned under his skin. Not just adrenaline. Something older. Something louder.
He roared and charged again—faster, harder, fists like iron.
He fought like his life meant something.
Like it belonged to something.
The manticore stumbled.
Soonyoung grabbed a loose piece of pipe and drove it into the creature’s chest with a shout so fierce it shook the bleachers.
The monster shrieked—and disintegrated into gold dust.
Silence returned.
Soonyoung staggered, breathing hard. His clothes torn. His knuckles bleeding.
And then—light.
Above his head, fire blazed in the shape of a red spear, crossed with a flaming sword. The symbol of Ares.
It hovered, pulsing, powerful.
Soonyoung stared up, chest heaving.
And grinned.
“About time you showed up, old man.”
The camp didn’t look like much from the hill.
A dusty path, a wooden sign that read “Camp Half-Blood”, and a scattering of cabins arranged like someone cared more about aesthetics than defense. Jihoon stood at the edge of the border, the magical shimmer of protection brushing over his skin like static. He felt it the moment he crossed—warmth, safety, something deep in his bones settling into place.
He didn’t like it.
“Welcome to camp!” chirped Baekho, the satyr who’d escorted him from Busan with zero sense of personal space and way too much enthusiasm. “Isn’t it great? You’re gonna love it. No monsters in here. Most days.”
Jihoon kept walking. “Your definition of ‘great’ concerns me.”
Campers stopped to glance at him as he passed. A few looked impressed. Some curious. One kid whispered, “That’s the one who took down a harpy with a flagpole.”
He ignored them.
He counted watch towers. Noted line-of-sight gaps between cabins. Tracked weapon distribution among sparring campers. There were weaknesses everywhere. He didn’t say it, but he was thinking it.
If a full-scale attack came right now, this place wouldn’t last five minutes.
They passed the forge, the training arena, the mess hall. Jihoon barely glanced at them. He had one goal: find the Athena cabin. The only one that might make sense.
It was stone. Symmetrical. Clean lines. Columns at the front. The owl emblem carved into the lintel above the door made something inside his chest twist—not pain, not warmth. Something in between.
Baekho said something about rules and schedules and free periods.
Jihoon was already walking away.
Inside the cabin, it was quiet. Organized. Bookshelves lined the walls. Maps were pinned neatly above the bunks. The others inside paused, sizing him up. No greetings. No questions.
A girl nodded toward the bunk near the back. “Yours.”
Jihoon set his bag down. Opened his journal. Pulled a pencil from behind his ear.
And started sketching a new camp layout. More efficient. More secure. Less… exposed.
A boy from his cabin walked over, curious. “What are you working on?”
Jihoon didn’t look up. “Sniper positions. Weak points in the perimeter. Emergency evacuation routes.”
The kid blinked. “You’ve been here for five minutes.”
Jihoon finally looked up. “And I’m already bored.”
Later that night, he sat on the front steps of the cabin, arms crossed over his knees, watching the stars come out.
His fingers tightened around the sketchbook.
And quietly, like a secret he didn’t want to admit, he whispered,
“Why now, Mom?”
There were two ways most demigods arrived at Camp Half-Blood:
1. Half-dead, after a monster chase.
2. Carried in, unconscious.
Kwon Soonyoung showed up riding a hellhound.
The entire camp paused mid-lunch as a massive black beast trotted casually through the entrance, tail swaying like it wasn’t a living nightmare. On its back sat Soonyoung—shirt torn, one shoe missing, face streaked with dirt and blood. And grinning like he’d just won the lottery.
“What the hell—” someone from Hermes cabin gasped.
“Is that a hellhound?” another yelled.
Chiron galloped out of the Big House like he expected an invasion. His bow was already drawn.
Soonyoung waved cheerfully. “Hi! Don’t shoot! She’s friendly!”
The hellhound let out a low growl. Definitely not friendly.
“She tried to eat me,” Soonyoung clarified, hopping off. “So I bit her first. We worked it out.”
Camp stared.
Soonyoung glanced around. “This is Camp Half-Blood, right? I’m here for the whole ‘your dad’s not human’ situation?”
Chiron blinked. “…Yes.”
“Cool.” He looked around. “Where do I get a sword?”
⸻
Later That Night – Dining Pavilion
Soonyoung sat cross-legged on the Ares bench, stuffing his face with grilled chicken like he hadn’t eaten in days (he hadn’t). Campers still watched him out of the corner of their eyes.
Someone leaned over and whispered, “Did he really tame a hellhound?”
“I heard he wrestled a manticore in his gym.”
“I heard he punched a satyr by accident, apologized, and then did it again.”
Soonyoung just grinned. “You guys have the weirdest rumors. But I like the attention.”
A boy from Hephaestus cabin nudged him. “You’re nuts.”
“I get that a lot.”
He looked around, eyes scanning for anything remotely interesting—until he spotted the Athena table. And more specifically, one person sitting alone, hunched over a sketchbook, eyes sharp as a blade.
Jihoon.
Soonyoung whistled low. “Who’s that?”
“Jihoon. Athena kid. Genius-level intellect. Social skills of a brick wall.”
Soonyoung stared. “Pretty brick wall.”
The kid blinked. “He’ll murder you.”
Soonyoung smirked. “He can try.”
He stood up and walked straight to Jihoon’s table, planting himself on the bench across from him.
Jihoon didn’t look up. “Wrong table.”
Soonyoung shrugged. “Yours had better lighting.”
Jihoon kept drawing.
Soonyoung leaned in a little. “You always read at parties?”
“This isn’t a party. It’s dinner.”
“Then you’re doing dinner wrong.”
That got a flicker of an eye-roll. A twitch of the lips.
Soonyoung leaned back, victorious.
Jihoon hated the Ares cabin. Not just because it smelled like sweat, steel, and ego, but because every time he set foot near it, he was there.
Soonyoung.
Reckless. Loud. Smirking like he knew exactly how to get under Jihoon’s skin—and enjoying every second of it.
“Don’t look so tense,” Soonyoung called out from the sparring ring, spinning his sword with infuriating ease. “Athena kids are supposed to be calm and collected, right?”
Jihoon rolled his eyes but stepped into the ring anyway. “Ares kids are supposed to be disciplined, not dumbasses.”
The crowd around them “ooooh”-ed like middle schoolers watching a fight break out during lunch.
Soonyoung’s grin widened. “Good. I like it when you talk back.”
They circled each other, weapons raised—Jihoon with his twin daggers, Soonyoung with his broadsword. The contrast between them was stark: Jihoon was precision, calculation, restraint. Soonyoung was chaos wrapped in muscle.
“You going to stand there all day doing math, or are you going to fight me?” Soonyoung taunted.
Jihoon struck first, feinting left then cutting right—quick, strategic. Soonyoung barely blocked in time, eyes gleaming with thrill, not fear.
They traded blows, the clash of metal echoing across the camp. Jihoon moved like a chess master, each step intentional. Soonyoung fought like a wildfire—wild but instinctively correct.
Ten minutes in, Jihoon’s blade stopped an inch from Soonyoung’s throat. Breathing hard. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off him.
Soonyoung’s lips curved. “Still think I’m a dumbass?”
Jihoon didn’t move his blade. “Undecided.”
Soonyoung leaned in. “Wanna keep testing the theory?”
There was tension—static and charged—but Jihoon stepped back. “We’re done.”
But they weren’t. Not really. Not even close.
⸻
Later that night, Jihoon sat at the lake, sketching battle formations in the dirt. His brain refused to quiet down, thoughts tangled in Soonyoung’s laugh, the way he fought like it meant everything and nothing at once.
“You draw war plans for fun?” Soonyoung’s voice broke the silence.
Jihoon didn’t look up. “Some of us prepare.”
Soonyoung plopped down beside him. “Some of us live.”
Jihoon shot him a look. “And die.”
Soonyoung shrugged. “Then I die swinging.”
“You’re an idiot,” Jihoon said, but his voice was softer than before.
They sat in silence for a beat.
“I saw the way you fought today,” Soonyoung said. “You don’t just calculate. You feel it. You’re not as cold as you pretend to be.”
Jihoon hesitated. “Feelings get people killed.”
Soonyoung looked at him. Really looked. “Maybe. Or maybe they keep you fighting.”
Jihoon’s hands stilled in the dirt. “Why are you here, Soonyoung?”
“Because every time I fight you, I don’t want to stop. And I don’t think it’s just about the fight anymore.”
Jihoon turned to him, heart kicking in his chest like it was trying to break free.
He didn’t answer. But he didn’t look away either.
⸻
A week later, they were assigned to the same team for capture the flag. Athena and Ares working together. Campers placed bets on how fast they’d implode.
They didn’t.
Instead, they made the perfect team.
Jihoon planned the ambushes. Soonyoung executed them like art.
When the horn blew and their flag waved in the night sky, they stood side by side—muddy, bruised, and victorious.
Jihoon looked at Soonyoung, and this time, he didn’t overthink it. Didn’t analyze it to death.
He grabbed him by the collar and kissed him—quick and sharp like a sword strike.
Soonyoung grinned against his mouth. “Took you long enough.”