Jimin is proud to call himself a Busan boy. Growing up in a family of farmers, he knows the ins and outs of planting and harvesting crops— as well as cooking for his family restaurant.

At first it was boring with nothing to do but farm and study and farm and study and farm— Jimin thought it was an endless loop but when he reached his teenage years, he learned to enjoy it.

Jimin's favorite job of the day is baking. His family restaurant's specialty is rice cakes. The whole village would flock there every day for the sweets. He himself enjoyed the feeling of the soft dough against his palms.

To Jimin, everything was perfect. So when he heard from his parents that they were moving out of their comfortable little province of Busan to the Korea's capital, he felt more worry than excitement. What about the family business? His grandparents? Were they going to leave everything behind?

Jimin's parents explained that there were more opportunities in the city, that staying in Busan meant doing the same thing over and over again. He was surprised that they were willing to drop everything just for this chance.

That didn't matter to Jimin. He enjoyed making rice cakes and selling them to his neighbors every day. He enjoyed dancing around with his friends after class and tilling the soil with his parents.

Jimin is both mad and disappointed but he does his best to understand. He's leaving everything behind for them to start anew but he heard of terrifying stories of Seoul from his friends. Large buildings and huge cars, thick layers of ashen smoke and nasty thieves— it was all so different, so scary.

"We're going to miss you, Jimin!," One of his classmates weeps. "You better come back!"

"I promise!," Jimin calls out and tosses one of the boxes into the car. "I'll definitely come back!"

His parents glance at him. Jimin knows there's a slight venom in his words and he feels sorry for not being able to control his tone.

Jimin cries as all his friends and neighbors wave at him as they leave. He stares out the window through the majority of the ride and watches the thicket of trees fade into empty fields.

"Sweetie," His mom calls out from the passenger seat. "Are you feeling okay?"

Jimin wonders why his mother would ask something like that. Then he figures that his silence is unusual for his parents.

"Yeah, mom," Jimin sighs and leans on the window. "It's just— I'll really miss home... and everyone there."

There's a short silence that gives Jimin some time to think. He looks down at the printed photo on his lap, which is filled with his friends and classmates' signatures.

"I know the move was short notice," His dad says quietly from the driver seat. "But don't worry, we'll do fine. A big city won't stop us Parks."

"We can put up a bakery!," His mom exclaims. "That way you can keep making those delicious rice cakes you love so much."

Jimin smiles at his parents' suggestions. "Yeah, that would be nice."

The silence dies out and Jimin spends the rest of the trip chatting with his parents. Suddenly there are plans of putting up Park Bakery and images of Jimin biking around Seoul to deliver and advertise their parties.

Jimin doesn't even notice that they've reached Seoul until he hears the sound of revving engines. He plants his hands on the window and watches in wonder as they pass tall buildings and flocks of people in business suits.

"There are so many people!," Jimin exclaims.

His mother chuckles. Jimin continues to watch the people outside until he notices that the tall skyscrapers and apartment buildings were gone. They enter a gate and suddenly all he sees are houses.

Jimin frowns at how everything looks so... fake. The trees are lush and green, too green to be real. On the ground, grass is cut neatly so that it wouldn't touch ankles. Playgrounds they pass are empty and silent.

It's a stark contrast to lively Busan. Jimin remembers the school playground and reminisces tag games with his classmates. He sighs, suddenly feeling sad again.

Jimin looks up when he sees a house that stands out from the rest, a huge mansion with what he thought was hectares of garden land surrounding it. He stares at the golden gate and sees a mermaid fountain from inside.

"That's not our house, if you're wondering," His dad jokes.

"Figured," Jimin replies with his eyes still glued to the mansion.

Houses become more clustered as they continue and Jimin notices that they're now in the more rural part of Seoul. The way the buildings stick together still bothers him. Roads are narrow and tight. There's not a single soul outside.

But the buildings are no longer tall skyscrapers, instead they're short apartment buildings and various shops. Jimin blinks when their car stops in front of one of the corner lot houses.

"Welcome home!," His father announces.

Jimin sees his mother glance at him before she speaks. "Dear, I thought you got us an apartment?"

"This was way cheaper," His father announces as he exits the car. "Bottom floor used to be a shop too!"

His mother sighs and Jimin follows her out the car. He stares up at the little shop and eyes the attic window above. There's an old signboard hanging overhead, its screws squeaking along with wind.

Jimin glances around. Compared to the other buildings, this one looks abandoned. There aren't any houses next to it either, instead there are just barren squares of dried grass and soil. The nearest house is ten blocks away.

"Dad," Jimin steps on a dried leaf. "I think you were ripped off again."

"Nonsense!," His dad cheers. "This was a cheap opportunity, a blessing from the gods!"

Jimin shrugs and slings his backpack over his shoulder. He hears his mother sigh again.

"That's the same thing you said after you were sold those sickly cows," She says.

His father doesn't reply and Jimin figures it's because he has nothing to say against it. He walks forward and suddenly sneezes loudly.

Jimin looks up at the door. Its upper half is made of glass and coated with dust. There's faded lettering on it that he could barely read and a logo that resembled a cupcake with wings.

So this place used to be a bakery, seems ominous, Jimin thinks. He pushes the door curiously and jumps when it falls to ground. The glass shatters next to his feet.

A short silence passes before his mother squeals. "Jimin, are you alright?!"

"Yes, mom," Jimin stares at the glass shards on the ground. "I'm alright."

Both Jimin and his mother glance at his father. He's staring at the shattered door as well. Then he looks up and puts on a big grin.

"There's nothing a little hard work can't fix!," He announces.

Jimin doubts that but doesn't retort. He steps over the glass shards and sneezes loudly again. As he fumbles for the light switch, he sniffles and pauses when something makes a squelch under his shoe.

It's nothing, probably some gum, Jimin thinks to himself. He raises his foot and frowns at the mossy color on his sole. It sticks to the floor stubbornly and makes a snap when it finally releases his shoe.

Jimin finally finds the light switch and flips it on. The sight before him nearly makes him puke. Chairs missing a few legs are scattered around, along with splinters of wood and chunks of crumpled paper. Molds cover the tables and countertop.

Just up ahead is the kitchen. Jimin hears his mother complain to his father before he explores. He pinches his nose and finds that there are no appliances in the kitchen but a lone blender with some dark mush inside.

"Whoever used to live here took everything before they left," Jimin frowns at the smell. "There isn't even an oven."

"Still think this was a cheap opportunity?"

"There's nothing a bit of hard work can't fix!," His father repeats.

Jimin laughs at his father's endless enthusiasm and hears his mother sigh audibly. He walks out of the smelly kitchen and spots a hallway to the right. At the very end is bright pink door.

There's an attic, right. Jimin glances at his parents and sees them bickering. He quietly walks into the hallway and notices that are still framed photos of the previous owners hung around. A family of three, just like them, except they had a daughter instead of a son.

Jimin wonders what happened to that family and why they left the house so abruptly. He walks up the spiral stairs and feels the dust on the railings. There are two doors at the top that are across from each other.

One of the doors has a name tag in pink letters— Mari. Jimin figures that it's the daughter's name and the room across this one is the master bedroom. He twists the doorknob raises a brow at it being unlocked.

Jimin comes in slowly and half-expects someone to be waiting for him inside. Instead he sees an empty room with all the daughter's belonging in tact. The whole bedroom screams pink, pink, pink! and there are even small plushies on the bed.

"God, and I hate pink," Jimin sighs and drops his bag to the floor. He sprawls on the bed and raises his hands to his face.

Jimin stares at the ceiling and notices the glow in the dark stars taped above. He remembers showing off his own set back in Busan after his mother gifted it to him for his tenth birthday.

The window is dusty. Jimin sneezes again as he gets up to open it. A wave of fresh air hits him but he feels his nose itch.

"City air," Jimin grumbles and holds in a sneeze.

Jimin considers developing rhinitis and prays that he doesn't. He steps out into the balcony and gasps in wonder at the beautiful view. It almost feels like he's on top of the world with the way he can see all the buildings around them.

It reminds Jimin of his tree climbing habit back in Busan. He frowns when he realizes that there are few to no trees in the area. No wonder the air here was so stuffy.

Jimin sits on the balcony swing. He listens to noisy streets of Seoul and fishes his phone out of his pocket. Only then does he see the numerous text messages from his classmates and friends.

Good luck in the city! Come home soon! Bring me some good clothes, okay?! Jimin laughs at the playful messages and tears up when he sees their sorrowful faces in his head.

Jimin uses his weight to move the swing and hears the metal hinges squeak in protest. The balcony door behind him opens and there are familiar light footsteps.

"Your father, really," His mother sighs and sits next to Jimin on the swing. "Sometimes I don't understand what he's thinking. This house is a mess."

"Could be worse," Jimin mutters with a smile.

His mother stares at Jimin for a while. She glances down at the phone in his hand. "Jimin... your father and I really miss Busan too."

"Then why go here?," Jimin asks and shoves his phone into his pocket. "We lived perfectly good lives in Busan and now it's all just— gone."

"Nothing's every really gone, sweetie," His mother speaks gently and taps his knee. "Your memories of Busan will stay with you forever."

Jimin doesn't say anything to that. He fiddles with his fingers. "I wish she could see this view too, mom."

Her face flashes in Jimin's mind and he winces at the memory of her weeping. He remembers not seeing her name amongst the text messages he received.

His mother leans away. There's a slight tension in the air. "How about we go fix the place up, hm? Got lots of boxes to unpack and the other truck isn't even here yet."

Jimin smiles. He stands up and stretches his arms. "Alright, let's do it!"

A few hours pass with the three of them cleaning and unpacking. Jimin finds it hard to believe that there can be so much dust gathered in one place, not to mention how huge the rats were. His father screamed more than once.

Jimin goes back to his room after ensuring that the bottom floor is tidy. He scratches at the walls and is revealed to find out that the pink is actually wallpaper and not paint. So he tears it off to its corners to reveal its original brown wood.

Since there are still leftover plaster from the pink wallpaper, Jimin decides to cover it up with posters once the moving truck arrives. He stares at the floral cabinets and tilts his head.

Jimin gives the room a quick vacuuming and gasps when he gets an idea. "Mom! Did we bring some of Dad's paint?!"

"They're in the truck!," She calls out.

As soon as Jimin takes out the buckets of paint, he snatches some brushes from the truck. He ties a bandana around his forehead and clasps his hands together.

"Alright, Painter Jimin," Jimin dips a brush into the blue paint and swings it upwards. "It's time!"

Jimin pauses when he sees some blue paint splatter on some furniture. He sighs and sets the brush back into the bucket.

After placing newspapers on the floor, Jimin gets to work. He paints the cabinet carefully and even goes as far as to add little details like flying birds. When he finishes, he smiles at the finished product— a perfect shade of cyan.

Jimin does the same to most of the other furniture until there are no remnant of pink left. He pants as he walks down the stairs with empty paint buckets but pauses at the last step.

Both of Jimin's parents are sprawled on the floor. They're both panting and there are dirty towels and mops around them. The kitchen is spotless with no molds or dust present.

"Uhm," Jimin licks his lips awkwardly. "Are you two... okay?"

"We're fine, sweetie," His mother smiles and barely raises her head. "Just tired."

"Water," His dad stretches out his hand at Jimin dramatically. "Need... water."

Jimin laughs and shakes his head. "We clean like this back at home too."

"This time is different," His father wheezes. "So much dust, so much gum..."

"I can help out," Jimin offers and steps over their bodies. "Just finished with my room."

"You're so hardworking, Jimin," His mother says proudly. "But your father and I can handle this... after a few minutes."

Jimin laughs again as he steps through the shattered glass door. He walks towards the truck and places the empty paint buckets inside. Next to it is a box with Jimin's stuff scribbled on it with black marker ink.

After Jimin jumps into the truck with ease, he picks up his box and walks back into the house. His mother is wiping the tables but his father is still on the ground.

Jimin hands his dying father a glass of water before he goes back up to his room. He plops the box on the bed and frowns at the pink sheets.

"Mental note, get new sheets," Jimin mumbles and opens up the box.

There's a lot of stuff and Jimin doesn't even remember packing most of them. He takes out some plushies and framed photos. One of them is of her from ten years ago.

Jimin silently places the picture face down on the bed. He gathers a few tiny knick knacks that are mostly souvenirs from his friends and walks towards the drawer. Just when he's about to pour his stuff into the cabinet, he sees something inside.

It's a small pentagon shaped box shaded with a mixture of black and dark red. Jimin recognizes it as a jewelry box but finds the foreign text on it strange.

"This doesn't look like any language I know," Jimin mutters and takes out the box.

He drops the knick knacks into the cabinet and stares at the box. It's dusty. Jimin blows on it and immediately sneezes afterwards.

"Dang allergies," Jimin hisses in his Busan accent and opens the box.

It's surprisingly empty. Jimin narrows his eyes when he sees a pair of silver stud earrings inside. There's a small folded note with it.

Jimin ponders whether he should check it, after all this most probably belonged to the previous owner. He then shrugs and wonders— What could possibly go wrong with taking a peak of a little note that was stashed away in his new bedroom?

The writing is small and elegant but hard to read. Jimin squints his eyes and reminds himself of his grandmother.

"Chicken scratch," Jimin mumbles in an accent. "This is worse than mother's."

It takes a while but Jimin eventually gets to read the message with the help of his glasses. To whoever finds this, I hope you can handle the responsibility more than I ever could— it's especially ominous for a pair of earrings.

"Weird thing to say for some studs," Jimin raises one of the earrings and sees it shine against the light. "Guess this thing was really important to her."

Jimin reaches up to his earlobes. He's had them pierced before, mostly because of a dare, but it's been ages since he's last worn a pair of earrings.

"Eh, what the heck," Jimin shrugs. "Not like I'm going to get an infection or anything."

There's a bit of uneasiness but Jimin rubs it off as anticipation. He puts on one of the studs and winces at the quick prickling pain. It shines again for a few seconds before it fades back to silver.

Jimin looks at himself in the mirror. It reminds him or his rebellious phase as a freshman in high school. He wonders how his mother is going to react.

As expected, she screams. "Jimin, where did you get that?! You might get tetanus from old jewelry!"

"Relax, mom," Jimin rubs his nape. "I won't get tetanus. These are clean, trust me."

"Are you going to blast that rock music again? Won't do in the city."

"Dad, no— What are you doing?"

Jimin raises an eyebrow when he sees his father carrying a huge oven into the kitchen. He attempts to help but gets waved off instead.

"I'm fine!," He grunts as he places the oven inside. "What do you think I'm doing? Park's Pastries, soon to open!"

"Dear, I thought you wanted to name it Park Bakery?"

"Park Pastries is better."

"Wait," Jimin says and his parents glance at him. "We're really putting up a bakery?"

"Of course!," His father calls. "Why not?! Seoul isn't ready for our rice cakes!"

Jimin reaches for his new earrings and feels its metal cool his skin. He smiles at the thought of making rice cakes again, just like he did all the time back in Busan.

Then Jimin's bookworm side starts to think— What about the business? Was there a good market? Do we have supplies? Most importantly—

"Do we have capital?," Jimin asks suddenly in worry.

"Capital?," His dad blinks. "Did you just say capital?"

"Why are you asking something like that?," His mothers asks, stunned. "You're seventeen! Don't worry about it, sweetie. Your dad and I will handle it."

Jimin thinks that answer is vague but decides not to question it. When his father reaches for a toaster, he grabs it instead. He insists on helping and end up tidying up the kitchen as a family.

The moving truck arrives after a few hours. Jimin is fast asleep by then. His earrings shine in the darkness.

-

"Mister Kim, you're on in five."

"Yes," Namjoon nods. "Thank you, Mira."

Namjoon stares at the mirror. He eyes his black tux and tugs the little bowtie on his chest. His blonde hair is slicked back with gel.

"Mira," Namjoon calls out before Mira can step out of the room. "Could you please check if my father has arrived?"

"Of course, Mr. Kim," Mira bows and clutches the clipboard tightly. "Please excuse me."

The dressing room's door shuts quietly. Namjoon sighs and leans on his chair. He looks down at his pendant and rubs the cool metal in his hands.

Namjoon glances back up at the mirror. His eyes are dull, eye-bags evident even through the thick makeup. Figures— he didn't get a wink of sleep the night before.

"Okay, Joon," Namjoon takes a deep breath and clasps his hands together. "Remember your breathing exercises."

Inhale, exhale, inhale and exhale. Namjoon honestly never feels better after doing it but it must be done. He's trained, after all.

"Your name is Kim Namjoon, model, honor student, son of Mystic Enterprises' CEO. You can do this. You have to do this."

Namjoon opens his eyes. He puts on a dimpled smile and tugs on his bowtie again. Sure, he doesn't feel better at all, but at least he looks more presentable now.

Something vibrates in his pocket. Namjoon takes it out and beams when he sees his father's called ID on the screen. He swipes it and holds the phone close to his ear.

"Father?," Namjoon asks with a stupid grin on his face.

"Hello, son," Mr. Kim's gruff voice replies from the other side. "Today is your company photoshoot, yes?"

"Yes, Father," Namjoon stands up and snatches a perfume bottle on the table. "You'll be here, right?"

There's a silence as Namjoon sprays perfume on himself. He hears foreign voices mutter in the background from the other line. His father sighs familiarly and he frowns.

"I'm sorry, son," Mr. Kim clicks his tongue. "I know I promised to show up this time but—"

"You're busy, I know," Namjoon finishes. "It's okay, I get it."

Another silence passes. Then his father speaks. "I promise I'll be there next time."

Namjoon wants to speak up, to say that his father has promised the same thing countless times but they always ended up empty and unfulfilled. But he understands. He's a busy man after all.

Being the CEO of one of Seoul's biggest companies is a huge responsibility. Namjoon is glad to even be able to see his father for a minute or two in school day mornings.

Still, Namjoon wishes that he can spend time with his father like every other normal family.

"Namjoon, I have to go now," Mr. Kim grumbles in a flat tone. "See you tonight."

"Okay, father. I lo—"

The calls ends before Namjoon can finish his sentence. He sighs and shoves the phone back into his pocket. Mira appears almost immediately after and slowly opens the door to the dressing room.

"Mr. Kim, it's time."

Namjoon nods and exists the dressing room. He follows Mira through the agency's hallways and eyes the posters on the walls. There are multiple magazine cover photos with a variety of celebrities in each one.

And the latest issue is going to have his face plastered on it— Namjoon isn't sure if he finds that fact comfortable or not.

"I apologize, Mr. Kim," Mira says suddenly with her back turned. "I could not reach your father."

"It's fine," Namjoon flashes her a polite smile. "He called."

Mira doesn't say anything to that. Namjoon can tell by her expression that she already knows what he said.

The photoshoot goes smoothly but it takes tiring hours until Namjoon knows he has the right posture for the magazine. He has a short interview afterwards and he'll be honest to say that most of the questions went right through his head.

All the while, Namjoon thinks about how different it would feel to have his father watching him and cheering him on. He doesn't let his emotions sway him. A perfect smile is a must for a photoshoot.

Namjoon attends an interview afterwards. He sits in all white room that makes him feel locked up. It strangely reminds him of his bedroom. There's a journalist across him with a notepad and pen on his lap.

Expected questions are asked at first, like how Namjoon chooses his clothes and his preferences for styles and brands. He answers them all with ease, just like how he rehearsed.

But then Namjoon hears something he didn't even think would be asked.

"Tell us about your mother."

Namjoon blinks. His mother? Did this journalist just ask about his mother? He feels his palms sweat as he clasps his hands together anxiously.

After Namjoon takes a deep breath, he puts on a professional. "I don't understand why a fashion magazine would ask for such... personal information."

The journalist is taken aback by Namjoon's words, it's obvious in the way his lips twitch. He scribbles something on his notepad before he looks back up at the teenage boy with more or less a fake grin.

Namjoon sees Mira fuming behind the cameras. He gives her a look and she quiets down but her face is red with anger.

"Nothing wrong with a little gossip, hm?," The journalist leans in and taps his notepad with the tip of his pen. "Is it true that your mother's cause of death is—"

"Oi, bowling ball head!," Mira explodes at the back. "Do you have manners?! You can't ask something like that so casually! I'm going to beat your ass!"

Namjoon can't help but laugh at the way Mira's ponytail loosens as she trashes around. Eventually some guards had to be called in order to subdue her. The journalist quietly strokes his bald head.

"I apologize," Namjoon crosses his legs gently. "My secretary is not quite fond of rudeness."

The journalist mumbles something under his breath and painfully wears a smile. "I see. May I kindly wrap up this interview then?"

After Namjoon strips off his tux, he enters the limousine and sees Mira still fuming inside. Just before he can step inside, he's approached by a woman in a clean grey suit and tied up brown bun.

"Mister Kim Namjoon!," The woman bows deeply with her head nearly touching the ground. "I am Lyasa, CEO of Superstar Magazines. I apologize for Baldie's actions. He will be reprimanded immediately."

Namjoon hears Mira laugh in the car and smiles. "There is no need for that. I believe all he needs are some manners."

There's a certain look on CEO Lyasa's face that is all too familiar to Namjoon. Why is a kid speaking so maturely? Does he think he can talk to adults like? So what if he's well off?

Namjoon shakes the thoughts out of his head. He sits in the car as the CEO bows again and hears Mira grumble loudly next to him.

"I can't believe him!," Mira hisses loudly. "The nerve he has to ask you something like that."

Namjoon smiles. "Thank you for looking out for me all this time, Mira."

Mira's expression shifts drastically. She clears her throat and puts on her usual stoic face. The clipboard clacks against her fingernails.

"Of course, Mister Kim," Mira nods sternly. "It is my job."

Right, Mira's job. Namjoon sighs and looks out the window as the limousine continues to drive through Seoul. They pass through the more rural side of the city, mostly to avoid any paparazzi who is more than willing to follow them.

Namjoon eyes the little houses and sees children frolic around. They're playing with nothing but sticks and string balls. So simple. It makes him stare.

They stop at a red light and Namjoon notices something strange. There's a corner street bakery that he swears has been closed for a few years now. He squints his eyes and spots a moving truck parked at the edge of the street.

Namjoon has mixed feelings about the thoughts of a new neighbor. He knows almost everyone in this little rural area since all of them went to the same school. Having a stranger added to the mix was— Huh.

Still, Namjoon is curious. The corner street bakery comes with the rumors of being previously owned by a strange family who dropped everything and left. Thus the building was left abandoned and nobody dared to live in it— until now, that is.

Namjoon drums his fingers on the car's windowsill. He keeps his eyes on the bakery and freezes when he sees an old woman fall at the side of the road. It's almost if he sees it in slow motion.

"Stop the car!," Namjoon screams.

The limousine skids into a stop and Mira almost bashes her face into the driver's seat. Namjoon quickly apologizes and jumps out of the car. An elderly woman is groaning on the ground with a staff laying next to her.

Namjoon kneels down and picks up the staff. He offers a hand to the old woman and helps her stand.

"Are you okay, granny?," Namjoon asks with worry etched in his features. "I can bring you to the hospital."

"No need, sonny," Granny's voice shakes as she wobbles to her feet. "It's just clumsy old me again."

This time, Namjoon is able to take a good look at granny. Her grey hairy is stringy and dry, almost like hay. Wrinkles and sun spots are evident on her face. Despite that, her smile is warm and young.

Namjoon isn't sure if he's ever seen this old woman in this part of the city but he isn't one to judge. Besides, apart from school, he spends most of his time indoors.

"Such a kind young man you are," Granny coos and squishes both of Namjoon's cheeks. "Handsome, too. Your mother must be so proud."

A solemn smile appears on Namjoon's face. He wonders if his mother really is proud of him.

"You're a good man," Granny's tone shifts suddenly to a stern one. "Worthy."

Namjoon knows there's something strange with the way Granny says that but decides not to question it. He smiles and glances at the limousine behind him.

"Do you want a ride, Granny?," Namjoon offers. "I'll be more than glad to give you a safe lift home."

"Oh, there's no need," Granny smiles. "I'll be fine on my own. You go on home, Namjoon."

With that, Namjoon hops back into the limousine. Only after he waves goodbye does he wonder why the old lady knows his name— eh, probably because of all the billboards of his endorsements plastered across the city. He isn't new to being recognized by strangers.

Namjoon dozes off for a few minutes and is shaken awake by Mira once they arrive. He spots the familiar golden gate as he yawns and immediately recognizes it as home.

The driver rolls down the window next to Namjoon. He glances at the camera situated at the top of the gate and playfully winks at the lens. There's a beat, silence, then the gates open loudly.

Namjoon remembers his best friend's words— Your place is like something straight out of a Greek epic, dude. He laughs at the thought and takes in the smell of blooming roses and orchids.

Gardeners are out weeding and watering plants. Namjoon is surprised because he almost never sees them. They drive around the fountain and park in front of the main entrance.

Namjoon steps out of the car first and opens the door for Mira, who shyly bows as a response. He takes out a house key and takes a few minutes to unlock the doors due to his father's... precautionary measures.

When the doors open, the screeching sound echoes across the whole mansion. It's dead silent inside. Butlers and maids stand in rows across from each other.

"Welcome back, Mr. Kim," They all say in unison.

Namjoon bows back. "Has father arrived?"

"I am afraid not, Young Master," The head butler Johnny replies. "He sends his deepest regrets."

Namjoon learns how to not be disappointed. All he has to do is not expect anything.

"I see," Namjoon nods. "Thank you, Johnny."

Everyone bows as Namjoon makes his way across the mansion. He passes the main living room and glances at the family portrait hanging over the fireplace. His mouth goes dry at the sight of his mother.

Namjoon honestly thinks his house is way too big for him and his father. It's so huge that they have to call each other to communicate— not like his father was always home whenever he was anyways.

It's quiet. Namjoon always thinks of blasting music to get rid of this suffocating silence but his father isn't fond of... loud beats. Their neighbors even gave them a noise complaint before. The audacity.

Namjoon takes out his smartphone and stares at the screen. It's already eight in the evening. No missed calls or text messages from his father either. At that moment, a call notification flashes on his screen.

He swipes the screen with a smile. Namjoon raises the phone to his ear. "Why are you calling so late, Jungkook?"

"Can't a good friend check up on you?," Jungkook pouts from the other line.

Namjoon chuckles and walks up the stairs. He rubs his palm against the mahogany railings. "You're bored."

There's a silence. Jungkook grumbles. "Okay true but doesn't mean I didn't want to check up on you!"

"Sure," Namjoon grins and stands in front of his bedroom door. "I'm still sorry about your dance contest."

"Hey! I told you it was fine!," Jungkook exclaims. "I know your father won't let you change your photoshoot schedules either so—"

"I'm serious. I should have been there to support you."

The words taste sour in Namjoon's mouth. He slowly opens the door to his bedroom and holds in a sigh.

"Don't be such a worrywart," Jungkook scoffs. Something clangs in the background. "You don't need to be here for me to feel your support."

"You're so cheesy," Namjoon rolls his eyes and steps into the bedroom.

When Namjoon turns on the light, he's greeted by a bright room— no wonder the interview area reminded him so much of it. There are portraits of him with various endorsements on the walls. One side of the room is a wall of glass and gives him a perfect view of Seoul.

As Namjoon crashes onto his bed, Jungkook huffs. "Fine, you don't want my affection. How was your day then? I'm sure the photoshoot went well but—"

"It was alright," Namjoon shrugs and pushes his shoes off his feet. "Baldie was kind of an ass though."

"Baldie? Who's Baldie?"

"Eh, some journalist who asked me why my mother died."

A silence passes. Namjoon could feel Jungkook's anger boil through the phone. He braces himself and places his phone a good few feet away from him. Then he taps the loudspeaker button.

"He what?!," Jungkook screams loudly and the phone almost falls off the bed. "He did not! Damn journalists getting more and more shameful—"

"Jungkook, calm down," Namjoon says with a light laugh.

"Don't tell me to calm down!," Jungkook screeches. His voice echoes in the bedroom. "Namjoon, why are you so calm about this?!"

Namjoon ponders for a moment. He sits up on his bed and sighs. "People like him are not worth the effort, Jungkook."

"Wow," Jungkook says. "I wish I could be as mature as you."

"I'm far from mature," Namjoon mumbles under his breath. "Enough about me, tell me about your contest. Did you win?"

"Well," Jungkook mutters. "About that—"

"Go ahead, I'm listening," Namjoon pauses when he sees something on top of his study desk.

"One of my crewmates went MIA on us so we had to switch all of our formations in the last minute! Can you believe that?"

Namjoon hums and takes the phone. He walks slowly towards his desk and sees a dark jewelry box near his stack of science books. Although he doesn't keep track of his stuff, he's sure that he doesn't own something like that.

"It was so stressful! We only had five minutes! We were able to pull it off but God— it was a mess. My crew didn't have a chance."

Namjoon listens but doesn't reply. He's staring at the jewelry box. There's a strange writing on its cover, the letters inky black. It's dusty too, mostly, its cover had a small handprint at the side.

"And it was Lee again! I swear, I should have fired him when— Namjoon, you still there?"

"Yeah," Namjoon replies and taps the jewelry box. "Sorry for the silence. I've been listening."

When Jungkook doesn't say anything, Namjoon almost thinks he's mad. But then he speaks with a tone of worry.

"You okay, man?," Jungkook asks. Something screeches in the background. "Junghwa, don't touch that!"

Namjoon laughs at the squeaking voice of Jungkook's little brother from the background. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just found something in my room."

"What, like a bug?"

"No, it's... a box."

"A box? I don't see why that's such a big deal."

"I don't own it," Namjoon picks up the box and looks under it. There's a black logo he can't recognize. "I'm pretty I didn't buy this recently either."

"So, what I'm getting from this is, er," Jungkook trails off. "Someone broke into your room and left you a box? Sounds like an obsessed fan to me."

"Impossible," Namjoon sets down the box and wipes it with a cloth. "House security will never allow that."

"Then it's a gift?," Jungkook hums then gasps. "Dude, what if it's from your dad!"

Namjoon stops to think about the possibility. It's a nice thought, to have his father finally show some sense of emotion after that incident, but even he knows that it's from possible.

"Doubt it," Namjoon spins his chair away from the jewelry box. "Father rarely ever sees me. When would he get the chance to put this in here?"

"Hey, give your old man a chance!," Jungkook huffs. "He's still your dad."

Jungkook is right and Namjoon hates it. He glances at the box again. Its lock is carved to resembled a black cat. He finds the way its eyes glow green weird.

"Continue your story, Jungkook," Namjoon crosses his legs. "I want to hear all about you finally firing Lee."

Jungkook beams and releases a little gasp of excitement. "Oh right, him! Well, I told him that he should screw off and—"

As Namjoon listens to Jungkook, the cat logo of the jewelry box continues to glow. Something thumps inside and insists on being let out.

-

A/N - Welcome to my Minjoon Miraculous au!! I'm really into the show rn so I decided to make a story out of it!! Obvs Jimin is Marinette and Namjoon is Adrien but i'm gon change some things heheheheh

Stay tuned for more!! I hope everyone will enjoy this romcom superhero fic as much as T7W!! (Also ToW is on hiatus but)

My fave character also higkey Luka sorry Adrien bye