The room had settled into a comfortable rhythm when the shift happened. It wasn't announced. It never was. It came in the form of a single sentence, spoken a little slower than the rest.
"It's that time of the year again."
The voice belonged to Kang Minjae, captain of the Second Division. He sat slightly forward on the couch, fingers interlaced, eyes steady. The casual atmosphere thinned immediately, like smoke pulled away by a draft.
Taehyun looked up. "Already?"
Minjae nodded once. "August fifteenth."
A few quiet exhales followed. Someone clicked their tongue.
Seo Junghoon from Logistics leaned back, arms folding across his chest. "The annual gathering," he said. "All twenty-one crews. Same place. Same rules."
"Non-violent," added Han Seorin, head of Intelligence, her tone dry. "At least officially."
Hoyeol shifted beside Taehyun, posture still relaxed, but his gaze had sharpened. "You've skipped every single one so far."
Taehyun didn't deny it. He tilted his head slightly, thinking. "And we're still standing."
"Yes," Minjae replied calmly, "because your actions spoke louder than presence. Until now."
Kim Doyun, Finance Division, adjusted his glasses. "Rumors are starting to circulate. Some crews think our feats are exaggerated. Others think we're being propped up by an external hand."
"Or that we don't exist at all," muttered Lee Hyunwoo from Territory Management. "Just a name people throw around."
Park Jisung, Enforcement, scoffed. "Idiots."
"Idiots with manpower," Seorin corrected. "And numbers."
The room grew quieter.
Choi Yerin, who handled External Relations, broke the silence. "There's another problem. Except for us—" she gestured lightly around the room, "—no one knows who leads this crew. Not really. They know the name, sure. But not the face. Not the age."
"And definitely not that both the head and second-in-command are students," Junghoon added, glancing briefly at Hoyeol, who responded with a grin.
"Surprise of the century," Hoyeol said. "We should charge tickets."
Taehyun snorted softly, then sobered. "If I don't show up this time?"
Minjae answered without hesitation. "They'll test us."
"How?"
"Small attacks. Encroachment. Provocations framed as accidents," Hyunwoo said. "Nothing open. Just enough to see if we bleed."
"And if we don't respond," Doyun continued, "they'll escalate."
Taehyun leaned back into the couch, eyes lifting to the ceiling. The lights above were warm, steady. Unbothered. "And if I do show up?"
A pause.
"They'll finally know you're real," Seorin said. "Which means they'll either fear you… or mark you."
"Either way," Jisung said with a grin that didn't reach his eyes, "things get louder."
Hoyeol glanced sideways. "You hate loud."
"I hate pointless," Taehyun corrected.
Yerin tilted her head. "If you attend, you won't just be representing this crew. You'll be rewriting how the others perceive us. A leader who's been invisible for years suddenly appearing? That'll shake things."
"And if they don't take him seriously?" Junghoon asked.
Minjae's gaze hardened. "Then they're stupid."
Silence settled again, heavier this time.
Taehyun exhaled slowly, then sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His expression wasn't cold. It wasn't dramatic. It was the same look he wore in classrooms when something annoyed him just enough to deal with it properly.
"Alright," he said. "I'll go."
Several shoulders eased.
"But," he added, lifting a finger, "nothing flashy. No theatrics. I show my face, make it clear we're not a rumor, and leave."
Hoyeol smirked. "Spoilsport."
"You're coming with me," Taehyun said without looking at him.
"Obviously."
The meeting wound down after that, details ironed out, contingency plans whispered over low voices. Names and responsibilities moved fluidly across the room—Kang Minjae, Seo Junghoon, Han Seorin, Kim Doyun, Lee Hyunwoo, Park Jisung, Choi Yerin, and the rest of the division heads, each a pillar holding up something larger than themselves.
When Taehyun finally stood, the room rose with him. This time, he waved them down.
"Enough," he said. "Get some rest."
He left without ceremony.
The night air outside was cool, brushing against his face as the city stretched endlessly below. By the time he reached his apartment, the weight of the meeting had settled into something manageable—annoying, but inevitable.
Inside, the lights stayed off. He dropped onto his bed, phone vibrating softly in his hand. A message blinked on the screen.
Hoyeol: You alive, fearless leader?
Taehyun typed back.
Taehyun: Don't call me that.
Hoyeol: Too late.
He locked the phone, letting it fall to the mattress beside him. The ceiling above was plain. Quiet. Safe.
His eyes closed.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, August fifteenth loomed—waiting.