Chapter Text
Mingyu scowls at the building in front of him and wonders if the Commission would care all that much if he smashed it. Burnt it, maybe. It looks like it’s filled with enough questionably hazardous material to start an accidental fire. He doesn’t remember any cameras close enough to catch the scene clearly either.
“You’re early.”
He doesn’t burn down the abandoned hospital. He stares at Jeonghan and waits for him to elaborate.
“Wanted to be sure I had the right place.”
When Jeonghan sent him back to SVT with nothing more than the intent to act normal, like nothing had happened, Mingyu had questioned it.
He quickly learned Jeonghan could be equally stubborn and that his answers were often worse than not having asked at all. Even if Jeonghan’s logic about not wanting panic to spread among either the heroes or the general public made sense, Mingyu was still panicking. S.Coups was his leader. He was also the last person to have seen him.
Jeonghan hums absentmindedly. “Well, you found it.”
He’s back to the hero in the safehouse, distant and absent. His answers are short and reflect none of the urgency a situation like this should invoke—the former number one, present number two, hero is missing.
“How were you the one to find out about S.Coups?”
Jeonghan raises an eyebrow, maybe. It’s hard to tell with his ability at full strength; the halo obscures just about everything. “It’s my job to stay updated with what’s happening regarding my assignment”
“S.Coups is your assignment?”
It’s not rare for heroes to have assignments involving guarding high profile individuals, even other heroes. The police force often reaches out to Nightwalker and Vernon for missions like that, though no one would be in a position to guard the number one hero.
Well, the current number two. It would make sense for Tenshi to be assigned to guard S.Coups—Tenshi would be the only hero qualified to do so by ranking alone.
Jeonghan shrugs, glancing over his shoulder as he starts walking to the entrance. Mingyu had hoped he wouldn’t do that.
“Something like that.”
Lovely. More non sequiturs.
“How am I supposed to trust you if you never tell me anything,” Mingyu mutters under his breath, following Jeonghan anyway. It’s dark out and there aren’t nearly enough street lights on nearby for him to want to stay out by himself.
“You’re supposed to convince me to trust you, actually,” Jeonghan clarifies, pushing the now opened doors open. “You’re just as susceptible to the League, after all.”
Mingyu stares at the door for a moment too long. “The League?”
No response. Jeonghan picks the passage on the right and works his way through the next set of locked doors. Mingyu can’t actually tell how he’s doing it, only that the locks fall apart easily, the chains wound around the door handles clattering on the linoleum too loudly for the silence.
He scrambles after Jeonghan. “You mean that broadcast? Are there more of them?”
This question also goes unanswered. Jeonghan simply continues through the hallway until he reaches the midpoint of the first floor. He takes the stairs down two at a time.
The doors are all unlocked from here on out. It doesn’t seem related to Jeonghan’s abilities. Mingyu tenses, goosebumps running down his arms. He doesn’t stop walking behind Jeonghan, though he’s quick to survey his surroundings more often.
Jeonghan walks forward casually, his hands tucked in his pockets. He’s almost careless, though his halo still obscures him, so perhaps he’s more cautious than Mingyu can even be.
The hospital hallways are dark, but a few of the outside generators are still on. That light trickles through the dusty hospital windows and highlights the sharper lines of Jeonghan’s profile. When he blinks, long eyelashes cast spidery shadows across his cheeks.
Mingyu wants to run a finger over them, across his soft cheeks and lips and over the slight curve of his nose. Jeonghan glances over his shoulder and raises an eyebrow. Mingyu looks away.
When he stops short of a chain link door, Mingyu can hear the sounds of voices beyond it. Jeonghan frowns, placing a hand against the door.
“How strong is your ability?” is not what Mingyu expects him to turn around and ask.
Mingyu blinks. “What?”
“How strong is your ability?”
“I don’t—strong enough?”
If this were a cartoon, those three question marks would be hovering over Mingyu’s head by now. What did the strength of his ability have to do with anything? He was ranked third now, meaning that he had to be strong enough to keep up with S.Coups and Tenshi, even if his ability wasn’t the most practical for combat situations.
“How long would it last if you were to use mine?”
That is even further from what Mingyu would expect to hear from Jeonghan.
“You’re the number one hero,” Mingyu stutters. “You’re—I don’t even know what your ability is. You can’t use it if I’m using it.”
Jeonghan raises an eyebrow in the dark. The halo falters—no, the halo remains. But the glimmer that shrouds him in translucency thins until Mingyu can almost read his expressions. “What if I had more than one ability?”
It’s not unheard of. It’s extremely rare, of course, and usually a product of less than savory familial conditions. After the previous disasters involving families matchmaking out of the desire for a stronger ability, the laws changed to prohibit such acts. Long before Mingyu or Jeonghan’s grandparents were even born.
“Do you?”
Jeonghan gives him a look. “Would I be asking if I didn’t?”
“I’ve never tried before,” Mingyu points out. “I don’t know what will happen.”
Jeonghan shrugs. Turns back around to place his hand against the door. “Next time, then.”
He freezes, spinning rapidly back around and pushing Mingyu into a nearby alcove. He presses closer as the sound of footsteps approaches, his hand coming up to cover Mingyu’s mouth. Mingyu holds his breath, glancing down at Jeonghan.
Jeonghan looks up at him through those stupidly long lashes. He holds a finger to his lips before closing his eyes, brows furrowing as he concentrates on the sound. He flicks his wrist out. Mingyu’s eyes widen when the halo glows dimly, spinning around and expanding outwards.
The footsteps grow louder but Mingyu can’t make out the voices clearly. Either they’re using an ability to mask the clarity of their words or a device of some sort to produce the same effect. He doesn’t know what Jeonghan is doing, only hopes that it extends to covering him too. In such a short range, it would be near impossible to make contact with one of their perpetrators and drain them of their ability for long enough to use it.
Jeonghan leans closer, forcing Mingyu to lift his arms to sit at his waist instead. They’re close enough that it would have given them cover, had they been in public rather than an abandoned hospital.
“Take one,” Jeonghan whispers.
Mingyu stares at him with wide eyes. “How do you know which one I’m taking?”
Jeonghan shrugs, glancing back through the corner of his eye. “I don’t. But we don’t have time for you to get used to one of their abilities if they decide to run.”
“Can’t you tell how many of them there are?”
He shakes his head.
“No—” he whispers, draggin Mingyu’s hand up his torso to press his palm against his chest. “—so take it. Before they find us and we’re both defenseless.”
Mingyu swallows thickly, biting his lip when Jeonghan glances up at him through his lashes.
In hindsight, perhaps Mingyu will find it strange that the number one hero in the world insisted he drain him of his ability to defend them when Mingyu himself is ranked third. Even if Mingyu’s ability doesn’t lend itself to a straightforward fight, everyone has an ability for him to drain—especially his opponents.
In the present: his heart races under Jeonghan’s palm. It’s instinctive—his years of fighting for control to keep himself from draining someone accidentally are gone and Jeonghan’s ability floods his body with a kind of power he’s never known.
Mingyu stifles a gasp when the power surges through his veins, nearly glimmering in the dim light. Even Jeonghan watches with wide eyes, fingers dropping to trace the glowing vein running along the inside of Mingyu’s wrist.
“Which one did it take?” Mingyu breathes, flexing his fingers and watching the glimmers ripple under his skin.
Jeonghan shakes his head. “It separated them,” is all he says before flinging Mingyu back and leaping out of their hiding place.
Which answers absolutely nothing, of course.
The halo still glows over Jeonghan’s head, casting holographic shadows over his hair. Wings erupt from his back, liquid in the light with feathers in the same iridescent color.
Oh. Tenshi. Angel.
Mingyu doesn’t know what the power running in his veins is, nor the abilities Jeonghan possesses. He has a sinking feeling that the wings and the halo are connected to his inability to clearly see Jeonghan, meaning whatever he’s holding onto is the other ability.
The footsteps stop short of Jeonghan’s shadow. Mingyu glances to the side, counting three shadows stretching out in front of him. The figures can’t see him yet, giving him the advantage if they do decide to leap at Jeonghan.
He has ten minutes, though the clock started ticking when Jeonghan wound it up. He had ten minutes—it’s probably closer to four than anything else now.
The figures leap forward, of course. No one would miss their chance to take on the number one hero.
Mingyu braces himself to step in, clenching his fists and trying to get his bearings on this new ability. It’s usually instinctive when he drains an ability, though there’s more of a sign than a simple glimmer.
Jeonghan sweeps his wings back before blowing them forward. The wind from the blowback knocks one of the figures over and slows the second assailant down, but the third holds steady. Their ability invokes a light so bright it shines through Jeonghan’s wings, the feathers filtering through.
They’re not real.
Rather, they’re not tangible or solid. Jeonghan’s ability is something else altogether, something Mingyu can puzzle out later. The second assailant is still slowly making their way forward, taking advantage of the blinding light to try and sneak up on Jeonghan.
Mingyu braces himself against the wall, ready to push off the second they get closer, but Jeonghan shakes his head imperceptibly. It would be all too easy for Mingyu to have missed it, but Jeonghan tilts his head so he can meet Mingyu’s eyes.
Mingyu leans back, sighing under his breath. It sounds more like a growl out of frustration. He taps his fingers at the wall, watching as the power shifts in his veins. The ripples extend down to his fingers and it’s only then that he realizes he can’t actually feel the wall beneath his fingers.
That, and that he only has another three minutes left before the drain returns Jeonghan’s ability to him at full strength, leaving Mingyu to his own devices.
By now, even the first assailant is standing. Mingyu watches their jaw unhinge through the silhouette of their shadow, an unearthly scream wrenching free. His hood protects him from the worst of it but Jeonghan is entirely exposed. Mingyu sees the faintest glimmer of red on his ears.
He’s done waiting.
Mingyu charges out with his hands curled in fists and his mask tightened. He has one chance to pull this off, and less than two minutes to do so. There’s no reason for them to risk it any longer than this, especially when he has no idea what this has to do with S.Coups and his disappearance.
Canes Venatici swings forward, sweeping two of the assailants off their feet. His left cross knocks the third to the side, sending them slamming through three different walls down the perpendicular hallway.
Okay, so Jeonghan’s ability amplifies his natural strength by quite a bit. He’s never needed to exert such little effort before.
The first is faster on his feet and leaps at his waist. Mingyu swirls around, though their grip falters the closer they get to him.
“They can’t touch you,” Jeonghan murmurs, so quietly that Mingyu has to strain to hear it. “You don’t have to do this.”
Mingyu snorts, reaching through the infinity that surrounds him to dig his fingers into the first assailant’s shoulder and pull him away. “You brought me here for a reason, didn’t you?”
“Not this,” Jeonghan admits, hooking his right leg around the second assailant’s neck and yanking forward. He’s not pulling hard enough to break it, though they stumble and their hands come up instinctively to protect their airflow.
That doesn’t make sense, but Mingyu doesn’t waste his time thinking about it. He slings his elbow back and there’s a crack loud enough to break his assailant’s nose.
Or it would have, if not for them releasing that same ear splitting scream once more.
Mingyu falters, lifting his hand to cover his ears and then glancing back once more at Jeonghan. Red drips down the diamonds dangling from his ears, dropping on his white suit. His face is pinched in pain even as he jabs at his assailant’s throat.
If not this, then what?
Mingyu whirls back around before his assailant has the time to fight back, feinting left and spinning over his right shoulder. He turns over his shoulder to kick, eyes pointed towards Jeonghan’s fight and the assailant in the hallway even as his heel makes contact with the assailant’s ribcage.
Another loud crack. Their nose is still bleeding and there’s at least one broken rib to slow them down. Mingyu rules out healing as an aspect of their ability—it’s just the sonic screams.
He mentally rules out that Jeonghan might have known who the assailants were beforehand—if he had, DK would have been a better choice in taking on an opponent with his own sonic capabilities.
His assailant creeps up on him again. They’re shorter than Mingyu, likely shorter than Woozi too. It makes them slippery, harder to get a hold on. Mingyu is bigger, and while his strength and breadth proves helpful against stronger abilities, it makes him easier to take down when he slips.
Oddly enough, he has yet to slip. He’s known for being rather clumsy, in a way that endeared him to the public and gained their favor in his third year following his hero debut. It’s part of the reason he shot up to the top ten so quickly.
Two minutes are up. Jeonghan’s ability hasn’t faded yet and Mingyu hasn’t tripped even once.
The first assailant goes down with a thud, wheezing when they land on their ribs. Mingyu zip ties their wrists together before they try moving again—he’s pretty sure the sonic scream is the worst of their worries. He fastens a makeshift gag torn from abandoned hospital sheets and tightens it behind their head.
Jeonghan has his assailant pinned down too, though he’s standing to the side with a hand to his ear and an unreadable expression on his face. He blinks. Mingyu follows his gaze—their assailants dissolve into dust.
What the hell?
Jeonghan curses under his breath, wincing when he lowers his hand. Mingyu steps around the ashes by their feet to take his hand in his own, leaning down to assess the damage. Jeonghan side steps him, dropping their hands.
“Not bad,” he deflects. “You’ve extended your limits, haven’t you?”
Mingyu blinks twice. Tilts his head to the side. Widens his eyes. “What?”
“Ability drain,” Jeonghan says. “You’re still holding onto it.”
“You’re still in range,” Mingyu murmurs, feeling off kilter. That’s not right—the range and the limit have always operated independently. Ten minutes, with a minimum of eight in range. Has it not already been ten? Did he extend it when they made contact?
“Fourteen minutes and counting,” Jeonghan muses. “How much longer do you think you can hold onto it?”
Mingyu stares at him, alarmed. “Do you not want it back?”
The wings shimmer once more before melting into the dark. The halo glows before dimming and settling into the small ring hanging over his head. “I think I’ll be fine.”
Jeonghan winks, though he’s truly terrible at it. His cheeks scrunch up and he looks younger like that, with a rounder face and a smile. He tilts his head slightly and Mingyu fights off the urge to pinch his cheeks. Or something.
Right, he has two abilities.
“If you’re fine with it,” Mingyu trails off hesitantly. “If you’re sure?”
Jeonghan throws his head back and laughs, his former caution all but thrown to the wind.
“It’s more of a personal curiosity than anything else,” he admits. “Though, I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt you to push past your limits either.”
Mingyu opens his mouth to ask how, exactly, he’s supposed to push past his limits of their assailants just dissolved into ashes when thundering footsteps start stampeding towards them.
There’s the answer he was looking for.
Oddly enough, Jeonghan shares a look with him before taking off in the other direction, sprinting further into the hospital.
Mingyu has no choice but to follow.
____
The on screen footage doesn’t match with the report.
It’s the first thing he notices when he starts reading—Seungcheol had texted Junhui and Mingyu about picking up after a mob theft, not a crime involving enough people to employ a militia.
“What does this have to do with his disappearance though?” Mingyu asks, setting the report down.
The city lights filter through half closed blinds, though the blinds likely couldn’t close anymore than that. A train clatters away in the background, leaving behind the echoes of rumbling tracks. The front door creaks each time a new one passes by and Mingyu can’t quite shake the urge to glance back every time.
Jeonghan taps the corner of the page Mingyu left open. “The mob dissolved into dust the second the attack began on SVT tower. You don’t think that’s worth investigating?”
“It’s not a coincidence, sure,” Mingyu concedes. “But it has more to do with that hospital—that you still haven’t told me about what we were doing there—than it does with S.Coups disappearing from the most secure hospital in the country.”
“Seungcheol knew about the mob.” He refuses to call S.Coups by his hero name, a habit Mingyu struggles to shake even though he’s now nearly a hundred percent sure no one else uses this safe house anymore. He’s lowered his mask and hood, but sits on the floor away from the windows and any possible points of entry. “And then he called you and Junnie to fix it.”
“You know Krypton?”
Jeonghan gives him a look, tilting his head. “Seungcheol, Junhui, Shua—we were all in the same class back at UA, you know? I’ve known them long before they decided on those god awful hero names.”
“Yours is Tenshi?”
Jeonghan tilts his head as if to say your point being? “I didn’t choose my name. They did.”
That’s… also something Mingyu will think about later. How little agency Jeonghan claims to have in his own actions coupled with how much information he seems to have access to.
“So your assignment was to, what, monitor S.Coups? Or keep an eye on SVT?”
“Neither. My assignment, as always, is to analyze the situation and assess threats as they arise. Keeping an eye on SVT allows me to do both, but it’s not necessary.”
If Mingyu weren’t so fed up with his non-answers, he might have appreciated Jeonghan’s interest in protecting his friends more. What kind of vague nonsense was assessing threats? That’s what any hero did, both in the field and outside of it.
He turns back to the reports sourly, scouring the pages for some sign that S.Coups had been involved in containing the mob theft, or maybe previously tracking them down. He finds neither even after rereading each page three times, and the loop of the security footage is starting to get on his nerves. He’s about to set the reports down and volunteer to scout the area when Jeonghan finally speaks.
“Seungcheol didn’t remember the news footage, did he?”
Mingyu gives him a knowing look. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to. You’re the ones who are close friends and graduation buddies or whatever.”
Jeonghan looked away. “We’re not… so close.”
There’s history in his gaze, a faded off story that remains fresh in his mind’s eye. For once, Mingyu doesn’t want to know the truth.
“Yes,” he says, taking pity on the number one hero. “It means something, doesn’t it?”
“Now who’s asking questions they already know the answer to?”
____
Canes Venatici makes his scheduled appearance as the number three hero when the Hero Billboard Chart requests him to. He’s not surprised to find out that they had reached out to Seungcheol and Jeonghan even before then, but that both heroes had turned him down.
It’s more likely that SVT turned the invitation down on behalf of S.Coups, given that Jihoon and Junhui are both well aware of the situation regarding their leader.
Why Jeonghan would turn the invitation down after entering the charts as the number one hero makes less sense. Mingyu chalks it up to his intent to stay mysterious. It’ll build up public intrigue and as long as he maintains his rate of villain takedowns, he would likely keep that top spot too.
“Welcome, Canes Venatici!” A familiar voice calls out.
Mingyu can’t help but grin beneath his mask, holding his hand out to the exuberant interviewer. “Seungkwan-ah, hi!”
Boo Seungkwan grins, all teeth. He’s sharper than he looks, and the best reporter out there. Though his ability could lend itself to heroics, he had chosen to go into journalism as early as high school.
He’d also been Mingyu’s assigned hoobae in middle school. They’ve remained loose friends since then and Seungkwan takes any opportunity he gets to highlight Mingyu’s heroics, though not at the expense of seeming biased.
“It’s been too long,” Seungkwan muses, shaking his hand firmly before leaning back in his orange armchair. “When was the last time I had you on my show?”
Mingyu snorts. “Last year, actually.”
Seungkwan’s grin brightens into something sharper—he’s the reporter now, searching for a scoop. “Ah yes, when you entered the top ten! And now, here you are, the world’s number three. I must say, congratulations are in order.”
“Thank you,” Mingyu murmurs bashfully. He’s not used to these interviews, no matter how often Seungkwan video calls him to practice. The nature of his persona as a hero is to stay anonymous and drawing so much attention to himself goes against everything his anonymity aims for.
“An incredible year for the Hero Billboard Chart,” Seungkwan announces. “S.Coups down to second, and two anonymous heroes taking the top first and third places. How does it feel?”
“Two anonymous heroes?” Mingyu asks before he can stop himself. He winces, biting his lip under the mask. There’s an easy way to cover this up and Seungkwan will take it, because the last thing he would want to do is endanger another hero, but Mingyu’s given too much away.
“You’ve heard of Tenshi, haven’t you?” Seungkwan asks.
Mingyu hesitates. Should he have? If Seungkwan recognizes the name, is it because of his extensive research and dedication to his work or because he should know who Tenshi is?
If he’s honest, he knew Tenshi only because Jeonghan frequented the safehouse. He’s never seen him on the news, barring a singular article on a conspiracy forum that he didn’t bother entertaining. That doesn’t lend itself to convincing public opinion, but he is the number one hero now.
“Ah, I’m sure you were so busy the day the rankings came out,” Seungkwan continues seamlessly, taking Mingyu’s hesitation for negation. “He’s an enigma, isn’t he? I would have loved to hear from him too, and I’m sure the rest of the world agrees with me on that. The number one hero in the world, a mystery. The number three hero, however, Canes Venatici-ssi, what does that feel like?”
“It’s a little surreal,” he admits sheepishly, squirming in his armchair. A matching orange to Seungkwan’s. The stage lights are too bright overhead and he can feel himself sweating under the hood. “Like it hasn’t hit me yet, you know? It’s something I had only dreamed of in the past. I can only be grateful that I’ve worked hard enough to help enough people so that I may continue doing so.”
The rehearsed answer rolls off his tongue with the occasional stumble, and he takes great care to not let his lisp slip through.
Seungkwan nods. “Oh, you’ve certainly worked hard for it. Your arrest rate is on par with S.Coups’ the year he was number one. The competition at the top is fierce, isn’t it? How does it feel to know you’re so close to overtaking your leader?”
Seungkwan squints at the teleprompter the second the camera turns back to Mingyu. He gestures sharply at the cameraman, shaking his head and narrowing his eyes at them.
Mingyu laughs sheepishly. “Ah, it’s not—I don’t think of it as overtaking my leader. We’re all working towards the same goal of keeping the country safe and helping out where we can in the world. I respect him greatly.”
“Without a doubt,” Seungkwan agrees. “S.Coups is an incredible hero in his own right, but he has more years of experience informing him. Your achievements are equally incredible, Canes Venatici-ssi.”
Seungkwan turns back to the camera, angling his body so he faces the screen rather than Mingyu. “We’ll be back after this short break, courtesy of our sponsors and the weather report. Please stay tuned for more from Canes Venatici regarding his heroic exploits and his journey to the top three!”
The stage lights shine brighter before dimming when the cameraman clicks a button and steps away. They have fifteen minutes before the advertisements finish airing following the meteorologist’s segment. Mingyu wants to grab some water, but he’s not sure if Seungkwan’s office is private enough to lower his mask in.
“Kyujung-ssi,” Seungkwan calls out curtly. The prompter lifts his head, the brim of his baseball cap covering his face. “That was not in the approved list of questions. We do not aim to pit the heroes against each other, let alone heroes in the same agency.”
Kyujung looks down and nods, but Seungkwan is far from finished.
“I suggest you follow these rules closely in the future if you wish to remain employed,” he warns. “I do not take kindly to antagonizing our guests; past, present, or future. You may want to consider sending an apology to SVT on your own time.”
Mingyu looks away. Kyujung is the one getting scolded but he can’t help feel like part of it is his fault. After all, Seungkwans reputation in the industry is that of a kind, but knowledgeable reporter who is unmatched in getting to the heart of the matter. There are few reporters who are as good at what they do, and even fewer who the heroes are always happy to interview with.
Seungkwan exhales sharply before nodding to Mingyu. “Would you mind joining me in my office? It’s private enough for a water break.”
Translation: there are no security cameras.
“Besides, it’s been a while since we’ve caught up. You’re rather busy these days, Canis.”
Mingyu nods, dusting off his uniform as he stands. There’s less of a show he has to put on now, and the less he talks now, the less speculation there will be regarding his authentic self when the interview commences. He follows Seungkwan to his office, at the corner of the floor with glass windows overlooking the city.
“I wish you would pick a safer spot,” Mingyu laments. “You’ve made enough enemies as it is. Why provoke them?”
“I like my view,” Seungkwan huffs. “And if they choose to target me, that’s their problem isn’t it? I don’t think many of them want to be on the news for threatening me.”
“Villains don’t have the same kind of moral compass as heroes,” Mingyu says. “I think they’d see it as more of a competition than anything else.”
Seungkwan lets that comment slide, glancing at the door through the corner of his eye. “There’s something you should know.”
Mingyu pushes his hood back, ruffling his hair before lowering his mask. He leans back against Seungkwan’s desk.
“Have you heard of the dead pool?”
Mingyu’s eyes widen, his lips parting slightly. “The what?”
Seungkwan purses his lips, looking askance. He wrings his fingers, staring at Mingyu with pity in his eyes. “Hyung—”
“No, the what?” Mingyu insists.
“There’s a list,” Seungkwan says quietly, speaking so quietly Mingyu has to lean forward to hear him, even if the room has been soundproofed with the same material as is used in Tartarus. “Of heroes. And what they’re worth.”
“A hit list?”
Seungkwan shakes his head. The sinking feeling in Mingyu’s throat slips to his stomach. “Of what their bodies are worth. Dead.”
A dead pool.
Does Jeonghan know?
“Seungkwan-ah,” Mingyu murmurs lowly. “How did you find out about this?”
“Vernon,” Seungkwan says immediately. “I wouldn’t—I’m not going to get in the way. I don’t want to make things any more difficult for you guys than they already are. And it’s only going to get worse.”
Vernon is safe. He’s good at his job, ranked high enough to get the information he needs to, but not high enough to attract the attention of any fanatics. Fans or villains.
“You’re not following it, are you?”
Seungkwan’s sheepish look and the way he avoids Mingyu’s piercing gaze all but gives it away. “No, you can’t—this is big, okay? And no one else knows yet.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Mingyu insists. “You’re saying that they’re hunting heroes for sport now. Why would you want to get caught up in that crossfire?”
Seungkwan shakes his head, squaring his shoulders and jutting his chin out defiantly. “You do your job and I’ll do mine.”
“Seungkwan-ah,” Mingyu repeats, leaning forward to stand up straighter. Maybe his height will intimidate Seungkwan into agreeing, even if he’s often told his childhood friend that he finds him less intimidating than a puppy, hero and all “Don’t.”
Seungkwan sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. It’s uncharacteristic with his perfectly maintained image as a reporter. It’s the same Seungkwan Mingyu used to sit in the library with in university, working on their own separate assignments in silence.
“This isn’t a promise,” Seungkwan finally says. “I’ll try. But I want an exclusive with Tenshi.”
Mingyu snorts, leaning back against the desk. “What the hell does that have to do with me?”
Seungkwan gives him a knowing look. “Please. You may have the rest of the country fooled with that cute attitude, but I know you. You know him, don’t you?”
Mingyu shakes his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The mysterious number two hero who appeared out of nowhere to take the top spot in the rankings purely through achievement points and zero public opinion points? You’re really telling me you didn’t go seek out S.Coups’ usurper?”
That’s not at all what happened, but if Seungkwan is mentioning S.Coups casually, that means that the press doesn’t know yet.
“Are you sure it’s a dead pool?” Mingyu implores. “Is there a chance that there’s some other meaning to this list?”
Seungkwan shakes his head. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. Yes, there’s a chance. Vernon hasn’t seen the list either, so there’s a chance it could mean something else too. But a few of the lower ranked heroes have turned up dead recently, and they’ve been crossed out from the list. It’s not damning evidence or anything, but it’s something.”
Mingyu nods slowly. That also means that they still have a chance. “Be careful.”
“Get me that exclusive and I will,” Seungkwan retorts. “Is he pretty?”
“Why would he be pretty?” Mingyu winces, eyes closing slowly before he pokes his tongue at the inside of his cheek at his slip up.
Seungkwan laughs gleefully. “You’ve always had a type, Mingyu hyung.”
____
It takes Mingyu three tries to get the right key. He fumbles with his keychain, cursing Seokmin for giving him not one, but two duplicates to his apartment, neither of which fit into the lock of Mingyu’s apartment.
This is the reason he’ll give himself for why he doesn’t notice the door opening easier than usual, as if it was never locked in the first place.
“That was fast,” a low voice calls out, raspier than Mingyu remembers.
There’s no reason for why he flails the way he does, dropping his keys and then nearly dropping his phone on them immediately after.
“Jeonghan,” Mingyu breathes, before remembering their conversation in the hospital.
Jeonghan raises his eyebrow.
“...hyung,” Mingyu adds, a beat late, but Jeonghan ignores the addition. He also doesn’t say anything as he watches Mingyu pick up his keys and arm his security system once more.
If it wasn’t for what he just learned from Seungkwan, he would be more worried about Jeonghan breaking into his apartment, after first figuring out where said apartment is. Didn’t he say he and Seungcheol weren’t close anymore?
He flicks the first switch on, lighting the lamps hanging over his breakfast bar. The warm white glow bleeds into the living room and the corner at the far end where Jeonghan is perched on the empty bookshelf by the window. It illuminates his features until they bend into something softer. For a moment, Mingyu can pretend they’re both here together in a different life, one more domestic and—
Well. There’s no use thinking about what’s not. What is is bad enough already without the added progression of yearning.
Jeonghan stays silent, spinning the remote in his hand, and that’s when Mingyu notices that his television has been on the entire time. The news takes over the screen, as it often does. The reporter—Seungkwan’s proclaimed rival, actually, Lee Chan—gestures to the influx of reports regarding an inundation of cursed spirits roaming the streets.
He ends this segment with a warning to the laypeople to call a hero if they do see one, regardless of their own abilities. For their safety and for others.
Jeonghan snorts at this, clicking the screen off and plunging the room into dimness. “They’re rather bad at lying,” he mutters, though it’s more to himself than anything else.
Mingyu ducks behind the breakfast bar to grab a glass of water. “Who?”
Jeonghan blinks, eyes widened and lips parted slightly. Mingyu can’t help the way his gaze drops when Jeonghan’s tongue darts out to wet them. “Who what?”
He flicks the tap on without looking away. “Who’s bad at lying?”
His expression shutters, rearranging itself back into something distant like Mingyu has given him an out. “You, for starters. What was that interview?”
Mingyu curses himself for giving him an out. Curses Jeonghan for taking it.
The interview was live, a special exclusive with the newly crowned number three hero. Even if Seungkwan always has his best interests at heart, his hands would have been tied regarding post-production altering of the interview. It would draw more attention than anything else, so Seungkwan had promised to raise hell with the writer’s team for green lighting a question he had specifically requested be kept off the script.
He doubts Jeonghan is talking about his future usurping of second place, however. He’s above all that, quite literally.
“You turned him down first,” Mingyu points out sulkily. “And it’s not like Coups hyung is here to do it. Either of you guys would’ve made a more interesting story. And—you never said you were anonymous either.”
Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. “The intentional haze didn’t give that away?”
Mingyu opens his mouth to retort that his ability doesn’t mean he has to be anonymous, but he presses his lips together when he realizes that he can see Jeonghan clearly, no halo present either.
“The halo doesn’t do that,” he realizes out loud, setting his glass on the counter. “It’s a device?”
Jeonghan shrugs. “It’s the ability you took, actually. The halo is something else.”
“Like the wings.”
He shrugs again. “I could try and explain my abilities all I wanted and neither of us would understand it.”
Mingyu’s gaze darkens and he leans forward against the counter. “Try me.”
Jeonghan swallows thickly, gaze darting between Mingyu’s eyes, then slightly lower, and for a moment, Mingyu thinks he’s going to.
But then he just throws his head back and laughs, an abrupt raspy staccato ha-ha-ha that sounds like it was suddenly pulled from his throat. He slides off the bookshelf and leans against it, his elbows resting where he once sat. “It’s cute that you think you’re in charge here.”
Mingyu picks up the glass of water before he opens his mouth and says something stupid about how Jeonghan’s the one that came to him—he could be, if Jeonghan stopped acting like he’s in charge either. That’s not bringing anything productive to this situation that both of them have managed to derail so far off course.
“The interview, Mingyu-yah,” Jeonghan drawls. “Rather hard to stay anonymous when you’re out there giving interviews with the best of the best.”
“He’s not vying for your position anytime soon,” Mingyu bites back. Seungkwan never had an interest in becoming a hero. Even before either of them started presenting signs of one, he had been determined to cover the exploits of the other heroes. Something about seeing his ability-less eldest sister do the same.
Jeonghan smirks, amused. “I should hope not. He’s known you for long enough to try, though.”
What?
“What? No, you’re doing this on purpose!” Mingyu waves his hands in the air to physically clear his head from Jeonghan’s deliberate distractions, water sloshing over the side of his cup when he does so. “Why are you anonymous too?”
“Mingyu-yah,” he drawls. “It’s hard to work behind the scenes when your face is plastered across every billboard out there. Even harder to work undercover when everyone knows what you look like.”
“You could dye your hair,” Mingyu says very stupidly, like he can’t see the dark roots growing out from under the ash blonde. “You weren’t in the charts last year.”
“Boo Seungkwan all but told you that.”
Mingyu sets his glass down before he waves his hand. “Yeah, but I already knew that.”
He didn’t. Jeonghan knows it too, but he would like to at least pretend to have the upperhand here. It’s embarrassing always playing catch up with Jeonghan’s deductions, like a slow burn sprinting on train tracks right towards a bullet train.
There’s admittedly a greater concern about how Jeonghan is always a carefully curated three steps ahead, sharing information only when he deems it necessary rather than upfront.
“Boo Seungkwan is in more danger than he realizes,” Jeonghan says. “Make sure he stays out of this. He’s got more to lose than most.”
“You know more about this than you’re saying,” Mingyu complains, downing the rest of his water. “You say all this about getting me to earn your trust, but you’re the one who broke into my apartment and you’re the one who keeps showing up. You have to give me something to work with—I don’t trust you. And of course I told Seungkwannie to take care of himself.”
Which is to say: he does. But it’s not as simple as trusting Jeonghan because he seems trustworthy enough. He’s slippery and dodges Mingyu’s questions as easily as a car changing lanes on an empty street.
Jeonghan sighs, running a hand through his hair. “My hands are tied too. The more you know, the more danger you’re in.”
“Seungkwan told me about the dead pool.”
He doesn’t know what possesses him to say it, but when Jeonghan’s round eyes widen and his hands clench into fists, it’s worth whatever leverage it gives him.
“The… dead… pool,” Jeonghan repeats slowly, sounding the words out as he says them. “What dead pool?”
Mingyu snorts derisively. “That’s not going to work on me.”
“I’m deadly serious,” Jeonghan retorts. “My assignment was something else entirely. No mention of a dead pool of any kind. If there’s something you know—”
“How do I know you’re not lying to me?”
Jeonghan bites his lip. “That’s not fair.”
“No, seriously,” Mingyu continues, because that’s ridiculous. “You show up out of nowhere and you already know everyone. You don’t think I’d be a little suspicious? Nothing comes up when I look you up—not a single mention of your education or heroic standings. And then you take S.Coups’ spot after he goes missing—which, sure, even if you didn’t kidnap him yourself, doesn’t help your case—and it’s with zero input from the public.”
Mingyu scoffs. “Yoon Jeonghan, who are you?”
Jeonghan shakes his head.
“You’ve already made up your mind to not believe whatever I say,” he points out placidly. “There’s someone else out there pulling the strings. There’s always someone out there pulling the strings.”
Translation: there’s someone pulling my strings.
It doesn’t make it any less infuriating that Jeonghan can put up a facade like this, dodging Mingyu’s every attempt to get through to him. His sympathy can only take him so far.
“What the hell are you really doing here?” Mingyu asks. It’s another out, but one that he’s willing to concede. If Jeonghan can’t tell him anything, Mingyu will have to figure it out himself. It’s easier to start from scratch than to try and puzzle through Jeonghan’s evasions.
“You need to familiarize yourself with my ability,” Jeonghan says. “Know it inside out. Obliterate your own limits—try and get rid of that range too, if you can.”
That’s… not even close to what he was expecting.
“What about Coups hyung?”
“No new leads. The Commission hasn’t caught sight of him either.” He adds under his breath, likely not for Mingyu to hear by the way he glances at the floor: “For better or worse.”
Jeonghan mentioned the Commission as early as the first time they met, but Mingyu’s never been familiar enough with them to know what they might have to do with this situation. They sometimes employ heroes on assignment—like Nightwalker’s special assignment with the Blue House, for example—though it’s more regarding public safety than anything that serious.
The drugs Seungcheol mentioned would be the kind of mission that a special operations unit directly under the government would take care of. The League of Villains too, though if they interfered with the public, heroes would be encouraged to step in.
With no news from SVT regarding suspicious assignments or requests from other agencies or the government, it’s left them all to pretend everything is normal.
“Is the Commission looking for him?”
Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. “They have eyes everywhere, haven’t you heard?”
That’s not an answer.
“SVT doesn’t directly deal with them.”
“Oh yes, Cheol made sure of that.” Jeonghan snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. He drops one and holds it out. “Drain me, Canis. We don’t have much time.”
He’s not talking about tonight. The League’s countdown looms in the back of every hero’s mind, and Seungkwan’s news about the deadpool is equally omnipresent.
Mingyu’s good at what he does. He crosses the living room to take Jeonghan’s hand, wincing when his nails dig into the back of his hand.
Mingyu blinks once. The infinity envelops his skin once more and Jeonghan’s nails lift up ever so slightly. To a bystander, it would look like they were still holding hands, but Mingyu can feel the vibrations pulsing in between their skin.
He can’t really feel the floor under him either, those same vibrations separating them on a microscopic level.
Jeonghan raises an eyebrow, tilting his head curiously. He stalks forward, his grip on Mingyu’s hand barely there, though Mingyu can feel the infinity straining where Jeonghan pushes against it.
It’s a filter, he realizes. By filtering out the pressure and the touch, Jeonghan is unable to physically make contact. The light doesn’t pass through either, considering Jeonghan is still meeting his eyes.
But it could.
“Now what?” Mingyu asks, flexing the barriers of the infinity. Jeonghan stumbles back ever so slightly, though he goes with it and takes Mingyu with that momentum. He spins Mingyu around and presses him against the wall by the window, his hip uncomfortably close to the bookshelf Jeonghan had just been sitting on.
Mingyu swallows thickly, licking his lips as his throat dries. He flexes his wrists, but his strength falters when the infinity thins out. Jeonghan isn’t stronger than him—they’ve fought side by side before and he knows this.
But the way Jeonghan looks up at him through his lashes has Mingyu weak in the knees, stumbling back against the wall. He bites his lip.
Jeonghan slowly lifts a hand up and Mingyu flinches, eyes closing as he braces himself. But all he does is tuck Mingyu’s hair behind his ear, running his fingers through it carefully. Mingyu’s eyelids flutter before he opens them.
“Push back,” Jeonghan murmurs, gaze fixed to Mingyu’s lips.
And, well. He’s always been good at following orders.
Jeonghan flounders when he does, overpowered by Mingyu’s strength and his own ability. He tries ducking under Mingyu’s arm and darting to the side, but Mingyu is faster, maneuvering them so Jeonghan’s back is to the wall.
“What does the Commission have to do with this?”
Jeonghan doesn’t answer, breathing heavily as his eyes dart around the way Mingyu’s arms cage him in. “Who said they have something to do with this?”
He drops his weight, swinging his arms down at the same time. It’s sudden enough that Mingyu trips back too, though his grip only loosens.
“You wouldn’t keep mentioning them if they didn’t.”
Jeonghan twists to the side. “You don’t know anything about them.”
Mingyu reels him back in with his free arm, Jeonghan’s back to Mingyu’s chest. “You do. Why didn’t you tell them S.Coups is missing?”
Jeonghan sweeps his leg behind him, ramming his heel into the back of Mingyu’s knee. “Why didn’t you tell them?”
Mingyu buckles, knee hitting the floor hard. That’ll leave a bruise. “You’re the one that works for them, no?”
He’s calling Jeonghan’s bluff. There’s only so much he can evade, but Mingyu knows there’s a reason Seungcheol refuses to let any of the SVT heroes work for the Commission, despite some of his other classmates from university having taken that route.
That, paired with both Jeonghan and Seungcheol emphasizing that they aren’t close anymore, tells him enough for Mingyu to draw his own conclusions.
Jeonghan falters, grip loosening. The infinity returns with a vengeance, despite Mingyu not having drained Jeonghan again.
Bingo.
“You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
Mingyu kicks his leg out, knocking Jeonghan to his knees too. Evens the playing field. “Maybe not. Is that a threat?”
Jeonghan curls his hands in Mingyu’s hair and yanks. Mingyu bites back a rather inappropriate moan. “It’s a warning. Don’t look into this.”
He told Seungkwan the same a few hours ago. He also knows that Seungkwan won’t listen to him. They’ve always been too similar.
He pins Jeonghan down on the floor, hands held above his head in one hand while the other rubs at his sore scalp. Who knew hair pulling would bypass the infinity.
“If you’re withholding information—”
Jeonghan shakes his hair out, eyes wild as he glares at Mingyu. He hooks his heel around Mingyu’s back, digging into his lower back before flipping them over. “What you don’t know will keep you safe. Don’t push it.”
Mingyu pries Jeonghan’s hands off his wrists, letting the infinity expand until his grip falls off entirely. “I thought you told me to push back.”
Jeonghan scowls at having his words used against him.
“You don’t know anything about the Commission,” Jeonghan spits, hurt.
“Because you won’t tell me!” Mingyu insists. The infinity swells around him thickening into something translucent, though he can still see Jeonghan’s silhouette clearly though it.
“They don’t care,” Jeonghan mutters bitterly. “They would use any of us as bait if it came down to it. Stay away from them, Kim Mingyu.”
He punctuates his statement with an elbow to Mingyu’s throat that cuts through the infinity. It’s not enough to knock the breath out of him but it’s surprising enough that he does jerk back slightly.
By the time Mingyu regains his bearings to fight back, Jeonghan has already weaseled his way out from under him. By the time he notices this, the infinity has returned to Jeonghan too, glimmering when the light of the kitchen lamps catches on his skin.
“Does that include you?” Mingyu asks, a moment too late.
Jeonghan’s expression is unreadable. “If it comes down to that.”
He’s brought his limit up to an hour. They didn’t get far enough apart to test the range, but he’s seeing unimaginable levels of progress far more rapidly than he had managed even in college with daily training.
So why does it not feel like a victory?
“The Hero Safety Commission will stop at nothing to maintain order,” Jeonghan says blankly, his tone carefully even. He’s speaking slower and it interrupts his cadence with the way he takes care to select each word. “Nothing is too far for them. If you remember that, everything will start to make sense.”
Mingyu curls his knee to his chest and looks up at Jeonghan. “Are you their assignment?”
“Wouldn’t they be mine?” He retorts. “Just because someone pulls the strings doesn’t mean you can’t cut them off.”
____
Mingyu takes his time in the shower, mourning the last of his favorite shampoo. He’s been so busy these past few weeks that most of his necessities are running low and he has even fewer moments in the upcoming weeks to replenish them.
The villains’ countdown is omnipresent, one that Mingyu couldn’t shake even if he tried. Seungkwan sent him reports of the lower ranking heroes that were killed, with only one who escaped into asylum after suffering.
Apparently, they haven’t been seen since then, despite Seungkwan’s best efforts to set up an interview. Beyond his career ambitions, it would paint a clearer picture of their attackers and who the heroes are facing, but Mingyu can’t fault him for seeking out privacy.
He ran a towel through his hair, the phantoms of Jeonghan’s fingers trailing after it. He collapses on his couch and turns the television on, determined to figure out the Commission’s hand.
With less than seventy five hours left to figure out what the League wants, they’re going to need all the help they can get.
Why take on d-grade heroes though? None of the heroes on Seungkwan’s list have even made it close to the top five hundred in the country, let alone a ranking on a global stage. If they really were aiming for something bigger, wouldn’t it make more sense to take out the top?
But they did, the nagging voice in his head reminds him. S.Coups is still missing. S.Coups is—
Breaking news.
Mingyu sits up straighter, leaning over his knees. On screen, a hooded figure stumbles and falls forward on his knees. The helicopter that hovers overhead casts a bright spotlight in the dark.
The reporters go quiet when the figure slowly stands, rubbing a hand over his face. Mingyu already has his foot in his boots and his watch on his hand by the time he drops his hand.
There’s a single message on his watch. The figure blocks the light with his palm, the back of his hand against his left eye. Mingyu sees a few fading bruises, though nothing too serious. He doesn’t look noticeably sickly or otherwise injured.
Small miracles. The watch flashes the notification on screen again.
The figure slowly pushes the hood back, hand trembling from exhaustion or something worse. The helicopter’s light intensifies.
His watch flashes again. Mingyu glances down to catch the tail end of Jeonghan’s contact name. He dismisses it—he’s probably watching the news too. Or spinning it into something else.
There’s a part of Mingyu that knows he can’t ignore Jeonghan forever, that getting the upper hand on him doesn’t mean anything if they can’t figure out what the League want or where S.Coups went.
One of those questions is answered when the hood slowly falls from his head.
S.Coups squints at the lights, swaying on his feet. Mingyu stares at the screen in horror as he falls, and the horror changes to something worse when holographic wings blur through the news footage and help S.Coups to his feet.
Tenshi bows deeply to the cameras—is he acknowledging that it’s all an act? Is that all it’s been this entire time? Mingyu stares at his watch, then his phone.
He straightens and waves his hand at the cameras. The helicopter flies away from it, the faint spotlight dwindling to nothing as the channel pans back to the anchor. Mingyu strains his eyes to watch until Tenshi and S.Coups are small dots under its spotlight.
He picks up his phone, pulling up Jeonghan’s chat immediately. He blinks twice when he reads it—it’s short, barely three words. Nothing more specific than that.
Still, he can't quite help the shiver that runs down his spine when he thinks of the news footage.
Don’t trust him.