Chapter 86: The Program Begins
The mansion was never built for chaos, but it was learning
to hold it.
Gone were the hushed mornings of silent halls and murmured
coffee. Now the air buzzed with new rhythms—Jungkook’s soft footsteps echoing
like a song through marble, his sudden bursts of giggles erupting behind closed
doors, the quiet tension of his past blooming like thunderclouds behind every
brushstroke. Taehyung and V watched it all. Felt it in their bones.
And yet, even in the sweetness of shared beds and the soft
lull of his “Dada… Daddy” in the early mornings, something darker began to
pulse beneath.
The painting in the library had not been moved.
Neither of them could touch it.
Not yet.
Jungkook avoided it now. Just a glance as he passed the
doorway. And his smile would dim.
So when Niki’s name lit up V’s private line—one he never
gave to anyone—he didn’t hesitate to answer. He didn’t even wait for the call
to connect fully.
“Niki?” His voice was cold, but measured. “Why are you
contacting me directly?”
“I didn’t want to risk going through staff,” she replied,
voice tight, breathless like she’d run blocks to find the right words. “I need
to see you. Both of you. Now. It’s about the K001 archive.”
V stood straighter. “What did you find?”
“A name.”
—
She arrived under heavy rain.
No umbrella. No driver. No protection.
The staff opened the door before she could even knock,
ushering her quickly inside where Taehyung waited beside the fireplace, fingers
drumming against his thigh like a ticking clock.
Niki looked soaked and furious. She dropped a thick folder
onto the coffee table with a wet slap. “Read it.”
The moment Taehyung opened it, the blood drained from his
face.
It wasn’t just about Koo.
It was about the entire program.
“Project K001,” she said, pacing the room like she couldn’t
keep still. “It was meant to house and protect highly gifted children with
unexplained genius—especially in the arts. But it was funded, in part, by a
private syndicate. They weren’t just sponsors. They were owners.”
V stepped forward slowly, scanning the documents. “Owners?”
“The masked man. He’s listed in the shadows of every
archived gallery Koo was linked to, even under pseudonyms. He was never just
watching. He curated Jungkook’s rise from a distance. Controlled where the art
went. Controlled what was sold.”
Taehyung’s voice was razor-sharp. “And his parents?”
Niki hesitated. “They made a deal. They thought it would
protect him—let him create freely. But it turned him into a commodity.”
V’s fingers curled against the paper. “Why now? Why
resurface after all these years?”
“Because Jungkook’s anonymity protected him. But once he
started painting again—and especially when you put his work in the
exhibition—it triggered a reactivation protocol.”
Taehyung looked up, eyes blazing. “What kind of protocol?”
Niki swallowed. “A retrieval one.”
—
Jungkook didn’t sleep that night.
The rain outside beat against the windows, echoing like
footsteps down the hall.
He sat curled beneath a blanket, sketchbook open on his lap.
He didn’t draw. Just traced the paper with a charcoal pencil, over and over
again. Circles. Spirals. A flickering shape.
A mask.
V entered quietly, but Jungkook still noticed, lifting his
head. “Daddy.”
V’s heart cracked at the smallness in that voice. He crossed
the room, sitting beside him, wrapping arms gently around his waist.
“I heard Niki came,” Jungkook whispered.
“She did.”
“Did she tell you?”
V looked down at him. “Tell me what, baby?”
“That he’s coming for me.”
A breath caught in V’s throat. “How do you know?”
Jungkook closed his eyes. “Because I painted him last night.
And when I paint something I don’t remember… it always comes true.”
V pulled him tighter, fierce and unwavering. “You won’t go
anywhere. You’re safe.”
“But… what if I remember everything?” Jungkook asked. “What
if I become what they wanted?”
“You won’t.”
“Even if I’m not just a painter?”
V pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. “What are
you, then?”
Jungkook’s voice was a whisper. “A program.”
—
The next morning, the twins convened in the east wing conference
room with Niki, a private analyst, and three former members of the original
K001 development team who had gone into hiding after the funding dissolved.
On the table lay dozens of sheets—data, photographs,
ink-blurred documents. And in the center, one file marked only by the single
word:
Koo.
“He was not just monitored,” the analyst began. “He was
tested. Watched for behavioral shifts, neurological anomalies. His ‘little
space’ wasn’t just trauma—it was a response. Something to shield him.”
“Shield him from what?” Taehyung asked coldly.
The analyst swallowed. “From overloading. His brain
processes visual information almost twenty times faster than a normal person’s.
Without regression or emotional disassociation, he would’ve… broken.”
V stared at the papers, fury like wildfire beneath his skin.
“And now that he’s with us? Painting again?”
“He’s stabilizing. But they’ll see that as activation.
They’ll want him back.”
Taehyung stood. “Over our dead bodies.”
The analyst hesitated. “They’re prepared for that.”
—
That night, Jungkook stood alone on the mansion’s balcony,
hair tousled by wind, eyes distant. He watched the city below flicker in warm
golds and distant blues. A hum buzzed through the sky—something invisible,
something waiting.
Taehyung came behind him, strong arms wrapping around his
waist, chin resting atop his head.
“You’re not alone, little one,” he murmured. “No matter what
they think you are.”
V joined on the other side, hand threading into Jungkook’s.
“You’re not a program,” he whispered. “You’re ours. Koo.
Jungkook. Our bunny. Our chaos.”
Jungkook’s lips curled into a soft smile.
“I love you both,” he whispered, eyes shimmering. “Dada.
Daddy.”
And beneath the rising storm, three shadows stood
together—unshakable.
But far across the city, in a darkened office, the masked
man watched the livestream flickering across his screen. He zoomed in slowly,
finger tracing the frozen image of Jungkook standing between the twins.
“My masterpiece,” he whispered.
Comments
Post a Comment