Chapter 99: The Black Auction

 

The black envelope arrived without a name.

 

Not a seal. Not a stamp. Just thick, smooth parchment folded into itself with an old-world elegance, slipped past the mansion’s primary mail system like a whisper bypassing a locked door.

 

Taehyung was the first to spot it. It lay on the grand piano’s polished top, stark and silent, as if waiting for someone to touch it and unleash what lay inside.

 

The moment he opened it, his fingers stilled.

 

“…Hyung.”

 

V turned toward him. His robe was loosely tied, damp hair clinging to the side of his cheek from the post-shower haze. But Taehyung’s tone, low and sharp, cut through the quiet like a blade. He stepped over quickly.

 

The message inside was brief.

 

Lot 17: The Untouched Prince

A once-in-a-lifetime piece. Private showcase only.

Signed by “Koo.”

 

The address that followed was untraceable.

 

A set of coordinates embedded in invisible ink, readable only under heat.

 

Jungkook entered the room just as they were turning toward him. He was barefoot again, hair tousled, wearing one of Taehyung’s old sweaters that hung nearly to his knees. Doe eyes wide and sleepy—but they sharpened instantly when he saw their expressions.

 

“What is it?”

 

V held the card out to him, watching every twitch of his face.

 

Jungkook read.

 

Then read again.

 

And he froze.

 

“That— That’s not possible,” he whispered, voice caught somewhere between disbelief and something darker. “I never sold anything like that. I never signed—”

 

His breath hitched.

 

But he remembered.

 

One night. Years ago. Back when he was still under his parents’ leash, still producing under their direction before his disappearance into the shadows. He’d drawn something late at night—a faceless figure in chains, marked with his own initials in the corner. He hadn’t meant to send it. Hadn’t meant to have it delivered. But that file… that scan…

 

He gritted his teeth.

 

“…They’re selling me.”

 

V’s hand caught his waist instantly, pulling him in with quiet force. “They’re trying to bait you.”

 

Jungkook shook his head. “It’s worse than that. That piece—if it’s the one I’m thinking of—it was never meant to leave my private sketchbook. Someone took it.”

 

“And now it’s up for auction,” Taehyung muttered. “As a symbol. Of control. Of ownership.”

 

V’s voice was ice. “They’re trying to send a message.”

 

“No,” Jungkook said, stepping back, anger starting to simmer beneath the tremble of his lips. “They’re trying to humiliate me. They want me to crawl back. To remind me who had power before.”

 

“But they don’t,” Taehyung said, stepping closer. “Not anymore.”

 

V’s gaze met his twin’s.

 

Then Jungkook’s.

 

And for the first time in days, V smiled.

 

It wasn’t warm.

 

It was lethal.

 

“We’re going to the auction.”

 

—

 

The venue was unmarked.

 

A hidden theater deep in a foreign district, nestled behind a false storefront masquerading as an abandoned gallery. Men in suits passed silent glances at one another, wristbands coded with heat-activated symbols, security cameras that turned as if deciding whether to blink or not.

 

V, Taehyung, and Jungkook arrived cloaked in tailored black, masks veiling their identities. V’s suit was cut sharp, his jawline shadowed by the tilt of his head. Taehyung’s lips were curled in the faintest, cruelest smile. And Jungkook—

 

Jungkook didn’t hide behind them.

 

He walked in between.

 

A vision in velvet, dark eyes burning, mouth unreadable.

 

Inside, velvet chairs curved in a semicircle around the stage. Men and women draped in arrogance lounged like predators around champagne glasses. Quiet murmurs passed like breath—speculation, anticipation.

 

And then the announcer stepped up.

 

He wore white gloves. Black eyes. No name.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, voice magnified through the walls. “You are about to witness a once-in-a-lifetime offering. A piece of unmatched beauty and mystery—rumored to be the final original from the elusive artist Koo.”

 

Spotlights snapped on.

 

A single portrait unfurled from the ceiling, slowly, dramatically.

 

It was haunting.

 

The subject was bound in silken chains, face tilted upward—not with pain, but power. The brushwork shimmered with hidden meaning: defiance disguised in stillness. Beneath the lower edge, burned into the paper in red, was one word.

 

Koo.

 

The crowd inhaled.

 

V clenched his jaw.

 

Jungkook said nothing.

 

The announcer stepped forward. “Bidding starts at two million.”

 

It escalated quickly. Three million. Five. Seven. Hands raised with calm greed, and every number added insult to injury. As if they weren’t bidding on paint and paper, but on him.

 

Jungkook’s hand gripped Taehyung’s.

 

Then suddenly, without turning, he said softly to V, “Let me go up there.”

 

Both twins stiffened.

 

“What?”

 

“I want to claim it back,” he whispered. “In front of them. I want them to know they’re nothing.”

 

Taehyung leaned in close. “You sure?”

 

Jungkook’s lips twitched.

 

“Let’s burn the world down.”

 

—

 

When he stepped onto the stage mid-bidding, gasps flooded the room.

 

No one moved to stop him.

 

They didn’t know how.

 

Because even without his name, even behind the minimal mask—there was no mistaking that face. The very subject of the portrait. The forbidden, faceless beauty everyone thought they were bidding on in metaphor.

 

And here he was.

 

Alive. Real. Present.

 

Jungkook took the microphone.

 

He didn’t need a spotlight.

 

“I’m not for sale,” he said calmly. “I never was. And this piece—this art—it was stolen. So let me be very clear…”

 

He turned to the auctioneer.

 

“You don’t own this. You don’t own me.”

 

The twins rose behind him, silent and deadly, flanking the stage with authority no one dared question.

 

Jungkook pointed toward the painting.

 

“I’m taking this back.”

 

The room held its breath.

 

And then, without hesitation, Jungkook ripped the portrait from its frame, tore the canvas down the middle, and let the pieces fall like ash.

 

Security began to move—but one look from V and Taehyung froze every limb in place.

 

Not a soul dared intervene.

 

Because the message was loud and clear now.

 

The Untouched Prince was no longer untouchable.

 

He was unbreakable.

 

And those who dared try to cage him would learn one thing:

 

He didn’t need chains to burn down kingdoms.

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