Running to You | Park Han + JL + Steven | Haneulz + Stejay AU

Chapter 68: Back to the Fold

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Elseswhere, the KNSU dining hall was its usual chaos: trays clattering, students shouting over instant noodles, and someone playing lo-fi beats from a cracked phone like it was a public service. The air smelled like fried oil, instant jjajangmyeon, and collegiate despair.

Shuaibo and Woongki were mid-argument about food. Or rather, the lack of it.

"I'm telling you, this was your week to buy rice!" Woongki snapped, jabbing his chopsticks like a lawyer presenting evidence.

"I used it to buy eggs. Protein is important!" Shuaibo shot back, flailing with his sleeves rolled halfway up and a band-aid on one knuckle from trying to cut frozen meat with a dorm key.

"You also bought six boxes of Choco Pies!"

"Do not attack my coping mechanisms!"

Their table was a graveyard of empty wrappers, budget brand cola, and one tragic microwaved omelet that had exploded on all sides like culinary shrapnel.

"We are broke!" Woongki wailed. "Our oven is dead. Our fridge smells like crime. We cannot live like this, Zhang!"

"You're the one who bought a 40-pack of dinosaur-shaped nuggets!"

"They were on sale!"

Just as Shuaibo was about to make a retort about sacrificing his last Choco Pie for "team morale," a deep, industrial thwump-thwump-thwump sliced through the cafeteria noise.

Everyone paused.

Students pressed their faces to the tall dining hall windows. Outside, a literal helicopter was descending onto the KNSU courtyard like a drama finale.

Woongki stood. "Tell me that's not for you."

Shuaibo peered at the window, mid-bite of a half-eaten corn dog. "...I don't think it's for you."

The helicopter door opened, and a line of immaculate black SUVs pulled in behind it. A procession of suited men emerged -- sleek, silent, terrifyingly synchronized.

From the chopper stepped a sharply dressed man with golden cufflinks and the aura of someone who once managed diplomatic crises for breakfast. 

"Young Master Zhang Shuaibo?" he called out.

The entire cafeteria went dead quiet.

Shuaibo stood. Still holding the corn dog.

"Uh, hi?" he said.

The man -- composed and austere, clearly a senior steward of noble rank -- bowed with impeccable precision, his spine a perfect line of deference. First in Mandarin, then shifting seamlessly into courtly Korean, he intoned:

"I am Li, principal steward of accounts under the House of Zhang. I have been entrusted to bear witness and deliver the decree that follows."

He held out a velvet-lined tray. On it sat: a touchscreen tablet. And a sleek, metal card so black it seemed to absorb light.

Shuaibo looked between the tray and his corn dog. "Can I finish this first?"

"No," Li replied smoothly. "It is time." 

He tapped the tablet. The tablet screen glowed with one number. A very long one.

Woongki leaned in. "How many zeroes is that?"

Kyungho squinted. "I think we just achieved GDP."

Jeongwoo murmured, "Is this a spy movie?"

Shuaibo tilted his head. "What... is this?"

Mr. Li smiled like a man who had delivered royal decrees to emperors. "Your grandfather was greatly moved by your recent feat with the javelin. The footage was conveyed to him by the madam, who appended these words, 'The blood remembers. The dragon does not need permission to soar. A Zhang triumphs -- that is the natural order.'"

Shuaibo blinked. "So... I'm un-disowned?"

Li bowed low, hands folded respectfully. 

"By decree of the House of Zhang, your status has been fully restored, as is fitting for one of rightful blood and honored lineage. Furthermore, Zhang Holdings has established a new division bearing your name -- the Zhang Sportswear Pavilion. In honor of your triumph, your comrades shall serve as its noble standard-bearers. A campaign will be filmed abroad. All provisions shall be covered. This is the will of your house."

JL didn't speak. He was too busy trying to process the sheer whiplash of watching Shuaibo, who once tried to toast a Pop-Tart with a lighter, be treated like a crown prince.

Shuaibo stared at the steward. "Wait," he said. "Did you just say I have a division?"

Li remained bowed. "Indeed, Young Master. It is your birthright reclaimed. Even in silence, jade retains its luster. "

Then --

"DO WE GET JACKETS?" Woongki yelled.

"Yes."

"DO WE GET CUSTOM SHOES?" Jeongwoo gasped.

"Yes."

"CAN I PILOT THE HELICOPTER?" Juwon screamed from the corner.

"No."

Shuaibo took the credit card and tablet like someone accepting a sword in a fantasy epic. Then turned to the table of his starving, stunned friends.

"I guess... I've just been upgraded."

The cafeteria erupted. Shuaibo raised the corn dog like a torch.

"TO THE ZHANG DYNASTY!" Woongki bellowed, leaping onto a bench.

Steven buried his head in his hands. "Of course this is happening."

Chih En murmured, "Is this what main character syndrome looks like in real life?"

Han, standing in the doorway with his jacket half-zipped, just muttered, "This school isn't real."

Shuaibo beamed, standing in a sea of ramen-stained tables, wearing socks that didn't match, hair unbrushed, and a gochujang stain on his collar. 

He was so back.