The meeting

The sun barely peeks over the horizon as I step out of the shed, my backpack slung over one shoulder. The morning air is crisp, the world still half-asleep. My parents would lose their minds if they knew I was sneaking out, but I don't care. Not today.

The train station isn't far, and I keep my head down as I walk through the quiet streets. The few early risers pay me no mind, just another faceless figure in the morning rush. When I board the train to Seoul, I sink into a window seat, pressing my forehead against the cool glass.

Today's the day.

For years, the six of us had only existed behind screens, separated by thousands of miles. But now? We were finally meeting. It feels unreal. Excitement stirs in my chest, but I push it down. I can't get my hopes up. Not yet.

The train ride is long, but I barely notice the time passing. Half of the time I was asleep anyways.

When the train pulls into Seoul Station, I make my way to the airport. The bustling energy of Incheon International is overwhelming, a stark contrast to the quiet shed I had woken up in. People rush past me, each with their own destinations, their own stories. But I only care about six arrivals.

I check my phone. Their planes should be landing any moment now.

I shift my weight, glancing around. Anxiety creeps in—what if this was a mistake? What if meeting in person changes everything? What if I'm still just that weak, useless Nephrios, even to them?

Before I can spiral further, something slams into my back.

"Boo!"

My entire body tenses as I stumble forward, panic surging through me. Years of being attacked on instinct alone make me whirl around, fists clenched—

Only to meet a pair of large blue eyes staring up at me, a mischievous grin spreading across a small face framed by golden hair.

"I didn't know you were such a chicken." Evelyn giggles, hands on her hips. "You're really tall, though."

I exhale sharply, my heart still hammering. "You almost gave me a heart attack."

She smirks, tilting her head. "You deserved it for making me wait."

Evelyn. From the US.

The first of my real friends to arrive.

One by one, they arrive. The next to step through the arrival gate is Sylas from Italy, his silver-dyed hair standing out against the crowd. He's tall, almost as tall as me, with a lean, athletic build. His sharp green eyes scan the terminal before locking onto us. A grin spreads across his face as he jogs over, dropping his bag onto the floor with a dramatic sigh.

"You guys look even uglier in person," he says, smirking.

Evelyn punches his arm. "Shut up, Sylas."

"Hey, hey, I'm just being honest." He ruffles her hair, then turns to me, his expression softening just slightly. "Good to finally meet you, Neph."

Before I can respond, another voice cuts in.

"Alden, you walk too damn slow."

A tall, dark-haired guy walks up next, his sharp features and golden-brown eyes standing out. Suto Ryuu from Japan. He's always had this effortless confidence, like he owns every space he steps into. Right behind him is Alden from the UK, his wavy brown hair slightly messy from the flight, adjusting his glasses as he takes in the scene. He's the shortest of the guys, but what he lacks in height, he makes up for in presence—always the strategist, the observer.

"You guys made it," I say, still trying to believe they're real.

"Of course we did," Ryuu scoffs. "Wouldn't miss this."

Alden nods, adjusting the strap of his bag. "It's surreal, though, isn't it?"

I barely have time to agree before the last two members of our group arrive.

A girl with dark auburn hair tied into a low ponytail, piercing gray eyes scanning the crowd—Isla from Scotland. She's tall for a girl, but carries herself with a quiet, unreadable expression. She walks over, hands in her hoodie pocket, and stops in front of us.

"So," she says simply, "we're really doing this."

And then, finally, Leon arrives.

Leon from Greece, the one who started the whole joke about our so-called 'cult.' He's got messy black hair, a sharp jawline, and deep-set hazel eyes that always seem a little tired, like he's been up scheming all night. He's the tallest out of all of us, even taller than me. As he strides toward us, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, he grins.

"Damn, I thought I'd be the last one," he says, his accent thick but his words clear.

"You are the last one, dumbass," Sylas shoots back.

Leon laughs. "Then it looks like we're all here."

A beat of silence passes as we stare at each other—really look at each other—for the first time. The reality that we're no longer just voices and avatars hits me like a punch to the chest.

Evelyn suddenly claps her hands, her Texan drawl thicker with excitement. "Y'all! We gotta do proper introductions! I'm Evelyn Carter, 16 years young, 5'2" of pure Dallas, Texas chaos—and before you ask, yes, I can bench press Sylas."

"Like hell you can," Sylas scoffs, running a hand through his silver hair. "Sylas Conti. 18. 5'11" of Roman superiority—born and raised in Naples, where we actually know how to cook pasta, unlike whatever Alden calls 'food' back in London." He kisses his fingertips. "Mamma mia, you all look better than my nonna's lasagna."

Ryuu rolls his eyes. "Suto Ryuu. 17. 5'9". Shinjuku, Tokyo." He pauses, then adds deadpan: "If you faint during the hike, I'm taking your wallet. And your shoes."

Alden adjusts his glasses with a long-suffering sigh. "Alden Whitlock. 16. 5'7". London—specifically not the posh part, thanks." His posh accent sharpens as he eyes Evelyn's shorts. "Unlike some people who apparently think we're hiking Miami Beach."

Isla's Scottish brogue cuts through the bickering. "Isla MacTavish. 17. 5'7". Glasgow born and raised." She jerks a thumb at Leon. "And I'm the only one who can understand this Greek bastard when he's sleep-deprived."

Leon throws an arm around my shoulders, his Mediterranean accent warm against my ear. "Leon Vasiliou. 18. 6'1". Athens—home of democracy, philosophy, and people who actually know how to enjoy life, unlike workaholics cough Ryuu cough." He grins at Sylas. "Still taller than you, Roman wannabe."

"And I'm…" My voice catches as six pairs of eyes turn to me. "Baek Nephrios. 17. 5'10". Busan, South Korea. And… well. Korean disappointment, I guess."

Evelyn immediately punches my arm. "Nuh-uh! You're 5'10" of our Korean badass."

After that, Sylas and Leon look at each other, and a mischievous grin spreads across their faces. They begin to poke fun at each other, throwing playful jabs back and forth, the banter light and fast. Nephrios watches them, a little confused at first, not fully getting what's going on.

Isla, noticing Nephrios' blank expression, steps in with a smirk. "Oh, it's just their usual thing. Sylas is from Rome, and Leon's from Greece. They've got this weird rivalry about the whole Greek and Roman thing."

Nephrios raises an eyebrow. "What rivalry?"

Isla sighs, looking at the two of them. "It's like... the Romans stole all their best myths from the Greeks. So now they joke about it non-stop. Like, Sylas will call Leon's ancestors 'myth-thieves' and Leon will just reply with how the Romans copied everything from Greece. It's classic."

Leon grins at Sylas, crossing his arms. "I can't believe you're still trying to claim the Romans invented everything. You guys borrowed half of our culture and pretended it was your own."

Sylas smirks, adjusting his jacket dramatically. "And we perfected it. Romans made it bigger, better, and... way more efficient. You Greeks? You just sat around philosophizing all day." He winks at Leon. "I mean, who needs all those boring philosophers when you can build roads that actually work?"

Leon rolls his eyes with a chuckle. "Oh please, you Romans only 'perfected' it by making it louder and more dramatic. All the roads in the world can't help if you're still too busy stealing the good stuff."

The whole group cracks up at their ridiculous back-and-forth. Even Nephrios can't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

After a moment of laughter, Sylas turns to Leon with a grin. "You know, Leon, you Greeks may have invented democracy, but the Romans perfected it by making sure the Senate actually worked."

Leon scoffs, raising an eyebrow. "Oh please, Sylas, your Senate couldn't even decide on what to have for lunch half the time."

Sylas throws his hands up in mock indignation. "That's because we were too busy conquering the entire world, Leon! You Greeks just sat around talking about philosophy and holding intellectual debates about the meaning of life." He pauses dramatically, looking around. "By the way, did anyone here ever figure that out?"

Leon's eyes twinkle with mischief. "No, but I'm sure the Romans figured out how to rule half the world while getting drunk on wine. Real smart, Sylas."

The laughter of the group fills the airport terminal, bouncing off the high ceilings and mixing with the hum of distant announcements. I watch them—really watch them—for the first time. Evelyn's golden hair catching the fluorescent lights as she shoves Sylas, who dramatically clutches his chest like she's mortally wounded him. Leon's lazy grin as he leans against a pillar, arms crossed, tossing in a dry remark that makes Alden snort into his hand. Isla, standing slightly apart but with a faint smirk tugging at her lips. Ryuu, already scrolling on his phone but glancing up every few seconds to add a sarcastic comment.

They're here.

My chest tightens. A part of me still expects to blink and find myself back in that dim shed, headphones on, their voices tinny through my laptop speakers. But no—Evelyn's shove is real, the warmth of bodies crowding too close is real, Sylas' stupid silver hair is definitely real (and somehow even brighter in person).

This is happening.

A hand suddenly waves in front of my face. "Hellooo? Nephrios?" Evelyn's blue eyes are inches from mine, her nose scrunched. "You okay? You've got that constipated thinking face going on."

I swat her away, but my voice comes out quieter than I mean it to. "Just… weird. Seeing you all."

Sylas slings an arm around my shoulders, shaking me slightly. "Aw, is our little internet gremlin overwhelmed?"

"Shut up," I mutter, but there's no bite to it.

Isla studies me, her gray eyes sharp. "You thought we wouldn't show."

It's not a question.

I stiffen. That's the thing about Isla—she doesn't ask. She knows.

Evelyn gasps, whirling on me. "What? You—you seriously thought we'd bail?"

I shrug, suddenly hyper-aware of the cracks in my voice. "People flake."

The group goes silent for half a second—a rarity—before Leon pushes off the pillar and strides over. He's taller than I remember from the video calls, his hazel eyes dark with something unreadable. Then, without warning, he flicks me hard on the forehead.

"Ow— what the hell, Leon?"

"That's for being an idiot," he says, but there's no malice in it. "We flew across the world, dumbass. You really think we'd ghost you?"

Evelyn nods furiously. "Yeah! I stole my sister's credit card for this!"

"You what—"

Sylas cuts in, grinning. "And I lied to my nonna about a 'school trip.' She thinks I'm in Bologna."

Alden adjusts his glasses, deadpan. "I, for one, am deeply offended you doubted my punctuality."

Ryuu snorts. "I didn't doubt it. I just didn't care."

A laugh punches out of me before I can stop it. The tension in my shoulders eases, just a little.

Evelyn beams, clapping her hands. "Okay! Now that we've established Nephrios has no faith in us—"

"That's not—"

"—we should do the thing!"

Sylas groans. "Oh god, not the thing."

Leon grins. "The thing."

I blink. "What thing?"

Isla sighs, but there's fondness in it. "The cult chant."

My face goes blank. "The what."

Evelyn grabs my wrist, dragging me into the center of their circle. The others fall in around us, even Alden, though he looks pained. Then, in unison (except for me, because what), they raise their right hands and chant:

"One of us. One of us. One of us."

I stare. "You're all insane."

Leon shrugs. "You knew this."

And just like that, the last of the nerves dissolve. The airport, the crowds, the weight of my backpack—none of it matters. Because for the first time in years, I'm not just Nephrios, the quiet kid hiding behind a screen.

I'm theirs.

Evelyn turns to the group, hands on hips. "Alright cult members! Who's ready to—oh shit, is that a Starbucks? I haven't had coffee in nine thousand years!"

She runs towards the Starbucks.

Evelyn returns with a Starbucks cup larger than her head, slurping what smells like pure liquid sugar. "Alright, cult initiates! First order of business—"

"We are not calling it a cult," Alden groans, adjusting his glasses like a tired schoolteacher.

"—is getting through security before Sylas gets arrested for art smuggling." She grins as Sylas flips her off.

Leon's eyebrows shoot up. "Wait. Art smuggling?"

Sylas hoists his bag onto his shoulder with a smirk. "Because someone—" he nods at Evelyn, "—stuffed a 'Roman artifact' in my luggage."

Evelyn gasps, pressing a hand to her chest. "Me? I would never violate international customs laws."

Ryuu deadpans: "It's a gladiator dildo, isn't it."

"A historically accurate phallic vase," Sylas corrects, faux-offended. "Bought it in Naples. Thought it'd make a great cult scepter."

Leon wheezes. "Oh my gods, please let TSA find it."

The moment they step into the security line, I know this is going to be a disaster.

Evelyn bounces on her toes, her silver ear studs glinting under the fluorescent lights. "Okay, rules!" she announces. "No crying when they confiscate your questionable liquids, no freaking out if you get patted down—"

"Please don't make pat-downs sound like a threat," Alden mutters, already looking pained.

"—and absolutely no laughing when Sylas gets arrested for smuggling ancient artifacts."

Sylas clutches his bag to his chest. "It's not smuggling if it's cultural heritage."

Leon snorts. "Bro, you bought that thing at a tourist trap, for sure."

First Disaster: Evelyn vs. The Metal Detector

Evelyn strides through the scanner like she owns it—immediately setting off the alarm.

The TSA agent sighs. "Ma'am, any metal on you?"

Evelyn blinks innocently, gesturing to her ears. "Just my studs! See? Super tiny, very legal."

The agent isn't impressed. "Those wouldn't set it off."

A beat of silence. Then Evelyn's eyes widen. "Ohhhh." She starts digging through her pockets, producing a handful of loose change. "Texas good luck charms?"

Leon loses it laughing as Evelyn gets pulled aside. After three failed attempts—during which she also "accidentally" reveals a suspiciously knife-shaped hairbrush—they finally wave her through in exasperation.

Second Disaster: Sylas' "Cultural Heritage"

Sylas' turn goes about as well as expected.

The second his bag goes through the X-ray, two agents converge on it. One pulls out the offending item: a very phallic "ancient Roman vase" with a price tag still dangling from the base.

Sylas gasps. "Careful with that! It's a priceless artifact!"

The agent turns it over, revealing a barcode. "'Made in China,' huh?"

Leon is already filming. "This is going on Dascord."

Third Disaster: Alden's British Diplomacy

Alden, ever the pragmatist, tries to negotiate.

"Listen," he says to the agent examining his suspiciously large tea collection, "this is just standard Earl Grey. Surely we can—"

"Is that a liquid?" the agent asks, holding up a tin.

"It's... leaves."

"Potential biohazard."

Alden's eye twitches as he gets pulled aside for additional screening.

Fourth Disaster: Ryuu's Petty Crimes

I don't even notice Ryuu slipping Alden's luggage tag into his pocket until it's too late.

"For safekeeping," he says when I catch him.

"You're the worst."

He shrugs. "You're welcome."

The Aftermath

Somehow, they all make it through. Evelyn is vibrating with caffeine, Sylas is mourning his confiscated "artifact," and Alden looks like he's reconsidering all his life choices.

Isla sidles up next to me, sipping her coffee. "Well," she says, "that was the dumbest thing I've ever seen."

I can't help it—I laugh. Really laugh, for the first time in years.

Evelyn grins, slinging an arm around my neck. "GROUP PHOTO! For the cult scrapbook!"

As we pile together—Sylas flexing, Alden scowling, Leon making bunny ears behind my head—I realize:

This is what belonging feels like.

The neon glow of Seoul hits me like a physical force as we spill out of the airport—a sensory overload of honking taxis, sizzling street food, and the electric hum of a city that never sleeps. My chest tightens. I've lived in Korea my whole life, but Busan never felt like this. Never felt alive.

Evelyn spins in a slow circle, her backpack nearly decapitating a passing businessman. "Okay!" she announces, as if declaring war. "Food first. Then—"

"Pizza," Sylas interjects, already scanning the streets for Italian flags.

Leon scoffs. "We're not eating pizza in Korea."

"Gyros then."

"That's Greek, you—"

Ryuu pinches the bridge of his nose. "We're eating Korean. Neph knows best."

Six pairs of eyes turn to me. The weight of their expectation settles on my shoulders. For the first time in my life, someone's trusting me to lead.

I take them to a street tent bar near Jongno, where the plastic stools wobble on uneven pavement and the soju flows as freely as the banter. The ajumma running the place eyes our ragtag group with a mix of amusement and horror.

"Tteokbokki, dakkochi, and…" I hesitate, glancing at Alden's pale face. "Maybe just kimbap for you."

Sylas pokes at his tteokbokki like it might bite him. "It's… chewy."

"It's rice cake, you idiot," Leon says around a mouthful of chicken skewers. His eyes widen. "Holy shit. Greeks don't own seasoning after all."

Across the table, Alden attempts to use chopsticks with the concentration of a bomb defusal expert—and fails spectacularly. A piece of kimchi goes flying, landing in Evelyn's hair.

"This is worse than the metal detector," Alden mutters.

Evelyn, ever the chaos gremlin, slams her hands on the table. "Kimchi eating contest! Ryuu versus me!"

Ryuu doesn't even look up from his phone. "You'll lose."

"Bet."

(She loses. Badly.)

The real shock comes when Isla leans over and orders soju in flawless Korean.

I stare. "Since when do you—"

"Mum's from Daegu," she says, like that explains everything. Maybe it does.

Leon's phone buzzes. His smile falters as he reads the message, thumb hovering over the screen.

Unknown Number: They know you left.

He locks his phone too quickly.

Ryuu insists he knows a shortcut to our hostel. Thirty minutes later, we're wedged in an alley so narrow I can touch both walls at once, staring at a tiny shrine crammed between two convenience stores. Moss creeps up the stone base, and the scent of incense clings to the air.

Leon whistles. "This is either haunted or blessed."

"Both," Isla says. Her fingers brush a faded inscription. "Definitely both."

A streak of orange darts between my legs—a stray cat, its ribs visible beneath matted fur. It butts its head against my shin, purring like a broken engine.

Evelyn immediately drops to her knees. "We're keeping it."

"No," Sylas says.

"Liberating it."

"We are not smuggling a cat into—"

The cat chooses that moment to leap onto Alden's shoulders. He goes rigid, eyes wide behind his glasses. "Why me?"

Later, I slip away to the riverbank. The others are still arguing over noraebang songs (Evelyn is determined to make me sing T-ARA), but I need air. The city lights ripple on the water's surface, fractured and beautiful.

A shadow falls beside me. Isla holds out a convenience store iced tea.

"You're thinking too loud," she says.

We clink bottles. The silence between us isn't uncomfortable—just there, like an old scar.

Then she says, voice low: "My uncle texted."

I wait.

"Asking why I left Scotland." Her grip tightens on the bottle. "Like he fucking cares."

The bitterness in her voice is familiar. It lives in my bones too.

Before I can respond, Evelyn's shout cuts through the night:

"NEPH! WE FOUND A NORAEBANG! YOU'RE SINGING 'ROLY POLY' AND YOU'RE GONNA LIKE IT!"

Isla smirks. "Duty calls."

I groan, but there's no real heat behind it.

As we walk back, Leon's phone buzzes again. This time, I catch the message:

Unknown Number: Watch your back.

He shoves it in his pocket, but not fast enough.

The noraebang is everything I feared: sticky floors, screeching microphones, and Evelyn attempting a disastrous rap verse in Korean.

But when the opening notes of "Roly Poly" blast through the speakers, and Sylas drags me to the front.

The noraebang disaster ends with a blackout and a grumpy ajumma waving us out with her flashlight. By the time we stumble into our hostel—a cramped but clean space with bunk beds and peeling wallpaper—the adrenaline has worn off, leaving us in that strange, quiet state between exhaustion and contentment.

Evelyn flops onto the nearest bed, limbs splayed like a starfish. "I'm never singing again."

Leon snorts. "Liar. You'll be screaming T-ARA by sunrise."

The hostel room is a mess of backpacks, half-eaten snacks, and the lingering smell of street food. As we settle in, Sylas suddenly digs into his bag and pulls out six small bottles of limoncello, each with a handwritten label.

"Nonna's recipe," he says, passing them around. "One for each of us. For courage—or for forgetting, whichever you need."

Leon snorts but takes his, examining the bright yellow liquid. "Should've brought ouzo instead, but I'll allow it."

One by one, the others reveal what they brought:

Leon hands out evil eye bracelets, each bead hand-painted. "Yiayia made me swear I'd give these to anyone dumb enough to travel with me."

Alden produces six tins of Earl Grey. "Yes, it's basic. No, I won't apologize."

Ryuu sets down six wooden practice tanto knives (not full katanas—"Hostel rules"). "For training. Or stabbing. Your choice."

Isla tosses six packs of Scottish shortbread onto the table. "Mum's orders. 'Feed your poor, malnourished friends.'"

Evelyn grins, unveiling six mini bottles of 'Texas Pain' hot sauce. "For Sylas' 'spicy Play-Doh' and anyone else who can handle real flavor."

They turn to me.

I freeze. "I… didn't bring anything."

Evelyn rolls her eyes. "Uh, yeah you did."

"You showed us Korea," Alden says, adjusting his glasses. "You paid for the train tickets."

"And you didn't let us eat tourist trash," Leon adds. "That's worth more than shortbread."

"Also," Ryuu deadpans, "you're stuck with us forever now. That's your gift."

I stare at them, my throat tight.

Sylas raises his limoncello. "To Neph—our Korean disaster guide."

They cheer.

The room falls silent as Leon turns off the main light, leaving only the dim glow of a salt lamp he brought ("For vibes"). The shift is immediate—like we've crossed into something deeper.

Evelyn is the first to speak, her voice softer than I've ever heard it. "My dad hit me the day before I left."

The words hang in the air. No one interrupts.

"He tried to sell me off to some rich family. Said I'd be 'better off.'" She laughs, but it's hollow. "I kneed him in the balls and stole his credit card."

Silence. Then—

Sylas: "Good."

Leon: "Should've stabbed him."

Alden, quieter: "You're safe now."

Evelyn's eyes gleam in the low light. "Damn right."

One by one, the others share:

Leon's brother reported him to the Greek government for "criminal inactivity."

Alden's parents disowned him after his F-rank results.

Ryuu was expelled from his dojo for "lack of potential."

Isla's uncle controls her trust fund—if she disobeys, she's broke.

And then, impossibly, they look at me.

I stare at my hands. "You already know my shit."

Evelyn kicks my foot. "Say it anyway."

So I do. I tell them about Jisung's fists, Seoha's betrayal, the shed, the way my parents look through me like I'm glass. The words come out jagged, but no one flinches.

When I finish, Leon leans forward. "Cool. So we're all fucked."

Isla also leans forward, her bracelet glinting. "We're gonna burn it all down, Neph."

It's, again, not a question.

I clink my bottle against hers. "Yeah."

The room falls quiet. Alden snores softly, still wearing his glasses. Evelyn hugs a pillow like a teddy bear.

As I drift off, I realize:

I may have brought nothing from Korea.

But for the first time, I'm bringing them a place like home.