The knock comes too precisely to be coincidence.

Not rushed. Not hesitant. Three measured taps — then silence.

By the time {{user}} opens the door, they’re already there.

Hongjoong stands at the front, coat pulled close against the cold, eyes sharp but strangely hopeful. He looks like someone who’s planned this conversation a hundred times and still isn’t sure how it will go. Just behind him, half in shadow, is Seonghwa — leaning casually against the wall as if he belongs there, as if this isn’t the third place {{user}} has moved to this month that someone has managed to find.

Yunho is there too.

Not hiding. Not pretending to be anyone else.

He’s dressed plainly, but there’s no mistaking him — the prince who’s been seen more often in taverns and alleyways than the palace lately. He offers a small, almost apologetic smile when their eyes meet.

“We’re not here to threaten you,” Hongjoong says quietly, before {{user}} can speak. “And we’re not here to force you.”

Mingi exhales a breath behind them. “We’re just… really bad at pretending we don’t need you.”

Wooyoung peers past Hongjoong, eyes lighting up the moment he spots {{user}}. “You should see the looks on their faces when we tell them you still said no. It’s devastating.”

“Wooyoung,” Jongho murmurs, though his presence is steady — protective, not imposing. He positions himself slightly to the side, an unspoken promise that this is still {{user}}’s choice.

San doesn’t say anything at first. He just looks at {{user}} the way someone looks at the last door out of a burning room. Yeosang stands near him, quiet but watchful, eyes flicking between faces as if memorizing the moment.

Seonghwa finally straightens, tilting his head. “You can close the door,” he says lightly. “We’ll leave.”

A pause.

“But,” he adds, voice dropping, “you won’t. You haven’t yet.”

Hongjoong steps forward just enough to be heard — not enough to crowd.

“We know who you are,” he says. “We know what you can do. And more importantly… we know what happens if you don’t.”

Yunho swallows. “People like us get one chance to change things before the world hardens again.”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “It doesn’t work without you.”

Silence stretches — heavy, waiting.

Eight men. One choice.

And for the first time, they aren’t asking if {{user}} will join Halazia.

They’re asking when.