Chapter Text
Gyuvin leaned back in his chair, the weight of expectation bearing down on him like an invisible chain. The conference room was silent, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning. Around the polished table sat officials in neatly pressed suits, their gazes fixed on him, waiting.
“Let’s proceed,” the chairman finally said, gesturing toward a series of charts projected on the wall. “Gyuvin, your insight is crucial. The decision must be made by today.”
Gyuvin exhaled, his fingers brushing against his temple as he focused on the images. In front of him was a dossier detailing a critical infrastructure project—a dam intended to provide electricity to several rural areas. On paper, it was flawless. But Gyuvin knew better than to trust appearances.
As one of the Magnarch, he wasn’t just another government consultant. He was an anomaly in human evolution, a member of a select group born once every generation. Magnarchs were hailed as “perfect humans,” their existence a blend of awe and envy. They were tall, beautiful, and brilliant, with genes that seemed hand-picked by the universe itself. But what set them apart even more was the distinct power they each wielded.
For Gyuvin, that power was precognition—the ability to glimpse fragments of the future. With a single glance into someone’s eyes, he could see flashes of their fate. A drowning man gasping for air, a girl laughing in a sunlit field, a crumbling building in the aftermath of a quake—each vision came in pieces from that person’s perspective that Gyuvin can see, like shards of a shattered mirror. His role as a Magnarch was to guide society by using this power to prevent disasters and secure prosperity. And yet, his visions were never perfect. They were puzzles he had to solve, often incomplete, sometimes misleading.
Luckily, he is an Alpha and he’s smart enough to bear his role as a Magnarch. Because, if this gift had been given to someone who didn't know how to figure out the puzzle, everything would be useless.
Gyuvin fixed his gaze on the chairman, the man’s polished demeanor faltering under the scrutiny. His visions flickered to life—a vast reservoir of water spilling over, villages submerged, people scrambling to higher ground. The dam was destined to fail.
“No,” Gyuvin said firmly, breaking the silence. “If you build it in this location, it will collapse within five years. Move the project upstream, where the bedrock is more stable.”
The room erupted into murmurs. “Are you certain?” one of the engineers asked, his voice tinged with skepticism.
Gyuvin didn’t answer immediately. Certainty was a luxury his power rarely afforded him. He could only trust his instincts, sharpened by years of experience. “I’m certain enough to save lives,” he replied. That was enough for them. It always had to be.
The meeting adjourned with the chairman thanking him profusely, but Gyuvin barely heard it. His mind drifted to the life waiting for him outside this room. Wealth, power, admiration—everything seemed within his grasp. Yet, there was always that one thing missing.
***
In the history books, Magnarchs were revered as humanity’s answer to chaos. Each generation bore two or three of them, individuals whose extraordinary abilities and physical attributes made them both leaders and protectors. Their roles varied depending on their powers. Some Magnarchs were healers who eradicated diseases, while others were strategists who won wars with their uncanny intellect. For each generation, the Magnarchs' roles could be given to Alpha, Beta, or Omega, randomly. It’s purely fate to choose them for each generation. And for this generation, Gyuvin is the Alpha Magnarch that everyone knows.
Gyuvin’s ability to see glimpses of the future had cemented his position as an invaluable asset to the government. He wasn’t just a student at his college—he was a guiding hand behind the nation’s most critical decisions. People idolized him, not just for his perfect smile or effortless charm but for the sense of security he represented.
Yet, there were costs to being a Magnarch. Expectations were unrelenting, and their lives, though glamorous, were often dictated by duty. For Gyuvin, this meant a future meticulously planned, every move scrutinized. Even his personal life wasn’t exempt—his relationship with Vicky, the perfect girlfriend, was as much about appearances as it was about genuine connection.
The world saw him as untouchable, a figure of perfection. But beneath the flawless surface, Gyuvin carried a secret he couldn’t share with anyone: he had never seen his own future.
It wasn’t supposed to be that way. As a Magnarch, he could glimpse the fates of others with ease, their visions forming threads of destiny that connected every soul. But when Gyuvin looked at his reflection, there was nothing. No glow, no puzzle pieces, just an empty void where his destiny should have been.
Back at his apartment, Gyuvin sat in front of a wall lined with accolades. Photos of him shaking hands with politicians, trophies from academic competitions, and headlines proclaiming him as the nation’s pride. The evidence of his perfect life surrounded him, but it felt hollow.
He picked up his phone, scrolling through messages from Vicky. She had sent a picture from earlier that day, her radiant smile lighting up the screen. “Hope the meeting went well,” she had written. “Dinner tomorrow?”
Gyuvin typed out a reply but hesitated.
This one more thing that burdens him these days. He thought about the glow—the unmistakable sign of a soulmate bond that had never appeared between them. He wondered, not for the first time, if it ever would.
A knock at the door jolted him from his thoughts. His aide stood there, a stack of files in hand. “Another meeting request,” the aide said apologetically. “They need your input on a border dispute.”
Gyuvin sighed, nodding as he took the files. The life of a Magnarch was never truly his own.
As the door closed, he allowed himself one fleeting moment of vulnerability. Staring into the mirror, he whispered to himself, “If I can see everyone else’s future… why not mine?”
***
The sun bathed the sprawling campus in bright light that morning, a perfect backdrop for the perfect couple. Gyuvin and Vicky walked hand in hand down the central pathway, his tall frame towering over her figure. They were a vision of effortless grace, their every step in sync as if choreographed. Heads turned as they passed, whispers rippling through the crowd.
“There they are,” someone murmured. “The power couple.”
“Gyuvin looks unreal today. How is he even human?”
“And Vicky? She’s like a doll. They’re perfect together.”
Gyuvin’s lips curved into a faint smile, his grip on Vicky’s hand tightening slightly. He was used to the stares, the murmurs, the awed glances that followed him wherever he went. Being a Magnarch meant standing out, always. But with Vicky, those stares felt easier to bear. She wasn’t just his girlfriend; she was his anchor, the one person who made the relentless attention feel almost normal.
Vicky tilted her head, her dark hair catching the sunlight as she gazed up at him. “You’re quiet today,” she said softly, her voice barely audible above the buzz of campus life.
Gyuvin gave her a reassuring smile, the kind that made girls swoon and photographers beg for magazine covers. “Just thinking,” he said, brushing his thumb over her knuckles.
She didn’t press him further. That was another thing he appreciated about Vicky—she knew when to push and when to let things go. Together, they crossed the quad, where students sat sprawled on the grass, soaking in the sunshine. A group of freshmen stared unabashedly as the couple walked by, and Vicky leaned closer, her laughter tinkling like wind chimes.
“Are we really that interesting to look at?” she teased, though the faint blush on her cheeks betrayed her embarrassment.
Gyuvin chuckled, his arm sliding protectively around her waist. “You are,” he said, and her blush deepened.
To the outside world, Gyuvin and Vicky were flawless. He was the Magnarch, she was the daughter of a wealthy philanthropist, and together, they embodied the kind of romance that novels were written about. But beneath the surface of their polished exterior, Gyuvin carried a quiet unease, a question he couldn’t shake no matter how hard he tried.
In their world, love wasn’t just an abstract concept; it was written in the threads of fate. Every human was connected by a soul line, an invisible glow that appeared the moment two destined souls touched. The color of the line varied, each hue carrying its own meaning—teal for emotional connection, sunset orange for fiery passion, and pearl white for serene harmony. For Magnarchs and their soulmates, the glow was different, something out of this world. Galactic iridescence with fiery auroras streaking through—a dazzling, undeniable mark of destiny.
Gyuvin had spent years waiting for his glow to appear. When he first touched Vicky in high school—her soft fingers brushing his as she passed him a pen—he’d felt his heart leap. But nothing had happened. No glow, no spark, just an ordinary touch. He had told himself it was fine, that maybe the glow would come later, that maybe it was different for Magnarchs.
And yet, it never did.
But despite the absence of the glow, Gyuvin clung to the hope that Vicky was his soulmate. She fit so perfectly into his life, into the future he had envisioned for himself. She was kind, intelligent, beautiful—everything anyone could want in a partner. Their lives aligned seamlessly, their families approving, their ambitions complementing one another. If the glow hadn’t appeared, there had to be a reason. Perhaps it was fate’s way of testing him, or perhaps it was a sign that soul lines weren’t as infallible as people believed.
He had to believe that. Because the alternative—that his soulmate was still out there, waiting—was too unsettling to consider.
But deep down, Gyuvin couldn’t silence the nagging doubts. What if Vicky wasn’t the one? What if his true soulmate was someone he had already passed by, unaware? Or worse—what if they were someone he couldn’t accept, someone who didn’t fit into the life he had so carefully constructed?
The thought terrified him. Gyuvin was used to control, to precision, to the certainty that came with his precognition. But the soul line was something he couldn’t foresee, couldn’t manipulate. It was a wild card in a life otherwise governed by order.
For now, he told himself it didn’t matter. Vicky made him happy. She made sense. And if the glow never came, he would still choose her, because she was the only part of his life that felt truly his.
Now, as they reached the campus fountain, Vicky turned to him, her smile radiant. “Want to grab a coffee?”
Gyuvin nodded, his worries tucked away behind the perfect mask he always wore. “Lead the way,” he said, his voice warm and steady.
For now, he could play the role everyone expected him to play: the Magnarch with the perfect life and the perfect girl by his side. But in the quiet corners of his mind, the unanswered questions lingered, waiting for a day when they could no longer be ignored.
***
The campus lounge buzzed with life that afternoon. Students shuffled between tables, laughter and chatter filling the air. Gyuvin sat in a corner booth with his friends, Gunwook and Matthew, his long legs stretched casually under the table. A coffee cup rested in front of him, untouched, as Gunwook regaled them with a story about a disastrous group project.
“...and then, get this, he thought citing Wikipedia in its entirety would get us an A!” Gunwook exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation.
Matthew laughed so hard he nearly spilled his drink. “You’re kidding me! Who even does that?”
Gunwook leaned back in his seat, shaking his head. “I wish I was. Professor looked like she aged five years just reading his paper.”
Gyuvin smirked, his sharp features softening with amusement. “Sounds like your usual luck, Gunwook. Maybe you should stick to solo projects.”
Gunwook pointed a finger at him accusingly. “Says the guy who probably aces everything without breaking a sweat. I bet even your group projects magically organize themselves just because you’re Gyuvin.”
Matthew grinned, adjusting his glasses. “It’s true, though. You do have that... aura, you know? Like everything just works out around you.”
Gyuvin chuckled, brushing off the compliment. “Trust me, it doesn’t. You just don’t see the disasters I dodge.”
Gunwook scoffed. “Oh, please. You’re a Magnarch. Disasters probably bow to you and apologize before they even happen.”
As the laughter settled, Gyuvin glanced toward the far end of the lounge, where a few students were gathered around a bulletin board. And his eyes suddenly lingered on a familiar figure for a split second—a tall boy with sharp eyes and an air of quiet intensity.
Ricky.
He hadn’t thought about Ricky in years, not since high school. Back then, their rivalry had been almost legendary. Ricky was smart, driven, and fiercely competitive—a scholarship student who had clawed his way to the top against all odds. But no matter how hard Ricky pushed himself, Gyuvin always seemed to be one step ahead.
It wasn’t personal, at least not to Gyuvin. But Ricky had seemed to take every one of Gyuvin’s victories as a personal slight, his glares sharp enough to cut. They had butted heads constantly, their clashes fueled by Ricky’s resentment and Gyuvin’s indifference.
Gyuvin hadn’t seen Ricky much since they started college. They moved in different circles now, their paths crossing only occasionally in crowded lecture halls or during campus events. But even in those fleeting moments, Gyuvin could feel the undercurrent of tension, the unspoken history that lingered between them.
Ricky turned slightly, catching Gyuvin’s gaze for a brief moment before looking away, so fast. Too fast, even. The moment passed, but it left an odd feeling in Gyuvin’s chest—something he couldn’t quite name.
“Earth to Gyuvin,” Gunwook said, snapping his fingers in front of his face. “Where’d you go just now?”
Gyuvin blinked, shaking off the thought. “Nowhere. Just zoning out.”
Gunwook smirked. “Don’t tell me you’re losing your edge. The great Magnarch, daydreaming in the middle of a conversation?”
Matthew leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Maybe he’s thinking about Vicky. You two are sickeningly perfect, you know that?”
Gyuvin rolled his eyes, but his lips curved into a small smile. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Matt.”
“Not jealous,” Matthew said, grinning. “Just impressed. Some of us have to actually work at being charming.”
“Not Gyuvin,” Gunwook said with mock seriousness. “He probably charmed his way out of the womb.”
The table erupted in laughter again, the earlier moment forgotten. But in the back of Gyuvin’s mind, Ricky’s sharp gaze lingered, an uninvited thought in the middle of an otherwise perfect day.
Whatever it was, Gyuvin was sure it didn’t matter. Ricky was part of the past—a rival, nothing more. And yet, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that their story wasn’t over just yet.
The conversation shifted as Gunwook leaned forward, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. “Speaking of jealousy,” he said, wagging his finger at Gyuvin, “you might as well start being jealous of me. Taerae and I are officially making our relationship public at the festival next week.”
Matthew let out a low whistle, his eyes lighting up with genuine excitement. “Seriously? About time! Everyone’s been speculating for months. You two are the worst at hiding it.”
Gunwook chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “What can I say? We wanted to keep it low-key. But the festival feels like the right moment, you know? Big stage, lots of lights—perfect for showing off that gorgeous teal glow of us.”
Matthew nodded enthusiastically. “That’s so cool, man. And Jiwoong-Hyung and I might do the same, actually. He’s been hinting at making ours official too.”
Gyuvin shifted in his seat, his smile growing tighter by the second. The topic of soulmates had a way of getting under his skin, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. He took a sip of his coffee, hoping it would give him something to focus on other than the slight unease creeping into his chest.
He hated this part of the conversation—the casual way his friends talked about their soulmates, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. For them, it was. Gunwook had his glow with Taerae since their senior year of high school, the deep teal line appearing the first time they shook hands after a music competition. Matthew’s glow with Kim Jiwoong was more recent, a pearl-white shimmer that showed up during a late-night study session in the library.
Gyuvin envied their certainty. He envied the way they spoke about their soulmates without hesitation, without fear. For him, it was a gaping void, a question with no answer. He loved Vicky—he really did—but the absence of the glow between them was a wound he couldn’t ignore.
He forced a smile, nodding along to the conversation even as his chest tightened.
Gunwook, ever perceptive, noticed the slight tension in Gyuvin’s expression. He cleared his throat, leaning back in his chair. “Anyway, enough about us boring soulmates,” he said, throwing Gyuvin a knowing glance. “Let’s talk about the festival. Have you guys seen the lineup? The food stalls this year are supposed to be insane.”
Matthew’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I did! There’s a ramen-eating contest, and Jiwoong-Hyung dared me to enter. Think I can beat him?”
“Absolutely not,” Gunwook said, deadpan. “But I’ll cheer for you anyway.”
Gyuvin relaxed slightly, grateful for the change in topic. “I heard there’s going to be a haunted house too. Apparently, some of the theater kids went all out with the special effects.”
Matthew groaned. “Why is there always a haunted house? I swear, half the student body just uses it as an excuse to scare their dates.”
“That’s the point,” Gunwook said with a laugh. “You’re going, right?”
Matthew shrugged. “If Jiwoong-Hyung wants to, sure. What about you, Gyuvin? Taking Vicky?”
Gyuvin nodded, his smile easier now. “Probably. She’s been talking about the fireworks show at the end. It’s her favorite part.”
Gunwook smirked. “The fireworks, huh? Big romantic vibes. Maybe something good will happen, huh?”
Gyuvin’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, but he recovered quickly. “Maybe,” he said lightly, though his tone lacked conviction.
Gunwook didn’t push further, steering the conversation toward the festival games and which ones they’d try. But as they laughed and planned their day, Gyuvin couldn’t help but feel a flicker of unease in the pit of his stomach.
The festival was supposed to be a celebration, a time to relax and enjoy life. But for Gyuvin, it loomed like a storm cloud on the horizon—full of possibilities he wasn’t sure he was ready to face.
***
The weekend came, and the festival was in full swing, the campus transformed into a vibrant maze of lights, music, and laughter. Lanterns strung between trees cast a warm glow over the crowd, and the scent of street food wafted through the cool evening air. Gyuvin walked beside Vicky, their hands clasped loosely, as they weaved through the bustling pathways lined with colorful stalls.
“You have to try this,” Vicky said, tugging him toward a stand selling skewered grilled meat. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “The reviews said it’s the best on campus.”
Gyuvin chuckled, letting himself be dragged. “Alright, alright. But if it’s not as good as you say, I’m making you try that weird-looking squid over there.”
They laughed as they ordered, their playful banter drawing smiles from passersby. Gyuvin couldn’t help but notice the way people looked at them—admiring, envious. They were, as always, the couple everyone wanted to be.
As they moved to find a place to sit, they ran into Gunwook and Taerae, who were sharing a plate of fried snacks.
“Look who decided to grace us with his Magnarch presence,” Gunwook teased, throwing an arm around Gyuvin’s shoulder.
“You’re just jealous I’m dating someone who can actually make decisions,” Gyuvin shot back, grinning at Taerae.
“Hey!” Gunwook protested, but Taerae only laughed, leaning into him.
Matthew and Jiwoong joined soon after, their group settling into a lively rhythm of jokes, food, and laughter. It was moments like these—surrounded by friends, Vicky’s hand in his—that Gyuvin felt almost normal.
But as the evening wore on, Gyuvin couldn’t ignore the unease creeping in. Every time he met someone’s eyes, fragments of their future flickered through his mind like a reel of disjointed images. A girl tripped near the food stall, and Gyuvin had seen it a second before it happened. A professor walked past, and Gyuvin glimpsed him grading papers late at night.
It wasn’t new—he’d lived with his precognition for years—but tonight, the glimpses felt sharper, more intrusive. They pulled at his attention, leaving him distracted and restless.
He glanced at Vicky, her laughter ringing out as she tossed popcorn at Gunwook. No glow. No flicker of him in her future when he met her gaze. That was normal, he reminded himself. That was fine.
Wasn’t it?
***
As the evening drew closer to its climax, the crowd began to converge near the main square, where a large open space had been cleared for the fireworks display. Gyuvin and Vicky stood with their friends, the hum of excitement around them growing louder.
“This is going to be amazing,” Vicky said, leaning into Gyuvin’s side. He wrapped an arm around her, smiling despite the gnawing restlessness in his chest.
The first firework shot into the sky, bursting into a cascade of golden light. The crowd erupted into cheers, the air filled with awe and celebration.
And…
It happened in an instant.
As Gyuvin turned to adjust his footing in the crowded square, his shoulder brushed against someone else’s. The impact was slight, but the reaction was anything but.
His arm burned—not with pain, but with an intense, pulsing light. Startled, Gyuvin looked down, his breath catching as he saw it: a shimmering, iridescent glow radiating from where his arm had touched the stranger’s.
No. Not a stranger.
It’s….Ricky?
The glow wasn’t just light; it was alive, pulsating between them like a heartbeat. It spread across their forearms in waves of cosmic blue and fiery gold, drawing gasps from the people around them. The crowd stilled, murmurs rippling as more and more eyes turned to the spectacle.
Gyuvin’s breath caught in his throat as he looked down again, just to make sure. A line of iridescent light had erupted on his forearm. The glow was alive, pulsating with a rhythm that matched his rapid, erratic heartbeat. It wasn’t just a glow—it was a connection, vivid and undeniable, running through him like fire and ice at once.
His chest tightened, his breaths shallow and unsteady. He tried to move, but his legs felt anchored to the ground, as if the weight of this moment was too much to bear.
While Ricky? He froze, his arm locked in place as if the glow had tethered him there. His wide eyes stared at the line on his forearm, the colors shifting between deep blues and fiery golds. The pulse of the glow seemed to synchronize with his heartbeat, which was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst.
“No,” Ricky whispered, his voice trembling. His entire body tensed, the muscles in his jaw clenching as he took a shaky step back.
The crowd around them had gone silent, whispers starting to rise as people noticed the light. Ricky’s chest heaved, his breathing shallow and panicked, his mind a whirlwind of disbelief and dread.
“Not you,” he said under his breath, his voice cracking. His hands curled into fists as he looked up at Gyuvin.
Gyuvin’s gaze lifted at the same time, locking onto Ricky’s. For a moment, everything else—the fireworks, the crowd, even Vicky—faded into the background.
It was just the two of them, and the glow.
For the first time in his life, Gyuvin’s precognition didn’t kick in. No flashes of Ricky’s future. No disjointed images. Just the raw, unfiltered reality of this moment, so intense it was almost suffocating.
His heart was hammering in his chest, every beat amplified as the pulse of the glow seemed to match it, the rhythm like a drumbeat resonating between them. His hands trembled at his sides, his mind racing in a dozen different directions but landing on no answers.
“This… can’t be real,” Gyuvin whispered, his voice barely audible.
The spell broke as Ricky took another step back, his panic spilling over. His breathing was uneven, his movements jerky, as if his body couldn’t decide whether to fight or flee.
“I—I can’t—” Ricky stammered, his voice thick with emotion. He shook his head violently, as if denying it might undo the glow still flickering faintly on his arm.
Without warning, Ricky turned and bolted. He shoved past the stunned crowd, the whispers growing louder as people tried to process what they had just witnessed.
“Ricky!” Gyuvin could hear someone shouted Ricky’s name. It’s Zhang Hao from music science, if he's not wrong.
And still, Gyuvin didn’t move. He couldn’t. His body felt like stone, the glow on his arm now fading but leaving an echo of warmth that seemed to seep into his very bones.
His mind was in chaos. This couldn’t be happening. Not Ricky . Not his high school rival, the person he’d gone out of his way to avoid since their paths crossed again in college.
But the glow had been undeniable. The pulse, the warmth—it was everything he had ever read about soul lines. It was real.
Gyuvin’s throat tightened, his heart still racing as if trying to catch up with what had just happened. He felt the weight of every stare around him, but none heavier than Vicky’s.
“Gyuvin?” Vicky’s voice was soft, almost fragile, as if speaking any louder might shatter her composure.
Gyuvin turned to her, guilt stabbing through him at the confusion and hurt etched across her face. Her eyes flicked between him and his arm, where the glow had been moments before. She was pale, her hand trembling as she clutched at her side.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
“I…” Gyuvin started, but the words caught in his throat. He didn’t understand either. His mind screamed at him to fix this, to say something that would make it all go away, but there was nothing.
The fireworks continued to explode overhead, their vibrant colors filling the sky. But the crowd’s attention was no longer on the display. All eyes were on Gyuvin, on where Ricky had disappeared, and on Vicky’s stricken face. They murmured, whispers growing louder as people pieced together what they’d just witnessed.
Gyuvin’s legs finally moved, though they felt like lead. He took a step toward where Ricky had run, but his feet faltered. What was he supposed to do? Chase after him? Leave Vicky standing here, broken and confused?
His hand clenched into a fist, his nails digging into his palm as he tried to steady his breathing. But the question burned in his mind, louder than the fireworks, louder than the crowd.
Why Ricky? What had just happened? Why now? Why Ricky ?
And why, despite everything, did a small, treacherous part of him feel like this was the moment he’d been waiting for all along?
***