The next day at dawn, Y/N sat alone in the studio. The black envelope lay open on the table beside her — the melody still echoing in her head like a whisper. It was deliberate, taunting, like a knock on a locked door.
Yoongi entered, a rare sight in casual clothes — hoodie, sneakers, a faint shadow under his eyes.
Yoongi: "Did you figure it out?"
Y/N didn't answer. Instead, she played the melody again. Then stopped.
Y/N: "It's not a full phrase. He's daring me to respond musically. But also intellectually. It's code."
Yoongi leaned against the wall, arms crossed. He was quiet for a while, then said,
Yoongi: "You think it's a cipher?"
Y/N: "I know it is. The note progression spells something in solfège. The key signature, the meter... everything feels intentional. It's a puzzle. He's watching me."
Yoongi gave a low whistle, impressed.
Yoongi: "And you're answering."
Y/N smiled faintly and began writing her reply — not a letter, not a threat. A melody. In D major. Uplifting, sharp, with an undercurrent of danger.
By afternoon, the family reconvened in the penthouse.
Namjoon stood by the digital whiteboard, flipping through slides of security footage from the concert.
Namjoon: "The man we saw — Seo Inho. Youngest son of the exiled Seo patriarch. Confirmed alive. And now circling Y/N."
Jin: "He's not just playing cat-and-mouse. He's luring her."
Jungkook: "Then we gut the trap."
Jimin: "No. We let her finish what she started. She's the only one who speaks his language."
Everyone turned to Y/N.
Namjoon: "You in?"
She nodded.
Y/N: "Let him think I'm playing his game. I'll flip the board."
Later that night, Y/N uploaded a short, anonymous piano piece to a dark music forum known for hosting underground composers and cryptic symphonies. She titled it "Nocturne in D — To the Ghost Who Watches."
It spread quietly, but fast. Musicians, analysts, and criminal ears alike began decoding it.
It wasn't just melody. It was message.
And Inho received it.
—— A week later ——
A letter arrived at the Kims' private mailbox. Sealed in wax, no return address. Inside was a new sheet — another measure. This time in A♭ minor — heavy, dissonant. But something else was attached.
A photo.
Y/N. In the school hallway. Taken yesterday.
Yoongi: "He's getting too close."
Namjoon: "We take her out of school."
Y/N (firmly): "No."
Jin: "Y/N—"
Y/N: "This is my move. He chose the melody. I'll choose the finale."
Yoongi stared at her, then slowly nodded.
Yoongi: "Then we hit back. Not with guns. Not yet. With silence."
Y/N: "I'm listening."
He handed her a USB drive.
Yoongi: "This track was intercepted last night. He's composing his next move with live orchestration. He's working with someone else. A composer. A traitor. From our old guard."
The betrayal hit hard — like disharmony in a perfect chord.
Y/N: "Then I'll write a duet."
Yoongi: "What?"
Y/N: "He wants me alone. So I'll invite him — a public performance. One song. My terms. My stage."
Jungkook's brows lifted.
Jungkook: "Are you baiting a mafia heir with a concert battle?"
Y/N: "No. I'm baiting a coward who hides behind melody. And I'm going to end this."
The brothers exchanged glances.
Then, surprisingly — Namjoon smiled.
Namjoon: "Make it beautiful. And make it lethal."
The curtain was rising on something new. A symphony not of instruments, but of war.
And Y/N?
She was done playing by old rules.
She was writing her Requiem.