Chapter 52 — The Knock That Wasn't Just a Knock
It began with a sound.
Not loud. Not frantic. Not sharp.
A soft, measured knock — one that barely registered at first. Yet somehow, it silenced the entire dorm like a spell. The light hum of the air purifier, the flicker of television static, even the clinking of metal chopsticks on ceramic bowls — all paused.
Rin looked up from the game controller. "Did anyone… hear that?"
"Sounded like someone knocking," Hyunjae muttered.
"That's impossible," Minjae said. "We're on the tenth floor. This place is double-sealed. No one can get in without passing three security codes."
Another knock.
Three taps.
Each softer than the last, but carrying a strange finality — the kind that doesn't expect to be refused.
Sungchan blinked. "Okay, that one I heard."
The manager stood, confused but cautious. "Maybe a misdelivery?"
He moved toward the door — but before he could reach the handle, someone else opened it.
Jaeheon.
Silent. Calm. Barefoot in plain black pants and a simple gray shirt. His expression unreadable, as always — but his eyes held something cold and ancient, like he already knew who was behind the door.
Outside stood a man none of them recognized.
Tall. Black-gloved. Wearing a high-collared coat so flawlessly tailored it seemed molded to his frame. There was no name badge, no courier symbol, no identification. Just presence — the kind you didn't challenge.
He held a long rectangular case in both hands, gloved fingers unmoving.
His voice was composed, clipped, formal.
"Summon Prince Kang Jaeheon."
No one spoke.
The words didn't belong to this world — or at least not to theirs.
Only Jaeheon stepped forward.
He met the man's gaze without hesitation.
The man bowed slightly — not low, not subservient, but exact.
He extended the box.
Jaeheon accepted it.
No words were exchanged.
Then the man bowed again and left.
Without a sound.
The door closed. The silence lingered.
Minjae stared at Jaeheon. "Okay. Uh. What just happened?"
"Prince?" Rin echoed, eyes wide.
"Wait, you—?" Hyunjae stopped mid-sentence. "I mean… you are, aren't you?"
Even the manager looked shaken. "That wasn't… normal. That wasn't any courier I've ever seen. Not government. Not private. Not foreign diplomatic."
Jaeheon didn't answer.
He walked to the table and set the case down.
The latches were silent as he unfastened them. The box unfolded in slow, seamless motion, revealing something that did not look like paper.
The invitation shimmered.
Not with glitter. Not with artificial foil.
It glowed with a deep, celestial sheen — the kind only nature could produce… or something far more elite.
The surface was made of crystallized moonstone, each layer forged and pressed until it mimicked glass but moved like fluid under light. When Jaeheon tilted it, soft glows of violet, indigo, and moonlight silver danced across the table.
The borders were woven with real gold dust, delicately fused into intricate latticework that twisted in geometric designs too perfect to be human. Not a single grain out of place.
The text wasn't printed.
It was hand-etched in sapphire ink, each letter a stroke of surgical artistry. It glimmered like constellations, holding secrets in every serif.
And beneath the top layer — just visible if you tilted it — there was a diamond lattice. Not gemstones glued in. This was structure — as if the invitation itself was engineered from wealth.
Rin's voice cracked. "That… that's not a card."
"No," Jaeheon said. "It's not."
"What is it, then?" Minjae whispered.
Jaeheon looked up, eyes calm. "An invitation."
"To what?" Sungchan asked.
Jaeheon paused — then spoke, for the first time, in a tone that held a distant gravity.
"A ball. Held only three times per generation. A gathering of the world's oldest families. Not politicians. Not CEOs. Not celebrities. The ones who built the world for them."
The manager swallowed. "And they sent you an invitation?"
"Of course," Jaeheon said simply.
"How—?" Rin's voice shook slightly. "How much is something like this worth?"
Jaeheon tilted the invitation.
"Moonstone, pure-gold dust, etched sapphire ink, and diamond lattice. Plus one-of-one artisan commission. This was handcrafted by a master bound to the Seven Legacy Courts."
Hyunjae blinked. "Seven what?"
Jaeheon leaned back slightly, as if settling into a lecture no one asked for.
"The Seven Legacy Courts are not governments. Not monarchies. They're dynastic circles — the original seven ruling lines of the global upper echelon. They don't appear in media. They don't own brands — they own the people who own them. Old wealth. The kind that predates countries. They don't need exposure. They already run everything."
No one moved.
Jaeheon continued.
"Each court appoints master artisans — one per generation — who are forbidden from creating anything outside of sanctioned commissions. This invitation was likely made over three years ago. Every one is delivered by hand. One per invitee. No duplicates."
The room was stunned.
Minjae couldn't hold back. "Okay but—seriously—why did they invite you?"
Jaeheon raised a brow, calmly.
"Did you forget my background?"
And somehow, that was enough.
It wasn't a flex.
It was simply a reminder: Jaeheon didn't talk about his past — because it spoke for itself.
Sungchan finally whispered, "So… are you going?"
Jaeheon looked down at the shimmering invitation again.
There was no RSVP line. No barcode. No instructions.
Just his name.
Hand-etched in sapphire, like it belonged to the stars.
He said nothing.
But he didn't put it away either.