Converging Hearts

CHAPTER ONE: THE HEIST

Professor Khynny Myggz Cuenca glided through the National Museum of Korea, her emerald gown catching the light with every step. The polished marble floors reflected the elegance of the evening, blending the ancient history on display with the modern sophistication of the gala. Overhead, warm golden lights bathed the exhibits in a soft glow. At the center of it all stood the evening's crown jewel: a Goryeo celadon vase, its jade surface gleaming under the spotlight.

The vase, a masterpiece of 12th-century Korean celadon, radiated a serene beauty. Its deep jade hue, known as 'Kingfisher Green', shimmered like water in the soft light. Intricate crane and cloud motifs swirled around its curves, symbolizing peace and longevity. A tiny imperfection near the base hinted at the artisan's touch—a reminder that even perfection carries the weight of humanity.

Once lost during the Japanese occupation, the vase had been rediscovered in a European estate, and Khynny had spent years ensuring its safe return to South Korea. This was more than an exhibit for her—it was the culmination of a long, personal journey to preserve a piece of her country's history. As she stood before it now, a wave of accomplishment washed over her.

Her gaze shifted from the vase to the guests, taking in their awestruck expressions. But a shadow in the crowd caught her attention—a man dressed in dark slacks and a plain jacket lingered near the display, his presence unsettling. Before she could react, the monitors flickered.

A chill ran down her spine.

"Did you see that?" Khynny asked the nearby technician, her eyes glued to the security screens.

The tech glanced up, indifferent. "Just a glitch. No need to worry."

But worry gnawed at her. She forced a smile, masking the growing tension that gripped her shoulders. Her eyes kept darting back to the vase, a nagging sense of unease pulling her deeper into dread.

Across the room, Moon "Oner" Hyeon Jun navigated through the crowd, his sharp eyes scanning every face. He wasn't here for the art. His heart beat harder as he neared his girlfriend, the reason for his presence at the gala. There she was, radiant in a silver gown, her dark hair flowing like silk. For a brief moment, a sense of calm washed over him.

But that calm shattered the second he noticed the man standing beside her—too close, his arm casually draped around her waist. The sight hit Oner like a punch to the gut.

His chest tightened as betrayal crashed over him in waves. She wasn't pulling away. She wasn't protesting. She leaned into the man like it was the most natural thing in the world, as if this wasn't something new. The ground seemed to shift beneath Oner's feet. His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms, the pain barely registering through the storm of emotions.

He kept his face neutral, though every muscle in his body screamed with the urge to confront her. He had felt them drifting apart for months—the distance growing between them, the late nights spent at practice, the endless travels, her replies becoming shorter and more delayed. Yet seeing it now, happening right in front of him, carved the betrayal fresh into his soul.

Oner took a step forward, anger thrumming under his skin. But before he could act, a cold logic cut through the haze—confronting her wouldn't change anything. It was already over.

He turned his gaze away, forcing himself to swallow the hurt, but his attention snagged on a different figure. A woman. The curator of the exhibit. There was something familiar about her, but he couldn't quite place it. His instincts flared when he noticed another figure lurking suspiciously near the vase.

The crowd swirled around him, laughter and soft music filling the air, but it all felt muted. Tension buzzed beneath the surface, a quiet hum of unease growing louder by the second. His focus locked onto the suspicious figure again, but before he could move, a voice interrupted him.