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Juju island attack

The Gravity of a Shattered Glass

The new villa was nestled deep within the lush, green embrace of the Hallasan foothills, far removed from the rhythmic, mocking roar of the ocean. It was a sanctuary of cedar wood and soft carpets, designed to be a fortress of silence. Here, the air smelled of pine needles and rain rather than salt and old grudges.

Chan pulled the SUV into the gated driveway, his hands finally relaxing their white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. In the backseat, Jisung was fast asleep, his head lolling against Minho’s shoulder. The little boy looked peaceful in the dim afternoon light, his thumb hooked loosely into the handle of his sippy cup. The dark bruises on his neck had turned a sickly shade of yellow-green, a haunting map of the violence he had endured.

"We’re here, baby," Minho whispered, though he made no move to get out. He just watched the rise and fall of Jisung’s chest. "We’re safe now."

Chan turned off the engine, the sudden silence of the mountains settling over them like a heavy blanket. "I’ll go inside and make sure the others have set up the 'Safe Zone' in the living room. Changbin said they arrived an hour ago."

Minho nodded, his eyes never leaving Jisung. "Make sure they know. No loud voices. No sudden movements. If he wakes up and sees too many people, he’ll spiral."

Inside the villa, the atmosphere was somber. Felix and Jeongin were on the floor of the expansive living room, spreading out thick, plush blankets and scattering Jisung’s favorite stuffed animals in a wide circle. Seungmin was in the kitchen, quietly preparing a batch of bland, soft foods—mashed potatoes and steamed carrots—that wouldn't hurt Jisung’s sensitive throat.

When Chan walked in, the silence was absolute. Felix looked up, his eyes searching Chan’s face for a sign of hope.

"He’s asleep," Chan said, his voice low. "We’re bringing him in now. Is everything ready?"

"We moved the coffee table so he won't bump into anything," Jeongin whispered, clutching a blue dinosaur plushie. "And I put his favorite nightlight by the sofa. The one that projects the stars."

Chan nodded, gesturing for them to give him space. A moment later, Minho entered the house, carrying Jisung tucked against his chest. The little boy stirred, whimpering softly as the change in temperature hit his skin, but he didn't wake. Minho settled him onto the pile of blankets in the center of the room, tucking a weighted quilt around his small frame.

For a long time, the five of them just stood there, forming a protective ring around the sleeping boy. They were the fragments of a broken whole, trying to figure out how to be a family when one of their own had become the villain of the story.

"Where is he?" Minho finally asked, his voice cold as ice. He didn't need to say the name.

"Still at the other house," Seungmin said, joining them from the kitchen. He wiped his hands on a towel, his expression unreadable. "Changbin stayed behind to move the rest of the luggage, but he said Hyunjin hasn't left the guest house. He’s... he’s not doing well, Chan."

"I don't care," Minho snapped, his eyes flashing. "He could be rotting for all I care. He almost took Jisung from us."

"I know," Seungmin said softly. "I’m not defending him. I’m just saying... the manager is asking questions. They want to know when we’re moving back to Seoul. They want to know why the '00 line is split up."

"Tell them Jisung had a medical emergency and needs quiet," Chan said, his leadership tone returning, though it was frayed at the edges. "We aren't going back until he can stand to be in a room with more than two people at a time. And as for Hyunjin... he stays where he is. I’ll deal with the company."

A small, choked sound came from the pile of blankets.

Jisung was awake. He sat up slowly, his eyes wide and dazed, the pacifier in his mouth bobbing as he took in his new surroundings. He looked at the high cedar ceilings and the large windows that looked out onto the forest, and for a second, panic flared in his gaze.

"Dada?" he chirped, his voice tiny.

"Right here, my star," Minho said, immediately dropping to the floor beside him. "Do you like the new house? Look, Innie put all your friends here."

Jisung looked at the circle of stuffed animals. He reached out and grabbed the squirrel plushie, pulling it to his chest. His eyes drifted to Felix and Jeongin, who were sitting a few feet away.

"Lixie? Innie?"

"Hi, Sungie," Felix said, his voice thick with emotion. He crawled a bit closer, stopping when Jisung flinched. "I have juice. Do you want juice?"

Jisung nodded slowly. He took the sippy cup from Felix, his small hands shaking. As he drank, his eyes wandered to the door, then back to Chan.

"The... the water is gone?"

"It’s far away, baby," Chan promised, sitting on the other side of the blanket fort. "No more ocean. Just the trees and the birds."

Jisung seemed to process this, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. He reached out a hand to touch the bruise on his cheek, his face scrunching up in pain. "Owie. Jinnie made a big owie."

The room went cold. It was the first time Jisung had voluntarily spoken about the attack since arriving at the new house.

"I know it hurts, baby," Minho said, his heart breaking. "But the doctor gave us special medicine to make the owie go away. Do you want to try some of the food Seungmin-hyung made?"

Jisung looked at the bowl of mashed potatoes Seungmin was holding. He shook his head, burying his face in Minho’s neck. "No 'gry. Want to hide."

"Okay, we can hide," Minho cooed, pulling the weighted blanket over both of them like a tent.

Inside the makeshift cave, Jisung felt safe. The world was just the scent of Minho’s fabric softener and the soft glow of the star projector that Jeongin had turned on.

"Dada?"

"Yes, baby?"

"Why Jinnie hate me?"

The question was a physical blow. Minho closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against Jisung’s. "He doesn't hate you, Sungie. Jinnie is... he’s very sick in his heart. He let his shadows get too big, and he forgot who he was. It wasn't because of anything you did. You were a perfect, good boy."

"I found his pretty," Jisung whispered, his voice muffled by Minho’s shirt. "I wanted him to smile. But he didn't smile. He made the dark come."

"I know. And I am so, so sorry we weren't there to keep the dark away," Minho said, his voice cracking. "But Dada is here now. And Channie-papa is here. We won't let the dark come back. Ever."

Jisung stayed in his 'tent' for hours. The other members moved like ghosts around the house, speaking in whispers. They were all grieving—not just for the trauma Jisung had suffered, but for the loss of their group’s soul. They had always been a unit, a chaotic, loving mess of eight. Now, they were a house divided, haunted by the ghost of a brother who had turned into a nightmare.

Later that evening, Changbin arrived at the new villa. He looked haggard, his clothes wrinkled and his eyes bloodshot. He pulled Chan and Seungmin into the kitchen, far away from where Jisung was currently being entertained by Felix and a set of wooden blocks.

"He tried to come with me," Changbin whispered, leaning against the counter. "When I was loading the last of the bags, Hyunjin came out of the guest house. He looked... Chan, he looked like a skeleton. He was begging to see Jisung. He said he just wanted to say sorry."

"He’s not coming here," Chan said, his voice low and dangerous.

"I told him that," Changbin sighed. "I told him if he stepped foot on this property, I wouldn't be able to stop Minho from killing him. He just collapsed on the driveway. He’s a mess, Chan. He’s completely broken down."

"He broke Jisung," Seungmin pointed out, his voice sharp. "He can be as broken as he wants, but it doesn't change the fact that he nearly drowned our youngest member because of a piece of jewelry. He needs professional help, Bin. Not a visit to the person he traumatized."

"I know," Changbin said, rubbing his face. "I'm just saying... we need a plan. The company is going to send someone down here in two days to check on us. We can't keep them apart forever if we’re going to stay a group."

"Maybe we don't stay a group," Chan said quietly.

The silence that followed was deafening. It was the thought they had all been terrified to voice.

"You don't mean that," Felix said, having walked into the kitchen to get more juice for Jisung. His eyes were wide with horror. "Chan, we’re Stray Kids. We’re 'nine or none,' then 'eight or none.' We can't—"

"We are eight people, Felix," Chan said, turning to face him. "But one of those people is a victim and one is an aggressor. How do I put them in a dance practice together? How do I put them on a stage? Jisung screams if a door slams because he thinks it’s Hyunjin. How is he supposed to sing a harmony with him?"

Felix had no answer. He just stood there, the juice box shaking in his hand.

In the living room, Jisung had wandered away from his blocks. He had seen the tension in the kitchen, and even in his regressed state, he could feel the vibrations of the conflict. He stood by the sofa, clutching his yellow chick plushie, his eyes fixed on the kitchen door.

"Dada?" he called out, his voice trembling.

Minho was by his side in a heartbeat. "What is it, baby? What’s wrong?"

"They're loud," Jisung whimpered, his bottom lip beginning to shake. "The big boys are being loud. Are they mad at Sungie?"

"No, no! Never at you," Minho said, glaring toward the kitchen. "Chan! Changbin! Quiet down!"

The voices in the kitchen ceased instantly. Chan walked out a moment later, his expression softening into a mask of calm as he looked at Jisung.

"Sorry, little one," Chan said, kneeling down. "We were just talking about what to have for dinner. We didn't mean to be noisy."

Jisung looked at him skeptically. He shuffled forward, leaning his head against Chan’s knee. "No more fighting? Fighting makes the water come."

Chan felt a physical pang in his chest. He scooped Jisung up, holding him tightly. "No more fighting. I promise. We’re all going to be very, very quiet and very, very kind."

As the night deepened, they managed to get Jisung to eat a few bites of porridge. He was exhausted, the emotional toll of the move and the hospital stay finally catching up to him. Minho and Chan took him to the large master bedroom, which had been outfitted with a small, portable crib for when he wanted to feel enclosed, though they knew he would likely end up in the big bed with them.

Jisung insisted on having his 'stars' on. The projector cast rotating constellations across the ceiling, turning the room into a silent, swirling galaxy.

"Channie-papa?" Jisung whispered as he was tucked in.

"Yes, baby?"

"Can you sing the moon song?"

Chan sat on the edge of the bed, his voice soft and melodic as he began to hum a slow, gentle lullaby he had written years ago. Minho sat on the other side, stroking Jisung’s hair, watching as the little boy’s eyes began to droop.

"Under the stars, you’re safe and sound," Chan sang softly. "No more shadows to be found..."

Just as Jisung was drifting off, his hand twitched. He reached out, grabbing Minho’s sleeve. "Dada?"

"I’m here, Sungie."

"I forgive Jinnie," Jisung murmured, his voice thick with sleep. "But I don't want to see him. Is that okay? Can I be a good boy and not see him?"

Minho felt a lump form in his throat. Even now, in the depths of his regression, Jisung was worried about being a 'good boy' for not wanting to face his attacker.

"It is more than okay," Minho whispered, kissing his forehead. "You never have to see anyone you don't want to. You just sleep, baby. We’ve got the watch."

Jisung finally fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Outside the room, the rest of the members sat in the dark living room, watching the stars through the large windows. They were miles away from the beach, miles away from the silver bracelet and the salt, but the weight of what had happened followed them like a shadow.

They were safe for now, tucked away in their mountain fortress. But as the moon rose over Jeju, casting its cold light over the fractured family, they all knew that the silence wasn't a cure. It was just a pause. The world was still waiting, and the scars on Jisung’s neck would eventually fade, but the scars on his soul—and the soul of the group—would require a kind of healing that none of them knew how to provide.

For tonight, though, there was no water. There was no screaming. There was only the steady breathing of a little boy who was finally, truly, starting to believe he was safe. And for Chan and Minho, that was the only victory that mattered.