Between two worlds | Chanlix

The King walks alone

The morning came too fast for Chan.

The sun barely climbed over the skyscrapers, the air still clinging to the coolness of dawn, but the pressure inside his chest was already boiling.

Today was not just another day.

Today, he would sit at the directors' table.

Today, he would see Felix again.

He smoothed the lapels of the custom-made navy suit Changbin had practically *forced* onto him months ago.

It wasn't his style — too expensive, too sharp — but today, he needed every piece of armor he could find.

The mirror reflected someone new. Someone powerful. Someone that could stand even in front of *him*.

He walked through the busy corridors of the company, the polished floors clicking under his shoes.

There was a tension in the air, a rhythm, like a drum beating louder with every step he took.

Assistants rushed back and forth, whispering and exchanging papers.

Phones buzzed.

Voices dropped to murmurs.

*Felix is inside,* Chan thought, his fingers tightening slightly around the folder he carried.

Only Felix could cause this. Only Felix made this giant tower breathe faster.

The assistant by the boardroom door smiled too brightly, almost nervously.

"Director Bang, welcome."

Chan nodded once, stiff and polite, and pulled open the heavy door.

Inside, the room was already half full.

At the head of the long dark oak table, Felix sat — poised, kinglike.

Blond hair slightly longer than before, curling naturally at the edges, golden under the soft lighting.

The black suit he wore was worth more than a small apartment, tailored to wrap around him like a second skin.

His fingers, slim and elegant, drummed lightly against a silver tablet.

Cold eyes lifted lazily as Chan entered.

There was a moment, so quick it could've been missed, when their eyes locked.

No words passed.

No emotion betrayed.

Only a small, formal nod from Felix.

Only a crisp, neutral bow from Chan.

He took his seat toward the middle of the table, not too close, not too far.

Far enough to breathe, close enough to be seen.

The meeting began — a long, slow grind of figures, forecasts, global expansions, talent investments.

Chan listened sharply, his face unreadable, the perfect portrait of focus.

When it came his time to present, he stood without hesitation.

His voice cut through the thick corporate air — clear, ambitious, steady.

He laid out the framework for the Japanese project, detailed and inventive without overselling.

No extra words. No overreaching.

Just pure *work*.

From the corner of his eye, he caught Felix watching him, head slightly tilted, thumb tapping rhythmically on the table.

When the board murmured approval, Felix's nod was almost imperceptible — but it was there.

Chan sat back down, heart pounding hard in his chest but his face cool as marble.

The meeting dragged on, but Chan never once let his mask slip.

He was no longer the young intern trying to win a glance.

He was a creator now.

A force in his own right.

At last, the board concluded. Papers rustled. People rose.

Chan collected his things, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles from his suit, aiming for the door.

Almost free.

Almost clean.

Until—

"Bang Chan," Felix's voice, smooth and commanding, cut the air.

"Stay a moment."

The whole room hesitated.

Eyes flickered.

Whispers stalled.

Chan paused with his hand on the handle, composing himself, spine straightening.

He turned halfway, offering a tight, professional smile.

"Is that a request, sir?"

Felix's lips curled, almost amused. "Just a minute of your time."

Chan walked back inside, standing a respectable distance away, folder pressed to his side like a shield.

Felix leaned back in his chair, surveying him in silence for a moment that stretched too long.

"I wanted to say," Felix began, voice calm, "your project with Aiko is impressive. Your work has been excellent. I'm... pleased."

Chan nodded sharply, without bowing too deeply.

"I'm honored. But it's simply my job. My work is my priority."

Another silence fell between them.

One too heavy, too packed with history neither wanted to touch.

Felix's gaze seemed almost to soften, the barest tremor of something human flickering through him.

But Chan didn't give him the chance.

He straightened fully, gave a cool, detached nod.

"I apologize, sir, but I have deadlines waiting. I don't have time for unnecessary conversations."

And without another glance, he turned, opened the door, and walked out —

Head high.

Back straight.

A king in his own right.

Behind him, the door closed with a final, echoing click.

For the first time in a long time, Chan wasn't running after Felix.

Felix was the one left sitting alone.

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