A/N: Korean, Cantonese

“Oh, I’m special,” I agree, a wicked smile hidden under my mask.

I can see people in the crowd looking confused, as if they’re trying to figure me out.

“Must be an idol,” I hear someone speculate.

“How arrogant,” someone else mutters.

Outward appearances-wise, I look androgynous. I’ve bound my chest, but not as tightly as usual. Instead, I’m wearing a loose hoodie and long, straight-legged pants. Growing up as observant Park Jinhee, then Sarah Yang, and finally Jackson, or Puppy, with only the male influence of my Zodiac brothers, I learned the ticks that set male and female apart.

I’ve settled in a loose stance, legs not overtly apart, nor together. Shoulders back, but not enough to push out my chest. Arms relaxed, hanging by my sides. Head tilted neither down, nor up, just looking straight ahead. It’s a stance that makes people uncomfortable in a way they can’t pinpoint, because they can’t classify it. It’s their choice whether to make the call that I’m a mannish woman, or a just a man of slight build.

The voice that I’m using, too, is androgynous and could be either . It’s not my voice, not my Qilin voice, but close. Some may hear it as a high-toned male voice. Some may hear it as a low-toned female voice. My range is expansive, and I used the lower end of it enough while I was growing up as Jackson that my tone can comfortably fall into male or female.

Even my ethnicity can’t easily be distinguished. My eyes, though uncovered, aren’t held under tight rein like I usually have them. Instead, they fluctuate between hazel and dark brown in the light.

This persona, though formless, is nevertheless my own. In the Hong Kong underground, I began nameless, faceless, and virtually incompetent, but I threw myself into practicing the same way I threw myself into practicing martial arts.

All-in.

My increasingly frequent victories and appearances in Hong Kong led to my eventually earning the name Flux, because my audiences’ takes on me fluctuated every time I performed. People speculate about me online all the time, under videos of me on stage, arguing about my gender, my ethnicity, my age, et cetera. They are either utterly convinced I’m male, or utterly convinced I’m female. It suits me, so I leave it be. Nobody knows who I am, and that’s enough for me.

The MC turns back to the crowd and shouts, “Let the music begin!”  

The crowd roars as Panda by Desiigner starts to play, a remix. I make eye contact with Potter boy by accident and roll my eyes. Oh, please. He’s looking less nervous. In fact, he looks almost as disgusted as I am.

Like I expected, Queenie is the first one to step into the spotlight. She starts dancing, popping her chest out and going low, spinning and throwing her hair back in flashy moves. I groan silently. Men in the audience cheer and catcall, enjoying the provocative dancing.

To my surprise, Jane steps out to meet the only other (visibly) female contestant as the song switches to Future’s Commas. Where Queenie is punch-you-in-the-face y (read: vulgar) in her too-tight tank top and booty shorts, Jane is classy and compelling. Her sharp moves quickly back Queenie up, and the busty girl scowls at being pushed out of the limelight. As Queenie retreats, Jane goes into a freeze, making the crowd ooh and aah, but the song changes again, to Ariana Grande’s Bad Decisions. Jane flinches, unable to transition properly.

Viper smells weakness and steps in, but his powerful moves drip with too much masculinity and it looks like he’s dancing to the wrong song. I hear a low laugh from my side and I look to see Siri grinning at Viper’s ineptitude. He glances at me and we lock eyes. Instead of hesitating, he jerks his chin at the dancer in the middle.

I smile savagely in response, eyes going hazel with glee. If that look is what I think it is, I’ve found a kindred spirit.

Hoseok’s POV:

“No name is taking awfully long to step up,” Kookie observes.

“He’s probably all bluff,” I say disdainfully, but as I speak, the figure on stage moves forward.

Qilin’s POV:    

Following Siri’s cue, I step onto the stage and counter Viper’s moves with my own, fluid where his are sharp. Siri slides in at my side and shadows me with flair. If it didn’t look like a couple dance before, it looks like one now, and Viper is almost literally pushed off the stage by our teamwork. I turn to face the front and just dance, feeling Siri behind me cooperating.

Then Migos’ Bad and Boujee plays, and it’s every man for himself. My moves become more masculine, taking more space. Siri quickly bows off the stage laughing, instead of letting himself be crowded out. Viper tries to intercede, but he misses the beat and has to retreat. Queenie doesn’t seem to know where to start.

Jane steps in, however. She starts dancing close to me, and it seems threatening at first, her “feminine wiles” more alluring than my dancing. Smiling at the challenge, I change my tone and get closer to her, making it a real couple dance– except my body waves are just as deep as hers, and my drops just as low. She looks visibly uncomfortable and finally flinches, jerking away, after I coquettishly trail my hand through the air, along the line of her leg. She practically flees the spotlight. Teehee. I win.

The music rounds off and the MC takes the stage again. “So, what do you think, everyone?”

The crowd roars in approval.

“Do we have a winner?”

The crowd roars again, a deafening, rolling sound of affirmation.

I tilt my head slightly to the side, the only sign of my pleasure.

The MC turns to me and gestures for me to step to the front of the stage. The roaring intensifies. Looking out, I glimpse a figure in the lowest rafters, near the door. He’s holding up a phone. What the hell.

Bowing, I take the time to hiss, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Having the time of my life,” Rat answers cheerfully. “Live streaming to everyone else.”

I barely stop myself from blanching under my mask. “.”

Quiet cheering in my ear. I grimace and straighten up.

The MC waves for silence. “The winner of tonight’s freestyle dance battle, and unlimited drinks for tonight. No Name!” I laugh when I hear the prize, and I just want to get off the stage and beat Rat’s head in, but instead I wait politely as the MC thanks everyone for their participation.

To my surprise, Siri accosts me as we head back off stage. “Hey, I just wanted to say thanks for dancing with me,” he says, stopping me. “Not many people would have got the cue, and honestly, I don’t know if I could have beaten Viper by myself.”

I laugh and incline my head at him. “We made a great team, but you’re far better than that show-off. He’s all power and no intuition. What kind of person dances like that to Ariana Grande?”

He grins. “Thanks a lot. Enjoy the rest of tonight!”

“You too.”

Hoseok’s POV:

The sight on stage makes my jaw drop. I haven’t seen double-teaming like that in years, and besides, they looked like they were strangers.

Even more intriguing is the fact that No Name’s dancing style changed once Jane stepped in. He (or she?) pulled off both mocking and alluring.

“Is it just me or did that guy start dancing like a woman?” Jungkook asks.

“I’m not sure it’s a guy,” Namjoon says dubiously. He revises his statement. “Actually, I’m pretty sure that was a girl.”

“Let’s see if we can catch him,” I suggest, but Kookie looks over my shoulder and looks worried.

Namjoon and I look in the same direction and see a man helping a drunk woman out the door.

“Yes?” I ask.

“I don’t think she wants to go,” Jungkook says.

“Yeah, I don’t think so either,” Namjoon agrees.

Before the three of us can step forward to confront the man, we hear someone shouting.

“Hey!”

We look for the source and find No Name. It’s hard to say why, but even entirely covered up, he appears visibly irritated.

“You think that’s his girlfriend?” I speculate.

No Name starts to move, weaving through the crowd, but the target and his victim disappear out the side door.

“I don’t know, but he’s leaving,” Kookie points out.

“Kaja,” Namjoon says cheerfully.

Qilin’s POV:

I beeline towards directly underneath the spot in the rafters, but the traitor is nowhere to be found. While I’m glaring up at the unoccupied space, I see in my periphery a light commotion.  

A visibly intoxicated girl, a few years older than I am, slim and dressed in scanty clothing, is being coaxed out the side door by a tall, much stronger man. It’s a common sight, and perhaps it’s nothing, just a boyfriend helping his girlfriend home, but the way her feet are turned slightly away, her shoulders straining out from his supportive embrace, pushes all the wrong buttons. God damn it.

“Rat, do you see this?” I ask.

My brother’s voice comes through my earpiece. “Yeah, looks like the bastard’s meaning to do something with her.” He sounds pissed, and rightly so. Anything involving ual assault or harassment pushes my brothers over the metaphorical line, since it happened to me years ago.

“Okay, yeah, I thought so. Let me handle it.”

His only response is an angry growl. Yikes.  

“Hey,” I call out in their direction. The man glances towards me and only increases his efforts. “,” I curse.  I just want to have some free drinks and go home.

Sighing, I head towards them. There’s not a few people between us, and I have to weave through. The man all but grabs the woman and hurries her out into the alleyway. I can hear her whimpering now. Speeding up, I dash through the door a few seconds after them and see the man’s leg disappearing around the the corner. Ugh.

I sprint in chase, braking long enough at the corner to make sure no nasty surprises lay in wait. They can’t have made it far; the woman was nearly a dead weight.

I round the corner and sprint, grabbing the man’s arm instead of tackling him. Still, the woman falls to the floor, crying out. It doesn’t look like she’s injured, and she’s still trying to get away. Good.

“Mind your own business,” the man hisses at me and flings my hand away, turning back towards the woman on the ground.

Growling, I kick him from behind, up between his legs. He collapses, yowling, half on top of the woman. Shoot. I bend over and haul him off of her, then punch him in the jaw, knocking him out cold.

Hoseok’s POV:

“That way!” Kookie points and we all run, trusting his judgment. Our maknae is golden, after all.

We hear a cry, then a man’s voice. Then thuds, and the sound of whimpering.

We peek around the corner, hesitant now, and find No Name kneeling by the woman from earlier.

“Where’d the guy go?” I ask, and Namjoon shushes me, pointing at a crumpled figure on the ground. Oh.

“Get away from me!” the woman screams in a broken voice, shuffling away.

“I’m trying to help you,” comes an exasperated voice.

I glance at the figure in black. That voice...

“Don’t touch me!”

Qilin’s POV:

“Don’t touch me!” the woman shrieks, sobbing. She’s sober enough now to be terrified, but not enough to be coordinated. “Don’t hurt me!”

“Lin, do you have it under control? Three people followed you out,” Rat tells me, concerned.

Ah, . But I can’t leave her alone.

“I’m coming out.”

 “Don’t, ge.”

Without thinking, I slide my mask down and show her Shin Minhee’s face, all soft features and sparkling eyes. “Sweetie, let me help you,” I coax, voice indubitably female.

Her whimpering subsides a little and she stares at me. “Y-you’re a woman?”

I grasp her hands comfortingly and smile.

“What’s your name? Are you here with friends?”

She shakes her head no. “My name is Youngmi.”

“Let’s get you back inside, hm? And then get you a taxi home?”

She nods weakly.

“Kaja.” Helping her up, I turn to head back the way we came, with her on my arm.

“H-hyung?”

I’d recognize that voice anywhere.

I look up, and they’re standing by the corner. .

I face the other way immediately, nearly toppling the feeble lady on my arm, and slide my mask back up.

“Let’s go the other way and avoid them,” I suggest hurriedly, and start walking away.

“Wait! Are you just going to leave him there?” Namjoon calls out.

“Where the hell are you? Can you distract them or something?” I question Rat, no longer calm.

“What are you saying? And why did that man call you hyung?” She asks, hysteria rising in her voice. She pulls away from me, stumbling half to the ground. “W-who are you? You’re a man, aren’t you?”

I try to re-convince her. “No, I’m not,” I say quietly. “Please, just let me help you.”

I can hear the three of them behind us, their footsteps. They must have gotten over their shock enough to start moving.

I step towards Youngmi, trying not to panic her, but she flails her arms at me and knocks my hat off. She screams and staggers back even more, barely managing to keep her balance.

 “Lady, do you recognize us?” Namjoon’s voice cuts across the wailing, calm and reassuring. Oh, . I put my hat back on, keeping an eye on the crying woman while making sure my eyes go hazel, and then turn to look behind us. There are secrets to be kept yet, though these boys seem to be forgetting that.

The three of them have taken off their masks, opting to try and help instead of protecting their privacy. Hoseokie’s eyes dart to me briefly, but I avoid making eye contact, lowering my head.

The wailing dies down as Youngmi processes who’s standing in front of her. She’s still shocky, though– I can see it in her eyes. Too soon, Namjoon steps forward, holding out a hand.

“Don’t–” I begin, but the damage is done. Spooked, Youngmi flinches away, unstable on her high heels. Her right ankle twists and she falls backward, slamming her head against the wall. Eyes rolling up, she collapses to the ground.