Sunrise infiltrated Mina's room through gossamer curtains, painting her minimalist space in hues of amber and rose gold. She groaned, blindly reaching for her phone to silence the K-pop alarm blaring from her wireless speaker. 6:30 AM. Again. The screen also displayed three urgent texts from her vocal coach about today's "special lesson."

"Not today," she mumbled, face half-buried in her memory foam pillow, breathing in the lingering scent of lavender pillow spray.

Her bedroom door burst open without warning. Jia and Min-seo—her aunt's assistants who Mina had nicknamed her "handmaidens" in a fit of sarcastic teenage rebellion—tumbled in with an explosion of designer shopping bags and iced Americanos.

"Up, up, up, Your Highness!" Jia sang, yanking open the blackout blinds while Min-seo laid out three outfits on Mina's West Elm duvet.

"You can't meet actual royalty looking like—" Min-seo gestured vaguely at Mina's oversized Stray Kids concert tee and bed-head, "—this."

Mina bolted upright. "What royalty?"

The handmaidens exchanged knowing glances.

"The eight princes, of course," Jia whispered, eyes gleaming. "From the Kingdom beyond the Han River. Their diplomatic visit's been all over social media—though they're calling themselves a 'dance collective' for the public. Your aunt says they requested you specifically."

Mina shot them a withering glare, the kind that would make her Instagram followers spam the fire emoji in the comments.

"You couldn't have texted me this last night? Or, I don't know, any time in the last century?" she snapped, swiping her AirPods from the nightstand. "I have three playlists to memorize for my evaluation, and now you're telling me I have to entertain actual royalty?"

The handmaidens barely registered her frustration. They flitted around the room like hummingbirds on espresso, comparing swatches of fabric against Mina's complexion and debating whether her signature scent—a custom blend of peony and sandalwood—was "princeworthy."

"Your Aunt Seo-yeon said discretion was paramount," Min-seo replied, not looking up from the three-inch heels she was polishing. "Something about international relations and social media embargoes."

"Besides," Jia added with a conspiratorial wink, "royal princes or not, they're still eight gorgeous guys who specifically asked for you. We wouldn't dare spoil that surprise."

Mina groaned and flopped back onto her pillows. Being the "princess" of Seoul's most exclusive music academy suddenly felt more like a curse than a blessing.

Jia seized Mina's wrist with manicured fingers, practically dragging her toward the walk-in closet while Min-seo wielded a professional-grade hair straightener like a weapon.

"Thirty minutes to transformation," Jia announced, tapping her Apple Watch with determination.

What followed was nothing short of fashion warfare. The handmaidens tag-teamed Mina with military precision—one applying a full face of contour while the other yanked her into compression shapewear. They debated hemlines in hushed Korean, dismissed three designer outfits as "too conservative," and finally settled on an ensemble that made Mina's eyes widen in horror.

"I look like I'm auditioning for a nightclub, not meeting diplomats," Mina protested, staring at her reflection in disbelief.

The mirror revealed a stranger: thigh-high boots with stiletto heels, a holographic mini-dress that refracted light with every breath, and enough highlighter on her cheekbones to signal aircraft. The handmaidens had transformed her into an Instagram baddie straight out of a music video's bottle service scene.

"Your aunt said to make an impression," Min-seo defended, adjusting the plunging neckline that left little to the imagination.

"Pretty sure she didn't mean 'dress me like I charge by the hour,'" Mina muttered, tugging uselessly at the hem that refused to cooperate with gravity.

Jia fluttered her French-manicured hands dismissively at Mina's complaints and checked her Cartier watch. "Time's up. They're waiting."

Before Mina could protest further, the handmaidens flanked her like designer-clad security guards and steered her through the hallway's minimalist art gallery toward the estate's formal reception room. Her Louboutins click-clacked betrayingly against the marble floors as she mentally rehearsed all the ways she'd make them pay for this fashion atrocity.

The reception room doors slid open to reveal Aunt Seo-yeon, Seoul's unofficial "culture queen," perched elegantly on a velvet chaise lounge. At fifty-four, she remained a force of nature—her silver-streaked bob cut with geometric precision, her posture runway-perfect, her Chanel suit tailored to mathematical perfection. Time had enhanced rather than diminished her beauty, lending her features a regal severity that commanded every room she entered.

Seo-yeon's perfectly lined eyes widened momentarily at Mina's appearance before her diplomatic training kicked in. She rose gracefully, embracing her niece with a cloud of Hermès perfume.

"My darling," she murmured, kissing both of Mina's cheeks while subtly tugging the dress's neckline a fraction higher. "You look... memorable. Perhaps slightly more suited to the afterparty than the initial diplomatic meeting, but no matter." She stepped back, assessing Mina with the same critical eye she used when evaluating potential talents for her academy. "The princes will certainly not forget you."

"Aunt," Mina hissed through gritted teeth and a camera-ready smile, "why am I just hearing about this royal visit now?"

The conversation halted as a butler materialized at the entrance, his posture as starched as his uniform.

"Madam," he announced with a slight bow toward Aunt Seo-yeon, "the delegation from the Kingdom Beyond the Han has arrived."

The double doors swung open with theatrical timing, revealing eight young men whose presence instantly transformed the room's atmosphere. They moved with the synchronized grace of those accustomed to being watched, their designer suits suggesting understated wealth that needed no announcement.

Mina's breath caught. Not because of their unmistakable resemblance to Stray Kids—she'd process that surreal detail later—but because of the palpable aura of authority they carried. Two stern-faced security personnel flanked the group, their earpieces and vigilant eyes scanning the room with professional detachment.

Three young women completed the entourage, each draped in couture that probably cost more than Mina's entire wardrobe. They clung possessively to the three youngest princes, their perfectly contoured faces set in expressions of practiced adoration. Their too-loud laughter and performative touches screamed of social climbers who had successfully scaled their target mountains. Mina recognized the type immediately—the kind of influencers who traded youth and beauty for proximity to power, their entire personality curated for someone else's gaze.

The apparent leader of the group—whose resemblance to Bang Chan was uncanny—stepped forward with diplomatic confidence, his eyes finding Mina's with unsettling precision.

He smiled with practiced warmth and extended his hand. "Bang Chan, at your service. Crown Prince of the Kingdom Beyond the Han."

Mina's mind short-circuited. Bang Chan? As in the actual—no, that was impossible. Yet as she studied his features—that distinctive jawline, those knowing eyes—the resemblance was beyond coincidental.

She instinctively dipped into a formal bow, but Chan caught her hand mid-movement.

"Please, no formalities between friends," he said, his voice carrying that familiar Australian lilt that millions of fans could recognize anywhere. "We've heard so much about you, Miss Kim."

Aunt Seo-yeon beamed with barely contained pride. "My niece is our academy's brightest star."

"Then we have much to discuss," Chan replied, never taking his eyes off Mina. "Would you join us in the private lounge? There are matters of cultural exchange that require more... intimate settings."

The three companions pouted dramatically at this development. Seungmin and I.N politely disengaged from their clingy escorts with practiced ease, offering perfunctory goodbyes. Hyunjin didn't even acknowledge his companion, who shot Mina a venomous glare.

As they led her toward a different wing of the estate, Felix fell into step beside Mina, his deep voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"You have no idea how refreshing it is to meet someone who doesn't know our entire history before we even speak," he murmured, his freckles catching the light. "Those women were selected by our cultural ministry—supposedly to strengthen diplomatic ties." His eyes conveyed a silent plea. "Would it be terribly presumptuous to hope you might consider a more genuine alliance?"

Mina couldn't suppress a surprised laugh, her hand instinctively reaching out to pat Felix's shoulder. The gesture felt both inappropriate and somehow perfectly natural—like comforting an old friend rather than touching royalty.

"Maybe they're not entirely—" she began diplomatically, before I.N cut her off with a knowing look.

"Trust me," he said, his voice surprisingly mature for the youngest. "These arrangements are purely transactional. They get exclusive access to royal events, social media exposure, and designer gifts." He lowered his voice further. "And we get companions who won't question why eight princes from a kingdom nobody's heard of look exactly like a K-pop group."

Mina blinked, processing the bizarre reality of her situation. "So you're saying they're with you for your..."

"Status, access, and the blue verification check on their profiles," Hyunjin finished, finally breaking his silence with a sardonic smile that didn't reach his eyes. "The moment we announced this diplomatic tour, our cultural ministry was flooded with 'applications' from influencers willing to sign whatever confidentiality agreements necessary."

"It's exhausting," Felix added with genuine weariness in his deep voice. "Everyone wanting something from you, but nobody actually seeing you."

The weight behind his words made Mina wonder just how lonely it must be, living behind both royal and celebrity masks simultaneously.

Mina sensed someone watching her and turned to find Lee Know observing their exchange with calculated interest. Unlike the others who at least attempted warmth, his gaze held a cool intensity that made her pulse quicken. When their eyes met, one corner of his mouth lifted in a knowing smirk.

"Do you find the resemblance... appealing?" he asked, his voice deliberately provocative as he gestured to his face. The question hung between them like a challenge, and Mina felt heat rise to her cheeks despite her determination to appear unfazed.

Gathering her composure, she addressed the question that had been burning since they entered. "How is it possible that you all look exactly like Stray Kids? Not just similar—identical."

The princes exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them before Bang Chan laughed, the sound unexpectedly genuine.

"Because we are Stray Kids," he admitted, his voice dropping to ensure only their small group could hear. "Just not quite as you know us." He gestured vaguely toward his face. "What you see now is actually a slight magical dampening of our true appearances—enough that casual observers might notice a resemblance without making the direct connection."

Mina's mind raced, trying to process information that defied logic. "Magic isn't—"

"Real?" Changbin finished for her, his deep voice tinged with amusement. "Neither are interdimensional kingdoms or K-pop idols who secretly rule them, and yet..." He spread his hands in a gesture that encompassed their impossible existence.

Mina rubbed her temples and slumped into a nearby settee, her stilettos digging into the plush carpet. The reality—or unreality—of her situation was beginning to give her a migraine.

"Let's say I believe you," she conceded, though her expression remained skeptical. "Why are you really here? And why did you ask for me specifically?"

The eight exchanged another round of meaningful glances before Changbin stepped forward, his presence somehow filling more space than his physical form warranted.

"We've been tracking rumors of another royal bloodline," he explained, studying her reaction carefully. "One that parallels our own but was believed to have died out generations ago." His dark eyes held hers. "A princess whose voice could bridge realms."

"Me?" Mina scoffed, nearly choking on the absurdity. "I'm just a vocal student with an aunt who has delusions of grandeur and connections in the entertainment industry."

I.N leaned forward, his youthful features suddenly serious. "We found you through your friend Sophie."

Mina stiffened. "Sophie? What does she have to do with any of this?"

"She was at a party last month," I.N continued, checking something on his phone before turning the screen toward her. "She posted this with the caption 'when your bestie doesn't know she's actually royalty.'"

The screen showed a video of Mina singing at her aunt's garden party, but what caught her attention wasn't her performance—it was the strange luminescence that seemed to surround her, visible only when the video was paused at certain frames. Sophie had added sparkling crown filters, but beneath those digital embellishments was something Mina couldn't explain.

"That's just... lens flare," she protested weakly, but even she didn't believe it.

Seungmin chuckled, the sound laced with gentle disbelief. "Your denial is actually the most convincing evidence," he said, exchanging knowing glances with his companions. "True royalty rarely seeks recognition—it's the pretenders who broadcast their status at every opportunity."

Felix placed a reassuring hand on Mina's shoulder, his touch feather-light but somehow grounding. The freckles scattered across his face seemed to shimmer under the room's ambient lighting.

"It's not uncommon to resist the truth," he said, his deep voice a surprising contrast to his delicate features. "We all did, in our own ways. I locked myself in my room for three days when the crown marks appeared." His eyes held genuine empathy. "It doesn't make you less of who you've always been—it just adds another layer to your identity."

Mina noticed how the others unconsciously touched different parts of their bodies—wrists, collarbones, the nape of necks—as Felix mentioned the crown marks. She resisted the urge to rub the small birthmark behind her ear that her grandmother had always called her "royal seal."

"The evidence is undeniable," Bang Chan added gently. "The luminescence in that video is something only those with royal essence emit when they perform. It's why we've been able to maintain our dual identities for so long—the public simply attributes our stage presence to charisma and good lighting."

Mina's exhaustion suddenly crashed over her in waves. The emotional whiplash of the day—from ordinary vocal student to possible interdimensional royalty in the span of hours—left her drained. She sank deeper into the settee, her eyelids heavy with the weight of revelations.

"I need... I need time to process all this," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Chan nodded with immediate understanding, his leadership instincts evident in how quickly he read her state. "Of course. Rest is essential, especially when one's reality has been fundamentally altered." He rose in one fluid motion and gestured subtly to the others. "We'll continue this conversation when you've had time to reflect."

The princes filed out with the same choreographed grace with which they'd entered, each offering Mina a different form of acknowledgment—a bow, a nod, a lingering glance. Lee Know was the last to leave, pausing at the doorway to look back at her with an unreadable expression.

As the door closed behind them, Mina surrendered to exhaustion, drifting into a dreamscape filled with crowns that sang and kingdoms beyond rivers. Her last conscious thought was wondering if her regular life had ever been real at all, or merely preparation for whatever awaited her now.