By the time Ha-eun reached the school gates, the air felt heavier than usual. Tense. Like the city was holding its breath.
Cameras flashed before she even made it to the sidewalk.
"There she is!"
"Miss Baek! Did you know Seo-jun would point at you?"
"Is it true you're dating?"
Reporters crowded in, thrusting microphones past the yellow gate line. Boom mics hovered like insects. Voices clashed over each other in a frenzy of questions.
Ha-eun flinched, clutching her backpack strap.
Beside her, Rina , cousin, protector, occasional chaos-magnet , stepped up like a human shield.
"Back off," she snapped. "She's not a K-drama character. She's a student."
The school guard pushed the crowd back just enough for the girls to slip inside. But even then, Ha-eun's heartbeat didn't slow.
Inside the courtyard, students whispered in clumps. Eyes followed her like heat sensors.
"That's her, right?"
"She looks so normal."
"Seo-jun definitely meant it. That wasn't fan service."
Everyone had the clip. On their phones, in their feeds, in their mouths. She heard it over and over:
You. Don't leave.
You. Don't leave.
You. Don't leave.
She wanted to vanish.
"This is insane," Ha-eun muttered.
"Incredible," Rina corrected, practically glowing. "You're trending in Korea and Japan. Twitter is on fire."
They walked into English class, where Mr. Kim , affectionately dubbed Mr. Smart for his love of puns , was already writing idioms on the board.
"Ah, the Baek cousins," he said, adjusting his glasses. "Baek in the spotlight, are we?"
The class laughed. Ha-eun didn't.
"Let's begin," he said cheerfully. "First up: Translate this proverb. Ha-eun . why don't you try?"
She glanced at the board.
호랑이 굴에 가야 호랑이 새끼를 잡는다.
Her voice was barely audible. "If you want to catch a tiger cub, you have to go into the tiger's den."
"Perfect," Mr. Kim said with a wink. "Quite appropriate today, yes?"
Another wave of laughter. Her ears burned.
By the time the class ended, she had barely registered a word.
————
Cultural Studies was next, usually her chance to tune out. But today, there was a new face at the front of the room.
The woman stood with the ease of someone who wasn't here to impress anyone, just to connect.
"Good morning," she said in clear Korean. "I'm Ms. Park Ngozi. Or Teacher Park. I'll answer to either."
Her voice had a lilting rhythm, warm and curious. It filled the room like music.
"My father is Korean. My mother, Nigerian. He met her while on an archaeology trip. He never came back without her," she added with a grin.
A few students chuckled.
"I moved to Seoul when I was ten , after a thunderstorm, a goat incident, and a broken suitcase. That's a story for another day."
Even Ha-eun smiled faintly.
"Let's begin with a question: Which countries do you associate with rhythm, fire, and music?"
"Brazil!" Rina shouted.
"Good one. Carnival nearly melted my shoes."
More laughter.
"India?" someone offered.
"Excellent. But here's a clue , my home country has 250 ethnic groups and more stories than stars."
Ha-eun hesitated, then raised her hand. "Nigeria?"
Ms. Park's smile deepened. "Yes. A place of color, chaos, and story. Much like Korea. Both countries are proud, and sometimes... a little loud."
She paused. "But pride is also about silence , how we carry ourselves when the world turns too bright."
Her eyes landed briefly on Ha-eun. "It's okay to feel like you don't belong in the noise. But sometimes, the noise finds you. And you decide what comes next."
Ha-eun's breath caught.
"Now," Ms. Park said, clapping once, "everyone write down: One thing people assume about you. And one thing that's actually true."
Ha-eun stared at her blank paper.
Assumption: Just a lucky girl who got noticed.
Truth: I didn't even want to go.
The bell rang.
As the students filtered out, Ms. Park called, "Welcome again, everyone. I only assign too much homework when it's poetry."
They laughed.
Ha-eun lingered.
"You okay?" Ms. Park asked softly.
"I think so," Ha-eun said.
Ms. Park smiled. "Don't let the world write your story before you do."
And for the first time that day, Ha-eun didn't feel watched.
She felt seen.
*********
The studio smelled like effort , air-conditioned sweat, resin-polished floors, and faint citrus from the cleaner the staff sprayed every few hours. It was clean, clinical, curated , like everything in Han Seo-jun's world.
Mirrors lined the wall ahead, reflecting the image millions adored.
Hair perfectly tousled, damp with sweat. A sharp jawline. A black muscle tee clung to his sculpted frame, custom-tailored by a designer whose name most fans couldn't pronounce. Loose ash-gray joggers sat low on his hips, the seams lined with silver thread. His white sneakers, unreleased, hand-signed by the brand's CEO, squeaked with every slide and pivot.
Music blasted from overhead speakers, the bass bouncing off glass and concrete. His voice layered over it.
"Can you feel me, every second you breathe?
Every look, every blink , it's always you I see..."
He danced as he sang , fluid, precise, locked into rhythm with a grace that looked effortless. He didn't miss a beat.
Not even when his phone buzzed on the bench nearby.
Fourteen missed calls.
Eight messages.
Three voicemails.
He let the song finish.
Then, only then, did he cross the studio and check the screen.
A text from Gu Minjae, a fellow idol and his closest friend.
Minjae (11:01 AM):
Bro. That clip of you pointing at the girl? You just broke the internet. She's trending above your teaser.
Seo-jun blinked.
What clip?
Another message popped up. Then a call. He answered.
"Han Seo?" Minjae's voice came through, half laughing already. "You seriously haven't seen it?"
Seo-jun grabbed a towel, flopped onto the bench, and wiped the sweat from his neck.
"No. Been rehearsing since. What's going on?"
"Donuts, bro. Check Donuts. It's everywhere. Fans are losing their minds."
Seo-jun narrowed his eyes and opened the app. Donuts, his curated platform for aesthetic clips, behind-the-scenes videos, filtered lives. A hybrid of TikTok and Instagram, flooded with fakes, edits, and fan cams.
He searched his own name.
Second clip down: 5.6 million views and climbing.
There he was, backlit, collarbone glistening, shirt slightly undone. The moment slowed to five seconds. Him, pointing directly into the crowd. Voice low, distinct:
"You. Don't leave."
The camera zoomed. The girl in Seat E14, wide-eyed, frozen , her image burned into the lens.
He didn't know her name yet. But he remembered the way she looked.
Still, amidst the chaos. Almost scared. Her grip on the lightstick unsure, like it didn't belong to her.
And yet... somehow she did.
He hadn't been able to stop thinking about her since.
Another text appeared, this one from his manager.
Do Yoon-woo:
Do. Not. Engage. We're handling it.
Too late.
Seo-jun stood, stretching his arms overhead, and padded toward his iced Americano. He took a slow sip, then glanced down at his pristine sneakers, white with jade-green stitching.
He opened Donuts, recorded a 10-second Story: shoes, floor, mirror. Caption:
still dancing. still here. 🌀
The likes poured in instantly. Comments followed.
"omg KING you look tired but HOT"
"what's he thinking about 👀"
"WHERE IS E14 GIRL???"
He put the phone down.
Something buzzed in his chest. Not adrenaline. Not fan service.
Something quieter. Sharper.
She hadn't even tried to be seen. And that's what made it unforgettable.
The studio door creaked open. His assistant manager, Jin-sook, poked her head in.
"Seo-jun-ssi," she said cautiously. "Yoon-woo wants you on the line. He's... not thrilled."
Seo-jun tossed his towel onto the bench. "Tell him I'm busy."
"With what?"
He looked over his shoulder, eyes gleaming.
"With finding someone."
She blinked. "Who?"
He smiled.
"The girl from E14."