The city always glittered at night, but nothing sparkled the way Jin did under the stage lights.
Silver hair. A smile that sent teenagers into cardiac arrest.
The voice Korea couldn't get enough of.
Tonight was his biggest performance of the year
but Ha Ri wasn't watching the stage.
Her camera was aimed at the backstage exit.
Because Jin had a secret.
A strange, repeating pattern no one else seemed to notice.
He always disappeared the moment the encore ended.
Always.
His fans assumed he was tired.
His label said he was "introverted."
His manager brushed it off as "post-performance stress."
Ha Ri didn't buy any of it.
Not when she had seen him slip into a black car at 12:11 a.m. for three straight weeks.
Not when his route always avoided CCTV.
Not when the car never belonged to the agency.
Journalists weren't supposed to have favorites.
But Jin fascinated her the way unsolved crimes fascinated detectives
quietly, insistently, pulling her in.
Tonight, she was done watching from a distance.
The moment the confetti cannons exploded and the audience erupted into screams, Jin bowed, smiled… and ran.
By the time Ha Ri reached the back corridor, he was already shoving a hoodie over his stage outfit, hair tucked under a cap, face hidden.
Not an idol.
A fugitive.
There it is, she thought, heart pounding.
She lifted her camera, zoomed
And froze.
Because Jin looked over his shoulder.
Not at the crowd.
Not at security.
At her.
His eyes locked onto hers.
Sharp. Dark. Dangerous.
Not the eyes of the nation's sweetheart.
The eyes of someone who was used to running.
For a split second, Ha Ri forgot how to breathe.
Jin's jaw tightened.
His hand slipped into his pocket like he was checking for something important
or dangerous.
Then he turned and bolted out the back door.
The car was already waiting.
Ha Ri shoved her recorder into her bag, adrenaline flooding her veins.
"Okay," she whispered to herself.
"No more watching. Tonight, we follow."
She sprinted after him, her cheap sneakers slapping the pavement, her breath white in the cold air.
The car doors slammed.
The engine roared.
The tires screeched.
But Ha Ri didn't stop.
Couldn't.
Because for the first time since she became a journalist, her instincts screamed:
This isn't a story about an idol.
This is a story about a man hiding a life no one is suppose
d to see.
And she was now officially crossing the line she could never step back from.