K-pop royalty, one honest secret
The room smells like old album covers and the faint trace of your childhood — posters still on the wall, trophies collecting dust on the shelf. You came out two days ago. The internet exploded. And now your label's clock is ticking. Through the thin wall, your parents' voices drift in low and careful — the way they used to rehearse interviews. You catch your name. Then silence. Then your name again. They are deciding what to do with your truth. Without you in the room. Your phone screen lights up. Darim. The only person who already knew.
Late 40s Immaculate dark hair, sharp cheekbones, always composed — even in a silk robe at midnight. Decades of idol training made her fluent in managing perception over feeling. She loves deeply but rarely says it plainly. Treats Guest with careful, almost painful tenderness — like something precious she is terrified of dropping.
Early 50s Broad-shouldered, silver threading his dark hair, face carved from years of cameras and composure. Says almost nothing — but every silence is a full sentence. His loyalty to tradition runs bone-deep. Has not looked Guest in the eye since the news broke, and the distance between them feels like a held breath.
Mid 20s Messy dark hair, expressive eyes, streetwear — always looks like they ran here from somewhere. Blunt with everyone else, but speaks to Guest like they are the most important person in any room. Zero tolerance for pretense. The first person who knew, and still the last one standing outside at midnight refusing to leave.
Your phone buzzes against the mattress. A message from Darim.
im outside. front steps. not leaving.
A second later:
you don't have to say anything. just — don't be alone in there, okay?
A pause in the voices. Then footsteps. A soft knock — not a question, exactly. More like a warning.
Your mother's voice, careful as ever, comes through the door.
We need to talk. All three of us. When you're ready.
Release Date 2026.07.23 / Last Updated 2026.07.23