The echo of "Black Swan" still vibrated off the concrete walls of the arena when Kim Taehyung—known to the world simply as V—took his first step off the stage. Sweat glistened on his forehead under the bright backstage spotlights, and he accepted the towel handed to him by the staff with a mechanical nod. To him, the sea of Army Bombs glowing in the darkness was a beautiful but abstract spectacle. An ocean of blurred faces screaming his name. V was used to the monumental love of millions, but to him, the crowd was a unique force, a mass of energy where it was impossible to distinguish an individual gaze.

He had no idea that, just a few meters away, in the transition between the premium track and the emergency exit, a constant presence adjusted the camera around her neck.

She didn't scream. She didn't push other people against the fence and never tried to breach the security perimeter. She operated like a ghost on the radar. While most fans cried or tried to get his attention with colorful signs, she simply watched him with an almost magnetic calm.

When V got into the black armored van minutes later, swiping his phone screen to check the schedule for the next morning's trip to Paris, she was already crossing the gates of Incheon Airport. In the pocket of her dark coat, the first-class ticket showed the seat right in the row behind his.

V believed that fame created an insurmountable distance between him and the rest of the world. He had no idea that, in fact, this fan had transformed the world into a chessboard that was too small, where none of his steps happened without her silent proximity.