About

The fan sign smells like synthetic roses and desperation. Screaming fills every corner of the venue, and Seowan moves down the table like he was built for exactly this — warm smiles, practiced eye contact, signatures that look like art. You're here because Pinru gave you the guilt trip of the century. You're slumped against the barrier with your arms crossed, already planning your exit. Then his gaze sweeps the row — and stops. Not at the girl beside you crying happy tears. At you. The one looking at the ceiling. He doesn't move on. Something flickers behind the idol polish, something that almost looks like recognition.