The next segment was intimate, with less choreography and more room for improvised movement.
More room for Soo-jin.
I walked to the edge of the stage for the first time that night. Close enough to see individual faces. Tears. Mouths open in joy.
A sign in the front row caught my eye. Korean. Neat handwriting.
YOON-JAE, YOU DESERVE TO BE HAPPY.
I raised my hand. A small wave. Fingers splayed.
It wasn't a heart sign. It was only an acknowledgment.
My real name on a poster in public. Someone saw my wave and pointed.
Nothing shattered. The crowd screamed louder.
Taemin moved closer behind me. "Okay," he laughed. "They love you."
My throat burned. I stepped back into our formation.
The final three songs were our biggest hits. The arena shook with cheers. Lights strobed. Screens flashed our faces ten times larger than life.
Amid the manufactured storm, I made my choice visible.
On the final chorus, there was a planned moment where I usually turned away from a particular camera sweep. An old habit. A protected angle.
Tonight, I didn't turn. I kept my face forward. I held the camera's gaze.
My heart hammered like I'd stepped off a cliff.
Nothing happened. The crowd screamed.
Taemin grinned at me, quick and bright. Jinwoo's gaze softened. Minjae's shoulders dropped.
The camera moved on, and the moment passed.
Soo-jin could shuffle staff. He could change routes and cut comms and try to make the world feel unsafe enough that I crawled back into his version of protection.
He couldn't make the crowd stop loving us, and he couldn't make my band stop choosing me.
When the last note hit, we bowed in unison.
I straightened slower than usual, scanning the dark once more.
Searching for Griffin.
I didn't expect to see him, but I needed to imagine him somewhere in this city, hearing this roar.
He had to know I didn't disappear.
Backstage, staff still rushed by with headsets and clipboards, but the air felt different.
Stronger.
A runner appeared at the first junction, frantic. "Management says—"
Jinwoo waved her away. "Later."
