CH 3

He ran, his small legs carrying him as fast as they could endure.

Every second, he glanced back, his wide eyes searching for the figures chasing him.

Sweat glistened on his soft skin, his forehead damp with strands of hair clinging messily to it.

Some locks fluttered against the wind, a futile resistance against his desperate escape.

Then—a misstep. A small stone caught his foot, sending him sprawling forward.

His face met the earth, damp grass cushioning the fall yet offering no mercy.

Large hands—many of them—descended upon him, rough palms closing in, swallowing his fragile form.

He barely had time to raise his arms in defense, shielding his eyes from the inevitable.

Jisung jolted upright, his chest heaving, breath erratic.

His heart pounded wildly against his ribs, his body drenched in sweat.

He rubbed his face, exhaling sharply before running a hand through his damp hair, pushing it back.

A choking dryness clung to his throat, making every swallow a struggle.

Dragging his weary feet, he made his way to the kitchen, reaching for a glass of water.

He gulped it down, the cool liquid barely soothing the tightness in his chest.

With a heavy thud, he set the glass down on the counter, murmuring under his breath, "Damn it."

Sleep did not return to him for the remainder of the night.

Insomnia found its home between his restless eyes, and so he spent the hours drowning in music, letting one song bleed into another until the first rays of sunlight seeped through his window.

Morning at last.

He welcomed it with exhaustion clinging to his bones but with a sense of relief—at least work would keep his mind from dwelling on the gnawing emptiness of his apartment.

The commute to the company was as uneventful as always.

His manager picked him up, drove him there, and would return him home later that night.

Jisung had never been fond of driving and never entertained the idea of learning.

And now, the most tedious part of his routine—

Walking down the long corridor toward the dance studio.

As he passed, whispers followed.

Muffled voices. Murmurs of admiration. Others tinged with envy.

Nothing new.

But today… something was different.

The whispers carried an unfamiliar weight, their hushed tones not of admiration, nor jealousy—but bewilderment.

Curious stares. Stifled gasps.

Only one word came to Jisung's mind: "Rumor."

Rolling his eyes, he pushed open the studio door and shut it behind him.

His trainer greeted him with his usual bright smile.

As always, the music filled the space before any conversation could take form.

Their friendship came with unspoken boundaries.

To an outsider, Jisung might have seemed aloof, indifferent to companionship.

But the truth was the opposite.

He had learned the hard way—

The closer you get, the easier it is to lose.

And Jisung had lost enough.

So, he kept his distance, drawing lines he refused to cross.

After practice, he prepared for an interview, then a filming session with rookie groups for promotional content.

He felt like a pot set to a slow boil.

And now—now, the water was about to spill over.

Jisung had endured the lingering stares, the whispering behind his back.

But as he wrapped up his final shoot and prepared to leave with his manager, he caught sight of a figure leaning in to whisper to another.

A quick glance his way.

Jisung locked eyes with him—

And that was the last spark before the fire erupted.

"Come here."

His voice was calm, yet the authority in his tone silenced the room.

Jisung was known for being easygoing, soft-spoken.

It was unlike him to issue commands, especially to someone younger.

The guy hesitated before stepping forward, lowering his head in apprehension.

"Why don't you be polite and tell me what's going on?" Jisung asked, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips.

"I… I'm sorry, Hani hyung," the younger stammered, bowing repeatedly.

"It's just—"

He faltered. "It's shocking."That explained nothing.

Jisung had been the target of countless rumors before—sacrificial fodder for political games.

So what was new?

He tilted his head, intrigued. "And what exactly is so shocking?"

The boy hesitated, then wordlessly pulled out his phone, scrolling through the latest company-confirmed headlines before turning the screen toward Jisung.

Jisung skimmed the words with disinterest—

Until his breath hitched.

His eyes widened.

Then—

Laughter. Loud, incredulous laughter, shaking his entire body until he doubled over, clutching his stomach.

"Is this a joke?" he wheezed. "A prank? A pathetic attempt at humor?"

His gaze swept over the room, finally landing on his manager, expecting some form of explanation.

Anything.

But his manager remained silent, expression unreadable.

Jisung clenched his jaw.

Taking a sharp inhale, he turned on his heel and bolted out of the room.

He had no patience for this.

Ignoring the elevator, he dashed toward the stairs, bounding down them two at a time.

Frustration, betrayal, and exhaustion churned in his chest, suffocating him.

Why?

Why did it always have to be him?

He had done everything right.

Followed every rule.

Played the perfect role.

Why was he always the one left to suffer?

It felt no different from the nightmares that haunted him—the ones where he ran, only to be caught in the end.

His manager's voice rang from behind, "Hani, stop running!"

But Jisung didn't stop.

Bursting through an office door, he startled the man seated behind the desk.

"Hani?!" The man looked up, instantly recognizing the storm in Jisung's eyes.

"Please." Jisung's voice cracked, desperation bleeding into every syllable.

"I'll take any rumor, any lie—but not this."

The man sighed. "Hani… you, more than anyone, should know your father. No one challenges his decisions."

Jisung swallowed hard. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It was your father's order—to make you submit faster."

Jisung's nails dug into his palms.

"Kim?" His voice was hoarse. "Aren't you supposed to protect me?"

Kim—his manager. The CEO of the company Jisung worked for.

Kim's eyes softened with something akin to regret.

"Tell me, Hani… what can I do when your father is the most powerful politician in the country?"

Jisung scoffed, clapping his hands mockingly.

"Right."

"No one can do anything."

His laughter died, hands falling to his sides in defeat. "No one is worth trusting. I stand alone, as always."

He turned, stepping away.

"Don't follow me."

He walked without direction.

No destination.

No friends.

No lover.

No family.

He hid away in the dance studio—the only place that had ever truly known him.

Here, he had danced, fallen, wept.

Here, the walls held his secrets, embracing him in silence.

Perhaps they were the only ones who would ever understand.

For they never questioned. Never judged. Never betrayed.

They simply stood, watching over him, as they always had.