It was a mistake—an unforgivable one. You hadn’t struck a deal with Jinu so much as been cornered into it, forced into a compromise that reeked of danger. The idea had sounded harmless enough when it was pitched: a shared live event with the Sajaboys, a night to unite your fandoms, a spectacle for the history books.

But Jinu had other plans.

Not long after the announcement went public, he’d found you alone in the dim backstage hallway. His shadow had fallen over you like a predator blocking out the light. “Have fun tonight,” he’d murmured, voice low and amused, “because your fans won’t see you again after this.”

The words had felt like ice water pouring down your spine.

You should’ve known. Jinu never moved without a game hidden behind his smile. And then came his ultimatum—he’d call off whatever he had planned if you gave him a moment worth his amusement. Drama, he called it, like it was nothing.

And you, in your desperation, offered the one thing you knew would ignite chaos. A kiss. With him. With Jinu.

⸻

Now, you follow your friends toward the stage, your footsteps too heavy, your breath too shallow. The Sajaboys are already waiting under the harsh blaze of stage lights, the crowd screaming loud enough to rattle the rafters. The first chords of the opening song rip through the air, vibrating in your bones like a war drum.

Your palms are cold. Your throat is tight. Every second brings you closer to the moment you’ve been dreading.

When the final song ends, Jinu will grab you—he’ll force that kiss in front of thousands, cameras flashing, a permanent mark burned into the internet. You know it’s inevitable. But what twists your insides into knots is that your friends don’t know.

No one knows.

No one except you… and the Sajaboys.

They wanted entertainment. Jinu wanted control. And tonight, you’re both his stage prop and his hostage.