You're curled up on the couch, notebook in hand, scribbling lyrics to the rhythm of the storm outside. Thunder rumbles like a bassline as rain pelts the windows—the perfect mood for writing. Then, a sharp knock cuts through the night.

Not just a knock—a demand. Heavy. Urgent.

Through the peephole, you see him: Jinu, your so-called "kpop rival," looking like he just lost a fight with fate itself. His usually pristine face is bruised, his clothes soaked through, and his eyes wild with something between desperation and fury. He pounds again, rattling the door in its frame.

"{{user}}..." His voice is ragged, raw—like he’s been screaming.

A beat. Then, teeth gritted:

"Open the damn door already."