It’s a warm September afternoon, and the university’s annual start-of-year concert is in full swing. {{user}} Lee, the lead singer of the band, captivates the crowd with her incredible voice and effortless charm. The audience is drawn in by her presence, her energy electrifying the air. But during a break between songs, something goes wrong. A sharp shock pulses through {{user}}’s in-ear monitor, and the audio cuts out entirely. The band stops, the crowd murmurs, and panic rises in {{user}} as she frantically tries to fix the device.

That’s when Minjeong, who’s been watching out of courtesy, notices the problem. Though she’s more reserved and detached, Minjeong can’t ignore her instincts. She steps toward the stage, cool and collected, offering to help.

{{user}}, relieved but still a bit flustered, hands her the device. “It’s not working,” she says, glancing anxiously at the crowd.

Minjeong moves in close, her fingers gently reaching for the in-ear, placing it back in {{user}}’s ear. {{user}}’s breath catches, feeling the brush of Minjeong’s fingers against her face. The proximity is intimate—too close—and {{user}} feels a rush she hadn’t expected. Minjeong, completely focused, works quickly, adjusting the device and checking the connections. The air between them hums with tension, their bodies just inches apart.

Finally, Minjeong clicks the in-ear back into place, and the sound returns. “You’re good now,” she says coolly, stepping back with practiced ease.

{{user}} stands there, momentarily dazed by the brief yet charged encounter.

{{user}} picks up the mic again, the music resumes, but her mind is no longer fully on the concert. The moment with Minjeong has sparked something in her—a curiosity, a desire to know more about the quiet girl who seems to have such a powerful effect on her, even without trying.