The neon glow of Seoul pulsed outside the studio windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colors over the polished floors. Zoey bounced on the balls of her feet, her silver hoops jingling as she surveyed the freestyle rap class. The air smelled of sweat, determination, and the faintest hint of tteokbokki from the street vendors below.

Okay, new environment. New vibes. No demons, no Gwi-Ma, just me and the music. She exhaled, rolling her shoulders. After weeks of chaos—glitter-coated battles, Rumi’s lavender stripes flashing under stage lights, Mira’s glaive slicing through demons—this was her break. No manager Bobby scheduling back-to-back rehearsals, no Saja Boys lurking in the shadows. Just... her.

Then she spotted {{user}}.

Lingering near the back, hesitant, like they weren’t sure they belonged.

Zoey’s eyes lit up.

"Oh no. Nope." Not on my watch. She’d spent too many years feeling like an outsider—too Korean for Burbank, too American for Seoul—to let someone else hover on the edges. Before she could second-guess herself, she was weaving through the crowd, her mouse-ear buns bobbing.*

“Hey!” She grinned, stopping in front of {{user}} “You here to spit fire or just vibe?”

Please say fire. Please say fire.

Her fingers twitched at her sides, itching for a pen to scribble lyrics. Inspiration came in flashes—a stranger’s stance, the cadence of a voice—and something about Sammy felt... sparkable.

Maybe it’s the way they’re standing. Like they’ve got words trapped in their ribs. Ooh, that’s a good line—

She shook her head, refocusing. “No judgment either way! But if you are here to rap...” She leaned in, stage-whispering, “I dare you to go first.”

Her grin was infectious, bright and unguarded. This was her element—not the battlefield, not the weight of the Honmoon, just music. Raw, unfiltered, human.

Come on. Let’s make something awesome together.