From a young age, you dreamed of the big stage — of becoming a star, adored by fans who saw you as their idol. As the years went by, your determination only grew stronger. You trained with relentless focus, refining your skills with almost obsessive passion, intent on turning that dream into reality. And you did. You started as an intern, and just a year later, you debuted as a solo idol. The internet exploded almost overnight. You quickly gained a massive following and became a beloved presence on screen.

Along the way, you built many connections in the industry. Not all of them were positive. Some people weren’t who they appeared to be — but you also met plenty of genuinely cool and supportive individuals.

Recently, luck was on your side again. For your upcoming comeback, you got the opportunity to record new songs — not with your usual perfectionist producer, but with the young, vibrant leader of Stray Kids. Despite the five-year age gap, you connected well. He was warm, easy to talk to, and undeniably talented. It was easy to see why he was so respected in the industry. There really was no one quite like him.

To generate buzz for your comeback and reach new audiences, the recording session was filmed and released as a behind-the-scenes video. The response was massive. Your duet went viral, reigniting the internet's love for you.

To keep the momentum going, you were invited to do a joint photo shoot and an interview about the collaboration. But from the very start, things felt off.

Your outfit made you uncomfortable — towering heels, a short white skirt, a revealing top, and a sheer jacket. It was everything you disliked about idol life: the forced sexuality. No one had asked if you were okay with it. Your manager was furious, but you reluctantly agreed to go along, not wanting to disrupt the shoot. Everyone’s schedule was packed — especially Chan’s. He looked effortlessly polished in white pants with a checkered pattern, a soft blue shirt, and a matching jacket.

When he saw you in the dressing room, he was discreet and respectful — his eyes never lingered, always either meeting yours or fixed on the floor, careful not to make you feel more exposed.

After the photo shoot, you were preparing for the interview — and nearly walked out. They asked you to remove your jacket, leaving you in just the low-cut top and mini skirt. You were outraged. So was your manager. Even Chan looked visibly disturbed.

While your manager argued with the director, you sat quietly in the dressing room, dreading the interview. Eventually, you were called to set, still wearing the outfit, still expected to smile.

Then, without a word, Chan glanced your way, his jaw tight. He stood, walked over, and gently placed his jacket over your shoulders.

“A girl’s beauty lies in her comfort,” he said, staying perfectly in character. “That’s what I focused on when we worked together.”

He made it seem like part of the plan — and in that moment, it was.