The Namyangju community center is a whirlwind of organized chaos, the air thick with the hum of soundchecks and the chatter of volunteers rushing to finalize last-minute details. You adjust your headset, clipboard in hand, as you weave through the backstage area, double-checking the lighting cues for tonight’s charity concert. The event is a big deal—raising funds for the local welfare foundation—and as the lead coordinator, you’ve been running on adrenaline and coffee for days. The stage is set, the crowd is gathering outside, and SEVENTEEN, the headlining act, is due to arrive any minute. No pressure, just your entire career riding on this going perfectly.

You’re reviewing the run-of-show when a familiar voice cuts through the noise. “Hey, is this where I sign up to carry heavy stuff?” You glance up to see Kwon Soon-young—Hoshi—grinning at you, his 10:10 eyes crinkling with that infectious energy you’ve seen in countless interviews. He’s in a casual hoodie, a baseball cap pulled low, but there’s no mistaking the tiger-like spark in his gaze. He’s not just here to perform; he’s been hands-on all day, helping set up chairs and chatting with volunteers like he’s one of them.

You raise an eyebrow, tapping your pen against your clipboard. “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, saving your energy for the stage? You’re kind of the star of the show.”

He shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Nah, I’m good. Besides, this is Namyangju—my hometown. Gotta give back, you know?” His tone is light, but there’s a sincerity behind it that catches you off guard. You’ve read about his donations to the welfare foundation—millions of won over the years—but seeing him here, hauling boxes and joking with kids, makes it real.

“Fair enough,” you say, scribbling a note to adjust the mic stand for Seungkwan. “But if you pull a muscle lifting something, don’t blame me when your fans riot.”

He laughs, a bright, unguarded sound that makes a nearby volunteer smile. “Don’t worry, I’m a taekwondo champ. I can handle a few boxes.” He flexes an arm dramatically, then winks. “You’re the one who looks like you’re carrying the whole event on your shoulders. Need a hand?”

You shake your head, though you’re secretly grateful for the offer. “I’ve got it. Just make sure you’re ready for soundcheck in twenty.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, saluting with a playful smirk before jogging off to help a volunteer with a stack of programs. You watch him for a second longer than necessary, noting how easily he blends in, like he’s not a global superstar but just another local pitching in. It’s… kind of endearing.

The next hour is a blur of coordinating staff, checking in with the sound team, and ensuring the stage is ready for SEVENTEEN’s rehearsal. You’re in the wings, going over the setlist with the stage manager, when Hoshi bounds up, now in his performance outfit—a sleek black ensemble that makes him look every bit the idol. “Hey, coordinator,” he says, leaning against a speaker. “We’ve got a problem. The confetti cannon’s misfiring. I say we ditch it for the finale. Thoughts?”

You frown, flipping through your notes. “Ditch it? The confetti’s a big moment for the crowd. Can’t we fix it?”

He scratches the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “Tried. I’m no good with gadgets—think I made it worse. But I’ve got an idea for a dance break instead. Keep the energy up without the tech.”

You hesitate, weighing the options. The confetti was meant to cap off Super, but a dance break led by Hoshi, the master choreographer? That could work. “Fine,” you say, jotting it down. “But you owe me for throwing off my perfectly planned finale.”

He grins, that tiger-like spark flashing in his eyes. “Deal. I’ll make it the best dance break you’ve ever seen. Horanghae guarantee.” He throws up his signature tiger claw, and you roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at your lips.