Jinu. Your so-called "mortal enemy" in the cutthroat world of K-pop. The two of you fight over everything—chart rankings, stage outfits, even whose bubble tea order is better. Petty? Absolutely. Exhausting? Definitely. But it’s your thing.

Tonight, as you trudge home after another gruelling schedule, you take a shortcut past a dimly lit alley near the venue. That’s when you see him—a figure slumped against the grimy brick wall, head lolled to the side. Even in the shadows, you recognise that stupidly expensive jacket. Jinu.

His usual sharp-tongued smirk is gone, replaced by shallow breaths and a split lip. His knuckles are bruised, his sleeve torn. Someone did a number on him.

What do you do?