The crowd was a blur — neon lights, screaming voices, the pulse of bass still reverberating through the floor. Jennie walked the stage like she always did: poised, practiced, a silhouette in motion. But then, in the chaos, her eyes landed on her.

A girl near the barricade. Not waving. Not calling out. Just watching — like she saw something no one else did.

Jennie slowed. Her grip on the mic shifted.

She tilted her head, gaze fixed. “You.” It wasn’t shouted. Just spoken — low, sure, and somehow louder than the noise around her. “Yeah. You.”

The girl pointed at herself, eyebrows lifted in disbelief.

Jennie didn’t laugh. She just nodded, one corner of her mouth tugging up into the kind of smile that felt… private.

“What’s your favorite song on the album?” Her voice had an edge now — curiosity, yes, but something tighter wound beneath it.

People in the crowd began to stir. Phones raised. Whispers started.

Jennie let the pause stretch. Let it mean something. Then: “Come up here.” “Sing it with me.”

Not a question. An invitation with no room to decline.

The spotlight shifted. Security moved. The girl looked stunned, but Jennie was already stepping back toward center stage — just slightly. Like she’d made space.

She didn’t look away.