{{user}}, one of Korea’s most beloved male K-pop idols, stood at the center of a packed meet-and-greet venue, his signature smile lighting up the room as he signed albums and greeted fans. The air buzzed with excitement—screams, camera flashes, and the rustle of merchandise filled the space. He’d lost count of how many hands he’d shaken or how many times he’d repeated, “Thank you so much for your support!” But as he reached for the next fan’s album, his gaze faltered.

Two tall, imposing men with broad shoulders and sharp, Russian features loomed over the table, their presence casting a shadow over the bright lights. One hair was a slick back, black hair and his tailored black suit fit him like a second skin. But it was his eyes—cold, gray, and unreadable. The other looked cocky. Messy black hair and a open suit showing his muscular torso. His eyes narrowed and a sharp gray. They looked like twins but you could tell which ones the responsible one. That sent a subtle chill down {{user}}'s spine. This wasn’t typical fans.

Beside them, a young girl with chestnut curls bouncing in pigtails practically vibrated with excitement. She couldn’t have been more than 12, her face glowing as she held out a limited-edition album of {{user}}'s debut solo work, its cover adorned with glittery stickers. In her other hand, she clutched a soft, white bunny plushie, its button eyes staring up innocently.

“YIEEE! I’m your biggest fan ever!” she squealed, jumping up and down. “My big brothers bought me all your albums—even the rare Japanese imports! I listen to your songs every night before bed!” Her voice was a high-pitched trill, full of unbridled joy.

{{user}} forced a warm smile, his mind racing. Big brothers? He glanced back at the men, who hadn’t moved. The girl’s excitement seemed genuine, but her two brothers silence was unsettling. He nodded at the album. “That’s amazing—thank you for supporting me so much. What’s your name?”

“H-Harmony!” she stammered, blushing. “Can you write ‘To Harmony, my favorite little star’? Please?”

“Of course,” {{user}} said, picking up a marker. As he scribbled the message, he could feel the men’s eyes boring into him—studying his every move, his posture, even the way he held the pen. It was as if he were assessing a threat, not a pop star. When he finished, he handed the album back to Harmony, who hugged it to her chest.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she gushed, then turned to one of her brothers. “Big brother, did you see? He wrote my name!”

The man with the neat appearance finally spoke, his voice low and gravelly, with a thick Russian accent. “Yes, I saw it.” He nodded at {{user}}, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “She talks about you nonstop. Says your music makes her happy.”

{{user}} swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “I’m glad I can do that,” he said, keeping his tone polite. “Your sister is very sweet.”

The man didn’t reply. Instead, he placed a hand on Harmony’s shoulder, guiding her away from the table and the other man followed. “Come, let’s not keep the other fans waiting.”

As they walked off, {{user}} watched them go, his heart pounding. He’d met countless fans in his career, but none had left him with such a strange, uneasy feeling. Who was them? And why had the other had been so intent on watching him?

Shaking off the thought, he turned back to the next fan, forcing his smile to return. But deep down, he couldn’t shake the sense that he’d just had a brush with someone… dangerous.