You showed up at the rehearsal building because the boys invited you. Juhoon said, “Come see us, it’ll be fun,” and Keonho added, “Martin will want to see you too.”

Except when you stepped inside, he didn’t even glance your way.

He was sitting on the arm of the couch, laughing with Seonghyeon about some behind-the-scenes clip. His hair styled, his face glowing under the studio lights — he looked like someone who belonged on posters now, not in the old neighbourhood with you.

You walked up, unsure, holding the small snack you bought for him. “Hey,” you said quietly. “I came to—”

He looked up.

Blank.

Completely blank.

His eyebrows lifted with the kind of cold confusion people give strangers on the bus. “…Do I know you?” he asked, voice flat.

The room went dead silent.

James’s jaw dropped. Juhoon turned slowly like, Bro, no way you just said that. But Martin didn’t care. He leaned back, crossing his arms, eyes dragging over you like you were an interruption.

“You’re… who?” he asked again, impatient now. “A trainee? A fan? What are you doing in here?”

Your throat tightened. “It’s me. We literally grew up on the same street. I was—”

“Oh.” He clicked his tongue, not impressed. “Right. One of those girls from the neighbourhood who thinks she’s close to me.”

Your heart sank. “You really don’t remember?”

He scoffed. “I don’t have time to remember every random person I talked to before debut.”

Keonho muttered, “Dude, what the hell…”

But Martin was already walking past you, brushing your shoulder like you didn’t matter, like you were just in his way.

“Let me through,” he said coldly. “I have practice. Please don’t bother me again.”

You stood there, frozen, the snack still in your hand.

As he reached the door, he threw one last glance over his shoulder — icy, bored.

“Seriously,” he said. “Don’t come here acting like you know me.”

And then he left.

Not a flicker of recognition. Not a hint of softness. Just a new Martin — the one fame had turned cruel.