I found him at the edge of the old skatepark, the one he used to shoot his first vlogs at. It was almost empty now — just concrete echoes and fading graffiti.

He sat on his board, fingers tracing the cracks in the cement. The wind messed up his hair, longer now, covering part of the scar near his jaw. He didn’t notice me at first.

“Minjae,” I said.

He froze. Slowly looked over his shoulder.

His eyes weren’t angry. Just… tired.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he said.

I almost didn’t.

The last time we spoke, I left crying. Back then, he was too busy chasing lights, signing deals, being someone else. Now, after everything — the trial, the silence, the world turning its back — he was just… him.

Smaller somehow. Not in size, but in presence.

“I heard you’re back,” I whispered.

He gave a hollow laugh. “Back where no one wants me.”

I walked toward him anyway.