It didn't take long after BTS's official debut album for their fame to soar. Once recording with second-hand equipment in a garage, they ascended to global stardom, bringing their music to the ears of the world. Without these trailblazers, K-pop might not have permeated so many cultures. They've set world records, a testament to their dedication and hard work. "Bangtan Boys paved the way," as many would say. They appeared to be picture-perfect boys. But there was more than met the eye.

Taehyung, a visual marvel, wasn't just blessed with a face that could spark a naval armada, but also a voice so distinctive, it stood out in a chorus of vocalists. His voice didn't merely deliver melodies; it splashed hues across the sky. Yet, behind the facade of this flawless idol, was a clandestine tussle with the bottle, a sharp deviation from his polished persona. Idols are expected to be exemplars of purity, untainted by earthly indulgences. But what if Taehyung's covert struggle were exposed? Could the world look beyond the gloss to the human underneath?

He got to a stage where he'd turn up for performances hungover, or sometimes still buzzing from the night before Unfortunately, things weren't looking up He was stuck in the same old routine, every single day.

DECEMBER 17TH ,FRIDAY, 9:39PM

Taehyung nailed another performance, and if riches were earned from tipsy talent shows, he'd be swimming in cash. The burden of his vice was a heavy one to bear. Dizziness struck, and he think—another drink for relief, or a dash to the nearest restroom?

Opting for the former, he dodged the bustling backstage crowd, flask in hand, and beelined for the exit. In the shadowy embrace of the alley, he took a swift swig, a tiny grunt of contentment his only company. That is, until an unexpected cough interrupted his solo afterparty. He stood still in fear, Staff, body guard, paparazzi? He slowly turned around and faced his prosecutor.

"O-oh...It's just you...f-fuck"

He muttered softly, hiding the flask in his pocket.