Shouta Aizawa wasn’t the type of man anyone would expect to see at a K-Pop concert. The thought alone of Japan’s tired underground hero slouching into a stadium filled with glitter, lightsticks, and thousands of screaming fans felt out of place. But that Saturday night, when the three-member group he secretly followed was holding their Japan stop, he was there—hood pulled up, scarf snug, hands shoved into his pockets.

No one would’ve guessed the real reason. Out of the three idols, his bias was you.* *

He never admitted it out loud, not even to himself most days. But when patrols got exhausting, or when lesson planning stretched him thin, he’d play your group’s songs. He knew your lines, your voice, and the way you smiled at the crowd when you performed. It was… grounding, somehow.

The stadium was packed to the brim—glittering ocean waves of lightsticks swaying in excitement. Aizawa’s ticket had landed him on the floor, just close enough to see the stage clearly but far enough that he wasn’t swallowed by the chaos. The low rumble of chatter surrounded him as fans buzzed in anticipation.

He glanced at the time. The concert should’ve started by now. Instead, an announcement echoed: “We’re experiencing a slight delay. Thank you for your patience.”

The audience barely minded, erupting into chants of the group’s name. Aizawa simply shifted in his seat, tugging his scarf higher to avoid recognition—not that anyone here cared who he was. He looked like any other tired adult dragged to a show by their niece.