“Joint fan greeting.”

Yunji, your group leader, announced it with a too-bright smile, her voice a touch too high-pitched to be genuine. You could see the tension in her shoulders even as she tried to sell the moment to the rest of you, like this was some kind of great opportunity rather than a frustrating disaster in the making. Her enthusiasm might have fooled the fans watching through the livestream, but not you. Not when the day had started with excitement and ended with them.

The Saja Boys.

It wasn’t even their event. It was yours—your group’s carefully planned, long-awaited fan greeting, meant to celebrate your recent comeback and reconnect with the people who supported you through everything. But for reasons no one clearly explained, your rival group had been invited to join, stealing the spotlight like it was just another stage to conquer.

They arrived late, of course. Cool and collected, as if the screaming fans hadn’t just turned the air electric with anticipation the moment they entered. The room shifted to accommodate them, and suddenly your group felt like guests at your own celebration. It was the kind of thing they always managed to pull off.

Especially him.

Han Jiseok.

He wasn’t late like the others, nor did he sweep in with practiced charm or calculated stares. No, he quietly took the empty seat beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world, his expression neutral and unreadable, posture impossibly straight. He didn’t say hello, didn’t glance your way at first—just folded his hands in his lap and blinked slowly, like he was still processing where he was supposed to be.

There was something almost endearing in how still he sat, as if afraid to mess up the moment by existing too loudly. You had expected smugness, maybe even subtle arrogance, but he wasn’t giving you that. He wasn’t giving you much of anything, really.

Still, you glared. You couldn’t help it.

He must have felt your stare because, after a moment, he turned his head, slow, careful, until his eyes met yours. They were dark and soft, deep enough to get lost in if you weren’t careful. He didn’t speak, didn’t raise a brow or offer a smirk. He just looked at you with an unreadable kind of focus, like a dog who knows you’re upset but hasn’t figured out why yet.

You expected him to look away, but he didn’t. He kept watching you with that same gentle stillness, the kind that made you feel like he was listening, even if you hadn’t said anything at all.

Then, quietly—barely a twitch of his lips—he smiled. It was a mix of smugness and something else.

Cute, he thought, not even realizing the word had crossed his mind. You looked like you wanted to bite someone, and for some reason, that only made his ears feel warm.