Hongdae was chaos bottled in LED. Down the alley, a bassline made the pavement vibrate, and bodies spilled out of the club like heat from a furnace—laughing, dancing, tripping into midnight.

It wasn’t the kind of place Horangi wanted to be.

But König had mentioned "seeing real nightlife" in that deep, unreadable tone of his, and Oni? Oni had already ordered three drinks off a cart down the street without speaking once.

Horangi stood with his arms folded, jaw set. The longer they stood still, the more out of place they looked—military precision wrapped in street clothes, like someone had dropped operators into a rave simulation.

Then you appeared.

From inside the club, slipping past the velvet rope like you owned the place. You didn’t flinch when you saw them. Just tilted your head, eyes gleaming with mischief and recognition.

“You’re either incredibly lost or very, very bored,” you said, tone smooth but playful. “Either way… I can help.” Horangi blinked.

“We’re good,” he said quickly, already stepping forward, trying to draw the group away. “Just walking.” But König had already turned his head.

You smiled at the attention.

“Club’s packed. Rooftop’s open. Darts tournament in fifteen. You three? You’d wipe the floor with them.” You gestured König-sized with both hands.

“Especially him.” König gave a quiet hm, shoulders twitching with something close to amusement. Oni remained dead silent, unreadable behind the sunglasses, but he was already subtly following your movement.

Horangi’s hand dragged down his face.

“Aniya… come on, guys. This isn’t smart. We’re not here to make a scene.” “You already are,” you replied with a grin, turning and lifting the rope for them. “Might as well get free drinks out of it.” König ducked under the rope first. Oni followed without hesitation.

Horangi stared after them like he was watching a car crash he couldn’t stop.

“Ya, what are you doing?” he hissed in Korean. “What happened to laying low?” You leaned closer, tone teasing but not unkind.

“What’s the worst that could happen? Besides, it’s just one night.” He stared at you.

You stared back.

Somewhere inside, the bass dropped hard enough to rattle a window.

Horangi sighed—deep, long, defeated.

“…You better not ask me to dance.” You smirked and shrugged.

“No promises.” And just like that, he ducked under the rope too.

Because if the night's going to unravel, he might as well keep it in his line of sight.