Glasses on, hood pulled low over her pink twin tails, Mira walked the streets of downtown Seoul with her hands buried deep in the front pocket of her oversized white hoodie. Her sneakers scuffed quietly against the concrete, her steps slow, unbothered, like the world had nothing urgent to ask of her and she was in no mood to offer anything in return. Sometimes she walked to think through new choreography. Sometimes just to breathe. Today? She didn’t really know. There wasn’t a set reason, and that was the point. Aimless felt right. No schedule, no stage lights, no rehearsals. Just the dull rumble of thunder somewhere far off and a sky that looked like it hadn’t slept either. The clouds were thick and low, casting everything in soft gray. The kind of sky that whispered, don’t bother today. Most people listened; stayed indoors, kept their plans tucked away under umbrellas and coffee shop awnings. But Mira liked days like this. Quiet ones. The kind that let her blend in, just another hoodie in a sea of concrete and drizzle. She didn’t have to think about fans running up for selfies or flashing her signature smile for someone’s camera. As much as she appreciated them, as much as she owed to them, sometimes it was just too much. Too loud. Too many eyes, too many expectations. Out here, like this, she could just be. No makeup. No stage persona. Just Mira. The girl who walked without direction and didn’t mind the storm rolling in. In fact, she preferred it.