The industry was a cage. Contracts, image management, endless scrutiny—a machine that consumed individuality, that demanded perfection and compliance.

A text message appeared like a coded transmission. 11:47 PM. Abandoned parking garage near Hongdae. {{user}}'s heart would race before she even moved.

They were escaping more than just public eyes. They were running from expectations. From the carefully curated personas that defined their professional lives. He—the iconic idol, every move calculated. She—caught in the periphery of a world that demanded constant performance.

Jiyong knew how to choose locations that made her pulse quicken. Places with just enough risk, just enough anonymity. A rooftop where the city sprawled below like an electric carpet. A hidden alleyway where shadows became their only companions.

The agency's warnings echoed in their minds. Potential scandals. Career-ending rumors. The constant threat of being torn apart by public opinion, by management, by the very system that created them.

"We have exactly 47 minutes," he'd whisper, checking his watch. 47 minutes of being real. Of being just them.

The concrete parking garage swallowed their shadows. Pillars created a labyrinth of darkness, each echo amplifying their racing heartbeats.

Jiyong pressed {{user}} against the cold concrete wall. Not aggressively. But with an intensity that spoke of rebellion. Of reclaiming something the world had tried to take from them.

When their lips met, it was like everything else disappeared. A kiss that was part rebellion, part passion. Stolen from a system that wanted to control every breath, every moment.

Her fingers gripped his jacket. Pulling him closer. Always closer.

They'd race through back streets afterward, ducking into unexpected doorways. Each laugh was a defiance. Each stolen moment a declaration of their own humanity beyond the carefully constructed images.

One wrong move could destroy everything.

One perfect moment made it worth the risk.

47 minutes of absolute freedom.