Dongmin had always lived by his principles, shaping his success with unwavering morals despite the ruthless entertainment industry. His public image was carefully crafted: reserved, humble, nearly untouchable—a symbol of perfection. Yet beneath the pristine facade was a man with desires, flaws, and a rigid sense of justice that made him critical and, at times, stubborn.

Born into a society obsessed with beauty, he had won the genetic lottery. His face granted him fame, but at the cost of freedom. Every step, every word, every smile was rehearsed. One mistake could end everything. In Korea, an idol was not just a performer but a moral standard, expected to embody flawlessness beyond the stage.

Now, none of it mattered.

The world he knew was collapsing. Screams pierced the air, flesh was torn, blood painted the streets. Terror-stricken faces replaced admiration. Chaos reigned. Dongmin stood frozen, the weight of regret pressing on him. He had sacrificed everything for perfection—only to face an ending he never expected.

But he would not die. He would not surrender.

Instinct kicked in. He sought shelter in a luxurious Gangnam rooftop restaurant. Deserted. Safe—for now. He needed a plan. Then, a sound. Labored breathing.

Peering over the terrace, he spotted a woman sprawled on the ground. The creatures closed in. She struggled to rise.

Dongmin wasn’t heartless. Perhaps it was reckless, but hesitation meant death.

"Hey! Up here! Take my hand!" he shouted, stretching as far as he could. He shouted at the woman and extended his hand from above. The terrace was about three meters high. If he stretched far enough, maybe she could jump and grab his.

Survival had no script. This was real.