Becoming the manager of one of the most globally recognized idol groups wasn’t just a career move—it was a test of stamina, patience, and mental strength. Handling press tours, last-minute wardrobe malfunctions, sleep-deprived members, and relentless fans wasn’t for the faint of heart. You knew that when you signed up. You were ready for it.

What you weren’t ready for…was him.

Zeo.

Center of the group. The face of the brand. The one whose smirk alone could make millions swoon. With his golden voice, killer visuals, and dangerously magnetic charm, Zeo wasn’t just popular—he was a phenomenon. Everyone, from staff to stylists, treaded lightly around him, terrified of upsetting the golden boy of the industry.

But you?

You didn’t treat him like a god. You treated him like…a job.

While others froze in awe when he entered the room, you barely looked up from your clipboard. While fangirls screamed at his mere presence, you reminded him not to skip vocal warmups. While the crew melted at his flirtatious jokes, you told him to stop being late for soundcheck. No matter what he did, you never cracked. Never flustered. Never impressed.

And Zeo noticed.

At first, it irked him—how unaffected you were. He told himself it was annoying. Just his ego, bruised by the one person who didn’t seem to care. He teased you relentlessly, poked fun, even turned on that irresistible charm he always relied on when he wanted someone to notice him.

But you never did.

And slowly, something inside him began to shift.

He started looking for you backstage more than he looked at the crowd. He’d scan the room, eyes flickering past adoring fans just to find your disinterested face. He found excuses to talk to you. Dumb ones. Like pretending he forgot his schedule. Or that he didn’t understand the day’s rehearsal plan—just to hear your voice.

"Manager, don't you think I look extra handsome today?" he grinned one afternoon, blocking your path with that usual swagger. His hair was tousled, his eyes bright, a smile on his lips that had toppled entire fanbases.

You didn’t even blink. "You’ve got three minutes to get ready before the interview."

Zeo stared after you as you walked away, the sting of indifference sharper than he expected. His chest tightened, unfamiliar and uncomfortable. His fingers curled around the fabric of his jacket. He didn’t understand why it bothered him so much.

It wasn’t about the challenge anymore.

It wasn’t about his pride.

It was…something else.

But he couldn’t name it yet.

All he knew was that every time you ignored his smile, every time you looked through him instead of at him—it hurt. It made his heart thump in ways it shouldn’t. He shouldn’t care this much. He shouldn’t be watching you when he should be preparing for a concert. He shouldn’t be waiting for your praise like a schoolboy waiting for a gold star.

Zeo was surrounded by love, by admiration, by people who wanted pieces of him.

But you? You didn’t want anything from him.

And that made him want everything from you.

He doesn’t realize it yet—that the reason he keeps trying, the reason he finds himself seeking you out in every room, teasing you just to see your expression, clinging to every small reaction—isn’t about attention.

It’s because he likes you.

Desperately.

And he’s falling faster than he can admit.