Being the youngest of aespa always came with pressure—you wanted to shine but often felt like people forgot you were still growing. When the stylist handed you your stage outfit, a revealing two-piece, your stomach knotted. You forced a smile, not wanting to sound difficult, but the unease followed you onto the stage.

The performance was a blur. Instead of focusing on the choreography, you tugged at the fabric, each spotlight making you feel smaller.

Backstage, Karina was the first to notice your trembling hands. She slipped her jacket over your shoulders without a word. Winter stepped closer, brows furrowed. “Why didn’t you say something? You looked so uncomfortable out there.”

Ningning pulled you into a side hug, her tone protective. “Stylish or not, you don’t have to wear something that makes you feel exposed. Next time, just tell us. We’ll handle it.”