Chapter 1 - The Weight of February
By the end of the week, the weight of it hadn’t lifted it had only settled deeper. Haesoo moved through his days like he was on autopilot, his body doing what it was trained to while his mind stayed somewhere else entirely.
At rehearsals, he missed cues. His harmonies slipped, his timing faltered. Minjae had to nudge him twice during one run-through just to get him to come in on his line. When the music stopped, there was silence instead of laughter.
Nova watched from the side of the room, arms crossed, her usual calm replaced by quiet concern. “Again,” she said softly, not with frustration but with the kind of tone that meant I know something’s wrong.
Haesoo nodded without looking up. “Sorry.”
Taeyul glanced at Minjae as the beat restarted, mouthing quietly, “He’s still not okay.”
They went through the song again, and again he moved like a shadow of himself voice still strong, but without the light behind it. Even Dongmin, who usually joked about everything, stayed quiet, watching him between moves with worry etched into his face.
When practice finally ended, the others lingered, pretending to check their phones or grab water, waiting for someone else to say what they were all thinking.
“Hyung,” Eunwoo said softly, “you can take a break if you need to.”
Haesoo forced a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “If I stop, I’ll think too much.”
They didn’t argue. They all understood.
Later that evening, under the bright studio lights of his MC job, Haesoo stood beside his co-host, the same girl from the photo that had started it all. The cameras rolled, the audience cheered, and he smiled on cue. But it wasn’t the same smile. It didn’t reach his eyes, didn’t carry the warmth that had made people call him “the bright one” of SOL7.
Between takes, the girl whispered quietly, “You okay? You seem… off.”
He glanced at her, polite but distant. “Just tired.”
“Long rehearsals?”
He nodded. “Something like that.”
When the red light blinked back on, his posture straightened, his voice lifted, his expression reset into something almost perfect. But when the director called cut again, it dropped instantly the spark gone as quickly as it appeared.
Outside the studio, Nova was waiting for him by the exit, her hands in the pockets of her coat.
“You’re burning out,” she said quietly when he approached.
Haesoo exhaled, looking past her at the night sky. “I already did.”
She studied him for a moment, her voice soft but firm. “Then you need to talk to her.”
He shook his head. “She told me to leave. She meant it.”
Nova sighed. “Maybe. But knowing her, she’s probably sitting alone convincing herself she made the right choice. Someone has to prove her wrong.”
Haesoo’s jaw tightened. “What if she doesn’t want me to?”
“Then at least you’ll know you tried,” Nova said. “But right now? You’re not living you’re just existing.”
He didn’t respond. He just looked down at his hands, the same hands that once held her, cooked for her, touched her hair while she fell asleep. Now they felt empty, no matter how hard he clenched them.
And as the wind picked up outside the studio, carrying the faint sound of city traffic, he whispered under his breath, almost to himself, “I don’t even know how to be okay without her.”
It was late when Haesoo finally gave in to the ache that had been eating at him all week. The city was quiet, its skyline shimmering against the night, but inside his chest everything was noise—every word she said, every silence that followed.
He drove without thinking, headlights cutting through the cold air until he reached her street. The sight of her house made his stomach twist. He sat there for a long time in the car, gripping the steering wheel, before he finally stepped out and walked up to the gate.
“Luly,” he whispered under his breath, staring up at the lights flickering faintly through her windows.
He pressed the intercom button. “It’s me,” he said, voice rough. “Please. Just let me see her.”
There was no answer.
He pressed again, his breath visible in the cold. “I just need to talk to her. One minute. Please.”
The gate didn’t move.
One of the security guards stepped forward, his expression sympathetic but firm. “Mr. Jeon, I’m sorry. We can’t open it.”
Haesoo frowned, taking a step closer. “You know me. Just—tell her I’m here.”
Before the guard could respond, another voice came from behind the gate. Jin.
He walked out from the courtyard, wearing a coat and a tired look, his hands tucked into his pockets. He stopped a few feet from the gate, his eyes soft but heavy.
“She doesn’t want to see you,” Jin said quietly.
Haesoo’s throat tightened. “Just let me explain. I didn’t do anything wrong, Jin. You know I didn’t.”
Jin sighed, his breath fogging in the air. “I know. But it’s not about right or wrong for her right now. It’s about pain.”
Haesoo shook his head, his voice cracking. “I can fix it if she just lets me talk to her.”
Jin looked at him for a long moment, then shook his head slowly. “She told all the security you’re not allowed on the property anymore. Her words, not mine.”
Haesoo stared at him, the words hitting like cold water. “She said that?”
Jin nodded once, quiet and regretful. “She’s shutting everyone out right now. Not just you. But seeing you would make it worse.”
Haesoo exhaled sharply, stepping closer to the gate. “Please, Jin. Just tell her I came.”
Jin’s expression softened. “I’ll tell her.”
Haesoo’s voice lowered, raw and pleading. “Tell her I’m sorry. And that I still love her.”
Jin nodded slowly. “I’ll tell her that too.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The night was cold, the air heavy with things neither of them could fix.
Finally, Haesoo stepped back, his hands falling to his sides. “Take care of her,” he whispered.
“I always do,” Jin said quietly.
Haesoo lingered one last second, staring up at the dark windows that used to feel like home, then turned and walked back to his car. His breath trembled as he opened the door, the reflection of the house fading behind him.
As the engine started, he whispered to himself, voice breaking, “I’ll wait. Even if she never opens that door again.”
When Haesoo walked back into the dorm, the lights were dim and the members were scattered around the living room, half-asleep or lost in their phones. But the second the door clicked shut behind him, everyone looked up.
He stood there for a moment, motionless, still in his coat, eyes red and tired. The silence said more than words could.
Dongmin sat up first. “You went to her house, didn’t you?”
Haesoo nodded once, barely. He didn’t move from the doorway. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “They didn’t let me in.”
Taeyul frowned, concern flashing in his face. “What do you mean, didn’t let you in?”
Haesoo swallowed hard, his jaw trembling. “She told them… she told them not to let me on her property anymore.”
The words hung in the air, sharp and heavy.
Minjae stood slowly from the couch, his expression softening as he crossed the room. “Hey,” he said quietly, but before he could reach him, Haesoo’s voice cracked.
“She told them not to let me in,” he repeated, this time louder, his chest heaving as he tried to breathe through the burn in his throat. “She doesn’t even want to see me. She hates me.”
Jisung’s eyes darkened, guilt and sympathy mixing in his expression. “You don’t know that”
“I do!” Haesoo’s voice broke. He pressed a shaking hand to his face, the other gripping the strap of his bag so tight his knuckles went white. “Jin told me. He said she told security to block me. That she” His breath hitched as the first tear slipped down his cheek. “That she doesn’t want to see me anymore.”
Eunwoo stood up, moving closer. “Hyung…”
Haesoo shook his head violently, dropping his bag to the floor. “I just wanted to talk to her. To tell her the truth. I didn’t do anything wrong, but she doesn’t believe me. She doesn’t even want to hear me.”
He pressed both hands over his face now, shoulders shaking. “She said she loved me. She said I was the only one who understood her.” His voice broke into a sob. “Then she threw me away like I was nothing.”
The room went still except for his quiet, uneven breathing. Dongmin walked over and put a hand on his back. “You’re not nothing, hyung,” he said softly. “She’s just hurting.”
Haesoo’s reply came out as a whisper through his tears. “So am I.”
Minjae finally stepped in, guiding him to sit down on the couch. Haesoo dropped down, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. The tears kept coming, slow but relentless, as he tried to catch his breath.
Nova’s words echoed in his head from days before You’re not living, you’re just existing. And right now, that was exactly how it felt.
“I keep seeing her face,” he murmured finally. “When I close my eyes, it’s all I see. And I can’t even go near her.”
The others sat in silence around him, unsure what to say. They were idols, trained to keep their emotions hidden, but none of that mattered now. In front of them wasn’t Jeon Haesoo from SOL7 it was just Haesoo, the boy who loved someone who didn’t want to see him anymore.
Minjae rested a hand on his shoulder. “You gave her everything you could. That’s all anyone can do.”
Haesoo nodded weakly, eyes still fixed on the floor. “Then why does it still feel like I didn’t do enough?”
No one had an answer.
The dorm stayed quiet that night, the only sound the slow rhythm of Haesoo’s breathing as he cried into his hands, surrounded by the people who loved him none of them able to fix the one thing he wanted most.
For the month of February, the pace of Luly’s life shifted into a blur of lights, cameras, and noise. Her movie had wrapped, and the moment it did, the offers began pouring in—CFs, luxury brand campaigns, interviews, sponsorships. Every day there was another meeting, another set, another smile she had to wear no matter how tired she was.
In between all that, she was back in the studio, recording for her upcoming mini album. The lyrics she wrote were sharper than before—melancholy, distant, touched with the kind of pain she didn’t talk about out loud. The producers loved it, said her emotion carried through her voice, that it felt “real.” She only nodded, because it was.
But behind the glitter, she still hadn’t stopped thinking about him.
Haesoo, on the other hand, was unraveling. Nova noticed it first. He still showed up to rehearsals, still smiled for the cameras, but it wasn’t the same smile. There was something empty behind his eyes, like he was only pretending to exist inside his own skin. He didn’t talk much unless he had to, and even then, it was mechanical.
By mid-February, Nova couldn’t take it anymore. She knew Luly was avoiding him, shutting everything out, but Haesoo was breaking, and she wasn’t going to sit back and watch both of them crumble.
So one evening, she went to Luly’s house.
Jin let her in, quietly, without saying much. He knew better than to get in the middle of it.
Luly was in her recording studio upstairs, sitting in front of the console with headphones resting around her neck. Her hair was tied up, a few strands falling loose around her face. The glow from the monitors painted her skin in cool light.
Nova stood by the door for a moment before speaking. “You look tired.”
Luly didn’t turn around. “I’m working.”
“I can see that,” Nova said, stepping closer. “But I also know when you’re using work to hide.”
That made Luly pause. Slowly, she pulled off her headphones and turned in her chair. “I’m not hiding. I’m moving on.”
Nova crossed her arms, her gaze steady. “He’s not. He’s falling apart.”
Luly’s jaw tightened. “That’s not my responsibility anymore.”
“He loves you, Luly,” Nova said softly. “You know that.”
Luly exhaled, leaning back in her chair. “He broke my trust, Nova. I told him one rule one and he couldn’t follow it. It’s not about what he did or didn’t do with that girl. It’s that he didn’t respect my boundary.”
Nova nodded slowly. “You think he didn’t respect it. But I think he didn’t understand how deep that boundary went for you.”
“I don’t care,” Luly said quietly. “Understanding isn’t the same as doing.”
Nova stayed silent for a moment, then asked gently, “Are you sure you’re not punishing him for what other people have done?”
Luly froze. For a second, her eyes flickered, but she recovered quickly, shaking her head. “This isn’t your place to intervene.” Her tone was calm but sharp. “I respect you, Nova. I really do. You’ve always been good to me. But this” she gestured between them “is my decision.”
Nova looked at her, seeing the exhaustion in her eyes, the pain she was trying to hide behind control. “And if that decision costs you someone who actually loves you?”
Luly’s lips trembled, just barely. She looked away, staring at the mixing board. “Then that’s what it costs.”
The silence stretched. The soft hum of the studio equipment filled the space between them.
Finally, Nova nodded. “I won’t push. But don’t wait until it’s too late to admit you still love him.”
Luly didn’t respond.
Nova watched her for a moment longer, then turned to leave. As the door clicked shut behind her, Luly’s hands fell into her lap, trembling.
She didn’t cry. She just sat there, staring at the recording mic in front of her.
Then quietly, as if speaking to no one, she whispered, “He broke my trust. That’s something I can’t fix.”
But her voice cracked at the end because deep down, she wanted to believe someone could.
March came with a sharp chill in the air, but for Luly Reyes, it marked a new rhythm.
Every morning, she was up early, hair tied, dressed in sleek black athletic wear. Her days began in the home gym Jin had outfitted for her—rows of weights, mats, mirrors, and the cold gleam of determination in her eyes. She was pushing herself harder than before, each movement deliberate, her body trembling through planks and punches.
When Jin joined her for her combat sessions, he watched her every move with equal parts admiration and concern.
He circled her slowly. “I don’t think you need this training,” he said with a faint smirk. “If I’m honest, I think you might already be better than me.”
Luly caught her breath and straightened, brushing hair from her face. “I’ve never trained to fight,” she said, rolling her wrists. “Not really. I’ve just learned how to survive.”
Jin’s expression softened. “Still, you don’t have to push this hard.”
She grabbed her water bottle, taking a sip before replying. “You know why I am doing it. I want to be able to defend myself. If something happens, I can’t depend on someone else.”
Jin sighed, shaking his head. “You’re sick, Luly. Your body doesn’t recover like others. You can’t stay fighting for long.”
She gave a faint smile. “I don’t need to fight for long. Just enough.”
He didn’t argue further, but the concern lingered in his eyes.
While Luly’s days were marked by sweat and silent resolve, Haesoo’s March unfolded in darker tones. SOL7’s comeback preparations had hit full swing—filming teasers, recording interviews, rehearsing choreography until their limbs burned. Haesoo buried himself in the work, his exhaustion disguised by camera lights and makeup.
But Nova noticed. So did Asher. So did the members.
He wasn’t eating properly. He brushed off meals, saying he’d already eaten. He barely slept. His smile during takes looked almost perfect—almost.
The breaking point came on the second day of filming their music video. The set was bright, the crew hustling around, fans blowing, the air thick with tension and caffeine.
Haesoo was in position, drenched in sweat, his shirt clinging to his skin. The director shouted, “Action!” and the music blared through the speakers.
He moved with his usual precision at first, but halfway through the take, his steps faltered. His vision blurred, his chest tightening. The lights flickered in his eyes.
Then, without warning, he collapsed.
The music cut instantly. The crew gasped. Minjae ran first, shouting, “Haesoo!”
Nova was already sprinting across the set. Asher dropped his headset and followed. Dongmin knelt beside him, shaking his shoulder. “Hyung! Hey, wake up!”
Nova crouched down, her voice urgent but steady. “Get water! Call the medic now!”
Haesoo stirred weakly, eyes fluttering open. His skin was pale, his breathing uneven.
“What happened?” Taeyul asked, voice trembling.
Asher looked at the untouched lunchbox on the table and clenched his jaw. “He hasn’t been eating. Or sleeping.”
Nova’s tone snapped, sharp and cutting through the chaos. “He fainted because he’s burning himself out.”
Haesoo tried to sit up, his voice hoarse. “I’m fine.”
Nova shot him a glare. “You’re not fine. You just hit the floor in front of fifty people.”
The director approached cautiously. “Should we stop filming for today?”
“Yes,” Minjae said immediately, his leader voice firm. “We’re stopping.”
Nova looked at Asher, her tone quieter now. “We need to get him checked. And someone needs to tell Luly before she hears it from the media.”
Asher sighed, glancing at Haesoo who sat dazed, rubbing his temples. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”
Nova hesitated, watching Haesoo’s distant expression. “Maybe not yet. Let him breathe first.”
Haesoo finally looked up, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t tell her.”
Nova’s expression softened. “Why?”
He swallowed hard. “She doesn’t want to hear about me.”
The silence that followed was heavy. Nova didn’t push.
As the medic checked his vitals and crew members whispered in worry, Haesoo’s thoughts drifted somewhere far away to a voice that once told him, don’t talk to girls, and a laugh that used to make everything lighter.
Now all he could feel was the weight of her absence and the truth that no amount of fame or spotlight could fill it.
Asher was driving that night, the city lights gliding across the windows like ghosts. The ride back from the set was silent—Haesoo leaned against the window half-asleep, still pale from fainting, while the members sat in a heavy quiet that didn’t feel like rest.
Then, as they stopped at a red light, something on a massive digital billboard caught Asher’s eye.
He blinked, leaning closer to the glass. “No way.”
Nova, sitting in the passenger seat beside him, turned. “What?”
Asher lifted a hand and pointed. “Look.”
Across the intersection, an enormous screen displayed a sleek CF of Luly Reyes. The ad was for a luxury activewear brand—crisp, cinematic, every frame deliberate.
Luly appeared on-screen in fitted black leggings and a cropped top that shimmered like liquid metal under the light. Her body was toned, her waist defined, arms slender but strong. She moved through a slow-motion spin, sweat glistening across her skin, hair tied back in a neat ponytail.
The tagline appeared in bold letters: “Discipline Is Beauty.”
Nova’s breath caught. For a second, she didn’t move.
Asher let out a short, stunned laugh. “How is that even possible?”
Dongmin leaned forward between the seats. “That’s Luly?”
“Yeah,” Asher said, eyes still wide. “Look at her—she’s ripped.”
Eunwoo, who’d been dozing off in the back, blinked awake and stared out the window. “Wait… she looks different. Healthier.”
Taeyul nodded slowly, his voice quiet. “She must’ve been training.”
Jisung frowned. “Training? For what? She doesn’t perform anymore.”
Nova kept staring at the screen, the image shifting to Luly doing pull-ups with effortless control before smiling softly at the camera. Her tone in the CF was confident, almost teasing—“Strong doesn’t mean perfect. It means you stayed.”
Nova finally exhaled. “Combat training,” she murmured.
Everyone looked at her.
“She’s been doing combat and strength conditioning with Jin,” Nova said, her tone low. “I didn’t think she’d push herself this far, though.”
Asher whistled under his breath. “That’s crazy. She looks like a completely different person.”
Dongmin smirked. “Imagine her showing up on stage like that again. The fans would lose their minds.”
Haesoo hadn’t said a word the entire time. His head was tilted toward the window, his eyes locked on the glowing screen.
Nova noticed. “You okay?”
He didn’t look at her, his voice quiet but steady. “She’s stronger than before.”
Asher glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “Yeah. You saw her arms? She could probably beat you in a fight now.”
Haesoo didn’t laugh. His gaze stayed fixed on her image as it looped Luly running through sunlight, laughing, her hair flying behind her.
“She doesn’t need me anymore,” he murmured.
Nova turned to face him, her voice gentle. “That’s not true.”
He finally looked up at her reflection in the glass. “Then why does it feel like she’s already moved on?”
The light turned green, and the car started moving again. Outside, the CF faded into another ad but Haesoo kept staring at the spot where she’d been, like he could still see her there, glowing against the night.
Eunwoo had been quiet the whole ride, phone in hand, scrolling absentmindedly through fan updates until the glowing image of Luly faded from the billboard. Curiosity got the best of him. He opened the social feed and typed Luly Reyes CF into the search bar. Within seconds, his screen filled with trending posts.
His brows lifted. “You guys need to see this.”
Nova glanced back. “What are they saying?”
Eunwoo’s eyes darted across the feed, reading aloud as he scrolled. “‘Luly’s body transformation is insane,’” he read, “‘she looks like she trained for an action movie.’” He scrolled again. “‘Didn’t she just finish filming? How did she go from soft and delicate to toned and fierce in a month?’”
Dongmin leaned over his shoulder. “They’re calling her Athlete Luly now?”
“Yeah,” Eunwoo said, half laughing. “Listen to this one—‘If strength had a face, it’d be Luly Reyes.’”
Taeyul smirked. “That’s a whole rebrand.”
Nova nodded slowly, a faint smile pulling at her lips. “She’s always been smart about her image. She doesn’t just come back she evolves.”
Eunwoo kept scrolling, reading more. “‘She’s glowing. You can tell she’s healthy and happy. Maybe she’s found peace.’”
That last line made the car go quiet.
Haesoo’s eyes flicked to the phone screen, then away. His reflection in the window looked distant, small against the night outside.
Nova’s voice softened. “She’s not doing this to hurt you, Haesoo.”
He stayed quiet for a long moment, his tone low when he finally spoke. “She doesn’t have to. It hurts anyway.”
Asher sighed, eyes still on the road. “Fans think she’s unstoppable. But they don’t know what it costs to look that strong.”
Nova looked out the window again, the city lights passing in a blur. “Maybe that’s the point. She wants the world to see strength, not pain.”
Eunwoo’s thumb hovered over the screen as another post popped up Luly smiling in behind-the-scenes footage, hair tied back, muscles flexing as she laughed. He hesitated before quietly reading the caption. “‘She’s proof you can break down, rebuild, and come back even brighter.’”
No one said anything after that.
Haesoo leaned his head back against the seat, eyes closed, her face replaying in his mind stronger, calmer, untouchable.
He whispered, mostly to himself, “She really did rebuild.”
Nova heard him. “Maybe she’s waiting for you to do the same.”
But Haesoo didn’t answer. The car moved on, and the city lights swallowed them whole.
The studio was loud with chatter, lights flickering as stylists adjusted cameras and staff prepped the next scene for SOL7’s comeback video. But the noise shifted when one of the assistants called out, “Hey—have you seen this? Luly Reyes just dropped another music video.”
Half the crew gathered around a monitor at the edge of the set, eyes glued to the screen. The sound of heavy bass echoed through the space, pulling everyone’s attention.
Haesoo froze where he stood, towel around his neck, his stomach dropping at the sound of her voice through the speakers.
Nova, standing beside Asher, turned toward the monitor too. “She dropped a new track already?”
The video began—Luly in a silver satin outfit, her reflection smiling back differently from the real her, neon lights melting across glass. Her voice, smooth and sharp, filled the room.
“You talk like every word’s a promise,
I smile like I believe in it.
You say I’m cold — maybe I’m honest,
love’s a game, and I’m done playin’ it.”
One of the staffers whistled low. “Damn, she looks incredible. She’s got that innocent face, but her body’s unreal.”
A few others laughed in agreement. “She doesn’t even look real—like, how is someone that soft and that dangerous at the same time?”
The comment hit the air like static.
Asher’s jaw flexed. “Hey, tone it down.”
The guys blinked, caught off guard. “Relax, we’re just saying she looks good—”
Nova cut in, her tone sharp. “She’s not here for you to talk about her like that.”
The staffers quieted immediately.
On the screen, the pre-chorus hit—Luly’s voice dripping with precision:
“Don’t mistake my silence for surrender,
baby, I invented pressure.”
Haesoo’s hands curled into fists. The words hit too close. The camera showed her in a mirrored hall, reflections flashing of her laughing, crying, smirking—all of them slightly wrong, like different masks she’d worn before.
Eunwoo muttered softly, almost to himself, “She’s telling everyone not to underestimate her.”
Minjae nodded, eyes still on the screen. “She’s not just showing confidence. She’s showing control.”
Asher crossed his arms, exhaling. “And she’s letting people know she’s untouchable now.”
When the chorus dropped, Luly’s eyes locked on the camera, whispering directly into it:
“I’m sweet on the surface,
but I bite when it’s worth it.
You think I’m lost, I’m just observin’,
watchin’ fools confuse pain with purpose.”
Haesoo couldn’t move. His chest felt heavy—her tone was smooth, steady, unshaken. This wasn’t the Luly who once clung to him crying, afraid of being hurt. This was someone who had learned to turn heartbreak into spectacle.
Taeyul looked at him, worried. “Hyung, you okay?”
Haesoo didn’t answer. His gaze stayed fixed on the screen where she now stood in a gallery surrounded by portraits of herself, throwing a glass of red wine that bled down the frame.
“I used to fall, now I perform,
I turn heartbreak into art form.”
Nova watched quietly. “She’s reclaiming everything that broke her.”
Asher added, “She’s saying she’s not just the girl people pitied anymore. She’s the one writing the story.”
Jisung murmured, “She’s not afraid of showing her scars—she’s weaponizing them.”
When the final chorus hit, the mirror shattered across the screen, Luly smiling through the shards as she sang—
“I’m sweet on the surface,
but I bite when it’s perfect.
You think you’ve cracked my code, but no,
I’m the glitch you’ll never own.”
Then, silence.
The video ended with her soft laugh, echoing through the room like a ghost.
No one spoke for a long time.
Finally, Haesoo broke the silence. His voice was quiet but rough. “That song’s about me.”
Nova turned her head toward him. “Maybe it is.”
He stared at the dark screen, his reflection faint in the glass. “Then she’s not just angry. She’s done.”
Nova studied his face, the exhaustion there, the guilt buried under silence. “Or she’s telling you to listen this time.”
But Haesoo didn’t respond.
Asher turned off the monitor, muttering, “She doesn’t miss.”
The members returned to set, the air heavier than before. Haesoo lingered for one more second, staring at where her image had been. Her voice still played in his head, soft but final.
“You want my heart? I’ll let you learn it
it’s sugar wrapped in cynic courage.”
He whispered under his breath, just loud enough for Nova to hear. “She really turned me into art.”
The studio had been buzzing with pre-shoot tension until one of the production assistants ran in from the hallway, breathless and holding his phone high.
“Yo, Luly Reyes just dropped another music video!” he said, practically shouting over the chatter. “You have to see this.”
Within seconds, half the staff had crowded around the nearest monitor. Nova, Asher, and the SOL7 members exchanged glances—curious, wary, and a little amused.
The screen flickered to life.
Luly appeared in bubblegum pink lighting, leaning against a shiny car in front of a pastel house, blowing a bubble before she looked at the camera and smirked. “Bad idea, right?” she said.
The beat exploded through the studio speakers.
“You say she’s sweet, she’s everything nice,
then why’re you here at midnight?”
A wave of whistles and laughter broke out from the staff.
“Oh man, she’s telling every guy to dump his girlfriend,” one of them laughed. “She’s bold for that.”
Another added, “I’d do it if she asked me to. Look at her how do you say no to that face?”
A third chimed in, “She’s dangerous. The kind of girl who ruins your life and you thank her for it.”
Nova’s head snapped toward them. “Enough.”
The laughter died instantly.
On-screen, Luly was gliding through a backyard party, pink leather jacket, ponytail bouncing, hips swaying to the rhythm. She dipped a finger in cake, whispered something in a guy’s ear, and grinned at the camera.
“You say it’s harmless, I say it’s fun,
but baby, hearts don’t come undone.”
Eunwoo shook his head, eyes wide. “She’s literally telling every man watching that cheating’s a good time.”
Taeyul leaned in. “No she’s toying with them. Look how she’s flipping the roles. All the songs lately from male idols talk about temptation. She’s showing she can play that game better.”
Asher crossed his arms. “Still, she’s lighting matches in a fireworks factory.”
Nova smirked faintly. “And she knows it.”
The pre-chorus hit, Luly staring at her reflection in a mirror covered in lipstick messages “heartbreaker,” “villain,” “muse.” She wiped one away and mouthed, “I’m not your problem, I’m your thrill.”
“It’s a bad idea, right?
Then why does it feel so right?
You should break up with your girlfriend,
but not tonight.”
The entire set erupted again staff shaking their heads, half-laughing, half-in awe.
“She’s fearless,” one whispered. “She just told the entire country to cheat in 4K.”
Asher muttered under his breath, “She didn’t tell them to cheat. She told them to think about why they want to.”
Haesoo stood at the back, silent, his towel still draped around his neck. His jaw tightened every time someone said girlfriend.
Nova noticed but didn’t comment. She just kept watching the video Luly tossing a lollipop at another girl, laughing, and walking away like nothing could touch her.
“You’re in deep, I’m in control,
you’re the fire, I’m the smoke.”
Eunwoo was still scrolling through his phone. “This is wild. The internet’s losing it. The top trending comment says, ‘Luly just declared war on every happy couple in Korea.’”
Dongmin started laughing. “She’s literally the home-wrecker of pop music now.”
Nova gave him a look. “She’s not wrecking homes. She’s making people question the cages they build themselves.”
Taeyul tilted his head. “That’s a generous way to describe telling guys to dump their girlfriends.”
Nova smiled faintly. “That’s what makes her a genius.”
The bridge played Luly on a glittering stage, mic in hand, singing directly into the camera:
“You said I was danger,
but I’m just your favorite kind.
You said ‘maybe later,’
but I’m already in your mind.”
Her laugh hit over the final chorus, voice dripping with irony.
“It’s a bad idea, right?
Then why does it feel so right?
You should break up with your girlfriend,
but not tonight.”
When the screen faded to black, no one spoke for a long moment.
Finally, Asher exhaled and muttered, “She’s got every guy in the country rethinking his relationship right now.”
Eunwoo nodded. “She basically said fidelity’s outdated and made it sound poetic.”
Nova crossed her arms, studying the blank monitor. “She’s not glorifying cheating. She’s exploring power. Every lyric says—‘I know I’m the mistake you’ll still make twice.’”
Minjae let out a low breath. “And people love her more for it.”
Haesoo finally spoke, voice quiet but cutting. “They always will. She doesn’t write songs to please people. She writes them to make them confess things they’d never say out loud.”
Nova looked at him for a moment, her expression unreadable. “That’s why no one can touch her.”
The studio slowly went back to work, but the air lingered heavy her voice still echoing in everyone’s heads like temptation itself.
It’s a bad idea, right? Then why does it feel so right?
The set was loud with the usual chaos of lighting adjustments and mic tests until Nova noticed something strange—half the staff had gathered in a corner, faces lit by the blue glow of a phone screen, whispering and laughing under their breath.
At first, she ignored it, assuming it was another viral video or idol gossip clip. But the tone changed—the laughter had that edge of disbelief, the kind that made her spine tighten.
She started walking over, her heels clicking sharply against the studio floor.
“Asher,” she murmured without looking back. “What are they watching?”
He glanced up from his clipboard, frowned, and followed her gaze. “No idea.”
Nova reached the group. “What’s going on here?”
The staff flinched like they’d been caught doing something wrong. One of them tried to hide his phone, stammering, “Ah—nothing, just… uh, a new video.”
Nova crossed her arms. “Whose video?”
No one answered.
Then one guy hesitated, swallowed, and finally turned the phone toward her. “It’s… Luly Reyes.”
The second the image hit the screen, Nova froze.
Luly was sitting at a table wearing an oversized white men’s dress shirt, hair slightly tousled, no heavy makeup—just luminous, natural, dangerous in how effortless she looked. She held a glass of milk, took a slow sip, then smiled directly into the camera. The milk dripped down the corner of her lip, trailing down her throat before spilling onto her shirt, soaking through the thin fabric.
The room went completely still.
The staff didn’t even seem to breathe.
One of them muttered under his breath, “She’s gonna break the internet with this.”
Another laughed quietly. “I didn’t know milk could be this illegal.”
Asher’s voice came from behind them, cold and sharp. “You should stop watching it.”
They turned, startled by his tone.
Nova exhaled slowly, her voice low but razor-sharp. “You’re all professionals. Not teenagers. Close it.”
The phone lowered instantly.
Dongmin, who had wandered over, blinked at the tension. “What even was that?”
Eunwoo glanced at the darkened phone screen. “It’s not an ad. It looks like a teaser. Probably for another music video.”
Nova nodded slightly. “It’s deliberate.”
Taeyul frowned. “You think she’s doing it for shock value?”
Nova turned toward the set, her tone even. “No. She’s doing it for control.”
Asher crossed his arms. “She knows how to turn something everyone would label provocative into power. That’s her entire brand right now.”
Eunwoo scrolled through his feed, his eyes widening. “It’s everywhere already. Clips, edits, hashtags. Fans are saying it’s not sexual—it’s artistic. ‘The innocence weaponized.’”
Minjae sighed. “And the rest of the internet?”
Eunwoo hesitated. “Half are losing their minds. The other half are worshipping her.”
Nova nodded once, her face unreadable. “Exactly what she wanted.”
Haesoo had been standing behind them, silent, watching the faint replay of her image still reflected in one of the camera screens. His throat felt tight, the familiar ache twisting in his chest.
Dongmin noticed. “You okay?”
Haesoo didn’t answer right away. Then softly, almost to himself, he said, “She knows what she’s doing. She’s telling everyone she doesn’t care who stares anymore.”
Nova glanced at him. “She’s reminding them who’s in control when they do.”
The room was quiet again, tension thick, everyone half afraid to move.
Finally, Asher broke the silence, his voice dry. “Well, congratulations to her. She just started another war between morality and marketing.”
Nova gave a small smirk. “And she’s winning it.”
Haesoo looked down, her image still burning in his mind the milk, the smirk, the calm defiance in her eyes and whispered under his breath, “She always does.”
The lunch break was supposed to be quiet. The members were spread out across the set with boxed meals, the crew lounging in corners, everyone taking a breath between long takes. But then Nova noticed it again—
the same cluster of male staff huddled near the craft table, heads close together, grinning at a phone screen.
She didn’t even need to ask what they were watching this time. The look on their faces said it all.
Asher followed her line of sight, already sighing. “Please don’t tell me—”
Nova was already walking toward them.
“What now?” she demanded, her voice sharp enough to slice through the chatter.
The men jumped, clearly caught, but one of them couldn’t hide his grin. “It’s Luly. She’s live right now.”
Nova’s jaw tightened. “And?”
He turned the phone so she could see.
On-screen, Luly was sitting at a small kitchen counter in a loose white top, sunlight streaming through the window behind her. She was holding a banana, smiling at the chat. Her voice was calm, warm, oblivious to the chaos she was causing.
“I tried to make banana bread once,” she said between bites, laughing softly. “But it didn’t turn out well. I think I added too much sugar. It ended up like banana soup.”
The chat was going wild—hearts, fire emojis, endless comments about how “adorable” she looked and how “the banana didn’t stand a chance.”
One of the staff whispered under his breath, “I could watch her eat fruit all day.”
Nova’s eyes snapped to him so fast he froze mid-laugh. “Excuse me?”
He immediately stammered, “I—uh—it’s just—she’s funny, that’s all!”
Asher came up beside Nova, folding his arms. “You all done drooling over your lunch entertainment, or should I tell the director to extend your break?”
The group quickly scattered, muttering excuses and pretending to check equipment.
Nova stayed where she was for a moment, staring at the phone screen as Luly continued chatting with fans.
“I know I should probably eat something healthier,” Luly was saying, taking another bite, “but this is fast, and I’m too lazy to cook.”
Nova exhaled, rubbing her temples. “She has no idea what kind of chaos she’s causing right now.”
Asher smirked. “Oh, I think she does. That’s the scary part.”
Eunwoo, scrolling through his feed nearby, looked up from his phone. “The stream’s trending already. Everyone’s calling her the queen of casual charm. Comments are like ‘how can she make eating a banana look cinematic?’”
Dongmin chuckled. “Because it’s Luly. She could sneeze and get ten million views.”
Nova glared at him. “Don’t encourage this.”
Haesoo was sitting quietly in the back, his lunch untouched. His eyes flicked toward the screen once, just long enough to see her smile before he looked away again.
Minjae noticed. “You okay?”
Haesoo’s voice was quiet, almost lost under the room’s hum. “She’s not doing it on purpose.”
Nova gave a tired sigh. “Maybe not. But the world’s going to twist it that way anyway.”
Eunwoo scrolled again, shaking his head in disbelief. “Hashtag LulyBananaLive just hit number one worldwide.”
Asher muttered, “She could release a cookbook at this point.”
Nova shot him a look. “Don’t give her ideas.”
She turned back toward the crew, who were pretending to work again but sneaking glances at their phones. “Alright,” she said loudly, her tone commanding. “Everyone off your phones. I don’t want to see another fruit-related crisis on set.”
The staff scrambled to obey.
Asher glanced at Nova, fighting a smile. “You know she’s going to keep doing it, right?”
Nova exhaled through her nose, muttering under her breath, “She doesn’t even have to try. The universe just bends around her.”
Across the room, Haesoo silently agreed, the corner of his lip twitching as he whispered to himself, “Yeah. That’s Luly.”
Nova typed fast.
Nova: Luly, stop doing that. People are taking it sexually.
The message delivered. She waited.
Seconds later, a reply popped up. A gif.
A small fluffy cat shaking its head with the caption no no no no.
Nova just stared at it, then exhaled slowly through her nose. “Unbelievable.”
Asher leaned over. “What’d she say?”
Nova turned the phone so he could see.
He snorted. “That’s her response?”
“Apparently, the cat speaks for her now.”
Asher laughed under his breath, but before either could say more, Dongmin wandered over. “What’s happening?”
Nova sighed. “Luly just told me no.”
Eunwoo blinked. “Like, literally?”
Asher nodded, half-grinning. “She sent a cat gif.”
That got the others’ attention. Soon the whole group was leaning in, trying not to laugh.
Taeyul shook his head. “She’s really bold for someone who’s already driving the internet insane.”
Minjae muttered, “It’s wild. Every time she posts, half of Seoul forgets how to breathe.”
Nova crossed her arms. “She’s doing this to control the narrative. The more people twist it, the calmer she acts. It makes them look ridiculous.”
Dongmin grinned. “Or she’s just trolling all of us.”
Asher leaned back, thoughtful. “No. She’s proving she’s still the one in control especially after… everything.”
The air shifted. Everyone knew what he meant.
Haesoo, sitting a few feet away, didn’t look up. He’d been quiet all morning, scrolling absently through his own phone, pretending not to listen but catching every word.
Eunwoo glanced at him carefully. “You okay?”
Haesoo gave a small shrug. “It’s just… her way of saying she’s fine.”
Nova studied him for a beat, her tone softening a little. “Or her way of pretending.”
He didn’t answer. His phone buzzed once probably another trending notification and he ignored it, locking the screen.
Eunwoo refreshed his feed again and groaned. “Hashtag CatSaysNo is already number one worldwide.”
Dongmin burst out laughing. “She’s unstoppable. Even her refusal goes viral.”
Nova rolled her eyes. “She’s chaos in lipstick form.”
Asher smirked. “And she knows it.”
Haesoo’s gaze lingered on the muted screen of his own phone, where her live thumbnail had already disappeared. He whispered under his breath, too low for anyone to catch
“Yeah. That’s Luly.”
And for the first time that day, he almost smiled.
Almost.
The next day SOL7 was performing at a massive spring concert alongside other idols, one of the biggest shows of the season. The crowd was endless, a sea of pastel lightsticks and glowing banners that pulsed in rhythm to their songs.
Everyone knew Haesoo still hadn’t fully recovered from fainting two days ago. He’d brushed it off that morning, smiling at Minjae as he said, “I’m fine now. Don’t worry.”
But under the brutal stage lights, that lie started to show.
The first song went perfectly. By the second, his timing lagged, his breathing uneven. Minjae noticed him wiping sweat from his forehead more than usual, his face pale under the makeup.
“Haesoo, you good?” Minjae whispered between moves.
“Yeah,” Haesoo answered softly, trying to steady his voice.
But his body was already shutting down.
By the third song, he couldn’t hear the crowd anymore. The cheers melted into a distant hum, and the lights felt blinding, white-hot. His chest ached. His legs trembled. He took one more step — and the world tilted.
The microphone slipped from his hand and clattered across the stage. He collapsed mid-step.
The music cut instantly.
Eunwoo shouted, “Haesoo!” rushing to his side. The other members froze in shock. Minjae dropped to his knees, patting his cheek. “Hey, wake up, come on—”
Nova, watching from the wings, ran out the moment she saw him fall. Asher followed her onto the stage. Security and medics swarmed in seconds later.
Nova knelt beside him, her voice steady but trembling at the edges. “He shouldn’t have been here. He’s still weak.”
Asher looked down, jaw tight. “He said he was fine. You know how he gets when he thinks he’s letting everyone down.”
The medics lifted Haesoo carefully, carrying him toward the backstage exit. Fans in the audience were crying now, their screams echoing through the arena.
Taeyul stood motionless, staring at the empty spot onstage. “He fainted two days ago. He promised he’d rest,” he muttered, voice cracking.
Nova rubbed her forehead, staring after the stretcher. “He never listens.”
Minjae’s voice was quiet as he said, “Luly’s going to see this.”
Nova looked toward the blinding lights, her expression unreadable. “She will,” she said finally.
And her tone carried a cold certainty.
“When she does, every camera in this country better stay out of her way.”
The video of Haesoo collapsing spread online within minutes. Fans had caught every second the tremble in his hand before the fall, the panic on Minjae’s face, Eunwoo running to catch him as the crowd screamed. Within the hour, hashtags were flooding every platform.
#HaesooCollapseOnStage
#SOL7ConcertIncident
#ProtectHaesoo
Fan cams looped endlessly, filling timelines with frantic captions.
“He didn’t look well since rehearsals.”
“He fainted just two days ago! They shouldn’t have let him perform again.”
“He’s always overworking himself… please let him be okay.”
Major news outlets picked it up within the hour. Headlines splashed across entertainment sites and broadcast news alike:
“SOL7’s Jeon Haesoo Collapses Mid-Performance Hospitalized for Evaluation.”
“Concerns Rise Over Idol Health Management After Second Fainting Incident.”
“Fans Question Industry Pressure After SOL7’s Jeon Haesoo Hospitalized.”
Clips of him smiling moments before the fall became the most shared image of the night. Fans posted messages like “Rest well, Haesoo” and “You don’t owe anyone perfection.”
International fans organized livestreams and message boards, gathering to pray and send virtual letters. Some even lit candles or played SOL7 songs on repeat in solidarity.
And slowly, as the news continued to spread, another wave of chatter began.
“Do you think Luly saw this?”
“She’s always cheering for SOL7 during award shows.”
“I swear she mentioned Haesoo once during a Q&A said he had a nice voice.”
“They’d make such a perfect duo. Imagine if she sends him a message.”
Shipping accounts started posting old clips of the two laughing backstage at a show, editing soft filters and heart emojis over them. “Our songwriter and our star,” one caption read, racking up hundreds of thousands of likes.
Even reporters noticed the growing interest, with entertainment panels joking,
“Luly’s fans are already trending her with him again.”
“If she posts anything tonight, the internet might explode.”
By midnight, the fandom had merged two worlds into one conversation concern for Haesoo’s health, and curiosity about Luly’s silence.
When morning came, the top trending tags were stacked together like chapters of the same story:
#GetWellHaesoo
#ProtectSOL7
#LulyAndHaesoo
Asher sat on the edge of the couch in the waiting room, scrolling through his phone as the others waited for updates. His expression darkened as the feed kept refreshing.
“Fans are tagging Luly on every single clip,” he said quietly, still staring at the screen. “They’re flooding her mentions. Every video of Haesoo fainting—her name’s all over it.”
Nova turned her head sharply. “Tagging her? Why?”
Asher sighed, showing her his phone. “They’re saying things like ‘She’ll make him rest’ and ‘Luly, take care of your boy.’ They think she’s the only one who can calm him down.”
Eunwoo frowned. “They don’t even know they were close.”
Minjae leaned forward, rubbing his face. “They don’t have to know. Fans ship them all the time. The internet just needs a story, and right now she’s the perfect one.”
Nova took the phone from Asher’s hand, scrolling through the flood of tags and edits. There were clips of Haesoo performing next to screenshots of Luly smiling in interviews, with captions like ‘She’s probably worried sick’ and ‘He needs her right now.’
Nova exhaled slowly, eyes heavy. “She’s going to see this. Even if she tries to stay quiet, she’ll see it.”
Asher nodded. “Yeah. And when she does…” He hesitated, lowering his phone. “She’s not going to just ignore it.”
The room went quiet. The low hum of hospital machines filled the silence.
Taeyul finally muttered, “This is going to get messy, isn’t it?”
Nova didn’t answer just looked at the blank television mounted on the wall, where a news anchor was already replaying the concert footage in slow motion.
“Messy,” she said softly, “doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
