The roar of the crowd was deafening, even from behind the stage. The floor vibrated under Jae-min’s feet as he adjusted the mic in his hand, peeking through the narrow gap in the curtain. Out there, thousands of fans screamed for the headliners, holding glowing lightsticks like stars in a galaxy.

He swallowed hard. Tonight wasn’t his stage—yet—but the rehearsal would decide whether he belonged in the spotlight or not. His manager’s words echoed in his head:

> “You’ve been paired with Hyun-woo. Don’t mess this up.”

Hyun-woo.

The name alone carried weight. The leader of Eclipse, one of the biggest K-pop groups in the industry. Known for his flawless performances, sharp tongue, and even sharper jawline, Hyun-woo was both admired and feared. Rumor said he didn’t like working with rookies—especially ones like Jae-min, who were still finding their footing.

The curtain swished open behind him.

“Move,” a low voice said.

Jae-min turned—and froze. Hyun-woo stood there, dressed in a fitted black suit, mic headset in place, the faintest trace of sweat on his neck from the earlier dance set. His gaze was cool, unreadable, and it pinned Jae-min in place like a spotlight.

“You’re blocking the way,” Hyun-woo added, brushing past without so much as a glance back.

Jae-min’s jaw tightened. So much for a warm welcome.

They stood side by side on the empty stage as the tech crew adjusted the lighting. The bright crimson background glowed, casting shadows that stretched behind them. Jae-min gripped his mic a little too tightly, rehearsing the choreography in his mind.

“Don’t overthink your moves,” Hyun-woo said suddenly, his voice low but sharp. “If you’re nervous, the audience will smell it.”

“I’m not nervous,” Jae-min shot back before he could stop himself.

Hyun-woo’s lips curled—not into a smile, but something close. “We’ll see.”

The music started. Heavy bass. Quick beats. Jae-min stepped forward into the choreography, matching the rhythm. Hyun-woo moved with precision, every gesture calculated yet effortless. It was like dancing with a shadow—he was always there, perfectly in sync, yet somehow untouchable.

Halfway through, the routine called for them to face each other, only inches apart. Under the glare of the red lights, Hyun-woo’s eyes locked onto Jae-min’s. There was no trace of warmth—just intensity, the kind that made it impossible to look away.

Jae-min’s heartbeat stumbled, but he forced his body to keep moving.

When the music ended, silence filled the stage except for their breathing.

The director clapped once. “Good chemistry. But Jae-min—less hesitation in the bridge. Hyun-woo, help him with that part after break.”

Jae-min turned to thank him—only to find Hyun-woo already walking off stage.

Later, in the practice room, they stood facing the mirrored wall. Hyun-woo adjusted his mic pack and said, “Bridge section. Watch me.” He moved through the steps slowly, deliberate and precise.

Jae-min followed, matching his pace. The third time through, Hyun-woo stopped behind him, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder to correct his posture. The contact was brief, but it sent a flicker of heat down Jae-min’s spine.

“You’re stiff,” Hyun-woo murmured near his ear. “Relax—or the audience won’t believe you.”

Jae-min caught their reflection in the mirror: Hyun-woo standing so close, their eyes almost meeting in the glass.

For a moment, the world outside the practice room didn’t exist.

Then Hyun-woo stepped back. “Again,” he said, his voice unreadable.

Jae-min exhaled slowly. He had a feeling this partnership would be anything but simple.

TO BE CONTINUED

The next day’s rehearsal felt heavier than the first. Jae-min walked into the practice room early, determined to shake off yesterday’s awkwardness. He stretched, went over the choreography alone, and tried to forget the way Hyun-woo’s hand had lingered on his shoulder.

He almost succeeded—until the door swung open.

Hyun-woo stepped in, phone in hand, expression unreadable. Without a word, he placed his bag down and tossed his phone onto the sofa.

“Warm up,” he said simply.

Jae-min opened his mouth to reply, but his own phone buzzed. A notification from the group chat: [@all] You guys saw this yet???

He tapped the link. His stomach dropped.

A blurry photo from yesterday’s practice had been posted on a fan forum. The image showed him and Hyun-woo in the mirror—Hyun-woo leaning in close, his hand on Jae-min’s shoulder. The caption read:

> ‘New ship? HyunMin?? Look at that chemistry 👀🔥’

The post already had hundreds of comments.

“OMG THEY’RE SO CUTE”

“It’s just rehearsal, calm down.”

“No way this is just acting.”

Jae-min quickly locked his phone, feeling heat rise to his face. He glanced at Hyun-woo—who was watching him with faint amusement.

“You saw it,” Hyun-woo said. Not a question.

“It’s nothing,” Jae-min muttered, focusing on his stretches.

Hyun-woo smirked. “Fans will see whatever they want to see. Just don’t let it distract you.”

The rehearsal started, but the weight of the rumor clung to Jae-min like a shadow. Every time Hyun-woo moved closer during the routine, he became hyper-aware of the space between them.

During a break, the stage manager stepped in. “Change of plan. You two will perform together at the music festival next week. A duet stage.”

Jae-min froze. “A… duet?”

Hyun-woo simply nodded. “Send us the track,” he told the manager, then turned to Jae-min. “Guess we’ll be spending more time together.”

That evening, they stayed late to work on the duet. The song was slower, more intimate—a ballad that required emotional connection.

In the practice room, under the dim yellow lights, Hyun-woo stood in front of Jae-min. His voice, low and steady, carried through the melody:

> “Even if the world turns away… I’ll stay.”

Jae-min’s part followed, his voice trembling at first, then gaining strength:

> “Even if the night hides us… I’ll find you.”

When their voices overlapped in harmony, Jae-min felt it—something unspoken, a pull that wasn’t in the choreography.

The final note faded, and silence filled the room.

Hyun-woo took a step closer. “That… was better,” he said, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

Before Jae-min could reply, the practice room door opened. Another trainee peeked in, grinning. “You two looked way too into that song. Should I leave you alone?”

Jae-min’s face burned. Hyun-woo didn’t answer—he just walked over to grab his bag, a small, almost invisible smile tugging at his lips.

As they left the room, Jae-min realized something unsettling: the fans weren’t the only ones starting to believe the rumors.

TO BE CONTINUED

Note: did y'all enjoy this hehehe 😁 so basically this novel could be 200 episodes I'm guessing you want to know why 200? It's a secret 😏

The week leading up to the music festival passed in a blur of rehearsals, vocal training, and stolen glances.

Jae-min tried to convince himself it was all just acting—a performance, nothing more. But every time Hyun-woo’s voice blended with his during the ballad, every time their hands brushed in the choreography, the line between reality and stage blurred a little more.

By the day of the festival, the rumor about “HyunMin” had only grown. Fans were already making edits, compiling every close interaction between them into videos with titles like “Top 10 Moments That Prove HyunMin Is Real.”

Backstage, Jae-min adjusted the in-ear monitor clipped behind his ear, his palms slick with nervous sweat. Through the black curtain, the crowd’s screams echoed like a storm.

“You’re shaking,” Hyun-woo’s voice came from beside him.

“I’m fine,” Jae-min said quickly.

Hyun-woo leaned closer, just enough for his words to be swallowed by the noise. “It’s just us out there. Forget the rest.”

The stage manager gave them the cue. Lights dimmed. The opening notes of the ballad filled the air.

They stepped into the spotlight.

Hyun-woo started the first verse, his deep, steady voice washing over the audience. The cheers quieted into a hush, as if the whole arena was holding its breath.

When Jae-min sang his part, he locked eyes with Hyun-woo—just like they’d practiced. But this time, it felt different. Real.

The bridge approached, the most intimate part of the song. Their choreography brought them closer until they were almost chest to chest, sharing a single mic.

> “Even if the night hides us…” Jae-min’s voice trembled—not from fear, but from the weight of Hyun-woo’s gaze.

“…I’ll find you.”

The crowd erupted into screams, but the world around them blurred. Jae-min could see nothing but Hyun-woo, could hear nothing but the sound of their breaths mixing between notes.

And then it happened—unscripted. As the final note faded, Hyun-woo reached out and brushed a strand of hair from Jae-min’s face. Just a small, tender gesture… but the camera caught it.

Flashbulbs popped. Fans screamed louder. The moment was immortalized in hundreds of photos within seconds.

They walked off stage, the roar of the crowd still chasing them. Jae-min’s heart pounded. “Why did you—”

“It looked natural,” Hyun-woo interrupted casually, sipping from his water bottle. “You did well.”

Before Jae-min could reply, their manager appeared, phone in hand, face pale. “We need to talk. Now.”

He turned the screen toward them.

The photo of Hyun-woo touching Jae-min’s hair was already trending at number one. The caption:

> “HyunMin confirmed? Music Festival Meltdown!”

Jae-min felt his stomach twist. This wasn’t just fanfiction anymore.

Hyun-woo’s expression didn’t change—but there was a glint in his eyes. “Looks like the secret’s getting harder to keep.”