The bus jolted forward. A girl wearing a hoodie plopped down beside him without hesitation—frizzy hair, a slight scowl, one hand gripping a plastic umbrella, the other steadying her phone. He almost shifted into his usual idol posture, but stopped himself. Too much swagger. He slouched, forcing his shoulders to relax, just enough for Nozomu-hyung’s voice to stop echoing in his head.

​Beom Seok adjusted the clean, nerdy glasses on his nose and tugged the collar of his hoodie higher, hiding more of the crisp white dress shirt underneath. His fingers brushed the stiff fabric, straightening it out of habit. Crisp white, pressed smooth this morning — and completely wasted under all that gray cotton. A shirt like this belonged with its partner: the blazer folded neatly in his backpack, its smooth lining and tailored shoulders a quiet weight against his leg.

Every bump of the bus made him itch to peel the hoodie off, square his shoulders, and stand the way he always did. But that was the problem. That would be too much like him. And on this ride, he couldn’t be him. Not fully.

​Behind them, a high schooler’s phone blared loud music. Something familiar. Beom Seok froze for a second—oh. It was BTSB. His fingers twitched automatically toward the beat. No finger hearts. No choreography. He curled his hand into a fist instead. The lyrics hit the chorus and his lips almost moved on instinct. Don’t lip-sync to the music. He clamped his jaw shut.

​He glanced at the girl beside him. She let out a tired sigh and yanked out one earbud.

​“Tsk.”

​Beom Seok hesitated. “Why are you annoyed? Do you... dislike BTSB?”

​She turned to him, one eyebrow raised. “BTSB? What—behind-the-scenes bloopers?”

​“…No. Not blooper reels. I mean the idol group.”

​“Oh.” She paused, genuinely puzzled. “Well, no. I don’t hate them. But a lot of girls talk about this BTSB idol thingy, and I just assumed it stood for behind-the-scenes bloopers. Unique group name, if you ask me.”

​He blinked slowly over the top edge of his medical mask, his eyes narrowing slightly before his expression smoothed again. The mask hid his mouth, but his gaze betrayed the faintest ripple of disbelief.

​“You... really don’t know them?”

​She tilted her head thoughtfully. “What? It makes sense! And there’s always that one name floating around—Bomb Sock, right? Which is hilarious. Bomb means ‘폭탄 (poktan)’ and sock is ‘양말 (yangmal)’. Imagine naming yourself Bomb Socks. That’s bold.”

​He nearly choked on air. “It’s... not Bomb Sock. It’s Bomsok. Like how you pronounce Beom Seok.”

​She shrugged. “Not into idol stuff. I’m more of an anime girl—VA deep-dives, fan theory forums, that kind of thing. So all that idol chatter just goes whoosh over my head.”

​“…Have you at least heard of the members?” he asked.

​She waved a hand. “Sure, the names get thrown around. There’s—um, Nope—”

​“Hope,” he corrected.

​She frowned. “Really? I thought it was Nope since I only caught the -ope part. Figured Nope was right.”

​“It’s Hope. Like... optimism.” He said, trying not to sound defensive. Her confidence in her wrongness was... astonishing.

​Admittedly… in Hajoon hyung’s words, Nozomu hyung is “hopelessly in love with teasing,” the kind that leaves everyone in despair. That’s why Hajoon hyung once said he should’ve been called “Nope” instead of “Hope.” Still, what a weird coincidence…

​“Oh.” She paused. “Okay.”

​He sighed quietly.

​She kept going. “Then there’s Luwo.”

​“LUO,” he muttered. “It’s Seoul reversed. Kind of. Stylized.”

​“Right,” she said, clearly unimpressed. “Idols and their stage names.”

​Beom Seok silently reevaluated everything.

​She wasn’t done. “And then there’s that Bomb Sock guy, obviously—”

​He winced. “—Secretary? Or is it just S? And, uh… Jaemin or maybe Baek… ah right, maybe Baek Jaemin? Surprisingly normal name, with how it sounds.”

​He stared, utterly stunned.

​“What?” she said flatly. “I’m not trying to offend. I’m just not into K-pop. I’d rather finish season four of my Naruto rewatch than memorize a list of stage names.”

​“They’re two different people,” he said, his voice dropping slightly.

​She looked up. “What?”

​“They’re two separate people,” he repeated. “Jeon Jaemin and Baek Kangmin. They each use part of their names as their stage names,” he added, with a visible stiffening.

​She shrugged but looked faintly apologetic. “I don’t even see them. I just hear their names when girls squeal at bus stops. It’s like being surrounded by static—with fangirl subtitles.”

​Beom Seok just watched her, speechless.

​“What?” she said, entirely unbothered. “I know Naruto’s voice actor by heart. That counts for something.”

​“You’re really Korean?” he blurted, before he could stop himself.

​She slowly turned to him. “Did you just question my nationality because I don’t know your favorite idol group?”

​“I—okay. That was unfair.” Bad Seokie.

​He chuckled awkwardly and tried again. “Well... what about Bomsok? He’s the golden maknae. You must’ve heard of him.”

​She squinted. “Golden maknae?”

​“That means he’s the youngest with blond-dyed hair, right?”

​“…Not necessarily,” said Beom Seok, who currently had black, undyed messy hair and wore clean glasses under a medical mask to hide his identity. ₩15,000 sneakers. Shuffle, don’t strut. Hoodie zipped halfway up—enough to hide the crisp white dress shirt beneath. Because even undercover, some habits die hard. His backpack sat at his feet.

​“So do you fantasize about him or something? Is that why you're shocked I don’t know BTSB? I bet your bias is Bomb Sock.”

​“Bomsok,” he corrected gently, failing to hide his grin under the mask.

​“Sure,” she said. “That Bomb of Socks guy.”

​The bus wheezed to a stop, pulling him from his thoughts. She reached up, pressed the bell, then glanced sideways again.

​“Seo Jin-ah,” she said, introducing herself.

​“So, who are you really?” she added as he coughed, maintaining his disguise as a sick college student, “Medical Masked Man?”

​He looked at her—and decided to take the risk. Just this once.

​“Jang Beom Seok.”

​She paused at the door, blinking. “Whoa. No wonder you sounded offended when I said the name wrong—your name sounds like that idol’s. Bomsok, right? Not Bomb Sock guy?” she teased.

​Don’t smile like a CF model. Still, his cheeks lifted under the mask anyway. He couldn’t help it—he laughed.

​Completely unaware she’d been mocking the very idol she was sitting next to, she stepped off the bus. She disappeared into the misty gray, leaving a very amused Beom Seok behind.

​She was gone. Just like that—off the bus, into the mist, umbrella swinging like she didn’t just wreck his entire stage persona in under five minutes.

​“Bomb of Socks,” she said. Bomb. Of. Socks.

​I’ve performed in stadiums. Sung live on national TV. Lived under spotlights, cameras, and the screams of fans for most of my life. And now? I’ve been reduced to footwear with explosive properties.

​And yet… behind the mask, he was grinning like an idiot.

​Because she wasn’t afraid of me. She didn’t ask for a photo. She didn’t whisper, “Is that really Bomsok under that mask?” She didn’t even try to be polite. She just… talked. No filter. No pressure. No agenda.

​She called Minho-hyung “Secretary,” for crying out loud. Nozomu-hyung became “Nope.” Jaemin and Kangmin-hyung got merged into one person because their stage names sounded “too normal” to distinguish.

​God. She’s like a glitch in the matrix. An actual Korean girl who doesn’t care about idols. Do those even exist?

​Or maybe… she just cares about her own world more. Naruto rewatches. VA forums. Stuff I never touch because I’m too busy being the “golden maknae.”

​If only she knew. If only she knew the boy she mocked was the exact one sitting next to her.

​But somehow… I liked it. That she didn’t know me. It felt… normal. Or at least, what life is supposed to feel like. I’ve been a commercial baby, then a child actor, now an idol-actor hybrid. Maybe this is what normal actually is.

​Because for once, someone looked me in the eye and didn’t see a brand. Didn’t see perfection or fantasy. Just a guy on a bus with bad timing.

​And maybe… I want to talk to that kind of person again. Even if she thinks my name means Bomb Socks.

​The bus wheezed to his stop, pulling him from his thoughts. Time to walk back to the dorm.

​He tugged at the collar of his dress shirt beneath the hoodie — crisp, white, and wasted under all that gray cotton. He adjusted his backpack, the blazer inside feeling heavier than it should, like a part of his identity waiting to be restored.

​Mask on. Hoodie up. Head down.

​The streets were quiet except for the sound of his sneakers on wet pavement. The air smelled faintly of rain and street food from a late-night cart. He passed the corner convenience store, the vending machine that always ate coins, the alley shortcut only locals used.

​A coded knock on the dorm’s side door. Three quick raps.

​The lock clicked, and the dorm’s side door opened a crack. A half-asleep face peered out, framed by tousled silver hair and a pair of glasses that sat slightly askew on his nose. Kangmin, in a loose pink T-shirt, shuffled aside, his expression a deadpan mix of exhaustion and mild annoyance.

​“Oh. It’s you.”

​Beom Seok slipped in, trading his sneakers for dorm slippers. He shut the door quietly behind him.

The mask came off, revealing his face.

The hoodie followed, uncovering the crisp white dress shirt that had been suffocating under all that gray cotton. He tugged at the collar — the same way he had on the bus, back when he’d been hiding it — and finally let the fabric breathe.

From his bag came the light blue blazer. The moment the sleeves slid into place, his shoulders squared and his chin lifted.

And that’s when it slipped out — a quiet laugh. Not for Kangmin, not for Nozomu, not for anyone but himself.

Bomb of Socks.

The girl’s voice replayed in his head exactly as she’d said it — casual, unfiltered, like it was the most normal thing in the world. He shook his head, smiling wider.

His hair — still technically messy — now seemed to fall into place on its own. Not for a stage. Not for a camera. Just because this was him.

​Kangmin, in his loose pink T-shirt, just stared at him. “You literally couldn’t wait two seconds to get to your room?”

​“Two seconds is too long,” Beom Seok replied, smoothing an invisible crease from his sleeve.

​From the hallway came the lazy shuffle of slippers. Nozomu appeared, his vibrant, eye-catching blue hair a messy halo around his head. He wore a loose, baggy t-shirt, and he clocked the blazer instantly and smirked.

“Already in uniform, Seokie? Didn’t even make it to your room first?”

​Beom Seok gave him a side glance. “Hoodies are for hiding. Blazers are for existing.”

​Nozomu chuckled. “And I exist just fine without one.”

​That’s when Beom Seok’s grin sharpened, remembering the conversation he’d just had.

​“…You know, hyung,” Beom Seok said slowly, “some people really do think your name is ‘Nope.’”

​Nozomu blinked, clearly amused. “And I love every single one of them.”

​Beom Seok laughed under his breath, brushing past him toward the common room. “Figures.”

He caught his reflection in the wall mirror and stopped, tilting his head just enough for the light to catch the sharp lines of his blazer. “Mm. Perfection. If I were any hotter, they’d have to start charging admission just to look at me.” He winked at himself before adjusting his collar.

Kangmin, still trailing behind, let out a sigh. “Really? That’s your first sentence after walking in? At this rate, my quota for hearing your vanity will hit the limit.”

Beom Seok pouted, though the smug glint in his eyes didn’t fade.

Nozomu burst into laughter. “Classic Seokie-chan answer! 100% ego, 200% sparkle!”

Kangmin shot him a look. “You’re not helping, hyung.”

“I’m not trying to,” Nozomu grinned.

Beom Seok winked at his reflection. “Good. I’d hate to think I’m the only one enjoying this.”

​Chapter 2

​Another rainy afternoon.

Another crowded bus.

Another day trying to live like everyone else.

​Today, he’d gone to the arcade. Now it was time to go back.

​Beom Seok boarded wearing his usual “sickly college student” disguise—hoodie down this time, light blue dress shirt underneath, medical mask snug over his face, hair deliberately mussed into a careless mess. Round, nerdy glasses slid slightly down his nose. The combination stripped him of any idol aura.

​He hated it.

​Wearing all black would’ve screamed suspicious, so this—hoodie, messy hair, medical mask, glasses—was the perfect camouflage. Perfect… and perfectly irritating.

​His favorite back seat was open. He slid in quietly, letting the rhythm of the bus rock him into a kind of semi-peace. His backpack rested on his lap as always—inside, the cream blazer sat folded neatly. Not books. Not notes. Not really a college student, but the disguise worked.

​Then came the voice.

​“Oh, you’re here?”

​He looked sideways.

​Jin-ah stood there, shaking rain off her umbrella like a battle-worn anime heroine.

​“Either this is a funny coincidence,” she said, “or this bus is cursed—forcing a girl anime fan and a boy who’s into male idol groups to sit together.”

​“You chose this seat again,” he replied mildly.

​“You sat here first—the backline,” she countered, plopping down beside him.

​She sighed. “So… I guess we’re seatmates now.”

​The bus lurched forward.

​A familiar high-pitched phone speaker blared a song from behind them—again. Same high schooler. Same chorus.

​Jin-ah groaned. “Why is it always this song?”

​Beom Seok raised an eyebrow, amused. “You’re not gonna start singing along?”

​“Only in my nightmares,” she muttered. “I swear, every time I hear it, my brain finishes the line automatically. I don’t even want to. I touched my noodle this morning and whispered ‘smooth.’ I hate myself.”

​He chuckled under his mask.

​Jin-ah glanced sideways. “You’re enjoying this.”

​“A little.”

​She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re one of them.”

​“One of who?”

​“You know—those obsessed fans.”

​“I’m just… aware. And no, I’m not one of them.”

​Considering he was the idol in question.

​She shook her head. “Still can’t believe your bias named himself after Bomb of Socks.”

​“Not Bom Sock,” he corrected, sighing—but deeply amused. Though secretly, it stung a little. No one ever got his stage name wrong—except her.

​“Sure it is,” she smirked. “Beom Seok, the Bomb Sock Defender.”

​“You gave him that name.”

​“And he can’t hear it, and wouldn’t know,” she teased.

​Actually, he could hear it. And he did know. Because he was sitting right there. And he really wanted to whine that it wasn’t his stage name.

​But sure.

​“Anyway, no offense, but your fandom is terrifying. Like… scary levels of intense.”

​He didn’t argue. He knew better than anyone. Sasaengs were no joke.

​She went on. “I mean, I like anime. But I don’t send death threats over Naruto ships. Some of those idol fans? Whew. If you even breathe near their bias, you’re public enemy number one. Then again, I know some anime fans do it too… so yeah, one thing’s the same—obsessive fans are the worst. At least in anime we just hate a character. Worst case, you get a death threat if it’s the obsessive type. But your world? Stalking.”

​“Yeah,” he winced without thinking.

​“Huh?”

​He shook his head. “Nothing. Just… I don’t think you’d fit the ‘jealous fangirl’ type.”

​“Damn right,” she said proudly. “I’m the ‘please don’t involve me in your fandom wars, I just want to finish my ramyeon and rewatch Naruto in peace’ type.”

​The bus rolled toward her stop. She stood up and stretched.

​“See you around, Beom Seok,” she said with a mock salute. “Tell your bias I said hi.” She grinned. “That is, if you meet him. After all, it’s hard for fans to meet their bias.”

​“Sure,” he replied, eyes twinkling. “I’ll let him know.”

​She didn’t notice.

​He watched her step off into the light drizzle again, shaking her hair like a dog and muttering something about people who play music in public.

​She was loud, awkward, and brutally honest.

And she had no idea who he was.

​He liked that.

​But man, he couldn’t wait to get back to the dorm—so he could take off this hoodie. A dress shirt under a hoodie wasn’t his taste, and it didn’t feel right.

​Meanwhile, at her house…

​Jin-ah walked down the street toward her house. She opened the door and stepped inside.

​“Man, that’s really the second time I’ve met a guy fanboying over idols—especially a boy group. Jang Beom Seok… heh, stan of an idol with the stage name Bomb Sock… I mean, Bomsok.”

​She dropped her umbrella by the door. “Not that I can say I’m any different. He’s into idols, I’m into anime. Wow… maybe he’s an outcast too? I hope he’s got friends who are cool with it.”

​She paused, frowning. “…But how sick is he, to wear a medical mask again today? It’s been… a week? Is he fine? Well, I hope so. Idol nerds like him need to stay healthy,” she muttered—then, with a grin: “Anyway, time for another Hatake Kakashi binge run on YouTube. My husbando.”

​She was instantly absorbed—eyes glued to the screen, completely focused on Kakashi. She grinned. She couldn’t wait to save up for his Nendoroid. Every paycheck got split down the middle: essentials, and Kakashi merch.

​Financial wisdom.

​Then an ad popped up. She scowled.

​An idol music video.

​With a dramatic groan, she closed her eyes and, relying purely on muscle memory, skipped the ad without even looking—unknowingly skipping a BTSB MV.

​“Aish. Ads. Mortal enemies of binge culture,” she declared, flinging her arm across her face. “How dare you interrupt Kakashi vs Obito?”

​She checked the progress bar just to be sure. Still Kakashi. She breathed a sigh of relief.

​“If I miss the punch by even one second,” she whispered solemnly, “the emotional damage doubles.”

​Clutching her phone like a sacred relic, she rolled over and buried herself deeper into the futon—one hand still reaching for her instant noodles.

​Truly, this was peak form.

​A solo anime binge. Kakashi on screen. Noodles within reach. No fandom wars. No squealing idol fans.

Life was good.

​Meanwhile, at the same time when Jin-ah arrived at her place…

​By the time Beom Seok made it back to the dorm, the rain had eased into a mist.

​Inside, the first thing he did was peel off the hoodie with visible relief, tossing it onto his bed. Out came the cream blazer from his backpack. He slipped it on with practiced ease, smoothing the fabric over his shoulders, adjusting the collar until it sat just right.

​He smoothed each sleeve crease with slow precision, fingers brushing away any imagined wrinkles. Then he turned to the mirror, pushing his messy hair back into place until every strand sat exactly where it should.

​A little tilt of the head. A quick wink.

​“Like usual,” he murmured at his own reflection, “Seokie’s back.”

​The hoodie and glasses had done their job—now the real him was restored.

​He wandered into the living room on the way to the fridge, grabbed a yogurt drink, and spotted Minho hyung.

​The glow of Minho’s laptop lit up his face in the dim room, casting sharp shadows under his eyes. He sat on the couch with one leg tucked beneath him, scrolling through a thread of comments at a speed that suggested he’d done this more times than he’d admit. The deep brown leather jacket he wore creaked faintly with every movement, its quilted shoulders and silver zippers catching stray bits of light. Minho had just gotten back from a photoshoot, and the jacket was a remnant of his "model visual" aesthetic. Paired with the all-black shirt beneath, it made him look like he'd walked straight off a photoshoot and into their messy dorm.

​A soft sigh escaped his lips. "Yeesh… again with this," he muttered.

​From the floor, Hajoon glanced up from where he was stretching his legs. He had the easy, approachable style of someone who could roll out of bed and still look put together—rust-red t-shirt under a pale blue button-down, sleeves casually pushed up to his forearms. The open shirt gave him a laid-back vibe, though the neatness of the collar betrayed his habit of keeping at least some order.

​“What now?” he asked.

​Minho didn’t look up. “Someone’s ranting again. Says they were trying to search for behind-the-scenes clips but ended up neck-deep in fancams and memes of us.”

​He tilted the screen slightly toward the others. “Apparently typing ‘BTS’ or ‘BTSB’ brought them here instead of bloopers.”

​Hajoon winced and rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, to be fair… I didn’t think we’d ever get famous enough for that to matter.”

​The fridge door clicked shut, and Beom Seok walked in holding a yogurt drink like he was arriving on a variety show. His cream-colored blazer and light-blue dress shirt made him look effortlessly polished, his hair perfectly styled—an obvious contrast to the hoodie-and-mask disguise he’d worn earlier. Even his casual smirk seemed camera-ready.

​“Hyung, didn’t you almost name us BTS originally? Just Be The Superstar?”

​Hajoon groaned. “Yeah. That was the plan. But I didn’t want people thinking we meant Behind The Scenes, so I added the B—for Boys. Hence BTSB, Be The Superstar Boys.”

​Kangmin was slouched at the far end of the couch, phone in hand, wearing a soft pink hoodie over cream pants. The hoodie’s loose fit and the way he barely glanced up gave him the air of someone half-asleep.

​“Which made it worse, by the way,” Kangmin said without looking up. “Now we sound like a blooper reels.”

​Beom Seok snorted, flipping his hair. “I mean, it’s not wrong. We are chaotic.”

​“And I thought it was a rookie name,” Hajoon grumbled. “Back then, I assumed we’d stay underground. I didn’t think people would actually start typing ‘BTSB’ and end up in an accidental fandom rabbit hole.”

​“Which is now full of us,” Minho added dryly.

​Beom Seok smirked. “Well, obviously. The second they saw me as the face of the group —OW!”

​A pillow smacked him across the face.

​Kangmin didn’t even look up from his phone, still reading his favorite foreign manhwa, Flawless. “Your vanity quota is full for the day.”

​Beom Seok whined, still holding the pillow. “You guys are so mean to me. I’m basically the main character.”

​“Main clown character,” Kangmin muttered.

​Minho chuckled, pulling his laptop back onto his lap. “Honestly, we should just embrace the chaos. Our name is SEO-optimized for misdirection. Free exposure.”

​Hajoon muttered under his breath. “We’re a misdirection.”

​Beom Seok peeked over the pillow. “Speak for yourself. I’m the main attraction.” He leaned dramatically against the back of the couch. “At least our fandom acronym sounds supportive. BTS—‘Be The Supporterstar’—very wholesome.”

​Kangmin raised a brow. “Wholesome until someone tries to Google behind-the-scenes clips and ends up watching your face cam with sixteen filters.”

​Beom Seok grinned. “You’re welcome.”

​Another pillow flew across the room. “OWIE!!!”

​At the same time, at her house...

​She replayed a few favorite Kakashi scenes, looking thoroughly satisfied.

​“Man, as usual… Kakashi is peak storytelling,” she murmured, stretching with a slow yawn.

​She glanced at her phone—and froze. “Aish… I totally lost track of time! It’s midnight already?! I need to sleep ASAP!”

​She tossed her phone beside the futon and shut her eyes.

​Silence.

​Then—

​Her eyes popped open again. “Bathroom.”

​She dragged herself upright. One flush later, she re-emerged with the posture of someone who had fought and won a private battle.

​Now she could sleep.

​“Now I can sleep in peace… with Kakashi in my dreams,” she murmured, half-asleep already. “Working the night shift with me, Areum, and Boss Lady… serving hot ramyeon to hungry customers.”

​She let out a dreamy little laugh as she settled back onto her futon. “Kakashi behind the counter with an apron and a ladle… cool… but every now and then, he’d probably drop some weird, random comment in between reading Icha Icha Tactics.”

​Her smile softened. “He’s been through so much… losing people over and over, carrying all that pain… and yet, he still protects others. Still stays good.”

​She sighed contentedly. “That’s why I like him. Not just the cool ninja thing… it’s because he’s… him.” It was silly. But the image made her genuinely happy.

​After all, this was her dream job.

​She’d grown up watching Naruto devour bowls of ramen with stars in his eyes—and even if she couldn’t work at Ichiraku, a ramyeon shop in Seoul was close enough.

​Working there wasn’t just a job—it was wish fulfillment.

​The smells, the steam, the satisfaction of handing over a perfect bowl… it made her feel grounded. Proud.

​Blanket up to her chin, face turned toward the wall, she whispered one last thought before sleep took her:

​“Good night, Kakashi… see you at the shop.”

​At Dorm

​A handsome man arrived at the dorm with his spare key and opened the door. He let out a soft groan. Kids are something else. The man closed the door quietly behind him, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the rack. It was silent inside—the other members were still asleep. He glanced at his watch. Ah, six.

​Well, time to prepare breakfast for the others. He walked to the fridge, taking out ingredients for cooking, then carried them to the kitchen counter. The sound of a door clicking open made him look up.

​Beom Seok arrived with his hair still damp from the shower, wearing a dark blue dress shirt but not yet his usual blazer.

​Beom Seok noticed him. "Oh, morning, Jaemin hyung!"

​"Ah, good timing, Seokie. Can you help me prepare breakfast?" Jaemin said with a smile.

​Beom Seok beamed. "Of course, hyung. My status as golden maknae not on-"

​Jaemin waved his hand. "Yeah, yeah, acting, idol thing, even cooking. I know, no need to keep bragging about it."

​Beom Seok pouted, then undid the button on his shirt sleeve and rolled it up.

​Both the oldest and youngest worked together, cooking and preparing breakfast. Beom Seok hummed one of their songs as he worked.

​Jaemin cooked a traditional Korean dish, then made warm tea. "Nothing beats a good cup of tea in the morning," he said.

He also made toast and sausage, since some members preferred a more Western-style breakfast

​Beom Seok, who was putting plates on the table, hummed in agreement.

​Ding.

​"Seokie, the rice is done," Jaemin said. "Give the usual portion for each plate."

​"Okay, hyung."

​Then, one by one, the other members emerged, fresh from their baths.

​Hajoon wore a white t-shirt with a picture of Ultraman. Nozomu was in a gray tank top. Kangmin had on a loose pink t-shirt, and Minho wore a long-sleeve V-neck shirt.

​They greet each other. And sat at the table.

​ Breakfast Time

​The table was a battlefield of last night’s leftovers and this morning's chaos. Some toast crumbs, egg yolk stains, and half-empty bowls of soup littered the surface.

​Beom Seok sat in his usual seat, neatly chewing his food—back straight, posture perfect, face practically glowing. His appearance was made even more stark by the fact that he was the only one wearing a dress shirt and blazer at the breakfast table.

​Minho leaned in with a smirk. “Tch. Look at Seokie—our visual after me, even while eating. He never stops being hot.”

​Beom Seok beamed, turning to him proudly. “Right? I always take care of my morning routine.”

​In one swift motion, Minho had stolen Beom Seok’s last sausage. And a few other side dishes.

​Across the table, Kangmin palmed his forehead in exasperation.

Nozomu burst into laughter.

Jaemin groaned.

Hajoon blinked slowly, setting down his chopsticks.

​“Seokie,” Hajoon sighed. “Please. When you eat, focus.”

​Beom Seok huffed, scanning his plate. “Eh? There’s nothing wrong, hyung. I always eat everything clean, I—wait…”

He stared. Half his plate had mysteriously vanished.

​Hajoon shook his head. “Yeah. You need to stay alert. That foxy hyung of ours just turned into Swiper.”

​At that moment, Minho leaned toward Nozomu and whispered, “Foxy, huh? What’s the Japanese fox sound again?”

​Nozomu, between sips of miso soup, whispered back, “Kon.”

​Minho’s eyes twinkled.

​“Kon~”

​He grinned and bit into Beom Seok’s last sausage with smug satisfaction.

​Beom Seok’s eyes widened in horror. “HYUNG!!! THAT WAS MY LAST SAUSAGE!”

​Nozomu giggled. Kangmin sighed, continuing to eat. Jaemin shook his head. "Aish... children." Hajoon, without a word, pushed his own sausage over to Beom Seok's plate. Beom Seok, who had been pouting, immediately brightened. "Thanks, hyung!"

​Minho, who had finished his meal first, chuckled, wiping his mouth. He stood and grabbed his jacket. "Today, I have an early photoshoot session," he smirked. He turned to Beom Seok. "I wish the drama you're doing today was action instead of romance, because then we could have a compilation of you getting punched."

​Beom Seok’s jaw dropped. "Why do you always want Seokie to get hurt?"

​Minho shrugged. "I don't know. It just sounds funny."

​Nozomu wheezed with laughter. "Right?! Seokie-chan is always funny to tease!"

​Kangmin nodded without looking up from his phone. "You getting wrecked is the fastest way to decrease the vanity quota I have about hearing it from you, each day, Seokie."

​Beom Seok let out a small, dramatic whine.

​Hajoon sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Can we eat in peace... please?"

​Jaemin shook his head. "Sadly, Joonie... our member... is... chaotic."

​Beom Seok sighed, shaking his head. He knew it was all just jokes, but it didn't make the loss of the sausage any easier. He finished the rest of his breakfast in slightly wounded silence, before gathering his own things.

​Just as they finished, their manager arrived and knocked on the door.

​Beom Seok stood up quickly. "I have to go to the acting set today, hyung. Bye!"

​Beom Seok left with the manager.

​Hajoon, with a free day ahead, opened his laptop. "Well, since we have some free time and no comeback schedule... and with Tsuburaya making a Showa Ultra show available for free to celebrate, I'm going to binge it."

​Kangmin just opened his phone to a manhwa site. "Tch, right, it's not updated yet. Sigh, time to switch my language settings from Korean to Bahasa Indonesia."

​Jaemin chuckled. "Haha, Kangmin really became our bilingual member thanks to his manhwa addiction, huh?" He stood up. "Anyway, I'm going to my studio. I know Joonie isn't writing lyrics yet, but making some music will keep my composing skills sharp. So if any of you need anything, just knock harder or just open the door, 'kay?'" He left.

​Nozomu stretched. "Hehe, Jaeniki is right. Since there are no interesting dramas to watch, I'm going to go dance. Sayonara~"

​On the Way to Set

​Beom Seok sat in the passenger seat of the van, his manager driving. He took off his blazer and carefully folded it, placing it on the seat beside him. He then reached for the bag at his feet, pulling out a gray hoodie and a pair of jeans.

​With a sigh, he unbuttoned his dress shirt, then took it off. The result of his daily workouts was a toned body that he couldn't help but admire. He glanced at the rearview mirror, and his manager's eyes met his. "Don't wink, Seokie," the manager said. Beom Seok pouted. Man, even his manager knows about his vanity. He quickly pulled the hoodie over his head. As he changed, his thoughts drifted to the contrast. The dress shirt and blazer were his preferred style, his true self—the clothes that made him feel like Beom Seok. But the hoodie and jeans were different. This was the outfit of the character he was going to play, a high school teen being shot today at the park.

​Acting Set

​The call sheet for the day was a work of art—a tightly packed grid of times, locations, and scenes that felt less like a schedule and more like a battle plan. Beom Seok was used to it. He’d arrived at the outdoor set—a quiet park in the middle of Seoul—just before noon.

​His car pulled up to a small crowd of crew members, all bundled in jackets and holding coffee cups despite the early hour. The air was a crisp mix of humidity and the scent of newly cut grass. He stepped out of the car, his eyes immediately scanning the area, adjusting to the organized chaos. This was his space. His uniform today wasn’t his usual dress shirt core with the layered blazer. He inwardly pouted. Instead, it was a simple gray hoodie and jeans—the costume of the character he was playing in his latest drama, At Our Seventeen. He felt no objection to the hoodie; after all, it wasn't his. He wasn't Beom Seok here. He was playing a part, and playing a part was something he had always excelled at.

​“Bomsok-ssi, you’re here!” the First Assistant Director, a woman with a perpetually exhausted but sharp expression, called out. “We’re running a little ahead of schedule. Your first scene is with the lead, Nayeon-ssi. We’ll be starting with the walking shot by the fountain.”

​He gave a professional nod. “Got it, Director.”

​Inside the makeup trailer, he settled into the chair and let the stylist and makeup artist work their magic. They were a well-oiled machine, used to the hectic pace of a live-shoot drama. They didn’t fuss over him; they just got to work. His hair, styled just that morning, was now expertly combed into a relaxed but appealing look for the character he was about to play. Thanks to his natural good looks, he was already looking great with just a bit of makeup to enhance it. As there was no late-night schedule, only a touch of foundation to even out his skin tone and a dab of concealer for any minor blemishes was needed. A final touch of lip balm completed the transformation.

​He caught his own reflection in the mirror—not the nerdy college student he was when doing his disguise, but a polished young actor, his face a brand, his presence a fantasy. This was the person he was going to play.

​The set was a hive of activity. A dozen people surrounded the small fountain, adjusting lights, mic-ing the lead actress, and moving props. The director sat in front of a monitor, his face a mask of intense concentration as he watched the scene being set.

​“Okay, Nayeon-ssi, we’ll start with you walking toward the fountain,” the Director said into his microphone. “Bomsok-ssi, you’ll be a few paces behind. You’ll catch up to her, and then we’ll cut. Just a simple, romantic walking scene. We need to get it right. It’s a key part of the opening.”

​Beom Seok took his place, waiting for his cue. He could feel the weight of his reputation. He wasn’t just an actor; he was an idol-actor, a "golden maknae" who had to prove he was more than just a pretty face. His movements had to be precise, his emotions authentic. He wasn't allowed to mess up. Well… that was rare now. After all, he started as a child actor... or rather, a commercial baby. He didn’t really know how it happened, but he guessed he was just a natural on camera.

​He thought to himself: Then again. Ever since I was a kid, I've always loved the camera. And based on what my appa and eomma say... I would become happy whenever I was being recorded. Man, even in the family, I'm the only one who's this vain about my looks. Unlike them.

​He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, and the director gave him a nod. The camera started to roll.

​He walked forward, his expression soft and warm, catching up to the actress just as rehearsed. The moment he reached her side, their eyes met, and he gave a practiced, gentle smile. It was a smile he'd used a thousand times for the camera, a smile that sold the fantasy.

​“Cut!” the Director shouted. “That’s perfect! Bomsok-ssi, where did that come from? It was perfect! You’re on fire today!”

​Beom Seok's heart thumped a little faster. He’d done it. The pressure was real, but so was the satisfaction. He felt a quiet pride in the work, in the ability to create and perform.

​He walked back to his chair, a small, triumphant smile on his face. He caught his reflection in a handheld mirror and saw the idol-actor staring back at him. This was the version of himself the world loved. The one he was proud to be.

​He picked up his phone to check his messages. He had a few from his manager, a few from his fellow members. Nothing out of the ordinary.

He put the phone away, the small smile still on his face, feeling the familiar hum of a day well spent.

Meanwhile ​Jin-ah's Morning

​Seo Jin-ah stretched as the first light filtered through her window. She got up, rolled her shoulders, and began her usual routine—some light physical training to kickstart the day. Squats. A few punches. A roundhouse kick. Then more squats.

She smiled to herself. “Nothing wrong with sticking to the routine,” she muttered. “Being alone can be dangerous sometimes. Gotta keep myself strong. The only one looking out for me… is me.”

She glanced at her phone lying nearby. Kakashi stared back at her from the wallpaper—calm, cool, collected.

She knew he couldn’t protect her. He wasn’t real. But the message was clear: Protect yourself.

Another set.

Afterward, she hopped into the shower, then put on her usual outfit: a soft, slightly oversized T-shirt layered with her favorite hoodie, the Uzumaki symbol proudly displayed on the back.

She cooked breakfast, ate while rewatching another Naruto clip on her phone, then washed the dishes and cleaned the counter.

Finally, she grabbed her bag, stepped outside, and locked the door behind her.

The sun was warm on her face. She smiled up at it. “Another brand new day.”

​She checked her phone. Still some time before the ramyeon shop opened. Boss Lady had told her to come in about two and a half hours early to help prep the kitchen. Jin-ah didn’t mind. She liked getting there early—it made her feel useful.

But for now? She had one of two choices. Either binge another set of Naruto clips on YouTube… or go to the park.

She shoved her phone into her pocket and turned toward the street. “Park it is. I’m not that addicted,” she said out loud to no one. She was human, after all. Even an introvert needed fresh air and real-life people from time to time.

She walked at a comfortable pace, enjoying the quiet buzz of the city around her.

The park wasn’t empty. Kids were playing. Dogs were barking. People were laughing. Music floated in the air from someone’s portable speaker. And birds—so many birds. Nature’s soundtrack, she thought with a grin.

She just smiled to herself and kept walking, feeling oddly light.

The park stirred softly with life. Birds chirped in passing, a light wind rustled the leaves overhead, and cicadas filled the spaces in between with their tireless chorus. In the distance, someone laughed, and a dog barked twice.

Jin-ah made her way down the path, taking in the gentle noise of the world.

And there she was.

Do Areum.

Same bench as always. Same posture—relaxed but upright. A cardigan layered over her t-shirt. Glasses slipping slightly down her nose. Earbuds in. Eyes closed.

But Jin-ah knew better. She wasn’t listening to music—not the kind most people meant when they said “music.”

Areum didn’t dislike music entirely. She just had a very different definition of it.

Auto-tune? Sure, she acknowledged its place. Techno beats? Synthetic layers? She understood their function. But to her, they weren’t pure. Not in the way she believed music was meant to be.

She once told Jin-ah, “Music existed before people named it. Before they built devices to record it. It started with breath and bones and the world itself.”

Her favorite sound? Whale 54. A solitary whale whose song rang out at a frequency no other whale responded to. A voice reaching through the ocean, unanswered—but honest. That, to Areum, was a song in its truest form.

Second favorite? Human clapping. The sound of recognition. Two hands coming together with no melody, no machine—just feeling.

Third? Whistling. Emotion pushed into air. Unfiltered. Imperfect. Real.

But her love for sound didn’t stop there. She once called a thunderstorm “the rock concert of the clouds.” Said the wind blowing through a bamboo forest sounded like breathy flutes woven by nature. Said a rooster’s crow was “as honest as any opera.”

To her, music wasn’t something you downloaded or played. It was something that happened—raw and living.

The crow of a chicken. The rustle of leaves. A storm rumbling in the sky. Even people talking—not scripted, just being.

That was the kind of “playlist” Areum carried around in her earbuds. Just life, unfiltered.

Jin-ah never tried to understand all of it. She liked her anime intros and Naruto OSTs. But she respected Areum’s view.

They didn’t share hobbies. They didn’t talk about idols or fictional characters. But they worked side-by-side in a small ramyeon shop, respected each other’s silence, and kept showing up.

And that was enough.

She walked up to her and plopped down beside Areum on the bench. Areum noticed Jin-ah and nudged her with a smile.

“Good morning, Areum unnie!” Jin-ah said, bumping her back with a grin.

Areum smiled back, pulling out an earbud. “Good morning, Jin-ah.”

"It's another beautiful day," Jin-ah said, tilting her face up to the sun. "I was almost late for it."

"Glad you made it," Areum replied softly, her eyes closed again. "The cicadas and people are in full chorus."

Jin-ah grinned, pulling out her own earbuds and putting them in. "Well, I'm listening to my own kind of chorus." She hit play, and the dramatic opening chords of a Naruto theme song began to play.

The two friends sat there, side by side, listening to their very different worlds while watching people in the park.

Jin-ah moved her finger along with the music in her ear, humming the melody of "Naruto Shippuden Silhouette."

Areum moved her hand, making Jin-ah pause. "Er, unnie?"

Areum flipped her hand over and then put her left hand on her right.

She giggled. "Look, Jin-ah, this tiny spider. How cute."

Jin-ah's eyes followed Areum's gaze and she saw the tiny creature moving on her hand.

Jin-ah grinned. Of course, Unnie always finds living beings cute. Even worms.

Areum stood. "I'm going to put this spider on that tree."

The tiny spider moved and jumped, so Areum carefully put her left hand under her right. The spider jumped to her left hand. She moved her right finger, and the spider jumped to her finger again. She kept moving her hands, a gentle, mesmerizing dance to keep the spider from jumping and getting lost in the wind, until she reached the tree.

Jin-ah smiled, then focused on her song again.

Areum returned and sat back down. She put her earbud back in and closed her eyes. The two friends listened to their own separate soundtracks.

After a few minutes, Areum took out her earbud. "Hmm, it's time, Jin-ah. The ramyeon shop is getting ready for opening."

Jin-ah stood. "Yep, let's go help our Boss Lady."

Areum giggled. "Jin-ah, she's ten years older than us. And did you forget? Don't call her that."

Jin-ah smirked. "Yep, but Minji unnie deserves the title of Boss Lady because she's the boss."

Areum sighed playfully. "Fine, but get ready for her glare if she hears that."

Jin-ah laughed. "Oh no, the glare of doom!"

Both of them laughed as they began walking out of the park.