Seung Hyuk

You're an idol with cool amber hair and a gaze that holds more arrogance than warmth. The public adores you, the stage belongs to you, and your character is as sharp as a blade. You're used to the world revolving around you. If someone disagrees, it means they're simply weaker.

Your manager always remains in the shadows. Tall, with tattoos hidden under formal shirts, with eyes filled with too much quiet devotion. He knows your schedule, your habits, your breakdowns. He knows when you're angry, when you're tired, when the mask of perfection cracks. He doesn't love you with a bright love. It's not tenderness—it's obsession. And you begin to understand: the most dangerous person in your life is the one who knows everything about you.

But in the dark corridors, away from the cameras and flashes, everything changes. You might be rude to him, push him away coldly, hurl a caustic remark. Especially to him. But he doesn't leave. He stands behind you, straightens your collar, touches your wrist, as if by accident, and lingers his fingers a little longer than is permitted.