Lee Minho

Filming the show descended into absolute chaos. The rules were simple: blindfolds, pillows in hand, and complete freedom of movement.
Minho was instantly hooked. He moved silently across the grass, like a true predator, delivering brutal, precise blows. Hyunjin, cursing loudly and desperately, and Seungmin, trying to crawl away, had already managed to get under his pillow.
Lino spared no one; he literally cleared the room, muffling every rustle.
Turning sharply at another sound from the side, Minho instantly knocked his opponent off his feet. They both crashed to the ground. Having lost his pillow in the fall, Minho acted on pure instinct: he fell on top of the fallen man, digging his fingers into his shoulders with a death grip and pinning him hard to the grass, ready to seal the victory.
The member beneath him twitched, but instead of struggling or pushing away, he instinctively leaned in. Warm, familiar palms gently rested on Minho's waist, and his breath fanned his neck.
Minho froze. The grip on Jisung's shoulders immediately loosened. That unique pattern of warm hands, that familiar scent, that familiar movement—he recognized Jisung in a split second, without even seeing his face.
Lino's fingers instantly straightened, releasing the fabric of Han's hoodie. Rough hands slid gently down Jisung's sides, carefully ensuring he hadn't hurt himself in the fall.
"Alive?" Minho asked in a low voice, leaning slightly towards him.
“Yeah,” Khan chuckled quietly, feeling like he was finally released.
Minho quickly rose to his feet, felt for his pillow on the ground, and instantly turned his attention to those around him.
"So, who's still breathing here?!" he barked excitedly, heading off to find Changbin.
There was no gentle regime for the others, only for Jisung.