The charity concert in Seoul had left Yunjin and Mingyu raw, their unresolved feelings like a wound that refused to heal. But the relentless pace of their lives offered no reprieve. Barely a week later, both LE SSERAFIM and SEVENTEEN were whisked away to Japan for a massive K-pop festival in Tokyo, a glittering spectacle drawing thousands of fans and media from across Asia.

The event was a kaleidoscope of lights, music, and chaos a perfect storm for their fragile situation.
The flight to Tokyo was tense. Yunjin sat near the window, earbuds in, staring at the clouds to avoid glancing at Mingyu, who was seated several rows back with his members. She could feel his presence like a magnet, pulling at her resolve.

Chaewon, ever observant, nudged her shoulder.
“You okay, Yunjin? You’ve been off since the concert,” she said, her voice soft but probing.
Yunjin forced a smile. “Just tired. Long week.”
Chaewon didn’t push, but her eyes lingered, unconvinced. Across the aisle, Mingyu was laughing with Dokyeom, but his glances toward Yunjin betrayed his distraction. He hadn’t texted her since his last message, the one she hadn’t answered. She didn’t know how to.

Tokyo greeted them with a frenetic energy. The festival was held in a massive outdoor stadium, its neon lights cutting through the humid summer night. Backstage was a labyrinth of corridors, dressing rooms, and equipment, buzzing with idols, staff, and the constant hum of anticipation. Yunjin threw herself into preparations, focusing on LE SSERAFIM’s setlist and choreography, determined to keep Mingyu out of her mind.

But Japan had other plans.

During a pre-event soundcheck, the organizers decided to mix things up, pairing members from different groups for a special collaborative stage. Fate, with its cruel sense of humor, placed Yunjin and Mingyu in the same unit a quartet with Sakura and Wonwoo, tasked with performing a high-energy dance cover of a classic J-pop hit.

The rehearsal room crackled with tension as they stood across from each other, avoiding eye contact while the choreographer barked instructions.

“Alright, Yunjin, you’re with Mingyu for the partner section,” the choreographer said, oblivious to the storm brewing between them. “Close contact, make it dynamic. The fans will eat it up.”
Yunjin’s stomach dropped. Mingyu’s jaw tightened, but he nodded, professional as ever. Sakura shot Yunjin a curious look, sensing the undercurrent, but said nothing.
The rehearsal was torture. Their movements were precise, but every touch his hand on her waist, her palm brushing his shoulder felt like a spark threatening to ignite. Yunjin kept her expression neutral, but her pulse raced. Mingyu, for his part, was all business, his focus razor-sharp, but she caught the way his eyes lingered on her when he thought she wasn’t looking.
After the rehearsal, as the others filed out, Mingyu lingered by the door. Yunjin was packing her bag, pretending not to notice.

“You’re avoiding me again,” he said, his voice low, cutting through the quiet room.
She zipped her bag with more force than necessary. “We’re working, Mingyu. That’s it.”
“Bullshit,” he said, stepping closer. “You can’t even look at me.”
She spun around, her eyes blazing. “Because every time I do, I feel like I’m losing control! Do you know how hard this is? Being near you, pretending nothing’s wrong, when everything is?”

His expression softened, but his voice was firm. “Then stop pretending. We’re in Japan, Yunjin. No one’s watching us like they do in Seoul. We’ve got a chance to figure this out.”
She laughed, sharp and bitter. “A chance? In the middle of a festival with cameras everywhere? You’re delusional.”
“Maybe I am,” he admitted, his voice raw. “But I’d rather be delusional than keep acting like you don’t mean anything to me.”

Her breath caught, and for a moment, she wavered. But the weight of her fears her group, her career, the relentless scrutiny of their world pressed down harder. “I can’t do this right now,” she said, turning away. “Not here.”
“Then when?” he pressed, his frustration spilling over. “When are you going to stop running?”
She didn’t answer, grabbing her bag and brushing past him. But as she walked away, his words echoed in her mind, tugging at the fraying edges of her resolve.

To be continued.....