The PR meeting is finally over, but before I can even breathe, Hee-Ra turns to me with that smug, know-it-all look of hers. Instantly setting my teeth on edge. "Go watch Min sing," she says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

I frown. "What? Why?"

She sighs, thumbs flying over her screen like I’m not even worth eye contact. "Because you’re supposed to be learning how to sell this relationship. And because he’s recording, which makes it the perfect time to see him as more than just the jackass you argue with."

I cross my arms. "Bold of you to assume that’s possible."

"Bold of you to assume I care." She taps her screen, barely sparing me a glance. "Go."

Before I can argue, she’s already walking away. Jae and Seon are long gone with their manager, and Jisoo has disappeared like a ghost. That leaves me with exactly two options: sit in the lounge and slowly rot from boredom, or do what Hee-Ra wants and watch Min in the studio. I sigh, rubbing my temple. 

ONYX Entertainment is a maze of polished black doors, gleaming marble floors, and absolutely no signs that tell me where the hell I’m going. "I don’t even know where the hell the studio is." I mutter under my breath.

The entire place is a goddamn maze—glass walls, polished black doors, fancy gold plaques that tell me absolutely nothing useful. Each hallway looks identical to the last, designed specifically to make outsiders feel lost, which I very much am. "Great. Just fantastic," I mumble, shoving my hands into my pockets as I keep walking. Hee-Ra practically shoved me out of the conference room with that smug, knowing smirk, telling me to go watch Min like it was some life-changing event. I had every intention of ignoring her, maybe tracking down a vending machine or killing time in the lobby until he was done. But somehow, I ended up here, wandering these halls like a lost child, completely at the mercy of ONYX Entertainment’s ridiculous layout.

Then I hear it. A soft melody, low and rich, like something half-formed but already hauntingly beautiful. I slow my steps. The sound is smooth, controlled, with a quiet kind of intensity that sends warmth curling in my stomach. It’s just his voice, no heavy production, no polished beats, just him. I don’t even realize I’ve started following it until I stop in front of a slightly open door. Hesitating for half a second, I glance inside. And there he is. Min.

I catch his reflection in the large studio window before I even see him properly. His back is to me, one hand gripping the headphones over his ear while the other moves in rhythm with the beat. His posture is completely relaxed, yet focused, his head tilting slightly as he sings into the mic.

I blink. Min isn’t just performing. He’s feeling the music. The way his voice dips, then rises, sending warmth curling through my stomach, is nothing like what I expected. It’s not just some rehearsed, polished idol performance. The first note rolls through the air, warm and aching, like something poured straight from his chest. My skin prickles. There’s no audience to charm, no cameras to play to. Just him and the music.

I step closer to the glass, watching the way his brows furrow slightly as he reaches for a note. He adjusts his stance, deepens his voice, lets the emotion carry it. And I’m mesmerized. The song is slow, heavy, laced with something almost painful. Min’s voice drips with longing, his fingers curling slightly at his sides like he’s holding onto something unseen. I shiver. Watching him now, I wonder—why haven’t I ever gotten into K-pop? This isn’t the polished, distant image you see plastered everywhere. This is raw. Real.

Then he opens his eyes and I freeze. Even through the glass, his gaze locks onto mine. The intensity nearly knocks the air from my lungs. His lips part slightly, breath slowing as realization dawns—I’ve been watching him.

For a moment, neither of us move. Then his gaze flickers—amusement, curiosity, intruige. I snap out of it, stepping back like I’ve been burned. My pulse is too quick, my face too warm. I wasn’t staring. Definitely not. Just… observing. Critically. Like a scientist. Yeah, that’s it. Pure analysis. Totally normal.

Min pulls his headphones off, murmurs something to the producer, then walks out of the booth. His stride is lazy, confident, deliberate. When he steps into the control room where I’m standing, he tilts his head, eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Didn’t expect you to sound like that."

Min tilts his head slightly, unreadable for half a second. Then, his lips twitch.

"Like what?"

Like something I actually want to listen to. I press my lips together, shifting my weight to one side. "Less annoying."

Min huffs a laugh, clearly unconvinced. He leans against the console, watching me with that same infuriatingly calm gaze. "So? Did I pass?"

"Pass what?"

"Your evaluation."

I narrow my eyes. "What makes you think I was evaluating you?"

His smirk deepens. "Because you were watching me like I’m some puzzle you’re desperate to solve."

Damn him. I huff a breath through my nose, resisting the urge to fidget. "I was bored. Don't flatter yourself."

He say’s nothing, just stares at me. I turn, ready to get the hell out of this painfully awkward situation. Before I can leave, his voice stops me.

"Naomi."

I glance over my shoulder. Min watches me with something unreadable flickering in his gaze.

"Come to the shoot tomorrow ready to play the part."

My fingers twitch at my sides, but I don’t let him see how much his words get to me. "That goes for you too, Min." With that, I walk out. But even as I leave the studio behind, Min’s singing voice lingers in my head, refusing to fade.