OG's fame grew with every passing day.
Their songs topped charts across countries, their faces filled billboards, and their fan chants echoed louder at every performance. News articles praised their growth, their bond, their unstoppable rise. To the world, OG had become more than a group—they were a phenomenon.
And somewhere far away, Koharu watched it all unfold.
What started as casual interest slowly turned into routine. Every morning, before classes, she checked OG's updates. Every night, before sleep, she watched Sakura's fancams—sometimes the same one over and over again.
She told herself it was harmless.
But when her gallery filled with screenshots, when her playlists held nothing but OG songs, when Sakura's smile became the quiet comfort at the end of exhausting days, Koharu realized it was more than admiration.
It was attachment.
Kiyoyi noticed first.
"You know," she said one evening, glancing at Koharu's phone, "you talk about OG more than your own future."
Koharu didn't deny it. "They make things feel… lighter."
Graduation arrived faster than expected.
The ceremony was grand, her father seated proudly in the front row, cameras flashing as Koharu accepted her degree. Applause filled the hall, but her thoughts were elsewhere.
This is the end of one life, she thought. And the beginning of another.
That night, while her father discussed business plans and overseas meetings, Koharu sat alone in her room, scrolling through OG's official account.
A new post caught her eye.
"OG Fan Meeting Announcement — Seoul."
Her heart skipped.
She stared at the screen for a long moment, reading the details again and again. Dates. Location. Limited entries.
"Korea…" she whispered.
It wasn't impossible. Nothing ever was for her—not with money, not with influence. But this wasn't about luxury or status.
This was about choice.
The next morning, Koharu made her decision.
"I'm taking a short trip," she told her father calmly over breakfast.
He looked up from his paper. "Before joining the company?"
"Yes."
He studied her for a moment, then nodded. "One last freedom. Make it worthwhile."
Koharu booked the ticket that same day.
As the confirmation email arrived, a strange mix of excitement and nervousness settled in her chest. She wasn't just going to see OG on a screen anymore.
She was going to be in the same room.
The same air.
The same moment.
As the plane lifted into the sky days later, Koharu stared out the window, her reflection faint in the glass.
She smiled softly.
I'm finally coming to you, she thought.
Unaware that this meeting—meant to be harmless, joyful—would soon blur the line between admiration and something far more dangerous.
And somewhere in Seoul, under blinding lights and endless cheers, OG prepared to meet their fans, never knowing how one gaze in the crowd would change everything.