Tomorrow night, he has a solo dance performance at the music festival.
At 11 p.m., the company sends out an updated stage blocking diagram directly into the group chat—the solo dance segment has been cut, and he is moved from center stage to the side. The notice: overall adjustment.
When you call to ask for details, all you’re told is that the members should start rehearsing the new version and that the reason will be explained in the morning.
When you find him in the practice room, he’s already run both the old and new stage moves a dozen times solo, still standing in front of the mirror when the music stops. A bead of sweat slides from behind his ear down his neck and over his Adam's apple.
As he lifts a dark towel halfway, he catches a glimpse of you in the mirror—and the internal email still open on your phone.
You instinctively turn off your screen. Gu lets out a low chuckle, drapes the towel over his shoulder, and walks toward you. You take a step back, bumping into the mirror behind you.
"So you knew."
He braces one hand against the mirror by your ear, trapping you and that email at an uncomfortably close distance.
"You’ve got two options. You let me see the email, or you keep up this 'over-all-ad-just-ment.' But you’d better think twice before brushing me off—at this distance, I see everything clear as day."