Y/N POV
You wake up to the sound of the front door slamming.
Again.
It's barely 5:45 AM. The hallway light seeps under your bedroom door, flickering like it always does—broken, neglected, like most things in this house.
You lie there on your back for a moment, staring at the ceiling. You count the stains. You know each one by heart now. That one near the corner looks like a dragon. Or maybe it used to. Now it just looks tired.
You sit up. Cold air wraps around your body like a second skin. No heater. Again. Your room is more like a storage space converted into a "bedroom" out of pity. Four walls, a bed, a plastic drawer, and your dreams buried somewhere under that pile of unpaid bills and wrinkled uniforms.
You don't expect breakfast.
You haven't had a real breakfast in weeks—not unless you count the leftover rice your foster mother throws into the fridge without covering it. Sometimes you think she forgets you're even here. Sometimes you wish she would.
But she doesn't. Not when the bills come.
You hear her voice now—sharp, frustrated. Talking to her husband. Or more like complaining about you. Something about the water bill. Something about you using the electricity too much. Something about how she "didn't raise a useless man for 25 years just for him to still be working part-time jobs."
But she didn't raise you. Not really.
You owe them money. You don't know how it started exactly—just that when you turned 18, she showed you a thick folder of receipts. "Food, clothes, school fees, everything we spent on you. You pay us back now. A little every month. Be grateful we didn't just leave you at the orphanage."
And you believed her.
Because that's the kind of person you are. Or were.
Now, you're just a body that moves. A face without a voice. A name without meaning. You've learned how to survive by shutting yourself down. No smiles. No outbursts. No questions. Just work.
⸻
By 7:20 AM, you're already at the convenience store. It's your third job this year. The manager doesn't like you, but you show up on time, keep your head down, and never talk back. That's all they need. That's all you are.
You put on your uniform in the small storeroom at the back. The same one that smells like wet cardboard and old ramen. Then you walk out and stand behind the counter, ready to become invisible for the next 10 hours.
You've gotten used to it—this rhythm. Mechanical. Point. Scan. Bag. Bow. Repeat.
But something's different today.
Around 11:15 AM, just as the lunch rush ends, the bell above the door rings.
Four girls walk in.
At first, you barely look up. You're tired, and people in this area often dress flashy. It's Gangnam. People like to pretend they're important.
But then you glance again.
Sunglasses. Masks. Oversized hoodies. They try to blend in, but it doesn't work.
Too clean. Too perfect. The way they move—too synchronized, like choreography even in how they grab snacks. Something in the way they lower their voices when they talk. Careful. Calculated.
You blink.
Then you recognize one of them.
You've seen her before—on your phone screen, glowing under stage lights, surrounded by screaming fans. You don't know much about K-pop, but even you know her. She's the leader of Aespa— one of the most famous girl groups in Korea.
And she's here. In this rundown store.
What the hell are they doing here?
You look down quickly, pretending to check stock lists. You don't want trouble. Celebrities bring attention. Attention brings questions. You don't like questions.
You hear soft footsteps approach the counter. A hand places a drink on it. You scan it without looking up.
But then a soft voice speaks.
"Do you have this in strawberry?"
You glance up.
And your heart pauses.
She's not wearing her mask anymore. Big mistake. You can see her clearly now—and her eyes widen when she sees yours. Maybe she expected someone to scream or react. But you don't. You can't.
You just stare at her.
Because she's real.
And because, for some reason, she looks scared.
Her friend pulls at her sleeve. "Unnie, we shouldn't stay long. What if someone recognizes us?"
The door chimes again.
You glance over her shoulder. A group of teenage girls enters. Laughing. Loud. One of them freezes when she sees the idols.
You can feel the moment shift.
The girl opens her mouth, ready to scream.
Before she can, the idol grabs your wrist across the counter.
Her voice drops to a whisper. Urgent. Desperate.
"Please," she says. "Can we hide in the back? Just for a few minutes. Please."
Her fingers wrap tightly around your wrist—cold, trembling.
You freeze, unsure what to do. It's not every day that someone famous—Karina, the leader of aespa—grabs you and begs for help. Her mask now hangs loosely from one ear, exposing her full face. She's not just beautiful. She's stunning. Almost unreal. Like someone drawn, not born.
Behind her, the other three members hover anxiously. Winter glances toward the entrance, her expression tense. Giselle has her phone out, already texting someone, probably their manager. And Ningning, the youngest, looks like she's holding her breath.
The group of teenagers who just entered the store haven't fully noticed them yet—but it's seconds away.
You glance at the aisle mirror. One of the girls is already staring at Karina, confusion spreading across her face like a wildfire about to spark.
Time's up.
"Come with me," you say under your breath.
You round the counter and head toward the back storeroom. They follow quickly, staying low, heads down, moving like shadows.
You push open the storeroom door with your elbow and hold it for them. The air inside is stale and thick with cardboard and expired milk. Not glamorous. But hidden.
They all rush in.
You close the door gently. Lock it.
Silence.
For a moment, all five of you just stand there—breathing. Listening.
Outside, you hear muffled voices. Laughter. A ringtone. Footsteps.
You turn and see them sitting now—on crates, beside boxes, on top of an unopened drink shipment. All four girls are watching you. Eyes wide, cautious, but also... relieved?
Karina exhales first. Her hand brushes through her hair and she finally speaks again.
"Thank you," she says quietly. Her voice has returned to normal now, but there's still a trace of nerves. "You... saved us."
You shrug, unsure how to respond. "You're not exactly unrecognizable, you know. Gangnam isn't the best place to sneak around."
Winter lets out a small laugh. It's dry, but real. "Yeah, we figured that out too late."
Giselle speaks up, still holding her phone. "Manager's on the way, but there's traffic. Typical."
Ningning looks around the tiny room, hugging her knees to her chest. "It smells weird in here," she mutters, wrinkling her nose. "Like... pickles and socks."
You don't say anything. You're still trying to understand how this happened.
Four members of aespa are hiding in your storeroom.
And you're just... you.
Just a convenience store clerk with no future, a mountain of debt, and a fake smile for customers who barely see you.
Karina is still looking at you.
"You didn't ask who we were," she says slowly.
"I already know," you answer.
"And you're not... freaking out?"
You shake your head. "I don't have the energy to freak out."
Karina tilts her head. Her lips curl into something that almost looks like a smile—but there's a hint of sadness in it too. Like maybe she understands that answer more than she wants to admit.
A silence falls between all of you.
Then Karina asks, softly, "What's your name?"
You pause.
You're not sure how to answer.
Because for so long now, your name hasn't mattered. Not to anyone. Not even to yourself.
You look at her.
"...Does it matter?"
————————————————
The storeroom smells like instant noodles, cardboard, and something slightly sour that no one has bothered to clean.
You lean against the wall, arms crossed, staring at the metal shelves stacked with bottled water and expired snacks. The silence stretches.
They're still here.
Karina is seated on a crate, her long legs crossed elegantly, hoodie still up but hair slipping out from under it. Her mask is back on—but her eyes remain visible. Sharp. Observant. Curious.
The others are scattered across the small room, trying to make themselves invisible, which isn't easy when you're global celebrities crammed into a tiny storage space behind a convenience store.
Winter paces near the wall, phone in hand, occasionally peeking through a crack in the door. "Still crowded," she mutters. "I think that girl outside was trying to take a photo."
Giselle groans and sits beside a box of bottled tea. "We really suck at being low-key. I told you hoodies don't make us invisible."
"Better than walking around in stage outfits," Ningning says, then glances at you. She gives a small smile, like a reflex. "Thanks for letting us hide here."
You don't reply. You just nod once and go back to staring at the floor.
You feel their eyes on you—especially hers.
Karina.
She hasn't said anything since you answered her question with, "Does it matter?"
Maybe she expected something different. A name. A fake smile. Something that made her feel like a normal girl again.
But you don't offer her any of that.
You've been through too much to care about social niceties.
Still, something about the way she's watching you—it's not judgment. Not fear. Just... interest.
She says finally, "You're quiet."
You glance at her. "So are you."
Giselle laughs quietly. "He's got you there."
Karina smirks under her mask. You can tell. It reaches her eyes. But she doesn't look away.
It's like she's studying you. Trying to figure you out.
You shift your weight to the other leg. "You can stay until the crowd dies down. But if my manager comes in early, I'll need to kick you out."
"Fair," Winter says. "Honestly, we're lucky you didn't take a video of us and sell it to Dispatch."
You raise an eyebrow. "Is that what people do?"
Giselle shrugs. "Some people. We've had... situations."
You nod slowly. It makes sense. The kind of fame they live with isn't safe. It's constant. Unforgiving.
You glance at Karina again.
She's still watching you.
The silence comes back—but it's different now. Not awkward. Just there.
You speak, finally. "You should've had your manager with you."
Karina leans back, resting her hands behind her on the crate. "He was supposed to meet us later. We thought we'd be in and out. Just a quick snack run."
Winter sighs. "And someone wanted strawberry milk," she says, side-eyeing Karina.
"It's good," Karina says defensively.
Ningning giggles, then looks at you. "Do you like strawberry milk?"
You blink, surprised at the question. You think for a second.
"...I don't know."
"You've never tried it?" she asks, eyes wide.
"I just don't remember the taste," you say, honestly. "I don't really buy stuff unless it's on clearance."
The room goes quiet again.
You didn't mean for it to get heavy. But it always does, doesn't it? The truth sticks to you like smoke. People smell it even when you try to cover it up.
Karina's voice cuts through the silence, softer now. "You live around here?"
You hesitate.
Then you nod. "Yeah. Nearby."
"With your family?"
You pause again.
Then: "Sort of."
She doesn't push. Just nods once.
You appreciate that.
Then Winter straightens suddenly. "Oh! I think I see Manager Oppa outside. Black van just pulled up."
Karina stands. "Time to go."
You unlock the storeroom door and peek outside. The teenagers are mostly gone. A tall man in sunglasses is waving subtly at the door. You assume that's him.
The girls gather themselves quickly. Pull their hoods up. Masks on.
Before she leaves, Karina lingers.
She turns back to you.
For a moment, you think she's going to ask your name again.
But instead, she just says, "Thanks. Really."
You nod. "Try not to get recognized next time."
She smiles—this time, visible. It's small. Genuine.
And then she's gone.
The door swings shut.
And just like that, the storeroom is empty again.
You're alone.
Just like always.
—————————————-
The night drags.
Same shelves. Same aisles. Same lifeless neon glow.
You move like a machine. But inside, something simmers.
You haven't slept much since last night — and not because you were thinking about them.
Well... maybe a little. But mostly, it's the usual. The weight on your back. The pressure to keep everything from falling apart.
You're restocking bottled drinks in the back when you hear the sharp bark of your name.
"Yah! Come out here!"
You sigh. You recognize the voice.
Mr. Hwang.
The store manager is standing near the front, red-faced and waving at you like you're a dog. You walk over slowly, wiping your hands on your apron.
"Come," he snaps, storming toward the storeroom. "I told you to be careful with inventory. Look at this!"
He yanks open a box of bottled water. Several of the bottles are dented, some caps loose, a few even leaking into the cardboard.
You blink. You recognize the box.
It's the one Karina sat on.
The one Winter leaned against. The one Ningning had her feet on.
You say nothing.
Mr. Hwang kicks the crate in frustration. "Do you even know how much these cost?!"
"It's just a few bottles—"
"That's not the point!" he roars, cutting you off. "That's lost stock. That's money out the window. And this isn't the first time something like this happened!"
You stay silent.
He paces like he's trying to wind himself up even more. "You just leave things lying around. Customers complain. You forget to scan products. Now this? You're damaging stock for fun?"
You frown. "I didn't damage anything on purpose."
He squints at you, suspicious. "Then explain this. Why's this whole box crushed?"
You hesitate. Just for a second.
He notices.
He steps closer. "You hiding something?"
You say nothing.
Because telling him the truth would mean telling him about aespa. That four global stars were hiding in your storage room. Sitting on the crates like they were nothing. Laughing, whispering, breathing in the same air as you.
But you won't say a word.
Because even now, even with the unfairness boiling inside you, you'd rather protect their image than save your own skin.
He takes your silence as guilt. "You think this is a joke? Who's going to pay for all this, huh? You?"
You clench your jaw. "It's not that serious—"
"It's very serious!" he shouts. "I should dock it from your salary. Or better yet, report you for theft."
You glare at him now. "For what? Bottled water?"
"You damaged store property. You don't get to talk back."
You stare at him. A beat of silence passes between you.
Then your voice drops — low, cold, like frostbite.
"I said... I didn't do it on purpose."
"Oh, now you care how it sounds?" He steps even closer, practically nose to nose with you. "You're always quiet, walking around like a ghost. Maybe if you paid attention, you wouldn't keep screwing things up."
Your fists tighten at your sides.
"Maybe," he continues with a sneer, "you should go back to wherever you came from, if working here is too hard for you."
Something inside you shifts.
You breathe out slowly. Controlled.
"You're right," you say, calmly. "This job isn't hard."
He blinks. "What?"
"It's pathetic."
Your words hang in the air like venom.
"This store. This uniform. Your voice yelling every day over stupid things that don't matter. This is your whole life. And you expect the rest of us to bow and pretend we're lucky to be here."
He opens his mouth, stunned.
You cut him off.
"You think I broke the crates for fun? You think I enjoy this? I work two jobs, sleep four hours, and go home to a house where I'm not even wanted. And now you want to take money out of my pay for this?"
He shoves a finger in your chest. "Don't talk to me like that. You're just a replaceable punk."
You slap his hand away.
He reels back, face redder than ever.
"You're fired," he snaps.
"I figured," you mutter.
He storms off, still yelling. "Get your trash out of my store. Don't come back."
You untie your apron and drop it on the floor.
No hesitation. No goodbye.
You walk out the back door — not even turning around.
And for the first time in a long time...
You feel something that almost tastes like peace.
————————-
Meanwhile...
Karina stares out the window of their dorm living room. Her hoodie sleeves are tugged over her hands, and her phone rests forgotten beside her on the cushion.
Outside, the sky is grey — heavy, almost too quiet.
The others are around, scattered across the room. Giselle sits at the dining table with her laptop open, tapping through demo tracks. Ningning is sprawled on the floor, watching some variety show and half-laughing every few minutes. Winter's near Karina, sitting cross-legged on the sofa, holding a cup of warm tea.
But Karina hasn't moved in twenty minutes.
Her mind's stuck.
That guy from the store.
She doesn't even know what his real name is.
And yet... she keeps replaying the moment in her head. The way he stood there, calm and tired, like someone who's already lived through more than most people twice his age. The way he didn't react when he realized who they were. No spark of excitement. No panic. Just... stillness.
And then those words.
"Does it matter?"
Karina exhales slowly. She hates how much it's bothering her. She hates that she doesn't know why it's bothering her.
"You okay?" Winter asks gently.
Karina blinks, turning slightly. "Yeah. Just... thinking."
Winter smiles knowingly. "About the store guy?"
Karina tries to play it off. "A bit."
"'A bit' meaning you haven't blinked since breakfast?"
Giselle looks up from her laptop, chiming in. "Seriously, unnie, you've been zoning out since rehearsal ended."
Even Ningning peeks up from the floor. "Did he say something rude? You looked kinda weird when you came out of the back room last night."
Karina hesitates... then shakes her head. "No. He didn't do anything. Actually, he helped us. He gave us space to hide. Made sure no one saw us. Didn't even ask who we were."
"That's... rare," Giselle says, sitting back.
"Super rare," Winter agrees. "I mean, most people would've freaked out."
Ningning stretches like a cat. "Or asked for a selfie. Or sold the story to Dispatch."
Karina's eyes flick toward the floor. "He didn't even seem to care who we were."
"Maybe he didn't recognize us?" Ningning offers.
"No. He knew," Karina says softly. "He just... didn't react."
The room goes quiet for a moment.
Then Winter says, "You thinking of thanking him or something?"
Karina nods slowly. "Yeah. I mean... it was nothing big. But it meant something. I wanted to say thank you."
Giselle stands up and walks over. "Then let's give him a ticket. The big kind. VVIP."
Ningning's eyes widen. "The front row ones?"
Giselle grins. "Exactly. It's the least we can do. Maybe he needs something to smile about."
Winter leans forward. "Are you sure he'd want it?"
Karina shrugs. "I don't know. But even if he doesn't, I'd feel better knowing I tried."
The members exchange glances — and nod.
Karina gets up and walks to her room. From the drawer, she pulls out the sleek black envelope. On the front, embossed in silver, are the words:
aespa: SYNK VVIP PASS
It gleams under the dorm light.
She slips the ticket in gently, then hesitates. Her fingers brush over the flap.
She picks up a sticky note. Writes just one line:
"Thank you. - K"
No names. No signatures. Just that.
As she comes back out, she catches the girls watching her.
"You're really going to give it yourself?" Winter asks.
Karina nods. "It feels right."
Ningning smirks playfully. "Ooh, unnie going solo mission."
"Shut up," Karina mutters with a half-smile.
⸻
The next afternoon, Karina dresses down:
Black hoodie. Cap pulled low. White mask. No makeup. Just simple sneakers. She walks to the store herself — no manager, no bodyguard. Just her and the envelope, tucked safely inside her hoodie pocket.
She rehearses what she'll say in her head:
"I just wanted to say thank you."
"I hope this brings you something good."
"You didn't have to help us, but you did."
She turns the corner and spots the convenience store ahead. The same glowing sign. The same door.
She pulls the mask up, takes a deep breath, and steps inside.
It's... different.
The lights are still the same. The shelves are still lined the same way.
But the air feels... off.
There's no familiar silence. No quiet figure at the counter.
Just a young guy — chewing gum, leaning lazily against the register. He looks up.
Karina walks carefully toward the front. "Hi. Is the guy who worked here last night around?"
The guy pops his gum. "Who? Oh, you mean that emo dude?"
She blinks. "Emo...?"
He shrugs. "Tall, quiet guy? Looks like he's angry at life?"
Karina pauses, then nods. "Yeah. Him."
The cashier shakes his head. "He's gone. Manager fired him yesterday. Huge blowout. Dude just walked out. Didn't even clean out his locker."
She stares at him, lips slightly parted.
"...Do you know where he went?"
The cashier shrugs. "Nope. Don't even know his name. I just started last week."
Karina takes a step back. The envelope in her pocket feels heavier now.
She glances around the store. It looks exactly the same — but it's not. Because he's not there.
She swallows, quietly. "Okay. Thanks."
She walks out the door slowly, blending into the street crowd once more.
Inside her hoodie pocket, the unopened envelope still sits. The ticket untouched. Her thank-you note unread.
And for the first time in a long while... Karina doesn't know what to do next.