"Alright," she said flatly.

"Fine."

After that, Seong moved.

Slowly at first.

One step.

Then another.

Her pace was calm, measured, almost elegant, the kind of walk that gave nothing away. But inside her head, things were far less graceful.

Because the closer she got, the more suspicious the scene looked.

Si Hon stood there as usual with that unreadable face of his, calm to the point of irritation, like the entire world could collapse around him and he would still be deciding whether it was worth reacting to. Yes, as usual.

And most of all, Aeloria was far too close.

One hand still hovered near his shoulder, fingers tense as if she wanted to grab him again just to continue being angry properly. Her cheeks still carried that stubborn warmth, color refusing to leave no matter how much she glared. And somehow, impossibly, she managed to look like she was caught between starting an argument and confessing something she hated herself for feeling.

It was unbearable.

At least, to Seong’s eyes.

Because in her imagination—

It became worse.

Much worse.

The arena vanished— no. Everything vanished and only those two appeared in her eyes.

Flower petals drifted through the air from nowhere, spiraling around them in slow motion. A gentle breeze that did not exist, moved through their hair with suspicious timing.

Light shimmered behind them in golden streaks, the kind used only in scenes nobody asked for. Even their voices became delayed and dramatic, mouths moving in elegant silence while invisible music swelled in the background.

What I mean is.... Lovey dovey nonsense.

Pure delusion.

Seong’s eye twitched so hard it nearly counted as a warning sign.

(Absolutely not.) She thought to herself.

That was enough.

Without wasting another second, she stepped forward in one clean, decisive stride. No hesitation. No announcement. No mercy.

Her arm slipped around Si Hon’s waist and pulled him slightly toward her in one smooth motion, forcing Aeloria’s hand right off his shoulder before the other girl could even react.

The movement was so sudden the air itself seemed to pause.

Even the noise around them stuttered.

Si Hon jolted where he stood.

"Wha—"

A tiny, startled yelp escaped him before it died halfway out. He blinked once, confused, then looked down.

And froze.

Seong was right there.

Close enough that retreating would look suspicious.

One hand firm at his waist.

The other resting lightly against his side.

Her face tilted upward, eyes meeting his directly without the slightest trace of embarrassment.

Completely serious.

Completely unreadable.

And somehow, that made everything far more dangerous.

Si Hon’s throat moved once.

His brain, usually slow in a controlled way, now appeared to be buffering.

Seong could feel the warmth of his body through the clothing. Could hear the slight hitch in his breathing. Could also hear her own pulse trying to embarrass her internally.

But outwardly—

Nothing changed.

She remained calm.

Cold.

Perfectly composed.

Then she spoke.

"H-honey..."

The word nearly tripped over itself on the way out, catching for the briefest second before she forced it forward.

Soft.

Awkward.

Devastating.

A pause followed.

The kind of pause that could level buildings.

Then she tightened her hold just slightly and tried again, voice lower this time, smoother by sheer survival instinct.

"My... honey..."

The words landed softly.

But the effect was catastrophic.

Silence followed at once.

Not ordinary silence.

Not the kind born from calm.

This was the sharp, unnatural silence of an entire crowd getting hit by the same shock at the same time. A perfect pause. A violent stillness. Even the restless noise from above seemed to choke and disappear for one impossible second, as if the whole arena itself needed time to process what had just happened. And what happened... was... the narrator is just yapping.

Then—

On the Blue Team side—

Disaster bloomed beautifully.

Mihu and the surrounding fangirls had both hands clamped over their mouths, eyes stretched wide, shoulders rigid, bodies frozen so completely it looked like breathing too hard might desecrate the sacred moment unfolding before them.

One girl slowly turned her head.

Very slowly.

Toward Mihu.

Mihu’s face was smooth.

Blank.

Peaceful.

The kind of stillness that looked almost sacred in the middle of total chaos.

One of the fangirls beside her slowly turned, then froze for an entirely different reason.

Because now that she was actually looking—

Really looking—

She noticed details she had somehow missed before.

Mihu’s short green hair framed her face neatly, cut in a smooth line that brushed just at her shoulders, elegant and controlled without trying too hard. Soft bangs rested across her forehead in a clean curtain, stopping just above her eyes, the kind of style that gave her an effortless sharpness while still making her look refined.

Even with chaos unfolding around them, every strand somehow remained in place, as if her hair itself had decided panic was beneath it.

Her head was tilted ever so slightly downward, subtle enough to seem modest at first glance, almost demure.

But that illusion ended the moment anyone noticed her eyes.

From beneath those soft bangs, her gaze lifted straight ahead, narrow and steady, carrying that calm, cutting intensity that made it feel like she was silently judging the entire world at once. It was the kind of look that belonged to someone composed on the surface while internally experiencing ten different emotional disasters.

Emotionless in a way that felt almost enlightened.

Like a monk who had severed all attachment to worldly desire and ascended beyond suffering.

But inside—

(AGHHHHHHHH WHAT THE FUCKKKKKK)

(HONEY?!?!)

(SHE SAID HONEY?!?!)

(YESSSSS I FORGOT THIS SHIP EXISTED!!!!)

(WE ARE SO BACK!!!!)

(PEAK FICTION!!!!)

(THIS IS— PEAK CINEMA!!!!)

Her soul was sprinting laps around a stadium.

The fangirl beside her frowned, suddenly concerned.

She leaned closer.

Placed two fingers against Mihu’s wrist.

Paused.

Checked again.

Then slowly lifted her head toward the others with the solemn face of someone delivering terrible news from a battlefield.

The fangirl then carefully placed a finger beneath Mihu’s nose to check for breath, then froze so completely, she looked carved from stone.

Her eyes widened in slow horror, lips parting soundlessly as the weight of what she had discovered settled into her soul. The hand near Mihu’s face began to tremble, and when she finally looked back at the others, it was with the expression of someone who had seen the end of an era.

"She’s not breathing."