Chapter Text
The lights bathed the stadium in gold.
ENHYPEN stood at the center of it all, backs to the ocean of screaming fans, sweat glistening under spotlights. Every second of this performance—the last one of their world tour—was meant to be unforgettable.
And it would be.
“It's you and me in this world—” Sunoo sang, his voice effortlessly flowing, velvet against the pounding beat of "Bite Me." His eyes glimmered under his smoky makeup, smile wide as he danced past Heeseung and Ni-ki, who were perfectly in sync beside him.
From above, streamers flew.
From the shadows, something darker did too.
In the chaos of lights and sound, a single crack rang out—too sharp, too sudden to be pyrotechnics.
It tore the air.
Then it tore Sunoo.
His body jerked. Not a dance move. Not this time.
His expression twisted for just a split second—eyes wide, confused, before crumpling into agony.
“Sunoo?” Jungwon’s voice was nearly lost in the music, but he had seen it. Seen the red spread across Sunoo’s pale costume.
The music kept playing. The crowd kept cheering.
Sunoo fell to his knees.
The shot had been quiet, like a pop from a champagne bottle. But the silence that followed from the members was deafening.
Sunghoon reached him first, dropping to his knees beside his best friend, arms trembling as he caught him just before he collapsed fully.
“Sunny—Sunoo! Hey! You’re bleeding!” Sunghoon’s voice cracked.
Blood. So much of it. His pristine white stage outfit was quickly soaking red on the left side—his ribs, his hip? It was hard to tell.
Jake ripped off his earpiece and yelled offstage. “CALL THE MEDICS! NOW!”
Ni-ki stood frozen, stunned into stillness he had never known before. The boy who was never afraid on stage was now shaking.
Security was flooding in, storming through the crowd. The members were screaming now, the stage no longer sacred, but battlefield.
Sunoo coughed. “Is this... part of the show?” he whispered, eyes glassy.
Heeseung gripped his hand. “No. No, baby, you’re gonna be okay. Stay with us.”
And as the screaming of ENGENEs turned from joy to terror, as the stage lights flickered chaotically, and as blood dripped onto the set where Sunoo once danced—
The show stopped.
But the story had just begun.
---
1 Month Before The Attack
The rehearsal room was buzzing.
The floor pulsed with bass as the speakers blared the beat of "Bite Me", again and again. Every movement was scrutinized, refined, perfected. Sweat dripped down the backs of shirts and soaked through tank tops as the boys pushed through their sixth full run-through of the day.
“Sunoo, try that body sway again—but more fluid,” the choreographer called out, clapping his hands twice. “Everyone, reset!”
Sunoo smiled through the ache in his ribs. “Got it!”
He did the sway again—this time smoother—and landed right where he should have, next to Jungwon.
Jungwon nudged him subtly. “You okay? You’re limping a bit.”
“Pfft, I’m fine,” Sunoo lied, smiling. “I’ll just steal one of Jake’s energy drinks later.”
Jake, from across the room, shot him a look. “The watermelon one is mine. I will fight you.”
Ni-ki snorted. “Sunoo’ll win. He’s unhinged when he’s tired.”
That made Sunoo giggle. It was the kind of laugh that filled the air like perfume—light, fleeting, but strong enough to change the atmosphere.
Still, when he turned to grab his water bottle, his smile faded a bit.
His phone was lighting up again.
36 new notifications.
A few were from the fan community app, Weverse. Some were sweet, supportive messages. But scattered in between—
> Why do you act like you’re the center of the group?
> You’re so fake. They’ll see eventually.
> You don’t deserve this. Not with that attitude.
> I'll be there. You’ll notice me this time.
Sunoo stared at the last one longer than he meant to.
He locked the screen.
---
That night, the dorm was quiet. Too quiet.
Sunoo sat at the kitchen table long after the others had gone to bed, his phone untouched beside a barely-eaten bowl of instant noodles. Heeseung walked in, rubbing his eyes, hoodie pulled over his head.
“You’re up late.”
Sunoo blinked. “Couldn’t sleep.”
Heeseung sat across from him. “Wanna talk about it?”
“No, it’s nothing serious.”
A pause.
“But… do you think I come off weird? Like—too confident? Too much?”
Heeseung’s brows knit together. “What are you talking about? You're the glue, Sunoo. You're the one who brings balance when we’re falling apart.”
Sunoo swallowed. His eyes shimmered slightly in the low light.
“Just feels like some people don’t… see me that way.”
Heeseung reached across the table and covered Sunoo’s hand with his. “Some people only want to see the parts of you they can hate. Don’t let them win.”
In a private Twitter DM group, a message popped up from an account with no profile photo:
> 1 month. Seoul Dome. Section B2. He won’t smile so fake when it’s real.**
No one responded.
But the message stayed. Waiting.
---
The next morning, Sunoo woke up to his usual alarm — a soft chime he’d picked to keep mornings gentle. But something in his chest already felt tight.
His phone screen glowed.
17 new comments. 6 DMs.
The same user from before had messaged again:
> Smile for me again. The others don’t see it yet. But I do.
> You were made to be watched.
Sunoo deleted the messages. Again.
Blocked the user. Again.
But the pit in his stomach remained.
Downstairs, the dorm smelled like toast and scrambled eggs. Jake and Ni-ki were already in the kitchen, bickering over whether putting ketchup on eggs was a crime against humanity.
“Morning, angel,” Jake greeted when he saw Sunoo walk in, mid-mouthful. “You look like you fought a ghost in your sleep.”
“Lost to it, actually,” Sunoo mumbled, slipping into the seat beside Ni-ki.
Ni-ki squinted. “Are you okay? Your eyes are puffy.”
Sunoo shrugged, forcing a smile. “Allergies. I’m fine, seriously.”
He wasn’t.
Because when they got to rehearsal and started going over formation tweaks for “Sacrifice,” he felt it again—that sensation.
Like someone was watching him.
Not just the usual eyes of their team. No, this was different. It felt wrong.
He scanned the mirrors behind the choreographers, the staff seated by the wall, even the cameramen recording content for EN-O’CLOCK. Everyone was familiar… mostly.
Except someone in the back row.
Black hoodie. Mask. Eyes too focused. Not filming. Not taking notes. Just… staring.
Sunoo blinked. When he looked again, they were gone.
-
Later, during break, he sat with Jay in the corner, sharing a banana smoothie.
“You look haunted,” Jay said bluntly.
“I feel haunted,” Sunoo replied.
Jay leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “Talk to me.”
Sunoo hesitated. “I think someone’s following me.”
Jay froze for a second. “Like… sasaeng level?”
“I don’t know. I keep getting weird messages. Today at practice, I—I swear I saw someone just standing there, watching me. I turned, and they were gone.”
Jay’s hand tightened around his cup. “Have you told the manager?”
Sunoo shook his head. “It’s probably nothing. I just didn’t sleep well. Maybe I’m paranoid.”
Jay stared at him. “Even if it is nothing, you don’t get to carry it alone.”
That night, Jay quietly told Jungwon.
And Jungwon quietly told their security coordinator.
Just in case.
---
Back in the sasaeng group chat, new photos were uploaded.
Photos of Sunoo. Taken that day.
At practice.
In the parking lot.
Through a studio window.
A message followed.
> He belongs to me. And if I can’t have him, no one will.
---
To Be Continued...