A cluster of maybe thirty fans holding pale blue banners decorated with hand-drawn stars. Lightsticks wrapped in white ribbons.
One girl wore a T-shirt with my face printed across it—a screenshot from my "Echoes of the Quiet" performance.
My throat closed.
Thirty wasn't hundreds.
It wasn't Haejun's sea of silver or Hyunki's wall of black and crimson.
But thirty people had woken up today, gotten dressed, traveled all the way here, and carried something with my name on it.
They came for me.
The bus rolled forward, pulling away from the barricades and the crowd.
I twisted in my seat, craning my neck to keep those pale blue banners in view through the rear window. The girl in the T-shirt waved frantically, jumping up and down.
"Sit down," Hyunki muttered without looking up from his phone.
I ignored him.
The banners grew smaller, disappearing as we turned a corner toward the arena entrance. I pressed my palm against the cold glass, heart hammering against my ribs.
