The day after the video dropped, Eclipse's official site went dark.
No schedule. No comeback news. Just a single black screen.
And one message:
"We're listening."
It wasn't signed. But fans knew.
Eclipse had chosen truth over silence.
And the world was responding.
Fan forums became rally centers. Edits of Minju filled timelines. Hashtags surged. Protest signs appeared outside the company building. Petitions. Candlelight vigils. People chanted her name like it belonged to them, too.
Minju watched it all, eyes wide.
"Am I really... being remembered?"
Haru smiled gently. "Finally."
Three days later, an independent press conference was held.
Not by the company. Not by the board.
But by Eclipse.
They rented a small venue. Invited no corporate reps. Only press. Fans. Trainees. Survivors.
Haru stood in the center, mic in hand. No stylist. No manager. Just himself.
He told the truth. From beginning to end.
Minju's name wasn't just mentioned. It was honored.
Riki read her old lyric draft aloud. Minhee played the piano melody she once practiced. Shiro held up the polaroid. Seojun showed the proof they had archived.
And Haru? He said her name like a vow.
"Minju didn't ask to be saved. She only wanted to be seen. We're here because she never stopped fighting for that. So now we fight with her."
The room fell silent.
Then applause.
Not chaotic. Not frenzied.
Grateful.
Outside, the street swelled with fans and supporters. People who had never met her. People who whispered "thank you" as though she could hear them.
And she could.
Minju drifted above the crowd. Tears slipping soundlessly.
"I think I'm ready," she whispered.
Haru heard her.
But he didn't answer. Not yet.
Because echoes take time to fade.
And this one still had more to say.