The live audience is on their feet.
No hesitation. No holding back.
A full standing ovation.
And those watching from home?
Yeah—they're losing their damn minds in the safety of their own spaces. Screaming into pillows, pacing around their rooms, trying to process what the hell they just witnessed.
Because that?
That wasn't just a performance.
That was an experience.
And it's obvious—
LEAVEN didn't just achieve what they set out to do.
They went beyond it.
Overtook it.
Exceeded it.
Demolished it.
The lights dim once more, but the cheers?
They don't stop.
If anything, they grow louder—echoing, relentless, refusing to die down.
The energy lingers.
Heavy. Electric.
And in the middle of all that?
There's one spot that sticks out like a sore thumb.
E:Den.
Still seated.
Still unmoved.
While the rest of the world stands in awe, Kang Seo-yul sits there, the ugliness inside him finally starting to show. It leaks through the cracks of his barely-held-together composure—subtle, but unmistakable.
And his so-called groupmates?
Stiff.
Silent.
Palms sweaty. Faces pale. Eyes flickering with quiet panic.
Because they know.
They know.
And then—
Like a switch flips—
Kang Seo-yul stands.
And starts clapping.
Just like that.
The shift is so sudden it's almost jarring.
His members freeze, eyes widening before darting to each other, silently asking the same question—
What the hell is he doing?
But they don't question it out loud.
They can't.
So one by one, they stand too.
And clap.
Awkward. Delayed. Confused.
Their brains practically short-circuiting trying to keep up with his mood swings—because those?
Yeah.
They come fast.
Frequent.
Like every other word out of his mouth.
And that's saying something.
From the outside, though?
Kang Seo-yul looks… perfect.
Composed. Cordial. Even supportive.
Like a senior artist acknowledging a strong performance.
But inside?
Oh, it's a whole different story.
Well played, little fuckers.
I'll admit—I'm impressed.
Since you entertained me… I'll go easy on you.
Just this once.
Enjoy it while you can.
And yeah—
That's the clean version.
Because digging through his thoughts?
A mess.
Delusion stacked on delusion, to the point where forming a single coherent thought feels like wading through garbage.
It's that bad.
Backstage, though?
A completely different world.
Because as LEAVEN steps off stage—
They're not thinking about any of that.
They're celebrating.
Laughing. Breathing. Riding that high.
Their own little victory, shared between them.
Because no matter what just happened out there—
No matter who tried to mess with them—
They won.
****
"Oh my God… we actually did it!" Bobby breathes out, relief crashing over him all at once.
"You guys! We slayed the house down, fo' sho!" Pink snaps his fingers in the air, still riding that high like it's never coming down.
"Everyone did really well," Ahn Jae says with a nod. He's exhausted—completely spent—but there's a bright, genuine smile on his face.
"Ma! Did you watch? We did amazing, right? Of course we did—it's your son!" Monarch is already on the phone, pacing excitedly. "Thanks, Ma! Labyu!"
Laughter. Voices overlapping. Energy buzzing.
They're all still floating.
Still high on adrenaline, on victory, on we actually fucking did that.
But then—
Something shifts.
Nox feels it before he fully registers it.
A hand grips his arm.
Tight.
Instinct kicks in. He turns—
Just in time to see Javi stumble.
"Woah—"
Nox catches him immediately, arms wrapping around him without hesitation, pulling him in close—strong, steady, protective. Like a shield. Like a place to land.
"You okay, Javi?" he asks, voice low, careful.
And that's all it takes.
Javi breaks.
"I really thought I was gonna die."
The words come out cracked, barely held together, as he clutches onto Nox like letting go isn't an option.
"Me cagué del susto."
And just like that—
The high crashes.
Hard.
Reality hits him all at once—the fall, the drop, the what if—and it doesn't ease in gently. It slams into him like a tidal wave, dragging everything down with it.
He starts sobbing.
Not pretty. Not controlled.
Not the kind of crying you can play off or hide behind a smile.
No.
This is raw.
Ugly.
Gut-wrenching sobs that tear out of him, his whole body shaking as everything he held in finally spills over.
And Nox?
He doesn't hesitate.
He pulls Javi closer, tightening his hold, one hand steady against his back, grounding him, keeping him here.
Safe.
Alive.
Because just minutes ago?
That almost wasn't the case.
****
While Javi is breaking down in Nox's arms—
Backstage?
All hell breaks loose.
"Mythical" — Bread Music's head of production — is losing it.
And not in a cute, slightly annoyed way.
No.
She is shouting at the top of her lungs, voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.
"Bring the fucker to me. Right now."
Every head turns.
No one breathes.
"Or help me God, I will tear this entire place to shreds and drag that person out myself—dead or alive!"
Her eyes burn.
And that's what makes it worse.
Because Mythical?
She's known for being chill.
Calm. Collected. Unbothered.
But this?
This isn't that.
This is something else entirely.
And everyone present gets a very clear, very terrifying glimpse of it.
And she's not alone.
"Oh, now everyone's quiet?" Steffi's voice cuts in—sharp, furious, done.
The head of A&R steps forward, her gaze sweeping across the production crew like she's deciding who to destroy first.
"Someone almost lost their life today—and all of you are standing here like nothing happened? Are you all just that stupid?"
No one answers.
No one dares.
"Let me repeat that, since clearly it's not getting through your tiny-ass brains—"
Each word lands harder than the last.
"SOMEONE. ALMOST. DIED."
A beat.
"And none of you seem to give a damn."
Silence.
Heavy. Suffocating.
Mythical and Steffi take turns tearing into them, their anger sharp, justified, relentless.
And the production crew?
A mess.
Sweating. Stammering. Pointing fingers left and right, shifting blame like it's a hot potato no one wants to hold.
"No, it wasn't us—"
"We checked everything—"
"It must've been—"
Excuses.
Deflection.
Not a single ounce of accountability.
On the surface, they're trying to calm the situation—hands raised, voices shaky, offering half-baked reassurances.
But inside?
Oh, inside, they're cursing.
One curses his luck for being here at all.
Another curses Mythical and Steffi under his breath.
And someone—somewhere—is cursing the real perpetrator.
Because whoever did this?
They're still out there.
No trace.
No evidence.
Nothing to follow.
And that?
That's the most dangerous part.
Then—
A presence shifts the room.
Luca.
No one sees him arrive.
He's just… there.
Standing.
Watching.
Smiling.
But not warmly.
No.
It's the kind of smile that sends a chill straight down your spine—the kind that feels less like comfort and more like a warning.
Like the grim reaper just clocked your name on a list.
"Mythical. Steffi."
His voice is calm.
Cold.
Controlled.
"That's enough."
And somehow?
That's all it takes.
"Let's go."
Mythical exhales sharply, still glaring daggers at the crew.
"Better count your blessings," she says, voice low but lethal. "Because they're about to run out."
She steps back.
Steffi follows, just as cold.
"Enjoy your final moments of freedom."
No yelling this time.
Just a statement.
Simple.
Final.
As they turn to leave, Luca pauses.
Just for a second.
He tilts his head slightly, glancing back.
"Expect our lawyers to be in touch soon."
No threat.
No raised voice.
No dramatics.
Just—
A fact.
A polite reminder.
One that lands heavier than any scream.
Because whatever comes next?
It's already set in motion.
And there's nothing they can do to stop it.
****
Javi was crying so hard it tipped into something worse.
His breaths came in short, broken gasps—too fast, too shallow.
Hyperventilating.
"Hey—hey, Javi—breathe, baby, breathe…" Nox's voice dropped immediately, steady and grounding, but Javi couldn't catch it. His fingers clutched at Nox's shirt like it was the only thing keeping him anchored.
No hesitation.
Nox slipped an arm under Javi's knees and the other behind his back, lifting him effortlessly into a bridal carry.
If this were literally any other moment?
Javi would've lost his damn mind.
But right now—
He just buried his face into Nox's chest, shaking.
The rest of LEAVEN followed close behind, expressions tight with worry. No one said anything. No jokes, no teasing—just quiet urgency as they moved.
Yeah, they won.
Yeah, they survived.
But that didn't erase the fact that Javi almost—
No.
No one finished that thought.
They got on the bus.
The doors shut.
And the second everyone was in, the driver pulled out—no delays, no lingering.
The production crew tried anyway.
"Please—just a short interview—"
"Five minutes—"
"Think about the ratings—"
Ignored.
Completely.
Not even a glance.
Tonight, LEAVEN chose themselves.
Inside the bus, the tension slowly began to loosen.
Javi's breathing steadied—still uneven, but no longer spiraling.
"You okay?" Nox asked quietly.
Javi nodded, his voice rough. "Yeah…"
A pause.
"Gracias, papi."
Nox huffed out a soft chuckle. "Don't mention it."
His hand lingered briefly on Javi's shoulder.
"You did amazing. Get some rest."
He stepped back.
And that's when—
It hit.
Not the fear.
Not the fall.
No.
The memory of being held.
Strong arms. Warm. Solid.
Safe.
Javi froze.
Then slowly—slowly—his hands came up to cover his face as heat flooded his entire existence.
"Oh my God…" he muttered into his palms.
Pink snorted from across the bus.
"One second you're fighting for your life, the next you're acting like you just got proposed to. Babe—pick a struggle."
"Was it good, though?" Aqua leaned forward, eyes sparkling. "Like… were the arms worth the trauma?"
Javi peeked through his fingers.
"…I wanna lick his biceps and let him strangle me with them."
A beat.
Then the bus erupted.
"BITCH—" Pink wheezed.
"HE JUST ALMOST DIED—" Kitty choked.
"And he came back horny!" Aqua finished, slapping his knee.
And just like that—
The air shifted.
Not gone.
Not healed.
But lighter.
"Bruja," Aqua said more gently now, reaching over. "You ate that performance. No notes."
Javi smiled weakly.
"I'm not saying this won't mess with you," Aqua continued, softer. "It probably will. Might take time. Maybe therapy. But you're not alone in it, okay?"
"Damn straight," Pink added.
"We're family," Kitty said, nodding. "We always have your back."
A pause.
"…unless you steal my makeup again."
Javi sniffled. "It was one time—"
"It was three times."
"Okay but the shade suited me—"
"It suited my anger too—"
"Alright," Yone cut in, shaking his head with a faint smile. "Point is—we've got you."
Isaac leaned forward slightly. "I can bake you a carrot cake," he offered, voice warm and sincere. "That usually fixes most things."
Monarch nodded. "Or I can cook whatever you want. Just say the word."
Javi looked around.
At all of them.
The noise.
The warmth.
The love.
"…Thanks, everyone," he said, voice soft but full.
Then, after a beat—
"I think…" he sniffed, wiping his face, a small smile forming, "I just need Korean street food."
Immediate chaos.
"Say less!" August shot up. "I know all the good spots!"
"Of course you do," Leo muttered.
"Because I'm amazing," August shot back.
"You're a menace."
"I'm a cute menace."
And just like that—
The night became theirs again.
Not perfect.
Not untouched.
But still theirs.
And after everything?
Yeah.
They earned the hell out of it.