Minjun spent the rest of the morning drifting through the city, his phone clutched like a lifeline that wouldn't ring. The streets blurred — neon signs fading into crowded buses, convenience stores, subway platforms full of people with their own secrets and betrayals.
When the sky turned white with late morning sun, he found himself standing in front of the Starline building. Glass and steel. So tall it felt like it pressed the sky down just to keep boys like him trapped inside.
He stared at the revolving door. A week ago, this place felt like salvation. Now, it looked like a cage.
The receptionist recognized him, bowing politely. Rooftop Boy, they probably whispered behind his back. The solo genius. The one who'd ditch anyone to climb higher.
Minjun forced a smile, his throat dry. "Is Seojin here?"
"He's expecting you," she said, and that chilled him more than it should have.
Seojin's office was on the top floor — all glass walls, black marble floors, awards lined up like trophies in a hunter's den. Seojin sat behind his desk, perfectly pressed suit, gold watch catching the sunlight. His smile was as sharp as always.
"Minjun." He gestured at the seat across from him. "Rooftop Boy comes home. Fresh off your big showcase. Congratulations, by the way — the scouts loved you."
Minjun didn't sit. He stood there, fists clenched at his sides. "I'm done."
Seojin raised a brow, then chuckled. "Done? Done with what? You just stepped onto the path you begged for."
Minjun's jaw tightened. "I'm not doing it without Jiwoo."
A flash of annoyance cracked Seojin's smooth expression. He leaned back, folding his hands. "You're not here to cling to gutter kids who can't keep up. You're here to be a star."
"He is my star." Minjun's voice broke on the words, but he didn't care. "The songs, the dream — they're his too. I won't do this alone."
Seojin's smile turned cold. "You think the company needs your permission? You signed the contract. We own the music. We own the brand. We own you."
The words hit Minjun like ice water. He knew it was true — the clauses he'd signed without reading twice, blinded by the promise of neon lights and roaring crowds.
He pictured Jiwoo's face when he found out Minjun had signed alone — the betrayal, the disbelief. He'd done this. He'd put the chains on his own wrists.
But for the first time since that night, Minjun felt the fire he'd almost forgotten — the one that made him climb rooftops in the rain with nothing but a guitar and a promise.
"I don't care," he said, voice trembling but steady. "I'll break it. I'll break all of it."
Seojin stood now too, voice smooth like poison. "And do what? Walk away? We'll bury you so deep no other label will touch you. You'll never stand on a stage again."
"Then I'll build my own," Minjun snapped. "I'd rather sing to an empty street with Jiwoo than stand on your stage alone."
Seojin laughed, low and sharp. "Romantic. Naive. I gave you everything, Minjun. Fame. A future."
"You gave me a prison," Minjun shot back.
They stared at each other — predator and prey — until Minjun turned, storming past the glass doors before his courage could crack.
Downstairs, he stepped into the blinding daylight. He half expected Seojin's voice to call him back, to offer another poisoned deal, but there was only silence.
Minjun pulled out his phone. The last message from Jiwoo sat there — Don't come looking for me.
Minjun typed: I broke it. I'm free. Please — just tell me where you are.
He hit send. No hesitation this time.
For the first time in weeks, the city felt wide open — full of side streets and rooftops and hidden corners where broken dreams could be stitched back together.
Minjun breathed in the humid summer air. The weight on his chest eased. For once, the dream didn't feel like a chain — it felt like his again.
And maybe, just maybe, he thought, it could be Jiwoo's too.