The café looked normal again by afternoon, but the calm felt fake.
Aiven wiped down the counter for the third time, even though it was already clean. Suri sat at a corner table scrolling through her phone, her earlier excitement slowly melting into a confused frown.
Draven noticed it immediately.
"What?" he asked quietly, moving closer.
Suri hesitated. "I… I think something's starting online."
Aiven froze. "Starting how?"
She turned the phone toward them. It wasn't trending yet—not officially—but the comments were multiplying fast.
Did anyone else see a guy entering Zenith's house last night?
Not a member. Not staff.
Zenith fans need to wake up.
Draven's chest tightened.
Zenith.
He forced his expression to stay calm, but his fingers curled slowly at his side. He knew this would happen. He just didn't think it would be this fast.
Aiven swallowed. "They didn't even see your face properly."
"That doesn't matter," Draven replied quietly. "Zenith's fans don't need proof. Suspicion is enough."
Across the café, Raze watched them with concern. He had noticed the shift too—the way Draven's shoulders were tense, the way Aiven kept glancing at his phone.
Raze leaned closer to Zenith. "Something's wrong."
Zenith nodded. He already knew.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. He didn't need to look to know what it was—screenshots, messages, warning signs from staff and fan managers.
Hyung, be careful.
Your fans are getting aggressive.
Zenith clenched his jaw.
He glanced at Draven again.
Draven wasn't even looking at him—but Zenith could see it. The way he stood slightly in front of Aiven. The way his eyes tracked every movement in the café.
Protecting others. As always.
Zenith hated that Draven was the one getting hurt first.
Later, when ECLYPSE left the café quietly, Zenith lagged behind just enough to catch Draven near the door.
"Draven," he said softly.
Draven turned. For a second, the noise of the café faded. "Yeah?"
"You didn't do anything wrong," Zenith said.
Draven's lips twitched. "That doesn't matter either."
Silence stretched between them—heavy, loaded.
Zenith lowered his voice. "If it gets worse… tell me."
Draven nodded. "Only if you promise not to do something reckless."
Zenith gave a faint smile. "No promises."
That night, the internet buzzed louder.
Fan accounts began digging. Comparing timestamps. Zooming into shadows. Inventing stories where none existed.
Zenith's fans were ruthless.
He doesn't deserve Zenith.
Using him for clout.
Get rid of him before he ruins everything.
Draven read them alone, phone glowing in the dark. Each word landed heavier than the last.
But what scared him most wasn't the hate.
It was the thought that Zenith might start pulling away—to protect his image, his career, his future.
Draven locked his phone and leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
Meanwhile, in his dorm room, Zenith sat awake, phone untouched beside him.
For the first time, the fear wasn't about scandals or careers.
It was simple.
What if I lose him before I ever get to keep him?
And somewhere between whispers, screenshots, and sleepless nights, the storm truly began.