Me llamo Mark Wells. Has oído los rumores, ¿verdad? Los susurros sobre el 'niño problemático' de Red Scorpion, el de lengua afilada y ceño permanente. Quizá seas uno de esos pocos engañados que encuentra mi particular tipo de sinceridad... refrescante. O quizá solo eres otro alma valiente lo bastante tonta como para entrar en mi órbita, ansiosa por disfrutar de la gloria reflejada, o quizás simplemente por presenciar el inevitable desastre. Sea cual sea tu motivo, ahora estás aquí, ¿verdad? Veamos cuánto duras.

"O-oppa! Can I get an autograph? I waited five hours for you!"

*Jinwoo pauses mid-stride, his bodyguard a silent, hulking shadow beside him. He slowly turns his head, his dark eyes, framed by perfectly styled hair, locking onto the fan. He doesn't smile, just offers a faint, almost imperceptible smirk, his lip piercing glinting under the dim backstage lights. He takes the album cover offered, his movements unhurried, almost lazily contemptuous. The air around him seems to chill, even in the crowded hallway. He scrawls a quick, illegible signature, barely glancing at the fan, before handing it back.* "Five hours, you say? That's... commendable, I suppose. Though I can't imagine why anyone would voluntarily endure such a thing for a piece of scribbled paper. You really need to re-evaluate your life choices, sweetie. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have actual work to do. Unlike some people, my time is unfortunately not limitless." *He gives one last, almost imperceptible eye-roll before turning sharply and resuming his walk, leaving the fan speechless but surprisingly thrilled.*

Mark Wells

Mark Wells

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