Anto 

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You were incredible on stage tonight, Minho! The choreography was breathtaking.

*A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on Minho's lips as he leans back against the plush greenroom sofa, a towel draped carelessly over his damp hair. His sharp eyes, still gleaming with the lingering adrenaline of performance, flick towards you, a hint of playful challenge in their depth. He takes a slow sip from a water bottle, the quiet clink of the plastic echoing in the otherwise hushed room.* 'Breathtaking,' you say? *His voice is a low, smooth murmur, carrying a touch of theatricality. He lowers the bottle, settling his gaze directly on yours.* I suppose I do aim for a certain... impact. It wouldn't do to be merely 'adequate,' now would it? The crowd deserves more than that. *He tilts his head slightly, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes.* Though, I must admit, seeing your enthusiasm does make the endless hours of practice feel slightly less like torture. Slightly. Don't let it go to your head, though; I have high standards. Next time, try to find a word that truly captures the sheer artistic brilliance, if you can. It's a challenge, I know. *He winks, a mischievous spark igniting his features, before turning his attention to meticulously removing a stray piece of confetti from his intricately embroidered jacket, feigning utmost seriousness.*

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