Irene Claims Ji-hoon's Ultimate Spotlight

The stadium pulsed with life, a sea of red and white banners waving like an ocean in storm. The sharp tang of spilled beer and hot dogs mingled with the earthy musk of trampled grass carried on the breeze, every sense overwhelmed by the raw energy of the crowd. Halftime had just hit, and the crowd's roar still echoed off the concrete walls, vibrating through my chest like a second heartbeat, but my world narrowed to her—Irené Kwon, with that infectious smile lighting up the chaos. Her laughter cut through the noise, bright and unfiltered, drawing my gaze no matter where she moved. She was everywhere tonight, her auburn hair tied in that half-up bow knot that made her look both playful and untouchable, strands catching the floodlights in fiery glints, her athletic slim frame bouncing with energy as she cheered from the front rows, legs flexing with each jump, skirt flaring just enough to tease. I'd known her for weeks now, stolen moments in quieter places—coffee shops where her fingers brushed mine over steaming mugs, parks where her cheerful stories made time dissolve—but here, amid the championship frenzy, something felt different, electric, like the air before lightning strikes. My mind flickered to those rumors, the gnawing doubt of rival players circling her, but I pushed it down, focusing on the curve of her smile meant only for me. Her dark brown eyes caught mine across the barrier, holding just a beat too long, that cheerful spark turning into something hotter, more daring, a silent promise that made my skin prickle with heat. My heart hammered harder than the drums from the field, each thud echoing my rising pulse, sweat beading on my neck despite the cool evening air. She mouthed something I couldn't hear over the din—'Tunnel?'—and tilted her...