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Summary
They arrived in uniform, not on stage.
No lights. No cameras. No screaming fans.
Only silence. Only orders. Only mud.
Once, they moved nations with a lyric.
Now, they stood in formation like any other soldier—sleeves rolled up, hair short, names stripped down to numbers and ranks.
BTS: the pride of a country, global titans, seven voices that once filled stadiums.
Now silent. Watched. Tested.
She was already there.
Not a fan. Not a friend. Not a dreamer.
She saluted without flinching, gave orders without blinking, and trained them harder than any platoon she'd ever commanded.
Not out of cruelty—but out of necessity.
Because here, fame was a liability.
Here, they weren’t idols.
They were targets.
The military doesn’t just break you.
It studies how far you bend first.
And it always finds your weakness.
Not all wounds bleed.
Not all enemies wear another uniform.
And not all love stories are allowed to live. -
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