After the encounter, Kain and Jason quietly took charge, signaling for the rest of the Narrow squad to move in. Without saying much, they helped Valerie to her feet with careful hands, their movements gentle and protective, aware of how fragile she still was. Someone opened the van door, and Valerie was guided inside, wrapped in silence and exhaustion, her head turned away as if the night itself had taken everything she had left to give. The door slid shut with a soft but final thud.
From the pavement across the street, Jiyoo stood motionless, watching as the van’s engine started and the headlights cut through the darkness. He didn’t chase it. He didn’t call out. He simply watched as it pulled away, carrying Valerie farther from him with every passing second. The distance between them felt heavier than any words he could have spoken. Behind him, the K-East members stood in uneasy silence, witnessing the moment unfold—no one stepping forward, no one interrupting.
As the van disappeared down the road, Jiyoo remained where he was, shoulders tense, eyes fixed on the empty street, fully realizing that this time, letting her go was the consequence he had no choice but to accept.
The controversy surrounding The Echoes erupted after the fandom trended online for being labeled “toxic” across multiple social media platforms. What began as scattered callouts quickly escalated into a widespread debate, with hashtags both condemning and defending the fandom dominating timelines. Critics accused certain Echoes of consistently attacking other K-pop groups, hijacking unrelated posts, and spreading hate under the guise of “defending their idols.” One viral post read, “Supporting your faves doesn’t mean tearing everyone else down. The Echoes need to be held accountable.” Screenshots of past comments and fanwars resurfaced, intensifying the backlash and framing the issue as a pattern of behavior rather than isolated incidents.
In response, many Echoes pushed back strongly, arguing that the fandom was being unfairly generalized. Defenders emphasized that every large fandom has bad actors and that it was unjust to label millions of fans based on the actions of a vocal minority. “Why is it always our fandom that gets blamed?” one user wrote. “We’re reacting because other fandoms provoke us first.” Another echoed this sentiment, saying, “People ignore the hate we receive, but the moment we clap back, we’re ‘toxic.’ That double standard is exhausting.” These voices framed the situation as defensive rather than aggressive, insisting that Echoes were being scapegoated due to the group’s popularity.
On the other side, critics maintained that accountability was still necessary, regardless of size or provocation. They argued that calling out harmful behavior was not an attack on the fandom as a whole, but a demand for self-regulation.
“No one is saying every Echo is toxic,” one post clarified.
“We’re saying the fandom needs to stop enabling hate and silence those who cross the line.”
Others pointed out how dismissing criticism as “antis behavior” only fueled the problem, allowing harassment to continue unchecked.
“If you really love your group,” another user wrote, “you’d want the fandom to be better, not louder.”
As the discussion continued to trend, the situation revealed a deeper divide within fan culture itself—between loyalty and accountability. While some Echoes began calling for internal reflection and moderation, others doubled down on their defensive stance. The debate ultimately shifted from just one fandom to a broader conversation about how K-pop communities handle power, popularity, and responsibility online. Whether the controversy leads to meaningful change or fades into another chapter of fan war history remains uncertain, but the discourse made one thing clear: fandom behavior is no longer just background noise—it’s part of the narrative, and people are paying attention.
The reason why the Echoes have been receiving an overwhelming amount of hate online goes beyond a single incident—it’s the result of accumulated behavior, visibility, and unresolved fandom tensions that finally reached a boiling point.
First, many critics point to a pattern of aggressive fan behavior rather than isolated mistakes. Over time, Echoes have been accused of repeatedly inserting themselves into conversations that have nothing to do with their group, especially posts celebrating other K-pop artists. Screenshots circulated showing Echoes replying with dismissive comments like, “Your faves could never,” or “Come back when you have real achievements.” These comments, when repeated across platforms, created the perception that the fandom thrives on comparison and provocation. As one user put it, “It’s not one tweet. It’s hundreds, over months. That’s why people are fed up.”
Second, the fandom’s size and online dominance amplified the backlash. Because The Echoes are highly active and well-organized, even a small group acting maliciously can overwhelm other fandoms. Critics argued that Echoes often mass-reply, ratio, or report posts, making others feel silenced or bullied.
“One Echo quote-tweet can summon thousands,” a user wrote. “It feels like intimidation, not discussion.”
This power imbalance made smaller fandoms feel targeted, turning frustration into collective resentment.
Another major factor was the fandom’s defensive response to criticism. When concerns were raised, many Echoes immediately framed the backlash as jealousy or anti behavior, rather than addressing the issue itself.
Posts saying, “They hate us because we’re successful,” or “This is just another smear campaign,” circulated widely. Critics interpreted this as avoidance of accountability. “You can’t keep hiding behind ‘antis’ every time someone calls out harassment,” one user commented. This refusal—real or perceived—to self-reflect further escalated tensions.
Additionally, Echoes were accused of weaponizing sensitive topics during fanwars. Some screenshots showed fans using mental health struggles, personal scandals, or mistranslated statements of idols from other groups as ammunition. This crossed a line for many observers. “Fanwars should never involve dragging idols’ trauma,” a viral tweet stated. “That’s when it stopped being petty and started being harmful.” Even neutral onlookers began distancing themselves from the fandom because of this behavior.
Finally, there was growing frustration over the idea that no one within the fandom was speaking up. While many Echoes are peaceful fans, critics claimed that harmful voices were rarely challenged internally. “Silence is endorsement,” one post argued. “If you don’t call out your own, the rest of us will.” This perception—fair or not—cemented the narrative that the fandom tolerated toxicity, which in turn attracted even more scrutiny and hostility.
In essence, The Echoes are getting a ton of hate not simply because they are disliked, but because they have become a symbol of a broader problem in K-pop fandom culture: unchecked power, defensive loyalty, and blurred lines between support and harassment. The backlash reflects less about one fandom alone and more about how online communities are increasingly demanding accountability—no matter how big or influential the group behind them may be.
The truth behind Si-woo’s rise was far darker than anyone had imagined. Hidden behind polished boardrooms and public smiles was a covert operation designed to control not just markets, but people.
Si-woo’s secret spy was Kim Ryung, code-named “Hawk,” a man who moved quietly between corporations, gathering intelligence and manipulating outcomes without ever drawing suspicion. To the public, Ryung was merely a trusted executive. Behind closed doors, he was Hawk—feeding Si-woo every weakness, every private detail, every leverage point.
The most devastating revelation, however, was Hawk’s accomplice: Joon-woo’s own father, Mr. Kim Namsun. A respected businessman, Namsun had long presented himself as a devoted parent and visionary leader. In reality, he had struck a deal with Si-woo—one built on greed and control. The two older men compromised their morals in exchange for wealth, influence, and the promise of fame for their respective companies. At the center of that deal was Joon-woo himself.
“He’s young. He’s talented. He’ll listen,” Namsun said calmly during one private meeting, his voice steady despite the weight of his words.
Si-woo leaned back, fingers steepled. “Then he’s the perfect asset.”
From that moment on, Joon-woo’s life was no longer his own. Decisions were made for him, opportunities carefully curated, and mistakes quietly erased—so long as he remained obedient. Hawk ensured compliance, monitoring Joon-woo’s movements and relationships, subtly steering him away from anything that threatened the arrangement. Fame became a cage disguised as success, and wealth the chain that kept him bound.
“You don’t need to know everything,” Namsun told his son once, when questions began to surface. “Just trust me. This is for your future.”
But it wasn’t. It was for the future of two empires built on exploitation.
As the truth unraveled, it became clear that Si-woo and Mr. Kim Namsun had not merely done business together, they had weaponized family, loyalty, and ambition. Hawk was only the messenger. The real betrayal came from the men who were supposed to protect, choosing control over conscience and profit over their own children.
And in the end, the question was no longer who was spying, but who would finally break free.
Even before, Chul Duri and Ryung were assigned to track down Valerie, leading to a tense mountain and highway chase. During the pursuit, Chul Duri attempted to attack the mysterious girl on the motorcycle but failed and was killed by the henchmen in the process. With Chul Duri gone, Ryung was left solely responsible for continuing the hunt, highlighting both the danger of Valerie’s skills and the high stakes of the mission.
Other than that, back in her apartment, Valerie slowly opened her eyes, still groggy from sleep. She blinked a few times before realizing Sally was sitting quietly in a chair beside her bed, looking tense and uneasy.
Valerie rubbed her temples, her voice heavy with exhaustion. “I’m just tired… I’ve remained silent for too long…”
Sally shifted in her seat, guilt evident in her expression. “Valerie… I… I’m sorry. I should have spoken up sooner. I didn’t mean to keep you in the dark.”
Valerie’s eyes softened slightly, though her voice remained quiet. “It’s not just about what you didn’t say… It’s about everything I had to face alone. Do you understand?”
Sally nodded quickly, leaning forward. “I do. I… I promise I’ll make it right this time. I’ll stand by you.”
Valerie let out a long, weary sigh, the weight of her silence and the recent chaos still pressing on her. “I hope you mean that, Sally. I can’t handle any more betrayals.”
The room fell silent for a moment, the tension hanging in the air, but also a fragile sense of reconciliation beginning to form between them.
“I’m just tired… I’ve remained silent for too long,” Valerie stated, her voice low but steady, before continuing.
“To be loved or not to be loved by the world is something I wouldn’t have any trouble with. But to be loved by Him—that is something I take into heart. Everyone says they deserve better, but the truth is… I don’t think we do. We just don’t want to feel bad about ourselves. We want to live, not just survive…”
Sally didn’t know how to respond to Valerie’s words. The weight behind them was almost too much to bear, and no simple answer seemed adequate. After a pause, she chose the only thing she could offer: empathy.
“I… I hear you, Valerie,” Sally said softly, her voice gentle but sincere. “I may not fully understand everything you’ve gone through, but I want you to know I’m here. I’ll try… to feel it with you, as much as I can.”
Valerie gave a faint nod, a quiet acknowledgment of the effort, the fragile thread of trust between them stretching taut but unbroken.
Meanwhile, in a dimly lit room filled with monitors and files, the Narrow Squad gathered to discuss their next moves.
Sunghoon leaned over the table, pointing at a list of agencies and management executives. “The world sees the glamour, the performances, the awards… but nobody sees the mess behind the curtain. The hidden deals, the manipulation, the pressure—they’re all real.”
Kain nodded grimly. “Exactly. We’re not just exposing scandals for attention. Every artist we help is someone who’s been silenced, forced into a system that treats them like tools instead of people.”
Jason, tapping on his laptop, added, “It’s more than just revealing dirt. We need to hold the industry accountable. If we don’t, no one else will.”
Luke looked around at the team, his eyes fierce with determination. “We’re doing this for them—for the groups and idols who can’t fight back. One lie we uncover, one secret we expose… that’s one step toward justice. We aren’t doing this for fame. We’re doing it because it’s the right thing to do.”
Another member, quietly observing, finally spoke up. “It’s risky. But if no one speaks up, nothing will ever change. We have to be the voice they never had.”
The squad nodded in unison, their resolve solidified. In a world full of glitter and stage lights, The Narrow Squad had chosen to fight for the shadows, for the truths that the public wasn’t ready to see—but desperately needed to know.
Four hours after Sally left, the quiet in Valerie’s apartment felt heavier than before. Valerie was still replaying their conversation in her head when a soft knock echoed through the hallway. She hadn’t been expecting anyone.
Cautiously, she opened the door and found a girl she vaguely recognized standing there—Rowan—holding a small gift bag and a neatly wrapped box. Rowan smiled gently, a little nervous but sincere. “Hi… Valerie, right?” she asked. “I hope I’m not disturbing you. I just wanted to stop by.”
Valerie blinked in surprise, her hand still on the doorframe. “Uh—yes. You’re Rowan?” she replied, confused but polite.
Rowan nodded and extended the gifts toward her. “I brought these for you. It’s nothing big, just… something I thought you might like.”
Valerie hesitated before taking them, her brows knitting together. “You didn’t have to do this,” she said softly. “I mean… we don’t really know each other. Why are you being so nice to me?”
Rowan shifted her weight, clearly expecting the question. She let out a small breath and met Valerie’s eyes. “I know it probably seems strange,” she said, her voice calm but honest. “But I’ve seen what you’ve been through. You didn’t deserve it. I just thought… maybe you could use someone showing up for you, even if it’s unexpected.”
Valerie looked down at the gifts in her hands, emotions stirring—confusion, gratitude, and caution all at once. “I don’t understand your intentions,” she admitted quietly, “but… thank you.”
Rowan smiled again, softer this time. “That’s all I wanted,” she said. “No pressure. Just wanted you to know you’re not alone.” She then lingered by the doorway for a moment, as if debating whether to say more. Then she cleared her throat lightly. “Um… Valerie,” she began, rubbing the strap of her bag between her fingers, “I was wondering—if you’re free today, would you want to go out and hang around for a bit? Nothing serious. Just a day to get your mind off things.” Her tone was careful, almost afraid of overstepping.
Valerie looked up at her, surprised by the invitation. She hadn’t planned on going anywhere, and part of her instinct was to retreat back into her quiet, familiar space. Still, something about Rowan’s openness felt genuine.
After a short pause, she exhaled and nodded. “Yeah,” she said, a small smile forming. “I think… that might be nice. I could use a distraction.”
Rowan’s face immediately brightened. “Really? Great,” she replied warmly. “Then let’s make it a good day.”
As they stepped out together, Valerie felt a subtle shift inside her—uncertain, but hopeful that saying yes might be the start of something different.
Rowan and Valerie spent the afternoon drifting through the city together, eventually settling on a movie to watch. Inside the dim theater, they shared popcorn and quiet comments, laughing softly at the same scenes and exchanging glances whenever something unexpectedly emotional appeared on screen.
For a few hours, Valerie felt lighter as she was removed from the weight she had been carrying.
“I’m glad you came with me,” Rowan whispered as the credits rolled. Valerie nodded, smiling faintly. “Me too. I didn’t think I’d enjoy today this much.”
As evening fell, they went to a late dine-in restaurant, sitting across from each other in a booth lit by warm, amber lights. They talked about simple things—music, favorite foods, places they wanted to see someday.
“You’re different from what I imagined,” Valerie admitted, stirring her drink.
Rowan chuckled. “In a good way, I hope.”
Valerie smiled. “In a good way.” When they finally parted ways outside the restaurant, there was an unspoken sense of comfort between them.
“Text me when you get home,” Rowan said.
“I will,” Valerie replied.
Later that night, Valerie arrived at her apartment building, tired but content. She unlocked her door and stepped inside, unaware of the quiet presence watching from across the street. Behind a cluster of trees, a figure stood still, phone raised, its camera pointed directly at her. The red recording light blinked faintly in the dark as Valerie disappeared into her home—completely unaware that someone had been filming her every move. 21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAfQHyDgLLm
and then Add to home screen.