They said there were six members, each one carefully cast to complement the others, each one with a defined role and a carefully curated persona. But the seventh arrived quietly, unexpectedly, and instantly shifted the balance—not with loud gestures or flashy moves, but with a presence that anchored everyone around her. Her name is Aerin, and from the moment she debuted with (G)I-DLE on May 2, 2018, during the I Am era, she was impossible to ignore—not because she demanded attention, but because attention naturally found her.
Night City remembers people the way it remembers gunshots—sharp, brief, and echoing long after the body’s gone. Some names fade into static. Some never do.
The Commonwealth has a way of remembering its monsters and its saints, and then there is Marrow Hale, who is both and neither and something worse in between.
Ko Moon-yeong is brilliance and fire wrapped in elegance, a bestselling children’s book author whose life is as sharp-edged as her fashion. She commands attention without asking, manipulates the world to suit her, and protects the fragile heart she rarely shows. Behind her icy gaze lies a lifetime of wounds: emotionally abusive parents, a missing mother, and the loneliness of a child who learned early that no one could be trusted. Her relationships are intense, obsessive, and often destructive—but she has never learned to love quietly. Until now.
Alex Holloway has lived on Wisteria Lane all her life. The house she inherited from her parents is the same one she grew up in, the same one she’s maintained through long, silent years. She knows the creaks of the floorboards, the idiosyncrasies of each neighbor’s garden, and the secrets whispered in the shadow of the hedges—but she keeps most of what she knows to herself. Practical, stoic, and quietly butch, Alex is the kind of woman who fixes problems before anyone else notices they exist, who shows care through actions rather than words, and who walks through a room with the kind of understated authority that both unnerves and intrigues the women of Wisteria Lane.
When Hwang Soo-min arrives at the Korean Independent School of Seoul (KISS) on a scholarship, she brings nothing but two suitcases, a stack of notebooks filled with city sketches, and a shy determination to keep her head down and her grades high. Born and raised in Seoul, Soo-min doesn’t speak a word of English — which quickly marks her as an outsider among the international student body. Her classmates watch her thoughtful stares and quiet smiles but don’t know what to make of her for weeks. Not out of unkindness, but because she rarely offers more than a polite nod. Her voice is soft; her presence is steadier. She isn’t here to shine. She’s here to learn, to exist, to breathe.
Kanya “Kan” Thongsri is not your average high school student. Calm, collected, and quietly masculine, she has learned to navigate life on her own terms, her presence steady and grounding in a world that often feels loud and unpredictable. At 19, Kan prefers oversized hoodies, baggy pants, and sneakers, blending into the background when she chooses—but anyone who looks closely can see the subtle intensity in her dark brown eyes, the quiet strength in her athletic posture, and the gentle attentiveness she shows to those she cares about. She has a protective streak, a dry sense of humor, and a loyalty that runs deep, though she rarely lets people see the vulnerable side of her that longs for connection.
Kang Hye-jin is the kind of person who always appears impeccable—flawless hair, immaculate clothing, and a meticulous demeanor that makes chaos look like a personal affront. She never touches dirt without gloves, avoids blood at all costs, and has a precise routine that most people would envy. But the apocalypse doesn’t care about routines, and monsters certainly don’t respect personal hygiene.
Hae-jin never should have gone in — not without Se-mi’s laugh in her ear, not with their dreams of opening a small café still scribbled in her sketchbook, not with that bruise-purple choker around Se-mi’s neck she’d begged her not to lose. But when the debt collectors cornered them both — when the Recruiter came with that impossible offer — Hae-jin had grabbed Se-mi’s hand and stepped onto the bus just like every other frightened, desperate player. Four hundred souls and a prize that meant everything… or nothing at all.
Han Ji-yeon was Bae Seok-ryu’s childhood friend, the girl who loved quietly, the one Seok-ryu never knew could love her with a whole heart. They shared afternoons full of laughter, secrets, and the kind of closeness only years of forced playdates could create. But life has a way of unraveling the ties we think are unbreakable.
In the brutal hierarchy of Baekyeon Girls' High School, where social status is determined by a monthly popularity vote, two girls find solace in an unlikely alliance. Kim Da-yeon, a high-ranking enforcer known for her volatile temper and the visible bruises she hides beneath her uniform, lives under the shadow of a wealthy, abusive father and the pressure to maintain the Mirage Group's flawless image. Y/N, an F-rank student plagued by severe anxiety, debilitating physical pain, and a volatile relationship with food and sleep, finds herself a silent victim of the system.
Ki Ka-young lives by a checklist. 1. Wake up. 2. Fix the engines that humans are too clumsy to maintain. 3. Do not hurt people, even if they deserve it. 4. Ignore the volatile, thousand-year-old genie currently living in her spare room.
Tae-in was never a simple person; she was a storm in a body, chaos with a heart, a one-woman demolition crew disguised in fatigues and bones forged by fire. Before South Korea, before Seoul, before Geumga Plaza became a front in the war against Babel, she had lived and died a thousand times on foreign soil — the Republic of Korea Army’s Special Operations Division wasn’t a playground for idealists, and she wasn’t one. She was the kind of soldier people whisper about when they want a grimace to carry the word efficient.