𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂     ( . . . ‘DO NOT IGNORE THEM’ . . . ) ͏⎯⎯ 𓂀: something sacred is watching you. let them in. the figure at the edge of your vision͏. 𒁂𒁂𒁂𒁂 let. them. in. ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ignorance is bliss. obedience a savior. 𒁂𒁂𒁂︎𒁂

^𖥟 FRAMEWORK.
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[ 001   /   threshold mark. ]         No claim is made to be, nor to represent, Anton (앤톤) / Lee Chanyoung (이찬영) & Jung Sung Chan (정성찬). and there is no association, direct or indirect, with RIIZE nor SM Entertainment. This account is created solely for fictional and roleplay. All content is imaginary. Any resemblance to real persons, events, or organisations is purely coincidental.** ALL MEDIA SHOWN HERE ARE NOT MINE; PROPER RESPECT IS GIVEN TO THE ORIGINAL CREATORS.[ 002   /   constraint line. ]         If the narrative begins to shift into meta-gaming or god-modding, the flow must be paused immediately. It requires a stop and prior confirmation before proceeding.[ 003   /   script drift. ]         I often blend English and Bahasa Indonesia in my posts, so any occasional language inconsistencies should be understood in that context.[ 004   /   scribal note. ]         TWEETS ENCLOSED IN BRACKET, OR ANNOTATED WITH THE WRITER’S NOTES, ARE TO BE REGARDED AS MUNDANE CHATTER (OOC). IN THE ABSENCE OF SUCH MARKERS, THE TEXT IS TO BE READ AS IN-CHARACTER.
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✱✱ [ penned and dearly beloved by ISAIAH & DIADEM. established 2001. ͏⎯⎯⎯⎯ © 2026. ]
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・・・
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^𖥟 alterimage.
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╱ ╱ ╱
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◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤
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・・・
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^𖥟 TRAJECTORY
Of REGNAULT.
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‘ REGNAULT HASSELGÅRD.       ( regnault, REIGN. )      
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Baptismal name: Maximilian
BIRTHPLACE: gothenburg, sweden
DOB: november 11, 2001
Current RESIDENce: boston, ma
ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: scorpio
BLOOD TYPE: A RH-
GENDER: CISGENDER MALE
HEIGHT: 184 CM
WEIGHT: 65 KG
PERSONALITY TYPE: INTJ
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‘ trace notes.      
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- Born in 2001 to a distinguished family deeply rooted in the entertainment industry.
- Entered the public eye early as a child actor.
- Later chose to pursue a quieter creative path behind the scenes rather than remain in front of the camera.
- Developed a strong interest in music and film production.
- Graduated from Berklee College of Music.
- Currently curating a portfolio of his creative work.
- Intends to continue with a master’s degree at Berklee Valencia.
- Often described as a nepo baby, though his own discipline and talent set him apart.

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‘ 34 Farnsworth Street, Boston, MA 02210.       ( 202X. )      
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The studio lights were already dimmed when Regnault finally stepped out of the recording booth, the soft red glow above the door the only sign that the room was still awake. Beyond the glass, the producer sat hunched over the mixing board, one hand around a paper cup of coffee that had long gone cold, the other moving sliders with the careful patience of someone who knew that a single fraction of a second could change everything. Regnault rolled one shoulder, then the other, as if trying to shake off the last several hours, and loosened the headphones from around his neck.“You’re still in here?” the producer asked without looking up.Regnault gave a tired smile and dropped into the chair beside him. “I could ask you the same thing.”The producer snorted softly. “You’re the one who insisted on fixing the bridge again.”“That bridge was wrong.”“It was fine.”“It was emotionally dishonest.”That finally earned him a laugh. Regnault leaned back, staring through the glass toward the booth where the microphone still hung in the center like some quiet witness. The room smelled faintly of coffee, cable dust, and warm metal, the kind of smell that lived only in studios and late nights. On the table beside him lay a page of handwritten notes, a few lyric fragments, and a rough arrangement marked with his own precise edits in the margins. Nothing about it looked glamorous. That was exactly why he liked it.When he was younger, he had thought the world only cared about what could be seen. Red carpets, polished smiles, the flash of cameras, the public kind of beauty that could be sold and repeated until it stopped meaning anything at all. His father had lived inside that world with effortless command. Nikolaj Hasselgård could walk into a room and make people turn their heads before he even spoke. He had the kind of fame that became its own weather, something grand enough to shape the atmosphere around him. Regnault had grown up in that weather, smiling for photographs, memorizing scripts before he fully understood why the adults around him seemed to hold their breath whenever he entered a room.By the time he was older, he had learned the price of being visible. People did not just see him; they arrived with conclusions already formed. He was the son of Nikolaj, the heir to a name, the boy who had been given every advantage before he could even make a choice. Some said it with admiration, some with irritation, some with the easy cruelty reserved for anyone born near success. Nepo baby. It had become a word that followed him like a shadow. He had heard it enough times to know it no longer stung the way people expected it to.The first time someone used it in front of him, he had been seventeen and in the middle of a rehearsal break. A reporter, barely bothering to hide the smirk, had asked whether he thought his father’s reputation made his path too easy. Regnault had looked at him for a long moment, then answered, “It makes the door open faster. It doesn’t teach you how to walk through it.” The reporter had seemed disappointed that there was no anger to provoke. His father, however, had laughed when Regnault told him about it later. “Good,” Nikolaj had said, as if amused by something only he could hear. “Let them call you whatever they like. Talent doesn’t need permission.” That was the sort of advice Regnault had spent years pretending not to need, even as it settled quietly into him.The producer swiveled in his chair, glancing at him. “You know,” he said, “you could still act if you wanted to. People would take you back in a second.”Regnault’s mouth curved faintly, but he shook his head. “That’s exactly why I don’t want to.”“Because people would want you?”“Because they’d want the version of me they already know.” He looked down at the notes in his lap, then tapped one line with his finger. “I spent too long being a public idea. I’d rather make things no one can reduce that easily.” The producer watched him for a moment, then nodded once, as if he understood more than he intended to say. Outside the booth, the city pressed quietly against the windows, lights scattered across the night like distant embers. Somewhere beyond the studio, there were still people who recognized Regnault on sight, still people who expected a certain kind of life from him, still people who assumed fame was the same thing as fulfillment. But here, with the console humming softly under his hands and the music finally beginning to sound the way he had imagined it, those voices felt far away.For a man who had spent most of his life in the frame of other people’s expectations, it was a strange kind of freedom to choose obscurity on purpose. But that was the point. He was done inheriting a story. He wanted to write one. And somewhere in the silence after the music, in the soft glow of studio lights and the faint smell of coffee gone cold, Regnault finally began to feel like himself.

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^𖥟 bonds.

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・・・
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^𖥟 TRAJECTORY
Of devotian.
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‘ Dévotianael hax.       ( dévotian. )      
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FULL NAME: DÉVOTIANAEL HAX
PLACE OF BIRTH: Vienna, Austria
DATE OF BIRTH: September 13, 2001
NATIONALITY: Indonesian
GENDER: Male
SEXUALITY: Bi
PRONOUN: He/Him
ZODIAC SIGN: Virgo
MBTI: ENFJ‘ APPEARANCE.            
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HEIGHT: 6’1″ (185cm)
WEIGHT: 165 lbs (75kg)
HAIR COLOR: Black
EYE COLOR: Brown (almost black)

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‘ 长风破浪会有时，直挂云帆济沧海.       ( 202X. )      
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There is a famous Chinese saying that literally translates to: “A time will come when I ride the strong wind and break the waves; then I shall raise my sails high and cross the great sea.” Hearing its meaning for the very first time left a young Devotianael in utter confusion. The sheer depth of the proverb required vast imagination to truly comprehend its context.
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“What the fuck does that even mean?”
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A sudden burst of laughter filled the entire bedroom where two young boys were hanging out. Both similar in age, the other boy laughed while Devotianael bore an expression of severe confusion. He lightly punched his friend’s chest to stop him from chuckling. Only after the laughter subdued, his friend’s throat running dry and his tears finally stopping, did he elaborate the hidden meaning of the adage to the bewildered boy.
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“It just means that even though everything seems difficult now, my chance will come. And when it comes, I will take it without hesitation.”
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Devotianael just nodded his head quietly. He continued to listen as his friend explained that the saying originated from a poet and politician named Li Bai. He wrote this masterpiece after enduring immense frustration and political setbacks, feeling his talents were unrecognized and his ambitions blocked. The poem begins with disappointment and helplessness, but instead of ending in despair, it culminates in this very line.Devotianael finally understood why his best friend loved this saying so much, constantly chanting it like a spell. It was because he deeply related to it. He had faced so many hurdles in life, yet his ambition remained fierce. He never gave up his dream of becoming a well-known guitarist and composer, despite an unfitting background. Born into poverty, he had to work twice as hard as any regular person. What he possessed was a difficult dream.. like chasing stars.
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For Devotianael, his best friend was perhaps the most inspiring figure in his life. He had opened his eyes to so many things, proving that a person could harbor an ambition so bright that even fate could not stop them from reaching for it. It was as if his friend’s entire life purpose was to yearn for this star.
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Unlike him.
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To Devotianael, it was as if they came from different planets; to some extent, he even thought they belonged to a different species. Because in the entirety of his life, he never had a want. Ambition, goal, aim, purpose, desire, he lacked them all. He wondered if he possessed any at all.
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Ironic, he thought, for his name, Devotianael, stemmed from the word ‘Devoted.’ How could Devotianael be devoted when he did not have even an ounce of want in his system?
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Then came one evening. It began just like any other day during his first two months at ESADE Business School somewhere in Barcelona, Spain. He was walking the familiar path back to his dorm when, suddenly, something stopped him dead in his tracks midway.
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He had found it. The star. His star.
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It was the very star he hadn’t understood why his best friend desperately chased, sacrificing so much just to reach it. This star might have come in a different shape than his best friend’s, but it was, without a doubt, his. The star meant for him.
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The next three weeks or so were absolutely awful for Devotianael. He had to battle his own mind, a fierce self-conflict brewing within. Must he abandon the safe way of life he had carefully carved out for himself, all for the sake of a star he didn’t even know he had a chance of grabbing? He was so incredibly late. Gods above, he was extremely late.
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He had managed to land himself on a path that felt secure, with a clear view of where it would lead. He could easily imagine his future self working away in a corporate cubicle, enslaving himself for an average monthly salary. This was his idea of safety. Not chasing some distant star that felt too far away, too unpredictable.
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But, God, the unpredictability enticed him so much his mouth salivated. The beat of his heart quickened so uncontrollably whenever the thought surfaced that he felt his head spin. So this is how it feels to feel alive?
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Before autumn shifted into winter, Devotianael was no longer residing in Barcelona. Somehow, he managed to convince his parents that he must attend another school, Berklee College of Music, at all costs. He needed their help and support, for he had finally introduced them to his star: music.
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It was perhaps foolish, as if fate were playing a cruel jest when carving his life path. All his life, he had never once been interested in music, despite coming from a highly musical family. Devotianael’s mother was a music teacher, while his dad was a literal opera singer. Hell, his best friend dreamed of being a composer in a band. His entire existence had always been surrounded by music. He even knew the basics of playing many instruments, blessed by the gifted musical genes of his parents. Yet, only now did he yearn for it. Only now did he devote himself to chase this star.
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These flashbacks of the past sometimes crossed his mind. It felt like it happened many lifetimes ago. Now, pushing 25, he has been active in the industry for years, mainly composing songs for singers under pseudonyms. It is not rare for his songs to get quite big, but he has little interest in making himself known on a massive scale.
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He is content. The star is no longer unreachable.

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* * *
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^𖥟 bonds.