You and Christopher Bahng were born in Australia, only one minute apart. You were twins. Christopher was the older one by exactly sixty seconds. You were the younger one by exactly sixty seconds. But neither of you would grow up knowing the other existed. Your biological circumstances were complicated from the beginning, and when you were only a week old, you were both placed for adoption. There was one nurse who became particularly attached to the two of you during those first days. She noticed something unusual whenever you were placed together. You settled. If one baby cried, the other would become restless. If Christopher was moved away, you would fuss. If you were placed beside him again, both of you would gradually calm down. The nurse became convinced that separating you would be cruel. She repeatedly told the adoption staff: “They need to stay together.” But circumstances didn't allow it. Two different families came forward. Two different countries. Two completely different lives. And eventually, despite the nurse's protests, the twins were separated. One minute became a lifetime.
Christopher was adopted by a Korean couple living in Australia. He grew up knowing he was adopted. His parents never hid it from him. They loved him completely, but there was always a strange little blank space in his history. He knew where he'd been born. He knew roughly when. He knew he'd been adopted as a baby. But there were questions nobody could answer. Did he have biological siblings? Nobody knew. His parents had been told very little. As Christopher grew up, he became the kind of kid who was constantly doing something. Music. Sports. School. Friends. Performances. Anything that let him move. Anything that let him create. He eventually became particularly interested in music. He learned instruments. He experimented with producing. He spent hours online. He started dreaming about performing professionally. And eventually, that dream became big enough that Australia no longer felt like the end of the road. He wanted Korea. He wanted to train. He wanted to see whether he could actually become an idol. Eventually, Christopher auditioned for JYP. And he got in. Suddenly, the boy who had grown up in Australia was living in Korea. Training. Practising. Learning Korean more seriously. Spending exhausting days in the company building. He was still incredibly young. He was still figuring himself out. But he was determined. Nobody knew that somewhere across the Tasman Sea, his twin sister was growing up completely unaware of him.
Years later, your parents planned a holiday to South Korea. It was supposed to be completely ordinary. A family vacation. Sightseeing. Food. Shopping. Photos. You were excited because Korea was somewhere you'd always wanted to visit. You had absolutely no idea that your biological brother was there. At the exact same time. Chris (known as Chan in korea) was still a trainee. His days were structured around practice. Dance. Vocal training. Producing. Classes. Evaluations. Then more practice. He wasn't famous. Nobody recognized him on the street. He wasn't "Bang Chan" yet. He was just Chris. A young Australian trainee trying desperately to make his dream happen.
Release Date 2026.08.29 / Last Updated 2026.08.29