17: Chapter 17 Popping Candy

The forum post appeared in the early hours of the fourth day.

On the Never Forum, Korean Entertainment section, the title was just a single line: "Every photo on this account feels like peeking into someone's diary." The poster's ID was a string of garbled characters, the avatar was blank, and the registration date was that same day. It was likely a new account registered specifically for this post, created by someone who didn't want to be recognized. The content of the post wasn't long, but every sentence was like a scalpel, precisely dissecting the meaning behind every photo and caption on that account.

“그녀는 내가 그녀를 보고 있다는 것을 모른다.” — She doesn't know I'm watching her. When this sentence first appeared, I thought it was just random writing. But after scrolling through over a dozen posts, I realized every photo repeated the same perspective. It wasn't "I" looking at the camera; it was the camera looking at "her." "She" is eating, "she" is walking, "she" is laughing, "she" is looking elsewhere. "She" doesn't know someone is taking her photo. "She" doesn't know someone is watching her.

That sense of voyeurism wasn't perverted; it was gentle. It wasn't the kind of peeking from the shadows, but rather a quiet gaze from a short distance—not wanting to disturb, just watching. The post's clicks exceeded fifty thousand within the first hour of publication. In the comments section, someone posted a link to Karina's Instagram account, someone screenshotted those photos and reposted them one by one, and others were analyzing the emotions hidden in every caption. More people were asking the same question: "Who is the owner of that account? Who are the three girls in the photos?"

The answer was like a stone thrown into a lake, ripples spreading out in circle after circle, further and further.

Karina's Instagram follower count began to grow at an almost uncontrollable speed as the post fermented. It took less than a day to go from over thirty thousand to forty thousand. From forty to fifty thousand took half a day. From fifty to sixty thousand took only one night. Every time the page was refreshed, the number jumped by dozens. Kim Minjeong sat on the practice room floor, clutching her phone, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly agape, like a cat startled by a suddenly switched-on light. Her fingers swiped on the screen, refreshing, then refreshing again; each time, the number was a chunk larger than before.

“Oppa, is this broken?” She held the phone up to Jiang Zhiyu, her voice carrying a tremor of "I need to confirm this isn't a dream."

Jiang Zhiyu glanced at the number on the screen—63,742—and then pushed the phone back. “It's not broken.”

“But it's only been two days—from thirty thousand to sixty thousand—it's doubled—”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm? Oppa, all you can say is mhm?” Kim Minjeong's voice rose half an octave. NingNing leaned over from the side, her head pressed against Kim Minjeong's, both pairs of eyes staring simultaneously at the still-ticking number on the screen.

Jiang Zhiyu leaned against the wall, strawberry milk tea in hand, the straw stirring in the cup as the ice cubes made a crisp clinking sound. His expression was calm, so calm it was as if he were looking at a financial statement that had been calculated countless times. He had known it would be like this. Not because he had precognition, but because he knew how good those photos were. It wasn't that he was a great photographer; it was that Karina herself deserved to be seen by so many people. He had simply pointed the lens at her; the rest was her shining.

NingNing scrolled through the comments for a while before her finger suddenly stopped. Her expression shifted from excitement to confusion, then to a subtle, indefinable look, as if she were choked up by something. She turned the phone around, screen facing out, so both Kim Minjeong and Jiang Zhiyu could see. “Look at this one.”

Kim Minjeong leaned in and read the comment aloud. “‘The way the girl in the middle looks at the one on the left is so gentle. Does she like her?’" Kim Minjeong's voice hitched at the word "like," then she continued reading. “‘The one on the right is also looking at the one in the middle. The atmosphere between the three of them is so subtle. It’s like they’re all looking at each other, but no one is saying anything.’”

The practice room fell silent for a second. Kim Minjeong looked up at NingNing. NingNing looked back at her. A complex, unspeakable expression appeared on both their faces simultaneously—not anger, not embarrassment, but a daze of "What am I seeing?"

“What are they talking about?” Kim Minjeong's voice was much lower than before. “They say I like Ji-min Unnie?”

NingNing didn't speak, but swiped down a screen. More comments flooded out. “This is totally a secret crush perspective, right? Every photo is looking at ‘her,’ but ‘she’ doesn't know.” “The caption ‘She doesn't know I'm watching her’—if that’s not a crush, what is?” “All three are so pretty, any two could be a CP.” “I ship the middle one and the left one. The look from the left to the middle is so touching.” “I ship the right and the middle. Even though the one on the right is blurred out, it feels like she’s constantly paying attention to the middle person’s emotions.” “Does anyone else feel like the relationship between these three isn't just ordinary friendship?”

Kim Minjeong's face began to turn red from the base of her neck. It wasn't the red of being embarrassed after being praised, but rather a red of "What are you talking about, I don't understand a single word." She opened her mouth to say something but found she didn't know what to say. She turned to look at NingNing; NingNing's face was also red, even more thoroughly than hers, spreading from her cheeks to the tips of her ears, and from her ears to her neck, like a piece of white cloth that had been dyed.

“Teacher,” NingNing's voice was a bit strained, “is this direction of development... what you expected?”

Jiang Zhiyu was drinking his milk tea. Hearing this question, the sound of the straw stirring in the cup stopped for a moment. He looked at NingNing, remained silent for a while, and then placed the milk tea on the floor. “I expected it.”

“You expected it?!” Kim Minjeong's voice rose again. “You expected it and you didn't tell us?”

“If I told you, you wouldn't have done the shoot.”

Kim Minjeong opened her mouth to argue but found she couldn't. He was right. If he had told her before the shoot that "Netizens might think the three of you are dating," she probably would have refused. Not because she was homophobic—she wasn't—but because she didn't want to be misunderstood. She was a trainee, a minor, someone for whom being labeled "lesbian" before even debuting would be very troublesome.

NingNing leaned against the wall, her phone face-down on her knees, staring at the ceiling. The fluorescent light on the ceiling was still flickering; the tube with the broken ballast dimmed every few seconds, like a rhythmic breath. Her face was still red, but her expression had changed from the panic of "being misunderstood" to a more complex relief, like "Well, it's nothing."

“Teacher, you said before that no matter what it is, once netizens start talking about it, it always gets dragged toward romance.” Her voice wasn't loud, but it was clear, every word like a leaf blown by the wind, vibrating slightly in the air. “You were right. They really do drag everything toward romance.”

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her. “Are you angry?”

NingNing thought about it. “Not angry. I just find it... a bit funny. The three of us are exhausted every day in the practice room, practicing until we fall asleep on the floor, practicing until we have muscle strains and are covered in tape, practicing until our voices are hoarse and we can't speak. And yet, in other people's eyes, we're in a love triangle.”

Kim Minjeong, hearing the words "love triangle," burst out laughing. It wasn't a "haha so funny" kind of laugh, but a "this is truly so ridiculous I can't help it" laugh. She bent over laughing until tears almost came out, one hand clutching her stomach and the other propped on the floor. She looked like an overturned turtle, legs in the air, struggling to flip back over but failing.

Karina hadn't spoken since a moment ago. She sat by the window, holding her half-finished iced Americano, her gaze fixed on her phone screen. Her expression remained that cool, emotionless calm, but the tips of her ears were red. She had seen those comments. Every single one. “The way the middle one looks at the left one is so gentle, does she like her?” “The atmosphere between the three of them is so subtle.” “It’s like they’re looking at each other, but no one is saying anything.”

Her fingers gently rubbed the side of the cup, her thumb sliding over the smooth ceramic surface, making a tiny, almost inaudible rustling sound. She wasn't angry, not embarrassed, nor any emotion that could be simply defined. She was thinking about one thing—why did they read "romance" from those photos? Was it because of the photos themselves, or because they wanted to see romance? Perhaps because the sense of voyeurism is itself a form of intimacy. You are watching someone, and that person doesn't know you are watching them. This unequal, one-way gaze naturally carries an ambiguous warmth. It's not the photographer who is being ambiguous; it's the person looking at the photo. They projected their desire of "I want to look at someone like this" onto those photos, and then said, "The person in the photo loves her so much."

Jiang Zhiyu looked at Karina's profile. Her eyelashes were long, casting a small fan-shaped shadow under her eyes. Her nose was very straight, looking like a smooth mountain ridge from the side. Her lips were pursed into a thin line, making it impossible to tell if she was angry or thinking.

“Ji-min,” he called her.

Karina turned her head to look at him.

“Do you mind?”

Karina was silent for a moment. Her gaze moved from Jiang Zhiyu's face to the stack of project plans on the floor, then back from the plans to his face. Her expression didn't change, but her eyes did. It wasn't "I mind," nor "I don't mind," but a serious, thoughtful look of "I'm thinking of how to answer."

“Oppa, what was your original intention?” She didn't answer his question directly but asked one in return.

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her.

“You said the core of this project is the ‘second-person perspective,’ to make the person looking at the photo feel like they aren't looking at a stranger, but peeking at someone they know.” Karina's voice wasn't loud, but it was clear, every word sounding as if it had been chewed over before being spoken. “You said you wanted to let the viewer feel that ‘someone is watching her, and she is becoming better.’ Not romance, but a gaze. Support. A sense of ‘I see you working hard.’”

Jiang Zhiyu didn't speak. He looked at her, the corners of his mouth forming a tiny curve. It wasn't a smile, but a confirmation of "you understood."

“Now,” Karina pointed to those comments on the phone screen, “they say it's romance.”

Jiang Zhiyu nodded. “Mhm.”

“You expected this.”

“Mhm.”

“But you're still going to do it.”

“Mhm.”

Karina looked at him and was silent for a moment. Then she said something that made Kim Minjeong and NingNing fall silent at the same time. “Oppa, you are really annoying sometimes.”

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her, waiting for her next sentence.

“But I still trust you.”

Kim Minjeong and NingNing took a breath at the same time. Not a gasp, but that kind of "What did she just say?" breath-holding, not-daring-to-make-a-sound intake. The practice room was so quiet that the hum of the air conditioner vent could be heard. Karina's expression was still that cool, emotionless calm, but when she said that sentence, her tone was too calm, as if she were saying "The weather is nice today." That calmness made the weight of the sentence even heavier. It wasn't the "trust" of "I trust you," but the "trust" of "I trust you without needing a reason." Not a choice, not a judgment, but instinct.

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her, silent for a moment. Then he picked up his milk tea and took a sip. “Understood.”

Just one word. No "thank you," no "I won't let you down," no "you're right to trust me." Just "understood." It was as if she had said "The weather is nice today," and he replied "Mhm, understood." Kim Minjeong watched the dialogue between these two, a voice in her heart saying: The way they talk seems encrypted. Every word is understandable, but put together, I have no idea what they're talking about.

NingNing coughed from the side, breaking the silence that made her not know where to put her hands and feet. “Um, Teacher, now that the followers have grown to over sixty thousand, what happens next?”

Jiang Zhiyu put down the milk tea, took a piece of paper from his bag, and spread it on the floor. A timeline was drawn on the paper, from Monday to Sunday, with every day marked. The column for the third day had already been crossed out with a red pen, with "Goal achieved, exceeded" written next to it. For the fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh days, specific action items were written in each column.

“On the fourth day, post a photo of the practice room. Not a staged one, but the kind where you're collapsed on the floor after practicing dance. The caption should be short, just one sentence—‘오늘도 조금 나아졌다.’—I improved a little bit today too.”

[part:gemini-3.1-flash-lite]

Kim Minjeong looked at the timeline and suddenly felt a bit dazed.

Every word, every number, and every line on that paper had been written by Jiang Zhiyu days ago.

He knew that on the third day, the follower count would rise; he knew what should be posted on the fourth day; he knew what would happen on the fifth, sixth, and seventh days.

It was as if he held a script in his hand, a script that detailed everyone's lines and movements, including the netizens' reactions, the direction of the comments, and the growth curve of the followers.

The only thing he hadn't written in was probably the fact that netizens would ship the three of them as a CP.

It wasn't because he hadn't thought of it, but because he deemed it unimportant.

Whether it was love, attention, or support, no matter how the netizens interpreted it, the final result was the same—more people had seen Karina, more people had remembered her face, and more people had followed.

That was enough.

His original intention had never changed.

What he wanted wasn't "what relationship netizens thought they had"; what he wanted was "data."

It was the follower count, the like count, the comment count, the share count.

These numbers would become his leverage when he walked into the Loen Entertainment conference room.

He would place that stack of printed data reports on the table, flip to the first page, point to the steep upward curve, and say—"This is what I've done. Within a week, the followers have doubled. Now, are you willing to hand over IU's album promotion to me?"

Kim Minjeong looked at Jiang Zhiyu's calm face, devoid of any expression, and suddenly felt that she had never truly understood him.

He wasn't the type of person to wear his emotions on his face.

His smile wasn't a smile, and his lack of a smile wasn't a lack of a smile.

His expression was like a thin layer of ice, with bottomless water beneath it.

You would never know what he was thinking.

But you didn't need to know what he was thinking; you only needed to know that he wouldn't harm you.

That was what Karina had said.

And that was what she believed as well.

Kim Minjeong lowered her head, looking at the photo of the three of them on her phone screen.

In the photo, her own face was pixelated, her features and expression obscured, with only a blurry outline visible.

But that outline was her.

It was her, with hair tousled by the wind by the Han River, bathed in the golden-red glow of the setting sun, unaware that someone was taking her picture.

She suddenly felt that the mosaic wasn't meant to cover her face, but to cover her eyes.

By covering her eyes, she couldn't see the camera.

If she couldn't see the camera, she didn't have to smile at it.

If she didn't have to smile at the camera, she could just be herself.

"Oppa," she raised her head and looked at Jiang Zhiyu, "can you not pixelate my face in the next photo?"

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her.

"Why?"

"Because I want to be seen, too."

Jiang Zhiyu was silent for a second.

Then he nodded.

"Okay."

The corners of Kim Minjeong's mouth slowly curled up.

It wasn't the precise, perfect smile practiced in front of a mirror, but one that came from the heart, carrying a bit of anticipation, a bit of nervousness, and a bit of "I don't know what's going to happen next, but I'm ready."

That kind of smile was different from the one Karina had when she was amused in the cafeteria, but the "authenticity" was the same.

It wasn't something captured in a photo; it was something that grew from within.

Jiang Zhiyu looked at the smile on Kim Minjeong's lips and silently added a page to tomorrow's plan in his mind.

Day five: post Kim Minjeong's photo.

No mosaic.

The caption—"그녀는 오늘도 웃고 있다." She is smiling today, too.

Not "she smiled today," but "she is smiling today, too."

The words "as well" carried two more layers of meaning than "smiled"—she had smiled before, and she would continue to smile in the future.

It wasn't a fleeting moment; it was a continuation.

It wasn't just a single photo; it was a series.

He picked up the milk tea and took a sip.

It had gone cold, but the sweetness remained.

He looked at the three girls in the practice room—Kim Minjeong was smiling, NingNing was scrolling through comments, and Karina was holding an iced Americano, looking out the window.

The sky outside was still gray, like it was covered by a veil.

But he felt that today's sky seemed a bit brighter than yesterday's.

It wasn't that the sun had come out; it was that the clouds had thinned.

The light was shining through.

Yeri met Jiang Zhiyu at a barbecue restaurant.

It was the one near the company, hidden deep in an alleyway, with a small storefront, and the smell of charcoal fire pouring out from the exhaust fan, permeating the entire alley.

By the time she arrived, Jiang Zhiyu was already seated, with two plates of pork belly, a plate of pork neck, and a plate of beef tongue in front of him.

The charcoal on the grill was glowing red, and the heat twisted the air between them into transparent waves.

Yeri sat down opposite him, glanced at the meat on the table, then glanced at Jiang Zhiyu, and then glanced at the meat on the table again.

Her eyes were wide, and the red light of the charcoal fire was reflected in her pupils.

"Zhiyu-ah, you're treating me to a meal?" Her voice wasn't loud, but the shock in her tone was as thick as a cup of undiluted syrup, "Has the sun risen from the west?"

Jiang Zhiyu was flipping the meat, and upon hearing this, he didn't stop the tongs in his hand.

He looked up, his expression as calm as if he were saying the weather was nice today.

"The sun has always been in the north."

Yeri paused.

Her brain worked fast, or rather, she could completely keep up with Jiang Zhiyu's abstract thinking.

North, sun, the sun in the north—her eyes went from wide to narrowed, and from narrowed to a slit, as if someone had pulled a blind in front of her pupils.

Her complexion changed.

It wasn't from white to red; her skin was naturally white, a cool-toned white like porcelain, like the first snow of winter.

But at this moment, something else began to emerge on that white.

It wasn't red, it wasn't pink, but a color that was indescribable, like a rainbow that had been crushed and mixed together, and finally, all the colors sank and turned into black.

"The north?" Her voice dropped, low enough that it was as if she were sharing a secret with Jiang Zhiyu that couldn't be heard by others.

She leaned forward, over the grill on the table, her neck stretched long like a cat that had spotted prey in the grass.

"Sun? North?" She gritted her teeth, each word squeezed out from between them, "Yah, are you from the north—are you a spy from the north?"

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her close-up face, the corners of his mouth slightly lifted.

He didn't pull back, nor did he lower his voice.

He said in the exact same volume as always, "I am American."

Yeri's mouth opened, closed, and opened again.

She leaned back against the chair, her whole body seeming as if it had been drained of something, slumping limply into the chair.

Her eyes stared at the ceiling, at the lamp stained yellow by the grease on the ceiling, at the dust that had accumulated on the lampshade for who knows how long.

She was speechless, truly speechless.

"American... freedom of speech, right? Fine, okay."

Her voice sounded like she was talking to herself, or perhaps talking to the dust on the ceiling, "But I... shibal, I'm Korean, shibal. Are you trying to get me investigated by the National Intelligence Service?"

Jiang Zhiyu raised an eyebrow, not saying a word.

But his gaze was clear, clear enough that Yeri didn't need mind-reading to understand—you can understand what I'm saying; it seems our thinking is on the same path.

Yeri was so angry her teeth itched, but it wasn't the kind of itch of "I want to hit you," but the kind of "I want to hit you, but I also think you're right."

She bit her lip, glared at Jiang Zhiyu, then picked up a piece of pork belly, dipped it fiercely into the chili sauce, and the whole piece of meat was coated in the red sauce, as if it were wearing a thick coat.

She stuffed the meat into her mouth and chewed loudly, as if expressing some kind of dissatisfaction with her teeth.

The spiciness of the chili sauce exploded in her mouth, her tongue tip was numbed by the spice, but her expression didn't change at all—it wasn't that it wasn't spicy, it was that her attention wasn't on that at all.

"What do you need me for?" She asked while chewing the meat, her voice muffled.

Jiang Zhiyu flipped the remaining meat on the grill, confirmed that none of it would be burnt, and then put down the tongs and picked up his water glass to take a sip.

"Have you checked the forums lately?"

Yeri nodded.

Of course she had checked.

That post on the Naver forum had over a hundred thousand views, and the comment section had gone on for pages.

Not only had she checked it, she had even left a comment under an anonymous account—"The girl in the middle looks so good."

That was something she had posted with a burner account, and she wouldn't tell anyone.

"You must have seen Karina's Instagram as well," Jiang Zhiyu said.

Yeri blinked.

Her eyes were already big, and when she blinked, it was like a butterfly flapping its wings.

"That 'She doesn't know I'm looking at her'—that was made by you?"

Her voice rose by half a tone, then she suppressed it herself, like a cat that had its tail stepped on, wanting to yowl but not daring to.

Jiang Zhiyu didn't speak.

He picked up a piece of grilled beef tongue, put it in his mouth, and chewed slowly.

His silence was more powerful than any answer.

Yeri watched him chewing the beef tongue, and in her heart, there was a feeling of "as expected."

It wasn't surprise, it was confirmation.

She had long felt that the style of that account didn't look like something an average trainee could create on their own.

The composition of the photos, the choice of lighting, the rhythm of the captions, the timing of the posts—everything carried the trace of "someone manipulating things from behind."

Not just a manipulator, but a controller.

Like a chess player, when placing every piece on the chessboard, they had already calculated three, five, ten steps ahead.

"I want to ask you for a favor."

Jiang Zhiyu swallowed the beef tongue and wiped his mouth with a tissue.

Yeri leaned back against the chair, arms crossed, her chin slightly raised.

Her expression shifted from the earlier "shibal, you're a spy" to "alright, go ahead," but her tone still carried a calculation of "I'm going to make you bleed a little."

"I want to eat Korean beef."

The corners of Jiang Zhiyu's mouth twitched slightly.

This girl really didn't stand on ceremony.

Korean beef, not pork belly, not pork neck, but Korean beef.

The kind that sizzles on the grill, with fat melting on the tongue, where one piece of meat costs as much as ten pieces of pork belly.

He was silent for a second, then smiled.

"No problem."

Yeri's eyes brightened, but she didn't show it.

Her expression was still that tsundere "alright, that's better," but her fingers secretly made a V sign under the table.

"As for the specific operational process, I—"

"I know all of it."

Yeri interrupted him, her tone filled with dissatisfaction of "you're underestimating me too much," "I can handle it by myself."

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her, silent for a moment.

Yeri's expression was serious, not the seriousness of "I want to try," but the seriousness of "I know what I'm doing."

There was light in her eyes, not the fleeting light reflected from the charcoal fire, but the light that burned from within, one that wouldn't be extinguished.

"Okay," Jiang Zhiyu said.

Yeri received a positive reply but didn't immediately start on the real business.

She picked up the tongs, grabbed a piece of pork belly from the grill, dipped it in sauce, wrapped it in lettuce, stuffed it into her mouth, and chewed with satisfaction.

When she ate, there was an unselfconscious eagerness, as if she hadn't eaten for a long time.

Jiang Zhiyu watched her eat and suddenly felt that this person was different from when he first met her.

When he first met her, she was the maknae of Red Velvet, the girl who would squat on the floor in the recording studio laughing until she couldn't straighten her back, the "little crazy one" who would send at least ten messages a day after exchanging KakaoTalk with him in the elevator.

But now, she had gained an extra layer—not maturity, not steadiness, but a certainty of "I know I can."

She wasn't just Red Velvet's Yeri; she was Yeri.

The Yeri who could keep up with his thinking within one second when Jiang Zhiyu said "the sun in the north," whose brain turned faster than he expected, and who made him feel "this person truly understands me."

Yeri swallowed the meat in her mouth and took out her phone from her pocket.

Her movements were fast, so fast that before Jiang Zhiyu could react, she had already opened her photo gallery, and within less than two seconds of scrolling through thousands of photos, she had accurately found one.

"Use this one."

She turned the phone around, screen facing out.

Jiang Zhiyu looked at the photo, and his breath hitched for a beat.

Bae Joo-hyun.

Napping.

The photo was taken from the side; she was lying on her side on the sofa, her head resting on one arm, the other hand hanging off the edge of the sofa.

Her eyes were closed, her eyelashes long, casting a small, fan-shaped shadow under her eyes.

Her lips were slightly parted, her breathing very light, so light it was as if she were dreaming.

Sunlight leaked in from the window, falling on her face, illuminating her silhouette softly.

She was asleep, unaware that someone was taking a picture of her.

Jiang Zhiyu had not seen Bae Joo-hyun for a long time.

How long? He calculated it. Four months? Five months?

Since the recording of "Butterfly Dream" ended, they had not met alone again.

When they occasionally met in the company hallway, she would nod slightly, he would bow slightly, and then the two would brush past each other, walking in their own directions.

It was not a cold war, nor was it estrangement; it was an adult, decent, and tacit distance.

He did not know what she had been busy with lately.

Red Velvet's comeback period had just ended; she was probably resting, probably practicing, or probably doing those things he did not need to know about.

Her face had not changed; it was still so small, her features still so delicate, her aura still so cold and aloof.

But that face had become somewhat blurry in his memory. It was not that he had forgotten what she looked like, but rather that he had not looked directly at her for too long.

Every time they met at the company, his gaze would linger on her for less than half a second before shifting away.

It was not that he did not want to look; it was that he did not dare to.

He was afraid that after looking, that thing in his heart which had already been suppressed would resurface.

Yeri watched Jiang Zhiyu staring blankly at the photo, the corners of her mouth slowly curling up.

She did not speak, but a voice in her heart said—as expected.

She had suspected it for a long time.

It was not "suspecting that Jiang Zhiyu likes Bae Joo-hyun," but "suspecting that there was something between these two."

Within the company, they never initiated conversation, never sat together to eat, and never attended the same gatherings.

But every time they appeared in the same space, the air would change.

It did not get cold, nor did it get hot; it got "heavy."

It was as if something invisible was tugging between the two, sucking in all the surrounding air.

"Unnie won't know." Yeri's voice pulled Jiang Zhiyu back from his trance, "She's sleeping; I took it secretly. She doesn't know I'm taking a picture of her."

She paused, the curve of her mouth widening slightly, "It fits your project theme perfectly."

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her, saying nothing.

Yeri's fingers were already on the screen; she was editing the post, and the caption only had one line— "그 녀 는 내 가 그 녀 를 찍 고 있 다 는 것 을 모 른 다." She doesn't know I'm taking a picture of her.

It was followed by a giggling emoji.

Two little yellow characters, one covering its own mouth, the other covering the other's mouth, their eyes curved into crescents, as if sharing a secret only they knew.

Jiang Zhiyu looked at that caption and was silent for a moment.

"Aren't you afraid she'll get angry?"

Yeri thought about it, tilting her head, "Probably not. Unnie has a very good temper."

Her tone carried a certainty of "I know what I'm doing," "Besides, this photo is beautiful. After she sees it, she'll probably scold me first, then ask when I took it, then say 'delete it,' and then secretly save it herself."

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her, his mouth twitching slightly.

It was not a smile, but a confirmation of "You really know her well."

Yeri pressed the send button.

The post flew out from her phone, traveled through the internet of Seoul, and landed in front of everyone following her account.

Over five million followers.

Not thirty thousand, not sixty thousand, but five million.

Five million people received this push notification simultaneously.

Some saw it while eating, some saw it while slacking off at work, and some saw it while squatting in the restroom.

Five million people saw that photo at the exact same moment—Bae Joo-hyun sleeping, unaware that someone was taking a picture of her.

The caption— "She doesn't know I'm taking a picture of her."

Jiang Zhiyu looked at the post just sent on Yeri's phone screen and calculated silently in his heart.

Within five minutes, the likes would break one hundred thousand.

Within an hour, it would hit the trending searches.

Within a day, the entire Korean entertainment circle would know about the "She doesn't know I'm watching her" project.

It was not the version with Karina, not the daily life of a trainee, not a small fuss with thirty thousand followers.

It was Red Velvet, it was Bae Joo-hyun, it was an account with five million followers.

The scale was completely different.

He picked up his water glass and took a sip.

The water was cold, and the chill spread from his throat to his chest.

He put down the glass, looked at the piece of beef tongue on the grill that was already a bit charred, picked it up, and put it in his mouth.

It was burnt, bitter.

But he did not spit it out; he chewed it and swallowed it.

Yeri placed her phone face down on the table, picked up the tongs, and began to turn the remaining meat on the grill.

Her movements were not as skilled as Jiang Zhiyu's, but she was very earnest, turning every piece of meat carefully, as if doing a task that required high concentration.

"Zhiyu," she said without looking up, "who is that project of yours for?"

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her, "Loen Entertainment. IU's album."

Yeri's hand paused for a moment.

Then she continued turning the meat, "Wow, you have real ambition."

Her tone was very flat, flat enough that it sounded like she was saying "The weather is nice today," but her movements in turning the meat were faster than before, as if something was urging her on.

"It is not about ambition," Jiang Zhiyu said, "it is about need."

Yeri looked up at him.

His expression was very calm, calm enough that no emotions could be seen.

But her eyes were sharp, sharp enough to read from his calm face some things he did not want others to see.

It was not ambition, it was not desire, it was—poverty.

He really needed this job, needed this money, needed this opportunity.

Not because of greed, but because he was building a building.

Every income was a brick, every opportunity was a beam.

He had to build this building, build it high enough, high enough to allow him to stand on it and see what he wanted to see.

Yeri lowered her head and continued turning the meat, "Then good luck."

Her voice was not loud, but it was clear, "Don't starve to death."

The corners of Jiang Zhiyu's mouth curled up slightly, "Won't happen. Before I starve to death, I'll ask you to treat me."

"Yah!" Yeri looked up and glared at him, "Didn't you just treat me?"

"That was the deposit for the Korean beef."

"What deposit?"

"The deposit for the next treat."

Yeri opened her mouth, wanting to retort, but found she could not find a reason to argue back.

She looked at Jiang Zhiyu's calm face, which showed no emotion, and a voice in her heart said—this person is really good at calculating.

Not the "insidious" kind of calculation, but the "he has calculated every step" kind of calculation.

He invited her to this meal, not to ask for her help, but to make her feel "he owes me."

Then, after she helped, he would say "the Korean beef was a deposit," turning "he owes me" into "I owe him."

Back and forth, who owed whom became impossible to calculate.

If it cannot be calculated, it does not need to be repaid.

If it does not need to be repaid, they will be friends forever.

Yeri picked up a piece of grilled beef tongue, dipped it in sauce, and put it in her mouth.

She chewed twice, then closed her eyes, "Delicious," she said.

Jiang Zhiyu watched her expression of enjoyment with eyes closed, the curve of his mouth widening a bit.

He picked up his phone, opened Instagram, and refreshed.

Yeri's post had been out for three minutes.

Likes, forty-seven thousand.

Comments, over six thousand.

He clicked into the comment section and scanned it quickly.

"Irene Unnie is so beautiful" "When was this taken" "She doesn't know I'm taking a picture of her—this caption hits hard" "Who is the person taking the photo? Yeri?" "Yeri and Irene's relationship is so good" "The atmosphere of this photo is so gentle."

He placed his phone face down on the table, picked up the water glass, and took another sip.

The water was still cold.

But this time, the chill stopped before reaching his chest; it stopped in his throat, as if blocked by something.

That thing was hot, scalding, surging up from his heart.

He could not swallow it, nor could he spit it out.

He thought of that photo.

Bae Joo-hyun sleeping.

Her eyelashes, her lips, her shoulders rising and falling slightly as she breathed.

The angle of the sunlight on her face, and the shadow on her neck.

He did not know when Yeri had taken it.

He did not know where she had slept.

He did not know if she had been doing well lately.

He knew nothing at all.

But he knew one thing.

He looked at that photo once, and his heart skipped a beat.

It was not "missing," it was not "liking," it was "skipped a beat."

It was as if someone had pressed the pause button in his chest, all the blood stopped for an instant, and then continued to flow.

That feeling would not disappear, he told himself.

It was just suppressed, pressed into a very, very deep place, so deep that even he could not find it.

But that photo was like a shovel, digging into that packed soil.

Not deep, but enough to let some things show.

Yeri watched Jiang Zhiyu staring blankly at the water glass, the corners of her mouth slowly curling up.

She did not speak.

But a voice in her heart said—I really did not guess wrong.

It was not "Jiang Zhiyu likes Bae Joo-hyun," it was "there is something between Jiang Zhiyu and Bae Joo-hyun."

That "something," she could not explain clearly.

But she knew it existed.

"Zhiyu," she called him.

"Hmm."

"In the future, if you need any help, just say it. You don't need to treat me to dinner."

Yeri's tone was very serious, serious enough that it did not sound like she was joking, "I will help you."

Jiang Zhiyu looked at her, silent for a moment, "Why?"

Yeri thought about it, tilting her head, "Because the food you treat me to is never delicious."

Jiang Zhiyu was stunned for a moment.

Then he laughed.

It was not that kind of polite, social smile, not the kind of smile where the corners of the mouth curl up because he was amused, but a real, heartfelt laugh, where his eyes curved and his shoulders shook.

He rarely laughed like this.

Yeri watched him laughing, and a voice in her heart said—he really looks good when he laughs. He should laugh more often.

The charcoal fire was still burning.

There was not much meat left on the grill; the fat from the pork belly melted under the high heat, dripped onto the charcoal, and sparked a small flame.

Yeri picked up the tongs, flipped the last few pieces of meat, and then placed one in Jiang Zhiyu's plate, "Eat, it won't taste good if it gets cold."

Jiang Zhiyu looked at the piece of meat in his plate, silent for a second.

Then he picked it up, put it into his mouth, and chewed slowly.

The meat was hot, the sauce was spicy, the lettuce was crisp.

All the flavors mixed together in his mouth, forming a complex, indescribable feeling that made one want to take another bite.

He finished chewing and swallowed.

Then he picked up his phone, opened Instagram, and refreshed again.

Yeri's post had been out for fifteen minutes.

Likes, two hundred and thirty thousand.

Comments, over twenty thousand.

On the trending list, "Bae Joo-hyun nap" was in seventh place, and "Yeri photo" was in twelfth.

Jiang Zhiyu looked at those numbers and silently calculated in his heart.

Tonight, this photo would appear on all forums, all SNS, and all news feeds.

Tomorrow, everyone would know the phrase "She doesn't know I'm watching her."

Next week, he would walk into the conference room of Loen Entertainment, sit across from the president, and put that stack of data reports on the table.

He would flip to the first page, point to that steep rising curve, and say— "This is what I did. Within a week, an account with over thirty thousand followers doubled. Yeri of Red Velvet also used my project. Now, are you willing to hand over the promotion of IU's album to me?"

He would say this.

Not because he was confident, but because he needed to say it.

His five-year plan, step two "collecting funds," whether it could be taken or not, depended on this gamble.

Jiang Zhiyu put away his phone, picked up the tongs, and flipped the last piece of meat on the grill.

The meat sizzled under the high heat, and the aroma of the fat permeated the air.

He picked up that piece of meat and put it into Yeri's plate, "Eat. Go back early after you finish."

Yeri looked at the piece of meat in her plate, the corners of her mouth slowly curling up, "You are really bad at talking."

She picked up the meat, stuffed it into her mouth, and chewed loudly, "You clearly wanted to say 'thank you,' but you insisted on saying 'go back early after you finish.'"

Jiang Zhiyu did not retort.

He picked up his water glass and drank the remaining water in one gulp.

The water was cold, but the chill stopped before reaching his chest.

It stopped in his throat, blocked by something.

That thing was hot, scalding, surging up from his heart.

He did not know what that thing was.

He only knew that when he went back tonight, he would dream of that photo.

Not intentionally, but uncontrollably.

— —

[ Why can't I raise one? ]

Dongdong

(22:40) Minjeong who does not reply to messages: [ Listened to Oppa's voice message! That line "Minjeong-ah, my moonlight girl" made me roll around with my pillow three times... My heart is still beating as fast as if I just finished dancing to the title track. (Sends a photo of her hot cheek pressed against the cool back of her phone) ]

(22:43) Minjeong who does not reply to messages: [ Secretly set Oppa's voice message as my morning alarm, but I'll definitely wake up before the alarm goes off tomorrow, because I can't wait to start a new day with Oppa's voice~ ]

(22:46) Minjeong who does not reply to messages: [ Saw the ginkgo leaves starting to turn yellow while walking today, picked up the one that looked most like a small fan and tucked it into my diary, writing "The first autumn spent with Oppa" next to it. Although the season has not arrived yet, I have a premonition it has already fallen. ]

(22:49) Minjeong who does not reply to messages: [ Drew a tiny star on the practice room mirror with an erasable marker; I can see it every time I turn while dancing. That is my secret code for Oppa, meaning "At this moment, you are at the center of my vision." ]

(22:52) Minjeong who does not reply to messages: [ My hand cream is almost used up, and I suddenly felt reluctant when I squeezed out the last bit... So I decided to wash the empty tube and keep it. I even want to properly preserve the container for the warmth Oppa gave me. ]

(22:55) Minjeong who does not reply to messages: [ Wish before sleep: I hope that when Oppa passes by the convenience store tomorrow, you will remember that a puppy once received her first bottle of hot milk here. And she has now grown into someone who can send you a piece of the starry sky. Good night, my beginning and my end. (Sends a photo of her fingertips gently touching the starlight night light by the bedside) ]