24: Chapter 24 Sleeping soundly, then called to take an exam!

Loen Entertainment's efficiency made Jiang Zhiyu so touched he wanted to cry. It wasn't an exaggeration; he was truly moved. The day after he submitted the project proposal, the marketing department placed the first version of the promotion schedule on his desk. On the third day, the MV director's team sent three versions of the script for him to choose from. On the fourth day, the outsourcing company for the 2D animation was confirmed—it was a famous Japanese animation studio. Jiang Zhiyu had seen their previous works; the visuals were delicate, and the lighting was handled beautifully, fitting the quiet and somewhat dreamlike atmosphere of "blue night." On the fifth day, the filming location in Jeju Island was set. It wasn't one of those popular spots that had been filmed countless times, but a stretch of undeveloped coastline that Jiang Zhiyu had searched for on the map for a long time and finally contacted through a local Jeju Island photography blogger. The characteristic of that sea was that there was no beach; the shore was covered with black volcanic rocks, and the waves crashing against the rocks would splash high white foam. Jiang Zhiyu felt that was where "the blue night of jeju island" should be sung.

He sat in his small office on the fifth floor of Loen Entertainment, looking at the pile of signed documents on his desk. He had a sentence held back in his heart for a long time, and he finally said it during a team dinner. The dinner was at a Hanjeongsik restaurant near the company. The long table was filled with side dishes: soy-marinated crabs, pancakes, japchae, spicy rice cakes, kimchi, soybean paste soup, and a large pot of army stew. All the team members involved in the album project came, seven or eight people sitting in a circle around the table. Jiang Zhiyu was arranged to sit next to IU, not because he was the person in charge, but because IU said, "Let him sit next to me; I have questions to ask him." Jiang Zhiyu didn't know what IU wanted to ask him. He only knew that when the cafeteria lady served him food today, her hand didn't shake. It wasn't that it "didn't shake," but that the "shaking was very restrained." Before at the SM cafeteria, when the lady served him food, her hand would shake twice to shake off the excess, leaving just enough for one person to eat. The lady at the Loen cafeteria also had shaking hands, but in a different direction—she shook upwards to pile more on, not downwards. When Jiang Zhiyu first discovered this pattern, he was so moved he almost bowed to the lady on the spot. His tray was always full. It wasn't just "a little more than others," it was "piled like a small mountain." The rice was peaked, the dishes were overflowing, and even the soup was filled to the brim of the bowl. The staff member next to him looked at the small mountain on his tray, then at the pitifully small portion on their own plate, and fell silent.

Jiang Zhiyu raised his glass—not wine, but Coke; he wasn't of drinking age yet. Although he had long since drunk in the Tianxuan Continent, in this world, he was a law-abiding minor. "Let me say one thing," his voice wasn't loud, but everyone at the table went quiet. "In terms of work efficiency, compared to Loen Entertainment, SM is like a constipated old man." The table was silent for a second. Then, explosive laughter almost blew the roof off. Group Leader Kim from the marketing department laughed so hard he slammed the table, causing a piece of soy-marinated crab to jump out of its dish and land in the nearby kimchi bowl. Ms. Lee, the head of the animation project, laughed while covering her mouth, but her shoulders were shaking violently. The Maknae PD sitting opposite Jiang Zhiyu laughed so hard he collapsed onto the table, his forehead hitting the rim of the bowl with a "thud," but he didn't look up because he was still laughing.

IU was drinking kimchi soup. When she heard the words "constipated old man," the soup was already in her throat. She tried to hold it in, but the price of holding it in was choking. She chose to choke. The feeling of kimchi soup coming out of her nose was something she never wanted to experience again in her life. The soup was spicy, her nose was stinging, and the tears wouldn't stop. She bent over, clutching her nose, her coughing and laughter mixing into a strange sound, like someone was squeezing her throat. Jiang Zhiyu handed her a tissue. She took it, pressed it against her nose, and looked up at him. Her eyes were red, her nose was red, and her cheeks were red; her entire face looked like a boiled shrimp. "Jiang Zhiyu," her voice was a bit raspy, "are you trying to kill me?" "I'm just stating a fact." Jiang Zhiyu's expression was calm, so calm it was as if he were saying, "The weather is nice today."

IU laughed again. This time she wasn't drinking soup, so she didn't choke. But her shoulders were shaking, and she laughed until she leaned back against her chair, her hair falling down and covering half her face. She looked at Jiang Zhiyu from behind her hair, at his calm face that showed no emotion, and a voice in her heart said—this person is really good at making people laugh. It wasn't the "telling jokes" kind of funny, but the "saying the most ridiculous things in the most serious tone" kind of funny. You knew he wasn't telling a joke, but you just couldn't help laughing.

After the dinner, Jiang Zhiyu walked back to the gosiwon, carrying a takeout box. Inside were leftover pancakes and japchae. Group Leader Kim had said, "Take these back for a late-night snack." He didn't refuse. He practically lived in the Loen Entertainment cafeteria now—no, he didn't live in the cafeteria, he just ate there every day. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. He even came on weekends. Loen's cafeteria was open on weekends because employees worked overtime then. He had become the cafeteria lady's favorite person, not because he was handsome, but because he finished every meal completely, leaving not even a side dish. The lady said, "This child isn't a picky eater; he's easy to raise." He didn't know what "easy to raise" meant, but he figured it was probably a compliment.

His phone vibrated. A message from Kim Taeyeon. Jiang Zhiyu stood under a streetlamp and opened it.

"Zhiyu-ah, are you free tomorrow night? Let's eat Hanwoo. Yoona is coming too."

He looked at the line of text and fell silent. It wasn't that he didn't want to go, but that he didn't dare to go. Because he knew what would happen if he did. Kim Taeyeon would take out the kings card at the dinner, use that indescribable look to make him soften and admit defeat, and then order him not to drink milk tea for the next week. She would definitely do that. Because that's the kind of person she was. Not a "bad person," but a "person who manages you." She packaged "care" as a "game" and "orders" as "punishments," so that you wouldn't feel offended when being managed; instead, you'd feel, "Well, she's doing it for my own good." This was a talent not everyone had. Jiang Zhiyu didn't have this talent; he would just say directly, "You should rest," and then get rolled eyes in return.

He decided not to reply. Not a "refusal," but "pretending not to see it." He would reply tomorrow, saying, "Sorry Noona, I was busy just now." A perfect excuse, a perfect timing, a perfect—Read. The "Read" feature of KakaoTalk was the worst invention in the history of the Korean internet. Jiang Zhiyu had always thought so. It stripped away the right to "pretend not to see it" and turned every "Read but not replied" into a public execution. You saw it, you know it, you don't want to reply, and the other person knows you don't want to reply. No buffer, no room, no luck of "maybe they didn't see it." He looked at the tiny, gray word "Read" on the screen and fell silent for a long time.

"Shit."

He rarely cursed. It wasn't that he couldn't, but that he didn't want to. Cursing doesn't solve problems; it only makes one look uncultured. But at this moment, he felt those two words were the only response worthy of the "Read" feature. His finger hovered over the screen for a few seconds, then he started typing. "Got it, Noona." Sent. Kim Taeyeon's reply came almost instantly. An emoji of a little yellow person covering its mouth and laughing, its eyes curved into two crescents. The meaning of that emoji was—"I know you didn't want to reply, but you did. I know you don't want to come, but you will. I know you I don't care if you hate me， But you can't control me.." Jiang Zhiyu looked at that emoji and got even angrier. He put his phone in his pocket, took a deep breath, and slowly let it out. The early autumn night breeze carried a chill, feeling comfortable against his face. He stood for a while, then continued walking forward.

He closed his eyes. The light from the streetlamp filtered through his eyelids, dyeing the world before him in a warm orange-red. Against the orange-red background, scenes of tonight's dinner unfolded slowly like a movie.

Kim Taeyeon would bring Im Yoona along. They would arrive early and take a window seat. Im Yoona would order pork belly and beef tenderloin, while Kim Taeyeon would add a soybean paste soup and a kimchi pancake. He would be five minutes late, not on purpose, but because the subway was delayed. When he pushed the door open, the two of them would already be grilling the first tray of meat. Seeing him, Im Yoona's first words would be, "You've lost weight again." Kim Taeyeon wouldn't say anything, but would just place the first piece of grilled meat onto his plate. He would sit down, pick up the tongs, and naturally take over the job of grilling the meat. Im Yoona would say, "You're still best suited to be a grill master," and he would say, "You're still best suited to be a hairline model." Im Yoona would be stunned for a moment, then realize what he meant, slam the table and say, "What's wrong with my hairline?" He would say, "It's receded again." Kim Taeyeon would cover her mouth and laugh, eating the Hanwoo beef he grilled while laughing. She wouldn't eat much, but she would chew every bite for a long time, as if seriously savoring something. Im Yoona would say, "Unnie, do something about him," and Kim Taeyeon would say, "I'm not getting involved in your business." Then she would raise her water glass to hide the corner of her mouth that she couldn't keep down. Im Yoona would say, "What if you eat Loen Entertainment into bankruptcy?" and he would say, "It won't go bankrupt; I've already calculated it." Im Yoona would ask, "Calculated what?" and he would say, "Calculated how much I have to eat to win back the money I spent treating Yeri to Hanwoo." Im Yoona would be stunned and then say, "You're really scary."

After the bickering, Kim Taeyeon would put down her chopsticks and clap her hands. That was her signal—game time. She would pull the kings card out of her pocket, with those names from last time still written on it. Kim Taeyeon, Jiang Zhiyu, Jiang Zhiyu. Two "Jiang Zhiyu"s, side by side, neatly arranged. Im Yoona would complain, "Unnie, you didn't even use that card last time," and Kim Taeyeon would say, "This one is new; I'm keeping the last one as a collectible." Im Yoona would say, "Collect what?" and Kim Taeyeon would say, "Collecting the evidence that he lost to me." Jiang Zhiyu would be silent because he knew what was written on that card was his name—not "Jiang Zhiyu," but "Jiang Zhiyu lost." Kim Taeyeon wouldn't say it out loud, but he knew that's what she had written in her heart.

In the first round, Kim Taeyeon would suggest playing the "Silent Game"—whoever speaks first loses. Im Yoona would say, "How hard can that be?" and then be the first to lose. It wasn't that she was bad at it, but that she couldn't beat Kim Taeyeon. Kim Taeyeon's competitiveness was hidden in her bones, not showing on the surface, but at the critical moment, it would spring out like a coil. Im Yoona underestimated the tension of that spring, so she lost. In the second round, Jiang Zhiyu and Kim Taeyeon would face off. What would they compete in? Kim Taeyeon would say, "See who blinks first." Another staring contest. She won last time and wanted to win again. Jiang Zhiyu knew why she chose this—because she was afraid he would choose something else, like arm wrestling, or push-ups, or any project that required physical strength. She wasn't a physical player; she was a willpower player. A staring contest didn't need physical strength, only the determination not to lose. Her determination was greater than his, so he lost. It wasn't that he didn't want to win, but as he looked into those eyes that were firm, unyielding, and like nails driven into a wall, his heart softened. He didn't know why his heart softened. Maybe it was because those eyes reminded him of Baek Ji-xin, maybe it was because he didn't want to see her forced smile after losing, or maybe it was because he liked seeing her eyes light up like two stars when she let out that "hing" after winning. It wasn't the reflection of a lighting board; he just felt they were like that.

[part:gemini-3.1-flash-lite]

After Kim Taeyeon won, she would rub her eyes and then let out that signature "hing～".

It was nasal, rising, with a slight tremor at the end, like a child showing off her victory.

Then she would pick up a pen and write the names of Jiang Zhiyu and Im Yoona on the kings card.

She would write them large, with sweeping strokes, as if she were signing an autograph, not writing an order.

After finishing, she would hold up the card and examine it against the light.

The ink was not yet dry, reflecting a faint sheen under the light.

She would say—"For the next week, you are not allowed to drink milk tea."

Im Yoona would say, "Unnie, I don't drink milk tea; I only drink Americano."

Kim Taeyeon would say, "Then you drink it for him."

Im Yoona would ask, "Why should I?" and Kim Taeyeon would reply, "Because you didn't lose, but he did. You are his teammate, and teammates must share the responsibility."

Im Yoona would open her mouth, wanting to ask, "Since when did we become teammates?", but she didn't say it.

Because when she saw Kim Taeyeon say this, her look wasn't the "I'm joking" kind of look; it was the "I'm seriously talking about something very important" kind of look.

She didn't know what that important thing was, but she knew that Kim Taeyeon wasn't talking about "drinking milk tea."

Jiang Zhiyu opened his eyes.

The light from the streetlamp made him dizzy.

He stood on the sidewalk, still holding that takeout box in his hand.

The pancake had already gone cold, and grease was seeping out from the bottom of the paper box, staining a dark circle on the white plastic bag.

He looked down at that circle and thought—Kim Taeyeon was that kind of person.

Not someone who "cared for him," but someone who "managed him."

She wouldn't say, "Drink less milk tea"; she would say, "I order you not to drink it."

She wouldn't say, "You should rest"; she would say, "Let's play a game; whoever speaks first loses."

She hid all her care within games, within orders, and within that kings card.

It made you not feel offended when being managed, but instead feel, "Well, she's doing this for my own good."

This was a talent.

He didn't know if she was born with it or if she had practiced it later.

He only knew that he had no way to deal with this talent.

Because he was also a person who could soften.

In a place even he didn't know about, there was a very, very soft spot, and Kim Taeyeon knew exactly where it was.

He continued to walk forward.

Streetlamps passed overhead one by one, pulling his shadow from behind him to in front, and then flicking it from in front to behind.

He walked on the streets of Seoul, carrying the cold pancake in his hand, his phone that had vibrated in his pocket.

He was thinking that for tomorrow night's Korean beef, he should eat a little less.

Not because he wasn't hungry, but because Kim Taeyeon would make him cut out sugar.

During the days of cutting out sugar, he needed more protein to maintain his blood sugar balance.

This was a survival skill he had learned on the Tianxuan Continent.

It wasn't "cutting out sugar," but "how to survive the days of being forced to cut out sugar."

He had learned it well because he had a very good teacher.

That teacher wasn't Kim Taeyeon; it was Wang Shuyun.

Wang Shuyun had also managed him, not by "managing his milk tea drinking," but by "making sure he didn't work himself to death."

She wouldn't say, "You should rest"; she would say, "You don't need to come to the company tomorrow."

He asked, "Why?" and she said, "Because I moved your workstation away."

He asked, "Moved it where?" and she said, "Moved it to my living room."

He asked, "Why?"

She said, "Because you won't rest at the company, but you'll be too embarrassed not to rest in my living room."

He thought that Wang Shuyun and Kim Taeyeon were probably the same type of person.

Not that their "personalities were alike," but that their "ways of managing people were alike."

Both hid their care in seemingly unreasonable orders, both made you not feel offended when being managed, and both would take good care of you in places you didn't know, at times you didn't know, and in ways you didn't know.

Jiang Zhiyu walked to the entrance of the gosiwon, stopping his steps.

He took the keys from his pocket, opened the door, and walked into the hallway.

The lights in the hallway were still on, the dim yellow light falling on the floor, illuminating the entire hallway like a tunnel leading to the past.

He walked through this tunnel, opened his room door, placed the takeout box on the table, took off his coat, and hung it on the hanger behind the door.

Then he sat on the edge of the bed, took out his phone, and opened the chat window with Kim Taeyeon.

He looked at the emoji of someone covering their mouth and laughing, and remained silent for a moment.

Then he typed a line— "Noona, I won't eat beef tomorrow. I want to eat pork belly."

Kim Taeyeon's reply was as fast as ever.

"Why?"

"Beef is too expensive. You're treating, and I can't let you spend too much."

"When did you become so considerate?"

"I've always been considerate."

"Then you pay tomorrow."

"Noona, I was wrong."

Kim Taeyeon sent a "Hmph" emoji.

Not "hing," but "Hmph."

The two words were different, but the tone was about the same.

Jiang Zhiyu looked at that "Hmph," the corners of his mouth rising slightly.

He pressed the phone against his chest, lay on the bed, and stared at the ceiling.

That fluorescent light was still flickering; the tube with the broken ballast would dim every few seconds.

He stared at that light and thought—tomorrow night's Korean beef should be very delicious.

Not because the meat was good, but because the people eating together were right.

Kim Taeyeon, Im Yoona, and him.

Three people, one table, one plate of meat.

No kings card, no orders, no "not allowed to drink milk tea."

He hoped for this.

But he also knew that Kim Taeyeon would not come without the kings card.

Because she was that kind of person.

——

When Jiang Zhiyu arrived, Kim Taeyeon was already standing at the entrance.

She was wearing a light gray thin cardigan with a white camisole underneath; the neckline was not low, but the lines of her collarbone were very clear under the streetlamp.

Her hair was loose, blown up by the night wind, with a few strands sticking to her cheeks.

She was looking down at her phone, her thumb sliding slowly across the screen, probably having scrolled upon something interesting, as there was a tiny arc at the corners of her mouth.

She didn't notice Jiang Zhiyu walking over because she was very focused when looking at her phone, so focused that the surrounding sounds and light and shadows were all shut out by her.

Jiang Zhiyu stopped a few steps away from her.

He didn't call out to her, just stood there, watching her.

Kim Taeyeon was standing next to the light box at the entrance, the light from the box shining from the side, gilding her silhouette with a layer of warm yellow light.

Her shoulders were very narrow, so narrow that the neckline of her cardigan would slide down, and she had to reach out to pull it back up every little while.

Her waist was very thin, so thin that the hem of her camisole would puff up in the wind, like a small sail.

The feeling of her standing there, the whole person, wasn't "a person," but "a small clump."

So small that you would feel a strong gust of wind could blow her away, so thin that you would wonder if she wasn't eating properly.

Jiang Zhiyu remembered when he first met her, there was a time in the recording studio when she took off her headphones, rubbed her ears, and said, "So tired."

He said, "Noona, how long have you been recording today?"

She said, "Since ten in the morning."

It was already nine in the evening.

Eleven hours, with only two Americanos and a small bowl of fruit in between.

He said, "Aren't you going to eat?"

She said, "I did, fruit."

He didn't ask any further.

Later, he noticed that when Kim Taeyeon ate, there was always only half a small bowl of rice, and she only picked up a few chopsticks of vegetables.

It wasn't intentional dieting; her stomach was just that small.

So small that it couldn't hold more.

So small that it made people wonder how she had managed to get by for so many years.

Jiang Zhiyu walked to her side.

"Noona."

Kim Taeyeon looked up, saw him, and put her phone away.

Her gaze swept from his face to his clothes—a black windbreaker, the zipper pulled all the way to the top, the collar standing up, covering half of his neck.

His pants were black, his shoes were black; the whole person looked like a small piece cut out from the night.

"How long have you been here?"

"Just arrived."

"Where's Yoona?"

"Traffic. It'll be a while."

Jiang Zhiyu wanted to say, "She's always in traffic," but he didn't.

Because he knew Im Yoona wasn't always in traffic; she was always late.

There was no necessary causal relationship between being late and traffic, but she always used traffic to explain, and he always pretended to believe it.

This was the unspoken understanding between them.

The two stood at the entrance, neither speaking.

The light from the light box fell on them, casting their shadows on the ground, one long and one short.

The long one was Jiang Zhiyu, and the short one was Kim Taeyeon.

He was nearly twenty centimeters taller than her; standing together, they looked like a tall bamboo pole and a short bamboo pole stuck side-by-side in a flower pot.

Kim Taeyeon looked at the shadows of the two bamboo poles on the ground and suddenly felt it was a bit funny, but she didn't laugh.

The night wind blew over, carrying the scent unique to early autumn, mixed with falling leaves and the smoke of barbecue.

Kim Taeyeon pulled the neckline of her cardigan together, her fingers lingering at the neckline for a moment, as if hesitating whether to tie it up.

The cardigan had no buttons, only a belt.

She didn't tie the belt because she felt that tying it would make her waist look even thinner, so thin that it wouldn't look good.

Jiang Zhiyu noticed her action of pulling the neckline together.

Not because he was looking at her, but because his peripheral vision automatically captured all the tiny changes around him.

This was a habit he had cultivated on the Tianxuan Continent, carved into his bones, and couldn't be changed.

He noticed that her fingers lingered at the neckline a little longer than usual, which meant she was colder than usual.

Her frame was too thin, so thin that it was like it was folded from paper, and would wrinkle at the slightest blow of the wind.

He remembered that Koreans seemed to not be afraid of the cold; in winter, girls wore short skirts, boys wore thin pants, walking around barefoot in the snow, with "I'm cold but I won't say it" written on their faces.

They weren't unafraid of the cold; they prioritized style over warmth.

Jiang Zhiyu didn't understand this choice.

When he was on the Tianxuan Continent, he wanted to wrap himself up like a zongzi in winter.

Wang Shuyun said he "dressed like a ball," and he said, "Balls don't catch colds."

Wang Shuyun had nothing to say.

He took off his windbreaker.

The movement was very light, making no sound.

He unfolded the clothes and draped them over Kim Taeyeon's shoulders from behind.

Not "handing it to her," but "draping it on."

If he handed it to her, she would say, "No need, I'm not cold."

By draping it on, she couldn't refuse because the clothes were already on her, and taking them off to return them would be more troublesome.

Kim Taeyeon's shoulders were covered by that black windbreaker.

The clothes were very large, so large that the hem hung to the middle of her thighs, and the sleeves were too long, covering her fingers.

Her whole person seemed to be swallowed by the clothes, revealing only a small face and a pair of slightly widened eyes.

She only felt that she was wrapped in sunlight.

Not sunlight, but the temperature on Jiang Zhiyu's body.

Not the residual warmth of the clothes, but the temperature of the person himself.

When the clothes were worn on him, they had absorbed his body heat, and now that temperature was being transferred to her, bit by bit.

And the scent.

Not the smell of laundry detergent, not perfume, not any kind of thing she had smelled in a store that could be named and categorized.

It was a peach, a plump, juicy peach that seemed like it had just been picked from the tree.

Not that kind of sweet, cloying, synthetic artificial flavor, but a natural, clear, sweet scent with a bit of greenness, like the feeling of dew still hanging on the fruit skin.

Underneath the scent of the peach, there was another layer of lighter, more restrained, herbal bitter fragrance.

Not the bitterness of traditional Chinese medicine, but the kind of bitterness that is released when dried mugwort is lit, carrying a hint of smoke, a bitterness that makes one feel at ease.

The two scents were intertwined, indistinguishable from each other, like a duet, two parts, one high and one low, only complete when combined.

Kim Taeyeon had smelled this scent many times.

In the SM recording studio, when Jiang Zhiyu sat in front of the mixing console and she came out of the recording booth, passing by his side, that scent would drift over.

In the SM hallway, when she came out of the elevator and he walked over from the end of the corridor, as the two brushed past each other, that scent would linger in the air for a few seconds, only dissipating after she had walked far away.

Every time there was a gathering at the barbecue restaurant, he sat next to her, and when he flipped the meat, his arm passed in front of her, and that scent would mix with the aroma of the barbecue and drill into her nose.

Every time she wanted to ask— "Which perfume do you use?"

But she was too embarrassed.

Not because she was afraid he would misunderstand, but because she was afraid he would answer, "I don't use perfume."

And then she would fall into a dilemma—if he didn't use perfume, then what was this scent?

Was it the scent of his own body?

Then if she asked him, "Which perfume do you use," it would be equivalent to saying, "The scent on you smells very good, I want to know what it is."

Once said, no matter how it was packaged, it would be very ambiguous.

So she had never asked.

Kim Taeyeon looked up at Jiang Zhiyu. After draping his jacket over her shoulders, he took two steps back. Not one, but two. This distance was perfect—close enough to talk, but far enough to avoid rumors if they were photographed. Even if they were caught, she could claim he was "a close junior," especially since they had collaborated on a song and had a legitimate reason to be in the public eye together. Those two steps back weren't about distance; they were about protection. Protecting her from controversial photos, protecting her name from being linked with his in ways it shouldn't be, and ensuring she had plenty of explanations ready if "the worst" happened.

Kim Taeyeon looked at his young, handsome, yet silent face under the streetlamp, and suddenly felt that his intelligence was something she both loved and hated. She loved his sense of boundaries—giving her his jacket was care, and stepping back was also care. Every action was perfectly measured, not a fraction too much or too little. What she hated was how thorough he was. So thorough that one might forget he was still a minor. So thorough that one might forget he actually needed to be taken care of, rather than always being the one taking care of others. So thorough that it created an illusion in certain moments—that he didn't need anyone. And that illusion brought a sense of loss. Not the loss of "he doesn't need me," but the loss of "I want to give him something, but he seems to lack nothing." In reality, he lacked everything. He lacked money, sleep, and a meal he didn't have to mooch off others. But he never let you feel that he lacked anything. He hid all his "lacks" away—behind those perfectly measured boundaries, in that distance of two steps, in the loose hem of that black windbreaker. You could only see what he wanted you to see. You would never see what he didn't want you to see.

Kim Taeyeon lowered her head, looking at the black windbreaker on her. The collar was turned up, covering her chin. She buried her chin into the collar and took a deep breath. Peaches. Herbs. And a hint of sunshine. Not the "sunlight" of the sun, but the feeling of "warmth." When he wore this jacket, it had absorbed his body heat, and now that warmth was slowly transferring to her. She suddenly felt she didn't want to give it back. Not "didn't want to return it," but "wanted to wear it a little longer." But she wouldn't say it. She just pulled the collar up higher and buried her face deeper.

Jiang Zhiyu stood two steps away, watching Kim Taeyeon with her face buried in the collar of his windbreaker. Her hair spilled out from the collar, swaying slightly in the wind. Her fingers peeked out from the cuffs, pinching the edge of the collar, her fingertips gently rubbing the fabric. He suddenly spoke a sentence that Kim Taeyeon completely didn't expect. "Noona, I think we should ask the restaurant owner for money."

Kim Taeyeon froze. Before her brain could catch up, her mouth moved first. "Why?" She heard her own voice coming from inside the collar, muffled, as if separated by a layer of cloth.

Jiang Zhiyu laughed. It wasn't his usual polite, social smile, not the calm composure he showed before the Loen Entertainment executives in the conference room, nor the gentleness he showed when watching the three girls mess around in the practice room. It was a "bad" smile, wicked, with a hint of triumph from a successful prank, as if saying, "I know you don't understand what I'm saying, but I just like the look on your face when you don't." "Because I feel like the two of us standing at the shop entrance are like two door gods. Not Qin Shubao and Yuchi Jingde, but the Golden Boy and Jade Girl pair you stick on doors during the Lunar New Year."

Kim Taeyeon understood. He said they were door gods, but door gods are stuck on doors, not standing at the entrance. He said they were the Golden Boy and Jade Girl, but those are drawn on paper, not living people. He was joking. It was a cold joke, so cold it required a certain cultural background to understand. Kim Taeyeon understood, so she rolled her eyes. Not the "I'm very angry" eye-roll, but the "you are so boring" eye-roll. Her eyes rolled up, showing the whites, then quickly returned to normal. The movement was fast, only half a second, but Jiang Zhiyu caught it. His smile widened. Kim Taeyeon reached out, grabbed his arm, and pulled him hard into the shop. Her hands were small, her fingers slender; when she gripped his forearm, it was like a bracelet clasping his wrist. She wasn't strong, but her attitude was firm— "You get in there, stop standing at the door and embarrassing yourself." Jiang Zhiyu didn't resist and followed her into the shop.

Im Yoona entered just as the first slice of pork belly was grilled to perfection. The meat sizzled on the grill, grease dripping onto the charcoal and sparking a small flame. Jiang Zhiyu flipped the meat, grilled it for a dozen seconds, then picked it up and placed it on Kim Taeyeon's plate. Kim Taeyeon picked up the meat, dipped it in sauce, wrapped it in lettuce, and popped it into her mouth. She still chewed slowly, taking a long time with every bite. The door pushed open, and Im Yoona walked in, bringing a gust of wind with her. Her hair was slightly messy from the wind, her cheeks flushed red, whether from running or the cold, it was hard to tell. She wore an off-white trench coat, the belt at her waist tied in a bow, the two ends of the bow perfectly even, as if measured with a ruler.

"Unnie, Zhiyu, I'm here. Traffic was bad." Her voice carried a hint of breathlessness, sounding as if she had really just run over. But her makeup was flawless, her hair neat, and her breathing steady. Someone who had just run over couldn't possibly have perfect makeup, neat hair, and steady breath. Jiang Zhiyu didn't call her out. He picked up the second slice of grilled pork belly and placed it on the plate to cool. "Yoona Noona has been standing at the door for a long time, just waiting for the meat to be ready, right?"

Im Yoona's expression shifted slightly. It wasn't the surprise of being caught—the "How did you know?"—but a sort of "You're doing it again" confirmation, tinged with resignation. Because she had indeed been standing at the door for a long time. She had arrived over ten minutes ago. She sat in her car, watching Jiang Zhiyu and Kim Taeyeon at the entrance, one in a white shirt, the other draped in a black windbreaker. The distance between them was just enough for passersby to glance twice, but not enough to make people think they were waiting for anything. She hadn't gotten out because she knew the charcoal hadn't been served, the grill wasn't hot yet, and the ingredients weren't ready. If she had gone in then, she would have just sat there waiting—waiting for the charcoal, the grill, the meat, and for him to grill it. She didn't like waiting. So she went back to the car and scrolled through her phone until she saw that Kim Taeyeon had posted on Instagram—a photo of the grill with the caption "Meat is here." When she saw the words "Meat is here," she knew the time was right. The first slice of pork belly was already grilled and cooling on the plate. She pushed the door open and entered, just in time to eat that slice, now cooled to the perfect temperature. It wasn't that she had calculated it perfectly; it was that Jiang Zhiyu had. He knew she would wait at the door, he knew she would wait until the meat was ready before coming in, he knew she would pretend to have just run over—breathless, makeup intact, hair not messy, breathing steady. He knew everything. That was why he said that sentence— "Yoona Noona has been standing at the door for a long time, just waiting for the meat to be ready, right?" It wasn't an interrogation; it was teasing. Not "I know you're late," but "I know why you're late." Im Yoona pretended not to hear and sat down between Jiang Zhiyu and Kim Taeyeon.

Jiang Zhiyu picked up the cooled slice of pork belly, rolled it in the dipping sauce, coated it with chili paste and sesame oil, and reached out to hold it to Im Yoona's lips. The chopsticks holding the meat hovered before her. Im Yoona looked at the meat, her eyebrows arched high. Her eyes widened slightly, her pupils reflecting the charcoal fire of the grill and Jiang Zhiyu's half-smiling face. The expression meant— "Very good, you've successfully angered me." Then the corner of her mouth tilted to the left; that was the smile she used when she had already figured out how to retort. She would use a gentle, non-offensive, yet clearly annoyed tone to tell him—I am very dissatisfied. She opened her mouth. Jiang Zhiyu stuffed the meat in. Not "offered," but "stuffed." The movement was fast, so fast that before Im Yoona's mouth was fully open, the meat was already inside. Her teeth hit the chopsticks with a slight "clack." Her lips touched the meat, sauce staining her lower lip, glistening under the lights. She took a bite. The meat exploded in her mouth. The grease of the pork belly melted on her tongue, the spiciness of the chili paste spread in her mouth, and the aroma of the sesame oil rushed up through her nasal cavity, hitting the top of her head. She chewed twice, then twice more. Delicious. Not just "delicious," but "too delicious." The pork belly was grilled just right—crispy on the outside, tender on the inside, fatty but not greasy. The dipping sauce was perfectly mixed—salty and savory, with a balance of spice and sweetness. The temperature was just right—not burning her mouth, not cold to her heart. Everything was just right. Im Yoona's eyebrows were still arched, but the corner of her mouth wasn't tilting left anymore; it was pressing down—she was holding back a laugh. She didn't want Jiang Zhiyu to see her laughing because she was still "angry." But her body wouldn't cooperate; her tongue was savoring the taste, her stomach was cheering, and the corners of her mouth were betraying her.

"It was just a coincidence!" Im Yoona argued while chewing, her voice muffled because she hadn't swallowed the meat yet. Her eyebrows were still arched, but that arch no longer had the force of "I'm angry," it was just the inertia of "I'm maintaining my expression." Jiang Zhiyu watched her "I'm angry but the meat is too good and I don't want to be really angry" look, smiled slightly, and didn't reply. He lowered his head and continued flipping the meat on the grill. Kim Taeyeon sat nearby, holding her water cup, watching the two of them, a tiny, almost invisible curve at the corner of her mouth. She didn't speak, but her fingers tapped gently against the side of the cup, the rhythm very slow, as if beating out a rhythm only she could hear.

The charcoal was still burning. The pork belly on the grill sizzled, grease dripping onto the charcoal, sparking small flames. Jiang Zhiyu's movements as he flipped the meat remained the same—unhurried and calm, each piece precisely turned, each side grilled golden and crispy. Kim Taeyeon ate very slowly, Im Yoona ate with great relish, and Jiang Zhiyu didn't eat much. The three of them sat around the grill, the heat of the charcoal warming their faces until they were rosy. Outside the window, in Seoul, the night was still long.

(16:50) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [Oppa! My in-ear monitor suddenly malfunctioned during rehearsal, I panicked and almost forgot the lyrics... But then I remembered Oppa said "Our Minjeong has the best stage presence," so I immediately improvised by adding a tiptoe spin! The PD Oppa laughed out loud in my earpiece! (Sends a messy photo of the in-ear monitor wire wrapped around her wrist after rehearsal)]

(16:53) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [The heating in the lounge is too high, so I took off my oatmeal sweater, folded it into a square, and hugged it. The Manager Unnie teased me, "Are you trying to hatch an egg?"... I said righteously, "This is protecting the warmth!" (Mumbles with her face buried in the sweater)]

(16:56) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [The fried egg in today's lunchbox was actually heart-shaped! I excitedly took a photo to send to you, but Giselle peeked over and said, "The cafeteria lady has been watching dating shows lately"... Ugh, romance crusher! (Sends a photo of a fork carefully guarding the heart-shaped fried egg)]

(16:59) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [While waiting backstage, I secretly applied the hand cream Oppa gave me. Ningning suddenly leaned over, sniffed it, and said, "Unnie, is this the scent of love?" My hand shook and I squeezed out too much... Now my hands feel sticky, like they've been soaked in a honey jar! (Displays two shiny palms)]

(17:02) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [I just met Irene Unnie in the hallway. She glanced at the sweater in my arms and smiled gently, saying, "It suits you." When I bowed to say thank you, I almost dropped the sweater on the floor... Ah, I'm always so clumsy in front of elegant seniors! (Ears turning bright red)]

(17:05) Minjeong who doesn't reply to messages: [I saw the streetlights turn on early on my way home from work today. The warm yellow glow is just like the sound of Oppa's laugh in the voice message from last night. If streetlights could grant wishes, I hope it lights up every step of Oppa's way home~ (Sends a blurry photo of a figure jumping in the light and shadow)]