“What do you think you’re going to do, keeping Han Gyeoul locked up in here?”

“Not Han Gyeoul, Song Yeoreum.”

“Half of it was right.”

“Nothing was right, what are you talking about…”

“(Shameless)”

“I don’t know. I probably did it without thinking, just because I thought I could screw you over. Or, well…”

“What?”

“…Even if you’re locked up, you’d still want to go to the bathroom. Maybe they were waiting for me to not be able to hold it in and relieve myself here… and then take a picture to shame me?”

“Are you crazy?”

“Are trainees not allowed to date? They haven’t even debuted.”

“They probably think there’s no sense of desperation. And at our company, you have to hand in your phone after you debut. Until you get to number one.”

“Wow~ The adults are really playing with the young idols, huh?”

“Jung Eun-sung, did you finish reading?”

“Do you think I did?”

“Hurry up and read.”

“Alright.”

“Read it in 10 minutes.”

“I said alright.”

“Tick-tock.”

“…”

“I’m hungry.”

Cold, hungry, and sleepy. I’m no different from a beggar. I sniffled as I lamented.

I put on Jung Eun-sung’s school uniform knit that was covering my shoulders, and Jung Eun-sung, wearing only a shirt, sat at a distance from me as if he wasn’t cold.

“Should we write ‘SOS’ on an A4 paper and stick it on the window?”

Jung Eun-sung looked at me with a contemptuous gaze as I spouted nonsense.

Still, it was a huge improvement compared to when we were shouting and blaming each other earlier.

I don’t think I’ve ever had such a peaceful conversation with Jung Eun-sung after regressing.

“Don’t you think the classroom has been a little dark lately?”

“Isn’t it because your beloved Jae isn’t here?”

“…”

At times like this, I really want to hit him.

I glared at Jung Eun-sung and hunched my shoulders again. The smell of fabric softener wafted up from the knit I was wearing.

“It smells nice.”

Without thinking, I lifted the knit to smell it, and Jung Eun-sung shot up from his seat.

“Ah, why are you smelling that!”

“No, it just smelled nice…”

“Are you a pervert?”

“Do you want me to be a pervert?”

Then you’re locked up with a pervert right now? As I informed him of the cold, hard reality, Jung Eun-sung’s cheeks turned bright red.

I chuckled and looked out the window. It was dark. Jung Eun-sung, who followed my gaze, asked.

“When are your parents coming home?”

“My mom? She won’t be home until after midnight. What about your parents, Jung Eun-sung?”

“…It would be faster to count on your parents.”

Jung Eun-sung, who dismissed it with a vague expression, tried to open the locked door again, which he had been attempting since earlier.

“I told you it won’t work…”

I nagged him and went to stand next to him.

“Should we try it at the same time on the count of three?”

As if to do it together, I placed my hand on top of Jung Eun-sung’s hand, which was holding the doorknob. The veins on the back of his hand were prominent, so I pressed them without thinking.

For a moment, Jung Eun-sung flinched.

“? Why? Is it opening?”

I can’t see because of the shadow. I opened my eyes wide and looked up at Jung Eun-sung.

Our eyes met.

A dark hallway. A contrastingly bright club room. Between the boundary of light and darkness, a face 10 years younger than my last memory shone.

0.

1.

2.

3.

Jung Eun-sung, who hadn’t blinked an eye for what felt like a long time, slowly lowered his gaze. Looking at my hand overlapping his on the back of his hand, Jung Eun-sung suddenly said.

“…Ah.”

“Ah?”

“This won’t work.”

Letting go of the door, Jung Eun-sung strode to the opposite window and opened it with a rattle.

And he jumped out.

?!

“Jung Eun-sung!”

I hurriedly leaned out and looked.

I saw Jung Eun-sung, who had rolled over the flowerbed, stand up with a frown, his white shirt stained with something on the back.

His face, his face!

He can’t hurt his face!

“Are you okay?!”

I shouted, leaning my upper body out of the window. Jung Eun-sung, who nodded vaguely, pointed to the central staircase with his hand. It seemed to mean that he would come back up and open the door.

Fortunately, his face seemed to be fine.

However.

“You’re limping?!”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine at all!”

Isn’t a leg as important as a face to an idol?! You have to dance!

“Wouldn’t it have been better to just wait for our parents to come?!!!!!”

“They have to be here for me to wait.”

Jung Eun-sung’s muttering didn’t even register in my ears.

“Hey, don’t move! If you move your ankle when it’s sprained, it’ll get worse! Stay there!”

Without listening to Jung Eun-sung’s reply, I moved my body.

I brought the prop wigs, costumes, and cushions that were piled up next to me and threw them down randomly. After throwing enough to form a rough circle.

I also climbed out of the window.

“Ack!”

As I fell face-first onto the cushions, Jung Eun-sung quickly caught and helped me up.

“Are you okay?!”

“Yeah, yeah… ptui.”

Ugh. Hair.

“Why did you jump down? You’re so short.”

“Excuse me… you’re not that much taller than me, you know?”

“I told you I’m over 180cm?”

“Talk to me when you’re over 188cm.”

Your final height is 187cm.

I stood up and rotated my wrists and ankles. My ankle is fine, but my wrist hurts.

Seeing me touch my wrist, Jung Eun-sung’s expression hardened.

“Are you hurt?”

“It hurts a little, but I don’t think it’s sprained.”

“…You have to study.”

“What about you? You’re an idol who needs to dance, and you’ve hurt your ankle.”

“I didn’t sprain it either. It was just a little shock.”

“…”

“…”

“Let’s go.”

“Okay.”

My wrist hurts, and Jung Eun-sung’s ankle hurts.

I helped the limping Jung Eun-sung to walk, and Jung Eun-sung carried the book and the book report notebook that I had managed to grab before jumping.

“Hey, lean on me properly. Why are you struggling so much?”

“If I lean on you properly, you’ll fall.”

“Lean on me anyway.”

I pulled Jung Eun-sung’s arm, which was trying hard not to touch me, and put it around my shoulder.

It was both absurd and funny how we were hobbling along, relying on each other.

Jung Eun-sung seems to be thinking the same thing, as he laughs. His body temperature, where we touched, was as warm as I expected.

He really does smell nice…

“Aren’t you going to get in trouble when you go to your company, Jung Eun-sung? For not taking care of your body.”

“This will heal by the time I get home.”

“I hope so.”

If I were a little bigger, I would have carried him out on my back. As I thought that, something came to mind.

A short story by Ha Geun-chan that shows the pain of modern Korean history. A situation similar to ours now…

“Jung Eun-sung, do you happen to know <Suffering of Two Generations>?”

“Is that a prestigious university?”

What an ignorant fellow…

“Yeah. It’s one of the most prestigious universities in our country. Hanguk University, Dok수리 University, Horangi University, and Sunanidai.”

“Oh.”

What’s with the “oh”?

The father carries his son across the bridge on his back. The father lost his arm during the Japanese colonial period, and the son lost his leg during the Korean War.

“Read some books.”

“Suddenly?”

I somehow made it to the school gate with the bewildered Jung Eun-sung.

“It’s okay now.”

“Me too.”

I received the book and notebook from Jung Eun-sung, who had rotated his ankle once.

The spring breeze of March swept through my dirt-stained hair. A shadow fell on Jung Eun-sung’s face, illuminated by the streetlight.

The direct eye contact was somehow awkward.

Perhaps feeling the same way, Jung Eun-sung cleared his throat and asked.

“Are you going straight home?”

“I have to. Don’t you have to go to your company?”

“Yeah.”

“…”

“…”

Thump. Thump. Why am I suddenly reminded of when our hands touched in the club room earlier?

Thump. Thump. Why is my heart beating in my ears?

“Ah, Jung Eun-sung. What are we going to do about the music performance? I still haven’t thought of a difficult song.”

I could have just said goodbye and gone home, but why am I spouting nonsense?

“Isn’t it enough to just be good at singing?”

“Is that easy?”

“…Should I help you?”

“…You?”

“Yeah.”

Why is Jung Eun-sung accepting my thoughtless words that I blurted out?

“Well, that would be great for me, but…”

Why is my face suddenly getting hot when Jung Eun-sung offers to help?

I’m glad the streetlight is orange. I barely managed to speak, unable to even wet my suddenly dry lips with my tongue.

“Are you sure you have time?”

Jung Eun-sung, who kicked the asphalt with his sneaker-clad foot, replied.

“…Then you can teach me how to study.”

“I’m not very good at it…”

“You’re probably better than me.”

“Okay, then.”

“Alright.”

“…”

“…”

Business finished, words finished.

But why aren’t either of us saying, “Well then, bye”?

At what point, and for what reason, did the atmosphere become like this?

Just when I was about to say goodbye, thinking it would get weird if we delayed any longer, Jung Eun-sung rubbed his cheek with the back of his hand and spoke in a rather rushed tempo.

“Hey, Kang Da-hye…”

“Eun-sung, are you just getting out of school now?”

A high-pitched voice suddenly interrupted. Startled, I turned around.

A woman in her mid-30s, holding luxury shopping bags in both hands, was blinking and looking at us.

A pink frilly blouse, a white skirt like a ballet costume, long hair down to her waist, and a flower crown on her head.

The woman, who had been staring at me next to Jung Eun-sung for a few seconds, smiled at him.

“Why are you out so late, were you studying?”

“…”

I know this woman.

This woman… is Jung Eun-sung’s sasaeng fan.