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Chapter 23
He spoke with impeccable timing, like an MC cutting in at a crucial moment saying, “We’ll continue after a commercial break!”
Spring chewed on a piece of meat and waited for what would come next.
Gukhee quickly scrolled through her phone and showed them the screen.
It was Gogeon’s SNS. A post Spring had seen before came to mind.
[GogeonLoveBlackRabbit, have a great day.]
Along with the caption was a selfie of Gogeon holding a sheet of A4 paper with “GogeonLoveBlackRabbit” written on it.
Spring thought he had posted it as a token of gratitude toward the person who had tipped him off about the danger she was in.
Since he didn’t usually post about personal matters, fans briefly suspected it might be his girlfriend, but it was soon revealed to be just an ordinary fan.
The opinion that Gogeon had posted it after meeting her as an industry insider gained the most support.
Spring looked at Gukhee.
“This?”
“Yes, I asked him to post it! Hehe. I even framed it and hung it up at home.”
Ilju, who had been in this industry a long time, couldn’t understand.
“…Wouldn’t it have been better to take a photo together?”
“That’s what anyone and everyone does. He takes selfies even if some random passerby asks. This is way more special than that.”
“…I see.”
Overwhelmed by Gukhee’s enthusiasm, Ilju nodded without thinking.
As long as she was happy, that was what mattered.
“Mr. Gogeon is just too nice. That woman who did something like that under the name of being a fan should be properly punished. That’s the only way something like this won’t happen again.”
Too nice, huh.
Spring could only smile awkwardly.
‘Even if it’s her first offense and she just pays a fine, it won’t end there.’
‘Sure, it might be her first offense now. But next time, will it really end with just a fine?’
‘Someone selfish who only knows their own emotions and doesn’t consider others won’t change. She’ll do the same thing again.’
‘As long as she satisfies her own feelings first.’
‘Let her ruin her own life with her own hands. That personality will make her pay for it for the rest of her life.’
Gogeon was cold, without a shred of mercy.
He hurled curse-like words, vowing to catch the culprit no matter what.
Spring didn’t want to tell the truth and shatter the image of Gogeon that Gukhee had.
But somehow, she felt like Gukhee would have liked him even if she had heard those words.
“I was worried something weird might happen under Mr. Gogeon’s name, so I skipped my part-time shift that day, and my boss fired me without hesitation. Honestly, I was already waiting for the right timing to quit anyway. He’d constantly say money was missing or inventory didn’t add up, just looking for excuses to deduct my hourly pay.”
Gukhee spoke lightly, as if it were nothing.
“So you need to find something new now.”
“Yes, after eating this, I’m going to a job interview.”
Spring had thought she was eating in a hurry because it had been a while, but it was because of the interview.
Ilju, who had been opening and closing his mouth, sighed.
“…I’ve got nothing to say.”
Spring’s lips curled upward on their own.
Ilju was soft-hearted.
He was ruthless when it came to business and actor contracts, but perhaps because he remembered his own struggles as a trainee, he couldn’t ignore young people in their twenties who were having a hard time.
Gukhee glanced at Ilju, the one footing the bill.
“Can we order one more serving and make fried rice?”
“Are you done eating?”
“If we have fried rice and then cold noodles for dessert.”
“Excuse me!”
Ilju placed the additional order just as Gukhee wanted.
Gukhee, who had been silently watching Ilju, rummaged through her phone again.
“I’ll pay for the fried rice. I’m very clear when it comes to money.”
“It’s fine. It’s not that much.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
So it wasn’t about money.
Another Gogeon brag?
Spring couldn’t help but laugh. She could feel how genuinely Gukhee liked Gogeon, and it made her fond of her.
What Gukhee showed them was a screenshot from SNS. The moment Spring saw it, her mind went blank.
It was a photo of herself—one she had never taken. It looked like a covert shot, taken by someone else.
“This.”
Ilju took Gukhee’s phone and examined it closely.
“I figured the person who posted and deleted the fan café post wouldn’t have posted only there, so I searched SNS and found an account called ‘RealZeroForGogeon.’”
As she spoke, Gukhee skillfully cut the meat with scissors and mixed the fried rice.
She pressed it down firmly on the griddle, waiting for it to get delicious.
“There were posts that somehow felt similar to the one from the fan café, so I commented, ‘You’re the one who ordered the banner attack, right?’ and they shut down the account immediately.”
Gesturing toward Spring, who was staring at the screen with a pale face, Gukhee added,
“That account had that photo too. Your photo.”
Photos from Spring’s daily life were uploaded to the account of the person who had orchestrated the banner attack.
By the time they left the pork belly restaurant, lunchtime was already over by thirty minutes.
Even after getting away from the grill, the delicious smell clung to their clothes.
“The staff are going to complain that only we ate pork belly.”
Spring exchanged contact information with Gukhee.
After checking the time, Gukhee bowed deeply.
“Thank you so much for the meal. I’m going to head to my part-time job interview now.”
She greeted Ilju as well and was about to leave when—
“Jin Gukhee. …How much do you usually get paid per hour?”
“Minimum wage. Why?”
Spring barely held back her laughter.
See? In the end, Ilju was that kind of person. And that was exactly why she liked him.
“Unni, you’re definitely going to be blessed later.”
“I want to be blessed now, not later.”
And just like that, Management OneTwoThree gained one miscellaneous part-time worker.
After parting ways with Gukhee, who would start work next week, Ilju suggested they sit on the landscaped bench in front of the company to air out the smell from their clothes.
Spring held out the SNS screenshot Gukhee had sent.
That was why they hadn’t gone straight inside.
“You saw it, right?”
“Yes.”
Ilju stared quietly at the photo Spring showed him.
“It’s someone from our company.”
The photo uploaded to the account that had incited the attack on Spring.
It showed Spring sitting in the office—something only someone from the same office could have taken.
The drama “We, Right Now, Spring” was released on a global OTT platform.
Four episodes per week, sixteen episodes total.
Riding the buzz from Gogeon’s scandal, it debuted smoothly, landing in the top seven the very next day despite the small number of episodes released.
Then, behind-the-scenes footage from the dating video was uploaded to Gogeon’s channel.
Spring took the wheel for the first time in a while and headed to the filming site with Myeongjo.
It was the weekend—Myeongjo’s variety show filming day.
Because of recent issues, another manager had been assigned to Myeongjo, but for today, Spring had to go.
That was part of the contract.
The variety show Spring had asked the CEO of Able Entertainment to get Myeongjo on wasn’t this one.
“I saw Gogeon’s video—the response is insane.”
“Yes, thankfully.”
Spring gripped the steering wheel tightly, eyes fixed straight ahead.
She had seen the video too. The problem was the content. The content.
At that moment, a message notification popped up on the phone mounted in the front seat.
The sender was Gukhee, Gogeon’s sensible fan.
She didn’t even need to check the message. Ever since the video was uploaded yesterday, the message bombing hadn’t stopped.
[Unni, please, please love our Mr. Gogeon. ㅠㅠㅠㅠ]
[Unni, I’m not even opposing it! Please take good care of our Gogeon!]
[Mr. Gogeon is so pitiful ㅠㅠㅠㅠ]
What on earth was the problem?
She genuinely didn’t understand.
“So did you go to the shop and get styled? Well, I guess you’re a celebrity now too, Spring.”
“Haha… I guess so?”
She had gone to the shop. Not because of celebrity disease, and not by choice.
“If you ever go on a broadcast, I’ll manage you.”
Spring hiccupped.
Myeongjo, not knowing why, asked, “Want some water?”
“But who’s the other guest today? There’s no 기사 about it at all. Usually when that happens, it’s either someone super popular and kept secret, or a last-minute replacement.”
“…We’re almost there. I guess we’ll find out.”
Cold sweat ran down Spring’s back. Sometimes, Myeongjo was surprisingly sharp.
“They really cleaned out my fridge. I didn’t know they’d take literally everything. If I’d known, I would’ve set aside the dried sweet potatoes.”
Today’s variety show combined cooking and talk.
The main actor cooked using ingredients from the guest’s fridge, chatting about their current life and carefully touching on recent issues, earning steady popularity.
When they entered the set, a subtle smell of food filled the air.
The PD and writers welcomed Myeongjo. The veteran actress Soon-ae, the main star, had already arrived.
When they went to greet her in the waiting room, she was handing out small containers of kimchi to the staff.
“Hello, senior! I’m Yoon Myeongjo!”
“Welcome. I’ve heard your name often—nice to finally see you.”
“Please take good care of me today!”
“My hearing’s fine. You don’t have to speak so loudly.”
“Please speak comfortably.”
“When we start filming. The kimchi is nicely fermented—would you like to take some, Myeongjo? If so, I need to set it aside now.”
“It tastes amazing.”
The assistant director, kimchi juice at the corner of his mouth as if he’d already tasted it, gave a thumbs-up.
“Then I’ll take some too…”
The atmosphere was good.
Spring stood in the hallway outside the waiting room, glancing inside.
Then she made eye contact with a staff member. The staff member nodded at her, then whispered to the person next to them while sneaking glances her way.
She noticed that kind of thing often.
Because of the public relationship.
That was why Spring had been worried about coming to filming sites for a while.
“We’re ready!”
The cast came out onto the set.
But the guest was nowhere to be seen.
“Who is it? Why haven’t they arrived yet?”
Myeongjo muttered while looking around the set.
“The guest has arrived!”
At the assistant director’s announcement, even the filming staff—who were sick of seeing celebrities—buzzed as they looked toward the entrance.
Then, as if bathed in a spotlight, Gogeon walked onto the set.
“Hello, I look forward to working with you.”
As he greeted everyone, his gaze stopped on Spring.
“Oh—Mr. Gogeon? Oh.”
Myeongjo, who had been staring blankly, turned to Spring. She gave a bitter smile.
It was part of the contract with Able Entertainment’s CEO, Go Min-nam.
