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Chapter 23
“Shin Ihyun asked to meet you again?”
“Yeah.”
Haerin sat across from Minju, looking down at the table.
She had come over to Minju’s apartment after being asked for help—Minju feared she might mess up her new recipe if she worked alone.
A neat row of delicious-looking dessert samples was lined up on the table.
Minju, who was stirring cookie dough, suddenly narrowed her eyes.
“…What’s with that face?”
“Hey. Shin Ihyun, the anchor, isn’t he?”
“He is.”
“He sometimes invites people over for interviews, too.”
“That’s true.”
“Then he must be the type who catches the point of a conversation immediately.”
“I guess so?”
“Then why did he answer like that?”
“…How should I know?”
A frustrated sigh escaped Minju. Haerin, seeing her friend frown, felt flustered.
“What’s wrong with your expression?”
“Haerin, sometimes you amaze me. You’re not oblivious, yet on matters like this… you’re hopeless.”
“What do you mean hopeless? Why am I hopeless?”
“You like Shin Ihyun. That’s why.”
Haerin answered only with her expression.
“Didn’t I tell you not to say ridiculous things like that?”
“Why is it ridiculous? It’s obvious.”
Minju insisted that Ihyun had deliberately used a playful twenty-questions tactic to create another excuse to meet her.
“He gave that absurd answer on purpose, just to have a reason to see you again.”
Haerin responded reluctantly.
“I don’t think so. He’s not exactly the type to waste time like that.”
Minju set down the silicone spatula and let out a long sigh.
“Suddenly I feel sorry for Shin Ihyun. Even after trying so hard to show his feelings, there’s someone who doesn’t notice… and that someone is my friend.”
“Hey, I said it’s really not like that.”
Normally, anyone would at least consider the possibility.
But Haerin thought otherwise.
‘No. There’s no way. I haven’t seen a single sign of interest.’
She had felt kindness from him, but perhaps it stemmed from a past she didn’t remember.
“You need to spend time with him. He’s really that dry.”
“Exactly. So why would someone that dry ask to meet me?”
“Maybe if you keep meeting, you’ll remember who he was.”
If he had really wanted her to know, he could have introduced himself the first time.
The fact that he hadn’t meant he didn’t want to spoon-feed her.
He wanted her to meet repeatedly and piece together hints herself.
“…Now that you say it, maybe that does make sense.”
“See? Being nice might just mean you knew each other before.”
Haerin quickly changed the topic.
“Are you using this mold?”
“Yeah. Cute, right? I’ll bake them all, then spread chocolate cream on top to make fluffy little hair bombs.”
“Hair bombs…?”
“Cute, isn’t it?”
“Uh, okay. Let’s try it.”
At least they’re bunnies; that should be fine.
The ingredients were good, too. Anything would turn out better than bell pepper pudding.
As Haerin watched Minju bake, a faint buzz drew her attention to the living room.
Minju’s phone, resting on the table, was vibrating.
When Haerin picked it up, the name on the screen made her pause.
“‘Don’t Answer’? Who’s ‘Don’t Answer’?”
“Oh. Just leave it.”
“…Wait. That’s not him, is it?”
“It is.”
Her eyes widened.
“You even changed his name in your contacts?”
In the corner of the living room, unopened shopping bags still sat stacked.
Haerin set the phone down and returned to Minju’s side. The buzzing stopped after a few more rings.
They’d fought before, but never to this extent.
“You’re really not going to see him again?”
“That’s not it. I just need distance until I sort out my feelings. I did reply to him, though.”
“What did you say? You haven’t even opened the gifts.”
He had asked her to try everything and tell him what she liked best.
But judging by the untouched bags, she hadn’t.
“I told him I couldn’t do that.”
“And he didn’t ask why?”
“He did. So I told him my boyfriend doesn’t like it.”
“…Boyfriend? Are you sure that’s wise?”
Minju slammed her fist into the dough.
It was part of kneading, but her emotions were obvious.
“It doesn’t matter. Better this than letting someone else have the gifts I chose for him. He keeps asking who it is, and that’s annoying—but maybe I should actually meet someone new.”
“You always said no one else catches your eye.”
“I’ll grow to like someone eventually. I can’t confess anyway. And since our parents are close, I’ll keep seeing him regardless. It’s better to get over it quickly.”
“You can’t just date anyone. Don’t meet weirdos, okay?”
“Haerin, do you even know me? Stop worrying and help me with this.”
“…I know, but I can’t help worrying.”
Haerin washed her hands again and joined Minju, pinching off bits of dough beside her.
* * *
“Welcome, Reporter.”
“Ah, yes. Thank you again for inviting me.”
“Of course—we have to treat you properly.”
Hyunwoo clasped hands with the PR director in greeting.
They sat in a private room at a high-end Japanese restaurant. The table held a refined spread of dishes and fresh sashimi.
It was dinner in name, but in reality, a lavish, discreet meeting.
“Thank you for the article. Did you receive everything we sent you?”
“Honestly, it was too much…”
“Nonsense. Someone like you deserves no less.”
Technically, bribing journalists was illegal, but the law had long been ignored.
Hyunwoo chuckled, clinking glasses with the director.
“There’s no point in writing an article unless there’s something to gain from it.”
A few years ago, when he had been on the society desk, he had a sense of duty and ideals.
He had argued with seniors, guided struggling juniors, and fought for journalistic integrity.
But as a senior journalist, that conviction naturally faded.
No more chasing leads; just writing articles from press releases.
‘Why live a hard life if you can do this comfortably?’
And it wasn’t just anywhere—it was Cheonyeong Group.
Hyunwoo wasn’t about to give up this sweet opportunity.
He believed his connection with Cheonyeong Construction was especially special.
The PR director refilled his glass.
“Construction companies are struggling these days. We need your help more than ever. It must be difficult for you, too.”
“Well… honestly, yeah. It’s tricky.”
It wasn’t a normal situation.
Cheonyeong was using the media to attack Shin Hae Construction rather than promoting their own projects.
While Shin Hae landed major projects, Cheonyeong had to manage crises. Naturally, attacking the rival was easiest.
‘Sure, it’s convenient to just bash Shin Hae.’
But ignoring Anchor Shin Ihyun was impossible.
If Ihyun had any connection to Shin Hae, Hyunwoo could have gone after him with allegations.
But he had checked early on—there was nothing. Ihyun was spotless.
He had even reported issues in Shin Hae affiliates himself.
“Going after a guy like that without proof? That’d backfire hard.”
“You really work so hard. We’re grateful for the personal favors you’ve done, too.”
“Oh, that? It was nothing.”
“Some reporters refused outright, saying it wasn’t their job.”
“I actually enjoy it. It’s surprisingly… profitable.”
Hyunwoo formed a circle with his fingers, grinning.
The PR director laughed, slipping a piece of sashimi into his mouth.
“You’re not actually getting tips from anywhere, are you?”
“Tips? Please. I just make it up.”
“You make it sound so convincing, though. Even I’m surprised sometimes.”
Hyunwoo laughed heartily. With a little alcohol, even trivial chat felt delightful.
“Your channel is growing fast. I’ve been monitoring public opinion on Yoo Haerin, and there are tons of comments about your videos.”
“It’s nothing. I’m just doing what you trusted me to do.”
“Others wouldn’t have done it like you.”
The PR director slid an envelope across the table.
“Please take care of us going forward.”
“You keep giving me these things…”
The cyber-slander channel <To Ruin>, targeting Haerin, had already surpassed fifty thousand subscribers.
Hyunwoo operated it.
