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Chapter 46
“We’re back. Have some ice cream!”
“You’re late. What, were you two shooting the breeze somewhere?”
“Mm. Just… a little team bonding?”
“…You two?”
Lee Kyung-ah looked between the two of us with a no way in hell kind of expression.
Jo Hee-on kept her lips clamped shut, huffing in frustration, while I smiled in a breezy, refreshed mood.
“Who bought this?”
“Hee-on did. Thanks, Hee-on.”
“….”
“Oh, Hee-on bought it? I’ll enjoy it then.”
“…Yeah.”
Ryu Bora took one look at Hee-on’s face and seemed to pick up on something right away.
Popping a watermelon-flavored ice cream into her mouth, the way she curled her lips into a sly smile felt… oddly loaded.
Why’s she grinning like that? Creepy.
After we each ate an ice cream, we went back to practice as if nothing had happened.
A promise that couldn’t be kept
With a heart torn in two
You,
I…
Maybe my earlier comment had really gotten under Hee-on’s skin, because she was singing with her jaw clenched even harder than before.
If only she’d sung like this earlier.
Then she wouldn’t have been roasted so badly at the mid-term evaluation.
“Wow, Hee-on. Did that ice cream give you some sort of divine voice? You’re way better than before.”
Kyung-ah must have thought the same, because she sounded genuinely impressed.
“Good, let’s keep this vibe and go again!”
Ah, how satisfying.
I smiled quietly.
But I couldn’t fully relax just yet.
I pulled out my phone and checked today’s date.
It was August 3rd.
Only two days until the main stage.
And if things went the way they originally did in Yoon Cheong’s timeline, tomorrow was the day that incident would happen.
The one that completely ruined her main stage performance and destroyed her image beyond recovery.
Ding!
[“Menu-Cal” Yoon Cheong, repeated mistakes in the third mission… How much longer?]
[Yoon Cheong, failure to properly care for her vocal cords—why?]
[“Menu-Cal”’s lowest vote-getters: Yoon Cheong & vocal position. Criticism pours in…]
Yeah.
Those were the kinds of headlines that would normally explode after the incident.
I glanced at Jo Hee-on.
Would the same thing happen this time?
“Cheong-ah, what ice cream flavors are left? Let’s have one more before we keep going. It’s hot.”
Kyung-ah checked the ice cream left in the fridge.
“Oh, there’s an ice cream cone. Can I have this?”
“Sure. It’s got peanuts on top anyway, so I can’t eat it.”
“Why? You can’t eat peanuts?”
“I’m allergic.”
“Gasp.”
Kyung-ah looked surprised and put the ice cream back in the freezer.
“I didn’t know you had an allergy. Just peanuts?”
“Yeah. Nothing else, just peanuts for some reason.”
Hee-on and Bora each grabbed another ice cream.
“That’s weird. Wasn’t your allergy to peaches?”
“Huh? No, peanuts.”
Hee-on tilted her head, as if something didn’t add up.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I just ate peach ice cream earlier.”
I pointed to the discarded wrapper from the peach ice cream I’d eaten.
Only then did Hee-on nod.
“But… I’ve never mentioned I have an allergy. How did you know?”
At my question, Hee-on flinched, then shrugged.
“You said it at the dorm once. Guess you forgot.”
“…Did I?”
I let it slide.
“Cheong’s gotta be careful with peanuts then. Let’s all just eat peanut-free stuff.”
“Then you can’t eat tantanmen?”
Bora looked at me blankly.
“Nope.”
“Or peanut butter?”
“Nope.”
“…That’s sad. Peanut butter toast is so good.”
“…I’m sad too.”
We cheerfully split the ice creams and went back to practice.
After all, we really only had two days left.
“…It wasn’t peaches, but peanuts she’s allergic to?”
A luxury sedan.
Two young women sat in the back, still looking a little green around the edges.
In the driver’s seat was a woman who clearly had the air of success.
She glanced at the rearview mirror to look at the girls behind her.
“Yeah. She ate peach ice cream just fine.”
“…Strange.”
The driver muttered quietly.
“Didn’t that older trainee from her previous agency say she was allergic to peaches?”
The long-haired girl in the backseat spoke.
She was close with the driver and was also a contestant on Menu-Cal.
“Hee-on, you sure you heard right?”
“I told you, I’m sure. If you’re so doubtful, ask her yourself.”
Hee-on answered Kim Rye-yu’s suspicion in a voice full of irritation.
At that, the driver’s eyebrows shot up.
Hee-on flinched and turned to look out the window.
“Then it’s not peach powder, it’s peanut powder we need.”
The driver—Director Kim—said as she turned the wheel.
“She eats chicken breast every morning, so it won’t even be hard. She’s the only one in the dorm who does.”
Rye-yu scrolled through live SNS reactions.
The second mission stage was still airing, but criticism toward her was already building.
With each day, public opinion was turning against her.
At this rate, she might not just lose first place—she might not even make the debut lineup.
And it was all Yoon Cheong’s fault.
That nobody had suddenly started scheming, and it was infuriating.
If it had been Ryu Bora, Seo Baek-yeong, or Kim Geum doing well, it wouldn’t have hurt as much.
They’d always been strong debut candidates.
But Yoon Cheong? She’d be lucky to even rank 12th.
She’d been dead weight at every monthly evaluation in Colors, ignored by everyone.
Now she was a strong contender for first place.
Sure, it was thanks to benefits, but she’d even taken first in the rankings announcement.
Unacceptable.
She had to be stopped.
“Tomorrow we put a bit of peanut powder in her chicken breast. Her allergy’s bad—just a little and she’ll break out in hives all over and her vocal cords will swell.”
Peanut powder?
Hee-on looked at Rye-yu, startled.
They were actually going to do it?
She was one of the few who knew Rye-yu’s true nature.
The other trainees feared her vaguely, thinking she was just an overbearing senior.
But she was more than that.
To her, hurting others for her own goals was “only natural.”
If not for Director Kim holding her in check, she’d already have had major scandals.
And with Hee-on, she didn’t bother to hide her true self at all.
‘Not that she’s exactly kept her mask on around the others…’
When Director Kim wasn’t watching, Rye-yu did all sorts of awful things.
Bullying the weak was her hobby, a way to relieve the stress of trainee life.
And she made sure Hee-on took part, so she couldn’t rat her out—like the time they made Yoon Cheong eat bugs.
“But won’t she just take medicine and get better?”
Hee-on asked cautiously.
“Not necessarily. If you take the meds beforehand, it goes down quickly, but once it starts, it takes days to recover. The stage is two days away—she’ll be wrecked for at least a day or two.”
“….”
Hee-on’s expression soured.
“What?”
Rye-yu picked up on it immediately.
“I just… what if we get caught?”
“How would we? You think they’ll send it to forensics?”
Rye-yu snorted.
“Just blame it on her eating something wrong elsewhere.”
“Or say she faked it because she wasn’t ready and wanted sympathy.”
Director Kim chimed in coolly.
“Some trainees do that—pretend to be sick at monthly evals to dodge criticism.”
“Yeah. And she flopped at the last one too. Pull up that record and say she’s just making excuses every time.”
“If you want to be a pro, excuses don’t work. If it feels risky, I can step in and shape the narrative.”
Hee-on’s face was turning pale.
Like mother, like daughter—these two thought exactly alike, and it was chilling.
“Isn’t it… dangerous? I read online it can kill someone…”
“People don’t die that easily. We’re not using much, just a bit.”
And how do you even know that?
You don’t know the exact lethal dose.
Hee-on was starting to feel sick.
What if they really killed her?
“Hee-on, are you scared?”
Rye-yu laughed mockingly.
“Why so timid? Just sprinkle a little. She’s probably got meds on her—people with allergies always do.”
“What if she doesn’t…?”
“Then it’s her own fault for not being careful.”
How does that even make sense?
Hee-on couldn’t answer.
Rye-yu knew exactly how to spot her wavering.
And she knew how to keep her in line.
“Hee-on, don’t you want to debut? You’re twenty. You think another agency will take you if you fail here? You know twenty’s the cutoff for idols.”
Director Kim nodded in agreement.
“If you’re not an idol, what else are you gonna do? You’re not thinking acting, are you? You’re not Ryu Bora-level pretty.”
“Seriously, why did she even come into idol land with that face?”
The two of them snickered.
But Hee-on couldn’t laugh.
Her family had already threatened to cut off support.
If she didn’t debut now, her entertainment career was over.
Ten years of training—gone.
“…You really will get me in through the judges’ pick, right?”
“Colors is in my hands. You think I can’t do that?”
Director Kim said it like it was obvious.
And just like that, Hee-on caved.
Yeah.
Close her eyes just once, and she could debut.
As a Colors idol.
She wasn’t going to die from it. They could control the dose.
“So… how will you get it in?”
Her question made Director Kim burst out laughing.
So did Rye-yu.
The strange mood made Hee-on frown.
What?
“Hee-on, I can’t exactly sneak into your dorm like a burglar.”
Director Kim’s words made her freeze.
So that meant…
“Obviously, you’ll do it.”
“What?”
Rye-yu drove the nail in.
Hee-on stared in shock.
“Why me? You live there too—”
“If I do it, it’s too obvious. But you’re on the same team. Would anyone suspect you’d sabotage a teammate? You’d lose your benefit too if she’s gone.”
Rye-yu smiled sweetly.
“Just this once, please. Without an alibi, they’ll suspect me first.”
Well, of course.
Everyone knew she was the most unhinged one there.
Hee-on trembled with outrage.
“I’ll get you the peanut powder now.”
Director Kim glanced at the clock.
It was late, but not impossible to get.
“Between 3 and 7 a.m., unless something special’s going on, the cameras are off. No filming announced, so they’ll be off. No one will know.”
“….”
Hee-on lowered her head.
Her feelings were a tangled mess.
