"Absolutely not."
Min-ah didn't even blink. She put her pink Samsung phone with a decisive clack and stood up from her desk before the echo of my question had even settled in the room.
"There are some lines you don't cross, Mountain. Even for a best friend."
'Blyat, I'm already getting annoyed. At this point I'm too invested, why can't anyone tell me what happened?!'
I cursed under my breath.
But I was desperate. The sheer exhaustion of the December academic lockdown, combined with the agonizingly fractured dynamic of H-Wnot, had pushed me to my absolute limit. I couldn't navigate a band where my co-frontman-vocalist-guitarist-golden-boy-mr.president...-whatever, just Jun-seo and the bassist, Myung-dae, communicated exclusively through third-party proxies anymore.
I needed the truth to understand.
So, I followed her.
I became her literal shadow for the next three hours. When she went down to the canteen for a post-homeroom snack, I sat directly across from her, staring deadpan into her eyes while she tried to eat her tteokbokki. When she walked through the crowded corridors of the music wing, my massive, un-styled frame loomed right behind her, blocking the light.
"Ya! San-ah! Stop it!" she hissed, spinning around near the lockers. "People are starting to whisper on Kirin's Secret that you're stalking me!"
"Then give me the archive, database queen," I muttered, crossing my arms.
She huffed, turning on her heel and marching straight toward the Kirin's Voice broadcasting room for her afternoon shift. I slipped through the heavy door right behind her, ignoring the startled looks from the first-year technical crew.
Min-ah grabbed her clipboard, heading into the narrow, soundproofed preparation alcove just outside the main recording booth. "Look, I have an announcement to make in exactly four minutes," she said, her voice tight with professional annoyance. "Get out of my workspace."
Instead of backing away, I stepped forward.
Before my brain could register idiotic scale of the cliché I was about to execute, my calisthenics reflexes took over. I moved fast, trapping her in the narrow space between myself and the wall. My left palm struck the soundproof acoustic foam right next to her head with a muffled thud.
I leaned in close. Because I hadn't bothered to style my hair, the dark, messy fringe fell directly across my eyes, casting a shadow that made my expression look terrifyingly intense. My broad shoulders completely blocked her exit, cutting off the rest of the studio.
Min-ah froze. Her breath hitched.
The unshakeable, fast-talking gossip queen of Kirin Arts suddenly went completely rigid. I watched, thoroughly bewildered, as a brilliant, vivid crimson blush crept up her neck, rapidly painting her cheeks a deep shade of pink. She stared up at me, her large eyes blinking frantically behind her perfect eyeliner.
"San... what... what are you doing?" she whispered, her usual confident edge completely evaporating.
"I need the unvarnished truth about the original W-Naut tragedy," I said, my deep voice dropping to that serious, gravelly register. I stared dead into her eyes, my face inches from hers. "I'll do anything, Min-ah. Name your price. Just give me the ledger."
Min-ah stared at my face for three long, agonizing seconds. Then, her flustered expression twisted into a look of profound, irritated disbelief.
"Aish... jinjja," she complained, her voice trembling slightly as she reached up and aggressively shoved my shoulder away. "Who out there tells that to a girl while pressing her against a wall like a lead actor in a cheap romance drama?! You are completely hopeless! You've watched way too many television series, Mountain!"
The romantic gravity of the K-drama trope I had just accidentally weaponized hit my brain all at once. My face instantly erupted in a blistering heat.
"Oh," I choked out, rapidly scrambling backward until my spine hit the opposite equipment rack. My hands flew up in mock defense, my ears turning as red as a Cheongyang pepper. "I... I didn't mean... the space was narrow! My nuance was bad! I apologize!"
I'll need to work on my understanding of Korean mentality more. Well, even for Ukraine it would be strange to think about it that way, ha-ha-ha.
"Alright," she sighed, surrendering to San.
Min-ah took a deep, shaky breath, smoothing down the lapel of her navy blue blazer to regain her composure. She shot me a lingering, dangerous glare, but the professional anchor mask was slowly sliding back into place. A slow, manipulative smirk caught the corner of her lips.
"Anything, you said?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with a familiar, predatory calculation.
"Within legal and visa boundaries, yes," I muttered suspiciously.
"Fine," she said, stepping closer and tapping her clipboard against my chest. "Here is my Condition. Your host mother is Lee Eun-sook—the absolute legend of JBC News. I know she carries massive corporate influence at the main headquarters. You must use her network to secure me a private, VIP backstage tour of the JBC broadcasting station and to their private dramas sets! Legal floor, editing suites, the main newsroom—everything."
My jaw dropped. My soul left my body.
'AGAIN WITH THE CONDITIONS?!' I screamed internally, my fists clenching in pure, unadulterated frustration. 'AISH! IT WASN'T EVEN LONG SINCE YOO CHAE-RIN MANIPULATED ME WITH HER MAKE-OVER CLAUSES!'
Why does every single girl in this country operate like a high-end corporate lawyer?! Is there an unwritten rule in Seoul that you can't exchange basic human information without a binding bilateral contract?!
"Do we have a deal, Representative?" Min-ah smiled innocently, waving her pink phone. "Or you'll still go around following me? San, you are a good friend but... that's my last word or I'll..."
I looked at the red imprint on my palm from the soundproof wall. I looked at my messy hair. I was a prisoner of the curriculum, a fugitive of the band club, and now, a corporate smuggler for the broadcasting station.
"Deal," I groaned, leaning my head against a metal shelf. "I'll ask her at dinner."