The next morning came far too quickly.
The sun wasn't even fully up when Jihoon was already standing in the kitchen, sipping a cup of instant coffee and mentally preparing for what the day held.
It was officially cleaning day—a dreaded but necessary evil.
Their house had been left untouched for months. Jihoon had been in LA filming his movie, immersed in twenty-hour workdays and never-ending script meetings.
Meanwhile, Jieun, still too young to live on her own, had stayed at the Loen trainee dormitory—surrounded by strict vocal coaches, questionable dorm food, and neon-lit practice rooms that barely slept.
The house they once called home had collected layers of dust in their absence. Literally.
So today, it was time to reclaim it.
With zero ceremony and a dramatic groan, Jieun shuffled out of her room looking like a grumpy cat in pajamas. "Oppa… tell me again why I had to wake up for this?"
Jihoon simply handed her a mop and a pair of gloves. "Because this house looks like it was abandoned during the Joseon Dynasty."
"What's a dynasty? Sounds dusty already," she mumbled as she reluctantly followed him into the living room.
Together, the siblings tackled the chaos. Floors were swept, rugs were beaten like drums out on the balcony, and cabinets were cleared of expired snacks that met their fate in the trash.
By lunchtime, the house was completely transformed. The air felt fresher, sunlight poured in through spotless windows, and the couch was finally visible again. They stood side by side, hands on their hips, admiring their work.
Then, Jihoon remembered. The gifts.
Nine carefully chosen presents from Los Angeles—each one painstakingly picked out for nine equally chaotic girls who had very loudly demanded souvenirs before he left.
He originally planned to swing by their old dorm and quietly drop off the gifts—something quick and low-key. But when he mentioned it to Taeyeon, she quickly sent him a heads-up that changed everything.
Turns out, the girls had moved to a new dormitory—this one arranged by the company specifically for debuting artists.
The new place came with tighter security and stricter rules, all part of SM's effort to protect their newly-minted idols.
Management had made it clear: no male visitors allowed without prior approval.
The reasoning was simple, if a bit intense—now that the girls had officially debuted, they were seen as high-value investments.
From vocal training and image consulting to sponsor deals and media exposure, everything about them had been carefully crafted to boost their visibility and market value in the entertainment world.
Their public image was now a tightly managed brand, and even the smallest rumor could derail months of work and millions in investment.
Of course, not every entertainment company played by the book.
Some, Jihoon knew all too well, veered into exploitative territory—treating idols and trainees less as performers and more as commodities in a deeply troubling industry landscape.
Thankfully, SM wasn't that kind of place. But still, the intense image management was very real.
Jihoon let out a long sigh. Naturally, he knew that with the girls' debut in full swing, even something as innocent as grabbing lunch together could spiral into a scandal. But since he already had the gifts in hand, he figured he might as well deliver them properly.
So he began gathering the neatly wrapped gift bags and slipping them into a sturdy canvas tote by the front door when Jieun—still in her oversized hoodie, hair tied in a messy side bun—dramatically flopped onto the couch like a war veteran returning from the trenches.
"Oppa, are you going out?" She asked, one eye open.
"Yeah. Need to get these to the girls before they hunt me."
"Good. Go. Suffer," she muttered.
"You sure you don't wanna come?" he asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.
She glared at him like he'd just kicked a puppy. "Oppa, I was forced out of bed before sunrise. My legs are jelly. My arms are noodles. My soul is floating somewhere over Gangnam."
"Alright, alright. Rest up," Jihoon laughed. "I'll be back soon."
"Bring snacks. And bubble tea. And maybe a new pair of legs."
"Okay, drama queen."
With that, Jihoon slung the bag over his shoulder and headed out—off to face the chaos of SM Entertainment armed with nothing but a tote full of bribes.
Strangely, even though it had been months since he last saw them, a strange sense of familiarity was already creeping in, as if his brain was preemptively bracing for the madness ahead.
He wasn't sure what was more exhausting—filming a movie in LA, deep-cleaning a neglected house with a sassy teenager, or dealing with nine superstar idol who had gift expectations and gossip radars sharper than airport security.
After visiting SM Entertainment so often, Jihoon had finally realized something: most of the company's artists never used the front entrance.
They always came in through the back, a discreet passage meant exclusively for celebrities—away from cameras, away from fans, and most importantly, away from drama.
He used to blend in easily, just another guy in a hoodie. Aside from a few staff who recognized him as "the director guy," most people didn't pay him much attention.
But now, things were different.
Ever since his return from Los Angeles, Jihoon hadn't quite adjusted to the fact that his face was no longer anonymous.
In the States, no one really paid attention unless you were a Marvel star or dating Taylor Swift.
But here in Korea? One well-received indie film, a bit of Cannes buzz, and suddenly your face became public property.
And Jihoon? He was a different case altogether—he wasn't just a rising director; he was the first Korean filmmaker in history to actually break into Hollywood.
The film hadn't even been released yet, but the industry already couldn't stop talking about it. The media loved to brag, and Jihoon had become the headline.
So now, to the average passerby, Jihoon wasn't just someone—he was that guy. The young director. The one rumored to be working with half the entertainment industry. Naturally, people were curious.
And today, as he strolled toward SM's main gate—tote bag full of gifts in hand—a small swarm of reporters and onlookers had already started gathering. Some squinted, trying to place him. Others whispered. A few even raised their cameras.
Thankfully, one of the SM security guards mistook Jihoon for one of their own artists. Probably assumed he was a singer who'd taken the wrong entrance and was about to announce an album.
After all, in this business, if you came through the front door, you were either promoting something... or trying to make a statement.
Either way, Jihoon could already imagine tomorrow's headlines:
"Director Jihoon Spotted at SM—Collab with Idols Incoming?"
He sighed. Whatever. That was a problem for future Jihoon.
Right now, his attention was pulled to a suspiciously familiar figure walking a few steps ahead.
Actually, two girls. Both clearly trying to sneak into the building unnoticed.
One of them had long straight hair, a confident gait, and a slightly-too-fast pace—as if she'd just been caught doing something she shouldn't.
Jihoon squinted.
Wait… was that—
"Hey! Krystal! Where you're going?"
At the sound of his voice, both girls visibly flinched. They didn't turn around.
Instead, they did the universal "oh no, busted" move—walking even faster.
"YA! Krystal Jung One more step and I'm doubling your homework for next week's lesson!" Jihoon called out, barely hiding his laughter.
Despite being swamped with film work in LA, Jihoon had kept up his promise.
In exchange for taekwondo lessons from Krystal's dad, he agreed to tutor her once a week.
Thanks to the magic of Skype—which had become increasingly usable since 2006—they managed to keep it up, even across time zones.
Hearing that familiar threat, the two girls stopped, glanced at each other in defeat, and slowly walked back toward him, heads slightly lowered like two school kids caught red-handed.
As they approached, Krystal looked up first and groaned dramatically.
"Oppa! You scared me to death!" she barked, realizing it wasn't the trainee supervisor who caught her in the act—it was her annoying tutor.
Jihoon grinned. "You little brat. Why are you here at SM in the middle of school hours? Shouldn't you be in class?"
He reached out to ruffle her hair, but Krystal immediately slapped his hand away.
"Ya! Don't mess up my hair! I just got it done!"
Jihoon just laughed harder.
"Hehe!" she added, striking a pose with her hands on her hips, "Guess what? I'm officially a trainee now! SM picked me!"
She puffed her chest out proudly like she had just been crowned.
"Aigoo," Jihoon said, pretending to be shocked. "Didn't your dad say you weren't allowed to waste time on stuff like this?"
Krystal rolled her eyes. "Hmph! Who cares what he says? Omma said I could do what I want. So that's that! Hmph! Bad oppa!"
She crossed her arms and glared up at him like a tiny lion cub trying to be fierce.
"Okay, okay," Jihoon chuckled, still ruffling her hair just to annoy her more.
Then his eyes shifted to the other girl, who had been standing quietly beside Krystal.
She was slightly shorter, with fair skin, soft features, and a pair of gentle eyes that looked like they were always smiling—even if her lips weren't. There was a certain glow to her, something almost ethereal.
She looked vaguely familiar, but Jihoon couldn't quite place where he'd seen her before—either in this life or his previous one.
Turning to Krystal, he asked, "And who's this?"
The girl stepped forward before Krystal could answer, her gaze fixed on Jihoon.
There was something in her expression—not admiration exactly, but a quiet curiosity. The kind that came from someone who rarely received attention but wasn't quite sure what to do with it when it came.
"Hello, Jihoon sunbae," she said softly, bowing. "My name is Choi Sulli. I'm in the trainee program with Krystal."
Her tone was calm, almost serene. But something about it felt... off. Her smile was perfect—angelic, even—but her eyes told a different story. Not sadness, exactly. More like emptiness.
Like a soul still searching for its place in the world. And though her smile was bright, there was something fractured about it. Something quietly broken beneath the surface.
[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe, JiangXiu, Daoist098135 and Daoistadj for bestowing the power stone!]