7

"Hey, over there, did you see her? Did you?"

Someone who had somehow recognized Hayoon nudged the person walking beside them with their elbow as they spoke.

"Yeah, but she's not as stunning as I thought."

"Are you really the one to say that?"

Their voices carried as though they wanted to be heard by everyone around.

Though they lowered their voices, it wasn't quiet enough to escape my ears.

The most annoying part wasn't that I could hear them; it was not knowing whether their remarks were meant for me to overhear or were just idle chatter between themselves.

If I confronted them about it, their likely responses would be either,

"Why are you eavesdropping?" or "We weren't even talking about you."

Whether those answers were truthful, I couldn't say.

Even the Galactic Federation hasn't invented technology that lets you read minds by cracking open someone's brain.

Maybe I was being overly pessimistic, but honestly, I believed there was a high chance those comments were intended for me.

Still… I knew better than to react to such provocations.

It'd only tire me out.

If I grabbed them by the collar, I'd probably just be labeled as "someone with no manners."

Hayoon—or rather Blossom—looked slightly disheartened.

Even people who think highly of their own looks don't usually go around proclaiming it.

Regardless of how one perceives their appearance, nobody enjoys being told they're "not as pretty as expected."

If Hayoon were just a regular pretty face, perhaps this wouldn't have been an issue.

If she were like me—just a student blending into the background, unnoticed—she might never have had to hear such comments.

But Hayoon was a magical girl.

"Do you want to stop by the convenience store?"

Telling her, "Don't mind it," wouldn't help in this situation—it'd only draw attention to it.

Feeding her seemed like a better option.

"Huh?"

"Come on. I feel like eating something."

"Wha—?"

Before she could answer, I grabbed Hayoon's wrist and tugged her along.

She didn't resist much and followed me.

Although it had snowed heavily last night, the temperature rose above freezing during the day, drying out most of the shoveled paths.

Running to the nearest convenience store wasn't too difficult.

Once inside, the warmth hit me, making the scarf Hayoon had given me two years ago feel itchy against my neck.

However, there were more pressing matters, like cheering her up, so I ignored the discomfort.

"Let's see…"

"Ji-eun."

"…"

"Ji-eun?"

"Huh?"

"Um… your hand."

"Oh? Oh! Sorry."

Instead of holding her wrist, I realized I had grabbed her hand.

I quickly let go, feeling like I'd made a mistake.

"I-it's fine," Hayoon said, clasping her hands together as if to hide her embarrassment.

Her face turned slightly pink.

Right… Hayoon was already a well-known figure.

Around our neighborhood, people rarely approached her out of familiarity.

At school, overzealous displays often led to ostracism.

But in a place that wasn't her neighborhood or school, the dynamics changed.

Even now, she was wearing a mask, a hat, and thick-rimmed glasses to disguise herself.

Her pink hair wasn't tied in its usual ponytail but left loose.

Surprisingly, these measures were effective enough.

Most people either failed to recognize her or second-guessed themselves.

Of course, there were exceptions—like those earlier—but they were rare.

"So, what do you want to drink? Peach?"

Turning my gaze toward the refrigerator, I asked, hoping to mask my lingering embarrassment.

Hayoon had always loved peach-flavored drinks since she was young.

It wasn't because of her hair color—matching "concepts" like that wasn't her style.

Hearing only a faint response, I decided this was an emergency.

I grabbed two bottles of peach-flavored drinks, the kind with jelly chunks inside.

Before Hayoon could stop me, I rushed to the counter to pay.

The convenience store clerk, likely a college student, stared intently at Hayoon.

I quickly grabbed her wrist and led her outside.

This time, I made sure to hold her wrist properly.

Since we were already outside, I decided to head to a nearby park.

It was about 3°C—cold but bearable for a few minutes.

The park was nearly empty. Most people were likely in cafes or malls nearby.

Since the benches still bore traces of snow, sitting wasn't an option.

Standing, I opened a bottle and handed it to Hayoon.

"Thanks."

Hayoon took it with both hands, her gaze fixed on me.

Feeling her eyes on me, I hurriedly opened my own bottle.

Tapping hers with mine for an impromptu toast, I took a sip first.

The taste was sweet, fragrant, and slightly artificial, followed by tiny jelly chunks that were easy to chew.

With a mouthful of jelly, I glanced at Hayoon, who chuckled softly before mimicking me.

For a while, we just chewed in silence, glancing at each other occasionally.

"Tastes good," she said.

"Really? That's a relief. I was worried I should've gotten something warmer."

To be honest, while it was fine at first, the cold started to seep in as I swallowed.

Hayoon didn't show any sign of discomfort, though.

Should I just endure it?

If I had to name the most unreadable person in my life, it'd undoubtedly be Hayoon.

To others, she seemed like a cheerful and perfect girl.

But having known her since childhood—or, rather, knowing her "original story"—I understood how sensitive she truly was.

She'd get upset over a single negative comment online but bottled it up, avoiding conflict to stay likable.

Even though I tried to be considerate, I figured there were still things she wanted to say but didn't.

"Hayoon's a good kid," I thought to myself.

The world doesn't have many people like her. Most—including myself—are selfish and rude.

If anyone deserves to grow up into a decent adult, it's her.

"So, what do you want for dinner?"

At my question, Hayoon smiled.

"You bought this, so dinner's on me."

"…These cost less than 3,000 won combined."

"You buy me things often."

She didn't seem inclined to back down.

Maybe because she was well-off, she thought in terms of frequency rather than monetary value.

"Fine. Take me wherever you want. It's your treat, so pick something you like."

"Okay!"

Hayoon ended up taking me to a sushi restaurant in the heart of Seoul's Jung-gu.

Even if it was tucked away, it must've been pricey.

…Still, I simply enjoyed the meal.

It had been ages since I'd had sushi, and it was delicious enough to bring tears to my eyes.

I decided to keep this outing a secret from Ji-hye.

A couple of days later, shortly after the New Year began, I found myself with little to do.

Ji-hye was in the same boat.

As broke teenagers, our options were limited—bus rides to explore distant places weren't feasible daily due to the cold weather and rising fares.

There wasn't even a subway nearby.

This so-called "rich neighborhood" annoyed me to no end.

Then again, the wealthy didn't need public transit; they had private drivers.

I remembered wandering there aimlessly a few years ago.

The area had nothing but tall, imposing homes—no convenience stores, restaurants, or anything else.

It was eerily similar to a nearby slum, except those "homes" were surrounded by walls high enough to fit five slum houses stacked together.

It was a stark reminder of two extremes: people too poor to live anywhere else and people so rich that it didn't matter if they lived somewhere with nothing around.

While I was quietly mulling over the sadness of wealth disparity that suddenly came to mind, Ji-hye, who was as usual lounging on the floor, spoke up.

"Wow, look at this."

Ji-hye handed me her phone, and there was Hayoon on the screen.

Pink straight hair, scarf, thick, rimless glasses, and a mask.

Oh, this…

I practically snatched Ji-hye's phone and scrolled through the screen.

[Blossom, in a relationship?]

A simple headline.

The picture showed Blossom, seemingly in disguise, being led into a building while holding someone's hand.

The content was just as simple—a single line describing the image rather than an actual article.

It seemed the photo spoke for itself, as is often the case with entertainment news.

The problem was that this picture appeared to have been taken when we were entering the convenience store.

In the photo, Hayoon's hand was being held firmly by someone.

Since the entrance to the store was slightly elevated with a few steps, it looked like the person holding Hayoon's hand was a few centimeters taller than her.

Both Hayoon and I were wearing gloves, so it was hard to tell our genders.

My figure was cropped just above the wrist, making it easy to misunderstand for someone who wasn't aware of the situation.

Hayoon's cheeks were slightly flushed, and her eyes were wide with surprise, likely looking up at me at that moment.

"What do you think? Is she really dating?"

When Ji-hye asked cluelessly, I narrowed my eyes at her.

Ji-hye flinched and shrugged.

"Do you think she is?"

Hayoon dating… Well, it's not impossible, but…

She has received confessions before—though she rejected them all.

Not because no one met her standards, but likely because the idea of dating itself felt burdensome.

She is that famous, after all.

There would always be people who approached her for her fame.

Sometimes, there are even those reckless types who boast about "having had their first with a celebrity" after dating one.

Hayoon probably felt more fear than joy whenever she received a confession.

"This photo is me."

"No way, is this from that time?"

Ji-hye's eyes widened in surprise.

Indeed, I had gone out on January 1st, saying I had plans with a friend.

Ji-hye had gone out as well.

"Ah, that makes sense. Then this is basically fake news."

It could've been a story about her dating a girl, I suppose.

But in South Korea, where physical contact among girls is relatively common, an article claiming someone was dating just because they held hands with a peer would likely be laughed at.

Losing interest in the article, Ji-hye handed her phone back, and I pulled out mine.

But once I opened the chat window, I didn't know what to say.

If the article had been from a big outlet, I might have sent Hayoon a message to console her.

But…

If she didn't know about the article, wouldn't it be better not to bring it up?

Bzzz.

While I was pondering, my phone vibrated, startling me.

Thankfully, it wasn't a message from Hayoon.

[Miss Ji-eun, could you come to the main office? There's something we need to discuss.]

The message was politely phrased.

I glanced at the clock.

It was 5 PM.

If I went now, I'd get there by 6 PM—the official end of their workday.

Unless it was an emergency, executives rarely worked past that.

In other words, I'd need to get there in under 30 minutes, which was physically impossible.

"Where are you off to?"

"Oh, just meeting a friend nearby."

"Oh, okay. Can you bring me a Coke on your way back?"

"Sure."

Luckily, the orphanage had a rule requiring everyone to freshen up in the morning, so I didn't need much preparation other than changing my clothes.

As I left the room, I sighed deeply.

Could they have called me because of that article?

The thought crossed my mind briefly, but I quickly shook my head and dashed to the bus stop.

"This picture—it's of you, isn't it, Miss Ji-eun?"

James, an executive, placed a photo on the table.

It was the same one from the article.

Unlike the cropped version in the article, this was the original.

My face was clearly visible.

My expression, stiff and tense, showed me pulling Hayoon into the convenience store.

I wasn't even looking at her but straight ahead.

From one perspective, it looked like I was dragging her along, but her expression contradicted that interpretation.

"…Yes, that's me."

Denying it would have been pointless since the company clearly already knew.

So I admitted it and waited to hear what they wanted to say.

"Oh dear, oh dear."

James, in an exaggerated tone, got up and walked over to the window.

The large window, fitting for a corporate executive's office, offered a beautiful view of Seoul's brightly lit landscape.

The ice rink in front of City Hall was bustling with people skating in circles.

"If someone in such a special position as yourself had told us earlier, we would've treated you far better from the beginning."

"Was this photo taken by Noir Corporation?"

"Of course. We're also in the entertainment business, so it's our duty to provide the public with enjoyable gossip."

It's fake news.

The words almost escaped my lips, but I held back.

"So, what do you want to say?"

"I'd like to increase your sponsorship."

I stared at James intently.

He, with his hands behind his back, turned away from the window and faced me.

"You understand the power driving their circuits, don't you?"

"Hope."

It was something heavily promoted by the Galactic Federation—and this company as well.

"Exactly. Hope is wonderful, isn't it? But how long can such an ephemeral energy source sustain itself?"

James gestured dramatically as if performing on stage.

"True progress comes from the courage to tackle obstacles head-on, don't you agree?"

While the statement wasn't wrong, his reasoning felt highly suspicious.

"Of course, we understand the importance of hope for humanity. That's why those girls are on the front lines."

I stayed silent, staring at the picture James pointed to.

He was essentially saying, "Being photographed like this is part of a magical girl's duty."

"So, what are you asking me to do?"

"What am I asking? Oh no!"

James, acting overly offended, circled back to his desk and almost placed a hand on my shoulder.

But seeing the fire in my eyes, he withdrew it.

"Rather than asking, I'd simply advise you to stay close to her."

And yet, here I was, being summoned at 5 PM on my day off.

"Truly. Just… could you meet her more often than usual? We'll protect your identity. All we ask is for more public appearances with her. Leave the rest to us."

James then named a sponsorship amount—1.5 times what I usually received.

For this reason, I couldn't outright refuse their shady request to exploit my friend.

"Yeah, I feel like trash. No matter how scared I was of the repercussions, this is awful."

But jobs that let me juggle school while earning this much money were rare.

After leaving the office, I wandered outside for a long time without eating dinner.

Usually, walking helped me organize my thoughts, but after an hour of wandering, I returned to the orphanage just as confused as before.