Chapter 2

Having lingered in the alley a few minutes longer, Yoon Do Hyun finally decided it was time to return—after the girl vanished into the darkness as if she were nothing more than a mirage. Clutching the handkerchief she had left behind, he closed his eyes and listened to the ringing silence.

"No one around... looks safe," he whispered, then stepped out onto the illuminated street.

The walk took longer than expected. In his mad dash to escape the chasing fans, he had lost his way among unfamiliar blocks. The alleys twisted into endless loops, each turn pulling him further from any place he recognized. As he walked, his thoughts wandered back to her:

Who was she?Why did she help?

"Her handkerchief… it's soft," he thought idly.

Unconsciously, he smiled—despite the throbbing pain in his hand. Who would have thought there were still people in this world willing to help a stranger without expecting anything in return? Her kindness, unexpected and unspoken, warmed him more than he cared to admit.

At last, familiar streets began to appear—storefronts, signs, and corners he knew by heart. Relief flooded in as his surroundings slowly transformed from foreign to known. He was back. Back where things, if not simple, at least made a little sense.

The glowing sign of the agency's building sparkled ahead like a lighthouse in the dark. He paused in front of the high-rise, then with a quiet sigh, made his way toward the back entrance—the same one he'd left through after losing a bet.

Climbing the stairs, Do Hyun remembered the dinner he was supposed to bring back. The bet seemed laughable now, absurd even. But rules were rules: lose, and you pay up. Even if it meant defying the strict diet regulations idol life demanded.

"Damn it," he muttered, smacking his forehead. "Forgot. Great. Now I owe them too."

Yoon Do Hyun returned to the studio empty-handed.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the usual buzz of the space dimmed to an unnatural quiet. The studio, their training ground these past several days, was spacious and cozy—soft couches along the wall, a floor-to-ceiling mirror, and a wide window overlooking the glittering city. It was a place meant not just for practice, but for grounding oneself.

Though they spent most days rehearsing, there was also an upcoming exhibition hosted by the famous artist Jang Hon Seo. Starline Entertainment had recently inked a deal with him, and the group's attendance was mandatory—not just as a PR move, but to lend their celebrity presence and elevate the event's profile in the media.

Despite the demands, they had made the studio feel almost like home. The scent of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, and their practice sessions were regularly interrupted by moments of quiet reprieve—just enough to let them forget, for a while, the pressures of fame.

But that silence didn't last.

"Oh, look who decided to show up. Mr. Loser himself," Bo Seok called out without turning, still practicing the latest choreography in front of the mirror.

"And where's our dinner, hmm?" Ji Hoon asked from the couch, not even glancing up from his phone. "We were beginning to write our wills. You lost the bet—you were supposed to feed us."

Do Hyun said nothing.

Bo Seok narrowed his eyes, trying to catch his friend's reflection in the glass. Ji Hoon finally looked up, his gaze sharpening the moment he saw him.

There he was—standing in the doorway like someone who had just run a marathon. His eyes were unfocused, his movements slow. But most unsettling was how he kept one arm tucked tightly against his side, hiding something. The sleeve of his dark sweatshirt was soaked in blood. Not a lot, but enough to alarm. Dried crimson smudged his fingers, and his hand was wrapped in what looked like a scrap of white fabric.

Bo Seok took a step forward, but Ji Hoon beat him to it. Rising abruptly, he crossed the room and grabbed Do Hyun's sleeve, trying to inspect the injury. But Do Hyun flinched and yanked his arm away, hiding it behind his back.

"Are you insane?" Ji Hoon's voice cracked with tension—more concern than he intended to show, eyes locked on the injured hand as if searching for the truth his friend refused to tell. "What happened? Why didn't you call us?"

Do Hyun didn't answer. His gaze drifted somewhere distant, his expression unreadable. Bo Seok and Ji Hoon both froze—no words, no movement, just heavy, searching silence.

"What happened to him… out there?"

Do Hyun hesitated. His eyes darted around, not searching for a way out of the room—but a way out of the conversation. Out of the memory. And then, almost imperceptibly, he stepped back. Just one small step, yet it said so much. Like a man not cornered by questions, but haunted by something only he could see.

He was guarding the memory fiercely, as though afraid that speaking it aloud would make it disappear. Or worse—make it real. Whatever had happened, it was his alone. Not because he couldn't share, but because he didn't want to.

Maybe it wasn't even that important, he reasoned.A girl. A moment. A gesture… Too simple to matter. And yet… it stayed with him.

He didn't even know her name. He might never see her again. But somehow, her presence lingered—not as an event, but a quiet reminder that genuine kindness still existed in the world.

"I'm fine," he finally said, his voice measured but taut, each word stretched over hidden strain. "Just… cut myself."

Bo Seok arched a brow, skeptical.

"A cut? You serious? That's not a paper cut, Do Hyun. What really happened?"

"I said I'm fine." The words were quieter now, almost a whisper. "Just… ran into some fans. Had to do a little running."

He said it casually, like it meant nothing. But even he could hear the hollowness in the excuse. A soft lie meant to cover the silence—not deceive.

He didn't like lying to them. But telling the truth meant accepting that the moment mattered. That it meant something. And he wasn't ready for that.

These two weren't just his bandmates. They were family. People he had laughed with, cried with, fought and grown with. They understood each other in ways few ever could.

And maybe that was why it was hardest to tell them. Especially something this strange. This personal.

Ji Hoon didn't press. His gaze, filled with concern, held no judgment. He wanted to ask more, but held back. He knew—push too hard, and Do Hyun would shut down.

Bo Seok, watching silently, seemed to be reading between the lines.

They didn't demand answers. And that, more than anything, was the essence of their friendship. Even in silence, they were present. Even without words, they were ready to listen—when he was ready to speak.

***

Do Hyun headed for the restroom, trying not to think too much. He turned on the tap and stared as the clear water filled the sink. Carefully, he tried peeling off the handkerchief, now stuck to his skin. It clung stubbornly to the wound, each tug sending a ripple of pain.

He let the warm water soften it, easing the fabric loose. Finally, it gave way. He washed the wound with slow, precise movements.

His thoughts returned to the girl. And with them—the memory of the bandage she'd handed him.

With his good hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled it out.

"Seriously? What kind of adult buys this..." he muttered, eyeing the packaging. Pink plasters adorned with little cat paw prints.

"Guess it'll have to do," he said under his breath, eyeing his hand like an amateur surgeon about to begin his first operation.

He pulled out the first-aid kit, found some antiseptic and gauze, and got to work.

The result? Sloppy. Uneven. A bandaging job only a desperate man—or a first-time volunteer—could create. If there were grades for medical effort, Do Hyun might get a C for trying… and a polite recommendation never to do it again.

He rinsed the handkerchief, gently squeezing out the water. When he unfolded it, something caught his eye—embroidered initials:

"S.M. from B."

"Must be important to her… a gift, maybe? And she just gave it away—to a stranger," he thought.

He made a silent promise: if fate ever brought them together again, he'd return it. For now, he had more immediate concerns—like figuring out how to get blood out of clothes.

"You too, huh…" he muttered, staring at the stained overcoat. "Perfect."

Clutching the handkerchief, he walked back toward the others.

"Hey… anyone know how to get blood out of fabric?" he asked absentmindedly, as if just now realizing the absurdity of his situation.

"Blood? What blood?" Park Ji Eun's voice sliced through the air like a blade. Her eyes—sharp and unyielding—locked onto Do Hyun with laser precision.

"Yoon Do Hyun," she said, like pronouncing a sentence.

She advanced with the grace of a predator sensing weakness.

"You were supposed to bring me the schedule two hours ago. Instead, you disappear and return covered in blood! What are you, auditioning for a drama?!"

It wasn't just anger in her voice—it was exhaustion. The exhaustion of someone used to chaos, but still disappointed every time.

Do Hyun froze, the weight of guilt pressing down hard.

"Blood? Did I say blood?" He let out a short laugh, trying to play it off. "I meant paint, Manager Park. You must've misheard."

"I've let a lot of your antics slide," she narrowed her eyes, "but believe me, my hearing is as sharp as ever. And next time you lie—at least try rehearsing it."

He clutched the handkerchief tighter, hoping she hadn't noticed—but her eyes flicked straight to it. The brown stain was impossible to miss.

"I don't know what mess you've gotten yourself into, but don't drag the group down with you," she said coldly. "You're the leader. That means the burden isn't just yours."

She stared at him a moment longer, weighing whether to say more. Then she turned toward the door. But after a few steps, she paused.

"Schedule. Tomorrow morning. No delays. And Do Hyun…"

She didn't look back.

"Cold water first. Then hydrogen peroxide. It'll help, if the stain's still fresh."

And with that, she left—door shutting behind her with a definitive click.