[Run-Seo]
The first thing Run-Seo did when she woke up—
was check her phone.
The post was still there.
Of course it was.
But somehow—
part of her had expected it to disappear overnight.
As if she could wake up and discover yesterday had never happened.
That she hadn't uploaded it.
That she hadn't crossed a line she could never uncross.
Instead—
the numbers had grown.
Views.
Comments.
Shares.
Thousands.
More than there had been last night.
Far more.
Run-Seo stared at the screen.
Her pulse quickened.
Not from fear.
Not entirely.
Something else.
Something she didn't want to name.
Because for the first time in a long time—
she felt like she'd done something.
Whether it was good or bad—
it had mattered.
People were talking.
The internet was talking.
The fans were talking.
NOCTIS was probably talking.
And Kei...
Kei had definitely seen it by now.
The thought settled heavily in her chest.
Then another followed.
What if he calls?
Run-Seo froze.
Her eyes remained fixed on the screen.
What if he called?
Not to yell.
Not to accuse.
Not to blame.
What if he called because he needed someone?
Someone who understood.
Someone who knew him.
Someone who had been there before the fame.
Before everything became complicated.
The thought should have sounded ridiculous.
Instead—
it sounded possible.
Dangerously possible.
She placed the phone down.
Then picked it up again thirty seconds later.
Just in case she'd missed something.
No missed calls.
No messages.
Nothing.
Run-Seo stared.
Then laughed softly at herself.
Pathetic.
Absolutely pathetic.
Yet she couldn't stop.
Because Mr. Han's words kept returning.
People reconnect.
People change.
People get second chances.
Again.
And again.
And again.
By noon—
she'd checked her phone twenty-three times.
Not that she was counting.
She absolutely was.
The worst part?
Every time it lit up—
her heart jumped.
And every time it wasn't Kei—
the disappointment lingered.
A little longer.
A little heavier.
A little harder to ignore.
She hated that.
Hated it.
Yet couldn't stop.
Because hope was a terrible thing.
Once it appeared—
it refused to leave.
☆ ☆ ☆
At 2:14 p.m., her phone rang.
Run-Seo grabbed it immediately.
Too quickly.
Far too quickly.
The name on the screen wasn't Kei.
It was Jae-Won.
For some reason—
that disappointed her.
Only slightly.
She answered.
"Hello?"
"Good afternoon, Run-Seo."
His voice sounded lighter than usual.
Almost cheerful.
Which immediately put her on edge.
"You sound happy."
A brief laugh came through the phone.
"I am."
That wasn't the answer she'd expected.
Run-Seo frowned.
"Why?"
A pause.
Then:
"Because things are finally moving."
The answer made her stomach tighten.
Neither of them needed to say what "things" meant.
The video.
The scandal.
The chaos spreading across the internet.
Jae-Won continued.
"You did well."
Run-Seo blinked.
"What?"
"You heard me."
Silence.
Because nobody had said that to her in a long time.
Not sincerely.
Not like that.
A strange feeling settled in her chest.
Uncomfortable.
Yet warm.
Jae-Won spoke again.
"You know, most people would've deleted the video."
Run-Seo didn't answer.
"Most people would've walked away."
Silence.
"Most people would've decided it wasn't their problem."
His voice softened slightly.
"But you didn't."
Something twisted painfully inside her chest.
Because for months—
years, maybe—
she'd felt invisible.
Forgettable.
Replaceable.
And now—
someone was telling her she'd mattered.
Jae-Won continued.
"That's why I knew I could trust you."
Run-Seo closed her eyes.
Just briefly.
Because she hated how much she wanted to hear that.
How much she needed to hear that.
The silence stretched.
Then Jae-Won asked:
"Have you heard from Kei?"
Immediately—
her eyes opened.
"No."
The answer came too quickly.
Too honestly.
Jae-Won noticed.
Of course he did.
"I see."
Something about those two words embarrassed her.
As though he'd caught her waiting.
Which—
unfortunately—
he had.
Run-Seo looked out the apartment window.
The city stretched endlessly beyond the glass.
People moving.
Living.
Existing.
While she remained stuck.
Waiting.
Always waiting.
Jae-Won's voice broke through her thoughts.
"Do you still love him?"
The question hit differently this time.
Because it wasn't Mr. Han asking.
It was Jae-Won.
Someone who actually knew Kei.
Someone who knew the past.
Run-Seo didn't answer.
Couldn't.
But she didn't need to.
Jae-Won laughed quietly.
Not mockingly.
Almost knowingly.
"Yeah."
Silence.
Then:
"I thought so."
Run-Seo swallowed.
Hard.
"Why does that matter?"
A pause.
A longer one.
Then Jae-Won said:
"Because people don't fight this hard for someone they stopped loving."
The words landed directly in her chest.
Painfully.
Accurately.
And for several seconds—
she couldn't speak.
Because he was right.
As much as she hated it—
he was right.
Jae-Won's voice became gentler.
"Run-Seo."
She hated how relieved she felt hearing her name.
"You're not the villain here."
Silence.
"You loved someone."
Another pause.
"You got hurt."
Silence.
"And then you got left behind."
Run-Seo looked away.
Because suddenly—
her vision blurred slightly.
Just slightly.
Enough to be annoying.
Enough to be dangerous.
Nobody had ever said it like that before.
Nobody had acknowledged it.
Not really.
Most people simply expected her to move on.
To get over it.
To forget.
As though feelings worked that way.
As though years could disappear because people wanted them to.
Jae-Won sighed softly.
"You're worth more than being someone's forgotten chapter."
The words settled heavily inside her.
Because deep down—
that was exactly how she'd felt.
Forgotten.
Like everyone had moved forward except her.
Like Kei had continued living while she remained trapped in a story that had already ended.
For a long moment—
neither of them spoke.
Then Jae-Won asked:
"Do you want another chance?"
Run-Seo's heart stopped.
Not literally.
But close enough.
Because she already knew what chance he meant.
Kei.
There was only ever Kei.
She stared at the city outside her window.
Then quietly asked:
"...is that even possible?"
For the first time—
Jae-Won's answer came without hesitation.
"Maybe."
One word.
One stupid word.
Yet somehow—
it felt bigger than anything else he'd said.
Maybe.
Not impossible.
Not no.
Maybe.
Hope surged through her before she could stop it.
Before she could protect herself.
Before logic could intervene.
And that terrified her.
Because hope had destroyed people before.
Yet she couldn't let it go.
Not now.
Not after everything.
Jae-Won's voice lowered slightly.
"Then help me."
Run-Seo froze.
The words hung in the air.
Simple.
Direct.
Dangerous.
Help me.
Not help us.
Not help the plan.
Help me.
As though they were standing on the same side.
As though they understood each other.
As though they were both trying to reach the same destination.
Run-Seo closed her eyes.
Thinking.
Remembering.
The loneliness.
The waiting.
The years.
The way Kei looked at No-Ah in that video.
The way he used to look at her.
Then—
slowly—
she nodded.
Even though he couldn't see it.
"Okay."
The word escaped quietly.
Almost inaudibly.
Yet it changed everything.
Because once spoken—
it couldn't be taken back.
Jae-Won was silent for a moment.
Then laughed softly.
Not triumphant.
Not cruel.
Satisfied.
As though he'd expected that answer all along.
"Good."
Run-Seo tightened her grip on the phone.
A strange feeling settled inside her chest.
Relief.
Fear.
Hope.
All tangled together.
And somewhere deep down—
a part of her whispered that she was making a mistake.
A very big one.
But another part—
the lonely part—
the hopeful part—
the part that still loved Kei—
was louder.
Much louder.
And for the first time in years—
Run-Seo felt like she belonged somewhere.
Even if she had no idea what it would cost her.
☆ ☆ ☆