Min-jae Park wiped sweat from his forehead. It was a hot Friday night in Seoul. Traffic jammed every street. He gripped the handlebars of his delivery scooter tighter. His phone buzzed with another order reminder. "Hurry up, or no tip," it seemed to say.
He was 28, single, and stuck in this job. Deliveries paid the bills. Barely. His mom needed medicine money. Rent loomed. Dreams of a quiet café felt far away. Right now, he just wanted to drop off this late order and go home.
The address led to a huge arena. Lights flashed. Fans screamed outside. A concert? Great. Backstage deliveries always meant chaos. Min-jae parked his scooter in the delivery zone. He grabbed the bags—steaming ramen, kimbap, and cold drinks. The paper bag had a silly contest sticker from the restaurant: "Win a backstage pass and assistant gig! Scratch to play!"
He scratched it absentmindedly while jogging to the entrance. "Invalid ticket," it read. Whatever. He flashed his delivery ID to security. "Food for Aria—no, Lumi's team. Ha-eun Choi's crew."
Security waved him through. Inside, the backstage hall buzzed. Staff rushed with costumes and cables. Music thumped from the stage. Min-jae dodged a rolling cart. "Excuse me," he muttered.
He found the dressing room marked "Lumi." Knocked once. No answer. Voices argued inside. He knocked harder. The door flew open.
A woman in a sparkly outfit glared at him. She was stunning—long black hair, sharp eyes, perfect skin. Ha-eun Choi, the idol Lumi. Rising star. Her songs played everywhere lately. Min-jae had heard "Glow Up" on the radio once. Catchy.
"You're late," she snapped. Her voice was sweet on TV, but sharp now.
"Sorry. Traffic." He held out the bags. Steam rose from the ramen lid.
She grabbed them. "Put it there." She pointed to a table piled with makeup and phones.
Min-jae stepped in. The room smelled like perfume and hairspray. Ha-eun turned back to a mirror. Two stylists fussed over her hair. A manager typed on his phone.
He set the bags down. But the floor was slick—spilled water? His shoe slipped. Time slowed. The ramen bag tipped. Hot broth exploded. It splashed right onto Ha-eun's costume.
She screamed. "What the—ahh! It's burning!"
Min-jae panicked. "Sorry! Let me—" He grabbed napkins. Dabs at her skirt. The sparkles turned orange. Broth dripped everywhere.
"Get off me!" Ha-eun shoved him. Her eyes blazed. "You idiot! This is my opening outfit! Show starts in ten minutes!"
Stylists gasped. The manager—Mr. Kim, name tag said—rushed over. "What happened?"
"Delivery guy. Clumsy fool ruined it!" Ha-eun yanked the skirt. It tore a little.
Min-jae stood frozen. Noodles clung to the fabric. His face burned red. "I slipped. I'll pay for dry cleaning. Or a new one."
"Pay? This costs more than your scooter!" Ha-eun yelled. She kicked the bag. Broth splattered his shoes.
Mr. Kim sighed. Heavy guy, tired eyes. "Everyone calm down. Ha-eun, we have backups?"
She shook her head. "The silver one doesn't match the lights. And my assistant quit today! Said the pressure was too much. Now this?"
Min-jae backed toward the door. "I'll go. Sorry again."
"Wait." Mr. Kim eyed him. Tall guy, strong build. Clean uniform. "What's your name?"
"Park Min-jae."
"You got ID?"
Min-jae nodded. Handed over his delivery card.
Mr. Kim scanned it. No priors. Reliable company. Then he spotted the contest sticker on the floor. Picked it up. "Backstage pass promo? From that fan contest?"
Min-jae shrugged. "Came with the bag. Invalid though."
Mr. Kim scratched it again. His eyes widened. "It's not invalid. You won. 'One month free assistant gig + VIP access.' Official stamp."
"What?" Ha-eun spun. "No way. Some random delivery boy?"
Desperation hit Mr. Kim. "Ha-eun needs help now. Your real assistant bailed. Fine is huge if we cancel. And look—he's here. Strong, on time-ish. Sign this." He pulled a contract from his drawer. Standard temp worker form. Blurry print.
Min-jae blinked. "Me? I deliver food. Not... idol stuff."
"You fixed that mic cable just now?" Mr. Kim pointed. Min-jae had absentmindedly twisted a loose wire while standing there.
"Yeah. Habit."
"Perfect. One month. Pays triple your delivery wage. Help with bags, fixes, runs. No big deal."
Ha-eun crossed her arms. "He's a disaster. Look at my skirt!"
"We'll fix it. Quick change." Mr. Kim shoved the pen at Min-jae. "Sign, or security escorts you—and your company gets sued for the mess."
Min-jae groaned. Triple pay? Mom's bills. He skimmed the contract. Month-long gig. Non-disclosure. Fine if he quits early. What choice? He signed.
Ha-eun rolled her eyes. "Great. My life is ruined."
Stylists rushed her to change. Mr. Kim clapped Min-jae's back. "Welcome to the team. Carry her water bottle onstage. Don't spill."
Min-jae followed them to the wings. The crowd roared. Lights blinded him. Ha-eun—Lumi now—grabbed her mic. She shot him a death glare. He handed her water. Their fingers brushed. She yanked it away.
"Break a leg," he muttered.
She ignored him. Music swelled. She ran onstage. Spotlights hit. She danced, sang perfectly. Flawless smile. Fans cheered like crazy.
Min-jae watched from shadows. She moved like magic. No trace of the angry girl. But he saw it—a quick glance back. Pure hate.
Backstage after, she stormed past. "Stay out of my way tomorrow. Or else."
He nodded. "Yes, boss."
Mr. Kim handed him a schedule. "7 AM pickup. Her apartment. Don't be late."
Min-jae rode home on his scooter. Head spun. Idol world? Insane. That contract sticker—pure luck. Or curse.
At his tiny apartment, he checked the pay stub Mr. Kim texted. Wow. Enough for mom's meds and rent. Plus savings.
But Ha-eun's face stuck in his mind. Pretty, sure. But mean. "Diva," he grumbled, crashing on his bed.
Across town, Ha-eun peeled off makeup. Ji-won, her roommate, laughed. "Spilled ramen? Epic."
"Not funny. That guy's a walking bad luck charm."
Ji-won grinned. "Tall, cute though. In a grumpy way."
"Shut up." Ha-eun threw a pillow. But deep down, the spill didn't hurt much. It was the stress. New single dropping. Pressure everywhere. No real friends in this world.
She sighed. Tomorrow? Another long day. With him.
Little did they know, that ramen spill started everything.