Chapter 113: By fountain (11)

Part 20

“…You’re a college student who doesn’t need to earn money, but aren’t you slacking off too much?” Junseok asked.

“…I’ll start working out after the break. Gotta build stamina,” Yoonseo replied.

“So you’ve given up starting during the break?”

Junseok’s bleary expression froze into disbelief upon seeing her. Normally, he might’ve greeted her with a casual “good morning,” but her wrecked condition, lingering into the second morning, showed no signs of recovery.

“If you’re tired, don’t push it. Sleep more,” he said.

“Don’t try to weasel out. Check the fridge. I made sandwiches,” Yoonseo shot back.

“What…”

“What’s with the ‘what’? I dragged my tired self to make those.”

Junseok’s faintly smug face crumpled as fast as it appeared. Trying to escape? She’d been making breakfast for a while now—shouldn’t he just accept it by this point?

“…Not saying I don’t want it,” he mumbled.

“Then what?”

“…Seeing you push yourself like this makes me worry, I guess.”

The open fridge, held by Junseok, let out a slow, cool draft. In one corner, a plate of ham sandwiches—made earlier—sat quietly cooling. Just bread, egg, sliced cheese, and lightly cooked ham, simple as it was. Mornings had that magic to make even that feel like a chore. For him to complain despite knowing that…

Is this the moment to think that? No irritation or hurt came, oddly. Instead, a playful idea sparked. Maybe I’m learning to use myself for laughs like Sanghyun or Bonfire.

“Really don’t wanna eat, oppa?” she teased.

“What?”

Junseok froze, plate in hand. Yoonseo smirked, meeting his wide-eyed stare. The word “oppa,” clear yet spoken as if her mind was elsewhere, hit with a perfect mix of intent and ambiguity.

“If you sit and eat breakfast without complaining until the break ends, I’ll say it again,” she offered.

“Wait, Yoonseo?”

“It’s not like I’m asking you to cook. Just eat what I make, no fuss. Deal?”

Leaning on the table, chin in hand, she lowered her eyes and tossed the irresistible offer in a soft tone. Just give up any chance of escaping—it’s enough. Why was he even hesitating?

“…Starting today, new nickname?” Junseok ventured.

“I’m willing to say it once each morning.”

“Maybe prep for school by changing your whole speech style…”

“You’re not in a position to negotiate, are you?”

Making breakfast for Junseok had subtle parental approval. She could force it if needed, but she preferred mutual agreement. Junseok, sharp enough to be called a genius outside their slightly clueless home demeanor, surely knew that.

“…Fine. When’s school start?”

“Next week.”

“That’s doable.”

Plate in hand, he closed the fridge and strode to the table with a grim determination. Yoonseo watched, barely hiding a grin. As he set the plate down and pulled out a chair, his resolve was almost comical.

“…This good?” he asked.

Oh, men. Hearts of steel melting before the flames of desire. Watching him swallow hard with a resolute look, Yoonseo let out a deflated chuckle. His seriousness made her think this prank should be a one-time thing.

“Yeah, fine. But not today,” she said.

“Why not?!”

“You already complained about not wanting to eat. So, pass.”

“What kinda nonsense—!”

His shocked face pushed her over the edge, and she burst into laughter. She finally got why Hyunji or viewers found her flustered reactions amusing.

“Fighting, starting tomorrow!”

Part 21

Rich. In short, loaded.

Genius. In short, brilliant and talented.

She could achieve anything she wanted.

She could have anything she desired.

A single call could summon people eager to grovel at her feet, enough to make a young fool feel omnipotent.

Others’ expectations were irrelevant. They always fell short of her potential, making her life of meeting them dull and predictable.

So, she thought herself exceptional. She was exceptional, and no one could deny it.

Anything she wanted to do, she could. Her only task was picking the fun, exciting things from the endless possibilities.

That was enough. She met expectations effortlessly, with room to spare, wearing a mask of modesty to hide her ease.

Singing was fun. She loved her sweet voice and the world’s praise for it. Burnout was foreign; she soared. Imperfections were mere stepping stones, her potential boundless.

Even transitioning from a chaebol’s daughter to Sihyun the soprano, nothing changed.

She could still achieve anything, have anything. The same tensionless life of people groveling with a single call persisted.

But singing was different. In those moments—when her usually indifferent parents, siblings, and sycophants offered genuine praise—she felt truly alive.

She didn’t know when it started, but at some point, Sihyun’s life had become that.

For her, who chose singing over countless possibilities, whose life became defined by others’ expectations of her voice, losing it was a death sentence.

She could still achieve anything.

She could still have anything.

Even now, people groveled to curry favor with a chaebol’s child.

That, more than anything, she hated.

Part 22

A chicken joint was an alien place for Sihyun. He knew Korean-style fried chicken—greasy, spicy, tasty—but he’d never come to a place like this to eat drumsticks. If he craved it, it was a whim, satisfied by ordering a few pieces and tossing the rest. There was no reason to visit a shop specializing in it.

“Hey, you’re here!”

“Sihyun-ssi, over here!”

So, his purpose today wasn’t food but the four guys waving wildly at a corner table and the woman who’d arrive soon.

A blank mask settled over his stiff face, lips and eyes curving into a subtle smile. These were familiar faces, people who brushed off his probing remarks with a laugh and a “nah.” People he’d likely never met in his life before—perhaps the truest “good people” he’d ever known.

“Hope I’m not too late,” Sihyun said.

“Late? Nah, one guy just left, saying he overslept from exhaustion,” Youngjin replied.

Sihyun thought he finally understood his feelings for her—Yoonseo. A dark, sticky emotion he hadn’t recognized. The ugly side of Sihyun’s nature. Envy for what most had but he lacked. Childish resentment for someone else having what he didn’t.

“Don’t be too hard on him, Seokyun-ssi. He’s not in great health, right? It’s understandable,” Sihyun said.

“You remembered my name after one meeting?” Seokyun asked.

“Haha, it’s my specialty—names,” Sihyun replied.

Ugh, is this an insider? A different species from us nerds! Don’t lump me in, jerk.

Watching the four banter loudly, Sihyun adjusted his mask silently. His gut twisted, but now wasn’t the time to falter.

“Says she’ll take about 30 minutes. Shall we start with 3,000cc of beer?” Juyoung suggested.

“Six people and just 3,000cc?” Seongyun scoffed.

“You’re the only one who loves drinking here, Seongyun,” Juyoung shot back.

“And you’re the only one whining about 3,000cc being too much,” Seongyun retorted.