< A >

Chapter 87: Unsecured network (1)

Part 1

[Jeokranunra, what happened in two days?] – Anonymous

Your singing’s starting to sound human lololol

┕ Anonymous: For real, at first I thought, “Wow, pretty average for that voice.”

┕ Anonymous: You teased her for being average instead of praising her, and she went into seclusion training or what?

┕ Anonymous (OP): Ooh… that’s kinda cute.

┕ Anonymous: For real

┕ Anonymous: For real lololol

Part 2

“Because of you-oo-oo…” I sang softly.

“…Sounds like you’re having fun with singing,” Junseok said.

The spatula I was using to flip eggs froze mid-air. His voice from behind made me flush with embarrassment, and I turned my head stiffly. Junseok, my older brother, stood there in a disheveled state, scratching his head, eyeing me with a strange look as if he’d caught me doing something odd. Sizzle—a worrying sound snapped me back, and I hurriedly flipped the egg.

“…I play the piano, so isn’t singing pretty cool too?” I asked.

“Not saying it’s bad. Just… you’re really into it,” he said.

“Didn’t I get way better?” I pressed.

“Did you go to some secret training camp or something?” he teased.

I smirked. Training camp, huh? If you could call it that. He wasn’t lying when they called him a genius—he taught me well. Pushing the image of a certain man from my mind, I poked the egg yolk with the spatula. I prefer soft-boiled, but for toast, it’s better not to let it run.

“So, did you sort out your worries?” Junseok asked.

“…You mean going back to school?” I replied.

“No, the other stuff. The things you wouldn’t tell me about,” he clarified.

Ping. The toaster spat out two crispy slices of bread. I grabbed one, sliding it onto a prepared plate. Licking crumbs off my fingers, I heard the faint scrape of a chair nearby. A low groan from Junseok made me picture his grueling office life.

“Is it something you can’t tell me?” he asked.

You’re exhausted yourself, and you’re worried about me?

“Something I can’t tell,” I said.

“Even to family?” he pressed.

“Even to family,” I confirmed.

Probably to anyone in the world. With that in mind, I glanced at Junseok’s sleepy, unfocused face. He’d washed up, but with water still on his face and crust in his eyes, he didn’t look particularly fresh. I let out a soft, deflating chuckle.

“Related to singing?” he asked.

“Interrogation much?” I shot back.

“Just curious. You used to skip academy every Friday because you hated singing lessons,” he said.

“…Did I?” I asked, surprised.

“Yeah. Fridays were for recorder or singing, not piano,” he said.

Splat. I squirted ketchup onto the toasted bread in a wavy pattern, wondering why curves felt natural. I layered on the fully cooked egg, some bacon, then another slice of bread. Should’ve spread butter, I thought, but Junseok wouldn’t complain.

“How do you remember that stuff?” I asked.

“I was the one handling you and Sanghyeon’s little things back then. Dropping you off at academy on Fridays was my job,” he said.

“…Liar,” I teased.

“I remember you as a baby, still nursing,” he said.

“Weren’t you a kid back then too?” I countered.

“There’s a difference between a crawler and a runner,” he replied.

I tore off a few paper towels, carefully wrapping the sandwich’s edges. As expected, Junseok didn’t seem keen on breakfast, his expression sour as his hand crept toward the toast. No veggies, just tasty cheat ingredients, and he still doesn’t like it?

“About meeting your professor?” he asked.

“Thinking Tuesday next week,” I said.

“Got your course registration sorted?” he asked.

“It’s mostly for credits. This semester’s light on required courses since people start shifting to job prep. Plus, I’ve got extra credits from summer sessions,” I explained.

“So you cherry-picked easy professors for pass-fail electives to coast this semester?” he teased.

This vague sense of peace felt so precious—would I have noticed without him? Sitting across from Junseok, I thought silently. My settled life, my future. His wandering, pain-filled life ahead.

I’m so happy. Not a chaebol heir, not famous, not overflowing with talent. Streaming’s fun. Makeup and cooking are kinda fun now too. I haven’t achieved anything myself—it’s all thanks to those around me.

“…Oppa,” I said softly.

“Mmph?” he mumbled, mouth full.

“You don’t have to eat so fast. We’ve got time today. Need more milk?” I asked.

“…Cough. Yeah. Spread some butter too—the bread’s too dry,” he said.

“Butter doesn’t exactly make bread moist,” I pointed out.

Watching Junseok shove toast in his mouth like he wanted to end this quickly, I quietly voiced the word I’d longed to say. The crunching stopped only after my words had faded. He probably didn’t even realize my little dream had just come true.

Grinning, I sauntered to the fridge. The half-empty milk carton meant a trip to the convenience store soon.

Part 3

So, what kind of magic did you pull?

“…I’m too tired for that kind of imaginative talk,” I groaned.

Not joking. Sihyun came by.

I bolted upright from my sprawled position in the break room. The words were unthinkable.

“What?! Why out of nowhere? What did he say?! Is it okay to tell me that?!” I blurted.

…Seriously, what happened to you two in just a few days?

“That doesn’t matter!” I snapped.

My sudden shift wasn’t just physical. Realizing how high-pitched my voice sounded, I felt my cheeks flush, but he can’t see me, so who cares? I waited for Dr. Kang’s reply.

He suddenly asked for sedatives.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” I asked.

Of course, I said no. I’m not a psychiatrist, and I don’t have the authority to prescribe those.

“But is it really okay to tell me?” I pressed.

He asked me to tell you how he was today.

Himself? We’d exchanged numbers—he could’ve told me directly. Why?

“…And then?” I asked.

He nodded, like he expected that. Said okay, but asked for a referral to someone good at scar treatment.

Dr. Kang paused. Over the phone, I heard a slurping sound—probably coffee. The brief silence felt endlessly long. And? What was he trying to say?

“What did he say in the end?” I urged.

I told him there are plenty of self-proclaimed experts in scar treatment—

“Not that! What was Sihyun trying to say?” I interrupted.

Youngjin’s voice came from beyond the closed door, asking what was up. I told him to wait, poking my head out to signal it was nothing.

“…So, what did Sihyun want to say? What were you trying to tell me?” I asked.

That’s why I called…

Memories flashed by. Karaoke. Vocal training disguised as torment. Snarky comebacks. Both of us glaring, refusing to leave first, like it was a contest. A bizarre time.

What does it mean, saying there’s something he can’t rest in peace without resolving as a vocalist?

“…Pfft,” I laughed.

Dr. Kang’s reluctant voice continued, and I could picture it—no, it felt like it was playing in my head.

“Pffthahaha!” I burst out.

Right. For someone who’d lost everything, who had nothing left, this was what they needed most. Something annoying, grating, impossible to ignore, like an itch you can’t place. Just that presence—someone who makes you feel like you’d lose if you ignored them, who makes you want to step in.

“Dr. Kang… haha! You owe me big time. Heh…” I said, laughing.

I know it was a big ask, but what does that mean?

“Haha! Exactly what it sounds like!” I replied.