Official quitting time at Hanpyeong Industries is six o’clock. Kim Iwol’s dinner plan was for six-thirty.
And the current time is... seven.
“Assistant Manager Kim, aren’t you heading out? I heard it’s your birthday today!”
Assistant Manager Hwang—also stuck at the office—checked on him with a grave look.
Tell me about it. But this isn’t the kind of company that lets you leave on the dot just because it’s your birthday, is it?
He kept that thought to himself.
A message alert popped up on one side of his dual monitors.
He’d locked previews, so the content didn’t show, but the sender told him everything he needed.
‘She’s going to be furious.’
His sister had probably braved the commuter hell to come all the way to Gangnam to buy her kid brother dinner, and he’d stood her up for an hour. Capital offense level.
Only after Kim Iwol finished combing through all the data Team Leader Nam had foisted on him—“you check it all before you go”—did he open his sister’s messages.
Sister
[What the hell?]
[Feels like I’ve been waiting forty minutes in minus two.]
[Is this some new method for pissing people off?]
Me
[Sorry, I’m still not done.]
[Are you outside?]
[I’ll send you a mobile gift card—go sit in a café at least.]
Sister
[Your company’s “class” is fucked]
[I’m raiding plushies at the Mine Friends shop, so don’t mind me]
Even so, she didn’t press him about when he’d be done. She’d heard enough about his erratic quitting times.
Me
[Heading out now]
He sent the short reply, grabbed his coat, and quickened his pace.
Gangnam on a Wednesday night is nothing but crowded. Everywhere you go, people; even more in the streets with restaurants and bars.
On weekends it’s packed like a weekend; on weekdays it’s packed like a weekday.
Swept along by the crowd, he reached the storefront where his sister was.
She came out when he called, a white shopping bag in her hand.
“Bought a plushie?”
“No, something else.”
“You said you were raiding plushies—why?”
“The apartment’s too small. Nowhere to put them.”
She checked her phone. Looked like a map app.
Pasta, was it? A ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) compromise between his love of noodles and her preference for Western food.
She walked him another ten minutes or so. Just when the cold wind started to sting their faces, they reached a Western place with warm, yellow bulbs strung across the wall.
She showed a reservation on her phone to the host at the info desk. After confirming the name, the staff led them to a table inside.
“You even booked?”
“If this weren’t dinner in Gangnam, I wouldn’t have gone that far.”
She had a peculiar way of phrasing things. She could have just said, “I figured it’d be crowded, so I booked ahead.” That was her mannerism.
While he filled their glasses with water and set the knife and fork, she took off her scarf and laid it on the chair beside her.
Then she handed him the shopping bag she’d been carrying.
“Here.”
“What is it?”
“Birthday present.”
His eyes went round.
And before he even looked inside, he locked eyes with the celebrity printed on one side of the bag.
“Ah...”
“Why the scowl without even looking? Is my thoughtfulness a joke to you?”
“No, it’s not that.”
A handsome guy posed in a brand-new sports tee.
A face he knew.
“I just got startled—been seeing him a lot at work lately.”
“Your company uses models now?”
“Not exactly... and he’s an idol.”
Still, it was only polite to be immediately appreciative. He opened the bag and pulled out a plastic-wrapped garment.
Same line the idol on the bag was wearing, just a different color.
“Workout clothes?”
“Didn’t you say... you do home training?”
“I did.”
“Wear it when you exercise.”
She took a deep pull of her ade. Ice clinked in the grapefruit ade glass.
“I thought dinner would cover the gift.”
“It was on sale, so I picked it up.”
“The line the brand ambassador is wearing was on sale?”
“God, you’re so picky.”
She jabbed the ice with her straw—her way of showing she was annoyed. This was when a younger brother gained nothing by running his mouth.
“Thanks. I’ll wear it.”
“Good.”
They had a little time before the food came. They swapped stories about their companies, then stopped; the more they talked, the more tired they felt.
The topic drifted.
“You don’t keep up with celebrities?”
“Me? I know a few actors, that’s about it.”
“Yeah?”
“You probably know more celebs than I do. You said you knew that guy on the bag.”
She pointed at the shopping bag.
“That’s because he’s an idol my team leader’s daughter likes.”
“And why do you know that?”
“Sometimes she asks me to find photos.”
It wasn’t disruptive enough to interfere with work, so he’d help when he had spare moments. That didn’t make hunting down photos of some random boy-group member fun.
“What’s his name?”
“Jeho. He’s in a group called Spark.”
“Spark—Isn’t that where Lee Cheonghyeon is?”
“Yeah.”
Even she, not into the scene, knew Lee Cheonghyeon.
“He’s really good-looking. Isn’t he the current poster boy for boy-group visuals?”
“He is. I sometimes get startled when I’m pulling photos.”
She pulled out her phone. Since it came up, she figured she’d at least see who the members were.
“Says Jeho’s the oldest. Hey, he’s your age.”
“Right? He doesn’t look it at all.”
“Not sure.”
She tapped open Choi Jeho’s profile with an unreadable reaction.
The same broad-featured, clean-cut handsome face he’d seen yesterday filled the screen.
“He’s good-looking. Position... center? He’s 187 cm? Makes sense for center.”
“If you watch fancams, he looks huge.”
“You watched his fancams?”
“...It just kind of happened.”
“You’re practically a male fan.”
“Don’t say that, I’ll cry.”
Even as he protested, he prayed his Jeho-research assignment would end soon.
“The oldest isn’t the leader? That’s unusual. This one’s got a cute vibe.”
“Still, he’s got a capable side. Speaks well, too.”
“Looks it. Total class-president face.”
She nodded.
“But if Jeho’s above him, will this younger one even get to spread his wings?”
She sounded genuinely concerned for Jeong Seongbin, who carried a heavy load. A very different tone from when she’d been praising Jeho’s visuals.
They were about to pull up Park Juu’s profile when the pasta arrived: cream risotto for her, basil pasta for him.
A thin-crust pizza landed too, and he asked:
“Why’d you order so much?”
“Dude, this is the baseline order.”
“Then we’re splitting the bill.”
“Who talks about paying before they even eat? Kills the appetite.”
She kept happily exploring Spark while eating her risotto.
“Juu...? First I’ve heard of him. Says main vocal—so he must sing well. But wasn’t that Seongbin kid main vocal too?”
“They’ve got different timbres. Juu’s sharper.”
“No matter how I look, Cheonghyeon’s the best-looking. Why isn’t he the center?”
“On stage, though, your eyes do go to Jeho.”
“Giyeon’s face is something else too. Total maknae-on-top look.”
“Looks aside, he treats the members with respect. Seems like a good kid.”
He found himself adding commentary point by point. Why was he going along with celebrity talk this hard?
‘Never thought I’d be chatting about this with my sister.’
He thought back to her birthday last year.
He’d been a senior about to graduate. She’d been gaunt. A summer that felt like the blazing sun shone only on her.
‘If circumstances were different, I’d tell you to defer graduation.’
She’d said it with a blank face.
She’d said it felt like the day to rest would never come again; that she hadn’t realized college vacation would be the last real break in life.
It was part complaint, part sympathy. She knew what kind of life someone chasing on-time graduation and on-time employment would end up living.
‘Time to do my part.’
Of course. And he’d kept his goal.
While his classmates studied for brutal exams and landed at big companies or in civil service, he took a job at a middling company that asked little of him and earned what he could.
And now, half a year later, both she and he had a little breathing room. That alone satisfied him.
Maybe that’s why he played along like it was nothing, chatting about idols that made him think of his team leader’s face.
Dinner was good. The restaurant was warm and soft classical music played.
When he’d cleaned his plate of pasta and grabbed his coat and bag, she was already at the counter with the check.
A knife-edge wind hit them outside.
“I said let’s split it.”
“You can treat me on my birthday. Omakase.”
“I’m going off the grid starting July; keep that in mind.”
It was a weeknight. They had to go home and get ready for work tomorrow.
Time to part.
“Hey.”
She stopped him.
“If the company starts making you do weird shit, just leave. Don’t stubborn it out.”
“Shouldn’t I put in at least two years if I want to switch?”
“Two years of bullshit just lands you in another bullshit company.”
She was dead serious. He smiled faintly.
“It’s not that bad yet. I’ll think about it—just long enough to build some experience.”
“Suit yourself.”
She snorted—the sound said, Sure, you will. Sometimes she didn’t trust her brother’s judgment. Like now.
“Don’t go looking for hardship, okay?”
As soon as she finished, she vanished.
Down through the subway gates, into a taxi, onto a bus—he couldn’t tell.
He was left alone in the bright, busy city.
And he woke from the dream.
It was a very long time ago.
He was in an unfamiliar dorm.
Turn his head, and the Jeho from the shopping bag was beside him; from above, Lee Cheonghyeon popped down with a morning greeting.
“...What day is it?”
he asked. Maybe because it was winter, his throat felt dry.
Cheonghyeon thought for a second and answered.
“The fourteenth. Oh, Valentine’s Day!”
Now, there’s no one left who knows that February 14 is Kim Iwol’s birthday.
He’d never found that fact bitter in life, but today his body felt unusually cold.
‘Practice. I need to go.’
Perched on the edge of the bed, he stood.
Time to work hard.
