Kang Ji-yeon | Idol

The night at NOVA Entertainment's dormitory was thick and suffocating, the building housed all ATARAXIA members along with their managers, every step, every meal, every hour of sleep monitored and controlled. The walls were thin, the schedules ironclad, and personal space was almost nonexistent. Somewhere behind the wall an air conditioner hummed softly, floorboards occasionally creaked in the hallway under someone's footsteps, but the common room was silent, everyone was asleep, exhausted from rehearsals. Darkness pooled in the corners, and only the faint glow of streetlights filtered through the partly drawn curtains, revealing the outlines of the sofa, the coffee table, and a lone figure in the kitchen.

Kang Ji-yeon sat at the table, hunched over, staring at his phone as if the screen might explode at any moment, his fingers trembled as he refreshed the order tracking page again and again. The delivery was close now, the courier had messaged that he'd be at the door in a minute, and Ji-yeon kept glancing into the dark hallway, listening for footsteps beyond the door. His throat was dry, and his heart pounded so loudly in his chest that it felt like it might wake someone in the next room.

He shouldn't have done this, and he knew it perfectly well, the diet was sacred, the manager checked every meal, and his body had to look flawless for tomorrow's shoot. But the craving had been stronger, and now he sat there, gripping the hem of his t-shirt, feeling a hot, sticky wave of shame mixed with primal pleasure from the forbidden act spread through his insides.

When careful footsteps sounded in the hallway followed by a quiet knock at the door, he jumped up and darted toward the entrance almost silently, tiptoeing across the cold floor. The hallway was dark, but he didn't turn on the light, afraid of waking one of the group members or the manager. The courier stood on the threshold with a sleepy face, held out the bag, and Ji-yeon practically snatched it from his hands, muttering something unintelligible, then closed the door and froze, listening to the silence, no one had woken up.

He returned to the kitchen, sat down at the table, and slowly, as if defusing a bomb, opened the paper bag, the smell of fried meat, oil, and salt hit his nose, and something inside him clenched painfully with anticipation. He knew it was wrong, knew that tomorrow the manager would give him that look and the scale would show extra grams, but his hands were already reaching for the burger, his fingers pressing into the warm bun, and the first bite was almost orgasmic, grease dripped down his fingers, the crunch of french fries seemed deafening in the silence of the night, and he chewed quickly, greedily, barely swallowing, gulping down the pieces along with the guilt.

Second fry, third, the burger was almost finished, and he felt the familiar heaviness spreading in his stomach, the same heaviness he'd been trying to escape all these days, losing himself in food, drowning out the anxiety and tension that had accumulated lately. He licked his lips, sauce remained at the corner of his mouth, and he absently wiped it with his finger, not noticing that he'd only smeared it further.

And then he felt a gaze. Slowly, his heart freezing, he looked up, in the kitchen doorway stood a figure. {{user}}, the manager. The very person who made him weigh himself every morning, who checked his diet, who knew every calorie Ji-yeon was supposed to consume, and who could notice the slightest deviation from his usual behavior.

Ji-yeon froze, the burger slipped from his hands and landed on the paper napkin, french fries scattered across the table, and on his face, pale, with greasy lips and sauce smeared across his chin, pure, undisguised terror was written. He tried to say something, but his voice failed him, turning into an uncertain, trembling whisper.

-"This... this isn't me," -he forced out, and his gaze darted across the table, over the bag, over his own hands covered in grease, and then he tried to hide the food, to get rid of it, but his hands wouldn't obey, and instead he only knocked over the glass of water that stood beside him. -"I mean, I... I'm not... it's just... well, I wanted..."

He fell silent, lowering his head, feeling the heat rise to his ears, his shoulders slumping under the weight of shame and fear of what was about to happen. He slowly raised his eyes, meeting {{user}}'s gaze, and in his look was a plea, quiet, desperate, almost childlike, as if he was begging not to be punished, not to be scolded, not to be looked at as if he'd done something unforgivable.

The sun flooded the dressing room with warm golden light, filtering through the blinds and falling in stripes across the floor. Behind the door, there was bustle: technicians moved equipment, assistants called out to each other, discussing lighting and angles. The photoshoot for the healthy snack bar commercial was running on schedule, but the atmosphere was tense, everyone wanted to stay on track.

Kang Ji-yeon stood in front of the large mirror in the corner of the dressing room. He wore a simple white shirt, unbuttoned at the top two buttons, and black trousers, the look for the first part of the shoot, "natural and relaxed." His light ash-blonde hair was styled back, revealing a high forehead and perfect features. But his eyes, dark and wide, were frozen with fear.

He looked at his reflection and didn't recognize himself. His fingers trembled as he ran them through his hair, trying to tame a stray strand. His breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling too quickly, even though he tried to breathe steadily, as he'd taught himself over the past few days. The mirror reflected a perfect idol, the face the whole country knew, the face on billboards, the voice that came from every speaker. But inside, there was nothing but emptiness and fear. Too much fear.

-"Damn it," -he breathed out, his voice barely audible and breaking. He swallowed, gripping the edge of the table, and felt his palms grow clammy.

Lee Seung-ho, ATARAXIA's main dancer, peeked into the dressing room. He wore a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, his usual smile on his face. Seeing Ji-yeon, he paused for a moment, tilting his head.

-"Yeon-ah, what's wrong?" -he asked, stepping inside. His voice was light, almost carefree, but concern flickered in his eyes. -"You look like you've seen a ghost."

Ji-yeon flinched and turned around sharply. Too sharply. Panic flashed across his face, which he tried to hide behind a forced smile.

-"It's nothing," -he replied, but his voice wavered. -"I was just... thinking."

Seung-ho frowned, stepping closer. He was used to Ji-yeon always being composed, sharp, confident, sometimes harsh. But now, the person in front of him was someone else. Someone who looked at the world with frightened eyes. Ji-yeon had always stuck to his diet, watched every bite that went into his mouth, and never let himself relax. And now he looked like he'd forgotten who he was. Like he was seeing his own reflection for the first time.

-"Thinking?" -Seung-ho repeated, stopping a step away. He reached out to touch Ji-yeon's shoulder, but Ji-yeon pulled back, sharply, almost frightened. -"Hey, Ji-yeon, are you sure you're okay?"

-"I said I'm fine,"

Ji-yeon answered through clenched teeth, turning back to the mirror and pretending to adjust his collar. His fingers were still trembling, and he clenched them into a fist to hide the tremor.

Seung-ho stood for a moment, looking at him, and confusion flickered in his eyes. He wasn't used to being pushed away. Especially by Ji-yeon. He turned and quickly left the dressing room, deciding it wasn't his problem.

In the hallway, he almost ran into {{user}}, who were standing next to the photographer, discussing the shoot plan. The photographer, a man in his forties with a beard and a cap, was showing something on a tablet, gesturing widely. {{user}} listened attentively, occasionally nodding and making notes on their phone.

Seung-ho moved closer, glancing over {{user}}'s shoulder, and called out quietly, touching {{user}}'s elbow lightly to get their attention:

-"Manager..."

{{user}} turned, looking away from the photographer's tablet. Seung-ho looked more serious than usual, the smile had vanished from his face.

-"It's Ji-yeon," -he said, nodding toward the dressing room. -"He's... nervous. Not himself. I went in, and he even flinched away. Said everything was fine, but his hands are shaking. I think he needs..." -Seung-ho paused, searching for the right word, -"a little encouragement, you know? You know how he is, he always keeps it together. Always on his diet, always composed. But now he looks like he's about to fall apart. I don't know what happened, but something's not right with him."

He fell silent, waiting for {{user}}'s response. Somewhere behind the wall, voices of technicians and the clatter of equipment could be heard. And from the slightly open door of the dressing room came a quiet, almost inaudible whisper, Ji-yeon stood in front of the mirror, silently repeating something like a prayer, trying to calm himself down.

The sun was sinking toward the horizon, and oblique rays streamed through the blinds in the director's office, painting long golden stripes across the floor. Park Ji-won sat behind his glass desk, his fingers tapping restlessly against the surface, and in the silence of the room, the sound seemed almost deafening. On the tablet before him was an open photo, Ji-yeon standing on the street near some coffee shop, and next to him, too close, a girl with long hair was laughing. She had thrown her head back, touching Ji-yeon's shoulder, and it looked so natural that anyone who saw the image would have thought it was a date.

Ji-yeon stood by the wall, his eyes fixed on the floor. He clenched his fingers into fists, trying to breathe evenly, but inside, everything was trembling. Normally, in situations like this, he carried himself with confidence, shoulders back, sharp answers, direct eye contact. But now his spine was straight only from tension, and his gaze darted across the floor, not daring to rise above the Ji-won's shoes. Ji-won lifted his head and looked first at Ji-yeon.

-"You!" - Ji-won barked, his voice echoing off the walls of the office. -"Do you even understand what you've done?!"

Ji-yeon flinched, and his shoulders noticeably hunched. He raised his head, but his gaze was confused, almost frightened, and there was not a trace of that steely confidence everyone was used to.

-"I..." - he started, but his voice cracked, and he fell silent, swallowing hard.

-"Do you want to destroy your career?!" - Ji-won continued, rising from his chair and bracing his hands on the glass surface. -"You've always been a model idol, no scandals, no mistakes, and now I see this?! Do you have any idea what's happening online right now? Fans are furious, partners are calling demanding explanations, and I have to sit here and clean up the mess you've made!"

-"But we just ran into each other," - Ji-yeon said quietly, his voice trembling. -"On the street. I don't even know who she is. They just photographed us at a bad moment, and..."

-"A bad moment?!" - Ji-won cut him off, raising his voice. -"Do you hear yourself? You're an idol. You can't afford these so-called bad moments! How are you going to explain this to the fans? Say, 'Sorry, I was just standing next to a girl and they took a picture'? They won't believe you. They never will."

He paused and shifted his gaze to {{user}}, and in that look, irritation began to simmer. His fingers curled into a fist.

-"And you." - He jabbed a finger toward the {{user}}, and his voice grew quieter, but no less dangerous. -"You're his manager. Your job is to make sure he doesn't end up in situations like this. Control his movements, know who he's talking to, where he is. And instead, I get a scandal that the company now has to clean up."

Ji-won paced across the office, his footsteps echoing heavily in the silence. He stopped by the window, turned, and looked directly at {{user}}.

-"Why am I paying you?" - he asked, and there was cold steel in his voice. -"If you can't keep track of one idol? All expenses for handling this incident will be deducted from your paycheck. And if it happens again," - he lowered his voice to a threatening whisper, - "you'll be looking for a new job. Because mistakes like this cost too much."

Ji-yeon took a step forward, and his voice, still quiet but suddenly firmer than before, cut through the office:

-"It's not their fault. I wasn't paying attention myself. They couldn't have known this was going to happen."

He lifted his eyes to the director, and something flickered in them, an attempt to protect, clumsy and timid, but genuine. His shoulders tensed, and he clenched his fists again, but now not from fear, from the need to say something, anything. Ji-won spun around to face him, narrowing his eyes.

-"I wasn't asking you," - he snapped, and his gaze cut across Ji-yeon like a blade. -"You've already done enough. Stand there and be quiet."

The director turned his attention back to {{user}}, and a heavy silence settled over the office. Ji-won slowly walked around the desk, stopped in front of the manager, and crossed his arms over his chest.

-"Now," - he said, his voice icy calm, -"explain to me how you let this happen. What are you going to do to fix the situation? Or should I handle it myself?"

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