They sat in silence for a while after that message.
Choen didn't reply. She simply locked her phone and placed it face-down beside her. The rooftop wind tugged gently at her coat, and the air between them grew quiet, but not uncomfortable.
He stole glances at her when she wasn't looking—watching the way her hair fluttered like whispers, how her gaze searched the skyline as if it held the answers to questions she hadn't asked aloud.
"You're… strong," he said quietly.
Choen looked at him, a little startled by the seriousness in his voice.
"Most people fall apart when life gets hard. But you… you sharpen," he continued. "It scares me sometimes, how much you've grown. But it makes me want to stay near you again."
Choen gave him a faint, almost tragic smile. "Don't get too close. You might get caught in something you can't escape."
Just as he was about to respond, a sharp flutter of wings cut through the stillness.
A crow swooped down suddenly, its black wings slicing the air.
Before Choen could move, the edge of its claw grazed her hand—just enough to draw blood.
"Agh—" She flinched and held her hand, blood pooling fast from the sudden gash.
"Hey!" He rushed to her side, panicked. "You're bleeding."
"It's fine, it's just—" she tried to wave it off, but the blood kept flowing too quickly.
"Stop." His voice was firm this time. He tore off the designer scarf wrapped around his neck—one that probably cost a fan's monthly rent—and knelt down, wrapping it gently around her palm.
His fingers worked delicately but confidently, like someone who had done this before. His brows were knit, his jaw clenched slightly.
"There," he breathed out once it was secured. "That should stop it for now."
She looked down at the scarf stained with small drops of red and then at his face. He was staring at her with quiet worry.
"Thank you," she murmured.
They didn't say much after that. He stood up and offered his hand. She hesitated—then took it.
They walked down the fire stairs, side by side, and stepped into the alley beside the café.
"I should go before chaos breaks out again," he said with a half-smile. "But really, Choen… I meant what I said. If you ever need anything—call me."
She gave him a small nod. "I know."
He turned and started walking away, adjusting his coat. But just before reaching the street—
Click.
A shutter sound.
Then another.
From behind a van, two teenage girls lowered their phones, eyes wide in disbelief.
"That's him! That's our idol!"
"Is that… his scarf on her? Is that blood?"
And in the middle of the street, a beam of sunlight hit Choen's face as she stepped out behind him, still holding her bandaged hand—the two captured in the same frame. Her fingers had unconsciously brushed against his as she handed him his phone back, and the cameras caught it.
Later that night…
The photos exploded online.
"Who is she??"
"WAIT this girl is beautiful???"
"Omg she held his hand and I'm not mad at all 😭"
"He GAVE HER HIS SCARF?! And it had BLOOD?? What's going onnnn"
"Idk guys but I ship them. The vibe is mysterious and cinematic."
For once, instead of hate—there was curiosity. Support. Even fan art.
Choen scrolled through the posts in disbelief.
The world had started watching her again… but this time, not just for her designs.
But maybe, just maybe—for her future too
Meanwhile…
In his office, Dokkaebi stared at his phone. The post was everywhere now. The images of Choen holding hands with the idol—his scarf around her bleeding hand—the soft, candid rooftop photos.
His jaw clenched unconsciously. His thumb hovered over the call button.
He had typed a message, erased it.
Called once. Hung up before the first ring.
"What is this…?" he murmured to himself, the faintest mix of confusion and something heavier tightening in his chest.
Just then, Bora barged into the room, phone in hand.
"Did you see this?!" Her voice was sharp. "She's all over the internet—with him! What is going on?"
Dokkaebi didn't answer. His eyes remained on the screen, cold and unreadable.
"You said you were just watching over her, right?" Bora's tone turned accusing. "Then why does it look like she's slipping away from all of us?"
Still—no answer.
He put the phone down, exhaled through his nose, and leaned back in his chair, lost in thought.
At the same time, across the city…
Joon dropped his spoon into his cereal bowl as he scrolled the page again and again. "No way. No way. That's… noona?!"
He blinked, mouth open in complete disbelief.
"She really… saved him? And—that scarf!?"
The comments, the reactions, the photos—it all flooded his head.
Something had shifted again. He could feel it.
Something was coming.
And none of them were ready