One
The contract might as well have been smirking at me. Its black ink felt like it was pressing into my skin as I read the words again: You will not reveal that you are employed by the production. You will follow direction from the showrunner and producers, including, but not limited to, guided interactions, storyline shaping, and assigned romantic arcs.
Translation: I am not here to fall in love. I’m here to fake it.
“You’re thinking too much,” Yoojin’s voice cut through my thoughts like the snap of a camera shutter. The showrunner was leaning against the table across from me, perfectly poised in her tailored blazer, her expression unreadable. “You’ve read the contract a dozen times already. Do you need me to explain it again?”
“No, I understand,” I said. I closed the folder, pressing my palm against the glossy surface as if I could physically push down the nervous energy swirling inside me.
“You’re our innocent lead,” Yoojin continued, pacing the room with slow, deliberate steps. “You’re the sweet girl who doesn’t know how to flirt, who’s never been in a relationship, who blushes when a guy so much as smiles at her. The audience will adore you. And you’ll adore Yoonjae. Understand?”
There it was again. Yoonjae. The golden boy. The one I’d been assigned to fall for.
I smiled politely and nodded. “Yes.”
A small, satisfied curve lifted her mouth. “Good. Audiences love beginnings, and you’re going to give them the softest one. First love, first blush, and even first heartbreak if we need it. You’re untouched glass.” She tapped the contract with a manicured nail. “Don’t smudge.”
There were many things written there—penalties, NDAs, the promise of exposure dangled like a prize ribbon. But what echoed most was the instruction I wasn’t allowed to put on paper: be sweet, be soft, be steerable.
“Any questions?” she asked.
“No.”
“Then let’s go make you a love story,” she said.
The van door slid open to a wash of sun and salt. The villa rose out of the coastal light with its white walls, clear glass, and a deck that seemed to float over the ocean itself. It was all angles and openness, the kind of place designed to make secrets look expensive.
A production assistant helped me out—mic clipped, hair smoothed, the sort of gentle handling that made me feel less like a person and more like a product. Inside, voices already fizzed through the air. Laughter bounced off marble and glass. Cameras hummed, small and patient.
I stepped through the doorway into the living room, where eight people were already gathered. They lounged across a semicircle of couches and armchairs, casually talking in pairs and small groups, some already laughing like old friends. There was an easy warmth between them, the beginning of bonds forming just beneath the surface.
I paused, then offered a quick wave. “Hello. I’m Haneul Choi.”
Heads turned toward me. A few smiles. Someone scooted over to make space on the couch. Introductions rippled—names I tried to pin to faces: the artsy girl with sharp eyeliner, the golden-boy athlete, the bookish one with glasses, the surfer-looking guy who talked about ‘alignment’ like it was a religion.
I expected them to be introverts, but most of them were so lively. I wondered why they had never dated before.
We small-talked for a few minutes. We talked about where we were from, what we studied, what we were hoping this summer might be. It was light, curious, a little self-conscious, like everyone was trying to be interesting but not too much.
Then a woman with a headset appeared in the doorway and clapped her hands once. “Hello, everyone. May I have your attention, please. We’ll be starting soon.”
We settled again, conversation fading into a hush. The producer, sleek bob and tablet in hand, stepped into the center of the room.
“Okay! Welcome to Campus Hearts.” Her smile was bright but practiced, like the camera was always on. “Quick reminder of what you signed up for, in case the ocean air got to your heads. You’ll be spending the summer together, which will be about six weeks, right here. You have your phones, but please keep outside contact to a minimum. Your majors and ages must not be revealed until you are told to. Use your charm and personality to match up with others. You’ll share meals, challenges, dates, and of course—” she spread her hands like she was revealing a cake, “feelings.”
Light laughter rippled. I kept mine small, airy, like a dandelion seed.
“You’re all college students from different universities and backgrounds. Different worlds colliding under one roof,” she said, glancing at her tablet. “Our tenth villamate will be arriving tonight. She had to take a short research trip last week and is only getting back to the city today, so she’ll be joining you later.”
A few eyebrows raised. The mystery of the missing tenth already folded itself into the air.
“We’ll start with brief first interviews. It’ll just be intros, so don’t panic. And then we’ll play a little icebreaker game to loosen everyone up before your first confessionals.”
Confessionals. The little glass rooms where the truth was supposed to feel safe, and the edit decided if it got to live.
“Any questions?” she asked.
Someone joked, “Do we get name tags?” The room laughed.
“Perfect,” she said. “Let’s start.”
They took us one by one for the intros, a small side room with a chair and a camera and a soft square of light that flattered everyone equally. When it was my turn, I folded my hands in my lap and remembered the briefing: gentle, unsteady, hopeful.
“What’s your name?” the off-camera producer asked.
“Hi! I’m Haneul Choi,” I said. “And I’m studying visual arts.”
“Why did you come to Campus Hearts?”
I angled my eyes down, letting them hover in the safe middle distance. “I’ve… never dated before.” A pause. Not too long. “I wanted to know what it feels like to… start. For real.”
There was a shift in the room. A subtle softening. They love innocence. It edits well.
“Describe your ideal first love,” the producer asked.
I thought of lines I once wrote in a notebook and tore out before anyone could read them. I thought of a library and laughter hushed under breathing. I thought of something that almost happened and didn’t. I shrugged instead, small. “Someone who doesn’t… make me feel like I’m faking it.”
The producer hummed, pleased. “Great. Beautiful. Thank you, Haneul.”
The living room felt warmer when everyone regrouped, like the nervous tension from earlier had thinned into something easier. The cameras, of course, were still there—quiet hums, red lights blinking like patient heartbeats—but we were starting to forget how closely they watched.
The producer clapped her hands, her tablet tucked under one arm. “Now that you’ve all introduced yourselves, it’s time for a quick game to break the ice. Nothing complicated. Just questions to help you get to know each other and maybe even reveal a little something interesting,” she said, smiling faintly as her gaze swept over us.
I smoothed the hem of my dress before sitting down.
“Here’s how it works,” she continued. “We pass this cushion around and whoever holds it answers a question from me. If you refuse to answer, you have to share an embarrassing or funny story about yourself instead.”
“Brutal,” Hanna murmured, earning a few laughs.
The cushion landed in Leo’s lap first. He leaned back, smirking. “Hit me with your best shot,” he said.
“Describe your type in three words,” the producer asked.
Leo grinned. “Tall, witty, and…” He pretended to think, then smirked. “Easygoing.”
The cushion began its lazy journey around the circle. I watched the others. There were little moments of awkwardness, playful teasing, the kind of first-night energy that felt like a game show.
When the cushion reached Yoonjae, he shifted forward with an easy smile. There was something steady about him, like silence never rattled him.
“Yoonjae,” the producer asked, clearly interested in his answer, “what’s one thing about love you’ve always believed in?”
He paused, looking thoughtful for just the right amount of time. “That the best kind of love feels simple,” he said. “Like breathing.”
It was such a perfect answer that I almost rolled my eyes, but instead, I smiled faintly with everyone else. Of course he’s the golden boy, I thought. He was exactly the type audiences would root for.
The cushion came to me next.
“Haneul,” the producer said, “what scares you the most about love?”
I hesitated, letting the silence stretch just enough to feel real. “Since I’ve never experienced love before, I’m scared that maybe I won’t be able to tell the difference between something genuine and something… forced.”
“Good answer,” the producer said with a small nod, clearly satisfied.
And then I heard a soft, almost imperceptible scoff, low and quick, from somewhere down the circle. I glanced up in reflex, just in time to catch a flash of someone looking away. He didn’t seem to be laughing or mocking, just… reacting. The sound was too brief to read, so I let it go, forcing my attention back to the game.
The cushion continued its journey. The questions got lighter after that: guilty pleasures, weirdest habit, dream travel destination. By the time the game ended, everyone was laughing, leaning against couch cushions, trading small jokes. The awkwardness had started to wear off.
When the crew called us one by one for our first confessionals, Yoonjae caught my eye and gave me a reassuring grin. “Don’t overthink it,” he said. “Just talk like you’re telling a friend a secret,” he added, his tone casual but warm.
“Easier said than done,” I replied with a small laugh.
“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” he said, and the way his voice softened just enough made me wonder if that was the kind of moment the producers lived for.
The confessional room was different from the room where we did introductions. It wasn’t large, but it had a strange, deliberate warmth to it. Soft lights diffused through paper shades, a neutral background that looked friendly but impersonal. There was only a single armchair in the middle of the room, angled just so, with a microphone hovering above like an unblinking eye.
A crew member gestured for me to take a seat. “Just relax,” he said, his tone mild and nonintrusive, the way you’d speak to someone holding a bird that might fly away.
I sat down, trying to keep my posture natural. The cameras felt closer here, like they could see past my skin. My mic pack hummed faintly against my ribs.
“Okay, Haneul,” the off-camera producer said, “how are you feeling so far on your first day here?”
I smiled a little, the kind of smile that wasn’t fully real but wasn’t fake either. “Nervous,” I admitted. “It’s… strange being around so many new people at once. But it’s also exciting. Everyone seems kind and…” I hesitated, searching for a word. “…open. I didn’t expect that.”
“Anyone stand out to you yet?” she asked, her voice like a fishing line cast lightly into the air.
There it was. The first hook of the show. I let the question hang for a moment, then gave the answer they wanted without letting it sound rehearsed. “Yoonjae, maybe,” I said, glancing down at my hands. “He seems… easy to talk to. Like he doesn’t force anything.”
The producer’s tone warmed. “He’s definitely charming, isn’t he?”
I nodded slightly, as if embarrassed to agree. “Yeah. I guess so.”
It was the truth, in a way. Yoonjae was charming, in that safe, scripted kind of way. But charm wasn’t the thing that rattled me.
“Tell us about the icebreaker game,” she said next. “Was there a moment that made you feel… something?”
I tilted my head, feigning thoughtfulness. “When I got my question,” I said softly. “‘What scares you the most about love?’ It’s not something I’ve ever really said out loud before.”
“And your answer?”
“That I’m afraid I won’t know if it’s real,” I said. The words tasted sharper now, like they’d been waiting under my tongue all day. “It’s easy to get swept up when everyone is watching, when things feel… staged. I’m worried that I’ll mistake performance for something genuine.”
The producer hummed approvingly. “That’s a really honest answer. The audience will love that vulnerability.”
I gave them a shy smile. “I guess it’s just how I feel.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to tell who’s being genuine?” she asked, her tone carefully neutral but layered with quiet challenge.
I hesitated, my smile fading. “I hope so,” I said finally. “But I’m not sure. Maybe that’s part of what scares me. You don’t really know someone on day one. You just… hope you see the real pieces.”
She gave me a moment to breathe before the next question. “What’s your first impression of this villa? Of the people?”
“It’s beautiful here,” I said, letting my gaze drift past the camera as if I could see the ocean through the walls. “Almost too perfect, like the kind of place you’d dream about instead of actually live in. Everyone’s so different, like different worlds, different ways of talking. I feel like I don’t belong here yet. But maybe that’s also why I’m here… to find where I fit.”
The questions kept coming, weaving me into a version of myself that was part me, part script.
When the confessional wrapped, I stayed in the chair for a beat longer, as if the warmth of the lights could burn away whatever thoughts were still clinging to me. Then I stood, offered a polite nod to the crew, and stepped back into the hallway.
The others were already gathered at the foot of the grand staircase, luggage wheels softly thudding against the wood floors as someone—probably production—called out that we’d be heading to our assigned rooms next. We followed the winding staircase up to the second floor, where natural light streamed in through arched windows and softened the cream-colored walls.
At the landing, the hallway branched off to the left and right. On each side of the stairs were small lounge areas—just wide enough for a couch or two, maybe a late-night heart-to-heart. In front of us stretched a long hallway: on the left, three rooms for the guys; on the right, facing them, three rooms for the girls.
“Looks like we’re sharing,” Yoonjae said as he scanned the room assignments. He tilted his head toward Jaemin. “Our room’s over there.”
Jaemin nodded, expression unreadable. “Cool.”
Dean grinned and clapped Jihoon on the shoulder. “Hey, roomie.”
Across the hall, Leo blinked at the names on the door before cracking a smile. “Wow. Am I rooming alone?”
Gia and Soojin wheeled their suitcases toward the room at the far right end, already laughing about how they were ‘manifesting this.’ Hanna, pulling her luggage behind her, paused at her own door before glancing over at me.
“Haneul’s rooming alone too,“ she said, tugging her suitcase past him as she scanned the layout. “Guess the producers didn’t want any of us girls tripled up.”
I gave a light laugh, lifting my suitcase handle. “Well, this feels kind of lonely.”
“It’s okay. Let’s just hang out on the couches beside the stairs before sleeping,” Soojin said with a smile, patting me on my shoulder.
“It’s like a dorm dream come true,” Leo said behind us after opening the bedroom door. “The rooms look nice!”
“It’s much nicer than I expected,” Dean said, stepping just inside his doorway. “I don’t think I’ll ever want to leave the room.”
“The view is great too,” Gia called from their window. “It looks like a landscape painting.”
People lingered for a few more minutes, poking their heads into rooms, calling across the hall to compare views or floor space, until one by one, they started ducking into their rooms to unpack.
“See you guys in a bit,” Yoonjae said as he disappeared inside, the door clicking softly shut behind him.
The other room doors closed, and the hallway fell quiet.
The rest of the day was ours, technically—no more interviews, no structured games or tasks—but the cameras and mics never really went off. They hovered, quiet but present, catching every glance, every laugh, every silence that stretched just a little too long.
Most of us drifted to the backyard or the open kitchen, where the late afternoon light spilled across tile and wood. The mood was easy, low-pressure. Someone started a conversation that gradually pulled the rest of us in. The main questions: why we were single, and how, despite everything, we hadn’t fallen in love yet.
The answers ranged from light and jokey to surprisingly vulnerable.
Gia answered first. “I’ve been on a lot of first dates, but not a lot of second ones. I just haven’t met a guy that actually meets my standards.”
“You must have pretty high standards,” Dean commented.
“As you should,” Hanna said.
“I think I was too focused on school. I had crushes, but I didn’t really get the chance to actually pursue someone or experience something deeper,” Yoonjae admitted, tracing the rim of their glass.
“I’m kind of a homebody and rarely go out, so I never have the chance to meet people,” Soojin stated.
“I’ve only ever crushed on people who didn’t like me back,” Jihoon said with a shrug that didn’t quite cover the sting.
“Same here. I’d have crushes, but once they started liking me back, I’d lose interest. I know it’s weird, but I guess that just proves I haven’t found something real yet,” Hanna added.
“Mine’s kind of the opposite. A lot of girls liked me, but I never liked any of them. And the ones I did like always ended up dating someone else before I could even try,” Leo said.
The unexpected answer that came from Jaemin, who was the quietest guy in the group, kind of caught me off guard. “I guess I don’t really know what love is supposed to feel like. I thought I did once... but later realized I was wrong.”
We passed stories and half-truths around like a bowl of something warm. I listened more than I spoke, filing each confession away like it might mean something later.
The villa became quieter when night came. I slipped out onto the deck. The night air was softer than I expected, carrying the scent of the sea. The villa glowed behind me, all glass and golden light, but out here the ocean swallowed the noise.
When they asked me later to sum up my first day, I said something that felt simple enough to use in an episode’s closing line: “It’s strange how quickly strangers can feel like characters in a story. I just hope I don’t forget who I really am while I’m here.”
It wasn’t a lie, but it really wasn’t the whole truth either.
