Chapter 1 - She Was Not a Fan
Luly Mar was born in Seaside, California, into a lineage of quiet power and generational wealth. Her father, Arturo Mar, was a global investor known for his precision and restraint, while her mother, Isabel Mar, carried the grace of an heiress who understood the art of influence. From birth, Luly embodied both brilliance and beauty, an impossible combination that drew attention long before she ever sought it.
Even as a child, she seemed almost otherworldly. Her eyes were wide and luminous, deep and unreadable, the kind that held light instead of reflecting it. They gave her a gaze that could silence a room before she ever spoke. Her features were delicately sculpted, balanced between softness and quiet command. Teachers and tutors often found themselves momentarily distracted, uncertain whether they were in the presence of a child prodigy or something rarer, a mind and face designed to captivate in equal measure.
Her parents noticed her gifts early and moved with precision. Dance, singing, guitar, and piano lessons filled her days, while tutors in mathematics, science, and languages filled her nights. By five, she spoke English, Spanish, and Korean with the ease of a native in each. By ten, she had already graduated high school, outpacing every system designed to contain her.
At fourteen, she completed her bachelor’s degree in pre-veterinary studies while simultaneously founding AQUA, a data-learning program capable of tracking and predicting stock market algorithms. What began as an academic project evolved into a global financial phenomenon, turning Luly into a billionaire before her fifteenth birthday. She rarely touched her family’s fortune, earning her reputation as the so-called trust fund baby who never needed the trust.
Her beauty only amplified her myth. The media often described her as the girl with eyes like gravity, calm, intelligent, and devastatingly magnetic. Cameras adored her. Boardrooms paused when she entered. Her presence carried an elegance that felt inherited from another era yet sharpened by modern intellect.
By eighteen, Luly had earned her Doctorate in Veterinary Medicine, fulfilling her early fascination with life and healing. But by then, she was already more than prodigy or heiress. She was legend in motion, the woman who could build empires with her mind and make the world stop with a single look.
By her eighteenth birthday she was ready to move. Seaside had been a place of beginnings, a city that had shaped her genius, but it no longer challenged her. She wanted noise, ambition, a place that pulsed with creation and power. Seoul called to her like a promise. She boarded her private jet before dawn, the horizon still pale with sleep, her suitcase light but her plans already immense.
The moment the engines roared to life, she looked out the window and watched the California coast fade beneath the clouds. Her reflection on the glass was calm, her eyes steady, her expression unreadable. She wasn’t running away; she was stepping into the world she had built in her mind since childhood.
By the time the jet crossed the Pacific, she had already signed three contracts through encrypted calls, approved a new software upgrade for AQUA, and reviewed proposals from two of her companies in Europe. When she landed at Incheon, Seoul greeted her with flashing lights, brisk air, and the low hum of a city that never rested. It was exactly the rhythm she wanted alive, competitive, beautiful.
Her arrival barely registered in headlines at first. A young foreign billionaire with a degree in veterinary medicine sounded like a curiosity, not a disruption. That would change soon.
The first few days in Seoul passed quietly as she settled into her new penthouse overlooking the Han River. The city below moved with its own pulse, restless and bright, and from her glass balcony she watched it with the same steady composure that had carried her through everything. Inside, she built a world that felt entirely her own.
She spent the mornings exploring the city, walking through the narrow streets of Apgujeong and Cheongdam without security, her hair loose, sunglasses hiding the depth of her eyes. She went shopping but never for attention. Designer logos, she thought, were the mark of people who needed to prove something. She preferred subtle luxury—soft fabrics, clean silhouettes, things that whispered rather than shouted.
At the beauty counters she lingered the longest, testing creams and perfumes until she found the ones that carried her favorite scent. Strawberries and cotton candy. It was delicate but vivid, sweet but never childish. She bought shampoos, candles, lotions, and diffusers, anything that held that same scent, until the clerks began to recognize her as the girl who always left a trail of sugar and fruit in her wake.
By the end of the week her penthouse smelled like her. The air itself was tinted with it, warm and soft, strawberries melting into cotton candy, familiar yet almost unreal. It was the kind of scent that stayed on anyone who entered, the kind that made people remember her long after she was gone.
By mid-October her lawyers and staff arrived with a thick file of reports, projections, and potential investment portfolios. The papers covered everything from technology to pharmaceuticals, yet none of it interested her. She wanted something alive, something unpredictable, something that breathed. Entertainment caught her attention first. It was riskier than data or medicine, but she had always liked risk.
Late that evening, as rain tapped against the windows of her penthouse, she sat barefoot on the couch with her laptop open, scrolling through market summaries and industry notes. One name stood out KSJ Entertainment. It was small compared to the global agencies she already knew, but something about its trajectory intrigued her. Their newest act, a rookie boy group called SOL7, had debuted just a month earlier in September. She watched their performance clips online, one after another, her expression unreadable.
The boys were raw but promising, their energy chaotic yet magnetic. They had something rare, a sincerity that couldn’t be manufactured. When the video ended, she leaned back in her chair and said softly, “This one.”
Her staff exchanged glances. “You want KSJ?”
“I want SOL7,” she corrected.
She instructed her lawyers to arrange a meeting with KSJ’s CEO and offer to buy shares of the company, ensuring her investment would directly fund the group’s growth. Her voice carried that same quiet certainty that made even the most skeptical executives obey.
And as always, she gave one final instruction. “Do not mention my age,” she said. “People only believe in numbers when they are printed on checks, not on birth certificates.”
She had learned that lesson early genius drew admiration until people realized it came from someone far too young to make them comfortable. So she let her work speak for her, never her years.
The next morning, the lobby of KSJ Entertainment was unusually tense. The staff at the front desk exchanged glances as a group of suited lawyers walked in—five of them, carrying leather folders and tablets, their expressions too polished for a casual visit.
Minjae was the first to notice them from across the glass doors. He nudged Dongmin, whispering, “Hey, do those people look like they belong here?”
Dongmin squinted. “They look like they’re here to sue someone.”
Taeyul leaned against the wall near the elevators, still holding his coffee. “Nah, too clean. They’re here to buy something.”
The lawyers greeted the receptionist, introduced themselves, and were quickly escorted upstairs to Director Han’s office. The boys could see the reflection of their dark suits in the mirrored elevator doors as they closed.
Eunwoo crossed his arms. “Why would lawyers be meeting with Director Han? Did someone get caught dating already?”
Dongmin laughed under his breath. “If that’s the case, it’s definitely you.”
“I don’t even have time to date,” Eunwoo shot back.
Haesoo, sitting on the couch with his phone, barely looked up. “Maybe it’s about funding. We just debuted. He’s probably negotiating something.”
Joon smirked. “Funding? For what? We’re broke, remember?”
Jisung, quietly scrolling on his tablet, muttered, “Still, those didn’t look like local lawyers. The badges said Mar Holdings.”
Everyone turned toward him.
“Mar Holdings?” Minjae repeated. “Never heard of it.”
Jisung shrugged. “I’ve seen the name before. International investment firm, California-based. They’re big. Like, scary big.”
Dongmin grinned. “So what, someone from California’s buying KSJ now?”
Haesoo finally looked up, curiosity flickering across his eyes. “Maybe they’re just meeting about partnership contracts.”
But even he didn’t sound convinced.
Upstairs, the meeting room was all glass and silence. Director Han stood to greet the lawyers, still unsure why a group representing one of the largest private investors in the world had shown up unannounced. The lead attorney smiled and placed a folder on the table.
“We represent Ms. Luly Mar,” he said calmly. “She’s interested in acquiring partial shares of KSJ Entertainment, specifically in the division managing SOL7.”
Director Han blinked, confused. “Luly Mar?”
“Yes,” the attorney said, opening the folder to reveal the preliminary offer and financial details. “She requests complete confidentiality and anonymity regarding her identity and age. What matters is her offer.”
Director Han looked at the numbers and froze.
Back in the lobby, the boys were still whispering when the elevator doors opened again. One of the assistants came down carrying fresh coffee for the legal team, confirming that whatever was happening upstairs, it was serious.
Taeyul leaned closer to the others. “Whoever this Luly Mar person is, she’s not playing small.”
Dongmin laughed, half nervous. “Imagine if she buys us.”
Haesoo’s phone buzzed in his hand, but he didn’t check it. For some reason, his mind stayed on that name. It sounded familiar, yet impossibly distant like something that had been waiting to intersect with his world all along.
Hours passed and the meeting stretched longer than anyone in the building expected. The boys rehearsed downstairs, but every time the elevator chimed, heads turned.
By evening, word began to spread that Director Han hadn’t left his office all day. Assistants whispered in the hallways, and the front desk staff traded theories.
Upstairs, the air in the conference room had grown heavy with tension and the smell of coffee. Contracts were reviewed, clauses adjusted, and by the time the city lights came alive outside the windows, the final signatures were on the papers.
Luly Mar was now part owner of KSJ Entertainment.
The lawyers stood, calm and composed, gathering their folders while Director Han remained seated, staring at the stack of signed documents as if he had just made a deal with a ghost.
“Please thank Ms. Mar for her trust,” one of the lawyers said. “She prefers efficiency over ceremony.”
Director Han nodded slowly, still trying to process the scale of what had just happened. “We will treat her investment with the utmost discretion.”
When the lawyers exited the office, the staff in the hallway froze. Their shoes clicked softly on the polished floor as they passed, their movements efficient, their expressions unreadable. The receptionist lowered her voice into her headset, whispering, “They’re leaving.”
Downstairs, SOL7 was taking a break when the elevator doors opened again.
Dongmin was the first to notice. “They’re back.”
Jisung leaned over the railing from the mezzanine, watching the lawyers stride across the lobby. “That’s a good sign, right? They look… expensive and satisfied.”
Taeyul smirked. “Maybe the company isn’t broke anymore.”
Eunwoo stretched, cracking his knuckles. “Whoever that investor is, I hope they like good music.”
Haesoo didn’t speak. He just watched as the lawyers disappeared through the revolving doors into the evening, their silhouettes reflecting in the glass. Something in him felt off balance, though he couldn’t explain why. It wasn’t just curiosity. It was that strange pull again, like a tide shifting somewhere far away but already calling his name.
The next morning, the boys were already in the rehearsal studio when Director Han walked in. His expression was calm but serious, the kind that usually meant something big had happened. Everyone stopped what they were doing.
He stood in front of them and said, “We just finalized a deal. KSJ has a new investor. Her name is Luly Mar. She’s purchased company shares and now holds rights over SOL7. She’s putting in a significant amount of money into your promotions, production, and international projects.”
The room went silent.
Dongmin blinked. “Wait, part owner? She actually owns part of us now?”
Taeyul stretched his arms behind his head. “Guess we just became luxury items.”
Eunwoo frowned slightly. “Luly Mar… I’ve heard that name before. She’s involved with tech or finance, right?”
Jisung nodded slowly. “Yeah. She’s known for her investment company. Quiet type, doesn’t make public appearances.”
Joon tilted his head. “So, she just decided to buy into a rookie group? That’s… bold.”
Director Han set the clipboard down on the piano. “She saw potential. She’s been following your performances, your media reach, and how fast your fan base is growing. She believes you can become a global act if given proper support.”
Minjae looked thoughtful. “Will she be visiting the company?”
“Eventually,” Director Han replied. “She prefers privacy. She works through her representatives for now.”
Dongmin leaned closer to Haesoo, grinning. “What if she’s some mysterious billionaire who’s secretly a fan of yours?”
Haesoo gave a small, amused exhale. “Then she has questionable taste.”
Eunwoo laughed. “Nah, she probably saw you glare at the camera and thought, that one’s expensive.”
Director Han clapped his hands once, signaling the end of jokes. “Focus. This is an opportunity, not a fantasy. From this point forward, the company will be reorganizing your schedules and production budgets. Treat every rehearsal like she’s watching, because she probably is.”
As he left, the room stayed quiet for a beat.
Dongmin finally broke it. “So… she’s watching our performances right now?”
Jisung shrugged. “Most likely.”
Taeyul smirked. “Then let’s give her a show worth her money.”
Haesoo didn’t respond. He just adjusted his mic, eyes low, his thoughts already wandering. The name Luly Mar lingered in his head, elegant and unfamiliar, like something waiting to change everything.
That night, the city was quiet except for the faint hum of traffic. Luly slipped out of her penthouse dressed simply in a cream sweater and jeans, hair tied back, no security, no assistants—just her card and a craving for something sweet. The convenience store on the corner of the street glowed under the fluorescent light, the aisles nearly empty.
She stepped inside, the door chime soft. The scent of instant ramen and sugar filled the air. She picked up a basket and wandered toward the snacks, scanning the shelves for anything strawberry-flavored. Her hand hovered over a pack of strawberry milk when someone brushed past her shoulder.
“Sorry,” a low voice said, quick and indifferent.
She turned slightly and froze. Jeon Haesoo.
He was wearing a black hoodie and a mask pulled down just enough to reveal the shape of his mouth. His hair was messy like he’d just taken off a hat. He didn’t seem to recognize her—or care.
Luly blinked once, composed herself, and said in her usual calm tone, “Nice to meet you.”
Before she could add her name, he cut her off without looking up. “Yeah,” he said flatly, and walked toward the fridge to grab a drink.
She stood there for a second, her expression unreadable. Then her eyes narrowed, a sharp flicker of irritation breaking her composure.
He passed behind her again on his way to the counter, hands in his pockets.
She called after him, voice cool but edged. “You know, most people at least say thank you when someone tries to be polite.”
He glanced over his shoulder, meeting her gaze for the first time. His tone was detached. “Didn’t ask you to be.”
The words hung in the air, dry and almost careless, but something in his look lingered longer than his voice did.
She glared at him, the calm mask slipping just enough to reveal annoyance. “Arrogant,” she muttered, setting the basket back down.
He heard it, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly before he pushed open the door. “You’re not the first to say that.”
The door closed behind him, the chime ringing again, leaving her standing in the aisle with the faint scent of strawberries clinging to her sleeve. For the first time since arriving in Seoul, someone had managed to annoy her in under a minute.
The next morning the boys were still half-asleep when Director Han summoned them to the conference room. The room was all glass and polished steel, sunlight spilling through the windows. No one knew why they were there so early.
Director Han stood at the head of the table, checking his phone before saying, “All right, everyone settle down. I have an announcement. Luly Mar is coming here today to meet you.”
Dongmin’s eyes widened. “Wait, the investor? She’s coming here? Why?”
Minjae frowned. “I thought her representatives were handling everything.”
Director Han sighed. “They were. But she contacted me this morning and said something happened last night that changed her mind.”
Jisung looked up from his coffee. “Something happened?”
Before anyone could ask more, the door opened.
The room fell silent.
Luly stepped in, calm and self-assured, her heels soft against the marble floor. She wore a white off-shoulder long-sleeve top with a red graphic and a delicate bow detail, a white ruffled mini skirt, white crew socks, and red sneakers. A small white shoulder bag hung at her side. Her long black hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, parted softly to one side. Her makeup was light and fresh, her lips glossy pink.
Every boy in the room froze. She didn’t look like a corporate investor—she looked like she had just stepped out of a commercial.
Director Han blinked, momentarily thrown off. “Ah—auditions are downstairs,” he said.
Luly tilted her head slightly, her tone sharp but quiet. “I’m not here for an audition.” She walked to the head of the table, took a seat, and crossed one leg over the other. “I’m Luly Mar.”
The room went still again.
Director Han stared, still trying to process what he was hearing. “You’re—Luly Mar?”
“Yes,” she replied.
He hesitated, lowering his voice. “How old are you?”
“Eighteen,” she said flatly. “But let’s get to the point.”
Her gaze swept over the room, cold and deliberate before locking on Haesoo.
“SOL7 needs to take classes on how to address people properly,” she said. “Last night, I encountered Jeon Haesoo, and he dismissed me. I don’t care if he didn’t know who I was. Even if a fan greets you, that’s not how you want to be known—as an arrogant prick. From now on, I want all of you to take fan service and etiquette lessons. Some of you need it.”
A stunned silence followed. Dongmin’s mouth fell open, Joon covered his face, and Taeyul muttered under his breath, “Oh… shit.”
Luly turned directly to Haesoo. “And you,” she said calmly, her tone now razor-thin, “next time you glare at me, realize there are different levels of social classes. My father is Arturo Mar, owner of Mar Holdings. I don’t care if I invested in this company. If you can’t respect hierarchy, I’ll burn everything down and rebuild it myself.”
The air went heavy.
Haesoo’s jaw tightened. “You’re exaggerating,” he said quietly, trying to stay composed.
Her eyes narrowed. “No. I’m correcting a problem before it grows.”
Minjae sat forward, clearing his throat carefully. “Luly, I’m the leader. I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again.”
“Good,” she said simply, eyes still on Haesoo. “Correct his behavior.”
Dongmin couldn’t hold it in. “Wait, wait—you’re the Luly Mar? The one who bought KSJ?”
She finally looked away from Haesoo, her tone shifting back to cool composure. “Yes. I prefer to handle things directly. It avoids misunderstandings.”
Eunwoo leaned back, whispering to Joon, “Remind me never to piss her off.”
Joon muttered, “I don’t think that’s possible. She looks like she was born pissed off—in the expensive kind of way.”
Jisung, quiet until now, spoke carefully. “Miss Mar, he probably didn’t realize who you were. It was late. He doesn’t usually act like that.”
Luly glanced at him, her voice soft but final. “Intent doesn’t erase impression. And reputation is everything in this industry.”
Haesoo clenched his jaw, trying not to meet her gaze. “So what, you came all the way here just to lecture us?”
She smiled faintly, the kind of smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “No. I came to make sure you learn from it.”
Director Han finally stepped in. “All right, that’s enough tension for one morning. Miss Mar, thank you for your feedback. We’ll make the necessary adjustments.”
She stood, fixing her bag over her shoulder. “Do that.” Her eyes flicked toward Haesoo once more. “Some people only learn respect when they lose comfort. Don’t make me prove it.”
She turned and left the room without another word, the scent of strawberries and cotton candy lingering behind her.
For a long moment, no one said anything.
Then Dongmin whispered, “I think I just fell in love and got terrified at the same time.”
Taeyul laughed quietly. “Haesoo, my guy, you’re dead.”
Minjae rubbed his temples. “Haesoo, apologize before this gets worse.”
Haesoo leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly, his pulse still sharp in his neck. “No,” he said softly. “She’s the one who thinks she can buy respect. I don’t care who her father is.”
Jisung looked at him carefully. “Then you’d better be ready, because she doesn’t look like the type to let things go.”
And when Haesoo glanced at the door she had just walked through, he realized Jisung was right. He had just picked a fight with the one person he probably shouldn’t have.
The tension in the room hadn’t settled when Director Han turned sharply toward Haesoo, his tone suddenly harder than usual. “You better care who she is, Haesoo.”
Everyone froze.
Haesoo straightened, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Director Han dropped the clipboard on the table with a soft thud. “It means you just insulted one of the most powerful people connected to this company. Her family isn’t just rich, they’re old money. Generations of wealth, international influence, the kind of power that doesn’t need publicity because it already owns the room.”
Dongmin let out a low whistle. “Like… that kind of rich?”
Director Han nodded. “Exactly that kind of rich. Arturo Mar, her father, owns Mar Holdings. They have controlling stakes in finance, real estate, media, and private tech across four continents. And that’s not even the impressive part.”
Taeyul leaned forward on the table. “There’s more?”
Director Han’s eyes flicked to his tablet, scrolling through a file. “She has her own companies, her own investment network. AQUA—that’s hers. It’s a predictive algorithm that reshaped global trading. And she holds a Doctorate in Veterinary Medicine. She’s not just a face. She’s a mind that built empires before she could even legally drink.”
The room went dead silent.
Eunwoo was the first to break it. “So she’s… like a genius billionaire?”
“Yes,” Director Han said. “And now, she’s your boss. So if she tells you to fix your attitude, you fix it.”
Dongmin turned toward Haesoo, trying to hold back a laugh. “You really picked the wrong person to ignore, man.”
Joon leaned his chin on his hand, smirking. “You could’ve said hi, but no—you had to glare.”
Haesoo sat there, quiet, trying to process. His pride burned, but the realization hit deeper than he wanted to show. “I didn’t know who she was,” he muttered.
Director Han crossed his arms. “You should treat everyone with respect. That’s the point. And now you’ve made an impression you’ll have to work twice as hard to undo.”
Minjae sighed, looking at him. “Haesoo, you should apologize before this becomes a bigger problem.”
“I’m not apologizing just because she’s rich,” Haesoo said firmly, meeting Minjae’s eyes. “If I was rude, fine, but money doesn’t make someone better than me.”
Eunwoo looked between them. “Yeah, but it does make her able to end your career.”
Jisung, still calm, added quietly, “She doesn’t seem like the type who forgets things easily.”
Dongmin nodded. “Or forgives. Especially not someone who made her glare like that.”
Haesoo exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Then I’ll deal with it.”
Minjae shot him a look. “You’ll deal with it by apologizing.”
Haesoo didn’t respond, his jaw tense.
Director Han glanced at him once more, voice lowering. “You should understand something, Haesoo. She’s not just rich. She’s a strategist. She didn’t build what she has by luck. If she sees potential, she invests. If she sees disrespect, she removes it. Decide which one you want to be.”
The room went still again.
Taeyul muttered under his breath, “Damn… she really might burn everything down.”
Dongmin chuckled nervously. “She said she would. You think she was joking?”
Haesoo stayed silent, eyes fixed on the table. For the first time, he wasn’t sure if he was angry, embarrassed, or intrigued. But one thing was clear he’d just gotten Luly Mar’s attention, and there was no undoing that now.
When the boys walked into the rehearsal studio, they expected to see only their choreographer and sound engineer. Instead, Luly Mar was standing in front of the mirror, arms crossed, watching the clock on the wall.
The moment the door opened, she turned.
“You’re late,” she said flatly.
Minjae blinked, glancing at his watch. “It’s only 11:01.”
She didn’t blink. “Your schedule said rehearsal starts at 11 a.m. It is now 11:01. I like punctual people.”
Dongmin mumbled under his breath, “She’s timing us by the minute…”
Luly’s eyes flicked toward him. “Yes, I am.”
The room went silent.
She gestured to the floor. “Stretch. Then show me what you’ve been working on.”
The boys exchanged glances, uneasy but obeyed. Music filled the room, sharp and rhythmic. They ran through their choreography, movements clean but tense under her gaze. She stood near the mirror, arms folded, analyzing every step, every breath.
A few minutes in, she stopped them.
“Again,” she said.
They restarted.
Thirty seconds later, she spoke again, this time sharper. “Haesoo, you missed your timing on the second verse. You were half a beat late. Again.”
Haesoo clenched his jaw, nodded, and went back into position.
She didn’t let up. “Your angle’s wrong on the turn. Your expression is flat. You’re performing like you’re bored.”
Dongmin looked like he wanted to laugh but didn’t dare.
Finally, she stepped closer to Haesoo, her tone cold but steady. “You’re not that good to be that arrogant.”
Haesoo straightened, sweat sticking to his jawline. “Like you could do better.”
The room froze.
Luly’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smirk. “I can. I’ve been taking singing, dancing, piano, and guitar lessons since I was two years old. I know what I’m talking about.”
Her voice wasn’t loud, but it carried the kind of certainty that made people listen.
Haesoo stared at her, jaw tightening. “Then show us.”
She tilted her head. “Maybe another day. Today is about you learning not to waste mine.”
She turned away, letting the tension hang, and walked down the line of members, her gaze cutting like inspection lights. When she stopped in front of Dongmin, her expression softened slightly.
“You,” she said, “you look like the fun one of the group.”
Dongmin blinked. “You can tell that?”
“Yes,” she said simply. “You’re the one who keeps everyone together when it starts falling apart.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, grinning despite himself. “I guess that’s… true.”
She looked him over once more and said, “Let’s go out for lunch. It’s on me.”
Dongmin’s eyes widened. “Wait—me?”
She turned toward the door. “Yes. The rest of you, keep practicing. I’ll know if you don’t.”
The door closed behind them, leaving the room in stunned silence.
Taeyul broke it first, laughing under his breath. “She just kidnapped him for lunch.”
Eunwoo shook his head. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a death sentence.”
Minjae sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Haesoo, what did you do to get on her radar like that?”
Haesoo didn’t answer, eyes still fixed on the mirror. His reflection stared back, unreadable. “Nothing,” he said quietly. “But she clearly wants something.”
Jisung murmured, “Yeah. Maybe to remind you she’s in charge.”
Haesoo ran a hand through his hair, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “She’s not as intimidating as she thinks.”
But his tone betrayed him. Beneath the calm, there was something else curiosity.
The late morning air was warm as Luly and Dongmin walked down the street together. People passing by gave them curious looks, but Luly seemed unfazed, her white skirt brushing softly against her legs as she moved with quiet confidence. Dongmin followed beside her, still not sure how he had ended up being singled out by the investor who terrified their CEO.
They stopped at a small pizza restaurant tucked between a coffee shop and a record store. It wasn’t fancy, just a quiet place with red booths and the smell of melted cheese in the air. Luly chose a table near the window.
When the waiter came over, she didn’t even glance at the menu. “A large combination pizza, wings, and two sodas,” she said.
Dongmin blinked. “You knew what you wanted before you sat down.”
“I don’t waste time,” she replied.
The food arrived fast, steaming and perfect. Luly picked up a slice, folded it neatly, and took a bite. Dongmin just watched her for a moment, still trying to process the surrealness of eating pizza with someone who could probably buy the entire block.
She caught his stare. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly, taking a bite. “Just… didn’t think billionaires ate pizza.”
She smirked faintly. “I like normal food. I just hate normal people.”
He laughed. “That sounds about right.”
She leaned back slightly, studying him. “You’re nineteen, right?”
He nodded, chewing. “Yeah.”
“I thought so,” she said. “You have that energy. Every group needs someone who lightens the mood.”
He grinned, wiping his hands with a napkin. “You mean the fun one?”
“Exactly,” she said, sipping her soda. “Especially with Haesoo bringing down the energy of the group.”
Dongmin almost choked on his drink, laughing. “You really don’t like him, huh?”
She shrugged, calm as ever. “He doesn’t like anyone. I just happen to notice it first.”
“He’s not bad,” Dongmin said, smiling a little. “He just pretends to be cold. That’s his thing.”
“That’s not a thing,” she said flatly. “That’s an attitude problem.”
Dongmin leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You know, you two are kinda similar. Both blunt. Both scary. Both think you’re right all the time.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Careful.”
He raised his hands playfully. “Just saying. If you fought, the building would probably burn down.”
A small laugh escaped her before she could stop it. “At least I’d win.”
Dongmin chuckled. “See? That’s exactly what he’d say.”
She gave him a look that was equal parts irritation and amusement. “Maybe. But the difference is I actually would.”
Dongmin shook his head, smiling. “You’re dangerous, Luly.”
She smirked, taking another slice. “That’s the point.”
Outside, the sun glinted off the restaurant’s glass window as the two of them talked her calm and sharp, him relaxed and genuine. For the first time that week, Luly looked almost at ease, though her eyes still carried that same quiet calculation
behind every word.
The restaurant had grown quieter as the lunch crowd thinned, sunlight spilling across the table through the large window. Luly was on her second slice, more relaxed now, the edge in her posture softening. Dongmin leaned back against the booth, still smiling as if he couldn’t believe this was actually happening.
“So,” he said, picking at his crust, “what’s it like being… you?”
She looked up, a brow raised. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
“You know,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “Rich. Powerful. Terrifying.”
She laughed quietly, setting her slice down. “You forgot brilliant.”
Dongmin grinned. “That too.”
She leaned back, her tone cooling again but not unkind. “It’s not as exciting as you think. I spent most of my childhood in lessons. Dance, piano, guitar, languages. I didn’t have time for things other people called normal.”
He tilted his head. “No friends?”
“Only the ones who wanted something,” she said simply.
Dongmin frowned. “That’s kinda sad.”
Luly shrugged. “It was productive.”
He smiled. “That’s such a ‘you’ answer.”
She gave him a look that was both amused and sharp. “And what about you? I imagine you grew up breaking things.”
He laughed. “Yeah, that sounds about right. I was always running around, getting into trouble. My mom said I couldn’t sit still even during meals. I think that’s why I dance.”
She smirked slightly. “At least you found a career that suits your hyperactivity.”
He nodded proudly. “Exactly. I was born for chaos.”
Her smile lingered, almost genuine this time. “You really are the fun one.”
He leaned forward a bit. “You said you like cooking, right? How’d that happen? People like you usually have chefs.”
She looked down at her plate for a moment before answering. “I like the control of it. The process. Cooking is quiet. It’s exact. And no one expects anything from me when I’m in the kitchen.”
Dongmin’s expression softened. “That’s actually kind of nice.”
“I enjoy it,” she said. “Though I’m terrible at portions. I always make too much food.”
He grinned. “Then you should invite me over for dinner. I’m great at eating.”
That made her laugh, soft and genuine, the kind of sound that surprised even her. “You’d be doing me a favor.”
Dongmin leaned back, smiling wide. “See? Partnership already.”
She tilted her head. “You’re very confident for someone who still had crumbs on his face a minute ago.”
He wiped his cheek quickly, pretending to look offended. “You could’ve told me sooner!”
“I wanted to see how long it would take you to notice.”
He pointed at her with a playful glare. “You’re mean.”
She sipped her soda, smirking. “I’m observant.”
He picked up a wing. “You know what’s better than pizza? Snacks. I could live off snacks. Chips, gummies, ice cream, you name it.”
She wrinkled her nose a little. “You sound like a twelve-year-old.”
“I sound happy,” he said, laughing. “You can’t tell me you don’t like snacks.”
“I do,” she admitted. “I like American chips. They’re spicy. Korean ones are too mild.”
Dongmin perked up. “Spicy? You?”
“Yes. And crunchy. They taste better when they hurt a little.”
He grinned. “Now that’s something we agree on.”
“I’ll bring you some tomorrow,” she said suddenly.
He blinked, surprised. “Really?”
She nodded once, her tone casual. “Consider it a peace offering. You’ve earned it for being the only tolerable person I’ve met so far.”
Dongmin laughed. “That’s the nicest insult I’ve ever gotten.”
She smiled faintly. “You’ll get used to it.”
He leaned his arms on the table, still smiling. “You’re not as scary as everyone says.”
Her gaze flicked up, sharp again but playful. “Don’t test that theory.”
He laughed, and for the first time that day, she didn’t correct him. She just leaned back, finishing her soda as sunlight glowed against her hair, the faintest scent of strawberries and sugar drifting between them.
When they finished eating, Dongmin insisted on paying, but Luly gave him a look that ended the argument before it started. She left the bills on the table and stood, adjusting the strap of her white shoulder bag.
“Come on,” she said. “You’ll be late for rehearsal if I don’t walk you back.”
Dongmin followed her out of the restaurant, still grinning. “You really don’t have to—”
“I know,” she cut in. “But I’m curious how long it takes you to stop talking.”
He laughed. “Never. I’m a professional.”
The walk back to KSJ was short, the street buzzing with soft city noise. A few pedestrians glanced at them—he looked every bit the idol, she looked like she owned the block—but she didn’t seem to notice or care.
When they reached the company entrance, Dongmin turned toward her. “Thanks for lunch. It was actually fun.”
She looked at him with that same calm, unreadable expression, but there was a hint of warmth behind it now. “Good. Try not to be late next time.”
He gave her a mock salute. “Yes, boss.”
Her mouth curved slightly. “Don’t call me that.”
“Then what should I call you?”
“Luly will do,” she said simply.
He smiled. “Alright. See you tomorrow, Luly.”
She nodded once, then turned away, walking through the side lot toward the underground garage. Her steps echoed softly against the concrete, the heels of her sneakers tapping lightly. She pressed a button on her key fob, and her black Mercedes blinked to life with a quiet hum.
She slipped into the driver’s seat, the faint scent of strawberries lingering on her sleeves. For a moment, she sat there, resting her hand on the steering wheel, eyes half-closed. A small smile tugged at her lips—not out of fondness, but amusement.
“Fun one,” she murmured to herself, thinking of Dongmin’s grin. “At least one of them has manners.”
Then she started the engine. The sound was low and smooth, a quiet growl that filled the garage as she pulled out into the sunlight. Within seconds, the Mercedes disappeared into the Seoul traffic, leaving only the faint echo of tires against pavement and the memory of her perfume in the air.
When Dongmin pushed the rehearsal room door open, all six pairs of eyes turned to him at once. The music was paused, half the members sitting on the floor, half leaning against the mirrors. The second he stepped inside, Joon spoke first.
“Well, look who survived lunch with the dragon.”
Dongmin grinned, tossing his jacket onto a chair. “She’s not that bad.”
Taeyul raised an eyebrow. “Not that bad? You looked like you were walking off to your execution.”
Eunwoo laughed. “So? How was it? Did she lecture you about posture or make you sign an NDA before eating?”
Dongmin shook his head, pulling a water bottle from his bag. “None of that. She just wanted pizza.”
“Pizza?” Minjae repeated, disbelieving. “Luly Mar? The investor? Ate pizza?”
“Yeah,” Dongmin said between sips. “Combination pizza, wings, and soda. Like a normal person.”
Jisung looked up from the floor. “There’s no way she’s normal.”
“She’s not,” Dongmin said, laughing. “But she’s cool. Kinda intense, but cool.”
Haesoo leaned back against the mirror, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “Cool how?”
Dongmin looked at him and smirked. “The kind of cool that would probably make you explode. She mentioned you, by the way.”
Haesoo’s jaw flexed. “Of course she did.”
Taeyul leaned forward, grinning. “What’d she say? That he’s her favorite?”
“She said you bring down the group’s energy,” Dongmin said matter-of-factly, “and that it’s a good thing someone like me exists to balance it out.”
The room erupted in laughter.
“Damn,” Joon said, clapping his hands once. “She really said that?”
“Word for word,” Dongmin confirmed. “And she laughed when I told her I like eating. She said she likes cooking but she’s terrible at portions, so she’s inviting me for dinner sometime.”
Everyone froze.
Eunwoo blinked. “Wait—she invited you to her house?”
Dongmin grinned. “Yep.”
Minjae groaned, running a hand through his hair. “You’re unbelievable. You get called out once and somehow end up with a dinner invitation?”
Taeyul was laughing too hard to breathe. “Bro, she hated all of us this morning. Now she’s feeding you. How?”
“I have a gift,” Dongmin said proudly. “Also, she’s bringing me American chips tomorrow. She said she likes the spicy kind.”
Jisung raised an eyebrow. “So she’s already planning your next meeting.”
Haesoo stayed quiet, his expression unreadable as the others laughed.
Taeyul nudged him. “You hearing this? She’s feeding Dongmin while you’re over here getting roasted.”
Haesoo finally spoke, voice low. “She can feed whoever she wants. Doesn’t change anything.”
Dongmin smirked. “You sure about that? She doesn’t seem like someone who forgets easily.”
Haesoo looked up at him, his tone even. “Good. Neither do I.”
The room went quiet for a moment before Minjae sighed. “Can we not start a war before the showcase?”
Dongmin laughed, tossing his water bottle cap into the trash. “Relax. She’s not that scary once you talk to her.”
Taeyul grinned. “Yeah, because you talked to her while eating pizza. Try standing across from her in a meeting.”
Eunwoo added, “Or while she’s calling you an arrogant prick.”
Dongmin held up his hands. “Hey, I didn’t say she was nice. I said she was cool.”
Haesoo pushed off the wall and walked toward the center of the room. “Enough. Let’s just get back to practice.”
But as the music started again, his movements were sharper than usual, his focus a little too intense. He didn’t say it out loud, but everyone noticed whatever had started between him and Luly Mar wasn’t close to ending.
That night, Haesoo sat across from a girl at a dim rooftop café overlooking the river. The air was cool, the skyline glowing faintly behind them. She laughed softly, tucking her hair behind her ear, the kind of easy laugh that came from someone trying to fill the quiet.
“You’re not saying much tonight,” she said, stirring her drink.
Haesoo looked up, managing a faint smile. “I’m tired. Rehearsals were long.”
“Long or tense?” she teased. “I saw that video clip of your investor visiting the studio. Everyone’s been talking about her.”
His jaw tightened slightly. “Yeah. That was something.”
She leaned in, curious. “What’s she like? The articles make her sound cold but beautiful. Is that true?”
Haesoo smirked faintly, though there was no humor in it. “She’s… intense. The kind of person who walks into a room and everyone forgets to breathe. Thinks she knows everything.”
The girl smiled. “Maybe she does.”
He sighed and looked out over the city lights. “Doesn’t mean she has to remind everyone of it.”
She reached across the table, fingers brushing his wrist. “You always sound like you’re fighting someone, even when you’re not.”
He didn’t pull away, but his gaze stayed distant. “Maybe that’s just how I am.”
She studied him for a moment. “You ever get tired of pretending you don’t care?”
He turned his head, meeting her eyes for a moment too long. Then he smiled, the practiced, easy one idols used in interviews. “No. It keeps people from expecting too much.”
She leaned back, unsure what to say. “You’re strange, Haesoo.”
“Probably,” he said, finishing his drink. “But at least I’m honest about it.”
When they left, she walked beside him, their shoulders brushing now and then, but the silence between them felt heavier than before. At the crosswalk, she asked softly, “Are we… something?”
He glanced at her, then at the traffic light. “No,” he said simply. “We’re just spending time.”
Her expression flickered, disappointment flashing across her face before she nodded. “Right. Just time.”
He gave a small nod, and when the light turned green, he walked ahead first. The wind caught his hair, and for a moment he thought of the way Luly’s voice had sounded that morning in the studio calm, cutting, certain.
The girl called after him, “See you soon?”
Haesoo didn’t look back. “Maybe,” he said, and kept walking into the night.
