PIB CH 08

Chapter 08 – A Fan’s Way of Helping

Huh? A notification?

It was a bank alert — an automatic withdrawal. Some kind of subscription payment, probably.

But the remaining balance in the account made Ji-hyun blink in disbelief.

Wait… how many zeros is that?

One, two, three, four, five, six…

Seven… eight… nine?!

That couldn’t be right. Maybe it was a glitch. She counted again carefully.

Ten, hundred, thousand, ten-thousand, hundred-thousand, million, ten-million, hundred-million, billion, ten-billion, hundred—

No way. It really has nine zeros.

She stared at the screen, speechless.

I’ve never seen that many zeros in real life.

Her jaw dropped, and then she quietly picked the kimbap back up from the shelf.

It’s not like anyone will notice if one grain of rice disappears from a mountain full of it.

And besides — that wasn’t even Ji-hyun’s only account.

Honestly, she could buy an entire kimbap shop and it wouldn’t even make a dent.

But there aren’t many transactions here, she noticed.

On her way back, Ji-hyun scrolled through the bank app on her phone.

The spending record was almost empty. Only a few essential payments — no shopping, no splurges. It was as if this money was something she wasn’t supposed to touch.

Weird. Is there a reason for that too?

From what Ji-hyun remembered, the original Ahn Ji-hyun wasn’t much of a shopper either.
Clothes, accessories — most of it was probably sponsored or provided by the company.

Whatever. Let’s eat first.

Surely even the world’s top idol would forgive her for a single kimbap.

Back at home, Ji-hyun microwaved it, grabbed a bottle of water, and sat on the couch.

Her left hand holding the kimbap moved faster than her right hand with the remote — she was that hungry.

But then—

Tap.

The kimbap slipped from her fingers onto the table as she froze.

On the TV, a song was playing — and there she was.

A-young.

Ji-hyun’s eyes widened as she stared at the bright, smiling girl giving an interview on-screen.

That same A-young she’d admired so much before.

Right… I had her.

She’d been so caught up in everything lately that she’d completely forgotten the one person who had always meant the most to her.

Just watching A-young’s radiant smile on TV melted away all the tension that had been weighing on her chest.

No wonder I felt so empty. I actually forgot about you.

And then it hit her again—

Oh no. I’ve missed all the new content! The teasers, the fan posts—everything!

Absolutely unacceptable.

Ji-hyun immediately connected her TV to the internet and started binge-watching every new clip she’d missed.

By the time she stretched and stood up, the sun had already set.

It had been a few hours of pure happiness.

Yep. Fangirling still heals everything.

But not everything she saw was easy to watch.

Poor A-young.

Ji-hyun frowned, gazing at her phone screen.

A-young was adorable — hardworking and full of charm — but clearly struggling for attention.

In the fancams, her solo shots were constantly blocked by cameras or other members. Even the group cams barely showed her face.

In the variety clips, it was the same story — she tried so hard, but the spotlight never reached her.

Still, Ji-hyun noticed one small improvement: she had slightly more screen time than before. And Ji-hyun, as always, replayed even those few seconds over and over, savoring every frame like a true fan.

Because that was all she could do now — raise the view count, leave encouraging comments, and hope it mattered somehow.

Until—

Wait a sec.

Her eyes widened.

That’s not all I can do, is it?

She wasn’t Jang Se-hee anymore. She was Ahn Ji-hyun — one of the biggest idols in Korea.

And A-young? She’d said in interviews that Ji-hyun was her role model.

The realization hit her like lightning.

Ji-hyun quickly reopened one of A-young’s fancam videos and watched closely.

There.

She smiled faintly.

She could see it now — the small flaws, the weak points in A-young’s performance that normal fans wouldn’t notice. And more importantly, she instantly knew how to fix them.

Her body moved on instinct.

Ji-hyun stood up and mimicked A-young’s dance part in front of the mirror. It wasn’t a difficult routine — cute, soft, and graceful.

After repeating it a few times, she caught her breath and grinned.

Rich, famous, and talented — what couldn’t she do?

As Ahn Ji-hyun, she could help A-young in ways no fan ever could.

What can a fan do for their idol?

She smirked.

“Plenty.”

***

“Winter unnie.”

“…”

“Unnie.”

“…What.”

Knock, knock.

The door opened a moment later with a sharp click.

Winter stood there with a cold expression, but she didn’t send the visitor away.

Standing at the door was Ye-seo, her big eyes blinking nervously like a startled deer.

“Can I come in?”

Winter didn’t answer — just turned around and left the door open. It was a silent yes.

It had been a while since Ye-seo last entered Winter’s room.

For a moment, she remembered the times they’d all snuck snacks in here late at night, laughing and whispering.

Now, the room was quiet and messy — old memories scattered across the bed.

Ye-seo sat on the edge of the bed and toyed with a giant plushie, one they used to share when they were trainees.

“Unnie… about Ji-hyun today.”

“Go on.”

“Didn’t she seem… strange?”

Winter flinched. Because yes, she’d noticed it too.

But she forced a cold tone.

“She fell off the stage, remember? Sung-han oppa said she’s still recovering. That’s probably why.”

True or not — she didn’t care.

“But the accident really happened.”

“So what are you getting at?”

Winter spun her chair around to face Ye-seo. Her lips trembled slightly, pressed tight.

“You think I should’ve smiled and fed her lunch or something? Asked how she’s doing?”

“N-no! That’s not what I meant, I just… she looked really sad.”

Winter sighed through clenched teeth, her voice shaking as she spoke.

“Wake up, Ye-seo. You think there’s still room for feelings like that between us and her?”

She placed a firm hand on Ye-seo’s shoulder.

“I get it — it makes you uncomfortable. But the company told us not to contact her. What were we supposed to do? It’s not like we knew she’d be that hurt.”

Her voice grew heavier, trembling just a little.

“And yeah, she was quiet today. Too quiet.”

Even Winter couldn’t explain why. Ji-hyun had always been different — bold, confident. But today she’d seemed… off.

Which meant only one thing.

“She’s hiding something from us. And we’re just being used again.”

“But still…”

“Don’t believe what you saw today. Believe what you already know.”

Winter pulled Ye-seo into a brief hug, biting her lip hard.

“I’m not falling for it again.”

***

“That time, our story… the memories suddenly come back…”

Ji-hyun hummed along to A-young’s part of the song, smiling softly — until her gaze landed on the stack of papers on her desk.

“Ugh… what do I even do?”

She’d been up all night thinking about it, and her brain felt like it might explode.

She wanted to help A-young. But how?

She couldn’t give her money — any financial support under Ahn Ji-hyun’s name would cause a media disaster.

Anonymous donations? That was risky too. She had no one to trust with that kind of secret, and there was no guarantee the money would actually reach A-young.

Teaching her to sing or dance? Impossible. She couldn’t just walk into another company and offer lessons.

Even contacting A-young’s agency would be ridiculous.

Sure, she could do something like sponsoring a birthday project — big posters, subway ads, cafés. She had the money for it.

But would that really help A-young as an artist? Probably not.

A-young didn’t just want fame; she wanted to shine as an idol. And support projects — no matter how expensive — wouldn’t make her a better performer.

If anything, she might just feel pressured or uncomfortable.

There has to be another way…

Ji-hyun rubbed her temples, staring at the ceiling.

How can I really help her?