Chapter 28
Just as Winter’s part began playing, an image of Winter smiling brightly as she danced suddenly surfaced in Jihyun’s mind.
“This song is really good. Unni, this one—I’ve got a feeling about it.”
It was a genuinely clear, pure smile, completely different from the artificial smile and distorted expression Winter had shown her the other day.
“I think we’re going to do really well! What do we do?!”
“Why are you smiling like that?”
That thought slipped into Jihyun’s mind without her realizing it.
You didn’t say things like that. You weren’t that warm.
The version of you I saw was someone who spoke softly but with barbed sarcasm, whose eyes turned cold in an instant.
So why am I seeing this kind of illusion?
Jihyun shook her head violently, trying to wash the thoughts away. But when she opened her eyes again, a hazy moisture clung to them.
Her nose stung. Her chest throbbed deep inside.
She could tell from that sensation alone. This wasn’t an illusion. It was probably Jihyun’s memory—her happiest time, at that.
But at the same time, she could tell from the almost frightening sense of rejection she felt. Jihyun’s body was refusing to remember it.
This wasn’t just nostalgia for a time she could never return to.
At the fleeting image of Winter’s smile, the corners of her lips lifted faintly—only to crumble as her brows furrowed.
She didn’t know exactly why, but just facing that face made something boil up deep in her chest.
Something pitch-black, hateful, twisted tightly with malice.
That was how repulsive and loathsome the feeling was—and yet it coexisted with her happiest memories.
“What on earth is this…?”
She had no idea how such emotions could coexist, and the lack of reason only made her more confused.
For now, Jihyun turned off her phone and lay down on the sofa, clutching her throbbing head.
She kept her eyes closed for a long time, wondering if something else might surface, but it was as if her memories refused to allow more—everything remained pitch-black, nothing coming to mind.
But there was one thing she understood.
The breakdown of Moa’s relationship wasn’t solely Ahn Jihyun’s fault.
Han Gyeoul, too, must have done something wrong—something beyond a simple misunderstanding.
Otherwise, there was no way this suffocating pressure would make it so hard to breathe.
“…Hah.”
Only after taking a sip of cold water did her emotions finally settle.
Rubbing her eyelids, Jihyun stared at the floor with a heavy expression, then put her phone down and turned on her favorite fancam of Ayoung on the TV.
She wanted to escape reality—the one that was tangling her thoughts.
Cute looks. Lovely eyes. A natural smile resting on her lips.
Just seeing Ayoung’s face made her chest feel a little calmer.
The fundamental question still lingered—how such radiant happiness and hatred could coexist—but it remained unanswered.
“This is so frustrating.”
She briefly considered asking directly, but the quest window still blocked her vision, as if insisting it wasn’t time yet.
Well, emotions like these probably weren’t things that could be resolved easily anyway.
After wiping her eyes, Jihyun picked up her laptop and phone again.
For now, she decided to focus on what needed to be done immediately. When the time came, the quest window would show her the solution regarding Moa.
She had a lot to do today. She needed to organize all of Ayoung’s strengths and weaknesses that appeared across several dances.
And so, Jihyun deliberately turned away from the newly resurfaced memories and emotions.
How much time passed after that?
Time flew by—“flew” was the more accurate word.
To get straight to the point, Ayoung got better.
There wasn’t even a sliver of room to doubt Jihyun’s ability. She was able to teach Ayoung exactly the way she had envisioned.
The same went for dance and vocals. No one had watched Ayoung more closely than Jihyun.
Because of that, she could now precisely pinpoint Ayoung’s shortcomings—things she had only vaguely sensed before—with her own trained eye.
For example, techniques to hit high notes more easily, or ways to make her dance lines look cleaner and more appealing.
And as she taught, Jihyun also refined her own ability to explain her evaluations, as if she were rehearsing for being a judge.
For areas that needed more fundamental or additional help beyond her guidance, she arranged for Ayoung to receive help from external trainers.
After all, Ayoung had gone without a proper trainer until now.
And Jihyun focused on education that was even more important for an idol than singing or dancing.
It was something that Ahn Jihyun and Jang Sehee knew best and excelled at—something no one else could help with.
Visuals, and the “acting” aspect of stats.
Of course, an attractive voice and powerful dancing are great strengths.
But idols require something even more important than that.
The ability to find the camera. How delicately they handle their gaze and facial expressions—their personal weapons—and how well they can appeal with them.
In short, overall “charisma” matters.
You know those members. They’re not the main visual, not part of the vocal or dance line, yet they receive a lot of spotlight and draw attention and popularity.
That quality is more important than visuals, vocals, or dance—it’s what idol fans and the market truly want.
Naturally, in auditions as well, members who can instantly capture attention through those qualities receive better scores and reactions.
So she needed to make Ayoung stand out as much as possible—draw out every bit of charm Ayoung possessed, even the ones she herself wasn’t aware of.
“Today, to the practice room—ah, no.”
Right, she was supposed to go to the dermatologist first today. Seriously, what’s wrong with my head.
♩♬♪–
“Huh?”
Just as she was about to contact Seoyoon and head out, Jihyun’s phone rang. It was Seonghan.
Recently, he’d mostly stuck to messages rather than calls, so she wondered if something urgent had happened. Still, it was probably nothing serious.
“Yes, hello?”
—Hey, Jihyun. It’s not that, but there’s something urgent I need to tell you…
And what followed was something Jihyun had never even imagined.
“…What?”
After a brief silence, Jihyun replied in a flustered voice.
“A… music festival?”
—They said a live broadcast might be difficult, but asked if you could participate through pre-recording instead…
I’d completely forgotten. Summer and winter are the seasons of music festivals.
With a conflicted expression, Jihyun checked the date on her phone.
August 9th. A bit later than usual, but still right in season.
It was the season, but…
Me… going there?
She’d been there before—countless times. That was exactly why she hesitated.
She had decided to live as Jihyun, but with such a massive stage suddenly looming right in front of her, she honestly felt a little afraid.
But I can’t really refuse…
Event Quest
Perform successfully on the music festival stage given to you in Jihyun’s body. You might even form a new connection?
Reward: ???
“It’s a quest—and there’s a reward—so I can’t exactly not do it.”
The phrase “a new connection might form” especially bothered her.
She didn’t know for sure yet, but since it was a quest reward, maybe it meant gaining an ally of some sort.
Besides, if she participated in the music festival, she’d have to practice with the Moa members, which might allow her to understand their relationship more deeply.
There was one more reason.
Her manager, Seonghan, seemed reluctant about participating in the festival.
The way he kept emphasizing that she didn’t have to do it if she didn’t want to made it seem like he was hiding something.
And no matter how much it’s an event quest, this is still the life I have to live going forward—I can’t just keep avoiding schedules.
