It would be a lie to say it wasn’t tough.
The flood of nasty rumors about Jae-ha and the cruel words from people who didn’t know better—they weighed heavily on her.
In those moments, she gritted her teeth and buried herself in her studies.
It was the only way she could hold her head high and keep loving Jae-ha with pride.
There were times she wavered.
But no matter what anyone said, Kim Jae-ha was the same Kim Jae-ha she knew, always shining, no matter where or when.
And so, for nearly a decade, she lived as his fan, steadfast and alone.
Some people didn’t get it.
They’d ask why she’d dedicate herself to someone tangled in bad rumors, someone who wasn’t even that famous anymore, someone she’d never even met face-to-face.
Wasn’t it exhausting?
Others would push her to stan a different idol group or actor instead, insisting that kind of fandom was easier.
She just shrugged it off.
What did it matter if others understood or approved of her love for him?
As long as she was happy, that was enough.
But those days were behind her now.
This was it—the moment she’d been waiting for!
Jae-ha’s first project after his military discharge was(Casting With Your Own Hand!)
At first, she’d been skeptical, but when the first episode aired and the reviews came pouring in, all glowing with praise for Jae-ha, her heart swelled uncontrollably.
Sure, there was a strange undercurrent to her joy, but she decided to savor the moment.
Her hands trembled.
“I’m so nervous,” she whispered to herself.
Finally, she was going to see him.
She checked her bag to make sure the placard she’d prepared wasn’t crumpled, then gripped her phone tightly and quickened her pace.
***
My reflection stared back at me from a mirror framed with tiny round lights.
The foundation was flawless, not a single patch or smudge.
The subtle shadow around my eyes, crafted with careful strokes of eyeshadow, softened my fierce gaze into something deeper, more soulful.
Even my eyebrows, which usually betrayed me when I did them on my own, were perfectly symmetrical today.
My hair, now grown back to its pre-enlistment length, finally allowed for some real styling.
The unruly strands had been tamed, trimmed neatly, with bangs that just brushed my eyes.
Half of them were swept back and fixed in place.
The stiff feel of wax in my hair was oddly comforting, a familiar sensation which I hadn’t realized that I would miss.
“Anything else you’d like to add?” the hairstylist asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
Before I could respond, the stylist barreled on.
“I mean, you already look perfect—like, seriously, so perfect! But if there’s anything you want, I’d give it my all to make it happen. Though, honestly, you’re already flawless!”
She let out a soft laugh.
The stylist’s enthusiasm was infectious, and it was clear she was proud of her work.
Probably worried that any odd request might ruin the look she’d so carefully crafted.
“It’s great,” I assured her.
“I love it.”
The stylist’s face lit up with a radiant smile.
“Next time, maybe we could try some pomade,” the stylist suggested, barely containing her excitement.
“Makeup’s trickier since you’re an actor, but gosh, it’s such a shame! You’d totally rock a red-toned look or even a smoky vibe. If I get to do this again, can we go a bit bolder with the eyeliner? Oh, and with your cool undertone, blacks and blues would look amazing, but don’t let that stop you from trying all sorts of colors!”
“Uh… what?” I said, caught off guard.
Her expression faltered for a moment.
Was all that really directed at me?
Those kinds of compliments were meant for someone like Seo Eun-jae, not me.
People always said that my strong features didn’t take well to heavy makeup—that a natural, barely-there look suited me the best.
I’d always agreed.
My face wasn’t exactly “handsome” so much as it was… intimidating.
‘She’s so kind,’ I thought, offering a faint smile.
Then I said simply, “Thank you,” to her.
The stylist, perhaps a little embarrassed by her own enthusiasm, gave a sheepish grin.
“Oh gosh, I’m sorry. I got a bit carried away, didn’t I?”
“No, no, it’s fine. Thank you for making me look so nice. You did an amazing job.”
“Yes! If you ever need me again, please let me do it!” the stylist said brightly.
“Sure,” I replied, though I wasn’t sure if I’d have any say in the matter.
The stylist gave a quick bow and started to head toward the next participant but stopped and turned back.
“Um, here,” she said, handing over a card.
“This is my business card. If you haven’t settled on a shop yet, come to ours! Please!”
The card read “Vivid Shop”.
I tucked it away, a faint memory stirring.
Wasn’t that the place that would later become famous?
I’d heard its name tossed around while working on (The Bachelor’s Club).
The owner had started small, struggling with a handful of designers before making it big.
They were known for prioritizing celebrities who’d supported them in their early, harder days.
I vaguely recalled some grumbling about their high standards.
For (Casting With Your Own Hand!), the production team had partnered with specific shops to provide hair and makeup for the participants.
Budget constraints probably kept them from hiring the biggest names, but somehow, they’d landed ‘Vivid Shop’.
‘Of all the places’, I thought, slipping the card into my wallet.
The production team clearly had an eye for talent.
I glanced at my reflection one last time.
‘Man, how long has it been since I wore a school uniform?’ I mused.
The project was (Seorim High School Student Council), so the stage greeting outfit was, naturally, a school uniform.
Thankfully, Yul’s agency had taken care of the design and production.
Yul wasn’t aiming for a top spot—just a chance to get his face and name out there—but it was clear his agency adored him.
The uniform was clean and sharp, with a white base accented by black details.
The only nod to the drama’s uniform was the Seorim High School emblem on the chest.
The original design had been a bold light blue, which even now felt daring.
The trio had insisted on a redesign, and this was the result.
‘Still, a white-toned uniform isn’t exactly standard,’ I thought.
But it suited Seorim High, a prestigious private school.
With a quick mental justification, I joined the trio to rehearse our pre-planned chant.
“I’m so nervous, Brother!” one of them said.
“Do you think our short film turned out okay? I’m freaking out since we haven’t seen the final cut.”
“We worked so hard!”
The trio was trembling like frightened animals.
Instead of patting their backs, I spoke honestly.
“I’m pretty nervous too.”
“What? For real?”
“No way!”
“You look so calm, Jae-ha-senior!”
“Come on, don’t call me out like that,” I said, half-laughing.
They were from different agencies and had only met through (Casting With Your Own Hand!), but their chemistry was uncanny.
I held out my sweaty palm to Yul Choi, who was standing nearby.
“Whoa, you’re actually sweating! Even you’re nervous, Brother!”
“I’m human, you know,” I said, feigning offense.
“He’s sulking! He’s totally sulking!” they teased.
“Okay, okay,” I sighed, but their playful banter had eased some of the tension.
It felt good.
“The short film screening and stage greeting will now begin!” the announcement rang out.
The moment I’d both dreaded and desperately wanted to nail had arrived.
Inside the waiting room, seats were arranged for all the participants.
They sat in teams, watching the short films and stage greetings on a monitor mounted on the central wall.
“He’s so handsome…”
“How does he act that well?”
Gasps of awe rippled through the room as they watched the other teams’ films.
Time crawled and raced at once, and soon, it was almost time for the (Seorim High School Student Council) teams.
“Team A, please prepare for your stage greeting!”
It was a shame that we hadn’t seen the final cut of our film, but I followed the staff’s lead, lining up at the entrance to the screening room.
I glanced at the clock on the wall.
The short films ran about 30 minutes each, but with multiple teams, the total runtime was around an hour and a half.
To prevent audience fatigue, they’d structured it so Team A’s film would screen, followed by their stage greeting, then Team B’s film and greeting.
We were Team A.
I kept glancing between the anxious trio and the clock, muttering to myself, ‘Don’t be nervous. We’ve got this.’
27 minutes into the screening, I excused myself and slipped into the bathroom.
In a stall, I popped a calming pill, grimacing at the inconvenience of physically taking it.
‘If I were to borrow an item from the game system, couldn’t they make it like I can consume it by using a simple tap?’ I grumbled under my breath, pulling up my status window.
[Name: Kim Jae-ha]
[Level: 18]
[Status: Buff (???)]
[-The calming pill has temporarily lifted your debuffs. Remaining time: 29 minutes, 51 seconds.]
[Appearance: A+]
[Diction: B]
[Action: C (B)]
[Reaction: C (B)]
[Expression: C (B)]
[Appeal: D (A)]
I opened the window to check the pill’s effect, but something else caught my eye.
“My appearance is A+ now?”
What has changed?
I wanted to dig into it, but there was no time.
I closed the window and hurried out.
“Brother! Come on!” the trio called.
Perfect timing— I was up.
The staff guided me to the front of the line, likely because I was the leader.
“Team A, please enter!”
The heavy black door swung open.
The lights hit me, momentarily blinding me.
I needed to move, but my feet felt glued to the floor.
‘What if they boo me?’ The thought crept in.
What if the audience was filled with people who hated me?
“Kim Jae-ha? Please go in!” the staff urged.
“Brother?” the trio echoed.
Their voices snapped me out of it, and I took my first step.
No roaring cheers greeted me, but there was no silence or jeering either.
A steady wave of applause, warm enough to signal welcome, filled my ears.
Relief washed over me, and I let out a breath.
I hadn’t realized that I had been holding out my breath for that long.
I still couldn’t look directly at the audience—my body felt stiff with tension despite the pill—but I couldn’t hesitate any longer.
I exchanged a glance with my team, then shouted our chant.
“One, two, three! Hello, we are 4 Colors, 4 Faces!”
I bowed deeply, then straightened.
My gaze darted around, unable to settle on the audience.
Afraid of catching their expressions, I found myself fixating on the camera in the back, its lens a safer focal point.