Episode 111: Anniversary (3)
After skillfully finishing the service, the girl gave a light bow and withdrew. I kept her in the corner of my vision.
I couldn’t acknowledge her.
After all, the connection I had with her was something forged in the previous timeline.
Still,
“Hmm. Delicious. But Yujin-ah, was that someone you know just now?”
Zia took a sip of the brownish fruit aperitif that had come out as the pre-dinner drink, marveled at the taste for a moment, then caught the subtle dissonance in my expression and asked.
‘I didn’t think I showed anything obvious.’
Well, I can fool ghosts, but not Woo Zia.
Just as she saw right through me, it was indeed a very familiar face.
Extremely so.
“Teacher! Hurry up and listen to this song!”
The lively voice that used to whine and cling to me every time she saw me came floating back.
‘To think I’d see that kid here.’
Like Soo-hyuk and Ji-woo, she was also an old connection—more than ten years of knowing each other.
Even if we hadn’t met for just a little over a year now, and even if her face looked much younger and more youthful compared to what I remembered, it wasn’t a light enough relationship that I wouldn’t recognize her.
Han Chae-kyung.
One of the Laira’s members—the original owners of the song Mysty, which in this timeline has ended up belonging to Hailly.
Originally scouted for her visuals and dance rather than vocals, but thanks to me, she had bloomed into someone with real vocal talent as well.
She used to be a hassle every time we met, but teaching her had always been rewarding, so I couldn’t help feeling glad to see her.
Of course, I couldn’t let that gladness show in the answer I had to give right now.
“No. Just thought… isn’t she a bit too young to be working in a place like this?”
“Hmm, yeah, that’s true. High schooler maybe?”
“Who knows. But she’s probably not even twenty yet, right?”
Actually, she’s twenty-one.
When Chae-kyung debuted with Laira, she was twenty-three.
‘That baby face is still the same.’
She was four years younger than the second-oldest member and a full seven years older than the maknae.
Even among those younger members, she never felt out of place—so much so that she earned the nickname “Ultimate Baby Face.”
In an idol industry where the average age kept getting younger, twenty-three was definitely a disadvantage. Yet if even Lee Hee-kyung overlooked it, that was undeniably in the realm of pure talent.
And that was the end of my thoughts about Chae-kyung.
“Zia-ya, try this. It’s caviar, apparently.”
“Hmm… It’s unique, but… not as good as I thought?”
“Really? Hmm… yeah, you’re right. But the salmon’s pretty decent.”
It would be a lie to say I wasn’t disappointed.
If Soo-hyuk was an SSS-grade manager and Ji-woo an SSS-grade composer, then Chae-kyung was beyond even that—an EX-grade idol.
If the person in front of me had been anyone else, and if today had been any other day,
“By any chance… are you not interested in becoming an idol?”
I definitely would have thrown that question at Chae-kyung.
Because I knew better than anyone that her strengths weren’t just her youthful, pretty face that could pass for a high schooler.
“Wow. The night view is seriously insane. Yujin-ah, look over there—that’s the direction of our old house, right? The angle changes everything.”
“Yeah, it does.”
But watching Zia bite into the canapé, take a sip of the aperitif, and marvel at the night view made that sense of regret vanish completely.
‘My number-one priority in life is always Zia, no exceptions.’
Even if I let an EX-grade talent slip right in front of my eyes, when there’s someone so precious I can’t even assign a grade to her, how could my attention possibly wander?
Even if Zia didn’t suspect anything from my gaze, and even though she understood my work better than anyone, she wouldn’t be completely immune to feeling a little hurt if I didn’t focus on her today of all days, right?
Knock knock.
Just then, another knock echoed through the room.
“Are you enjoying your time so far?”
The person who appeared this time was a man whose forehead might as well have had “I’m the Chef” written on it.
“This course is salad and the main dish—steak. The salad is…”
Watching the chef proudly continue his explanation of the dishes, I once again felt certain that giving up on scouting Chae-kyung had been the right choice.
They had simplified the course to match Korean dining speed, but the way he carried himself—bursting with pride in his own cooking—made it clear.
If I tried scouting someone right in front of a guy like that chef—who looks like he has “I’m the Chef” tattooed on his forehead—the staff would probably kick me out on the spot, and no one would blame them.
Yeah, getting this much is already lucky.
It’s not mental gymnastics; it’s just the truth.
Right now, among all the Laira members, the only one whose whereabouts I know at this point is Airi (real name: Kim Soo-jin), who’s still a trainee at Starlight.
‘If it weren’t for Zia, I wouldn’t have even found her.’
If I hadn’t come to this restaurant with Zia, I wouldn’t have had any reason to be here at all.
This isn’t a place you can just look up and find. Getting even this fragmentary piece of information about Chae-kyung’s location isn’t just “a bit lucky”—it’s seriously fortunate.
‘Ah-jeong sunbaenim seems to have some kind of connection with that chef too.’
I can just try reaching out to Chae-kyung properly through the chef later.
“I heard from Ah-jeong-ssi. She said today is a very special, commemorative day for the two of you. This is a gift from Ah-jeong-ssi to both of you.”
While I was lost in those thoughts, the chef—who had already finished his explanation—poured wine into our glasses and named it.
Zia obviously had no idea, but the name rang a faint bell for me.
I didn’t know the exact details, but I vaguely remembered it was the kind of wine that cost about as much as a used car.
‘I… definitely have to keep this from Zia.’
If she found out we’d burned several million won on a single bottle of alcohol, even the mental barrier she was holding up with acting might shatter completely.
“Congratulations to both of you on this happy day. I hope you have a wonderful evening.”
I bowed my head in return as the chef left after giving his greeting.
“Thanks to you and unnie, I get to drink wine in a place like this. What kind of luxury is this?”
“Then how about a toast to commemorate?”
Now it was just the two of us in the room.
When I raised my glass, Zia—having thrown off her mask—beamed with a bright, genuine smile and lightly clinked hers against mine.
“On days like this, it’s not ‘jjan’—it’s ‘Cheers,’ Yujin the kid~”
“Ooh. Actress Woo’s pronunciation is on point? Where’d you learn that?”
“Unnie’s always been at that level. Hehe.”
Through the crystal glass, Zia smiled bashfully.
That happy-looking smile felt like it was patting my head and saying “Good job,” so I couldn’t help smiling back.
***
“Wow. That was seriously delicious.”
Zia didn’t even try to hide her sky-high energy.
Like the female lead in a musical movie, she spun around in a circle under the spotlight created by Seoul’s night view.
The source of that energy was written all over her flushed, rosy cheeks.
‘Wine really is dangerous, huh.’
Right now, Zia was drunk.
Probably that bottle Ah-jeong sent was the decisive blow.
I’d expected it to be heavy and strong, but it went down so refreshingly smooth that it was dangerously easy to drink.
She wasn’t blackout drunk or anything, but considering Zia usually stopped after one or two cans of beer, this was pretty impressive.
‘It just means she’s in that good of a mood.’
I didn’t have the heart to stop her when she was like this.
The stage where Zia was stepping and twirling was none other than our home.
Her dance moves were clumsy, but the way her eyes curved into crescent moons when she smiled was so lovable that the only audience watching this dancer was me.
A building with only three residents.
Every time I saw the empty floors, I’d think “Is this really okay?”—but today, I felt truly grateful.
No one downstairs was going to complain about floor noise.
But that only lasted a moment.
“Uh?”
“Zia-ya!”
Maybe because of the alcohol, Zia stumbled over her own feet and wobbled.
My body shot up from the sofa on reflex.
The problem was that Zia hadn’t drunk that bottle alone.
I was a little tipsy too, so—
Thud, crash!
We ended up tangled together and falling onto the living room floor, where the only light came from outside.
Fortunately, I managed to cushion her fall with my body.
“Be careful.”
“Sorry. You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
“Hehe…”
Even though I felt a slight impact on my back, Zia wasn’t heavy enough for it to really hurt, so I didn’t show any sign of discomfort. Thanks to that, I got to see a rare, full-on ditzy smile from Zia—one she usually kept hidden.
It was more than enough painkiller to forget such a minor ache.
We stayed tangled like that for a short while,
“Heehee… Our Yujin is so handsome… Your chest is so firm too…”
Zia, with her face pressed against my chest, poked at it playfully with her finger,
“Should we… go to bed soon?”
Then she looked up at me with a slightly ambiguous question.
‘Look at this kid…’
Her voice tapped right at the wild side inside me.
Normally, even knowing it was deliberate teasing, I would have scooped her up and headed straight to the bedroom.
But unfortunately, there was still one thing left to do today.
“There’s still one gift left. You’re going to sleep without seeing it?”
Today hadn’t really had any proper “events.”
If I’d planned to end it like this from the beginning, there would’ve been no need to tell her I was taking more than ten days off.
Of course I had prepared something during that time.
‘Even though the Jooyul Entertainment situation took up a lot of my attention…’
Still, I managed to finish it in time for D-day.
“Gift?”
As expected.
Even with the alcohol buzzing through her, proof that she was still mostly sober came when her half-lidded eyes suddenly widened fully.
And then,
“What else did our Yujin prepare this time?”
Her voice carried a mix of slight anxiety and the resigned tone of someone thinking, ‘Well… I guess I can let this one slide.’
‘Zia really hates events. Note to self.’
It seemed the only kind of event Zia could accept was something small and private—just the two of us—like right now.
Something on the level of that proposal we did back in our hometown a while ago, maybe?
That much was safe.
Honestly, I hadn’t been worried about that from the start.
Because what I’d prepared was a gift Zia couldn’t possibly dislike—or even have reason to dislike.
“Wait just a second.”
I pulled one chair from the island table over to the living room, then headed to the studio.
I grabbed the things I’d prepared in advance during the big clean-up earlier and came back in front of Zia.
“Huh?”
Zia let out a small exclamation when she saw what I was holding, then immediately realized what the gift was and gave me the exact beaming smile I’d expected.
“This one goes here. This one on my side.”
What I set down—some facing Zia, some facing me—weren’t the candles she’d been dreading, but mood lights giving off a soft orange glow.
And then,
“Ahh. Test, test. Is the volume okay?”
I casually sat on the prepared chair and threw out a line I didn’t even need to say since there was no microphone.
“Yeah. Good. Perfectly good.”
“Nice. Then shall we begin?”
Probably after receiving this gift, it would be hard to bring back that slightly suggestive mood from earlier.
But that was fine.
Sometimes ending the day in this kind of atmosphere was more than enough to feel the emotions we had for each other.
“Welcome to Han Yujin’s long-awaited bedroom front-row concert, with our one and only audience member. Today we have a special unreleased new song prepared just for you, so please look forward to it. Shall we begin?”
“Whooo!”
The reason I was completely confident Zia wouldn’t dislike this gift.
Because the very thing that made Zia fall for me in the first place was exactly this.
“This is a special concert just for you.
The ticket is your radiant smile.”
With a song from a senior singer that had practically become the standard for events like this,
The grand finale gift to mark our monumental 3000 days—a concert just for Zia—finally began.