Chapter Text
YU JIMIN
I used to think the world was a cruel place, too big and too cold for someone like me. The streets didn't care if you were just a kid with nowhere to go, and neither did the people who walked past me every day. Their eyes slid over me like I wasn't even there, just another shadow blending into the cracks of the city.
My stomach growled louder than the traffic that day. I hugged my knees tighter, trying to make myself as small as possible against the wall of the convenience store. The owner had already come out twice, yelling at me to leave, but my legs felt too weak to carry me anywhere else. I hadn't eaten in two days—not since a stranger threw half a sandwich into the trash.
I hated feeling desperate. I hated being invisible.
That's when he stopped.
At first, I thought he was just another businessman rushing to wherever businessmen go, too busy to notice a kid sitting in the dirt. But he noticed. He actually noticed.
He crouched down in front of me, his suit too nice for the filthy sidewalk. I could see the faint reflection of myself in his polished shoes—messy hair, dirty face, and hollow eyes. I looked like the kind of person people crossed the street to avoid.
"Hey," he said gently, his voice warm and soft like the sun I hadn't felt in a long time. "What's your name?"
I didn't answer right away. Words felt heavy in my mouth, like stones I didn't have the strength to carry. My name? What did it even matter?
"It's okay," he continued, his tone calm and patient. "You don't have to be scared. Are you hungry?"
Hungry. The word made my chest tighten, and for a moment, I thought I might cry. I hated crying. Tears didn't change anything.
I nodded.
He smiled then—not the kind of smile that people forced when they wanted to seem polite, but something softer, real. He stood up and held out his hand.
"Come on," he said. "Let's get you something to eat."
I stared at his hand like it was some kind of trick. No one had ever offered me anything without expecting something in return. My whole life had been about surviving, about taking whatever scraps I could find and running before someone could take them back.
But his hand stayed there, steady and unmoving, like he had all the time in the world to wait for me.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, I reached out.
His hand was warm, steady, and strong.
That was the day everything changed. The day someone saw me, not as a shadow or a burden, but as a person.
Kim Siwoo.
EIGHT YEARS LATER
I sat slouched in the plush leather chair in front of Kim Siwoo's massive mahogany desk, arms crossed, legs sprawled out like I didn't have a care in the world. Beside me, Ningning mirrored my posture, looking equally unbothered.
Across from us, the CEO of SM Entertainment—our boss, the man who gave me my entire career—was pinching the bridge of his nose, looking like he aged ten years in the last five minutes.
"Let me get this straight," he said, voice calm but teetering on the edge of snapping, "someone broke into the vending machine in the trainee dorms... with a baseball bat."
We both nodded solemnly.
He raised an eyebrow. "And you're telling me you have no idea who it could've been."
"Not a clue," I said, my voice steady.
"Absolutely no idea," Ningning added, shaking her head for emphasis.
Kim Siwoo stared at us, his lips pressed into a thin line. "Right. So it's just a coincidence that the security footage shows two people wearing hoodies identical to the ones you're both wearing right now."
I glanced at Ningning. She glanced at me. We both shrugged.
"Must be a popular hoodie," I said casually.
"Fashion trends, you know?" Ningning added, nodding sagely.
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he was going to explode. But instead, he let out a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. "Let me remind you," he said slowly, "that you are not just trainees. You are two of the biggest-selling artists in the entire industry."
"Crazy, right?" I said, smirking.
"Who would've thought?" Ningning added, matching my smirk.
Kim Siwoo's eyes narrowed. "You're lucky I can't fire you. Do you know how many zeros you bring to this company's bank account?"
"Enough to replace a vending machine?" I offered helpfully.
That did it. He stood up, slamming his hands on the desk. "You two broke into a vending machine with a bat! A bat! Over snacks! You're idols, not gangsters!"
"To be fair," Ningning said, raising a finger, "it wasn't just about the snacks. It was the principle of the thing."
"The principle?" he repeated, looking like he might actually burst a blood vessel.
"Yeah," I said, nodding. "It ate my coins and didn't give me my chips. That's theft. We were just... serving justice."
"Vigilante justice," Ningning added, clearly trying not to laugh.
Kim Siwoo sank back into his chair, rubbing his temples. "You're both impossible."
"We prefer 'creative problem solvers,'" I corrected with a grin.
"Problem creators is more like it," he muttered.
"Don't worry, Mr. Kim," Ningning said, giving him her most angelic smile. "We'll replace the vending machine."
"With one that doesn't eat coins," I added.
He stared at us for a long moment, then sighed so deeply it sounded like his soul was leaving his body. "Just... go. Both of you. Before I change my mind and actually replace you with holograms."
We stood up, bowing dramatically. "Thank you, Mr. Kim!" we chorused, turning to leave.
As soon as we were out of the office, Ningning nudged me with her elbow. "You think he noticed we took the snacks with us?"
I grinned, pulling a bag of chips from my hoodie pocket. "I guess we'll find out next time we're in trouble."
We burst into laughter, the sound echoing down the hallway as we made our escape, snacks in hand.
It felt like a lifetime ago that I was sitting on that cold sidewalk, hungry and invisible. Now, I wasn't just seen—I was watched. Every move I made was analyzed, dissected, and broadcast to millions. The world knew my name: Yu Jimin. Karina.
The top soloist in K-pop.
I had everything people dreamed of: fame, fortune, fans who screamed my name at every concert. My songs topped charts, my face was on billboards across the country, and my name trended every time I so much as sneezed. They called me the girl who could do it all—sing, dance, rap, and even write.
What they didn't know was that I had been writing since I was 15, quietly creating the lyrics that other idols sang. Under a pseudonym, I penned words that came from a part of me I never let the world see. The shadow lyricist of SM Entertainment. That's what the few people in the company who knew about it called me.
But even with all the success, all the accolades, I felt... empty.
The life of an idol wasn't glamorous. Not really. Behind the makeup, the costumes, and the dazzling lights, there was exhaustion, pressure, and the constant weight of being perfect. The loneliness was the hardest part.
I had Ning but no one really knew me, not the way I wished they could. To them, I was Karina—the untouchable star, the girl who seemed like she had everything. But when I looked in the mirror, all I saw was that same lost girl from years ago, sitting on the sidewalk and wondering if she'd ever belong.
Kim Siwoo never wanted me to be known as the 'homeless girl' to this day nobody knows except him. He never wanted my story to be turned into a strong empowerment stance, he wanted me to succeed with my talent. And it surprisingly worked.
Sometimes, late at night, I would think about Mr. Kim—Kim Siwoo. He had changed my life, taken me from the streets and given me this chance.
I owed him everything.
I was grateful. I was successful. I was famous.
But I wasn't happy.
My phone buzzed, a reminder of my packed schedule for the next day. Interviews, rehearsals, a photoshoot. Another day of pretending, of being the Karina everyone expected me to be.
Eight years ago, I had dreamed of being seen, of being someone. And now, I was.
So why did it feel like I was more invisible than ever?
...
Ningning and I stood in the hallway, surrounded by the spoils of our vending machine rebellion—chips, candy bars, and even a few instant ramen cups. We were mid-snack, laughter bubbling up every few seconds, when she turned to me, her cheeks puffed up with chips.
"So," she said, swallowing dramatically, "how's the new comeback coming along?"
I groaned. "It's going good. The choreography's intense, but the song's great. They're begging me to bleach my hair, though."
Ningning nearly choked on her chips, letting out a loud laugh. "Wait, you actually get to choose whether you bleach your hair?"
I shrugged, smirking. "Perks of being the company's golden goose, I guess."
She shook her head, still laughing. "I can't believe this. They bleached mine without asking last time. I showed up to the salon, and the stylist said, 'Congratulations, you're going blonde.' I didn't even get a warning!"
We both dissolved into laughter, the kind that made your stomach hurt. I was halfway through opening a candy bar when Ningning nudged me, nodding toward the hallway.
"Hey, isn't that—"
I turned my head, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis.
There, walking toward us in the kind of slow motion that only existed in movies, was Kim Minjeong. She looked... different. Not the awkward teenager I remembered from years ago, but stunning, confident, and dressed like she'd just stepped out of a fashion magazine. Her long hair was sleek and shiny, catching the light as she moved, and her presence radiated that undeniable aura of rich girl energy.
I hadn't seen her in six years—not since she left for some elite boarding school in America. Back then, we'd barely spoken. But now? Now I couldn't stop staring.
"Hey, Jimin and Ning! Long time no see," she said, her voice cheerful and familiar. "Do you know where my dad is?"
I opened my mouth to reply, but no sound came out. My brain short-circuited, a complete and utter failure of all systems.
Ningning, noticing my utter incompetence, gave me a look. "Seriously?" she muttered under her breath before turning to Minjeong with her most dazzling smile.
"He's in his office," Ningning said smoothly, gesturing down the hallway.
"Thanks!" Minjeong said, flashing a polite smile before turning to leave.
As she walked past, her hair flipped over her shoulder—and right into my face. It smelled like something expensive, like roses and sunshine and probably imported luxury. I blinked, trying to process the situation, while Ningning looked at me like I'd just embarrassed the entire human race.
The second Minjeong disappeared down the hall, Ningning burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. "Oh my god, Jimin! What was that? You looked like you'd forgotten how to breathe!"
"I didn't—" I started to protest, but she cut me off.
"'Do you know where my dad is?'" Ningning mimicked in a high-pitched voice, pretending to swoon dramatically. "'I can't speak because you're too beautiful!'"
I shoved her shoulder, my face burning. "Shut up! I just wasn't expecting to see her, that's all."
"Uh-huh," Ningning said, smirking. "Sure. Totally normal to freeze like a statue because someone's hair smells nice."
"It wasn't just the hair!" I said defensively.
Just as I was about to throw a chip at Ningning for laughing too hard at my expense, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, seeing the name "Assistant Jiho" flash across the screen. I immediately stiffened.
"Hello?" I answered, trying to sound casual, but the butterflies in my stomach were still fluttering from the Minjeong encounter.
"Jimin," Jiho's voice came through, professional but with a hint of something I couldn't quite place. "Mr. Kim would like to see you in his office. Now."
I blinked, sitting up straight. "What? Why? I was just there!"
"I don't know, Jimin," Jiho said, sounding like he was trying not to laugh at the confusion in my voice. "But he's requesting your presence. Immediately."
Kim Minjeong
I sat on the leather chair in my father's office, arms crossed and a scowl plastered on my face. His voice droned on, something about "responsibility" and "your future," but I'd tuned him out five minutes ago.
"You've had a wonderful education, Minjeong," he said, pacing behind his desk. "Now is the time to put it to good use. You should be applying to universities, not talking about... what was it again? Becoming an influencer?"
"It's not just an influencer, Dad," I shot back, flipping my perfectly styled hair over my shoulder. "It's a lifestyle brand. I'd be building a business."
He let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing his temples like he was moments away from losing it. "Minjeong, you're my daughter. You have every advantage in the world. Why waste it on something so frivolous?"
"It's not frivolous!" I stood up, gesturing dramatically. "Do you know how many followers I could get? How many sponsorships? People would pay just to see what skincare I use!"
"Minjeong," he said, his voice tight, "you don't need sponsorships. You have access to everything already."
"But that's not the point!" I huffed, flopping back into the chair. "This is about me expressing myself. Not everyone wants to follow the path their parents lay out for them, you know."
He opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, the door opened.
And there she was.
Yu Jimin.
The way she stepped into the room, casual but confident, made the air shift. Her dark hair framed her face perfectly, her hoodie slightly rumpled like she didn't care about being the picture of perfection but somehow was anyway. She had this effortless awkward charm about her, like she belonged everywhere and nowhere all at once.
My breath caught for a second, and I sat up straighter, smoothing my skirt without even thinking about it.
"Mr. Kim, you wanted to see me again?" she said, her voice low and smooth, and I felt my throat closing up.
My dad looked up, his frustration with me momentarily forgotten. "Yes, Jimin, come in."
Jimin stepped inside, her eyes briefly flicking to me. I swear, just that one look made my face heat up. She probably didn't even care I was here, it's been years with no communication.
"Management is still waiting on you to actually post on your social media," my dad said, sitting down at his desk.
Jimin let out the most dramatic groan I'd ever heard, running a hand through her hair. "No. I already told you, Mr. Kim, I hate doing that."
I couldn't help but smile. She sounded like a moody teenager, even though she was supposed to be this untouchable superstar. It was... adorable.
"Jimin, it's part of the job," my dad said, his voice tinged with exasperation. "Your fans—"
"Love me without me having to post," she interrupted, crossing her arms. "Can't I just focus on the music?"
I bit my lip to stifle a laugh. She was so stubborn, but in a way that made her even cooler.
My dad sighed, looking between us. "This is why I have grey hairs."
"Or maybe it's because you won't let your daughter become an influencer," I piped up, earning a sharp glare from him.
Jimin glanced at me then, and I swear her lips twitched like she was trying not to laugh. My heart practically burst in my chest.
"Well," my dad said, leaning back in his chair. "If you both insist on being impossible, maybe you should just trade places. Minjeong, you can become a superstar, and Jimin, you can be an influencer."
"No thanks," Jimin and I said at the same time, then looked at each other in surprise.
She smiled, and for a split second, the world felt brighter.
"Right," my dad said, clearly done with both of us. "Jimin, just post something. Anything. Please."
"No promises," she said with a sigh, already halfway out the door.
Jimin was so much cooler than I remembered.
Then, it hit me
As Jimin turned to leave, I felt a sudden burst of inspiration. "Wait!" I called out, and she stopped in her tracks, turning slightly to look at me with a raised eyebrow.
My dad also looked at me, probably expecting more arguments about my lifestyle brand. Instead, I crossed my arms and said, "What if... I be Jimin's social media manager for a while?"
Both of them froze their reactions polar opposites. My dad tilted his head like he was actually considering it, while Jimin's eyes widened in pure horror.
"I can prove to you that I know what I'm doing, Dad!" I continued, my confidence growing. "I'll handle her social media—make it engaging, on-brand, and all that stuff. And if I succeed, you'll finally see that I'm serious about this influencer thing."
"Absolutely not," Jimin said immediately, shaking her head so hard I thought it might fall off. "No way. No chance. Nope."
My dad leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "That's... not a bad idea, Minjeong."
"What?!" Jimin screeched, spinning around to face him. "Mr. Kim, you cannot possibly—"
"Think about it, Jimin," he interrupted, holding up a hand. "Minjeong's creative, she understands the younger audience, and you clearly hate doing it yourself. This might actually work."
I grinned, already feeling the victory. "See? I'll take over her accounts, make them amazing, and prove I've got what it takes."
Jimin looked at me like I'd just declared I was moving to Mars. "No. I refuse. You can't just assign me a social media manager!"
"I'm the CEO. I can do whatever I want," my dad said calmly. "And I think this is a good solution."
"Noooooo!" Jimin groaned dramatically, dropping her face into her hands.
I, on the other hand, jumped out of my seat, clapping my hands together. "Yes! This is perfect!"
"This is a nightmare," Jimin muttered, still refusing to look up.
I turned to her, grinning. "Oh, come on, it'll be fun! I'll make your account so cool, you'll thank me."
She finally looked at me, her expression deadpan. "I'm not thanking you for this. Ever."
"Challenge accepted," I said with a wink, earning an even louder groan from her.
My dad stood up, clearly pleased with himself. "It's settled, then. Minjeong, you'll manage Jimin's social media for the next month. Let's see what you can do."
"Great!" I chirped, already planning hashtags and aesthetic themes in my head. "This is going to be amazing."
Jimin threw her hands in the air, letting out an exaggerated scream. "Why is this happening to me?! I just wanted to make music, not get dragged into Minjeong's experiment!"
"Because fate works in mysterious ways," I teased, grabbing my phone.
"More like cruel ways," Jimin muttered under her breath, stomping out of the office.
As the door closed behind her, I turned to my dad, grinning ear to ear. "See? I've got this."
He sighed, shaking his head but smiling a little. "You'd better. Otherwise, you're back to university applications."
"Don't worry, Dad," I said confidently. "By the time I'm done, Jimin's social media will be legendary."
And maybe, just maybe, spending more time with her wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.