Chapter Text
April 15, 2024
Afternoon - 12:30 PM
Tokyo Dome Hotel, Tokyo, Japan
The quiet hum of Tokyo’s late afternoon filled the room—muted traffic, distant trains, and the gentle whir of an air conditioner. Sunhyeo stood by the window of her hotel room, sipping hot hojicha as she watched the soft flutter of cherry blossoms in the alley below.
She had been back in Japan for exactly twenty-four hours.
Her suitcase still sat half-unpacked. No alarms. No schedules. Just her, the city she once called home, and a week without anyone needing anything from her.
She closed her eyes and let the silence stretch. It felt like exhaling after years of holding her breath.
Then her phone rang.
Her eyes flicked open, and she frowned at the screen.
“팀장님” – Team Leader.
She answered, voice steady but flat.
“Sunhyeo-ssi. You're in Tokyo right now, right?”
She blinked, instincts already switching gears. “Yes. I arrived yesterday.”
A relieved sigh crackled through the speaker.
“Good. We need your help. It’s urgent.”
Her stomach dropped. Of course it couldn’t last — not even a day.
“Enhypen’s Heeseung is in Tokyo too,” the voice continued quickly. “He’s come down with a high fever. The rest of the members and the manager have to return to Seoul tonight for a packed schedule tomorrow. But he can’t fly in his condition, and we can’t leave him alone.”
Sunhyeo sat down on the edge of the bed, setting her cup on the nightstand with a soft clink.
“You’re asking me to take care of him.”
“Yes,” her team leader admitted. “You’re the only HYBE staff in Tokyo right now. The others were pulled to Seoul last night for a sudden schedule conflict. We know you’re on leave, but—”
“I am on leave,” she cut in calmly.
“I know. And we’ll compensate you. Ten extra days next time, business class tickets round-trip, full official coverage. Just... please help us. No one else can step in.”
“팀장님.. maybe you could ask for professional.”
Sunhyeo still insist. Askng for her freedom
“We tried flying a nurse from Seoul, but it got blocked — visa delays,” her team leader added quickly, almost anticipating her hesitation.
“Private medical staff in Tokyo are fully booked, and not many speak Korean. It’d be uncomfortable for Heeseung — a language barrier, and his privacy could be at risk. We’re not asking you to play nurse, just to supervise. Make sure he rests, eats, takes his meds. HR cleared it as temporary assignment. Full legal coverage. You’ll be compensated. We logged this as emergency support, not a medical case.”
There was a pause. She stared at the plain curtain fluttering beside the window.
Out of all people. Of all times.
She had barely exchanged more than polite greetings with Enhypen. She knew them as employees—faces on spreadsheets, numbers in budget reports. She’d seen Heeseung in passing at the Seoul office: quiet, composed, eyes a little too sharp for someone that young.
Definitely not someone she’d ever expected to be responsible for nursing.
Still, her voice came out low and resigned.
“Where is he?” she said — because she already knew she would.
12:40 PM
Tokyo Dome Hotel, Tokyo, Japan
She ended the call. Her hand lingered on the screen for a second before setting the phone down.
Her hojicha had gone cold.
She stared at her reflection in the window — not at the city, not at the sakura —
just her face, lined by the glass.
“Heeseung,” she murmured.
Not a friend. Not even a name that carried meaning to her. Just another idol.
But not just.
Because she knew the rhythm too well — the schedules, the flights, the managers always one breath away from panic.
The way boys like him fell asleep sitting up and forgot what quiet felt like.
And because Jo was the same.
He never said when he was sick. Never wanted to disappoint. Never wanted to be a burden.
So he lied. Even to her.
If Jo were here, feverish and alone, would anyone stay?
Would anyone even notice he was too weak to stand?
She took a breath and stood up.
Not even a day.
But if someone had to stay — it would be her.
April 15, 2024
Afternoon - 12:40 PM
HYBE Suite – Roppongi Hills, Tokyo, Japan
Heeseung lay in bed, half-drenched in sweat, the fever wrapping around him like a heavy blanket. His head pounded, and every time he blinked, the room tilted just enough to make him feel like he might fall off the bed.
He hated this. He wasn’t used to being still. Being weak.
A soft knock came before the door opened. Yuki, his manager, stepped in. He looked tense, like they had bad news to deliver — which probably meant they did.
“Heeseung,” Yuki said gently, “you’re not flying back to Seoul tonight.”
Heeseung frowned. “What?”
“Your fever’s too high. HR decided you need to stay in Tokyo until you recover.”
“It’s just a fever,” Heeseung muttered. “I’ll be fine by morning.”
Yuki shook his head. “This isn’t something we can argue. You’re grounded. You need rest.”
Heeseung tried to sit up, but the dizziness hit hard, forcing him back down. His jaw tightened. “So what? You’re just leaving me here?”
“Not alone,” Yuki said, a bit too quickly. “Someone from HYBE is staying behind. HR made arrangements.”
Heeseung squinted. “Who?”
“Sunhyeo,” Yuki replied. “From the finance team.”
Heeseung stared at him. “A finance officer?”
“She’s the only HYBE staff available in Japan right now,” Yuki said. “We didn’t have a choice.”
Heeseung scoffed. “So you’re telling me I’m being babysat by someone who handles spreadsheets?”
Yuki hesitated, but his tone stayed calm. “She didn’t exactly volunteer either. HR called in a favor. She’s not thrilled about it, but she agreed to help.”
That surprised him.
He expected some over-eager staff member trying to prove themselves. Not someone being forced into it, just like him.
Heeseung leaned back with a sigh, the fever making him feel even more irritable. “This is a joke.”
“I know it’s not ideal,” Yuki said. “But she’ll make sure you rest, eat something, and don’t try to walk around like you're fine.”
“I am fine.”
Yuki raised an eyebrow.
“…Eventually,” Heeseung muttered.
Yuki gave a small smile and nodded toward the door. “We’ll check in. Just try not to be difficult.”
Heeseung didn’t answer. He just let the silence stretch as the door shut behind them.
A finance officer. On her day off. Taking care of him.
He exhaled slowly, annoyed but too tired to care anymore. Maybe she’d stay out of his way. Or maybe she’d treat him like another number in her report.
Either way, she’d be here soon.
And he wasn’t ready for that.
But he didn’t have much choice now, did he? He grumbled under his breath, irritated with the whole situation, but his body demanded rest, and there was nothing he could do about that.
He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. He could already feel the fever creeping up again.
A finance officer, of all things.
He didn’t have the energy to fight it anymore.
April 15, 2024
3:20 PM
Sugi Pharmacy, Tokyo, Japan
Sunhyeo had just finished checking out of the Tokyo Dome Hotel. What was supposed to be a four-day stay had been cut down to just one. She sighed. At any moment, her stepfather would probably call, concerned after seeing the refunded balance credited to the black card.
Sunhyeo could already imagine how he’d sound.
“Is the hotel not suited to your taste? Want to change to another one?”
She just shook her head, brushing the thought away. She walked to a nearby pharmacy to pick up a few backup items—some she suspected they wouldn’t even have.
The pharmacy was clean and bright—too bright, actually. Fluorescent lights flickered just slightly above industry-standard glare. Functional, but unpleasant.
Sunhyeo stepped through the automatic doors and into the cool, sterile air. Her shoes clicked against the polished tile floor. She paused, scanned the layout, and headed toward the OTC section with quiet, calculated steps.
She wasn’t here to waste time.
Her phone buzzed once—a follow-up message from her team leader, no doubt sent to appease lingering guilt:
“We’re logging all hours retroactively. Don’t worry. Full support from HR. Thank you again.”
Of course HR felt guilty. They should.
She was very good at her job.
She was supposed to be on leave.
But guilt wasn’t her problem to manage.
She opened the Notes app on her iPad and typed a short header:
Idolsitting (not my job but I said yes, blame me)
Then began her mental checklist:
- DHC Soluble Vitamin C
- Mint Oil
- Yokohama detox foot pads
- Cooling patches
- Acupressure bands for nausea
- Seirogan Toi A Gastrointestinal Jelly
- Pocari Sweat
No prescription items. No overreach. Just the essentials—enough to stabilize and monitor. This wasn’t babysitting; it was short-term risk mitigation.
She moved efficiently, selecting each item with practiced detachment. She paused once by the wristband section. There were multiple brands: some for kids, others bulkier and medical-grade. She picked the mid-range version—discreet, functional, hypoallergenic.
That sick boy didn’t need attention.
He needed a system.
At the register, the cashier offered her a customer card. She declined. No time for point systems. The receipt went into her jacket pocket, folded twice.
Outside, the Tokyo air was cooling down. Evening shadows spilled across the pavement in long, clean lines. A cyclist zipped by with a ringing bell.
She got into the taxi arranged by the hotel, heading toward Roppongi Hills. She quietly hoped everything would go smoothly. Not that she expected thanks.
That wasn’t the point.
She didn’t do this for credit.
She did it because no one else could do it—right, and now.