Yuna didn't sleep that night.
She tries. Truly. But her brain has other plans…namely, playing an endless, glitchy highlight reel of her launching iced coffee into the most famous chest in the Entertainment Industry.
Instead of dreams, she gets:
J-Min's blank stare, eyes like a glacier judging her life choices.
Her own horrified gasp, frozen in meme-worthy horror.
A chorus of imaginary fangirls screaming, "YOU RUINED HIS HOODIE!"
By the time the sun rises, she's sitting on her floor, wrapped in a pastel blanket like a depression burrito, rewatching the security footage that's already gone viral. For the eighth time.
Her phone vibrates.
139 unread messages. 37 missed calls. Two voicemails.
One from her boss. The other from someone named Manager Seo Jin-woo, whose voice in the voicemail is disturbingly calm...the kind of calm that usually precedes lawsuits, assassinations or K-pop scandals.
But Yuna does not check them.
She does what any emotionally overwhelmed, mildly cursed twenty-two-year-old would do: she opens Twitter.
The app crashes. Three times.
On the fourth attempt, it loads just long enough to slap her in the face:
#JMinCaféMysteryGirl is trending #3 worldwide.
The top post? A blurry screenshot from the cafe's CCTV. She's mid-gasp. J-Min is mid-drip. And the coffee? Suspended in the air like a caffeinated comet.
Caption: "When your crush says he likes his coffee cold but not like THAT." Retweet count: 87,000.
Yuna drops her phone like it burns. Then she screams into her pillow. Loudly. Aggressively. With the force of ten years of introverted rage.
Later That Morning
When Yuna finally stumbles into the café at opening time, she's 90% nerves and 10% iced shame. Her boss, Jang, is already there, sipping a latte with the air of someone who survived a minor apocalypse and came out stronger.
He grins as she walks in, the bell above the door mocking her.
"You made the news," he chirps. "Not even mad. I haven't been this close to a scandal since that karaoke brawl in high school."
"I'm a meme, Jang. They're calling me Miss Americano."
He snorts, nearly choking on foam. "Could be worse. Could've been Coffee Killer."
Yuna glares. "Not helpful."
Before he can offer more traumatizing nicknames, the door chimes again.
This time, it's not a customer.
A man enters, dressed like someone who knows government secrets: tailored black suit, sunglasses indoors, earpiece, the whole Men-In-Black package.
Yuna goes still.
Jang leans over and whispers, "YG? SM? Or the FBI?"
The man approaches. With quiet confidence, he pulls down his shades and locks eyes with her.
"Miss Yuna Han," he says smoothly. "Seo Jin-woo. Starforce Entertainment. We need to talk."
Yuna, in a moment of absolute maturity, says: "Oh no..."
Back Room: Take Two
Same supply closet. Less coffee. More looming doom.
Jin-woo paces in front of her, tablet in hand, as if presenting a very serious PowerPoint to a very confused committee of one.
"Here's the situation," he says, crisp and efficient. "The footage has gone viral. Public speculation is spiralling. Some think you're his secret girlfriend. Others say you're a disgruntled ex. One theory claims you're an anti-fan assassin with barista training."
Yuna blinks. "...That last one's kind of creative."
"None are ideal."
"So, what, you want me to apologize? Bake a peace-offering muffin?"
Jin-woo slides a thick contract across the table.
"We want you to pretend to date him."
Yuna stares.
Then laughs. Once. Loudly.
"Oh my god. That's hilarious. Wait, you're serious?"
He doesn't blink. "One month. Public appearances. Holding hands. Maybe a forehead touch if things get desperate."
"Forehead touch?! I don't even do that with my cat!"
"Then consider this an acting job. A very well-paid one."
He opens the tablet again. A slide labelled:
PUBLIC GIRLFRIEND STRATEGY v1.0
She wants to scream.
"We clean up the scandal. You keep your life. J-Min gets plausible deniability. Everyone wins."
"What does he think about this?"
"He thinks you owe him a dry-cleaning bill and a miracle."
Fair.
Yuna slumps in the folding chair, thinking of her bank account. Her ramen diet. The literal cobwebs inside her wallet.
"This is insane."
"Welcome to the K-pop industry."
Two Hours Later
She hasn't signed anything yet. But she hasn't said no.
Which is probably why, when she checks her phone again, there's a new message:
[Unknown Number]: Wear something cute. Tomorrow. 11 a.m. Rooftop café. Don't be late.
…J
Yuna stares.
Then throws her phone. Again.
Somewhere in Seoul
J-Min lounges on a couch inside his manager's office, damp hair pushed back, a textbook example of idol perfection despite the slight frown between his brows.
"You really want to do this?" Seo Jin-woo asks, folding his arms.
J-Min shrugs. "Better than letting Dispatch spin whatever story they want."
"She's not trained. She's chaotic. She wears aprons with cats on them."
"Exactly. No one would believe I'd date her on purpose."
Jin-woo blinks. "You realize that sounds worse, right?"
J-Min grins, wolfish and tired. "Not if it works."
He looks out the window, expression unreadable.
"Besides," he mutters, barely audible, "she's...interesting...refreshing."
Jin-woo rolls his eyes. "Idols. You're all allergic to boring."