Today, the world woke to a staggering betrayal.
The broadcast was a wildfire, spreading from screen to screen, igniting whispers and secrets across the nation. "The flawless heart and star of our country, Han Byeolbit (한별빛), 'The Heavenly Maiden' of Stardecent (천상 아가씨), has been exposed as a fraud," the anchor's voice cut through the silence. "The very foundation of her public image, the purity and grace we all believed in, was a calculated facade."
The revelation was both shocking and final: the "Starlight of Korea" was a lie. Her divine image, once protected by a worshipful public, was now tainted by allegations of trading her body for fame. The betrayal, swift and absolute, was a digital dagger to the heart of a nation's collective dream.
In the dim apartment, the television screen was a harsh, unforgiving light. A voice narrated a string of "proven" allegations—each one a fresh lie, a new scandal twisted from old rumors. On the sofa, Han Byeolbit was a small, desolate shape, her knees drawn to her chest as she stared at the screen. She was a silent witness to her own public execution. Tears traced hot, wet paths down her face, but no sound escaped her lips. Instead, a melody began to hum beneath her breath—a ghost of a song that carried the weight of her sorrow.
The song was a private, painful anthem for the trust she'd lost. She hummed the first lines, the bitter truth a contrast to the lies on the screen: "I saw the truth behind your smile... A fleeting shadow all the while."
Every verse became a memory, a moment from her past with her parents and her manager that now felt corrupted. The melody fought against the noise of the TV: "Betrayal cuts like a jagged knife... Ripped apart the seams of life."
She barely had the strength to get to the bridge, each word a painful whisper as she relived the moments that had brought her to this point. "Your touch was fire but left me burned... A lesson hard and cruelly learned."
In the end, the television kept talking, but Byeolbit was a world away, drowning alone in the song of her shattered life.
A week passed, but in her sorrow, time had lost all meaning. She was a ghost in her own apartment, a captive to the heavy gray of her grief. The knock was a distant sound at first, a nuisance that slowly grew more insistent.
"Miss Han, it's me, Sun Joonseo. Can we please talk?"
The voice was calm, steady—the sound of the outside world, so different from her own. A single, tired thought echoed in her mind: "Mr. Sun." The effort to stand was immense. Her movements were heavy, resigned, as she walked to the door.
A week of isolation had left her so brittle that the sound of a voice was a shock. "Mr. Sun... is that you?" she rasped, her voice cracked and hollow. "No—it can't be. The real Mr. Sun would've come a week ago."
She pressed her forehead to the cool wood of the door. "Go away. I can't take false hope."
"But Miss Han, it's really me, Joonseo," he answered, his tone steady against her unraveling words.
Her shoulders sagged. "No… you can't be him," she whispered, a weary surrender. "Everyone turned away. Even he did." The strength drained from her body, and she slid down the door until she was curled on the floor, hands clamped over her ears. Silent tears streaked down her cheeks as she shook her head. "They left me. All of them left. You're not him… you can't be him… please, stop lying…"
A couple of seconds passed in silence, thick with the weight of her sobs. Then, a low, steady sound broke through the static of her grief. "Miss Han, do you remember the songs I wrote for you?" A gentle question.
Then, music. His voice was a physical presence, a warm current that seared through the door and filled the space around her. He sang "Chasing You," the private words of his devotion a stark contrast to the lies she'd just heard. He followed with "I've Been Fallin'," and her body, which had been coiled in pain, began to slowly uncoil.
Each note was a testament, each lyric a memory that defied the betrayal. The paranoia that had held her captive for a week was eroding, replaced by an overwhelming, undeniable truth.
When the last chord died away, the silence was different. It wasn't empty; it was full of him. She unlocked the door and threw it open, her entire body trembling as she saw him. With a sob of pure, unadulterated relief, she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his chest.
His arms came around her, a solid, comforting weight she hadn't realized she was so desperate for. Her tears came faster and hotter, a week's worth of grief pouring out until her body, exhausted, went completely slack in his arms.