She followed the woman deeper into the room and then stopped dead. The first sight knocked the air right out of her lungs: a massive billboard stretched across the wall, displaying Kai's face in an endless sequence.
She could be able to see her image in him. With every flicker, the image changed Kai as a swordsman, Kai as a detective, Kai as a soldier staring into the flames. His expressions shifted effortlessly with every role, as though he was born to breathe life into every character he touched.
Alina whispered under her breath, unable to help herself: "Unbelievable…"
Her feet moved on their own, slowly, as if drawn by invisible strings. She was no longer in control. She didn't even notice her own awe until her fingertips brushed lightly against the glass wall beneath the billboard.
The woman gestured. "Come. This is just the beginning."
The next section opened like a gallery. Alina gasped audibly. Her hand shot to her mouth, but it was too late; the sound escaped.
Costumes. Dozens of them. Each one was displayed on a mannequin, encased in glass so pristine it glimmered under the golden lights. She stepped closer, eyes darting across every thread, every fabric.
A navy officer's uniform, its buttons polished to a shine. A torn leather jacket from a rebellious youth drama. A black tuxedo, timeless and flawless. An ancient warrior's armor, complete with a gleaming replica of a sword at its side. Every single outfit had a plaque at the bottom, etched in careful script:
Role: Mr.Detective
Drama: "The Silent Chase"
Year: 2019
Role: Rebel Youth Leader
Film: "Ashes in the Rain"
Year: 2021
Role: Crown Prince
Drama: "The Last Kingdom's Heir"
Year: 2022
Alina's eyes flitted rapidly, trying to read them all, but she couldn't keep up. The wall beyond was covered in murals, massive wallpapers of Kai in these roles, frozen in moments of fierce intensity or heartbreaking emotion.
She whispered again, softer this time, "Every… every dress is so unique. They...." her throat tightened, "...they look like they were made for him."
The woman beside her chuckled knowingly. "That's exactly what his fans say."
Alina couldn't take her eyes away. The costumes weren't just clothes. They carried weight. They were relics of a man who had become so many others, who had lived a thousand lives on screen. And all this time, she thought he was just… Kai. Just him... Her heart twisted, unsettled.
The lady led her into the next chamber. Alina's jaw nearly dropped again. A theater room. The entire wall was a screen stretching from one corner to another, looming larger than anything Alina had ever seen in a cinema. There were no chairs, no plush seats. Just an open wooden floor, inviting visitors to sit wherever they liked, as though stripped of formality.
The screen suddenly lit up, and a scene played: Kai in the middle of a high-stakes chase, his body flipping with stunning agility, his expression hard as stone. Alina involuntarily held her breath at his intensity.
Another scene. A quiet moment. Kai was standing under a dim light, whispering a line that somehow pierced through the silence and found her heart. The sound wasn't booming; there were no speakers. Yet the space vibrated with his presence.
"This is where people will come to watch his skills," the woman explained. "His fighting. His subtlety. His growth."
Alina sat down instinctively, as though her knees betrayed her. The screen reflected in her eyes, her lips parted. He's… magnificent. And yet… Her thoughts wrestled. But he's emotionless. Isn't he? she argued with herself. I've seen him. He hardly smiles, hardly reacts. He's cold, distant.
And still, there he was on the screen, his eyes blazing with emotions so real, so tangible that she felt her chest tighten. How can both things be true?
The next room was even stranger. A sound room. Alina stepped inside, and the walls hummed. The acoustics bounced, echoing even the slightest footstep.
"Listen....," the woman instructed. ''Even his voice feels like a magnet attracting everyone to his voice''
And then, Kai's voice filled the space. Not his face, only his voice. Dialogue after dialogue, each line spilling with resonance. A low growl, a whisper, a pained cry, a commanding shout. The room magnified every tone, every inflection.
Alina's skin prickled. His voice was intoxicating. But it was different when he used to call her with her name ''Alina'' whenever he used to address her, she felt current in her whole body as if he was controlling her with just a voice. She is feeling it now as if he is just behind her, close to her ears, calling her ''Alina'' She felt goosebumps on her whole body.
The woman smiled. "Even without his face, he is unforgettable. His voice alone carries his soul. He is an artist in every sense.''
Alina hugged her arms around herself, shivering despite the warm golden lights. She wanted to deny it, to shake her head, but… she couldn't. Her lips barely moved. "His voice is… flawless."
Through that room, they went into another room, which was a merchandise room. Stacks of posters, limited-edition keychains, shirts with Kai's silhouette, and mugs with his quotes printed in bold.
"This will open to the fans soon," the lady explained. "A place they can take a little piece of him home."
Alina didn't know where to look. She never realized the scale of it all, the obsession, the adoration people held for him. And the strangest part? She felt as though she had been living blind, in the presence of something extraordinary, and she never even noticed. Her chest grew heavy with unspoken guilt.
The next room was unusual. Empty. It looked like a café, counters waiting, machines unopened, glass displays barren.
"It's going to be a bakery," the woman explained. "When we open to the public, we'll sign with a café or bakery. Fans will come here, sit, eat, and celebrate him together. A place to breathe in his world."
Alina blinked, lost for words. Her life had been small, a café, her books, her silence. But this? This was a universe.
As they moved forward, the woman pushed open the door.
''This," she said softly, "is the most special room."
Alina stepped inside. And gasped. Walls covered with bookshelves. Tables stacked with articles, neatly filed newspapers, and journals. Some covers gleamed: Kai Arden: My Inspiration. Life Savior—Kai Arden. The Man I Met.
Alina's hand trembled as she reached for one, brushing her fingers over the embossed title.
"These…" the woman whispered, "are written by those he has helped. Fans, strangers, even victims. He changed lives, and they wrote to thank him. We got this through the mail on his birthdays. He doesn't read them. He doesn't even realize the impact he's made. That's who he is, always humble, always down to earth."
Alina's throat tightened painfully. She pulled a newspaper closer and read the big headline, which was written in bold.
"Kai Arden searching for that one script…"
One after another, she was changing the newspapers and reading the headlines.
"Mr. Perfectionist spotted—airport look goes viral."
''Arden house attacked—two impostors arrested."
The headlines blurred as she turned page after page. Thousands of articles. Some serious, some trivial, but all revolving around one man.
"Tragedy strikes: Kai Arden's residence burned to ashes."
She opened a book. The words leapt out: He saved me from despair. I live today because of him.
Another: The day I met him, I found courage.
Her chest ached. She whispered, almost inaudibly, "I never knew… I never knew this was the same man?…"
Her heart thudded, hard, uneven. For the first time since she had met him, Alina felt her perception collapse. Kai wasn't just her emotionless, quiet, mysterious personality. He was… a force. A man who carried the weight of thousands of lives, the face of inspiration, the echo of voices, the subject of endless ink spilled across pages.
Alina pressed a book against her chest, her eyes stinging with the beginnings of tears. Her lips trembled. This isn't just a man. And she had been standing so close, without ever realizing. The universe had thrown her so close to Kai Arden, even if she didn't want to see, she could still see him.
Alina's fingers trailed along the spines of books when she noticed something strange: another door, half hidden behind the shelves. Its outline was barely visible, yet it stood there waiting.
The woman noticed her pause and smiled knowingly. "You want to see it?"
Alina nodded without a word. Her voice had abandoned her. The lady pushed it open. And Alina stopped breathing.
The room beyond wasn't like the others. No golden spotlights, no glass cases, no polished plaques. It was… alive. Color. Everywhere. The walls, the floor, even the ceiling seemed to have drowned in a flood of letters. Handwritten notes of every shape and size covered the room like a second skin—pinned, taped, strung on ribbons that dangled from above. Papers in bright pink, soft lavender, sky blue, plain white, and sunflower yellow. Some folded into careful origami hearts. Some scribbled hastily in smudged pencil. Others were drawn with glitter pens, stickers, and little sketches.
Alina's lips parted in wonder. "This… this is…"
The woman's eyes softened. "Fan letters. Every single one we've received over the years. We never had the heart to throw them away, so we kept them here. It's become its own world."
Alina stepped forward, her shoes brushing against letters scattered on the floor like fallen petals. The air smelled faintly of paper and ink, with that gentle warmth of things created with love.
In the far corner stood something even stranger, a huge glass box, taller than her, shaped almost like an old-fashioned telephone booth. But instead of wires and dials, it was stuffed to the brim with letters, stacked so high they pressed against the glass walls, fighting for space. Thousands, tens of thousands.
Alina lifted a trembling hand to the glass. Her reflection stared back at her, pale and wide-eyed. All these… just for him.
The woman smiled faintly. "We call it the Heart Box. When the smaller shelves overflowed, the fans themselves suggested something bigger. That's what they came up with. Every note inside is a heartbeat."
Alina's throat tightened. Heartbeats… and they're all for Kai.
Her gaze dropped to the nearest letter lying at her feet. It was folded unevenly, as if written in a rush. The paper was lilac, decorated with uneven stars drawn in crayon. She bent down, picked it up carefully, and opened it. Her eyes began to move over the childish handwriting.
Dear Brother Kai,
My name is Hana. I am 9 years old. I saw you in the movie where you saved the girl from the fire. When I was scared of the dark, I remembered you were not afraid, so I tried not to be afraid, too. My mom says you are just acting, but I think you are a real hero. When I grow up, I want to be brave like you.
Hana.
Alina's vision blurred. She blinked rapidly, but tears welled anyway, dripping onto the paper. She clutched the letter against her chest, her shoulders trembling.
Her mind reeled. Every moment she had thought him cold, unreachable, detached—it cracked apart. Because in the eyes of this nine-year-old, he wasn't cold. He was warmth itself.
Alina looked around her again. Thousands of voices. Thousands of hopes and gratitude spilling from the pages. She felt suddenly small. So small. Standing in a universe built entirely out of love for a man she thought she knew.
And her heart whispered, almost fearfully Who is he, really? And how much of him have I been blind to all this time?