POV: Kang Min-jae
Day 5 – Thursday Morning
Setting: Min-jae's apartment, Hannam-dong
I make it home at 7:13 AM and immediately collapse on my couch fully clothed.
My apartment is bathed in morning light—the kind of clear, sharp sunlight that makes everything look too honest, too real. I can see dust on my coffee table, a coffee ring I forgot to wipe up yesterday, the subtle disorder of a life lived instead of staged.
I should shower. Change clothes. Attempt to look presentable for work. Instead, I lie on my couch staring at the ceiling, replaying the last seven hours in my mind like a movie I can't stop watching.
The fish market. The sashimi at 3 AM. Ji-won's face when she admitted she was afraid of being invisible. The way she leaned into me watching the sunrise, fitting perfectly against my side like we'd done it a thousand times before.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table. I reach for it without moving the rest of my body.
Tae-hyun: Mi-sun saw your car leaving at midnight and returning at 7 AM. She demands to know if you're okay or if you've been kidnapped.
Me: Tell your wife to stop surveilling me.
Tae-hyun: We live in the same building. She happened to see. Where were you all night?
Me: Noryangjin Fish Market. Then watching the sunrise at Yeouido.
Tae-hyun: ...that's actually romantic. Who are you and what have you done with Min-jae?
Me: I don't know anymore.
Tae-hyun: Good. That's progress.
I set down my phone and closed my eyes. I'm exhausted but wired, the particular state of consciousness where your body wants to sleep but your brain refuses to stop processing.
*I think I actually like her.*
That was what I texted Tae-hyun two days ago, and he'd said that was the point of the bet—make her fall for you. But that's not what I meant then, and it's definitely not what I mean now.
I don't just like Ji-won. I'm falling for her. Really falling, in the way that makes your chest feel too full and your thoughts spiral and simple things like watching a sunrise become profound because she's there experiencing it with you.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
The bet was simple: date someone for ten days, prove I could maintain a relationship, and win creative control on the Luminé campaign. It was transactional, time-limited, with a clear endpoint. I wasn't supposed to develop actual feelings. I wasn't supposed to text her at midnight because I sensed she was awake and spiraling. I wasn't supposed to drive to a fish market at 3 AM because I wanted to share something real with her.
But I did all those things, and now I'm lying on my couch at 7:30 AM realizing I'm way over my head.
My phone buzzes again. This time it's a photo from Ji-won—a selfie of her in bed, hair messy, eyes half-closed, captioned: *Made it to bed. Barely functioning. Worth it.*
I save the photo before I can stop myself.
Me: Same. No regrets?
Ji-won: Zero regrets. Best worst night of sleep I've ever had.
Me: We should do it again.
Ji-won: The fish market or no sleep?
Me: Both. All of it. Everything.
There's a pause before she responds.
Ji-won: Min-jae?
Me: Yeah?
Ji-won: I'm really glad you texted me last night.
Me: Me too.
I stare at that exchange for too long, then force myself to get up. I can't lie on my couch all day analyzing text messages like a teenager. I have work. I have a campaign to revise. I have a life outside of this relationship that started as a bet and became something I don't know how to categorize.
In the shower, hot water beating against my shoulders, I try to think practically. Five days left until the bet ends on Day Ten. Six days until my revised pitch to James Woo. I need to tell Ji-won about the bet before then. Before she finds out some other way, before I meet her at my parents' house on Sunday under false pretenses, before this goes any further without honesty as its foundation.
Saturday. I'll tell her Saturday when we explore abandoned buildings. In person, face to face, giving her space to react however she needs. I'll explain the context—the bet, the pressure, the way it started as one thing and became something completely different. I'll apologize and give her the choice to walk away or stay.
The thought of her walking away makes my chest tighten.
I get dressed in clean clothes—black jeans, a white t-shirt, the gray cardigan Ji-won complimented once. I look at my reflection and see someone who got four hours of sleep doing things he never does with someone he's known for five days.
I look happy. Exhausted, but happy.
That realization is more terrifying than anything.
At the office by 9 AM, I'm running on caffeine and nervous energy. The creative floor is already busy—So-yeon at her design station, Jun-ho in a video call, Tae-hyun at his desk with his noise-canceling headphones on. Normal Thursday morning at PRISM Creative.
Except nothing feels normal anymore.
I sit at my desk and pull up the Luminé campaign files. James Woo's words echo in my mind: *Experience what you're trying to sell.* Real romance. Authentic connection. Choosing someone in mundane moments.
Last night wasn't mundane. But the feeling underneath it was—the simple desire to be with someone, to share an experience, to not be alone at 3 AM when the world feels too big and your thoughts too loud.
I opened the document I started two days ago: "Luminé Campaign - Revised Notes."
*Real romance isn't the grand gesture. It's the morning texts before you remember to be cool. It's staying when someone acts weird on the second date because you know they're scared. It's arranging a private library visit not because it's impressive but because you want to see them smile. It's choosing honesty even when lying is easier.*
I add:
*It's texting someone at midnight because you have a feeling they might need you. It's driving to a fish market at 3 AM not because it's romantic but because that's where you go when you can't sleep, and you want to share that place with them. It's watching the sunrise and wishing time would stop.*
*It's being terrified and showing up anyway.*
*It's realizing you started something for the wrong reasons but staying for the right ones.*
"You look terrible."
I looked up to find So-yeon standing at my desk with two coffees. She hands me one.
"Thanks. I think."
"Were you out all night?" She sits on the edge of my desk. "You have that specific exhausted-but-glow thing happening."
"Is that a thing?"
"It's definitely a thing. So who is she, and why are you at work instead of sleeping?"
"Her name's Ji-won. And I'm at work because I have a campaign to revise."
"The girlfriend from the bet?" So-yeon's eyes widen. "Min-jae. You're still seeing her?"
"Obviously."
"But it's been five days. The bet is for ten. You're halfway through. This should be getting easier, not harder."
I take a long drink of coffee. "It's not easier. It's completely different from what I thought it would be."
"Different how?"
"I thought I'd be maintaining a relationship. Going through the motions. Proving a point." I run my hand through my hair. "Instead, I'm—I don't know. Feeling things. Wanting things. Things I didn't think I was capable of wanting."
So-yeon is quiet for a moment. "You're falling for her."
"Maybe. I don't know. Is five days long enough to fall for someone?"
"I fell for my husband in three days. Mi-sun fell for Tae-hyun in one. Time doesn't matter when something's real."
"But how do I know it's real? How do I know I'm not just romanticizing her because of the campaign and the pressure and—"
"Min-jae." So-yeon's voice is gentle but firm. "Does it feel real?"
I think about Ji-won's face in the fluorescent light of the fish market restaurant. The way she said she was afraid of being invisible, and I saw myself reflected in that fear. The way she leaned against me watching the sunrise like trust was the easiest thing in the world.
"Yes," I say quietly. "It feels real."
"Then it probably is. And you need to tell her about the bet before she finds out some other way."
"I know. I'm going to. Saturday."
"That's two days away. A lot can happen in two days."
She's right, but I can't think about that. If I think about all the ways this could go wrong before Saturday, I'll spiral.
Tae-hyun appears, pulling off his headphones. "Morning meeting in five. Also, Mi-sun wants me to ask if you're bringing Ji-won to Sunday dinner at your parents'."
"How does Mi-sun know about Sunday dinner?"
"Your mother called her to coordinate. Apparently, this is a family event now." Tae-hyun grins. "You're in deep, man. Meeting the parents on Day Seven is serious."
"It's only serious if I tell them we're serious."
"Are you serious?"
I don't answer.
The morning meeting is routine—project updates, client feedback, timeline adjustments. Director Choi asks about my Luminé revisions, and I give him a vague update about refining the concept based on Woo's feedback. I don't mention that my revisions are based on falling for someone I'm dating under false pretenses while simultaneously having an existential crisis about authenticity and performance.
Some things don't belong in morning meetings.
After the meeting, I try to focus on work. I have actual projects beyond Luminé—a social media campaign for a restaurant chain, website copy for a startup, the usual creative director responsibilities. But my mind keeps drifting.
To Ji-won asleep in her Yeonnam-dong apartment, exhausted from our all-night adventure.
To Saturday, when I'll take her to abandoned buildings and maybe find the courage to tell her the truth.
To Sunday, when she'll meet my parents and they'll make assumptions about our future that I can't confirm or deny because I don't know if there is a future past Day Ten.
At noon, my phone rings. Unknown number.
"Kang Min-jae speaking."
"Min-jae, it's James Woo."
I sit up straighter, my exhaustion temporarily forgotten. "Mr. Woo. Good to hear from you."
"I've been thinking about our meeting. About what I said regarding authenticity and depth." There's a pause. "I wanted to apologize. That was harsh feedback, and you didn't deserve it delivered that way."
"No, you were right. I needed to hear it."
"Maybe. But I could have been more diplomatic." Another pause. "Have you thought about what I said? About experiencing the romance you're trying to sell?"
I look at the notes document open on my screen. The words I typed about 3 AM fish markets and sunrise and choosing honesty.
"Yes," I say. "I've been thinking about it a lot."
"Good. I'm looking forward to Friday's pitch. I have a feeling you're going to surprise me."
After we hang up, I stare at my computer screen for a long moment. James Woo apologized. Called personally to apologize and to tell me he's looking forward to my pitch. That's not something busy CEOs do unless they're genuinely invested in seeing someone succeed.
I opened a new email to Tae-hyun, So-yeon, and Jun-ho.
*Subject: Luminé Campaign - All Hands*
*Need everyone's input on the revised concept. Meeting at 3 PM. Bring coffee and honesty. Both required.*
At 2:47 PM, I'm in the collaboration zone arranging chairs when my phone buzzes. A photo from Ji-won—her laptop screen showing a document titled "Abandoned Seoul: A Photo Essay Proposal."
**Ji-won:** Couldn't sleep for more than 3 hours. The brain won't shut off. So I'm channeling the fish market energy into a real article pitch. Inspired by your book choice.
**Me:** That's amazing. Are you pitching it to your editor?
Ji-won: Maybe. Probably. If I can make it good enough.
Me: It'll be good enough. You're a great writer.
Ji-won: You've never read my writing.
Me: I've read your texts. Same principle.
Ji-won: That's sweet and also makes no sense.
**Me:** I'm running on 4 hours of sleep. Nothing makes sense.
Ji-won: Fair. Good luck with work. See you Saturday?
Me: Can't wait.
The team meeting at 3 PM is exactly what I need—focused, productive, everyone contributing ideas to strengthen the revised Luminé concept. We map out new photography directions, refine the tagline, debate whether "Love, Unfiltered" is too on-the-nose or exactly right.
"It's good," Tae-hyun says, studying the updated mood boards. "Really good. Different from your usual work. More... emotional."
"That's the point."
"I know. I'm just noticing the shift. Something changed." He looks at me directly. "Someone changed you."
I don't deny it.
By 6 PM, I was satisfied with the revised concept. It's not finished—I need two more days of refinement, better photos, and a tighter copy. But the emotional core is there. The authenticity James Woo asked for.
I'm packing up when Tae-hyun stops by my desk.
"So. Sunday dinner with your parents. That's happening?"
"Apparently. My mother is insistent."
"And you're bringing Ji-won even though you haven't told her about the bet yet."
"I'm telling her Saturday. Before Sunday dinner."
"You keep saying that. But what if Saturday comes and you chicken out again?"
"I won't."
"Min-jae." Tae-hyun's voice is serious now. "I started this stupid bet. I take full responsibility for that. But you need to end it the right way. Which means being honest with her before this goes any further. Before you meet your parents. Before she invests more in something she doesn't know the full truth about."
"I know."
"Do you? Because from where I'm sitting, you're falling for her while lying to her, and that's not sustainable. That's just postponing the inevitable hurt."
He's right. I know he's right. But knowing and acting are different things.
"Saturday," I say firmly. "I promise."
After Tae-hyun leaves, I sit alone at my desk watching the office empty out. Through the windows, Seoul's evening lights begin their nightly performance. The city transitions from day to night, from work to life, from one identity to another.
Liminal space. That's what I called it this morning at the river. The time between, when nothing is fixed, when transformation is possible.
That's where I am now. Between the person who started dating Ji-won for a bet and the person who wants to keep dating her for real. Between the version of myself that performs and the version that's learning to be honest. Between the ending I planned and the one I'm terrified to hope for.
My phone buzzes. Ji-won again.
Ji-won: Just submitted the photo essay pitch to my editor. Either she'll love it or think I've lost my mind.
Me: She'll love it.
Ji-won: How do you know?
Me: Because you wrote it. That's enough.
There's a longer pause this time.
Ji-won: Min-jae?
Me: Yeah?
Ji-won: I'm glad we met. Even if it was over spilled wine and ruined shirts.
Me: Me too. Best wine stain of my life.
Ji-won: That's a low bar.
Me: Still true.
I close my laptop and head home. The subway is crowded with evening commuters, everyone tired from their days, heading toward whatever waits for them—families, empty apartments, plans with friends, nothing at all.
I think about Ji-won in her small Yeonnam-dong apartment, probably at her desk working on another article, plants on her balcony, laptop glowing in the evening light. I think about Saturday, about abandoned buildings and the conversation I need to have. About Sunday dinner with my parents and whether I'll still be bringing Ji-won or whether Saturday's honesty will end everything.
Five days until the bet ends. Two days until I tell her the truth. One day at a time, one honest conversation at a time, hoping that what started as deception can transform into something real.
My phone buzzes one more time as I'm walking from the subway to my apartment.
Ji-won: Sweet dreams when you finally sleep. Dream about something good.
Me: I will. You're in it.
I will send it before I can second-guess the honesty. Before I can calculate whether it's too much too soon, whether it reveals too much.
She responds with a single heart emoji.
I save that too.