Haeun confronts Jihoon

Haeun wiped the sweat from her forehead as she stepped into the hallway, still catching her breath after the grueling choreography session. Her body ached, but it was nothing compared to the tension that had been simmering between her and Jihoon over the past few days. He had been distant, cold even, barely acknowledging her presence during practice or breaks. The change was glaring, especially after how close they'd been during the competition.

She spotted him near the water cooler, leaning against the wall, his jaw set and his eyes downcast. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she approached him.

“Jihoon,” she said firmly, drawing his attention. He looked up, his expression unreadable, but the flicker of emotion in his eyes betrayed him. “Can we talk?”

He sighed, clearly ****. “What’s there to talk about?”

“Don’t do that,” she said, crossing her arms. “Don’t act like I don’t exist. If something’s wrong, just say it.”

Jihoon let out a bitter laugh and shook his head. “What do you want me to say, Haeun? That I’m fine? That I’m just peachy watching all of this play out? Because I’m not.”

“What does that mean?” she asked, her frustration rising.

“It means,” he said, stepping closer, his voice low but heated, “that I’m tired of pretending. At first, yeah, maybe I thought you were just another girl. An easy lay, maybe. But then—” His voice broke slightly, and he clenched his fists. “But then I fell for you, Haeun. And now, they want me to stand on stage, to play this rejected loser while you... while you become this sexual fantasy for everyone else to drool over. It’s killing me.”

His words hung in the air like a dagger. Haeun’s chest tightened, a mix of guilt, anger, and sadness swirling inside her. “Jihoon, you knew what this was. You knew what being an idol meant.”

“I knew,” he said, his voice softer now. “But I didn’t expect it to hurt this much.”

Her eyes stung, but she refused to cry. “You don’t get to make this about you. Do you think this is easy for me? I didn’t ask for this role, for these expectations. But I’m doing it because it’s part of the job, just like you should be doing.”

He laughed again, but this time it was hollow. “Oh, right. The perfect Haeun, always doing what she’s told. Always playing the part. But what about you, huh? What about what you want? Or do you just let your cuck decide that for you?”

Her eyes narrowed, her voice sharp. “Don’t you dare talk about him like that.”

“Why not?” Jihoon shot back, his frustration boiling over. “He’s not here. He doesn’t see what’s happening, what they’re turning you into. Do you think he’ll be fine after he finds out what we have been up to, what they want you to do? He’s not a saint, Haeun. No guy is.”

“He loves me,” she said, her voice trembling but resolute. “He loves me more than you ever could. And he doesn’t try to control me or make me feel guilty for doing my job.”

Jihoon flinched, and for a moment, she thought he might walk away. But instead, he looked at her with a mixture of pain and defiance. “And you love him. I get it. But don’t pretend this isn’t killing you too. I see it, Haeun. You’re not okay.”

Haeun took a deep breath, steadying herself. “Maybe I’m not. But I’m trying to be. And you? You’re making it harder. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me, Jihoon. I really am. But if you can’t handle being professional, if you can’t let this go, then maybe we shouldn't be together anymore.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with hurt and anger. “You’re right. Maybe we shouldn’t.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Haeun standing alone in the hallway. She felt a pang of regret, but she pushed it aside. This wasn’t about what either of them wanted; it was about their responsibilities, their dreams. And sometimes, dreams meant sacrifice.