T/N: Moving forward, Ha-jun -> Hajun
“Hajun, are you hot? Why are you sweating like that?”
At Executive Director Park’s question, Kang Hajun, looking tense, blinked—“Sir?”—and wiped the cold perspiration from his brow.
“Are you nervous?”
“Uh, well… a little?”
Park let out a faint sigh—“Huh‑”—and scrutinised Hajun’s face.
They hadn’t known each other long, yet Hajun was the trainee in Team 1 who received the most attention; naturally Park had invested time and concern.
Kang Hajun…
Do kids from rich homes get trained not to show emotion from childhood?
Normally he was as wooden as a statue, dignified and textbook‑perfect in everything.
And yet now, his face was just like a senior on college‑entrance‑exam day—utterly tense, eyes darting in the air, cold sweat trickling nonstop.
This is only the second time I’ve seen him rattled…
The first was after the main‑round stage, when HS praised and scolded him at once.
The second was today—right now—after HS had suddenly summoned him for a one‑on‑one talk.
“Want me to go with you?”
“No, sir.”
“Still, if I—”
“I’ll be fine.”
Hajun spoke firmly.
“I really appreciate your concern, but I want to tell him myself that I’m a Team 1 trainee, and thank him again for the offer.”
Park hummed and slowly nodded. “Right, best you do it yourself.”
Even so, worry clouded his face. Suddenly he brightened—“Ah!”—and thrust a bulging shopping bag at Hajun.
“Take this along.”
“What… is all this?”
“Apparently the guy loves radish.”
“Ra—radish?” Hajun tilted his head. Radish? What?
Mu‑saengchae (radish salad), kkakdugi (cubed radish kimchi), dried‑radish strips, stir‑fried radish greens, braised radish, radish pancakes…
Peeking inside, he found six kinds of side dishes made with radish, all packed in brand‑new matching containers.
“Really, what is this?”
“I got up at dawn to prepare it, to ask him to look after our Hajun.”
Puffing his shoulders proudly, Park added, “My wife made most of it, but I did peel the radish with the mandolin.”
“Almost forgot this”—he produced something from his pocket with a “ta‑da”.
“And that is…?”
“This? Something he’ll go crazy for.”
Grinning like he’d played his trump card, Park slipped the envelope into Hajun’s inside pocket.
“Make sure you give him that, too—perfect.”
An envelope? Cash? Does HS like money?
Well, who hates money? The radish was an odd gift, but if Park—one of HS’s “insiders”—chose it, it must hit the mark.
“Thank you, sir…”
Just then Hajun checked the time—it was nearly the appointment hour. He jumped up.
“I’d better go. Thank you!”
“Right—don’t forget the side dishes. Be careful!”
Park’s figure seeing him off looked oddly like a mom watching her son head to kindergarten for the first time.
“ACE,” the café‑terrace in LS Entertainment’s lobby.
Even in an era plagued by part‑time‑staff shortages, ACE never lacked workers; shifts were always covered. The reason was obvious:
“Wow… that face is insane.”
Because the café, inside an entertainment company, was frequented by actors, singers and trainees with outstanding looks—eye‑candy galore. With only LS staff and artists as patrons, there were no unruly customers either; truly a dream workplace.
“Is that really a human? Looks sculpted.”
“Don’t recognise him from TV—maybe a trainee?”
“Must be a new recruit if we’ve never seen him.”
Baristas Jo Harin and Lee Seulgi gazed at the lone young man on the sofa, showering him with silent admiration.
“Better‑looking than most idols.”
“I’ll stan him the moment he debuts.”
“Actually he’s got actor vibes.”
“Bottom line—he’s gorgeous.”
A textbook “pretty boy,” he twiddled his straw with long white fingers, as though anxiously waiting for someone.
“Who’s worth being waited for by that guy?”
“Hope they arrive before the ice—and his heart—melts.”
To the baristas he looked like a puppy yearning for its owner: eyes flicking about, repositioning the extra coffee cup, stirring so it wouldn’t settle.
How long passed?
Ding‑dong.
The automatic door chimed.
“Gasp…”
“Holy—”
A man with an even brighter aura, legs for days, strode in; both baristas clamped hands over their mouths to stifle curses.
“Seulgi, the real deal just walked in! That’s the guy Harin can’t quit over!”
“You mean that man?”
Seulgi, one week on the job, stared. His aura eclipsed the first customer’s.
“Total cold‑blooded‑type visuals, but damn handsome.”
“Is he a trainee too? I’d remember that face on TV.”
“Probably—but why hasn’t LS debuted him yet?”
Harin bounced in agitation.
The “cold‑blooded” man scanned the café, found the first guy, and headed over.
“Um…?”
The baristas’ gasp turned into awed whispers.
“Those two faces together—unreal.”
“This must be why I took this job.”
“Perfect ‘Dutch‑face’1 couple.”
“My eyes are blessed.”
The newcomer sat opposite the waiting “pretty boy.”
“Hey.”
His sharp, chilly voice reached the baristas’ ears.
One clutched her head, staggering. “Harin, you okay?”
“Seulgi, I’m done sleeping tonight.”
“Huh? Why?”
“I’ve got the whole story in my head—time to write a novel.”
“What story?”
Harin glanced between the men, eyes shining.
“They’ve been best friends forever. Pretty Boy’s loved Cold Guy for years. After a drunken confession they drifted apart, but Cold Guy can’t stop thinking about him…”
She formed a heart with her hands, framing the pair. “Now, years later, they meet awkwardly at a café…”
Seulgi’s face twisted in horror. What is wrong with this girl…
One week into the job, she resolved to quit.
Meanwhile
“Hey.”
Oblivious to the baristas’ fantasies, Kang Hajun was flustered by the young man who’d abruptly claimed the seat opposite.
“Ex‑excuse me, who are—”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
The stranger, incredulous, snapped back. He was—no, really—a stunning beauty.
Wow…
On a small, slim face, every feature was perfectly proportioned: neat mountain‑shaped brows, large monolid eyes, a straight sculpted nose, full rosy lips.
Absolutely handsome.
After studying him perhaps too intently, Hajun dropped his gaze, murmuring, “There are plenty of empty seats—why this one…?”
Mid‑sentence he jerked his head up.
“C‑could you be… Mr. HS?”
“Why, you look at me like I’m Dangun2 from a myth.”
Hajun’s lips trembled. “Impossible…” he whispered.
They said he wears a helmet because his jaw juts 15 cm…
He’d heard Team 1 staff bad‑mouth HS:
“That guy stirs nastiness like rice in kimchi stew.”
“Arin’s wasting away ‘cause he pushes her in recording.”
“His looks are all lies; that’s why he hides.”
“I heard his chin sticks out to here when the helmet’s off.”
Clearly rumours were rubbish; at least the face part was.
I’m the one who should be a trainee, not him…
Ruffling the back of his head, HS muttered, “Ah, the helmet. Forgot it—no wonder it felt cool.”
Meeting bare‑faced like this, it was natural Hajun was startled.
“You’re really composer HS?”
“Would I be fake?”
“N‑no, not that…”
The dry, blunt tone and timbre confirmed it instantly: this was HS—the voice that had first praised then critiqued him, that backstage had promised a song—a voice he’d never forget.
“Thank you again for giving me this opportunity…”
Snapping to, Hajun sprang up and bowed deeply.
“Enough—sit.”
HS waved him down, grimacing.
“I brought a small gift to show my thanks.”
Ignoring the protest, Hajun slid Park’s shopping bag across.
“What’s this?”
“I heard you love it…”
Fumbling inside, HS muttered, “I do like mu (radish)—but not this kind of mu…”
Unaware, Hajun produced the envelope—apparently cash.
“And this—you’ll like even better…”
The envelope felt odd; not cash. HS peeked inside.
“…What the—”
It was stuffed with LS Entertainment’s proudest perk: corporate‑canteen meal tickets.
T/N: This chapter cracked me up.
- “Dutch face” (더치페이스) in this context is actually a Korean slang expression. It comes from the Konglish term “Dutch pay” (더치페이), which Koreans commonly use to mean “split the bill” (from the English “going Dutch”).
From there, “Dutch face” evolved informally in fan communities to mean two people who visually “balance each other out” perfectly—like a well-matched pair, where neither dominates the other in attractiveness or vibe. ↩︎ - “Dangun” (단군, sometimes romanized as Tangun) is a very important figure in Korean mythology and national identity. He is considered the mythical father of the Korean people. ↩︎
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