Writer Jang grabbed a fistful of Haein’s bangs and yanked hard, forcing her head up as she stared blankly at the floor.

　　“This is what your script got you.”

　　He laughed like the whole thing was pathetic, then pointed at his own script in Director Choi’s hands.

　　“And this is what mine got.”

　　Hers lay in ruins on the floor, while his had become a proper script—with the director’s name printed on it, no less. Even though the title, the synopsis, all of it had come straight from her.

　　“Oh Haein, this cheap writing only got fixed up and landed a broadcast slot because it was me doing it.”

　　Fuck you.

　　Unfortunately, the curse rising in Haein’s throat never made it past her lips. After all the humiliation she’d endured from Writer Jang, her body had already learned to flatten itself in submission.

　　“How about I treat it like I bought the rights and pay you the contest grand prize? You need the cash, don’t you? And if that pisses you off, come back and work under me until it’s finished. I’ll pay you double what the other kids get.”

　　What kind of bastard even says something like that?

　　He didn’t even bother hiding that he’d copied her work. He shamelessly offered to buy her off, and on top of that, he was already scheming about how to work her to the bone.

　　“Or you can call me Oppa, pour my drinks, and suck my dick. You filthy, stuck-up bitch.”

　　Haein was disgusted as Writer Jang blew a puff of air against her ear. Her blood pressure had shot straight up. Her face had to be flushing red and purple.

　　Breathing hard, she reached toward Director Choi, who was looking on like he’d bought a ticket to the show. She snatched Writer Jang’s script out of his hands, threw it onto her own coffee-soaked screenplay, and stomped on it.

　　“One day I’m going to put you behind bars. You talentless pimp of a bastard.”

　　Grief and rage surged up in turns. But even as Haein let the anger out, she refused to cry. She knew that once she started, she’d be swept away by it, like a levee giving way.

* * *

　　Sitting on a worn-out, creaking swing at the old playground, Haein replayed the day’s events over and over in her head. She still occasionally felt the sense of loss creep up on her, but today it was replaced by a dull numbness, as if her heart had been violently ripped from her chest.

　　If that Deadwood bastard bothered to steal it, then this time I really did write something good.

　　Feeling tears sting at the edges of her eyes, Haein tilted her face up toward the sky and forced them back down, then sat there, listlessly fidgeting with her phone.

　　Would she have felt any better if Ahn Woohyun were here?

　　It was exactly the kind of moment she needed the childhood friend she’d spent nearly a year avoiding.

　　You’ve got some nerve, Oh Haein. After what you did to Woohyun.

　　She pulled up his number in the message window, then gave up. Nothing would be more pathetic than reaching out to a guy who was probably swamped with work just to whine at him.

　　She smacked both her cheeks as hard as she could and snapped herself out of it. Pulling her frozen expression together, she headed for the comfort of home.

　　The moment she stepped off the elevator, the smell of her mom’s homemade soybean paste stew came drifting out. It was Haein’s favorite thing her mom made, so her mood lifted right away.

　　“I’m home. Huh?”

　　But the second she walked in, a familiar suitcase was sitting square in the entryway. She stared blankly at her own huge suitcase, then turned to her parents, who’d come out at the sound of the door.

　　“Mom, Dad, are you going on a trip? Looks like somewhere far this time. But the company’s giving you two summer vacations?”

　　“No, that’s your stuff.”

　　“Huh?”

　　“There was a cockroach in the house a while ago, remember? I’ve decided to take drastic measures.”

　　What was with the sudden cockroach talk. Especially since they’d left her to be the one who caught it.

　　Haein tried to distract herself and quiet her uneasy heart, but it wasn’t easy. Her mom stood with her arms crossed, her expression unusually firm today.

　　“Starting with the giant freeloader living under our roof.”

　　“…Mom!”

　　“You’re calling me a freeloader?” Haein burst out.

　　Getting treated like dirt out in the world was bad enough. Now she was on the verge of being thrown out of her own home. It was an absurd disaster.

　　“I heard you didn’t make it in the contest.”

　　Haein fell silent.

　　“You quit S Group right after you barely got in, all because you wanted to be a drama writer. And after throwing away that conglomerate job, all you’ve done is run menial errands for writers you address with respect.”

　　Even calling them ‘menial errands’ was putting it kindly. Every writer Haein had chosen turned out to be some kind of tyrant.

　　There was Writer Jang, for whom sexual harassment was a reflex, and there was another writer, famous for her killer romances, who used Haein as her foot masseuse and her chauffeur. And it wasn’t unusual to get stuck doing the woman’s kids’ homework, or ending up as the family pet’s poop-scooper on top of everything else.

　　“Your dad and I have waited about as long as we can, Oh Haein. Five rejections isn’t a small number. Enough is enough.”

　　“…Can’t we talk about this tomorrow?”

　　Any other day but this one… why did it have to be today?

　　“There’s exactly one way you’re not getting kicked out of this house. Get a job. Forget that damn writing nonsense and go work somewhere.”

　　The condition her mom set was, of course, a job at a major corporation. With parents who’d fought their way into executive seats at conglomerates, positions nearly impossible to land, their expectations were bound to run high.

　　Haein couldn’t argue back, not after what she’d said herself. She knew perfectly well that a single sentence, swallowing her pride and agreeing, would put an end to the whole thing.

　　And yet she couldn’t let go of that damn script. But after being told to suck some bastard’s dick, she couldn’t exactly explain why she refused to give up, either.

　　“Mom…”

　　“If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

　　Hong Miju’s voice softened a notch, as though she figured a teary-eyed Haein was about to cave.

　　“…Can I at least eat before I go?”

　　It stung, but Haein chose to hold on to the thing she couldn’t bring herself to give up. Watching her daughter cling to her stubbornness to the bitter end while still planning to fill her empty stomach, Miju was speechless. Her husband, Suhyuk, couldn’t even manage a sigh.

　　Still, they were the kind of parents who couldn’t say anything harsher to a daughter who’d started crying big, fat tears.

　　“Eat two bowls and then get out.”

　　As Miju sighed heavily and disappeared into the kitchen, Suhyuk, who’d been standing beside her, scurried over to his daughter.

　　“Haein, don’t worry. I managed to talk your mom into covering at least your gosiwon rent—one of those tiny rented rooms. It was one hell of a negotiation.”

　　Was this supposed to make her feel better?

　　Venting to her dad was useless—the man couldn’t budge an inch in front of her mom.

　　In the end, Haein was thrown out of the house, the soybean paste stew she’d been craving serving as her last supper.

* * *

　　Haein decided to crash at Mina’s place for a few days. She also forced herself to pick up extra shifts at the cafe. If she didn’t work herself into the ground, she was liable to march over to Writer Jang and start throwing punches.

　　After all, she couldn’t end up behind bars herself before she put Writer Jang there for stealing her script.

　　“Why are there so many customers today?”

　　She muttered it while prepping an order, and Seungmin, a coworker her own age, poked her in the arm.

　　“They’re shooting a movie across the street, apparently.”

　　“Really?”

　　All she could manage was a hollow smile. She’d rather stay off the radar of those damn broadcasting types, and of course, a movie shoot had to be happening right there.

　　Haein started scrubbing dishes with unnecessary intensity. While Seungmin was out buying ingredients they’d run out of, she caught her breath and fidgeted with her phone.

　　She closed the real estate app she kept staring at and opened the messaging app where she’d started a text a few days ago and never finished.

　　‘Actor Voted #1 Most Wanted Son-in-Law.’

　　The second she saw the ridiculous nickname, a snort of laughter slipped out. The joke contact name she was in the habit of constantly changing had been frozen for a year.

　　-You doing okay?

　　This felt way too impersonal. Didn’t it read like she was hitting up an old friend to sell him insurance?

　　-Are you still busy lately?

　　Why was she even asking something that obvious.

　　Haein didn’t like any of it, so she typed and deleted, typed and deleted.

　　-Woohyun, I’m broke.

　　She had a feeling something like ‘You were already broke’ would come flying back, but this one felt like the safest bet.

　　“Excuse me, we’d like to order.”

　　“Ah, yes! Sorry about that—what can I get you?”

　　Before she could hit send, a customer waiting to order got her attention. As she looked up, the first thing that caught her eye was a man whose face seemed to glow with a halo, standing behind an ordinary-looking man.

　　Only now did she notice the cafe, so noisy a moment ago, had fallen into total silence. And no wonder—one man was commanding the attention of every customer.

　　Haein choked on her breath at the sight of him, a man who looked like he’d been sculpted by hand. The very person she’d been thinking about seconds ago now stood right in front of her, in the flesh, like some impossible trick.

　　Startled the instant their eyes met, Haein fumbled and dropped her phone.

　　“Woohyun, you’re having an iced Americano, right? Anything else?”

　　Even as his manager asked, Ahn Woohyun kept his eyes locked on the spot behind the counter where Haein had disappeared.

　　Ahn Woohyun.

　　The male actor tearing up the box office in Korea was also… Haein’s oldest friend. And the very friend she’d made the one mistake she never, ever should have made.