Chapter 9 - Do You Know Me?

Ian pressed the search button.

The screen flickered once, and results appeared.

Ian's thumb hovered over the screen. She tapped the image tab. A few photos of people with the same name popped up, but none matched the details. No one even resembled Harin.

She set the empty can down on the table.

A 24-year-old man. Her cousin, she'd said. Old enough to be in college or working somewhere. He had to have left some digital footprint.

Nothing.

Ian opened her notes app. The "Harin" folder. She added a line at the very bottom.

Yoo Hajoon: No internet traces. Nothing verifiable beyond her claim he's her cousin.

She dropped her phone onto her lap.

She didn't want to suspect Harin. She didn't think Harin was a liar. But the nagging sense that something was being hidden clung to her fingertips like a tiny thorn.

Is there something else Harin can't bring herself to say?

Ian pocketed her phone and stood. As she tossed the empty can into the recycling bin, she glanced at her reflection in the vending machine glass.

Then I'll just find out myself.

Monday morning.

The elevator doors opened on the seventh floor, spilling out a rush of air-conditioned air mixed with the aroma of fresh coffee beans. Harin hugged one side of the hallway as she walked.

She gave her name at the reception desk, and they handed her an access card—a lanyard type with her photo and name printed inside a clear case.

Yoo Harin. RASCA Entertainment.

She slipped it around her neck. The card swayed against her chest.

Inside the glass doors, Yoon Chae-ah stood in front of the manager's desk.

It was the woman she'd brushed past in the hallway on Friday.

"Hello."

Harin bowed first.

"Hello. I'm Yoon Chae-ah, and starting today, I'll also be managing you, Harin."

Her voice was short and precise. Not smiling, but not cold either.

"I'll start with a facility tour. Follow me."

Chae-ah turned and walked ahead. Her pace was brisk. Harin followed half a step behind.

Two meeting rooms. A break room. One wall was lined with a water purifier, coffee machine, and microwave; on the shelves between mugs, a few had names scrawled in marker.

"Coffee's free use. You can keep a personal mug here if you like."

The coffee machine was dispensing into someone's cup. Chae-ah pointed to the next area as she passed.

Down the hallway: three practice rooms. Each door had a small glass window revealing full-length mirrors and wooden floors inside.

"A is for walking practice, B for poses and individual work, C has sound equipment for video rehearsals."

Chae-ah pulled a sheet from her binder and handed it over.

"Your first-week orientation schedule. Tomorrow: basic poses. Wednesday: basic walking. Thursday: shooting process overview."

Harin took the paper and scanned it. A densely packed timetable.

"Contact me anytime with questions. Number's at the bottom."

"...Yes. Thank you."

Chae-ah gave a light nod and headed back to the manager's desk without looking behind her.

Harin stood alone in the middle of the hallway, staring down at the schedule.

After finishing paperwork in the morning, Harin returned to the office space just as the glass doors swung open and a familiar voice echoed down the hall.

"Harin!"

It was Ian.

Her mask pulled down below her chin, she walked in with light steps.

"You really are here. In our office."

"...Yeah. I really am."

Harin paused, then smiled. Ian approached and stopped right in front of her.

"Your badge."

"Huh?"

"Lemme ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠see."

Harin awkwardly ducked her head to hold the card out from her neck.

Yoo Harin. RASCA Entertainment.

"...It's real."

Ian's voice dropped low.

"Same agency now. You and me."

"Yeah."

"How's the first day feel?"

"Not sure yet. The layout's confusing, and there are so many people."

"You'll get used to it quick. First time, I hit the wrong floor and ended up in the basement parking garage."

"...Basement parking?"

"Was reading my script. Doors opened, and it was just cars everywhere."

Harin let out a small laugh.

"Eaten yet?"

"Not yet."

"Let's grab something. There's a good spot in the alley out back."

"What about your schedule?"

"Script read-through this afternoon. Done by one. Plenty of time."

Ian headed for the glass doors first. Harin followed.

While waiting for the elevator, Ian leaned one shoulder against the wall and looked at Harin.

"Harin."

"Yeah?"

"First day on the job—what's the best part so far?"

Harin thought for a moment.

The elevator doors opened. They stepped in. Harin pressed the button for the first floor and said,

"Getting to see you more often?"

Her eyes stayed on the button panel. Casual tone. The question mark at the end felt more like a thought spilling out than something awaiting a reply.

"...Yeah?"

Ian leaned back against the elevator wall and turned her head. Their silhouettes blurred in the metal doors. The floor numbers ticked down, the light passing over Ian's face.

The corner of Ian's mouth curved up. She tried to pull it down, but it wouldn't budge.

Harin was pulling out her phone to snap a photo of the schedule she'd just received. Her face showed no clue what she'd said—or what that simple phrase was doing to the heart of the girl standing beside her.

Ian exhaled quietly.

"Me too."

"Huh?"

"That's my favorite part too."

Harin looked up at Ian. Ian wore a soft smile, her usual expression. Harin nodded like oh, okay and went back to her phone.

Ian bit her lip lightly.

...God, Harin.

They ate lunch and returned. Ian left first for her read-through, leaving Harin alone.

She spent the afternoon in Practice Room B.

It was empty. Full-length mirrors covered the front wall, and the wooden floor gleamed under the fluorescent lights. A Bluetooth speaker sat in the corner.

She stood in front of the mirror. Petite frame with silver hair. White t-shirt.

Let's try walking.

She took a step.

Middling stride. On the second step, her shoulder tilted right. She corrected it consciously, but then her gaze dropped to the floor.

Shoulders steady. Even stride. Eyes forward.

All at once.

She lifted her head. Her reflection met her eyes. She walked, focusing on her shoulders. Three steps. Shoulders felt better, but her stride was uneven.

She tried a turn. Her feet tangled. She grabbed the wall.

Again. From the start.

One step. Two. Three.

Shoulders. Stride. Gaze. Grasping one meant the other two crumbled. She hadn't realized walking demanded so much all at once.

An hour passed.

Her reflection stared back, sweat beading on her forehead. Sweat trickled down her nape. Legs trembled. Soles burned.

This... is seriously hard.

Thirsty, she left the practice room.

Quitting time was nearing.

She stopped in front of Practice Room C.

The door was slightly ajar. A gap wide enough for two fingers.

The sound of heels. Steady rhythm. Neither speeding nor slowing.

Harin glanced through the gap.

A woman was walking.

Long hair fell to mid-back. Taller than Harin by a good margin. With each step, her hair swayed faintly, but her shoulders didn't budge—like her upper body was suspended by threads, legs moving independently.

It was the same walking practice Harin had just done.

But worlds apart in quality.

A turn. At the wall's end, she pivoted. Her toe traced a perfect semicircle on the floor. Gaze locked forward. Speed unchanged. No hitch before or after.

Harin recalled her own attempt—gripping the wall, feet tangling. The hour where fixing shoulders wrecked her stride, and fixing stride dropped her eyes.

This woman nailed it all. Simultaneously. Effortlessly.

...How much practice has she put in?

The sound stopped.

Through the mirror, the woman's gaze fixed on the door gap. Right on Harin's face.

She turned. Her eyes met Harin's.

"...What're you staring at?"

"Ah, sorry!"

Harin bowed reflexively.

"The door was open, and I heard the sound, so I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠just..."

"Does that mean you peek in?"

She crossed her arms. Head tilted slightly, her gaze looked down due to the height difference.

"New face. Newbie?"

"Yes. First day today. I'm Yoo Harin..."

"Ah."

Short response. Her gaze flicked back to the mirror, disinterested.

Harin knew she should back off. She'd interrupted. Time to apologize and leave.

But her mouth moved first.

"I tried walking too, today."

"...Pardon?"

The woman looked back.

"In B for about an hour. Shoulders steady? Stride falls apart. Stride even? Eyes drop. Turn? Feet tangle, grab the wall."

"...And?"

The woman's eyes lingered on Harin's face. Hard to read her expression.

Harin glanced inside. The mirror reflected light; faint heel marks traced the floor—paths she'd walked countless times.

"So watching you just now... I felt it. I'm in awe."

Her arms uncrossed.

"...What'd you say?"

"I'm in awe. What I couldn't do in an hour, you're doing all at once. That doesn't happen overnight."

Harin's voice was soft but clear.

The woman's eyes blinked wide once.

Then she quickly averted her gaze to the mirror.

"...Do you know me?"

"Huh?"

"Do I know you? Who goes around telling a stranger they're in awe?"

Her voice rose. Sharp at the edges, but trembling somewhere beneath.

"Ah, no, I didn't mean it like..."

"Even for a senior, that's too much flattery, don't you think?"

She turned to the mirror. The tips of her ears glowed red in the reflection.

"I just tried it myself, so I know how tough it is..."

"Enough. Show's over—go."

"...Yes. Sorry."

Harin bowed and retreated. Her footsteps faded down the hall.

Harin was gone.

Inside the practice room, still facing the mirror, the woman lifted both hands and pressed her cheeks hard.

Heat seeped into her palms.

In awe?

Amazing. Perfect. Great work. She'd heard those praises countless times.

From reporters, photographers, industry folks.

But in awe? First time.

And because she'd tried it herself.

She'd dismissed it as flattery, but those eyes were too earnest for that.

"...What a weirdo."

She took position. Weight on her toes, shoulders relaxed.

She started walking. On the fourth step, her gaze drifted to the door.

No one there.

"...Han Siyul, focus."

So watching you just now... I felt it. I'm in awe.

On the seventh step, her stride faltered for the first time.

Harin caught her breath as she hurried down the hall.

Embarrassed by words that had spilled out unbidden. Telling a stranger she was in awe? Maybe the flattery jab was fair.

But it wasn't flattery.

She'd truly felt that way. After an hour of wall-grabbing failed turns, perfection like that pulled those words out.

...Probably pissed her off.

Harin turned the corner away from the practice rooms and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠headed toward the office, pulling out her phone.

She was about to text Ian about the senior she'd seen when—

"Unnie!! Are you the new girl?!"

The voice exploded behind her. Harin flinched and turned.

Someone was sprinting from the far end ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of the hall. Short hair bouncing with each step, eyes sparkling.

"Wh-who...?"