5.5 - Report
RASCA Entertainment, basement level 1, practice room corridor.
Chae-ah knocked on the door of Ian's private practice room. Faint music leaked from inside—the background track Ian played to get into the emotional groove while rehearsing her lines.
"Ian, it's me."
The music volume dropped.
"Come in."
She opened the door. Ian was sitting on the sofa, script spread across her lap.
Chae-ah closed the door and sat in the chair opposite, tablet in hand.
"Came about a schedule change tomorrow. The morning magazine interview got pushed to next week, and a drama table read was added in the afternoon instead."
"What time?"
"Two o'clock. Yeouido NBC."
Ian folded her script and nodded.
"Got it."
Chae-ah checked it off on her tablet and started to stand, but paused. Ian looked like she had more to say.
"Unnie."
"Yeah?"
"What's Siyul unnie's schedule like next week?"
Siyul.
Han Siyul. Model under RASCA. Nineteen years old. One year older than Ian. They'd grown up in the same industry since their child actor days.
Close enough to call childhood friends, but their relationship wasn't quite the warm, fuzzy kind the term implied. Intimate yet tense. Respecting each other's turf while hyper-aware of the other.
"Siyul? Photoshoot next Wednesday, brand event Friday. Why?"
"Where's the Wednesday shoot?"
"Seongsu-dong studio. You wanna tag along?"
"Nah, just curious."
Ian unfolded her script again.
"Heard Siyul unnie's been swamped lately."
Chae-ah eyed Ian. "Just curious" or not, Ian rarely asked about anyone else's schedule. She even left her own in Chae-ah's hands. Not the type to keep tabs on others.
"What'd Siyul say?"
"Ran into her briefly last time. She looked wiped. Wondered if her plate was too full."
Ian's tone was flat. Genuine worry? Or something else?
Chae-ah didn't pry. Whatever was between Ian and Siyul wasn't her place.
"She's got a packed lineup lately, yeah. I'll suggest some tweaks to her schedule."
"Thanks, unnie."
Ian smiled.
Chae-ah set her tablet on her lap and sighed.
"Ian, what'd you do this weekend?"
She regretted it the moment the words left her mouth. Unconscious slip, but she already knew the answer. Everland. Ian lying about staying home. All of it.
Ian didn't look up from her script.
"Stayed home. Went over lines."
Liar.
Chae-ah swallowed the word. She knew Ian was lying. She'd seen the Everland staff's SNS post herself. Reported it to the CEO. That report had kicked off the investigation.
She'd sold out Ian's private time.
"Yeah? Get some good rest?"
"Yep. Much needed."
Ian's voice was relaxed. The tone of someone who trusted Chae-ah completely. Unnie before manager—no walls up.
That trust weighed on Chae-ah's chest.
What the hell am I doing to this kid right now?
Ian had no idea. About Chae-ah scouring SNS. Reporting to the CEO. How that led to a PI on the case. That by now, they'd likely ID'd everyone Ian met at Everland.
Ian flipped a page in her script.
"Unnie, you hungry? Was gonna boil some ramen."
"You gotta cut the ramen. Shoot next month."
"Just one."
"No."
"Half."
"...Who's gonna eat the rest?"
Ian grinned. Chae-ah sighed and stood.
"I'll grab something from the convenience store. Not ramen."
"Kimbap?"
"Sure."
Chae-ah turned back as she opened the door.
Under the indirect lighting, Ian's profile glowed.
Ian had been fifteen when Chae-ah became her manager.
Three years.
Three years of managing schedules, monitoring condition, shielding her on set.
Could those three years coexist with what she was doing now?
"What's up, unnie?"
Ian looked up, tilting her head at Chae-ah frozen in the doorway.
"Nothing. Tuna? Bulgogi?"
"Tuna. Oh, strip kimbap, not triangle."
"Got it."
Chae-ah shut the door.
She walked.
Paused at the elevator.
Pulled out her phone. One unread message. From the CEO.
Meaning she'd soon learn who Ian met at Everland. All from that one SNS post Chae-ah had reported.
Tuna strip kimbap.
Chae-ah hit the elevator button.
Stepped in as doors opened, pressed 1.
Leaned against the wall, staring at the ceiling fluorescents.
Ian, I'm sorry.
She couldn't say it. Explaining would give everything away.
Instead, she bought two tuna strip kimbaps at the convenience store. One for Ian. One for herself. To eat together.
Her grip tightened on the bag on the way up.
This is all I can do.
Adjusting schedules. Swapping ramen for something else. Little acts of care in Ian's daily life.
The CEO's orders happened behind the scenes.
She opened the practice room door.
"Ian, got it."
Ian looked up with a smile.
"Quick."
Chae-ah handed it over and sat beside her. Ian tore open the bag and took a bite.
They sat side by side, munching kimbap. Ian chatted about her script between bites—next episode had her character exploding emotionally, unsure how to nail it.
Chae-ah said, "Talk to the director?" Ian grumbled, "Director's default is 'figure it out.'" Chae-ah laughed.
An ordinary evening.
Heavy for Chae-ah.
What'll I hear from the CEO tomorrow?What'll she decide about Ian's companion?Any room for me to weigh in?
Chewing the last bite, Chae-ah thought.
None.
Jung Sia's decisions were final. Chae-ah just executed. As always, these three years.
"Unnie?"
"Yeah?"
"Zoning out."
Ian peered into her face.
"Nah. Just tired."
"Head home early. Busy tomorrow."
"You?"
"Little longer."
Chae-ah opened her mouth.
"Ian."
"Yeah?"
"...Never mind. See you tomorrow."
"Yeah. Tomorrow, unnie."
She shut the door.
Jung Sia's office was at the top floor's east end.
Desk held two monitors and a black tumbler. Neat stack of documents beside it. Sia sat staring at the monitors.
Her phone buzzed.
Unsaved number. But she remembered it. Principle: never save these.
Answered.
"CEO, job's done."
Male voice. Baritone. All business—no small talk.
"Let's hear it."
Sia swiveled her chair toward the window.
"Checked Everland's Saturday entry logs. Isolated a woman accompanying Seo Ian from gate CCTV that timeframe. Face capture's clear."
A woman?
Unexpected. Maybe nothing to hide or dig for.
But Sia kept her composure.
"Send it."
"Sending now."
Photo arrived. Sia opened it.
Everland entry gate CCTV. Grainy, but subject sharp. Petite woman in oversized men's hoodie chatting with staff; Ian beside her in mask and shades.
Half her face visible. Silver hair spilling from hood. Skin pale enough to stand out even in low-res.
Sia's thumb hovered.
"Tracked her path too."
"Go on."
"She took a regional bus back to Seoul after Everland. Transit card led to final stop at Nambu Terminal, then walked to residence."
"Address?"
He recited it. Sia jotted on notepad one-handed.
"Pulled the property registry. Lease under Yoo Hajoon. Male, 24."
"The name from the initial Everland issue."
"Yes. Tickets, credit cards, residence—all Yoo Hajoon. Male, 24. But actual resident matches the photo woman."
Sia gazed out the window. Her reflection calm in the glass.
"This Yoo Hajoon?"
"No SNS. Registry active, but minimal real-world traces. Last six months: small convenience store swipes. Telecom: basic plan only.
"Ghost, basically."
"Yes. So we flagged one possibility."
His tone shifted—report to inference.
"Shoot."
"Her features are distinctive. Silver hair, near-albino skin, Asian bone structure but pigmentation off for typical Korean. High chance Eastern European mix."
Sia eyed the CCTV again. Silver strands escaping the hood.
"If an unregistered mixed foreigner, they borrow Korean IDs for life here. Using his cards and ID while living at his place. Family, or broker-rented identity."
"Illegal entry?"
"Not conclusive, but fits. With legit status, she'd make her own cards. Zero financials in her name."
Sia spun her pen between fingers.
"More photos?"
"CCTV's all for now. Stakeout nearby could get clearer shots—extra cost."
"Pass."
Sia stopped the pen.
"Got the address. I'll check myself."
"...Understood. Call if more needed."
"Thanks for the work."
Call ended.
Sia set her phone down, swiveled back to monitors. Transferred the CCTV photo from phone to PC. Full screen.
Low-res outdoor cam—shadows, half-face hooded. Still, something hooked the eye.
Skin-hair contrast. Silver locks over porcelain skin. Low-res simplified it: silver and white popped crisp.
Nearly a decade in the biz. Thousands of faces. She knew what cameras loved or loathed skin-deep.
This image breathed. Noise couldn't kill the pull.
Eastern European mix.
Investigator's theory lingered. Logical: foreigner borrowing Korean guy's life.
Sia neither dismissed nor bought it wholesale. Her style: no premature conclusions. Keep options open, verify personally.
Separately, the woman's visuals pinged her pro instincts.
This look...
She zoomed. Centered on escaping silver hair. Blurry jawline: small face. Slender neck.
If CCTV does this, what's the real thing like?
Pushed back, sipped tumbler. Coffee cold.
Notepad nearby. Fresh address. Sia read it again.
Ian exposed her face for this person.
Ian doing that meant value.
Value to Ian could mean value to me.
Sia powered off the monitor, stood. Tore the note, pocketed it in her bag.
Tomorrow, in person.