Sharing Secrets
As soon as I opened my eyes, a vicious hangover slammed into me, like an ice pick burrowing straight into my brain.
“...Ugh.”
A cracked groan slipped from my lips. I blinked slowly, forcing my vision to focus. An unfamiliar ceiling. When I’d woken up at Baek Gangho’s place last weekend, the room carried the hollow chill of a new apartment. Here, the owner’s tastes were crammed into every inch of the small space, creating a strangely oppressive atmosphere.
I tried to sit up while still wrapped in the blanket but stopped short. Fortunately, I was still wearing yesterday’s knit sweater and jeans. The only problem was the thick stench of alcohol rolling out from my own mouth.
Ever since I possessed this body, it feels like I keep staying out all night.
If Cha Seolah’s parents were still in Korea, I would have been slapped across the back at least ten times by now. The only comfort was that the owner of that back—Cha Seolah herself—was currently being piloted by some middle-aged man. Of course, from her parents’ point of view, that truth would be a hundred times worse.
The moment I checked the clock, my heart dropped.
9:10 a.m. Friday.
“...Thank god it’s Friday.”
One thing I actually liked about the schedule the System had built for Cha Seolah was the convenient Friday free period. But the relief lasted only a second before wariness toward the unfamiliar surroundings crept in.
So whose house is this, exactly…
I pulled myself together and checked my phone. Group chats and private messages were stacked up.
A hazy memory surfaced—Lee Jihyun’s indifferent voice at the drinking party last night, saying she would take me to her house and let me sleep there. When I spotted the small framed photo on the corner of the desk showing Jihyun in her school uniform with what looked like her family, I became certain this was her studio apartment.
I scrolled further and found her text.
I immediately typed a reply.
After replying to every message that had piled up overnight, I finally took a proper look at the room. Something felt off. What should have been an ordinary female college student’s bedroom was dominated by strange equipment on the desk. Next to the monitor stood two adjustable desk lamps, one on each side. The lamp shades had crude white Korean paper taped on to diffuse the light. Between them hung an old-fashioned webcam with cheap LEDs glued around the lens. One wall had a light-green non-woven fabric—clearly bought from a stationery store—sloppily taped up.
…Is she streaming?
To eyes that came from 2026, this was obviously an early-stage cam-room setup. Even the colorful wig and leather garments peeking out from under the desk confirmed it. Discovering the hidden side of the quiet, unassuming Lee Jihyun left me with a strange feeling.
But this was no time to snoop through someone else’s private life.
Baek Gangho (6)
I pressed hard on my throbbing temple and dialed Baek Gangho’s number. After a long series of rings, the call finally connected with a soft click.
“……”
Silence. I never knew silence over a phone line could feel this heavy.
“...Gangho?”
“...Yeah. Talk.”
His voice was ice-cold. The usual warmth had vanished completely, replaced by concentrated disappointment.
“I’m sorry. Yesterday the situation just… I’m really sorry.”
“...You just woke up?”
“Yeah. Just now.”
He let out a short sigh at my timid answer. I could picture it clearly—his back as he stood in the business school lobby, staring endlessly at the clock while waiting for me.
“I’ll call you later. I’m in class.”
Click. The line went dead before I could respond, leaving only the hollow beep-beep-beep in my ear. Even though I knew him so well, I was completely helpless against the honest sulking of twenty-year-old Baek Gangho.
I stood there for a long time, staring blankly at the ended call screen. If this had been me in 2026, I would have ended this kind of emotional drain with a single businesslike apology. But this twenty-year-old body was sending a sharp, stinging pain near my heart.
Was this guilt? Or the obsession this body still remembered?
Around lunchtime, in front of the school gate.
I had decided to wait for Jihyun to finish class and was standing near one of the main gate pillars. The March sunlight felt pleasant, yet in just ten minutes three different male students had already approached me.
“Um, excuse me—if it’s not too much trouble, could I get your number…?”
“Sorry.”
I cut them off sharply with a hardened expression, but there was no way to block the flood of stares. The dazzling appearance of this body called Cha Seolah was an exhausting trait at times like these.
When my mental fatigue was reaching its limit, a familiar silhouette appeared.
“Oh, Cha Seolah! You were already waiting out here?”
Jeong Dabin waved brightly as she approached, with Lee Jihyun following behind, her face indifferent. Jihyun looked as if yesterday’s chaos had never happened.
“Hungry? What do you feel like eating?”
To Dabin’s question, Jihyun answered first. “The seolleongtang place right outside the gate is decent.”
“Hey, Lee Jihyun! You have to consider Seolah’s tastes too. What kind of first meal is seolleongtang?”
Jeong Dabin looked horrified and kept glancing at me, but I was already deep in my middle-aged-uncle phase where I couldn’t survive without rich broth.
“I’m good with it. I want something hot and comforting.”
My unexpected answer made both of them widen their eyes. In the end, we headed to the nearby seolleongtang restaurant.
Once the meal began, the conversation naturally drifted to the mess from last night. Jeong Dabin watched in fascination every time I gulped down the broth and recounted how Do Taehoon and Kang Jinwoo had reacted while helping support us.
“The guys’ faces yesterday were priceless. They really struggled taking care of you.”
Jeong Dabin laughed as she chattered, but Lee Jihyun simply ate her meat in silence, occasionally checking on me.
After the meal, Jeong Dabin left first, saying she had a group project meeting. I headed to a nearby café with Lee Jihyun.
She was a considerate friend. She hadn’t said a word while Dabin was around, but the moment we were alone, she finally brought up the real story from yesterday.
“I didn’t mention this in front of Dabin.”
Jihyun fiddled with her coffee cup, gazing out the window as she spoke quietly. “Even after we got to my place, you were no joke. You kept clutching my arm and wouldn’t let go. You kept saying ‘Gangho’ was waiting, that you had to go right now… Your face looked like you were about to cry.”
My heart sank. Shame flooded through me, but I knew this wasn’t love—it was the desperate scream of my soul fighting for survival. To Jihyun, however, it must have looked like nothing more than desperate one-sided love.
“...Sorry. I caused you a lot of trouble.”
“It’s not trouble. I was just curious. Is this Gangho guy really that incredible?”
Lee Jihyun’s calm eyes settled on my face. I swallowed the bitter coffee and answered.
“...He’s someone I need quite a lot. I can’t manage without him.”
Jihyun didn’t press further. Instead, she pulled out a diary and changed the subject.
“You saw them at my place earlier, right? The stuff on the desk.”
The broadcasting equipment I had noticed that morning. It seemed she assumed I might have looked at it.
“I’d rather you didn’t tell anyone. I need the money, that’s all. Don’t think anything weird about it.”
She was afraid of the social stigma a female college student in 2012 would face for streaming from home. I recalled my 2026 knowledge and answered casually.
“I don’t think it’s weird. Actually… that lighting setup you have. Pasting hanji on the lampshade diffuses the light too much—it’ll blur your skin texture. Layering tracing paper a few times would look much cleaner and prettier.”
Jihyun’s pen froze mid-stroke. She slowly lifted her head to stare at me with the shocked expression of someone looking at an unknown life-form.
“...How do you know that?”
Her pupils trembled, unable to find their balance. I had no intention of cornering her. If anything, the loneliness and desperation of her sitting alone under that crude hanji lighting, staring into a camera, felt eerily similar to my own soul’s current situation. A strange sense of kinship rose inside me.
I took a leisurely sip of coffee. In 2026 this was common knowledge even elementary school kids understood, but a female college student discussing lighting setups in this era would definitely not look ordinary.
“I just like taking photos, so I looked up all sorts of things.”
I gave a suitable excuse while meeting Jihyun’s eyes directly. “I thought it was just Study With Me or something, but seeing the wig and leather outfits under the desk… you’re doing cosplay too, right?”
Jihyun’s face flushed bright red in an instant. It was the expression of someone whose deepest secret had been struck head-on. She bit her lip, glanced around, then whispered in a low voice.
“...It earns more money. I don’t do anything suggestive. It’s just character costumes and chatting with viewers.”
“I know. The look in your eyes told me it wasn’t that kind of content.”
At my firm tone, the tension in Jihyun’s shoulders eased slightly. The relief of having her secret acknowledged by someone seemed to dismantle her defenses.
I didn’t miss the opening and played my card.
“Jihyun, if you ever need help with the lighting or camera setup later, just tell me. I’ll help with what I know.”
“...Why would you help me? You could just spread rumors.”
“We’ve each shared one secret, haven’t we? I’ll protect yours, and I want you to help me a little in return.”
Jihyun narrowed her eyes at my suggestion. “Huh? That Gangho guy you mentioned earlier?”
“Yeah. I need to completely melt his anger by this weekend.”
The quest deadline was the 29th. Within the remaining time, I had to make “me” completely mine or face soul deletion.
“What exactly could I help with?”
“You’re practically a professional. You have an eye for clothes, you know makeup, and… you probably understand exactly what kind of appearance makes a man lose his mind.”
Jihyun stared at me for a long moment, then let out a small, amused laugh. It was the first time I had seen her smile with her guard completely lowered.
“Cha Seolah, you really are a funny one. You act so aloof and elegant in the department.”
“I’m fighting for my life here. Literally fighting to survive.”
At my half-joking, half-serious answer, Jihyun closed her diary and nodded.
“Fine. I’ll help. But you have to keep your promise about helping with my streaming setup.”
Jihyun seemed to take my words as the lighthearted joke of someone head-over-heels in love and laughed, but the [D-13] blinking on my retina was a deadline that allowed no laughter.
To me, this wasn’t romance. It was a desperate struggle for survival.