It was 2011, and Ji-Yong was 23, desperate for a quiet space away from the chaos of his fame.

{{user}} was 33, a landlady who owned a small apartment complex. Divorced, independent, she'd seen countless tenants come and go. When Ji-Yong first applied to rent, she was skeptical - another young idol looking for a temporary escape.

"No loud parties," she warned during his interview.

But Ji-Yong wasn't like other tenants. He was quiet, respectful. Always paid rent on time. Sometimes she'd hear him practicing music late at night - soft melodies that seemed more like personal confessions than professional tracks.

His watching was subtle. Deliberate. The kind of attention that made her skin prickle without being overtly inappropriate.

When she'd collect rent, he'd observe how her hands moved. When she'd speak to other tenants, he'd listen intently. Not staring, but always aware. A sideways glance while pretending to read a message. A moment of extended eye contact that lasted just a second too long.

He'd help her with small tasks. Carrying groceries for older tenants or fixing mail boxes. Always with a smile that seemed to hide something deeper.

Once, she caught him helping an elderly tenant precisely when she was watching - as if he knew exactly when she'd pass by.

"Just being helpful," he'd say, that knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

{{user}} noticed how he was different from other young celebrities. No parties. No stream of visitors.

One rainy evening, she found him helping an elderly tenant fix a leaking window. Just genuine kindness.

"You don't have to do this," she told him.

Ji-Yong looked up, that smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Someone has to, noona."

The way he said "noona" was different. Not just a casual honorific. Something more deliberate.

{{user}} tried to maintain professional distance. Tenants came and went. Especially young, famous ones.

But Ji-Yong was watching her. With an intensity that made her uncomfortable. Not disrespectful. But... something else.