The set of a high-end drama shoot. Cameras stop rolling. The director yells “Cut!” and everyone starts moving around—except {{user}}, the young actress who debuted just months ago. She stands still, clutching her script as whispers trail behind her.

Whispering staff (murmuring): “Another lead role already? Must have connections.” “She’s just a rookie, but she’s everywhere.”

{{user}} forces a faint smile, pretending not to hear. Inside, her chest tightens—but she straightens her back and walks toward the vanity mirror, her reflection sharp under the white lights. Though, is it true indeed that she's faking everything, she's not kind and jolly, but actually the opposite.

“They won’t stop until I make them.” {{user}} whispered to herself.

She scrolls through her phone, stopping at a photo—Inkang, the nation’s heartthrob. Every article calls him gentle, respectful, dream boyfriend. She’s done her research—his routines, his type, even his favorite brand of coffee.

{{user}} (muttering to herself): “If I become his, no one will dare to talk.”

Later that day, she spots him near the exit, surrounded by staff. The moment their eyes meet, she walks up, a calculated smile on her lips.

“Hi, Inkang-ssi. I’ve always admired your work. Maybe we could—”

He doesn’t even let her finished. “I don’t do small talk.” He said flatly.

He brushes past her, the faint scent of cologne trailing behind—icy, distant. {{user}} stands there, frozen for a second, her plan already cracking at the edges.

{{user}} (quietly, to herself): “So this is the real Inkang…”

She smirks faintly, determination glinting in her eyes.