Chapter 46: The Relativity of the Runway

A pale purple yoga mat was spread out like a lonely island in the center of the living room.

When Kang Jae-hoon pushed open the door, Lee Sung-kyung was holding a plank position.

"Want some?"

He rattled a chilled watermelon inside a plastic bag.

"Put it in the crisper."

"Oh."

Kang Jae-hoon placed the watermelon in the refrigerator, walked back to his room to retrieve a laminated invitation from the drawer, and crept to the edge of the yoga mat.

"Sung-kyung, can I bring someone with me tomorrow?"

"Who?"

"Hyung-shik. He said he wants to observe a top model's runway aura."

"Family passes only admit one person."

Lee Sung-kyung remained frozen in her posture, completely unmoving.

Kang Jae-hoon lifted the ticket toward the ceiling light: "But there's no name written on it. Look at this..."

"If Park Hyung-shik wants to watch the show, he can beg the brand himself. My invitation is not a sightseeing bus ticket."

"What if I stuff Hyung-shik into a suitcase? He's lost weight recently..."

Lee Sung-kyung suddenly turned her head, her sharp gaze making him swallow the rest of his sentence.

A moment of silence followed.

"Sung-kyung—"

Kang Jae-hoon suddenly reached out and poked her tensed waist.

Lee Sung-kyung's balancing arms instantly trembled, and her entire body collapsed onto the yoga mat.

"Hey! Have you got a death wish?!"

"If you're walking the runway tomorrow, you should be resting right now."

"None of your business."

"Overtraining leads to rhabdomyolysis."

"Get lost."

Instead, Kang Jae-hoon sat cross-legged on the edge of the yoga mat, refusing to budge:

"Sung-kyung wouldn't want to pee blood during the fashion show, would she?"

"Thump!"

Lee Sung-kyung rolled over, grabbed a foam roller, and swept it horizontally.

Kang Jae-hoon clutched his struck arm:

"Murdering a family member is a crime!"

"Who admitted you were family?"

"It's written on the invitation!"

"That's for security checks!"

Lee Sung-kyung grabbed the foam roller and swept it horizontally once more.

As Kang Jae-hoon leaned backward to dodge, he carelessly slammed the back of his head hard against the glass coffee table.

The dull thud made even the air conditioner louvers tremble.

"Hiss—"

He instantly curled up like a shrimp, clutching his head.

Lee Sung-kyung froze for a second, then hurriedly knelt over to pry open his palm, checking his scalp against the light:

"Let me see."

The moment her fingertips touched the scorching swollen bump, Kang Jae-hoon let out a miserable shriek.

"You're just too stupid to live."

Rolling her eyes, she stood up, retrieved an ice pack from the freezer, wrapped it in a towel, and pressed it heavily onto his bump.

"Sung-kyung."

"Speak."

"Your mascara is smudged."

"I'm not wearing makeup."

"Then why are there stars flashing in your eyes? Or are they a limited-edition galaxy series."

"That's just a hallucination from your concussion."

Lee Sung-kyung suddenly exerted force and pressed down, kneading him much like a lump of dough.

Kang Jae-hoon sucked in a breath of cold air from the pain:

"Hiss— lighter... But, if I got a concussion and lost my memory, would Sung-kyung reintroduce herself to me?"

Lee Sung-kyung's fingers gripping the ice pack suddenly tightened.

The pulse beneath her fingertips skipped two beats, and the blue light of her fitness tracker flashed urgently on her wrist.

The neatly compartmentalized chicken breasts and instant rice balls in the fridge, the unpeeled "toilet seat lift warning" sticker on the toilet lid, the card hidden inside the dumbbell box on her birthday—these fragmented memories suddenly flashed before her eyes like a revolving lantern.

"I'd just send you straight to the morgue of *The Master's Sun* to be a background prop."

Lee Sung-kyung tightened her grip on the ice pack towel, as if trying to choke out those untimely memories—like the elephant-print beach shorts he brought back from Thailand, which were currently swaying in the breeze on the balcony drying rack.

The moonlight quietly shifted half an inch.

When Lee Sung-kyung's fitness tracker lit up with a sleep reminder, Kang Jae-hoon's snoring had already drifted throughout the living room, mixed with the sweet freshness of watermelon.

Seven-thirty in the morning.

Kang Jae-hoon was jolted awake by his phone alarm; the bump on the back of his head had mostly subsided.

The sticky note on the fridge was gilded pale gold by the morning light, Lee Sung-kyung's handwriting as sharp as a knife blade:

[Dare to be late and you're dead.]

Hwang Jung-min's tailored suit hung behind the door inside a dust cover.

This was the suit custom-made when he won Best Actor at an international film festival (the 15th Montreal Fantasia International Film Festival) for the first time with *The Unjust*.

The bathroom mirror was wiped crystal clear, and the razor glided smoothly along Kang Jae-hoon's jawline.

The Dior perfume gifted by Lee Sung-kyung sat on the edge of the vanity—the memory of her tossing it casually was still vivid: "Promotional freebie."

"Three pumps, wrists, behind the ears."

He muttered to himself following the instructions, the mist of fragrance landing on his pulse points, the dry-down of cedar and amber much heavier than anticipated.

The shoulder lines of the suit fit perfectly, save for the sleeve length being shorter by half an inch.

His Oxford shoes were polished to a mirror shine, the laces tied in a standard European knot.

When the full-length mirror reflected his tall and upright figure, Kang Jae-hoon felt a momentary trance—Hwang Jung-min's battle armor radiated an unpolished, youthful sharpness when worn by him.

The spring and summer fashion week was held at Dongdaemun.

Outside the photo wall, the media area was rigged with bazooka-like camera lenses.

Just as Kang Jae-hoon was staring blankly at the admission guide sign, someone patted his shoulder—Park Hyung-shik smugly waved his pass.

"How did you...?"

"Woo-bin hyung helped me get it."

Fashion week was divided into exhibition halls and the main venue.

The exhibition halls were open to everyone, mainly providing an opportunity for major brands to showcase new products. Most people here were buyers, brand directors, and overseas purchasing agents.

Admission was simple, requiring only an online application.

The main venue was the runway, where the threshold was comparatively higher.

General spectators usually couldn't enter; entry was strictly by brand invitation.

Typically, attendees consisted of celebrities, KOL social media bloggers, and brand directors.

As a well-known model, it certainly wasn't difficult for Kim Woo-bin to secure a pass.

Park Hyung-shik walked around, sizing up Kang Jae-hoon's attire:

"Still, hyung, you look like a chaebol director here to inspect a merger project."

"Borrowed it from my teacher."

"No wonder it has that Chungmuro old-money vibe."

"What's an old-money vibe?"

"You don't even know that and you're coming to a fashion show?"

"..."

Once the two of them walked into the show venue.

Kang Jae-hoon finally understood the meaning of the "old-money vibe"—

Distressed denim suits, male models wearing suits with nothing underneath, trendsetters wearing fishnet stockings as scarves...

His old-money style suit looked like a guidance counselor who had accidentally wandered into a nightclub, drawing extra glances even from the reporters passing by.

Family section, Row F, Seat 27, was located right at the very end of the runway.

Park Hyung-shik clicked his tongue at the narrow viewing angle: "If I'd known, I would've brought binoculars."

"Be grateful you even get to watch."

Kang Jae-hoon took his seat calmly, his elbow accidentally bumping into the arm of the man sitting next to him.

"Pardon me." He turned slightly to gesture an apology.

"No worries."

The other man turned a page of the show booklet: "These seats really are cramped."

As the influx of entering crowds grew denser.

Kang Jae-hoon, for the fifth time, retracted his legs and turned sideways to make way, finally catching a clear view of the man's profile next to him.

"Senior Lee Jong-suk?" he asked hesitantly.

Lee Jong-suk turned his head from the booklet, his aegyo-sal blooming with a polite smile:

"Yes, that's me."

The year 2013 was a breakout year for Lee Jong-suk's career.

With his first male lead role in *I Can Hear Your Voice*, he leaped overnight from a "rookie actor" to an "A-list star."

The currently trending film in theaters, *The Face Reader*, had further skyrocketed his popularity.

"Hello, senior, I am rookie actor Kang Jae-hoon."

Lee Jong-suk was not unfamiliar with this name.

Not through works or his connection with Hwang Jung-min, but from hearing about him numerous times in Lee Sung-kyung's everyday complaints.

Before Kang Jae-hoon's voice had even faded, half a surprised face peeked out from beside him:

"Jong-suk hyung?"

Lee Jong-suk's gaze swept past Kang Jae-hoon: "Hyung-shik?"

"God, it really is you, hyung!"

Park Hyung-shik had met him the previous year.

Back then, Lee Jong-suk was still hosting *Inkigayo*, and even though ZE:A was a niche group, they still had to promote their music.

Their relationship, however, had remained merely at the level of acquaintances.

Lee Jong-suk smiled at Park Hyung-shik, revealing his signature bracket-shaped dimples:

"What has Hyung-shik been up to lately?"

"I'm filming writer Kim Eun-sook's new drama, *The Heirs*."

Saying this, he patted Kang Jae-hoon's shoulder:

"Jae-hoon hyung is also acting in this drama."

Hearing this, Lee Jong-suk fixed his gaze on Kang Jae-hoon's cheekbones—

His chestnut-brown short hair formed a subtle color contrast with his naturally dark, thick eyebrows.

The bridge of his nose was an uncarved, natural bone structure.

His face carried a cool, pale texture, yet his suit cuffs were short enough to expose the protruding wheat-toned wrist bones.

This appearance was vastly different from the "ordinary" description Lee Sung-kyung had given, carrying even more wildness than Hyun Bin during his *Secret Garden* era.

"Writer Kim Eun-sook's new project?"

He naturally picked up the conversation: "A great opportunity, keep it up."

Lee Jong-suk's encouragement carried a standard senior tone, yet it lacked any perfunctoriness—

He had also initially entered the public eye through Kim Eun-sook's hit drama *Secret Garden*, playing a gay role with just two minutes of screen time per episode.

The sudden blackout of the runway lights interrupted any desire the three of them had to continue chatting.

The electronic screen lit up with the fluorescent text: [SEOUL FASHION WEEK SS14].

Industrial rock mixed with electronic beats exploded.

An electric current pierced through the darkness, laser beams on both sides of the runway intersecting into a dome, flashbulbs at the front row flashing wildly—the opening model appeared, stepping to the rhythm of the drums.

Lee Sung-kyung was the seventh to take the stage.

The crushed-diamond tassels on the blue pearl brim of her hat swayed lightly with her catwalk, white lace cuffs brushed against the ink-splatter print of her black skirt, and her arrogant expression was identical to the one she wore when Kang Jae-hoon was caught red-handed stealing her pudding from the fridge.

When she locked into her pose.

The peripheral vision of her eyes, which should have been locked onto the camera lens, unconsciously drifted toward the very last row of the family section—

In the dim silhouette of the family seats, an out-of-place, old-school suit had its shoe tips swaying to the beat.

The muscles at the corner of Lee Sung-kyung's lips twitched for 0.3 seconds, and her pearly teeth bit down on her inner cheek to suppress an instinctive smile.

Yet, not a single person at the scene noticed the flaw in the moment she turned back—

Like a glacier cracking open with the spring thaw, only to be instantly frozen back into its original shape by professional discipline.

"Hyung, was that model just now Lee Sung-kyung?"

Park Hyung-shik's elbow jabbed into Kang Jae-hoon's ribs: "She looks like a completely different person from the photos in your photo album!"

The corners of Kang Jae-hoon's mouth instantly split all the way to his ears:

"Cool, right?"

"That hair flip during the pose—crack!"

Park Hyung-shik imitated Lee Sung-kyung raising her chin: "Her expression was like she was saying 'everyone sitting here is trash,' absolutely insane!" K"Sung-kyung won the Super Model Contest, after all."

"Hyung's expression right now looks like a proud dad whose daughter just got accepted into SKY."

Park Hyung-shik nudged him again, teasingly:

(Note: SKY = Seoul National University, Korea University, and Yonsei University, the three top universities in South Korea.)

"Me? No way."

Kang Jae-hoon rubbed his face: "Watch the show, just watch the show."

When Lee Sung-kyung returned to the runway wearing her second outfit, Kang Jae-hoon's spine was braced straighter than Park Hyung-shik's shoulder pads.

Park Hyung-shik stole a glance at his glowing pupils, with only one thought crossing his mind.

—Krystal Jung is in danger.

When Lee Sung-kyung retreated behind the curtain after displaying her second outfit.

Kang Jae-hoon caught sight out of the corner of his eye of Lee Jong-suk locking his phone screen and placing it face-down on his lap.

At first, he didn't think much of it.

Until Lee Sung-kyung stepped onto the stage in her third outfit—that senior, who had been intently adjusting his phone camera, was precisely tracking his framing box along with Lee Sung-kyung's runway steps.

Only then did Kang Jae-hoon realize something was amiss.

"Is senior a fan of Lee Sung-kyung?" The words slipped out before he realized how presumptuous they sounded.

"We're senior and junior from the same company."

"Her agency is Y+."

"It's called YG KPlus now."

"Sung-kyung never mentioned that."

"And you are?" Lee Jong-suk asked, knowing full well who he was.

"Her roommate."

"Perhaps she just felt it wasn't important?"

Lee Jong-suk slowly put away his phone, his smiling eyes curving into crescents in the dark:

"Sung-kyung is very special. She's a kind soul who would hold an umbrella for stray cats in a heavy downpour, and when she smiles, she's as warm as the early spring sun."

The mineral water bottle in Kang Jae-hoon's palm emitted a brittle crack of unbearable pressure:

"Senior observes things quite meticulously."

"An actor always has to capture details of everyday life."

"But Sung-kyung is afraid of cats, she wouldn't in the rain..."

"People change all the time, don't they?"

Sensing the gunpowder in their dialogue, Park Hyung-shik turned his head and saw that the person playing the gentle campus elite in *The Heirs* was currently crushing a mineral water bottle into a dense web of creases with his knuckles.

Their conversation came to a halt when the first show ended.

As the runway lights dimmed, Lee Jong-suk stood up to straighten the hem of his jacket:

"I'm heading to the backstage to deliver flowers. Do you two have any messages to pass along?"

"No."

"Tell Sung-kyung noona her runway aura was insane!" Park Hyung-shik raised his hand.

As Lee Jong-suk left the seats holding a bouquet, Kang Jae-hoon's Adam's apple involuntarily rolled. Staring at the edge of the runway, he suddenly felt that the look Lee Sung-kyung had swept across the family section when turning around was like an ice pick—shattering that worthless bit of possessiveness.

"Where are you going, hyung?"

Park Hyung-shik looked up at Kang Jae-hoon, who had abruptly stood up.

"Back to the set."

"You don't have any scenes on today's call sheet, do you?"

"Added last minute."

"I didn't see any notice in the group ch—"

Catching sight of the bulging veins on the other man's clenched fists, Park Hyung-shik abruptly fell silent.

The fashion week backstage was drifting with the scents of perfume and hairspray.

While Lee Sung-kyung was chatting with a colleague, Lee Jong-suk's bouquet already blocked the door crack.

"Congrats on your debut show, your runway presence was solid."

Lee Sung-kyung took the lily bouquet and sniffed it:

"Thanks."

"Your roommate practically interrogated me like a rival in love just now."

"What did you guys talk about?"

"I told him we were dating—"

Lee Sung-kyung's eyes widened, and she chucked the bouquet straight at him: "Lee Jong-suk!"

"What are you panicking for?" He dodged the bouquet with a smile. "Didn't you say he was just a roommate?"

"Aish..."

Before she could finish, Lee Sung-kyung's high heels were already clattering across the floor covered in fallen petals as she rushed down the corridor.

The head of security was arguing with a colleague when a hand was abruptly clapped onto his shoulder:

"Where is the person from Row F, Seat 27 in the family section?"

"You mean the guy who dressed like he was here to do a tax audit?"

The head of security pointed toward the fire exit: "He left five minutes ago, and even spent a long time using the signature wall as a mirror."

Ten-centimeter stiletto heels tapped out a machine-gun-like rat-a-tat against the steps.

The instant the fire door banged against the wall, Lee Sung-kyung only managed to catch a fleeting glimpse of the tip of an Oxford shoe flashing through the revolving doors.

She rushed forward and grabbed the back of someone wearing a black suit:

"Kang Jae-hoon!"

The man turned around, looking bewildered.

"......Sorry, wrong person."

Lee Sung-kyung stepped back two paces.

"Kang Jae-hoon!"

The heat wave hit them full force outside the Dongdaemun venue.

After grabbing the wrong target for the third time, she finally collapsed onto a metal bench, banging her high heels together with a loud clatter:

"I must be out of my mind to have chased after him!"

"Ma'am."

A coffee shop employee poked their head out of the window: "Would you like to buy a cold drink?"

"Give me the bitterest iced Americano you have!"

She reached into her leather jacket's inner pocket, only to realize her phone was still backstage.

As she turned to head back into the venue, her gaze inadvertently swept across the revolving door—

Kang Jae-hoon was being blocked in his tracks by Jessica Jung's pointed-toe heels. The ice princess's crossed arms and upturned chin looked for all the world like a prosecutor interrogating a tax evader.