Mr. Lee Min-hyuk stood in the doorway to his perfect garden, his briefcase in hand, and surveyed the scene of utter chaos. His wife was demonstrating a "demonic giraffe" pose to a giggling Mrs. Yoo. His friend and neighbor, Yoo Jae-man, was drunkenly explaining stock options to the new Ukrainian exchange student. The empty bottle of horilka sat on the table like a trophy.
"Aish... What the fuck is going on here?!" he finally muttered, loud enough to cut through the laughter.
The party died instantly.
"Yeobo!" Mrs. Lee shrieked, suddenly sober.
Mr. Lee just pinched the bridge of his nose, his dentist's-office patience worn thin. He looked at the four teenagers, all frozen in various states of mortification: Ha-neul, still clutching a pair of tongs; Myung-Dae, looking like he'd rather be anywhere on earth; Chae-rin, pale with fury at her parents' behavior; and San, the clear catalyst for the entire disaster.
Mr. Lee's eyes softened as he spotted Chae-rin's little sister, Yuna, asleep on a lounge chair, her doll clutched to her chest.
"Okay," Mr. Lee said, his voice dangerously calm. "Kids. Go. All of you."
"But, Abeoji, the short ribs..." Ha-neul started.
"Go for a walk. Now." His gaze was absolute. He then looked at the sleeping girl. "Chae-rin-ah, leave Yuna. I'll have one of the staff take her home. I will... deal with this."
It was a rescue. The four of them didn't need to be told twice. They practically teleported out of the garden, grabbing their backpacks and fleeing the sound of Mrs. Lee starting a high-pitched, giggly explanation.
They walked in the most awkward silence San had ever experienced. The perfect, high-security neighborhood was dead quiet at night, the only sound their four sets of sneakers on the pristine pavement.
Myung-Dae was in his usual uniform: hands in pockets, beanie low, plaster stark on his nose. Chae-rin had her arms crossed, radiating a frosty aura that had nothing to do with the cool night air. Ha-neul was just sulking, probably mourning the beef.
San, the "global ambassador," felt the silence like a physical weight. He had to say something.
"So... that was... fun," he tried, his voice sounding way too loud. "Your parents are... lively, Chae-rin-ssi."
Chae-rin stopped, spun on him, and hissed, "Don't. Talk."
Myung-Dae just scoffed.
"I didn't even get to try the ribs," Ha-neul muttered.
"Ha-neul you literally devoured your plate."
She poked Myung-dae by the side.
The silence slammed back down, heavier this time. San's mind raced. What did people do in K-dramas?How did they become friends? He'd seen it a dozen times. They went to karaoke.
"I know!" he announced, clapping his hands together. "Let's go to the noraebang!"
The other three stopped dead and stared at him as if he'd just suggested they set the principal's car on fire.
"A noraebang?" Chae-rin said, her voice dripping with scorn. "Here? In this neighborhood? Are you an idiot? It's all houses."
"No, not a noraebang!" San said, getting excited. "A building! I saw it last night when I was... out." He glanced at Myung-Dae. "By the workout park. It looked like a... a clubhouse or something!"
Without waiting, he strode forward, grabbed Ha-neul's wrist, and, in a move of pure, foolish bravery, snagged the sleeve of Myung-Dae's hoodie. "Come on! It'll be fun!"
"Ya! 'Mountain'! Get your hands off me!" Myung-Dae snarled, but he was being dragged.
"This is the stupidest idea I've ever heard," Chae-rin muttered. But she followed, because the only alternative was going back to the garden of drunk chaebols.
The building was exactly what San had guessed: a sleek, exclusive neighborhood clubhouse.
"It's locked, you idiot," Chae-rin snapped.
Ha-neul let out a long-suffering sigh, pulled a keycard from her wallet, and beeped the door open. The inside was plush, silent, and smelled like expensive wood. Down a carpeted hall, San found it: a high-tech, private karaoke room that looked more like a recording studio.
"Yes!" he yelled, grabbing the tablet-like song controller. His K-drama dreams were coming true.
"San-ssi, if you sing a boring ballad, I'm leaving," Ha-neul warned, sinking into a leather sofa.
"Oh, don't worry."
San scrolled until he found the song. AOA. "짧은 치마 (Miniskirt)."
He grabbed the mic. The music started.
He was... terrible. He tried his best to copy the iconic, swaying AOA choreography, but he was all sharp elbows and gangly legs. He was a human traffic cone trying to be sexy. But he sang his heart out, his pronunciation surprisingly clear.
Myung-Dae was the first to break. A sharp, barking laugh escaped him. Beside him, Ha-neul snorted, her hand flying to her mouth. They glanced at each other, caught in a rare moment of shared amusement, and immediately stopped, turning away with matching scowls.
Chae-rin just had her face in her hands, her whole body rigid with second-hand embarrassment. "I can't watch this." But as San attempted a final, disastrous leg-kick-and-hip-roll combo, a small, choked chuckle escaped her.
San finished with a dramatic pose. "See? Fun! My singing's not that bad, right?"
"It's... not terrible. For a foreigner," Chae-rin admitted, lowering her hand. "Your dancing, however, is a crime against humanity."
"Okay, okay, girls first!" San said, still pumped with adrenaline. "Ha-neul-ssi?"
"Pass," Ha-neul said, opening a bag of chips she'd found.
"Chae-rin-ssi! Show me how it's done!"
Chae-rin scoffed. But she saw the genuine, idiotic enthusiasm on San's face. She saw the challenge. She snatched the mic from his hand. "Fine. Watch a professional."
She didn't pick a ballad. She typed in a code. Lee Hyori. "10 Minutes."
The iconic beat dropped. And Yoo Chae-rin transformed. The Ice Queen vanished. In her place was a performer. She didn't just sing; she commanded the room. Her voice was flawless, her moves were sharp, fluid, and full of a charisma that was downright blinding. She even gave San a warm, playful smile during the chorus.
San was gone. His jaw was on the floor.
He was sitting between Myung-Dae and Ha-neul. Myung-Dae, looking profoundly bored, reached over with one finger and pushed San's jaw shut.
"Close it, 'Mountain.' You're drooling. She's a YG trainee. You should expect no less."
"A... a trainee?" San whispered, his eyes still glued to Chae-rin. "Like... YG? Bigbang? 2NE1?"
"She's wanted to be an idol since she was six," Ha-neul whispered from his other side, her eyes on the screen. "She's been training for years. She's not just a 'pretty face'... she's the real deal."
Chae-rin finished with a perfect pose, breathing hard, flushed, and clearly pleased with San's dumbstruck reaction. She tossed the mic onto the sofa in front of Myung-Dae. "Your turn, rebel."
Myung-Dae didn't take it. "I don't sing."
Chae-rin just pierced him with a look. Cold. Challenging. "Sing, Myung-Dae."
With a growl of annoyance, he snatched the mic. He scrolled past all the hip-hop, past the rock, and landed on a song San didn't recognize. A slow, quiet piano intro began. It was a ballad.
And then he sang.
San was shocked. The guy with the beanie, the sharp eyes, and the bad attitude... his voice was... beautiful. It was gentle, clear, perfectly in key, and full of a raw, aching sadness that felt incredibly real.
San stared, amazed. He glanced over at Ha-neul, to see if she was as surprised as he was.
She wasn't watching. She was staring at her own hands, which were clenched so tightly in her lap that her knuckles were white. Her face was pale.
As Myung-Dae's voice swelled into the chorus, his eyes closed, Ha-neul stood up. She didn't say a word. She just turned, her movements stiff, and stormed out of the karaoke room, slamming the door behind her.
The music stopped.
"Ha-neul?" San said, confused. "What's wrong?" He stood up to follow her.
"Don't."
Chae-rin's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, her grip surprisingly strong. Her face was no longer playful. It was serious.
"Just... leave her. It's not about you."