Katrina immediately snatched the phone from Xevonia's hand.
"I know them too… but I didn't expect you to pay attention to more than one member."
She placed two fingers on the phone screen, zooming in on the image until every detail was clearer. Following that, she slowly swiped the screen sideways, as if scrolling through all the photos on the phone.
"Compared to the others, Gomsuk Oppa truly dominates everything. He can sing, dance, and even take part as a rapper. I'm certain… without a doubt, he will be the group's leader."
Her hand was still busy swiping the screen, this time faster, more hastily—as if what she was searching for was a lost petal among the lush garden.
"I'm curious… where did you get all these pictures of them? It's impossible for you to have been there in person, right?"
"Did you take them from the television, or did you ask an acquaintance for help to do it?"
"And… is Gomsuk Oppa among those pictures? I want to save them, maybe as wallpaper for my phone and iPad."
She fired all her questions without glancing up even once.
Then, just as she was still engrossed in her activity, a hand—slow yet firm—reached out and took the phone: it was Demy.
"If Gomsuk Oppa becomes the leader, then Sehan Oppa will be the center, won't he?"
"He took first place with over two million votes, while Gomsuk Oppa was in second place. Regarding the positions they will take, the agency hasn't officially announced it yet. Maybe soon. What's certain is that Bunhang Oppa will be the group's youngest member, while Gomsuk Oppa is the oldest."
She also swiped the phone screen back and forth.
"Xevonia… you have pictures of Sehan Oppa too, right? Come on, give them all to me. I prefer the quality of these pictures rather than having to screenshot from my phone, let alone take photos from the television."
And just like that, their conversation expanded like small waves creeping up to the shore—it never truly stopped, only growing wider and louder.
They became completely absorbed in a talk that seemed endless, while other clusters around Margaret were also drowning in similar commotion. No one returned to their seats, as if the seven o'clock bell, which was about to ring, was merely a passing breeze.
On the other side, Margaret turned up the volume of her earphones. The chime of the music filled her auditory space, sweeping away the other voices like a thin fog engulfing a city in the early morning.
She chose to be absorbed in the melody, not the conversation.
Then her inner voice spoke:
"What's so interesting about discussing useless things like that?"
"If I told them that I already know the group's name from the idol survival program that my father organized, and even the name of their fandom… would that surprise them more than knowing who will debut?"
"But I myself am not interested in the idol world or anything related to it. It's a complete waste of time, and money."
She closed her eyes, letting the gentle instruments envelop her head.
She exhaled once more—shorter, more weary, yet still striving for tranquility. She leaned back, letting the chair support her body like small wings wanting to rest the world.
But just as she began to drift into the warmth of the melody—
CRASH!
Someone slammed a hand on the desk. The sound was like a thunderclap striking from a clear sky.
Margaret flinched, her body leaping from her seat, her breath snatched away from the rhythm of the song.
"Margaret!"