Viona simply let out a slow, heavy sigh.
She averted her gaze from Margaret, staring straight ahead instead.
At the main entrance, an ambulance screeched to a halt with the sharp, biting sound of brakes.
Its rear doors swung wide, and nurses moved with frantic precision—the sound of hurried footsteps mingling with clipped, overlapping commands. A stretcher was rushed inside, a body lying motionless upon it—an accident victim, perhaps. The atmosphere suddenly turned chaotic, a scene of practiced panic.
Yet, all of it passed before Viona like a fleeting shadow, never truly registering in her senses. It wasn't that her eyes didn't see; it was that her mind was elsewhere.
"No one knows about this..."
Her voice finally emerged—low, intentionally hushed until it was barely a sound at all. It was more like a murmur that escaped her lips without any plan.
"I am the only one who knows the absolute truth..."
"That is why I insisted—I begged the director to take them in as trainees."
"And in the end, they all debuted as idols—with me personally as their manager, just as they had wished."
Her tone shifted once more. This time it was more wistful, lower, as if her very voice had lost the strength to sustain itself.
"What do you mean..."
Margaret's voice sounded hesitant when she finally interrupted.
Her tone was shaky, as if she herself wasn't sure whether the words she was about to speak were appropriate to utter—a vulnerability that caused Viona to turn and look directly at her.
"…that even the agency and their fans don't know they have no parents?"
Margaret's guess caused Viona to freeze for a moment.
It wasn't because of the question itself, nor was it because she felt shocked or offended. Not at all. What gave her pause was what lay hidden behind Margaret's gaze.
There was a faint glimmer of concern surfacing in her eyes—not the usual curiosity one has when hearing someone's secret. Viona even caught a trace of sincerity, faint yet undeniably real—a sincerity that made Margaret's eyes appear warm and fragile, which, in turn, made Viona smile.
"In your opinion… why am I choosing to tell this secret to you, Margaret, instead of keeping it buried for much longer?"
Margaret's shoulders jolted instantly, as if a faint electric current had just coursed through her from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes.
She had only just realized—a realization that came a moment too late—that Viona had suddenly become incredibly open with her. A wall that had seemed so solid for years, holding those secrets back from everyone, was suddenly crumbling, and Margaret was standing right there, a direct witness to the source of it all.
Margaret hurriedly swallowed hard, a small but heavy gesture that brought a slight relief to her parched throat, before she finally found her voice.
"I… I don't understand at all, Miss Viona."
"What I mean is, if this is truly something that should be kept strictly confidential, you didn't have to go this far to tell me. You could have told me something else about them instead."
A light, airy laugh escaped Viona's lips as she listened to Margaret's voice—a voice filled with politeness yet laced with an awkward stumble. Margaret was faltering, tripped up by her own confusion and her sheer inability to hide the emotions written so clearly across her face.
To Viona, she looked adorable—so genuinely endearing that it made Viona's heart feel both warm and remarkably light.
"Because I trust you."
"Because out of all the people I have ever met, you are the most sincere—the one with a truly pure heart, Margaret."
"That is why I liked you instantly. It's not just your beautiful face, but your voice, and your soul… everything about you is so lovely, like a goddess of kindness disguised as a human."
Her broad, radiant smile returned—a cheerful beam that showcased her neat, pearly white teeth once again.
"Eh? A... A goddess of kindness?"
Viona nodded vigorously, a small giggle escaping her lips as she noticed the subtle shift in Margaret's expression—had suddenly flushed a deep crimson from embarrassment, forcing the girl to duck her head.
"It's true. Only I know this truth. Not even the agency, nor their fans, have any idea."
The remnants of Viona's light, carefree laughter slowly faded, replaced by a tone that was much softer, much calmer. The shift prompted Margaret to look up, catching Viona as she gazed toward the sky, which had begun to bleed into the hues of twilight.
"That day, I was ten minutes late because I overslept."
"My apartment was only a fifteen-minute walk from the agency, but being ten minutes late—even with only a fifteen-minute commute—still felt a bit embarrassing, didn't it?"
A faint smile reappeared on Viona's face—a smile that held both amusement and a hint of self-pity for her past self that day.
"So, I decided to run as fast as I could. I didn't even look left or right, because my only focus was getting my fingerprint scanned at the agency entrance."
"However, because I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings, I didn't realize that at a narrow intersection, someone else was also running in the same direction."
"When we collided at the end of the street, neither of us had time to dodge—and eventually, we all went crashing down onto the asphalt."
She paused for a moment, letting out a soft breath—an exhale mingled with a suppressed giggle, for she found herself utterly unable to dampen the amusement that resurfaced as the memory flashed through her mind.
"Of course, I was furious. I had fallen right next to a puddle of mud, and my hand hit the water, splashing it all over my blouse. I started swearing instantly, hurling bitter words into the air."
"As I searched for the face of the person who had collided with me, my cheeks were flushed with irritation. But when my eyes finally met his, I was stunned. It wasn't a small child of five or six; it was a teenager. Yet, it wasn't his age that shocked me—it was the boy's appearance."
"He was quite tall, but his body was painfully thin. I can still see it clearly: his face was bruised, with a raw, red scratch near his temple. His clothes were tattered, filthy, and coated in dust—torn in several places as if he'd been through a war."
She paused once more. Then, slowly, Viona turned her head to the side.
Her gaze fell upon Margaret, who had been sitting there with a look of intense seriousness. Margaret's brows were slightly knit together, and her eyes were fixed on Viona with unwavering attention, as if she were determined not to miss a single detail of the story being told.
"Can you guess who that boy was, Margaret?"
Margaret didn't answer right away. Instead of speaking, she furrowed her brow deeper.
Her mind raced, sifting through every possibility—searching for a figure that fit the description Viona had just laid out. But her search only ended in a slow shake of her head.
"I have no idea, Miss Viona."
"I mean… isn't the area surrounding the Adamas Entertainment building inhabited by the elite?"
"Why would there be… I mean… a teenager looking like that?"
"From what I recall, people there often misjudge those who don't dress up to high-society standards. They'd assume someone like that was a… well… a scavenger, or someone from the lower class. Even though, in reality, that person might actually belong there. So… was that boy actually from that neighborhood?"
Margaret's voice was barely a whisper when she finally spoke. Her tone dipped lower with every few words—almost trembling—especially when she touched upon subjects she feared might be too sensitive to voice aloud.
Viona, however, offered nothing but a smile in return.
"I would have thought the same, Margaret. Because, honestly, it was rather strange."
"But he... he didn't belong there. That teenager's name was Bomsan. That is Chase's real name."
Margaret's eyes widened in sheer disbelief the moment the truth hit her. She made no effort to hide her reaction—no polite smile, no careful adjustment of her features to maintain her usual composure.
"It wasn't just Bomsan—Chase—there were other teenagers running behind him. They all skidded to a halt when they saw us staring at each other in sheer bewilderment."
"Those boys, who looked just as disheveled as Bomsan, were Jungee, Chongri, Ryu, and Hebok."
"One of them, Hebok, recognized me immediately as an agency staff member. He begged me to get them into the agency because he wanted to become an idol... all so he could take revenge on the people who looked down on them—the lower class, the ones deemed weak, helpless, and unworthy of life. Hebok wanted to prove that they didn't always have to beg for mercy from those who lived better lives."
Margaret's spine snapped taut, as if jerked by an invisible thread—an instinctive, automatic reflex that took hold of her before she could even process what was happening to her body.
Her mind raced backward, leaping through time to a few hours ago. Those specific words echoed in her head—weak, helpless, unworthy of life—colliding violently with the fragments of Chase's story she had heard from his own lips at the cafe earlier.
"Of course, I rejected them immediately."
"I couldn't just bring someone—anyone—into the agency on a whim, let alone grant their request to become idols."
Like a delicate touch pulling her from the depths of a daydream, the voice made Margaret give a small start, as if she had only just realized she'd strayed too far into the corridors of her own mind.
In that instant, her scattered focus began to drift back, tethered by the sound of Viona's voice as it rose again.
"But it wasn't just Hebok who had that burning resolve... it turned out they all shared the same dream, including Bomsan."
"Of all the eyes staring at me that day, it was only Bomsan's gaze that felt impossible to refuse. In the end, I gave in and brought them all to the agency."
Viona paused once more.
The baby in her womb began to press against her stomach, a gradual, rhythmic weight. Her body reacted instinctively; her hand rose, slowly stroking the curve of her belly while soft, tender murmurs escaped her lips—whispers filled with a mother's deep affection and care.
"And then… did the situation become… unpleasant?"
Margaret's voice was barely a whisper, her tone dipping—almost trembling—as she touched upon words that felt too sensitive to speak aloud.
Viona didn't look offended; instead, she met Margaret's gaze with a bittersweet smile. Her eyes grew misty as she continued, the weight of that memory resurfacing.
"I felt like a suspect under interrogation,"
"The glares from everyone in the agency felt as though they were piercing through my very soul. All because I had brought in children whose appearance was deemed utterly unacceptable in a place like that."
"The Director even lashed out at me. He accused me of being late because I'd 'wasted time' bringing them here—even though I told him I simply overslept. He sneered at them, calling them nothing more than stupid brats with no pedigree and absolutely zero talent for the music industry."
"The five of them were on the verge of being kicked out. But then, Bomsan spoke up. His voice was raspy and heavy, as if he were choking back pain, yet he stated firmly that they could sing… that they could dance. Hearing that, the Director's sour expression finally softened, and he allowed them to show what they could do in front of all the producers."
Viona came to a halt once more. She let out a long, weighted sigh, then took one more deep breath before continuing.
"And as it happens… it caught me completely off guard."
"They performed 'My Beloved Bride,' a track by their seniors, MACHINE. That song—and its choreography—is legendary for being the most difficult in their discography. Even the fans, or anyone who attempted the dance cover challenge for MACHINE's 7th anniversary, could barely come close to perfecting it."
"But Bomsan, Jungee, Chongri, Ryu, and Hebok… they made that song feel as if it were destined for them. Every detail, every movement was flawless. It was enough to leave anyone breathless."
"TJ, the leader of MACHINE, happened to be there by chance. He stood there, frozen, mesmerized by their performance. Even after the music faded, he was the first one to clap—and without a moment's hesitation, he asked the CEO to recruit them as trainees right then and there."
"That very day, those five boys officially became trainees for the new debut program, CHASEMINE. When they finally debuted, I became their manager… because they chose me. It was their way of saying thank you—for giving them the chance to come with me that day."
"So, that's the story, Margaret—that's how the members of CHASEMINE came to be."