“You’ve got to be kidding,” Jisoo said the moment Yoon Hana walked into the sleek penthouse apartment. He hadn’t even looked up from his phone — just sensed her presence, heard her boots hit the floor — and decided she wasn’t worth the attention.

She wasn’t his type. Too blunt. Too average. Too… real.

“You said that already,” Hana replied, tossing her canvas tote onto the chair like she owned the place. “You wanna keep going, or should we skip to the insults?”

Jisoo looked up this time, brows lifting slightly. Okay, maybe not entirely average. Her eyes were sharp. Mouth quick. Like she was ready to chew glass and spit it back with interest.

Minjae stepped between them with the enthusiasm of someone used to managing nuclear tension. “Wonderful start. I love the banter. You’ll be a fan-favorite couple in no time. Now — let’s get to the agreement.”

He pulled out his tablet and started reading like a lawyer on caffeine.

“Rule One: You will publicly date for one hundred days. That includes red carpet events, café dates, livestreams, couple selfies. The whole parasocial menu.”

Hana narrowed her eyes. “You want me to livestream with Korea’s top idol like it’s a mukbang date?”

Minjae didn’t blink. “Exactly. And you’ll smile while doing it.”

Jisoo groaned. “This is humiliating.”

“Rule Two,” Minjae continued, “You’ll live under the same roof but in separate rooms. Boundaries will be respected unless the media demands otherwise.”

Hana smirked. “So no midnight scandals, got it.”

“Rule Three,” Minjae said, eyes locking with both of them, “Absolutely no real emotions. No kissing unless scripted. No dating off-camera. No… funny business.”

“Define ‘funny business,’” Jisoo muttered.

Minjae ignored him.

“Rule Four: If either of you breaks the contract, you owe the agency damages equivalent to the brand deals lost. That’s roughly” he tapped a few numbers on his calculator,“ — two billion won.”

Hana choked. “Two billion?!”

“You’re not gonna mess this up, right?” Jisoo said, smirking now. “Try not to catch feelings.”

She snorted. “I’d rather fall for my espresso machine.”

Later that night, after signing the contract and receiving the agency-issued couple wardrobe, Hana stood in the doorway of her new bedroom. She stared across the hall where Jisoo’s door remained closed, a glowing “Do Not Disturb” light blinking under it like a warning.

She sighed.

This wasn’t how she imagined using her psychology degree. Or her twenties.

But the money would save her café, pay off her mother’s hospital debt, and maybe — just maybe — buy her some time to breathe.

“Just 100 days,” she whispered, pulling the door shut behind her.

Outside, in the dark hallway, Jisoo was still awake — leaning against his side of the wall, headphones off.

He’d heard her.

And for a second, just one second, he didn’t feel like the idol everyone thought he was.