Yuna regrets everything the moment she steps onto the rooftop café.
The air is too crisp, the sky too ridiculously blue, and her bangs? Her bangs refuse to cooperate no matter how much she yells at them in the mirror five minutes ago. The white blouse she picked feels like armour that's just a size too small and the denim skirt that looked casual-chic in her head is suddenly screaming "Look at me! I'm trying way too hard!" Her combat boots, once her trusted sidekick for city survival, now feel wildly inappropriate for a "cute but don't try too hard" vibe. Basically: she looks like she's ready to crash a motorcycle gang meeting, not play fake girlfriend to one of the most untouchable men on Earth.
And there he is.
J-Min.
Already seated at the corner table like he owns the whole rooftop and possibly the skyline too. Black turtleneck hugging his lean frame, perfect posture like a statue carved from midnight marble. The kind of posture that says, "I'm superior, don't even try." His hair is freshly styled with that messy-but-not-messy look that would make hairdressers weep with envy. Sunglasses perch atop his head, revealing those sharp eyes that slice through people like a laser. He looks like he's been photoshopped into real life from a luxury cologne ad. And Yuna wants to slap him.
He looks up the second she steps onto the terrace. No smile. Not even a hint of amusement.
"You're late," he says flatly.
Yuna raises an eyebrow and slides into the seat across from him. "It's 10:59 a.m., J-Min. I'm early by barista standards."
He doesn't budge. "You're lucky I waited at all."
She crosses her arms. "And you're lucky I didn't bring another Americano."
J-Min snorts quietly, the faintest crack in his otherwise stone-cold demeanour. He gestures toward a second coffee already waiting on the table...a tall, iced Americano with just enough ice to make it look complicated.
"Seo ordered that," J-Min says. "Said you need caffeine to survive me."
"Smart man," Yuna says, grabbing the cup and taking a cautious sip.
They sit in tense silence, sipping their coffees like two rivals in an awkward truce. Yuna tries to ignore the fact that the iced Americano is now her unofficial signature weapon against global superstars. And that the one in front of her might just be the coldest person she's ever met.
Then, J-Min pulls out a thin, matte black folder from his bag.
"This is the dating schedule," he says, flipping it open with a sort of ritualistic gravity.
"Excuse me?" Yuna blinks at the folder like it just sprouted wings and started singing.
He taps the page, revealing color-coded boxes, timestamps and enough detail to make a NASA mission plan look casual.
"Public outings. Hand-holding quotas. Smile minimums. Scheduled 'accidental' fan sightings. We're basically shooting a rom-com with a live audience."
Yuna squints. "This is...unhinged. Is this normal?"
"For idols? Normal-ish. For me? No. I don't do dating scandals. Ever."
She raises a sceptical eyebrow. "Then why me?"
He pauses and for a brief second, the wall behind those cool eyes cracks.
"Because you're the opposite of my type."
Yuna blinks, caught off guard. "Wow. Rude."
"I mean that as a compliment," he adds hastily. "You're not fake. Not trained. You're... unpredictable."
She smirks. "Still sounds like a red flag, but okay."
J-Min glances around the rooftop, then leans in slightly, lowering his voice.
"We're being photographed, by the way. Two tables over. Don't look."
Yuna immediately tries to look.
He blocks her view with a hand and forces a smile.
"Okay," he says through gritted teeth. "Now smile like I just told you a hilarious joke."
"You didn't."
"Then fake it."
She bares her teeth in the most awkward grin possible, which probably looks like she's about to bite someone.
"How's this?"
"You look like you're being held hostage."
"I am."
And that's how the practice date begins.
They run through a script of fake laughs and staged glances, passing a muffin back and forth like it's the key to the city rather than a crumbly blueberry disaster. Yuna tries to channel her inner rom-com heroine but mostly looks like a lost puppy trying to figure out how to act like she's in love with a statue.
At one point, J-Min gently brushes a crumb off her lip with a napkin.
Yuna nearly bites his hand on reflex.
"Are you always this difficult?" he asks, exasperated.
"Only when being courted by robots."
"I'm not a robot."
"You're a walking spreadsheet with cheekbones."
He doesn't respond, just stares at her for a beat too long.
Then, to her surprise, he lets out a quiet laugh.
It's the first real sound of amusement she's heard from him, and it's...nice. Unpolished. Human.
"You're insane," he says.
"Thank you," she replies sweetly. "I try..."
The sky is too blue, the breeze too cool, but somehow, under this ridiculous fake date, the air feels electric. Like something mythical is stirring...two opposites sparring with every awkward smile and crumb exchange, building a tension neither knows how to handle.
Just as Yuna thinks she might survive the hour without making a bigger fool of herself, Manager Seo Jin-woo appears like a summoned demon with a clipboard and an expression that says "You're both ridiculous but perfect for the internet."
"How was chemistry?" he asks.
"She insults me constantly," J-Min mutters.
"He refuses to blink," Yuna says simultaneously.
Seo nods like he's reading a winning formula. "Perfect. The internet will eat it up."
Yuna stares at him. "Wait, you want us to be weird?"
"Fans love opposites-attract energy. Bickering. Accidental touches. Slow burns. Trust me, this is gold."
J-Min groans under his breath.
Yuna shrugs. "If you say so. But if I get hate mail, I'm forwarding it to you."
"Noted," Seo says.
He turns to leave, then pauses. "Oh and tomorrow's event is a street food date. Dress casual. Eat cute."
Yuna blinks. "Eat cute?"
J-Min grimaces like the phrase is a personal insult. "I hate this already."
She pats his arm like he's a stressed-out cat. "Don't worry, babe. I'll teach you how to look adorable while chewing."
"Don't ever call me babe again."
That night, Yuna flops onto her bed, pulls the covers over her head, and screams into her pillow again.
Only this time, it's not panic.
It's...something else.
A strange cocktail of stress, amusement and a weird flutter in her chest she refuses to name.
This is going to be the longest and possibly weirdest month of her entire life.