Saturday morning announced itself with violence.
Ga-young's alarm screamed like it had a personal vendetta. She slapped at her phone blindly, missing once, twice, before finally silencing it with a groan and burying herself beneath her blanket.
One of her very serious, very optimistic life resolutions was to start working out.
Unfortunately, the gym sat directly below her apartment, which meant excuses had officially expired.
She lay there for a full minute, staring at the ceiling, mentally bargaining with herself. Her day was already planned. Gym. Nap. Then meet Min-jae at the restaurant. The fashion show was five days away. Five. There was no room for laziness, panic, or emotional spirals. Allegedly.
With a defeated sigh, she rolled out of bed.
By the time she stepped out of the shower, wrapped in steam and regret, she had convinced herself this was character development. She pulled on the gym outfit she had bought during a burst of confidence, the kind that only exists at 2 a.m. on a shopping app. She smiled at her reflection like she loved fitness.
The smile disappeared the moment she stepped outside.
She exhaled loudly, plugged in her headphones, mashed play on the loudest playlist she owned, and trudged down the stairs like a soldier headed to war.
The gym greeted her with the familiar smell of rubber mats and ambition. Every fiber of her being questioned her life choices, but she refused to turn around. Not today. Today she would be disciplined. Powerful. Someone who owned a water bottle on purpose.
She stopped in front of the mirror, leaned her phone against her bottle, and unlocked her screen.
An Instagram reel waited patiently.
The girl on the screen smiled effortlessly as she performed a suspiciously smooth hip thrust squat jump combination that honestly looked illegal. Ga-young squinted.
"...That's it?"
She replayed it. Once. Twice. Three times.
"Easy," she muttered, rolling her shoulders like a professional athlete who had never professionally done anything athletic.
The girl in the video moved as if gravity had signed a peace treaty with her. Smooth. Weightless. Smiling. The caption read, If you can walk, you can do this.
Ga-young scoffed, deeply offended.
"I can walk."
She adjusted her phone angle carefully. If she was about to become a fitness icon, documentation mattered. She cracked her neck. Rolled her shoulders. Took a stance that felt impressive in theory.
The gym suddenly felt very quiet.
She bent her knees.
Her thighs screamed immediately.
That was fine. Pain meant progress. Probably.
She went lower.
Lower.
Her balance wobbled. Her core clocked out without notice. Her knees began renegotiating their contract.
"Okay, okay," she muttered, panic creeping in.
She pushed upward.
Or tried to.
What happened next was not a jump, but a deeply tragic compromise between standing and collapse. Her feet left the ground for a brief, humiliating half second. The weight tilted. Her arms flailed.
She stumbled forward. Backward. Sideways. Every direction except stability.
Her phone slid off the bench in slow motion.
No. Not like this.
She crashed.
The mat absorbed her body. Her pride shattered on impact.
Ga-young lay there, limbs spread dramatically, chest heaving, staring at the fluorescent lights like they were about to apologize to her personally.
Silence.
"Are you okay?"
She blinked and looked up.
"Ga-young?"
Her eyes widened.
"Min-jae?"
He stood over her in gym clothes, dumbbells still in his hands, concern written all over his face and absolutely no respect hiding in his eyes.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded.
"First," he said calmly, setting the weights down and offering his hand, "get off the floor."
She shook her head. "I refuse. Getting up would be more embarrassing. Instagram lied to me."
He burst out laughing. "No way."
"You have no right to laugh," she snapped, grabbing his hand and standing anyway.
Every single person in the gym was staring.
She dusted herself off and rolled her eyes. "Why is everyone looking? Is staring a new workout? Trying to get their eyes a six pack?"
Min-jae bit his lip, shoulders shaking. "You need a personal trainer. You are still very much a rookie."
"Don't talk to me," she said, snatching her headphones from the far end of the gym where they had flown during her fall. "I'm done. Fitness and I are not compatible."
She stormed toward the exit.
"I'll see you at the meeting," she threw over her shoulder.
"Cute," Min-jae murmured, watching her leave with a smile.
Later that day, the café buzzed softly with weekend energy. Ga-young arrived to find Min-jae already seated, coffee untouched, posture relaxed.
"Are you okay?" he asked, barely suppressing his grin.
"I don't want to talk about it," she replied flatly.
"Fair."
He shifted instantly into business mode. "What's the plan for today?"
"First, we check in with the production team. Then the villa. Mrs. Yoo-na confirmed they are ready. Madam Han Ok-sun arrives today, and the three major models land this afternoon."
Min-jae's eyes lit up. "I'm excited."
"Of course you are," Ga-young deadpanned.
"Are you still mad at me?" he asked. "I didn't make you fall."
"Wow so compassionate." she said sarcasm lacing her tone, standing abruptly and grabbing the keys. "I'm driving. Your life is in my hands now."
She walked out before he could process it.
Min-jae stared after her, confused, then smirked softly as he followed.
Somehow, despite the chaos, the countdown had officially begun.
And five days had never felt so close.