YOUR IDOL

Chapter 1

The spotlights had always seemed like distant stars to me—unreachable, cold, and yet life-giving. My name is Mina, and I’m finally here. After three years in dark basement practice rooms, hundreds of bruised toes, and thousands of hours of fasting, I got my chance. My first solo single.

The company called me “Ice Flower.” My platinum blonde hair, which had been bleached for hours to achieve the perfect shade, and my natural “fox eyes” gave me the image of a girl who was scary to approach. But inside, I was just a girl who still had an old ticket from his first concert under her pillow.

Ryu. My ideal. My “Night Predator.”

He was the reason I came to this agency in the first place. Every time I saw him on screen—his jet-black hair, that dangerous slit in his eyes, and his confident movements—my heart skipped a beat. I knew all his interviews by heart. I saw him not just as an idol, but as a person who could conquer the world with his dark charisma. When I was having a hard time, I remembered his path and told myself: “If Ryu could do it, so can I.”

That evening, the rehearsal dragged on past midnight. The corridors of the Starfall agency were drowned in semi-darkness, only the emergency lights cast long, twisted shadows on the walls. I walked to my dressing room, clutching a bottle of water to my chest, and my head was filled only with the new choreography.

As I passed the VIP section, I heard a sound. A dull thud, as if something heavy had fallen to the floor, and then the clang of broken glass.

My stomach clenched with an unkind premonition. The door to Ryu’s dressing room was ajar. Only a thin strip of light cut through the darkness of the corridor.

“Ryu-hoppe?” — I called softly, my heart pounding somewhere in my throat. I adored him, but the rules of etiquette forbade me from entering without permission. But curiosity and anxiety proved stronger.

I carefully pushed the door open.

The air in the room seemed thick, like jelly. The smell of Ryu's expensive perfume mixed with something sweet and metallic. My eyes did not immediately get used to the light, but when they did, the world under my feet simply disappeared.

On the floor, among scattered papers and broken dishes, lay a man. His eyes were glass, and a dark spot slowly crept out from under his jacket.

And above him stood him.

My ideal. My idol.

Ryu held in his hands a jagged fragment of a crystal glass, from which red drops slowly flowed. His white stage shirt was stained with blood, and strands of black hair stuck to his forehead. He was breathing heavily.

At that moment, he really did look like a predator. But not the one they painted on posters. This was a real beast, just finished hunting.

He slowly turned his head in my direction. His “phoenix” eyes, usually so mysterious on camera, now burned with a wild, primal fire.

“You…” his voice sounded like the crackle of broken ice.

I wanted to scream, but the voice was gone. I wanted to run, but my feet seemed to be glued to the floor. All I could do was look at the man I loved with all my heart and realize that I had just seen him take someone else’s life.

My idol had become my greatest terror.

Ryu took a step toward me. A single step, but he made the air in the dressing room turn to hot metal. The water bottle slipped from my numb fingers and rolled with a dull thud across the floor. The sound rang out like a gunshot in the dead silence.

His phoenix gaze slowly traveled over my face, lingering on the platinum hair I had so painstakingly bleached to be like him—just as cold, just as perfect. But there was no admiration in his eyes now. There was pure, undiluted hatred.

“Mina, right?” he said, pronouncing my name as if he were spitting poison. “Our little Ice Flower, who decided to bloom at the wrong time and in the wrong place.”

He stepped closer. I could smell iron—the smell of blood coming from his white shirt. Ryu grabbed my chin with his smeared hand. His fingers were icy, his grip painful, like an iron vice. He forced my head up, forcing me to look straight into his dark, maddening eyes.

“You’re shaking now,” he whispered against my lips, his breath searing my skin. “Your ideal turned out to be a murderer? Your idol tore up your little pink fairy tale?”

I tried to pull away, but he only squeezed my face tighter, his nails digging into my skin.

“Listen to me carefully, you little rascal. If you thought for one second that you could run out of here and become a news heroine, then remember whose daughter you are. Your father is rotting behind bars for a reason, isn’t he One call from me and your past will pour out on you in such a filth that you will suffocate."

He came closer, his face an inch from mine. I could see every lash, I could see the same scar at his hairline that had once seemed to me a sign of manhood, but now a mark of the devil.

“You’re mine now, Mina. You’ll be silent, you’ll smile at me on camera, and you’ll tremble every time I walk into the room. I hate witnesses. But I hate people like you even more—people who hide behind a mask of innocence, with a soul as black as mine.”

He let go of my face abruptly, and I could barely stand. Ryu turned to the body on the floor as if I no longer existed, and picked up the towel from the floor.

“Get out of here. And don’t even think about washing the blood off my chin too quickly. Let this remind you who now holds your life in their hands.”

I stormed out of the dressing room, choking on the tears that finally burst out. His red fingerprints were left on my cheek, a mark I could never erase.

I ran out of his dressing room, panting as if I had been filled with hot lead. The corridor of the agency, which had once seemed like a path to my dreams, was now an endless tunnel of horror. I don’t remember how I got to my room. I only remember rubbing my chin under the icy water until the skin began to peel off, trying to erase the trace of his bloody fingers.

“A prisoner’s daughter,” his voice, cold as a blade, rang in my head. He knew. He shattered my safe illusion with one movement.

The night passed in a fever, and the morning came with the smell of hairspray and concealer. Today is the day of the press conference. Our first outing together.

The stylists created a perfect statue of me. A black vinyl sheath dress with a high neckline that covered my neck to my chin was my armor. Platinum hair was pulled back into a high, mirror-smooth ponytail. No unnecessary details. No weakness. Just the “Ice Queen” that my fans wanted me to be.

When I got to the hall, Ryu was already waiting at the door.

He looked flawless. His jet-black hair was styled with a slight negligence, and his snow-white shirt dazzled his eyes. Not a single bloodstain. Not a hint of yesterday’s beast. On his face was the same trademark, barely noticeable smile of the “golden idol” that made girls’ hearts freeze.

He didn’t touch me. In the idol industry, excessive closeness is a scandal. But as we stopped next to each other, I felt the air between us crackle with static electricity.

This wasn’t romance. It was the tension between hunter and prey, wrapped in a professional veil.

“Ready, Mina?” he said quietly. His voice was soft to those around him, but to me it had the crunch of metal on glass.

He wasn’t looking at me, only ahead, at the door to the hall. But I could feel his presence with every cell of my skin.

We walked out into a barrage of flashes. Hundreds of cameras recorded our every breath. We sat at a long table, only ten centimeters of space between us, but those ten centimeters were ablaze. Ryu acted like the perfect senior colleague. He answered questions confidently, joked with the press, and radiated light.

“Mr. Ryu, how is it working with a new star?” someone in the crowd asked.

Ryu slowly turned his head to me. He wasn’t smiling with his lips—only with his eyes. But in the depths of those “phoenix” eyes, I saw the same dark swamp in which he had drowned me yesterday.

“Mina is extremely talented,” he said into the microphone. His hand lay on the table right next to mine. He didn’t touch, but I could see the veins in his wrist tense up. “She has a rare ability... to remain calm in critical situations. That’s exactly what our duet needs.”

He held his gaze on me for a moment. It lasted only a second, but for me it was an eternity. It wasn’t a look of love—it was the host’s look at his secret. The chemistry between us in the frame was so strong that journalists competed to write about the “fatal duet,” not realizing that this spark was my fear mixed with his hatred.

“Mina, what do you think of Ryu?” they asked me.

I felt his leg press against my knee for a moment under the table, hidden from everyone. Sharply, imperiously, warningly. My breath hitched. I looked into the camera, trying not to let my lips tremble.

“Ryu-hoppe is a professional,” my voice sounded cold, as befits my image. “He taught me that in this industry, the most important thing is what remains behind the scenes.”

Ryu’s eyes narrowed slightly. He knew I was playing with fire. His perfect idol mask didn’t flinch for a moment, but I saw him grip the microphone tighter.

The conference was over. We stood up to bow to the press. Ryu took a step closer, as if for a group photo. For a second, his shoulder touched mine, and he whispered so softly that only my microphone, which had already been turned off, could be heard:

“Pretty girl.Play this role to the end, and maybe I'll let you live to debut."