At Qi Huai’s door.

Standing behind him, Baek Soo-kyung let his gaze skim the chipped paint on the door panel, watching as the old lock turned under Qi Huai’s key.

Suppressing his shock and embarrassment, he asked softly, “I remember you lived in Cheongdam-dong—did you move?”

Pushing the door open, Qi Huai nodded. “The lease there ended. For some reasons, I’m staying here for now.”

Some reasons.

For now.

“I see. That’s fine too,” Baek Soo-kyung lowered his eyes and followed him inside. “It’s neither too far nor too close to the company—easy enough to drive.”

Qi Huai glanced at him. “I returned the car.”

Baek Soo-kyung froze. Returned?

“When I first came to Korea I rented a car to get familiar quickly,” Qi Huai said. “Now I know my way around, and I’m mostly just between home and the company, so I returned it.”

Awkwardly, Baek Soo-kyung forced a smile and added, “That’s good too—subway’s convenient, no parking headaches, no traffic worries, no maintenance.”

Qi Huai’s lips curved; he said nothing.

The system, puzzled: Why the sudden mood drop? He was in a great mood in the car.

Qi Huai thought, The disappointment’s a bit obvious.

Hopefully not for the reason I think.

The system: Huh? Disappointed? No way—where he lived before was worse than a rooftop room. Don’t project onto our pure, adorable, tragic‑backstory protagonist!

Qi Huai smiled faintly.

Once inside, Baek Soo-kyung sat tensely on the sofa. The place was spotless, but even the cleanest small room couldn’t feel as open as a big house.

He’d stayed at Choi Min‑jun’s elite apartment—high-end, sleek, with a cleaning auntie every weekend.

Park Seok‑jin’s place went without saying; though they hadn’t stayed overnight yet, he’d already tried the bathroom, living room, walk-in, and even that three‑meter‑wide luxury bed more than once.

He’d thought that even if Qi Huai’s home wasn’t national‑god level like Park Seok‑jin’s, it should at least outclass Choi Min‑jun’s…

Who would’ve thought—it was like this.

Far beyond his expectations.

Had the other packaged himself too well? No wonder he’d said before getting out of the taxi, “I do want to help you—though you’ll have to wait.”

Wait?

Until you make it big?

An empty promise, huh…

Min‑jun hyung was right. The entertainment world is awash in unreality—some people are princes on the surface and freaks in private; some look glamorous and live in quiet poverty.

Better than rumors is seeing with one’s own eyes—and this is what it is.

“Hungry?”

“What?” Baek Soo-kyung snapped back.

Rolling up his sleeves, Qi Huai headed to the kitchen. “Nineteen’s still a growing age. After all that walking and the fright, you should be hungry, right? What do you want? Ramen? Chicken fried rice?”

Ramen. Fried rice.

Baek Soo-kyung tugged out a smile. “I’m controlling my figure lately—so I don’t really eat staples like ramen or rice. I’ll pass. You can…”

His stomach growled before he finished. Closing the fridge, Qi Huai chuckled—without warmth in his eyes. “Then how about this—my arm’s hurt, so cooking would be inconvenient. I’ll go downstairs and grab a grilled chicken salad. Can you eat that?”

Only then did Baek Soo-kyung remember Qi Huai’s arm injury. He quickly put on an apologetic look. “Sorry, Qi Huai‑hyung—let me go buy it. Don’t trouble yourself.”

The cramped room killed his appetite and set him on edge. He wanted something to do—maybe he could slip away while getting the salad.

Where was he supposed to sleep otherwise?

The sofa?

He wasn’t used to sleeping on sofas anymore.

“It’s fine, I’ll go.” Qi Huai slipped his jacket back on, as warm and gentle as ever. “I’m a regular—the owner knows me. I’ll be faster.”

He stepped out.

Baek Soo-kyung, who’d been straining to maintain a smile, finally exhaled hard.

Frowning, he glanced around with thinly veiled distaste. When his right hand brushed his pocket, he jolted—remembering the task Choi Min‑jun had given him: the bug.

If you get the chance, put this in Qi Huai’s place. He hadn’t understood then—if Qi Huai had a rich background, a luxury apartment, and a fancy car, why would he be entangled with President Yoon?

Now he got it—Qi Huai was like him. Even when doing well… not all that much better.

He scanned the room, looking for a spot to plant it. The place was too small and too tidy—not even a potted plant. If he left it in the living room, it’d be found in no time.

Then…

His gaze slid under the bed.

The light beneath was dim. Even the most fastidious wouldn’t scrub under there every day—perfect for a bug.

He slid a hand in, feeling for a good spot—and felt something odd.

A plastic‑wrapped parcel. He could feel small booklets inside.

He tugged it out and, curiosity piqued, opened it—eyes going wide—

Nearly twenty passports, stacked neatly—all with photos of Qi Huai, but with different names and nationalities.

Chinese passports, Russian, American, Korean… What normal person could have that many passports at once?

He swallowed, nerves sparking.

After only an instant’s thought, he opened his phone with trembling hands to record.

—

“Soo-kyung, what are you doing?”

Holding two salad boxes, Qi Huai fixed on him—standing in his bedroom.

Like a startled fawn, Baek Soo-kyung jerked around. He hurriedly set down what was in his hands and apologized, “Ah—sorry, Qi Huai‑hyung. I came in without asking. It’s just… this little knife is so pretty, so I…”

It was a silver iris‑engraved knife on the bedside table. Fine craft, exquisite etching, blade polished spotless—clearly well‑cared‑for.

Qi Huai showed no displeasure, only smiled. “Come eat.”

Baek Soo-kyung quickly put down the knife, hiding his trembling right hand behind him. “Why keep a knife at your bedside, Qi Huai‑hyung? Isn’t that scary?”

A slight lift of Qi Huai’s lips. “Oh. A gift from a friend—sentimental value.”

The system, dryly: Oh wow~~~ A friend’s gift. I thought it was daylight robbery. My mistake, huh.

Qi Huai: …Noisy.

“Qi Huai‑hyung, I’ll go wash my hands first.”

“Bathroom’s near the terrace.”

Smiling, Baek Soo-kyung slipped in, shut the door, and locked it—then let out a long breath.

He’d almost been caught—cold sweat had nearly broken out. He’d shoved the passports back the instant he’d heard footsteps. No time to plant the bug—next time.

In the tiny space, he turned on the tap to make noise and numbly washed his hands. Inside, suspicion—and curiosity—about Qi Huai’s identity surged.

At first, he’d thought the man was a cultured, well-spoken heir.

Just now, he’d thought he was like himself—a dodder vine climbing a tall tree.

Now… he wasn’t sure.

The face was top-tier, manners impeccable, and presence striking—if he were a rich heir like the rumors said, it wouldn’t be strange. But he lived in a rooftop room; even the Gangnam apartment and car were rentals; and he was entangled with President Yoon… Most suspicious of all were those passports under the bed.

Why had Min‑jun hyung told him to plant a bug here? To snag dirt on President Yoon? Or was there more?

After turning it over, Baek Soo-kyung sent a message to Choi Min‑jun.

[Min‑jun hyung, if you’re free tonight, could you pick me up? I’ve got Park Sunbae’s video—and something else I think you’ll want to know.]

The reply came quickly.

[Address.]