PART 1

Slight trigger warning because some parts might run everyone back to how COVID was back then (may or not mention death, sickness, COVID fatigue) 

Edit 2: edited the italicized word and some mention of "Irene" and "Wendy" -- which, I wanted to do away with becaues it is, after all an "Alternate Universe." Also deleted a few paragraphs. 

The slam of a phone on a plastic work table was enough to startle at least five people sharing it. 
 

Joohyun needs to worry about three things: One, if her screen cracked, two, if that fit of hers gave Jinsoul’s flimsy charger the death knell after only working at a certain angle, and three, getting outscooped by “her rival” Shon Seungwan over a story she thought she was exclusively trying to pursue for weeks. 

Weeks of effort has gone to waste, with the younger journalist scoring an interview from a source Joohyun tried so hard to invite. 

After a hearty buffet, thanks to an event she wrote about, she ate expletives for lunch, care of her editor, Yunho. 

“Look, Joohyun. I don’t ing care if your source didn’t respond. Go to their house. Set foot by their company. Too spoiled to even drive up to the doctor’s clinic to chat now? Is that it?” Joohyun almost cried at the phone call. Did I sign up for this?

Joohyun did. After all, it took an expose on an ex-health minister to inspire young journalist students like her to pursue health l- it was as if the 65,000 COVID-19 variants anointed them like tongues of fire. Joohyun was one of them, making the cut in 2022 with her eagerness to inform people about the pandemic situation. As one of the very few to pass Reve TV’s broadcasting search exam in one try, the industry’s eyes were on her. In fact, the producers liked her so much that they put her as primetime newscast “Hello Sunset’s” main correspondent. 

Fortunately for her, she came in when everything was “calming down” - with people conceding to the fact that they had to live with the virus, wear face masks every day, and rub alcohol on every surface unknown. But it didn’t mean work was easier. Developed technologies during the pandemic doubled their labor:: Zoom calls, still shots through crisp-quality iPhones in case any of their cameramen caught COVID, you name it. On top of special reports, they also had to write about special announcements and everything in between. 

Seungwan entered rival network RBB TV, replacing an old science geek who succumbed to COVID-19. Seungwan’s similarities (AKA being a microbiology major who can spurt out even most random of health information) made her fit for the job. (And besides, her youthful kick may rub into younger people!) 

More importantly, Seungwan has her dynamic way of telling stories as they are - urgent, and persuasive, both important to keep peoples' eyes peeled. 

One-takes were rare when trying for Seoul's largest networkss, and Seungwan was the first to do so since Joohyun - so people naturally pit them against each other, especially their editors. Joohyun never took that well, avoiding the younger girl in any way she could. They only interacted through cordial smiles and body language if any one of them accidentally cut the line at the ATM. Joohyun could never understand why Seungwan felt naive to her hostility (“As if she isn’t taking me seriously!"). 

While Joohyun tries to settle down, Chanyeol, her cameraman, peers from above a barrier of the makeshift pressroom, needing to duck down to enter the room because of his lanky height. He notices Joohyun looking like she’s been through five wars. 

“Rough day?” Chanyeol rolled up his sleeves before sitting down.  

Joohyun folds her arms over her chest, after lifting the lid of her laptop “Tell me about it.”

“Yunho-oppa scolded you again?” 

“Yeah. Seungwan out scooped me, that freak.” 

“Can't you just coexist as friends? She seems charming, and would never hurt a fly. In fact I should ask her ou—OW.” Other people in the background shush Chanyeol. 

Flailing her wrists from pinching Chanyeol’s tough shoulder, she answers. “Me? Befriend the enemy? And don't you have any better tastes?" 

"Well, you like women first and foremost" (a remark that led Joohyun to shush him-- it was an open secret. But no one dared open it up among journalistic circles.) 

(Behind her, Yonhap correspondent Sana mouths something along the lines of “Is she what I think she is?” to her photographer, Jeongyeon, who responds nonchalantly with: “I thought everyone knew?”) 

Chanyeol slowly puts down his humongous camera on an empty work desk. “Look, Kyungsoo and I always almost end up punching each other while scrambling to get good shots for your reports. 

 The cameraman continues. “But when the clock strikes 7 every Friday we’re at ‘The Eve’ toasting to a couple of the cheapest beer brew with everyone else.”  

Joohyun scoffs. “Well, the ‘Art of War’ says: ‘The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting,’ and Seungwan seems to be doing that right now.” 

Chanyeol an eyebrow. “Is it that deep?” 

“Yes, Chanyeol, it is,” Joohyun sulks as she waits for her computer to start. She thanks the heavens the article isn’t urgent because she would rip Chanyeol’s hair out if he continued disturbing her (actually non-existent) peace. 

He relents from speaking further, sighing. “Just buzz me if you want to start with your standupper. I’ll be in the shuttle, taking a snooze,” He shuffles from his seat and waves "See ya."  

Joohyun would never allow to let her guard down around Seungwan - not when she needed all the momentum in the world to be the better journalist. Some days Joohyun submitted the news faster. Other days, Seungwan did, and Joohyun was never the type to take it well. 

And like clockwork, Joohyun sighs with the same old consolation she would never know the conclusion to: I just hope I wrote it better. 

As Chanyeol leaves, the raven-haired girl rubs her temples before she starts picking up her phone, wincing at the sight of a crack on the tempered glass. Great. I just changed that. Plucking a pen from her pen holder, she starts writing a reminder to have it replaced. 

She puts her laptop screen out of sleep mode and starts working on an article for a health symposium she attended at a swanky hotel this morning. She had two hours to submit any of information the desk, run a draft of the script she'd voice over, in time for the newscast at 7 PM that night. It wasn’t as big as a breakthrough COVID vaccine or anything but hey, she needed to submit her dues. 

The makeshift press room - tucked in a small events hall in the hotel - was quiet, save for the Kakao message tones, the muted keyboard tapping, and the occasional vibrations from phones put on silent. Not a lot of reporters attended - with most of them opting to stay at the press room inside the Ministry of Health in the nearby city. Hybrids of physical and virtual conferences were the way forward even in 2024.  But knowing the company’s eagerness to tell everyone that they’re on the ground, they went ahead and sent Joohyun in anyway. Seungwan would likely be there too. In which, obviously Joohyun wasn’t so eager. 

Joohyun takes out a small notebook, checks the important time stamps she tallied, and takes out her recorder to put on the table. She plugs in the headphones and scans the filenames for the important soundbites. In the middle of transcribing, Joohyun pressed a button, trying to pause so she could catch up with the recording. And when she tried to press it again, nothing played. 

All her inhibitions fell out of place when the recorder showed a "recording deleted" prompt, her life flashing beyond her eyes.

When she was interviewed for the broadcaster search, Yunho asked Irene about her biggest fear. It wasn’t getting hit by a bullet in an ambush, being doused in tear gas becaues of a protest or spiders or creepy critters. It was the deleted recording -  a.k.a the hook, line, and sinker which got her hired. 

 If her ambitious 22 year old self saw this, she would run her to the ground. 

An already bad day is turning worse. It was past the mercury retrograde. She meditated and did her manifestations that morning. And for her, the misfortunes spawned from the tiny woman entering the area with her boombox of a voice echoing over the makeshift room. 

“What’s uppppppp,” Seungwan barges into the room, phone on the left hand, little Moleskine on the other. The woman was friends with everybody, Joohyun muttered disdainfully. 

“What took you so long?” Seungho, a reporter from the city daily asked. 

“The data on people with a 5th COVID shot in the presentation didn’t add up with the news release they handed over yesterday, so I had to clear something up, and the answer was pretty technical. I could share my recording with everyone though.”  

Cheers met the younger woman. “You’re a ing lifesaver Seungwan I love you!” While Joohyun was happy a few other young people like Seungho and Jinsoul made it in after her and Seungwan, she’s always kept an arm’s distance from them. “It’s a no man’s land out there,” Yunho would tell her.

“Pff.” Joohyun rolls her eyes. Show-off, she later thought, as she googled how to recover her recording. Within seconds, she turns her head to stretch her neck only to see Seungwan about to take a seat beside her. 

Seungwan gestures. Is this seat taken? Reluctantly, Joohyun nods. 

They write in silence. When midway through, Seungwan asks her: “How far along are you now?” 

Annoyed by how the question trailed her thought, Joohyun answered “Look. Seungwan-ssi. I appreciate your concern, but I happened to just finish eating a hearty lunch,” she hisses a bit too loud. 

She then turns to face Seungwan, who looks dumbfounded by the hostility. “Second,” Joohyun pauses first, calming herself as she is closer to ripping the younger girl’s head off. “It’s already bad enough that you out-scooped me on that story. It’s even worse that my recording got deleted and washed off this face of the earth, so I need you to off.” 

(Someone behind her mutters: “Well, too bad she can’t blame the mercury retrograde,” To which, Joohyun answers mentally “Seungwan is the mercury retrograde.” ) 

Dumbfounded (and slightly annoyed) by the older girl’s hostility, Seungwan said nothing and just drew out her computer. While it tried to start, Joohyun fished out her phone and checked the voice memos app for her own recording. Three dots. Share. Airdrop. Bae Joohyun’s iPhone. Perfect. 

A beat. And a beep follows, startling Joohyun once more.

Seungwan would like to share a voice recording. 

Joohyun sees Seungwan, a smile beaming on the blonde's face. “What am I going to do with this?” she says in an annoyed tone.

“I have my own copy here,” Seungwan takes out a spare iPhone and waves it at Irene. I could share my notes too, if you like, Seungwan smiles. 

Relenting, Joohyun presses Accept, sighing at how the younger girl was one step ahead of her literally the whole day. 

A beat. “Won’t you get in trouble for giving this to me of all people?” Joohyun raises an eyebrow. 

Seungwan chuckles and pauses a bit while she fishes for her own headset. “You do realize we’re in the same event, right? And besides, I could give the info to Sana or even Jinsoul if they asked. I would do the same to you. Info cartel, remember?” 

(a/n: In beat reporting, a cartel refers to a group of reporters that share information relating to their assignments and/or events with each other. Even people from rival networks help each other out. But of course, there are limitations.)

“Oh, right,” Joohyun scoops in Seungwan’s small notebook nearer to her, and sends a reserved smile towards Seungwan’s direction. “Thanks.” 

Within an hour, she was able to produce an online news piece. It wasn’t a major piece, so it wasn’t a matter of competition. It was also the first time she ever spoke more than two sentences to the girl. 

Joohyun couldn’t help but wonder why Seungwan was being nice to her. It felt flattering, but at the same time it’s as if Sun Tzu followed her all the way to the bus stop to say she should still put up her defenses. 

And so she sleeps with one eye open. 

—

The next day they were back at the more spacious press room inside the Ministry of Health - where press conferences and various interviews were held. It was an entire floor dedicated to the media, with its two sections divided into two by a steel-fabric barrier. 

On the north side was the conference room, with a podium, with a microphone and a table above it for any health official who would want to take questions. Behind it was a blue background, with the logo of the government agency. There was a one meter distance between the press and the area for the interviewees, and another area for the cameramen. 

The south side was the media room, requested for by the press during the peak of the pandemic, as  the agency called for countless press conferences. Every cubicle had face masks and alcohol pumps on every table. It was nice to be working on site, after Joohyun spent at least one year virtually doing interviews and making do with press releases being sent on Kakao. But conversations were still minimized to What-s and I can’t hear yous (Unlike most of the other members of the press, she opted to keep her mask on “It’s a good way to hide the cringe when the health minister says something stupid” - to which other members of the press agreed.) 

And since their networks were close in name, Joohyun and Seungwan had to sit with each other. 

The first two hours of Joohyun’s schedule were uneventful - Seungho offered to grab some drinks at the nearby cafe, which she declined (“I have my own jug, save the earth. Also, I hate coffee.”) and the older, hao siao male reporters took turns saying hi. (Of which she tried to pretend she didn’t hear - thank God for being health conscious and the presence of acrylic cubicles and face masks, really) 

Thirty minutes before lunch, the Ministry’s media officer, Ji-eun, enters the room and leaves a ream of paper on a wooden desk west of the podium. They were copies of releases, announcements that could be half significant and half questionable. 

Everyone - including Joohyun- rushes to get their copy. Social distancing be damned, I’ll have to do this first. She briefly scans the paper before throwing it to her desk - something about a Korean-made COVID vaccine which has antibodies enough to beat even the future variants (If they start to mutate again. It was, still, an outbreak in other districts, after all.) 

“Health Minister Choi Siwon will be here shortly to entertain questions,” Ji-eun says calmly before exiting. 

Joohyun feels the adrenaline flowing - a familiar sight when she senses a story’s importance. She gives a quick heads up to Yunho, who then tells her to go on standby for a live report, and the airing of the press conference on Reve TV. 

She immediately calls Chanyeol, who gets his equipment ready and helps Joohyun set up.  Seungwan, who comes in a few minutes later with just a smartphone (her cameraman, Joohyun assumes, isn’t feeling well). By this time, Joohyun was making a short break of the story through her phone, which she would be sending via email to Yunho. 

SEJONG, South Korea - The Ministry of Health on Friday approved the emergency use authorization of a Korean-made COVID-19 vaccine that is “strong enough to beat future variants” of the virus, a move that could spell the death knell of its transmission for good. 

In a press release, the Ministry said they will roll out the vaccine doses of the Anti-geupan mame Virus on November 1, with the jabs eligible for kids across all ages. 

More details to follow.  

By the time Seungwan finishes setting up for her own live report, Joohyun had already sent the breaking news article to Yunho. She mentally jumps for joy at the thought of being mentally ahead of her rival. 

Within minutes she gets a call from Yunho. “Hello? Yunho-oppa?” 

“Joohyun, I appreciate the early submission." She could hear Yunho grin through the phone. "But-" Irene loses her breath as the editor pauses for a bit, hearing his lips purse over the line “But I would like to hold this first. Could you talk to other experts first?” 

Huh? Joohyun thinks, we’ve hit a breakthrough with the vaccine and the first thing you think of is-

This is where Joohyun’s questioning sets in. Phone on shoulder and head leaning on it, she fishes for the copy of the press release and scans it. Oh. 

The Ministry of Health forged a partnership with Korean pharmaceutical developer Baileoseu Technologies for the research and development of these vaccine doses, and we are happy to announce that it will be out soon. 

Her mind transports back to college, to the times she had to bring the copy or the Hankook Ilbo every morning. Baileoseu Tech, she remembers. She had to summarize the news that day - the last day before campuses were locked. 

Baileoseu Tech, a pharmaceutical giant whose CEO saw that there was no need to worry about the pandemic. His influence convinced people that life should go on as normal. 

A couple of weeks later, tens of people went to hospitals, a bulk of them seniors and people already hounded with health risks, most of them arriving home in urns. A week after that, Seoul gave everyone a three day lockdown notice, causing residents, including college sophomore Joohyun to line up for the next train to her hometown Daegu where she would remain for the last two years of her college life - the classroom being the confines of her small, childhood room. 

And under a new management, Baileoseu Tech was now trying to benefit from a vaccine of a disease it tried so hard to dispel. On the top of her head, she remembers that the former CEO still has stocks with Baileoseu Tech. She also remembers that the clinical trials for this vaccine haven't started at all, yet they are distributing these vaccine jabs as soon as possible. .

Conceding to the overwhelming nitty-gritties, she answers: "Alright, sir. I will do this ASAP." Joohyun sighs; she had to work on a script, a voiceover, and look up more health experts. As much as she wanted to argue, her editor had a point. They’re not a government mouthpiece, and this tidbit was just as important as getting it out on time. 

Seungwan takes out her phone, presses a contact number, and shows the details to Irene. 

“Here, try calling him. Dr. Han, a medical ethics specialist. He is also a lawyer, he might be able to help,” Seungwan says. Joohyun concludes that Seungwan could’ve already gotten a tip that this was bound to happen. “I’m going to wait until the end of the Health Minister’s press conference to write about it,” she follows through. I didn’t ask, Joohyun responses in her head.

The shorter girl continues “He replies fast too, and is easy to talk to. You’ll have your answer in a jiffy if you want to break that story fast. Heard it was rough for you yesterday.” 

Why was she doing this? Joohyun asked herself. They hardly talked, with communication minimized to hand gestures and nods. Why did Seungwan, out of all days, choose to be more than just cordial and be nice? Did she need something? Was the tone sincere? She couldn’t really tell, but blood rushed to her cheeks. 

“Thank you,” Joohyun smiles, a bit wider this time. But all the same, her eyes are peeled and she is still ready to pounce. 

Only Joohyun and Seungwan remained at the pressroom at 8 in the evening. It was always like this, but it was always silent, both of them preoccupied with submitting on time and waiting for any corrections on the script, or the intonation of their voices. Not to mention they had to transcribe interviews and file in interview requests every now and then. 

Online news has demanded so much that it was integrated into much of the traditional news seen in the past; it was something reporters like Joohyun and Seungwan sulked at because of the faster pace, and the lack of quality, add to the fact that, as young correspondents, they were expected to do more. They wondered how their seniors went past this during the pandemic.

Joohyun and Seungwan became the faces of South Korea’s health journalism industry, as their careers flourished after the pandemic, and their careers came at a time when the industry demanded even more, as TV adapted online activity up and newspapers compelled themselves to place paywalls - and failed. (It now took Joohyun three convenience store trips to find a copy of the Hankook Ilbo.) 

In some days, Joohyun found the pressure too much. She was 23, and with enough grit to grind and get the work done. But after her second scolding and her 5th brush with bad luck, she barrels to the room and almost screams at the younger journalist. 

“You set me up!” Joohyun almost growls, finger pointed at Seungwan and voice reverberating in the four walls of the empty press room. Something about Seungwan giving her the source Yunho didn’t want anything to do with. 

Joohyun would’ve thought Seungwan would cower down, but the younger girl didn’t. 

Seungwan, who was sitting at the time, stands up and answers. “Joohyun-ah. As much as your fantasies would like to think that I hate you as much as you do - I don’t. In fact, I look up to you.” The younger girl clenches her fist. “And I actually feel bad that you have to get scolded over me just doing my job.” 

Joohyun recoils as if she was slapped in the face, her mind flitting back to their first encounter, when Seungwan, then 22 years old, visited the Ministry of Health press room for the first time. Then a blonde-haired girl, Seungwan, was fidgety. A young reporter straight out of college. Word got around fast. New girl from the rival network, three years Joohyun's junior. 

Bowing like a chicken, Seungwan croaked: “Joohyun sunbaenim. It’s nice to meet you.” 

Joohyun was cordial, but partly elated to see someone almost as young as her finally getting in the industry after her. Entering the industry, she felt a little out of place, and she was the youngest until Seungwan (and practically everyone else) entered. And she did not know what to feel about the next person after her coming from the rival network. But the answer came a few hours later.

“You’ve been out-angled by a younger writer on her first day, aren’t you embarrassed?” an annoyed Yunho asks her after the moment she arrived at the office. She kept her distance from Seungwan (and the office) ever since. 

The Seungwan Joohyun saw at the time was a far cry to that. She looked sure of herself, and her voice was laced with exasperation. Seungwan continues, surprised at herself that she isn’t letting up: “And Joohyun-ssi, the fact that you - someone I've looked up to in college - treats me coldly. You know, if Christiane Amanpour yelled at you you would be questioning your entire existence." 

Joohyun stood listless, and frozen, as Seungwan hastily packed her things. Before heading out completely, she added: “You are your own enemy here, not me.” 

---

A heavy cloud shrouded Joohyun for the rest of the night. From the train, to the bus stop, and back to their office north of Gangnam. She couldn’t supply herself with an answer to what Seungwan told her. That the younger reporter, whom she described as the biggest threat to her career, admired her. That a younger reporter who had looked up to her to become who she was at that moment now scorned her. 

The idea of being someone anyone looked up to hardly crossed her mind, not when external forces tell her that she hasn’t been working hard enough as of late. 

By the time Joohyun arrived at Reve TV headquarters, the urgency had already dwindled. The night desk was taking over. It had been a while since she set foot in the office (2 weeks ago being the last one, and she was compelled to do so - something involving a Halloween party in the coming weeks.) 

Upon her arrival, Tiffany, the desk editor (and her untold predecessor) turns her head upon seeing Joohyun enter the newsroom. “Well, it’s uncharacteristic of you to be here at this hour.” 

Joohyun takes some strides before placing her blazer on the table, stretching her arms before sulking on the leather chair of the designated cubicle she hardly used. “I didn’t want to go home yet, sunbae.” 

Leaving her work behind, Tiffany wheels her computer chair towards Joohyun’s desk. They were quite close, with the older woman giving her a few pointers here and there when she started. But Joohyun never found the heart to confide her problems to Tiffany or to anyone for that matter. (Again, Yunho says it's a “no man’s land” - even to predecessors.) 

“Again,” Tiffany reclines her chair and scrutinizes the younger reporter. “This is uncharacteristic of you.” She coughs shortly afterward. (COVID battlescars.) Fatigued and only able to walk with a brace, she had no choice but to stay on the sidelines, but all the same it meant comfort, a high horse, and extra financial security (An impasse for the older reporter.) 

Joohyun sighs. “It’s Seungwan.” 

“Did you get out scooped again?” 

“Yeah, and well-” 

“What?” 

Joohyun recounts the nitty-gritties. Albeit, reluctantly. 

Tiffany looked surprised towards the end of her story. “Now that seems uncharacteristic of her too.” 

Joohyun raised her eyebrows. “Pardon?” 

“Seungwan got in touch with me for her undergraduate thesis. When she had to interview reporters covering the pandemic, specifically those who got COVID,” It is, after all, a small world.

“The girl was eager, yet soft spoken at the same time - like she wouldn’t hurt a fly. But that was, of course, based on the 60 minutes I”ve talked to her. It takes a good eye to see right through someone. She even apologized for having to interview me in the first place. Something about how she might’ve wasted my time.” 

Everyone knew Tiffany’s story. A reporter at the top of her game. A pretty one at that - all with the brains to match. When people started dying mysteriously, she went around crematoriums to assess the situation there. But it was the death knell to her field reporter life. 

Day 1, she couldn’t taste her breakfast. By the time she got out of quarantine on day 21, she started having brain fog, something that soon affected her performance. Tiffany already filed in her resignation letter - but as recognition of her efforts (well, more of consolation after they didn’t provide her with the equipment she needed), the company offered Tiffany a promotion. 

It was a story said in small circles, passed onto other circles. The media industry was a small world, with the ratio of journalism students to people actually taking journalism afterwards being painstakingly small, but the effort turning out worthwhile in the end.” 

It takes a while before Joohyun answers: “Unnie, how did you handle things? Getting your life together, even when you’re working with your own battle scars.” She never asked Tiffany these questions before and should’ve done it long ago, but now was the time she needed so. She was in her most vulnerable state. 

“I gotta admit,” Tiffany flicked the pen in her hands. Trying to collect her thoughts. “It pissed me off at first. I was angry at the world, at you even.” Joohyun’s heart sank at the revelation. This must be how Seungwan felt.  “To me then, you were competition. And I felt like I could’ve done more to expose malpractices.”

“But later on why I came here in the first place. And so I realigned my purpose,” Tiffany puts an arm around her junior’s shoulder and squeezes it. 

Joohyun recalls her first days, from when she had to learn the ropes on her own and research all the nitty-gritties. Safe to say she pulled through. But Yunho and everyone else around her still gave her a hard time to stay afloat. Thank goodness for the cartel, and helpful seniors willing to show her the ropes. 

Joohyun could remember that time she consulted Tiffany on what to do on her first day. Simply put, the desk editor just gave her the documents she needed for the transition - and that was it. Months later, she received a random text message, saying: Joohyun, tell me if you need anything, okay? Take care. It all started making sense to her now. 

“Joohyun, in an ideal world, we would just be minding our own business. But at the end of the day, we all have to pay rent.” 

“I went through whatever you’ve gone through. The difference is, I focused on how I should grow,” Tiffany recounts. “I didn’t want to fuss with people and the trauma’s there,” Tiffany sighs. “I did have some regret, throwing my body into something I didn’t really know the consequences about.” 

Tiffany continues, looking at the rest of the work desks with Joohyun “You have to remember why you’re here in the first place. You’re one of the... “ Tiffany stifles a giggle “Anointed ones. And we’re here to help you, and I hope you do that to everyone else too.” 

“But what about Yunho-oppa?”  

“Yunho may fail to realize this, but everyone is struggling with the pandemic. Big businesses like us, small papers like the  Daegu Shinmun. All of us are. So I get where he comes from when he uses poor little Seungwan to guilt you into working harder, and I get how it affects you so much. But Joohyun,” Tiffany then looks at the television, where a documentary of the high-profile corruption case airs, “You need to take a step back and look at why you’re here in the first place.” 

Joohyun remembers that day. She was 20, and without a clue of what she wanted to pursue. Weather? She was afraid of lightning, and a flying leaf could send her running out of the camera. Sports? (Go back to the flying leaf, but replace that with a football). Metropolitan beat (Working alongside policemen? No ing way.) 

But then the riots happened. The drive to overthrow the former health minister. She herself went to the protests, sneaking away to tell her parents she was going to the gym. But she was angry. Angry that the paper boy next door lost his parents to the wretched disease when they were infected on a last ride home. She was livid that her cousin, a nurse, was burnt out and without the pay he so ever deserved from investing his hard-earned cash into protective equipment that the state hospitals were responsible for, while these rich men stole from the coffers of the government - the community chest even - when the money could’ve been worth thousands of lives saved. 

And after the protests, she told herself: what now? 

So she went to work. Any chance she could, she would make her work health-centric. Her Advance Feature writing final was a narrative story of a day in the life of a frontliner only paid minimum wage and how this frontliner divided that into rent, loans, living expenses and food. (“They couldn’t even save themselves,” she wrote back then.) Health reporting may seem like the most convenient choice as it stirred the emotions of practically everyone - even outside of university. But Joohyun had this distinct style of storytelling, she was delicate in her works, in her pieces, but she tried so earnestly to stir the emotions of her readers (in this case, her professors)

She was considered a young prodigy, and senior writers tried so hard to help her too the moment she set foot into the Ministry of Health until she was able to tread her own path (which was probably a week later). 

And when Seungwan came into the picture, as if the spotlight was slowly being divided between the both of them. Was she willing to set aside their differences now? 

---

Joohyun’s apology came in the form of Poke bowls at dinnertime the next day. 

Seungwan takes the Poke bowl and wrinkles her nose. “Should I know if it’s poisonous?” 

Joohyun sighs. “Between me and the bowls, I guess you know which is more toxic. Let’s talk.”  

A sliver of annoyance slips through Seungwan’s voice. “Alright, make it quick.” 

Joohyun shifts her position, fidgeting her fingers as she makes eye contact with the blonde, eyes apologetic. 

“I reflected on last night.” Joohyun frowns. “And you’re right. I shouldn’t be projecting my own insecurities onto you.” She searches in her bag for a frosted pink notebook, with some scribbles and notes seen thru. 

“I hope this helps,” Joohyun stammers, refusing to look at the younger girl out of guilt. “These were my own notes from when I started coverage for the Ministry of Health. I know it’s been like three months or so. But allow me to make it up to you.” 

Reluctantly, Seungwan took the notes. Don’t do that again. I was rooting for you. Still am. 

Joohyun nods, as if she understood what the younger reporter had said. 

Forgiveness came an hour later, through an empty bowl. (Seungwan was not going to lie. The Poke bowl was tons better than the tuna kimbap she ate everyday.) 

PART 2

Joohyun tries earnestly to teach Seungwan what she knew, from sources she needed, and stories she could follow up on. She learns from the younger reporter too - and eagerly so. 

It wasn’t long until Yunho noticed the difference in her work. “I like the spin to this,” he says to Joohyun one afternoon over the phone, as he gave her routine feedback for a special report she was trying to pursue next. “Good work. Keep it up.” 

Tiffany could’ve talked to him, for all she knew. But whatever it is, she was proud of being in the right direction, with Seungwan helping her through it subconsciously. 

It was a step in the right direction. All she had to do was make it her own.

Soon enough, the two started hanging out on their own time.

“Seungwan-ssi?”

“Joohyun-ssi, just call me Seungwan-ah.” 

Joohyun finds herself smiling at the nickname. Cute. “Alright, Seungwan-ah, are you done with your script?” 

Seungwan shakes her head. “Just wrapping things up.” 

“Let’s go grab some drinks, my treat. I’ll help you out,” Joohyun grins. 

Seungwan beams (free food and a cub reporter making minimum wage = a match made in heaven). “Thank you!” 

To which Junmyeon chimes in: “Thank they tension’s long and gone we were afraid you were going to blow into a full-scale catfight soon.” 

In response, Seungwan laughs. “Junmyeon, believe me when I say it almost did.” To which Joohyun laughs at and rolls her eyes in response. 

—

While lining up for their drinks, Seungwan stirs up a conversation with Joohyun. 

“Did you always want to write about health and sciences?" 

Joohyun nods. “Yes it was. After those riots, I just went into overdrive. You know what I mean?”

Seungwan nods back. “Yeah. Our situation now is a far cry from what we were experiencing at the time.” Seungwan glances at the news clipping plastered on the café wall, with the words “NEW BEGINNINGS” written in all caps - the day when the former health minister, Choi Minho, was forced to step down after a riot filled with raging health workers. 

“New Beginnings” may be a beacon of hope for some, but for young journalists such as Joohyun and Seungwan - it wasn’t. You had to question everything to survive in the industry and make a name for yourself, and they (and at least 15 other younger reporters) were eager to do that as long as people were appointed to power. 

The barista, Jimin, asks for Joohyun’s order. “What will you be having?”

“Iced americano, and iced chai latte.” 

“Coming right up.”

Seungwan raises an eyebrow.  “Never in my wildest dreams will I ever find a journalist who hates coffee as much as you do.” 

Joohyun shrugs as they walk to the pick-up area. “I guess I’m built differently.” 

The younger one elbows Joohyun and grins, as they both watch the baristas prepare their drinks. “At the top of your game without the biggest source of journalistic fuel - I guess that’s what makes you the best among us.”  

“Yah! Enough of the probing, your turn: What drove you to become a journalist?”

Seungwan pursed her lips. The barista across her just finished tamping the espresso for her iced americano. “It was the same as everyone else, I guess. But I really wasn’t supposed to stay in it.” 

“Hm?” 

“I used to take up pre-medicine. Microbiology,” Seungwan pauses for a while. “But I didn’t really see my heart in it. And when you see the news about how strained doctors were a while back it was extra discouraging. And so I took the leap. My parents were both doctors so it was hard for them.” 

She continued, frowning. “I guess, covering health and sciences was a consolation for them.” 

Joohyun purses her lips. “Hm. Without those underlying circumstances, is there any specific field you want to pursue?” 

(One chai latte and one iced americano for Joohyun!)

“You know, I’ve always wanted to write about the environment,” Seungwan answered after Joohyun hands over her iced americano (with a slight wince at the scent of the coffee.) 

The longer their conversation dragged on, the longer Joohyun noticed other things about the younger girl - the eagerness in her brown orbs, her short hair bobbing as she blabbers about why edible face masks aren’t feasible for the near future. (Even though she found the idea gross) It was attractive to see. 

If Seungwan opened up to her, Joohyun could’ve left crying about how Seungwan was one step ahead of her. (Or quipped: “Go and never come back. Ever.”) 

But her next words shocked her - and the blonde drinking in front of her. 

“I say go for it,” Joohyun answers chastely, not realizing that her hand was placed on top of Seungwan’s as they moved to head towards the exit.

The younger blushes on the contact, but grips in response, a smile on her face. “Well, I guess I’ll ask if I could add that assignment to my list then.” 

———————-

The next few days a few people noticed how Joohyun’s mood shifted towards Seungwan. 

How she’d laugh and slap Seungwan’s shoulder when the latter had a brain fart, or when Joohyun was willing to share her textbooks. 

It wasn’t long until they also noticed how Seungwan had a copy of Joohyun’s old notes. 

“Man, eonnie,” Jinsoul said one time as they lined up towards the ATM.  “I would kill to have her notes. They seem so neat.” 

To which Seungwan snickered. “Wait ‘till you see her draw smileys with nostrils on the notes.” 

Joohyun, who was just right behind them, wails. “Yah, Son Seungwan!” 

One coffee break turned into two, and then more. Joohyun noticed the littlest things about Seungwan which made her smile: The way she brushed her blonde hair upwards whenever she talked. The way the younger reporter’s brown eyes light up over a eureka moment while a story she needed to file, or the way her voice sounds whenever she sits in a corner and does her voice-over for the evening newscast; or the times her body warms up at the sight of the younger woman, especially when she offers her coat when she forgets hers at her apartment. 

From being her worst enemy, Seungwan turned into her confidant. She was glad to be part of Seungwan’s growth, as the older person was with her own. They are both, after all, a series of paper trails. Works of their own progress. At the end of the day, directed by their own free will. 

“Never have I ever,” Joohyun chants, in between acrylic barriers. “Kept a resignation letter in my drafts.” 

Seungwan takes a shot. 

Joohyun raises an eyebrow. “You’ve only been here for a year!” 

It was feeling burnt out one night, Seungwan confessed. She juggled between a special report, a couple of voice overs, and four other articles she had that day. She had her own what if's: what if she moved to a PR company for the big bucks? What if she pursued medicine instead of journalism? (Health journalism was to her, partly a consolation for her parents who wanted her to pursue medicine.) 

“And you’ve never wanted to quit?” 

Joohyun slurs. “What can I say, I never back down even if old man Yunho yells ten expletives in one sentence. I always thought of you as resilient.”

“Elaborate.”

“Well,” Joohyun rolls a ball of tissue and throws it at Seungwan, which deflects right back at her instead thanks to the acrylic barrier. “I’ve thrown so many passive-aggressives at you early on and you didn’t seem to mind.” 

Seungwan rolls her eyes and laughs. “Trust me, Joohyunnie,” Joohyun feels herself blushing at the nickname. “I was close to hitting you with Kyungsoo’s tripod on many occasions.” 

“I achieved academically in college,” Seungwan continues. “I didn’t think they would take into account my grades. You know, that pragmatic ‘grades don’t matter’ type of . I didn’t think I’d achieve as much as you did. I felt like a Kpop idol having to check myself every five to ten minutes,” the younger reporter laughs melodically.

“Please, Seungwan, that laugh alone is enough to get you into SM Entertainment.” She was surprised about how smooth she got back there. It must be the liquid confidence. 
 

To which Seungwan started blushing at: “In another life, eonnie. In another life.” 

The waiter recognizes the both of them. “Joohyun? Seungwan? The TV reporters?” 

Seungwan smiles feebishly. “Yes.” 

“Wow, we-“ something about a waiter feeling awestruck towards the two reporters made Joohyun giggle. By no means did Joohyun see herself as a celebrity, to her, she just had to focus on what she was working on. 

“Can I take a picture with you?” The waiter asked. Both ladies surprised at the request.

Joohyun looks at the tag and smiles. “Sure, Jungwoo.” 

Jungwoo takes out his phone and takes a selfie with the ladies. “I’m sure you probably don’t recognize me but your reporting on the hospital my mom worked with, and the labor strikes they forged helped them be heard. Now she is being paid given good hours, and with extra pay keep us afloat, so I will be forever indebted to your efforts,” the waiter bows.

It was the Severance Hospital protests, not much long ago. Seungwan and Joohyun, both on their own accord, whizzed back and forth with their cameramen to get good angles of the protest and speak with frontline staff at the time, who were three years into the pandemic and without equitable work hours still. 

Both ladies smile endearingly. It’s Seungwan who answers. “It was our pleasure, Jungwoo. Anything to help.” 

It was Joohyun who starts speaking first after Jungwoo walks away. “It’s these types of things that keep me going, Seungwan,” she smiles. “It’s being able to help give voice to the voiceless. It’s why I haven’t considered quitting.”

The photo with Jungwoo somehow made it to Korean forum sites. Surprisingly, Yunho just lets her off with a reminder to “keep one eye open when you sleep” (to which Joohyun just rolls her eyes about right after exiting his room.) 

But the next day, at the press room, she never saw Seungwan anymore. After the night at the bar, Seungwan hardly dropped by the press room for the rest of the month. She only had to be there when required. And when she was there, she would only say “hi” and “goodbye” (Or sometimes, leave without a word.) 

Thinking about how Seungwan had been avoiding her made the air feel heavy. Was she told to stay away after that photo spread? The idea was understandable. But for Seungwan to not let her in on a warning or anything was not. 

At the same time, Joohyun was afraid of the fact that she was falling for the competitor. (Or to quote her from probably, 3 months ago, her “enemy.”) Time and time again people said it was wrong to date a fellow journalist. And so forces herself to concede to that idea. 

“You seem out of sorts, eonnie,” her  friend, Yerim, a PR worker, noticed Joohyun’s desolate mood when they ate out. 

Joohyun sighs, “It’s just,” she stabs a rice cake in and out before responding “I’ve been friends with this person, and she’s starting to avoid me.” 

“Is this the Seungwan you were talking about last week?”

“Yeah.”

Yerim laughs. “And I thought you were stressing over your job. For a moment, I thought I had someone to empathize with for taking a career outside journalism.”  

Joohyun felt pensive. “Well that’s part of the problem. I’m falling for her.” 

“Right.” 

“And she’s been avoiding me for the last couple of weeks.” 

Yerim interrupts her. “Look, Joohyun-unnie. You should stop thinking like newspaper ink runs through your veins for a second and look at Seungwan outside of work.” 

“Over the course of your friendship, have you ever thought about her outside of it?” 

Joohyun scratches her head and laughs. “Well…” 

“You have to look at Seungwan objectively. None of the network rivalries. None of your careers. Look, I may have minimal knowledge of what goes on inside of the industry now,” Yerim pauses for a bit before answering. “But you have to see this whole thing through. Without any of the lenses.” 

The PR worker continues “Look, unnie, you’ve shown that you could take care of her and guide her through, and she has been helping you all the same right? Thus far, you’ve guided each other through practically a lot of things. You just have to be confident about the idea that you could do this outside of that.”

Yerim had a point. She thinks to herself as she sits down a bus stop. But she didn’t have a couple of editors yelling at her and pitting them against her in the process. 

So she reluctantly shoves these thoughts at the back of her head until she finds herself alone with Seungwan in  the newsroom again.  

“You seem tired, Seungwan-ah,” the younger girl recoils at the nickname.  “We should go out for some coffee to steel the nerves. 

Seungwan mouths at the blue Kleen Kanteen bottle on her desk, atop some of her guidebooks. “I still have a fresh batch right here.” She says coldly, without looking at the girl, who already felt tears stinging her eyes.  

It took a beat later before Joohyun loses it. “Look, this business of you avoiding me-” 

Seungwan glares. “I am not. Avoiding you.” 

“Then what is all this?” The older girl flails her arms. “My effort to make amends and be friends with you  been entirely genuine,” Joohyun looks to the floor before answering. “You could’ve just told me if your own bosses wanted you to stay away from me—“

Seungwan almost yells back as she stands up to respond “Stop being so dense!” Joohyun flinches back. “You won’t understand, unnie.” 

Joohyun slams her hand on the neighbouring cubicle, eyes never turning away from the younger woman: “Then make me.” 

Without another word, Seungwan takes a couple of strides and presses her lips to Joohyun’s. The kiss felt apologetic. Like she was sorry for having to drive a huge wedge between the both of them, and pull her guard down like this at the same time. 

Joohyun was about to kiss back when Seungwan pulled out and turned away from her, “See, this is the problem.” 

Joohyun held Seungwan’s arm and spun her around, both her hands on the younger girl’s shoulders. Seungwan couldn’t look her in the eye. 

“Seungwan, look at me.” 

It took a full ten seconds before the younger girl could make eye contact. It was then that she noticed Joohyun’s eyes, which glinted like the time she showed her full support for a story pitch she’d been wanting to do. 

“I know we started out rough, and I could be pretty indecisive about the direction I want for my career, and how it’ll affect everyone else around me,” Joohyun places her hands on Seungwan’s waist and draws her closer. Seungwan looks away, but Joohyun takes off one of her hands and cups her cheek, as if to make eye contact. “But I’m certain about you being another part of my life.” 

Joohyun takes a while before continuing. “This is unfamiliar territory for me too. I’ve fallen in and out of love so many times before,” she says, the last sentence coming out of in mock disgust. “We’ve been through the pandemic for crying out loud, and worked around it: what else is there to lose?” 

--

A/N (edited): 

The last A/N felt like I was oversharing. Sorry for that. 

It's been a while. Even so, I've kept an arm's distance from fics, reading in my time, and exploring ways to improve my writing inside and outside of here. As I've mentioned, writing this has been a reflection of my personal journey and probably others as well. 

Recently, I looked back to this fic, and realized that it was - so to speak - a bit half-cooked, a bit stiff, if you may. I've remastered it, changed some dialogues and added scenes here and there, added more characters to improve the flow of the story and make it more relatable in a way. So to speak I tried to make it more organized and keep the flow towards Irene (Wendy’s perspective in a bonus chapter coming up soon!) From around 5k words, I managed to double them. (Sorry if it becomes a bit too dragging I know the comments already said the dialogue already is but I am working on that bit!!) 

But with Paper Trail at the moment, and with the ever-changing world and the fact that we have to live with the virus (sadly, experts are backing this reality up), I wanted to create a post-COVID dystopia that would just make sense for everyone feeling the effects of the pandemic, and incorporate these experiences to Joohyun, Seungwan, and the people around them. And I wanted to do away with the forced dialogues, or incorporate them into more storylines that would make them make sense. 

But to remind everyone: While some of it may be reflective of personal events, it’s not necessarily reflective of the current situation in South Korea. (But of course, it’s not up to me to assume they are handling it well or not.) Journalists’ careers have invariably been affected by the pandemic. And some have even taken the high route of leaving, that’s the reality elsewhere and a lot are even going through an impostor syndrome. Joohyun grapples with this problem. 

Also: No one asked but I did use some references to what Lee Hyunji went through in Double Patty :D