"What the hell...?" Out of the corner of her eyes Mina caught Jihyo's baffled gaze. Nayeon and Tzuyu looked over their leader's shoulders, then with eyes wide open they motioned for Mina to come see. Her pulsations hastened. Trouble?

 

            "Mina!" One of her manager stormed into the room, an anxious undertone suppressed under what sounded to be frightened fury. Mina had scantily registered the picture on Jihyo's phone when the manager shoved his own in front of her. "What is this?"

 

            .

 

            Mina entered the dorm. She had had to withdraw from the rest of her schedules, mostly practice and whatnot, to resolve the controversy with company staff. A statement was issued and any romantic relation denied. "All we can do now is wait for this to breeze over. Go get some rest. You begin earlier tomorrow," she was ushered, and so Mina entered her room. The door clicked as the male manager left. She slumped onto her bed, enervated, but recoiled when she felt something on her back. A flip-screen. No, a burner. She had crumpled the note under it as well. Call, it read. Mina knew she shouldn't, that she should wonder how the device had made it onto her bed, but there was little she cared about. There was a single number registered, and she pressed the green button.

 

            The shrill ring had barely registered when, with eerie speed, it stopped. "Hello," a voice rang out from the other end. Japanese.

 

            Mina reconsidered this course of action. "Who are you? How did you get this cell phone onto my bed?" 

 

            The man on the other end of the line sounded more nervous than she was. "I'm a fan. I just want to talk."

 

            "Just talk?"

 

            "Yes."

 

            Mayhaps this was not so wise. "I'm sorry." Her finger closed on the red button.

 

            "Hold on." And so Mina stopped. "I need you to be calm," the mystery male insisted.

 

            "What do you mean?"

 

            "Can you promise to be calm?"

 

            "I don't understand," Mina replied. What was this man to do?

 

            She thought she heard a sigh. "Alright. Alright. Please, just...remain composed. Please."

 

            Mina opened , agitated but unsure what she was to say. "What are yo-" The door unlocked. A six-foot figure materialized from the shadows.

 

            "I have no intention of vandalizing," the man insisted, "so please don't call your manager. I really don't want to get in trouble." A young adult. His twenties, give or take a few. Asian. Foreign accent. Fit build. Short hair. No facial hair. Brown eyes. Mina marked down key features for the police report she would file.

 

            Certainly, the intruder did not seem intent nor capable. If anything, he exuded the aura of a scholar, the kind that would would not be easily provoked to harm. It seemed more appropriate that someone who meant her harm might've ambushed her or something movie-esque. But people change. They put on a mask and they strike and you get left bleeding without able to ask "why?" But he obstructed the path out the door, and so Mina remained seated, cold sweat breaking. "You broke into our dorm?" She posed the phrase cautiously.

 

            The stranger seemed taken aback. "I did. Phrasing it like that sounds villainous though. You have my assurances of uttermost moderation."

 

            "Your assurance doesn't mean anything to me."

 

            As hostile as he expected. "No. I mean, yes, I know." The stranger fidgeted with his phone case and withdrew a slip of paper. He approached Mina slowly and handed her the sliver. Hesitantly, the lady accepted it. A polaroid. She had long, red hair and bangs when the fan had taken the selca with her. Mina could not but harbour a pint of guilt for not recognizing the man, albeit the unnatural implausibility of that. "How about this?" The man brought out his phone and showed the idol a scramble of math. 128√e980.

 

            Mina shut her eyes for a moment, trying to recall the fleeting shreds of her past fan encounters. The top was to be erased and "iloveyou" would remain. "I remember this," Mina responded, faintly proud of herself for it, "I called you lame." 

 

            "That you did," the stranger chuckled. "The lighting complimented your smile very beautifully that day."

 

            Mina allowed herself to blush. Charming. Alas, this was a peculiarly enthusiastic fan, bypassing her privacy accounted for. " What's your name?"

 

            "Cheng."

 

            "Cheng," she repeated. "Where are you from?"

 

            "Canada. I came to Korea on vacation," Cheng inserted, "not to break into your home."

 

            "And you shouldn't have. As a fan you should know today was the worst choice you could'v-" Mina inhaled, gathering herself. "You shouldn't have."

 

            "It angers you."

 

            Was he trying to aggravate her? Mina stared at this man incredulously, the statement such a given she did not deem it necessary to respond. "Respect. That's all I ask for. I didn't think it was quite so hard to grant."

 

            "And now I'm here nonetheless, knowing how it makes you feel. What is it you want to say?"

 

            What in tarnation? "That I hate people like you!" Her voice was fortified with annoyance, "Is that what you want to hear?"

 

            But the man was impassive, unremorseful, satisfied. "Yes." Mina flinched. He was deliberately drawing out her anger and baiting her lash out. "Do you feel a little better? Less held in?"

 

            Mina scoffed. "I'm not sure whether to thank you or tell you to leave."

 

            "You could do both," the man suggested.

 

            Eccentric indeed. "Why did you leave a burner and a note here? Why not simply be candid and show yourself from the beginning?"

 

            "That would've given you a heart attack. You don't drop a salt fish straight into freshwater."

 

            Fair enough.

 

            "I want to talk," Cheng repeated.

 

            "What about?"

 

            "I'm sure you can guess."

 

            "The scandal."

 

            "Yes." Mina shifted in her seat, suddenly unwilling to look Cheng in the eye. "How are you doing?" He inquired.

 

            "Well."

 

            Cheng's head tilted to one side, a wandering expression on his face. His eyes fawn, mellow, and prescient. "Think of me as an acquaintance. How are you doing?"

 

            Mina stiffened, uncomfortable. She had wanted to hide and cry under