The next morning, Leo woke to sunlight burning his eyelids. The curtains weren't fully closed, a single, harsh beam landing directly on his face.
He cursed under his breath as he pushed himself up, his head still foggy. Last night's incident sat in his gut like a trapped fart—unpleasant, stubborn, and impossible to ignore.
When he opened the door for his food delivery, his eyes automatically flicked toward the spot.
Empty.
The paper cake bag he'd hung on his doorknob yesterday was gone. Not a single crumb left. The floor was clean, as if no one had ever left anything for him.
Toothbrush dangling from his mouth, he paused.
"Sleepwalking?" he mumbled through a mouthful of foam.
The day passed with a dull monotony. Code. Takeout. Arguing with idiots in his group chats. But his focus was shot. His ears kept straining, listening for any sound from across the hall.
The opposite door stayed silent, a tomb.
By three or four in the afternoon, hunger gnawed at him. He decided to hit the convenience store for snacks. Pulling his door open, he stopped. Perfect timing. Her door opened too.
Vicky stood there, head down as she fiddled with her lock. She'd changed into light grey athletic wear, her hair pulled into a high ponytail that revealed a smooth forehead and a pale sliver of her neck. She looked more put together, but her complexion was still wan, her lips lacking color.
Hearing his door, her head snapped up. A flicker of panic crossed her eyes, like a startled bird.
"Heading out?" Leo kept his tone neutral, a standard neighborly greeting.
Vicky gave a quick, almost imperceptible nod. A soft "Mm," barely audible. She sidestepped, trying to slip past him, but her backpack strap snagged on the door handle. She jerked to a stop.
Clumsy.
Leo didn't move, watching her fumble to free the strap. He noticed she wasn't wearing makeup today. Faint greyish circles hung under her eyes.
"Sleep okay?" The question left his mouth before he could stop it.
Vicky's hands stilled on the strap, her fingertips turning white. She looked up, her gaze skittering away from his. She dodged the question. "The… the cake. Was it… okay?"
Her voice was flat, rehearsed.
"Cloyingly sweet," Leo said bluntly. "The matcha powder was gritty."
She seemed thrown by his honesty, faltering. A flash of embarrassment crossed her face. She unconsciously licked her dry lips. "…Sorry."
"S'fine. Filled a hole." He waved a dismissive hand. His eyes landed on her oversized backpack. Tucked in a side pocket was a transparent folder holding a few printed sheets. The header on the top page had a distinct logo—a stylized combination of a star and a microphone, with English text underneath. He could only make out "Star… something."
Vicky followed his gaze. Her expression tightened. She quickly shoved the folder deeper into the bag and yanked the side pocket's zipper shut.
"I… I have to go. I'm late," she said hurriedly, almost plastering herself to the wall as she brushed past him, leaving a faint gust of air in her wake.
It carried that same sickly-sweet strawberry scent.
Leo watched her practically flee down the stairs and disappear around the corner. He raised an eyebrow.
"Late?" he muttered to himself with a quiet scoff. "Late for another crying session?"
This girl was a mess of contradictions. Like she was acting in a play for an audience of one, and doing a terrible job of it.
He ambled downstairs, but his mind snagged on that logo. Felt like he'd seen it somewhere.
At the convenience store, chewing on a rice ball, he pulled out his phone. Almost without thinking, he typed "star microphone logo" into the search bar.
The auto-complete suggestions popped up. One name stood out: Star Galaxy Entertainment.
One of Korea's major idol-making powerhouses.
Leo's finger froze mid-chew. The rice ball suddenly tasted like cardboard.
He clicked through to Star Galaxy's official website. It was slick, flooded with promo photos of beautiful trainees and schedule announcements. He scrolled through the "Trainees" section. The published list and photos showed no sign of Vicky.
He leaned back, squinting at the harsh sun outside his window.
A secretive, weepy, strawberry-scented neighbor with Star Galaxy documents in her bag?
"Interesting," he murmured, stuffing the last of the rice ball into his mouth.
This dump just got a whole lot more complicated.