The spotlight burned bright, illuminating the grand hall in a halo of golden light. Applause roared like a wave, crashing against the marble walls. Cameras flashed relentlessly, capturing every shimmer of Baek Ajin's silver gown, every gleam in her carefully polished smile. She stood poised on the stage, gliding through the motions of elegance and charm, the picture of perfection.
From the outside, her life was flawless. Beauty, fame, wealth—she had captured them all. Every step she took, every word she spoke, was measured and admired. The world saw Ajin as untouchable, radiant, a star that burned brighter than anyone else.
But perfection was a lie. Behind that dazzling smile lay a labyrinth of secrets, lies, and calculated manipulations. Friendships she had twisted to her advantage. Rivals she had quietly eliminated. Hearts she had shattered without remorse. All to protect the fragile image of the woman everyone adored. And yet, in the depths of her mind, a quiet voice whispered relentlessly: Everything you've built can crumble in a heartbeat.
Tonight, the hall felt different. The air carried a subtle tension, like static before a storm. A faint chill crawled up her spine, the kind that made her skin prickle. Cameras flashed, but Ajin noticed the ones that lingered too long, the ones that seemed to study her not with admiration but with something sharper—curiosity, suspicion, even malice.
She adjusted her posture, lifting her chin. Her smile never wavered. It had to be perfect. It had to be convincing. Every twitch of her lips, every blink, every subtle tilt of her head had been rehearsed a thousand times. The world must believe that she was untouchable, flawless. And she had long mastered the art of hiding the storm beneath the surface.
Somewhere in the crowd, a figure stood apart from the applause and flashing lights. His gaze was calm, unwavering, and piercing. He saw her—not the image the world adored, but the woman behind it: brilliant, dangerous, and achingly human. A man who had always understood her, protected her, and quietly judged her choices. And tonight, his eyes held a question she wasn't sure she wanted to answer: How long can you keep the mask on before it shatters?
The orchestra swelled, a triumphant fanfare that echoed through the hall. The audience cheered. Cameras clicked. The world celebrated her. And Ajin smiled.
But this time, the smile was heavier. There was a weight to it she could not disguise, a tremor beneath the perfect veneer. Tonight was not just another awards ceremony. Tonight, the first cracks were forming. The mask was starting to break.
And when it did, nothing would ever be the same.
Behind the applause, behind the sparkling lights, Ajin felt the familiar churn of unease. Her chest tightened, a subtle panic she had learned to bury beneath layers of composure. This is nothing, she told herself. It's just another night. Another show. Another audience that adores me.
But deep down, she knew it wasn't nothing. There was a flicker of dread, tiny and insistent, gnawing at the edges of her carefully constructed calm. Every award she had won, every headline praising her elegance, every fan who adored her—it all felt fragile now, as if a single word, a single revelation, could shatter the illusion in an instant.
She forced herself to breathe slowly, counting in her mind. One… two… three… Each exhale was measured, deliberate, a rhythm she had perfected over years of public scrutiny. Her outward smile remained flawless, yet inside, a storm raged—an amalgam of fear, anticipation, and an almost intoxicating thrill. Ajin loved the danger of it, the way her life always teetered on the edge. It reminded her she was alive, that beneath the silver gown and sparkling jewels, she was not just a character, but a woman capable of bending reality to her will.
And yet… tonight felt different. The whispers of doubt were louder, sharper. She felt the weight of every expectation pressing down on her: the eyes of the public, the cameras, the people in her life who trusted her, feared her, or simply wanted her to fall. Ajin hated the vulnerability that came with it—the tiny, undeniable truth that perfection could never be permanent.
Her gaze wandered across the crowd, searching, calculating. She noted the subtle movements: a journalist adjusting their camera lens, a producer leaning in with a curious smile, the murmurs of spectators whose attention wavered between admiration and curiosity. Every glance felt like an inspection, every breath in the hall a challenge.
And then she remembered him—the one who had always seen through her mask. The one whose quiet gaze never judged her, yet never let her forget her own truth. Just thinking of him steadied her heartbeat, even as the unease lingered. He was the only constant in the chaos, the only person who could anchor her when the world threatened to pull her under.
Ajin inhaled sharply, her smile still unbroken. Let them see me, she thought, almost defiantly. Let them see the perfect star. But I know what lurks beneath. And I am not afraid.
The applause continued, swelling and echoing. The lights shimmered across the grand hall, but for Ajin, it all felt distant, unreal, as if she were observing herself from outside. She was the star everyone worshipped. She was the woman everyone envied. And yet, she was something else entirely—fragile, dangerous, and profoundly alive beneath the mask.
And she knew, deep in the core of her being, that tonight would mark the beginning of the reckoning.
---
The house was silent, thick with a tension that had nothing to do with the night outside. Ajin's younger self—small, fragile, and wide-eyed—tiptoed down the dimly lit hallway. Her small hand clutched the doorframe as she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur, "Hey… Dad? What was that sound just now?"
Her father's shadow loomed in the doorway, his face partially obscured by the darkness. He said nothing at first, and Ajin felt a shiver run down her spine. Something was off. Something always was, but tonight it felt sharper, heavier.
Before she could ask again, she saw movement. Her father was carrying her mother, limp and lifeless in his arms, with a strange precision that made her stomach twist. "Alright… her shoes are on, and now…" His voice was calm, almost eerily so, as if reciting lines from some long-rehearsed script. "…It's time to say goodbye."
Ajin's heart pounded in her chest, a wild, frantic drum. Her mind raced, but no sound came from her throat. She could only watch, paralyzed by fear and confusion. Why? Why is he doing this? Her thoughts collided, hopelessly tangled, as she tried to make sense of the scene.
The night pressed down on her like a physical weight. Shadows swallowed the corners of the hallway, and the silence was broken only by the faint creak of the stairs as her father moved. At first, he had tried to calm her mother, tried to soothe her fears—but eventually, he had given up, retreating into the cold logic of his actions. Even now, he carried her mother upstairs, step by step, as if performing some cruel ritual.
Ajin's eyes filled with tears, but she forced herself to blink them away. She had learned early that tears were useless, that emotions could be dangerous if noticed. In that moment, she understood something fundamental: the world was a place where survival demanded cunning, observation, and control. Fear could be a tool—but it could also consume you if you let it.
She pressed herself against the wall, silent, invisible, watching the dark silhouette of her father disappear up the stairs. Every heartbeat echoed like a drum in her ears. Every shadow seemed alive, whispering secrets she was too young to understand fully.
And in that quiet, terrifying moment, a seed was planted in her heart: the realization that appearances were everything. The world could be deceived. People could be manipulated. And if she wanted to survive, she would need to learn how to hide her true self behind a mask, one that no one—not even her father—could pierce.
Tonight, the house was filled with shadows, grief, and the unspoken horrors of her childhood. But even as the terror threatened to crush her, Ajin felt the first flicker of determination. One day, she would take control. One day, she would ensure that nothing—and no one—would have power over her again.
The stairs grew silent. The darkness seemed to sigh. And somewhere deep inside her, the girl who had witnessed this unspeakable act made a silent vow: she would survive, and she would become untouchable.
Present...

Smile. Just smile. Everyone expects it. Everyone loves it. They don't need to see the cracks beneath.
The applause washes over me, warm and intoxicating, but it doesn't reach my chest. My heart beats faster than it should, but I force it to slow, counting in my mind—one… two… three. Control yourself. Breathe. They can't see you falter.
I feel it, though—the tiny itch of panic. It's almost thrilling, this edge, this knowledge that everything I've built could collapse in a second. One wrong word, one careless gesture… and the world will finally see me. The real me.
No. They can never see the real me.
I've spent years perfecting this image. Every award, every headline, every fan's sigh of admiration—it's mine, but it's also a cage. And still, I can't stop craving it. I want them to love me. I need them to love me. But at what cost?
And yet, even now, a small part of me wonders: Is anyone really looking at the Ajin behind the mask?
I think of him. The one who sees everything. The one who doesn't flinch at my ambition, my manipulations, my darkness. His eyes—they anchor me, even when I want to spiral. If he were here, would he still recognize me? Would he still… care?
I inhale, steadying the tremor in my hands. No. The mask stays. I cannot afford to show weakness—not tonight, not ever. Let them see the star. Let them see perfection. But they will never see me.
The lights glare down, the cameras flash, and the crowd cheers. And I smile. Perfect. Radiant. Untouchable.
But inside, I am not untouchable. Inside, I am counting the moments until the mask slips. And when it does… what will I become?
---
To be continued...