The first thing Mina noticed when she arrived at the train station was that everyone looked vaguely better than her.
Which was irritating. Because she had tried.
Her makeup was done (lightly), her outfit was clean and normal (a safe neutral trench over jeans and boots), and she'd even worn earrings for the first time in weeks. But the second she stepped onto the platform and saw him, she realized it didn't matter.
Kim Minseo looked like a walking advertisement for a luxury weekend getaway.
Perfectly tailored coat. Effortless hair that probably took an hour. A single duffel bag slung over one shoulder like he had no emotional baggage at all. He was leaning casually against a column, reading a book—and she almost turned around and left.
"See him?," Hana whispered over the phone in her ear. "Tell me you see him."
"I see him," Mina muttered. "He looks like a second lead from a drama. The kind who dies tragically after giving a scarf to the heroine."
"I hate how specific that is."
"I hate that he's real."
Minseo looked up right then, as if sensing her existential panic. His eyes met hers across the station—and he smiled.
It was practiced, polished, and dazzling.
Mina felt her entire personality retreat like a turtle into its shell.
He walked over with smooth, confident steps.
"Mina-ssi?" he asked, voice warm, deep, and maddeningly polite.
"Yeah," she said, stiffly. "That's me."
He held out a gloved hand. "Kim Minseo. Thank you for choosing me."
"I didn't choose you. My best friend did," she said, shaking it briefly. "I'm still blaming her if this ends in public humiliation."
He chuckled. "Ah, so we're starting with honesty. I like that."
His eyes crinkled when he smiled. Mina hated that she noticed.
"Shall we go over the plan?" he asked, already stepping into an easy pace beside her.
Mina blinked. "Wait—you don't want coffee first, or to—like—ease into this?"
"No time like the present," Minseo said cheerfully. "We have a lot to cover. Your family, your relationship timeline, pet names, past fights, the proposal story—"
"Proposal?"
"Well, your aunt thinks you're engaged, doesn't she?"
Mina nearly tripped on a loose tile. "Who told you that?"
"You filled out the questionnaire, remember? Family expectations: 'Possibly thinks we're engaged.' That's what you typed."
"That was a joke!"
Minseo gave her a side glance. "My agency doesn't deal in jokes. Only preparation."
"Oh my god," Mina muttered. "You're one of those."
"One of what?"
"Actors. Who take their roles too seriously."
"Ah." Minseo nodded solemnly. "You wound me. I prefer 'method romantic.'"
Mina groaned and kept walking. "You're enjoying this."
"I enjoy being good at my job."
"Well, tone it down. You're at a seven, and I need you at a three until we get off the train."
"Understood." He instantly straightened his posture, lowered his voice, and said solemnly, "Darling, I'll be as dull as dishwater."
She gave him a sharp look.
He grinned. "Kidding. Unless that's your type?"
"My type is 'emotionally unavailable and possibly fictional.'"
"Excellent. I can work with that."
Mina dragged her suitcase to the train platform, praying the ride would be quiet. Instead, Minseo whipped out a stack of flashcards.
She stared at him. "Are those… literal cue cards?"
"Of course. Backstory building. You grew up in Seoul, correct?"
"Yes."
"First date—?"
"There wasn't one."
"Not helpful."
She sighed. "Fine. We met at the café where I work. You ordered an oat milk latte and spelled your name as 'Shrek' on the cup. I made fun of you, and then you left a passive-aggressive five-star review."
Minseo blinked. "That's oddly specific."
"I improv under pressure."
He scribbled it down. "Okay. Anniversary?"
"Make it a weekday. Less suspicion."
"Excellent logic. Pet names?"
"None."
"Boring."
"Pick your own. But don't call me 'honey' or anything that would make my ears bleed."
Minseo looked delighted. "You're very fun to tease."
"I'm not teasing," Mina said flatly. "I'm serious."
He smiled, but nodded. "Got it. No bleeding ears."
When they finally settled into their train seats, Minseo pulled out snacks—her favorite kind, somehow.
She eyed him warily. "How did you know I like shrimp chips?"
"I didn't. Statistically, one in three people do."
"You made that up."
"Maybe." He handed her the bag anyway.
As the train began to pull away from the station, Mina slumped back into her seat with a long sigh.
Minseo glanced at her, expression softening just slightly.
"Nervous?"
"Terrified," she admitted.
"You don't have to be. I've done over a hundred gigs, and I've never once let a client down."
She looked at him.
Perfect posture. Kind eyes. That maddening, professional warmth that made her feel like the lead in a scene she didn't audition for.
"You're too good at this," she muttered.
Minseo smiled faintly. "It's only pretend. Unless you want it to feel real."
Mina turned her head to stare out the window, cheeks burning.
This was going to be a long weekend.