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Chapter 71 - Chapter 71 — Hour Eleven: The Smile That Wasn't for Them

Chapter 71 — Hour Eleven: The Smile That Wasn't for Them

10:36 AM

The stream continued—tens of millions watching from around the world.

Jaeheon had disappeared from the main room.

Not long. Maybe ten minutes.

"Bathroom?" the fans speculated in the chat.

"Probably composing," others guessed. "He always vanishes like this."

The camera in the smaller studio room flickered to life.

He was there.

Headphones on. Fingers gliding over a sleek black keyboard. He wasn't composing anything grand—just notes. Gentle keys. Soundless to the stream but visible in his posture.

Then he stopped.

Opened his phone.

Checked the chat.

Still no reply.

But that wasn't new.

What was new… was the corner of his lips.

Just barely. Just slightly.

A smile.

The kind you don't realize you're wearing.

Until it's already gone.

Across the Room — Sungchan's POV

Sungchan didn't say anything.

He'd learned not to, over the years.

Jaeheon was private in a way that wasn't aloof—it was sacred. Like trying to ask about a dream he never wanted to wake up from.

So instead, Sungchan watched.

Not out of curiosity.

But out of awe.

Because whatever—or whoever—was behind that kind of quiet devotion…

They had become more than just a name in Jaeheon's life.

They were a constant.

Back in the Studio — 10:42 AM

Jaeheon opened a document.

He titled it:

"Unread / Unsaid — Vol. 2"

He wrote:

"There are days I forget the sound of your voice, but never how you made silence feel."

"I don't know if you'll ever reply. And I'm not sure I need you to. You're already in every lyric I never show."

He closed the laptop.

Picked up a guitar from the corner.

Strummed a few soft notes.

The live chat exploded.

"IS THIS A NEW SONG?"

"OH MY GOD HE'S SMILING AGAIN."

"SOMEONE SCREENSHOT THAT PLEASE."

But the truth wasn't for them.

Not this.

Never this.

Elsewhere — Anastasia's AI Archive

Anastasia leaned back, watching from a private, encrypted feed.

The AI beside her, designed by her own hands, displayed a real-time sentiment analysis.

[Subject: Kang Jaeheon]

Emotional Output Detected: Steady Devotion | Internalized Affection | Unwavering Pattern Recognition

She didn't move.

Didn't flinch.

But her fingers tightened slightly against the glass of her cup.

A soft voice, synthetic but warm, murmured:

"Shall I decrypt the next batch of messages, Miss Volkov?"

She whispered, "No. Not yet."

Back in the AUREUS Dorms — 11:03 AM

"Hyung!" Minjae burst in. "We're making lunch on stream. You gotta help!"

Jaeheon stood.

Turned off the screen.

Put the guitar away.

Phone back in his pocket.

Smile—already vanished.

But his eyes?

They still held something warm.

Not for the cameras.

Not for the fans.

Not even for himself.

For her. Always for her.

And no one—knew a thing.

Because some love stories didn't need an audience.

They just needed to exist.

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