127: Chapter 127 He stayed behind specifically to keep her company

Late at night in Seoul, a torrential rain poured down. Dense raindrops pelted the windows of the hospital corridor, making a crackling sound like countless pebbles being thrown forcefully against the glass.

The corridor lights were dimmed, leaving only a few nightlights casting faint, blurry halos on the polished floor. The smell of disinfectant filled the air, mixed with the faint, earthy scent brought by the rain.

Inside the VIP ward, only a single bedside lamp remained lit, casting a warm, faint yellow glow.

Jessica Jung was woken up by waves of agonizing itchiness and pain in her ankle.

It wasn't a sharp, stabbing pain, but rather a bone-deep itch unique to the healing stage of a wound, mixed with a bizarre, aching soreness as nerve endings reconnected. It felt as if countless tiny insects were crawling through the crevices of her bones, gnawing back and forth at her nerves as she tried to sleep.

Drowsily, she opened her eyes. Her vision was blurry at first before slowly focusing on the monotonous white of the ceiling.

In her ears was the sound of Tiffany Hwang's steady and long breaths.

Her good friend, Tiffany Hwang, whose eyes always curved into crescent moons when she smiled, was currently curled up on the companion bed by the wall, fast asleep.

The companion bed was very narrow. Tiffany Hwang lay on her side, hugging a spare pillow she had dug out from the ward's cabinet. Her long blonde hair was scattered messily across the pillow, and her cheeks flushed with a healthy glow from her deep sleep. She slept so soundly that she even let out a soft, cute snore.

Jessica Jung looked at her, a wave of warmth rising in her heart, but she was immediately gripped again by the increasingly clear itch and pain in her ankle. She didn't want to wake Miyoung; this girl had been accompanying her through rehabilitation during the day and keeping watch at night for the past few days, and her dark circles were almost as bad as a panda's.

Biting her lower lip, she tried to sit up on her own and reached out to grab the water glass on the nightstand.

The glass wasn't far, but every movement now felt like a difficult battle. She first used her uninjured left foot and her arms to apply force, bit by bit, trying to pull her upper body out of the soft pillows.

Her hospital gown rubbed against the skin of her back, making a faint rustling sound. With every exertion of force, a dull pain would shoot from her injured right ankle, reminding her of her current situation.

Almost there, just a little bit more...

Her fingertips were already about to touch the side of the glass.

Right then, the unbearable itch deep in her ankle suddenly intensified, as if a fine needle had pierced it without warning. Her body shuddered uncontrollably, and her outstretched hand veered off course. Instead of touching the water glass, she swept against a small white plastic medicine bottle sitting next to it.

*Clack! Clatter, clatter...*

The medicine bottle fell to the floor, the rolling sound amplified countless times in the silent, rainy night.

Jessica Jung's heart tightened, and she immediately looked toward the companion bed.

Tiffany Hwang's snoring stopped. She frowned and stirred uneasily in her sleep, but she didn't seem to wake up immediately. She merely mumbled something incoherently and buried her face back into the pillow.

Jessica Jung let out a sigh of relief, but immediately felt a wave of frustration and helplessness. She hadn't managed to get the water, and instead, she had made an even louder noise. The itch and pain in her ankle persisted, mixing with a deeper sense of uncertainty and fear for the future, making her nose tingle and her eyes instantly well up with tears.

She didn't want to cry; she thought she had been strong enough over the past few days. But when facing her body's loss of control and pain all alone in the dead of night, the vulnerability she had forcefully suppressed during the day broke through her defenses, just like the sudden, unannounced torrential rain outside.

She raised her uninjured hand and covered her eyes, trying to force the moisture back. But her tears refused to cooperate, seeping through her fingers, warm and wet.

Just then, the door of the ward was gently pushed open.

A tall, slender figure appeared at the doorway, the dim light from the corridor shining from behind him, outlining a familiar silhouette.

It was Song Tianhao.

He was clearly not asleep yet. He was still wearing the dark suit from earlier in the day, though he had discarded his tie, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a bit of his collarbone. His hair was slightly messy, and there was an almost imperceptible trace of fatigue in his eyes, but his gaze appeared exceptionally alert under the dim yellow bedside lamp.

Seeing Jessica Jung covering her eyes with her shoulders trembling slightly, and then looking at the medicine bottle rolled onto the floor, his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. He didn't speak immediately, but simply closed the door behind him, shutting out the noise and light from the corridor.

He walked over to the wall. Instead of turning on the main light, he switched on another, softer wall lamp. A warm white glow spread out, brighter than the bedside lamp but still gentle on the eyes, perfectly dispersing the darkness in the corners and bringing the room into clear view.

Hearing footsteps approaching, Jessica Jung lowered her hand and tried in a panic to wipe away the tear stains on her face, but it was already too late.

Her eyes were red, and unshed tears still clung to her eyelashes, glistening faintly under the light. Combined with her pale, bloodless face and slightly messy long hair, she looked disheveled and fragile, like a homeless cat soaked by the rain.

Song Tianhao's gaze lingered on her face for two seconds—without surprise, without questions, and without pity. His gaze was very calm, as calm as a deep pool, effortlessly accepting all of her dishevelment and helplessness.

He didn't ask her what was wrong, nor did he say useless things like "stop crying." He simply walked over to the nightstand, picked up the water glass, and tested its temperature. The water had been freshly changed in the evening and was still warm. Then, he walked to the side of the bed, leaned down naturally, supported her back gently with one hand, and brought the glass to her lips with the other.

"Drink some water first." His voice wasn't loud, sounding somewhat deep against the backdrop of the rain, but it was very clear.

Jessica Jung froze, staring blankly at his face, which was inches away. He was so close that she could smell the very faint, crisp woody scent of his cologne, mixed with a hint of dampness from the rain.

The palm of his hand supporting her back was warm, transmitting a steady strength through her thin hospital gown to support her weak body.

Subconsciously, guided by his hand, she lowered her head and took a few small sips of water. The warm water slid down her dry throat, slightly easing the choked-up feeling.

After she finished drinking, Song Tianhao put the glass back on the nightstand, but he didn't immediately let go of her back. Instead, he adjusted the position of the pillow so she could lean back more comfortably. Only then did he sit down on the chair by the bed—the one Tiffany Hwang had been sitting in during the day, which was very close to the bed.

"Can't sleep?" he asked, his tone as casual as asking "how's the weather today."

Leaning back against the readjusted soft pillows, Jessica Jung felt the supporting force on her back vanish, but the lingering warmth remained.

She lowered her eyes, staring at her hands resting on the blanket, and let out a soft "mm." Her voice still carried a slight nasality from crying. "...It hurts a bit, and it's a bit itchy." She paused and added, "The wound is healing."

"Mm, that's a normal reaction. It means it's improving." Song Tianhao nodded, his gaze falling on her bandaged ankle. "But the sensation is more pronounced at night, especially in this kind of weather."

Hearing him say this, Jessica Jung realized that the sound of the rain pouring outside made the ward feel exceptionally quiet, and exceptionally... suitable for talking. She stole a glance at Song Tianhao.

Song Tianhao sat there in a relaxed posture, his profile appearing much softer than usual under the gentle light of the wall lamp. He didn't look at her, but simply stared at the neon lights blurred by the rain outside the window, as if listening to the rain, or perhaps waiting for her to speak.

An inexplicable sense of reassurance, mingled with the unique loneliness of late night and a desire to confide, quietly welled up in her heart.

"...CEO Oppa," she hesitated for a moment, using this title that sat somewhere between "President" and "Oppa," carrying a hint of closeness while maintaining a certain distance. "Why... aren't you resting yet?" She remembered he had visited during the day, leaving only after accompanying her through her afternoon rehabilitation, and had mentioned he had a meeting tonight.

"I finished handling things, so I came over to check on you," Song Tianhao turned his head and replied naturally. "I've been staying here the past few days; it's more convenient." He pointed outside the door. "There's a lounge next door."

Only then did Jessica Jung recall that she seemed to have heard Miyoung mention in passing that CEO Oppa had been staying at the hospital frequently lately. She had assumed he was just busy with company matters and working nearby.

So... had he stayed behind specifically to accompany her? This realization made her heart tremble slightly.

"Is it because of me?" As soon as she asked, she felt it was a bit self-indulgent, so she quickly lowered her head. "...I mean, it's too much trouble for you."

"It's no trouble." Song Tianhao's tone remained flat. "You are artists under my company. Since something happened, I naturally must take full responsibility." He said "you" in the plural sense, but his gaze was fixed on her.

The words were spoken in a businesslike manner, yet Jessica Jung could detect a slightly different meaning from his calm tone.

If it were purely business, he could have just sent a capable office chief or manager to keep watch. Why would he personally stay up all night to watch over her? But she couldn't ask that, nor did she dare to overthink it.

The room fell silent again, leaving only the sound of the rain outside and the shallow breathing of the two of them.

After a long while, Jessica Jung spoke again, her voice very soft, as if afraid of disturbing something. "CEO Oppa... do you think I can still go back? Back to the stage, dancing like I used to?"

This was the first time since her injury that she had asked this question so bluntly. Previously, whether facing her members, family, or doctors, she had put up a brave front, brushing it off with "I'll be fine" or "It's okay," as if asking the question would mean she was truly afraid and doubting herself.

Song Tianhao did not answer immediately. He looked at her with a deep gaze, as if trying to see past her feigned composure to the soul struggling with fear and confusion inside.

"Do you want to go back?" Instead of answering, he asked.

"Yes!" Jessica Jung blurted out almost instinctively, her voice rising slightly with urgency before dropping back down. "...But, I don't know if I can..."

Her fingers unconsciously twisted the bedsheet. "The doctor said that even with the best recovery, there... there might still be some lingering effects. Doing highly difficult movements might be strenuous, and I might... not be able to dance for as long or as intensely as before..."

Her voice grew softer and softer, until it was almost inaudible.

These past few days, the doctors, physical therapists, and even her fellow members had been encouraging her in various ways, telling her "No problem" and "You can definitely do it." But those professional terms and realistic assessments were like tiny thorns pricking her heart.

She knew her own body better than anyone, and she feared that "possible" outcome more than anyone.

"Jessica Jung," Song Tianhao suddenly called her by her full name, his tone very serious. "Before you debuted, did you ever think you would be able to stand in front of tens of thousands of people, singing and dancing?"

Jessica Jung was taken aback and looked up.

"When you went through the Black Ocean, did you ever think Girls Generation would have today?" Song Tianhao continued to ask. He spoke slowly, each word striking her heart. "The first time you were injured from dance practice and couldn't sleep because of the pain, did you ever think about giving up?"

Without waiting for her to answer, he gazed at her calmly. "Before doing many things, no one knows if they will work out. What matters is not what 'might' happen, but what you 'want' to happen, and how much you are willing to pay for that 'want'."

He paused, his voice softening slightly. "The stage is right there; it won't run away. Whether you can go back, and how much you can recover, is not up to the doctors, nor is it up to me or anyone else. It is up to you—with your sweat, your blood, your tears, and your unyielding determination—to decide.

[part:gemini-3.1-flash-lite]

"If it hurts, scream it out. If you're afraid, say it out loud. But once you've screamed and once you've feared, not a single one of the required exercises can be skipped. Just as you fought your way out of the S.M. Entertainment trainees back then, you will walk out of this rehabilitation room the same way."

Song Tianhao's voice was not loud, yet it carried a strange power that pierced through the sound of the rain and reached her ears clearly. "As for the aftereffects... they are just another difficulty you will need to overcome when you dance in the future, just like how you had to overcome your fear of heights or your lack of stamina before. Jessica, when have you ever been afraid of difficulties?"

Jessica Jung stared at him blankly, her eyes beginning to heat up again, but this time it wasn't because of pain or fear, but because of... a tremor of being completely understood. He understood; he not only understood her fear, but even more so her pride, her stubbornness, and that unyielding spirit deep in her bones.

Song Tianhao did not offer empty comfort. Instead, he used the most direct method to break down the problems she had been avoiding, shattering them into pieces, placing them before her, and then telling her: The path is there; whether you walk it and how you walk it is up to you.

Tears rolled down without warning. This time, she did not wipe them away.

"I... I'm afraid of letting everyone down." She choked out, finally speaking the deepest fear in her heart. "I'm afraid of dragging the team down, afraid of making the fans wait too long, afraid... afraid of never being able to catch up with everyone's pace again." Girls Generation was in a period of ascent, and every comeback was crucial.

Her absence meant the team had to readjust their formations and redistribute parts, meaning all plans could be disrupted.

She was one of the main vocalists, and her sense of responsibility made it impossible for her not to be anxious.

"Taeyeon came yesterday, didn't she? Did she tell you again, 'It's okay, we'll wait for you'?" Song Tianhao asked suddenly.

Jessica Jung nodded.

"That girl..." Song Tianhao shook his head almost imperceptibly, his tone carrying a faint, barely audible sense of helplessness and indulgence. "Her pressure is no less than yours, but she won't say it. She will only tell you 'It's okay,' and then carry all the pressure on her own shoulders."

He looked at Jessica Jung. "Do you think they are the kind of people who would abandon you just because you are temporarily injured, or think you are a burden?"

"Of course not!" Jessica Jung retorted immediately.

"Then what are you afraid of?" Song Tianhao struck at the heart of the matter. "You aren't afraid of dragging them down; you're afraid that you are no longer the Jessica who can be relied upon by the team, afraid that you are no longer 'useful,' right?"

Jessica Jung's breath hitched, and her pupils contracted slightly. This sentence was like a precise scalpel, dissecting the heart beneath her layers of disguise.

Yes, what she feared was never just the physical pain; it was the panic of "losing her value."

In the cutthroat entertainment industry, within a team that constantly needs to prove itself, once one loses the capital of being "useful," the fear of being left behind can almost consume a person.

"There isn't only one kind of value." Song Tianhao's voice pulled her back from her cold thoughts. "Dancing on stage is value, polishing songs in the recording studio is value, showing charm on variety shows is value, and even like this, working hard on rehabilitation and not giving up on yourself is also value. Jessica Jung, your value has never been defined by your ankle."

He looked at her tear-streaked face, his tone softening. "As for Girls Generation... the reason it is Girls Generation is not because nine people can dance the exact same dance, but because nine people are Girls Generation. If one is missing, it's not it anymore. You are a whole; you prosper together and suffer together. Kim Taeyeon understands this, Im Yoona understands this, and everyone understands this. So, stop torturing yourself with words like 'burden.' The only thing you need to do now is get well, and return healthy as fast as you can. That is the best answer you can give them, and everyone else."

The rain outside the window seemed to have lessened, but the pitter-patter sound continued incessantly.

Jessica Jung cried until she couldn't speak, just nodding continuously, tears falling in large drops, hitting the quilt and spreading into dark marks. But this time, the crying was no longer about breakdown and helplessness, but a catharsis after long-term suppression, a sense of relief after being understood and accepted.

I don't know how much time passed, but the crying gradually ceased, leaving only slight sobs. She had cried until she was drained, her body unconsciously going limp, and her head tilted to one side without her realizing it.

The next moment, a warm and solid support gently caught her tilting weight.

It was Song Tianhao's shoulder.

He had moved closer at some point, and when she leaned over, he didn't pull away; he just adjusted his posture to let her lean more comfortably.

His shoulders were broad, and through the suit fabric, she could feel the firm, toned muscle lines underneath, as well as his steady warmth. That crisp, woody scent, mixed with a little bit of his clean aura, enveloped her.

Jessica Jung's body stiffened for a moment, and she subconsciously wanted to straighten up.

But Song Tianhao's calm voice came from above: "If you're tired, lean for a while. The rain is still heavy, and it's still early until dawn."

His tone was too natural, too matter-of-fact, as if this were just an ordinary action. Jessica Jung's tense nerves strangely relaxed.

Jessica Jung didn't move again, letting herself rest her forehead gently against his shoulder. Tears seemed to well up again, soaking the fabric of his suit, leaving a small, cool patch of dampness. But this time, she didn't feel embarrassed; instead, she felt a sense of exhausted relief, like a drowning person finally grabbing onto a piece of driftwood.

Song Tianhao didn't speak again either. He just sat there, one hand loosely wrapped behind her back, maintaining a polite and restrained distance, providing her with support without making her feel offended. His other hand rested casually on his knee.

The only things left in the hospital room were the sound of the rain and the sound of their intertwined, steady breathing.

Time flowed slowly in the quiet.

Jessica Jung felt that the string which had been taut for many days, perhaps even for many years, finally relaxed little by little in this deep night of pouring rain, in this hospital room filled with the smell of disinfectant, and on this shoulder that was not broad but unexpectedly secure.

Those anxieties, fears, and self-doubts seemed to have been washed away by the endless rain outside the window. In their place was a long-lost, almost luxurious sense of calm and sleepiness.

Her eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and her consciousness gradually blurred.

Before sinking completely into darkness, she seemed to hear a barely audible sigh beside her ear, followed by an even gentler movement; someone used their hand to extremely carefully tuck a strand of hair, stuck to her cheek by tears and sweat, behind her ear.

The temperature of the fingertips touched and pulled away instantly.

Yet she felt that the warmth had ironed itself right into her heart.

Then, she knew nothing more.

Confirming that Jessica Jung's breathing had become long and steady and she had fallen into a deep sleep, Song Tianhao remained in that position for a long time.

Only when his shoulder felt noticeably stiff did he extremely slowly and gently straighten Jessica Jung's body, let her lie back on the pillow, carefully tuck in the corners of the blanket for her, and place her injured foot carefully in a suitable position.

Throughout the whole process, his movements were incredibly gentle, as if treating a rare and fragile treasure.

After finishing all of this, he slowly stood up and stretched his stiff neck and shoulders. On the shoulder of his suit jacket, there was a small, slightly darker mark—her tears.

He didn't mind, walking to the window and looking outside. The rain had stopped at some point, leaving only the dripping sound of water from the eaves. On the eastern horizon, a faint line of fish-belly white light emerged, and the city's silhouette appeared vaguely in the mist before dawn.

Just then, a very light, rustling sound came from behind, along with a deliberately lowered female voice, hoarse from just waking up: "President."

Song Tianhao turned around.

Tiffany Hwang had sat up at some point, leaning against the head of the companion bed. Morning light shone through the gap in the curtains, casting light and shadow on her face.

Her eyes, which were always curved like crescent moons, were wide open at this moment, reflecting the faint morning light from outside the window, as well as his figure. Her expression was rarely serious, even carrying a sense of scrutiny.

She did not look at the sleeping Jessica Jung on the bed, but stared straight at Song Tianhao, her voice very light, but every word was incomparably clear: "President, is your feeling for Jessica that of a President for an artist, or a man for a woman?"

The hospital room was quiet for a moment. Only Jessica Jung's even, long breathing rose and fell gently in the air.

Song Tianhao stood at the intersection of light and shadow by the window, his expression unchanged. He did not avoid Tiffany Hwang's gaze, met her eyes quietly for a moment, and then, very calmly said: "Both." His tone was matter-of-fact, as if stating the simplest of facts. "Does this conflict?"

Tiffany Hwang was stunned. She clearly hadn't expected to get such an answer, or rather, hadn't expected him to be so direct, so... open.

She opened her mouth, seemingly wanting to say something, but didn't know what to say. In those eyes that were always filled with smiles, complex emotions were surging—surprise, confusion, a hint of realization, and perhaps a bit of bitterness she hadn't even realized herself.

Song Tianhao didn't wait for her to react; he walked back to the hospital bed and looked down at the sleeping Jessica Jung. The tear stains on the girl's pale face had dried, her brows were relaxed, and there was even a faint, satisfied curve at the corners of her mouth, as if she were immersed in a beautiful dream.

He watched for a few seconds, then lifted his eyes, his gaze landing back on Tiffany Hwang's face. The morning light brightened a bit more, illuminating his well-defined profile, and also the deep, unfathomable emotions in his eyes.

"Tiffany," he called her name, his voice lighter than before, but carrying an indescribable weight. "You are the same."

Tiffany Hwang's pupils contracted slightly.

"Every one of you, to me," Song Tianhao's gaze swept over the sleeping Jessica Jung and fell back to Tiffany Hwang's face, his tone calm and firm, "are artists that need to be protected, and also..."

He paused, the words behind not spoken, only looking at Tiffany Hwang's slightly widened eyes, smiling very faintly, almost imperceptibly, a smile that contained something Tiffany Hwang couldn't understand.

"It's almost dawn," he shifted his gaze, his tone returning to his usual composure. "You sleep a bit more. I'm going out to buy breakfast. What do you want to eat?"

He didn't wait for Tiffany Hwang to answer; after finishing, he turned around, walked straight to the door, opened the hospital room door, walked out, and gently closed the door.

With a soft "click," the door closed.

The hospital room returned to quiet, with only the two girls' breathing and the increasingly clear morning light outside the window.

Tiffany Hwang remained in her sitting position, motionless. She watched the closed door for a very long time, as if wanting to see through that door to the back of the man outside, to see what was really on his mind.

Morning light crawled into the room bit by bit, illuminating the dust floating in the air, and also the lingering complex emotions on her face.

On the bed, Jessica Jung moved unconsciously in her sleep, seemingly dreaming of something wonderful, the slightly upturned curve at the corner of her mouth deepening a little.