81: Chapter 81 The Girl Who's Jealous But Dares Not Say It

Behind the window of the building opposite, that camera lens visibly shook in a panic, then quickly retracted, and the curtains were abruptly drawn shut, cutting off the view.

On the rooftop, after Jeon Boram finished shouting, her chest was still heaving from excitement. She panted, turned her head to look at Song Tianhao, her eyes shining brilliantly, her face still flushed, though it was unclear if it was from the previous excitement or something else.

Song Tianhao looked at her, his face expressionless, but a faint trace of amusement seemed to flicker in his eyes. He reached out his hand toward her.

Jeon Boram froze for a moment, then subconsciously extended her hand to him.

Song Tianhao gripped her hand—not holding it, but pulling her toward himself in one swift motion. Jeon Boram let out a soft cry, caught off guard as she collided with his chest, her forehead resting against his solid torso, her nose instantly filled with his scent.

Song Tianhao's arm wrapped around her shoulders, holding her in his embrace in a posture that was both protective and possessive. His chin rested on the top of her head, but his gaze shot sharply toward the window opposite that had already been covered by curtains.

Then, in front of the lens that might still be peeping through the gap in the curtains, he raised his other hand and, toward that direction, slowly and clearly gave them the middle finger.

Song Tianhao's movement was crisp and clean, carrying an undisguised arrogance and provocation.

After performing this action, he held the slightly stiff Jeon Boram in his arms, turned, and walked toward the rooftop entrance without looking back.

When passing the partially open iron door to the stairwell, Song Tianhao's footsteps did not pause in the slightest; he didn't even glance into the gap. But Jeon Boram, held in his arms, seemed to faintly hear the President say three words in a very low, breathy voice.

Song Tianhao's lips seemed to form the words "Follow me."

In the shadows behind the iron door, Lee Qri leaned against the wall and slowly slid down to sit on the cold concrete floor. She hugged her knees, buried her face in her arms, and her shoulders trembled slightly.

After a few seconds, she raised her head. The expression of collapse from just moments ago was gone, replaced by a numb calmness. Only her red-rimmed eyes and slightly trembling fingers betrayed the turmoil inside her heart.

She took out her phone, unlocked it, and opened the camera. The latest photo in her album was one she had just taken through the crack in the door. In the sunlight, Song Tianhao was whispering into Jeon Boram's ear, and Jeon Boram was looking up, her face tear-stained but smiling brightly.

The image was beautiful, the lighting and composition even had a touch of artistry. But to Lee Qri, it looked like a thorn, piercing deeply into her heart.

She stared at that photo for a long time. Then, her fingers moved, and she set this photo as her phone wallpaper.

After doing all this, she braced herself against the wall, slowly stood up, brushed the dust off her pants, and straightened her hair and clothes. Then, she took a deep breath, pulled open the stairwell door, and walked into the sunlight.

The rooftop was already empty; only the sound of the wind remained.

Lee Qri glanced at the spot where Song Tianhao and Jeon Boram had been standing. It was empty, as if the intimate yet piercing scene from just moments ago had been nothing but a hallucination.

She turned and walked toward the stairs leading downstairs. Her footsteps echoed in the empty stairwell, one by one, heavy and slow.

The door to the President's office was ajar.

Lee Qri stood at the door for a few seconds, raised her hand to knock, but her fingers stopped just before touching the door panel. She heard faint voices from inside; it was Song Tianhao, calm and unruffled, with no discernible emotion.

"... Your improvisation was not bad, but it was too impulsive. Who told you to shout?"

Then came Jeon Boram's voice, lower than usual, filled with a bit of anxiety: "I, I just couldn't help myself for a moment... I'm sorry, President, did I mess it up?"

"Mess it up?" Song Tianhao seemed to chuckle, "Not at all. The effect was actually better. A young idol who is angry yet brave after being secretly photographed is more likable than a poor little thing who only knows how to cry."

Jeon Boram was silent for a few seconds.

"Then... President," her voice sounded again, this time lower, with a hint of cautious probing, "Is my tuition... enough?"

Outside the door, Lee Qri's fingers tightened abruptly, her nails digging deep into her palms.

The office was silent for a moment.

Then, Song Tianhao's voice came, without any fluctuation: "It depends on your performance. First lesson, barely a passing grade. Go on down, and have the manager give you the new training schedule later."

"Yes, thank you, President!" Jeon Boram's voice immediately became light, filled with undisguised excitement.

Footsteps sounded, approaching the door.

Lee Qri subconsciously took a step back, hiding herself in the shadows of the corridor.

The door was pulled open, and Jeon Boram walked out. Her face still bore an un-faded flush, her eyes were sparkling, the corners of her mouth were slightly upturned, and she radiated the relief and joy of having "accomplished a major task."

She didn't even notice Lee Qri in the shadows, humming an unknown tune as she walked briskly toward the elevator.

Not until Jeon Boram's figure disappeared at the elevator did Lee Qri step out from the shadows. She stared at the slowly closing elevator door for a few seconds, then turned and pushed open the partially open door to the President's office.

Inside the office, Song Tianhao stood with his back to the door, in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, holding a glass of water and looking out. Hearing the door open, he didn't turn around.

Lee Qri walked in, closed the door behind her, walked to the center of the office, and stopped. She lowered her eyes, looking at her slightly blurred reflection on the polished marble floor, and said nothing.

Song Tianhao took a sip of water, still not turning around, and his voice came calmly: "Finished watching the act?"

"... Yes." Lee Qri responded in a low voice.

"How did it feel?"

Lee Qri was silent. How did it feel? She felt as if a huge hole had been torn in her heart, with cold wind blowing through it. But she couldn't say that.

"It was... performed quite well." Finally, she heard her own dry voice say this.

Song Tianhao finally turned around and looked at her. His face was expressionless, his gaze falling calmly on her face, as if he were appraising an item or evaluating a student's assignment.

"It was indeed quite good." Song Tianhao walked behind the desk, sat down, crossed his hands on the desktop, and leaned back slightly, striking a scrutinizing pose, "Jeon Boram, first lesson, improvisation, the emotions were on point; although she added actions outside the script, the effect was good."

"Overall score: eight points. Two points deducted: one for adding scenes without authorization, and one for that shout at the end; although the effect wasn't bad, the risk was too high and uncontrollable."

He paused, turned his gaze to Lee Qri, his tone unchanged: "As for you, Lee Qri."

Lee Qri's heart tightened, her fingers hanging by her sides curling unconsciously.

"Zero points." Song Tianhao spat out the two words, clear and icy.

Lee Qri jerked her head up to look at him, her eyes filled with shock, confusion, and a hint of grievance.

"Why?" She heard herself ask, her voice trembling slightly.

Song Tianhao looked at her, his eyes devoid of any warmth: "What did I tell you to do?"

"... Hide and watch your Acting," Lee Qri said with some grievance.

"And then?"

"Act as a... bystander who is jealous but dare not speak."

"Did you act?" Song Tianhao asked, his tone as flat as if he were discussing the weather.

Lee Qri opened her mouth, wanting to say I did act, that was exactly how I felt at that moment, I didn't need to act...

But the words died on her lips, and she swallowed them back. At that moment, she had been completely overwhelmed by emotions, forgetting to "act," leaving only real "feelings."

"You didn't act." Song Tianhao said it for her, his tone decisive, "You were just watching. And you were watching too intently; you forgot you were an 'actor,' and you also forgot there was a lens opposite."

He narrowed his eyes slightly, "In the stairwell, your body was stiff, your breathing was rapid, your fingers were digging into the wall. If the paparazzi's lens was good enough to capture these subtle reactions, guess what tomorrow's headlines would say?"

Lee Qri's face turned pale, bit by bit.

"'T-ara member Lee Qri secretly peeks at President and teammate's rooftop tryst, expression collapses'? Or 'Love triangle exposed? Lee Qri suspected of stalking the whole time due to jealousy'?"

Song Tianhao's voice was not loud, but every word was like an ice pick, striking Lee Qri's heart, "I wanted you to act 'jealous but dare not speak,' which means I wanted you to perform that kind of 'restrained' jealousy and 'suppressed' grievance."

"I told you to use your eyes, subtle expressions, and body language to convey emotions, not to really act like an abandoned, resentful woman, wallowing in self-pity and losing control."

He paused, looking at Lee Qri's instantly pale face, and continued: "Your biggest problem is that you can't distinguish between Acting and reality. I want you to use tears as a weapon, not to let them actually control you. You need to master it, use it, not be drowned by it."

Lee Qri stood rooted to the spot, her whole body cold. Song Tianhao's words were like a scalpel, precisely dissecting all the embarrassment and unseemliness she had tried to hide.

She thought she was trying hard to "act," but it turned out that in the eyes of a professional, her real pain and collapse were nothing more than a failed, out-of-control performance.

"I..." she wanted to say something, but found her throat tight, unable to make a sound.

Song Tianhao stopped looking at her and turned his gaze back to the window, his voice returning to a flat tone: "Leave. Today's lesson ends here."

The dismissal was ruthless.

Lee Qri stood there, her feet seemingly rooted to the ground. Grievances, humiliation, shame, and a hint of an indescribable anger intertwined, crashing against her chest.

She looked at Song Tianhao's cold profile, watching his business-like demeanor—as if the person who had been holding Jeon Boram on the rooftop to provoke the paparazzi earlier wasn't him—and an inexplicable surge of anger welled up within her.

She didn't move, nor did she leave.

Song Tianhao waited a few seconds. Hearing no footsteps leaving, he turned his head back to look at her, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly: "Is there something else?"

Lee Qri looked at him, at his calm, waveless eyes, at his slightly furrowed brow, and at how he sat behind the large desk, appearing to control everything. The anger grew, burning until her eyes felt dry and her chest tight.

She suddenly tugged at the corners of her mouth, revealing a smile that was uglier than tears.

"President," she heard her own voice, carrying a kind of desperate calm, "you are right to lecture me. It is my Acting that is too poor; I cannot distinguish between the play and reality, and I have disappointed you."

She paused, took a step forward, pressed her hands against the edge of the cold desk, leaned in slightly, looked into Song Tianhao's eyes, and asked, word by word:

"Then can you teach me yourself now, how to... distinguish between them?"

Song Tianhao looked at her, at her red-rimmed eyes, at the stubborn smile she forced herself to maintain, and at her fingers, which were trembling slightly from the force of pressing against the desk edge.

He watched her for a few seconds, then smiled very lightly.

The smile was short, almost fleeting, but Lee Qri caught a glimpse of something transient within it—a hint of interest.

Song Tianhao put down his water glass, leaned back into his chair, crossed his hands over his abdomen, and watched her with composure, as if observing a small beast that had voluntarily walked into a cage, baring its fangs and claws but inwardly weak.

"You want to learn?" he asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

"Yes." Lee Qri answered without hesitation, her voice trembling slightly from excitement.

Song Tianhao nodded, his gaze sweeping over her face, then he raised his hand and pointed to the massive floor-to-ceiling window behind her.

"Go to the window," he said.

Lee Qri was stunned for a moment, but she turned as instructed and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. Outside was the bustling streetscape of Cheongdam-dong, sunny and filled with traffic. Directly opposite, the windows of unit 28B in that apartment building were tightly drawn, but Lee Qri knew that behind them, there might still be lenses spying.

"Turn around and face me." Song Tianhao's voice came from behind her.

Lee Qri turned around, her back against the cold glass window, and looked at Song Tianhao behind the desk. The backlight made it difficult for her to see the expression on his face, only his tall, upright silhouette.

Song Tianhao stood up from his chair and walked towards her at a leisurely pace. His footsteps on the polished marble floor made a soft, rhythmic sound, and every step felt like it was landing on Lee Qri's heartbeat.

He stopped a step away from her, his gaze falling calmly on her face.

"Now," he began, his voice not loud but carrying an unquestionable sense of control, "look into my eyes."

Lee Qri raised her eyes to meet his gaze. Those eyes were deep and calm, like a bottomless cold pool, reflecting her face, which was currently somewhat flustered and pale.

"Tell me," Song Tianhao leaned in slightly, close to her, his warm breath brushing against her cheek, his voice lowered with a certain seductive magnetism, "what were you thinking when you saw Jeon Boram kiss me on the rooftop earlier?"

Lee Qri's body stiffened abruptly. She hadn't expected him to ask so directly, so... cruelly.

"I..." she opened her mouth, her throat dry, unable to form a complete sentence.

"You must tell the truth. I want to hear your real feelings." Song Tianhao interrupted her, his gaze locked onto her eyes, not allowing her to dodge, "Anger? Jealousy? Grievance? Or do you feel... betrayed?"

Every word was like a small hammer striking Lee Qri's heart. Her face turned even paler, her lips trembling. She wanted to deny it, wanted to lie, but under the gaze of Song Tianhao's eyes, which seemed to see through everything, all her pretenses had nowhere to hide.

"...All of them." Finally, she heard her own hoarse voice, carrying a resigned dejection, "I am jealous, I feel aggrieved, I am sad... I feel my chest is so tight, I can't catch my breath."

As she spoke, her eyes began to heat up again, but she clenched her teeth tightly, not letting the tears fall.

Song Tianhao watched her trying to hold back her tears, his eyes calm. He reached out, not to wipe her tears, but to gently brush over her lower eyelid.

"Remember this feeling," he said, his voice low, "remember this feeling of your heart being gripped, your breathing being restricted, wanting to cry but being unable to. This is 'jealousy'."

His finger did not leave, but slid along her cheek down to her chin, applying slight pressure to lift her face, forcing her to look at him.

"But you cannot cry right now," Song Tianhao looked at her wet eyes, his tone calm yet carrying a powerful sense of oppression, "because the cameras might be filming. What you need to do is suppress this feeling of wanting to cry, and then, transform it into another emotion."

"Wh-what emotion?" Lee Qri's voice was choked with sobs.

"The forbearance of unrequited love," Song Tianhao said, word by word, his fingers stroking her chin with a gentle yet unrefusable strength, "it is that kind of... brokenness where you clearly care deeply but have to let go; where you are clearly in pain but still have to force a smile."

He leaned in slightly, his lips almost brushing her ear, his voice so low that only the two of them could hear: "Just like right now, you are clearly sad, aggrieved, and jealous, but you are standing here, looking at me, unable to cry or make a scene. You can only look at me and use your eyes to tell me how much pain you are in, and how... unwilling you are to give up."

Lee Qri's body trembled slightly under his low words and his breath so close. She looked at Song Tianhao's face, so close, at his calm, waveless eyes, at his lips slightly opening and closing, spitting out cruel words.

Her heart felt like it was being fiercely kneaded by an invisible hand—sour, painful, aggrieved, and filled with an indescribable, masochistic pleasure that rose under the guidance of his words.

Lee Qri truly saw that "forbearance of unrequited love" and "brokenness" in his eyes. Or rather, was he just teaching her how to "act" it out?

Finally, she could no longer control her tears; they rolled down from her eye sockets, slid down her cheeks, and dripped onto the fingers with which Song Tianhao was holding her chin.

Warm, moist.

Song Tianhao looked at that tear, his eyes flickering. Then, he lowered his head and gently kissed away another teardrop about to slide down her cheek.

His movements were gentle, filled with pity, forming a stark contrast with the cruel words he had just spoken.

Lee Qri's body shuddered violently, as if she had been scalded.

"This is your problem." Song Tianhao's lips left her cheek, and his gaze met her eyes again. They remained calm, without the slightest ripple from that gentle kiss just now, "Your tears are too real, so real that... you yourself cannot distinguish whether you are Acting or truly sad."

He released her chin, stepped back half a pace, re-establishing distance, his gaze sweeping over her tear-streaked face, his tone returning to a business-like flatness:

"That is all for today. Go back and think carefully about what is Acting and what is real. If you cannot figure it out, there is no need to come to the next lesson."

Having said this, he stopped looking at her, turned around, walked back behind his desk, picked up a document, and began to read it. It was as if the man who had just kissed her tears and whispered to her was merely an illusion.

Lee Qri stood where she was, her back against the cold glass window, the tear stains on her face still wet. Sunlight shone in from behind her, stretching her shadow long and casting it onto the polished floor, lonely and solitary.

She watched Song Tianhao's silhouette as he looked down at the documents for a long time. Then, she raised her hand, wiped the tears from her face forcefully, turned around, opened the office door, and walked out.

The door closed gently behind her.

The office quieted down again, leaving only the soft sound of Song Tianhao flipping through documents.

He kept his head lowered, his gaze resting on the document, but he didn't turn a page for a long time. The sunlight outside shifted, falling on his fingers holding the fountain pen, where a trace of moist sensation still remained.

That was the trace of her tears.