A faint smile reappeared on Viona's lips after she finished the story.
"You can ask your questions now, Margaret,"
"Anything at all. I'll answer them… because this was only the beginning—just the story of how I first met them."
Naturally, Margaret had a thousand questions. They crowded her mind, jostling for space, each one demanding to be voiced first.
Yet, she didn't speak right away. Margaret chose to remain silent for a moment, letting the stillness settle as she weighed which question was the most fitting to cross her lips first.
Only then did she take a quick, sharp breath before finally asking her first question.
"You said they didn't have parents, and that the agency was unaware of it, right? So… all the information about CHASEMINE's identities that's out there… is it all fake?"
"And… did they tell you that themselves? Where did they actually come from, Miss Viona?"
Once again, Viona began with a faint smile. She had known from the start that Margaret would eventually reach that conclusion.
"To be honest… the five of them forged those identities themselves. Everything that's written, everything the fans and the agency believe they know… it's all a facade."
"I only found out when they finally confessed to me, right after their first comeback promotions ended."
"They don't know where they truly come from. They were raised in an orphanage since they were small, without parents. Consequently, they were labeled as 'underclass'—and it wasn't just them; every child in that orphanage was treated the same way."
"When they met me, they were running away from that place… an orphanage that was ironically managed by high-society figures whose treatment made their lives a living hell for years."
"Even if there was no physical abuse, the insults, the belittling, and the cruel words became the most potent weapons—igniting a fire in children who had been suppressing their pain for a very long time."
Something shifted deep inside Margaret, arriving without warning—a subtle, sharp ache that nested itself in her chest.
The sensation traveled downward, leaving a hollow, unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach. It wasn't nausea or physical pain, but a strange, heavy pressure that defied words.
Viona's story had struck her in a way she hadn't anticipated; it was half a crushing blow, half a numbing chill. For a fleeting second, it felt as if the blood in her veins had stilled, freezing her in time.
In her eyes, a storm of emotions flickered—a sudden, piercing pity warring with a shock she hadn't yet begun to process. Margaret didn't know which emotion to cling to. She only knew one thing: she never, in her wildest dreams, expected the story to begin like this.
"Why... why did Bomsan Oppa change his name to Chase?"
Once again, a faint smile played on Viona's lips before she answered.
"He told me that he didn't want to be that weak boy named Bomsan anymore… he wanted to be strong. He chose 'Chase' because he wanted to be someone who never stops chasing his dreams until he became the person he is today."
Margaret offered no reaction to Viona's answer. Instead, she retreated into a brief silence, her thoughts wandering much further than they should have.
Involuntarily, her mind drifted back to Chase's face—to the smile that had graced his lips and the way his tone had shifted so unpredictably when they were at the cafe earlier. There was something off about it, a detail she hadn't quite grasped in the moment.
Despite her curiosity, she bit her tongue. She couldn't ask about it; Viona would surely grow suspicious if she realized Margaret had just met him. Pushing those thoughts aside, she decided to pivot to a different topic.
"Does Chase Oppa like animals, Miss Viona? I mean... like puppies or cats?"
She chose that topic on purpose. Entirely on purpose. It wasn't a random thought; rather, her mind had been suddenly snagged by something seemingly trivial that, for some reason, refused to let go.
The photo of the puppy Chase had shown her flashed vividly in her mind again—a simple, almost sweet image, with innocent eyes that shouldn't have meant anything. Yet, at a glance, that puppy looked strikingly similar to the one she used to see at her school.
But on the other hand, she couldn't bring herself to believe it so easily. She didn't understand why this feeling had surfaced or why a tiny, nagging doubt remained, making her chest feel tight—as if there were something left unfinished. Even though her encounter with Chase at the cafe had ended hours ago, the sensation refused to fade.
Meanwhile, Viona looked genuinely confused. She tilted her head, a bewildered expression crossing her face before she spoke.
"Puppies? Cats?"
"I… I think Chase actually dislikes animals. Even if he acts like he loves them whenever the cameras are rolling, the truth is, he can't stand them. So, I'm fairly certain Chase has never owned a puppy or a cat in his life."
Margaret went completely still.
Her eyes widened, a subtle yet sharp movement, as she stared blankly ahead. She looked like someone who had just witnessed the impossible—something that defied all logic, yet was standing right in front of her.
In that heartbeat, Margaret truly froze. It wasn't just her body; her mind, and even the world around her, seemed to grind to a halt. Sound vanished, time folded in on itself, and everything fell into a suffocating, hollow silence.
A few seconds passed—or perhaps it was only the space of a single, failed breath—before her consciousness slowly drifted back. As it did, a faint tremor ran through her body—a primal reaction as her mind finally began to turn again. Fragments of memory invaded her without mercy, colliding violently in her head: Chase, his puppy, the photo he had shown her, and every word he had whispered to her at the cafe.
"What on earth is actually happening?"
"Am I just overthinking this—trapped in my own suspicions and wild guesses?"
"Or is the truth behind all of this… far more terrifying than I can imagine?"
"If so, what is the truth, and what is the lie?"
However, Margaret quickly shoved those anxieties to the back of her mind.
Right now, her only focus was the questions she needed to ask—as many as her time and her courage would allow.
She took a deep, steadying breath, as if bracing herself to dive into an ocean of information. Then, one by one, the questions began to flow from her lips.