The Rumor
Chapter 12 – The Rumor
The first verse returned.
And with it–
the world returned too.
Not gently.
Not respectfully.
Like a tide that didn’t care what it swept away.
On Saturday morning, Second Verse felt warmer than usual.
Not because the heater worked better.
Because there were footsteps.
Because the bell rang more than once.
Because people looked around the café like it was suddenly worth noticing.
Yuna stood behind the counter with a stiff posture.
Her smile was polite.
Controlled.
The kind of smile idols learned.
Joonseo watched quietly while wiping cups.
He didn’t celebrate.
He didn’t grin.
Because he knew something Yuna didn’t want to admit.
Attention was never free.
The first customer came at 10AM.
A young woman with bright eyes.
She ordered a latte.
Then she leaned forward and whispered:
“Unnie… was that really you last night?”
Yuna’s shoulders stiffened.
“Yes,” she said.
The girl’s eyes filled with excitement.
“I used to stan you,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I stopped. I… I’m here now.”
Yuna’s smile wavered.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
The girl nodded eagerly.
“I posted about it,” she said. “Just… that you sang. No videos, I swear. Just… a photo of the café sign.”
Yuna’s jaw tightened.
Joonseo’s hands paused.
Yuna forced her smile.
“Okay,” she said.
The girl left, waving.
Yuna exhaled.
Joonseo spoke gently.
“You okay?”
Yuna’s eyes were sharp.
“She promised no videos,” she said.
Joonseo nodded.
“That’s good,” he replied.
Yuna’s fingers curled around the counter.
“But people talk,” she muttered.
Joonseo didn’t deny it.
By noon, it wasn’t just one post.
It was many.
Whispers online.
Screenshots of the café sign.
A blurred photo of Yuna’s silhouette at the window with a guitar.
No full face.
No direct filming.
But enough.
Enough for curiosity.
Enough for the wrong kind of attention.
A group of teenage girls came in, giggling.
They ordered one drink and took ten photos of the interior.
Yuna’s smile stayed polite.
Her eyes were tired.
Then a man came in.
He wore a cap pulled low.
He didn’t order.
He just stared.
Yuna felt it.
She glanced up.
Their eyes met.
The man smiled slightly.
Yuna’s face tightened.
Joonseo stepped closer to the counter instinctively.
The man finally spoke.
“So it’s true,” he said.
Yuna’s voice was flat.
“Please order if you’re going to stay,” she said.
The man chuckled.
“I’m just here to see,” he said.
Yuna’s jaw clenched.
“See what?”
The man’s eyes flicked to Joonseo.
Then back to Yuna.
“See who you’re with,” he said.
The sentence was quiet.
But it made the air go cold.
Yuna’s face went pale.
Joonseo felt something dark tighten.
Yuna’s voice trembled.
“I’m working,” she said. “He’s staff.”
The man smiled wider.
“Staff,” he repeated. “Sure.”
Yuna’s hands shook.
“Leave,” she said.
The man scoffed.
“Why?” he asked. “This is a public place.”
Joonseo’s jaw tightened.
He stepped forward.
His voice was calm.
“It’s private,” he said. “And she asked you to leave.”
The man’s eyes narrowed.
“And you are?”
Joonseo didn’t blink.
“Staff,” he repeated.
The man stared.
Then he laughed.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay. I’m leaving.”
He backed away slowly.
But his eyes stayed on Yuna.
“See you soon,” he murmured.
Then he walked out.
The bell rang.
The door closed.
Yuna’s breath came out shaky.
She gripped the counter.
Joonseo’s voice softened.
“Yuna.”
Yuna swallowed.
“…I hate this,” she whispered.
Joonseo nodded.
“I know.”
That night, after closing, the rumor hit.
Not a gentle rumor.
Not the sweet kind.
The ugly kind.
Joonseo found it first.
Because he still checked the internet the way you check the weather.
Not because you want to.
Because you need to know what’s coming.
He was sitting at his corner table with his laptop open, scanning social chatter.
One post.
Then another.
Then the same sentence repeated.
A thread.
A whisper that grew teeth.
Han Yuna spotted dating a mystery man.
Ex-idol ‘sells’ sob story café.
Spotted: wealthy sponsor?
Joonseo’s chest went cold.
Because the last one–
the last one was too close.
It wasn’t just gossip.
It was a finger pointing at the truth.
His hands tightened.
He clicked.
Someone had posted a photo.
Not clear.
But recognizable.
Yuna behind the counter.
And beside her–
Joonseo.
Apron.
Hoodie.
The angle made them look close.
Too close.
The caption was cruel.
She said she hates rich guys but looks like she found one.
Joonseo’s throat tightened.
He felt heat crawl up his neck.
He hated the way people used her words as entertainment.
He hated the way her pain became a story.
He hated the way his presence–his attempt at being human–had become fuel.
Behind him, the stairs creaked.
Yuna came down.
She looked tired.
Her hair was messy.
Her eyes were calm until she saw his face.
“What?” she asked.
Joonseo swallowed.
He turned the laptop toward her.
Yuna stared.
Her face changed.
The color drained.
Her lips parted.
Then she laughed.
A sharp, disbelieving sound.
“Of course,” she whispered.
Her hands trembled as she scrolled.
The more she read, the more her jaw tightened.
Then she stopped.
She stared at the screen.
“…They’re calling you a sponsor,” she whispered.
Joonseo’s throat tightened.
Yuna’s eyes turned sharp.
“Did you tell anyone?” she snapped.
Joonseo shook his head immediately.
“No,” he said. “I didn’t.”
Yuna’s breath hitched.
“Then how–”
She stopped.
She didn’t finish the question.
Because she already knew.
Minseok.
Pressure.
Cornering.
Yuna’s hands clenched.
“He’s doing this,” she whispered.
Joonseo nodded.
“I think so,” he said.
Yuna’s eyes shimmered.
“And now what?” she demanded.
Joonseo swallowed.
Now what.
The question felt bigger than the café.
Bigger than the rumor.
Because this wasn’t just online noise.
This could become real danger.
For Yuna.
For her mother.
For the fragile life she’d built.
Joonseo’s voice stayed calm.
“We protect your boundaries,” he said.
Yuna laughed bitterly.
“How?” she snapped. “By asking the internet nicely?”
Joonseo’s chest tightened.
He hesitated.
Because the real answer was power.
A legal team.
A PR team.
A phone call that could erase rumors.
But she had rules.
No publicity.
No announcements.
No billionaire solutions.
And yet…
if the rumor grew, it would swallow them.
Yuna’s eyes burned.
She stared at the laptop.
Then she whispered:
“I can’t go through this again.”
Joonseo’s chest cracked.
Her voice was smaller.
“The comments,” she murmured. “The speculation. The way people think they own you because they once liked you.”
Joonseo’s hands clenched.
“I won’t let them,” he said.
Yuna’s eyes flashed.
“You can’t stop them,” she whispered.
Joonseo swallowed.
“I can’t stop the internet,” he admitted. “But I can stop people from getting to you.”
Yuna stared.
Her breath hitched.
“You mean… you’ll leave,” she said.
The sentence was quiet.
But it held fear.
Joonseo’s throat tightened.
He didn’t answer immediately.
Because the truth was complicated.
Leaving would protect her.
Leaving would also break her.
Not because she loved him–
not yet.
But because she had just started believing someone could stay.
Joonseo looked at her.
His voice was gentle.
“Yuna,” he said, “what do you want?”
Yuna’s lips trembled.
“I want to disappear,” she whispered.
Joonseo’s chest tightened.
Yuna’s voice cracked.
“But I can’t,” she added. “Because my mom. Because the café. Because–”
She stopped.
Her eyes lifted.
And for the first time, she said it.
Because you.
But she didn’t speak the words.
She swallowed.
Her shoulders shook.
Joonseo’s voice softened.
“I won’t leave without you telling me to,” he said.
Yuna’s breath hitched.
Her eyes flashed.
“That’s not fair,” she whispered.
Joonseo swallowed.
“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
Yuna stared at him.
Her eyes were wet.
Her jaw trembled.
Then she whispered, fierce:
“I don’t want you to leave.”
The words hit the air like a confession.
Joonseo’s chest cracked.
Yuna’s voice broke.
“But I don’t want to drown again,” she added.
Joonseo nodded.
“I understand,” he whispered.
Yuna wiped her cheeks angrily.
“Then fix it,” she snapped.
The demand was raw.
Not entitlement.
Desperation.
Joonseo’s throat tightened.
He took a breath.
He made a decision.
A dangerous one.
“One call,” he said.
Yuna froze.
Joonseo’s voice was steady.
“One,” he repeated. “Not to buy your life. Not to control the story. Just to remove the threat.”
Yuna stared.
Her eyes were sharp.
“Threat?”
Joonseo nodded.
“Minseok,” he said. “This rumor isn’t random. It’s pressure.”
Yuna’s jaw trembled.
“You said no billionaire solutions,” she whispered.
Joonseo’s throat tightened.
“This isn’t a solution,” he said softly. “It’s a boundary.”
Yuna stared at him.
Her hands trembled.
Then she whispered:
“…What kind of call?”
Joonseo swallowed.
“Legal,” he said.
Yuna’s face went pale.
Joonseo continued quickly.
“Not public,” he promised. “No press. No headlines. Just a private cease-and-desist. Just… a warning.”
Yuna’s breath hitched.
She looked at the laptop.
She looked at the rumor.
She looked at Joonseo.
Her throat moved.
Then she nodded once.
Small.
Fragile.
“…Okay,” she whispered.
Joonseo’s chest tightened.
He didn’t move immediately.
He gave her one last chance.
“If you change your mind,” he said gently, “tell me now.”
Yuna’s eyes flashed.
“Do it,” she said.
Her voice shook.
“But don’t… make me a headline.”
Joonseo nodded.
“I won’t,” he promised.
He took out his phone.
He stepped away from her.
Not secrecy.
Respect.
He dialed a number he hadn’t used in months.
Someone who knew his identity.
Someone who could move quietly.
The call connected.
Joonseo’s voice was calm.
“I need something handled,” he said.
He glanced back.
Yuna was standing still, arms wrapped around herself.
Her eyes were wet.
Her face was fierce.
And in that moment, Joonseo understood the true cost of power.
Not money.
Not companies.
Not stocks.
The cost was deciding when to use it.
And when to put it down.
The rumor outside kept spreading.
But inside Second Verse, two people stood in the quiet, holding a boundary with shaking hands.
Not with money.
Not with headlines.
Just a single call.
A single line drawn.
Because love–
real love–
was not measured by how much you could buy.
It was measured by what you were willing to protect.