Chapter 10

He stopped, breathing silently, turned around—so much like this very moment. Beads of sweat slid down his jawline, like a drop of water melting from an icicle on the eaves.

The last to introduce himself, as expected, was also him.

Back then, the twenty-year-old Henry Foster took off his cap, pushed his damp hair back just as he had just now, revealing his whole face. On his fair skin was a slender, pale red birthmark, which became an abstraction in Logan Brooks's mind.

Cherry blossom snow. That was the most fitting image he could find.

"Hello, my name is Henry Foster."

[After days of rain, you don't realize spring has gone; only when it clears do you sense the depth of summer.]

A name that clearly belonged to summer, yet his whole being exuded the chill of deep winter.

He nodded and returned a smile, "Logan Brooks."

Back then, the ever-friendly Caleb Grant asked curiously, "What a unique name! How did you get it?"

"I was born on New Year's Eve. 'The fire blazes in the brazier, the bamboo crackles, the feast is set, and we listen to the pepper song to see in the year.' My grandfather picked two characters from this poem for my name."

"Wow, it really sounds nice, but you don't look like a child born in winter."

Is that so.

His vision, blurred by memory, gradually returned to the present. Logan Brooks stared at Henry Foster in the mirror.

His gaze lingered on the half-rolled sleeve of his sweatshirt, revealing a section of pale, lean arm. The veins beneath the skin pulsed faintly. The loose, sweat-dampened clothes clung unconsciously to his body, moving with each breath. Following the lines downward, the hollows at his ankles and heels were gripped by the cuffed pants, scraping against his snow-white skin.

For some reason, Logan Brooks recalled the sensation of holding his wrist.

"What are you looking at?" Henry Foster, sensing his gaze in the mirror, turned and looked at him coldly.

Releasing his unconsciously clenched hand, Logan Brooks lazily curled his lips into a smile, meeting his eyes directly.

"Looking at what exactly makes you so good-looking."

Author's note: The origins of the two names:

裴听颂: "The fire blazes in the brazier, the bamboo crackles, the feast is set, and we listen to the pepper song to see in the year." — "New Year's Eve" (Song Dynasty, Dai Fugu)

方觉夏: "After days of rain, you don't realize spring has gone; only when it clears do you sense the depth of summer." — "Delight in Sunshine" (Song Dynasty, Fan Chengda)

Actually, these two poems really do fit their personalities quite well.

【If you can't stand Henry Foster's personality at the start, please just drop the story. Don't go to the comments to call him a pushover or say nasty things like 'might as well just wash himself clean and offer himself up.' Henry Foster is definitely not a pushover—he is a very strong, rational, and brave person. Please don't judge him maliciously based on your impression after just three chapters.

At this point, the relationship between the gong and shou is very bad, so there's no need to scold him for being disrespectful. The summary made it clear that they start off on bad terms, and the shou ignores him. In real life, if you were with someone you had a bad relationship with, you probably wouldn't be all warm and fuzzy either. If you don't like this kind of beginning, you can drop the story.

One last time to answer the question many people keep asking: "Why not record audio?" Do you really think a little idol can change the fact that they're being oppressed by capital and powerful backgrounds just by recording something? Can they really fight back? And after the recording is released, who will bear the consequences—him and all his teammates? They already have no backing and no resources, and then they'd all be blacklisted by the TV stations and capital?

This story starts with a flopped group and a flopped idol, climbing up step by step. If you don't like this kind of story, you really can drop it—don't force yourself.】

No angst, no angst, no angst—this story is not angsty.

Chapter 4: The Scene of the Incident

After all, having worked together for two years, Henry Foster was long used to Logan Brooks's teasing. His face remained expressionless as he picked up his jacket from the floor and draped it over himself, ready to leave the practice room.

But Logan Brooks still wasn't used to being ignored. He grabbed his arm, "Hey, is this how you treat your benefactor?"

Henry Foster paused and glanced at him, his tone cold, "I don't want to, but the way you tease me doesn't exactly make you seem like a benefactor." He pulled Logan Brooks's hand away, and the jacket fell to the floor.

"And what does that make me?"

Henry Foster's gaze was indifferent. "A client."

With that, he prepared to leave, but Logan Brooks had no intention of letting him go so easily. This time, instead of grabbing him, he took a step forward and blocked Henry Foster directly. He almost bumped into him.

"Now that you mention it, that's a good reminder."

Logan Brooks lowered his eyes, a hint of mischief curling at his lips.

"I can't just help you for nothing, can I?"

Henry Foster looked up calmly, meeting the eyes of this teammate who had never stopped making things difficult for him.

"As a client, I should get something from you, right?" Logan Brooks smiled. "Isn't that so?"

He had thought he'd become immune to this kind of teasing, but with Logan Brooks as the instigator, Henry Foster's emotions began to slip beyond the bounds of calm.

"I don't have time to play these boring games with you." He stepped aside to leave, but Logan Brooks once again blocked his way, calm and unhurried.

"Relax, I'm not after your body." Logan Brooks looked him up and down, the irreverence on his face undisguised. "But since we have to put on a show, one of us has to cooperate with the other, right? Just look at your expression..." He bent down, picked up the jacket from the floor, and draped it over Henry Foster's shoulders. "It's just too fake."