The Observer in the Shadows
11 PM. The same Friday night.
While Cherry Berry was wrapping up her successful first broadcast, another story was unfolding in a different corner of the city.
Pangyo Techno Valley. Quantum Shield building, basement server room.
The sound of cooling fans filled the space with white noise. Tens of thousands of servers blinked with green and blue LED lights, creating an almost hypnotic pattern in the darkness. The air conditioning kept the temperature at a constant 18 degrees Celsius—cold enough to see one's breath.
In the center of this digital fortress sat a man.
Park Hyun-soo.
185cm tall, wearing a black hoodie and expensive frameless glasses. His fingers moved across the laptop keyboard with mechanical precision. Three monitors surrounded him, each displaying streams of code and security logs that would look like gibberish to most people.
But to Hyun-soo, they told stories.
The office floor above was empty. Everyone had gone home hours ago. Friday night—most people were out drinking with colleagues or heading home to their families. But Hyun-soo preferred it this way. The solitude. The silence broken only by the servers' hum.
His phone buzzed.
Lee Min-jun: Hyun-soo, working late again? Take care of your health.
Min-jun was his senior colleague. The only person in the company Hyun-soo felt comfortable talking to.
Hyun-soo's fingers paused on the keyboard. He picked up his phone and typed a reply.
Hyun-soo: Yes, I'll head home soon.
A lie. He had at least three more hours of work planned.
He set the phone down and returned to his screen. The file he was working on was titled Guardian_v2.3—a custom security program he'd been developing in his spare time. Not for the company. This was personal.
Advanced encryption algorithms. Real-time threat detection. Anonymous network protection. Digital footprint elimination.
Tools to protect someone.
Tools to guard against the kind of cruelty that lived online.
Hyun-soo's fingers trembled slightly as he typed a comment in the code:
// This time... I'll be able to protect them properly.
He stared at those words for a long moment, then saved the file and closed his laptop.
Time to go home.
The memories always came at night.
Hyun-soo sat on his bed in his small studio apartment near Pangyo, staring at the ceiling. The apartment was clean but sterile—minimalist furniture, white walls, no decorations. It looked more like a hotel room than a home.
He'd tried to sleep. He always tried. But sleep was a luxury he rarely enjoyed.
Instead, the memories came.
Twelve years ago. Summer.
Hyun-soo was sixteen, a high school student who spent most of his free time playing online games. That's where he met them.
'Starlight.'
He never knew their real name. Never knew if they were male or female, young or old. In the game world, such things didn't matter. They were just two players who enjoyed teaming up for raids, sharing strategies, laughing at stupid in-game jokes.
But slowly, their conversations deepened.
Starlight: You know, sometimes I think this game world is better than reality.
J: Why?
Starlight: Because here, people judge you by your skills, not by rumors or appearances.
J: Is something wrong in real life?
A long pause before the next message.
Starlight: I'm being bullied at school. It's getting worse.
Hyun-soo's sixteen-year-old self didn't know what to say. He was awkward, socially inept. He typed and deleted several responses before settling on:
J: I'm sorry. That's terrible. Can you talk to a teacher?
Starlight: I tried. They don't believe me. They say I'm being oversensitive.
J: What about your parents?
Starlight: They don't understand either. They think I should just "try harder to fit in."
Night after night, Starlight confided in him. About the physical bullying at school. About the online harassment that followed them home. About feeling trapped with no way out.
And night after night, Hyun-soo listened. Offered comfort. But always from behind a screen.
"I wish I could help," he would say.
"You already are," Starlight would reply. "Just knowing someone cares... it helps."
Then one day, Starlight stopped logging in.
One day became two. Two became a week. A week became two weeks.
Hyun-soo sent messages. No response. He checked their profile every day. Last login: two weeks ago. Three weeks. Four weeks.
Then he saw the news.
[Breaking: 16-Year-Old Student Dies by Suicide After Cyberbullying]
The article didn't use names, but Hyun-soo knew. He knew from the details. The school district. The timeline. The description of "relentless online harassment."
He dug deeper. Found the school community forums. Saw the threads full of malicious comments, personal attacks, threats. Someone had doxxed Starlight—posted their real name, address, photos. Thousands of comments piled on.
"Attention seeker."
"Just die already."
"Nobody would miss you."
The last comment was dated three days before Starlight's death.
Hyun-soo remembered sitting in front of his computer, hands shaking, tears streaming down his face.
"I could have protected them," he whispered to the empty room. "If I had just... done something. Anything. Instead of just typing words on a screen."
That guilt had carved itself into his bones. It lived with him every day.
That's when he decided to become a security expert. To learn how to track down people who hid behind anonymity to hurt others. To build systems that could protect the vulnerable.
To never again be helpless while someone suffered.
Hyun-soo opened his eyes, pulled back to the present.
12:47 AM.
He sat up and rubbed his face. Another sleepless night. He'd gotten used to them over the years.
He reached for his laptop out of habit. When he couldn't sleep, he worked. Or researched. Or just... browsed, letting his mind drift through the infinite expanse of the internet.
Tonight, he opened a private browser window and started wandering aimlessly. Tech forums. Security blogs. News sites.
Then a banner ad caught his eye.
NIGHTCAST - Where the Night Comes Alive
He'd heard of the platform before. An adult streaming service that operated in a legal gray area. He'd never visited it—not his kind of thing—but out of pure boredom and curiosity, he clicked.
The site loaded. Age verification. He clicked through.
The main page showed rows of broadcast rooms. Thumbnails of women in various states of dress, provocative titles, viewer counts in the thousands.
Hyun-soo scrolled without much interest. He'd seen enough of the internet to be unsurprised by anything.
Room after room looked the same. Exaggerated makeup. Forced smiles. Rehearsed flirtation.
He clicked on the top broadcaster—someone named 'Roxy.' 12,000 viewers.
He watched for thirty seconds and closed the tab.
"Too much," he muttered. "Everything's an act."
He scrolled further down. Tried another broadcaster. Then another.
"All the same..."
He was about to close the site entirely when something caught his eye.
At the bottom of the main page was a section: New Broadcasters.
Most had viewer counts in the single digits. But one stood out.
🍒 Cherry Berry | 1,847 viewers | ⚫ LIVE
What drew his attention wasn't the viewer count, though that was impressive for a new broadcaster.
It was the thumbnail.
A woman with long pink hair, a bright smile, pink lights creating a soft glow around her. Standard enough. But her eyes...
Something about her eyes was different from the others.
Hyun-soo couldn't quite place it. Maybe it was the angle. Maybe the lighting. But there was a depth there. A shadow behind the smile.
He clicked.
The broadcast loaded.
Cherry Berry sat in front of her camera, animated and cheerful, talking to the chat. Hyun-soo arrived at what seemed to be the middle of her broadcast—about an hour in based on the timestamp.
"...and that's why I think genuine connection is so important, you know?" Cherry Berry was saying. "Life is too short for fake relationships."
The chat responded enthusiastically.
user7543: So true!!
CloudNine: You're so wise
NightOwl: I feel like I can really talk to you
Hyun-soo leaned back in his chair and watched without typing anything. He rarely chatted in streams. Preferred to observe.
Cherry Berry responded to messages, laughed at jokes, occasionally took sips from a wine glass. She seemed natural. Comfortable.
But Hyun-soo noticed things.
He noticed that when she smiled, her eyes didn't always smile with her. The disconnect lasted only a fraction of a second, but it was there.
He noticed that when there was a brief lull in the chat—a gap of three or four seconds—her expression would go momentarily blank. Neutral. Empty. Then snap back to cheerfulness the instant a new message appeared.
He noticed the micro-expressions. The tiny flinch when someone asked, "Do you have a boyfriend?" The way her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly when someone said, "You must have had a lot of guys chasing you in school."
Most people wouldn't catch these things. But Hyun-soo had spent years learning to read faces, body language, the subtle tells that people couldn't quite hide.
And what he saw made his chest tighten with recognition.
"She's acting," he murmured to himself.
He leaned closer to the screen, studying her more intently.
The brightness in her voice—too consistent. The energy—too controlled. The responses—too perfect. This wasn't someone genuinely happy. This was someone performing happiness.
And beneath it all, in those brief unguarded micro-moments, he saw something familiar.
Pain.
"Those eyes..." Hyun-soo whispered. "Just like Starlight."
The same look. The look of someone who had been hurt and was desperately trying to hide it. The look of someone who had learned to wear a mask so thick that most people would never see the cracks.
But Hyun-soo saw them.
He watched as a viewer sent a message:
user8821: Cherry, what's your real name?
Cherry Berry laughed. "I'm Cherry Berry! That's all you need to know~"
But Hyun-soo caught the 0.2-second pause before the laugh. The way her shoulders tensed.
Someone else typed:
WolfPack: Tell us about your past relationships!
"Oh, you know, nothing too exciting!" Cherry Berry said with a wave of her hand. "I've been focused on my career~"
Deflection. Avoidance. And another micro-expression—this time in her eyes. A flash of something dark before the smile returned.
Hyun-soo sat back and took off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"What happened to you?" he asked the screen softly.
He didn't know this woman. Didn't know her real name or her story. But his instincts—honed over years of studying digital behavior, of tracking predators and protecting victims—told him one thing with absolute certainty.
This woman needed help.
And she was doing everything in her power to make sure no one knew it.
Hyun-soo continued watching. Not with the casual interest of a typical viewer, but with the focused attention of someone solving a puzzle.
Cherry Berry was good at her job—he had to give her that. She kept the conversation flowing naturally, responded to donations with genuine-seeming gratitude, made each viewer feel seen and appreciated.
The technical setup was also impressive. Professional lighting. Crystal-clear audio. Smooth camera work. This wasn't someone who stumbled into streaming on a whim. This was planned. Intentional.
But why?
A woman clearly intelligent and capable, hiding behind a pink wig and manufactured personality. Broadcasting on a platform like this, which carried certain stigmas. What was she running from? Or running toward?
Hyun-soo found himself unable to look away.
Then, as he watched, something shifted in his chest. That old, familiar feeling.
The helplessness he'd felt twelve years ago. The guilt that still haunted him. The voice that whispered in his darkest moments: You could have done more. You could have saved them.
He couldn't save Starlight. But maybe...
"I can't just ignore this," he said to the empty room.
His fingers moved to the keyboard, hovering over the chat input box. Then he stopped.
No. Chatting wouldn't help. Words on a screen wouldn't reach her—he'd learned that lesson painfully.
But there was something else he could do.
Support. Real, tangible support. Let her know that someone out there saw her and wanted to help, even if they couldn't explain why or how.
Hyun-soo navigated to the NightCast payment system. He'd used this account before—years ago, he'd donated to various streamers as part of research into platform security. His account was old, well-established, with a history of significant donations.
Account name: J.
He'd created it as a shortened version of his game ID, but over time, he'd come to think of it differently. J for Justice. J for Judgment. J for... just someone trying to make a small difference.
He checked his account status.
🖤 J
Grade: Black Diamond
Total Donations: ₩1,520,000,000
Donated to: 12 broadcasters
The number surprised even him sometimes. Over the years, whenever he'd encountered streamers who seemed to be struggling—financially, emotionally, whatever—he'd quietly sent donations. Never asked for anything in return. Never tried to build relationships. Just... helped.
He could afford it. His salary at Quantum Shield was substantial, and he had few expenses. No expensive hobbies, no social life to speak of, no family to support. The money just accumulated in his account.
Might as well use it for something meaningful.
He looked back at the broadcast. Cherry Berry was thanking someone for a small donation, her expression warm and grateful.
Hyun-soo made his decision.
He clicked on the donation button and entered an amount: 100,000 diamonds.
One million won.
He paused before confirming. This would draw attention. Lots of it. Was he ready for that?
His eyes drifted back to Cherry Berry's face on screen. To those eyes that held secrets she'd never speak aloud.
This time, I'll protect them. I'll watch from the shadows if I have to, but I won't stand by and do nothing.
He confirmed the donation.
Now for a message. What could he say? Something encouraging but not creepy. Supportive but not invasive. He typed and deleted several attempts.
Finally, he settled on something simple:
Your voice is truly beautiful. I support you.
Short. Genuine. Not asking for anything.
He hit send.
The reaction was immediate.
The screen exploded with black effects—the special animation for Black Diamond donations. The chat went wild.
user4423: HOLY SHIT
MidnightRain: A MILLION WON
TigerClaw: BLACK DIAMOND DONOR
CloudNine: J!!!! I've seen him in other streams!
Cherry Berry's eyes widened—genuinely surprised this time, Hyun-soo noted. Good. At least he'd broken through the performance for a moment.
"Wow! J! Thank you so much!" Cherry Berry said, hands on her cheeks in apparent shock. "I can't believe... this is such a generous donation! Thank you!"
Hyun-soo watched her carefully. Yes, the surprise was real. But within seconds, she'd regained her composure, slipped back into the Cherry Berry persona.
His message appeared in the chat, highlighted in black with his Black Diamond icon next to it.
🖤 J: Your voice is truly beautiful. I support you.
Other viewers reacted to his message too, but Hyun-soo ignored them. He only cared about one person's response.
Cherry Berry looked at the screen—directly at the camera, which meant directly at him—and smiled. But this smile was different from her others. Softer. More... real?
"J, thank you. Your support means so much to me. I'll work hard to deserve it!"
Hyun-soo felt something in his chest loosen slightly. Good. Message received.
He closed the chat input box. He wouldn't message again tonight. Didn't want to seem pushy or like he expected something in return for the money.
This was enough. Just letting her know someone was watching. Someone cared.
He settled back to watch the rest of the broadcast in silence.
2 AM.
Cherry Berry's broadcast ended. She'd been live for three hours—impressive stamina for a first broadcast.
Hyun-soo immediately opened his recording software. He'd automatically recorded the stream, a habit from his security work. He pulled up the video file and began scrubbing through it, watching Cherry Berry's expressions on repeat.
He isolated specific moments. Zoomed in. Analyzed.
There. At timestamp 1:34:22, when someone asked, "What was your first love like?"
Cherry Berry had laughed and deflected: "Oh, too embarrassing to share!"
But in the 0.3 seconds before that laugh, her expression had changed. Eyes unfocused. Jaw clenched. A micromovement that most people would miss even if they were looking for it.
That wasn't embarrassment. That was pain.
Hyun-soo created a note in his private files:
Subject: Cherry Berry
Real identity: Unknown
Assessment: Experienced significant trauma, likely related to relationships/past.
Possible abuse. Performing extensive emotional labor to maintain broadcaster persona.
Vulnerable despite outward confidence.
Action plan: Monitor. Provide support. Protect if necessary.
He knew this looked obsessive. If anyone saw these notes, they'd think he was a stalker. But Hyun-soo had learned long ago that the line between protection and obsession was thinner than most people realized.
He wasn't doing this for gratification. He wasn't doing this because he wanted something from her.
He was doing this because twelve years ago, he'd failed someone. And he couldn't—wouldn't—let it happen again.
Hyun-soo navigated back to NightCast and set up his account preferences:
- Subscribe to Cherry Berry: ✓
- Monthly recurring donation: ₩5,000,000 (5 million won)
- Notification settings: Alert immediately when broadcast starts
He paused at the donation amount. Five million won per month. That was... a lot. But he could afford it. And more importantly, if Cherry Berry was planning something—and his instincts told him she was—she might need resources.
Whatever she was running from or toward, money could help.
He confirmed the settings.
Finally, Hyun-soo closed his laptop and looked out the window. Dawn was approaching. The sky was turning from black to deep blue.
Usually, at this hour, he'd still be wide awake, tormented by memories and guilt.
But tonight, something was different.
Tonight, he had a purpose.
"I'll protect you," he whispered to the lightening sky. "Even if you never know it. Even if you never want it. I'll watch from the shadows and make sure you're safe."
He lay down on his bed, still fully clothed, and closed his eyes.
For the first time in weeks, Park Hyun-soo fell asleep within minutes.
And for the first time in years, he didn't dream of Starlight's death.
Somewhere across the city, in a different apartment, Kim Se-na also lay in bed.
She stared at her phone, at the profile of the mysterious donor named J.
Black Diamond grade. 1.5 billion won in total donations. Barely any chat history.
Who was this person? What did they want?
The message played in her mind: Your voice is truly beautiful. I support you.
Simple words. But something about them felt... different. Not like the usual comments from viewers who wanted her attention or her body. This felt almost... protective?
Se-na shook her head. She was overthinking it. J was probably just another rich person with money to burn and a savior complex.
Still, as she finally drifted off to sleep, she couldn't quite shake the feeling that something had shifted tonight.
Two people, connected by a screen and a payment.
Two people, each carrying wounds they'd never speak of.
Two people, who had no idea how thoroughly their lives would soon intertwine.
In the darkness, neither of them knew that they'd just taken the first step on a path that would lead to trust, betrayal, truth, and perhaps—if they were very lucky—redemption.
But that was still to come.
For now, they slept.
[End of Chapter 2]
Next: Chapter 3 "The Devil Wearing an Angel's Mask"