The Short Vacation, Day 1 — Joy

The Incheon International Airport hummed with its usual late-night rhythm—rolling suitcases, muffled announcements in Korean, English, and Japanese, and the faint scent of duty-free coffee and perfume. It was just past 10 PM in early May 2026, and the private lounge area reserved for VIPs and artists felt like a cocoon away from the public eye.

Manager Kim Min-woo stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows, arms crossed over his broad chest, scanning the tarmac where their chartered jet waited. At 35, Min-woo had been with Red Velvet since the Ice Cream Cake era in 2015—eleven years of early mornings, late nights, canceled plans, and quiet sacrifices. He had watched Park Soo-young, known to the world as Joy, grow from a bright-eyed 19-year-old rookie into a 29-year-old woman who commanded stages and screens with effortless charm. He knew her moods, her favorite late-night snacks, the way her shoulders tensed before a high note, and the exact tilt of her head when she was pretending not to be nervous.

Tonight, his job was different. Tonight, he was facilitating a dating trip.

“Min-woo oppa, are we clear on the arrival protocol?” Joy’s voice floated over from the plush seating area. She was dressed in the white crop top with the oversized red bow sitting innocently over her chest, black cardigan draped loosely, and those fitted black jeans that hugged her long legs and slim waist. Her short bob was neatly styled, black-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, giving her that studious-yet-sexy contrast that always made fans lose their minds. A beige designer bag hung from her shoulder.

Min-woo turned, offering a professional smile that hid the familiar twist in his chest. “Yes, Joy. Ground staff in Haneda have the car ready. Separate but coordinated arrivals—Crush-ssi will land twenty minutes after us on his commercial flight. I’ll handle the decoy vehicles. No paparazzi should catch you together unless you want them to.”

Joy’s lips curved into that radiant, genuine smile that could light up an entire arena. “You’re the best, oppa. Really. I don’t know how I’d do any of this without you.” She walked over, the soft click of her sneakers echoing lightly, and gave his arm a gentle squeeze. Her fingers lingered a second longer than strictly necessary, warm through his shirt sleeve. “This trip… it means a lot. We just want normal couple time, you know?”

Behind her, a small team of stylists and one trusted bodyguard nodded quietly. Min-woo had personally vetted every person here. No leaks. No loose tongues.

“I know,” he replied, voice low and steady. “That’s why I’m here. Your happiness comes first. Always has.” The words tasted bittersweet on his tongue. Eleven years of watching her laugh, cry, perform, date in secret, and now publicly with the smooth-voiced R&B singer. Min-woo had arranged hotel suites with connecting but separate rooms, booked discreet restaurants, and even scouted quiet alleyways in Tokyo for her lovestagram photos. He was the architect of their privacy.

The boarding call came softly through the lounge speakers. Joy gathered her things, her crop top riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of smooth, pale midriff as she bent down. Min-woo looked away out of habit, then forced his gaze back—professional detachment was part of the job, even when it ached.

On the jet, the cabin was luxurious but intimate: cream leather seats, soft ambient lighting, and a small galley where a flight attendant prepared drinks. Joy settled into a window seat in the front cabin. Min-woo took his usual spot two rows behind, laptop open, coordinating last-minute details with the Japanese agency contact. Crush would join them properly in Tokyo, but the flight itself was Joy’s time to unwind.

“Want anything, oppa?” Joy called back, twisting in her seat. The cardigan slipped off one shoulder, exposing the delicate line of her collarbone. “They have that sparkling water you like. Or chicken? I’m starving.”

“I’m good, Joy. Eat first. You barely touched dinner earlier,” he answered, typing rapidly. A message from Crush popped up: Thanks again, hyung. I owe you. Min-woo’s jaw tightened for a split second before he replied politely.

Joy ordered a light meal and a glass of white wine. As the plane taxied, she kicked off her sneakers and curled her legs beneath her, looking smaller and more vulnerable in the dim light. Once they reached cruising altitude, she unbuckled and padded back toward him in socks, holding two glasses.

“Here. One sip won’t hurt. We’re celebrating a little early.” She handed him the drink and slid into the seat across the aisle, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Up close, her skin was flawless under the cabin lights—fair with that cool undertone that flushed so easily. The red bow on her chest rose and fell gently with her breathing.

Min-woo accepted the glass. “To a safe trip and good memories,” he toasted quietly.

Joy clinked hers against his, eyes sparkling behind the glasses. “To oppa who makes the memories possible. Seriously… you’ve seen me through everything. The trainee days, the scandals that never were, the exhaustion after Tempted filming… and now this.” She took a sip, then leaned forward, elbows on her knees. The crop top shifted, the bow framing the soft swell of her breasts. “Does it ever get weird for you? Managing my… personal life?”

He paused, choosing his words carefully. The jet hummed steadily around them. “Weird? Sometimes. But it’s my job to protect you, Joy. Not judge. Crush seems good for you. Stable. Talented.” The lie came smoothly; in truth, every public confirmation, every subtle Instagram hint, carved another small notch in the place where eleven years of quiet devotion lived.

She smiled softly, almost shy. “He is. But you… you’ve been here longer than anyone. Sometimes I wonder what I’d do if you ever left SM or got promoted away.” Her voice dropped, intimate in the quiet cabin. “Don’t ever leave me, oppa. I mean it.”

Min-woo’s hand tightened around the glass. “I’m not going anywhere. Not until you tell me to.”

The flight attendant brought her meal—grilled chicken salad and fruit. Joy ate delicately, chatting about the itinerary: the quiet streets she wanted to wander at night, the onsen-style bath she hoped to try privately, the little boutique shops in Shibuya and the hidden izakaya Crush had recommended. Min-woo listened, noting every preference, adjusting reservations mentally. He would be the shadow—booking the cars, checking for fans, ensuring the hotel staff understood “absolute discretion.”

At one point, Joy laughed at a story from their early days, throwing her head back. The sound was bright, unrestrained. “Remember when I spilled coffee all over my stage outfit right before that Ice Cream Cake comeback show? You ran to the nearest convenience store in the rain and bought stain remover like a madman.”

“I remember,” he said, the memory warming him. “You cried in the dressing room because you thought it was ruined. I told you I’d fix it, and I did.”

“You always fix things for me.” Her gaze lingered on him a moment longer than usual, the wine adding a faint flush to her cheeks and neck. She stretched her legs into the aisle, toes brushing near his shoe accidentally. The fitted jeans accentuated the long, toned lines of her thighs and calves—slimmer now in 2026 after her focused diet and pilates, but still carrying that graceful proportion that made stylists and fans obsessed.

Min-woo cleared his throat and stood to retrieve a blanket from the overhead for her. As he draped it over her lap, his fingers grazed her arm. She didn’t pull away. “Get some rest, Joy. Tokyo will be busy even if it’s supposed to be a break.”

She nodded, pulling the blanket higher. “Wake me when we’re descending? And… thank you again. For making this possible. For understanding.”

He returned to his seat, watching her settle in. The cabin lights dimmed further. From his angle, he could see the gentle rise and fall of her chest under the white top, the way the red bow caught the faint light, the soft curve of her exposed midriff where the blanket had slipped slightly. Eleven years. He knew the scent of her shampoo, the exact pitch of her laugh when she was truly happy, the way her body moved on stage—energetic, sensual, alive.

Now he was escorting her to another man for a romantic getaway.

The hours passed. Min-woo worked on schedules, replied to emails from SM, and reviewed security protocols for the Japan leg. Occasionally he glanced back. Joy slept peacefully, lips slightly parted, glasses folded neatly on the tray table. In sleep, she looked younger, almost like the girl he’d first managed during those grueling Ice Cream Cake promotions when everything was new and overwhelming.

Halfway through the flight, she stirred, murmuring something incoherent. Min-woo approached quietly. “Bad dream?”

She blinked awake, rubbing her eyes. “Just… weird one. We were back in the practice room, but everything was different.” She sat up, blanket pooling at her waist, crop top slightly rumpled. “Oppa, sit with me for a bit?”

He did, taking the seat beside her this time. The armrest between them felt like both barrier and invitation. Joy leaned her head against the window, staring out at the dark sky and occasional clouds lit by moonlight.

“Crush and I… we’ve been together five years now. It feels serious. Family-meeting serious.” She spoke softly, almost confiding. “But sometimes I still feel like that trainee who needs her manager to hold everything together.”

“You’re not a trainee anymore,” Min-woo said, voice rougher than intended. “You’re Joy of Red Velvet. Actress. Soloist. One of the brightest stars in the industry. And you deserve this trip. You deserve to be happy.”

She turned to look at him fully. In the low light, her eyes behind the glasses were deep, searching. “Even if my happiness means you have to watch from the sidelines?”

The question hung heavy. Min-woo’s heart thudded. He could smell her faint perfume—something floral and clean, mixed with the warmth of her skin after hours in the cabin. “That’s what I signed up for when I took this job. Your well-being above everything.”

Joy reached over and placed her hand on his forearm, squeezing. Her touch was light but deliberate. “You’re more than a manager, oppa. You know that, right?”

For a long moment, neither spoke. The jet engines droned steadily. Then Joy pulled back, smiling that bright, disarming smile again. “I’m going to freshen up before landing. Can you check if the arrival cars are confirmed?”

“Of course.” He stood, letting her pass. As she walked toward the small lavatory at the back, her hips swayed naturally in those black jeans, the cardigan trailing behind her like a cape. Min-woo exhaled slowly, returning to his laptop.

He confirmed everything: two black vans, separate routes, hotel with private elevator access, breakfast delivered to rooms without staff lingering. He even had a backup plan if fans spotted them—decoy couple actors ready to draw attention elsewhere. This was his expertise: making the impossible normal for her.

When Joy returned, she had reapplied a touch of lip gloss, making her plump lips shine. She stopped by his seat. “Everything good?”

“Perfect. We land in about ninety minutes. Crush will meet us at the hotel by morning.”

She nodded, then surprised him by leaning down and pressing a quick, grateful kiss to his cheek. Her breath was warm, lips soft. “Thank you, Min-woo oppa. Truly.”

The spot on his cheek burned long after she returned to her seat.

The rest of the flight passed in a haze of quiet service. Min-woo arranged for her favorite playlist to play softly through the cabin speakers. He had the attendant prepare a small care package—skincare wipes, her preferred lip balm, and a note reminding her of the day’s light schedule. When turbulence hit briefly, he moved to sit closer, ready to steady her if needed, but she only laughed and gripped the armrest.

As descent began, Joy grew animated again, talking about the specific alley she wanted to photograph first—the one with the glowing signs and quiet atmosphere she’d scouted online. “Crush will love it. We can take turns taking photos of each other. It’ll look so natural.”

Min-woo smiled faintly. “I’ll stay back far enough to give you space, but close enough if anything happens.”

“You always do,” she said warmly.

Haneda Airport greeted them with the cool pre-dawn air of Tokyo. Disembarkation was smooth thanks to priority clearance. Min-woo handled the paperwork, guided the small group through customs with practiced efficiency, and ensured Joy’s disguise—loose mask, cap, and oversized sunglasses—stayed in place until they reached the vans.

In the private transfer area, Joy turned to him once more before stepping into her vehicle. “Ride with me? Just for the drive to the hotel. I’m a little nervous about seeing him after the flight.”

He joined her in the back of the van. The city lights of Tokyo blurred past as they drove. Joy leaned against the window, then shifted closer to him, her shoulder brushing his. “This trip is going to be amazing because of you,” she whispered. “Promise me you’ll rest too, oppa. Not just work the whole time.”