Matchmaker Mayhem
Chapter 139: The Seoul Love Test

Chapter 139: The Seoul Love Test

"Truth under bright lights never hides for long."

The studio lights were too bright.

Ava sat center-stage on a gleaming white sofa, surrounded by sleek floral displays and LED panels cycling through romantic skyline animations. Cameras circled on slow-moving tracks.

A production crew moved like dancers around the perimeter — clipboard clicks, headset whispers, countdowns flashing in red lights.

Across from her, Ryan adjusted the cuff of his dark blazer like this was a legal negotiation instead of a televised compatibility test broadcast to half of South Korea.

He looked annoyingly good under pressure.

"So," he murmured under his breath, "what’s the over/under on me ruining this with one bad joke?"

"You already did that by showing up in a blazer that tight," Ava said, forcing a smile as another camera swung toward them.

Ryan smirked.

The host—a chipper woman with pastel nails and a voice like a windchime—stepped into the spotlight.

"Welcome to The Seoul Love Test!" she chirped in Korean and English, beaming. "Where our featured couples are about to prove whether they know each other’s hearts—or just look good in couple photos!"

The audience laughed politely.

Ryan leaned toward Ava. "You brought me to Korean The Newlywed Game."

"You’re the one who agreed to this, oppa."

The host continued. "This round, we’re joined by America’s favorite matchmaking chaos duo—Ava Lee and Ryan Kim!"

A cheer went up, helped no doubt by the summit interns planted in the front rows.

Ava swallowed. This was fine. They’d done public things before. The fake proposal. The drama café disaster. Even the summit wedding rehearsal.

But this?

This felt... sharper.

Because the questions weren’t hypothetical.

And the world was watching.

Round One: The Easy Stuff

The screen behind them lit up.

QUESTION 1:

Who’s more likely to steal the blanket at night?

Ryan hit his buzzer immediately. "Ava. No hesitation."

Ava scoffed. "You sleep like a rotisserie chicken—one roll and the blanket’s on the floor!"

Laughter bubbled from the audience.

QUESTION 2:

Who apologizes first after a fight?

They both paused.

Ava pressed her buzzer. "Me."

Ryan looked over slowly, a little surprised. "Really?"

Ava shrugged. "You hold grudges like a cat with a grudge journal. I like peace."

Ryan smiled faintly.

So far, so safe.

Then the host tilted her head, smiling too brightly.

"And now... the emotional round."

Round Two: The Turning Point

The lighting shifted subtly—less bright, more dramatic.

QUESTION 5:

What is your partner most afraid of in love?

Silence.

Ava’s hand hovered over her buzzer.

Her mind spun.

Being wrong.

Being abandoned.

Being seen too clearly.

Ryan didn’t buzz.

He looked at her. Direct. Steady.

And said quietly into his mic, "Not being enough."

Ava blinked.

For a moment, she forgot they were on a stage.

Forgot the crowd, the cameras, the host with her perfect manicure.

It was just Ryan.

Ryan, who had stood beside her when her matches fell apart.

Who carried her home when the press tried to break her.

Who never asked for more than what she gave, but always gave more than she asked.

She opened her mouth.

But the screen changed again.

QUESTION 6:

What moment made you realize you loved them?

The audience collectively leaned forward.

Ava swallowed.

Ryan didn’t hesitate.

"Paris," he said. "Rooftop. Strawberry wine. She fell asleep on my shoulder. I didn’t move for two hours because I didn’t want to wake her."

Ava stared at him.

She felt her heart crack open all over again.

She remembered the wind that night. The way he’d kept her warm. The way he’d said nothing at all—but held everything in his silence.

The host clapped her hands. "Time for our final question!"

Ava barely heard it.

QUESTION 7:

If this ended tomorrow, what would you regret not saying?

The buzzer glowed between them.

Ryan didn’t reach for it.

He turned to her, slow and sure, and whispered—not into the mic, not for the cameras, just for her—

"I want forever, Ava."

The words were soft.

Terrifying.

True.

Ava didn’t buzz in.

She didn’t have to.

Instead, she leaned forward—just enough to rest her forehead against his, just enough for the lights to blur, just enough for the audience to know.

They weren’t playing anymore.

The host tried to steer the segment into closing jokes.

Someone from production shouted "cut" just a little too late.

But it didn’t matter.

Because someone in the audience had recorded it all—

The silence.

The Paris memory.

The almost-kiss.

The not playing anymore.

By morning, it would be clipped, captioned, and viral across three platforms under:

#TheSeoulLoveTest

#RyanSaidForever

#MatchmakersWhoMatchedThemselves

But Ava didn’t know that yet.

All she knew was the way Ryan’s hand found hers when the lights went down.

And how for once—

no one

not even herself—

could doubt this was real.

---

They ducked out the back of the studio while the crowd still buzzed.

Mei had planned the escape, of course.

A strategically timed "power outage drill" distracted the summit press corps just long enough for Ava and Ryan to slip out the service entrance, where Harold waited with a private car and a smug smile.

"She’s trending again," he said mildly as he opened the door.

"Don’t tell me," Ava muttered, tugging the blanket over her lap as they slid into the car. "I want fifteen minutes of pretending I’m a normal person who didn’t just emotionally strip on national television."

Ryan leaned back in the seat, arm draped behind her, calm as ever.

"You were perfect," he said softly.

"I was a panic attack wrapped in lip gloss," Ava grumbled.

He didn’t argue. He just squeezed her shoulder gently, like he’d been waiting for her to fall apart and would keep holding her together until she didn’t need it anymore.

They rode in silence through the glowing streets of Seoul, the city a wash of amber light and night air cool against the tinted windows.

Eventually, Ryan reached into the side pocket and pulled out two things: a bottle of cold barley tea, and a snack pouch of choco pies.

Ava blinked at him.

"You packed snacks?"

He shrugged. "I came prepared for your fame spiral."

She snorted, cracking the bottle open.

"You’re insufferable."

"You kissed me under a spotlight," he reminded her.

"It was a forehead lean."

"You wanted to kiss me."

She shoved a choco pie at his face.

"You wanted to say ’I love you’ in front of a live studio audience."

"I didn’t," Ryan said.

Ava froze.

He turned to her, smiling.

"I didn’t want to say it there," he said, voice low. "I want to say it when it’s just us. When you can actually hear it. When there’s no camera, no host, no pressure."

Ava swallowed.

"And I want you to say it back when it’s not about the summit," he added.

"Not about the press. Just... us. In a room where it means something because no one’s watching."

Her chest tightened.

"You already know, though," she said.

Ryan nodded, brushing his thumb along her knuckles. "Yeah. But I want to hear it when you’re ready."

A beat passed.

Then Ava leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I’m not pretending," she whispered.

"I know," Ryan said.

Another moment. The hum of the road beneath them. The faint sound of someone playing guitar on a street corner as they passed.

"You know Tokyo wasn’t a maybe," Ava said after a while, so quietly he almost missed it.

Ryan turned to her.

"It was a yes," she said. "It’s always been yes. You just knew not to scare me with the word."

He kissed the side of her head, slow and steady.

"I’m still not in a rush."

"You kind of are," she muttered into his neck. "You just hide it better than Mei."

Ryan laughed softly, pulling her closer.

"You want a real wedding?"

Ava nodded, once.

"Then when we’re ready... we’ll make it ours," he said.

"Not for the summit. Not for the cameras. Just for us."

And for once, Ava didn’t feel her chest seize at the idea.

She just felt calm.

Loved.

Held.

Sure.

She let her eyes close, her fingers laced with his, their shoulders pressed together as the car slipped deeper into the Seoul night.

Not pretending.

Not rushing.

Just... becoming something real.

---

Back at the summit’s broadcast headquarters, Mei leaned back in a director’s chair she’d absolutely not been authorized to use, sipping from a ceramic tea cup that had somehow replaced the host’s water glass.

Harold stood nearby with a folded copy of the summit event schedule and a miniature two-way radio clipped discreetly to his collar.

"Are we clear?" Mei asked calmly, eyes still on the screen where the studio audience had only just started filing out.

Harold pressed the button. "Team Bravo confirms the service exit is sealed and the interns are occupying the press with complimentary bubble tea."

Mei nodded, satisfied. "Excellent."

On the monitor, she watched as Ava and Ryan exited out the back of the studio under dimmed lights and vanished into the waiting car.

She smiled to herself.

"You didn’t see her face, Harold. Not the one she wears for clients. The real one. The soft one. The ’I forgot to be afraid’ one."

Harold handed her a cookie from the summit’s catering tray.

"She looked happy."

"She was happy," Mei said, a little quieter. "No performance. No plan. Just... Ava. In love."

She sipped her tea, pausing dramatically.

"Now," she said briskly, "we give them the night. No press. No headlines. Just space."

Harold glanced at the buzzing summit phone in her bag.

"And tomorrow?"

Mei smiled, sly and satisfied.

"Tomorrow, we let them fall even deeper."