"Thank you for your concern, PD."
I thanked Yu Hansu as if I were genuinely moved.
"But I really don’t think you need to worry too much."
"Come on, how could I not? I’ve watched you for years."
Well, well.
You like this? You do?
"No, really, it’s fine. The company said they can trace the IP on the whistleblower post. Looks like there are records from when the network was installed."
You still like this? Huh? XX.
As expected, there was nothing but silence on the other end.
That XX probably did post the thing trashing me from inside the company.
The call ended. Now Yu Hansu would sprint back to the office to check if what I’d said was true.
"Soon enough he’ll call again to ask if I know spreading falsehoods is a serious offense."
I let out a sigh, satisfaction aside.
Just that call drained me. I squatted on the stair landing for a moment and did some deep breathing.
The company issue could be explained to a degree, and the family...
If someone dug up their info, they’d deny any connection to me on their own. Those people would draw a line immediately—“We cut ties with him long ago”—rather than get tangled up with me.
What remained was the school issue.
Honestly, I had no confidence in that part. Even if I said I was innocent, there was no one who could prove it.
Should’ve kept better relations with classmates. Shouldn’t have lived like a lone wolf.
But isn’t that also a lazy idea that uses people as tools?
Someone like me is better off living alone. Still, I should’ve kept better relations with classmates...
"I really lived my life wrong."
Not that I’d ever thought I’d lived it well, but today cemented it.
My life is trash. No-answer trash.
"Still, if I’m going to be recycled, I better work hard..."
I forced myself to my feet. Time to hustle for a life that at least gets sorted for recycling.
Even after I got back to the practice room, I couldn’t train for long.
With every kind of controversy exploding at once, there were too many files to organize. Thanks to that, I left early for the second time since the nosebleed incident.
When I returned to the dorm, the suitcase held report cards newly issued by the System. I absently rubbed the corner of a college entrance score report.
I also moved the screenshot—saved on a hunch when my university acceptance was canceled—onto my laptop.
What was Hanpyeong Industries’ apology-report format like again?
I’d only ever received apology reports, never written one, so my memory was fuzzy.
Start with “I’m sorry for causing concern to the fans,” then apologize for the delay in releasing a statement because compiling the details took time...
I hurried through a draft and reread the same lines several times.
A few rounds of Spark deputy fandom is enough to know what belongs in a clarification post and what absolutely doesn’t. Proofreading was easy.
The final packet was mostly tidy. Even if they demanded witnesses, I could provide them.
Except for the school-life section.
There was no way around that part. It was true I didn’t get special treatment, but it’s hard to prove I skipped group activities because of money, and while I never looked down on anyone, it’s not like my relationships were good either.
"This is why a person who knows just one thing is scary."
I spent a long time thinking about how to cut through this mess.
And, having found no way at all, I dropped my forehead onto the kitchen table.
One phone call flipped the situation.
"Manager?"
The caller ID said Manager.
Maybe something else had blown up without me knowing. I wedged the phone between my shoulder and ear and woke my laptop from sleep.
Thankfully the board was still stuck at “Kim Iwol’s Character Exposed by Classmate.”
But the voice belonged to someone unexpected.
"Hyung, it’s Seongbin."
"Seongbin? What’s up?"
A glance at the clock said practice should still be in full swing.
Jeong [N O V E L I G H T] Seongbin calling in the middle of practice? That meant a big deal.
I racked my brain, trying to figure out where my bucket had sprung another leak.
Then I gave up.
Who cares what kind of controversy broke out where. I’ve lived clean enough; I’ll just rebut it.
I waited calmly for Jeong Seongbin to speak.
"Did you see the post online?"
"Online? ‘A Compendium of Kim Iwol’s Usual Quotes That Tell You Everything About Him’?"
"No, not that!"
That one’s the hottest right now. Tons of comments.
Rubbing my sore eyes, I hit refresh. Jeong Seongbin spoke again.
"Someone who says they’re your classmate posted!"
It was true.
Right there on my screen: a post titled, “I’m Iwol’s Classmate. About the Misunderstandings Toward Iwol...”
The post title was long, too. It said they were writing to clear up misunderstandings about me.
I hung up, saying I’d read first and call back. Then I scrolled through a wall of text the size of a fingernail even at a glance.
≫ I’m Iwol’s classmate. I’m writing to clear up the misunderstandings toward Iwol. (with proof)
Hello. I was class president in the same class as Iwol during our third year of high school.
I heard he’s facing a lot of misunderstandings, so I wanted to share honestly what I saw of him.
.
.
.
"Class president?"
I remembered. He was social and lively; we at least said hi in passing.
He loved soccer so much he played every lunch break, and whenever they were short a person, he kept dragging me in.
≫ From what I saw in the same class, Iwol is absolutely not the type to look down on his friends.
On the contrary, he was good at sports, popular among us, and just a normal kid who played soccer with us every lunch.
When I sprained my ankle and wore a cast, he carried my bag to the bus stop after school every day.
Right—he blew out his ankle ligaments playing soccer.
Up to the moment I convinced Kang Giyeon—who insisted he wouldn’t go to the hospital despite the pain—the kid’s face was blurry; now it was coming into focus.
≫ The claim that he received special treatment isn’t true either.
As far as I know, he always got good grades. Other classmates also knew his grades were in the top ranks of the school. Back then, no one complained he was getting special favors.
The post was really long. The comments were probably full of “give me a three-line summary” and “too long, didn’t read.”
Yet I couldn’t just skim it. Each word sank into my eyes.
≫ Iwol was always diligent, and I believe he still is.
He works hard, so I’d be grateful if you could cheer him on.
Below that were a graduation album and group photos, a few texts the kid and I had exchanged, and screenshots from a group chat where people were buzzing, “Do you remember Kim Han?”
My phone buzzed again. A text from Jeong Seongbin.
He said to call as soon as I finished reading.
Call—I should.
I should, but...
When I closed the community tab, the social-media window I’d opened earlier reappeared.
I’d searched my own name to note what parts fans would worry about most; the feed had regenerated.
≫ Kim Iwol, don’t let it get to you
No matter what anyone says, you’re XX good at this
≫ Ah XX our boy wasn’t a poser after all
Leave him alone, seriously
≫ Sparklers know better than anyone how hard he works
I hope he doesn’t blame himself at all
That kind of thing puts you in a very strange mood. My head went blank for a moment.
How am I ever going to repay all this kindness. It felt like I’d piled up enough debt to fill thirty thousand truckloads.
I immediately called the manager’s phone. Jeong Seongbin picked up at once.
"Why’d you pick up so fast? What about practice?"
"Is practice important right now?!"
"Of course it is. I already hate that I’m missing one person; are you all taking a group break to sit around monitoring?"
"Ugh, whatever. Can you really fix all this?!"
From the background, Lee Cheonghyeon shouted the question.
"Yeah. Let’s clean it up today and finish it."
"Wow, this is the first time I’ve gotten this much attention on the internet."
"You like it? You do?"
Baek Haewon shot a look at her brother, Baek Haein, who wouldn’t put down his phone.
Still, thanks to that guy, the negative tide toward Kim Iwol had eased considerably.
"If you two were this close, you shouldn’t have just said ‘classmate’—you should’ve told us ages ago...!"
I’d told him to quit exaggerating when he said they’d been in the same class and even played soccer together, but I didn’t know he and Kim Iwol were close enough to have actual episodes.
"No wonder Mom wouldn’t stop talking all day about some tall, handsome friend when that XX broke his leg."
Mom couldn’t have known that friend would become an idol. Haewon cursed herself for not riding along with Mom to Hoyeon High School that day.
"So? How’s the response?"
Haein asked. His words sounded snarky, but he looked worried.
Fair—when Haewon first told him, Haein had been truly shocked.
"Kim Han’s got no manners? Come on, gossip about celebs is wild, but is this one real?"
"Ugh, our boy’s soft-hearted too... these bastards..."
"It’s not like he’s that soft-hearted."
"Shut up."
Grumbling, Haein still worked hard on the clarification post. Beside him, Haewon filtered out sentences that had no place in a statement.
"What you need to write is the part proving he didn’t get special treatment. You’re the only one who can verify that."
"But if they’re our classmates, everyone knows he studied well. The first poster’s probably not our grade—or it’s a made-up post."
"Isn’t it XXX?"
Anyway, all clout-chasers should be hung upside down from the ceiling. Haewon felt her head heat with anger.
"Oh, that did come up in the group chat this time."
"What?"
"You know how they said he studied well."
"They did."
"I mentioned it before, but people were wondering why he suddenly switched to the idol path... that kind of thing."
Right, they’d said he was in the top ranks of the school. When I first heard it, I focused only on “Our Iwol didn’t get special treatment!” but thinking about it now, it really is impressive.
"Was he that good at studying?"
"I’m telling you, he was! His internal grades weren’t that high, but he was always first on the practice exams. That’s why he got a private study room."
With a straight face, Haein dropped a bomb, then exploded again: "Hey, who’s in my comments saying, ‘Don’t defend him mindlessly’? Can’t I report this guy?!"
