The Royal Secretariat Cup field day ran for quite a while.
In the main event, the wrestling, Choi Jeho flaunted his thigh muscles and took the final win. He ate a mountain of meat and paid his way, I’ll give him that.
At the campfire, there was a short segment about burning away everything hard up to now and moving forward anew...
“I’m glad I got closer with good juniors! There was friction at times, but moving forward I want us to keep a good relationship and grow together!”
...Mr. Song Minil had to pour water on it again.
Friction? What friction. You’re the one who rammed into people. Shameless bastard.
Maybe they read my mind, but the Verion guys kept sneaking glances at me. I worked hard to keep a harmless smile.
Otherwise, it was the usual—somebody set a small fire trying to roast marshmallows, and someone else suddenly broke into tears talking about how hard the competition was. Maybe because they’re still kids, the mood softened faster than I expected.
Watching that, I suddenly remembered the Onepyeong Industries campfire days, when everyone except the executives just wanted to go home.
What was I thinking as I watched the pillar of flame back then?
I want to go home?
Why am I living like this?
I’m pretty sure I was wrapped up in some intense desire...
What snapped my thoughts was Park Juu.
“...Coming here all together like this—I like it.”
“Hm?”
“It really feels like a trip.”
Park Juu smiled faintly. It felt out of character.
A face that rarely showed expression smiling; flames flickering over a reputation that was always cold.
A guy who hated noisy crowds enjoying the chatter; someone who used to hide anywhere he could calling it nice to have lots of people gathered...
“Yeah.”
I answered briefly and looked away. My feelings were weird.
Has the kid changed a little?
I don’t want to wield excessive influence over Spark. Work is one thing, stopping disasters is another, but I don’t want to change individual members.
And yet this makes me feel guilty.
“Let’s come again next time with the UA folks, as a group!”
Lee Cheonghyeon shouted, excited.
I almost said, “Do you want to tank the company’s internal planet rating,” but held it back because the cameras were rolling.
“Where do you want to go?”
“The ocean’s the easiest, right?”
True leader Jeong Seongbin, who doesn’t let member comments slide, and Choi Jeho amped it up.
“Right. If we’re all going, we’d need to rent the two buses we took today. How much would that cost?”
Kang Giyeon added his two cents.
“If it’s Incheon, about four hundred thousand won per bus round trip; Gangwon would be six hundred thousand or so. But usually they calculate by kilometers, not just the region.”
“When did you look that up?”
“Be honest—you wanted a group trip too, didn’t you?”
As if. If a regional workshop tanks our UA score, it’s on you.
We watched the flames and launched into a heated debate over “UA staff workshop—mountains or ocean.”
Idols plotting an in-house workshop while wearing mosquito-repellent ankle bands. Please don’t let this make air.
The variety-style retreat was brutal.
The Royal Secretariat cast had a wake-up mission at dawn: do cute trending moves to a cutesy song.
Idols who could barely open their eyes fought to pick up the choreography and dance the tiny, adorable routine... whoever wants to see it, everyone still did their best.
Of course, doing your best doesn’t guarantee results.
I sank miserably, showing off my hopeless “learn-by-watching” skills.
“I’d need a full day to get this.”
“Iwol, you’re an idol!”
“There are always mutants in the world!”
Why is the world this cruel to idols. Sorrow welled up; I bit my lip, but nothing changed.
“Hyung, you still haven’t passed?”
“I’m skipping breakfast today.”
Kang Giyeon gave me a pitying look. Having already raided the meal truck, he offered a hand.
“Look. This hand motion is supposed to be rabbit ears.”
“Oh, not Maltese ears?”
“That detail isn’t the point, but anyway. Then...”
Kang Giyeon fluttered around, knocking out an absurdly cute dance first thing in the morning.
I clunked along beside him.
How are people supposed to watch a dance once and follow it? I went to school sixteen years and never learned that.
“Iwol hyung, still on your mission?”
“Is there any way to have a stand-in...?”
Well-fed Jeong Seongbin and Park Juu showed up to sympathize, too.
A harsh modern society that gathers over forty idols and works a single office worker to the bone—I will not forgive it.
In the end, I “passed” by sneaking into the very back row and shadowing while all five Spark members danced up front. When they ladled food onto my tray, I was crying on the inside.
I was eating the hard-won meal when Cha Sehan, sitting diagonally across, spoke up.
“Hyung, did you get bitten by mosquitoes? Our room had tons.”
“We slept with the plug-in repellent on. Want some topical cream?”
“You carry that around?”
Of course. As long as I’m with this team, I’m duty-bound to protect their faces from every kind of disaster.
Also, a plug-in mosquito repellent is a summer essential.
There were so many mosquitoes in the Onepyeong office that every summer I kept my own plug-in at my desk. That was one thing they wouldn’t buy as an expense.
I handed Cha Sehan the med kit and went back to my food.
That’s when a little number in the corner of my vision caught my eye.
Yesterday it had definitely been 3; now it had changed to 2. I’d been dancing since waking up, so I only just noticed.
A countdown?
I tried to think what was in two days, but aside from filming the Royal Secretariat final performance planning meeting, there wasn’t anything.
The system wouldn’t bother to display something that trivial.
After the meal, I used the break to ask Jeong Seongbin.
“Seongbin, do we have anything the day after tomorrow? Besides the Royal Secretariat shoot.”
“The day after tomorrow? Nothing besides that.”
So not a schedule. New work coming down? How monumental is this task going to be.
Hey, tell me what it is so I can prepare.
I griped, but the system didn’t show. Lazy brat. Try lecturing me about attendance like this.
Aside from my field of view narrowing just a little because of the countdown, the retreat wrapped smoothly.
There were no cameras running on the bus ride back, so we could sit wherever we wanted.
But unlike departure, everyone got off at the broadcast station to disperse. Why does even this feel like some kind of workshop.
On the way to the dorm, our manager, who’d come to pick us up, spoke up at a red light.
“Guys, are you coming by the office later?”
We’d just come back from a one-night, two-day shoot, but of course we’d go to the company. We needed to practice.
When Jeong Seongbin said yes, the manager said great and pulled out again.
“Then stop by the office before the practice room.”
“The office?”
“Yeah. A lot of fan letters came. Since there’s a little time before the next performance, I thought it’d be good to read them now.”
Now that he said it, it had been a while since we’d picked up fan letters.
I remembered the very first time we got them. Even when I was at the post office mailing stuff, I thought, “These punks must get a ton of mail...” but actually receiving them—the amount and the care surprised me.
Sure enough, there was a box for each person again.
I still hadn’t adjusted to this. The only mail I ever got used to be maintenance bills and health checkup notices.
It makes my heart feel heavy.
The first feeling when I got fan letters was “surprise,” and then it turned into gratitude.
At the same time, I felt sorry. I’m working for thoroughly mercenary reasons—do I deserve such pure support?
This time, there were even more letters than usual.
From all the “stay strong” stickers and messages on the envelopes, it looked like a lot of people had written after the character controversy blew up.
I found a spot in the corner, sat down, and opened the letters addressed to me.
As always, pages packed with affection to the margins spilled out.
【It’s my first time writing to an idol.
I don’t know if you, Iwol, will read this, but I’m writing a few lines hoping my support reaches you!
.
.
.】
【I can’t believe this is already my fifth letter, haha.
While stanning Spark, I’ve kept surprising myself that I’m someone who can like something this deeply.
Any time I see stationery with a flame drawing I grab it and write to you on the spot—my life is so full of Spark that it’s both painful and joyful^^】
【Iwol, it’s your nuna.
.
.
.
The world is too harsh for our twenty-one-year-old tuxedo kitty, right? I want to blow up the planet for him, but it’s not that easy...
Even so, trust in the human powder keg known as Sparklers and hang on a little longer. Sparklers are always on your side.
Ignore the loudmouth commenters who spend neither time nor money on Spark, and look only at pretty words. You’re an adult, so you know what I’m trying to say, right?
I love you—you look like a sea urchin, but your personality is like a dust bunny under the dresser. Take a warm shower, pull a clean blanket over you, and sleep like a baby!】
【To. Iwol
Iwol, you’ve been busy filming Royal Secretariat lately, right? Are you eating properly?
After the cafeteria vendor changed, I lost the will to live. Why did they change vendors? The only perk at this company was that the food was good.
I know you’re cutting and just eating chicken breast and salad, but today I especially want to see you guys eating something delicious. I feel like that would make my heart a little happier.
Self-management is great, but sometimes eat what you want, okay? Everything we do is to live and eat anyway. Your jawline thrills me every time, but I still want you to be happy.
Don’t just tell fans to eat a balanced diet—you have to eat well too, okay? I love Spark’s killer abs to death, but Spark getting sick because you don’t eat right is a grave sin. Remember that.】
Half the letters were gentle and kind; the other half radiated firm resolve and love. It was hard to tear my eyes away from any of them.
Only after a long while did I finish reading and sorting all the mail.
The other guys were almost done with their stacks too.
Back when I was a fanboy at Onepyeong, I assumed idols didn’t read all their letters, maybe only a few. These punks read every letter that came in for them, every time.
If schedules were tight, they read in the van. If even that didn’t work, they used their breaks.
It was one area I never had to ride them about. They handled letters on their own.
So maybe if you’d shown this side to fans earlier, things would’ve been better? What were you doing back then.
Just as I was about to rage, Lee Cheonghyeon drew attention.
“How does everyone store fan letters?”
“I put mine in a box and slide it under the bed...”
“I keep them like Juu. It’s hard to take them out, so I do want to move them somewhere else.”
I guess there’s nowhere else to put them. Park Juu and Jeong Seongbin seemed to be storing theirs pretty neatly under the bed.
“I got a dedicated bin. What about you hyungs?”
“Bottom shelf of the closet.”
“In my suitcase.”
The moment we finished, Choi Jeho and I looked at each other. Both of us had the “you too?” look.
What’s wrong with a suitcase. It’s the only thing in this dorm I actually treasure.
“Whatever you do, watch out for moisture. During the rainy season, walls and paper can mold.”
At my words, Jeong Seongbin and Park Juu went pale. They clearly hadn’t thought that far.
“Or we could buy a six-drawer dresser and each take a drawer. Get one that fits the living room.”
“That’s good. If it’s in the living room, it’s easy to look through!”
Lee Cheonghyeon chimed in, excited.
Once they get a bit more popular the company will move them to a new dorm, so we should buy a plastic dresser to make moving easier. Toss a moisture absorber in each drawer.
Practice was a notch more upbeat than usual that ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ day. Smiles wouldn’t leave their faces.
When you think about it, it’s strange. With just a few fan letters, they liked their fans enough to enjoy a schedule that had them practicing after a one-night, two-day shoot—so why did they break up like that?
I had no idea. Even I, every time I received this kind of love, kept looking back over my shoulder.
