Anyone at UA would know how capable Kim Iwol is.
People used to joke, “Did the company hire a rookie office worker instead of an idol?” You can’t really call it a joke anymore.
Even to Jeong Seongbin, who has dreamed of being an idol for years, Kim Iwol was singular. He’s not a pro idol, but he’s definitely a pro at something.
“Iwol? He’s great at work. Sharp mind. You can tell he’s put together at a glance.”
“Did Iwol organize this? He’s insanely thorough.”
“If it’s Iwol’s proposal, you can trust it.”
Those are just a few of the praises Seongbin personally heard about him.
Even if you only looked at outward image, maybe you’d miss it, but Iwol had a good reputation with the members closest to him. Seongbin himself relied on him a lot.
There were people who were unusually hard on someone like that.
One kind were those with poor public reputations or inferiority complexes toward him, like Jang Junhu or Yu Hansu.
The other was Kim Iwol himself.
His self-belittling was habitual. Whether he noticed or not, Seongbin—who’d spent years tearing himself down—recognized the nuance better than anyone.
At first he thought he must be mistaken. What could someone like Iwol possibly lack?
But it wasn’t a mistake. When it came to work attitude, Iwol was harsh on the members, and he was strict with himself in every area, work attitude included.
Admitting your shortcomings is different from failing to recognize what you’re good at—Seongbin learned that for the first time watching Iwol.
Four hours of sleep on a good day, one or two when busy; he worked, and filled any gaps against the others with practice however he could.
Even with no time to breathe, he checked the fan café every day, and when a great stage video came out he looked so proud that you felt just how much he truly loved the fans and wanted to put on a great performance.
But when the crucial moment came, Iwol would...
“You’ll definitely look better if you do it yourselves.”
...say things like that. Without anger or regret, with a completely calm face.
“I don’t know exactly what he’s thinking. But if we let him keep believing he doesn’t matter much to the team... it’ll break my heart.”
At Seongbin’s words, the members clamped their mouths shut. Different examples came to mind, but all showed the same side of Iwol.
Seongbin glanced at Choi Jeho and Kang Giyeon. If Iwol joined the stage, those two would suffer the most in practical terms.
They’d already redone the entire blocking once because of his drop. They were utterly soaked in fatigue.
“I know it’ll put a lot on Jeho and Giyeon. We could seat him off to the side on a sub-stage, or have him only record vocals, but I’d like us to think it through together. I’ll help anywhere I can...”
He bowed his head, looking apologetic.
The answers came more readily than he’d expected.
“I’m on break from school, so I don’t mind. Just let me go to bed a little later this week.”
“I’m fine too.”
“We’ll need to repartition parts, right? I’ll do that with Juu hyung!”
“Good. Seongbin, you focus more on costumes... and the other side.”
Having been rigorously trained by Iwol, the members each found what they should do.
And so they began discussing how to share a live broadcast stage with an injured Kim Iwol.
Even three days into my hospital stay, I wasn’t in my right mind.
My head hurt like hell, the dizziness wouldn’t stop, and every time someone dropped by I had to grit my teeth and act like I wasn’t in pain.
Doing this on repeat was driving me crazy. Using pain relief to stop Yu Hansu had been the right call, no matter how I looked at it. Without it, I wouldn’t have subdued him—I would’ve just collapsed on the floor and been unable to move.
How do movie characters keep fighting after getting hit with a metal pipe...? I was imagining that when Manager came into my room.
“How are you feeling?”
“Much better. The doctor did rounds earlier and said I’m recovering fast.”
The nurse changing my dressing said the wound was closing unusually quickly. She even wondered if she was seeing it wrong. Thanks to that, I’m getting another MRI.
So I asked the system to leave the surface alone and focus on healing the inside.
I want to go back to society, not get shipped off to some rare-human research institute.
“I heard you asked the kids to bring you a laptop?”
With that, Manager handed me a phone that felt tiny compared to a laptop.
“But they said not to bring it. If you get a laptop, you’ll work.”
“Pardon?”
“Frankly, I agree, so I didn’t bring one. But you should keep a phone so you can reach us if needed.”
I just held the phone in my hand like a raccoon rinsing cotton candy.
After that, we talked about who would settle the surgery and hospital bills.
UA would cover everything. Even if there’s a settlement with Yu Hansu, I was told I don’t have to turn over the settlement money to the company.
“The company knew you and Producer Yu had friction, so it has to take responsibility. We’ll cover all your treatment costs—don’t worry, okay?”
Manager also told me to get counseling if needed and said he’d bring a list of clinics later.
“And, Iwol, I need to ask something. Is your condition okay to talk?”
“Yes, go ahead.”
He pulled the chair from the cabinet and sat.
“It may be uncomfortable. Is that okay?”
“Of course. Please speak freely.”
“Mm...”
I wondered what he was circling, then he dropped a word I wasn’t expecting.
“Can I ask how bad things are between you and your parents?”
If that’s coming up now...
“Is it because of the guardian?”
“Hm?”
They probably tried to contact my guardian for surgery.
Sure enough, Manager avoided my eyes.
I can’t contact those two myself. The system has restrictions.
But through a third party?
“If you managed to get through to my parents...”
If someone who could see their contact info and call them reached out on my behalf, I could ask about my sister.
At least to know where she lives and how she’s doing.
“Ah, well...”
He fell silent.
We’d just had a character scandal. My personal details were being dug up; there was no guarantee word about me hadn’t already reached them.
My heart sank in an instant. Like someone dumped a bucket of ice water on me.
“Did they say they don’t want anything to do with me?”
They don’t have to sign guardian forms or whatever.
Whether I have surgery or not is none of their concern; even if they told the hospital system not to call them just because they’re “family” on paper, fine.
But couldn’t they at least give me one chance to talk.
The resentment I’d been aiming at the system evaporated. They would have been like this even without the system.
“Iwol.”
Manager said my name and patted my shoulder.
“Going forward... when there’s family-related stuff, what would you like the company to do?”
A gentle kindness.
Part of me wanted to say it doesn’t matter, to cut it all without looking back.
“Why’d you come near our place just to meet in the middle.”
“You worked overtime again yesterday. If you have a conscience, buy your sister a meal.”
“No.”
I decided to swallow it all.
“If they reach out, please tell me. There’s something I want to say.”
For my sister.
After Manager left, I checked the pile of messages.
There were check-ins from all sorts of people.
The Verion members, sure—but even Mr. Polo and Mr. Yur sent texts wishing me well and a swift recovery.
I wondered why everyone was making such a fuss, then searched the news and saw the headlines. You’d think I was on my deathbed from the way they read.
“With reporting this sensational, of course people are spooked.”
With Manager’s okay, I posted on the group’s official account that I was resting well, then worked through the backlog of messages, thanking each sender.
Lastly, I logged into ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) Bubblepop, which I hadn’t been able to enter for days.
My inbox was full.
≫ Iwol are you okay? Please don’t push yourself and get real rest ㅠㅠ
≫ Iwol don’t be sick
≫ We miss you! Rest well, get better fast, and come back soon!!
≫ If anyone bothers you, wave carrots in both hands and shout their name—noona will handle it
I moved my fingers slowly and sent a short message.
Iwol
[You waited a long time, didn’t you? I’m sorry I’m late.]
At least ten messages a day is my rule. The guilt came flooding in.
Even so, the fans welcomed me warmly.
≫ Kim Iwol, “sorry” is banned
≫ What do you have to be sorry for ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ Are you okay?
≫ Iwol noona is going to set UA on fire now
≫ Baby, you don’t say sorry for things like this
There are still certain words I can’t build up tolerance to... but what matters is the sincerity in the messages, so I accepted it gratefully.
“Assistant Manager Kim, you’re tall as a lamppost—why do you live on headache meds?”
“You got heat sick because there’s nothing to eat? You’re only doing this because I turned off the fan on your side, aren’t you?”
“Assistant Manager Kim, your staff are driving me crazy. Everything’s the flu. If they all have the flu, who’s going to work?”
My brain kept overlapping Department Head Nam to stop my eyes from going glassy.
I wish these thoughts would stop. I’m already as grateful as a person can be.
So I made a promise instead. I’ll communicate like hell to make up for the days I missed.
I chatted with the fans until I fell asleep. I didn’t even see “Bubblepop 999+” hit the real-time trends a few hours later.
