My body recovered at incredible speed after the police interview. I heard the doctors whispering to each other that it was miraculous. I’m sure some of it was the rage burning itself out.
The pain, on the other hand, ebbed only very slowly. Since my body was healing well, they cut back my pain meds, but the pain stayed the same, so I’m biting my lip and enduring it. At this point I don’t know what the “good” choice was.
And then two faces that looked almost as miserable as mine showed up in my room.
“Are you two sick too?”
“It’s from working...”
Lee Cheonghyeon staggered as he pulled out his laptop. Today’s visitors were Jeong Seongbin and Lee Cheonghyeon, and their reason was an “urgent meeting request to prepare for the final competition.”
“You say we’re talking finals, and not one of the dance-line punks came?”
“Those two are zombies right now.”
“They’re skin and bones.”
According to Jeong Seongbin, Choi Jeho and Kang Giyeon were changing blocking and choreography dozens of times a day—scrapping, redoing, flipping it over.
“Now they’ve even got Juu hyung roped in running simulations.”
Lee Cheonghyeon snickered. He looked a little unhinged.
“Anyway, this is choreography draft 1.”
“One?”
“There are three. I didn’t know what would be easiest on you, so I filmed them all.”
He hit play. In sync with that, Jeong Seongbin passed me a sheet of paper: a set map for the Royal Secretariat live stage.
“The areas marked in red in the video are the main stage, and the zones taped in blue are the side stages. Please reference that.”
“Thanks.”
Everyone had gotten a lot more prepared. Thanks to that, I didn’t have many questions as I watched.
“So you’re saying... you want me sitting alone on the side stage?”
Aside from my position drawing way too much attention.
“Don’t like it? Then ride the lift and come up to the main stage.”
I hate that too!
If I could slip on and slip off, maybe—but I don’t want to be the only one who pops on camera!
Why should I get a solo shot while you guys don’t!
“Can’t I just dance? I’ll stay as far back as possible so I barely show.”
“Does that make sense? How are you supposed to dance right now?”
“I can. I’m healing really fast.”
“How are we supposed to believe that?”
“If you don’t, then come at tomorrow’s rounds when the doctor does the check.”
While I bickered with Lee Cheonghyeon, Jeong Seongbin ran through one of the drafts.
Then he turned the screen back to me and said:
“The doctor says it’s fine, and if your recovery pace holds, we could change the choreo from verse three and have you join. How’s that sound?”
“Honestly, coming in at the dance-break would be perfect. Iwol hyung, heal up fast.”
“If healing on command worked, would I be an idol? I’d have opened a natural-healing institute already.”
The meeting went on for a long while after that. By the time we wrapped, all three of us were spent.
“Oh right, hyung. Does your TV work?”
Sprawled in a chair, Lee Cheonghyeon pointed at the big TV.
“No idea, I’ve never turned it on. Why?”
“If it works, I was going to unplug it before we leave. Otherwise you’re going to watch Royal Secretariat live again.”
“It not occurring to you that I could just watch on my phone?”
“I know you—TV for the broadcast and phone for the live chat.”
This punk knows too much about me.
“If they delayed the final, shouldn’t this week or next be a re-run?”
“They said they increased the boot-camp footage. The week before the live they’ll air a compilation. So probably no skipped weeks.”
Jeong Seongbin kindly explained. Sounds like everyone but me was busy.
It was a relief there wasn’t a hole in the schedule—but I felt a little guilty.
“The show already airs at night. While you’re admitted, just sleep. Don’t get excited about having a private room and watch live. We’ll handle the monitoring.”
“Didn’t I issue a monitoring ban on you guys?”
“Fine, then only let Jeho watch!”
Lee Cheonghyeon snapped. To be fair... he’s not the type to have his head wrecked by monitoring. I concede.
“I’ll rest properly. You two handle your skincare. If I’m discharged and see new blemishes, you’re not leaving the dermatologist for four hours that day.”
He gave a half-hearted answer as he packed the laptop. I guess it sounded like an empty threat. Maybe it’s time they discover the true joys of an aesthetic clinic.
For the past few days, Baek Haewon had been a bundle of nerves.
After an unprecedented incident, the idol scene hit peak turmoil.
Needless to say, Haewon’s whole feed, now completely # Nоvеlight # Spark-tinted, was the same.
≫ A company has a duty to protect its artists.
The Spark fandom demands UA provide a responsible explanation and follow-up actions.
#UA_protect_your_artists
#Idols_have_a_right_to_protection
#UA_get_a_grip
≫ I checked trends while working and saw our boy trending—thunderbolt out of nowhere...
I want it to be only good news; why does this keep happening?
Thankfully, word came quickly that Kim Iwol was recovering fast. And to prove it, he kept popping into the fan café and messenger—sending over 999 messages.
Say nothing of Haewon—every Sparkler wanted to go chuck eggs at UA headquarters.
But aside from his first “I’m okay” check-in, Kim Iwol didn’t mention the incident at all.
The fandom was noisy, but Haewon and the comrades who’d stanned for years caught on.
Oh—he’s doing this so his fans don’t get chewed out... they thought.
It was a choice as wise as his face. So plenty of Sparklers refrained from dragging his injury back into the discourse on purpose.
Iwol
[Are you going to watch Royal Secretariat today?]
[I am!]
[Could you keep it secret from the kids? Cheonghyeon threatened to yank the TV plug.]
Even today, he was chatting in his usual way about catching the program live.
If Iwol says watch, what can I do? I have to watch.
As a Sparkler, Haewon opened Royal Secretariat—the series they loved and hated in equal measure.
“If there’s malicious editing this week, I’m going to kill them...”
It’s a snoozefest of a show, and after I graciously sat through episode 1, they edited our boys like crap and filmed the stage like a crane-cam aimed at their knees.
For someone who’d attended and seen Spark’s stage with her own eyes, it was maddening.
Spark had been insane—in the best way—and the broadcast cut only showed lower halves.
≫ How did this stage place first on site?
No matter how you look at it, it wasn’t that good on TV;;;
└ If you watch the stage-version upload, it’s clear these kids crushed it. The broadcast cut is garbage.
└ I just checked—yep. The live episode sandbagged them, lol.
No one knows how many tears Haewon shed while spreading the link to the stage-version video.
If the Royal Secretariat staff had edited properly from the start, none of this would’ve happened!
They seemed a bit more awake from stage two onward, but honestly, she was still anxious.
At least this week was a peaceful boot-camp episode. Fans revive when new crumbs drop.
Wasn’t the feed on fire just last week from Spark’s explosive stage? The thrill of that is still vivid.
He mostly stared out the bus window, then, once they got off, clung to the younger ones and chatted with members from other groups. Iwol, you’re a total social butterfly.
She had a hunch. Despite having the shortest trainee period in Spark, there were tons of stories about him and the members.
“When Cheonghyeon ran away from the dorm, Iwol hyung went to find him.”
“Seongbin hyung, isn’t it a little ruthless to bring that up now?”
“Jeho hyung, you spend the longest at the gym with Iwol hyung. What do you two talk about?”
“Why would we talk while working out?”
“We don’t really cook properly at the dorm, but when we do, it’s almost always led by Iwol hyung.”
“The mini meat patties he pan-fried are delicious, everyone...”
“When did he fry mini meat patties? And why only for Juu hyung?”
“I changed all my bags because of Iwol hyung the other day. To backpacks.”
“Why? Because your shoulders were tilting?”
“Yeah. I got scolded thirty minutes per bag.”
“No wonder your bags all looked new to me.”
There was a trap card or two in there, but still!
He was so easygoing with others, and so attentive, that she’d expected plenty of people around him.
Even her own older brother, who wasn’t especially close to Iwol, had a good impression. The emotional wound she’d suffered when the character smear first broke felt freshly healed.
Just as her heart finally settled, it wobbled again when Iwol joined the grocery-shopping team.
“I saw red pepper paste in the cupboard earlier. Let’s just buy soybean paste dip.”
“The lettuce looks a little sad. Should we take the bundle next to it instead?”
“There are a lot of us. Buying in bulk is cheaper. Let’s get the big size.”
On screen, he was just... a mom.
Not the “warmly embraces everyone” mom role—more like a real mom who goes to the store with you and comes back with nothing but greens.
When they got back, he was busy again—dragging out the drum, laying charcoal, lighting the fire.
The show finally blessed them with decent editing. I loved seeing our kids featured so much. You could tell they were trying to be considerate after the Spark chaos the past few days.
But with Parte nowhere in sight and our team’s oldest members the only ones torching the grill barrels—it was great, but it also stung.
Haewon’s complicated feelings melted watching Jeong Seongbin diligently ferry meat and wraps. And the members waiting, like baby birds, for Kim Iwol to sit and eat.
Fine—if you’re happy, that’s what matters. Seeing Spark looking genuinely harmonious, Haewon waved the white flag.
