Jeong Seongbin is kind.
He never puts up a wall with anyone and is gentle with everyone.
He has a soft spot; he knows how to look after people one by one, and if the person is the weaker party, he’ll hover nearby and pay attention.
That same Jeong Seongbin clearly avoided me at breakfast. He sat farther away than usual, and when Mother mentioned me, he visibly flinched.
Yet after all that, he came to my room—so I figured he must have something to say and told him to have a seat.
Even after we sat side by side on the bed, Jeong Seongbin wouldn’t open his mouth.
The only thing he managed to say was...
“Lie down. You must be tired.”
...that was it.
Before I knew it, I’d become the arrogant eldest who stretched out to lie down while the one who’d come with business just sat there. No matter how mild my tone, it’s hard to ignore the leader when he speaks.
My poor pillowcase was about to get soaked. I’ll have to sneak it into the wash tomorrow.
I slid a towel between my head and the pillow and stole a glance at Jeong Seongbin’s face.
His complexion was dark. Maybe I was overreading it, but he looked a little distressed.
“Who upset our leader’s mood?”
“......”
“Tell me. I’ll show you the textbook example of a member’s loyalty to his manager.”
I poked him with a joke, and his head turned toward me.
Beneath his hair, his lips were trembling.
“Hyung.”
“Yeah.”
Jeong Seongbin dropped his gaze.
“I’m sorry.”
The bedsheet wrinkled under his clenched fist.
“I knew you’re not the type to half-do anything.”
“Seongbin.”
“I threw a fit just because I was upset.”
He couldn’t lift his face.
He seemed to think I collapsed during the live finals because of him.
That’s not an unreasonable way to take it. I had accepted the suggestion not to participate, and Jeong Seongbin counter-proposed that he’d somehow get me onstage.
But I was the one who accepted. There was not a single reason for Jeong Seongbin to feel guilty.
If anyone should be sorry, it’s me. I put the team together to enter a contest and then basically ducked out alone before the final presentation.
Even so, it must have kept weighing on him. He seemed to think both my going up for the finals and my collapse were his responsibility.
“It’s not like the only way to carve out your place is to stand onstage. I just... wasn’t thinking—”
“Okay, that’s enough.”
I cut him off as he was about to dig himself into a hole.
I hardly ever cut people off, so he stared at me wide-eyed.
“Sorry to interrupt. I want to ask something.”
He didn’t bother answering. Instead, he leaned a little closer to me.
“Seongbin.”
“Yes.”
“Forget the guilt and everything. How did it feel when all six of us went up onstage together?”
He couldn’t answer rashly. His eyes wavered.
He’s transparent, that one. He makes you feel like you should be just as honest in return.
“I liked it.”
“......”
“We worked really hard. I was relieved we could finish it without a hitch. It’s a chance that won’t come again.”
I wasn’t the only one who worked for Royal Secretariat.
Everyone practiced like they were dying; we ground ourselves down. We filmed that notoriously brutal survival program without fights or mistakes and made it to second place.
They fully deserved to feel the joy that results bring.
“Don’t let something we can make into a good memory get buried under a bad one. That’d be a waste.”
“......”
“I’ll ask again. The finals—how was it with all six of us?”
I gave him one more chance.
He hesitated for a long time. He couldn’t bring himself to answer easily.
But soon, as if admitting defeat, he smiled and said,
“It was the best.”
There was nothing more to hear after that.
I closed my eyes, saying I should grab a nap.
He watched me for a moment, then closed the door and left.
Out in the hall, I could hear Lee Cheonghyeon hopping from foot to foot and asking Jeong Seongbin if the talk went well; it washed over me like white noise.
To mark the end of Royal Secretariat, Spark got a short break.
It was only two days, but the Spark brats each went off to do their own thing.
First, Jeong Seongbin was busy on and off the phone with the company. We’d gotten a fair number of broadcast offers while we were on Royal Secretariat, and now that the schedule had some breathing room, those offers seemed to be getting relayed to him.
Kang Giyeon said he wanted to read comics for the first time in a while and didn’t come out of his room. I’d heard his hobby was reading comics, but he seemed to be seriously into it. He didn’t leave the bed for hours.
Park Juu went to buy used albums. Apparently a rare grail had popped up on Hongdangmu Market—something you can’t get even if you have the cash. Worried he’d get scammed, I sent Choi Jeho along, but thankfully it was a legit sale.
And me...?
“Hyung, did you pick your spoon yet?”
“No. Why on earth do I have to use a Pororo kids’ spoon set as a prisoner?”
I was being railroaded by the lot of them: “Red spoon? Blue spoon?”
It all started with the dishes.
While I was hospitalized, Spark divided up my share of the housework too.
Now that I’d been discharged, I was about to reclaim my rubber gloves, but a few of them strongly stopped me.
I didn’t bulldoze through them shouting, “Silence! I’m the dishwashing lead around here!” They were genuinely worried; you could see it on their faces.
I even held back when they wouldn’t let me touch the laundry. Sure, my conscience pricked a little about lazing around, but it was comfortable, that’s the truth. Worst case, I could pick up some other chores.
But...
“When we’ve got perfectly good spoons and chopsticks, why are you buying new ones? And these, of all things?”
“The ones in the dorm are old and a bit heavy. If you want to focus on recovering, you should avoid spending energy on unnecessary things. Plastic will be light and perfect!”
...this was different. No—beyond different, it was over the line.
I stared blankly at the screen Lee Cheonghyeon was flicking through.
A 5,690-won ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) ‘Pororo 3D-handle kids’ spoon set’ in various colors flashed before my eyes.
“You’re joking, right?”
“I even got a discount coupon.”
No one was more serious than Lee Cheonghyeon.
I looked around, but everyone avoided my eyes. Did that mean every last person in this dorm agreed I should use a Pororo spoon? I couldn’t believe it.
With a little help from Choi Jeho, Lee actually purchased one sky-blue set. Then he beamed about getting the shipping discounted too.
I had a thousand things to say, but I held back. I’m far too weak against Spark right now. With this soft heart, there’s no way I can ride them hard.
“Sigh...”
I let out a long breath and fled to my room. I opened my laptop and wormed back under the blanket.
If I tried to work in the living room, someone would butt in again. I needed at least thirty minutes without going out...
“‘spArk’s treasure vault
Please enter the password.’”
......
Who was it.
Who set a password on the shared laptop without announcing it!
“Hyung, are you mad...?”
“No.”
“You sound mad...”
“No way. I’m just amazed by your passion.”
I sucked down a red ginseng pouch with a hollow look while Park Juu watched my mood. It was the second round of nourishment Mother left for me.
Even after the laptop incident, trials kept coming. Annoyances from every direction.
After a while, I couldn’t tell if I felt lousy because of lingering effects from the injury, or because those punks were driving me up the wall.
I’ll admit it. They were so thorough it felt like they’d spent my nap plotting shenanigans.
Which only made me madder. If they can align like this, why were they so desperate to be glued together back then that they fell apart?
“Hyung, we’re heading to practice.”
“Then I’ll—”
“Please rest. Call if you need anything!”
“No, I’ll just go sit—”
“We’ll be back!”
They even went to practice without me. Jeong Seongbin ignored me with surgical precision and bolted.
In the end, I sat propped against the bed and listened to the hard rock album Park Juu had procured. On loop.
If only someone at UA would steal me a bass guitar. I could at least keep my hands loose while I’m idle.
Oh, I also did a big sweep through the system. You don’t often get the luxury of staring into space without worry.
For the first time in what felt like a million years, I checked my résumé too.
I’d left it alone because the stats didn’t look like they’d budge, but there’d been some movement.
— Vocal Proficiency: 11(▲)/20
— Dance Proficiency: 9/20
— Self-PR: 17(▲)/20
— Attendance & Conduct: 18/20
— Adaptation Within the Organization: 15(▲)/20
— Accumulated Fatigue: 10%
But why did Self-PR and Adaptation go up?
“If Self-PR rose even when that drinking clip made the rounds, then it probably climbed because of the Yu Hansu issue... but what’s with Adaptation Within the Organization?”
Right then, the system appeared.
▶ So, is Deputy Kim’s team riding a nice vibe these days? It’d be great if that teamwork translated into results. You know what I mean, right?
And wow... that sure went up a lot...
Nothing else had changed much. Before I became an idol, they were dying to grill me alive. Now that they know I can’t run wild as I please, they seem to be leaving me be.
How long until we hit the KPI of taking first place on a music show?
And after that, what’s the next KPI?
Hold a fan meeting? What if it tells us to do a full concert? Can I take responsibility for all of that?
I dropped the what-ifs. When it comes, it comes, and the work won’t change.
Instead, I decided to think positive. Like what I could do when I finally meet my sister.
“Should I tell her to take a trip abroad? Deputy Song said there was somewhere she really liked, didn’t she?”
I also remembered those one-day classes we short-listed for the workshop. Making accessories like bracelets, or pottery, or candles.
Knowing my sister... since she’s always said she wants to burn everything down, maybe I should tell her to go make candles once a week.
Or I vaguely remember one of her friends plays golf—maybe I should suggest she try picking it up.
“I hear it costs a lot. I should’ve asked people how much.”
Everything my sister prefers is high value for money. Carp bread in winter, little bets at the outdoor batting cages, seasonal trips to the arboretum—that sort of thing.
I don’t dislike small things that make you happy either, but if your whole life is made of nothing but those, sometimes you do get tired of it.
Maybe it’s okay to have at least one thing you truly love.
Something you can enjoy with an easy mind, unconcerned with time or money.
I pulled out my planner and wrote a small goal on the very last page.
At the very least, make sure my sister can do one thing she wants without restraint
Just setting the goal made me feel proud.
It’s the first time that, when I think of my sister, anticipation comes before guilt.
