The last time he went to a fan meeting—when was that again. Won Chae hui tried to count back. All he could remember was that it had been a hell of a long time.
At fan meetings he paid for with his own money, Won Chae hui had suffered more than his share of indignities. He heard more warnings from security and staff than lines from the idols, so that says it all.
By contrast, UA’s fan-meeting notice felt... fresh in its own way.
≫ [OFFICIAL] Advance Guidance on Attending Spark’s First Fan Meeting “IGNITION”
.
.
.
Shooting policy
─ At this fan meeting, free photography is allowed as long as it does not interfere with the event. We would appreciate pretty photos. (In exceptional cases, if burst shooting, etc., causes nuisance to other fans, staff may request that you refrain from shooting.)
.
.
.
There was no shoot ban. Not just “no ban” — they were actively encouraging photography.
He’d never seen a fan meeting with this much swagger. It felt like his camera was writhing inside his bag.
On top of that, the venue was a famed fan-meeting hall known for its great sightlines. He found himself wondering just how badly the company had gotten dragged to make them put so much heart into everything.
Until the fan meeting began, Won Chae hui aimlessly browsed the Spark bait popping up on his timeline.
Since the Royal Secretariat finals were their last activity, would they come out in hanbok today too? Or in school uniforms?
Honestly, as long as they didn’t show up in three-stripe tracksuits, he was prepared to be generous. Seeing a guy like that in person had been one of the few real shames of his life.
But someone had said it:
Spark puts their whole heart into every activity.
Silhouettes rippled at the entrance, the crowd stirred, and the hall soon filled with happy cheers.
First to appear was leader Jeong Seongbin.
A bronze laurel wreath–shaped crown rested on his brown hair; metal chain accessories glittered on his fingers and wrist.
White tunic, with a thin green-tinted shawl over it—there was a curious classical beauty about it. The outfit evoked Greco-Roman myth.
Fuck, he looked like an elf. Before Won Chae hui could finish being amazed, another one came out behind him.
It was Park Juu, in a silk shirt whose wavering pleats flowed like blue waves, with a light dusting of sky-blue glitter on both cheeks.
When Won Chae hui zoomed in, the glitter sharpened a little more. Three or four pointed oval shapes dotted both of Park Juu’s cheeks.
So Park Juu was the little mermaid prince. While he was guessing that to himself, a scream burst from one side.
Fuck.
With his fringe slicked cleanly back, Choi Jeho appeared in a burgundy shirt and black set-up.
There was a chain at the shirt collar, maybe from a brooch. Gold trim caught the lights and flashed.
Unlike Spark’s usual avoidance of heavy makeup, there was full force in the eyes and lips. Even from Won Chae hui’s seat, the face looked like it was in 4K.
Next came Kang Giyeon, whose outfit looked like something from an earlier era compared to Choi Jeho’s.
Not a single stray hair—slicked back with pomade—made his signature sharpness stand out even more.
A scarf, a flashy vest, and a well-fitted coat formed a perfect trifecta.
Who’s the bastard who even put gloves on him—isn’t that pervy?
The spotless white gloves covering Kang Giyeon’s hands set off a flood of thoughts in Won Chae hui.
Shutter sounds clicked here and there. The funny thing was, nobody was firing bursts. The sounds of people taking painstaking, one-by-one shots merged to create the same volume as burst fire.
Then it happened. Like a spotlight coming on, the stage entrance lit up bright.
It was Lee Cheonghyeon’s entrance.
The ornate embroidery on top of a sober outfit—something a professor at a romance-fantasy academy might wear—really popped.
Purple has symbolized wealth since ancient times; just from his face, he looked every bit a millionaire.
The coordinated mortarboard suited him. In a way, he looked like a valedictorian. Even so, Won Chae hui thought of some nameless wine that supposedly went for ten million won a bottle.
Those visuals are a loss if you don’t look at them with your own eyes. He kept thinking that even in the split second he peeked out from his viewfinder.
Snap a photo, look up, turtle-neck back down to shoot again—Won Chae hui was very busy.
One member remained. While he adjusted the big lens angle, people bustled around him. Looked like they were pulling out slogans.
Are individual fan events allowed to be this brazen?
It was confusing. If a member gap is so severe that fans prepare a slogan event for just one person, the show usually can’t run properly.
Regardless of his worry, the last member began to walk out.
In stark contrast to the flashy fashion of the others—an almost tacky style.
A checked button-down, overalls, half-rim glasses, vintage sneakers—an in-your-face commitment to a very particular fashion.
The kind of style where his hobby would be crypto mining and his special skill speed-solving a Rubik’s cube.
What, does the coordi hate only this kid? Is that why fans are embracing him like this?
The perm in his hair did lend a cute vibe, and the way he came in all stiff-backed yet shy was funny, but there was something tender and a little sad about it.
Just as pity was about to set in, a loud clamor rose from the audience.
“Iwol!”
“You’re really all better now, right?!”
Only then did the slogans in fans’ hands enter Won Chae hui’s sight. They read, “Welcome back, Iwol.”
Right. This was his first offline event since the injury.
He’d forgotten that that was why the fan-meeting competition had been even fiercer.
Kim Iwol, eyes wide as he took in the crowd, bowed over and over with an embarrassed, shy smile.
Cries of “Don’t bow! It’ll strain your head!” came from the audience, but he didn’t seem to mind. Professional to the core.
Led by Jeong Seongbin, the members talked about their gratitude to fans who came to their first fan meeting and their feelings about forming a fan club. Since he wasn’t here for the speeches, Won Chae hui just kept taking photos.
Inside the frame, Spark was pure chaos.
They’d thrown unity to the wind, but the determination for each one to present overwhelming beauty came through loud and clear.
So Spark... was a group with a strong aesthetic sense. Without his master’s command, Won °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° Chae hui’s hand pressed the shutter on its own.
“We prepared something a little special today.”
“That’s right.”
Jeong Seongbin and Kang Giyeon traded lines. From the outfits alone, it already felt like they’d prepared enough—apparently there was more. Maybe because he’d spent time digging through three-stripe tracksuit idols, Won Chae hui’s expectations were on the floor.
“Our outfits are so all over the place that we probably startled you, but in fact there was a set concept!”
“We nearly turned all our hair gray like Juu’s deciding this, you know!”
Naturally, people’s eyes went to Park Juu, whose bright tone he’d kept. Guess it meant black hair nearly turned to white.
What they meant by “there’s a concept” became clear in the special stages that followed. The members who’d prepared together each formed a subtly shared vibe.
The first stage was opened by Jeong Seongbin and Park Juu.
To Jeong Seongbin’s acoustic-guitar accompaniment, Park Juu sang a classically rearranged “With List.”
So that’s why they styled them as an elf and a mermaid prince—the motif seemed to be a nature-loving pastoral music boy and a siren.
Park Juu’s vocal tone was famous even beyond Sparklers. That voice shone even in the ordinary setting of a fan meeting.
Hearing it live is completely different.
He’d thought it sounded good on the recording, but the judgment back then felt laughable now. What a voice. It was a shame this unit had prepared only one song.
Next came the dance line in suit concept. He wondered what they’d dance in those clothes and then...
The two of them danced a waltz. Won Chae hui couldn’t believe his eyes.
He didn’t know if that was how you were supposed to dance a waltz. He’d never had any special interest in that sort of thing.
But it definitely looked cool. The angles were alive, the movement was smooth, and there was unity with the music.
So modern idols have to dance waltz to survive now. Even thinking like an old man, Won Chae hui found himself slipping in. The stiffness in his shoulders slowly faded.
At this point he was curious what the last pair would do. He also had a small wish for the heated mood to continue after the waltz.
If they did a quiz battle in those professor-and-grad-student outfits, it would turn boring in a flash—anxiety crept in.
Whether they knew his heart or not, Kim Iwol and Lee Cheonghyeon stepped onto the stage with solemn expressions.
“As you know, these two are our team’s official brains.”
Back from elf to host, Jeong Seongbin took the mic.
“So we decided to pick an item that lets the two of them use their brains to the fullest.”
It’s over. Quiz battle confirmed.
Time to kill minutes guessing far-off foreign capitals nobody cares about anymore...
“A relay of ‘Secret Stories Only I Know About the Other Guy’!”
...Huh?
Are they allowed to do that? Is this mutual-consent?
While Won Chae hui sat there flustered, the crowd roared. Somehow, everyone seemed used to exposés and TMI free-for-alls.
“The rules are simple. They expose stories we didn’t know about each other. If a story comes out that any member already knows, or if one of them feels excessive shame, the game ends right there!”
In short, tell some fun stories that happened just between you. In idolland, where relationships are key, that’s a juicy topic.
“Are the two players ready?”
Massaging Lee Cheonghyeon’s shoulders, Park Juu asked. Lee Cheonghyeon lifted one corner of his mouth like this was nothing.
“Want to go first, or should I?”
He even provoked him. One of Kim Iwol’s eyebrows ticked.
“Bring it.”
When Kim Iwol granted first move, Lee Cheonghyeon prowled the stage.
Damn it. He had to see that face with the naked eye and capture it on camera at the same time.
“Hyung.”
“...”
“You get annoyed—no matter how much you pretend you don’t—when numbers don’t have commas, right?”
Lee Cheonghyeon snorted.
Kim Iwol didn’t back down. The poise of someone who wouldn’t lose his smile over something this small.
“Then why don’t you change the number format when you know that? I taught you how.”
“It was just too funny how you keep changing it every time, so I...”
“Sorry, but without commas I can’t read anything over ten thousand won.”
It was the pettiest little story.
But the two of them were dead serious. Right now, Won Chae hui thought it would be great if the event staff sold popcorn.
—
Profile
Name: Jeong Seongbin
Birthday: March 30
Birthplace: Seoul Special City
Height: 179 cm
MBTI: ESFJ
Nicknames: Spiritual Pillar, Captain, Boss, Teacher, Spark’s Only Conscience
Likes: vocal lessons, watching the news, night views
Dislikes: his own shortcomings, Jeong Seongjun’s impulsive behavior, overly sweet foods
Motto: Do my best so I have no regrets
Favorite food: pork-backbone stew
Preferred scent: cotton
Go-to music genre: ballad
Favorite sport: e-sports
Body part I’m confident in: ankles
My habit: I talk in my sleep when I’m tired
