I couldn’t sympathize in the slightest with Lee Cheonghyeon’s late-blooming jealousy and misery over children’s joy.
I don’t know anything about a child’s happiness during Family Month either. I never even got a Children’s Day present to begin with.
I only offered that as a reference to pull imagery from, but it seemed being able to empathize with the reference mattered a lot to Lee Cheonghyeon. Maybe that’s the difference between a creator and a working adult.
I was about to say, “Want me to find some lively kids videos on MeTube?” when I met the eyes of Lee Cheonghyeon, who, with that pretty face, looked one step away from turning his work to mush.
Emergency. Without that face, we’re not getting first place!
I ran my brain at top speed. Then, with a flash of wit, I found a secret solution.
"Get up and put on sunscreen."
"Huh?"
"We’re going out, so put on sunscreen!"
"...Didn’t you say we were going out to collect references for composing?"
Dragged along to pay the price of needing a photographer, Kang Giyeon asked, puzzled.
Right then, behind him, a column of water shot up. It was a water show refreshing to anyone who watched.
"Yeah. Well? Cheonghyeon, feel the inspiration surging?"
"The fountain sure is surging spectacularly!"
No sooner had he finished than a jet of water leapt straight up from the bare ground.
I’d brought them to Children’s Grand Park, a supposed holy land for kids. Of all the places I knew, this had the most children.
"I thought I’d never come here again after grade school..."
So you did come in grade school and then not after. I, meanwhile, first came to Children’s Grand Park at twenty-six, having never come even in grade school.
"And that was because Hanpyeong Industries needed snap shots for a new product and said they had no manpower."
Before I could sink into that bitter memory, two kids on kick scooters zipped past us with peals of laughter.
Worried his shoulders might slump, I pulled his composition notebook and pencil case from the backpack I’d carried for him.
"Here. You’re not going back to the dorm until you hit sixty percent progress today."
"This is bad. Can we sleep rough out here?"
"Yup. Mischief-makers like you can rough it up to three days."
While I parked him in an empty chair, Kang Giyeon came closer and asked,
"So what do I do? Just take pictures of him?"
"Yeah. And sometimes go over there under the natural light and grab a few selfies, too."
"What about you?"
"I’m filming video."
With that, I dug into the backpack and pulled out a camcorder. It was company equipment I’d borrowed with the shoot team’s permission, so I treated it like a sacred relic.
"Are we uploading this as self-content too?"
At his question, Lee Cheonghyeon jumped.
"Hyung! Is this going up as content too? I’m a little embarrassed!"
"It’s not going up. I’m shooting in case of emergencies."
With someone who still couldn’t feel confident about his own work, I had no intention of pulling a “We’ll show everyone you writing the song!” stunt.
I only wanted to be prepared, that’s all.
For the day UA says they lost all the photo assets they were saving for photocards, or the shots these punks took were all out of focus and the pixels broke when we enlarged them for the cards.
Or in case we had to put video in a fan-song MV and there was no way we could fill four minutes thirty seconds.
Not that these guys could read my mind—they just stared blankly.
"What are you doing? Get to your tasks."
"...Ugh."
At my words, both of them sighed with the same expression.
Move it. I’m busy too.
A wide park in early March under warm spring sunshine.
Every time a cool breeze blew, leaves shivered and clicked against each other like they were breaking.
Somewhere, the constant drift of floral scent; kids’ laughter; the sound of water jets; and...
One rookie idol on a bench, clutching his head with a deathly face as he agonized over the wellspring of pure joy; another rookie idol opposite him, diligently snapping away; and one rejuvenated old man who’d crawled out into the blazing sun to squat and record it all with a camcorder.
A stylish combo. An image worthy of this year’s “scene of the season.”
Having taken everything backlit and earned a ten-minute cram lecture from me, Kang Giyeon now had shining eyes as he worked to capture the perfect subject.
"Giyeon, how many shots so far?"
"Over two hundred, I think."
"How many selfies?"
"Three."
"Then stop shooting Cheonghyeon and go take your selfies. Stay inside the park, and don’t come back until you’ve taken at least twenty."
"Yes."
He obediently headed off.
Wishing he’d bring back something legendary, I spoke to Lee Cheonghyeon, who was likely glaring at his notebook behind my back.
"Giyeon’s gone, so say it."
"Huh?"
"You’ve got something you want to say to me. Don’t you?"
When I turned, his eyes were round.
"How did you know?"
"Mind-reading. Why else."
All I learned at Hanpyeong Industries was reading the room.
We’ve shared a room for over a year and use the same practice room every day—wouldn’t it be weirder if I didn’t know?
Even so, the innocent Cheonghyeon showed no sign of dropping his surprise.
Watching kids run around bursting with energy like they were playing tag, he asked,
"Hyung, why are you so good to us?"
"What?"
So much for my resolve not to be flustered by any question—this one blindsided me.
Good to you?
Who, me?
I swear, no one stands closer to these brats than I do while carving every curse word into my heart and feeling both rage and sorrow.
"I haven’t exactly done anything nice."
Outside of situations where I had to complete a system mission, I always tried to minimize interference with Spark.
All I really did hanging around them was bake bread, fold laundry, and leave the [N O V E L I G H T] mood lamp on.
Being good to someone means... a bit more kindness and tenderness, doesn’t it.
Like checking in unprompted, or occasionally slipping them pocket money.
Noticing my face saying, “Your words do not compute,” he continued,
"Usually, when someone nearby says something isn’t going well, people don’t go this far."
"What do you mean by ‘this far’? Bringing you to a park?"
"Not just that."
What have I even done for him?
Try as I might, I couldn’t remember doing anything that merited this kind of comment.
"Since you mentioned the park, let me use it as an example. Normally people either empathize or give advice—they don’t help both materially and emotionally like this."
"That’s because I can’t fully empathize with the pressure you feel, and I can’t give you technical advice either."
"What’s amazing is that you don’t stop at cheerleading in that situation."
"In life you’ll meet about one hundred fifty million people kinder than me. And besides, under the same roof you’ve got someone like Jeong Seongbin, right?"
"Come on, you and Seongbin hyung are... how do I put it... different breeds."
"That’s an insult, isn’t it?"
"How did you know?"
He answered with mock innocence and laughed out loud.
Just then, a commotion sounded in the distance.
Turning my head, I saw kids swarming around Kang Giyeon, who’d been walking back toward us.
It looked like a kid had handed him a toy—probably asking him to open something—but...
"Hyung, he’s blasting bubbles for the kids."
Sure enough, he’d picked up a giant water-gun-like thing that spewed a torrent of bubbles and started giving them a bubble show.
Clutching his stomach, Lee Cheonghyeon burst into cackles, then jumped up to join in.
"You really do the most."
Thinking that, I carefully gathered up his notebook and pens that were on the verge of getting crumpled. Somehow I had a feeling he’d pull a good melody by tonight.
At that moment, I still didn’t know. About the dark future about to blow through the group.
After receiving the new KPIs, I took some time for retrospection and asked the members what they thought had gone well, what they regretted, and what they hoped for in future activities.
I’d decided to accommodate what they wanted as much as possible until we hit the final KPIs.
And there, Choi Jeho said this:
"I’d prefer not to talk about family if we can help it."
Even in the past, Spark—and especially Choi Jeho—rarely mentioned family. That became even more true after a few years post-debut.
Maybe I should thank Manager Nam’s daughter, who stanned Choi Jeho as her bias, because I ended up learning, against my will, why he didn’t want to bring up family matters.
My little sibling is in the same class as the Emperor’s little sibling, and the Emperor’s family is divorced
Apparently the dad drank and gambled;;
The Emperor barely drank even on the Yoonseul live, so I guess he learned from what he saw—he probably won’t drink or gamble ㅇㅇ we’re safe
└ Can’t we report scum like this?
└ XX XX, take the post down
└ Safe?? He’s not a psychopath;;;
"You said his mother and father split up."
These days, plenty of people say divorce isn’t any kind of stain, and plenty say it’s better than living with rotten parents.
But some people have family they can’t stand to even think about. For Choi Jeho, that seemed to be his father.
So I answered that I couldn’t give a guarantee, but I’d do my best to steer clear of those questions. It’s a waste of breath to explain how easily family questions pop up in society.
I really did intend to try.
"Hey, Kim Iwol."
Fuming, Choi Jeho came up to me.
"The next self-content. Did you plan that too?"
In a low, leveled voice I’d never heard from him before.
