The underwater filming wrapped up quickly.
Maybe the executive’s promise to push The Dawn hadn’t been just words, because the newly assigned staff were efficient and didn’t hesitate. Everything moved fast.
When a nosebleed might start, when a mouthful of blood might come out—by now I was used to the status effects. During the MV shoot, I managed to act through it with some skill.
Standing in front of a massive wind machine for half an hour, repeating intense group choreography dozens of times—those moments felt like I really might die.
‘Just hold out a little longer....’
I pressed my fingers into the bridge of my nose.
‘...Woosung’s broadcast.’
With Black Call still on hiatus, Joo Woosung—preparing for his solo comeback—had been posting regular self-produced content on his YouTube channel.
For someone so gifted at variety, he’d never seemed that interested in variety schedules. So it was an unexpected move. Yet once he started, he gave it his all.
[Title: Seo Hoyun and Joo Woosung in Hawaii
Hawaii episode summary:
If their friendship is fake, then I’ll never believe in anything again.
└They’re real besties.
└Seo Hoyun really takes care of Joo Woosung and looks like he respects him^^
└└Still think that’s just a generous Bloy after the workshop.
└└True^^
└LOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLL but is pushing him away on a motorcycle “caring and respectful”?
└Whenever Woosung and Hoyun show up together, it guarantees views and fun. Just like that racing episode, editing was great too.]
[Title: Is Seo Hoyun Joo Woosung’s only friend?
Exclude Jungwoo, he’s a member.
I thought they were business-only, but after the Hawaii vlog, I’m not so sure.
Before Hoyun started treating him well, they fought every 5 seconds.
Are they really close, not just business?
└If you ask them directly, they’ll probably say it’s business.
└└222222
└└Even that makes them the ultimate besties,,
└If antis call it business, it probably just makes them happy..]
The Hawaii vlog must have been popular—searching Joo Woosung and my name together, most posts mentioned that episode.
Around that time, while adjusting schedules with the management team, Lee Jihyun had told me seriously:
“This Woosung broadcast is a must. Turning it down would be like flipping a full feast onto the floor.”
“Guess the bonus was sweet?”
“...Yes, sort of.”
“Good.”
Looking at my state, I wanted nothing more than to postpone. But—
[Quest Received!
Film ‘Woosung’s broadcast’ and raise awareness!
Success: If views surpass 1.5 million within 3 days of upload → 15,000 points.
Failure: Status effect extended 1 more week.]
It was a honey-sweet quest.
Woosung’s latest video, uploaded just 2 days ago, already had nearly 2 million views. If I wasn’t hallucinating from the pain, this was a must-do.
“Fuck, really....”
Leaning my head against the hallway wall of WH’s new building, I chewed painkillers like candy and waited for the road manager.
Then a familiar voice spoke.
“Hoyun-ah, hi!”
I shifted my eyes to see Sung Jiwon smiling warmly, holding a small white paper bag.
“...Hey.”
“Hoyun-ah, you look so thin. Are you eating properly?”
“Ugly, you mean?”
“Come on, no way.”
I tossed back the joke, and he just laughed, going along.
“Sorry I couldn’t come to practice much.”
“It’s fine. I heard you weren’t well.”
The album scheduled for September had been in the works since last year. I already knew the choreography by heart—play the track in my sleep and my body moved automatically.
But skipping group practices with the excuse of poor health felt uncomfortable.
“This time it’s lasting too long. Is it aftereffects from before... or maybe the underwater shoot was too much? You didn’t look well then either.”
“If I die later, just scatter money on my grave.”
“Hoyun-ah. Don’t say that, not even as a joke.”
Jiwon’s smile vanished instantly.
I apologized, scratching my jaw awkwardly—when my phone buzzed nonstop.
[Jung Dajun: (photo)]
[Jung Dajun: Hyung, this is the food we ate at the dorm today.]
[Jung Dajun: (photo)]
[Jung Dajun: Hyung, this is dessert from the dorm today.]
[Jung Dajun: (photo)]
[Jung Dajun: Hyung, I did the dishes again today... ㅡㅡ they said I’m boring.]
[Kim Sunghyun: Dajun’s phone is dead, he’s whining that he misses you.]
[Kim Sunghyun: That was a total lie, hyung, this is Dajun typing.]
[Kim Sunghyun: I never said I missed you.]
[Kim Sunghyun: Hyung, when are you coming back?]
My vision spun. Reading the flood of texts from The Dawn’s chat was dizzying.
Switching notifications to silent, I noticed one thing—Kang Ichae was quiet.
‘He’s not the type to let things go.’
I scrolled to check, but the dizziness forced me to shut the phone off. Taking slow breaths, I looked up to see Jiwon, awkwardly smiling.
“The kids are bothering you, huh?”
“It’s just because I’m not at the dorm. At this rate, they’ll dump my luggage at the door.”
“What?”
It was a joke to lighten the mood, but Jiwon grabbed my shoulder, deadly serious.
“We’d never do that. You don’t need to worry about us while you’re already worrying about Hojin. Think only about yourself right now.”
“......”
“Come back to the dorm whenever you want.”
Then his smile returned.
“Ah! Here—take this.”
He handed me the paper bag. Inside was a small tumbler and emergency medicine.
“This is yuzu tea. My grandmother made the syrup herself. I went home yesterday and told her you looked weak lately. She said it’s perfect for colds and fevers, so she gave me some. I used to drink this a lot as a kid. Thought it might help you too...”
Suddenly I remembered sitting on a narrow staircase with him long ago, sharing a can of yuzu tea.
“Thanks.”
I ran my hand over the tumbler before thanking him. Jiwon’s smile grew even brighter.
“Call me if you need anything.”
As he waved and walked away, I saw, overlapping with his back, the face of a young Sung Jiwon—hurt, abandoned, hardened with spite in a hotel lounge.
A strange feeling clawed at my chest. Like scratching at old scars, like a cough rising.
I shut my eyes tight against the pounding headache.
.
.
.
Just before getting out of the van, I checked the mirror.
‘...What a skeleton.’
Even heavy makeup couldn’t hide the dark circles and hollow cheeks.
I told myself I’d just claim it was the concept, plastered on my business smile, and stepped out with my luggage.
“Ah! Seo Hoyun-ssi, long time no see!”
“Yes, hello.”
Familiar faces greeted me, the same ones I’d seen during the Hawaii vlog shoot.
“Wow, you look even better! Your jawline is sharper, you’ve got that sensitive aura! Did you lose weight?!”
“Just makeup. Makeup, makeup.”
I humored them, scanning the surroundings.
It was the same countryside healing program location where The Dawn once shot their self-produced horror special.
It hadn’t changed much—the field where Sung Jiwon pulled radishes, the yard where we made bibimbap, the path where Jung Dajun screamed and ran.
Then Joo Woosung strolled up.
“Yo, you’re here.”
Though the sun blazed so hot the air shimmered, he was in a baggy white T-shirt and flashy floral pants, like he’d just been weeding.
This was not the Joo Woosung last seen wrapped in luxury brands head to toe.
“Funny how you ghost my texts, but when it’s variety, you—”
“......”
“—show up perfec...?”
He pulled off his visor mid-grumble, stopped, and scanned me head to toe.
His eyes flicked to the camera. Then he smiled knowingly.
“When did I ever ignore your texts?”
“Forget it. Come here.”
He pulled me along like I might fall over, bringing me into the room, set a fan toward me, and started rambling.
“I wanted to rest, but couldn’t just laze around. Jungwoo said I should film some content to promote my solo and show my face to Bloy. But I hate getting mobbed by people. So I decided to invite just a few acquaintances, show a bit of my daily life, that kind of vibe....”
“And the cat?”
“He’s here. Probably sleeping in the master bedroom. That cat’s life is the best. Better than mine.”
I forced strength into my trembling body and wiped sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.
It was summer, thank god. At least no one would take this sweat as proof of pain.
Creeping bugs in my skull scattered, and my mind cracked open like breaking ice.
Leaning weakly against the wall, I noticed Joo Woosung stop pacing and look down at me.
“Hey...”
“......”
What.
“You sick?”
“No.”
“You’re sick.”
Then why ask.
I glanced up at the diagonal ceiling camera, keeping my face unreadable. Out of my half-open luggage, Woosung spotted the emergency medicine Sung Jiwon had given me and pressed again.
“Cold? Flu? Gastritis?”
“I said no.”
The second I answered, all the nagging Woosung had ever dumped on me flashed like a death reel, and a ringing in my ears crawled up my spine.
Just as I was thinking it would be exhausting to fend him off one by one—
“Tch.”
He clicked his tongue softly, ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, and asked in a low voice:
“...Seo Hoyun, do you even want to film right now?”
Do I want to?
I raised my chin, frowning.
“What kind of question is that.”
This was for points and for promoting the year’s last activities.
I forced a confident grin.
“I’m not sick. Once I start something, I never stop until it’s finished.”
Woosung narrowed his eyes, studied me for a while, then nodded.
“Got it.”
Heading out, he shouted back:
“Hey, there’s kimchi in the back. Go get it.”
Kimchi fried rice again?
I dragged myself behind the building where rows of earthenware jars sat. Pulling kimchi from the largest jar into a steel basin, I returned to find Woosung already cooking.
“What are you—cough.”
A sudden coughing fit tore at my throat. I clamped my hand over my mouth, teeth grinding, but once it started it wouldn’t stop.
“Cough, cough, cough...”
When I finally managed to swallow it down and looked up, all the staff were staring, eyes wet with worry.
“...Went down the wrong pipe.”
“Does that look like choking?”
Woosung pouted in disgust, shoved me back into the room, then soon returned with a tray—bean sprout soup with chopped kimchi, instead of fried rice.
“Here.”
“......”
Solid food still sat heavy in my stomach, so I only sipped the soup. Warm, clear, it soothed my cough.
“...Weren’t you making fried rice?”
“You think I eat that three times a day?”
You do. You totally do...
Even top idols usually didn’t have such well-known food obsessions. But everyone knew Woosung’s mania for kimchi fried rice.
I said nothing, just drank more soup.
‘Not bad.’
He pushed over some side dishes, then straightened up.
“Keep eating.”
“...Yeah.”
Noise stirred outside.
I pretended to take a few more bites, then got up to help with dishes—when Woosung burst back in.
“Ah, I was going to—”
“Already done. Here, drink this.”
He shoved something into my hands again—pear and bellflower root tea.
Normally he’d be bragging: ‘Wow, I slaved over this and only got this much! Drink it gratefully, one sip at a time!’ Or ‘I only give this because it’s you. What other senior is this perfect?’
But now he just waited silently for me to accept it.
“Finish it all, even if it’s hot.”
I sipped, watching him. The tea was hot, bitter, faintly sweet—easy to swallow.
“...Why?”
What was with this guy?
“Too hot?”
Why so kind, without a word? No theatrics, no nagging.
At the very least, I expected him to scold me—say that pushing myself sick like this only hurt others, that my stubbornness was selfish.
“...No.”
When I finished the tea, Woosung pointed toward the master bedroom.
He wanted me to follow.
He spread a blanket on the floor, tossed down a pillow, and said:
“Sleep.”
“...What?”
I stared at him, then at /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ the blanket, then back at him.
“Excuse me.”
“What.”
Opening my phone memo so the mic wouldn’t catch, I typed a short line:
[Putting on kind senior act for the camera?]
Woosung’s face instantly twisted like he wanted to kick me through the wall.
