What’s with my expression.
After brushing off the hand that touched me, I straightened up on my legs. It felt as if someone were gripping my brain and twisting it, but it wasn’t unbearable.
“You— up— can—...”
The real problem was the ringing that blocked out other people’s voices.
‘Can’t hear well, fuck.’
It was hard to keep pretending I was fine.
I guessed the meaning from the way Joo Woosung’s lips moved and muttered a reply.
“...No, it’s nothing. I just felt a bit dizzy, but I’m fine now.”
“Ah, is that so.”
Joo Woosung folded his arms, scanning me from head to toe.
“You’re answering like you’re dodging the question. Sure.”
And then he added, mockingly.
Normally I would’ve brushed it off with an excuse, but everything felt annoying. He was sharp enough to notice anyway, so it would only get bothersome.
“Mind your own business. I’m fine enough.”
I waved my hand, basically telling him to disappear already, but Joo Woosung didn’t move—he only scoffed.
“I know by now. You’re good at holding it in.”
“......”
“But you still don’t seem to realize that enduring everything like that is stupid.”
That line sounded familiar from somewhere.
I wanted to ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ argue back, but my head wasn’t working properly. Leaning against the wall with a sigh, I saw Joo Woosung click his tongue, then pull out his phone to check the time.
“Hey, Seo Hoyun. The MTA ends earlier than most award shows.”
“...What?”
“You don’t have to stay till the very end greeting every performer one by one like in Korea. Once your stage is over, just go rest.”
He advised me not to attend the after-party, his brow furrowed in disapproval.
“...Yeah, okay.”
Thanks for worrying, but do you even have the luxury to think about me right now?
Back home, Black Call always swept every major award of the year whenever they released an album—but even for them, being nominated for “Song of the Year” at Music TV Awards Live was their first.
Maybe that was why Joo Woosung was nervous too. Even with no room left for jokes, he was still worrying about how bad his junior looked.
‘He really is something.’
I rubbed my forehead briefly and crooked a faint smile.
“Hyung.”
“What.”
“Keep your acceptance speech short.”
Blinking a few times as if he didn’t quite get it, Joo Woosung soon let out a small laugh.
At that moment, someone called out from behind.
“Woosung-hyung! I’ve been looking all over—Ah...”
Turning my head, I saw Lee Hanju rushing down the hallway.
Spotting both me and Joo Woosung, Hanju trailed off and let out a deep sigh.
“...Of course it’d be you, hyung...”
“......”
“I was wondering what you saw to bolt off like that.”
“What are you babbling about? Come on, let’s go.”
Covering Hanju’s mouth as if to hide his face, Joo Woosung gestured for me to head back to the waiting room. Hanju swatted his hand away with a grimace, wiping his lips hard with the back of his hand, then clenched both fists toward me.
“Seo Hoyun, fighting!!”
“Yessir, good luck to you too.”
After watching the two of them leave for a moment, I rubbed my ear and headed toward an empty emergency stairwell. Making sure no one was around, I called up the system window.
“Hey.”
Ding!
[...Analyzing.]
Not surprising anymore, but useless as ever.
[...You’re experiencing ringing and auditory hallucinations right now, correct?]
“Why the hell are you asking me that, you lunatic.”
[I just don’t understand. As I told you before, this isn’t a quest-failure penalty. And considering The Dawn’s current standing, it’s really strange.]
It had once explained that recognition level was proportional to system stability.
If that was true, then yes—this situation was clearly abnormal.
“...Could it be because of Kang Ichae? Maybe because he knows about my condition or—”
[That’s not it. I’m certain.]
So confident, huh.
‘Guess you’re hiding something again.’
But thinking back on its behavior so far, the system usually hid things rather than stacking up clumsy lies.
“...Recheck it, and tell me again after that.”
As soon as I said that, the system window faded away—right as the stairwell door burst open and Sung Jiwon appeared.
“Ah! Here you were.”
“What.”
“They said it’s time to take our seats.”
I nodded and followed Sung Jiwon to join the others. Wearing the same outfits from the red carpet, we sat in the artist section and glanced around. In the audience seats, Noeul members had already spotted us, waving excitedly.
“This is Music TV Awards—!!”
Before long, the opening began. Trying not to show any sign of pain, I suddenly realized it was already our turn.
After changing into our stage outfits, we walked backstage under staff guidance. I pressed my palm hard against my throbbing head, trying to stay focused. Then someone’s hand gripped my shoulder—it was Kang Ichae, saying something.
“What’s wrong—...”
I could barely catch it, so instead of answering, I just gave his back a light pat and walked forward.
【This is The Dawn bound for sunset—】
As I took my position in the center of the dark set, blue lights poured down. The crowd erupted into cheers.
【Please fasten your—....】
Beeeep——!
Ah, damn it.
Like a warning siren, the ringing pierced my ears, cutting off the music in fragments.
【Now we’ll be taking off...】
But the stage continued flawlessly.
【...we stand hand in hand...】
After all, we’d practiced thousands of times for moments like this.
【We hope to see...】
By the halfway point of the song, the sound returned enough to keep going.
When it ended safely, I caught my breath and glanced at the members. Fortunately, no one seemed to have noticed anything off—they were busy chattering and laughing as they stepped down.
“That was so good just now!”
“Yeah, all that practice paid off.”
After changing again in the caravan trailer and heading back to the artist section, a wave of nausea surged.
‘Fuck, what the hell is this.’
Was this what it felt like to have your skull drilled?
Cold sweat broke out all over my body.
I forced a smile, hoping my face didn’t look unnatural.
‘Did I do something wrong lately?’
No matter how much I thought, I couldn’t find anything.
If anything, I’d been diligently completing even the smallest quests these days.
As I sighed inwardly at the absurd situation, the members suddenly cheered, jumping up and hugging me. Only then did I realize The Dawn had won an award. Smiling brightly for the camera, I followed them up the stage to receive the trophy.
Beneath the transparent mold, a gold panel read “Best K-pop Artist THE DAWN 20XX.”
“Um, thank you very much for this award. This is for Noeul...”
Kim Sunghyun was first at the mic, his honest English brief and clean, and then Kang Ichae continued in Korean.
“We will always—... ahem.”
Chuckling, he thanked Noeul and, with a slight blush, added,
“...We’ll always be together. Thank you.”
Repeating word for word what the leader once said.
While we were floating on unexpected success, Black Call, still waiting for their result, looked visibly tense.
A few more performances and awards passed, and finally only one remained—the last of the night.
A Hollywood actress in a black crystal-embroidered gown walked onstage with a cue card.
“...—And the best artist of the year goes to... Yes, BLACK CALL—!!”
At the announcement, Black Call members shouted and ran to the stage.
“...Honestly, we didn’t know we’d make it this far. We owe it all to our Bloys.”
After Chae Jungwoo calmly spoke about the meaning of the award, Joo Woosung stepped up to the mic.
“...Since Jungwoo already said everything important, I’ll just add one thing.”
As he bowed slightly, his pale hair fell over his forehead. The sight on the big screen drew quiet gasps from the crowd.
Smiling faintly, Joo Woosung raised the trophy and lightly kissed it before curving his lips deeper.
“I’ll be your idol for life.”
Crazy bastard.
Short, yet so damn powerful. I felt my eyes burn.
Applause and near-screaming cheers exploded everywhere.
While I swallowed my irritation, Joo Woosung stepped down, ruffling Jeon Saeyoung’s hair roughly, and our eyes met. He tapped his own head with a finger and tilted it, and I waved him off, signaling “I’m fine, go do your thing.”
He lifted one eyebrow, shrugged, and walked backstage.
I thought I only had to endure a little longer before heading back to the hotel—then suddenly, the ringing intensified like heavy static.
“...Ugh.”
All sound vanished in an instant.
...Waaahhhh——.
And like a flood rushing in, the noise returned, overflowing from every direction.
WAAAAHHHH!
“...Huh...”
Even the pounding headache that had tormented me for days was now completely gone.
‘What....’
If it wasn’t a system penalty, how could it disappear without a trace like that?
As I pondered the sudden change, Sung Jiwon leaned toward me with concern.
“Hoyun, are you okay?”
“...Yeah.”
I nodded slowly.
There were too many suspicious things, but for now, finishing the Music TV Awards Live mattered more.
Black Call’s “Kings” intro thundered through the venue.
Ding!
A system window popped up in sync with the beat.
[Seo Hoyun.]
Probably another useless line about not knowing what’s wrong.
[Listen carefully this time.]
I stared at the blue rectangle, not expecting much—then an unexpected sentence appeared.
[Your headache and hallucinations are gone, right?]
I nodded subtly in rhythm, pretending it was just to the music.
[I temporarily blocked them. What you were experiencing wasn’t caused by the system. Like I said before, it’s not a penalty.]
[Upon checking, something outside the system’s control tried to reach you.]
‘Something outside the system?’
The word itself made my mouth twist instinctively. Sparks flickered across the window, threatening to shut it down.
[Something unidentified beyond the system is trying to shake you.]
As the brass instruments swelled and the bright lights shifted crimson—
[Until I figure this out and respond properly, no matter what strange things you see, do not believe them. You must ignore them.]
The blood-red-tinged window trembled ominously.
[Whatever it says—do not, ever, ever be swayed.]
