It was fine up to the point where, after adjusting our schedules, we appeared on the reality show where Kim Sunghyun was working part-time.
The program had the part-timer commute in and out as a real employee, so everything went perfectly—we finished shooting, returned the microphones, and said our goodbyes to the staff just like usual. Even renting a nearby pension at our maknae’s earnest request to have a little MT atmosphere wasn’t a problem.
“Hi.”
“Oh~, Seo Hoyun, you’re alive, huh?”
But why the hell were Lim Hyunsu and Joo Woosung laying out meat here?
“Hey, Woosung. We forgot to buy perilla leaves.”
“Damn, right. I felt like we’d forgotten something... It’s a hassle, let’s just eat without them?”
“What?! Perilla leaves are essential!”
Watching Lim Hyunsu frown instantly, Joo Woosung scratched the back of his head.
Were the top figures in the industry really this free?
Also, how the hell did they even find this pension?
My eyes naturally narrowed as I looked between the two of them.
“What are you two doing here?”
“We’re having the regular meeting for Seokkamo today. Heeyoung said she’s busy but might drop by later if she can, and Woosung said he had something to talk to you about.”
I guess it was a relief that at least one person couldn’t come.
I was just about to ask how they’d found this place when Kang Ichae, clearly late because he’d been teasing Kim Sunghyun over parking, came strolling over, crunching on a candy—then spotted Lim Hyunsu and jumped out of his skin.
“Ahhh! Master!!!”
“My disciple~!!”
Oh, for god’s sake.
Apparently glad to see her disciple again, Lim Hyunsu actually pushed me aside and ran toward Kang Ichae.
“Master, what brings you here...!”
“I came to praise ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) my disciple’s achievements!”
“D-Do you mean you watched Song Camp?!”
“Hey! Of course I did! I was on the judging panel, and I had to use every ounce of self-control not to give you a perfect score!!”
“Ahahaha~!! Master, you’re too much~!!”
As the two over-excited composer types bounced around, Joo Woosung looked on with an expression of deep disapproval. Kim Sunghyun, stepping into the yard a bit late, caught sight of him and flinched.
“Senior, you really came!”
“Yeah, Sunghyun. Thanks for sending me the location. Got here with no trouble. Oh, by the way, do you guys have any perilla leaves?”
“I think so! I brought some!!”
“Good.”
So the one who leaked our location was Kim Sunghyun.
Lastly, Sung Jiwon and Jung Dajun came through the gate. They both looked a little puzzled at the sudden appearance of Joo Woosung and Lim Hyunsu but greeted them politely enough.
“I mean... I did have a reason for coming.”
What, grilling pork belly?
When I looked at him suspiciously, Joo Woosung grimaced, waved a hand, and went to the kitchen, muttering as he opened the fridge.
“I had something to tell you anyway, and since Cheongbeom noona said she wanted to see Kang Ichae, and Sunghyun told me you’d all be here—...”
“Too many useless details.”
“Ugh.”
He shut the fridge door with a loud thud, sighed, glanced around, and lowered his voice.
“Are you guys all planning to renew your contracts?”
“...Excuse me?”
That came out of nowhere.
“It’s about The Dawn, right? Isn’t it about time the topic comes up? That’s what I’ve been hearing.”
The standard contract term for rookie artists was about seven years. But Daepaseong, whether out of fear of failure or poor market foresight, had set theirs unusually short—just five years.
“...Well, our maknae already made a solid plan. He said we’d re-sign, work hard for three more years, and then all enlist together.”
“You’re not going to the military.”
“I already did my service.”
And Kang Ichae wouldn’t need to go.
It wasn’t like the members hadn’t discussed the issue. In fact, since they naturally assumed they’d continue as a group, re-signing had seemed like the obvious choice.
When Jung Dajun brought up the idea that maybe in five years he’d finally move out of the dorm, Kang Ichae had clung to him saying they should live together until death.
And whenever things got too heated, Sung Jiwon would smile and calm everyone down.
“It’d be really nice if we could stay together for a long time, right?”
He always said embarrassing things like that so casually that I could only nod beside him.
“You guys are close.”
“Black Call’s the same, aren’t they?”
“...That’s true, but... we can’t renew under the current conditions.”
“...What?”
Joo Woosung hesitated, rubbing his cheek awkwardly, and then dropped an unexpected statement.
“Of course, without the company there’d be no Black Call, but you know what it’s like. We’ve all faced so many restrictions that staying as we are, we won’t be able to do what we want. We need more freedom.”
“So?”
“We’re going to start a new label.”
A new label?
“Does the company know? That’s not exactly easy to pull off.”
“It was a mess. The big shots fought like hell. Then Chae Jungwoo jumped in, and his interests happened to align with some executives who wanted to split sides, so things are sort of resolving. We’ve been recruiting talent bit by bit over the years.”
Over the years? So he’d been planning this for quite a while. But still, founding a new label wasn’t something simple.
Wiping sweat from his forehead, Joo Woosung glanced down at me.
“Well, Daepaseong’s technically a label too, but you get interfered with on every little thing.”
“......”
Yeah, The Dawn had been stonewalled plenty of times too.
Still, I couldn’t see what that had to do with Black Call’s new label, so I kept my mouth shut, and Joo Woosung smirked faintly.
“Didn’t you know? Chae Jungwoo’s dream has always been to create and run his own agency.”
“That’s impressive.”
“He’s terrifying.”
Shaking his head, Joo Woosung muttered that Jungwoo wasn’t someone to be taken lightly, then shrugged.
“Anyway, you know how it is. A label’s only as good as what you make it. The one we’re building is with executives who’re sick of the current system, so we’ll minimize HQ interference. It won’t be exclusively for Black Call, either.”
“......”
“So... Seo Hoyun, when the time comes to renew, keep this option open.”
So that was what he’d been circling around to say.
He’d always been the type to manage himself well, and I knew he’d handle things, but considering the hurdles ahead of Black Call, I couldn’t help worrying a bit.
At the same time, if they succeeded in establishing independence, it might actually be a pretty good opportunity for The Dawn, too.
“...Yeah. I’ll think about it.”
Hearing that, Joo Woosung smiled, satisfied.
“Good. Once things are more concrete, I’ll tell your whole team directly.”
Having finally said his piece, he relaxed and patted my shoulder.
“...It won’t be easy, but let’s do our best, yeah?”
Just three years ago, he’d been tired of idol life, yet now he was taking on a harder road to keep performing.
Watching him leave the kitchen, I let out a sigh and leaned against the sink, pulling my phone from my pocket. A missed call from just a few minutes ago—Min Jiheon.
“What the...”
I tried calling again several times, but the line stayed silent.
Clicking my tongue, I searched for Min Jiheon’s manager’s number, but he didn’t know where Jiheon was either.
I hung up and opened SNS to look for any trace of him.
[Just saw M.J.H. near Daehak-ro, guess he came to see his old theater group.]
“...Great.”
So he was out and about—no immediate danger—but I still couldn’t just ignore it.
Outside, I could hear laughter from the yard as Lim Hyunsu chatted and joked with the members.
“Seo Hoyun still got that temper?”
“Ah, of course. Hoyun’s still as amazing as ever.”
“...Did I hear that right?”
Throwing on a black cardigan, I walked toward the gate. Sung Jiwon, helping with the barbecue beside Lim Hyunsu, looked up.
“Oh? Hoyun, where are you going?”
“Just something to take care of.”
“Hyung! Come back before the meat’s gone! Or no dinner for you!!”
Yeah, we’ll see about that.
I ruffled Jung Dajun’s hair and grabbed my car keys.
Fortunately, the pension out in Gyeonggi Province wasn’t too far from the Daehak-ro area where Min Jiheon had been spotted. I got there in about forty minutes.
After finally finding a parking spot, I picked up my phone again.
[The person you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone—...]
The black cap Min Jiheon had given me was still in the car, so I pulled it on and added a mask. Honestly, I’d never even been to this area back in my student days, so I got lost a few times.
It was evening, and the streets were packed. No one was paying me special attention, but a few glances made me pull the cap lower.
I headed to the theater where Jiheon’s old troupe was performing. The show seemed to have just ended—crowds were pouring out.
“Hey, did you see him in the back? Min Jiheon was there!!”
“What?! I missed it?!”
“Yeah, he’s a real celebrity, the aura’s just different...”
I turned to a quieter side alley to avoid the crowd, overhearing the excited chatter.
“Ah, but he left halfway through... maybe something urgent came up.”
...Then he’s probably not here anymore.
I stepped into a back street and was about to make another call when I sensed movement.
A man with brown hair was standing under a broken streetlight, a cigarette between his lips.
‘...Smoking?’
The smell was unfamiliar, and the soft smile that always lingered on his face was gone—I almost didn’t recognize him.
As he exhaled a stream of pale smoke into the dark, I frowned and took a step closer.
“Hey—...”
“Jiheon, did you enjoy our play?”
A group of men, apparently from the troupe, approached from the opposite side, greeting him warmly.
Min Jiheon looked up and smiled faintly.
“Yes, it was good.”
“The last scene was nice, right?”
“It was.”
You left in the middle, though.
A strange unease crept up as I watched his mouth curve smoothly.
“Thanks for coming. When you show up, everyone gets more motivated. Especially the younger ones—they think you’re a legend.”
“You make me sound old.”
“Hahaha, what are you saying? Feels like your college days were just yesterday.”
Unable to find a chance to interrupt, I stayed still and listened as they kept talking.
“Jiheon was something else even back then. When he first joined, he was so desperately intense we thought he might be weird—but it turned out he was just talented.”
“Yeah, remember when he played that student with a mental illness? That was insane!!”
“He scared the hell out of me. How did he act out hallucinations so well? People were creeped out for weeks—there’s still a story about that going around.”
Min Jiheon said nothing, just drew on the filter again.
“I knew it back then. You had something special.”
They didn’t sound malicious. It was clearly the kind of nostalgic praise seniors gave to a junior. Jiheon inhaled deeply and nodded slowly.
“It’s all thanks to you, seniors.”
“Come by often. I don’t know much about the entertainment industry, but I bet it’s rough sometimes. You can always come here and relax.”
“...Sure.”
“It’s nice, isn’t it? Seeing familiar faces from the old days?”
Our Jiheon’s always been so shy even though he doesn’t look it—
‘What the hell?’
That was enough. I stepped forward and called out sharply.
“Jiheon-hyung!”
All eyes turned toward the unexpected intruder. Min Jiheon, cigarette in hand, looked equally startled.
I took off my cap and mask and flashed a bright, innocent smile—just like a certain someone would. Someone muttered under their breath.
“...You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Seo Hoyun, they whispered faintly—my name—but I ignored it. I strode straight up to Jiheon and grabbed his arm.
“What the....”
“There you are! Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you?!”
I poured as much playful affection into my voice as I could, and felt Jiheon flinch. Instead of his usual light citrus scent, there was a harsh trace of tobacco that made me want to frown—but I kept my face smooth and cheerful.
“Jiheon-hyung, leaving first like that, really~?!”
From this moment on, I was Jung Dajun—the adoring fan who respected Min Jiheon.
