Seo Hoyun was found unconscious at the pension and transported to the hospital.
Even though WH Entertainment had not released any official statement, that single sentence spread among the public as if it were a verified fact, carried along by countless news articles.
There were plenty of witnesses—people who saw Seo Hoyun’s white SUV head toward the pension, then a few hours later saw a sports car arrive, and soon after that, an ambulance enter the premises with its siren blaring.
After he was taken to the hospital, rumors exploded.
Was it merely a health problem?
Or had it been an attempt of some sort?
Among the speculations, two main theories gained traction.
Many still doubted his strange behavior at the awards ceremony and found it suspicious that he had gone to the pension without informing anyone.
According to a supposed insider, the first person to notify the agency of the situation was said to be Joo Woosung. Because he was known as Seo Hoyun’s close friend, people speculated obsessively—had he noticed something beforehand?
Although the agency urged restraint against excessive conjecture, the public’s attention clung stubbornly to the incident.
Even now, The Dawn’s advertisements played across the giant billboards, but companies entangled with profits kept the phones at WH Entertainment ringing nonstop.
Every day, articles with opposite tones appeared and vanished in turn.
And those who loved him could only sink into helpless silence.
***
Then it suddenly hit me.
Was the reason I didn’t have to go to the army twice... because of Seo Hojin’s consideration?
‘Oh, how kind of you....’
In the dark editing room, half of its floor collapsed, I leaned back in my chair after staring at the past for too long and called the system.
“Hey.”
No answer.
“Hey, get out here.”
[......What.]
That sulky tone made me more dumbfounded than annoyed.
“What, are you sulking now?”
[No? Not at all?]
He’s not even Seo Hojin—so why act like him?
At this point, I couldn’t even tell which of the tricks that screwed me over had been the system’s doing and which had been Hojin’s pranks—they were that similar.
Clicking my tongue, I got to the point.
“...We have a lot to do, so listen carefully.”
Looking back on the past, it was clear that Seo Hojin had used the system to send me messages.
“I’m assuming Hojin interfered with the real world through you. Then I can do it too, right?”
[...Wow~!! Are you seriously regretting this now?!! After you ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) yourself pressed reset?! Even if you interfere now, nothing’s gonna change, you know?!]
This bastard really knows how to sneer....
[The game’s over, Mr. Seo Hoyun. You can’t open a system window in the real world.]
“What about interfering with the past?”
[...Ah, I think I see where this is going. Theoretically, if it’s a relatively recent event, it might be possible, but... don’t do it.]
[Let me be clear—you can’t alter cause and effect. Not even the smallest detail. A minor change in the initial condition could have massive consequences.]
[Ever heard of the butterfly effect?]
I dug a finger in my ear, boredly watching the windows pop up one after another with that snide tone.
“Hey, I’m not trying to change the past. I’m trying to recreate it exactly as it was.”
[...Sorry, but did you even understand what I just said?]
Ignoring the idiot, I scrolled through the screens. Soon I found the time not even a year after our debut, when all the members went to a rural village to film self-made content.
I remembered Jung Dajun, drenched in mud and rain, handing me a letter in a raincoat, and after a moment of silence, I spoke to the system.
“Let’s just try one for an experiment.”
[...Ha...... I told you it won’t work....]
[...]
[...]
[...Huh.]
[...I-it works......?]
I chuckled. As I opened my eyes again, a strange sense of dissonance rose from my toes—and suddenly I was standing in that countryside.
My vision was hazy, like a camera lens fogged with steam, but I could still make out shapes and faces.
It was dark around me. As I stood there glancing about, a door opened, and a familiar face appeared.
‘...Oh, great.’
It was Kang Ichae.
Relief and unease welled up at the same time. Wearing a mischievous smile, he quickly disappeared toward the interview spot.
—Ttiririring!
“Ugh, huff...”
My head throbbed, and I took a deep breath. As I pulled out of the scene, the footage showed Kang Ichae tilting his head.
【Actually, I ran into someone else on my way to do the interview... They looked so realistic that I thought, wow, they really prepared hard for this...?】
【Waaah! Don’t say that!】
Panic-stricken Jung Dajun was begging the members to stay with him.
Ding!
[Do you like it? Setting the mood with a ghost makeup shoot?]
“...Wait, that ghost was me?”
Even though I’d only gone in for a moment, the exhaustion piled on and I groaned, rubbing my shoulders. The system grumbled.
[So? Satisfied now? I get that you’re feeling nostalgic, unusually for you.]
“That’s not it.”
My eyes almost ached from the rapid screen changes, but I kept focus.
“You know that ‘external presence’ that interfered with me?”
[Yes.]
“That was me.”
[...Excuse me?]
Found it!
I slammed the spacebar.
“I was the one who interfered—to save Kang Ichae.”
[...Wh-what???]
That was during the peaceful days after Song Camp ended.
We’d made it onto Billboard, even been invited to a major U.S. awards show—everything felt perfect.
Watching myself smile proudly, unaware of the danger awaiting Kang Ichae or the mess Seo Hojin was about to cause, I gave a hollow laugh.
‘If only I’d warned him sooner....’
Then maybe Kang Ichae wouldn’t have fallen into that unconscious state at all.
Even knowing I should preserve the past as it was, I’d acted on the impulse to experiment. Clicking the mouse, I spoke kindly.
“Hey, is this the time to be smirking like an idiot?”
...The me on-screen only winced slightly, maybe from a headache. Clicking my tongue, I fast-forwarded to a more recent past—to myself at the Music TV Awards.
“Hey! Can you hear me? Hey! Hey!! ...What the hell, why can’t you hear?!”
Frustrated, I pushed back my hair, and just then—pop—every screen shut off at once.
Soon, through flickering noise, a single scene appeared.
【[Mr. Seo Hoyun, please listen carefully. The headaches and auditory hallucinations are gone now, right? I temporarily blocked them. What you’re experiencing isn’t caused by the system. As I said before, it’s not a penalty.]
[Upon inspection, something outside the system’s control tried to approach you. Something unidentified, from outside the system, is shaking you.]】
So the system had blocked it.
“...Efficient, aren’t you.”
[...I’m sorry.......]
When I’d been suffering from all those side effects in the real world, I’d thought the system was unstable. Yet when I tried to break in from the outside, it was absurdly solid.
‘Direct messages won’t work.’
Still, I didn’t give up. I pulled up the footage from the fashion show I’d been invited to.
Deng—, deng—....
To soft background music, models in dazzling outfits and accessories strutted down the runway.
“Unlock Contribution trait and open Kang Ichae’s stats.”
【[Congratulations!
‘Contribution’ trait unlocked!]
[‘Contribution’ is linked to player Seo Hoyun’s ‘???’ and represents the degree of help or benefit given to Seo Hoyun.]
[※Contribution can also increase by taking on Seo Hoyun’s physical penalties!
Frequent substitution may result in fatal physical penalties. Please exercise caution.]
[Kang Ichae Contribution: 3¿7%]】
I watched as the version of me on-screen staggered out of the fashion show in panic.
I still remembered how my heart had sunk reading that number.
I immediately pulled out a notepad and pen from the desk drawer and scrawled Kang Ichae’s home address from memory. Folding the paper neatly, I told the system,
“Register this memo as an item. Add a warning label—something that’ll stick in his head.”
[Such as?]
Now it all made sense.
“Follow it through.”
How those messages had stabbed exactly at my guilt, every word so precisely aimed.
“If he dies, it’s your fault.”
Watching the pale-faced me hesitate alone, then thankfully head out together with Min Jiheon, I let out a small breath.
Then came the sequence where Kang Ichae was found and I begged Min Jiheon to kill me. Seeing him check my limp body, then sit down with a dry face, rubbing his hands over his tired face before sinking onto the couch—
...I thought again what a piece of trash I really was.
“......”
I watched the restless Min Jiheon pacing in anxiety, while the system windows buzzed around me.
[...Mr. Seo Hoyun, I don’t get it. How did you become an external presence? And how did Mr. Seo Hojin even know how to call to your subconscious?]
[You had no clue this whole time....]
Yeah, I know.
I’d been fucking clueless—and I’d paid dearly for it.
But now it was different.
“I heard it.”
[...What?]
Why I’d recklessly entered his subconscious to reset Seo Hojin’s life.
Why I became an external presence to save Kang Ichae.
None of it could have been done without knowing the truth.
But I’d gotten a hint.
I took one more look at Min Jiheon, then zoomed forward to a later moment in the past—myself driving hurriedly after winning the Grand Prize at the Korean Music Awards.
“I heard it at the very end.”
After searching for the missing Seo Hojin, finding the photos where only my brother had been cleanly erased, I saw myself stumbling back in shock.
I held my breath and waited.
At that exact instant when the game cleared—when control slipped from the system for a brief moment—I slammed the spacebar.
That was the only time I could deliver the truth.
[...To whom?]
Who else.
I took a slow breath.
“Grant me all of Seo Hojin’s memories.”
[System request initiated.]
[You may now access all memories of ‘Seo Hojin.’]
【Fuck, accept, accept, accept! ACCEPT!!】
Right.
I heard it clearly.
I lifted my eyes from the monitor, counting the seconds, and when I looked up again, there I was—smiling dumbly as I realized the truth through Hojin’s memories, sitting on the couch, lighting a cigarette.
My heartbeat slowed little by little. I clicked the mouse.
“...Hey, idiot.”
The hint I’d learned through Seo Hojin’s memories.
The conditions for starting the game, the time when both of us had existed simultaneously inside Unknown Idol Tycoon.
Thinking of all that, I spoke with a feigned confidence.
“Get up, damn it. It’s not over yet, so don’t give up.”
Talking to a crying version of myself was worse than I expected—it was pathetic, humiliating—but I knew exactly how pathetic this whole act was.
“...I’ve got one method in mind, so listen up and don’t miss a word, you bastard. Do exactly what I tell you.”
There was too much I’d left behind to give up cleanly.
Holding onto that faint hope that I could go back, I staked everything on one last gamble.
Pulling my gaze away from the empty-eyed me staring into space, I swept across the countless screens slowly reappearing one by one and said firmly—
“Edit.”
I was going to start the game again.
