Surrounded by piles of scripts, Min Jiheon let out a small sigh as he fanned the corner of his desk calendar.
Originally, today was supposed to be the filming day for the newly pre-produced drama he had joined. However, the shoot was postponed because countless reporters kept swarming in — all because he was known to be close to Seo Hoyun.
As they relentlessly pushed and fired questions at him, Min Jiheon was once again reminded of one thing.
That the living were far scarier than the dead.
‘They should really know when to stop.’
Running a hand through his hair, Min Jiheon straightened his back and recalled the image of Seo Hoyun at the hospital.
His peaceful face had looked more like someone asleep, and Min Jiheon had felt it would be wrong to disturb him.
He didn’t say anything then — just stood there quietly, staring at that face in silence.
‘Did he enter a subconscious state?’
He had seen that kind of thing before. It wasn’t unfamiliar to him.
And judging from what Kang Ichae had told him when he’d come asking for help, it seemed Seo Hoyun had made a deliberate choice.
But even so, Seo Hoyun had never once asked him for help.
‘He keeps his promises like a ghost.’
His hand instinctively reached for the pack of cigarettes in the drawer.
Every time he tried to imagine how Seo Hoyun had gone in without his help, a headache came.
And along with it — the image of Seo Hoyun’s younger brother, whom he had met at the hospital door — someone who carried the same air as him, began to circle his mind.
‘Damn it.’
If only he hadn’t known that Seo Hoyun had a brother, he wouldn’t be this bothered.
If only they weren’t so similar in that regard...
“......”
He sighed again, heavier this time, and pulled out his phone. A message had just arrived — from his own younger brother.
It was a link to a new article in the entertainment section.
〈Support for The Dawn’s Hoyun, and the video he personally edited — ‘Letter’〉
When he tapped it open, the article said that starting with Kang Ichae, all The Dawn members had quietly posted a YouTube link on their personal social media without any comments.
Frowning slightly, Min Jiheon refreshed the page.
〈Why did The Dawn upload the video on their individual channels?〉
〈Seo Hoyun’s “Letter”... an unusual marketing tactic by the agency?〉
New articles with “The Dawn” and “Seo Hoyun” in the titles began pouring out by the second.
Drumming his fingers lightly on the desk, Min Jiheon hesitated before finally opening the YouTube link. But he couldn’t bring himself to press play right away. Instead, he scrolled down to the comments.
[If this is agency marketing, that’s insane.]
└ [Would they really market when a member’s in a coma? Be human for once, for fuck’s sake.]
[Why did Kang Ichae even upload and share the link if it’d only make everyone get flamed like this?]
└ [All the members shared it.]
└└ [Wasn’t it Seo Hoyun’s request? lol]
[What’s wrong with you people... It’s clearly something Hoyun edited himself before. Why act like this? Do you carry your brain for decoration? Who the hell would go into a coma for attention? Ah~ hahaha.]
[Stop trying to get attention and just die quietly, that would be a blessing T_T]
[I just miss you so much...]
[Thank you, Hoyun... even if it’s the old you, I’m just glad to see you again...]
[This is hilarious lol]
...He couldn’t summon the courage to read any further.
Taking a short, deep breath at the flood of unpleasant reactions, Min Jiheon finally pressed the play button.
A familiar set of stairs appeared — an old mint-colored bicycle left abandoned beside it. Min Jiheon recognized it immediately as the old Daepaseong building.
【Letter – Part 1】
A lively voice came through the speakers.
The camera seemed to be held by The Dawn’s maknae, Jung Dajun. He was explaining that the planning team had told him to film a vlog, and then the camera caught Seo Hoyun sitting at the base of the stairway, chin propped on one hand.
Younger-looking, barefaced, and exuding a cold air.
【Uh... it’s Hoyun hyung.】
Jung Dajun’s hesitant voice came through. The shaky screen seemed to pull away awkwardly, as if trying to avoid him — when suddenly, Seo Hoyun turned his head sharply toward the camera.
【Where are you coming from?】
【...Ah, the convenience store!】
【Hm. What about the others?】
【Probably at the company...? Practicing, I think?】
‘They look really awkward.’
He had only ever seen them act close and friendly on camera before, so this scene felt strange.
When Jung Dajun scratched his head and fumbled for words, Seo Hoyun raised one brow, sighed deeply enough to sink into the floor, and walked off without replying.
The screen faded to black — and then his face reappeared.
【—Alright, Mr. Seo Hoyun, this shoot’s just for internal review, so don’t overthink it.】
Hearing the familiar voice of a staff member off-camera, Min Jiheon realized —
This was a camera test.
A routine shoot the agency held to check how comfortable the idols looked on camera and how their image came through the lens.
【First, please introduce yourself briefly.】
【Okay.】
Though a celebrity, Seo Hoyun looked awkward in front of the camera. Yet he still met the lens head-on and spoke quietly, unflinching.
【Hello, I’m Seo Hoyun.】
Silence fell in the studio.
【...That’s it?】
【That’s it. ...Was I supposed to say more?】
Good lord.
It wasn’t sarcasm — it was a sincere question.
【Well... usually people mention their company and position. Uh... don’t you have any special skills? It’s good to ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ show at least one.】
【Special skill... I’m good at editing.】
【...What?】
【Yes.】
Even without seeing the staffer’s face, the bewilderment came through loud and clear. Even Hoyun looked a bit sheepish, glancing off to the side.
【Ha... sorry, can I redo this tomorrow? I’ll prepare something.】
“...I’ve never seen anyone like this guy.”
It was so absurd, he laughed.
While Min Jiheon chuckled in disbelief, the next scene showed the whole group backstage.
【Let’s do our chant.】
【...Do we even have one?】
【Nope.】
【Just make it up. Hurry.】
Five hands came together midair, lifted, and scattered again.
The members laughed cheerfully. Only Seo Hoyun’s mouth stayed shut.
As if being there among them was somehow wrong for him.
Scene after scene followed: Seo Hoyun flinching from camera flashes, showing no excitement even at cheering fans, barely reacting in front of his individual Shining Star billboard.
The others, meanwhile, were always bright, smiling, alive.
Min Jiheon tilted his head slowly.
‘This doesn’t look like the agency’s doing...’
WH Entertainment had no reason to stir more chaos when their public image was already tanking.
‘So this was really his idea?’
But why?
He had to know it would turn all the criticism aimed at the company back onto himself.
Watching to the end, Min Jiheon was lost in confusion. The video wasn’t idol-like — nor was it Hoyun-like. He couldn’t figure out why The Dawn had uploaded it.
To commemorate him? But the way he acted in it felt off.
[Did the company make them do this?]
[This was made by Seo Hoyun, right??]
└ [Yeah, it says so in the description.]
└└ [The editing’s too natural.]
└└ [He was known for being good at it.]
[Agency marketing, huh lol.]
[Aside from uploading it, Hoyun looks so half-assed here. Like he doesn’t care.]
[Kang Ichae’s insane for posting this now.]
[Can we stop swarming around someone’s old memories like this? Just leave it alone.]
See?
There was no need to cause this kind of mess.
But then he noticed — the uproar, the attention, the familiar pattern.
He’d seen this exact setup before.
[If it says “Letter – Part 1,” doesn’t that mean there’s a Part 2? When’s the next one??]
People were already waiting for Seo Hoyun’s next move.
[Members said there’ll be two more before his birthday.]
└ [When’s his birthday??]
└└ [January 30th.]
[Every two days, apparently.]
[Time’s going too slow,,,,,]
Min Jiheon was speechless.
“......Hah.”
He couldn’t judge Seo Hoyun’s actions.
But even giving him every benefit of the doubt, Seo Hoyun was never the sentimental type.
He wouldn’t split a farewell message into three videos timed before his birthday — not him.
“This damn bastard...”
He’s scheming something.
Min Jiheon let out a dry laugh and tossed the cigarette pack into the trash.
“...Guess redemption’s not happening.”
***
The request Seo Hoyun had made to Kang Ichae was simple.
[Ich ae, I’m going to start the game again.]
The initial condition of Nugu Idol Tycoon was “A rift created from conflicting energies based on Seo Hojin’s life.”
With so little information at first, he must have been too busy just moving the game forward.
But Seo Hoyun had started questioning it.
[I don’t know about Seo Hojin, but I’m not planning to risk my life blindly.]
Why life, specifically?
Over the past four years, his reckless behavior had caused Seo Hojin to suffer in his place — even affecting his life force. Yet Hojin hadn’t died; he had simply fallen into unconsciousness after the final round.
Meaning, Seo Hojin’s “life” wasn’t being consumed directly.
Perhaps “life” served as a kind of energy — the fuel keeping this world’s system running.
[I won’t stake anyone else.]
A bolt of realization struck Seo Hoyun’s mind.
Seo Hojin had been supplying the missing energy from his own life force.
To sustain a single inevitability required countless points. It would’ve been impossible to repeat the game multiple times just on Hojin’s life alone. Likely, it had only supplemented the deficiency bit by bit since the start.
[To do that, I’ll have to take some hits.]
Another question followed.
What exactly was the “conflicting energy”? Seo Hoyun recalled the phrase from his memories — “infamy” and “good karma” clashing — and interpreted it as that. It must have been the collision between the condemnation he’d earned as a PD and the sympathy gained from his death.
[Fair warning — it won’t look pretty.]
Through countless exchanges with the system, Seo Hoyun had come to believe his theory held weight.
[Anyway, the bigger the controversy, the better. To restart the game, I’ll need massive energy. I’m overturning a finished structure — it’s going to take a huge rift.]
He concluded that a new clash was inevitable.
And far greater than anything before.
[It might not work, and even if I return safely, it won’t be an easy game... but sitting still doing nothing doesn’t suit me.]
So Seo Hoyun put his plan into action.
The day after the awards ceremony, he passed the strategy on to his dazed, empty self.
He had always been good at drawing infamy.
But—
[Editing around myself like this is unbearably pathetic... Still, it’s impossible to do alone.]
Winning love and support wasn’t easy.
[Time to beg Noeul properly.]
Especially when those supporters weren’t family, members, or friends.
[They probably hate me, but I’ll ask for help just this once.]
Determined to release a series of videos, Seo Hoyun decided the first one’s purpose had to be drawing public attention.
So, just like in his PD days, he edited it to be blatantly biased — cutting together only his coldest, most ungrateful moments, ignoring his teammates and showing none of his sincerity.
But even Seo Hoyun, meticulous as he was, hadn’t anticipated one thing.
[Ah... Hoyun, I miss you so much...]
[I’ve been crying since I saw the letter you made.]
[Hoyun’s hilarious, trying to look cold but you were always kind back then too.]
Noeul — the fandom — fought back far more actively than he expected.
The day after “Letter – Part 1” was uploaded, the video platform was flooded with fan-made compilations titled simply “Reply.”
Most of them used footage from “Letter – Part 1.”
Where he’d winced under camera flashes, then awkwardly smiled and waved.
Where he’d looked impassive at fans’ cheers but ended up staying to sign autographs until security dragged him away.
Where he’d stood blankly before his Shining Star billboard, only to quietly gather each Post-it note and tuck them into his coat.
Some were made entirely of fan-taken videos from official schedules.
【Hoyun-ah!】
A slightly younger-looking Hoyun, probably early debut days, hesitated before approaching. When handed a letter, his eyes widened and he rubbed his forehead shyly.
He looked... happy.
Then the scene changed.
【Hoyun-ah~】
It was summer — cicadas crying. Wearing long sleeves alone, he fanned Noeul with a script for Bring Me the Camera, scolding them to go inside before they got heatstroke.
And yet the fans—
【Seo Hoyun!】
They called out,
【Hoyun-ah!】
And again—
【Seo Hoyun!】
On a day when snow fell thick and heavy, they waited outside the radio station, their breath turning white in the air. Spotting them from afar, Hoyun asked his manager for permission, then walked straight toward them.
【Good grief...】
He tilted his umbrella toward the fans, his eyes curving softly.
【Why are you even out here in this cold, seriously.】
The words sounded like scolding—
But his expression said otherwise.
As if he was genuinely happy to see them.
