Fans had always found it difficult to read what went on inside Seo Hoyun’s mind.
When he snapped at the people around him, they’d worry something bad had happened—but it usually meant things were going well. And when he smiled gently, making everyone feel at ease, only later would it come out that he’d been going through the worst of times.
But there was one thing the fans were certain of: Seo Hoyun had always been consistent with them.
[He never once treated a fan half-heartedly.]
[I remember two years ago. It was freezing waiting outside, and Hoyun came out himself to give me a hot pack and scolded me like crazy. When I brushed it off saying I was fine, that scolding lasted a whole year afterward.]
[I was feeling really down that day because of real life stuff, but the moment he saw me at the fansign he asked, “What’s wrong?” That punk...]
[He always smiled like that whenever I came to see him.
I miss him so much.
So, so much.]
Replies like those piled up endlessly, and the controversy around Seo Hoyun only grew bigger by the day.
Then, one day, a short fan video went viral — showing Min Jiheon saying to a fan who had approached him, “By the way, doesn’t Hoyun edit really well?” The wildfire refused to die down.
And so, two days later, the members kept their promise and uploaded <Letter – Part 2>.
The video opened on a Christmas set filled with colorful gifts. Jung Dajun peeked into frame, while beside him, Seo Hoyun sat under a blanket, fiddling with a ribbon meant for wrapping.
Soft music drifted through the background.
【The white snowflakes drifting down,
The warm gaze watching over me,
I hope it’ll always stay by my side.】
It was “23:59,” one of the double title tracks from their Christmas album two years ago.
Seo Hoyun, who had looked detached at first, hummed along to the next line—then suddenly grabbed Dajun’s chin and squeezed both his cheeks.
【...Whah ish it?? Why??】
【Ah, just because.】
【......??】
Surprised, Jung Dajun raised his brows, sulking a little, while Hoyun chuckled and released him, softly singing the next lyric again. He looked genuinely cheerful.
Then the scene changed—to Hoyun eating ice cream with Kim Sunghyun in the dorm. He teased Sunghyun until he ended up caught in a headlock, both laughing loudly.
The footage shifted again—to their old practice room.
When Sung Jiwon clapped his hands, saying they should start practice, a dark lump in the corner began to move. Seo Hoyun’s face poked out from under a black blanket, and as Kang Ichae cracked a joke through his laughter, Hoyun only yawned widely in response.
The camera zoomed in on the black blanket again—and then cut to a shot of Hoyun crouched backstage with the others, watching sparklers flicker in the night.
Above them, bursts of color bloomed across the sky. The fireworks painted the darkness, and the members’ eyes went wide before laughter broke out.
Thus ended the second letter.
Shortly after, Sung Jiwon posted a photo on SNS of all five members holding sparklers together. There was no caption, but the image spread rapidly, turning into another storm.
[Shit lol, I thought the second video would change how I felt, but no. I still don’t get why they’d upload this now, or who this “letter” is even for.]
[Celebrities should just show their best sides. Stop clinging to nostalgia like anyone cares. It’s pathetic.]
[Hoyun, your letter brought all my memories rushing back... I was a repeater that year, and I survived studying by listening to The Dawn’s songs every night.]
[I used to listen to their B-sides on the bus home around this time. They had so many good tracks.]
[He always looked like someone working hard. I hope he comes back.]
[I know celebrities crave attention, but why act like some desperate attention seeker right now?]
[Exactly. What’s with this melodrama? If you’re gonna die, do it then—I’ll mourn properly.]
[Just follow your parents cleanly.]
[I love you. Really, I love you.]
The situation spiraled beyond control.
While countless reactions—sympathy, scorn, mockery, and grief—rained down upon Seo Hoyun, Noeul simply continued their quiet support.
[Come back on your birthday.]
So that whenever he chose to return, they’d be ready.
Amid a tangle of pity, malice, and unwavering affection,
January 29th arrived.
At 7:11 p.m.
The final letter was uploaded.
【—...Ah, Mr. Hoyun, you’re here?】
【Hello.】
The video opened on a familiar WH Entertainment studio often used for The Dawn’s in-house content.
Seo Hoyun appeared—immaculate from head to toe. The camera lens zoomed in with a faint mechanical hum as his slightly grown black hair brushed against his eyes.
Fans recognized right away that this footage was recent—shot after Song Camp, when he had climbed the Billboard charts and cemented himself as a superstar.
After greeting the staff and sitting on the sofa, the chief PD began.
【We’ll start the interview right away since there’s not much time. Don’t be nervous—it’s just for internal content. You only need to answer comfortably.】
【Like a Q&A?】
【Exactly, though I won’t be asking a hundred questions.】
Finding the joke amusing, Seo Hoyun smiled lightly, and the staffer asked him to introduce himself to the viewers.
【Hello, everyone. Nice to see you. I’m Hoyun from The Dawn.】
【Hoyun, are you feeling your popularity these days? You entered Billboard right after Song Camp, and even your film Vile Trial became a massive hit.】
【Ah, I’m incredibly grateful. It’s all thanks to the fans.】
His calm, low voice resonated warmly through the speakers. Leaning back comfortably, he showed no sign of tension.
【Hoyun, what’s your specialty?】
【Perfect timing and pitch. It’s the only thing Kang Ichae admits I’m better at during recording.】
【Oh, I thought you’d say acting.】
【I’m an idol, remember?】
He added that with a sly little grin, brimming with pride.
Laughing out loud, the staff continued the questions—favorite food lately? Pre-concert routines? The hardest moment recently?
He answered them all smoothly, until the last one made him pause.
【If you could make one heartfelt wish, what would it be?】
It was a cliché question, yet Hoyun went silent for a long moment.
【For a very long # Nоvеlight # time...】
Lowering his gaze, he spoke the kind of dream any idol might have—
【For a very long time, I want to stay as The Dawn.】
But somehow, it sounded like a wish that could never come true.
The PD ended the interview, seemingly satisfied, but Hoyun looked regretful—as if he himself didn’t understand why he’d said it.
Scratching his head, he stood and bowed in farewell.
The screen faded to black.
Everyone thought that was the end of the letter—until the screen brightened again.
【.......】
There he was—Seo Hoyun, leaning against a white wall, eyes tired.
【Hello, everyone.】
He brushed under his eyes, keeping silent for a moment before speaking again in a low, weary tone.
【If you’re watching this, that means the members granted my selfish request. I begged them to upload it when things got hard, and I’m just thankful they listened.】
【There’s a lot of clutter in the video, right? It’s been so long since I last edited, and maybe because focusing on myself feels awkward and embarrassing, it was pretty tough. Still, this is the best way I can express what I think.】
Just moments earlier he’d smiled like nothing could go wrong—and now his eyes were red as he spoke softly.
【It’s embarrassing to bare my situation or sincerity, and maybe unnecessary, so I always put it off. But this time... I want to be honest, just once.】
Slowly, his long lashes lowered.
【Looking back on my life, I’ve been foolish.
Back then, I wanted to climb higher than anyone, and in the name of survival, I did many stupid things.】
【Even when I disappointed those who believed in me, I told myself it couldn’t be helped. I kept running forward, yet some part of me always feared that maybe there wouldn’t be a “tomorrow” waiting for me.
Could I really pull it off? What if people turned their backs on me? What if I lost what I held dear? Every time those fears came, I grew weak.
And because I didn’t want to look weak, I hid it. I refused to show it. Only now do I realize that doing so made those around me feel small—and pushed them to the edge.】
His once-steady baritone trembled faintly, uncertain.
【...I’ve learned a lot. The unconditional love from you all, the people who care for me, the peace that comes from trust—realizing those things can exist was astonishing. Every day I saw how much of a frog in a well I’d been, how ignorant.】
【So maybe it’s too soon to say I’ve changed, but I’ve thought a lot about what I’ve done. Maybe there were other paths, other ways. Maybe I could’ve sought advice instead of charging alone. That thought lingers.】
He smiled awkwardly, then fell quiet before continuing carefully.
【...Is this too disorganized?
Anyway, there’s something specific I want to tell you.】
He drew a deep breath and met the camera head-on.
And confessed.
【Thank you.
...Thank you for giving me more love than I deserve.】
Winter sunlight slanted through, tinting his tousled hair in gold.
【Because of you, I’m able to live a new life once again.
I’m truly sorry for making you worry for so long. But I want to hold on to this chance no matter what—because I want to live as your idol. So, shameless as it is, I have one last request.】
The pale light spread, touching his cheek, coloring it softly red.
【May I have a tomorrow.
May you, who gave me courage, have a tomorrow too.
Even if it doesn’t shine brightly, even if it trembles, may our tomorrow continue.】
He curved his lips into a full, radiant smile—showing his teeth.
【I’ll be shameless, just this once.
This has been The Dawn’s Hoyun.】
***
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
The clock, half-warped from the fracture, was still working. I looked at the calendar.
January 29th.
[...Not much time left now.]
I nodded slowly.
I’d deliberately scheduled the final video for today—so that as time passed, I’d linger more vividly in their minds.
“...Yeah, not much time left.”
I shifted my gaze to the screen.
Seoul, buried under an unusually heavy snowfall. Despite the late hour, the bus stop glowed under artificial white lights. My advertisement board was displayed there—my face surrounded by a flood of colorful sticky notes, filling every inch of space with messages of support.
I’ve done everything I could.
Now, all that was left was to wait quietly.
I forced down the restlessness rising in my chest when a system window cut across my view, opening with a question.
[...Mr. Seo Hoyun, I have something to ask.]
“What.”
[Other than what you and I discussed, did you receive any additional information from the future? Like a guaranteed way to restart the game?]
Even after warning me that restarting the game would be unstable and short-lived, the system had, surprisingly, gone along with it.
I thought it had accepted things—but apparently, it still couldn’t understand my actions.
[It’s just... you have no hesitation. You sound so sure of yourself.]
Sure of myself, my ass.
I clicked my tongue softly, frowning.
“...They said they’d come for me.”
[......What?]
Ignoring the string of new pop-ups, I glanced back at the clock. After a short pause, I muttered, barely audible,
“...We made a promise.”
Because judgment day was coming for us.
[...You’re talking nonsense. You’re clearly delusional, Mr. Seo.]
I ignored the system’s comment and focused on the screen again.
Office workers, exhausted after overtime, trudging home. Students hurrying from cram schools, breath fogging in the cold.
The bustling street grew empty. The noisy city of Seoul fell still in an instant.
Something felt wrong. The snow thickened, the wind howled and wrapped around the world.
I tried not to miss a single second.
Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick—
The sound of the clock pressed heavy in my ears, as though its hands had grown weight. I tapped my finger on the floor in rhythm with it.
Ten seconds left.
Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick—
Five seconds.
Tick, tick, tick—
—Three, two, one...
I looked again.
All the clock hands were perfectly aligned, pointing straight upward.
But—
Tick, tick, tick, tick—
—Nothing happened.
—...Tick, tick, tick...
Time was clearly moving. That damned sound kept ringing. Five minutes passed, then thirty, then an hour—
And still no alert appeared.
I lowered my gaze quietly.
[...Mr. Seo Hoyun.]
I...
[...I’m sorry it turned out this way, Mr. Seo.]
...I failed.
“......Ah...”
It was over.
I had fought until the very end, refusing to give up, but maybe it had been naïve—to think people watching that video would pray for me.
Now I was trapped here forever, forced to watch as everyone forgot me. Even Seo Hojin’s efforts—all gone to waste.
Alone, left to a lifetime of regret—
‘...No.’
I slapped my own cheek hard.
“Damn it, wait.”
Nothing was confirmed yet.
If I gave up now just by assuming the worst, that would be the real end. Right now I was only imagining it—the worst possibility. It hadn’t happened. Maybe it wouldn’t.
“Sit tight and wait.”
Believe.
Before stepping onto the award stage, someone had whispered to me:
That we could do anything.
And someone else had said—even if it sounded naïve—there would be a solution at the end, that someone would come for me.
The blue bouquet held out to me.
The reddened eyes of the one who always joked.
The Salvation Army bells ringing for Christmas.
I recalled them like a mantra, pressing my hands together as if in prayer, forcing myself to endure. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. Wait. It’s fine.
Then—something.
A faint crunch, the sound of thin snow being stepped on.
“......”
A student in uniform, black backpack on his shoulder, white breath spilling into the air, was walking toward the bus stop.
He set his bag on the bench, rubbed his red hands together, and took out a pencil case and a stack of sticky notes.
[—...‘???’ is accumulating.]
Resting his arms on the bench like a desk, he crouched down and began writing carefully.
He stopped now and then to rub his nose or scratch his head, then finally stood and stuck the completed note onto the advertisement board.
[Infamy Points are accumulating. They are colliding with Player ‘Seo Hoyun’s’ Good Karma.]
[Checking if the game can be started.]
[LOADING....]
[ERROR!]
[LOADING....]
[LOADING....]
[ERROR!]
[LOADING....]
[LOADING....]
[ERROR!]
[LOADING....]
Reading the text, I blinked blankly.
[LOADING COMPLETE!]
[Life is insufficient. Essential conditions have been met through the fracture, but gameplay may be difficult.]
[This may become a game with no full clear condition. If the player fails to complete a quest, immediate death will occur.]
...January 29th to January 30th.
The day...
[Hoyun-ah,
Tomorrow’s here!]
...had changed—an hour and a half past midnight.
[Mr. Seo Hoyun,]
At last, the words I’d been waiting for appeared.
I stared at the empty bus stop the student had left behind.
The furious snow had softened, falling now like quiet petals to the ground.
A laugh slipped out of me. My face began to twist. I could feel the thrill spreading through my brain, my whole body. I laughed like a madman.
When I got lost and afraid—
They really did come for me, just as promised.
[Would you like to begin “Eternal Idol Tycoon”?]
It was my birthday.
