The Weight of Freedom

The atmosphere made it clear that stubbornness wouldn’t earn him a spot on stage. He obediently rested, just as Yoon Jihyuk had suggested. He settled into a chair provided in a corner, leaving the tangled knot of his problems unresolved.

He was certain of it, yet had he lost consciousness?

The scenes, flickering on and off intermittently, seemed to be glimpses into Kwon Yohan’s childhood. His mother, intent on raising her child to meet her own lofty expectations, had sent him to study abroad from a very young age. Consequently, the infrequent visits had prevented any proper attachment from forming between them.

It seemed an obvious consequence that other children didn’t particularly welcome Kwon Yohan. He was, after all, a late-born child and quite sickly, meaning he had received far more of his mother’s attention than his peers. The true issue, however, was that this attention had spiraled into excessive overprotection.

It was also unavoidable.

“What did Yohan eat yesterday?”

“He really wanted the bread with chocolate on it, so I only gave him a tiny piece…”

“Oh dear.”

Machines were connected to young Kwon Yohan’s frail body. His face was deathly pale, utterly devoid of vitality.

“You must continue to be careful with his food. He’s still young and small, so even a slight mistake in what he eats can trigger a much faster reaction than in an adult patient.”

The doctor’s words seemed unusually kind, perhaps indicating a personal acquaintance with Kwon Yohan’s father.

“For now, shall we administer medication and observe his condition?”

Becoming uniquely vulnerable in front of her youngest, she collapsed onto the bed once she and the child were alone in the hospital room. She sobbed, pulling the significantly smaller Kwon Yohan, who was much tinier than other children his age, into a tight embrace.

“Mommy’s sorry. Mommy’s so sorry, Yohan.”

The child, unsure of what to do, fumbled helplessly.

“N-no…”

Who could truly blame her for being careless? Even eating the same thing, some days were perfectly fine, while others led to significant problems. The hospital had even advised during the last check-up that occasional leniency was better than constant stress.

This was simply bad luck.

It wasn’t only his Mother who carried the burden of guilt. Kwon Yohan’s face bore a despair unsuited for his young age, as if alongside ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t give birth to you healthy’ was etched ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t born healthy.’

Such negative emotions were more than enough to gnaw away at a young child.

“Mom, my picnic…”

“Must you really go?”

“No…”

From the most trivial things.

“Yohan, do you want to go to school?”

“Huh?”

“Won’t it be fine if you don’t go to school? Teachers can come to the house, and friends can visit too, right?”

“…It’s fine.”

Small longings.

“What do you think about me learning something like this?”

“If you want to, then you should. But why suddenly?”

“I’ll need a job someday, too, won’t I?”

“…Instead of that, if you’re really bored, would you like to travel with Mom?”

Even as he grew a little older and began to seek his own purpose, Kwon Yohan remained nothing more than a tiny child in his Mother’s eyes, someone who needed constant watching and protection.

Kwon Yohan’s world was limited to activities he could do while seated at a desk: low-effort pursuits like music and art. On days when no teachers visited, he often spent the entire day engrossed in books or the computer.

‘Mom seems to want me to just stay home like a doll.’

He complained to his Sister, with whom he hadn’t even attempted to grow close since he was very young, and she replied with a sharp glare.

“Be grateful for what you have. Don’t cause trouble.”

What exactly did she mean by “trouble”? It referred to the repercussions of insisting on doing something forbidden. Running away from home and turning the house upside down, or stubbornly demanding to go skiing only to return injured from a tumble, certainly seemed extreme in their severity.

It was, therefore, a natural progression that Kwon Yohan, having grown up under such severe control, would suffer through a tumultuous adolescence.

“I… I wasn’t born to be raised like a pet.”

In that moment of collapse, an all too familiar despair was reflected on his face.

****

Kwon Yohan’s sole remaining lifeline was his Father.

Unlike his Mother, his Father was reasonably indifferent to his children, holding the belief that they should naturally become independent from their parents as they matured. Though they were awkward around each other, rarely engaging in conversation, Yohan mustered his courage and sought out his Father.

“If I stay with Mom, I feel like I’ll be five years old forever. Please let me live separately.”

His Father deeply agreed with Kwon Yohan’s words, fully cognizant that his Mother’s overprotection had reached a pathological level. Since his son had directly presented a potentially viable solution, there was no reason to refuse, especially as he had sufficient funds to allow him to live separately.

Initially, his Mother vehemently opposed it, but when the entire family, excluding her, agreed, she had no choice but to concede. She stipulated two conditions: she would visit Kwon Yohan’s solitary home every three days to see him, and he must go to the hospital if he experienced even the slightest physical abnormality.

Thus, at eighteen, Kwon Yohan gained his freedom.

However, freedom proved to be far from easy. Although he had earned his high school equivalency diploma early through a GED, having never attended school meant his general knowledge and social skills were considerably lacking compared to his peers.

“Shall I be frank? Yohan, you have no talent. You’ll have to work your fingers to the bone just to get into college. You said you didn’t even go to school, right? Then we can bundle these package courses…”

“Ah… I’m not actually looking to get into college.”

“Huh?”

“Just this beginner’s class here will be enough.”

Especially when dealing with someone who wasn’t entirely gentle with him.

“But are you sure you’ll be okay without going to college? Well, I suppose that’s your freedom, Yohan. These days, school ties have lost a lot of their power, haven’t they? Still, if you’re thinking about this industry, just doing this won’t be enough. You might not know because you’re young, but if you’re a high school graduate, you have to work harder than college graduates to establish yourself.”

“…I’ll just go.”

“Huh?”

“I didn’t apply for a consultation to be pressured. Goodbye.”

His footsteps, heavy and drained of energy, led him homeward.

‘That’s what high-pressure sales feel like.’

Fortunately, Kwon Yohan had a natural knack for judging people.

‘That place is out… what else is there?’

Each time he sought something he wanted to do and tried it, there was always a small hitch. He would realize his body couldn’t handle it and quit, or find dealing with people overwhelming and quit. In this manner, he wasted a year, repeatedly starting and quitting various endeavors.

“The photos I saw last week were the last ones, weren’t they?”

“…I quit.”

“Photography too?”

Seeing his Mother’s worried expression, Kwon Yohan seemed to sense an ominous foreboding.

His Mother, realizing that the fledgling who had left her side to try and fly on his own couldn’t even stand properly, would soon demand he relinquish the freedom he had so painstakingly gained.

‘What do I do now?’

Anxiety and unease weren’t emotions that spurred him forward; they were merely shackles binding his ankles, pressuring him to hurry. Plagued by lethargy, Kwon Yohan began to shut himself in, only pretending to be fine on the days he met his Mother.

In a house excessively large and silent for a child to live in alone.

His monotonous routine consisted of fiddling with his phone until he fell asleep, repeating this cycle. Before long, his routine shattered to the point where distinguishing day from night became impossible. Knowing he had to maintain certain habits from childhood, lest problems arise, he barely managed to keep track of his medication times. It was the typical appearance of someone suffering from depression.

He also had ample material for rationalization.

‘Mom would probably prefer me to stay like this rather than wander outside.’

The fact that he had left home because he didn’t want to live that way now felt like a distant past. Gradually, the distinction between sleep and reality blurred, and when he jolted awake from an overly realistic dream, he would remain in a daze, as if still asleep.

At this point, Kwon Yohan truly seemed to be in desperate need of someone’s help.

‘UNI-Q?’

Perhaps that’s why HEX could become a ray of light in Kwon Yohan’s life.

‘It’s our affiliate company…’

An familiar company name was embedded in a video that popped up on a video site’s algorithm. His habit of playing any video that caught his eye, even slightly, proved helpful this time.

‘Ah. An idol group.’

It was a field Kwon Yohan had never shown any interest in before.

The reason he couldn’t tear his gaze away, if one were to speculate, was simple: for Kwon Yohan, who had rarely experienced interaction with peers, the sight of boys his age diligently working together must have been a fresh stimulus.

‘They’re cool…’

They seemed like people who hadn’t even debuted yet, not wearing fancy costumes, and even drenched in sweat and grimy. Yet, in Kwon Yohan’s eyes, they appeared to shine brightly.

After hours of systematically watching through the accumulated videos, Kwon Yohan finally lowered his finger to check the comment section for the first time.

[We can’t lose any of our kidsㅠㅠㅠㅠ They absolutely must all debut togetherㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ]

‘Absolutely.’

His gaze lingered on that single word for an unusually long time. Soon, Kwon Yohan lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

‘They say they absolutely can’t lose them.’

His heart, which had always felt like a nuisance, now beat with a pleasant rhythm.

‘How wonderful…’

After a moment of hesitation, Kwon Yohan quickly moved his thumb. His mind, which had been clouded and unable to form coherent thoughts, was now unusually clear.

–”Oh, Yohan.”

‘Dad… I’ve found something I want to do.’

Whether to call this impure or pure, his Father, who had questioned “Really?”, seemed less than enthusiastic. However, he soon raised the white flag.

–”Right. Doing something is better than doing nothing.”

Thanks to this, Kwon Yohan, who knew nothing about idol life, let alone monthly evaluations or trainee periods, was able to start with a shortcut from the very beginning.