An Unexpected Guest

The moment of emotional instability was brief, and Ji-ho’s peaceful routine resumed. Even his aching left leg recovered quickly, as if nothing had happened.

“I stopped by the clinic just in case, and the doctor said it’s perfectly normal. Like how Bok-gu’s grandmother says her knees ache before it rains. It’s a relief, really. You said you were planting radish and garlic next week, right? I really wanted to help this time.”

“What’s so fun about that? Toiling in the fields will only ruin your pretty face.”

“Ji-ho moved to Seoul when he was in middle school, so he’s basically a city boy. Rural work probably looks like a novelty to him. Still, don’t overdo it, just in case.”

“Yes, don’t worry. I want to do it because it’s fun. I’m not that foolish, haha.”

“Come to think of it, while you were in town, a call came for you. Someone mentioned a ‘Manage’ or something and asked you to call back when you got in.”

“Yong-ha Hyung?”

Ji-ho tilted his head. It made sense, as he hadn’t been in touch with Yong-ha much lately.

Since they communicated only through the community center’s phone, it was always Ji-ho who called first to report on his well-being. After the preparations for the full album began in earnest, Yong-ha’s busy schedule started to bleed through their conversations. Eventually, he even started trying to hang up as quickly as possible.

Ji-ho couldn’t help but feel that Yong-ha found it awkward for him to be involved in group affairs. Consequently, Ji-ho lengthened the interval between his calls. What was once a daily check-in became weekly, then once or twice a month, and now, he hadn’t called for nearly two weeks.

But for Yong-ha to call the community center first—it had to be something important.

“It’s ‘Manager,’ not ‘Manage.’ I guess the manager looking after Ji-ho is named Yong-ha.”

“I’ve wanted to say this for a while, but Ji-ho, a young person like you shouldn’t go around without a phone. Something bad could happen.”

“Oh, come on. Kids these days are so smart; he’ll figure it out. Isn’t there that ‘Minimal Life’ thing? They say it’s a trend.”

“What does that have to do with a phone? Honestly, unnie.”

“Aigo, so much talk! Everyone, hurry up and pluck the stems off these peppers. We have to dry them all before the wind picks up!”

Bok-gu’s grandmother snapped at the “Weekend Farm Lady,” who was particularly nosy about Ji-ho. Everyone pitched in to help dry the red peppers, and their attention easily drifted away from him.

Ji-ho realized the grandmother had intentionally changed the subject and felt a quiet surge of gratitude. How many times had the residents looked out for him—the idol who had vanished to the countryside without even a phone?

Even when the topic of celebrities came up, they tried their best not to involve Ji-ho, and those who didn’t know about the accident refrained from asking about his life in Seoul just in case. Even the TV at the community center was always tuned to trot singing competitions or travelogues about ordinary people living in nature.

“In my opinion, that one who hits the high notes is definitely going to win first place.”

‘Or maybe… the TV programs are just based on the elders’ tastes.’

With those light thoughts, Ji-ho approached the community center phone. Despite Yong-ha’s unusual behavior, he didn’t feel particularly worried. He didn’t even harbor a small hope that they were discussing his return.

[Ugh, Jung Ji-ho, didn’t I tell you to report your status periodically? Just how comfortable is it there that I haven’t heard a peep from you lately?]

The voice on the other end was thick with exhaustion. Yong-ha tried to speak playfully, but he couldn’t hide the fatigue. He sounded as drained as he did during Pentagram’s peak promotion periods before the accident.

However, Yong-ha’s business with Ji-ho wasn’t about the group.

“Pardon? Enheim? You mean… Jae-in?”

The controversy surrounding Jae-in, which Ji-ho had only heard a hint of from Mirin, was now being explained by Yong-ha. He explained how Ji-ho’s name had been brought up and that Jae-in had reached out to Yong-ha to resolve the situation.

[Yeah. You really are living completely cut off from the world. There haven’t been many articles, but the internet was in an absolute uproar. Well, after talking to Jae-in, his agency requested our cooperation, but… with the whole company moving for the full album, do we really have the leisure to help?]

Considering Jae-in was once a Star Entertainment trainee and part of Pentagram’s debut lineup, Yong-ha’s words were incredibly cold. But given that Jae-in’s departure wasn’t on good terms and the relationship between the two groups was awkward, his attitude wasn’t entirely strange.

Rather, his next words were more puzzling. It sounded as if he were trying to persuade Ji-ho.

[Originally, I was going to cut them off myself, but the PR team thinks this might be an opportunity to bury the rumors involving you, Ji-ho. Since your name keeps coming up, it might end up affecting our own full album activities if we aren’t careful…]

These weren’t the words of a sharp manager who had even blocked the members’ contact to ensure Ji-ho’s rest. His weak, pleading voice could almost be misinterpreted as intentional exaggeration.

‘Since I’m resting, I’m the right person to meet Jae-in and settle things.’

Ji-ho was silent for a moment. He replayed the rumors about Jae-in he had just heard. It was natural to feel swayed by a manager who was like an older brother working himself to the bone for Pentagram.

But his desire to accept the request from Enheim’s side came from a different reason.

He remembered the controversy that had spiraled in every direction while he was in the hospital and the extreme stress he had felt. He thought of how he had fled to escape it all, and how he was still running. Perhaps Jae-in was in a similar position. It was a sense of kinship.

The deliberation was long, but the answer was quick. At the end of the first call he’d had with Yong-ha in a long time, Ji-ho gave an affirmative answer.

And that was the process that led to Yoon Jae-in visiting this distant rural village in person.

“What the—Ji-ho Hyung. You said you were living the country life, so I thought you’d be wearing floral pants and looking tacky, but you haven’t changed a bit. You said you were badly hurt, but you look fine. If you’re this healthy, why did you come all the way out here to rest? Do you know how long it took with all the traffic?”

A blue-roofed country house, repaired just enough for a human to live in. In its yard stood a typical city youth, looking like a total mismatch for the scenery.

Jae-in, who had sent back his car and was now boldly talking to Ji-ho, looked exactly the same, making it hard to believe he had recently been embroiled in a controversy. The only difference since the last time they met was that his pink-dyed hair had turned into the typical yellow of bleached hair.

But that wasn’t why Ji-ho was taken aback.

“Yoon Jae-in… what on earth is all that luggage?”

The bags Enheim’s manager had unloaded from the car before leaving didn’t look like the belongings of a guest just stopping by. Even for Jae-in, who cared excessively about style because of his job, it was too much.

“Wasn’t the plan for you to stop by briefly, take a photo with me, and leave? I heard it was just for a post on Up-Stagram.”

Jae-in remained nonchalant despite Ji-ho’s reaction.

“I wouldn’t have come in person just for that. We’re trying to prove that you and I are close enough to go on trips together. Do you think people will believe that with just one photo? I’m going to take multiple photos with different outfits and backgrounds, and I’ll even turn on a Live broadcast if I have to.”

His brazenness didn’t last until the end, though.

“…If you let me stay the night, Hyung.”

The sarcasm that usually accompanied Jae-in whenever they met had vanished as he trailed off, scanning Ji-ho’s face. He didn’t look like the person who had picked a fight every time he saw Ji-ho or Pentagram since leaving the debut lineup.

Perhaps feeling awkward at Ji-ho’s silence, Jae-in went back to acting arrogant. “Still, I’m a guest—are you going to keep me standing here? I couldn’t even stop at a rest area, so I’m parched. Give me some water.”

But it sounded more like the intimate whining one would do to a close brother rather than resentment.

Ji-ho stared blankly at Jae-in. He thought he looked like he did a long time ago when they were in the debut lineup. It felt like the days when they were inseparable, before Jae-in had begun to blame Ji-ho unilaterally.

Memories of the past surfaced naturally. It was back before their relationship had become twisted as it was now.

*******************************************************

It was when Ji-ho was right on the threshold of turning twenty.

After six long years as a trainee at D&T Entertainment, Ji-ho was cut following the final evaluation. He was despairing, but in the end, he couldn’t give up on his dream of being an idol. Since nineteen was considered old for a trainee, he submissively accepted D&T’s help in connecting him with another agency.

Fortunately, Hyeong-jun, the CEO of Star Entertainment, was a good person.

Having seen and experienced much as a manager for old-generation idols where human rights were ignored, he strove more than anything to create an artist-friendly company. Perhaps his soft mindset was the reason for his continued failures, but for Ji-ho, who had been judged to have no value as a product, he liked the new agency.

The last hope for Star Entertainment, which was standing on the edge of a cliff, was the debut of their boy group. Furthermore, Ji-ho, who appeared at the last minute in a spot where six members were already gathered, was essentially a “rolling stone.” The fact that he was from a major agency and had no trainee history at Star Ent was a significant factor.

“Hyung, I heard you were a D&T trainee? Wow, I failed their audition immediately. You’re a total pro. The CEO told me to stick close to you because there’s a lot to learn. Ah, I’m Lee Ha-un. Our team’s main vocal. But the teacher said your vocals are good too, so I don’t know if my position is at risk.”

“…I’m Yoon Jae-in. We’re the youngest, but if you try to pull rank just because you were at a major label, I’ll report you to the company immediately, so watch out.”

The two youngest members of the debut lineup Ji-ho met first were completely different types. Ha-un, who comfortably welcomed a stranger three years his senior, and Jae-in, who guarded against the new person using words he’d picked up somewhere.

The funny thing was that between the two, the one who opened his heart to Ji-ho first was actually Jae-in.

And among the debut members who were wary of Ji-ho, there was one who reached out without a second thought.

“Just let what they say go in one ear and out the other. Our youngest members are quite… unique. Is it because they’re still young? Ah, I’m Kim Jun-o. Same age as you. It’ll be awkward at first, but feel free to be comfortable with me. If there’s anything you don’t know, just ask.”

Jun-o, whose impression made him look good-natured at a glance, actively helped Ji-ho adjust to the debut team. He showed no worry at all that he might be pushed out and cut because of the new face.

In that way, the three of them—Ji-ho, Jae-in, and Jun-o—started hanging out together frequently as if they had been close friends from the start.