The Web of Lies Unravels

Jae-in stepped out of the lounge, adjusting his cap, and stood before the elevator.

“Did he already go down? Ugh, I don’t even have my phone, so I have to follow him myself.”

Fortunately, perhaps because it was a restricted floor, no YL Entertainment staff were in sight.

However, even when the elevator arrived with a ding, Jae-in couldn’t bring himself to board it. He didn’t have the courage to go down to the first floor where Jun-o had gone.

He had done nothing wrong, yet he felt a strange hesitation. He was terrified that a passerby might see him and whisper, “Isn’t that the idol who secretly talked shit on SNS?” The fact that he was in another idol’s agency made the fear even more palpable.

‘…Let’s just go back to the lounge and wait. He’s only getting drinks, so he’ll be back soon.’

Knowing his behavior was foolish, Jae-in ultimately turned back. Having given up on asking Jun-o for help, he felt a wave of weakness wash over him.

Maybe staying quiet and hiding, just as his agency suggested, really was the only way. There was no guarantee that trying to do something wouldn’t just spark another controversy. Watching Ji-ho’s situation had already taught him how cruel and unpredictable public opinion could be.

‘At least my company isn’t telling me to go on a hiatus. And Jun-o Hyung said he’d find a way to help if I wait.’

To be honest, Jae-in—who knew the inner workings of Star Ent well—guessed that it was Ji-ho, the one who hated being a burden, who had suggested the hiatus first. Still, Jae-in consciously tried to pity Ji-ho. By finding small ways in which his situation was “better” than Ji-ho’s, he sought a hollow sense of comfort.

Feeling pathetic for his own cowardice, Jae-in accidentally walked past the lounge entrance.

He found himself in a gap in the hallway he hadn’t noticed before—a dim spot hidden by interior landscaping, unlike the wide, open spaces of the rest of the building. There stood a tall, striking man on a phone call. It was Jun-o, the man who was supposed to be at the first-floor cafe.

‘I thought he said YL banned phones because his debut is coming up. Did he borrow one?’

Since Enheim’s contracts also prohibited personal phones for the first few years after debut, Jae-in had to go through all sorts of trouble to set up today’s meeting. Seeing Jun-o talking perfectly fine on a cell phone, Jae-in approached him, feeling puzzled.

He intended to wait for the call to end, say his goodbyes, and leave. But because the entire floor was silent, Jun-o’s voice carried clearly. No—it was so different from the usual tone Jae-in knew that he couldn’t help but eavesdrop.

“I’m sick and tired of just hearing the name Pentagram. Every time something happens, they drag up those debut days. It’s annoying, but what can I do? I have to keep at least one of them appeased so I can use them if needed. That Yoon Jae-in guy is seriously unbelievable. I wonder what kind of favor he came here to ask. He should clean up his own mess himself.”

Jae-in wondered if the person venting his frustrations was really the same man he followed like an older brother. Jun-o, who was known for being kind and gentle even among guys his age, sounded like a completely different person—even without using profanity.

‘Is he… talking bad about me right now?’

Jae-in tried to process the words, but it was hard enough just to stay still and not burst out to confront him. It felt like a surreal dream.

Unaware that anyone was listening, Jun-o continued his call. What followed was even more shocking.

“What? Forget it. Why would Uncle need to step in? Last time, Star Ent suddenly started looking for me, so I just wanted to scatter some sparks just in case. Even if Uncle is a reporter, he might get caught if he leaves too long a tail.”

‘A reporter? Last time? What on earth is he talking about?’

“Shit, I know! I know it’s dangerous if stories about the expulsion keep coming up. That’s why I’ve been living like a dead mouse all this time. Anyway, Kang Hyeong-jun can’t easily release the evidence he has. There’s no reason to now. If he did, Pentagram would go down with me, wouldn’t they?”

It was Jun-o’s next words that truly froze Jae-in to the spot.

“I’m not being careless! If what I did was caught on the practice room CCTV back then, so what? Just being involved in something like that is fatal for an idol. Besides, it’s not like Jung Ji-ho is a girl; he was probably the one terrified of weird rumors spreading.”

It was difficult to understand the entire situation from just those few sentences. But there was one fact Jae-in could grasp with absolute clarity.

Jun-o was talking about the expulsion three years ago. And the man who had played the part of the victim was now confessing that he had committed a clear wrongdoing.

Covering his mouth with a trembling hand, Jae-in tried to walk without making a sound. He didn’t let the tension leave his body until he had scrambled back into the lounge where he had been staying.

“Crazy… what did I just hear?”

Only after entering the closed-off lounge did the suppressed shock explode out of him.

Looking back, it was hard to believe. The image of Jun-o looking like a total stranger, the cryptic words he said to the person on the phone, and the realization that everything he had believed for so long might be a lie.

Everything was a mess.

‘If what I did was caught on the practice room CCTV back then, so what?’

One thing was certain: the Jun-o that Jae-in had protected was not a trainee who had been unfairly kicked out. He had committed some kind of error three years ago, and Star Entertainment had expelled him for a valid reason.

And—

“Then Ji-ho Hyung… What did he do wrong? Why… Why did I hate him?”

The truth, realized too late, became a heavy burden of self-reproach that he could no longer ignore.

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

From the private account scandal to the incident at the YL building, Jae-in’s story continued.

Whether he was vividly describing the controversy surrounding him, mentioning how he thought of Ji-ho in his moments of pain, or reciting most of what Jun-o had said to his “Uncle” on the phone, Ji-ho showed no significant reaction.

“After that, I just left the YL building. I was so stunned… no, actually, I was too scared to ask Jun-o Hyung anything. I didn’t have the confidence to act normal in front of him. Since DM was the only way to reach him, I deactivated all the accounts I made to contact him. He probably doesn’t know I heard that call.”

Ji-ho watched Jae-in as he sat on the floor, biting his thumbnail. It was a habit he didn’t have during the debut team days. Perhaps it had developed during this recent, grueling controversy.

Jae-in looked incredibly fragile, his voice trembling slightly and his complexion turning pale. There was no trace of the shameless boy who had demanded a drink in the yard earlier.

“Is that when you contacted Yong-ha Hyung?”

“It wasn’t easy to contact Pentagram! I even bought a prepaid phone—is that what they call a ‘burner phone’ in movies? I won’t get arrested for that, right? To find Yong-ha Hyung’s number, I snuck out of the dorm and went all the way home to find my old phone… It was r-really hard!”

Ji-ho hadn’t changed his expression or glared at him, but Jae-in was in a frenzy all on his own. Explaining his actions incoherently and fearing the repercussions of his “rebellion” against his agency, he looked like someone being crushed by the weight of his own secrets.

Jae-in continued to pour out the details of his call with Yong-ha as if confessing.

“…And then later, my company found out and said it was a good idea, so they asked Star Ent to cooperate.”

“…….”

“And I… I asked Yong-ha Hyung about the past. He said the people at Star Ent still don’t know why Kim Jun-o was expelled. That it’s still a secret only you and the CEO know. And Yong-ha Hyung told me to stop hating you just because you didn’t stop me when I left the debut team.”

This was something even Ji-ho hadn’t heard, so for the first time, he couldn’t help but be shaken.

‘He must have talked to Yong-ha Hyung for quite a while. Hyung, you wanted to use this opportunity to reconcile Jae-in and me.’

That explained why Yong-ha couldn’t flatly refuse Jae-in’s request. After all, wasn’t he a manager so busy these days he couldn’t even look after Ji-ho properly?

In truth, Ji-ho was also wavering now that Jae-in was right in front of him. He had vowed that even if he helped him, he wouldn’t try to reconnect their broken bond, but that resolve was already melting away.

Many things had changed compared to three years ago, but the Jae-in sitting before him still looked like that young little brother—the Yoon Jae-in of the past who was ignorant of the world, thought simply, and was always honest with his emotions.

Ji-ho listened to Jae-in’s voice, which was becoming increasingly choked with emotion.

“Hyung also told me this: it was true that there were discussions about adjusting the number of members in the debut team. Because the company’s condition wasn’t good, they wanted to remove members who were hard to manage. And that member… was me.”

“Yong-ha Hyung told you that?”

“So you really did know, Ji-ho Hyung. Was that why? Is that why you didn’t stop me when I said I was leaving Star Ent for another agency? Because it was better for me to move as a ‘scouted’ trainee rather than being expelled?”

“It wasn’t a set decision that you’d be removed. The company just had various discussions before the debut. As you know, an odd number of members is better for formations than an even number. And when Manager Lee caught Kim Jun-o and me eavesdropping, he said it wasn’t a serious discussion. Hyung probably exaggerated it so you’d hate me less.”

Even now, Ji-ho was making excuses to prevent Jae-in’s self-esteem from crumbling over the past. Jae-in gave a faint, sorrowful smile. It didn’t take long for that smile to turn into a cynical one.

“Ha… but do you know what Kim Jun-o told me back then? He said there were four of us 02-liners, and one of us would be expelled. He said that might be why you slandered him. Did you overhear that part, too?”

“What does that…”

Ji-ho’s voice trailed off at the unfamiliar story.

No matter how long ago it was, there was no way he remembered it wrong. He still vividly remembered what was said when he and Jun-o overheard the Star Ent staff meeting before “that incident” happened.

‘Unlike Ha-un, Jae-in is too difficult to control. Especially his habit of blurting out whatever’s on his mind—if that happens on a live broadcast, it’s an instant scandal. He’s been training for so long, but the fact that he hasn’t fixed his flaws is a problem… Oh! Why are you two here?’

He was certain. The word “02-liner” had never come up.

Jae-in could tell without Ji-ho even answering. That, too, had been a clever lie spun by Jun-o.

“Kim Jun-o… he’s a real psychopath, isn’t he?”