The Morning Ritual and the Jitters of a Rookie Idol

Even in a room devoid of sunlight, the subtle stirrings of morning were perceptible.

“Wow. You really sleep without locking the door.”

Someone was muttering nearby. The intruder, who had been freely roaming the room, soon seemed to grow bored and approached the bed. I felt his footsteps draw closer. Though I wished to remain perfectly still, I could not endure his palpable presence and opened my eyes.

“…What is it?”

Lee Seon abruptly intruded into my still-hazy vision.

“How long are you going to sleep?”

Though his words were gruff, it seemed he had come with the intention of waking me. Instinctively, I reached out a hand and playfully ruffled his hair.

“Hey!”

Lee Seon clearly took offense at my action. He let out a sharp cry and abruptly pulled back. Naturally, he wouldn’t appreciate being treated like a child by someone his own age, especially when his later birthday relegated him to the role of maknae. Feeling a sudden pang of regret, I burrowed deeper into my blanket.

“It’s an afternoon schedule; why bother getting up already…?”

Watching me, with the blanket pulled snugly up to my nose and only my eyes peeking out, Lee Seon let out a series of exasperated sighs.

“You’ll make the ground collapse.”

“Stop spouting nonsense. Jihyuk hyung said it’s time to eat. If you’d rather sleep than eat, then go ahead.”

“What’s for breakfast?”

“Marinated crab and…”

“Ugh. No thanks.”

“…Soft tofu stew.”

That particular dish was rather enticing. I lingered for just a moment longer, then decisively kicked off the blanket and emerged.

“Right. A person needs to eat breakfast to live.”

Lee Seon shook his head, a slight smile playing on his lips, and led the way out, with me trailing behind him. I had assumed they’d ordered food or that someone had come to prepare it, but in the kitchen, Choi Seung-beom, clad in an apron, was diligently ladling stew into bowls.

So, he was cooking, Yoon Jihyuk was calling everyone to eat, and Lee Seon was the errand boy. It felt as though a rigid set of rules governed their morning routine. Yoon Jihyuk, meanwhile, was leisurely setting the table.

“Han… Doyoung hyung?”

When I inquired about the missing member who ought to be occupying the empty seat, Yoon Jihyuk replied with a lighthearted air.

“Doyoung threatened to kill anyone who dared to wake him, so we opted to leave him be.”

‘What a temper,’ I thought. Feeling it would be awkward to simply sit and wait, I scooped out four portions of rice and took my seat. Soon after, Choi Seung-beom arrived with the stew and settled down as well.

The meal, sans Han Doyoung, proceeded peacefully. The conversation flowed primarily between Yoon Jihyuk and Lee Seon. Choi Seung-beom, meanwhile, attacked his food with the fervor of someone born solely for the purpose of eating. His hollow eyes made me wonder if he was still half-asleep.

“You don’t eat clams either?”

“Oh, you can have them.”

“Why would I eat something from *your* bowl?”

Despite Lee Seon’s grumbling, Choi Seung-beom promptly claimed all the clams from my bowl. His unwavering resolve to leave no scrap of food behind was truly remarkable.

Just as each of us was nearing the bottom of our respective bowls, the door to the previously closed room creaked open. A man with strikingly vibrant red hair, a hue that stood out even amidst a multitude of brightly colored hairstyles, shuffled towards the dining table, scratching the back of his head.

“Are you guys just hogging all the food?”

Watching him, his face still heavy with sleep, clearly annoyed and radiating an air of profound disappointment, he looked every bit his twenty-two years, which elicited a quiet chuckle from me. Yoon Jihyuk, not one to be outdone, retorted with an equally gentle, yet firm, tone.

“You said you’d kill anyone who woke you up. We were simply too afraid to disturb you.”

Han Doyoung mumbled a string of curses, as if incanting some dark spell, and stalked into the kitchen. All that awaited him, however, were an empty pot, scraped meticulously clean, and a deserted rice cooker. Frozen for a moment in the middle of the kitchen, Han Doyoung then forlornly retrieved a box of cereal and poured it into a bowl. To his dismay, there wasn’t even any milk.

“Fantastic. Tastes just like dog food.”

The fellow returned with a bowl brimming with round, chocolate-flavored cereal and plopped down onto an empty chair. Then, as if to prove a point, he began to aggressively shovel it into his mouth with his spoon. The cheerful crunching sounds were so loud, they made my own throat feel parched.

Unable to bear witness any longer, Lee Seon cautiously spoke up.

“Hyung… should I go buy you some milk?”

Han Doyoung replied with an indifferent shrug.

“Forget it. Just do the dishes.”

“Understood.”

Ultimately, Lee Seon’s attempt at kindness backfired, leaving him to tackle the morning dishes with a distinctly sour expression.

While the others busied themselves, tidying their bedding and showering, I remained seated, lost in a daze. My body and mind, having been relentlessly pushed for two days, felt as though they were buffering, struggling to process. As I sat there, detached and vacant, a hazy fog seemed to descend upon my vision, making it difficult to discern anything before my eyes.

It was Han Doyoung’s curt voice that snagged my wandering thoughts, pulling them back from the distant reaches of my mind.

“Are you going to stare a hole right through me?”

Apparently, I had inadvertently been staring intently at Han Doyoung, who was seated directly across from me. He was already halfway through his second bowl of cereal, brimming with the chocolate-flavored O’s.

“You’ll scrape your palate raw.”

“Oh, it already is.”

“How utterly foolish.”

Han Doyoung, his nose slightly crinkled as if my words had displeased him, then let out a protracted yawn and finally set down his spoon.

“What am I supposed to do when I’m hungry?”

His words were undeniably valid.

Compared to his days on stage, Han Doyoung wasn’t exhibiting a particularly aggressive demeanor. It simply seemed that grumbling was ingrained in him, and his actions were remarkably straightforward. Perhaps that was why, when I found myself letting out an involuntary, silly chuckle, he shot me a look and demanded, ‘What are you grinning at?’ before beginning to clear his dishes.

The sink bore clear evidence of clumsy hands. Unwiped suds were splattered haphazardly, and water pooled abundantly. Han Doyoung furrowed his brows deeply and clicked his tongue in irritation. Annoyed, yet seemingly unable to leave the mess as it was, he cursorily tidied up. The area where he had stood was instantly spotless.

Finally, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel, Han Doyoung shot me a disgruntled glance before striding purposefully into his room.

I gazed intently at the wall clock, deliberately wasting a few more minutes before finally rising. After all, I had no desire for anyone to mistakenly believe I had lingered merely to observe Han Doyoung.

Upon entering my room, I immediately swallowed the morning’s pre-portioned medication. There seemed to be an exorbitant number of pills; when I poured them all into my palm, they formed a substantial handful.

“Ugh…”

The sensation of the pills descending my esophagus felt acutely vivid. My stomach burned with an intensity incomparable to swallowing simple over-the-counter remedies. With each gulp, my mind conjured images of the potent migraine medication I’d been prescribed when my head throbbed so fiercely that sleep was impossible. Just one tablet would make my stomach churn with such a searing pain that I often contemplated whether enduring the headache itself wouldn’t be the lesser of two evils.

I suddenly understood why Kwon Yohan always kept his refrigerator stocked with pudding. Perhaps he was aiming for a placebo effect, hoping its soft, cool texture would dull the edge of his pain.

****

In the necessity of donning clothes provided by a stylist and sitting still for makeup, there was little distinction between preparing for a stage performance and a variety show. Furthermore, the atmosphere on set was markedly more relaxed than it had been over the preceding two days, leaving me utterly devoid of tension.

My heart wasn’t thrumming with that unsettling rhythm it adopted before a stage performance. Given the difference in energy expenditure, I anticipated feeling less fatigued tonight than I had yesterday.

The other members’ attitudes mirrored my own. Indeed, broadcasts of this nature were rarely watched by anyone who wasn’t already an idol fan. Rather than aiming for a general audience, they served more as a form of promotional service for the dedicated fans and those who habitually flitted between various groups.

This differed significantly from typical variety shows, where being uninteresting could easily lead to being cut entirely. Yet, it appeared one particular individual wasn’t perceiving the situation in the same relaxed manner.

“…Are you shaking right now?”

Lee Seon sat gripping the script tightly, his face a mask of intense nervousness. The way he was subtly trembling, one might have aptly described him as being in ‘vibration mode’.

“W-what am I doing? Why?”

Even as he attempted to deny it, his voice pitched unnaturally high, his words carried no conviction.

“Well… if you say so.”

There was no compelling reason for me to coddle or reassure him to ease his nerves. As a professional, he would undoubtedly manage to see the broadcast through, and a stiff, rigid demeanor born of tension would likely be perceived as endearing for a rookie idol, rather than something deserving of significant criticism.

Taking over for me, who had lost interest, Yoon Jihyuk approached Lee Seon with a gentle, reassuring smile.

“You’re always so good, yet you still get like this.”

His encouragement, delivered with a light squeeze and release of Lee Seon’s hand, struck a perfect balance—neither too serious nor too dismissive.

Lee Seon met Yoon Jihyuk’s gaze, a slightly more relaxed smile gracing his lips.

“Right?”

“Absolutely.”

Just then, a staff member’s voice rang out.

“We’re starting the shoot!”

“Let’s go,” Yoon Jihyuk said calmly, leading the way as he always did. One by one, the waiting members rose and followed him.

Whether by established rule or natural inclination, HEX tended to line up in order of age in such situations. Naturally, I adopted a slightly more leisurely pace, aiming to enter last.

And so, I inadvertently witnessed Lee Seon doing something entirely uncharacteristic.

“Hah…”

The boy, who had sighed and lowered his head, then forcibly pulled up the corners of his mouth with his own hands. After that, he donned such a lively, almost comically exaggerated, expression that it was as if his earlier gloomy demeanor had never existed.

‘What’s wrong with him?’