The First Trophy and the Distant Stage

“Real-time voting has ended. Who will today’s protagonist be…? Yes, this week’s number one is Pentagram’s <Untamed>! Congratulations!”

Ha-un, standing at the MC spot, let his mouth hang open in disbelief before breaking into a radiant smile. The other members were momentarily dazed but quickly snapped out of it, overwhelmed with joy. Fellow artists gathered on stage offered their congratulations from all sides.

As the upbeat encore music kicked in, they were given time for their victory speech. Naturally, Se-han was handed the microphone. Even for someone as consistently composed as he was, his voice trembled slightly. Despite having a speech prepared, the magnitude of their first win since debut was a deeply moving moment.

“We, Pentagram… we’ve faced many hardships since our debut, but I think we’ve made it here thanks to more love than we deserve. There are so many people to thank. First, I want to thank our precious members for following my lead so well…”

Lately, it wasn’t uncommon for winners to be absent from music show rankings or for the ceremony to feel like a formality. But Pentagram and their fandom, the Glories, expressed their unbridled joy in the thrill of the win.

“Glories, we love you!”

“Kyaaaaah!”

The encore began, and the explosive cheers of the fans surged toward the stage. Unlike the previous performance, which was lip-synced due to the intense choreography, their raw voices—breaths and all—echoed through the hall.

“Star Entertainment is the best! Thank you, CEO!”

As Se-han raised the bouquet and the small trophy, gold confetti erupted from the ceiling. Ha-un ran around the stage, shouting thanks to everyone associated with Pentagram.

“I received the best birthday present ever. Thank you!”

Go-un removed his in-ears to feel the booming music with his own ears—a gesture that looked so cool it made a fan scream at the top of her lungs. Even in the excitement, Noah was giving the members looks to stay in formation, clearly wanting to show a proper performance even during the encore.

They each expressed their joy in their own way. It felt like a sudden success, but because so much time had passed to reach this point, it was all the more touching.

As the song reached its climax, they fell into formation and danced with all their might. Even though it wasn’t the main broadcast stage, their synchronized movements showed the sheer volume of their practice; it was flawless.

It was a moment that should have been purely happy and moving.

‘This is the day everyone waited for. We finally proved ourselves.’

However, unlike his body, which moved fluidly on its own, Ji-ho couldn’t feel a single thing. He saw the members and the audience making various faces under the bright, pouring lights, but strangely, he felt no inspiration.

There was Ha-un, eventually tearing up; Se-han, showing emotion for once instead of suppressing it; Noah, looking bright as if his earlier complaints had never existed; and Go-un, looking satisfied with his very happy birthday.

The fans in the audience continued to scream, overwhelmed by the chance to share their idols’ first win. Surely, the Glories who couldn’t be there were celebrating behind their screens as well.

The broadcast staff looked pleased that Pentagram had achieved their first win on their program. In the distance, Yong-ha was excitedly calling the company about the results they achieved earlier than expected, and Ha-neul was wiping her eyes, having clearly cried.

Ji-ho realized it. He was the only one here who couldn’t be genuinely happy. The stage—the place where he used to forget everything through sheer passion—was no longer there for him.

The catharsis that used to surge on stage, the addictive immersion he once felt, no longer existed for Ji-ho.

It had only taken half a day. That was all the time it took for the stage, a place he had desperately wanted to stand on, to become such a suffocating space.

Ji-ho was no longer having fun. Even at this special moment where he had achieved his goal.

On this stage, where he felt like he was in a different world all by himself, he just wanted to get down right this second.

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

The excitement of the win didn’t die down easily. Ha-un, especially talkative, chattered away without rest.

“Hyung, Yong-ha Hyung! What did the company say? We got first place—shouldn’t the CEO stop his trip and come back to Korea? I kept mentioning him on purpose.”

“Stop making such a fuss, Lee Ha-un.”

“I’m not scared of Se-han Hyung at all right now! Hyung, you stuttered so much during the speech because you were so happy. I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you shake like that.”

They would have loved to have a group dinner to celebrate, but with Pentagram’s packed schedule, it was impossible. Their next event was a night performance in Gyeonggi Province, so it was impossible to focus solely on the joy.

“Everyone, quiet down. You know we still have a schedule left, right? Even after rush hour, the roads might be blocked, so get in the car. Let’s move.”

Yong-ha spoke with a forced sternness, fearing the members might make a mistake in their excited state. It didn’t seem very effective, though.

As the noisy members climbed into the van, Noah quietly approached Ji-ho. Ji-ho, who had shared that uncomfortable conversation with Noah before the broadcast, looked at him with wary eyes.

“Jung Ji-ho, swap seats with me. The smell in the back is so bad I can’t stand it. You don’t really care about smells anyway.”

“Huh?”

Noah’s sudden request was completely unexpected. He acted as if he didn’t even remember the conversation where he had snapped about Ji-ho cleaning up after him.

Seeing Ji-ho not immediately understand, Noah’s gaze drifted elsewhere for a moment. For some reason, his tone felt a bit awkward.

Only then could Ji-ho read his intention.

‘This is Kang Noah’s own way of saying he’s sorry.’

He thought the walls were up and wouldn’t come down easily, so he felt relieved that Noah had offered a gesture of reconciliation first. Since they were roommates, staying on awkward terms would have been uncomfortable.

But in that moment, a question arose in Ji-ho’s mind.

For the prideful Noah, this was likely his best effort at reaching out—but what did this gesture mean?

Was he admitting he was wrong to dismiss the things Ji-ho endured for the group as a waste of time, or for crushing the years they spent together by treating him like a stranger? Or was it just an obligatory act, deciding it was better to ease the tension with a member rather than ruin the good mood from the win?

Normally, he wouldn’t have had such negative thoughts, but strangely, Ji-ho’s mind began to imagine unfamiliar narratives. He asked himself if he was really going to leave this mystery unsolved—if he was going to pretend to be okay and let it pass this time too, just like he always had.

“…I guess Ha-un wasn’t just whining to Yong-ha Hyung about getting the car washed. You know the front seat is narrow, right? It might be uncomfortable for your legs—will you be okay?”

“It’s fine.”

However, behaviors ingrained in the body and etched into the mind do not change easily. His “idol” persona blocked his curiosity, telling him he shouldn’t cause discord within the group during such a moving moment as their first win.

Hanging a smile on his face and pretending to be nonchalant had become an all-too-natural habit for Ji-ho.

“Okay. I’ll sit in the back.”

Noah, seemingly thinking Ji-ho had accepted his “apology-that-wasn’t-an-apology,” turned his attention to Ha-un, who was whining about Ji-ho switching seats. Noah’s handsome face was already cleared of its earlier embarrassed expression.

“Ah, Ji-ho Hyung! Why are you sitting in the back? Your seat always has to be next to mine.”

“Lee Ha-un, do you want to die? I’m going to sleep on the way, so if you wake me up, watch out.”

“See? Noah Hyung is so mean.”

“I only swapped for a bit. We have one more schedule. I’ll stay awake and hang out with you on the way to the venue.”

“Okay! You have to, Ji-ho Hyung.”

The interaction with Noah ended with such hollow simplicity.

Ji-ho wondered if the conversation they’d had in the station lounge had actually happened. He wondered if he had been so depressed all day that he’d exaggerated Noah’s words out of paranoia.

Could that conversation really be resolved and moved past like this?

As he sat in Noah’s original seat and fiddled with a seatbelt that wouldn’t click properly, Ji-ho continued to worry. At least until Go-un, sitting next to him, spoke up.

“Why are you fidgeting? If this seat is uncomfortable, you shouldn’t have swapped with Kang Noah.”

“Huh? Oh, the seatbelt feels a bit loose, so I was trying to re-fasten it. Sorry. Did I keep bumping into you?”

Knowing that Go-un, who was usually stoic toward any stimulus, found contact with him particularly burdensome, Ji-ho apologized and let go of the seatbelt. Ji-ho was now someone who reflexively apologized first, regardless of the reason.

“It’s probably just because you always sit in the front.”

“Is that it? You’re right. It clicks in now.”

No more words were exchanged with Go-un after that. As always, he simply started the mobile game he played whenever he was in the car and kept his mouth shut.

Strangely, Ji-ho found this silence incredibly uncomfortable. Even though he was in a vehicle he rode in every single day.