The Orange Game and a Burst of Emotion

The next segment featured the Orange Game, which comprised two distinct challenges. The first involved contestants swinging their arms to create the largest possible ‘orange’ shape, with elimination occurring if one failed to surpass the size achieved by the previous player. The second challenge required moving an actual orange without using one’s hands.

In the former challenge, Lee Seon, who had been brimming with excessive enthusiasm since the moment filming began, truly shone. His spirited efforts, even resorting to tumbling, elicited laughter from the staff. Yoon Jihyuk, next in line, merely offered a refined smile before gracefully declaring his forfeit. Consequently, Lee Seon’s indignant and bewildered expression, mouth agape, was likely to make for quite an amusing scene when broadcast.

As the loser, Yoon Jihyuk effortlessly executed the *aegyo* assigned as his penalty. Wearing a rabbit headband and speaking in a cutesy, lisping voice, he managed to do so without appearing to ‘ruin’ his image, which, in a way, seemed like a talent in itself.

The real challenge, however, lay in the second type of Orange Game. With the production team offering prizes for fans, a successful outcome was imperative, yet…

“Oh no.”

To my dismay, I was utterly terrible at it. Despite not having a short neck, the orange repeatedly slipped from its precarious position, rolling away. Each time my turn came, I found myself returning to the starting point. As the allotted time dwindled, my increasing desperation only made it harder to grasp the knack of it.

Unable to bear watching any longer, Han Doyoung huffed in frustration and yanked my arm. Then, he firmly gripped my chin, tilting my head upwards until my neck craned back, revealing the ceiling.

“Why are you so bad at this? Did you grease your neck?”

While I suspected he was the fiercely competitive type, he seemed a tad *too* agitated. My body, pushed by his strength, continued to bend backward, teetering on the verge of falling. It was only when the MCs intervened, coaxing him with ‘Woah, woah,’ as if separating squabbling puppies, that Han Doyoung finally released me.

“Cough.”

I winced, rubbing the spot where he had gripped me. His powerful grasp had left my bones aching. Without a single word of apology, Han Doyoung simply moved to another position.

“Switch places.”

It was almost a command.

“Kwon Yohan, you come right to the front here.”

He was pointing to the spot directly in front of him.

I didn’t move immediately, instead glancing around at the other members. I had half a mind to resist if even one of them showed a hint of dissatisfaction, but they all seemed to treat his tone as inconsequential, readily finding their new places. It was likely because they shared a unified goal: success.

Reluctantly, I moved to the spot Han Doyoung had indicated.

“Hoo…”

After taking a small, deep breath, I placed the orange against my neck. I hadn’t thought it would work, but by positioning it myself with my hands instead of receiving it from someone else, it settled surprisingly well between my chin and shoulder.

I waddled awkwardly, turning my body towards Han Doyoung.

Mindful of our height difference, he bent his knees and pressed his body close to mine. With one hand, he firmly cupped the back of my head, moving his own head from side to side to receive the orange. Although the game’s original intent was to create an amusingly awkward scene, from certain angles, it looked remarkably like we were sharing a deep kiss.

“What are you two doing?”

Yoon Jihyuk, who had been waiting for his turn, asked with an undertone of mischief, making my face burn even hotter.

Once the orange was finally transferred, it smoothly made its way down the line. It reached Choi Seung-beom, the last in line, and was returned to the front in an instant. While other members also experienced some peculiar contact during the transfer, it was fleeting at best.

“…”

Han Doyoung, having received the orange back around his neck, stared at me with eyes that burned with intense resolve. Without a word, his thoughts were perfectly clear: ‘Drop it this time, and I’ll kill you.’

I let out a deep sigh, rising onto my tiptoes and pressing my body close to his.

“Ugh, this really is a weird sight.”

After much more awkward maneuvering, I finally managed to receive the orange. With an exhausted expression, I handed the accursed orange fruit to the MC in front of me, who chuckled and remarked,

“What’s so difficult about this that you’re making such a devastated face?”

Swallowing a sigh, I retorted,

“I sincerely hope both of you get to try it too.”

Turning my head, I saw Han Doyoung clenching his fist, wearing a triumphant expression. He seemed immensely pleased with having successfully completed the game.

“…Are you happy?”

I murmured softly as I returned to my spot. Han Doyoung blinked slowly, then tilted his head, a clear indication that he hadn’t grasped the meaning of my question.

“Wouldn’t you be happy doing something good for the fans?”

He possessed an unexpectedly wholesome mindset. Amusingly, that single remark dissolved the lingering unpleasantness I felt. Frankly, I found it a little admirable.

“Well, if we couldn’t win them, I figured we could just buy them with our own money, right?”

“Oh, really now!”

The MCs, who would never miss such a conversation, created a rather unappealing nickname like ‘Yosure’ for me and stirred up a commotion before finally moving on to the ending segment.

The ending segment was a game of ‘Hot Potato’ played while singing the title track of their current album. The rules were simple: the members stood in a circle, passing a device that contained a balloon set to burst after a random interval, turning it to the right. To prolong the thrill, one could sing a long phrase; to quickly pass it on, a short one.

‘Who would find a childish segment like this entertaining?’ I wondered, suspecting it might have been haphazardly included due to a lack of ideas.

Yoon Jihyuk, who had been dramatically feigning nervousness before the song started, held onto the balloon for quite a long phrase once the game actually began. He seemed to have sung almost half of the first verse by himself. Choi Seung-beom, with an unperturbed expression, sang a similarly long passage, and Han Doyoung, though showing a hint of tension, refused to pass his turn for a considerable time, perhaps unwilling to sacrifice his pride.

The song was nearing its end.

“Everyone’s being too nonchalant about this. How will the broadcast be entertaining at this rate?”

Simultaneously with Lee Sang-joo’s words, laced with laughter, the balloon was passed to Lee Seon. Having been in a daze, Lee Seon received the balloon and began to sing half a beat late. And then,

Pop!

The balloon burst the very instant he managed to utter a single syllable.

“Ah…”

Silence fell at a moment that should have been filled with laughter. The boisterous hosts delivering their closing remarks, the members standing in a circle—everyone froze. An event no one had anticipated had just unfolded. Lee Seon, who had been playfully clowning around with a perpetually bright smile, suddenly burst into tears.

“Oh dear.”

Yoon Jihyuk, muttering softly, quickly moved to embrace the young man who was now openly weeping. His actions were so natural, it was as if he had anticipated this outcome.

Fortunately, thanks to the presence of seasoned veterans, the filming managed to conclude, albeit somewhat awkwardly. However, the persistent, inconsolable crying of a twenty-year-old lingered, casting an uncomfortable pall over the set.

Yoon Jihyuk was busy comforting Lee Seon, while Choi Seung-beom had gone to fetch water for the distressed young man. This left only one person to whom I could voice my bewilderment at this absurd situation.

“…Why is he acting like that?”

Han Doyoung wrinkled his nose, answering nonchalantly.

“He’s always had variety show anxiety, hasn’t he?”

“What?”

“And he’s incredibly shy with strangers.”

“Huh…”

‘Shy with strangers?’ I mused. He had shown no such signs during the music broadcast or even today. In fact, he was the life of the waiting room, amiably chatting with stylists, makeup artists from the salon, and the filming crew. ‘Is this what they call an ‘introverted extrovert’?’

“Hey, but what’s with *you*?”

Han Doyoung grabbed my arm, pulling me from my dazed stare at Lee Seon, who had finally stopped crying. His words were so truncated I couldn’t make sense of them, so I simply met his gaze. He ran a hand through his hair and asked again,

“You’ve been casually dropping honorifics since morning.”

“Ah, right.”

“What do you mean, ‘Ah, right’?”

“It’s just that you don’t really feel like an older brother to me. Why? Lee Seon uses informal speech with you too.”

As I spoke in a gentle tone, Han Doyoung roughly grabbed the back of his own neck. The sound of his palm hitting his skin echoed with a sharp slap.

“Your rudeness is improving by leaps and bounds.”

“Well, I suppose I’m surpassing my teacher.”

As we exchanged what sounded like insults but weren’t quite, the situation gradually sorted itself out. The production team, though initially a little flustered, seemed satisfied, believing they had captured some endearing footage. The only real casualty, perhaps, was Lee Seon, who would now appear in promotional photos looking rather disheveled.

By the time we boarded the car back to the dorms, Lee Seon had completely washed his face, which now looked fresh and dry.

“Your eyes are all puffy.”

“Mind your own business.”

“What made you so upset that you cried like that?”

Phew! Lee Seon blew his nose with a crumpled tissue from his pocket, grumbling with a disgruntled expression.

“It’s just because they startled me when I was finally starting to relax. There was nothing to be upset about.”

“I’m going to sleep. Don’t talk to me.” The young man, speaking aloofly, snapped his head towards the window and closed his eyes. ‘Uh, yeah, okay,’ I mumbled, a somewhat awkward reply slipping out.

Seeing his exposed cheeks and ears flushed red, it was clear that today’s incident had embarrassed him quite a bit. I could easily tell that Lee Seon wasn’t truly asleep, but I refrained from pressing the issue, instead fiddling with my phone.

I turned on my phone, and the document I’d been reading before falling asleep yesterday caught my eye. I recalled stopping after reading everyone’s profiles except for Lee Seon’s and Kwon Yohan’s. My thumb naturally gravitated towards the fourth entry, listed in age order.

Lee Seon.

‘Ah, there it is.’

‘Variety show anxiety. Shyness with strangers. The fans clearly knew this, but I didn’t, so I couldn’t care for him.’

‘It’s a huge relief this wasn’t live broadcast.’

The realization that a similar incident, difficult to manage, could have occurred at a less opportune moment during the recorded broadcast sent a chill down my spine.