The Falling Star

Even as the van sped down the highway, Ha-un’s excitement showed no signs of fading. He was dying to tell the whole world about the joy he was feeling, so it was only natural that he pulled out his phone.

“Oh, the PR team already posted the win shot on our official Upstagram! I should tag everyone so they see it.”

“Lee Ha-un! I told you to lay off personal SNS for a while! Didn’t you already post a photo this morning?”

“It’s the day we got our first win, give me a break just once. We even pushed back the celebratory live stream because of the schedule—if it’s too quiet, the fans will complain that we’re not communicating.”

Yong-ha started to say something back, but a car suddenly cutting in front of them forced him to focus on the road. With Ha-neul half-dozing in the passenger seat from exhaustion, there was no one left to stop Ha-un.

Grinning like a mischievous child, he naturally sought out Ji-ho in the back seat.

“What should I write, Hyung? Ji-ho Hyung?”

“Huh? Sorry. I didn’t catch that. What did you say?”

“You must be tired too. We did run around a lot during the encore. I want to post something touching on Upstagram—give me some ideas.”

Ji-ho, who had been lost in thought, finally snapped back to reality and looked down at the phone Ha-un held out.

In that instant, a flash of déjà vu hit him.

The video pointing out his choreography mistake, the ‘like’ Ha-un had left on it, and the blunt community posts that followed—it all played vividly in his mind. Starting from that, the events of the day he had tried so hard to ignore came pouring back.

Someone’s comment calling him a “pancake flipper,” the manager casually giving coffee to a singer sensitive to caffeine, the public insults shouted at him on the way to work, the station staff ignoring him due to his lack of recognition, the company neglecting him compared to the other members, and that fan’s murmur about only liking him because he was “good value for money.”

‘If I were him and heard that from a fan, I’d focus more on my own job.’

‘No matter how I look at it, Ji-ho Hyung just doesn’t suit being an idol.’

‘That stuff is disgusting, so if you’re going to do it, do it with the other members.’

‘Ha. I didn’t know you were such a good liar, Jung Ji-ho.’

There were so many other things.

The members moving further away while he stood still; the loneliness of feeling isolated even on stage together; the agonizing thought that his attempts to help the team might have actually been a burden. Even the self-loathing for failing the fans he claimed to treasure because he couldn’t handle a little pressure—it all made Ji-ho feel small.

As if the harsh reality wasn’t enough, having to recall the past involving Kim Jun-o was agonizing. Because he could never forget it—because he had to hide it from everyone—Ji-ho felt suffocated.

“Maybe I should think positively… that all that misfortune during the day led to the good result of the #1 win.”

He had to think that way. It was the only way to endure.

Hearing Ji-ho’s murmur, Ha-un asked with a puzzled look.

“Misfortune? What misfortune?”

“Oh, did I say that out loud? It’s just…”

Fortunately, Ha-un didn’t notice Ji-ho’s depression. Perhaps he just didn’t want to worry about anything else during such a happy moment. He simply whined to Ji-ho with his usual playful, youngest-member face.

“Is it some kind of famous quote? Doesn’t seem to fit a post bragging about a win. Whatever, I’ll just write what I want. I just need you to check it, okay? You said you’d stay awake and play with me even if you’re tired.”

“Alright. Just don’t make it sound too much like bragging, and make sure to include a thank you to the Glories. Be as humble as possible, okay?”

“If you’re going to be like that, just write it for me! Stop nagging.”

“…Give me the phone.”

Yes, he could still endure a little longer.

Believing that even in these small tasks, the group needed his role, Ji-ho took Ha-un’s phone and steadied his heart once more.

Through the window beyond the phone, he saw the outside scenery rushing past. It was dark, so all he could see were the shifting lights, but they moved so fast they were hard to keep up with.

Just like this van tearing down the road, it was certain that Pentagram’s future would be brilliant. Even if he was criticized for being greedy, Ji-ho didn’t want to give up this fruit they had finally borne after so much hardship.

Ji-ho didn’t want to get off here—not from Pentagram. Even if he was uselessly taking up space, he didn’t want to give up this spot of his own will.

“Hyung, since we got first place, we’ll probably get better commercials and stuff, right? I really want to be a luxury ‘Ambissador’ too!”

“Ambassador. You’re embarrassing, Lee Ha-un. What even is an ‘Ambissador’?”

“Ugh, Noah Hyung, I thought you were sleeping, why are you awake? Ambissador… Ambissador… there’s something there. Where did I hear that?”

“It came up in that game you and Go-un play. You mentioned it last time.”

“Daebak. Ji-ho Hyung really has the best memory. That’s right! Anyway, that’s not the point…!”

“Be quiet.”

“Se-han Hyung is awake too. None of you can sleep because you’re so happy, right? See, I’m not the weird one. Oh, Go-un Hyung laughed. Is it because I said Ambissador earlier?”

Even if they didn’t know his sorrow, even if he was hurt because of it, Ji-ho didn’t want to leave the members who were his family, brothers, and friends. As comrades sharing the same dream, he wanted to continue sharing these small daily moments—to stay together like this.

Was this wish of Ji-ho’s a form of greed? Or was heaven punishing him for the cowardice of turning away from reality?

The accident happened in the blink of an eye.

It started with Yong-ha’s shout of “Whoa!” and a startled Ha-neul waking up to ask, “Oppa, what’s wrong?” By the time Ji-ho, sitting in the back and unable to see the road clearly, realized the car was moving unusually fast, Ha-un was already screaming.

Then, a massive impact slammed into the vehicle. CRASH.

That was all Ji-ho remembered.

When he opened his eyes again, he realized he was lying facedown on the ground. He had been sitting in the car just a moment ago—why was he on the ground? Was he dreaming? At first, he was simply confused.

At the same time, his whole body hurt. No, it was a strange sensation he had never felt before. It felt like a tickling sensation mixed with the feeling of his entire body being crushed by heavy boulders. He wanted to scream, but no words came out. His mind was hazy as if he’d lost consciousness, yet strangely clear.

Only after staying in that mysterious state for a long time did Ji-ho realize he had been in a car accident. The thought that he might have been thrown from the vehicle came to him quickly.

With that realization, all sorts of chaos flooded into Ji-ho’s ears. Familiar voices shouting desperately, the sound of car horns, and the voice of a man giving directions. Strangely, the sound of sirens was faint; Ji-ho hoped it wasn’t an auditory hallucination born from his longing for an ambulance.

His vision began to fade.

Only then did he feel a particularly sharp pain in his left leg. The possibility of being injured made him worry about the others in the car. Even though he knew lifting his head could worsen a potential neck injury, Ji-ho instinctively looked forward.

Red, white, and yellow lights filled his vision. Only after forcing his neck up and narrowing his eyes could he see what he was looking for.

The Pentagram van he had been in moments ago was lying on its side in the distance. It had clearly overturned in the accident. He didn’t know what it had hit or how hard, but Ji-ho was terrified.

‘Yong-ha Hyung… the members… Ha-neul, Ha-neul Noona was there too.’

His own condition no longer mattered. The fact that he could think and see this clearly made him hope he wasn’t badly hurt. He was terrified that someone inside might be seriously injured, or that something even more horrific had happened.

He tried to crawl using his right hand, which had no strength, but his heavy body didn’t move an inch. A sense of helplessness washed over him as he lay there, unable to move a muscle.

Time continued to pass in that state.

No matter how summer-like the weather was, lying on the asphalt should have been chilling, but Ji-ho couldn’t even feel that. He was equally unaware of his consciousness blinking in and out.

Because Ji-ho had already experienced losing someone close to him, bad thoughts kept entering his mind. The fact that no one was coming to pick him up felt like an omen of the despair to come.

‘No. I have to at least get up and save everyone…’

What if he, who had been thrown from the car, was the only one okay? The sirens still sounded so faint; what if they were fake and rescue arrived too late?

If something truly terrible happened to everyone in that car—if a massive tragedy befell them all—

‘Will I be alone again?’

It was a truly selfish thought. In the end, he had endured everything out of fear of being alone, and even in this moment of crisis, that was his worry. Ji-ho loathed himself for it.

In the end, it felt like it was all his fault.

Perhaps all the misfortune that had struck him today was a warning of this accident. Perhaps this was the punishment for his greed in not wanting to leave a successful group and his cowardice in not wanting to be hated.

Even if it was an illogical thought born of a chaotic situation, Ji-ho regretted deeply. His heart felt so tight it could burst; if he could have moved, he would have clutched his chest.

As he sank into self-loathing, his vision gradually blurred. Praying that the worst case he was imagining wouldn’t come true, Ji-ho kept his eyes fixed on the van where his members were until the very moment they closed.

Buried deep within a complex mix of worry, fear, regret, anxiety, loneliness, and self-loathing—

That night, a breaking news report went live.

A vehicle carrying the popular idol group Pentagram had been in a traffic accident, and one of the members was reported to be in critical condition.