The Dream That Started from Evasion

In a rural area far from the city, children from three villages attended a single elementary school.
Because of that, eight-year-old Jiho had to spend a long time commuting to and from school every day.

But that time was never tiring at all.
He’d sing along to the children’s animation songs played by the village bus driver, munch on snacks handed out by passing neighbors, and chatter noisily with his friends as they walked, making the journey so fun and enjoyable that he arrived near home in what felt like an instant.

Jiho was especially excited that day.
Even while walking alone after parting with his friends on the way home, he hummed tunes and spun around in place.

“On your way home?”

The lady running the village supermarket spotted Jiho and greeted him warmly.

“Hello!”

“Just seeing our Jiho smile makes me happy too.”

There wasn’t a single adult in the village who didn’t know Jiho.
Part of it was because kids were rare in the countryside, but Jiho also stood out among his peers with his particularly cute appearance.

Moreover, having lost his parents at a young age and living alone with his grandmother—plus the fact that his grandmother’s family had once been respected locals who rented out fields cheaply to villagers—made it natural for the village adults to care for Jiho with all their hearts.

“Here, pick out a snack you like and take it.”

The supermarket lady, in particular, couldn’t stand not giving Jiho something every time she saw him.
It was partly because he was so adorable, but she also knew well the family’s dire circumstances, a far cry from their past glory.

“Thank you. But it’s okay. I already ate a candy the grandpa from the blue house gave me earlier. Grandma said I can only have one sweet a day.”

“Aigoo, what a smart kid. But what’s that in your hand?”

A piece of paper caught her eye in Jiho’s small hand.
It was crumpled at the edges, as if he’d been holding it the whole way without putting it in his bag.

At her words, the child clutched the paper preciously to his chest.
Then he smiled more brightly than ever.

“I’m going to show it to Grandma!”

With just those words, he bowed politely and scurried off toward home, his back exuding a child’s pure innocence.
The lady’s laughter followed behind him.

As home drew closer, the smile on the child’s face grew even brighter.
A flush rose on his chubby cheeks that still had baby fat, his round eyes with long, doll-like lashes kept blinking, and his short, white arms peeked from his sleeves, swinging back and forth nonstop.

On the paper in Jiho’s hand were the words ‘Life Notification Report.’
It was clearly a report card evaluating the child’s academic performance over the semester.

He was only just eight years old.
First graders who had just entered elementary school didn’t take separate exams yet.
It was too early to rank them by class standing or assign scores to distinguish the kids.

But in Korea, where students study 12 years just for the college entrance exam, there was no way there’d be zero performance evaluation—even for first graders, whose levels varied wildly based on their pre-school environments.

Jiho recalled the teacher who had given him the report.

She had worried about his tough family situation and the fact that he barely knew Hangul when he started school.
But when Jiho picked up Hangul in just a few weeks and showed quick aptitude in all subjects, the teacher was genuinely amazed.

‘Take this report card home and show it to your parents… no, your grandma for sure. She’ll be so proud of how well you did.’

The teacher had praised him lavishly, and his classmates envied him.
The evaluation was divided into five levels, with the highest being ‘Excellent,’ and not only did he get top marks, but the ‘Other’ section was filled with comments about his exceptional cleverness.

What Jiho liked most was the teacher’s words that Grandma would be happy.

“Yeah. If I show her this, Grandma will smile too!”

Maybe, like the other adults, she’d pat his head and praise him.
He hoped that seeing the report and the teacher’s comments would change Grandma, who always only nagged him about what not to do.

With that excited heart, Jiho pushed open the rusted gate.

The inside of the house was dark and stuffy with a musty smell.
With all the curtains drawn, no sunlight came in properly, and the space was filled with the noise of a broken TV flickering with static.

In the midst of it sat an old woman.
She was Jiho’s maternal grandmother.

Only after the child called out to Grandma several times did the old woman turn her head.
Jiho handed the report card in his hand to the grandmother looking at him with a bright face.

And—

“…did it. …Just like your mother……!”

The grandmother’s calm face twisted like a monster’s.
The affection in her eyes for her grandson didn’t disappear, but it was overshadowed by a mad obsession.

Jiho stepped back one step, two steps.
The bright child’s face gradually darkened.
Moist tears welled in his sparkling big eyes, and his rosy cheeks grew pale.

In the meantime, mumbling words and noisy song-like sounds filled the space as if blocked by something.
Grandma pointed at a frame on the wall or toward the blaring TV, shouting.
The child held back tears to the end, and the old woman never calmed her anger.

The smart child knew.
How to bring back the Grandma who had changed after Mom died.
What he had to do to make her see him again as the grandson she usually loved.

No more sadness or fear remained on Jiho’s face.

The child, who had regained his smile, shouted to Grandma.

“Don’t worry, Grandma. When I grow up, I’ll become a singer like Dad!”

A mere escape choice.
That was the beginning of Jiho’s dream.

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

[It’s been a while since I had this dream.]

Whenever he was pushed to the edge by harsh realities, he would dream of his childhood.

When Grandma passed and he had to go to the orphanage, when he was cut from D&T and had to give up six years of trainee life, when ‘that incident’ happened because of Kim Jun-oh.

And today.

Every time he had that dream, Jiho thought: Was becoming a singer, an idol—so fervently desired by others—so hard because he chose it for such a cowardly reason?

Like finally winning first place, only for a car accident disaster to strike.

“Ugh!”

Jiho, reflexively trying to sit up, let out a groan from his whole body throbbing like he’d been beaten.
Even lying flat, blood rushed to his head like he was doing a handstand, forcing him to close his eyes again.

Only after lying like that for a while could he get used to the painful sensation and open his eyes once more.

An unfamiliar ceiling and white space entered his view.
Jiho realized where he was.

[An accident happened, and I’m in the hospital.]

Strangely unfamiliar to him, Jiho didn’t clearly remember everything from the accident.
What he definitely recalled was the massive impact hitting the car body and him being flung out of the vehicle.
Among those, the despair felt just before losing consciousness and the following self-loathing were the most vivid.

“…Ho-ssi, Jeong Ji-ho-ssi?”

Only then did he notice a stranger standing by his bed.
With his stiff neck, he barely glanced sideways—it was clearly medical staff.

“Are you conscious? This is the special room at A Hospital. Jeong Ji-ho-ssi was in a coma in the ICU for 3 days, and it’s now been 7 days since the accident. Can you understand me?”

“A week since the accident… cough, has passed?”

Jiho coughed repeatedly, expressing shock through his parched throat that made speaking hard.
The medical staff’s detailed explanation that followed surprised him even more.

“Yes, that’s right. Seven days ago, Jeong Ji-ho-ssi was brought here after a traffic accident. After regaining consciousness, you underwent two surgeries, and you’ve been in a reduced consciousness state due to anesthesia until now. May we proceed with a brief check-up?”

“…Yes, yes.”

The accident felt like it happened just yesterday, but it was a whole week ago.

Jiho followed the staff’s instructions to move his eyes along the light, unable to hide his bewilderment.
If not for his body feeling like a heavy rock and his throat too sore to speak, he would’ve sat up right away to ask his questions.

But Jiho couldn’t hold out long.
Whether from the anesthesia the staff mentioned or his condition worsening again, heavy drowsiness washed over him.

He fell asleep once more, then woke again.

This time, a familiar face was by his side.

“Haneul… unnie?”

“Jiho, Jiho-ya! They said you’d wake by today—thank goodness. Wait, let me call the nurse first.”

Hearing Haneul’s words mixed with relief and urgency, Jiho fully opened his eyes.
The previous haze and body-wide pain had thankfully subsided.
The only notable pain was his left leg, but compared to what he’d felt after the accident, it was bearable.

Another simple check-up was done, and thanks to the semi-automatic hospital bed, Jiho could raise his upper body.
He was curious about his left leg, wrapped hugely in plaster cast—not just simple treatment.

But the first question he rasped to Haneul through his dry throat was different from his doubts.

“Are the members all okay? Yongha hyung… unnie, you don’t need treatment?”

“It’s been ten days since the accident, including the times you woke and slept. You were the most seriously injured, and the rest of us, including me, had minor injuries and already got treated.”

“Ten days… I woke multiple times? I can’t remember properly. It feels so weird.”

“Even when you woke, you couldn’t speak, but the hospital said it’s fine. They said you’d recover by today, so I waited. Glad you woke up, Jiho-ya.”

“Me too… relieved everyone’s safe.”

He vaguely remembered anxiety when flung from the car and collapsing on the ground—worrying if anyone in the vehicle had severe injuries.
How terrified he’d been at that thought.

Jiho felt immense relief.
Hearing all the other members were safe made him forget even his questions about his left leg’s condition.

Haneul went on to explain more.

There had been slight brain bleeding causing unconsciousness, but it had recovered enough to need no rehab; instead, his left leg was badly injured and required surgery with metal rods inserted; due to his special job, the room was a blocked-off special suite with hospital cooperation, and it was noisy outside, so other members couldn’t visit.

Jiho jokingly replied that who cares about visits in this situation.
On the other hand, he worried how chaotic the accident must be to block even members’ visits.

“So Team Leader Lee and I took turns checking on your room. Too risky to leave it to other staff—leakage concerns.”

“Sorry for the trouble… but thank you. Wait… what about Yongha hyung?”

With no family, it was natural for company staff to watch over him, but the first should be manager Yongha.
So Jiho asked Haneul, puzzled.

For a very brief moment, Haneul’s expression darkened.