A Glimmer of Hope in the Rain

The moment I returned to the dorm last night, I called my own number. My mother or sister would probably answer. Fearing the battery might be dead and the call wouldn’t go through, I pressed the call button. Before the dial tone could ring twice, a familiar voice answered.

–Jio’s friend?

It was Son Yoonjae, the leader of Red Moon.

‘…Yes, hello. I was wondering if I could visit Jio tomorrow, as I’ll have some free time.’

After a brief silence, he replied.

–It’s difficult for me to say you can just come as you please. I’ll ask Jio’s mother and then call you back on this number.

Less than ten minutes after hanging up, he called back, saying it would be fine for me to come any time tomorrow, and that Jio’s mother was very happy about it.

Upon reflection, even before considering Kwon Yohan’s social circle, I realized I didn’t have many people around me either. Having been a trainee since high school, it had been difficult to make friends. After debut, I had been cooped up in the practice room, so if asked to name a few close acquaintances, all I could list were the names of my fellow members.

Even my usually stoic mother seemed to be deeply bothered by how few visitors came to see her son, who lay unconscious. The thought kept gnawing at me, making me toss and turn all night.

“Ugh…”

Clasping my throbbing head, I began getting ready to leave early. For some reason, Han Doyoung was already in the living room, the first one awake, sitting on the sofa with his arms crossed.

“Are you really going?”

‘Why is he suddenly acting so pathetic, it doesn’t suit him.’

“Yeah.”

“Alright. Go ahead.”

Leaving Han Doyoung, who had slumped back onto the sofa with a heavy sigh, I departed from the dorm.

The weather was such that cherry blossoms were still in full bloom. A gentle breeze stirred, and the sky was exceptionally clear. With my face thoroughly obscured by a mask and hat, I followed the address Leader had sent me and made my way to the hospital.

Finding Jio’s bed in the hospital room was not difficult. This was thanks to a man sitting blankly in a chair. Son Yoonjae’s face, staring intently at the raised bed as if oblivious to my presence, had grown strikingly gaunt in just a few days.

“Um… Mr. Son Yoonjae?”

Only when his name was called did he lift his head.

“Ah! Jio’s friend!”

He stared at me with wide, rounded eyes, as if he hadn’t been lost in thought moments before. His expression was utterly harmless and gentle. He fussed about, bringing over another chair.

“You’re using a double room?”

“Maknae paid for the hospitalization, so we got it. We’ll probably be moving soon, though.”

Fortunately, the adjacent bed was empty. Taking off my stifling mask, I gazed at the body lying on the bed. The sight of bandages wrapped around his head and arms, with machines connected to him, was utterly surreal.

The man’s face was utterly pale, devoid of color. Had I not seen his chest rising and falling faintly but steadily, I might have mistaken him for a corpse. My stomach churned.

“Oh, are you… perhaps HEX’s Yohan?”

The voice pulled my mind back from the brink of despair. Leader, who had been bustling about, retrieving bottled drinks from the refrigerator, seemed to have finally recognized my face now that I had removed my mask.

His round eyes blinked rapidly, and his hands fumbled to open a tomato juice, despite it being a drink he didn’t even like. I quickly swapped the aloe juice I had been handed for the open tomato juice.

“Jio’s friend? HEX’s Yohan? Oh, I’m, I’m sorry. I was just surprised. Wow… how did this happen? He said he was going to introduce me to a trainer before. So I naturally assumed you were college friends.”

His continuous exclamations of “Wow. Wow.” made him seem like a child. Faced with a slightly different reaction than expected, I quickly racked my brain for an excuse.

“We met at an acrobatics academy a while ago.”

Kwon Yohan would never attend such a place, but I had gone there for a few months about a year ago. Son Yoonjae would likely remember that, so he wouldn’t find anything strange about it.

“Ah, so that’s why he changed his number…”

Fortunately, he seemed to have pieced together the puzzle in his mind. It would make perfect sense if Kwon Yohan had changed his contact information to block unnecessary calls after becoming famous.

“Jio, honestly. If he knew such a famous friend, he should have at least mentioned it. That’s just how he is. I’ve never seen him make a fuss about anything, you know?”

“…He’s not exactly the most affectionate, is he?”

“Oh, not really.”

He chuckled softly, then gently stroked Jio’s cheek, who was lying on the bed.

“He’s just shy about showing his feelings.”

A warm, affectionate glow settled on Son Yoonjae’s face as he spoke in that hushed tone. He had always looked at the members, myself included, with such tender affection. Always unwavering, even after countless setbacks.

I suddenly realized. Among the various reasons I had managed to endure for seven long years, his presence accounted for a significant portion. My stomach churned once more.

****

Only once had we performed on a university festival stage. This was thanks to a cover medley of past hit songs on a Lunar New Year special music show, which had briefly become a hot topic. It also helped that the school’s festival budget was insufficient to invite truly popular celebrities who would garner a strong reaction from students.

Just as a single drop of paint spreads more vividly in clear water, we were keenly aware that our stagnant activities had finally found a small breath of fresh air.

Looking back now, if only we had abandoned the obscure concept we had clung to even then. If only we had shed our mysterious image and simply acted like other idols, our story wouldn’t have ended so futilely.

However, the CEO’s thoughts diverged.

‘This is precisely the time to try something even more unconventional.’

The concept he brought back was ‘shaman’. Among countless sources that could evoke a Korean atmosphere, he insisted on *that*. Even then, there were plenty of ways to interpret it positively and create something good, but he stubbornly fixated on garish, multi-colored hues, making the costumes particularly bizarre.

The fleeting, migratory fans who had shown momentary interest moved on. On the event stage, we couldn’t perform even a single one of our own songs. This was due to the strong demand from the event organizer that we only perform cover songs.

In the cramped waiting room, Maknae grumbled as he re-tied his shoelaces.

‘Sometimes I wonder if we’re even idols anymore. Is this an amateur cover team stage or an idol stage?’

‘So you want to go on that stage with our current title track?’

‘No, not exactly…’

Though we had prepared ourselves, the audience’s reaction to our performance was chillingly indifferent. It was only natural that interest in a cover stage would wane, unless the original artists themselves were performing. This was especially true because the poor sound equipment forced us to lip-sync to pre-recorded tracks that had been arranged and mixed.

As if matters couldn’t get worse, an untimely shower poured down that day.

There were a few students who had been watching intently, confident in our dancing. But as raindrops began to fall on their heads, even they grew visibly annoyed and started to leave, one by one. With each successive song, the audience dwindled like water pouring from a bottomless pot.

Yet, three songs still remained.

‘Should we call it quits?’

The engineer’s loud voice cut through the short pause between songs. Only a handful of people, clad in raincoats, remained, looking uncertainly at us.

Most of them were fans who had been with us since our debut.

‘Guys! You can go inside! You’re completely drenched!’

A worried shout reached us. They were right. We were soaked from head to toe, our clothes clinging unpleasantly to our bodies, and the thoroughly wet stage floor was slick. Our footing felt precarious, as if we were dancing on ice.

‘Since it’s due to bad weather, we’ll still get paid the full event fee, right?’ Just as this sudden, practical concern surfaced, a forgotten wave of exhaustion washed over me.

‘No! We’ll finish it!’

Our Leader declared, completely unshaken and as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

The members, who had been staring at the engineer with relaxed, deflated postures, now adjusted their formation to begin the next song. And so, we completed the request for the largest event we had ever received, the first and last of its kind, performing every single song until the very end.

For an audience of fewer than ten people. And to leave behind proof that we had not given up.

‘Excuse me, but… could we perform just one of our own songs?’

Leader, who was usually not one to assert himself, found his voice that day. Perhaps it was thanks to the shared emotion that permeated the air. His request was granted.

‘Which one! Hurry up and tell me. I’m freezing to death!’

‘Just a moment. I’ll go!’

The song he ran to choose was the title track from our debut single.

On the slippery stage, we nearly stumbled countless times, but we held each other steady and safely finished even this last, hard-won song. Someone burst into tears, trusting that the pouring rain would conceal their sorrow.

That sense of unity from that day is still etched in my heart. It was around that time that I began to see our fans not as a thread of faint hope, but as my people, whom I should never betray.

And that day was the last stage we performed as seven members.

****

Miracles, then as now, simply did not occur. Son Yoonjae and I were passing the time, exchanging awkward small talk. The body, whose state of life or death remained uncertain, showed no sign of opening its eyes and waking.

It seemed unlikely that staying longer would yield any different results. Perhaps it was time to leave. I glanced up at the wall clock, and the question that had lingered since last night resurfaced.

“Are you staying here constantly, Leader? What about your family?”

“Ah, about that.”

He scratched his cheek with an embarrassed expression as he replied.

“If you’re close with Jio, you know, right? Our group disbanded. So I’m currently unemployed. Jio’s mother and sister both have to go to work, and I couldn’t bear to leave Jio alone. So, here I am.”

“So you sleep here too?”

“Yes. If you look underneath, there’s a caregiver’s bed.”

He pulled out a low, narrow bed from beneath the patient’s bed, showing it to me slightly. My sleeping habits aren’t good; wouldn’t I roll off sleeping on something like this? Though it was so low, I probably wouldn’t get hurt if I fell.

“What’s wrong with Jio that he can’t wake up?”

“The doctor says they don’t know. They say there are no major abnormalities that would prevent him from waking up.”

“Hmm…”

Should I consider the lack of abnormalities a good thing? At least it meant there was still a possibility of him returning. But when would that be? A few hours later? A few days later? Or months, or even years from now?

It felt as though this stubbornly persistent person would remain here indefinitely, abandoning any thought of moving forward unless someone gave him a push.

“What a shame.”

“Huh? What is?”

“Jio always boasted about it. How well his main vocalist sang.”

“What?!” Son Yoonjae’s ears instantly flushed crimson, and his eyes darted around, unable to find a place to rest. ‘What kind of things does he go around saying?’ I covered my cheeks with both hands, a soft laugh escaping me at my own muttered thought.

“If Jio finds out you’re wasting your time here when he wakes up, he won’t be happy. He might even think you’re sacrificing your time for him. If there’s no telling when he’ll wake up… wouldn’t it be better for you to do your own work?”

“…That’s true, but then I’d have to leave Jio alone…”

“You said you’re moving rooms anyway. You can just move him to a multi-person room where the nurses can look after him.”

His lips, which had been chattering so diligently, now clamped shut like a clam. The ticking of the second hand filled the empty silence. Only after the minute hand had moved a notch did Son Yoonjae open his mouth, as if having made a decision.

“I understand what you mean.”

“Then.”

“Honestly, I’m at a loss right now as to what to do. I’ll think about it… and I’ll make sure not to disappoint Jio.”

‘You don’t need to worry so much, Yohan.’ His kind words and the pat on my back were unexpectedly mature. Like a late spring day with a sudden downpour.

I declined his offer to buy me lunch, using a non-existent schedule as an excuse, and rose from my seat. For now, it seemed I had fulfilled my duty.