The Accidental Fan Encounter and a Manager’s Call

Despite my gloomy mood, the spring streets still shimmered with warm hues. As I walked toward the subway station, a song from the current album began playing from a cosmetics store. Not Red Moon’s, of course, but HEX’s. Unconsciously, I paused, drawn in by the melody, only to have two young women passing by approach me.

“Excuse me…”

‘Huh?’ I replied a beat too late, bracing myself for the inevitable question.

“Aren’t you Yohan from HEX?”

“Ah, yes. That’s me.”

‘See? I told you so.’ It was clear they had deliberated for quite some time before gathering the courage to approach me. After a whispered back-and-forth between themselves, one of them abruptly stepped forward.

“Could we possibly get an autograph? I’m so sorry if you’re busy, but my friend here has been a fan since your trainee days.”

‘I don’t even know Kwon Yohan’s autograph…’

Fortunately, neither of them had paper or a pen, so I managed to avert the situation by taking a photo with them instead of signing. After that, I changed my course from the station and hailed a taxi. This was to prevent a similar encounter from happening again.

‘I’ll have to look up and memorize his autograph later.’ As I sat in the back of the taxi, realizing anew the myriad trivial things I now had to consider, my manager’s call came at an opportune moment.

“Hello?”

–Yohan-ssi. Did you go out without a driver?

Hearing their voice, I recognized them as the manager who had inquired about my schedule on the way home with Han Doyoung.

“…A driver?”

–You always called for a driver when you went out alone.

‘Right. He’s a young master, isn’t he?’ It was hard to tell whether it was a blessing or a curse to have people constantly remind me of this, just when I was about to forget.

“Was I not supposed to go out alone?”

The manager treated Kwon Yohan with particular deference, almost as if he were their superior.

–It’s not that, but since it’s comeback season and a somewhat sensitive period, the company policy has been to prevent any public sightings for the time being. I conveyed this through Jihyuk last time; did you perhaps not hear about it?

Of course, I knew nothing of it, yet it was highly unlikely that Yoon Jihyuk would have omitted Kwon Yohan when discussing such matters. After all, it was a rule, and a potential misstep could impact the group’s image.

“My apologies. I must have heard it and simply forgotten. I’m taking a taxi back to the dorm now.”

–It’s quite alright. Just be a little more careful next time.

A hint of amusement laced the manager’s voice.

–Still, the news that surfaced today actually garnered a positive response, so I think the CEO will be pleased. Don’t worry, just get home safely, Yohan-ssi.

‘News that surfaced today?’ Staring at my disconnected phone, I pondered for a moment. The only ‘sighting’ could have been those women earlier; what on earth did they post?

The answer awaited me in the HEX group chat, where the number of unread messages was suddenly surging.

[Doyoung: (Photo)]

[Doyoung: What are you doing?]

[Doyoung: So cute lol]

[Lee Seon: LOLOLOLOLOL What is Kwon Yohan doing LOLOL]

The photo Han Doyoung had uploaded was a screenshot from a certain social media platform. Along with the picture I’d taken with those women earlier, I could see tiny, appended captions.

[Found Yohan listening to the new album’s song playing at the store and asked for a pic ㅎㅎ Our baby seemed amazed that his song was playing on the streetㅋㅋㅋ He stood there for quite a while]

Quickly, I found the post myself, and the response was fervent. The comments, increasing in real-time, were overwhelmingly filled with exclamations of envy or declarations of Kwon Yohan’s cuteness.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.”

The word ‘insane’ almost escaped my lips, but I remembered there were ears listening. The taxi driver was a person, after all, and might recognize Kwon Yohan; it wouldn’t do any good to display crude language or behavior. I sighed, leaning my head against the window in exasperation.

Truly, even the most trivial actions could be interpreted in countless ways. It was the first time the word ‘extracting’ had ever resonated so powerfully with me.

****

As I entered the dorm, utterly drained, Han Doyoung burst out as if he’d been waiting, pushing me right back out the door.

“Let’s go practice. Practice.”

“I haven’t even had lunch yet.”

“Neither have I. I’ll order something for us.”

‘He’s an idol, for crying out loud. Does he not manage his diet at all?’ I was so dumbfounded I couldn’t speak. Of course, during comeback promotions, when so much energy is expended, perhaps eating whatever one desires is a valid strategy.

If I resisted going, he looked ready to carry me out, just like Choi Seung-beom did on comeback day. I decided it was better to simply follow Han Doyoung willingly.

We arrived at the practice room in less than ten minutes on foot; it was spacious and pleasant. So much so that it felt almost wasteful for just five people to use. Naturally, there was no musty air or patches of mold, unlike the practice rooms of some smaller agencies.

Even during periods when their schedules kept them from using it, the room must have been meticulously cleaned daily, as the floor was spotless enough that I felt no discomfort eating on it.

In the expansive practice room, large enough for rehearsals involving numerous backup dancers for stages like award ceremonies, we ate the *naengmyeon* Han Doyoung had ordered. His appetite was anything but ordinary. While Han Doyoung devoured a super-sized bowl of *bibim naengmyeon*, a serving of *galbi mandu*, and a separate order of *bulgogi*, I was still struggling with a single bowl of *mul naengmyeon*.

“Why are you such a slow eater?”

Han Doyoung asked, a genuine look of incomprehension on his face.

It wasn’t that I ate sparingly. On the contrary, I usually ate more than the average person, but I’d once gotten indigestion from *naengmyeon*, so I preferred to eat it slowly.

“There are no scissors. The noodles are too long.”

And that, of course, was another reason.

“Seriously, you don’t know how to eat properly.”

He grumbled, his hands moving quickly. The scattered packaging waste was swiftly and neatly gathered into a bag. I’d noticed it before, but despite his personality suggesting he’d never set foot in a kitchen, his movements were surprisingly deft.

Practice began only after I had completely finished my meal.

Starting with some light stretching, Han Doyoung intently observed my reflection in the mirror, then tilted his head before playing the current title track.

“Try dancing it alone once.”

He said, then subtly retreated, settling onto the floor. It wasn’t to rest, but rather to properly observe my movements.

While some sections felt awkward without the other members to perform the connecting movements, I executed the choreography I’d mastered over the past few days without any significant breaks in form. Unlike on stage, there was no energy from an audience, but in the spacious practice room, the sound of landing after a jump was particularly crisp, making the act of leaping genuinely enjoyable.

Soon, the song ended, and silence descended.

Han Doyoung, who had been sitting cross-legged with his arms folded, extended a hand with a serious expression. Thinking he wanted help up, I approached and took his hand, only for him to pull me down abruptly, making me land on the floor.

“That’s odd.”

The floor, where I’d half-fallen, felt cold.

“Why are you so good?”

It was difficult to discern the swirling emotions in his dark eyes. He seemed annoyed, as if he’d been deceived, yet also satisfied, and even fascinated, as if observing a subject of study. Amusingly, beneath it all, I could sense a faint undercurrent of stubborn pride. ‘But why, of all people, against Kwon Yohan?’

“I was going to set aside a day to make you start from the basic posture exercises again, but it seems that won’t be necessary.”

“Seriously, you were going to make me do basic posture exercises? I’m not some trainee who just joined the company!”

“You weren’t much different from them, you know. You have no shame.”

Han Doyoung, who had been furrowing his brow and pondering for a moment longer, suddenly pushed off his knees and sprang to his feet. His steps, heading precisely for the center of the practice room, were bold and confident.

“Let’s refine the details.”

His enthusiastic voice compelled me to rise as if enchanted.

How long had it been since I’d had a proper practice session? The time that had been a routine just a week ago now felt like a joyous pastime. It was certainly easier to grasp when taught directly by someone I’d stood on stage with, rather than simply watching videos and simulating the moves in my head.

Subtleties I’d inadvertently missed—tiny fragmented movements, even the angle of an outstretched hand—were differences one could only learn directly from the choreographer. One by one, these pieces fit together like a puzzle.

We focused intensely for two hours, raising the completeness of the title track’s choreography to its maximum potential.

“Now, for the next song…”

Han Doyoung, his face gleaming without a trace of fatigue, was already selecting a new practice song, unsatisfied with merely one. I groaned and flopped onto the floor.

“Let’s take a break. I can’t do any more right away.”

If this were my original body, I could easily match his passion, but Kwon Yohan’s feeble physique felt like a half-spun laundry load, limp and sagging. My chest rose and fell with such heavy breathing that it felt dangerously unstable.

Han Doyoung looked down at me with a displeased expression, but realizing I wasn’t just being dramatic, he lay down beside me.

“Your stamina really is lacking.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying.”

Even my short reply was raspy, mixed with unstable breaths. Han Doyoung casually rolled his body as if he were in his own living room and grabbed a bottle of water. The water bottle rolled over to me before he did.

“Anyway, from the second week on, we only perform the title track. Is there really a need to intensely practice other songs right now?”

“We should get as much done as we can while we have the chance. We’ll be preparing for a solo concert right after promotions end. Are you sure you still remember the old songs?”

“Hmm…”

How could I? However, I did remember some of the debut single’s title track, as I’d used it for practice. Han Doyoung narrowed his eyes at me, as if to say, ‘I knew it,’ then shook his head.

“Still, seeing you now, I think you’ll pick up the choreography quickly… You don’t work out separately, do you?”

Even without asking Kwon Yohan directly, the answer was obvious. A person who worked out wouldn’t have such a lack of muscle.

“No.”

“That’s why your stamina is like that.”

‘Should I start with building his basic endurance?’ Han Doyoung muttered to himself, staring at the ceiling. His profile looked more delighted than annoyed or bothered, like a child boasting confidently before a challenging mission.

Though our schedules had miraculously aligned today, Han Doyoung was hardly the least busy member of HEX. He was actively involved in magazine modeling and played a significant role in choreography production, making him one of the busiest.

So where did this drive come from, this desire to carve out his time and dedicate himself to pulling along a failing student? Especially when that student was Kwon Yohan, who until recently had approached practice with such a lack of sincerity?

The growing question suddenly slipped out.

“Hyung, why do you care so much about me?”

It was an unintentionally peculiar sentence.

“Huh?” Han Doyoung echoed, looking bewildered, then replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“We’re a team. Our stage quality improves when you do well, too.”

Those were the very words I had uttered countless times to the Red Moon members throughout our shared journey.