Whispers and Wheelchairs

A few days later, the agency released a recovery article about Jiho with his consent.

Fortunately, public interest had cooled somewhat, but strange rumors like death hoaxes or him fleeing still circulated.

Jiho thought he should at least post a photo, but the PR team suggested doing a live broadcast later once he recovered more and looked better, so he agreed.

Jiho participated diligently in rehab therapy for that day when he could reassure the fans.

The effects showed quickly and noticeably.

His movements became much more natural.

Reporters tried sneaking photos of how badly he was hurt, making it hard to leave the room, but Jiho was satisfied just being able to walk around inside using equipment.

Plus, Team Leader Eugene from the business team visited often, easing his pent-up frustrations.

“I should meet your attending doctor during rounds to check on things myself.”

“It’s fine. I’m not a kid, and just having you visit so often makes me feel less guilty.”

“You really act like an old soul sometimes. Still, I heard from the nurses you’re recovering well. That’s a relief.”

“Oh, by the way, I talked with Yongha hyung yesterday. Thanks for passing on the tablet number. He said reporters kept calling, so he wasn’t picking up unknowns.”

Eugene echoed Haneul’s advice to leave headaches to the company and focus on recovery, but as Yongha’s girlfriend, she was more comfortable to ask about him than Haneul.

She even shared some internal company handling plans, considering Jiho couldn’t leave the room except for rehab.

“Don’t worry too much about Team Leader Jin’s investigation. It’ll end with a fine, and the company will cover it.”

“That’s a relief. I was really worried about Yongha hyung.”

“You know you’re the one who should be worried about, right? Jiho, don’t stress over other things—just focus on recovering fast.”

Eugene, usually strict at the company, showed unexpected gentleness around patient Jiho.

She handled every little detail in Yongha’s absence as manager and tried to reassure him so he wouldn’t worry.

Jiho, who had felt slightly hurt by her firm words on accident day, now reflected that he had overreacted then.

However, the external commotion didn’t let Jiho rest easy.

It was a week after he started rehab.

The special room Jiho stayed in was exceptionally unique among hospital rooms.

To prevent unauthorized access, it was assigned to an isolated ward hard for just anyone to enter.

It had a small kitchen, bathroom, even a reception area—spacious enough that, for Jiho who struggled to walk, it was a blessing.

But no matter how spacious, getting no outdoor sunlight was a health issue.

That day, Jiho wheeled himself out alone to the small rooftop garden on the ward.

Coincidentally, neither Eugene, Haneul, nor other staff visited, but since visits had decreased as he recovered, he didn’t think it an issue.

Leaving the caregiver who went to buy room supplies, Jiho boarded the elevator alone.

[Doors closing] The elevator doors shut with the voice announcement.

Jiho thought the man standing behind him felt oddly conspicuous, leading naturally to suspicion.

This elevator was for staff only in the controlled special room building.

The man in the green uniform typical of hospital technicians was a face Jiho had never seen in the ward.

‘This big ward might have staff I don’t know, but that name tag…’

Pretending to adjust his wheelchair, Jiho shifted slightly to check the man’s chest.

The name badge matched exactly those of the therapists he saw during rehab visits—not just the name, but affiliation, and even the volunteer sticker on the clear acrylic in the same spot.

Realizing it was a stolen badge, Jiho froze, then locked eyes with the suspicious man.

Joy at capturing something gleamed in the man’s eyes above his mask.

Smoothly, like water, he raised his phone to snap photos of Jiho.

Click. Click.

“What are you doing right now!”

After taking several shots of Jiho, the man darted out the just-opened elevator doors.

Only after the intense tension released his frozen body did Jiho try to chase.

But a wheelchair he could barely push couldn’t catch a running man.

He hit the open button, trying to yell for someone to grab him beyond the doors, but the suspicious man had already vanished from sight.

“What the hell…”

Jiho could only stare blankly at the closing doors from his wheelchair.

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

Like the man’s shady act of sneaking into the hospital to photograph Jiho, the next day’s article was viciously malicious.

It cropped just Jiho’s upper body, hiding the wheelchair, and shaded the hospital gown under his cardigan to look like casual clothes.

The article’s angle: ‘Pentagram’s supposedly severely injured Jiho has long recovered and is faking patienthood while hiding. Maybe to quell seatbelt suspicions and garner sympathy by pretending severe injury.’

Public opinion, which had quieted, boiled up in strange directions again.

People scoffed at the absurd article briefly.

But claims piled on—like the elevator background didn’t exist in Hospital A, or the recovery speed didn’t match life-threatening reports from ‘experts’—and soon more believed it.

That was why Yongha, swamped with accident cleanup including police, somehow made time to visit Jiho’s room.

“Hospital says a treatment room staffer lost their bag with the badge and access card inside. For now, they’ve agreed to disclose your medical records.”

Yongha’s dark face screamed personal trouble.

Handling Pentagram’s packed schedule without sleep, he always stayed neat, but now his short-sleeve shirt was wrinkled everywhere, hair disheveled.

His usually calm speech was as rough as his appearance.

Seeing such Yongha, Jiho lost the urge to ask company cleanup plans.

“I just don’t get why these rumors spread. Can they fabricate articles like that?”

“It’s an online paper, but they just run gossip every time. They whine it’s not defamation since they bought the info. But you said the guy snapping and fleeing seemed pro? Clearly an affiliated reporter pretending otherwise.”

“Sorry. If I hadn’t gone alone… I should’ve stopped him somehow.”

“Yeah, why go without the caregiver… No, forget it. Jiho, it’s not your fault. People believing nonsense and badmouthing you are the weird ones.”

“The malicious comments… are they bad?”

“Sigh, just pretend you don’t know.”

“How about advancing the live broadcast meant for full recovery? Or post that it’s all misunderstanding? I even made an Upsta account last time to DM Haun. Anything… tell me if I can help, Yongha hyung.”

Each glimpse of the manager’s unfamiliar state, each sigh in his voice, made Jiho read Yongha’s mood.

Logically he knew he did nothing wrong, but with incidents centering on him, guilt crept in.

Yongha’s tone softened slightly toward Jiho, who sat meekly on the bed looking up.

Whether considerate so his charge wouldn’t worry, or suppressing rising irritation unconsciously, who could say.

“Jeong Jiho. Helping the company and me means not stressing over this and recovering fast. Your too-healthy look fuels controversy—doing a live saying you’re fine won’t help.”

“Yeah, guess so. But me just sitting here… Got it. I’ll focus only on treatment quietly.”

“And don’t feel slighted that the guys aren’t visiting. Rumors include your discord now, so paparazzi swarm the dorm. They haven’t gone out for days—total chaos.”

“Discord rumors?”

Jiho wanted to ask how accident articles linked to discord, but Yongha spoke faster.

“What you were about to say… Oh, this is Kim Team Leader’s suggestion. While hospitalized, how about other treatment?”

“Other treatment?”

“Not just this, but severe injuries can cause PTSD.”

“Psych treatment.”

“Yeah, company used to have idols do periodic counseling. You know CEO’s motto: ‘Entertainers aren’t products; they’re people.’ No linked hospital now since tough times, but inpatient sessions mean no leaks—could be good.”

“Never thought about that. Recalling the accident feels okay now. But I’ll consider. You’re the one cleaning up after me—I’m more worried about you.”

“Man, Jiho, even now you’re more mature than me. Ugh, enough. Worry about others in your state? Don’t stress this anymore—focus on leg recovery. Saw you after ages and freaked at how much weight you lost, dude.”

Finally, Yongha’s tone returned to normal.

Teasing and shaking his head, he looked like the usual brotherly manager.

But even in Yongha’s relaxed state, Jiho couldn’t fully relax.

The new word he’d heard—discord rumors—kept circling his mind.