Fractured Brotherhood

Ha-un truly didn’t believe he was at fault.

At the peak of the controversy, he had felt something was wrong when Ji-ho didn’t reply to his repeated texts. No matter how hurt he was, Ji-ho knew how much the members would worry; ignoring them didn’t make sense.

[Is it you again, Lee Ha-un? I told you hyung is busy, talk to Se-han. What? The tablet number Ji-ho has? Wait a sec. What number did I give you guys?]

As it turned out, the number Yong-ha first provided belonged to a different company tablet. Ha-un finally got the correct number but didn’t tell the others immediately.

It was a deliberate omission.

Though it was a petty, spiteful impulse, Ha-un didn’t regret it—especially seeing Noah fall silent when asked if he’d even tried to reach out after realizing they had the wrong number. Even if everyone had their reasons for hesitating, to Ha-un, the hyungs were simply the reason Ji-ho was upset.

“See? If you’re going to nag me about telling you late, you should have at least stepped up to visit him today. Even if the company blocked us, we should have snuck out to the hospital.”

Ha-un vented the frustration he’d built up, thinking of how Ji-ho hadn’t even replied to messages sent to the correct number. Subconsciously, he suspected his spiteful delay might have worsened things, but it was easier to blame the others. He felt the situation had reached this point because of a stubborn leader who demanded absolute obedience to the agency.

“They say it’s a hiatus. If Ji-ho hyung thought we were worried, would he have made that choice? How can we do a full album without him!”

“…What changes if you take it out on me? It’s decided and announced. When we went to the office, you heard that Ji-ho wanted to rest and you agreed. Why the fuss now?”

As Ha-un’s voice rose, Se-han’s grew calmer. He was the type to turn ice-cold when emotionally charged. His logical rebuttal and the chilly gaze behind his silver frames made Ha-un momentarily lose his nerve.

“That’s because… they said he was struggling enough to need psychiatric treatment. And Team Leader Kim promised we’d catch everyone trashing him while he rests.”

During their month of dorm confinement, the members had only stepped out once: when Kwon-ho called them to relay Ji-ho’s wishes. Before Kwon-ho—who felt like a “real adult”—Ha-un couldn’t pull his usual immature tricks. Kwon-ho had used provocative terms like “psychiatric clinic” and showed them extreme hate comments to make them believe Ji-ho truly wanted to stop Pentagram activities.

“Right. We all heard it. This break is what Ji-ho wants, and it’s the best way to help him. You’ve seen plenty of successful idols crash after accidents, Ha-un. You know Euro from REMEMBER, right? Do you think they just went off the rails naturally? Most of them just couldn’t manage the stress of idol life.”

Ha-un understood Se-han’s point, even if he suspected Euro was probably like that to begin with. Se-han’s chillingly calm demeanor reminded him too much of Kwon-ho for him to keep arguing. But then, a new voice challenged the leader.

“That’s a bit funny, hyung. I can’t imagine Jung Ji-ho, of all people, going off the rails from stress.”

It was Noah, who had been siding with Se-han just a moment ago.

“What’s funny about it?” Se-han uncrossed his arms, his sharp eyes narrowing further.

“Like Ha-un said, skipping the full album is weird. Team Leader Kim is a smooth talker, but I doubt this hiatus is really for Ji-ho’s sake. Or is this too bothersome for a dog on a leash who follows every word the company says?”

“What did you just say? A dog on a leash?”

“Well, it’s not wrong. You’ve been such a good boy for the company lately, I almost wondered if you wanted Ji-ho out of the group all along.”

Noah’s reason for snapping was vague, but he clearly shared the frustration. Having always struggled to adapt to group life, he resented Se-han for spending the month suppressing them with phrases like “the company said to be careful.”

“You’re in no position to criticize Ha-un. Watch your words, Kang Noah.”

“Noah hyung isn’t wrong. You stayed silent in front of Team Leader Kim when he talked about the hiatus. Maybe you actually welcomed the news,” Ha-un added, emboldened again.

Se-han’s composure finally snapped.

“Do you two even have the right to say that to me? I wanted him gone? Wasn’t that you, Lee Ha-un? You constantly said he didn’t suit being an idol and told him to retire so he could just stay by your side. Maybe you hid the phone number on purpose for that reason.”

“That was… just a joke. Don’t nitpick over something stupid.”

“A stone thrown in jest kills the frog. Was there anyone here who didn’t know Ji-ho was struggling with group life? Yet you just whined to him and said that nonsense. And now you’re blaming me?”

Ha-un fell silent, perhaps feeling a sting of guilt regarding his past comments. Noah stepped in to fill the gap with pure sarcasm.

“So you knew everything and just left him be? That’s even weirder. Come to think of it, you seemed to know about the hiatus before we did.”

“Kang Noah.”

“Why? Am I wrong? My personality is trash, so I can’t comfort people, but what about the ‘Great Leader’ who brings it up every day? Why did you leave him alone?”

Noah’s talent for sarcasm surpassed Se-han’s. Looking up at the standing Se-han from the sofa, he looked incredibly arrogant.

“You always brush things off by saying your personality is the problem. Let’s be real—if we’re looking for the reason Ji-ho was struggling, you take up a huge percentage. Maybe you’re only upset now because the person who cleaned up after you is gone. Is that why he disappeared without a word? Because he’s done dealing with your foul temper?”

“Ha, I wonder if this is our ‘Unity’ Leader speaking. If you have so many complaints, why not say them all now?”

Noah stood up. Three tall men now stood staring each other down, making the small living room feel cramped and volatile.

“If you’re curious, I’ll list them. Shall we start with your constant irritability?”

“Go ahead. I’m curious too.”

The tension was lethal. Even Ha-un, who started the argument, looked panicked. Go-hun finally had to intervene from the kitchen.

“Stop it, Noah. What are you doing to your hyung? Se-han hyung, you went too far. We didn’t gather for this. We need to decide if we’re picking Ji-ho up or not.”

Go-hun’s massive frame usually discouraged physical confrontation. However, the members weren’t the type to back down just because he intervened. Noah immediately turned his thorns toward him.

“Choi Go-hun, you just keep pretending you don’t know anything, like always. Or are you guilty because it’s about Jung Ji-ho? You two have been awkward ever since you embarrassed him in public.”

Go-hun’s face darkened instantly at the mention of the past incident Ha-un had tried to ignore. His thick eyebrows furrowed in clear discomfort.

“Are you done, Kang Noah?”

It was just one sentence, but it made the tension in the room even more precarious. Go-hun set his drink down and walked toward the three. It looked less like a mediation and more like a warm-up for a fight.

Finally, Ha-un scrambled to fix what he’d started.

“Fine! Stop it, everyone! It’s my fault, I’m sorry! Thinking about it, Ji-ho hyung will be back at the dorm soon anyway, so we just have to wait. Ack, Go-hun hyung! You’re not going to hit Noah hyung, are you? Stay back! 1-meter no-entry zone!”

Ha-un’s playful shouting worked. It was too awkward to ignore the youngest member’s frantic effort to break the mood. Go-hun turned back, muttering that Ha-un was overreacting, and sat back in the kitchen—a signal to leave him out of it.

Noah sat back on the sofa, and Se-han, though scowling, regained his calm.

“Fine. Like you said, Ji-ho will be back soon. We can settle everything then—why he chose the hiatus, and if he’s hurt by us, we’ll fix it. We can discuss the album then, too.”

“Right. Oh! We should clean the dorm. If Ji-ho hyung sees how messy it is, he’ll try to clean it himself. We’ll look like villains making a patient clean.”

“Now you’re thinking. Do you know why I’ve stayed in my room? No one here but Jung Ji-ho is fit to be a roommate.”

“…We should start with our room. Se-han hyung, what time is Ji-ho arriving?”

They chatted normally, trying to erase the memory of the fight. But they had no idea.

They didn’t expect Ji-ho to choose his hometown over the dorm. Nor did they know he would stay out of contact for half a year—a long silence that would eventually shatter Ha-un’s “cheerful maknae” mask for good.