A Resolute Departure and Lingering Scars

“Hmm…”

A staff member, who had been examining Kwon Yohan as if privy to some secret, shook their head.

“He was seriously ill until recently, wasn’t he? Isn’t this just accumulated fatigue?”

Han Doyoung quickly retorted, “Yet, his complexion looks absolutely dreadful for that.”

The staff member flinched at his annoyed tone, then addressed Yoon Jihyuk.

“Jihyuk, as I said, the boat isn’t leaving right now, so we can’t depart anyway. We’ll have to take the early morning ferry tomorrow regardless… Wouldn’t it be better to observe him a bit longer before deciding?”

Silence.

“It’s just one more night of filming. Tomorrow’s schedule isn’t even that demanding; him dropping out midway would look bad…”

Yoon Jihyuk, who had been listening with his eyes closed as if enduring, let out a deep sigh.

“What if a really big problem arises because of it?”

“There’s no problem now, so why keep pushing?”

“How can you guarantee that he’ll be fine in the future?”

A chilling silence fell between them.

“Before we came to the island, I mentioned it would be difficult if there was no way to contact anyone if something happened. You said then that there wouldn’t be any difficulties. Yet, today, I had to run all the way to the staff quarters because I had no means of communication.”

No one could speak, confronted by the undeniable facts. Yoon Jihyuk’s dark eyes swept over each staff member before he spoke.

“Yohan will finish filming today and leave the island on the early morning ferry tomorrow.”

It was a resolute declaration.

The production team quickly exchanged glances amongst themselves, then belatedly turned their attention to the other members.

“Do you all agree with Jihyuk?”

The three members nodded in unison.

****

‘So now, you’re going to ditch the event?’

The shrill, petty voice of a man in his forties pierced my ears. I knew immediately.

‘This is a dream.’

After performing in the rain, the members of Red Moon had all fallen ill with severe colds. Maknae and I, usually robust, recovered within a day. However, some members suffered for days, their weakened conditions refusing to improve.

Leader, who had been barely holding on, finally collapsed after learning that two members intended to leave.

It was acute gastric spasms, brought on by stress.

‘You’re already in the red, and if you incur more losses paying breach-of-contract fees for members leaving, how do you plan to handle it? It’s not just me who’s in a difficult position, my sons. We need to succeed together, right?’

Whenever there were minor injuries or illnesses, the CEO would persuade us this way, always ensuring we chose a path that avoided any cancellations. Why did his familiar words and actions grate on me so much that day?

‘Do you have no intention of providing artist care?’

‘What?’

‘You don’t care about their pain; you’re only worried about the immediate event. If that’s the case, you shouldn’t claim to think of us as your sons. What kind of parent treats their children like that?’

Unable to watch any longer, my hyung pulled my wrist.

‘No, CEO. I’ll go. I think I can do it if I take some medicine.’

The CEO, who had been on the verge of shouting, responded with a softened demeanor once the immediate loss could be covered.

‘That’s right, Yoonjae. You’re the only one.’

He didn’t forget to glare at me, though.

‘And properly educate the kids.’

The short performance at a small water park paid so little it was embarrassing to call it an idol event. Yet, for us, it was a lifeline, a way to reduce the negative figures on our settlement statements.

‘Jio, don’t needlessly fight with the company. I’m okay.’

After the commotion subsided and we were finally alone, my hyung admonished me.

My mouth felt bitter. When I was hurt, he had been the first to step forward, trying his best to let me rest.

Just then, a sensation of my body plummeting downwards overwhelmed me. Intense dizziness and nausea, as if someone was wringing my insides, seized me. Instinctively, I gasped for breath and pushed myself up.

“Ugh…”

When I opened my eyes, I found myself on a wide bed.

“What?”

The now-familiar space was Kwon Yohan’s room.

My mind wasn’t working properly. Why was I here? Before opening my eyes, I had been on the island. Was this another dream? Yet, the sensations were too vivid to dismiss it as such.

My phone was nowhere in sight. First, I needed to splash some cold water on my face to clear my head.

As I stumbled towards the bathroom, I realized something else: my clothes had been changed into pajamas. They weren’t among the belongings I had packed for the island.

The pale yellow-tinged pink pajamas featured white rabbit patterns. Who could have chosen and dressed me in these?

[Sunbae!]

As soon as I entered the bathroom, Kwon Yohan addressed me.

[Did you finish filming?]

“I don’t know.”

[…Are you angry?]

I genuinely didn’t know, which was why I said it. It seemed he had misunderstood.

“No, I was on the island, and then I woke up in the dorm. I still don’t know what happened.”

I replied, then, as planned, turned on the cold water and splashed it on my face. The icy temperature, chilling my hands, instantly brought me to my senses.

“I’m not going to listen to you anymore.”

[Huh?!]

“Why did you insist I go to that uninhabited island?”

[Well, uh…]

Turning my back on the hesitating fellow, I dried my face with a fluffy towel. In that short time, Kwon Yohan found his rebuttal.

[If it were me, I would’ve come back perfectly fine, you know? I think Sunbae isn’t used to my body, so you’re not calculating things well.]

“Calculating?”

[Hmm… like, ‘I can endure this much’ kind of thing?]

“Ah.”

So, this happened because I recklessly pushed a body that needed careful handling, huh?

“That makes sense.”

After exchanging a few more words with Kwon Yohan, I left the bathroom and headed to the living room. Sunlight illuminated the unlit space. It must have been early afternoon. I didn’t turn on the lights, simply collapsing onto the sofa.

Had the other members not arrived yet? I wanted to find my phone, at least. Just as that thought crossed my mind, one of the closed doors opened. It was Yoon Jihyuk’s room.

“…You’re awake?”

He spoke after a lukewarm pause. I nodded.

“Did the filming end well?”

“Hmm, well. It ended.”

His words carried a strange nuance, as if something was bothering him. However, he seemed to have no intention of explaining, even after I waited, so I raised a different question.

“It seems everyone went out for their schedules. The dorm is quiet.”

“We came back to Seoul today. Everyone’s sleeping.”

He added that I had been moved to Seoul a day earlier, and after a hospital visit, I had come to the dorm. After his calm explanation, Yoon Jihyuk asked,

“Are you feeling a bit better now?”

Thanks to a good rest, my condition wasn’t the worst. After some thought, I nodded. Then Yoon Jihyuk asked again.

“…Nothing you want to say?”

Unsure what he wanted, I remained silent for a moment before replying,

“My phone wasn’t there.”

Yoon Jihyuk chuckled weakly, as if relieved, and re-entered his room. A moment later, he emerged into the living room, carrying Kwon Yohan’s phone and belongings.

“The production team forgot it, so I took care of it. Your clothes are in the washing machine.”

“Ah, thank you.”

“There’s porridge in the fridge; should I warm it up for you?”

“Hmm… no. I’ll eat it when dinner time comes.”

“Alright, then.”

“Rest,” he whispered softly, patting my shoulder before turning away. Left alone again, I pondered Yoon Jihyuk’s subtly odd demeanor.

Had something happened that exhausted him so much he couldn’t hide his fatigue?

The schedule, simply due to the travel, was certainly enough to drain one’s energy. I soon dismissed the thought and turned on my phone, which had been off.

“What’s with all these messages…”

Nearly fifty messages from Kwon Yohan’s mother had piled up. Fortunately, the company seemed to have some sense, as she didn’t seem to know about the uninhabited island. It appeared she had called after seeing the hospital records, so I phoned her and reassured her appropriately.

The pang of guilt from her voice, laden with worry, was an added bonus.

****

After a short three-day vacation, HEX plunged into preparations for their solo concert. With their first full album promotions scheduled before the early August concert, their calendar would be packed for the next three months.

Consequently, my days were a blur of meetings and practice sessions, leaving me no time to think.

And today was the day the title track would be chosen from the songs selected for the album’s tracklist.

“Is this really fixed? Seriously?”

Han Doyoung, whose hair had been dyed an even brighter, gochujang-like red for summer, pounded the conference table with an incredulous expression. There was a good reason for his reaction.

The album’s concept had been set as ‘refreshing’ the moment the title track was decided.

“They’re really going through with it, huh? Refreshing, but without the fizz.”

For a few days after returning from the uninhabited island, Yoon Jihyuk had wandered around with dead eyes, showing signs of burnout. Now, however, he had completely reverted to his usual self, his face bright and lively. Finding the situation rather amusing, he chuckled softly while flipping through the documents he’d received.

Lee Seon had wanted a cooler concept, but seemed to have more or less accepted it. Choi Seung-beom was indifferent, showing no complaints. As for me… well, it wasn’t an excessively cutesy direction, so I was fine with it.

The concept, like a summer song mixed with a cocktail, was precisely what I had discussed with Lee Heeyeon on the radio before. It evoked a serene summer night’s sensibility, perhaps even tranquil. It suited a night at the beach or a campfire.

Naturally, the powerful concept songs they usually performed were relegated to B-sides.

“This song demands strong vocal skill. I’m counting on you, vocal line!”

As the meeting wrapped up, Choi Seung-beom subtly turned his head to look at me.

‘Ah, right. Kwon Yohan is part of the vocal line.’