The Official Secret

Another month passed, and autumn had fully arrived.

Ji-ho’s half-cast was removed, and he no longer needed to rely on crutches. The doctor in town recommended that he start exercising, provided he didn’t overdo it.

With his leg healed, a new routine was added to Ji-ho’s daily life: walking Bok-gu, the dog belonging to the grandmother who lived behind the supermarket.

“Bok-gu is living up to his name—he’s lucky. A countryside dog getting walks? Usually, they spend their whole lives tied to a leash.”

“Haha, but Grandma, you remember your promise to me, right? Even after I leave, you have to take Bok-gu for a lap around the neighborhood. The doctor said moderate exercise helps with arthritis.”

“It seems you’re the one looking after the health of all the elders in this town, Ji-ho. Fine, fine, now get going. I have plans with the ladies at the Center today, so I can’t join you.”

Whether for the rehabilitation of Ji-ho’s left leg or the recovery of the elderly owner’s arthritis, Bok-gu had recently been scouring every corner of the neighborhood daily. It was quite a struggle to keep up with a dog exhilarated by his newfound freedom, but Ji-ho used the effort to rebuild his diminished stamina.

Furthermore, Ji-ho began taking Bok-gu up to the lower slopes of the back mountain. Beyond the fresh air and beautiful scenery, it provided Ji-ho with a much-needed space.

A wide, empty lot—originally intended for a country house before construction was halted.

“I’ll give you a long leash, so stay around here and play, Bok-gu. Hyung has some practicing to do.”

Leaving the white dog tilting its head in confusion tied to one side, Ji-ho placed the cassette player on the ground. Inside was a tape that belonged either to his mother or his grandmother—he wasn’t sure whose taste it reflected.

‘It’s old pop, but it’s a dance track. The tempo is perfect for starting practice.’

When he pressed play, a crisp rhythm—surprising for such an old machine—echoed through the air. Ji-ho loosened his stiff body to the music. Starting with stretches, he moved through isolations, waves, bounces, and walking. Simple yet diverse choreography movements followed one after another without pause.

Switching between slow and fast tracks, Ji-ho’s long limbs moved with a fluidity that made it hard to believe he had rested for over two months. His left leg, which he had been cautious with at first, successfully performed even intense movements like ankle snaps and jumps.

He couldn’t help but feel relieved. How many times had he run until he was breathless under the pretext of walking the dog just to check if his leg was okay? Yet, a lingering worry had remained. Simply running was different from the complex postures required for dance.

‘Now I’m sure. My leg won’t be a problem for dancing.’

Perhaps fueled by the joy of letting go of that long-held worry, Ji-ho felt a bit more ambitious. The Pentagram choreography he performed for the first time in a while was as intense as his mood.

Even without playing the group’s music, Pentagram’s tracks played vividly in his ears. Though this was just a dirt-filled lot, he felt as if the intense overhead lights, the vibration of the amps, and the solid stage floor were right there.

He could even hear the cheers from the audience.

The short hiatus meant nothing to Ji-ho. He reproduced the choreography perfectly, down to the final intense move where he struck his knees and hands against the ground. It was a performance so precise it was hard to believe their group handled so many different versions of their routines.

‘And… finish. The version of the <Untamed> choreo we did on that Friday music show during the first week of promotions feels the cleanest.’

Breathing heavily, Ji-ho checked his physical condition until the very end. His left leg felt no pain despite the extreme movements. All he felt was the refreshment of dancing intensely after so long.

Additionally, the passionate reaction from an audience he thought didn’t exist felt incredibly good.

“T-That was insane. Daebak. Oppa… you’re so cool. You look like a total, total idol!”

Ji-ho had been so immersed in the dance that he hadn’t noticed an observer. It was Mirin, the Foreman’s daughter, standing next to Bok-gu with her mouth agape and clapping.

“Uh… Mirin, as you know, I am an idol. Did I not look like one until now? That’s a bit of a blow to my pride.”

“Right. T-That’s true. I’m sorry. I guess I got used to seeing you every day.”

“Haha, I’m joking. I’m actually happier that you feel comfortable around me.”

Whether she was moved by Ji-ho’s dancing or the joke he made, Mirin’s attitude was different from usual. Instead of shyly avoiding his gaze as she always did, she looked him straight in the eye with sparkling pupils, and the flush on her cheeks clearly meant something other than mere embarrassment.

“Was that last dance the choreography for a Pentagram song? I watched <Untamed> a lot on music shows… It’s amazing how you can dance like that to a different song. Seriously, Oppa, you were so cool!”

From then on, Mirin went into detail about how impressed she was by the small stage she had witnessed. Even as Ji-ho modestly said it was just practice and that he was still stiff and clumsy, her admiration didn’t stop.

‘Looking at her now, she might take after her mother more than the Foreman.’

A satisfied smile naturally formed on Ji-ho’s lips. It wasn’t just because of the praise.

Among the Foreman’s family, who had looked after him like kin, Mirin was the only one he hadn’t quite bonded with because she was always hesitating or running away. He felt hopeful that this would be an opportunity to get closer.

“Could you maybe show me something else? Like a song… If you don’t want to, it’s totally okay!”

“Hmm, then why don’t you tell me a song you want to hear? Everyone else only requests trot songs.”

“That… Ah! I don’t know the exact title, but there was a ‘hidden masterpiece’ by Pentagram on MeTube with the word ‘Nocturne’ in the lyrics. Please sing that!”

“That’s <Nocturnal>. I like that song too. It’s calm and good to listen to at night. Hmm, let’s see… In that quiet silence of the nocturne, the two of us—”

A soft, sweet voice began to fill the wide lot where only two people and a dog stood. Ji-ho’s voice, resonating deeply with every breath, was much richer and more profound than his speaking voice, perfectly matching the theme of a song depicting a deep night.

“The pitch-black darkness gradually seeps in, and your voice in my ear—”

The expression on Ji-ho’s face as he focused on the song became solemn. His voice flowed without a hint of awkwardness, filled with tender emotion. Without any special gestures, his figure, smiling along with the melody, looked like the protagonist of a song spending a night with a lover.

Mirin’s eyes became dreamy, in a different way than when she saw him dance. It felt like a completely different song from the one she played on MeTube. She felt as though she finally understood what the word “mellifluous” truly meant.

“Like that, you and I. Forever this night. And the next.”

“…S-Slid.”

It was an emotional moment that pulled a slang exclamation out of her that she usually only used with her peers.

Afterward, Mirin stood dazed with her mouth open for quite a while. Though she felt embarrassed once she snapped out of it, she didn’t avoid Ji-ho like before.

“Can I stay here just a little longer?”

Wasn’t it a rewarding part of being a singer—being able to break down the walls of a sensitive teenage girl through music alone? Ji-ho expressed his joy with a bright smile.

Though there was the minor issue of Mirin’s face turning into a beet again because of that smile.

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

A large dog with pure white fur ran around excitedly on a long leash.

In the empty lot, a tall man and a girl who looked to be in middle school sat side by side, chatting. A piece of construction fabric was spread under them to keep the dirt off their clothes, and a slow-paced old pop song played softly from the nearby cassette player.

Mirin and Ji-ho chatted away like an affectionate brother and sister. Surprisingly, the topic was about idols—something Ji-ho usually tried to avoid. It was possible because Mirin loved and knew a lot about idols.

“Seoul is far, so I’ve never been to a music show recording. Concerts are so expensive and the tickets are hard to get… I saw some idols who came as guest singers for a singing contest once, but I think you’re much cooler, Oppa.”

“If you study hard and become an adult, you’ll be able to see all the performances you want. But I’m a bit surprised. Our group’s fans tend to be older than other fandoms, so I didn’t know a middle schooler would know our songs.”

“What are you talking about, Oppa? There are so many kids in my class who like Pentagram! Before vacation, there was a girl who played <Untamed> every lunch break. I heard it so much I practically memorized the lyrics. Ah, don’t worry. I haven’t told her or anyone else that you’re here. You said it was a secret.”

“Really? Thank you for keeping your promise, Mirin. I’ll make sure to give you autographs for all your friends before I head back to Seoul.”

“Really?!”

Knowing that at that age, bragging to friends is the greatest joy, Ji-ho said it on purpose. Mirin’s joyful face was incredibly cute, making Ji-ho think, ‘Is this what it’s like to have a younger sister?’

“Of course. I can even take photos with you if you want… But tell me honestly. Mirin, you like another group besides us, don’t you?”

“Huh? T-That’s…”

Perhaps there’s a dormant gene in older brothers that instinctively makes them want to tease younger sisters. Ji-ho asked teasingly, noting that she seemed very knowledgeable about idol fandom life even if she wasn’t necessarily a “Glow.”

“It’s okay. I won’t be upset. Who knows? If you tell me which group you like, I might know one of the members. Later, when I go back to Seoul, I could ask them to hop on a call with my ‘younger sister.’”

Of course, he wasn’t just teasing. Even if Ji-ho wasn’t the most social butterfly, he had met plenty of groups through shared schedules. For the daughter of the Foreman and his wife, who had helped him adapt to the village, he was willing to go through the trouble of asking a slightly awkward colleague.

‘Until then, I’ll tease her just a bit more for being a fan of another group.’

Ji-ho’s eyes curved into crescents, filled with a playfulness he hadn’t known he possessed. His eyes narrowed, and his thin but clear double eyelids seemed to almost vanish.

However, at Mirin’s next words, his crescent eyes vanished, and his light-brown eyes snapped wide open.

“En…Enheim. I’m sorry. Actually, I’m… a Floor!”