The Price of a Killer Performance

Less than a week passed as the other members were away on their schedules, allowing us to finalize the arrangement and choreography. We even secured company approval during that time. After everything was fixed, we showcased it to the members during a group practice session. Lee Seon pouted, grumbling under his breath.

“So that’s what you two were whispering about? This was it?”

‘I can do a duet too. I’m good at it.’ Han Doyoung firmly pinched the nose of the continuously muttering boy.

“If there’s something you want to do, then do it.”

Lee Seon struggled, yelping loudly.

“Ack! That hurts! Let go!”

‘Looks like there’s nothing in his nose, seeing how he’s twisting and shaking it like that.’

While Choi Seung-beom intervened, warning them to stop fighting, Yoon Jihyuk stared intently into space with a serious expression. Only after the commotion subsided did he finally speak.

“It definitely flows well from Doyoung’s solo song, which is good. But if we’re going to do it this way, we shouldn’t place it too late in the setlist. How about swapping the positions of these two songs and Yohan’s solo? Or even pull it to the very beginning.”

I was half-crumpled against the wall, my body heaving as I tried to catch my breath. With every deep inhale, a metallic rasp, as if something was caught inside, echoed within me.

“…No, I don’t think we can change the order.”

Still, I had to voice my concerns.

“If we put this at the beginning, I’ll run out of steam by the middle, and my performance won’t be as good.”

Han Doyoung, who had somehow released Lee Seon, nodded beside me. Having practiced together for several days, he seemed to have a profound understanding of Kwon Yohan’s stamina.

Yoon Jihyuk sighed softly, his face growing even darker.

“Are you really okay? There’s no need to push yourself if it’s too much.”

“Hyung, you’re saying that even after seeing this absolutely killer choreography? You’re being incredibly dense.”

While I hesitated to respond, Han Doyoung answered with refreshing bluntness. I hadn’t intended to speak so strongly myself, but my thoughts were largely the same.

If executed properly, this would be a performance of higher quality and intensity than any stage we had done so far. I couldn’t let such an opportunity slip away.

“I’ve been fine ever since the deserted island incident. I’ll be okay.”

Yoon Jihyuk was silent for a long moment before replying in a low voice.

“Alright… I understand for now.”

****

Two weeks before the solo concert, a rare day without group practice arrived.

After eating breakfast and resting, I fell back asleep around noon and woke up in the early afternoon. I had practically slept away the entire day, but the accumulated fatigue had somewhat dissipated, leaving my body feeling lighter.

To say my body was perfectly fine would be a lie, but perhaps the nightly muscle aches had paid off; I seemed to have gained a tiny bit of muscle. The power I put into my movements was no longer as weak as before.

Even so, it was still a far cry from my original body’s condition.

As I continued to practice, an inescapable thought recurred. During my Red Moon days, opportunities for such high-level performances were rare, which made me feel increasingly regretful. If this were Lee Jio’s body, I could push the quality even higher.

The subtle discrepancies were all the more irritating.

“Well… Lee Jio probably wouldn’t have had anything to do with these guys in the first place.”

Habitually massaging my stiff, knotted arm, I turned on my tablet.

I had dedicated all my spare time to resting, so I hadn’t watched the two episodes of *Good Island* that I missed. Two and a half hours flew by as I watched. It was already a struggle for the editing to salvage anything, but the constant ominous-feeling subtitles made the gloomy atmosphere of that day’s filming all too apparent, even just from the video.

They said the company had filed a complaint, leading to revisions from episode five. I couldn’t even imagine how ridiculous the initial editing must have been.

While no major flaws stood out, I had one additional complaint.

Why did the labor tasks disappear and get replaced with games starting from the third day? If that was the plan, why put us through such an intense schedule on the second day? I simply couldn’t fathom the production team’s thought process.

“Kwon Yohan!”

And there was one more thing I couldn’t fathom.

“Still sleeping?”

Lee Seon, who had burst into the room without permission, immediately flipped on the overhead light, illuminating the dim space. Spotting me leaning against the headboard, he strode over and sat beside me.

“Why are you watching with the lights off? You’ll ruin your eyes.”

His habitual nagging now brought a strange sense of stability. I turned off the tablet screen, setting it aside, and faced him.

“You’re not sick, are you?”

“I’m perfectly fine. Why the sudden concern?”

“Huh? Oh, uh… it’s time for dinner.”

Had that much time passed already?

Even when our relationship wasn’t great, he always seemed to care about making sure I ate, like a typical Korean. So, this action itself wasn’t unusual.

“Where did the other two go?”

“Personal schedules.”

Stepping into the living room, I saw Choi Seung-beom preparing dinner. This meant only three of us, including me, were left in the dorm. Noticing some dishes yet to be moved to the table, I started towards the kitchen, but Lee Seon promptly pushed me down into a chair at the dining table.

“You sit!”

…It’s these kinds of actions, you see.

I’d been feeling for a few days that their attitudes were odd, and looking back, they were treating me as if it would be a disaster if I so much as got a drop of water on my hand. All I was trying to do was something as trivial as dishing out rice for three people and bringing it to the table. Why couldn’t I do that?

The unpleasant feeling subsided slightly with a bowl of freshly made beef and radish soup.

“Only two weeks left, seriously.”

Lee Seon mumbled, picking up a *donggeurangttaeng*.

“Nervous?”

“Of course I am.”

‘It’ll be only our fans at the concert, after all.’ Seeing his eyes sparkle as he said that, it didn’t seem to be a negative kind of nervousness.

“You do need to calm down a bit.”

“…Suddenly?”

“I can already picture you getting too excited on the day and your voice cracking.”

Unless he completely botched the lyrics, fans would probably find it cute. However, everything would be recorded and circulated later, and if he was the type who couldn’t stand a drop in quality, it was something to consider. Lee Seon nodded, seemingly accepting my words, then asked with a serious face.

“What should I do to calm down?”

The way his eyes nervously darted around confirmed he was far from that word.

“Hmm… Meditation?”

“Meditation.”

It was just something I blurted out. Lee Seon clenched his fist, a determined expression on his face. Choi Seung-beom, who had been silently focusing on his meal, subtly lifted his head and could be seen stifling a laugh.

After finishing dinner, I sat listlessly on the living room sofa for a while. Watching Lee Seon, who was darting around frantically with an ice cream in his mouth, I fell into a brief contemplation. It was a rare break, so I felt like I should do something more, but nothing specific came to mind. They say people who’ve rested well know how to rest well.

Even after tidying up, Choi Seung-beom continued to clatter around in the kitchen for a while before very naturally entering Kwon Yohan’s room. From beyond the open door, I heard the sound of a wardrobe opening.

And about 30 seconds later, I found myself holding a glass of lukewarm water and a packet of medicine.

“…”

Since I needed to take it anyway, I swallowed it obediently. But the unanswered question mark floated back into my mind.

‘These guys… why are they acting so strange lately?’

****

The mystery was solved a few days later.

“I usually leave him alone because his face seems to improve after sleeping… but I woke him up to eat breakfast and dinner.”

“Nothing else unusual?”

“No, not really. But isn’t sleeping too much also a problem?”

“Well. That’s a bit more…”

They had all been acting on Yoon Jihyuk’s instructions.

“What’s going on?”

I asked as I entered from the veranda. Lee Seon jumped, startled.

“You, why are you there! Were you eavesdropping?”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping; I just heard you. I was giving nutrients to the potted plants.”

‘No wonder something I usually wouldn’t care about caught my eye today.’ If not for the plants, I might have remained oblivious for a few more days.

‘I thought he was unusually fixated on my condition.’ Now he even wanted to check on me when he wasn’t around, so he’d asked the other guys. Among them, Lee Seon was particularly devoted to Yoon Jihyuk, so his actions must have been excessive.

Lee Seon’s eyes darted around, trying to gauge the situation, but Yoon Jihyuk, the instigator, merely smiled warmly without batting an eye. He uncrossed his arms and very naturally changed the subject.

“Shall we start getting ready to leave then?”

His approach disarmed any intention I had of interrogating him. It was indeed time to leave, given our schedule. I closed my eyes tightly, then nodded.

It was a rare day when Yoon Jihyuk and I had a schedule together.

The show we were appearing on was titled , a pilot program from a major broadcasting company. The participants would complete missions consisting of treasure hunts and mini-games. The role of ‘Black’ was to interfere with this process and, at the end of each turn, eliminate one person. The remaining participants were ‘White’, and if the Whites failed to catch Black by the end of all turns, Black would win.

With various minor settings attached, it was, in simple terms, a game of Mafia.

There were ten cast members in total. Six were currently active entertainers, we occupied two spots, and the remaining two were…

“Active in the drama ! Ms. Yoon Yeri and Mr. Jung Sehan. Welcome to White Castle!”

They were actors.

The problem was, one of the names was all too familiar.

“Wow! Hello!”

“Hello, I’m Jung Sehan.”

A man with a clean, unassuming appearance, often described as ‘actor-like,’ smiled brightly and looked in our direction. His gaze, naturally, wasn’t on me but on Yoon Jihyuk, who sat beside me.

“It’s good to see a familiar face after so long.”

His words were clear and straightforward, without a hint of hidden meaning. Yoon Jihyuk didn’t respond. I glanced over, and it seemed he was maintaining his expression, but… I felt an odd chill radiating from him.

I had a bad feeling about this.