The Aftermath of Silence

On the surface, Jae-in had changed beyond recognition compared to when he was seventeen. Perhaps thanks to the management of his new agency, he now had double eyelids that changed the impression of his eyes, and the boyishness had vanished, replaced by a mature aura. His styling was far more flamboyant than before, fitting for the group Enheim.

As much as his appearance had changed, his blunt personality—once unable to hide a single thought—seemed to have evolved as well. Unlike the childish behavior of picking fights with Pentagram, Jae-in had often shown a professional side as the leader and eldest member of his group.

Because of this, Ji-ho thought he would never see the old Jae-in again.

“Well? Hyung, you’re going to let me stay, right? Why aren’t you answering? I’ll be seriously hurt if you reject me.”

Seeing Jae-in reveal his inner thoughts so honestly—bordering on rude—was both unfamiliar and welcoming to Ji-ho. It felt like a very long time since they had shared such a trivial conversation without unilateral hatred or sarcasm.

“I don’t have any special drinks for guests. I’ll give you water, so go inside. …As for staying over, I need to hear more first.”

“Che. It’s not like you’re ignorant of the news just because you’re in the middle of nowhere. I’m being cursed out by everyone and I’m literally bowing my head to you like this. Don’t you feel sorry for me?”

Jae-in’s last words were so quiet they practically crawled into the floor. He tried to act like it was nothing, but the dejection was evident. Ji-ho led him into the room, trying his best to ignore the face that was clearly filled with the pain of recent days.

“I only heard the basics from Yong-ha Hyung. I don’t know the details. I haven’t looked at the internet lately because I want to rest peacefully. That’s why I canceled my phone plan, too.”

“Really? No wonder Yong-ha Hyung said you didn’t have a number. I thought he was lying. Hey—don’t go! I’m not thirsty. You don’t have to get me water.”

“…….”

“The thing is… I know I’m being a nuisance, but I came here because there are things I want to say, things I want to ask you.”

When Ji-ho first heard about Jae-in’s situation from Yong-ha, he thought he was just feeling a misplaced sense of kinship. He’d worried that his desire to help was just meddling. It would be a lie to say he wasn’t slightly annoyed at the manager for pushing work onto him while he was supposed to be resting—unlike the members busy with the album.

However, it was the gravity of Jae-in asking to come all the way down here in person that made Ji-ho give Yong-ha an affirmative answer.

At this moment, Ji-ho was glad he accepted.

‘What is it about being an idol? We’re both suffering, yet neither of us can give it up.’

The awkwardness between them hadn’t entirely vanished, but he wanted to help with this crisis as much as he could. Even if this was a selfish act of self-satisfaction—helping someone in a similar plight—it didn’t matter.

“Phew, alright. Take your time and tell me. What on earth has been happening?”

“You’ll listen? Okay. Sit down, quick. So, was it June or July? Around the time Pentagram had that accident, things were a bit tough for our group, too.”

Jae-in was delighted that Ji-ho was listening. He didn’t hesitate long before pouring his heart out.

In the small room of the country house, sitting directly on the floor without even a cushion, the conversation continued. The fact that both men were celebrities felt surreal, but the dialogue was grounded in the very human emotions of pain and sadness.

“Of course. Your accident was huge. How could it not affect our promotions? Back then…”

Ji-ho focused, leaning in to listen to Jae-in’s voice.

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

Pentagram’s car accident was more than just a single group’s misfortune; it had many indirect victims. Because of the rumors surrounding Ji-ho—ranging from his death to being in critical condition—the music industry had taken on a conservative atmosphere.

The high frequency of traffic accidents involving celebrities, who traveled busily across the country all year round, was brought to light, and prevention measures were seriously discussed. Music show hosts always included a message wishing for Ji-ho’s recovery. Even if it wasn’t a full mourning period, it was natural for active singers to follow that tone.

Enheim, who had just started their promotions, was no exception. They had to wrap up their 2nd mini-album activities without finishing all their planned music show recordings. Many scheduled events were canceled, and the members, who should have been busy, found themselves stuck in their dorm.

“Isn’t this a total overkill? Why are our promotions being cut short just because Pentagram had an accident? We worked our asses off practicing. It was all for nothing.”

“Yeah, well, the reaction was mediocre anyway. I’m glad to stop doing that cringey concept. I’m gonna grind ranked games while we rest.”

“Coming from a Gold-tier scrub.”

“Wanna die? I’ll turn you into Ji-ho today.”

“Crazy. What kind of meme is that?”

“Pfft, I made it up. I was totally annoyed at Pentagram acting like seniors the other day.”

Where had they left their consciences? Jae-in was furious at the Enheim members, who were snickering and insulting a patient for fun.

“Are you guys insane? What did you just say? Turn him into who?”

It wasn’t just anyone; it was Ji-ho, someone Jae-in had a history with, someone he had once followed like a real brother. Even if they were on bad terms now, he couldn’t stand his members mocking someone who was severely injured and whose survival was uncertain.

“Argh, what? Why are you picking a fight all of a sudden, Jae-in Hyung?”

“There goes his anger issues again.”

Openly belittling a fellow member—and the leader at that—was a common occurrence in Enheim. Jae-in’s status as the eldest meant nothing. If he asked why they were being so rude to their elder, the Enheim members would boldly snap back, calling him a “Kkondae” (an old person who lectures).

Aside from Jae-in, the group was made up entirely of minors; at the time of their debut, everyone except him was underaged.

On the surface, they emphasized a refreshing “boyish” charm, but in reality, they were a collection of members who embodied the worst stereotypes of the “MZ generation” described in the media. No, to be precise, they were a group of ill-mannered boys so bad that it felt unfair to group them with their peers.

“What? Lee Ra-min, say that again. Anger issues? You said that to me, didn’t you?”

“We were just talking amongst ourselves, so what? Can’t we just be comfortable in the dorm?”

“If you don’t want to get scolded, fix your tone first. I told you to watch your mouth even when the cameras are off. Did you already forget that fans found out because your cursing got caught in the self-produced content? If your subconscious attitude of looking down on other groups gets exposed, we’re finished!”

“What? Are you sensitive because we’re talking about Pentagram? You were always the one picking on Ji-ho for having no presence, but now you’re acting all nice?”

“Exactly. Jae-in Hyung is seriously ridiculous. You, who used to throw fits in front of him, are way worse than us talking behind his back. Hey, hey! The first-floor doorbell. The manager hyung must be coming up!”

Leaving behind a speechless Jae-in—who had been hit where it hurt—the Enheim members scrambled to hide things they shouldn’t let the manager see. Secretly opened cell phones were child’s play; there were plenty of items in their possession that shouldn’t belong to a group with middle schoolers.

It was a sight that would make fans, who viewed Enheim as a group of pure boys, feel a massive sense of betrayal.

Unlike them, Jae-in, who didn’t need to move busily, sat on the sofa with a hollow heart and hung his head. More annoying than the early end of promotions, the younger members who ignored him, or the lack of any sense of duty as an idol, was—

“Shit… it’s not like I wanted Jung Ji-ho to die. I just…”

Just because Ji-ho—who was once his best friend—had betrayed him, didn’t mean he had ever cursed him to vanish from the world. Even though they weren’t in contact anymore, he never wanted the brothers he’d practiced with and Ha-un to suffer a car accident.

The worst “curse” Jae-in had ever harbored was the childish hope that Pentagram wouldn’t succeed without him.

“Jung Ji-ho… Ji-ho Hyung, you’re not… you’re not actually going to die, right?”

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

During the idle off-season, Jae-in watched the misfortune of Pentagram—specifically Ji-ho—unfold. Unlike the typical entertainment industry that forgets easily, the media continued to churn out reports related to Ji-ho all month long.

The suspicion that Ji-ho had framed the manager for the seatbelt violation, the absurd articles claiming he was “playing patient,” and the rumors of discord within Pentagram, including allegations about Ji-ho’s past personality.

The controversies surrounding Ji-ho continued to balloon to a level that even a fellow idol like Jae-in couldn’t understand.

Watching that flow, Jae-in was incredibly confused.

When the stories about the debut lineup and Jun-o’s expulsion were brought up, he felt a sense of catharsis, thinking Ji-ho’s “true colors” were finally being revealed. But aside from that, there was a flood of rumors that felt like nonsense even to someone who disliked Ji-ho.

“I mean, why do people believe this without any evidence? A doctor literally interviewed saying he was severely injured. But because of one blurry photo… this is ridiculous. Jun-o Hyung left the debut team because Ji-ho bullied him? If Jung Ji-ho had the personality to bully someone! No, no. Maybe it’s true. Who knows if he’s not talking?”

Jae-in thought back to the autumn of three years ago.

He remembered Jun-o bursting into tears, saying he had been unilaterally kicked out of the debut team. He could still vividly hear the lamentations of a man who was full of despair, saying he was giving up on his trainee life.

‘I told the CEO it was a misunderstanding, that it wasn’t true… but he only believes Ji-ho and won’t even listen to me. I have no idea why Ji-ho is doing this to me.’

‘What happened? Tell me what exactly the CEO is misunderstanding!’

When the two brothers he loved so much fell apart and Jun-o was kicked out, Jae-in had asked what happened until the very end. Jun-o, after hesitating when Jae-in said he couldn’t take sides unless he knew, told him a few things.

He said the CEO, Hyeong-jun—who was known for being good-natured—was actually a scary person. He said the CEO made a calculated decision to kick him out rather than fix a misunderstanding. He claimed he had been forced to sign a non-disclosure agreement and couldn’t give details.

Jun-o expressed all the sorrow of a powerless trainee.

By all accounts, he looked like the victim.

It was clearly a cruel thing for Jun-o, who had been a long-term trainee like No-a, to be kicked out of the company right before his debut. Especially at the age of twenty, and for an unclear reason that couldn’t even be disclosed.

The sight of him grieving, saying he had to give up his dream, made even Jae-in tear up. Jun-o’s attempts to protect Ji-ho until the end made Jae-in believe him even more.

‘Ji-ho and I have been a bit awkward lately, but it was just a fight between friends. Not long ago, the company said there were too many 02-liners and one of us might not debut. Could Ji-ho have slandered me because of that?’

‘Not debut together? Where did you hear that? There’s no way Ji-ho Hyung would do that!’

‘You’re right. A pure soul like Ji-ho wouldn’t use such a cheap method. He’s been close with Se-han Hyung lately, maybe that Hyung told him how to…’

‘R-Right. Ji-ho Hyung wouldn’t do it with bad intentions. Something must have gone wrong in the middle. I’ll talk to Ji-ho Hyung. I’ll ask him to persuade the CEO. I’ll tell him to let you debut with us, too!’

But Ji-ho flatly refused Jae-in’s request. He said he didn’t want to get involved in Jun-o’s business anymore, told him not to ask, and kept his mouth shut about what had happened between them until the end.

Afterward, the entirety of Star Ent pushed Jun-o out under Hyeong-jun’s orders. Everyone just stood by and watched a trainee—whom no one except Hyeong-jun and Ji-ho knew the reason for—get expelled. It made him doubt if these were the same people who had been as close as family, working toward debut every day.

Jae-in felt betrayed, and that emotion led him to make the impulsive choice to leave the debut team.

“And Jung Ji-ho… he didn’t even try to stop me when I said I was leaving the company to follow Jun-o Hyung.”

Honestly, he hadn’t truly intended to leave. Given the years they’d spent together, Jae-in had been very hesitant. He had opened up to Ji-ho about his thoughts of leaving because he wanted Ji-ho to hold him back.

‘The CEO of that agency made a direct offer. He said I’m a perfect fit for their next group’s concept. He said he’d settle the contract issues with Star Ent and guarantee a debut. It’s a bigger company than this, and they don’t kick out long-term trainees for no reason.’

‘If that’s your choice, Jae-in… your father looked into it too, so it shouldn’t be a strange agency.’

‘What? If I leave, we really won’t debut together. You know that and you’re still saying that?’

‘What does it matter if we’re in the same group or not? As long as we both debut, it’s fine.’

But all that came back was Ji-ho’s obligatory words—wishing him luck and saying he’d do well at the new agency.

‘Ha, fine. I’m leaving, so you five go ahead and debut. Rumors are already everywhere that the CEO kicked out Jun-o Hyung because of you. Everyone knows, right? How fans were already following Jun-o Hyung even though he was just a trainee. Let’s see if you guys even succeed.’

Seeing Ji-ho’s attitude—never telling the truth and never holding him back—Jae-in erased all his hesitation. He decided then whose side he would take between the two brothers he’d followed.

That was how he began to hate Ji-ho, the man who had betrayed him and Jun-o.

“Jung Ji-ho… you ignored us back then. It’s the same for me. My own situation is too hard to even care about Pentagram. So I don’t know. This little noise will die down soon.”

He thought that even as a member of a debut team, speaking up for Ji-ho might help a little. But that would only hurt the victim, Jun-o, more and might even harm Enheim.

So, Jae-in stopped looking at articles about Ji-ho.

He never expected that situation to lead to Ji-ho’s hiatus. He was surprised that Ji-ho, who never gave up, made such an unexpected choice, but nothing changed after that.

When he saw the news from Star Ent, Jae-in laughed triumphantly, thinking the disloyal company had discarded yet another member. He knew it was a forced laugh, and that his heart felt strangely bitter, but Jae-in ignored his true feelings.

Much time had passed.

the honest, unfiltered seventeen-year-old boy no longer existed here in Enheim. All that remained was the twenty-year-old Yoon Jae-in, worn down by reality, turning his eyes away from troublesome things so as not to lose his precarious last chance.

And then, that incident happened.