The Price of Conviction

They say even mountains and rivers change in ten years. What about eight?

‘Wow…’

The starting point, in truth, is always much the same: longing, envy. Some children, captivated by the glittering stars exposed in media, feel such emotions and then take a step forward.

I want to be like that too.

No grand reason was necessary. That simple, obvious desire was enough to make them stand and begin to walk. Yet, to truly seize what they wanted, they had to run, to soar.

[November Month-End Evaluation Results]

‘Yoon Jihyuk is first again?’

Yoon Jihyuk had learned to fly early. While natural gifts—such as his voice, face, and physique—certainly played a part, all the remaining gaps were filled with sheer effort.

‘Amazing.’

‘Why is he still here? It’ll be another five years until a new boy group debuts.’

Had he moved agencies, his debut would have been significantly faster. It might even have happened at a young age, what people commonly referred to as the ‘prime’ age. Numerous companies had extended business cards, fully aware of his affiliation with UNI-Q.

His refusal of all offers wasn’t due to some noble loyalty to the agency where he first became a trainee.

‘It’s frustrating and a pity.’

‘Exactly. Once you get older and get dumped, it’s over. He’d surely skyrocket if he debuted now.’

Of course, it was always the ones who weren’t even in a position to speak who had the most to say.

He harbored a deep conviction. Rather than debuting prematurely, shining briefly, and then fading away, it was better to undergo a sure and stable process to ensure long-term survival. What did a slight delay matter? His name, etched clearly, would undoubtedly be on the next debut roster anyway.

Unless it was a group remembered for a very long time, it held no meaning.

In a way, one could say he held onto his initial goal with the purest intent. The goal wasn’t some distant, elusive dream. Knowing roughly when it would be achieved, he felt no fear.

‘Oh dear… he failed again.’

And Jung Sehan was the only one whose circumstances mirrored his own.

‘He’s not going to get demoted to Group A, is he?’

The only difference was his inconsistency.

By the time HEX’s debut group, still unnamed, was being formed, Yoon Jihyuk and Jung Sehan were the eldest among the twelve members. The company had early on mentioned them as leader candidates, entrusting them with the role of guiding their younger peers.

At first glance, they seemed to share similar personalities, but upon closer inspection, they were polar opposites.

‘If you’re not planning to graduate, wouldn’t it be better to drop out and focus entirely on practice? Your attendance is already hanging by a thread.’

That was Yoon Jihyuk, always sharply confronting reality.

‘Sometimes you just don’t want to go to school. A good rest would have been enough.’

And that was Jung Sehan, utterly lax.

They disagreed on everything from start to finish, so naturally, their relationship couldn’t be described as good. However, a camaraderie, born of their long time together, did exist.

‘See, Jihyuk and Sehan really need to hold the center.’

They received praise together.

‘Is this really the best you can do managing the kids? How do you expect to debut like this?’

Sharing the brunt of criticism also forged a strong bond.

Everyone believed they had a mutually complementary relationship, one where neither could be absent from the group. The team was structured with them at its core, and some members were even eliminated simply because their images overlapped.

‘You know, lately, I’ve wanted to act?’

So, this was just part of their ‘differences,’ merely a temporary detour. He firmly believed they would ultimately remain together.

The trust shattered after the final debut lineup was confirmed during the pre-debut period.

It was said that a newly launched D-Net affiliated agency had offered Jung Sehan a deal. If he transferred, they would leverage their influence to help him start immediately with supporting roles. For someone aspiring to succeed as an actor, this would certainly not be a bad proposition.

‘I’m sorry.’

Jung Sehan changed his mind with remarkable ease.

‘…Don’t make such a hasty decision; give it more thought. There’s no guarantee that starting an acting career right now will immediately lead to success. HEX is destined to soar, and it would be better for you to be part of the group. Why are you so determined to do this?’

‘If I stay in the group, I’d have to endure it for another two or three years.’

‘…’

‘I want to do it now.’

He didn’t even seem particularly sorry. He merely appeared tormented by his inability to endure a situation that required his apology, as if swallowing his anger internally.

‘You endured years as a trainee, and now you can’t even hold out for just two or three more?’

‘It’s because I endured for so long that I can’t do it anymore.’

Jung Sehan irritably ran his hand through his hair, speaking.

‘Jihyuk, you wouldn’t understand, since you’re so good and excel at any position you take on. But honestly, I’m overwhelmed.’

Between the words he spewed out, something crystallized, embedded deep within.

‘I hate that I practice just as hard, to the death, but get fewer parts than the younger kids who joined later. And I don’t think my share will change in the future.’

He felt his limits. His wide eyes shone vividly, plastered with an inferiority complex that couldn’t be erased.

‘I’m going to do what I like more and what I think I can do better right now. I’m sorry that the parts and choreography will have to be redistributed, but I have no intention of changing my decision.’

And finally, he uttered words that should never have been spoken.

‘You wouldn’t want me to get a mental illness and quit, would you? Is that your ideal team?’

That very evening, Jung Sehan packed his bags and left the debut group’s dorm.

He might have thought it was a simple matter of just himself leaving, but that wasn’t the case. One more member, who had named Jung Sehan as their closest friend and secretly relied on him, also departed. Moreover, a large number of fans who had supported those two or enjoyed their dynamic relationship abandoned the group.

It would have been fortunate if they had merely left. Instead, they even turned into anti-fans.

To somehow mend the tattered team and keep it running, Yoon Jihyuk had to be gentler, more magnanimous. Fortunately, the team, barely held together by a fragile consensus, still showed glimmers of potential.

And then, UNI-Q, against all odds, threw a stone into the barely calm waters.

“Kwon Yohan.”

There was a very simple reason why he had painstakingly led and pulled along someone who was clearly lagging behind.

‘Do you intend to keep going, without quitting?’

‘…Yes.’

It was a conversation held at the final stage of debut preparations, just as the team began to falter once more.

‘You won’t turn your attention to something else, claiming you want to do it instead of this.’

‘Isn’t that obvious?’

The pale-faced boy, devoid of color, fixed him with an intensely resolute gaze.

‘I have nothing else now. I’ll never quit, even if it kills me.’

The emphasis on ‘even if it kills me’ was strikingly intense.

This level of fervor was enough. As long as it didn’t change. There was still plenty of time ahead, and people were bound to improve with effort.

The problem was, looking at his current state, there was a genuine worry that he might actually die…

“Ah, you were here.”

A grating noise reached Yoon Jihyuk’s ears as he glared into the mirror.

“Jihyuk. Do you still hold a grudge against me?”

Jung Sehan strode boldly into the waiting room, which someone else had been assigned and was using, without asking for permission.

‘I figured he’d show up. I should have removed my name tag.’

Yoon Jihyuk slowly closed his eyes. He had no desire to deal with him. On his seemingly serene face, dense eyelashes formed a picturesque curve.

“I even made sure you got screentime, yet you have so many complaints.”

“Don’t make me laugh. I know better than anyone how dark your true intentions are.”

“Wow, that’s quite an inflated sense of self-importance…”

Just then, familiar footsteps approached.

“Ah.”

Yoon Jihyuk slowly opened his eyes and turned his head towards the sound. Kwon Yohan stood at the open doorway, hesitating.

“Should I make space for you?”

A strange laugh escaped him.

“No. We have to go practice now, don’t we?”

“Just a moment. Let me change first.”

Yoon Jihyuk gathered the clothes he had arrived in, watching Kwon Yohan’s retreating back as he headed beyond the partition, only belatedly realizing the presence of the unwelcome guest still standing there. His face, flushed with overt emotion, was a sight to behold.

“We’re a bit too busy to deal with an actor, as you can see.”

“You…”

“Mr. Jung Sehan. You keep mentioning your friendship with us on social media and personal broadcasts. Could you perhaps tone it down? I try not to look, but the kids get annoyed and show me, so I keep seeing it.”

Jung Sehan’s face first drained to a stark white, then flushed crimson with shame.

“Well… if you have any conscience, that is. If not, then there’s nothing I can do.”

Jung Sehan, expressing his anger by sharply tilting his head to the left, stomped out of the waiting room as if to ensure he was heard. As if simply leaving wasn’t enough to quell his burning resentment, he deliberately added one more remark.

“Just you wait. It only takes a moment to fall.”

At the clichéd line, Yoon Jihyuk let out a hollow laugh.

“He should really read more books. For an actor, his vocabulary is quite lacking…”

The advice, almost a soliloquy, did not reach the person who had already departed.

Just then, Kwon Yohan, who had been rustling as he changed clothes beyond the partition, reappeared. Since neither of them had made an effort to lower their voices, he must have overheard their conversation. Kwon Yohan glanced at the closed door with an indifferent expression.

“What was that?”

His tone was sharp.

“Is he bothering you?”

He looked as if he would go scold Jung Sehan if Yoon Jihyuk said yes. At this unexpected reaction, Yoon Jihyuk burst into laughter.

“Yeah. He was mean.”

“How courageous of him.”

“…Huh?”

Then, he reached out to Yoon Jihyuk, who was sitting, and ruffled his fine hair. It felt like the gesture of an elder dealing with a junior.

“You did well today.”

‘Is that so?’ Yoon Jihyuk murmured softly, bowing his head deeply. Thanks to that, his petty actions today wouldn’t remain a shameful memory.

Thankfully.