The Price of a Dream

In a life stretching out, its direction unknown and distant, I encountered a single, brilliantly shining light. Would it be foolish to run blindly towards it?

‘Yohan,’ his mother began, ‘I’ve looked into it. You won’t get proper sleep, and it’s incredibly tough. If you become a celebrity, strangers will talk about you, and they might even approach you on the street. Can you really avoid the stress? You know stress is the worst thing for your body.’

‘Do you think your son is so stupid he wouldn’t know what being a celebrity entails? I know. I told you, I’ll be fine.’

‘…’

‘I’ll go to the hospital even more regularly than I do now. If any problems arise, I’ll contact the secretary immediately. I haven’t had any major issues living alone, have I? Please, just trust me this one time?’

As the saying goes, no parent can truly win against their child. Faced with his desperate plea, Kwon Yohan’s mother finally relented.

‘Alright,’ she conceded. ‘But if anything goes wrong with your health, I’ll make you quit. Understood?’

‘Yes, I promise.’

Kwon Yohan even extended his pinky finger, making a firm vow. He could do so for two reasons. One, he hadn’t experienced firsthand just how difficult the path truly was. The other was that, in front of someone desperate to grant a fervent wish, everything simply seemed to fall into place.

However, the timing was rather awkward.

‘The debut lineup has just been finalized, you see…’ Choi Byung-joo, the CEO of UNI-Q, tried to coax Yohan gently, carefully gauging his reaction.

‘If you haven’t learned anything, it’ll be hard to promote anyway. So, why don’t we just put you in the next debut lineup?’

‘You said that would mean waiting six years.’

‘That’s true… it is, but…’

While Yohan was young, he wasn’t young by the average idol debut age. He was nineteen now; waiting six years was unthinkable. Considering the period of pre-debut training leading to an official debut, it meant debuting at twenty-six. Even with a few days of cramming, Kwon Yohan knew that debuting at that age would be incredibly difficult.

‘Hold on a moment. Let me see if I can adjust things with the practical staff. If push comes to shove, I’ll even let you debut as a solo artist. Solo is better than a group, right? And you get all the earnings… Ah, Yohan, that probably doesn’t matter much to you.’

‘Was he trying to gloss over it like this?’ Kwon Yohan, who had been puffed up with expectation like a balloon, instantly deflated, his face now filled with a sense of futility.

‘That’s it. It seems this is something I can’t do either.’ Just as he was about to retreat back into his solitary burrow, Kwon Yohan received an unexpected call from the CEO.

–Yohan!

‘Yes, CEO.’

–’CEO’? What’s that? Call me ‘Uncle.’ How’s your father doing?

With a look that clearly said, ‘How would I know that?’ Kwon Yohan replied vaguely.

–Something came up, and there’s an opening in the debut lineup. I think we can put you in, Yohan. What do you think? Are you still interested?

‘…’

–Yohan?

‘Yes! I am! I’m absolutely interested!’

Yohan, who had frozen momentarily, doubting his own ears, sprang to his feet and answered. The person on the other end of the line laughed heartily, though it sounded a little fake.

–Alright then, drop by the company sometime this week when you have time. Except for Wednesday.

****

As soon as he arrived at the company, Kwon Yohan wasted no time, stamping his seal on the contract.

‘You’ve read it thoroughly, right?’

‘My father said he already looked at it,’ Yohan replied. ‘So it should be fine.’

‘Even so, you’re the one signing, so you should read it properly.’

‘I did read it properly.’

He thought the CEO seemed to be rushing to an unusual degree. However, when told it was because debut was approaching, Kwon Yohan more or less understood. The CEO, beaming, led Kwon Yohan towards the practice room used by HEX.

From some point, Kwon Yohan had been clenching his fists. Though he tried to act mature, his overflowing excitement was plainly leaking out.

‘Kids, say hello. He’s our last member, and you’ll be practicing with him starting today.’

However, the atmosphere in the practice room was gloomy. Han Doyoung wasn’t there, and Lee Seon, who was relatively cheerful, strode over and began his interrogation.

‘Whoa, he’s really pretty. Didn’t you pick him purely as a visual member, too blatantly?’

‘Right? Doesn’t it feel like he’d get applause just for standing still on stage?’

Lee Seon seemed to take the CEO’s words as a joke and brushed them aside. ‘How old are you? Where are you from? What’s your name?’

Bombarded by questions, Kwon Yohan, flustered, began to answer them one by one. ‘Nineteen. I’m from Seoul, and I’m Kwon Yohan.’

‘We’re the same age! No, not your hometown. Which company are you from? I haven’t seen you before, so you’re not from our company, are you?’

The CEO subtly changed the subject. ‘He just signed the contract today, so why wouldn’t he be from our company?’

‘Ah! Seriously, CEO, you’re being frustrating! I mean, where were you until yesterday? You’re not from another agency, are you? Then an academy? Which academy?’

He was nothing short of a question mark assassin. Kwon Yohan, who had been merely rolling his eyes, began to realize that if he didn’t properly answer what this guy was curious about, it would only get more troublesome.

‘I didn’t come from anywhere else; this is my first company. What kind of academy are you talking about?’

‘Obviously, a specialized academy for this field! Like practical music, dance, or even a comprehensive one that prepares you for everything…’

‘I’ve never attended a related academy.’

‘…Huh?’

All eyes immediately fixed on Kwon Yohan.

Kwon Yohan realized he wasn’t exactly a welcome presence here. Even a fool couldn’t misunderstand the atmosphere.

But to turn his back and walk out now…

‘I’ll work hard.’

The thought that he might never find something that made his heart pound if he let this opportunity slip by completely dominated him.

‘Truly. I will work hard.’

Kwon Yohan bowed his head deeply, pleading.

****

At first, the dream felt excessively long and vivid, but at some point, I simply wanted to keep verifying everything with my own eyes. These were things that would have been difficult to ask Kwon Yohan, or that he likely wouldn’t have answered even if asked. In particular, I wanted to know about the short period after he joined HEX and began working with them.

I felt that if I knew, the persistent unease I’d been feeling would finally dissipate.

However, the dream, which had flowed so smoothly, abruptly ended at the very scene I was most curious about.

“…Yohan?”

It was a return to reality.

“Yohan, are you awake?”

I slowly opened my stinging eyes. The smell of disinfectant. A white ceiling with a monotonous pattern. It was a hospital, without a doubt. Someone was holding my trembling fingertips.

“…Yoon Jihyuk… hyung.”

“Yes, it’s me.”

As my vision slowly cleared, something inserted into my arm came into view. I instinctively tensed, and Yoon Jihyuk, startled, tightened his grip on my hand.

“You need to relax your arm.”

Ah, an IV drip.

“Did the concert end well?”

Yoon Jihyuk asked back with a wry smile.

“Is that the first thing you’re curious about?”

“Well… yes.”

“It was almost over anyway, so it finished well.”

His hand, stroking my head, was surprisingly gentle. The last face I’d seen had been so fierce that I might have screamed, had it not been a concert venue and had there not been staff around.

‘Perhaps this is also a dream?’ I even entertained the thought, having had such a long dream.

“We can talk about us slowly back at the dorm… For now, I’ll go get your mother.”

Like someone still holding onto a lingering thought, Yoon Jihyuk’s hand hovered over my head for a while even after his words ended. Only after two rotations of the second hand did he suddenly stand up, like someone who had made a decision. His steps as he walked out were heavy.

Before long, the hospital room door opened again.

“…”

This time, it was Kwon Yohan’s mother, whose face I had grown familiar with from seeing her several times in the dream.

“You must quit.”

Those were the first words she uttered upon entering, her face pale with worry.

“You promised. You’ll quit, and when you’re discharged, you’re to return home. I’ll take care of the paperwork.”

Her demeanor was unyielding, as if her mind was already made up.

I needed to say I couldn’t, but the words wouldn’t come out quickly. Her appearance in my memory was only a year ago, yet her face was noticeably haggard, clearly from severe emotional distress.

“They said you haven’t even had your regular check-ups. And you haven’t been managing your condition properly either. I’m too anxious; I can’t bear to watch any longer.”

However, this was not a problem that would be resolved by remaining silent.

Perfect persuasion would take time. It could be a month, two months, or even a year. What about Kwon Yohan then? The tour schedule? The fans waiting for it?

…And HEX?

“I’m sorry.”

I had to persuade her. I had to somehow gain even a brief reprieve.

“I made a mistake. I won’t do it again.”

“…A promise is a promise, isn’t it? You must keep it.”

Her words solidified the direction of my persuasion.

“I made a mistake. I was having so much fun performing, so engrossed that I neglected my responsibilities. I know I was wrong.”

“If you know…”

“But the members aren’t at fault. I don’t want to quit so irresponsibly. Even if I do quit, I want to properly discuss the timing first and say a proper goodbye to the fans.”

She seemed like someone who would be swayed by an appeal to ‘duty’. As expected, Kwon Yohan’s mother listened intently to my words, her expression wavering slightly.

“Please, can’t I?”

Finally, I spoke words that might evoke a sense of generosity. She pondered for a long time, her face downcast and silent, before taking my hand.

“Until when?”

“…I want to at least finish the tour.”

She sighed, then replied.

“Alright. Only until then.”

“Yes.”

“If you don’t get your check-ups on time, I’ll come get you even before then.”

“…Yes.”

Her imitation of a strict mother soon crumbled, and she hugged me—or rather, Kwon Yohan’s body. ‘You’ve grown up, after all. You know how to take responsibility. You know how to speak maturely.’ Her voice, tinged with what might have been laughter or tears, trembled faintly. I awkwardly patted her back.

After a long while, she released me and smiled wryly, asking,

“Shall I peel you a peach?”

My nose strangely stung. I mimicked Kwon Yohan and replied,

“Yes, Mom.”