Shadows on the Main Stage

[Yes, Pentagram rehearsal is finished. Good work, everyone!]

“Thank you for your hard work!”

The members all bowed and stepped down as the PD’s voice echoed through the stage speakers and their in-ear monitors simultaneously. Everyone looked satisfied; at this rate, there shouldn’t be any issues with the upcoming main performance or the camera angles.

“Whew, I was so nervous because of the last-minute choreo changes. Ji-ho Hyung, weren’t you?”

Usually, rehearsals are for checking camera walking and the overall stage picture, so idols don’t dance with 100% intensity. However, Pentagram had to go all out to verify the modified choreography. That was why Ha-un was huffing and puffing, clinging to Ji-ho to whine.

“Are we really going to keep doing stages like this for the next album? It’s going to be so exhausting.”

Soothing Ha-un’s grumbling was a very familiar task for Ji-ho.

Ji-ho approached Ha-neul, the group’s only stylist, and took a makeup sponge from her. Since Ha-neul was only one person and needed to fix the makeup of members who had moved violently, he intended to help.

“Lee Ha-un, come here. Your makeup is going to melt off from the sweat.”

“Hmph, everyone always prioritizes the Hyungs first. Fine. I’ll just say I have a private stylist too.”

“And that person is me?”

Ji-ho, who was skillfully dabbing Ha-un’s skin—though not as well as Ha-neul—looked at the youngest with an incredulous expression. Whether his complaints were resolved by those few rhythmic touches, Ha-un closed his eyes and wore a mischievous grin.

“Of course. No, not a stylist—a secretary! How about a secretary like the ones who always stick to the male lead in dramas?”

“So you just want me to follow only you around.”

“Hyung, you’re a good cook, you check my SNS for me, and you’re even good at makeup. No matter how I look at it, Ji-ho Hyung, you don’t suit being an idol. So, are you actually interested?”

Ji-ho’s hand, which had been dabbing Ha-un’s face, stopped for a moment. He knew the words were a joke, and it wasn’t the first time Ha-un had said something like this, but hearing the theme “you don’t suit being an idol” again—of all things—felt strange.

The fans, the salon designer, and now even his own member.

‘Is it true? Am I clinging to a job that doesn’t even suit me?’

Ji-ho ended up dwelling on the thought he had tried so hard to suppress.

“So, after I release a solo album and top the Billboard charts to become a global singer, the Hyung by my side will… Hyung? Why are you spacing out?”

“It’s nothing. I think I’m just a bit tired.”

“That’s rare for you. Should we go to the waiting room and rest? The main stage is soon. You might make a mistake otherwise.”

“You’re right. Above all, the stage is the most important.”

The faint sigh he let out didn’t push away the negative emotions filling his chest. However, his sense of responsibility forced him to hide them, at least for a while. At the very least, he wouldn’t have the luxury of looking back at his anxieties until today’s schedule was completely over.

“It’s your turn next, Ha-un. Go to Ha-neul Noona and get your makeup fixed. Tell her I didn’t sweat much, so I’m fine.”

Ji-ho gave Ha-un a smile to show he was okay. Then, he approached Se-han, who was about to enter the waiting room.

“Se-han Hyung.”

“Huh? What is it?”

Se-han, who was fiddling with the area around his temple as if the ear mic was uncomfortable, looked at Ji-ho with a puzzled expression. Ji-ho had called him in a voice so quiet it wouldn’t be heard by others.

“The thing is.”

Ji-ho flinched slightly under Se-han’s gaze. Unlike at the dorm, Se-han had his glasses off and was wearing contacts, which made his eyes look much sharper. Whenever they locked eyes, Ji-ho’s body tended to shrink back due to a certain memory from the past.

However, more often than not, he found comfort in looking into the eyes of a leader who was a bundle of responsibility. Se-han was someone who strove to improve his skills so as not to reveal his deficiencies to others.

For example, the fact that Se-han was the slowest among the members to memorize choreography and found it particularly difficult to keep up with Pentagram’s ever-changing stages.

“For the ‘Bound to Change’ part during the stopping motion, we decided to delay it by a half-beat. I think Se-han Hyung was blocked and didn’t get caught by the camera earlier, but…”

“I was the only one who was fast?”

Se-han’s voice, which usually sounded gentle even if not necessarily kind, turned sharp in an instant. The gaze looking down at Ji-ho also froze into a cold stare for a moment; what permeated that look was a clear discomfort at having his shortcomings exposed.

But his expression quickly relaxed, and he returned to being the usual Se-han. His voice, when he spoke to Ji-ho, was laced with its original softness once more.

“You’re talking about this choreo part, right? Here, the part that ends with ‘Change’?”

“Yes. I think… that was the only mistake during rehearsal.”

“It seems I keep making mistakes. You noticed and told me last time, too, didn’t you, Ji-ho?”

“I’m just happy I can help you, Hyung.”

“Thanks. If I hadn’t known, I would have made a mistake during the main shoot. If Kang Noah had caught it, imagine the fuss he would have made.”

“He’s just very sensitive about choreography. But it’s thanks to him that we can do such diverse stages.”

What Ji-ho hadn’t accounted for was Se-han’s attitude, which had been prickly regarding Noah since the morning. Moreover, Se-han had failed to stop Noah’s stubbornness in the waiting room earlier, and he had even made a mistake in the very choreography that had been changed because of it. It was only natural that Se-han’s mood was sour.

Though Ji-ho couldn’t understand why that arrow was being fired at him.

“But Ji-ho. This is on the same line as what I said this morning, but shouldn’t you stop focusing so much on just helping the members?”

“Pardon?”

“If I were you, having heard such a thing from a fan, I’d be more concerned with my own business. This isn’t the first time we’re having this conversation, is it?”

“……”

Ji-ho realized that Se-han was referring to the incident during the commute where someone had maliciously shouted at him. He also realized that Se-han was angry at his critique.

Ji-ho was flustered by this unexpected reaction. It wasn’t the first time he had subtly told Se-han about a choreography mistake to help him. Even during extra practice, Se-han, who practiced alone to avoid the other members’ eyes, used to accept Ji-ho’s pointers without getting offended.

What was the difference between then and today?

“Hyung, I was just…”

But he couldn’t easily continue, seeing Se-han’s cold eyes. Soon after, Se-han went back into the waiting room, signaling he had nothing more to say, so Ji-ho couldn’t even ask for a proper reason.

The only thing Ji-ho could do was reflect: Was my tone particularly harsh today when I pointed out Se-han Hyung’s mistake?

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

While the main live broadcast for music shows happens in the evening, pre-recordings are generally held early in the day.

This was the real stage, where they were fully dressed in their costumes and everything was set. Even if it was just a small stage in a studio, the singers did their best for the fans who had left their homes at dawn.

The bright ceiling lights that made it hard to see, the amp sounds that made one’s ears feel muffled, and the dancers running wild across the stage were all devices to decorate this performance—but—

“Here we go! …Going out! Up, down! PEN-TA-GRAM!”

“KYAAAA!”

Ultimately, the stars of this stage were the ones receiving the cheers and support of the fans with their whole bodies: the idols.

And Ji-ho was one of those stars. At least for now, no one could deny that.

Neither his rising heart rate nor his heavy breathing got in the way. Even if the movements changed constantly, the core choreography of the title track was ingrained in his body thanks to long hours of practice; it flowed naturally without him even trying.

He thought he had done his best during rehearsal, but the main stage in front of an actual audience was incomparably more addictive.

“I was the one acting fickle, as if you could catch me or not. I didn’t know there was a wild side sleeping inside me either—”

At least at this moment, Ji-ho could forget the anxiety, nervousness, and self-loathing he had felt for the past few hours. Perhaps for him, this was the biggest reason he longed for the stage.

The only space where he could focus solely on positive emotions while erasing all memories.

Because of that, the profession of an idol held great meaning for Ji-ho.

“To have you, I’ll break the limits!”

The voice of the main vocal, Ha-un, pierced through the AR track laid down for lip-syncing and decorated the outro. As the end of the song approached, even more explosive energy erupted on stage.

Within that energy, Noah’s hastily changed choreography, the part Ji-ho had pointed out to Se-han, and the fresh experience for the fans—different from the previous stage—were all naturally melted together.

The pinnacle of a passionate and powerful stage, the knife-like synchronization of five men that seemed to have zero margin for error, and a perfect performance that didn’t falter until the climax.

Even if the end felt like it came too quickly, the catharsis of those three minutes didn’t fade easily. However, time filled with the pleasure of “passion” is only fleeting.

Eventually, the stage ends, and cold reality finds Ji-ho once again.

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

Ha-un, who was acting as a temporary MC today, had stepped away briefly to receive some instructions, and the other members were slumped over, exhausted from the two intense performances.

However, just because the pre-recording was over didn’t mean everything was finished. Aside from the fact that the evening live broadcast was still to come, there were many opportunities to take advantage of while so many singers were gathered in one place.

“Choi Go-un, don’t lean back, you’ll ruin your hair. You know we have a challenge shoot with N-Heim, right? Everyone, get up.”

In Se-han, as he led the members, there was no trace of the sharp edge he had shown toward Ji-ho earlier. His skill in coaxing and soothing his tired younger members was the image of an idol leader that everyone acknowledged.

And so, the four of them, excluding Ha-un, dragged their heavy bodies toward another nearby waiting room. It was the room of an idol group named N-Heim, and they were there for a challenge shoot, which was a must during promotion cycles.

The Challenge.

This activity, frequently utilized on SNS, is a way for people to enjoy a single action by continuing it. Idols, in particular, would encourage challenges using their own songs and choreography by asking other celebrities to participate.

It had become an essential marketing tool, and Pentagram had been filming challenges with many groups throughout this promotion cycle. However, the group they were asking today, N-Heim, unfortunately did not have a very good relationship with Pentagram.

“Senior, hello!”

“Yes, hello. We look forward to the challenge shoot.”

Excluding Ji-ho, all the Pentagram members were tall—over 185cm—and had substantial builds, making most men nearby pale in comparison. Since N-Heim was a group mostly made of minors with a “refreshing” concept, they looked like they could be swallowed whole by the intense-looking Pentagram.

It was even more surprising that N-Heim was a representative example in the entertainment industry of why you shouldn’t judge by appearances.

“You’re going to leave right after the challenge, right? We aren’t filming, so we’ll just be resting.”

“Whoa, did you see this photo posted in the community? It’s insane.”

“Hey, hey. Keep it down. Pentagram’s manager came with them.”

“So what? Our manager isn’t here.”

They initially gave a proper greeting to their seniors, but soon sat on the sofa and started fiddling with their tablets as if uninterested. Their behavior—giggling amongst themselves—reeked of the immaturity typical of their young age. It was easy to see why rumors of N-Heim being rude had spread despite them having debuted not long ago.

However, the reason the two groups didn’t get along wasn’t simply due to N-Heim’s childish attitude.

“I heard they’re filming in groups of two, so Ramin and I will do it. For Pentagram, it’s obviously Noah Hyung, right? It’s so predictable. You guys always promote using Noah Hyung’s face.”

It was because of one person with pink hair: N-Heim’s leader, Yoon Jae-in, who went by the stage name Jay. Instead of mingling with his own members, he stepped forward with a crooked smile.