The Price of Success

Returning swiftly after changing, I found the commotion had largely subsided. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, Han Doyoung was now sporting an apple hairstyle. While it certainly looked more put-together than his earlier bomb-struck appearance, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was truly an improvement.

Once everyone had finished preparing, we made our way to a familiar building—the very one where I had encountered Kwon Yohan on the rooftop after the wrap-up party. This time, however, our ultimate destination differed. Instead of the grilled meat restaurant where we had somberly clinked glasses, we entered a raw fish establishment situated on a different floor.

We had been told we would be having a ‘light meal’ with the managers to celebrate our first number one win of this promotional cycle. While the restaurant didn’t strike me as overly luxurious, the very idea of a raw fish establishment constituting a ‘light meal’ immediately created a strange sense of psychological disconnect.

‘Are we truly eating this on the company’s dime? Seriously?’

Even a small entertainment agency possessed a corporate card. Leader carried it, and we would often use it for meals when our schedules took us out without a manager. In the beginning, we made sure to eat reasonably well. Though we might not have always frequented raw fish restaurants, we certainly never resorted to meager meals like instant cup noodles.

That, however, was only true until we received our very first settlement statement.

Cookie Entertainment processed settlements for its idol groups semi-annually, and knowing that expenses for training, dormitories, and stage productions would be deducted, we hadn’t harbored particularly high hopes for our initial statement.

If the total had simply been zero, the blow might have been less severe. Instead, the thick stacks of paper our members received were riddled with countless minus signs. Before we had even seen the light, we had already amassed an astronomical debt.

In truth, when grouped together, these particular deductions didn’t constitute a significant portion compared to other expenses. Yet, the settlement statement, itemized down to a single won, meticulously recorded every detail, even the two chickens seven of us had ordered and shared. As we reviewed the interminable list of entries, a stark realization dawned on us: the only expenditure we could realistically reduce was our food budget.

Our meals grew meager after that. Still, we found our own solutions. Our parents, understanding our plight, would send us an array of side dishes, and since Maknae’s family was quite comfortable financially, we often enjoyed meals at their expense.

“Hey, your phone’s ringing.”

While waiting for the food, I had been casually leaning against the wall, draped in my jacket, when Lee Seon addressed me. ‘Ah. My phone.’ Having a habit of always keeping it on silent, it took me a moment to register that the vibrating sound was, in fact, Kwon Yohan’s phone.

[Kwon Haeun]

As I retrieved the phone from my bag, the name I had seen earlier that day reappeared on the screen. It was abundantly clear that I wouldn’t hear anything pleasant if I answered now, so I decided it was best not to bother. I casually flipped the phone over, placing it face down on the floor. Lee Seon then asked, a hint of mischief in his tone,

“Who is it that you’re not answering?”

“My sister.”

“Ah.”

I had assumed that would be the end of his questions, but Lee Seon continued to prod, idly mashing an innocent pea with his fork.

“Are you and your sister not on good terms?”

‘Hmm,’ I mused. That was precisely the kind of question I couldn’t possibly answer. While I was on excellent terms with my own younger sister, I knew it was uncommon for siblings to always get along perfectly. Considering the call he’d just overheard, there was no point in pretending things were good.

“Why are you asking something you already clearly know?”

“Hey, what do I know? You haven’t told me a thing! That’s ridiculous.”

I stole a glance at his profile and noticed his cheeks were puffed out, making him almost resemble a hamster. While I couldn’t say precisely what their relationship had been like before, it was evident that Lee Seon harbored numerous grievances toward Kwon Yohan.

Gazing at his immature and utterly innocent face, a mischievous impulse stirred within me. I deliberately turned my body towards Lee Seon, propping my chin in my hand. Seemingly discomforted by the sudden proximity, Lee Seon’s eyes darted around, his gaze intentionally flitting elsewhere.

“Are you really that curious about me?”

“What?”

His evasion ended with that single word. Our gazes were already locked, and Lee Seon’s face, flushed a furious red, could no longer be turned away. His pride simply wouldn’t allow it.

“Do you want to know everything about me, get closer to me, things like that?”

“What nonsense are you spouting?!”

As Lee Seon cried out, the subtle glances that had been directed our way now turned overtly curious. Sensing this shift, he clapped a hand over his mouth with a look of dawning realization.

“Seon, even so, you can’t just yell like that in a place full of strangers. You’re an idol! You need to manage your image.”

“Yohan’s right.”

For some reason, Yoon Jihyuk chimed in, a wide, easy smile gracing his face.

“How ridiculous…”

Han Doyoung, who had been idly spooning soup, muttered coldly. Yet, I felt not the slightest offense. My gaze had been drawn first to his remarkably smooth forehead. Han Doyoung had, it seemed, come all this way without ever undoing his fatally adorable apple hairstyle. ‘Well, well,’ I thought. ‘Look at that pristine hairline. No need to worry about baldness, I suppose.’

Their faces were already widely recognized, and even to those unfamiliar with them, their striking appearances were undeniably attention-grabbing. As the server placed down a plate, they openly gawked at Han Doyoung. There were even a few patrons attempting to secretly snap photos, but the youngest manager quickly intervened.

Amidst the lively chatter, platters piled high with glistening raw fish began to fill the table one by one. The managers, who had been quietly chatting amongst themselves, let out small, appreciative cheers.

“Guys, how much alcohol should we order?”

The manager, who appeared to be the most senior, looked at Yoon Jihyuk and posed the question. As their opinions were being roughly coordinated, I abruptly interjected with my own request to the server.

“Excuse me, is the udon listed as a seasonal menu item still available?”

“Ah, yes. We serve it until spring.”

“Then I’ll have udon and a bottle of cider… And what are you guys ordering?”

“Uh, four bottles of soju,” one of the managers mumbled, a slightly vacant expression on their face. The server confirmed the orders once more before departing.

“What kind of person orders udon at a raw fish restaurant?”

Lee Seon, who had somehow managed to regain his composure despite his previously flushed face, chided me.

“I don’t really like raw fish.”

“Oh, really?”

Yoon Jihyuk countered. “But then why did you order *sakedon* by yourself before?”

‘Ah,’ I realized. ‘I hadn’t considered that Kwon Yohan and I might have different preferences.’ After a moment’s thought, I vaguely equivocated.

“That’s a rice bowl, though.”

‘What kind of nonsense is that?’ Even as I blurted it out, it was an absurd pretense. But perhaps because of the even stranger red apple-haired friend sitting before them, the members seemed to accept it without much question. Or maybe Kwon Yohan had always been an eccentric, unpredictable fellow.

“Then next time, we should go somewhere other than a raw fish restaurant.”

“No, no. It’s rare to find a raw fish restaurant that doesn’t sell separate dishes for kids to eat, anyway.”

“Still, it’d be upsetting if you had to eat something different all by yourself.”

Yoon Jihyuk, his eyebrows furrowed in a concerned eight-shape, genuinely seemed to worry about Kwon Yohan. It almost made me feel bad for having previously thought of him as someone with a vaguely chilling aura.

“Then next time, let’s go for meat.”

I idly poked at the corn cheese placed in front of me. Amusingly, I was doing the exact same thing as the child at the next table. My eyes then met Han Doyoung’s, who was currently stuffing his mouth full and chewing away.

Han Doyoung, having swallowed whatever was in his mouth, though I couldn’t tell if he’d properly chewed it, addressed the managers’ table.

“Let’s have beef for our next company dinner.”

At his bold request, the managers laughed boisterously, chiding, “Looking at you guys eat, it seems we’d need to slaughter an entire cow.” Indeed, all the members seemed to have hearty appetites.

Amidst the comfortable and cheerful atmosphere, an unnecessary worry crept into my mind.

“Is it really okay to eat such expensive things? Won’t we be broke after the settlement deductions?”

I whispered to Han Doyoung, who was conveniently nearby. He responded with a look that suggested he’d heard the strangest thing.

“Food expenses are covered by the company, so why would we be broke after settlement?”

‘You’re rich, yet you worry so much,’ he seemed to imply, taking a swig of soju with a rather delinquent air. Yoon Jihyuk, who had apparently been listening to our conversation, interjected to explain.

“You must not have read the contract carefully. Those minor things go into investment funds for us, so they’re not included in the settlement. Were you worried about other members’ settlement amounts dropping?”

‘Wow…’

The memory of days when even the managers’ meal expenses and hair dye costs were listed on our settlement statement choked me. I had often heard that the difference between small and large agencies could be felt in how they treated their artists, but I had never imagined such a vast disparity.

If these had been the conditions, would I have been able to halve the immense debt that had accumulated? No, it was more likely that Cookie Entertainment, deeming the loss too great, would have quickly cut ties with Red Moon.

“And since your family provides the dorm, there aren’t many expenses for that either.” Choi Seung-beom added.

I vaguely knew he was wealthy, but to think his family would simply provide such a luxurious apartment in the heart of Seoul for the group’s dorm! There was a clear reason why I had the spacious master bedroom all to myself, so vast it felt desolate when empty. ‘What a fortunate life,’ I thought, so astounded that not even envy stirred within me.

‘But what could you possibly lack…’

The question resurfaced. He must have had his own struggles, I reasoned. To judge another’s life by my own standards, I knew far too little about Kwon Yohan.

‘Would he even answer if I asked? You seemed to have no lingering attachments to life.’