“Sung Sol, are you cold?”
“Me? I’m okay…?”
Sol responded reflexively to Tae-oh’s question. The word “okay” slipped out of his mouth, just like a pre-recorded message on an answering machine.
“Sol hyung always says he’s okay.”
“We haven’t even started the rehearsal yet, so it might be good to wear something over until then. I’ll go get it.”
“Yeah, that sounds good. Go ahead.”
As soon as Tae-oh finished speaking, he ran towards the waiting room where the members had unpacked their belongings. Sol, caught off guard and now standing in front of the heater while still in Ji-ho’s arms, only realized how cold his hands were, like blocks of ice, when he felt the intense heat of the heater. It was a complete mess. The situation was already bleak and difficult, and he couldn’t afford to lose focus like this. Just as Sol shook his head to clear his thoughts, he felt something cold touch the back of his neck.
“Ugh!”
It was Deuk-yong’s prank. He pressed his cold hand against the back of Sol’s neck, and as Sol jumped in surprise, Deuk-yong grabbed his belly and laughed.
“Kim Deok... no, DK.”
Ga-ram looked at Deuk-yong with a stern expression, mimicking Tae-oh’s seriousness. Without words, the message to stop playing around was conveyed, and Deuk-yong pouted.
Seeing this, Sol finally managed a slight smile. Ga-ram had tried to stop Deuk-yong, but in fact, it was Deuk-yong’s prank that helped Sol snap back to his senses. His hands were so cold that he was fully alert now. Moreover, moving away from the staff and cameras to a secluded spot made him feel more at ease.
Now clear-headed, Sol felt the need to do something, so he quickly suggested to Ga-ram, Deuk-yong, and Ji-ho, “Let’s practice the dance moves. Just standing around makes it feel even colder.”
“Shall we?”
“Let’s just go over the moves briefly.”
“Sounds good. Actually, I was feeling a bit uneasy, too.”
Ga-ram was pleased with Sol’s suggestion. As always, Ga-ram had the most difficulty mastering the choreography. He hadn’t shown it, but he had been subtly uneasy throughout practice, constantly receiving corrections from Eun-gyeom.
“Yeah. Ga-ram hyung, you keep messing up the intro.”
“Let’s start over from the beginning. If we keep moving, we won’t feel as cold.”
It was Sol who made the suggestion, but under Ji-ho’s leadership, the four of them slowly began to warm up their bodies. The warehouse was so cold that if they made big movements right away, they might get injured.
The small, fluttering motions they started with gradually became bigger. They went over the choreography, which their bodies had become accustomed to, ensuring they didn’t bump into each other in the confined, narrow space. While they carefully checked each move, making sure no one was making mistakes, Tae-oh came running, carrying a bunch of padded jackets.
“Tae-oh is running.”
“I’ve never seen Tae-oh run before.”
“Me neither.”
“Me neither… He doesn’t have to run.”
“He’s running because he’s worried someone might be cold.”
Everyone burst into laughter at Ji-ho’s joke. In truth, Tae-oh always finished his preparations earlier than anyone, so it was rare to see him run. Watching him, carrying an armful of jackets while striding over, he seemed like a well-trained guard dog, and his large frame even looked cute.
It must have been cold because when Tae-oh arrived, the members, who had been exhaling warm breaths, hurriedly picked up their clothes and put them on.
“When will the rehearsal start?”
“I took a quick look, and there seem to be some issues with the previous shoot.”
In response to Ji-ho’s question, Tae-oh glanced back in the direction he had come from. As always, it was the hardest thing to stick to the schedule. Moreover, it wasn’t even their own filming set; they were just filling in. If Yeong-ho didn’t come and inform them of something, it felt awkward to wander around, so Sol glanced at Tae-oh and asked cautiously.
“Will it take long?”
“Probably. We should practice while taking appropriate breaks.”
At Tae-oh’s words, Ji-ho shrugged his shoulders with a satisfied expression.
“Yeah. We were just checking our movements, like Sol suggested.”
“You were doing well.”
After hearing Ji-ho’s words, Tae-oh handed Sol a padded jacket and gave a small smile. He seemed quite pleased to hear that Sol had been practicing on his own. As Sol was warming himself by the heater and continuing his practice, Yeong-ho suddenly rushed over and called out to him urgently.
“Sol-ah, you need to come with me for a moment.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, quickly.”
Sol, looking puzzled, pointed to himself with his index finger. While all the other members reacted as if they had expected this, Sol was the only one caught off guard, being dragged away by Yeong-ho. Yeong-ho’s pace was so fast that Sol, struggling to keep up, felt like he might trip. As Sol walked, looking back at the members left behind, Yeong-ho called out to him.
“Sol-ah, you just need to say, ‘I can do it’ and ‘Thank you,’ no matter what.”
“For what? What’s happening?”
Sol, now accustomed to the black mask that had become almost a part of him since the last incident, hooked it over his ears and asked Yeong-ho again. These days, it felt more awkward not to wear a mask in a crowded place. And just like the hat Tae-oh had advised him to wear, the mask helped him when standing in front of many people.
“It’s not like it’s a big role, but you can definitely show your face. Sol, don’t be too nervous... just keep a blank expression like last time, and make sure your face looks good on camera.”
“Okay...”
Sol nodded reluctantly at Yeong-ho’s words. Seeing Sol’s lukewarm reaction seemed to make Yeong-ho even more anxious. He stopped in his tracks, grabbed Sol’s shoulder tightly, and insisted again. Sol felt uncomfortable with Yeong-ho being so close and took a step back. Though Yeong-ho’s worried expression didn’t easily relax, Sol was just as anxious.
“If we get this one shot right, you can take a break.”
“Um... what about being a backup dancer?”
“Huh? Let’s talk about that again once we get through this.”
Sol, internally debating whether to use a Stability Potion right away, looked at Yeong-ho with a nervous gaze, considering his words about being able to rest afterward. If there was truly no more filming after this, it might indeed be the right time to use the potion.
After the shoot, it was a relief for Sol that he wouldn’t have to be a backup dancer, so there was no need to use more of the Stability Potion. However, he felt a twinge of disappointment. He had practiced a lot with the members, and he wished that his dancing could have been recorded. While Sol was hesitating, unable to decide whether to take the Stability Potion, Yeong-ho led him to another set.
“This is Sol.”
At the location they arrived at, many people were gathered, including Eun-gyeom. For a moment, Sol didn’t recognize Eun-gyeom and walked past him, as his styling was entirely different from usual.
“Sol-ah, you’re here?”
“Oh, hello.”
Realizing belatedly that the person speaking to him so familiarly from beside him was Eun-gyeom, Sol hurriedly bowed in greeting.
Eun-gyeom’s solo album, as YC’s boy group’s leader, had a concept that was entirely the opposite of his previous works. He wanted to shed his usual soft, puppy-like image. His normally soft, brown hair, which he had always stubbornly kept, was now cut short with a parting. Dressed in a black leather suit with leather gloves and adorned with flashy accessories, he glittered as if he had just come down from the stage.
While Sol’s external changes were also significant, Eun-gyeom’s whole atmosphere seemed to have turned 180 degrees, as if he had become a completely different person. Unconsciously, Sol kept glancing sideways at Eun-gyeom. Every time their eyes met, Eun-gyeom would softly fold his eyes and smile. That smile brought back the familiar, soft face of the old Eun-gyeom, oddly putting Sol at ease.
“Lower your mask a bit. Let’s see what’s so special about you that it’s causing Tae Eun-gyeom to make such a fuss. Let’s take a look.”
A woman, who had her hair tied up high and was sitting in a chair, spoke in a commanding tone. Sol froze for a moment as all eyes turned to him. If Eun-gyeom and Yeong-ho hadn’t simultaneously nudged him and told him once more to take off his mask, he would have stood there in a daze for hours.
Everything happened in an instant. Sol, who was dragged all the way to the waiting room that Eun-gyeom was using, was now changing into a new outfit and getting his makeup done again. Although Yeong-ho and the others present were busily showing him monitors and papers, none of it registered with him. The one saving grace was that Yeong-ho stayed close to him like glue.
“So, just think, ‘I’m the boss here.’ and look at the camera like that.”
“Boss...”
“Charismatic and deadly.”
“Charismatic and deadly…”
With his spirit seemingly drained, Sol repeated Yeong-ho’s words like a parrot. Seeing that Sol still wasn’t quite himself, Yeong-ho told him to wait for a moment and then disappeared, returning shortly with Ji-ho. In a space filled with unfamiliar faces, seeing a familiar one brought both relief and a sudden jolt to his senses.
“Ji-ho hyung!”
“Why the long face? You’re the only one on this shoot.”
Stopping his makeup halfway through, Sol looked at Ji-ho with a sorrowful expression. How could he be this happy to see someone? Sol’s more intense-than-expected reaction equally surprised Ji-ho. Sol, who usually just smiled lukewarmly, reacting so strongly made Ji-ho feel strangely proud and happy.
As Ji-ho sat next to Sol and watched him get his makeup done, Sol, as if waiting for this moment, relayed exactly what Yeong-ho had said to him.
“So, it’s a charismatic and deadly villain. Is that right?”
Having grasped the gist of what Sol needed to do, Ji-ho nodded, resting his chin on his hand. The requests seemed a bit tough for Sol, as Ji-ho had observed. Sol? Deadly? Charismatic? This was Sung Sol, who still found smiling awkward.
“But what about the others?”
“Everyone except me took on other jobs and left.”
“Just you?”
Ji-ho chuckled lightly at Sol’s question, as if it was no big deal. It was what he had expected. In truth, the main vocal position had a more competitive edge compared to other positions in any agency. Thus, when other vocalists found themselves drifting further from debut, they would often switch companies. Ji-ho’s case had been just like that.
When he first entered a major agency after going through the audition program, he was quite confident. He believed that there was nowhere his singing would fall short, and despite not having a lot of money while studying practical music in an arts high school, he had tried nearly everything others were doing.
Becoming a trainee at a big agency, the evaluations of Ji-ho within the agency were naturally quite high at first. But everything crumbled in an instant. The competition among trainees was too fierce, and even the trainers seemed to encourage that atmosphere. Ranking them, confiscating their phones, and the repeated misbehavior of kids who had no outlet for their emotions were rampant. There was no sense of “our team” or “friends” there, nothing like what they had now.
