At Deuk-yong's gesture urging them to leave the stage, Sol grew even more restless. It wasn’t uncommon for injuries to go unnoticed amid the tension of a performance, only to reveal their severity once offstage. Sol had experienced this himself many times before.
Despite Deuk-yong insisting he was fine and shaking off the others’ hands, Tae-oh and Ga-ram forcibly supported him on either side. The backstage area was dimly lit, and the stairs leading down from the stage were treacherously unstable. Tangled cables littered the floor, making it easy to trip even with eyes wide open. As Tae-oh and Ga-ram helped Deuk-yong descend, Yeong-ho came sprinting over, his unstyled hair flying wildly.
“Ah, really, I’m fine,” Deuk-yong protested.
Ji-ho’s eyes narrowed at his words. With his perpetually smiling face—thanks to his slightly upturned lips—Ji-ho now looked like a fox with its ears pricked up, the kind you’d see in a children’s cartoon.
“The fact that you’re saying you’re fine makes you more suspicious,” Ji-ho said, his gaze sharpening. If Deuk-yong were truly unhurt, he’d have shamelessly milked the situation—whining to Ji-ho or Sol about how much it hurt while demanding a piggyback ride despite his size, begging Tae-oh for praise, or boasting to Ga-ram with a smug “All according to plan.” His refusal to be helped and meek insistence that he was okay only deepened Ji-ho’s suspicion.
Tae-oh, seemingly picking up on Ji-ho’s point, tilted his head and stared at Deuk-yong, who fidgeted under the scrutiny. The usually unshakable Deuk-yong looked uncharacteristically flustered, prompting Yeong-ho—sturdy as a potato—to excitedly offer to carry him on his back.
“This is embarrassing! I’m really okay!” Deuk-yong barked, but he didn’t shake off Yeong-ho’s hand when it discreetly steadied his arm. As they made their way back to the waiting room with Yeong-ho’s support, Sol trailed behind, struggling to steady his uneven breaths while watching Deuk-yong with anxious eyes.
This felt like his fault. The mission had prioritized vocals, so they’d agreed to simplify the choreography to maintain stability in the vocal line. Instead, they’d focused on emotional expression and the fluid, understated elegance characteristic of Eastern aesthetics. But while refining the moves with Tae-oh, Sol had gotten greedy.
Seeing Sol voice his ideas with growing enthusiasm, the others—Tae-oh included—got swept up too. Who could’ve sternly said “No” to Sol when he pushed past his usual hesitancy, eyes sparkling as he suggested, “What if we try this?”
Tae-oh was usually the one to play the firm, no-nonsense role, but lately, he’d been unusually indulgent toward Sol. They all wanted to nurture Sol’s confidence—and truthfully, every member there was more ambitious than most. Holding back when they could push further simply wasn’t in their nature. Though the added moves had been a unanimous decision, Sol couldn’t help blaming himself. No matter how much time passed, this habit of self-reproach seemed unlikely to fade.
Sol blamed himself—using an unfamiliar prop like the fan and adding acrobatic moves had been overambitious. His face remained frozen, guilt gnawing at him, convinced his greed had caused Deuk-yong’s injury. Though all four members walking behind Deuk-yong wore dark expressions of concern, Sol’s was the darkest.
By the time they reached the waiting room entrance, Deuk-yong’s limping became obvious. Yeong-ho guided him to the couch, then rushed off to alert staff and producers, just as he had earlier—to fetch a first-aid kit and negotiate filming delays. While Yeong-ho hurried away, Sol approached Deuk-yong, who was now seated. The headband around Deuk-yong’s forehead was drenched, sweat pooling heavily against the fabric.
It was made of material that barely absorbed moisture, yet sweat streamed down in beads, slipping through the gaps. Unsettled by how uncomfortable it looked, Sol reached for the headband.
"Want me to take it off?"
"My makeup’s probably smeared anyway. It’s fine."
Deuk-yong shook his head vigorously. But his "I’m fine" felt off. Hearing his own usual line thrown back at him by Deuk-yong left Sol strangely somber. Noticing Sol’s expression, Deuk-yong exaggeratedly shrugged and forced a loud laugh.
"Ah, hyung gave me such a cool part—and I messed it up!"
With an awkward "Heehee," he rubbed at his sweat-soaked hair.
"I could’ve nailed it… Sorry, Sol hyung. But don’t hate me for screwing up, okay?"
His voice started strong, like usual, but frayed by the end. Sol hadn’t planned to scold him, but seeing Deuk-yong’s slumped shoulders and lowered head—always so confident before—left him speechless.
"Ugh… I’m pissed. I know I could’ve killed it."
Deuk-yong exhaled sharply and roughly tugged at his hair. He’d been so sure of himself. Naturally athletic, he’d been thrilled when Sol first showed him the choreography—it was cool, the kind of move he’d have fought to claim. When it became his part, he’d vowed to outdo even Sol and Tae-oh. That it hadn’t gone to plan was bad enough, but worse that it was Sol’s choreography. The frustration burned.
He’d wanted to execute it flawlessly—for the judges, the other trainees, the future audience—to prove Sol’s talent. Lately, seeing Sol’s growing confidence, he’d wanted to give him wings. (And, okay, maybe hitch a ride on that killer choreo too.)
Sol said nothing, just stroked Deuk-yong’s sweat-drenched hair, already a wreck from all the tugging. The mix of irritation, guilt, and regret on Deuk-yong’s face was too much.
"I’m sorry. The move was too risky."
"Hyung, if you keep saying that, I’ll feel even worse. The choreo you made was perfect. And your vocals today were seriously amazing—ugh! I’m the one who messed up. This stupid Kim Deuk-yong…"
Deuk-yong grumbled in his rough voice, sounding annoyed. By the end, it almost sounded like he was about to swear, but he glanced at Tae-oh and the camera and trailed off. His tone was sulky, but the embarrassment and guilt in his words came through clearly to Sol. Suddenly, a blue light flickered in Sol’s vision.
[ROUND 2 BONUS MISSION COMPLETED (1/2)]
He’d been so shocked by Deuk-yong’s accident that he’d completely forgotten about the mission.
"Kim Deuk-yong. Not getting hurt is more important," Tae-oh said sternly, arms crossed as he stared at Deuk-yong. No one here would scold him for a simple mistake.
"Tae-oh’s right. And that little slip-up didn’t ruin the performance. Sol, your breath control was great today, and your vocals were stable. You set the tone perfectly in the intro. And Ji-ho hyung was flawless, as always. We really killed it this time too."
Almost before Tae-oh could finish, Ga-ram jumped in with a rapid-fire, unusually long sentence. Sol, who’d been patting Deuk-yong’s head, blinked in surprise. Ga-ram usually spoke slowly, but today his words spilled out faster than a rapper’s verse—he must’ve been worked up. As Ga-ram finished speaking, another notification popped up in Sol’s vision.
[ROUND 2 BONUS MISSION COMPLETED (2/2)]
"Yeah, Sol’s vocals have improved so much. Even the parts that used to sound shaky are gone now."
After Ga-ram, even Ji-ho praised Sol’s singing—but the bonus mission was already complete, so it didn’t count anymore. Sol felt a bittersweet twinge realizing that notifications only popped up after the mission was fulfilled. So during the first performance, his wink really hadn’t registered at all…
He’d forgotten all about it, but last night before bed, Sol had agonized over whether to ask the members, "How was my singing today?" to fish for compliments and complete the mission. Yet here they were, praising him without him even asking, rendering all that worry pointless.
Sol almost laughed. These weren’t forced compliments—they were genuine, unprompted praise from his members. Suddenly, he felt his shoulders straighten and his nose tilt up, as if he’d grown as proud as Deuk-yong.
His drifting thoughts were yanked back by Tae-oh’s voice. Clapping his hands once, Tae-oh scanned the group.
"Good work, everyone. Kim Deuk-yong, it wasn’t a mistake—it was an accident. No matter how careful you are, these things can happen anytime. As long as you’re not hurt, that’s all that matters."
As Tae-oh finished speaking, a sharp smack—a loud, brisk sound—struck Deuk-yong.
"That’s right! We all thought our hearts would stop, worrying you might be hurt. Are you really okay?"
It was Ji-ho, who had just slapped Deuk-yong’s back with his palm. Their hearts had sunk, fearing he might be seriously injured, but seeing him fidgeting and pouting like usual, it didn’t seem like he was in severe pain.
"I told you, I’m fine."
"Just don’t get hurt. Please."
Deuk-yong’s back was so firm that Ji-ho’s stinging palm hurt more. Rubbing his chest instead of his sore hand, Jihho spoke in a drained voice. In response, Deuk-yong spun his ankle in circles. Despite the initial sharp pain from twisting it, he looked perfectly fine now—so much so that Sol grabbed his leg to stop him, worried he’d injure even a healthy ankle if he kept twisting it so roughly.
Deuk-yong let out an awkward chuckle, then suddenly bowed his head deeply, his voice booming with exaggerated formality—like a cocky salute straight out of a movie.
"My apologies, esteemed hyungs!"
The playful gesture seemed meant to reassure his startled older members. Just then, Yeong-ho came running over with a first aid kit and hastily sprayed a temporary pain reliever on Deuk-yong’s ankle. Though Deuk-yong stubbornly refused when Yeong-ho insisted they visit the hospital after filming, Tae-oh cut him off: "Don’t ignore a sprain like it’s nothing."
Sol had heard that before—back when he first met the members. Watching Deuk-yong pout, Sol gave a slight shrug.
