Ahead of his appearance on “My Singer’s Genre Departure,” Park Juu had been busy enough to not even have time to breathe. On days when the schedule didn’t end with group activities, it was hard to even catch sight of him returning to the dorm.

When I asked if constantly singing like that wouldn’t ruin his throat, he replied that he wasn’t spending all his time singing.

‘I’m preparing to move forward.’

It sounded meaningful, but I didn’t press him. What kind of idiot throws cold water on someone right before an important program? I just enthusiastically cheered him on instead, telling him he was the best.

People’s expectations were high too. That many people were waiting for Park Juu’s solo stage.

UA diligently pushed out press releases in step with the trend. It wasn’t like they didn’t also want to bury the maladjustment-related articles.

Between furious Sparklers enraged by the absurd witch-hunt situation, rock fans upset at seeing a reviving genre get splashed with cold water, and the general public—who lacked easy access to entertainment news and therefore didn’t know the full context—Park Juu’s “social maladjustment” and “uncooperative group activity” controversy disappeared completely beneath overwhelming public support.

“...The solo talk really has almost vanished.”

“Told you.”

After checking the comments himself, Park Juu nodded in agreement.

After that, his expression noticeably relaxed. Choi Jeho even mentioned that there were now days when Park Juu slept without wearing his headset. It was the first reassuring news I’d heard in a while.

He’d started eating regularly too. Today’s Park Juu diligently mixed rice into galbitang and ate every bite.

“At least tell us the song.”

Park Juu’s eyes widened at my question.

“So we can make slogans for you.”

Back during Jeong Seongbin’s appearance, he’d wanted to go alone, and since we were still rookies at the time, it was difficult to ask production staff whether all of us could come together. We’d filmed our own first-row-at-home content, but not being able to cheer nearby had still been disappointing.

This time, the writer had actually come to ask first whether any members planned to visit the waiting room. In other words, they wanted to know if they could capture Spark’s reaction shots. From the program’s perspective, it was a way to boost ratings through Sparklers without paying extra appearance fees.

Park Juu gladly allowed the members to come. More than allowing it, he warmly invited his teammates himself.

‘I’d be happy if everyone came.’

The weight behind Park Juu’s “everyone” had become different lately, so I accepted immediately.

Anyway, despite inviting all of us, Park Juu still refused to tell us what song he’d be performing. There was absolutely no merit to being invited guests. Looks like the importance of classified information had been firmly drilled into him.

“Even I don’t know, and we share a room.”

Choi Jeho answered casually. I couldn’t exactly mess with someone peacefully eating his meal just because he was annoying, so I let out a sigh instead.

The only person who knew Park Juu’s song choice was Lee Cheonghyeon, and he declared he’d keep it secret until the actual broadcast. The only spoiler he gave was a short assurance that we wouldn’t be disappointed. If Lee Cheonghyeon thought there wasn’t a major problem, then at least we didn’t have to worry about a disastrous song choice.

“What about the arrangement?”

As he added cheongyang peppers to the bean sprout soup, Jeong Seongbin asked the question.

Every Spark song had Lee Cheonghyeon’s touch in it somehow. More precisely, Lee Cheonghyeon had always been “at the center of every song.”

Up until now, the members had only ever performed songs that Lee Cheonghyeon composed or arranged at official events. This would be the first time a song untouched by Lee Cheonghyeon appeared on a stage carrying Spark’s name. That too had been one of Park Juu’s requests.

When Park Juu first told the A&R team he wanted them to handle the arrangement, Lee Cheonghyeon had looked like he’d just heard the sun would rise in the west.

“It’s not because you don’t trust me, right?!”

“Of course not......! There’s a reason.”

“It better be a reason I can accept.”

Even while glaring, Lee Cheonghyeon had grinned afterward. The moment Park Juu said there was a reason, Lee Cheonghyeon had probably already accepted his decision. It didn’t seem like he’d ever intended to scold him in the first place.

For a while, the expressions on the A&R staff’s faces had looked oddly complicated, which worried me. I was curious what kind of direction Park Juu had suggested, but I didn’t pry or snoop around. I decided to simply trust the guy with impossibly picky music taste.

Park Juu, the person in question, swallowed a spoonful of soup before answering.

“...It came out exactly how I wanted.”

“That’s good. I’m looking forward to it.”

Park Juu smiled at my words.

Would Park Juu really be okay as long as we stayed together?

I intended to do everything I could, but because I knew my efforts weren’t perfect, I felt anxious. I worried a day might come when, out of necessity, I’d have to look into his records.

Honestly, I didn’t want to. I hoped I’d never have to dig into something he himself refused to talk about. Hadn’t I been the one who told Choi Jeho that everyone had things they wanted to hide?

But no one knew whether staying silent truly made Park Juu feel comfortable. I knew better than anyone that hiding things wasn’t always easier.

‘There’s a friend hyung cares about very much. Hyung likes that friend so, so much...... but other people say that friend is a bad person, so it’d be better not to stay close to them. What would you do then?’

What Park Juu once said so casually, almost like everyday conversation, might actually have been a signal that he wanted someone to listen to what was inside him. I only hoped the choice Park Juu made would ease even a little of the complicated emotions weighing on him.

“Juu.”

I stopped Park Juu as he carried his empty bowl toward the sink.

“If there’s ever something you want to talk about, call me anytime.”

“.......”

“I promise I’ll # Nоvеlight # put your side of the story first. No matter what.”

I didn’t say it lightly. I said it sincerely, deliberately putting weight into the word promise. Thankfully, Park Juu understood what I meant.

“Okay. Promise.”

Park Juu smiled. For some reason, my chest tightened.

Even at four in the morning, people were still looking for Park Juu. It had been like this for months now.

[Juuya]

[You’ll release a solo album before I leave the fandom, right?]

[I’m not joking, I’m seriously about to quit]

The messages grew more obsessive by the day. Park Juu only stared silently at the glowing screen.

He didn’t know when things had become like this. At first, people only casually mentioned him standing on his own. But before he realized it, those voices had become loud.

The time he’d spent working as part of the team was denied far too easily. Maybe because Park Juu simply wasn’t someone suited for a group.

Park Juu had always been like that. He’d never truly belonged anywhere. Moments like this made him feel like he alone had no place to return to. Even home. Maybe it was obvious from early on that he’d already failed to fit into society.

‘You know everyone lives differently.’

Kim Iwol was kind. He tried desperately not to become someone weighed down by excessive attachment himself, yet he was endlessly tolerant toward someone as sensitive as Park Juu.

But Park Juu still understood that people who weren’t normal stood out. And unfortunately, he himself was far from ordinary. “Extremely emotionally unstable and sensitive.” Park Juu still remembered what the doctor had said when he was young.

The fact that there were five people who understood his temperament was practically a miracle. He knew he was selfish, but because he understood how precious that kindness was, he indulged in it anyway.

He just didn’t want to be alone anymore.

≫ Idols last longer when they maintain business relationships

When people obsess over family-like relationships, it usually turns into emotional fights and reaches a point where things can’t be undone

It felt like he would never truly blend into society.

Instead of asking why being alone was unbearable, he wished people would ask why being together was so good. Then Park Juu could answer endlessly.

Because the members had become precious to him. Because doing new things every day was fun. Because the things that happened while living together made him happy.

Being alone was lonely. Every day was just another repetition of ordinary life. Nothing enjoyable ever happened to someone who was alone.

A life without people around you was lonely. You could sing your favorite songs whenever you wanted, but good people disappeared in an instant. Park Juu wanted to hold onto things that wouldn’t last forever for just a little longer.

Maybe that was why being told to prove he could handle things alone felt like a blade stabbing into him. It felt like being dragged out of the sanctuary he’d barely managed to find. The more people urged him to step outside, the more he shrank back.

It wasn’t as though he didn’t know what the problem was. Park Juu had recognized long ago that he was emotionally immature. He simply couldn’t fix it—or more accurately, had no desire to. He was sick of being pitied.

Would things have turned out differently if he’d said more often that he loved the members?

Would things not have escalated this far if he’d gone to school like everyone else and made lots of friends?

If he’d stayed beside his mom or dad a little longer......

One thought led into another.

A piercing scream ripped through Park Juu’s mind. Hearing hallucinations was as natural to him as breathing. His mind, worn ragged after years of grinding itself down, slowly rewound old memories.

Kang Giyeon, who feared standing in front of cameras but still returned to the stage in the end. Lee Cheonghyeon, who once ran away in fear of promoting with his own music, yet had now carried the group’s songs this entire time. Jeong Seongbin, who successfully escaped the shadow of the senior who tormented him. Outside, all of them poked at the emptiness inside Park Juu.

Even Choi Jeho, who drank alcohol for the first time because of a friend, and Kim Iwol, who had begun opening his heart to the members, had changed.

Only Park Juu remained the same. From before debut until now, Park Juu hadn’t changed at all.

‘Not everyone has to make lots of friends. ......What matters is that you live well.’

Park Juu was living the complete opposite of what Kim Iwol said. He knew exactly how he wanted to live, yet never tried to change.

[We’re saying this because we care about you, so why do you keep ignoring us?]

More messages piled up.

A comment he’d read long ago overlapped with the messages.

≫ They probably realized they couldn’t just leave behind a kid who’d end up all alone

Let’s not criticize them too harshly

Park Juu closed his eyes.

The day he was first left alone in the world rose before him like a dream.