The drained fatigue snapping back was instantaneous.

At the same time, the strength in my legs gave out. If I wasn’t careful, I might have just collapsed onto the floor.

Even standing still, my head was spinning. It was a familiar kind of exhaustion.

‘Wow. This is exactly like when I worked at the company.’

Do I push through this ten-hours-of-work fatigue and still work out, or do I drag myself home and skip dinner and just sleep?

Memories of agonizing between the two bubbled up. I felt like I could cry.

But I don’t have a choice.

I have a mission: debut Spark as an “insanely synchronized choreography group.”

I clamped down on my lips so I wouldn’t start wailing during the workout.

And while fighting the urge to flop onto the gym floor and lose to gravity, I dutifully finished today’s training.

By the time I came back restored from the Work Support Service with my body wrecked, the practice room’s vibe had shifted a little from usual.

No surprise—laughter was already leaking out before I even opened the door.

Not like our place, where the only one who ever chats about private stuff is Lee Cheonghyeon.

‘What’s today?’

When I walked in, a few of the guys stretching in front of the mirror even looked oddly giddy.

The most obvious cases were Lee Cheonghyeon and Jeong Seongbin.

Cross-checking names and dates, the answer popped up right away.

‘Right. Today’s when their exams end.’

Even though he’s in the same grade line, I went up to Kang Giyeon—who was keeping the exact same energy as usual—and asked:

“You don’t look any different even though your exams are over?”

“I didn’t study hard enough to be happy they’re over.”

“Self-awareness on point.”

I was about to give a round of applause to Kang Giyeon, who hadn’t forgotten a trainee’s job and was focused solely on debut prep, when someone leaped onto my back.

Only one person among us would pull that stunt: Lee Cheonghyeon.

Sure enough, from over my head Lee Cheonghyeon shouted at full volume.

“Hyung! What you taught me was on the exam! Isn’t that insane?!”

“So. Did you get it right?”

“Of course. If I’d gotten it wrong, you’d call me out and go, ‘Cheonghyeon, you got something you just learned wrong and you’re laughing?’ right?”

“You know me well. And your impression’s good. Use it as a personal bit later.”

“Ha. What do I even do with all this talent?”

Then Lee Cheonghyeon burst out laughing.

Holding his thighs with both hands while he piggy-backed me, I said,

“What do you mean what—when we go on variety, you hard-carry.”

“Woah... That’s so real it’s scary, hyung.”

His cling-on show wrapped quickly thanks to Jeong Seongbin stepping in. But Lee Cheonghyeon didn’t stop chattering.

“Hyung! Hyung! Our exams are over—should we all do something?”

“Do what, exactly?”

“A trip would be perfect, but with the practice schedule that’s tough... hmm, I’m torn.”

His energy was so high I thought he’d gone to do extreme sports, not take exams.

Unable to stand the giddy mood, Choi Jeho had deliberately moved far away from him.

“Why are you so hyped? Did you maybe ace it?”

“Mm, if I didn’t bubble-shift on the OMR, I’m probably first in my class?”

To a throwaway joke of a question, he calmly dropped a bomb.

“For real?”

“For real.”

Watching me ask again in shock, Lee Cheonghyeon grinned.

I knew he was smart, but this was downright impressive.

Back then, I had to study day and night for days to barely snag first place, and this kid crammed only during exam week and still came out about even with me.

‘Now I get why his family said they opposed him becoming an idol at first.’

Coming from an academic family, Lee Cheonghyeon clashed hard with his folks until debut.

With a research-institute deputy director for a mother and a high-school teacher for a father, K-Pop idol must have felt like a strange profession.

Maybe that’s why, in Spark’s vlog corners, you’d often see him working through problem sets.

‘Sparklers, isn’t it exam period right now? Turn the live off, quick. When I finish this live, I’m knocking out the rest of grammar!’

‘I seriously have to study today. If I bomb the test, Mom’s gonna scold me.’

Fans loved those shots as an “idol’s K-high-schooler moment.”

Before I knew it, at Deputy Director Nam’s daughter’s request I was scraping through vlog footage to cut a video titled “Study with Cheonghyeon (SparkLeeCheonghyeon).”

He was so often wedged in a corner doing problem books that, when I edited the video, I zoomed in so much his face looked like a pixel-game character.

Anyway. If he was feeling pressure at home, I can see why he was up at dawn to study for exams.

Watching Lee Cheonghyeon finally climb off my back thanks to Jeong Seongbin’s intervention, I said,

“If there’s something you want to do to mark the end of exams, say it. If it’s a group thing, I’ll make it happen.”

“Really?!”

“Food... won’t fly, since Kang Giyeon’s on a diet plan. Skipping practice is also out. I’m so pressed for time right now my feet are on fire.”

“What, then nothing’s allowed!”

“If you’re unhappy, aim for the next finals.”

At that, Lee Cheonghyeon made a face like he couldn’t believe me.

What? Why.

You got the good grade, not me.

While smart-boy Lee Cheonghyeon was racking his brain to squeeze maximum fun out of an extreme environment with limited money, time, and food, Park Juu came over.

“...What about a friendship item?”

“A friendship item?”

A friendship item?

That was really not a phrase I expected to come out of Park Juu’s mouth.

Everyone in the room—even Choi Jeho, probably—must have doubted their ears.

Park Juu himself calmly held out the company spare phone we use in the practice room.

On the screen was a search for “student after exams.”

Below it were “post-exam bucket list,” “things to do after exams,” and other search history.

“Cheonghyeon, I thought you’d like this kind of thing...”

“I totally do! How did you nail my taste like that?”

His face really did look thrilled when he said it. I actually thought, ‘Has he always been this affectionate about the team?’

“Friendship rings sound great. Hyungs, how about rings?”

“You’re in a growth spurt. If we size them now, they might not fit later.”

“Really? Then let’s size Jeho hyung and Iwol hyung first, since their growth is over.”

“Can you even call it a friendship ring if we get them at different times...?”

Before we knew it, we were all huddled up, racking our brains to pick a team-showoff friendship item.

Some people weren’t exactly enthusiastic. Meaning: Choi Jeho.

He looked like he was thinking, ‘Do we really have to all get the same thing?’ so I secretly pointed at Kang Giyeon.

Then Choi Jeho shut his mouth without complaint. Looks like he hasn’t forgotten what made the two of them fight last time.

But even after ten-odd minutes, nothing good came out.

There were too many reasons certain items weren’t suitable for everyone to wear.

“Where on earth would you wear rabbit ear headbands.”

“They’re cute! And funny.”

“You just want to make the members look ridiculous.”

At one point, with his eyes suddenly gone wild, Lee Cheonghyeon proposed animal-ear headbands.

“Can’t we just do necklaces or something?”

“Doesn’t Juu not wear necklaces? You said they feel stifling.”

“Yeah... But if we’re all getting them, I’ll wear one.”

“C’mon, there’s lots of better options than necklaces!”

Necklaces, bracelets, anklets—shot down one after another by personal taste.

We could’ve kept negotiating, but everyone seemed hooked on the concept of a “friendship item,” fixating on “we have to pick something everyone will like!”

Still, we couldn’t afford to waste our practice time endlessly on this kind of circular talk.

“We’re not seriously going to spend the entire practice block on friendship items, right?”

“Gasp. It’s already been almost twenty minutes...!”

“Yeah. I like the idea, but let’s do the work first...”

Right then, mid-sentence, it came to me.

An item ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) that suits these kids, that everyone can wear.

A friendship item we could use a lot for the time spent, relative to what we pay.

Three days later, a pretty bulky package arrived at the dorm. Our friendship item.

While Jeong Seongbin and Lee Cheonghyeon tore into the box, Choi Jeho asked me,

“Hey.”

“What?”

“Who picks workout clothes for a friendship item?”

Yup.

We got matching training wear that we can wear 365 days a year. In black, so it won’t show grime.

“Think of them as uniforms.”

“How is that different from buying a student a stationery set for Christmas.”

“What’s wrong with a stationery set? You say thank you and take it.”

While I traded dumb lines with Choi Jeho, Jeong Seongbin came over holding our sizes. The others were already unwrapping.

“Hyung, should we shoot a choreography practice video wearing these later?!”

“That’s why we got them. So if you lose yours before we shoot, I won’t let it slide.”

I do not want to watch a choreography practice video of you wearing end-of-the-world civvies. It kind of hurt my soul the whole time.

I deliberately didn’t print numbers or names.

It needs to be unnoticeable later even if I’m gone.

‘It’s been a while since we had teamwear—the last time was the company hoodie zip-up.’

Holding a black friendship training set left me with a weird feeling. Couldn’t say why.

The joy over our first friendship item arriving alongside the end of midterms was brief—Lee Cheonghyeon had to snap right back to reality.

Because the debut track’s deadline was right on top of us.

To be fair, his track was already plenty complete.

It was far better than when it was included as a past B-side, and A&R had given it strong marks.

But the reference PPT I’d sent and the directions I gave in choreo practice must have landed to him as a different kind of feedback.

His creative drive caught fire, and the moment exams ended he tore the song apart and dove into a massive revision pass.

If the revisions went weird, I’d have to stop him, so I lost sleep too—but thankfully, that never happened.

After powering through a schedule tighter than exam week—

“...How is it?”

When playback ended, he asked carefully.

His voice was hoarse from staying up until almost sunrise.

I pulled the earbud from my ear and looked at him. The skin beneath his eyes was pitch black.

“You want me to be honest, right?”

“...But put it nicely?”

He answered with a joking tone, but he wasn’t joking at all inside.

There was only one thing to tell him.

“This is the best version I’ve heard. Let’s go with this.”

“Really...?!”

He clenched a fist.

A rasp scraped out of his throat. He probably wanted to shout something like “heck yeah!”

 [SYSTEM] ‘Task’ has been completed.

▷ Reward: Experience (5)

▷ Accumulated Experience: 5

▷ Accumulated Points: 0

 At that moment, the system popped up to confirm the task’s completion.

“Yeah. Really.”

We’d just crested the biggest mountain before debut.