“Hello...?”

Before he could even ask why she was calling, a woman—presumably his aunt—came blasting through the phone.

“Juu! Did you eat?”

“Yeah, I—”

“With who! Seongbin must’ve gone to his parents’ place!”

“There’s a hyung who stayed at the dorm, so we ate together.”

“Then come over with him! I made great braised short ribs.”

“Juu, did you have songpyeon? Songpyeon? Should Dad bring some to the dorm?”

“Can you be quiet for a second! And a courier would be faster than you going.”

Once the uncle jumped in, the call turned into a circus.

While I lost the thread for a moment, they’d already moved on to “Do you want the pine needles on the songpyeon or off?” territory.

Different vibe from Seongbin’s place, that’s for sure.

“Juu can’t even... get a word in.”

We hadn’t even started running and he already looked a little worn out.

After a few more back-and-forth lines, his aunt said,

“Can you come for Lunar New Year? Or should Mom go up to Seoul?”

At that, Juu flinched.

But he kept his face still and answered evenly.

“It’s okay. I’m doing well.”

And I saw it clearly—the slight lift at the corner of his mouth.

They called themselves “Mom” and “Dad.” They’re already family. Keeping distance won’t change that.

After he barely managed to stop the songpyeon from being express-mailed to Seoul, the call ended.

“Park Juu.”

“Yeah, hyung. Sorry. You waited a long time, huh...”

“Go to your aunt’s for Lunar New Year.”

“Huh?”

He looked at me like he had no idea what I meant.

“What do you mean ‘huh’? I said go.”

“But it’s the holidays...”

He hesitated, slipping the phone back into his pocket.

I don’t really know what it means when extended family gather like that.

“That’s exactly why I’m telling you to go.”

You might regret it if you don’t see them even on a day like that.

We ran for a full hour.

Cool weather, a quiet riverside—perfect conditions for a workout.

That was my take, anyway.

Beside me, Juu was melting. He didn’t complain, but he looked pitiful.

Before his breathing got any rougher, I slowed and looked for a bench.

“With stamina that low, how is he going to get through a concert...”

Right as I thought it, the System lit up—additional labor support service, active.

Message received: I’m in no position to judge.

Not that it has anything to do with me. It’s not like I’m doing a concert.

Since we were taking a break anyway, I reached for the water I’d packed from the dorm—when a loud voice came from below. Even without focusing, it was profanity.

“Drunk?”

I leaned forward and looked down. Two guys were sitting on the stone steps below us. Thankfully, they didn’t look like they were about to fight.

“...Are they fighting?” Juu whispered.

“I don’t think so.”

I kept my voice low, too.

But my answer didn’t age well—one of the guys snapped again.

“Ugh, fuck.”

This time the curse came out crisp as glass. No mistaking the mood.

“At least he’s mad...”

Juu murmured. This was awkward.

I was about to suggest we move when the calmer one tried to stop his friend.

“Hyung, what if someone hears you.”

“I want them to hear, fuck. I can’t talk now? This is such bullshit.”

The curses wouldn’t stop.

I’ll call people every name in my head, but once you grow up you usually stop saying it out loud, don’t you?

I grew up with family who swore out loud, so my head is full of bad words—but once you realize how trashy it sounds, you try not to say them.

“Must be something really rage-worthy,” I thought, screwing the cap back on my bottle. Time to stand up and go.

But something felt off. The voice sounded familiar.

“Where have I heard that...?”

It wouldn’t be one of the Spark kids.

They’d each texted a photo of some old picture they found in their family albums to prove they’d made it home—my idea, for future variety content.

If we’d spoken even once, I’d remember the voice, so it probably wasn’t someone close.

“Was it someone from UA?”

I held off moving, and the guy suddenly stood up first.

“Don’t annoy me, you losers. Want me to keep getting pissed? Without me you’re nothing!”

“Gaun, are you annoyed because I’m bothering you? That hurts my feelings. Without you—and our members—I’d die!”

I remembered.

The group I’d been monitoring that would be Spark’s biggest future obstacle: Parte.

And that was the voice of Song Minil, the center and the rookie idol with the biggest solo fandom in that team.

Of course, every condition in life has its qualifiers.

Anyone can swear.

Idols are people.

Therefore idols can swear.

But while anyone can swear, there are times you shouldn’t.

And idols are held to a stricter bar than the average person.

So you should be careful about swearing.

“Not everyone got that memo, I guess.”

I thought as I watched Song Minil spew resentment under the bridge.

He’s devastated when Gaun doesn’t pay attention to him, then tries to devour Gaun whole the next minute.

I was about to pretend I hadn’t heard anything—chalk it up to personal circumstances and stress—when...

“I snagged a sasaeng’s number and the company and staff are such fuckers, fuck.”

And then the reason—pure garbage: he’d gotten chewed out by the label for getting a sasaeng’s number.

A sasaeng? There’s no mitigating that, you idiot.

I was about to make some noise on purpose and stand up so Juu wouldn’t have to keep hearing this when Han Gaun’s pleading voice glued my legs to the ground.

“Hyung... If someone hears you, we’re in real trouble...”

Great. Now I can’t even stand.

Luckily, it was especially dark under the bridge, and they were lower down, so they hadn’t noticed us...

But if we moved and got caught, Han Gaun would beg us not to post anything online.

Or who knows—maybe Song Minil would try to threaten us.

Juu must’ve been thinking the same thing; he didn’t make a sound.

I was going to at least cover his ears when my thigh buzzed.

About 0.02 seconds later, my ringtone filled the quiet park by the river.

At the same time, the nonstop profanity medley below cut off like a lie.

“Shit.”

At this rate, we were about to become trainees on the verge of debut who accidentally overheard their seniors’ dirty laundry.

Juu’s pupils were already trembling like aspen leaves.

I wasn’t going to drag him into trouble. Picking a bad spot to rest was on me.

But I couldn’t exactly turn myself in and tell him to stay hidden and hold his breath, either—so I squared my shoulders and answered.

“Hello. Is this Iwol hyung?”

“Gasp... Hey, what time is it?”

“Huh?”

“Shit. I think I got drunk and fell asleep by the river.”

Operation: “I was wasted and didn’t hear a thing.”

Silence from Parte. I was acting like the kind of guy no one wants to get tangled up with. As expected.

Their pounding hearts weren’t my concern. They could hold their breath like champs.

I channeled every wasted night-shift memory from my college convenience-store job and put on the performance of a lifetime.

“Fuck, my mouth is going numb. Sorry. If I leave now... give me like thirty minutes?”

Playing the classic twenty-something drunk to the hilt, I babbled on. Seongbin asked:

“Hyung, is something wrong?”

“Gihoon’s here too. This bastard is completely plastered. Can I ditch Park Gihoon?”

Beside me, Park Juu—newly christened Park Gihoon—swallowed hard.

Live with it. If I say your real name and you debut, Parte will never forget their “Han River memory.”

And Juu’s voice is distinctive. Later, even non-fans will recognize him by voice alone.

If he spoke now, there’s a nonzero chance they’d recognize him.

So we had no choice. The only safe move was: Juu is black-out drunk and incoherent.

“Yeah. I’m coming now. I’ll call once I grab a taxi.”

I hung up.

Then I texted Seongbin, “Sorry. I’ll call in five,” and, scratching my head dramatically, muttered to myself,

“Ah, fuck... this sucks...”

Then I hoisted Juu onto my back.

He gave me a discreet little boost to make it look natural. I nearly cried.

With “Mr. Park Gihoon” on my back, I walked off to hail a cab, putting distance between us and their line of sight.

“You ran into Parte seniors?”

“Yeah. They probably didn’t see us, though.”

“And what does that have to do with your drunk act...?”

Seongbin asked, but Juu and I couldn’t answer.

As we came out from under the bridge, we’d promised to keep everything we heard to ourselves.

Whether they shouted it in public or we heard it by accident, broadcasting someone’s private mess isn’t right.

And Juu still has to work as an idol.

Getting used to not talking about other people will only help.

“It just turned out that way.”

“If you say it’s nothing, it’s probably nothing...”

“Relax. Anyway, why did you call?”

“I wanted to check on you. You and Juu.”

So he has been worried about the ones who stayed.

On the two little vacations a year, isn’t it better to forget trainee life for a bit?

“At least no one’s swearing by the river,” I thought—then immediately pictured Choi Jeho or Kang Giyeon cursing by a stream, “Screw this shitty UA!” My eyes squeezed shut.

“We’re fine. We ate. You take it easy, too.”

“Okay, I will. Do you want anything? I was thinking of bringing food.”

“There’s plenty here. Come empty-handed.”

I implored him and hung up.

If they all come home, we’ll barely have enough three-color namul bibimbap for everyone—no need for extras.

“What did Seongbin say?”

“Asked if we wanted anything.”

“I’ll text him that the fridge is full.”

No sooner said than done—Juu stepped away to remind him. The room fell quiet.

“Yeah. This is the holidays.”

I never imagined I’d spend such a noisy Chuseok with the taciturn ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) Juu.

But the familiar feeling that finally came back after a long time—that made me relax.

“It’s not a bad thing to spend a holiday like this once.”

I told myself it was a good experience and lay back on the bed.

What I didn’t know then was this:

A holiday isn’t over until it’s really, truly over.