Before heading to the Broadcast Room,
At the Styling & Dressing Room.
Gomsuk sat with his posture still held upright, though his shoulders slumped ever so slightly.
Before him, a large vanity mirror reflected his silhouette alongside the shadow of a female staff member who occasionally leaned in to touch up his makeup. Her fingers moved deftly, brushing against his skin with a lightness that felt mechanical before she disappeared once more from the glass's reflection.
Soon after, another figure appeared with hair styling tools, taming a few stray strands and straightening them until they looked flawless—as if every single hair were forced to submit to a predetermined standard.
Yet, the look in Gomsuk's eyes remained unchanged.
His gaze was fixed on the reflection without truly seeing anything at all. His eyes were withered and hollow, like the surface of water that no longer reflected light. There was no spark of enthusiasm, nor even a clear sign of exhaustion—only a calm, suffocating emptiness.
Since the beginning of the styling session, his expression hadn't shifted once.
Flat. Silent.
He made no effort to initiate light conversation, nor did he respond to the staff's brief greetings beyond a necessary nod. He was a stark contrast to the others, who chuckled or tossed lighthearted jokes back and forth to pass the time.
Both of his hands were clenched in his lap, appearing rigid, as if he were holding something back to keep it from spilling out. If one looked closely, those fists were trembling slightly—a subtle, nearly invisible vibration, yet enough to show that his body was not as calm as it appeared.
He sat like someone who had surrendered to their circumstances, or perhaps like someone who had ceased to care about anything happening around them.
And yet, inside his head, the atmosphere was far from silent.
"Why do I keep thinking about her…?"
"Why does her face follow me everywhere I go? These past few days, I've barely been able to sleep—my mind refuses to be still, constantly forcing me to remember her."
"Why must it be her who consumes my thoughts? Wasn't it clear enough that day… she even turned her face away, as if she were annoyed by our very presence?"
"And the worst part—I've started dreaming about her, over and over again."
"Every time I wake up, my heart beats out of control. My focus is gone, my mind is a mess… even today, I nearly slipped and fell because of it."
He exhaled slowly—far too slowly to be called a regular breath.
It was as if that breath were no longer a mere bodily function, but something to be concealed; guarded carefully so it wouldn't make a sound, wouldn't intrude upon the space, and wouldn't draw the attention of anyone around him.
"And now… the worst part of all possibilities is the reality that I want to see her face—even though she might turn her gaze away again."
"At the very least, if I could see her today, perhaps my heart could find a bit of peace. Maybe then, I wouldn't have to stay tormented like this."
Then, without warning, his eyes widened—subtle, yet clear enough to signal that something deep inside him had just jolted awake.
It was as if he had only just realized, as if he had only just become aware that all this time, he had been doing something—something he never thought he would ever do.
"What did I just say…?"
"In the end… isn't it all the same? Does this mean… I'm actually missing her?"
His expression slowly returned to how it was before—flat and silent—the moment the female staff member returned.
This time, she checked the color of his lips, which had turned pale. With practiced skill, she picked up several lipsticks from the table, chose the perfect shade, and began to apply it gently with a specialized brush.
And as soon as she finished the final touch and left again, Gomsuk was left alone with his thoughts. They immediately drifted back to a single point in time—the day it all began, the moment that first gaze was etched into his mind.
"She really does look like 'her'; even the feeling I have right now is the same as the feeling when I first met 'her' back then."
"But in truth… to whom should I entrust myself—my memories, my feelings, or both?"
He let out another breath, a faint sigh, before his gaze finally dropped to his clenched fists.
"I don't want to admit it—but at the same time, I want to be honest with myself... that I'm worried about the injury on her right leg."
"Has she gotten better? Is she able to walk normally again?"
The memory shifted once more, playing back the image of Margaret receiving a bouquet of roses and a black tote bag—its contents unknown.
"I'm curious—who is the person so attentive that they would give her such a sweet gift?"
"And why does that gift bother me so much now? It's as if… I dislike the fact that someone else is taking such care of her—or is it possible that I'm not just missing her now, but I'm actually jealous?"
The sigh escaped him again, this time without the slightest effort to conceal it.
He allowed his breath to flow freely, slipping slowly through his slightly parted lips, as if his body were simply too exhausted to keep pretending that everything was fine.
The exhaled air carried a faint, tremulous moan—a subtle vibration rising from his chest, born not from physical fatigue, but from the mounting pressure suffocating his mind.
"I can't keep going like this. I have to focus, because if I don't… I'll ruin our very first live broadcast."
"But…"
He exhaled once more—heavier this time, as if the breath had to be forced out of a chest that felt painfully tight.
As he did, his back slumped bit by bit; his shoulders dropped forward, causing his body to hunch over without him even realizing it.
His head followed, bowing low as his gaze fell aimlessly, unable to focus on a single thing.
His hands wrung together restlessly, fingers moving without purpose—gripping, then releasing, repeating the motion like an old habit that resurfaced every time his mind became too cluttered to be calmed by words alone.
"How can I concentrate, when the only thing haunting my mind is her face?"
The grip of his hands tightened, his fingers pressing against each other so hard they made a faint, audible sound.
It was enough to make Namsek—who was sitting beside him getting his hair styled—turn toward him with a look of utter confusion.
"Are you okay, Hyung?"
Namsek's voice was low and soft, yet it caused Gomsuk's back to flinch slightly before he finally turned his head slowly toward him.
Namsek's gaze was fixed on him—flat, almost devoid of emotion, yet unmistakably attentive.
"You must be very nervous, right? Considering this is your first live broadcast since officially becoming a group."
This time, another voice intervened—it was the female stylist currently working on Namsek's hair.
Gomsuk turned toward her as she shifted to Namsek's right side, meticulously calculating which strands of hair would sweep past his ear and which would fall over his forehead.
"I used to be like that too..."
The sentence trailed off, giving way to the hum of the styling tools.
Her fingers skillfully shaped a soft curve over Namsek's brow—a delicate line resembling a comma, as if she were inserting a pause into the story she was sharing.
Without breaking her rhythm, her voice began to flow again.
"When I first started working here—about four years ago—I often felt nervous."
"It wasn't because I had to meet talented idols or actors with breathtaking visuals, or because their talent made me feel like I could never be like them."
"After all, my field is styling."
"What made me nervous was the thousand worst-case scenarios that filled my mind: What if I applied their makeup wrong? What if I styled their hair incorrectly? Or helped pick an outfit that didn't fit the vibe?"
"I was always like that. But... if I keep drowning in my own nerves, won't I end up ruining my own work?"
Her hands finally lifted from Namsek's hair.
She glanced at the reflection in the mirror, assessing her work with practiced eyes, before moving to the back to ensure even the hidden sections were perfectly aligned.
Once she felt everything had come together, she straightened her posture.
"There… do you like your hair like this? Or would you prefer me to emphasize your right forehead a bit more while covering the other side?"
Their eyes met in the mirror's reflection.
The stylist waited patiently, while Namsek simply stared at himself. A few seconds passed—a heavy silence hanging in the air—as if he were getting acquainted with the new person reflecting back at him.
"I… I like it."
"I feel like… I'm a different person…"
Namsek's gaze finally drifted upward, meeting the stylist's eyes in the mirror—eyes that still held a warm, attentive glow.
"Thank you, Jina Noona."
He bowed his head slightly, a simple gesture filled with genuine respect.
Jina responded with a faint smile that bloomed slowly across her face, followed by a small, airy chuckle—light as the gentle ripple on a lakeshore. From her, a sense of warmth and humility radiated without effort.
Her gaze then shifted, lingering briefly on Gomsuk, before she moved purposefully toward the narrow gap between Gomsuk's and Namsek's chairs.
She stood there—occupying the space that connected them—resting her palms on the backs of their chairs as if anchoring two shifting axes that were both trembling in their own way. Her gaze moved back and forth, tracing their features with a soft, nurturing look.
"So… don't be nervous, okay?"
"If you still feel those butterflies, just try to imagine it's like when you greeted your fans on that survival stage back then."
"Wasn't that a happy time? This live broadcast is no different from that moment, right?"
Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, yet within it resided the profound care of an older sister who understood her younger brothers' restlessness.
"If you're nervous because you're imagining that those watching are people you like, people you love, or those closest to you—and that will definitely happen, since this will also be on YouTube—then just think of them as someone special to you."
"Because when we consider someone special, we strive to be better so they will always stay by our side and believe in us. Remember, what brought you to this point wasn't just the fans, but also the support from those closest to you—the ones who have been there since the very beginning."
"Working harder and doing your best is how you repay their support."
Those last words seemed to knock against something deep within Gomsuk's chest.
"Someone you love? Special?"
Margaret's face appeared instantly—the face that had turned away that day, yet the same face that repeatedly smiled in his dreams, dragging him awake in a state of turmoil. The image clung to him, warm yet utterly baffling.
"Can I really consider her someone special… just because she constantly haunts my mind?"
The current of his daydream was severed when Jina's voice flowed again, this time carrying a different tone.
"But… if your nervousness stems from the incident a few days ago—the one that makes you hope everyone's expectations will change immediately after what happened…"
Jina paused.
Her gaze dropped to the floor, settling on the empty space below. The light in her eyes dimmed instantly, a shift that both Gomsuk and Namsek could feel.
"I know… this surely isn't easy, and it must feel incredibly intrusive, doesn't it?"
A soft sigh accompanied her words. After a moment, Jina lifted her face again, looking at Namsek and then Gomsuk with a recovered, attentive gaze.
"You don't need to worry about that anymore, even though I'm sure it's still on your minds."
"All you need to do today is stay true to yourselves. Give your best, and show them that you are here—for yourselves, and for those who are waiting for you."
A faint smile bloomed on Jina's lips, widening into a warm and friendly curve.
She seemed about to add something else—perhaps a final, comforting closing—when suddenly, the door to the room swung open with a hurried force.
Brian appeared at the threshold, his body hunched over as he gasped for air, his ragged breathing causing the entire room to pause, drawing every gaze toward him.
Seeing the sight, Jina only shook her head slowly before turning her eyes back to Gomsuk and Namsek.
"Brian might seem unreliable at first because of how easily he panics, gets nervous, and is even a bit clumsy."
"Even though he's the reason you became the center of that chaotic social media storm the other day… please, try not to hate him too much, okay?"
"I hope you can get along with Brian and help him out, because this is his very first time being a group manager."
She offered one last smile—a small, fleeting curve that seemed to mark the end of her presence there—before finally stepping away. Her steps led her toward Brian, who now stood taller, his breathing finally returning to its natural rhythm. Between them, a light conversation began to flow, punctuated by casual gestures and small nods.
Before long, Bunhang, Oduun, and Sehan, who had finished their styling, joined them, merging into the low, indistinct chatter.
Shortly after, Jina stepped out of the room. Her presence faded as the door swung shut behind her, leaving the remaining conversation to drift among those left inside.
But for Gomsuk, those voices never felt whole.
Everything sounded intermittent, like muffled echoes that came and went without a single meaning he could grasp. Their words passed through his ears but never stayed—they didn't linger; they didn't settle.
Once again, Gomsuk drifted back into his own thoughts. His head bowed slightly, his gaze falling somewhere toward the floor or perhaps into the empty spaces between his own fractured memories.
"Is everyone here truly as kind and attentive as Jina Noona?"
"Or is that behavior just a form of formality and professionalism?"
"A few days ago, when we first stepped into this agency, didn't everyone's gaze feel so strange and distant?"
"But today, as we walked back in, those looks changed drastically. Warm smiles and polite nods?"
"Is this how people in this place hide their true feelings—by pretending?"
The murmur drifted like thin smoke from Namsek's lips—light, nearly vanishing before anyone could catch it, yet sharp enough to pierce through Gomsuk's consciousness.
Gomsuk turned toward Namsek, who was currently watching Brian, Bunhang, Oduun, and Sehan.
Sensing a pair of eyes on him, Namsek turned his head.
"Are you really feeling nervous right now, Hyung? Has something happened to you lately?"
"You know… no matter how hard you try to hide something—from me or the others—that expression you can't seem to control… it still can't fool us."
"And also…"
Namsek slowly leaned his expressionless face closer.
His breath hitched for a second, but his eyes remained locked, staring straight into Gomsuk's eyes with a gaze that was cold and piercing.
"You still owe me an explanation about who Miss Margaret is and what exactly is your relationship with her."
"Did you think I would just forget about it because I'm the quietest among us?"
"You've been intentionally avoiding it ever since we were at the dorm—constantly reminding us to practice and work out, then acting as if none of it ever happened afterward."
"Isn't that right?"
Even though Namsek kept his voice as low and soft as possible, Gomsuk could feel the underlying danger—a tone laced with urgency and pressure.
Yet, in response, he merely let out a faint, nonchalant sigh.
"Not everyone here is like Jina Noona."
"She might appear worried, but that doesn't mean she actually feels it."
"We can't judge someone's sincerity just because they show us concern or pity."
"Perhaps pretending has become second nature to her, because in reality, she was only warning us not to make any mistakes."
The chill in Gomsuk's voice brushed against the nape of Namsek's neck, sending a shiver down his spine as if he had been pierced by a freezing wind.
Yet, Namsek maintained his expressionless face, a wall that remained impenetrable, struggling to hide even the slightest hint of being shaken.
But before Namsek could part his lips to find words that might break the tension, Gomsuk spoke first.
"And about Miss Margaret… I already have a plan."
"Whether she is someone we should eliminate or not… whether she is one of our targets or not—we can find out all of that by infiltrating her private life."
Namsek's eyebrow shot up instantly.
"Her private life? That far?"
His tone was thick with bewilderment and disbelief.
Gomsuk responded with a faint scoff to the side—a subtle sign of his thinning patience.
"You wanted to know my connection to her, didn't you?"
"To prove whether all of this is true or not, there is an object in her house—and that object will explain everything."
"So for now, all we need to do is pretend to obey everyone in this place. Become idols, gather fans, and make them lose themselves in the illusion."
"Wasn't that our agreement?"
"And I'm not avoiding her at all, am I? You're simply being too impatient… and too curious."
Namsek's fists suddenly clenched. It wasn't out of anger or feeling offended, but because he saw a gap—a fleeting moment that nearly gave him the courage to throw another word back.
But before he could assemble his sentence, before his lips could tremble and the words could escape into the air, Brian's voice suddenly slipped in.
"Gomsuk, Jina mentioned you seemed nervous. Is that true?"