Chapter 195: A Teammate’s Absence (2)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 195: A Teammate’s Absence (2)
By the time he finished the rehearsal, something was fundamentally wrong with Kang Gi-yeon.
With his hair drenched in sweat, his ragged breathing, and his unfocused eyes, he looked less like a person and more like a cornered animal pushed to its absolute limit.
There were no mistakes. Gi-yeon had completed all three rehearsals perfectly.
Perhaps he had poured every ounce of his concentration into the stage, because his steps were precarious as he descended the stairs.
“Gi-yeon, are you okay?”
Jeong Seong-bin caught Gi-yeon’s arm as he stumbled. Gi-yeon’s gaze wandered somewhere on the floor.
“I’m fine.”
His voice was cracked, like parched earth.
No matter how you heard it, that was not the voice of someone who was 'fine.'
Seong-bin gripped Gi-yeon again.
“You’re sweating so much…”
“I’m fine, Hyung.”
Even as he gave that short answer, Gi-yeon looked like he was struggling just to inhale and exhale. He looked so bad that Lee Cheong-hyeon, standing beside him, turned pale with fright.
The five-minute walk back to the waiting room felt like an eternity. The moment the door closed, Gi-yeon collapsed onto the sofa.
The manager held the shoulders of the boy, who could barely keep his head up, and asked, “Gi-yeon, you have to tell us where it hurts so we can help. When did you start feeling bad? Should we go to the hospital?”
A torrent of worried voices followed.
We should call 119. Let’s wipe the sweat off first. Where exactly does it hurt? Only the members, frozen in shock, watched him in silence.
Having people worry doesn't necessarily make a body hurt more or heal faster, but the more the voices multiplied, the more distressed Gi-yeon appeared. The hands covering his face were white as a sheet.
I asked for understanding and nudged the manager back. Then, I knelt down at Gi-yeon’s feet.
“It’s not that you’re physically sick, right?”
“…”
Gi-yeon didn't answer. His hands were trembling so violently it was obvious to the naked eye.
Did he need my help here, or did he not?
It was likely the latter. He was a guy built out of pure ambition and diligence. If he had needed help, he would have asked for it long ago.
‘I was wondering if I could get some advice... regarding getting nervous.’
‘How should I create that sense of pressure?’
‘Then... I’ll leave it to you.’
For someone like him to not ask anyone for help meant one of two things: either he realized this wasn't a problem that could be solved with an IV drip...
Or he believed that no one’s help would do any good.
And I, too, was likely someone he couldn't lean on right now.
“Then let’s lie down. Lie down and rest. Ju-woo, can you give me a blanket?”
As the focus of the conversation shifted from himself to Park Ju-woo, Gi-yeon obediently laid his head down on the sofa. His shoulders heaved with every ragged breath.
Once I covered him with the blanket Ju-woo had hurriedly brought over, Gi-yeon buried his face into the gap of the sofa cushions.
Only Gi-yeon’s uneven breathing echoed through the silent waiting room.
“You’re saying Cheongsimwon will be enough?”
“Yes, probably.”
“Are you sure he’s not sick? I think it’d be better to just go to the hospital…”
“It seems like his camera jitters suddenly got worse. He’ll need to go to a hospital eventually, but... since he’s insisting he’s fine, I think it’s best to give him some Cheongsimwon and talk to him once he’s calmed down.”
Still unable to shake his worry, the manager left the building to find a pharmacy, though he looked skeptical.
Just as the manager disappeared down the hallway, the waiting room door behind me opened. Choi Je-ho stepped out, awkwardly lowering the hand he’d been about to run through his hair.
“How’s Gi-yeon?”
When I asked quietly, Je-ho answered with an indifferent expression.
“Looks like he’s sleeping.”
Despite his blunt tone, Je-ho’s eyes were fixed on the waiting room.
“And the others?”
“Seong-bin and Ju-woo are comforting Cheong-hyeon.”
Je-ho crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.
Since they were friends, Cheong-hyeon must have been very shocked. I belatedly recalled his face, which looked like it was on the verge of tears.
“It’s understandable. I was so focused on Gi-yeon that I didn't think about Cheong-hyeon.”
Cheong-hyeon had been so frozen he couldn't even utter a word. I couldn't even begin to imagine what he was feeling.
“Is it that?”
“What?”
Je-ho asked without a subject. When I questioned him back, he elaborated.
“Gi-yeon. Is it that anxiety thing?”
He seemed to be asking if the extreme anxiety Gi-yeon had during their trainee days had flared up again.
“Probably.”
“I thought he got better.”
“He did get much better. But nothing in this world is 100%.”
I wasn't sure which part or at what point it happened, but it was clear that the dam Gi-yeon had been carefully maintaining had burst.
All we could do was find the hole and plug it as quickly as possible.
Maybe I should have asked him even if it meant he got less sleep.
The 'what ifs' began to spiral in my head. My eyes felt heavy.
Je-ho watched me quietly for a moment before asking, “Did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That Gi-yeon was acting like that.”
“No. Why?”
“Because your reaction was so natural.”
What did I even do? All I did was give him the blanket Ju-woo brought and told him to sleep.
If there was anything natural about it, it was because...
“Maybe it’s because I’m not a stranger to that feeling.”
“What?”
A look of confusion crossed Je-ho’s face.
“When you’re like that, you just don't want to think about anything. Other people’s worry feels like a burden, and you just want to be detached from the world. It’s not like I live my life thinking that way normally. It’s just... there are times like that.”
“…”
“In those moments, I just wanted to sleep and not think. I only did it this time because it was an emergency, so don't take it as gospel. My way isn't necessarily the right one.”
Telling him I was going back in, I left him in the hallway and entered the waiting room. Jeong Seong-bin greeted me with a glance.
Park Ju-woo was diligently massaging Lee Cheong-hyeon’s hands. Cheong-hyeon’s eyes were bloodshot.
He’d been crying. And his makeup had turned out so well, too.
I gave his back a light pat and approached Gi-yeon. He was still buried under the blanket, pulled all the way up to his face.
What on earth pulled the trigger?
I sat as far away as possible so he wouldn't feel any vibration on the sofa, watching him and thinking.
What could have broken Gi-yeon, who had been holding up so well? What had I missed? Were the signs I caught really the only signals of his condition?
My mind felt as bleak as if it were filled with dark clouds.
I also remembered things I didn't particularly want to recall.
The image of myself in the last stall of the company restroom, clutching my racing heart and taking deep breaths alone.
Natural reaction, my ass.
I didn't know what to do either, so running to the bathroom was all I could manage. I only realized after locking the door that being in a cramped space could actually make things worse.
So, this was just the best solution I knew.
Not the right answer, but the best one I could come up with.
It felt stifling. I felt a heavy weight on my heart, as if something was stuck...
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▷ The 'Negative Emotion Awareness Reduction' effect is being applied.
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...And then, as if it had never happened, the feeling vanished without a trace.
It was only after an hour had passed that Gi-yeon opened his eyes.
He then gulped down the Cheongsimwon the manager had bought. Gi-yeon didn't say a single word until he had emptied the bottle.
It was thirty minutes after drinking the tonic that he finally spoke.
“...I’m sorry.”
“For what?!”
Lee Cheong-hyeon shouted, only to be restrained by Park Ju-woo.
“You... you...”
Cheong-hyeon looked indignant. Even so, seeing Gi-yeon’s haggard state, he fell silent.
I could understand why Cheong-hyeon was upset. He was the one who had listened most closely to Gi-yeon’s heart during their trainee days.
Having gone through those times together, he must have felt betrayed to find out Gi-yeon had hidden this state even from him.
“Gi-yeon, why don't you sit out today’s stage?” Seong-bin asked gently.
“No. I feel better after sleeping.”
He didn't seem to be lying. His face was still pale, but color was slowly returning to his complexion.
“Kang Gi-yeon.”
“Yes.”
At my call, Gi-yeon turned his head toward me.
His gaze was still unstable, and his eyelids trembled slightly.
“It’s not the end of the world if you sit out once. If it’s too hard, you can take a break.”
“…”
“But it will be a big deal if you’re gone for a long time. The team will struggle a lot without you.”
Fans are sensitive to members leaving. The Sparklers of the past were the same.
As the contract renewal season approached, there were endless rumors about who would betray whom, or how this team would die if they stayed together and should therefore scatter.
But putting all that aside, you have to be healthy in body and mind to dance, sing, and cheer others on.
“So let’s take care of our health as we go. We need to keep Spark going for a long time.”
“...Yes,” Gi-yeon answered with difficulty after a moment’s hesitation. It didn't seem like my words had really reached him.
Well, he might think I’m overstepping.
He probably wondered who I thought I was to be lecturing him. At the very least, it wasn't something I, who had collapsed during a live broadcast, should be saying.
Feeling belatedly embarrassed, I made an excuse about clearing away the empty bottle and left the waiting room.
In the end, Gi-yeon did not budge. He touched up his hair and makeup and straightened his clothes. Except for a change in lip color to cover his pale lips, he looked exactly as he had before the rehearsal.
The first broadcast of 『MISSION』 began and ended perfectly, without a single deviation from the rehearsal.
It was a live broadcast, but not a single person missed a note or messed up the choreography. It was a performance so flawless it was hard to believe it came from a group that had dealt with such an issue during their waiting time.
And after the stage ended...
The moment they reached the backstage, Gi-yeon covered his mouth and collapsed. He began to gag, clutching the chest of his shirt tightly.
Gi-yeon cried the entire time he breathed into a paper bag. They were physiological tears brought on by the lack of oxygen. Yet, for some reason, he looked heartbreakingly sorrowful.