Translator: RaidenTL

Chapter 47: A Colleague's Sick Leave (1)

Once the song was finished, UA immediately set out to recruit a lyricist to pen the words for the debut track.

Since they were originally a record production company, I figured I didn't need to worry about the recruitment process.

When UA asked if there were any specific points I wanted included in the lyrics, I simply fleshed out the planning proposal I’d shared previously, added some references, and sent it back over.

Fortunately, the achievement rate for 'Advice for the Stage' went up again.

With this, the major projects for the debut were more or less wrapped up—at least, the parts I could get my hands on.

However, the thought that I could finally rest didn't even cross my mind.

It was common sense to any office worker: finishing one job only means a new one is coming.

They’re probably going to make me do a bunch of weird stuff again...

So, instead of relaxing, I had to think about how to micro-manage the brief window of free time I’d gained.

Whether it was catching up on the account books or drawing the 'Love Arrows' between the members that I’d neglected for a while.

If you look away for even a second, work piles up like a mountain. The 'blessing' of work truly never ends.

As long as I live in South Korea, the land of labor, I’m certain I’ll never have to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠worry about a lack of work until the day ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I’m dead and buried.

So, I really hope companies post plenty of job openings for when I’m done being an idol. I promise to work with all my heart and soul.

"Hyung, are you using the vocal practice room today? I saw your name on the board."

"Yeah. I'm going to go attain vocal enlightenment."

I gave a noncommittal answer to Jeong Seong-bin’s warning not to overdo it.

Objectively speaking, I was in a position where I had to practice even if it meant overexerting myself.

The fact that he could say that, knowing my skills stuck out like a sore thumb among the six of us...

No matter how many times I saw it, his magnanimity was respectable.

When he says things like that, it actually makes me feel more guilty...

I finally understood why Jeong Seong-bin’s fans used to scream, "Being kind is a crime!"

Back then, I just thought being kind was a good thing. Now, I empathize. Kindness is indeed a crime.

My conscience might have been ground into powder, but at least a few specks of dust remained. I am, after all, still wearing the mask of a human being.

Since I was receiving Labor Support that I never even got at Hanpyeong Industry, it was only right to burn out my vocal cords in return.

Determined and dreaming of growth in my Vocal Proficiency, I headed to the practice room.

However, the results weren't great.

The growing pains were far too severe compared to the meager growth.

I’d tried to pull off a 2-step high note since I couldn't do a 3-step one, and as if by some cruel joke, I ended up losing half my voice.

I realized my voice was shot when I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tried to greet Jeong Seong-bin as he walked out of his room.

"Did you sleep well, hyung?"

"Ye— cough. ...?"

I tried to ask, "Did you sleep well too?" but it sounded like I was grinding cement in my throat.

It felt like the acrid air of a construction site had been transplanted directly into my windpipe. Only then did I feel the scratchiness in my throat.

"Hyung, what’s wrong with your voice?!"

"It’s just... ahem... because it’s morning, I guess."

Regrettably, my lie didn't work.

My voice sounded like someone who had spent three hours at a noraebang the night before. Or like someone who had spent three hours screaming curses at their boss from the peak of Bukak Mountain.

"Hyung, you shouldn't force yourself to speak."

Seeing me struggle to clear my throat, Jeong Seong-bin poured a cup of warm water and handed it to me.

I appreciated the kindness, but my internal state was pure misery.

How could my skills improve by a fingernail's width while my vocal cords were shredded as if they’d been put through a grater?

This is unfair. Even Hanpyeong Industry paid minimum wage, but this 'Idol Power' seems to exist outside the boundaries of the law.

To make matters worse, I was even receiving Labor Support, and yet I ended up like this. I couldn't help but think the physical damage was excessive compared to the performance output.

"Got... it. Ugh. I can't even... ahem... say anything."

"I told you not to talk...!"

As Jeong Seong-bin’s voice rose, Kang Gi-yeon opened his door and stepped out, asking what was wrong.

"I-wol hyung’s voice is really bad. He must have overdone it yesterday."

"His voice?"

"Yeah. Hyung, we’ll take care of breakfast and head out, so you should rest and go to the hospital."

"What does my voice... ahem... have to do with toasting bread?"

With a throat condition that would surely trigger a 'Very Poor' rating for fine dust concentration, I struggled to convey the message: Stop talking, sit down, and wait for your bread. Kang Gi-yeon’s expression darkened instantly.

"Uh... I really think you should go to the hospital first."

These rookie trainees were being overly sensitive about someone being a bit rough on their voice.

It was frustrating that I couldn't tell them I wasn't planning on singing for the rest of my life anyway. It’s not like the world would end just because my voice was a bit damaged.

If I were in pain and it hindered practice, I would have chosen the hospital without hesitation, but a voice didn't feel like an urgent medical emergency.

I tore open the bag of bread and said, "Guys."

"Hyung..."

"My throat hurts. Don't make me say it twice."

Only then did they finally shut their mouths.

If these guys are this slow on the uptake, they’re going to have a hard time as idols. Their future looks bleak.

Despite me saying it was no big deal, Jeong Seong-bin went as far as waking up Choi Je-ho to leave a message: "Please make sure I-wol hyung goes to the hospital!" before heading to school.

"Just how bad is your throat?"

"It’s fine."

"You’re making a metallic rasping sound, though?"

Choi Je-ho looked horrified. Wait, is it really that bad?

It wasn't like my vocal cords being overworked was a new thing.

During interview seasons or on days when there was an inspection or construction in the office building, my daily life involved talking like a parrot for eight hours straight.

So I hadn't felt it was particularly strange, but apparently, it sounded quite bizarre to others.

"Hyung."

Just as I was about to tell Choi Je-ho that I’d go to the hospital on my own, someone called me from behind.

The only younger member who would be in the dorm at this hour was Park Ju-woo.

I turned around to see Park Ju-woo holding a mug. Steam was rising from the cup.

"What is it?"

"...Please drink this. It’s honey water."

Park Ju-woo set the mug down next to my plate of toast.

He must have put a lot of honey in it, because the water was quite yellow. Even so, I couldn't smell the honey, which made me realize my nose was probably stuffed up too.

My attempt to say thank you was cut short by Park Ju-woo’s insistence that I just drink.

The honey water I received for free was incredibly sweet and hot.

"Ju-woo."

"Yes, hyung?"

"How much honey... ahem... did you put in this?"

"This much."

Park Ju-woo pointed to a spot about a quarter of the way up the cup.

It seemed our main vocal wanted to get rid of me not with a cold, but with sugar overload.

It was sickeningly sweet honey water, but out of respect for his effort, I tried to take another sip when Park Ju-woo asked, "...Should I add more water?"

The moment I heard those words, a memory from the past surfaced—a time when I was fifteen times more in pain and two and a half million times more exhausted than I was now.

'Assistant Manager Kim, why are you taking medicine so often? Where does it hurt?'

'It’s nothing major. I’ve just had some headaches lately.'

It was about two years after I joined Hanpyeong Industry.

That was when I started suffering from chronic headaches. I went to the hospital whenever I could find the time, but they always told me the cause was unknown.

In the end, all I could do was take painkillers whenever it got bad.

Every time I did, Department Head Nam would always have something to say as he passed by.

'Isn't a young person relying on medicine too much? That’s a lack of willpower.'

I could never forget Department Head Nam’s famous quote about how willpower could cure headaches and improve blood circulation.

Meanwhile, Department Head Nam himself would go up to the roof for an hour after every meal to smoke, claiming he couldn't digest his food as he got older.

And the irony was, the headaches I had were caused by him in the first place.

Department Head Nam had once snatched the medicine out of my hand when my head felt like it was about to split open and threw it in the trash.

'Anyway, don't keep taking medicine. Take care of your health normally.'

'Yes, sir.'

'It’s not like you’re protesting by being sick... but someone might think you’re doing it on purpose because you don't want to work. You know what I mean, right?'

The problem was that I did know what he meant, even though I wished I didn't.

Whether it rained or snowed, whether I was healthy or sick, Department Head Nam’s unchanging heart in constantly picking on me was truly impressive.

After that, every time he saw me, he’d make a comment asking how my body was doing. If other employees who didn't know the situation asked if I was sick, he’d make a huge fuss, talking as if I were going to drop dead the next day.

'Everyone, get some good rest over the weekend. Especially Assistant Manager Kim! Don't do anything foolish and stay put over the weekend! Just rest!'

By that point, people who didn't know the full story thought I was someone who spent every weekend doing 'foolish things.' Thanks to him, I even got a lecture from the executives about how health management is also a professional competency.

Compared to back then, the treatment I’m receiving now is practically royal. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Still, receiving concern that lacked malice wasn't bad. It was just a bit embarrassing.

Trying my best to tuck ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠away the awkwardness, I looked at the bashful Park Ju-woo and spoke.

"No, it’s delicious. Thanks."

At that, Park Ju-woo gave a smile that was much fainter than my honey water.

Seeing that, I couldn't bring myself to leave any behind, so I had no choice but to finish the honey water, which was sweet enough to be a literal beehive.

Up until this point, I had been a bit complacent.

I had mistakenly assumed that as long as I supported the members, they would be able to endure the grueling schedule without issue, especially since my own accumulated fatigue was being reduced by the Labor Support Service.

I had forgotten that whether it was mental strength or physical stamina, these guys were still kids who hadn't finished growing yet.