Linked Quest

This is driving me crazy.

With time slipping away relentlessly, Ye-chan decided to gloss over how he even knew the number in the first place. He dialed the contact he'd saved for Kang Hae-sol without a second thought — but all that came back was that cold, automated voice.

Right. If he quit being a trainee after Chumaf, of course he'd change his number.

Among the nine trainees who had first received an S-Grade, Kang Hae-sol was the only one who never once made it into a debut lineup. Discounting Woo Hwi-gyum, who had voluntarily withdrawn midway through, he was the sole exception.

Ye-chan and Kang Hae-sol both had faces that looked cold and sharp-edged, but the impression each left was different. Where Ye-chan came across as cool and somewhat frosty — the type who might overdo the politeness — Kang Hae-sol had a fierce, ill-tempered look about him, the kind of face people called raw and unpolished.

Hae-sol had once complained that his looks had gotten him misunderstood by teachers and classmates ever since his school days, and the same thing had played out on Chumaf. When he got absorbed in something, he stopped noticing his surroundings. He was painfully shy with strangers, and on top of that he genuinely had a temper — a hot-blooded streak that made the twenty-four-hour close-up cameras a steep hurdle to clear.

The occasional flashes of negativity were magnified by the magic of editing, while the good moments he rarely but genuinely showed were cut entirely. Even Ye-chan, before meeting him in person, had remembered him as nothing more than a talented guy with a rotten personality.

Ye-chan had come to see Kang Hae-sol differently during his third reset.

Not long after Choose My Prince 99 ended, a faceless, eccentric composer had appeared — one who wrote songs exclusively for idols who'd never made it. At the time, Ye-chan had been scraping together every skilled staff member he could find to raise the quality of his albums and stages, so of course an anonymous genius composer had caught his interest.

Just to lure the man in, he'd collaborated with a broadcasting network on a massive project: a tournament-style survival show gathering failed idols. Exactly as planned, the composer took the bait and visited Ye-chan's company.

"Oh — Trainee Kang Hae-sol."

At Ye-chan's first words of recognition, Hae-sol's face flushed scarlet all the way down to his neck, and he shrieked,

"I'm a composer now!"

That was how their connection began, and it lasted a long time. Contrary to everything he'd shown on Chumaf, Kang Hae-sol was diligent and meticulous. His abilities as an idol had been outstanding, but his skill as a composer was every bit as impressive. Both professionally and personally, Ye-chan had taken a genuine liking to him — and through every subsequent reset, he sought out the version of Hae-sol who had become a composer.

"Hyung, why do you only write idol songs?"

"It's unfinished business, I guess."

Ye-chan had asked him once. As if his throat were burning, Hae-sol cracked open a can and gulped down the drink in long, greedy swallows.

"I was so disgusted I swore I'd never even look at this industry again, and I quit everything. Then Choose My Prince 99 got uploaded late to the streaming sites."

Hae-sol kept going.

"I don't know if I was out of my mind, but I hit play with my own two hands."

Ye-chan listened quietly to the words of this alcohol-wreck of a man who was acting drunk off nothing but carbonation.

"Watching that show, I looked like the biggest bastard alive. But I know the truth. Every single moment of that program, I gave it everything I had — more than I thought possible."

It was true. Aside from the second grade evaluation, Kang Hae-sol had always delivered brilliantly on stage. Even if the program had never once shone a light on his performances.

"In the end, my brightest moments are still there."

Hae-sol smiled with a bitter face. Chumaf was a show Ye-chan had personally torn to shreds — and yet in Hae-sol's heart, it had settled into something like sacred ground, vast and immovable. That day, for the first time, Ye-chan felt guilt over having ripped Choose My Prince 99 apart.

"Once I admitted that, this pathetic attachment started growing, and this weird stubbornness too. But I was scared of putting myself out there as an idol again and getting torn apart. So… yeah. That's how I ended up here."

Listening to those words laced with regret and self-mockery, Ye-chan suddenly thought it was a waste that only he knew how decent a person Kang Hae-sol really was.

"What about debuting some other way — not through Chumaf? Through Lee:Spirit, for example?"

It had been an impulsive question, but once the words left his mouth, it seemed like a genuinely good idea. Ye-chan would gain a teammate he could trust more than anyone. He could make amends for trampling on Hae-sol's sacred ground with muddy boots. And Hae-sol would finally get to unleash his full talent as an idol.

"Are you insane? Your fans wouldn't just trash-talk me — they'd throw actual rocks."

"No, I'm not saying join right now. I'm saying, hypothetically — if you went back to the past, what would you do?"

Ye-chan added a more detailed explanation for the horrified Hae-sol. After a thoughtful hmm that didn't quite match Ye-chan's tone, Hae-sol snorted a laugh.

"Join Lee:Spirit and freeload off Ha Ye-chan's bus? Not bad, actually."

"Right?"

Ye-chan's face lit up in an instant.

If I reset right now and debut with Hae-sol-hyung… Ah, but for that I'd need to dig up exactly what he was doing around age nineteen.

What stopped Ye-chan mid-plan — already mapping out a reset and hauling Hae-sol into a debut together — was Hae-sol's next words.

"But even if I went back, I'd still try for Chumaf. It sounds stupid, but I really wanted to do well. There."

It really was a stupid thing to say. But the face Hae-sol wore as he said it was so genuine that even after returning to the past, Ye-chan never once thought of seeking out the nineteen-year-old Kang Hae-sol.

Ye-chan reset several more times after that, and on more than one occasion he put a similar question to the composer version of Hae-sol. And every time, stubborn Kang Hae-sol gave him the exact same answer. It was so thoroughly, unmistakably him.

And then, after a great deal of time had passed, Ye-chan found himself competing on that very Chumaf that Hae-sol had clung to so desperately — competing alongside Kang Hae-sol himself.

Ye-chan shoved the clutter of distracting thoughts out of his head. For the next roughly eight hours, he had to remotely steer someone he'd only ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠spoken to for the first time yesterday — someone whose phone number he still didn't have — into earning an S-Grade.

This hologram window was consistently, reliably irritating, but it had never once handed him an impossible quest. Which meant this one, too, could be solved.

Right now, three people could make contact with Kang Hae-sol. Ye-chan opened his contacts app, stared hard at his roommates' names, and quickly typed out a message.

In the worst case, the other person might be practicing and it could take hours before the message was even read — but luckily, a reply came back in thirty minutes.

…What is this absurd message?

Ye-chan looked back and forth between Beom Se-hyuk's name in his phone and the message several times, then typed a reply with a faintly unsettled expression. He didn't want to get tangled up with Woo Hwi-gyum, and while Shim Sang-rok had so far seemed like a decent, easygoing guy, they'd never been closely involved, so there was no telling what he was really like. That was why he'd gone to Beom Se-hyuk, whose inside matched his outside — and now he felt like he'd learned a piece of TMI he never needed to know.

Mixing expressions like that into a text…

An out-of-nowhere request with that kind of content should have raised questions, but the quick reply came back with nothing but a rather aggressive little drawing attached — no curiosity about the request itself. Soon a third reply arrived.

Just over six hours remaining. Knowing Kang Hae-sol, he'd come running within two hours at the absolute latest. After wringing his brain dry for that short stretch of time, the fatigue he'd briefly forgotten came roaring back twice as strong. Ye-chan threw himself onto the bed with a peaceful mind. He'd done everything he could for now, so this time he fully intended to sleep until Kang Hae-sol came looking for him.

BANG BANG BANG!

The sound of someone pounding on the door dragged Ye-chan up from a deep sleep. He forced his heavy eyelids open.

"Ha Ye-chan, open the door!"

A familiar voice was booming from outside, loud enough to rattle ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the walls. Instead of answering, Ye-chan first checked the quest window he hadn't bothered to close.

Wow. That was fast.

It hadn't even taken an hour, let alone two. Marveling that Hae-sol's impatience was, if anything, worse than before rather than better, Ye-chan climbed out of bed and trudged to the door. He yanked it open without warning, and Kang Hae-sol — who'd been mid-knock — spilled straight into the room. Ye-chan caught him naturally before he could fall. There was a mounted camera rolling; he couldn't very well do anything that violated basic human decency.

Having nearly planted his face in the floor, Hae-sol skipped any thanks and instead fired words at Ye-chan in a rapid-fire barrage.

"You — why didn't you check my texts? You didn't pick up my calls either!"

"How did you even get my number?"

"I asked Beom Se-hyuk. No, that's not the point!"

Apparently conscious of the camera, Hae-sol dropped his voice sharply.

"…What do you mean, the song?"

The Kang Hae-sol waiting for Ye-chan's answer with an anxious face looked younger than Ye-chan remembered. This unscarred, still-young Hae-sol was strangely unfamiliar.

"How did the test go?"

"What? I don't know. I don't remember. More importantly — what do you mean, the song…!"

Good.

Looking at someone who had clearly forgotten every last scrap of tension, Ye-chan felt a swell of satisfaction. Purely on skill, Kang Hae-sol ranked among the top ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠five trainees in the competition, no question. As long as he didn't freeze up and just let his body do what it remembered, he'd hold onto that S-Grade without trouble. Which meant this quest was as good as cleared.

In the Chumaf Ye-chan remembered, Kang Hae-sol had plummeted to the absolute bottom — a D-Grade — on the second grade test. On top of pulling an all-nighter the night before, he'd pushed himself practicing late into the test day itself, leaving his body a wreck. Trainees had piled up near the deadline, so he'd waited for his turn in a state of mounting anxiety, his mind a complete mess. And with a panel of famous judges packed into the booth surrounding him, the pressure had hit its peak. In the worst possible condition, he'd delivered the worst possible stage — and been demoted to D-Grade. Becoming the designated punching bag of Choose My Prince 99 had been the free bonus.

Watching Hae-sol get absolutely roasted, the production team had been thrilled — a perfect character to hook the audience had just been born. Layer clever editing over his blunt words and actions, and out came a human garbage heap the likes of which the world had never seen.

That was why Ye-chan had dragged Hae-sol back last night and made him sleep, even though he'd wanted to keep practicing. Don't button the first button wrong. He still remembered getting blocked after resetting and coming on too friendly without gauging the distance between them, and carelessly dropping even a hint about the future risked being suspected as a planted member. So this time he hadn't planned to interfere any further — until the hologram window forced him into a tightrope walk along a razor-thin line.

And yet, strangely, watching Kang Hae-sol not hang his head in defeat but instead bark and pick a fight with him… felt good.

Do I owe the quest a thank-you for this?

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Ye-chan cast a lukewarm glance toward the quest window.

"Hey. Are you even listening to me?"

Apparently convinced Ye-chan was zoning out, Hae-sol — patience completely spent — was grinding his teeth with the face of a demon crawled up from hell. The cleanup wasn't finished yet.