The Day I Killed My Favorite

Someone once said it: if you're so frustrated, get out there and run the race yourselves.

Well, yes. Now I truly want to scream it from the rooftops.

I'll run. I'll do it myself.

So—

"Just stop giving us songs like THIS!"

Today was the release day of Boom-Shot!, the sixth single from the five-member boy group Impacter.

The reason they were squeezing a measly two tracks into an album was obvious enough: yet another declaration of war, promising to grind out fan signing events until they dropped.

The music video that was supposed to go up the second the clock struck six didn't appear until a full twenty-seven minutes later.

"...Wow."

Was I seriously the only one who'd been waiting? The comment section was so quiet I could hardly believe my eyes.

Not a single angry soul in sight.

And yet, right up until their last album, we'd all been grateful just to get a comeback at all.

Now I was on the verge of tears — not from emotion, but from pity for the members forced to sing garbage lyrics like these.

If this is how you're going to be, at least read your mail, you worthless agency. You begged me to send you songs, then chewed up every single one and threw the boys out with this trash instead?

My emails, which had started out perfectly respectable,

had morphed into outright free giveaways within a few months,

and finally stooped to clickbait shameless enough to put spam mail to shame.

"...Are these people out of their minds?"

The truly infuriating part was that they'd actually read the last two. Not that they seemed to have so much as clicked open the attached demo files.

"And they still have the nerve to come out with a song like this."

I leaned back and pushed my chair away from the desk.

My inbox, on the other hand, was overflowing with offers from agencies. I could have cherry-picked whatever work I pleased — that was the kind of successful composer SW was. And SW was me, Yuseongwoo.

They say what you love rarely lines up with what you're good at, but I'd been lucky. I was even good at the things I found fun. Chart-topping hits, of course, plus OSTs for movies and games I'd adored — and even a song that clawed its way back up the charts months after release. The results had always been kind to me.

And yet there was exactly one thing I'd never managed to pull off—

Giving a song to Impacter.

Impacter. A five-member boy group that debuted three years ago, named by bolting "-er" onto "Impact" — the ambition being to become a team with a powerful, seismic influence on the music industry.

They'd debuted through the agency's own survival show, and word was they'd generated a serious buzz at first. Handsome faces, rookie bravado, a ready-made narrative from the competition itself. After a perfectly decent showbiz debut, Impacter's fall came in a single stroke.

When a mixtape in which Go Jaeseong — the member in charge of producing — viciously dissed a famous male idol resurfaced, Impacter found itself under indiscriminate attack from that idol's fandom. The bigger problem was that this lunatic hadn't dissed just the one team.

That's right. Go Jaeseong was an equal-opportunity hater, a doll whose only function was to punch at everyone.

Targeting a famous girl group next, he wrote lyrics oozing with bravado, as if he could pick any member he liked and date her — when he'd never so much as exchanged a word with any of them. And on top of that, he made remarks so ignorant they amounted to outright racism, sending international K-pop fans into an absolute fury.

What was it they said? One loach muddies the whole pond. One Go Jaeseong dragged all of Impacter down with him.

If they'd been total nobodies, they could at least have been buried in obscurity. But thanks to the survival show, they were stuck in that awkward zone of being semi-famous, while their fandom — still too young to have put down real roots — scattered to the four winds.

Then a plagiarism scandal over their debut song erupted on top of everything, and overnight they were walking the road of a certified mangdol — a ruined idol.

To be fair, some fans did hold on. But the agency's insane strategy of shielding their liability of a member bled even those dry. As if picking a fight with their own fans, they made Go Jaeseong the center of the next album, and Impacter was well and truly finished.

And I was a male fan who'd wandered, late to everything, into the ruins everyone else had already abandoned.

Does this agency know literally no way to make money besides fan signings? They promote for a pathetic two weeks, then keep milking an album that came out two months ago with event after event.

Would you believe me if I told you this was already the twentieth fan signing?

You'd call it a lie, right? Well then, the fact that I'd attended all twenty must sound like an even bigger one.

"We meet again."

"You were here yesterday too, weren't you?"

Only the diehards remained now — the ones who'd stuck around so long they were starting to rot.

I set up my camera with practiced ease. The moment I lined the lens up with Kang Yiyul, my favorite, he broke into a wide grin and waved.

How is a face like that stuck in a flopped group?

The poor guy had been dealt a brutal hand in life.

And yet no matter how often I came, the first thought that struck me every time was the same.

This is not a group that deserved to fail like this.

"Seongwoo hyung, you came again today?"

"Seriously, I feel like I see you every single day."

"Thank you so much for supporting us this promotion!"

"Wow, I'm honestly so touched."

All four of them — the faces, the character, the talent, all top-tier—

"Hey."

...and then this disaster, who couldn't even manage words, just a token nod.

Minus him.

"..."

"..."

Second thought I have every time I come: why on earth do fan signings force you to spend identical time with every single member?

Truly nothing to say to this guy.

Go Jaeseong, sitting in front of me, seemed to feel the same. Why would a grown man pay money to look at another man? One glance at his face and you could practically hear this bastard's inner monologue playing on speaker.

"Seonghun? Seongho? Seongwoon?"

True to his reputation as the group's resident drama queen, he'd seen me at least a few dozen times and still couldn't remember my name. I was seriously starting to wonder if this was less a matter of effort and more a matter of raw intelligence when—

"...Seongwoo."

the bodyguard standing behind him quietly breathed my name. It had slipped out of him before he could stop himself, clearly as dumbfounded as I was.

"Ah~ Seonwoo! Great to see you, Seonwoo hyung!"

A staff member squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away.

Forget it. Just let it go.

I scraped together something, anything, to say.

"I heard the demo you posted on SNS."

"Oh, did you?"

"..."

"...So? What did you think?"

What did I think? It was so garbage I turned it off halfway through.

"Hmm. Maybe try turning the autotune down a little?"

The guy who'd worn a constipated expression the entire time now snorted openly.

"Pfft, you really don't get it at all, huh? That's the charm."

It wasn't charm, it was slathered on to bury your pathetic vocals. First I'm hearing you're such a visionary. The thing was so drowned in robotic processing I wouldn't have blinked if you told me an AI wrote it.

"No sense of taste whatsoever—"

Oh, dropping honorifics now, are we? Charming.

"Though I guess what would you know about composing, Seonho-ssi?"

It's Seongwoo, you goldfish-brained bastard.

"You must be listening to a lot of SW-nim's songs these days."

"Kuh— our SW hyungnim is a god, honestly."

My stomach turned. Everything in me wanted to announce that I was SW and staple that yapping mouth shut.

"Wouldn't it be amazing if SW-nim gave Impacter a song?"

"Please. A song from SW-nim would be wasted on you."

I barely swallowed the words: wasted on you specifically.

"A song like that should've gone to my solo, honestly."

...Should I just kill him?

Being this incapable of self-awareness is a sin, too. A genuine crime.

"Ha, ha — totally, right. See you next time."

I hadn't heard the move-along call yet, but surely a minute had passed, so I got up on my own. Only to be caught by a staffer's hand.

"Your time isn't up yet, actually."

...You have got to be kidding me. Not even a full minute? Felt like I'd survived an hour in there.

Only after a gritted-teeth staring contest ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠did I finally hear those blessed words: You may move along now.

"Oh! It's Seongwoo hyung!"

Who said there's no paradise for the runaway? Heaven was waiting for me right here.

This was him — my favorite, Kang Yiyul.

The first thing I noticed, even before that sunshiny smile, was his hair. Shredded to straw by endless rounds of bleaching, it looked even more tragic under the lights. Strange as it sounds, the agency — whose sense of style had died a complete death — reserved every single experimental hairstyle exclusively for Yiyul.

Adding hair essence to his birthday gift, obviously.

What on earth had he done to the CEO in a past life to earn a lifetime sentence of discount-box dye? Was being handsome a crime? It was the most radioactive hair color I'd seen since Poppy, the Maltese my childhood friend used to own.

"Hyung, be honest — you trained to be an idol, didn't you?"

"Hm? Do you know how old I am—"

"I marvel every time I see you. That's a face that belongs on stage next to ours."

And on top of that face, he was nice.

"Oh, right — there's something I've been meaning to ask you."

"What is it?"

"How did you end up becoming our fan?"

My words caught in my throat for a second. Fair enough, though — of course he'd wonder. A male fan showing up to every signing event like this was unusual in itself. I'd never dreamed I'd live long enough to fall for an idol, let alone a boy group. I hadn't even given girl groups the time of day, for that matter.

"Hmm... I'll tell you next week."

"What! Now you've made me curious—"

Not that it mattered; I'd already applied for next week's signing. The event fell exactly on Yiyul's birthday, so I'd tell him then, along with his present.

That you're the reason I was able to write music again.

"Man, this weather is insane."

The kind of heat that left you drenched just standing still. And of course the agency wouldn't pass up a cheap last-minute gig — they'd suddenly booked a regional event, of all things, the day before Kang Yiyul's birthday.

Bzzz—

"What now?"

My friend and production partner, Moon Geonho.

"What is it."

Click.

I'd long since given up keeping a straight face around him — I'd run myself ragged all over the country chasing Impacter, after all.

"God, it's boiling out here..."

Heat piled on top of exhaustion, and irritation climbed all the way to the roots of my hair. If anyone dared gripe about my seat today, it was a straight trip to the police station.

A trot singer. A children's choir. A dance team whose name I'd never heard... After an eternity of waiting, the emcee finally bellowed:

"The global boy group leading the Hallyu wave — IMPACTER!"

Of that entire sentence, exactly one phrase — "boy group" — was factually accurate.

"Hello, we're Impacter!"

...Astonishingly, not a single person reacted. Unable to just leave that crushing silence hanging, I swallowed my embarrassment and let out a cheer of my own.

"One of our songs has the lyrics 'boom boom boom, shot shot shot'! Let's try it together, shall we?"

Leader Han Sangyoon refused to surrender, coaxing the crowd along. Really — being an idol is not something just anyone can do.

"Boom boom boom, my racing heart, shot shot shot, aimed right at you!"

I don't know about anything else, but I can't stand to watch my boys get cowed.

"BOOM BOOM BOOM! SHOT SHOT SHOT!"

I felt less like a fan and more like a parent screaming themselves hoarse at a kindergarten recital.

But smiles spread across the members' faces. Kang Yiyul aimed a thumbs-up straight at my camera. Given time, even this would become something to laugh about.

Because better days are coming.

It was only a local event, but they danced and sang with as much passion as any music show. Meanwhile some loach-looking bastard was trampling every single camera ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠line he crossed.

"If only he just didn't exist, this would be perfect."

One stage, barely three minutes, was all ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠they got — after I'd spent a solid seven hours getting here and waiting for Impacter's turn.

Still, I didn't regret it for a second. Every single stage was precious.

"This has been Impacter. Thank you!"

The members bowed until their backs nearly snapped, then came down off the stage.

I packed up without lingering and headed back to the car.

Now I had to drive four more hours back to the studio, finish the track I was working on, grab an hour or two of sleep, then head straight to an Impacter fan signing.

"Somehow I think I'm busier than Impacter is."

As I pulled out of the venue, I heard the first drops patter against the roof of the car.

Tap. Tap-tap.

"Since when is it raining?"

In an instant the sky opened up. The wipers couldn't keep pace.

"Ugh, and I just washed the car yesterday..."

Across the road, headlights were strobing wildly, all over the place.

"A rookie driver, huh—"

I turned the wheel slowly to give way.

That was the instant the headlights flared. Blinding — bright enough to burn my eyes out.

It happened in a flash.

"...Huh?"

Beyond the glare, I saw Kang Yiyul's face.

CRASH—!

It was over in an instant. A thunderous impact, an airbag detonating in my face. My whole body twisted; I couldn't breathe. I couldn't even tell what had broken.

What anchored me as my consciousness faded was that face — the last thing I'd ever seen. Only one thought remained in my head.

That car. It had better not, under any circumstances, be Impacter's.

Please—

Clutching my shoulder, which felt shattered, I somehow dragged myself out of the car.

It was carnage. A chassis crumpled beyond recognition, shards of shattered glass scattered across the asphalt.

"No, no..."

Amid the wreckage, I saw a hand hanging limp and lifeless. From the hand alone, I knew exactly whose it was. And that was the most unbearable thing in the world.

"...No."

My legs, holding me upright by sheer will, gave out. The rain pouring down was so, so heavy. It would not have surprised me if the downpour crushed me straight into the ground where I knelt.

I still hadn't told you why I became your fan.

As my consciousness blurred, I had no choice but to admit it.

Today, I killed my favorite.