After that, with no major incidents, Zero One went into comeback prep—and by the time their 2nd anniversary rolled around, the “chill” schedule they’d had that day felt like a dream, because they got insanely busy.
In the end, the keywords for the concept that got finalized were fresh, summer, and high-teen.
Once the concept was set, the real plans and schedule started taking shape.
They brought in a music video director and locked in a proper planning date for the shoot, and on top of that the album release and comeback announcement timeline got finalized too.
We also had time set aside for recording the tracks and practicing choreography the choreographer brought in, but really… it wasn’t smooth from the start.
First, the day after our 2nd debut anniversary—before we even properly went into full-scale recording—CEO Kwon Daedo called the members in, shoved a blank sheet of paper at each of us, and told Zero One to write lyrics ourselves.
Go Youngin genuinely thought the guy had lost his mind.
I didn’t think he’d tell us to write lyrics too. This wasn’t something that happened before, either.
Did what I said about wanting to make Zero One’s music actually land with him more than I expected?
It wasn’t like I was refusing no matter what. If anything, past Go Youngin had vaguely thought, If I can, I hope the day comes when I get to try it.
But even if I didn’t know everything about Zero One, there was one thing I could say with confidence.
The current Zero One couldn’t properly make something that truly contained “our” story, not my story, not anyone’s story. We could dress it up and pretend, sure—but when the members can’t even connect with each other right now, how the hell is there supposed to be sincerity in the music?
And that included me.
On top of that, deciding lyrics, recording, mixing, mastering… It already felt like lyrics alone would swallow all our time…
Since this was happening because of me in the first place, I was trying to figure out how the hell I was supposed to refuse when, thankfully, Pyo Jaeho pushed back first.
That was the point: the schedule was too tight, and it wasn’t reassuring to put the song in the hands of members who’d never written lyrics even once.
Fuck. He wasn’t wrong, so I had nothing to say.
And the other members weren’t planning to write lyrics in the first place. Of course CEO Kwon Daedo’s persuasion didn’t work. During all that, we also ended up finding out—by accident—that Pyo Jaeho had already been participating in the track.
Pyo Jaeho declared that if this was how it was going to be, he wouldn’t use his own track, and when Go Youngin jumped on that like “this is it” and defended Pyo Jaeho with everything I had, CEO Kwon Daedo finally threw up both hands and feet.
Maybe he didn’t expect me to take Pyo Jaeho’s side, because Pyo Jaeho’s expression twisted into something weird, but… whatever. Anyway, in the end, the track itself was going to proceed as-is.
And that’s how Zero One’s “challenge” for self-directed music started as a half-assed version. No—was it even half? More like a quarter?
Later, CEO Kwon Daedo called Go Youngin aside, apologized for how it turned out, and tried hard to comfort me—saying next album we’d prepare slowly, and then we could challenge ourselves with everything, even the songs, and so on.
But Go Youngin didn’t really feel disappointed, because I thought this was already a huge win.
I’d been sweating bullets, worried he might go crazy again and say, “Forget it, we’re going back,” after all.
Go Youngin was looking at this situation pretty positively. Just the fact that the concept and the song were different from before was a big deal.
So then we recorded the tracks—again, not smoothly—and practiced choreography, practiced the song, practiced choreography, practiced, practiced, practiced, and practiced some more.
Thanks to that endless treadmill of practice, May was flying by.
***
Like always, after finishing group choreography practice in the practice room, we got a short break.
Zero One’s members were generally uncooperative by nature, but the lucky thing was that at least when it came to schedules related to singing, dancing, and performing, all of them handled it without trying to slack off.
Im Sebin had gone and flopped down in a corner of the practice room, and Pyo Jaeho, in the meantime, dragged his exhausted body upstairs to the studio, saying he was going to keep working on the track.
That stubborn bastard. And Cheon Sayun—like he didn’t get tired at all—was already chatting and laughing with a staff member.
After scanning around the practice room, Go Youngin roughly wiped my forehead with my arm while breathing hard. Fuck… matching group formations for the first time in a while is seriously going to kill me.
We checked constantly every time we finished a run, but it still wasn’t enough.
Since the song had an upbeat vibe, the dance was fast and lively overall too—and because it had a lot of chopped-up moves and steps, we had to pay even closer attention when checking.
Go Youngin dropped onto the practice room floor however I felt like it, picked up the camera we’d had running the entire time, and decided to check the formations and paths first, then go over the details.
Kyeon Inwoo, who’d already finished off a whole bottle of water and was tormenting the innocent empty bottle by crushing it, also read the room and joined the moment Go Youngin picked up the camera.
Yeah. At least you’re aware you’re one of Zero One’s main dancers.
“Go Young, you fucked up your step here.”
“You mean the eight-second part, right?”
“Yeah. Before you go into the pair with me.”
“I should’ve pulled my left foot out faster. Ah—and this part, Sebin’s spread timing is a little late too.”
The one I had the longest “normal” conversations with in Zero One was Kyeon Inwoo. His mouth was rough, sure, but aside from that, he was a better guy than you’d expect. Of course, that only held true under one condition.
“Fuck.”
When Kyeon Inwoo suddenly spat out a curse out of nowhere, it was almost always for the same reason. No need to look—of course it was Cheon Sayun.
“Older brother.”
I heard a voice with laughter in it. I knew it.
Seriously, how long are you going to keep that up. The second he sees his face, he just drops a curse on reflex—like we’re ever going to get close. The fact he doesn’t throw a punch at this point is basically heroic. I guess I should be grateful he doesn’t do it while we’re practicing.
[ Condition 23│A kind idol leader must also be able to mediate members’ conflicts appropriately. ]
Which meant: if I just sat there, those two were about to start another mouth-breathing hell battle.
I’m so sick of these bastards…
Go Youngin handed the camera to Kyeon Inwoo and stood up. Even without a stated subject, Cheon Sayun wouldn’t call Kyeon Inwoo with some friendly second-person pronoun like that, so “hyung” had to mean me.
I took Cheon Sayun and moved to a spot away from Kyeon Inwoo. Cheon Sayun followed surprisingly easily.
“What’s going on?”
“The pie.”
‘Pie…? What kind of bullshit is he—ah, wait.’
Come to think of it, something like that did happen during the 2nd anniversary live. It’d been a while. Go Youngin slowly nodded.
But Cheon Sayun—so sharp it sometimes felt like he was using mind reading—caught on immediately that Go Youngin had forgotten.
“Don’t tell me you already forgot. Don’t say you’re so stupid you’d do that.”
“…No. But why?”
Jesus, I didn’t think I’d actually forget. I wrote it down in my notes, but we’ve been so busy lately I didn’t check.
At the same time, the new goals I’d written down with it surfaced too. Don’t get hurt during the comeback period, don’t let any noise blow up… I wrote a bunch, but the conclusion was one thing.
Make it through the comeback safely.
Since everything from the album concept to the track basically changed, I wanted to check whether the results changed too. I wasn’t the type to obsess over numbers, but if I had to pick, higher results were better for the fans too.
“Be careful. He looked kind of pissed.”
Cheon Sayun’s voice pulled Go Youngin out of my thoughts.
“Be careful” out of nowhere. What kind of line is that—how far can it possibly be from the word “safe”? I really wished Cheon Sayun would fix his habit of starting with the conclusion when he talked.
Does this bastard think everyone in the world is like him?
“Is this related to you coming home late that day?”
All of a sudden, I remembered that not long ago, Cheon Sayun had come back late at night without answering any calls or texts.
“It’s related, but it’s a little different.”
“Ah. Okay.”
“Are you curious?”
Do I need to be curious…?
[ Condition 2│A kind idol leader talks with members often, even if it’s brief. ]
“I’ll listen, at least.”
“No, Youngin. I asked if you’re curious.”
He picks fights over the dumbest things. What a freak.
For someone who nitpicks like a miser over a single word, his face looked so refreshingly bright it was enough to make my brain short out. So the answer’s decided already, huh.
“…Yeah. I’m curious.”
Cheon Sayun put on a radiant smile.
“I treated him pretty well.”
“…You mean that staff member?”
…Not messed with him?
[ Condition 35│A kind idol leader does not doubt members without reason. ]
I’m not doubting him “without reason”—just listen to how he talks. How am I not supposed to think like this? Does he look like someone who wouldn’t?
“Yes. I just treated him well. What are you thinking to make that face? Don’t tell me you think I’d treat him the way I treat you.”
What the hell is that. That’s an extremely unpleasant way to put it.
Cheon Sayun gave Go Youngin a strange little smile, then started folding down his fingers one by one as he spoke.
“Remembering his name, talking to him first, looking for him often, praising him excessively. And if possible, in front of multiple staff—so it looks like you’re closer to him than to everyone else.”
So… he screwed him over with some workplace-politics bullshit like that? The more I listened, the more it felt like that was exactly what he meant.
“He got eliminated faster than I expected. You know how fucking vicious the internal politics here are. You didn’t know because you don’t care.”
This is driving me insane. Isn’t the weirder one the guy paying attention to all of this? And could he maybe not grin like that while saying it? It’s creepy as hell.
“So be careful. He doesn’t want to end up isolated and forced out on his own, so he’s probably going to start crossing lines soon. I checked—he was always doing all kinds of shit even before.”
Cheon Sayun warned me in a gentle voice. Someone please explain why Cheon Sayun is the one who started this, but I’m the one who has to be careful.
***
Early June.
Around the time the outline of the comeback was getting clearer and we’d gotten pretty used to the choreography and the track, we headed to the beach for the jacket shoot for Zero One’s comeback album: the summer special album, “Summer Blue.”
Above the horizon, the tall sky stretched on and on, and the sun was blazing hot right overhead. In the lukewarm wind, the salty smell of the sea clung to the air.
Up until that point, I was genuinely happy to see the ocean again after so long. Yeah. I was. But then…
‘Fuck.’
Things had been pretty peaceful lately, so I thought the jacket shoot would go relatively smoothly too. Because of Cheon Sayun’s warning, I’d been on edge, watching my surroundings, and nothing major had happened yet. But I didn’t expect I’d hit this kind of rough patch before any “incident” even happened.
Go Youngin looked down at my feet.
The soft, grainy sand tickled the soles of my feet, and waves of uneven height rolled in, shimmering right in front of me. Over the transparent water filled with a pale green hue, a familiar memory crept in like a stain.
Muffled ears. Breath that came up tight, like my chest was being pressed down. The fishy stench of water stabbing into my nose.
A future that only remained as a few lines of news—and also the past. Memories of death that might’ve become Go Youngin’s last memory came flooding in without warning.
[ Condition 32│A perfect idol must be skilled at controlling facial expressions. ]
‘Looks like the biggest hidden boss of this shoot is going to be me…’
Go Youngin forced down my shallow breaths.