“Hi, Aion. We’re at the jacket shoot set for the ‘Summer Blue’ album.”
Kyeon Inwoo shoved his face toward the camera lens, grinning mischievously as he wiggled his fingers. The camera director framed him and tossed out a question they’d prepared beforehand.
“So what’s the concept for this album?”
“Ah~ this time it’s nothing special. Like, the old ‘deep and philosophical’ stuff and ugh… we’re skipping all that. This is a real ‘cool your head off’ time. We’re gonna have fun at the beach and at a villa.”
“We’re shooting two versions—Summer Blue and Ocean Blue. And what I’m wearing right now is the outfit for the Ocean Blue shoot.”
Walking alongside the camera director, Kyeon Inwoo kept explaining the album.
“It’s Ocean, so obviously we gotta get wet. Ah, I guess you can tell just by seeing the sea. Anyway, everyone’s role is different. It’s all sea-related.”
Inwoo, wearing a zip-up rash guard, chuckled, then tapped the surfboard propped up on the sand with his finger and lifted the corners of his mouth in a cool grin.
“I’m this.”
The camera director picked up the cue and asked,
“A surfer?”
“Yeeep~ This is a concept Zero One’s trying for the first time. So, how is it? Originally I’m supposed to wear a wetsuit, but it’s way too tight and that’s a lot, so we compromised on a rash guard.”
“When we were picking the concept and someone asked who was gonna ride the surfboard, I grabbed it immediately. Because I’ve done it before.”
He wouldn’t stop talking straight into the camera.
“I like working out, but I’m still a beginner at surfing. It’s a longboard, so it’s less stylish, but cut me some slack. Anyway, the photos won’t show me actually riding a wave, so it doesn’t matter, right?”
Kyeon Inwoo glanced around, looking for someone, and spotted Im Sebin sitting in a beach chair way off in the distance.
“Alright, I’m basically done introducing stuff—let’s go, Director.”
With his playful grin, the camera shook dramatically up and down, and the scene cut.
***
Im Sebin, sitting with his eyes closed, sensed someone approaching and slowly cracked one eye open. A face that had been holding nothing in it turned colorful in an instant the moment he realized it was a camera.
“Just say anything. He thinks it’s game over if this guy smiles.”
Kyeon Inwoo pointed at the camera with a sidelong glance and signaled Sebin with his eyes. Sebin rolled his eyes with an awkward expression, then faced the camera again and put on a stiff smile.
“Yeah. Aion, we’re going to come to you with a new concept this time, but I don’t know if you’ll like it.”
As if embarrassed, Sebin scratched his cheek and dipped his head slightly, then lifted only his eyes, looking back and forth between the camera lens and empty space.
“It’s a little awkward, right?”
In an oversized thin white short-sleeve shirt with his hair down, Im Sebin looked much younger than his age.
Right then, sunlight scattered down over Sebin. Thanks to that, his already-pale skin caught the light and sparkled like tiny glass fragments.
“Wow. Back in my day, we didn’t get effects like that. The weather’s helping. Right, Director?”
Kyeon Inwoo shamelessly fished for agreement, and the camera bobbed as if laughing in place of a voice.
Even after that, the camera director kept pouring out questions for a while to get enough footage, then nodded with satisfaction like it was enough.
“Sebin, I think this much is fine, and next is… ah, Inwoo.”
“You called~?”
“You guys have to film self-cam too. I was going to assign it to Youngin, but I don’t see him. Can you do it instead?”
“Yeeep.”
After putting the self-cam in Kyeon Inwoo’s hands, the camera director left to go film another member.
The moment the camera director disappeared, Im Sebin—like none of that had happened—hardened his expression into something stiff again, closed his eyes, and crossed his arms. A silent signal that he wasn’t going to talk anymore.
So prickly. Since it was a familiar sight, Kyeon Inwoo just shrugged like it was nothing and looked around.
He needed a new target, but that Cheon Sayun bastard wasn’t worth looking for, and Pyo Jaeho wasn’t in sight either—maybe he’d gone to change.
Huh? Then where’d Go Young go? Come to think of it, he didn’t see that familiar face. Normally, he would’ve stood out.
Kyeon Inwoo walked along the beach, filming everything he passed. He’d look for Go Youngin while he was at it, and kill two birds with one stone.
After walking and walking, he found Go Youngin standing alone a little ways away from the others, just staring blankly.
Go Youngin, silently watching the sea, looked like he had even less energy, motivation, and will than usual. Like if you flicked him, he’d crumble on the spot.
That weak-looking back somehow reminded him of a day in the past. It felt like the first time he’d seen Go Youngin like that since that incident back in high school. It wasn’t even the same situation, so he couldn’t understand why it felt just as dangerous as it did back then. Maybe because it wasn’t a pleasant memory.
Kyeon Inwoo narrowed one eye. It didn’t feel right to just leave him like that, and either way, he had to take responsibility for the footage he’d been assigned. Maybe he also wanted to change that atmosphere.
So, holding the camera, Kyeon Inwoo strode toward Go Youngin. Compared to usual, his steps were a bit impatient.
The moment he arrived, he shoved the lens in his face without warning.
“What are you doing alone, Go Young?”
On the camera screen, Go Youngin stared at the lens slowly, not even startled—like he’d been expecting an unwelcome visit.
In the frame, Go Youngin didn’t look that different from usual, but outside the frame—seen from beyond the camera—Go Youngin’s face was white as a sheet.
“Why’s your reaction so slow? Don’t tell me you got startled.”
Even though it was obviously teasing, Go Youngin—who normally would’ve snapped back—was unusually quiet. Only then did the change come into clearer focus: lips that moved like he was short of breath, fingertips trembling ever so slightly.
Kyeon Inwoo’s playful attitude turned serious before he realized it. After keeping quiet for a moment, he called him.
“Go Young.”
“……”
“What’s wrong with you?”
Kyeon Inwoo carefully touched his shoulder. Even so, Go Youngin got pushed back easily, like a dry tree branch. What the fuck.
—Splash
“Ah.”
He heard Go Youngin’s low murmur.
At the sound of water, his gaze snapped over on reflex. In the square frame of the camera dangling from his lowered hand, it captured bare feet submerged in water. Go Youngin had stepped back and planted his foot right into the incoming seawater.
The way he stiffened and didn’t move felt unnatural. Go Youngin stared blankly at his own foot, then looked at the water pulling away and finally, belatedly, yanked his foot out and hid it under the sand.
The footprints stamped into the sand vanished without a trace, swept away with the foam of the next wave.
Go Youngin, who’d kept his eyes on the ground the whole time, finally jerked his head up. Their eyes met—his face dazed, his eyes unfocused.
***
It was dark and cold. His stomach churned. Through a hazy, blocked vision and eyes that wouldn’t open properly, he saw a faint beam of light in the cracks of pitch-black darkness. Huh. Isn’t it daytime right now?
I didn’t even go in. Just—just for a second. I only dipped my foot in and pulled it right back out, and it still hits like this.
Until now, I hadn’t really felt it—how I’d genuinely died. But now…
Suddenly, because of that memory brushing past, the words “Reset after death” hit me in a new way. So this is what it feels like. I really died. I died. I did. I had. It felt like scraps of memory were floating up to the surface now and then. With shallow ripples, darkness poured in.
Maybe because of that, the memory that had been shoved into a corner started swelling bigger and bigger. Was I going to meet someone? Was it nothing? I was driving down the coastal road, and there was another car coming straight at me the wrong way.
A flimsy guardrail and the sea below the cliff—sea, sea, and more sea. Sinking, and sinking, and sinking. Why couldn’t I get out? How did I get trapped? How did it happen?
My chest kept feeling tight, but I didn’t know why it was tight. It felt like that’s what it would feel like if your lungs filled with water.
The sunlight stung like it could cook my skin, but my bones were icy, and chilly, and cold, and my lips started trembling on their own. I felt like I was going to throw up. My vision was blurry, too—
Where the seawater wrapped around and passed, it left an invisible mark. Like I’d been grabbed by something that lived in water, I couldn’t even twitch. My ankle hurt.
Like I’d turned into a stiff wax doll. This feels disgusting. Suffocating.
My ears rang. I was sleepy. I heard a voice. I didn’t know if I was hearing it right.
“Go Young, are you hurt somewhere?”
“Uh….”
A person. Familiar. A face I’d seen so much I remembered it now. Kyeon Inwoo. So it’s Kyeon Inwoo. My eyes stung. Is it really Inwoo? Yeah—how many Inwoos is this one? Who is it? We debuted together, and… is he the last Inwoo?
It has to be, right?
“Why are you alone out here like this?”
Is it him? Just give whatever answer he wants. Keep talking.
“Why do you look like you’re about to die? Don’t tell me you didn’t sleep well again today?”
Probably Inwoo.
“You’re right.”
“Right about what. …Hey. You’re not even listening to me properly.”
“Huh? Yeah… probably not.”
“Holy fu— Go Youngin, seriously.”
Who is it? A familiar expression. In a strange situation.
“Hey.”
It was familiar. He was angry. Sleepy—always. Something… this time… after school, it was raining in the classroom. My chest felt tight again, cold sweat, and honestly, it wasn’t just once—
“Don’t tell me you’re doing this again.”
Twisted. Familiar. He was mad. Who is it?
I knew that face. I didn’t know anything. Why?
I’m going to die again.
—Smack!
I heard the sound of palms hitting together.
“Go Youngin.”
It felt like the lights snapped on—like my vision turned bright all at once. I blinked slowly.
Uh… a familiar face came into view.
‘Kyeon Inwoo?’
When did he get here? I had no clue, so I just stared, dumbfounded. What is happening? Kyeon Inwoo’s big hand was right in front of my nose. The hand that had risen to my cheek without me realizing it slid down weakly. Ah. Clapping.
“When did you get here?”
I hadn’t even noticed him approaching. The Status Window should’ve told me, but did I not hear it? Why?
‘This bastard… if you’re going to come over, at least make some noise.’
If you’re going to call me, then speak. And what’s with clapping in someone’s face like that—he’s mastered the art of messing with people.
[ Condition 2│A kind idol leader talks with members often, even if it’s brief. ]
Yeah. The damn Status Window is working perfectly fine today too, in the most useless way. But do I really have to talk?
I glanced over Kyeon Inwoo carefully. Come to think of it, his expression had been stiff for a while now. Just looking at his face, he seemed like he was about to bury someone. He looks pissed as hell… Kyeon Inwoo, your face has always had a strong vibe, I swear.
[ Condition 2│A kind idol leader talks with members often, even if it’s brief. ]
What am I supposed to say. I don’t even have anything to say—what if it just makes him angrier? No, but why is he this mad? Usually, the only time Kyeon Inwoo got angry was when he got into it with Cheon Sayun.
Did Cheon Sayun pick a fight again? But there wasn’t a single head in sight besides me and Kyeon Inwoo. The already-wide beach felt empty enough to look deserted.
It felt like the Status Window was pushing me to say something, so I spoke anyway.
“Did something happen?”
Of course, it barely did anything. Barely, my ass—if anything, Kyeon Inwoo’s tight mouth, after staring without replying for a long time, twisted like something irritated him.
“You’re asking me?”
“Did Sayun say something to you?”
“Fuck, I shouldn’t have opened my mouth.”
Kyeon Inwoo pressed hard at his brow, sighed, and spat out a curse under his breath. I can hear you, you bastard. Then I noticed the small camera in his hand. It looked like he’d been filming the self-cam, but the power was off.
“Why are you just holding it instead of filming?”
“Why do you think.”
‘How would I know….’
I pretended not to notice his crooked tone. If I got pulled into that, it would never end.
“How many people did you film?”
“Me, Im Sebin, and you.”
“Me?”
When did he film me? I was confused, but I let it slide like I always did. With the atmosphere like this, if I asked when, he looked like he’d snap again.
Sure enough, his face turned even harsher.
“…You’re hopeless. Go rest somewhere. We can’t even communicate.”
Ending the conversation on his own, Kyeon Inwoo treated me like an annoying piece of luggage, dragged me straight over to where the staff were gathered, dumped me on the manager—who looked startled—and then spun on his heel and left, saying he was going to film Pyo Jaeho.
‘Am I a bundle of stuff? Well… it’s almost time to start shooting anyway. Whatever. I can just film my part separately later.’
I brushed it off like I always did.