Time in the hospital spent like a layabout felt like a lie.
Spotting Sihyeon leaning, exhausted, against the rehearsal room’s glass wall, Rajoon tossed the PET bottle he’d just drained into the trash and scurried over, eyes fluttering with worry as he said, “Are you really struggling? Hm?” Beyond struggling—felt like dying. He didn’t even have the strength to say it; he just shut his eyes. “You’re not hurt, right?” A big hand gently stroked his cheek. When Sihyeon unconsciously tilted his head into the warmth of that touch, he could feel Rajoon’s hand fluster and tremble, but Sihyeon’s condition was so near a total knock-down he couldn’t even register it.
He wanted to smack the self who’d been snarling about the expanded drama schedule.
When, on the ride back to the dorm after filming, the Manager hesitated and opened his mouth, the ominous feeling Sihyeon couldn’t place—was this what it had meant?
When he lifted the head he’d been resting against the seatback, the Manager’s uneasy face flicked toward him in the rearview, as if nervous. “Filming’s really tough, huh? Honestly, I didn’t expect anything… I mean it, I had not one grain of expectation! But—” His lips pressed tight a moment, breath drawing in and out as if emotion had spiked.
“You’re doing well. You’re really doing well! Before, when I went to set with you, I was so ashamed I couldn’t lift my head, but these days, my nose is in the air, you know? Hm? I even regretted not giving you this kind of role sooner! Who would’ve thought Lee Sihyeon could act a loan-shark so well? When people see your face, all that comes to mind is romance, melodrama, stuff like that. Watching you act lately, you seem like a different person. I get chills, I’m watching you with both arms wrapped around myself, Sihyeon. Ugh…!”
It was his usual chatter. At first he seemed to read the room, then suddenly got excited on his own and kept babbling while Sihyeon watched in silence; lost in his own world, he went on for quite a while with nonsense like, “Great job! You might become the master of loan-shark acting!” It was funny. But at the same time, a cold sense crept up, as if something ominous were slithering out. Sihyeon’s eyes pinched the slightest bit—right then, their gazes met in the mirror.
“Uh…”
Ah, crap. The Manager snapped his noisy mouth shut in an instant, then mumbled something again. Sihyeon didn’t want to hear it, but knowing the Manager would keep at it for ages unless Sihyeon asked, he gave in. “What.”
“Uh, so, Sihyeon… Look, I know you’re having a hard time…”
“……….”
“But… we should probably start, you know… practice. For the song… and the choreography…”
“You said you don’t remember anything… and we still don’t know how much you can do, so we need to check that, too. We should get ready before we start on the new album. Uh, our CEO’s super impatient, you know? Last time he said to take a nice long rest, but that was total bull. He’s the kind of person who might burst in with a new track anytime and crack the whip…”
Judging by the history, his last words even quivered.
It was something he’d figured would come sooner or later, but when it actually loomed up, his gut soured with irritation; he let out a low sigh. The Manager jolted, gripping the wheel. “H-Hey, it can’t be helped…” He tried to put on a firm face. Like a squirrel imitating a tiger.
Silence churned for a long while.
As the Manager’s driving grew more anxious and rough, as if mirroring Sihyeon’s mental state, Sihyeon finally sighed low again.
“…Got it, so calm down.”
Well, it’ll work out somehow… Easygoing as ever, Sihyeon thought that—and still had no idea what trial was already on its way to him.
Ah, fuck.
In less than a day, the schedule had gone so Spartan he couldn’t keep the curses from slipping through his teeth; stunned and on the verge of blacking out, he could only force himself to stay sharp. But that had its trap: the more he focused, the more the mental stress rose to the level of a terror attack. When Sihyeon lifted his head with his jaw clenched, the members were watching him with faces half worried, half awkward. So this is what it feels like to want to die of embarrassment.
Vocal training, unexpectedly, went down more smoothly than he’d thought.
Whatever someone had said in advance, the trainer who took over for Sihyeon’s previous coach asked no questions when Sihyeon didn’t even know basic terms. Instead, in a slightly curt voice, he pointed out and explained each item one by one—and, thankfully, if Sihyeon listened, memories gradually surfaced. “Run that section again soon. Vibrato should feel like turning two notes into one.” “Ah, ah. One note apart, right?” “Lift the sound upward—yes. Like that.”
Tracing the clear sensations that had to be Lee Sihyeon’s, and singing as the trainer directed, he heard a stable, smooth tone come out of him and felt inward relief. Whether Lee Hajin—who had never sung in front of others—hadn’t been tone-deaf, or whether it was simply because this was Lee Sihyeon’s body, he couldn’t say. But with no major mistakes or strain, the training progressed quickly; the trainer’s expression loosened, and Sihyeon thought, Guess I’m not doing terribly, and rapidly memorized the assigned lyrics and notes. When a song felt familiar, it clicked perfectly after a listen or two—probably a song Lee Sihyeon had sung before, he just guessed.
But the biggest problem lay elsewhere.
Once the singing felt passable and he thought maybe he’d be fine, it only hit him when he wandered into the practice room with the members without thinking.
“Hyung, we’ll start by running the title track right before this one. ‘Lax’ is on the more relaxed side for us.”
That he would have to sway and swing his limbs in front of a crowd of human beings.
“The beginning and end are a little intense, but it’s better than full-throttle all the way.” Face unusually serious, Rajoon kept talking, not noticing that Sihyeon had frozen. He said he’d show the actual choreography first and walked ahead; the others who’d followed them in cracked their stiff joints and took their places one by one.
Click. Rajoon, in front, worked the audio rig beside the practice room and stepped back. The intro to Lemegeton’s fourth-album title, “Lax,” began to flow, slow. The members snapped into formation and bowed their heads; the sight felt alien.
Look, I’ll match you now
You’re wound too tight, too cramped; we
Can’t shake the feeling we live like convicts
With a leash cinched at our throats, always
Not fast, but Kang Euihyun’s voice came in like gritted teeth—fierce—rapping as he strode out center. Around him, the other members, heads lowered, each wrapped a hand around his neck; as they turned their heads to the side and raised them again, the slow track snapped into a hard beat, and a bursting, flashy performance opened up.
With a languid, half-veiled expression unlike usual—like he had intentions tucked away—lifting the corners of his mouth now and then, tossing overt glances in passing. The blocking was complex: when one shot up, another slid back, yet the choreography connected without a slip. It looked rough and yet unhurried; unhurried and yet, somehow, strangely erotic.
Want me to show you something more fun?
I’ll show you something slower, sweeter. Pretty.
It was Sanyoo. Flowing forward between heavy steps, he slid into place and softened his eyes. Like a beautiful-faced devil whispering, Commit the sin quietly. As if to say something more secret, Sanyoo leaned in—then Chan yanked him back and shoved him aside. Chan came forward, face blank, and opened his mouth.
“Come here.”
On that line, the members reset into the opening formation and launched into sharp, exact, locking choreography. Lemegeton was famous for knife-cut synchronization; even in a relaxed track, their routine was full of crisp, disciplined motions. And in the next breath, a voice threaded through the dazzling movement.
From now on you’re going to drown in me
I’ll lead you; the two of us, drowning forever, will
Enjoy what no one else knows
Gentle yet sly—Lee Sihyeon’s voice. It was his part; no one stepped to center, the choreography ran only on the back lines. Sihyeon couldn’t open his mouth. If he did, curses would spill out.
You won’t be able to come up for air
Won’t be able to get away
Sliding naturally into the empty center, Rajoon sang with his eyes lowered and a honeyed smile—but what followed was choreography rolling his hips slow and thick, brushing his hair back. The melting smile was a lie; his mouth corner lifted. The driving beat eased, then suddenly the music cut. Everyone, drowsy, turned their heads. Then a small sigh sounded. No move at all—yet the strangely erotic part ended, and the track kicked in again.
I already know.
All the members murmured the last line and bowed their heads; the slowing beat vanished completely.
“……….”
I’m supposed to do that…?
Seeing an idol stage for the first time in his life, Sihyeon stood rooted, crushed by shock. In a reality he refused to believe—one where he’d rather threaten or torture someone than this—he couldn’t hold back the low sigh that slipped out; he bowed his pale face.
Even if he was playing at being Lee Sihyeon, inside was a twenty-eight-year-old Lee Hajin, called “boss” in the underworld. His reaction was only natural. Lee Hajin hadn’t just avoided idol music; he didn’t listen to pop at all. No matter how cynical and quick to give up he was compared to other people, he had years lived and a pride to match. He hadn’t looked down on “entertainers,” but he realized, now in his skin, that standing on a stage where many watched, singing and dancing like that, could be an act that leapt past embarrassment into humiliation.
Of course, right now it was Lee Sihyeon’s body, so no one would say anything.
The problem was: I have to watch myself dance—me, watching me—fuck…
For the first time, he felt a fierce resentment toward Lee Sihyeon; he wanted, suddenly and without regret, to return to his original body. Before he could suffer a further mental collapse, Rajoon zipped over, took him by the hand, and drew him to the center of the room. Sihyeon, already white, went even whiter; Rajoon’s eyes dipped in worry. “You okay?” he asked. Sihyeon, nodding without thinking, recognized he’d have to give this up, too.
Well, it’s not like this is funny.
If it weren’t for this situation, even to a layman like him the choreography had looked cool and spectacular. No one’s going to recognize me anyway. Barely managing to rationalize it, he followed Rajoon’s gentle coaching on the opening moves and let his body edge into motion. One hand to the throat, turn the head, extend the left foot…
“Ha.”
And in the next instant, when he turned his head and met his own eyes head-on in the mirror, Sihyeon collapsed where he stood, as if something gave way. With one hand covering his eyes, groaning, he had Rajoon and the others rushing over, asking if he was sick—but their voices didn’t reach him. All he could see was the sight from a moment ago: himself, borrowing Lee Sihyeon’s body, in the mirror. His mind, blasted, wouldn’t reassemble.
“…I’m going to lose it…”
The back of Sihyeon’s neck, with his face buried in his knees, had flushed a furious red.