Chapter 6: The Choice That Must Not Be Repeated

The thought crossed his mind that he should check the other members’ stats as well, but it wasn’t urgent right now.
Besides, hadn’t it said it could only be used once per day?
There would surely be a more useful moment to use it later.

“Sit down.”

As Shim Eun-chan came out of the bathroom, Do Jun-seo shifted slightly to the side and spoke.

No one spoke first as the five of them sat in a circle where Lee Hae-min used to be.
In the suffocating silence, everyone’s expressions were grave.
They were at a loss about how they were supposed to continue promoting from here on out.
Lee Hae-min’s departure hadn’t been officially announced yet, but it was only a matter of time.
That was a hurdle they would have had to face eventually anyway—there was no avoiding it.

On top of that, the recording for their already-prepared seventh single would likely have to be redone.

Their album sales were already scraping rock bottom,
and the team was steeped in a pessimistic mood about whether the agency would even support another release.

Honestly, that skepticism was warranted.

In his previous life, Shim Eun-chan had thought the same.
During the team’s restructuring period after Lee Hae-min left, things grew even worse when Jung Min-yu, the team leader, enlisted in the military and withdrew from the group as well.
At that point, most teams would quietly dissolve, considering it the end.
But the CEO of PotenHigh turned out to be far more stubborn than expected.

There were long gaps between releases, but with the agency’s backing, B the 1 went on to officially release singles all the way up to their ninth album.

That was separate from how steadily Shim Eun-chan’s mental state had crumbled over time.
From a financial standpoint, the push alone was impressive.

Releasing an album wasn’t cheap, and in that regard, the CEO truly was worthy of respect.

Shim Eun-chan looked around at the members seated together.
Everyone wore stiff expressions, no one daring to speak first.
The heavy atmosphere seemed to press down on their shoulders.
If this continued, there was no point in having gathered like this at all.

Someone had to break the silence.
Shim Eun-chan decided it would be him.

“Hyung, first of all…”

Shim Eun-chan spoke up.

“I think we’ll have to re-record the seventh album.
Let’s start by figuring out how to redistribute Hae-min’s parts.”

Five pairs of eyes snapped toward him at once.

“…We can’t expect Hae-min to come back.
We should focus on what we can do ourselves.”

He leaned back slightly, gauging their expressions.
As expected, everyone looked troubled.
After a brief silence, Jung Min-yu nodded.

“Yeah. You’re right.
You’re right. Let’s start with what we can do.”

Jung Min-yu bit down on his lip as if steadying his shaken resolve.
From that point on, the other members nodded as well.
Their expressions were still heavy, but it seemed that Shim Eun-chan’s words—let’s do what we can—had moved them.

Still, Moon Se-byeol remained seated with a look of lingering doubt.
That, too, was expected.
Moon Se-byeol was soft-hearted and had been especially fond of Lee Hae-min.

Fixing his gaze on Moon Se-byeol, Shim Eun-chan spoke.

“Se-byeol hyung, shouldn’t we redo the choreography formations too?”

“Huh? Oh—yeah. Right. Since we’re down one person.”

“The choreographer will probably send us a revised video later,
but I thought it’d be good to start thinking about it in advance.”

At Shim Eun-chan’s words, Moon Se-byeol’s unfocused eyes finally sharpened.

While they often purchased choreography from choreographers,
thanks to Moon Se-byeol’s deep understanding of dance,
the team had also handled many things internally.

Faced with tangible problems that needed solving,
Moon Se-byeol seemed to regain his composure.
In a situation like this, staying completely level-headed was almost unnatural.
When mental strength faltered, even doable things became impossible.
Considering that, having a stat tied to mental fortitude felt like an incredible stroke of luck.

While discussing how to redistribute parts among themselves,
Shim Eun-chan asked for their understanding and stood up.

“I’m going to talk to the manager hyung for a bit.”

“Huh?”

The members looked up at him as he rose.

“About the drama script.”

“Oh. That.”

The very first incident that sent my life rolling downhill.

Not long before Lee Hae-min terminated his contract, a drama script had come to Shim Eun-chan— the same Shim Eun-chan who had become known online as that first-love guy.

The drama was titled A Summer Night Where Crescent Moons Bloom Like Sky Flowers.

When he first heard the title, he thought it sounded incredibly poetic.
The genre was a fantasy historical drama.
Hwarang appeared in the story, but the setting itself was entirely fictional.
True to its fantasy label, historical records and accuracy were merely borrowed rather than respected.

The female lead disguises herself as a man to infiltrate the Hwarang—an organization that only accepted men— in order to uncover the truth behind her sibling’s murder.
As she solves cases, becomes entangled with the male lead, revives the abolished Wonhwa system, and finds love along the way, the story unfolds.

It had seemed strange that a script would reach an obscure idol like him, but once he started reading, the reason became clear.

The Hwarang setting wasn’t there for nothing.

Aside from the male lead, there were three major male supporting characters.
None were particularly famous actors yet, but every single one of them was strikingly handsome.

All of them harbored feelings for the female lead,
and until the middle of the drama, it wasn’t made clear who the true male lead was.
This guess-the-male-lead element was designed to hook viewers.

The role offered to Shim Eun-chan—Yeon-un— was a quiet, shy character with few lines, meaning it didn’t require exceptional acting skills.

At first glance, one might wonder why anyone would turn down a role like this.
But a closer look revealed the problems immediately.

First, there was no confirmed broadcast schedule, nor was there certainty about where it would air.
If it were a terrestrial network, that would be ideal, but it could just as easily end up on cable—or an OTT platform.
Worse, the contract might fall through entirely, and all filmed footage could be scrapped.

The risk that a drama painstakingly filmed might never properly see the light of day was the biggest reason people declined the offer.

The next issue lay in the role of Yeon-un itself.

His screen time was significantly less than the other three.
Not only that, his direct interactions with the female lead were few.
According to the script, he shared more scenes with the supporting character Seo Gil-young than with Woo Ha-yeon, the heroine herself.
Naturally, that meant fewer chances to leave a strong impression.

In short, it was a role that existed mostly to fill out the cast.

On top of that, the agency wasn’t thrilled about Shim Eun-chan, an idol, attempting a full-fledged drama for the first time.
If he did well, it could be a great opportunity— but if he didn’t, he’d be criticized for poor acting.
He would also have to endure cold stares accusing idols of being greedy for dabbling in other fields so easily.

From PotenHigh’s perspective, the role simply wasn’t attractive enough to justify that level of risk.

And yet, despite knowing all of that, in his previous life, Shim Eun-chan chose to accept.

B the 1 had never been in a position to pick and choose their work.
With Lee Hae-min’s departure already causing visible cracks in the fandom, they weren’t in any position to be picky about hot or cold rice.
They accepted everything—cable shows, unpopular programs, anything at all— and worked earnestly on each one.
That much, he could say with confidence.

There had been a desperation that said,
Whatever comes in, we have to do it.

And that desperation, entwined with Lee Hae-min’s contract termination, ended up exploding in the worst possible direction.

Under the pressure to succeed at all costs, he made an irreversible choice.

Yes.
Shim Eun-chan underwent plastic surgery during the roughly one-month gap before filming began.

The anxiety about his appearance had started the moment he heard about the offer, but after Lee Hae-min left, it boiled over like an uncovered pot.
He wavered under the pressure to leave some kind of impression on viewers among real actors.

No matter how much acting training he’d received, no matter how often his acting coach praised him,
Shim Eun-chan was still, at his core, an idol.
His only real on-camera acting experience was a short special episode filmed among idols for a holiday broadcast.

There was no way someone with virtually no experience could raise his acting skills to rival professional actors in such a short time.
If there was any dramatic improvement to be had, he concluded it would have to come from his looks.

That was how he ended up getting a nose job.

And the result was— a complete disaster.

Because of that failed surgery, he never even made it into the drama.

As those past events replayed in his mind, Shim Eun-chan forcefully swallowed them down.

This time, I will never make that mistake.

He needed to trust the production team’s eye —the same people who had chosen to cast him.

Checking the dates, he realized he hadn’t yet formally expressed his intent to accept the role.

Recalling how he’d once pushed aggressively to secure the part using Lee Hae-min’s departure as justification,
Shim Eun-chan finished preparing, pulled on a black baseball cap, and reached for the dorm’s front door handle.