Chapter 16: An Entertaining Spark

Han Hoseong fiddled with his glass, the half-melted ice clinking together. Unaware of the condensation on his hands, he sank deep into thought.

Leaving everything else aside, what bothered him most was that all of Woo Yeongchan’s website passwords had been changed. On top of that, although Xenon had never complained directly, Hoseong always got the impression he regretted ever making his debut.

Maybe it isn’t that he couldn’t contact me, but that he chose not to.

Xenon had already been retreating further into his shell ever since his private blog was exposed to the world. It wouldn’t be surprising at all if he had chosen to disappear completely.

“Phew…”

“Why are you sighing so much?”

“Just… I wonder if I made things harder for him by not trusting him enough.” Hoseong muttered self-deprecatingly. “I should have taken better care of him as the leader.”

Woo Yeongchan stared at him in disbelief. “Why the sudden self-loathing?”

“It’s not self-loathing, just reflection. …Yeongchan.”

“What.”

Woo Yeongchan’s shoulders twitched. It had been the same whenever Hoseong called him “Xenon,” but hearing his real name spoken aloud gave him goosebumps all over again. Han Hoseong possessed an odd talent for calling people’s names in a way that felt strangely ticklish.

“I’ll make sure to take good care of you. If there’s anything you don’t know, ask me anything, and rely on me as much as you want.”

“Okay.”

Even without the invitation, Woo Yeongchan fully intended to milk Han Hoseong’s usefulness to the bone. Completely oblivious to his true motives, Han Hoseong pressed on eagerly.

“Is there anything else you’re curious about? About Xenon, or the group?”

“I want to know what I should do from now on.”

“Prepare for the comeback.”

Perhaps it was a welcome subject, because Han Hoseong’s voice brightened considerably.

“Ah! Should we start practicing tonight? I’ll play you the title track at the practice room. Our tracklist turned out really well this time. You’re going to love it.”

He seemed to have entirely forgotten that today was supposed to be a day off. Woo Yeongchan simply nodded. Even if it was a holiday, he had nothing better to do, and getting a firm handle on the situation felt far more pressing right now.

Han Hoseong brought Woo Yeongchan straight to the practice room.

As they took the company elevator down to the basement, a distinct odor greeted them. The air was thick and stale from poor ventilation, tinged with the faint, damp scent of mold. Woo Yeongchan found even breathing it in unpleasant, but Han Hoseong swung open the practice room door without a second thought.

“The music video hasn’t been edited yet, so I’ll play you the song first.”

Han Hoseong grabbed a laptop from the side of the room and plopped down on the bare floor. Woo Yeongchan eyed the dusty ground with a reluctant scowl before slowly lowering himself.

“The song is called ‘Summer Click.’ Do you know who produced it?”

“Who?”

“Don’t be shocked. It’s Knuckles!”

“…”

“Huh? You’re not surprised at all.”

“You told me not to be.”

Even if he heard the producer’s name, Woo Yeongchan—a complete outsider to the entertainment industry—had no way of knowing who that was. Han Hoseong immediately launched into an explanation about Knuckles: how many hit songs he had written, what his musical style was like, and how brutally difficult it had been to get a commission from him.

Throughout the entire speech, only one thought ran through Woo Yeongchan’s mind:

What a painfully slow laptop.

The specs were so abysmal that even after Han Hoseong rattled off about ten sentences, the machine was still booting up. It honestly belonged in a museum as a historical artifact. Just as Woo Yeongchan was marveling at its sheer ancientness, the desktop screen finally loaded with a loud, whirring roar from the fan.

Even after double-clicking the MP4 file, it took an excruciatingly long time to load. Finally, music trickled out of the speakers connected to the laptop.

Boom, boom, boom.

A light drumbeat echoed through the room. A bubbling sound, like sea foam rising, faded in just as the song opened:

Click! I capture it in my eyes

Blue sky, shining sea, and you

A moment made perfect just because you’re here

Behind my eyelids, click, I’ll keep it forever

Woo Yeongchan listened to the song, focusing more on the narrative of the lyrics than the melody or vocals.

It was about the first day of a long-awaited summer vacation. The protagonist accidentally dropped his camera into the ocean and ruined it, so he decided to capture the other person’s smile in his eyes instead.

After the three-minute song finished, Han Hoseong turned to him, eyes sparkling. “How is it?”

“It’s alright.”

“Well, yeah. But any other thoughts besides that?”

“It sounds like something you’d hear playing in a café or a department store.”

“You mean it has mainstream appeal… That’s a good thing, right?” Han Hoseong tilted his head.

Woo Yeongchan squeezed out a dry, indifferent assessment. “It really sounds like a song.”

“…That is a very weird review.”

Han Hoseong looked visibly deflated, but Woo Yeongchan genuinely couldn’t think of anything else to say. It wasn’t that the song was bad. In fact, it sounded pleasant enough, but hardly anything to make a massive fuss over. To begin with, Woo Yeongchan had never once in his life been deeply moved by music.

“I think it’s safe and decent.”

“Yeah, sure.” Sensing the half-hearted response, Hoseong shrugged. “I don’t know how you feel, but I really think this song is going to do well. The moment I first heard it, a lightbulb went off in my head. I thought, ah, this is the one!“

It was a quintessential summer track designed specifically for the season—refreshing enough to blow away the sweltering heat, with a catchy hook that made you want to put it on repeat. On top of that, it fit HIGH-5’s bright, youthful concept perfectly, making it bound to draw a passionate response from both fans and the general public.

“It’s not overly technical either, which is lucky for you.”

One of the main reasons their three “nursery rhyme” tracks had been so popular was that anyone could easily follow along. Extending that strategy, this new song had been intentionally crafted from the planning stage to be easily accessible.

“There aren’t any parts that require crazy vocal techniques, and the choreography is on the easier side. Honestly, I wanted to showcase our actual skills more… but given how things turned out, I guess it’s a blessing my feedback got shot down in the meeting.”

“What were you trying to showcase?”

“By making the highlight part more flashy or jacking up the choreography difficulty. That way, we could show people, ‘Look, we’re capable of cool stuff like this too. We’re not just good at kiddie dances and nursery rhymes.'”

Even though he claimed it was for the best, Han Hoseong looked secretly disappointed that his ideas hadn’t been accepted.

Just how amazing are their skills supposed to be?

A mix of curiosity and mild amusement welled up inside Woo Yeongchan. He gestured toward Hoseong with his chin. “Show me.”

“What? Ah, the choreography?”

Right, if I demonstrate it, it’ll be easier for him to learn, Hoseong muttered to himself. Although Yeongchan hadn’t asked with any productive intent, he didn’t bother correcting the misunderstanding.

“Still, doing it all by myself is going to leave a lot of empty spots.”

“Who cares? Just give me a rough idea.”

“What do you mean ‘rough idea’? If you’re going to do something, you have to do it right.”

“…Nagging again.”

Regardless of Woo Yeongchan’s scowl, Han Hoseong stood firm. “I’ll cover as much as I can. Um, I need some space, so could you step back a bit?”

Woo Yeongchan leaned back against the practice room wall while Han Hoseong lightly stretched his limbs. Just as he’d said, Hoseong looked like he was about to give it his absolute all—as if he were about to walk into a crucial audition rather than a quick informal demonstration.

…His eyes.

Was it just Yeongchan’s imagination, or had Hoseong’s gaze suddenly deepened?

Woo Yeongchan watched him carefully.

Boom, boom, boom.

Hoseong started the music—the instrumental version without vocals. Then, he opened his mouth.

A refreshing voice filled the space. It was a crystal-clear, cool tone, reminiscent of waves crashing against coastal rocks. When they were recording the track, the producer had praised him, saying, ‘It’s a gorgeous voice, like a mermaid’s song coveted by a sea witch,’ though Yeongchan had no knowledge of that. He lacked the background in pop music to appreciate the technical nuances.

Yet, a feeling washed over him that was difficult to put into words.

Han Hoseong’s smile radiated effortless confidence. His entire face seemed to glow, as if a spotlight were pinned directly on him—or rather, as if he were emitting light from within. He possessed a natural aura that transformed the dingy, moldy practice room into a legitimate stage.

Executing a song meant for five people all by himself, modifying the arrangement on the fly, Hoseong looked nothing like his usual self. The man who trembled easily or got tricked by a shaman was nowhere to be found.

He really is an entertainer.

For some reason, Woo Yeongchan couldn’t pull his eyes away. Considering that being an entertainer meant thriving off public attention, Hoseong had undeniably chosen the right career.

Boom, boom, boom.

The song passed the final chorus. The light drumbeat gradually faded until it died out completely. Only then, as if breaking free from a spell, was Woo Yeongchan able to blink.

“How was it? Good, right?”

“…What do you mean, ‘good’?”

“Huh? It wasn’t good? Did the choreography look off?” Han Hoseong asked, his eyes wide with concern.

Woo Yeongchan looked away, clearing his throat. “I wasn’t really watching that.”

“What? Then what were you looking at? You were staring so hard, I thought you were super focused!”

Han Hoseong finally caught his breath and collapsed onto the floor. Modifying a five-person routine for a solo performance on the spot had taken a toll on his stamina. He clearly needed to get back into shape.

“Do you want to watch the official practice video instead? Come over here.”

It sounded less like an invitation and more like a command, but Woo Yeongchan walked over without a complaint.

As he dropped down beside him, Han Hoseong clicked on the video file. After another agonizing pause, the laptop finally spat out the video playback.

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