Chapter 21: The Weight of a Leader’s Regret

Perhaps my inability to properly fulfill my role as Glitch’s leader stemmed from a lack of empathy. Seo Yeon-ho had tried to listen attentively to his members, yet it might not have appeared as genuine effort in their eyes. When the leader, who should have been the linchpin of their teamwork, failed to win over his members, wasn’t it inevitable that Glitch would follow the path of a failed idol group?

‘So, that’s why they all resented me, I suppose.’

After looking up all the recent activities of his former members, Seo Yeon-ho noticed his phone’s battery icon had turned red.

While their private struggles remained unknown, outwardly, all the members seemed to be living ambitious lives. Kim Kang, the sub-rapper, and DH, the main dancer, were making appearances as supporting actors in cable dramas, while Dong-chan, the main vocalist, occasionally featured in musicals and variety shows.

Tam-tam, the lead vocalist who had stirred up controversy within the fandom due to a relationship with a fan, had released a second solo album, and Jo Chang-min, who had widely popularized the group’s name, was active under a hip-hop label.

Everyone except Seo Yeon-ho had remained in the entertainment industry.

When they were evicted from their dorm and discussed their future, they had all declared their entertainment careers loathsome, vowing never to look at a broadcasting station again, seemingly without an ounce of regret for their lives as celebrities. Yet, their words had changed.

Seo Yeon-ho didn’t believe the emotions they had expressed back then were false. Perhaps, as time passed and the anger and betrayal of being abandoned by their agency subsided, they simply reconsidered their decisions.

The members must have worried about what they would do if they quit being celebrities. Since they hadn’t voluntarily left the industry, the very idea of starting anew must have felt daunting.

Moreover, having debuted with such difficulty, the thought of abandoning all their past efforts to simply walk away must have seemed a waste. Seo Yeon-ho, too, might have desperately clung to that world if his father hadn’t caused trouble.

Drip, drip.

Water droplets condensed on the ice pack, falling onto Seo Yeon-ho’s thigh and the floor. He returned the now-soft ice pack to the freezer and retrieved a fresh one.

This was all that remained, so he would have to make this single ice pack last until morning.

Plugging his phone, now at only seven percent battery, into the charger, he lay down on his blanket. The wallpaper and light fixture spun, as if he had drunk too much alcohol.

He tried to fall asleep, but his eyes kept drifting to his phone.

Seo Yeon-ho turned his body towards the phone, lying on his side. His gaze wavered, much like someone window-shopping at a prop store.

‘I’ll contact you. Make sure to check your DMs!’

Seo Yeon-ho didn’t truly expect Won Seon-jae to send a DM. Ninety-nine percent of the words exchanged in this industry were empty promises; believing them was a sure path to looking foolish.

Even if Won Seon-jae genuinely wanted to offer Seo Yeon-ho a role, the chances of him actually being cast in a web drama were nonexistent. Won Seon-jae had spoken as if web dramas had a low barrier to entry, open to anyone, yet the world was brimming with actors desperate to appear even in such insignificant productions.

But what power could Won Seon-jae possibly wield, being merely a supporting male lead in a web drama, not even the main one? While Won Seon-jae’s agency was considerably larger than Cherry Picker, the company Seo Yeon-ho had belonged to, an agency’s power and an artist’s power within it were entirely different matters.

Perhaps Won Seon-jae had cultivated a strong friendship with the director. Let’s assume he somehow managed to arrange a meeting for Seo Yeon-ho. Even then, how likely was it that the director would actually cast Seo Yeon-ho?

Bringing in an idol whose skills weren’t proven was usually done for the sake of their fandom. Unless the director was fond enough of Seo Yeon-ho to consider him a personal muse, there was no reason to cast a member of a disbanded, failed idol group.

‘Go to sleep. It’s already 3 AM.’

Seo Yeon-ho squeezed his eyes shut and turned his body halfway, as if to ignore his phone.

How much time had passed?

Normally, he would have been asleep by now, but sleep eluded him. In the darkness, the whirring of the fan sounded excessively loud.

Thinking the fan’s noise was keeping him awake, Seo Yeon-ho switched it off. Yet, even without the sound of the fan, sleep still refused to come.

Now, it wasn’t the noise but the heat that prevented him from sleeping.

After tossing and turning for a long while, he saw the dawn sky lighten dimly beyond the small window above the sink. Startled, Seo Yeon-ho quickly checked the time.

The time displayed on his phone’s lock screen was 4:30 AM.

He had forgotten that sunrises came early in summer. Nevertheless, the fact remained that he had little time left to sleep.

“What are you doing, Seo Yeon-ho? Aren’t you going to work today?”

Lying prone, Seo Yeon-ho clutched his bangs as if tearing at them. He had to admit that the reason he couldn’t sleep was no longer the heat or the noise.

Seo Yeon-ho had been unable to sleep, battling the urge to check if a DM had arrived from Won Seon-jae.

‘Let’s just check quickly and then sleep.’

Opening the app and checking his account, Seo Yeon-ho held his phone with both hands and bowed his head deeply. As expected, there were no new requests in his DM inbox.

Seo Yeon-ho bit his lip.

He should have just chuckled and moved on, thinking, ‘Of course.’ But why couldn’t he shake off the disappointment? He had defended himself by saying he didn’t expect anything, but was he, in truth, desperately hoping for a message?

“Am I an idiot?”

He felt like someone who bought a lottery ticket, knowing full well they wouldn’t win. No, perhaps he was closer to someone who had fallen for a voice phishing scam than a lottery player.

“I haven’t even thought about acting all this time, so why am I acting like this?”

It was pathetic that a single promise to arrange a meeting with a director had swayed him, making him feel excited, then frustrated, and ultimately costing him a night’s sleep. What was even more absurd was that all this commotion was happening less than a day after meeting Won Seon-jae.

Even if, by some stroke of luck, an opportunity to act presented itself, Seo Yeon-ho wasn’t in a position to seize it. To act, he would need to take several days off work.

However, with debts to repay, Seo Yeon-ho couldn’t afford to take even those few days off. The best he could manage was taking half a day off, as he did for fitting model gigs, but a drama shoot would never conclude in half a day.

“There’s no chance an acting opportunity will come, yet here I am, getting ahead of myself.”

He let out a self-deprecating chuckle when a sound suddenly emanated from his phone’s speaker.

‘I, Han Tae-young, am a delivery rider—no, wait. What’s your last name?’

Seo Yeon-ho startled, snatching his hand away from the phone.

“Han Tae-young? Why is Han Tae-young’s voice…”

Unable to comprehend the situation, he remained frozen in the posture of having dropped his phone, when this time, his own voice came from the speaker.

‘…Seo.’

After a brief silence, Han Tae-young’s clear, low voice emerged from the speaker once more.

‘I, Han Tae-young, have agreed to pay Seo Yeon-ho’s phone repair fee one hundred percent willingly. If I change my mind later, I guarantee that I’m lying. Are you reassured now?’

After listening to Tae-young’s complete statement, he remembered when it had been recorded. It was when Tae-young had given him money, taking responsibility for his smashed phone.

“What the—I got startled for nothing. That crazy lunatic Han Tae-young. He’s useless, as always.”

What exactly was useless? Seo Yeon-ho had simply blurted out whatever came to mind. It seemed the recording file had played because he had been continuously touching the screen with his hand.

Much like how random apps would open when his phone was in his pocket.

Realizing it was nothing significant, his heart rate gradually slowed. However, perhaps as an aftereffect of being so startled, all the energy drained from his body.

“I’m tired.”

Seo Yeon-ho collapsed onto his side. He hadn’t consciously tried to close his eyes, yet his eyelids slowly drifted shut.

Sleepiness crept into his mind like smog billowing onto a music show stage. His consciousness blurred.

Just before falling asleep, Seo Yeon-ho thought of only one person’s name, instead of the problems that had plagued him for hours.

‘Han Tae-young, that damn guy…’

****

After completing a delivery, Seo Yeon-ho opened his DM inbox as he headed down to the first floor. The Seo Yeon-ho who had agonized over whether to check his DMs, losing sleep over it, was gone.

Like the old saying that once a bolt is opened, there’s no going back to the past, Seo Yeon-ho now found himself frequently opening his DM inbox.

‘Nothing new.’

His DM inbox was empty again, but Seo Yeon-ho wasn’t disappointed. This wasn’t because he genuinely expected Won Seon-jae to contact him when he checked.

He had no intention of denying his desire for contact. As a consequence of not being honest with his own desires, Seo Yeon-ho had lost sleep last night. Due to insufficient sleep, his condition had deteriorated, and he had only managed to complete seventy percent of his usual deliveries. This meant his income had decreased by thirty percent.

‘How long will this state last? I’ll give up soon. Maybe three or four days?’

Seo Yeon-ho wasn’t someone with strong attachments. He wasn’t the type to pour emotions and effort into things that wouldn’t work out, so he was quick to give up. He was sure that checking his DM inbox would become tedious and annoying after a day or two.

As he gradually distanced himself from the DM inbox, the memory of going to the archery cafe would also fade from his mind.

Since he had his social media app open, Seo Yeon-ho went into Bang Hyo-jun and Son Eun-hee’s accounts. He remembered them talking about going hiking over the weekend.

“They had fun. The *baeksuk* must’ve been delicious.”

He felt a sudden urge to go hiking himself, but Seo Yeon-ho quickly pushed the thought from his mind.

“Huh?”

Scrolling through the updated posts, Seo Yeon-ho paused at a recommended post in between. It seemed to be an entertainment news account, with the caption: ‘Han Tae-young’s Secret Midnight Hospital Visit.’

‘Hospital? Did his ankle injury from before get worse? It’s not clickbait, is it?’

Seo Yeon-ho frowned, glaring at his phone, then clicked the article link. He wanted to mock Tae-young, telling him he should have been kinder if he really went to the hospital for his ankle.