translation by mourningmoor
The concert was now just three days away.
Kang Ichan’s mom, who lived in Samcheok, sent us snow crabs, saying they were for stamina.
It was probably because I had sent her concert tickets.
I kept in touch with Kang Ichan’s mom from time to time through phone calls.
She was his only family, and I also had no way to handle the gifts sent by fans.
Whenever I called, she always answered gruffly.
Rather than saying "Hello," she would start the call with "What now?"
But she always followed up with, "Have you eaten?" worrying about my meals, or "Are you getting enough sleep?" checking on my health.
It stirred up some strange emotions.
Most traces of Kang Ichan had been erased, but my heart still ached in front of his mother.
That guy probably wanted me to take care of his mom in his place.
So I would ask, too.
[Mom. How’s business? Why don’t you just quit and live comfortably? I have a lot of money, you know?]
Then, Kang Ichan’s mom would get mad.
[Are you crazy? That’s your money, not mine!]
[So what? It’s your son’s money. We can use it together.]
I wouldn’t know, being an orphan, but I used to see other magicians give all the money they earned to their mothers. And after getting married, to their wives.
I always thought it was pathetic. But now I see—it was all love. Love for their family. Worry born from love. Responsibility born from worry.
[Then how about a trip? One of my close hyungs just sent his mom on a trip to Europe.]
That day, Kim Jeongsoo had boasted about finally being a filial son for the first time in his life.
That’s why I brought it up, but Kang Ichan’s mom gave the same answer as always.
[You go. I’m too busy. The pension is fully booked until spring.]
So I didn’t expect anything.
Even though the first person who came to mind when the concert was announced was Kang Ichan’s mom, I didn’t even tell her because I had no expectations.
It wasn’t until PD Pyo handed out invitation tickets and told us to invite our parents that I finally made the call.
[I’m having a concert. You’re not coming, right? Should I give the ticket to someone else?]
A string of curses flew at me.
It started with "You brat" and ended with something like "Do you wanna die?"
My ears were ringing.
[Just shut up and send the ticket.]
The next day, I sent the tickets through Gyuhyung. Since it would be lonely watching alone, I included two tickets and told her to bring a friend.
And the day after that, a white styrofoam box was delivered to the company.
It was an insane amount of snow crabs.
"Whoa."
Jaewon’s jaw dropped at the sight of the snow crabs spread across the cafeteria table.
"Hyung-ah, your mom’s got big hands."
T.N.: "Big hands" is a Korean expression meaning someone is generous, especially when preparing food.
That seemed to be the case.
She really did have the style of a strong woman.
Kang Ichan’s father, who only carried around a guitar and sang songs, never provided for his family. So Kang Ichan’s mom had to work.
She worked from dawn until night to feed her husband and two sons.
Even when her husband committed suicide, even when her eldest son died, Kang Ichan’s mom went straight back to work as soon as the funerals were over.
She said it was the only way to put food in the mouth of her remaining son.
That’s why Kang Ichan felt so heartbroken for his mom.
He felt guilty about becoming a singer, and because of that, he was even more afraid that he wouldn’t make it.
In his diary, alongside tear stains, he wrote that the first thing he would do when he made money was buy his mom a house, buy her a car, and make sure she could live without worries.
But that guy... disappeared from this world.
My mouth suddenly tasted bitter.
“When Ichan’s mom comes to the concert, let’s all thank her and enjoy the meal.”
As soon as PD Pyo gave the signal, everyone immediately started digging into the snow crabs.
Watching them, I hesitated, wondering if I should call my mom. In the end, I just sent a message.
Mom. There’s a daege (snow crab) of daege (a lot of) crabs.
At this rate, we’ll all become daege daege pigs. (T.N.: A play on words, using “daege” both as “a lot” and “snow crab.”) Thanks for the food.
The little number “1” beside the message disappeared immediately.
But the reply didn’t come right away.
Instead, three dots appeared, showing she was typing. Then they spun in circles for a long time.
“How long is she writing this for?”
But when the message finally arrived, it was short and to the point.
Mom
Practice more. I’m going with Aunt Younghee, so don’t embarrass me.
Ha, this woman. Seriously.
But I didn’t hate it.
“If my mom had been alive, wouldn’t she have been like this?”
Blunt but deeply caring.
Somehow, thinking of the mom whose face I couldn’t even remember made my chest feel warm in a weird way.
“Hyungnim.”
That’s when Roa pushed a crab leg toward me.
“Hyungnim, you should eat too. Your mother sent this, but we’re the only ones eating.”
“He’s right. Hyung-ah, eat some.”
“Hyungnim, should we mix some rice into the shell for you?”
“This hyung probably wouldn’t like it. Surprisingly, he can’t handle fishy stuff.”
Roa and Jaewon, sitting on either side of me, happily chattered while feasting on the crab.
I showed them the message I had just received.
Jaewon immediately dropped the crab leg he was holding.
Roa also quietly set down his shell.
“W-We’ll practice.”
Jaewon even snatched the crab from Hanjoon, who was sitting across from him.
Hanjoon flared up.
“Hey! Are you insane?”
“We have to practice.”
“What are you talking about? It’s mealtime. Ichan’s mom sent this for us to eat—”
Jaewon shoved my phone toward Hanjoon.
Curious, even Siu leaned over to read the message.
“L-Let’s go.”
Hanjoon smacked his lips, then shot up from his seat.
“We’re going to practice. Everyone, enjoy your meal.”
The members gave a stiff bow before leaving the cafeteria with rigid faces.
It wasn’t just because of Kang Ichan’s mom.
The concert was now just three days away.
And at that concert, we were planning to attempt something we had never done before.
We were already anxious because our synchronization was off, and with even the answer being “practice,” there was nothing else to say.
Back in the practice room, the members started from the very beginning once again.
* * *
From January onwards, we moved to a new practice room.
PD Pyo gave us the 7th-floor practice room.
It had high ceilings and a spacious area, making it a great place to practice elaborate performances.
Two days before the concert, a run-through rehearsal was conducted.
Not only PD Pyo and Director Gong Seokho, but also Ji Youngjun ssaem, Myungji ssaem, the PR director, the creative director, the A&R team, and other company officials were all gathered.
As if that wasn’t enough, even the trainees were all called in.
When I entered the practice room, two trainees sitting in the corner lit up and waved their hands excitedly.
It was Go Dajin and Seo Hanul.
I just casually raised my hand in acknowledgment and immediately discussed the rehearsal progress with Ji Youngjun ssaem.
Meanwhile, the members were warming up, and PD Pyo was observing the overall movement.
“Alright, let’s start the first run-through rehearsal. We’ll go straight through to the end in one go.”
We would conduct the first run-through rehearsal in the morning and then only go over specific parts in the afternoon.
Tomorrow, there would be an on-site rehearsal, which would also serve as a dress rehearsal.
So, this rehearsal was essentially the final check in the practice room before the concert.
“We’re starting from the opening.”
The opening was taken straight from the PMA stage.
Or rather, the PMA had given a sneak peek of our concert’s opening stage. That’s what caused the uproar.
“Roa, stand by at the central lift on the extended stage. The rest, get to your positions in advance.”
“Yes.”
As we moved into position, the trainees’ faces were filled with tension.
Noticing this, Ji Youngjun ssaem shouted at them.
“We’re showing you your seniors’ rehearsal so you can learn from it, so focus and watch carefully. Got it?”
“Yes.”
“Alright, let’s go.”
At Ji Youngjun ssaem’s signal, the music started.
Doom, doom, doom…
Hearing the drum sounds, Roa, who had been crouching, slowly started moving.
The first song was <Moon>.
It’s a grand track mixed with traditional Korean music, symbolizing the opening of a festival.
As the drum sounds overlapped with the daegeum (T.N.: a large bamboo flute used in traditional Korean music), Roa began dancing gracefully.
When the taepyeongso (T.N.: a Korean traditional wind instrument with a loud, piercing sound) was heard, Roa ran onto the main stage. That was our cue to enter as well.
With the addition of electric instruments to the traditional Korean instruments, the song became even more extravagant.
Since we were wearing head masks, our hands were free, allowing us to perform intricate choreography while singing.
The combination of Korean dance movements and b-boying made the stage even more dazzling.
After the brief introduction of <Moon>, the music seamlessly transitioned.
On stage, we planned to start wearing black suits with cheollik (T.N.: a traditional Korean overcoat worn by military officials during the Joseon Dynasty) over them. Once <Moon> ended, we would remove the cheollik and head toward the extended stage in just our suits.
Pretending to take off the cheollik, we walked forward as stylishly as possible.
The performance flowed.
Since it had a completely different vibe from , our expressions changed accordingly, and we gave our all in singing and dancing.
As we finished while showing our backs to the audience, we mimicked taking off our jackets again.
This time, dressed in just shirts, we performed, which had hip-hop elements mixed in.
The three-song segment took exactly 14 minutes and 23 seconds.
“Here, we’ll give our speech about returning to the main stage and then do our first greeting.”
The members, still catching their breath, nodded.
Then, we walked back to the rear of the stage.
“Take turns with the comments there. The necessary lines will be displayed on the prompt, so don’t worry too much.”
“Yes.”
“Alright, then let’s go.”
As soon as the words were spoken, another song started playing.
Focusing back on the stage, we flawlessly performed another song.
The trainees, who had been holding their breath while watching the rehearsal, suddenly burst into wild applause.
Even PD Pyo seemed satisfied.
“When the song ends, Hanjoon and Siu stay on stage, and the other three exit. Rap line unit stage begins.”
Hanjoon and Siu, remaining on stage, performed a short skit with the backup dancers—a trick to buy time for a costume change.
Once the two rappers finished their stage, the vocal line’s unit performance was prepared.
Like this, we pushed through the run-through rehearsal according to the concert setlist.
Everyone was left speechless at the stage performed during the concert’s climax. Until yesterday, our synchronization was off, but today, we finally nailed it perfectly.
And then, even the final encore stage.
Without a single break, the first run-through rehearsal was completed.
The trainees jumped to their feet, clapping. Go Dajin even had tears welling up in his eyes. Seo Hanul, too, seemed deeply affected, looking completely different from his usual self.
“You guys are good.”
That was PD Pyo’s evaluation.
“If we see this at the concert venue, it’s really going to feel like a carnival.”
Thinking about the fireworks and the explosion of lights at just the right moments, the entire stage would turn into one grand, dazzling festival.
Nodding, PD Pyo then spoke to Roa.
“Roa. Be really careful when you’re on the swing. No matter how many safety measures we put in place, dangerous things are still dangerous.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Ichan, you too. When you’re coming down on the lift, be careful.”
Smiling slightly at the worried PD Pyo, I reassured him.
“I won’t get hurt, so don’t worry.”