We returned to the waiting room after the media showcase.

Everyone looked exhausted but happy.

That lightness you feel after finishing what you had to do—your chest feels wide open.

“You all did great.”

“You did too, hyung.”

We patted each other on the back and exchanged glances.

Having overcome something tough, a sense of camaraderie had blossomed among us.

“We got through photo time safely. Q&A went well. Isn’t this our best performance ever?”

“Ha. Best because of you. That old man carried it solo.”

I, fanning myself with a mini fan, butted in between them.

“Come on, Ri-hyeok. Ji-ho did great too.”

“What did we do? You handled that near-disaster all by yourself. We just lay there and benefited.”

“Huh? Laying there would get you in big trouble.”

“Jung-hyun hyung, please stick to stuff that makes sense.”

Despite the main vocalist’s reproach, the rapper kept grinning.

Unlike his usual laid-back mood, he seemed uplifted.

“Thanks, hyung.”

I gave Jung-hyun an impromptu high-five.

Smack!

Ouch—that felt like slapping hands with a volleyball player, not a brother.

Jung-hyun smiled and said, “Thanks to you, my jinx is finally broken.”

“Jinx? Oh.”

I’d forgotten, what with the chaos of the showcase.

“Every time I said I had a good feeling, some weird thing happened. But thanks to you, it’s over now. Ah, what a relief.”

“Right. I said it was superstition.”

“...Though it was odd that the audio malfunction happened the moment you said that, you know?”

“Honestly, Woo-joo hyung got through it on dumb luck.”

Despite the youngest two’s protests, Jung-hyun just wore a satisfied smile.

Joking that he’d say “I have a good feeling” once a day from now on.

Ri-hyeok suddenly asked, “By the way, about going on unaccompanied earlier—”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“You said you did it subconsciously when we asked after the stage.”

“That’s right.”

After the Firework stage, flustered little brothers bombarded me with questions, and I dodged them vaguely.

“You really did it without thinking?”

“More or less.”

“But usually you plan everything meticulously. You even locked us in to figure out our musical tendencies when composing Firework.”

“Hey, that wasn’t locking anyone in.”

...Still, I looked at Ji-ho and Jung-hyun, who both nodded kindly with smiles.

Such unhelpful fools.

“It’s not like I think through everything I do. I was just as flustered by my first audio accident on stage.”

“Really? You handled it too smoothly for a first time. It was so cool—”

“Cool?”

Ri-hyeok trailed off.

“I mean, you looked distant. I don’t think I could’ve done it.”

“Just say it was cool, hyung.”

“Right. I was amazed. You were dancing unaccompanied and had this halo shining.”

“That was the lighting, Jung-hyun hyung.”

“Oh, was that it?”

“Look, look. That old man’s mouth is twitching.”

I tried to keep a neutral face, but my brothers’ praise made me grin without realizing it.

A complex smile.

One part pride at their gratitude and compliments.

Another part embarrassment, knowing it wasn’t my sense but my ability that made it happen.

Well.

I couldn’t just tell them the truth.

Saying my body acted on instinct sounded more natural.

But now I have some understanding.

A sort of achievement, you might say.

I feel I’ve peeled back one layer of the secret of my ability.

The essence of this ability.

I’d called it a mimicry skill, thinking of it as a superpower.

But after today, it didn’t feel purely supernatural.

When I first gathered information online, I read about declarative memory and procedural memory.

Declarative memory is conscious—like recalling your day in a diary or memorizing English words.

Procedural memory is unconscious—like riding a bicycle or using chopsticks.

My theory was that this ability was procedural memory maximized.

Simply by watching, I unconsciously mastered movements from the video.

That had been true—until today’s two incidents.

They didn’t stem from procedural memory but rather declarative memory maximized.

The ability to vividly recall dormant memories as though they’re happening now.

Looking back, it seemed to appear whenever I was in crisis.

Like a student with five minutes left on an exam suddenly recalling a forgotten formula.

My ability appeared when I faced an urgent situation.

If I had to put it simply, extreme stress acted as the trigger.

At the university hospital, I was under immense stress from the responsibility of helping Min-jun. And the audio accident was no different.

Under those conditions, my brain acted unconsciously.

It rummaged through my mental database and said, ‘Look, idiot!’ then showed me what to do.

Of course this is just my hypothesis so far.

But putting it all together, my ability is broader than simple mimicry.

It covers procedural memory and declarative memory.

Logically so—after all, the act of mimicking starts with remembering the movement.

“Hyung. What are you thinking about?”

“Huh?”

“You were smiling to yourself.”

“Oh, just spaced out for a moment. Nothing big.”

I’d been chuckling at the thought I’d become some kind of superhuman.

Snapping back to reality, I looked around.

“Hey, where are the managers and Bi-joo?”

“Min-gi hyung went with Director Yoon to fetch something from the car. Bi-joo hyung went to the restroom to wash up.”

“He went alone?”

“Yep.”

“He won’t get lost again, right?”

Ri-hyeok laughed. “Bi-joo hyung’s not a kid. The restroom’s right outside—how could he get lost?”

“Bi-joo.”

“Right. Bi-joo hyung even gets lost in our dorm sometimes. I saw him last time—he took out the trash to the balcony and froze.”

“Don’t worry, hyung. He’ll show up eventually.”

Watching my brothers act unfazed, I clicked my tongue.

“Wow. You heartless idiots. Am I the only one worried?”

“You didn’t even know he went to the restroom.”

“....”

Just then the waiting-room door opened and three people entered.

Bi-joo and our two managers.

Each carrying a large box, which they set down with a thud.

They were heavy enough to make the floor shake.

“Huh? What’s this?”

I tilted my head at the contents of the boxes.

Bi-joo smiled. “They’re gifts for our fans.”

Fan showcase.

Our final event of the day.

If the media showcase was a business meeting with journalists, the fan showcase was like a fan meeting.

In fact, it’s rare to hold a fan showcase at debut.

A fan showcase is aimed at existing fans—rookies usually don’t have any yet.

Of course some groups build fandoms pre-debut, but that’s not typical.

By contrast, we’d made our name known through music broadcasts and events before debut.

Our fan café already had a decent membership.

So the company decided to hold a showcase to thank our fans.

Of course, our manager’s true reasoning was probably: “Street Boys did it, so of course we should too. We can’t fall behind in these things.”

“Wow. What’s all this?”

“In there are your photo cards, snacks, and gifts like keychains.”

“Whoa.”

Like a group of meerkats, we peered at the boxes.

They looked quite heavy.

I felt a pang seeing Seok-hwan hyung rubbing his back.

“You sure it’s okay for you to carry these with your herniated disk? Should’ve called Jung-hyun.”

“We tried, but he texted that he got lost again.”

“Sorry...”

We laughed at embarrassed Bi-joo.

“Got lost again?”

“Yeah, I went to buy drinks because everyone was tired after the showcase. I looked for a vending machine and then....”

“I found him alone among the equipment, wide-eyed.”

Yoon Seok-hwan shook his head in exasperation.

Bi-joo, looking sheepish, handed around the drinks he’d bought.

They were all a thousand won each—except mine was twelve hundred won. I felt oddly pleased as we gathered around the boxes.

We knew exactly what to do without being told.

Sign photo cards with messages for the fans, and wrap the other gifts.

In moments, the waiting room turned into a small workshop.

Ji-ho, scooping chocolates into plastic bags, beamed.

“Wow, there’s so many. How many fans are coming, Director? There are a ton of photo cards.”

“Don’t you know? You did ticketing a while back.”

“We were too busy practicing to check. Every time we tried to rest, someone’d come down and scold us for slacking.”

At my words, Seok-hwan hyung cleared his throat and redirected.

“How many do you think will come?”

“Hmmm....”

“I’ll go. I counted the photo cards—about fifty of each individual shot. So that’s 250, right?”

“What kind of miracle math is that?”

I blinked, and Ji-ho explained, “If you hand out one each, 250 cards means 250 people.”

“Oh. Sounds legit.”

“Why does it sound legit, Jung-hyun hyung?”

Watching the two idiots grin, Ri-hyeok chimed in, and I agreed with him.

“250 seems way too high.”

“Hyung, dream big.”

“That’s right. My dad said a leader should think big.”

There was a weird phrase in there, but I ignored it.

“Honestly, I’d be happy even if fifty came.”

“Why?”

“Well, it’s a weekday. I can’t imagine 200 people coming just to see our faces.”

“Street Boys had over a hundred, didn’t they?”

True enough.

I’d heard nearly a hundred fans showed up for Street Boys’ fan showcase last week.

We discussed how many might attend.

I joined in, then shook my head.

“Honestly, it doesn’t matter how many come. Just that they come is something to be grateful for.”

“Right.”

Bijoo, writing messages on Post-its, said, “I think it’s a success just that there are people who come all this way to see our faces and hear our songs. Whether it’s one person or a hundred, they’re all the same fans.”

“Wow....”

The maknae marvelled, “Usually the cheesy lines are Woo-joo hyung’s, but today Bijoo hyung nailed it. Amazing.”

“Hey.”

“It must’ve rubbed off on him from you.”

“Guess they say you become like those you admire.”

“What a pity. If he’s copying you, I wish he’d copy your height too. Aaagh!”

“Shut up, Kim Jung-hyun.”

Jung-hyun got pinched by Bijoo and yelped.

I laughed at my brothers, then wrote on a Post-it: Thank you for waiting! We’ll work hard for you!

Really, the exact number of attendees didn’t matter.

Even if there were only one person in the audience, I’d be so happy I wouldn’t know what to do.

After all, the reason I became an idol was to see and delight the people who watch my stage.

In that sense, meeting people who enjoy my performance, playing them my songs, and connecting with them felt deeply meaningful.

Just imagining it made my heart race and warmed my chest.

I couldn’t wait to see the fans.

I smiled at the thought.

7:00 PM.

In new outfits, we waited backstage.

Excited at the thought of meeting fans, yet with nervous eyes scanning around.

“Why’s it so quiet?”

“Right?”

“What if there’s only one person here?”

We wanted to see the audience, but it was dark, so we couldn’t.

We sensed movement out there but had no idea how many.

“We’re going on.”

At the signal, we stepped onto the stage.

I was nervous.

If the media showcase introduced us to industry people, this fan showcase introduced us to the fans.

In some ways, more important than the media showcase.

I swallowed and stood onstage.

“...”

Darkness so complete I couldn’t see an inch ahead.

The still silence pressed on me.

I tried to adjust to the dark to gauge the audience, when—bang!—the lights came on.

Squinting at the sudden brightness for a {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} moment.

When I saw the audience, I froze in shock.

...Huh?

Before us unfolded an unexpected sight.

“Waaaaaah!”