The day of The Moon’s digital release finally arrived.
“Doesn’t it feel like we’re debuting all over again?”
“Well, we are recycled rookies.”
Without a moment to savor the thrill, The Moon piled into the van and headed for the showcase venue.
In the back seat, Lee Chanyoung murmured to himself.
“Will there be many people…?”
Hearing that, An Jiho checked Chanyoung’s expression in the mirror. A heavy cloud lay over his face.
That kid…
The youngest member, Lee Chanyoung, pretended otherwise, yet with his soft round features he was the most sensitive.
If the showcase hall they were driving to turned out to be emptier than expected, Chanyoung would surely be hurt. Evidently, he was worrying about exactly that outcome.
“Oh right, the CEO said our album’s pre-order numbers were actually pretty good.”
Jiho spoke casually while watching him out of the mirror.
“Feels like a good omen from the start.”
Decent pre-orders were most likely the effect of composer HS.
His fan base is way bigger than ours…
Jiho knew what Chanyoung feared, but he could not offer any guarantee, so he held his tongue.
If the people who pre-ordered came to the showcase too—it was impossible to promise.
I just hope it doesn’t look totally empty…
Jiho himself was used to performing on a street corner with a single speaker and no audience, so he was prepared to take it in stride. What worried him was the members’ and the CEO’s disappointment if the hall was bare after all their hopes.
Even so, he would tell them it was only the beginning.
“Whoa—!”
From the front seat Choi Jeonghyuk suddenly jolted like a fish fresh out of water.
Joo Woomin in the seat behind sprang forward, asking: “What, what is it?”
“We got a message. Congratulations….”
“From who? Don’t tell me, your parents…?”
Woomin tilted his head, studying Jeonghyuk’s half-dazed profile.
Had Jeonghyuk’s parents sent congratulations? Jeonghyuk had left home against their wishes and broken contact until he succeeded.
The memory of Jeonghyuk downing bitter soju, vowing not to call home until he made it, flashed across Woomin’s mind.
His parents must have seen the news.
He patted Jeonghyuk’s shoulder with a firm hand.
“See? No parent beats their kid.”
“No, it’s not my parents.”
“Huh? Not? Then who…?”
Jeonghyuk beamed suddenly.
“It’s from the composer!”
He even showed off his phone.
“He never replies unless it’s about practice, but he texted!”
Woomin felt embarrassed for having imagined something serious.
[God-composer: grats. you’d better crush it]
A congratulatory text—but it sounded more like fail and you die.
Whatever. Jeonghyuk was thrilled.
No need to rain on that.
At the wheel Jiho stole a glance at his own phone on the gear console.
Nothing…
Probably Hyunseung had sent just one message for them all. Yes, let’s think that way. Even so, Jiho’s expression darkened.
Broadcast host Park Surim arrived early at the art hall to emcee the showcase.
“Let’s see….”
Because she had never heard of the group, she started by searching “The Moon” for thirty minutes across every community and fan café before picking up the cue sheet.
“Since the title song is by HS and already a hot topic, please explain the track briefly….”
She rehearsed under her breath, then nodded.
“Okay.”
Surim was a twenty-year veteran, the top pick for radio, press conferences, and showcases—expensive and hard to book.
“Oh?”
She had been booked because of an old friendship with TM Entertainment’s CEO Kim Hyoseop.
“Surim! When did you get here?”
“Not long ago.”
“Thanks so much for doing this.”
“Come on, it’s nothing.”
“Our boys are parking now. Please look after them.”
“Hey, it’s me. Leave the kids to me, and the anxious parent can step aside.”
Hyoseop laughed with her, thinking:
I might get to laugh like this a lot from now on.
Not for himself—for The Moon.
“Everyone, huddle up.”
Backstage, The Moon gathered in a circle while Jiho fired warnings.
“Don’t be too nervous. It’s a showcase, not a music show.”
“Right, of course.”
“But that doesn’t mean we can get sloppy, okay?”
“Captain Obvious—”
“And don’t try so hard you mess up.”
“Uh, Jiho hyung….”
Jeonghyuk placed a hand on Jiho’s shoulder.
“Pretty sure you’re the most nervous here.”
“Yeah, you always say relax then freak out yourself.”
With two members teasing in tandem, Jiho changed the subject and urged them upstairs.
Just then:
“Please welcome them with applause—!”
MC Park Surim’s familiar voice rang out. The Moon walked onstage one by one.
Lee Chanyoung, last up the stairs, still could not raise his head.
“Let’s greet everyone.”
On cue came the signal.
“One, two, three—!”
When Chanyoung finally jerked his head up for the bow, he froze, missing the greeting live on air.
“Hello, we are The Moon!”
Because…
Kyaaahhhhh!
The audience seats were packed to the last spot.
Jiho found himself thinking.
When had he last heard screams like that?
Maybe the World Cup….
At that moment Jeonghyuk took the mic and the crowd exploded.
Kyaaahhhhh!
The roar cleared his head.
“Wow, the fans’ energy is amazing today. Great reaction.”
Surim smoothly quieted the crowd and continued.
“Jeonghyuk, please read your letter.”
“This is making me nervous.”
“But the fans are waiting—go on.”
Jeonghyuk unfolded the paper with trembling hands.
“When The Moon debuted I was a senior in high school; now I’ve graduated from a two-year college and got a job. Thanks to you I can buy the album with my own money and come to this showcase. The only thing left is for The Moon to succeed….”
He read calmly, but his eyes were red. Sniffles echoed from the seats. Surim did not tell them to stop crying—this moment was made for it.
Finally, Jiho took the last letter. Surim thought looking at his sharp eyes, This kid won’t cry.
Crying would be good for the broadcast, but oh well.
Jiho began, voice low and clear.
“You rotted like a cavity through that endless trainee life; now it’s time to turn to gold. You all worked hard. Like I said, go rip everything apart.”
Childish words, yet Jiho knew who wrote them, and tears welled up.
“I’m writing because they told me to… ahem… there’s nothing more to say….”
He barely got out the final line.
“Anyway I, um, yeah… owe you.”
Two days before the Europe trip, Hyuna was stuffing a suitcase, then a backpack, then another bag.
“Are you moving countries?”
Hyunseung sighed at the zipper that refused to close.
“You’re not just popping out for the day, you know.”
He glanced at his own carry-on small enough for the cabin. Maybe that was too small.
If we need clothes we can buy them there.
Surely his sister was overdoing it.
“Looks like you’re fleeing a war.”
“If you’re not helping, go away!”
Hyunseung snickered and nudged her case with his foot.
Bzzzz—!
A text from Manager Kim arrived with a link.
[ The Moon’s showcase seems to be going well. ]
[ It’s streaming live, take a look. ]
[ I know you’ll say you’re not curious, but just in case. ]
[ If you disagree, may you go bald. ]
Weird curses he picks up…
Hyuna’s packing will take forever; might as well watch.
He sat on the sofa and tapped the link.
—Kyaaahhhhh!
Ear-splitting screams: the hall looked full.
Good for them.
Hyuna stopped packing and leaned over.
“Whoa, it’s The Moon.”
“Go finish your packing.”
“Wait, look. Jiho’s crying?”
“Crying? Why?”
“He’s reading a fan letter and crying!”
On screen Jiho’s tear-soaked voice quavered.
—“Anyway I, um, yeah… owe you.”
Hyunseung watched, a faint bitter smile forming, then opened the message window. Those kids worked hard; if there is a god, they deserve success—Jiho especially.
Tap tap.
Tap tap.
There was exactly one thing he wanted to tell that kid right now—even if only by text.
[ hey, you crying? Lol ]
(T/N: HS lmao you are so…)
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