“You told me to do a live.”
Dinner had ended and everyone’s rest time had begun, but Evan and Siwoo still had a live broadcast left to do. Siwoo’s plan to wash up as usual, then come out with his laptop and camera, had gone completely awry.
Why were lights set up, and why was a broadcast camera connected instead of his usual low-quality camera?
Siwoo, wearing a light purple hoodie he’d brought as pajamas, tilted his head when he saw that even the writer was present.
“Let’s have Siwoo start as usual, then have Evan naturally join in the middle. Got it?”
Live broadcasts have scripts too? Live broadcasts have setups? The world of stars is truly profound.
It wasn’t exactly a script, but there was a single A4 sheet on the table listing things they absolutely should say and content they absolutely must not reveal.
The room where they’d start the live wasn’t Room 4, but Room 1.
He wanted to shout, “This is all rigged, you’re toying with the viewers,” but Siwoo obediently sat down in the chair.
Right, they didn’t do my makeup or decide my outfit, so let’s think positively, positively.
As always, Siwoo had background music playing. Let’s just chat with our Coco-moms as usual and wrap it up.
Siwoo started the live while humming along to the pop song that was playing, under a truly tremendous misconception.
“Bam-ppa-ba-ba…. Bam-ppa….”
Siwoo’s eyes blinked rapidly as he smiled at the monitor, planning to wait a bit for the Coco-moms to enter. He couldn’t keep up with the chat window that was suddenly rising like crazy. At the same time, he couldn’t believe how the number of people watching the live was increasing.
“Ah, um….”
Siwoo’s pupils trembled slightly as he anxiously looked around various parts of the monitor to check, and this was broadcast in real-time.
“Hello.”
The hand he’d been lowering as he greeted slowly crept up to cover his mouth. As usual, he was wearing a loose, oversized hoodie, so the back of his hand was hidden in the sleeve, and only his fingertips peeking out entered the viewers’ sight.
“So many people really came in.”
It was hard to follow the rising chat, so he couldn’t possibly answer the countless questions pouring in.
[LetTheWorldNotKnowCocoIsPretty: Coco. You’re cute today too.]
[SiwooIsCoco: Our Coco got surprised. Your eyes got all round. You’re a popular kid now too. We’ll promote you properly.]
[S♡CocoMiaS: Coco’s fingertips turned red again.]
Even in the flood of countless rising messages, the Coco-moms’ posts entered Siwoo’s eyes precisely. It might have been because they were already familiar IDs. However, the chat window wasn’t as clean as in previous live broadcasts.
“I think I should introduce myself first. I debuted solo three years ago…. Ah, thank you, Coco-moms. You’re introducing me in my place.”
At the Coco-moms’ efforts to frantically post messages whenever harsh words seemed to appear, Siwoo lowered the hand that had been covering his face.
“Coco. Why are you doing it alone?”
While he hesitated without properly introducing himself, Siwoo internally swallowed a sigh at Evan’s voice heard from beside him. A savior who would help him escape this crisis had arrived.
Evan, who had already been monitoring from outside, hardened his expression at the uncomfortable words that poured out as soon as the live started. He’d expected it, but there were many comments that crossed the line, from speculative remarks onward. The original plan was to join after Siwoo had progressed somewhat, but there was no time to wait for that.
“Hm?”
“Hello. I’m Evan from Ocean. I’m going to trespass on Coco’s live a bit.”
Evan, who had frequently joined broadcasts midway, spoke casually as he sat on the edge of the bed behind Siwoo.
Siwoo couldn’t even keep up with the speed at which things had been rising until now, but the moment Evan appeared, the numbers changed tremendously again, surging once more, and Siwoo leaned his body back slightly.
“Let’s see. Coco, there are a lot of questions about Siwoo. Um…. Please use nice words. Coco is Siwoo’s nickname.”
Evan, who had been sitting cross-legged on the bed and watching the monitor intently, smiled gently.
“All the questions are only about Coco. Then I should answer them.”
“Huh? What?”
“Now, I’ll only say this once, so concentrate and listen carefully. Name Kim Siwoo, age 23. Born in Seoul, family relations are parents and one older sister. Blood type AB. 174cm and 57kg. Nickname is Coco, the reason is because he resembles a quokka. Currently attending Korea University’s Korean Literature department. Birthday is December 2nd. Debut date is April 10th. Personally, I like ‘Liar’ on track 3 more than the debut song. Ah, Coco did ballet for almost 10 years, so his dance lines are really pretty.”
Siwoo’s lips gradually parted as he listened to his own personal information pouring out rapidly like a rap. Look at that clear diction, as befitting someone who isn’t called a rap line member for nothing.
“Ah! Right. And Coco has two moles near his spine on his left waist.”
“How do you know that?”
During break time, Siwoo had searched a bit about Evan and recalled that he was very smart and had good memory. Perhaps he could have known and memorized information about him in advance. So he tried to understand it that way, but something like having two moles on the back of his left waist wasn’t something you could know from searching.
The fans watching the live lost their minds faster than Siwoo’s panic.
“I’m a first-generation Coco-mom. It showed when you were dancing in one of your fancams.”
At his truly unimaginable answer, Siwoo raised both hands to cover his face. He should have had a serious conversation when Evan first said he was a fan.
The arrhythmia that had appeared from the moment Evan recited his profile disappeared. What he’d thought was arrhythmia for the past few days probably wasn’t that. The way he’d been acting all this time was really because he was purely a fan.
The live broadcast that started boldly didn’t last very long. Today’s live broadcast’s purpose was to promote Kim Siwoo. Unlike the highly tense Siwoo, Evan led all the conversation.
After the camera turned off and he stood up from his seat, Siwoo bowed to the staff and headed to his room. His chest felt a little, no, quite a lot stuffy. His head was complicated, and there was no way to express this feeling.
The PD didn’t tell him to change rooms. He lay down on the bed to sleep, but the more he tried, the further sleep ran away. All kinds of thoughts followed one after another in a chain. After the live broadcast, he’d turned off his phone entirely due to the flood of contacts from acquaintances.
When silence fell as all the people who had been busily moving seemed to have fallen asleep, Siwoo got up from his spot and carefully gathered his clothes to put on before going outside. A house in a quiet suburb. At the end of the well-maintained spacious garden was a rocking chair.
The rain had stopped now, but the air was damp and chilly from the rain that had fallen all day. A half-moon occasionally peeked out between the thick clouds.
He sat back comfortably in the rocking chair, then pulled his legs up into his arms at the chilly breeze. So many things had happened in such a short time that he had no idea where or how to start organizing them. Everything had changed since the infinite regression stopped.
He was laughing, chattering, and spending time together in the same space with people he’d always only envied. Evan, who had shown strong interest from the beginning and led him, was his fan. Was that what they called being blessed by success? And while being with him, people’s gazes naturally focused on himself.
He’d received various insults during the live broadcast a moment ago, but anyway, that was an expression of interest. He’d never been the subject of such excessive attention before. Well, even when his first group’s member made the social news pages, that incident was buried among countless other news and didn’t even get proper comments.
Did he want to cry? Or did he want to laugh?
Did he really dislike popularity? Was he really happy living while communicating with this small handful of fans? He could have left this world entirely to live, yet he kept lingering around.
Was it lingering attachment? Regret? Envy?
The hope that maybe, just maybe, he too could soar once?
Scary, fearful. These primitive feelings were probably the most appropriate words. He’d gained popularity. And if he learned the taste of it, could he endure it when he regressed again? There was a high probability he’d remain as someone nameless again in the next regression. He was confident he could live well while yearning for and working toward what he couldn’t have.
If he learned that taste and could never reach that place again, could he bear that sense of loss?
At the stuffiness that rose to the end of his throat, Siwoo let out a long sigh. The temperature seemed to have dropped quite a bit, as white breath rose in puffs.
