“Ro... Roy.”

A strange woman’s trembling hand brushed Roy’s face as tears streamed down her cheeks.

He tried to pull away, but the voice calling his name was so heartrending he couldn’t bring himself to resist. All he could do was lean his head back, wearing an expression of bewilderment.

“Sob... my baby.”

The hand that had been touching his face suddenly pulled him into a tight embrace.

Roy, caught off guard in this stranger’s arms, felt like he might go mad. Because Roy was an orphan.

His only family had been the CEO who believed in him enough to start an agency, and the members of Shooting Star.

‘But... “my baby”?’

Roy was too stunned even to speak; his lips just trembled.

Just as he tried to wriggle free, a searing pain shot through his abdomen.

“Ugh.”

Bending forward, he saw the white burial clothes around him darken with blood.

“Roy...!”

The woman, supporting his collapsing body, trembled so badly it was pitiful. She slapped his cheek to keep him conscious, but her touch was infinitely gentle, as if afraid of causing him more pain.

“I’ll call 911—”

“Honey, it’ll be faster if I just carry him and run.”

The man hurriedly hoisted Roy onto his back and dashed out of the funeral hall. Roy’s vision spun ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) wildly.

“Roy, hang in there. Just a little longer.”

Roy could barely make out the man’s voice—his pain had already gone beyond the point of understanding words; only a roaring in his ears remained. Through his fading sight he saw snowflakes drifting down. The cold air brushed his cheek, and a thought flickered through his mind.

‘But... didn’t we have a comeback this summer?’

Then everything went black.

✧

When Roy opened his eyes, he once again stared up at an unfamiliar ceiling.

‘Is anyone here?’

He slowly sat up and looked around. It seemed to be a single-occupancy hospital room, and he was alone.

Of course. It must have been a terrible dream.

‘Still... dreaming of kicking open a coffin lid? Given I really thought I’d die, I guess it makes sense...’

Roy slid out of bed, dragging the IV stand as he headed to the door. Fortunately, the hallway looked empty—no reporters in sight.

But Shooting Star wasn’t just any idol group. The moment he let his guard down, rumors would spread on SNS and a crowd would come running.

‘Wish I had something to cover up with.’

Roy stripped the pillowcase off the pillow and pulled it over his head. It looked ridiculous, but it was far better than having his face plastered all over social media.

kkirik, kkirik.

Every time he tugged the IV stand, the wheels squeaked with rust.

“Uh... hello?”

Roy approached the nurses’ station, peeking out from beneath the pillowcase as he greeted them.

“Who...?”

“This is Room 1503. May I borrow a phone?”

He sensed the nurse flinch, but now was the time to be shameless.

“Oh, you’re Patient Lee Roy? You’re awake. You could’ve just pressed the call button.”

“Ah, really... I—I didn’t know.”

He almost blurted out “idol,” a forbidden word in a hospital. Only someone who’d been admitted would understand.

Roy’s mouth curved into an awkward smile.

“Want to call your guardian?”

“Yes.”

“Shall we dial for you?”

“No, I’ll do it myself.”

The nurse readily handed over the landline receiver.

Roy dialed his manager’s number, then paused and swiftly hung up. His manager had been in the same crash—he might be badly hurt too, and Roy had almost forgotten.

“Nurse—”

“Yes?”

“Did anyone come with me?”

“Your father?”

“What? No. They were in the car with me.”

“Well... you came in as an emergency, so we don’t know the ER details.”

This was the ward, not the ER—her answer made sense. Roy frowned and decided to call the CEO instead.

He dialed, but—

[The number you have dialed is not in service. Please check the number and try again.]

“...Huh?”

That should’ve been the right number. Had he misdialed? He tried again, more slowly—eleven digits—and got the same automated message. 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

What’s going on? They couldn’t have changed the number without notice.

A cold sweat broke out as his heart pounded with growing dread.

“Are you okay, sir?”

The nurse, noticing his pale face, asked gently. Roy clenched his trembling fists, then opened them and spoke again.

“I’m sorry, but... can I use the internet? I can’t remember the number.”

At this point, contacting the company online was the surest option.

“There’s a public PC over by the chairs. You can use that.”

“Thank you.”

Roy, still with the pillowcase on his head, went to the waiting-area seats. He sat down, pulled the PC to life, and opened a portal site.

[No results found for “Exceed Entertainment.”]

That couldn’t be right.

Roy’s mind froze, then he hurriedly tried other searches.

[No results found for “Shooting Star Taeeon.”]

[No results found for “Shooting Star Han-gyeol.”]

[No results found for “Shooting Star Yeon-woo.”]

[No results found for “Shooting Star Ho-jin.”]

Nothing.

‘Is this... a hidden-camera prank?’

Roy yanked off the pillowcase and scanned the room for cameras—under the chairs, in the trash bin, even in the potted plant—but found none. Strangers passed by without looking his way, as if he didn’t exist.

Back at the door, Roy felt his panic rise.

‘Who would prank someone who just cheated death?’

He couldn’t even bear to return to the bed, so he stood frozen in the hallway, retracing his steps to figure out where the prank had started.

He’d been on his way to a regional fan signing when the accident happened, and something sharp had pierced his abdomen.

“Ah!”

At the horrifying flash of memory, Roy tore open his shirt to check. But how could this be?

He’d been sure his injuries were severe, but his stomach was soft, plump, and unblemished—like a baby’s.

“...?”

Wait. Where were the abs he’d sculpted over five months of chicken breast and protein shakes? This was... fat?

He stroked his belly in shock, speechless. Then he looked up and saw a strange reflection in the opposite window: a piglet-faced creature staring back at him, mouth agape.

“...!”

Roy flinched, rubbing his eyes to clear the hallucination—when the hospital-room door opened behind him.

“Been waiting, sir?”

“Ack! F–a ghost!”

Instinctively, Roy brandished the IV pole like a weapon at the man in the white coat. The doctor’s light-hearted icebreaker joke fell flat when Roy recoiled in terror, and the doctor looked embarrassed.

“I just wanted to come in and—”

As the doctor stepped forward, Roy swung the IV pole wildly, causing a plant pot to shatter with a crash, shards flying everywhere. Barefoot, Roy stepped on the glass; crimson stains blossomed across the floor.

The doctor, equally stunned, could only assume Roy’s odd behavior was due to the pillowcase.

“Sir, I won’t hurt you. Please, put that down and let’s talk. I think I can help you.”

“I don’t need help!”

“But your condition—”

Following the doctor’s gaze, Roy looked down. He’d felt the shards underfoot but hadn’t thought much of the pain—now seeing the bloodbath on the floor, his soles throbbed as if they might split open.

“Ouch... my foot...!”

“Just try to relax. It’s nothing serious. I can fix this quickly.”

Nothing serious? He was sure this was at least an eight-week recovery injury. And not during downtime, but comeback promotions!

Roy grasped his ankle and sank to the floor. The doctor took the chance to gently herd everyone else out of the room.

Click—the door shut, and silence descended.

Roy’s ears burned with embarrassment as he realized how many people had been watching him.

‘So humiliating.’

Crawling forward, he grabbed a pillow and hid his face as he stammered, “I—I just startled...”

“I understand you were frightened. But I’m so glad you’re awake.”

The doctor’s efforts to ease Roy’s guard made him feel even more apologetic. He’d been hounded by paparazzi so long he’d reacted without thinking.

Roy didn’t know what to do next, and the doctor gave a small smile before explaining the treatment.

“Please have a seat. I’ll look at your foot.”

“...Thank you.”

Roy hopped onto the bed on one leg. The doctor placed Roy’s foot on his thigh and began examining the wound.

“There’s glass embedded here. There’s no choice but to endure the pain.”

Before Roy could ask what he had to endure, the doctor lifted forceps and began digging at the wound to remove the deeply lodged shards.

“Aaah!”

“Hush.”

Roy jerked, trying to pull away, but the doctor gripped his ankle tighter.

“I told you not to resist.”

Tears welled in Roy’s eyes. Even without medical training, he knew this should be closed with surgery, not gouged out in a ward.

Was this some kind of revenge for his earlier outburst?

Warm light burst from the doctor’s hand as he clasped Roy’s foot. The wound began to knit itself closed.

“????”