Assistant Manager Kim Hates Idols Chapter 451 - Side Story. Disbandment

Even after deciding to disband, the team was called together several times. There were final settlements to handle and documents to sign. Hearing that the draft of the press release was complete felt like it was someone else’s story.

 

For a group that was already finished, there was still a lot to do. To Choi Jeho, it all felt like a farce.

 

Throughout the briefing and the signing, everyone’s expression was grim. Perhaps it was inaccurate to say ‘everyone’. Choi Jeho thought of the one person who had been silent since the day the disbandment was finalized.

 

Jeong Seongbin had brought that absent member’s seal in his place. Whether it was a non-disclosure agreement or a security pledge, Jeong Seongbin’s hand trembled noticeably as he stamped the documents promising not to speak of internal company matters to the outside world.

 

When the staff member left the room to get the CEO’s signature, the meeting room fell into a heavy silence. The only sound was the muffled whirring of a photocopier from the office beyond the glass wall.

 

“Hyung, have you heard from Joowoo hyung?” 

 

Kang Kiyeon asked Jeong Seongbin.

 

“Yeah. Not often, but occasionally.”

 

Ever since the day they were notified that they had to decide on contract renewals, Park Joowoo had been constantly distracted. The company told them to maintain a resolute attitude because the fans were anxious, but how could they be resolute when they didn’t feel it?

 

Park Joowoo had been on edge the entire time until he finally had to accept the disbandment. Since then, he had locked his door and hadn’t come out. He heard that Park Joowoo only occasionally picked up the phone for Jeong Seongbin.

 

“How is Joowoo hyung doing?”

 

“He’s much better.”

 

Jeong Seongbin gave a bitter smile. Kang Kiyeon furrowed his brows. He started to say something, but stopped. Jeong Seongbin was so poor at lying that the members could see right through him instantly. Jeong Seongbin had been telling those clumsy lies every single time. Even today, on their final day.

 

Kang Kiyeon, who used to talk back whenever something didn’t sit right with him, said nothing. At some point, Kang Kiyeon’s attitude had turned lukewarm, except when they were working. Jeong Seongbin likely knew it too—that Kang Kiyeon had given up on him.

 

“Well… should we grab a meal together before we go? It’ll be hard to see each other for a while.” 

 

Kang Kiyeon said, grabbing his phone.

 

Lee Cheonghyeon scoffed and shot back.

 

“Why bother? How many times have we actually eaten together in private?”

 

His sharp gaze turned toward Choi Jeho.

 

“Did we ever go out for drinks after a company dinner, or join in on family gatherings? Are we really the kind of people who, at this point, would suddenly start patting each other on the back and saying ‘good job’?”

 

“Stop it. You don’t mean that,” 

 

Choi Jeho muttered.

 

“I don’t mean it 100%, but it’s still true. Am I wrong?”

 

Kang Kiyeon gave up trying to stop him. As if provoked by the sigh, Lee Cheonghyeon snapped again.

 

“Have you even tried contacting Joowoo hyung?”

 

“…….”

 

He hadn’t. Because what Park Joowoo wanted was the group, not some measly words of encouragement. Not disbanding was the only real solution, yet even if they all went back to the moment before the decision was made, they would likely make the same choice in the end. None of them knew where, what, or how to fix the cracks in their relationships.

 

“I’m not telling you to have interest where you have none. But you should at least show some basic decency.”

 

“…….”

 

In the days leading up to the final wrap-up, Choi Jeho had stayed awake until late. He spent the nights staring at his phone like a machine.

 

It wasn’t that he hadn’t looked at Park Joowoo’s contact info. It was just that there was nothing he could do for him. That fact made Choi Jeho feel hollow.

 

“Including our trainee days, we lived together closer than family for over ten years. And yet, it doesn’t affect you at all, hyung?”

 

As if it doesn’t.

 

Nevertheless, Choi Jeho said nothing. No matter how much he excused himself, nothing would change.

 

Packing his returned documents, Choi Jeho was the first to stand up. Jeong Seongbin followed after him and caught his arm.

 

“Hyung.”

 

Choi Jeho looked down silently at Jeong Seongbin. He had never really scolded him harshly, yet at some point, Jeong Seongbin had become perpetually intimidated.

 

Maybe it was because of his throat injury.

 

At first, Choi Jeho had been worried, but not concerned. True to his diligent nature, Jeong Seongbin never neglected his self-care and always pulled his weight on stage. People had chewed him out endlessly for going to the military without consulting the group, but Choi Jeho simply thought it was a personal matter. That was why he hadn’t added his voice to the criticism.

 

But then, when he injured his own back, he began to understand Jeong Seongbin’s position. He realized it wasn’t a matter of simply ‘doing your part’. He learned too late that an injury, in and of itself, made every day a struggle.

 

“Please contact Joowoo… just once,”

 

Jeong Seongbin said in a trembling voice. 

 

“Joowoo would be happy to hear from you, hyung.”

 

Choi Jeho didn’t really agree. Even Jeong Seongbin was only guessing Park Joowoo’s heart. Choi Jeho was more than aware that he hadn’t been a good member to Park Joowoo, or to any of these guys.

 

“……Alright.”

 

Even so, Choi Jeho agreed. This was the only thing he could do for Jeong Seongbin.

 

Before Choi Jeho reached the door, someone else reached for the handle first. It was Lee Cheonghyeon. Lee Cheonghyeon glared at Choi Jeho as he prepared to leave, then looked away first and spoke.

 

“That motorcycle downstairs, it’s yours, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Are you planning on never dancing again for the rest of your life?”

 

Whenever he suppressed his anger, the veins in Lee Cheonghyeon’s neck would bulge. It was happening now.

 

“Get rid of it. Stop doing crazy things.”

 

The door Lee Cheonghyeon kicked open swung back and forth. In the glass of the door, Kang Kiyeon was reflected, still sitting at the table. He was crying, his face hidden behind a white envelope of documents.

 

After finishing everything and stepping outside, the world was dark. The sky was so cloudy not a single star could be seen.

 

Choi Jeho rode for a long time, his head encased in a helmet. The wind didn’t feel cold at all. It was as if his senses had dulled to the point of disappearing. He gripped the handlebars tighter.

 

Back when he could still dance, he never even looked at motorcycles. People said one accident was all it took to end everything.

 

It still felt like a dream. He felt like if he took off his helmet, he could return to a concert hall filled with roaring cheers.

 

But Choi Jeho had clearly put an end to everything with his own hands. Just now, in front of everyone. No one had asked to stay together longer. That was Choi Jeho’s reality.

 

Choi Jeho parked the motorcycle in a designated area. The streetlights reflected on the river. There was no wind, so the water was calm. As he plopped down beside his bike, he finally felt like he was truly alone.

 

Had Jeong Seongbin reached home? Was Park Joowoo asleep by now?

 

His hair fluttered in the breeze, tickling his eyes. But more than that, the image of Kang Kiyeon crying flickered before him.

 

‘Are you planning on never dancing again for the rest of your life?’

 

Lee Cheonghyeon’s voice echoed in his ears.

 

≫ Without dance, Choi Jeho is basically finished.

└ Huh? He’ll probably still rake in money doing photoshootsㅋㅋ

 

≫ Wow, I didn’t know someone could fail this badly as a person

└ Isn’t Spark pretty successful though?

└ The failure is that Choi Jeho could only do Spark.

└ If he went to a Big 3 agency instead of a no-name company, he wouldn’t have ended up in a basement dungeon. He just couldn’t control his temper and went to play king among younger kidsㅋㅋㅋHe can’t blame anyone

 

≫ If it weren’t for the injury, he would’ve been the first to switch agencies, right?

└ Yeah, for sure. He must’ve gotten tons of offers.

└ But why is there no news about them moving…? Usually, when the contract end date nears, shouldn’t there be talk of discussions? Doesn’t look like they’re renewing.

└ Probably under embargo.

└ Who cares where a washed-up guy goes ㅋㅋㅋWhat embargo?ㅋㅋㅋ

└ No matter how much you call them washed-up, Spark isn’t disbanding because they failed~ they’re the ones choosing to leave

└└ That’s what’s even more infuriating.

 

If he had stepped onto the gambling table himself, he would at least have someone to blame.

 

But Choi Jeho had never recklessly wagered anything in his life, and yet, he had lost everything in an instant. When emptiness goes too far, it becomes pain. With nothing left, he felt unbearably miserable.

 

Once the disbandment article was released, once the sasaengs and reporters who had lost interest in him drifted away, once the communication platforms shut down and the fan club disappeared—there would truly be nothing left.

 

The opposite side of the river was bright. The lights spreading from the skyscrapers shone like stars. Only the place where Choi Jeho sat was low and dark. Like the ground he used to sit on near the dorm, catching his breath after bouncing a basketball alone—the place beneath him was cold and hard.

 

As he leaned forward, a lighter rolled out of his pocket. It was a flint lighter that a manager—one who had many rumors about his attitude—had left in the car.

 

Normally, he would have thrown it away long ago, but Choi Jeho had secretly tucked it into his pocket. Then he had gone to a convenience store. To ask for any pack of cigarettes.

 

But Choi Jeho had reached the door and ultimately turned back. If he couldn’t dance, he had to at least keep singing. That was the only way Choi Jeho could maintain his lifespan as an idol. And now, even that meant nothing.

 

Choi Jeho gripped the lighter. The little remaining gas sloshed inside. He tried to flick it, but it only spun uselessly; no flame caught.

 

Would things have been different if he had endured the nausea and shared a drink with them?

 

Should he have forced them to sit down and talk, instead of giving up beforehand, assuming they’d just argue?

 

Was it right for the group Spark to meet its end like this?

 

Should he have asked, just once, if they truly wanted to disband?

 

Choi Jeho slowly covered his face with both hands. His fingertips brushed down his dry face. The breath he exhaled spread out like a lament.

 

The feeling of having nowhere to say how his heart truly felt.

The feeling of being left entirely alone with no one to visit.

The feeling of becoming sorrowful because he knew he was too much to blame to make excuses.

 

Emotions swirled. The sound of leaves brushing against each other flowed along the riverbank.

 

He forced the rising feelings back down. He didn’t even let out a sigh. Someone like him didn’t deserve the right to cry.

 

The thing he had ignored for so long, the thing he should have let go of but had pretended not to notice until now.

 

It was time to accept the loneliness.