With trembling fingers, Darren typed a reply:
["Tomorrow. Three o'clock. The old practice room. If you're serious."]
He stared at the message for a few seconds. Then hit send.
Afterward, he leaned back against the wall. Exhausted. Confused. But also... a little warm.
For the first time, it wasn't from fans. Not from outsiders.
But from someone who once walked beside him. And that alone... was enough to make Darren feel, maybe... he wasn't completely alone anymore.
Yet the doubt in his heart still lingered. He kept trying to hold on to a sliver of hope, despite having lost nearly all of his sanity.
Especially after the group message a while back—Chan Hee had joined in condemning him, just like the rest, believing the lies.
Darren's heart was fragile, shattered even.
For the first time since debuting with Dream Night—after receiving all that trust and love—he now felt trapped under a pile of carefully crafted blades.
Night fell faster than he expected. Darkness swallowed the sky—and along with it, Darren's dwindling hope. He could no longer trust anyone… not even himself. DC Entertainment had succeeded in making him feel like the most useless person alive.
And to think… he was once their golden boy.
Solo album. Variety show invitations without the group. A dedicated vlog series uploaded to their main streaming platform.
He barely slept with all the packed schedules.
But Darren worked himself to the bone—because he felt he had to.
Because he never wanted to lose his dream.
***
The golden rays of the setting sun poured through the second-floor window of their old practice studio. Dust particles danced in the quiet air, glowing in the soft amber light. This room had once witnessed their laughter. Their sweat. Their tears.
Now, it was silent. Frozen in time.
Darren arrived early. He sat in the corner of the room, wearing a black hoodie, a mask, and a cap pulled low.
He had been staring at his own reflection in the mirror for quite some time.
A mirror that once reflected five young men filled with hope—now only showed one, lost and broken.
Then finally… footsteps echoed outside. The door creaked open slowly. Chan Hee stood at the entrance. No mask. No sunglasses.
Only a weary, heavy expression Darren hadn't seen since their debut.
They stared at each other.
Silence. Time stood still.
There were so many things to say, but no words felt right to open this wound.
Darren's face was blank. He didn't dare be the first to speak. For the first time in all the years they'd known each other, awkwardness began to fill the space between them.
"You look thinner," Chan Hee said suddenly.
Darren nodded, "So do you, Hyung."
"How was Gangneung? I heard you went there to clear your head, right?" Chan Hee asked, voice flat. Expressionless. Darren answered just as plainly, "Same as Seoul. Empty. Worse even… people still hate me."
They fell silent again. But this time… it carried more weight.
Finally, Chan Hee stepped in. He walked to the middle of the room and pulled his phone from his pocket.
"There's something I found," He said, opening a video he'd watched on repeat the night before.
He held it out to Darren—a short clip from their old training room. Darren's voice played from the screen.
["I have to… so DC won't have a reason to throw me away."]
Darren looked at the screen. Then at Chan Hee's eyes. His lips parted, but no words came. Fear flickered across his face. Fear that he'd be blamed again.
But Chan Hee simply asked, softly, "You didn't do it, did you?"
Darren stared at him for a long moment. His breathing was shaky. Then finally, his voice broke through—quiet and trembling:
"I never hurt anyone. Not the staff. Not the fans. Not even you, Hyung… I just wanted us to stay together. But DC… they knew who'd be the easiest to tear down."
Tears fell again. Darren clenched his fists tightly. He looked away from Chan Hee, trying to hide his face.
Chan Hee lowered his gaze. His voice cracked.
"I… I was one of the ones who blamed you, Darren Hwang," He whispered.
"When everything started falling apart, I gave in. I got angry when you disappeared. But the truth is… you were just surviving." Darren shut his eyes. His jaw clenched.
A strange mix of relief and pain filled his chest—feelings too deep for words.
But for now, he was willing to trust Chan Hee again.
Then suddenly—Chan Hee stepped forward and pulled him into a hug.
Not long. But firm.
Darren froze. Then slowly, he returned the embrace.
For the first time, there was no music. No fans. No cameras. Just two friends who had nearly lost each other—now standing in the same place again, finally seeing one another's wounds with clear eyes.
After the hug, they sat on the floor side by side, leaning against the cold studio mirror. No music played. Only the ticking of an old clock filled the silence—like it, too, was listening to a conversation that would change everything.
Chan Hee squeezed his water bottle. "Did you know… I was the last to believe you were guilty. But when the pressure came from every side—the public, the fans, even Jae Min-hyung and Kyun Bin... I caved."
Darren looked down.
"I understand, Hyung. You were all getting attacked too. If I were in your shoes… maybe I would've blamed me too."
They went quiet again.
Then Chan Hee looked at him—this time, with fire in his eyes.
"But now, I can't stay silent anymore. If DC could frame you like this… they could destroy all of us, one by one."
Darren nodded slowly. "They already started—when they wrote that disbandment statement."
Darren's phone buzzed again. He opened it and showed something to Chan Hee—a screenshot of a DM from a former agency staff. Strangely, Darren wasn't even surprised anymore. Not now. Not when he no longer felt truly alone.
The message was short, but full of meaning:
["They're targeting you first, Darren. Because you're the one least likely to fight back. Be careful. Choi Jae Min could be next."]
Chan Hee's eyes widened. His breath caught in his throat.
"Shit…" He whispered.
"They're playing dirty," Darren said calmly, but firmly.
"And they think we won't fight back."
"Because they know we've already fractured. That makes it easier to break us down further." Darren finished, letting out a heavy breath.
The atmosphere turned heavy. But for the first time—not because of guilt or resentment.
But from a shared realization:
They needed to rise. Together.
"Hyung," Darren called out, his voice hoarse.
"Do you still have the original clip?" He asked.
Chan Hee nodded.
"I saved it in two places."
"Good. We're going to need more than that. We'll gather everything. Screenshots, emails, old chats… anything. If we're going to speak up—we need to be ready." Darren said, his tone clear and resolved.
"We're… going to fight them?" Chan Hee asked, uncertain.
Darren didn't answer with words. He simply held out his hand. Chan Hee took it.
A silent promise between two brothers—once broken, now slowly beginning to heal.
Moments later, they stood.
Facing the studio mirror once more. Their reflections side by side. No longer as enemies. But as what remained of something not yet lost.
***