Chapter Text
A work directive from his supervisor had arrived.
▶ You've worked hard, Kim Iwol-shi.
Kim Iwol stared at the translucent letters hovering motionlessly in the air.There was no alarm. No countdown. No dramatic declaration. Only a quiet notification confirming a fate that had already been decided.
His vision had been deteriorating for some time, the edges of the world dissolving into darkness. Even breathing had become an exhausting struggle. Yet the System's message remained impossibly clear.
And now, apparently, it is over.
Kim Iwol's fingers twitched faintly as sensation drained from them.
So this is what it feels like to stop.
Before he could surrender, another line appeared.
[SYSTEM] 'Time Stop' will now commence.
His dull eyes widened.
He knew what Time Stop meant. He knew its conditions, its benefits, its price.But he no longer had the strength to wonder why. His heartbeat slowed.
Then everything fell silent.
The air stopped moving. The world froze. Even his exhaustion seemed to drift somewhere far away.
One final notification appeared.
▶ Congratulations on your resignation.
For some reason, a dry, breathless laugh escaped him.
“...Resignation, huh.”
After countless missions, endless schedules, and everything he had endured, the System had chosen to describe the end of his life as if he were simply an employee clocking out.
You've worked hard.
Congratulations on your resignation.
Kim Iwol closed his eyes.
By all rights, he should have been afraid. Once, he might have been. But now, as the darkness drew closer, Kim Iwol felt only peace. Left behind were the people he had spent his youth protecting—his members. Sparks.
Seongbin's gentle smile. Cheonghyeon's endless complaints. Joowoo's quiet focus. Kiyeon's constant scolding whenever he pushed himself too hard. Choi Jeho, stoic but always standing for him.
They had become his family, his home. Against every odd, he had reached 100% Synchronization. Time had finally stopped, and for the first time in his life, Kim Iwol was allowed to stop too.
As the darkness embraced him, one final thought lingered in his fading mind.
At least they're safe.
One month later..
The first thing Kim Iwol heard was a sound.
Beep... Beep... Beep...
His consciousness slowly returned.
Something cool rested against his arm. His throat was painfully dry, and every muscle in his body felt impossibly heavy. His eyelids trembled before finally opening. The ceiling was a blurry white.
Then—
“...Iwol?”
His pulse jumped. His tired eyes shifted toward the bedside.
Choi Jeho sat frozen in a chair, staring at him with disbelief and terror.
“Iwol?”
Kim Iwol tried to speak. Nothing came out. Choi Jeho shot to his feet so quickly that the chair scraped violently against the floor.
“Iwol!” Choi Jeho's trembling hand slammed the emergency button.
“He's awake—he's awake!”
The heavy door to the room burst open almost instantly, and Seongbin came rushing in first, his face pale, followed in rapid succession by Kiyeon, Joowoo, and Cheonghyeon, who had clearly been keeping a constant, agonizing vigil in the hallway outside. However, the moment the five of them crossed the threshold and saw Kim Iwol’s open eyes, they froze in unison, turning into stone figures in the middle of the room. Nobody spoke, nobody dared to breathe. They simply stared in absolute shock, and Kim Iwol quietly stared back.
Kim Iwol's lips twitched, straining with immense effort, until a sound finally slipped past his throat, a small, rough, and barely audible whisper.
“...You guys.”
That fragile sound shattered what little composure they had left. Joowoo covered his mouth, turning away as tears spilled freely. Cheonghyeon lowered his head, a single tear slipping down his cheek. Seongbin turned aside, pressing his knuckles to his eyes as his shoulders trembled. Choi Jeho held his hand carefully. Only Kiyeon remained still, his gaze fixed on Kim Iwol’s pale face. His lips trembled, and when he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.
“You idiot.”
The faint ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of Kim Iwol’s mouth. “I know.”
“You really are an idiot.”
“I’m sorry.”
Kiyeon's eyes reddened. He crossed the room and grabbed Kim Iwol's limp hand.
“You scared us,” he whispered.
“...Sorry.” Kim Iwol looked at him.
“No, don't you dare apologize.”
For a moment, Kim Iwol couldn't understand. He had expected anger.
Why didn't you tell us? Why did you keep pushing yourself? Why didn't you let us help?
Instead, they were simply relieved. Seongbin finally smiled through his tears.
“Welcome back.”
Joowoo laughed wetly. “Seriously... you took way too long, hyung.”
Cheonghyeon sniffed. “You were supposed to wake up sooner.”
Kim Iwol blinked as warmth filled his chest, and then he laughed. The ache in his bruised ribs sharpened, leaving him breathless, but he laughed anyway. In that quiet, tear-stained room, he finally understood. No one was angry. No one blamed him. No one demanded answers. They were simply grateful that he was awake and was breathing again. All he is grateful for now…
He is alive.
Day by day, the painful recovery began to bear fruit. His steps steadied, his voice returned, his appetite came back, and his smile slowly became natural again. Finally, the day arrived when the doctors cleared him, allowing him to walk out through the front doors of the hospital completely unassisted.
The moment Kim Iwol stepped outside, warm morning sunlight washed over his face. He paused, taking in the blue sky, passing cars, and ordinary bustle of the world. He still couldn't believe he had been given another chance—a chance to stand beneath the open sky and see its beauty once more. For so long, he had never imagined he would live to see another morning like this.
Choi Jeho stood beside him.
“You okay?”
Kim Iwol took a deep breath, filling his lungs with fresh air before smiling softly.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m okay.”
When he returned to the dormitory, he stopped in the doorway.
His favorite foods covered the dining table. His room was spotless. His favorite blanket had been neatly folded at the foot of his bed.
“You guys really didn't have to go through all this trouble.”
“We wanted to,” Seongbin said simply.
Joowoo pointed at the table. “And don't complain! We worked ourselves to death cleaning!”
Cheonghyeon snorted. “You laid on the couch for three hours yelling about where the pillows should go.”
“That is called management and leadership!”
“You're not even the leader.”
“I can still possess inherent leadership qualities!”
Bright laughter filled the living room, and Kim Iwol laughed with them, free of the burden that had once weighed him down. The others fell quiet, pausing their bickering just to simply listening to a sound they had missed for so long.
Kiyeon looked down at the floor, failing miserably to hide the soft, profound smile spreading across his face, before taking a step toward the doorway.
“Welcome home, Iwol hyung.”
Kim Iwol looked around at the people waiting for him, warmth settling deep in his chest. For the first time since waking in that cold hospital room, he felt at peace.
“I'm home,” he whispered.
He was finally home.
Recovery didn't end when Iwol left the hospital. He immediately wanted to return to his old routine. He wanted to wake up at the break of dawn, to lose himself in grueling practice sessions, to assist Cheonghyeon with complex musical arrangements, to meticulously review Kiyeon’s core choreography, and to personally cross-check everyone’s demanding schedules. He desperately needed to feel useful again.
Unfortunately, his members had other plans.
“Iwol hyung.” Kim Iwol froze, a group schedule in his hands.
Seongbin stared at him. “What, exactly, are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“You're holding the group schedule.”
“...It's just a schedule.”
“Why are you checking it?”
“I was curious.”
Seongbin snatched it away.
“Hey.”
“No.”
“Give it back.”
“No.”
“I wasn't doing anything wrong.”
“You were calculating how much extra work you could add tomorrow.”
Kim Iwol paused.
“...Maybe.”
“Exactly.”
Seongbin placed the notebook out of reach.
“You're supposed to be resting.”
“I've rested enough.”
“You were in a coma for an entire month.”
“I am aware.”
“You've been awake for less than four weeks.”
“I know that too.”
Iwol muttered, “I merely crossed out three inefficient items.”
Seongbin sighed.
“Iwol hyung... you don't have to start carrying the weight of the entire world again just because you're back home.”
Kim Iwol fell silent. The quiet sincerity of those words rendered Iwol completely silent. He stared blankly at his empty hands resting in his lap. For years, he had operated under the strict belief that shouldering every burden was simply his absolute duty.
Now, however, his members were entirely united in their determination to block him from burning out again. Choi Jeho openly complained whenever Kim Iwol lingered in the dance studio past his allotted time, Joowoo constantly shoved nutritional snacks into his hands the moment he sat down, Kiyeon repeatedly checked his pulse and energy levels, and Cheonghyeon had an uncanny knack for appearing out of nowhere whenever Kim Iwol tried to lift anything heavier than a water bottle.
It was ridiculous and sometimes frustrating, but beneath it all was a warmth he had never known. For the first time, he really grateful to feel everyone was taking care of him. And as the months passed, Kim Iwol slowly returned to life. His check-ups became less frequent, his stamina improved, and he could climb the dorm stairs without stopping. Most importantly, he could dance again. Not perfectly.
But enough to feel alive.
One quiet evening, Kim Iwol stood alone in the practice room, his reflection staring back at him from the mirrors. Soft music played as he began to dance. For a moment, everything felt normal.
Then his breathing faltered, his foot landed wrong, and he stopped. He stared at his reflection, an old fear tightening in his chest.
What if I can never perform like I used to?
For years, he had forced his body to obey—to dance through exhaustion, pain, and sleepless nights. But now, his body was finally teaching him to listen. He lowered his head with a shaky breath. Then, the practice room door opened.
“I knew I’d find you here,” a sharp voice called out.
Kim Iwol looked up to see Kiyeon leaning against the doorframe, his eyebrows instantly knitting into a heavy frown as he took in Iwol’s flushed face. “How long have you been at it?”
“I literally just started,” Kim Iwol replied smoothly.
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
Kim Iwol offered a weak, sheepish smile. “...Twenty minutes.”
Kiyeon marched into the room with deliberate steps. “You were explicitly instructed to limit your sessions to fifteen.”
“I felt completely fine, Kiyeon.”
“You’re drenched in sweat.”
“I was actively dancing.”
“Your face is ghostly pale.”
“I am naturally pale.”
Kiyeon stopped directly in front of him, staring with an unblinking, deadpan gaze until Kim Iwol finally offered a defeated sigh. “You really haven’t changed at all,” Kiyeon muttered.
“Neither have you,” Kim Iwol countered softly.
Without another word, Kiyeon walked over to the sound system and clicked the music off, plunging the room into quiet stillness.
“Hey,” Kim Iwol protested mildly. “I wasn’t finished yet.”
“You are now.”
Kim Iwol opened his mouth to launch into a practiced debate, but the words died in his throat when he met Kiyeon’s eyes. There was no malice or annoyance in his expression. Only an overwhelming, raw concern.
Kim Iwol looked at him for a long, quiet second before lowering his head. “...Okay.”
Kiyeon blinked in absolute shock, clearly having braced himself for a protracted argument. “Okay? Just like that?”
“Yeah,” Kim Iwol murmured, reaching down to grab his water bottle. “I’ll stop and rest.”
Kiyeon eyed him with deep suspicion. “Are you feeling lightheaded? Are you secretly planning to start dancing the second I walk out that door?”
Iwol let out a genuine chuckle. “No, I promise.”
Satisfied, Kiyeon nodded firmly. “Good.”
As the two of them exited the studio together, they found Choi Jeho leaning quietly against the hallway wall outside, an amused eyebrow raised at the sight of them. “Did you actually manage to get him to stop?” Choi Jeho asked in disbelief.
Kim Iwol put on a deeply offended expression. “Why does everyone in this group treat me as if I’m entirely impossible to manage?”
Choi Jeho had a soft, knowing smile but quickly hid it with a smirk. “Because you are.”
Eventually, the agency began discussing a comeback. A thick promotional document landed on the conference table.
“We've officially begun early discussions for Sparks' next comeback,” the manager announced.
Joowoo's eyes widened. “Wait, seriously?” while Kim Iwol stared at the cover.
A comeback.
The thought filled him with memories of lights, music, rehearsals, and their fans. He looked at his members. Then smiled.
“Yeah. I want to do it.”
Kiyeon's expression tightened. “Iwol hyung—”
“I know.”
“I haven't even said anything.”
“You were going to.” Iwol smiled.
“But I want us to do it properly. I don't want everyone changing everything because of me.”
“I want to stand up there as an equal,” he continued quietly. “Not someone being coddled because he's broken.”
Seongbin studied Kim Iwol’s resolute expression for a long moment before offering a slow, decisive nod. “Then we do it properly, together.”
The weeks that followed were undeniably grueling, but the nature of their exhaustion was fundamentally different from before. If Kim Iwol lingered a second too long during choreography practice, Kiyeon physically pulled him off the floor, if he skipped a single meal, Joowoo personally ensured he ate and if his hands began to show the slightest tremor of fatigue, Choi Jeho immediately called for a complete break.
Initially, Kim Iwol found the constant oversight stifling, but over time, he learned to lean into it. It was a new phase of his recovery, not merely building the strength to stand on his own feet, but acquiring the grace to let others stand beside him and hold him up.
Months later, the name SPARKS officially reclaimed its spot on the weekly music show lineup broadcast, and printed right beside the group's name was Kim Iwol’s.
[SPARKS — SPECIAL COMEBACK STAGE]
Kim Iwol stood before the lineup board, his fingers tracing his name among his members. During the long, dark days of his early recovery, he had once doubted he would ever see it there again. Now, staring at his reflection in the glass, he smiled quietly. He was finally back.
“Ready to go?” Choi Jeho’s deep voice called out from behind him.
Kim Iwol looked up through the mirror. Choi Jeho was standing there, fully prepped for the stage, his expression composed and deeply familiar. Kim Iwol turned around, his smile broadening. “Ready.”
One by one, the rest of the group coalesced around them—Seongbin, Joowoo, Cheonghyeon, Kiyeon, and Jeho. Five members who had held the line, and Kim Iwol, who had finally returned to complete the circle. Six.
“Let’s go show them,” Seongbin said quietly.
They walked down the dark gantry together, stepping onto the massive stage. The moment the overhead spotlights blazed to life, the entire arena erupted into a deafening roar. Thousands of glowing lightsticks illuminated the dark venue like a sea of stars, chanting their names in a thunderous rhythm.
SPARKS! SPARKS! SPARKS!
For a fraction of a second, the sheer sensory impact made Kim Iwol’s breath catch, but as the opening track boomed through the massive speakers, his body reacted automatically. One step, a sharp turn, a perfectly synchronized formation shift—his muscles remembered every single beat.
His feet moved effortlessly across the stage, his hand held the microphone with absolute stability, and when his center part finally arrived, Iwol stepped into the light and sang. His voice carried a slightly raw edge that hadn't been there before, but it was clear, resonant, and undeniably alive.
As the camera swept past, Seongbin was beaming, Joowoo was fighting off a massive grin, Cheonghyeon practically radiated joy, and Kiyeon’s eyes glittered under the stage lights. Mid-routine, Kim Iwol’s gaze crossed paths with Choi Jeho’s for a split second, Choi Jeho flashed a brilliant smile, and Kim Iwol smiled back with equal intensity before turning seamlessly to face the audience.
For the first time in his life, Kim Iwol was not desperately trying to survive a performance. He wasn't calculating how much physical energy he had left in his reserve, nor was he mentally agonizing over tomorrow’s brutal schedule. He was simply present in the moment, dancing, singing, and truly living.
When the final dramatic pose concluded, the six of them stood shoulder-to-shoulder under the blinding lights as thunderous applause washed over them. Kim Iwol’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his body completely exhausted, but it was a sweet, fulfilling tiredness. Tears welled at the corners of his eyes as he looked out at the ocean of lights, then sideways at the brothers standing beside him.
This was what his second chance was meant to be, not a grand, flawless miracle, but simple, precious moments. Another morning to wake up to, another stage to share, and another day to spend alongside the people he cherished.
The second they crossed the threshold back into the privacy of the waiting room, Cheonghyeon practically tackled Iwol, grabbing him by the shoulders with an ecstatic grin. “Hyung, you completely crushed it out there!”
Kim Iwol laughed freely. “Of course I did! We all did it!”
“You were incredible!”
Kiyeon squeezed past the celebrating staff, his eyes scanning Kim Iwol from head to toe. “Are you holding up okay?”
Kim Iwol nodded firmly. “Yeah, genuinely.”
“Not just saying that to appease us?”
Kim Iwol’s expression softened into a gentle smile. “I am actually, completely okay.”
Kiyeon held his gaze for a long moment before relaxing his shoulders. “Good.”
Seongbin stepped up, pressing a fresh water bottle into Kim Iwol’s hand. “Drink all of it.”
“Thank you, Seongbin.”
Joowoo leaned against the vanity table next to him, offering a quiet, sincere look. “You know... the stage just feels whole with you on it.”
Kim Iwol’s grip on the water bottle tightened slightly as a lump caught in his throat. He looked at Joowoo, then offered a quiet, deeply grateful, “Thanks for waiting for me”
Choi Jeho stood silently at his shoulder, offering no grand speeches, because none were needed. The stage was behind them, the crowd was still chanting outside, and Sparks was whole again. That was more than enough.
In the months after their successful comeback, Kim Iwol’s life slowly found its rhythm again. Promotions, variety shows, interviews, recordings—everything returned to normal. Yet somehow, normal felt different now.
The arguments, teasing, laughter, and quiet moments together had become precious. They were the ordinary things he had once overlooked while trying to survive. For the first time, Kim wol began asking himself what he wanted—not what Sparks needed, the agency demanded, or his members expected.
The answer came one quiet afternoon. Sitting on the dorm sofa, Kim Iwol stared at the same page of a thick script for several minutes.
Choi Jeho was the first to notice. He leaned against the kitchen counter, casually watching him before calling out, “You’ve been staring at that exact page for a long time.”
Kim Iwol blinked, pulling himself from his thoughts. “Hm?”
Choi Jeho pointed toward the folder. “You haven’t turned a single page in ten minutes.”
“I was thinking.”
“About the script?”
Kim Iwol looked back down at the printed text, his thumb tracing the corner of the cover. “Yeah.”
Choi Jeho walked over and leaned across the back of the sofa, his curious eyes scanning the title page. “What is it?”
“A drama.”
Choi Jeho’s eyebrows shot up. “A drama?”
Kim Iwol nodded slowly. “The agency received an offer.”
“For you specifically?”
“...Apparently.”
Choi Jeho reached out to take the script, but Kim Iwol instinctively pulled it back out of reach. “Hey,” Kim Iwol protested mildly. “I’m still reading.”
“You can read it after me.”
“I’m not finished yet.”
“Kim Iwol, you’ve been staring at the same page for twenty minutes.”
Kim Iwol let out a defeated sigh, while Choi Jeho offered a warm, knowing grin. “So you want to do it.”
The silence stretched between them. Kim Iwol’s fingers slowly traced the edge of the script, his voice suddenly dropping low. “I don’t know, Jeho.”
The uncertainty in his voice caught Choi Jeho off guard. “You don’t know?”
Kim Iwol shook his head, looking down at his lap. “I’ve done minor acting roles before, but this is fundamentally different. This is a proper supporting role. It has far more filming days, endless lines to memorize, and a demanding shooting schedule.”
Choi Jeho’s expression softened into something immensely gentle. “You don’t have to take it if it frightens you.”
“I know.”
“But you want to.”
Kim Iwol didn’t offer an immediate answer. Instead, he looked down at the script again, feeling an unfamiliar spark of excitement fluttering in his chest. It was a different kind of excitement, the terrifying, wonderful possibility of stepping outside himself for a while. To stand before a camera not as Kim Iwol, the self-sacrificing leader of Sparks, but as a completely different character. It scared him, but it also ignited a deep, lingering curiosity he hadn't felt in years.
Finally, a faint, genuine smile appeared on his lips. “Yeah. I do.”
Choi Jeho smiled back, patting his shoulder firmly. “Then I think you should do it.”
The agency was initially hesitant, unwilling to risk Kim Iwol’s health after everything he had endured. Thankfully, the production team was understanding. They adjusted the schedule with mandatory rest periods, spread out filming days, and banned overnight or back-to-back shoots.
The director approached him with a warm expression. “Kim Iwol-ssi?”
Kim Iwol turned around, bowing slightly. “Yes?”
“Are you ready for your first take?”
Kim Iwol swallowed down the sudden knot of nerves in his throat and offered a firm nod. “Yes, director.”
“Don’t push yourself too hard,” the director assured him kindly. “We’ll take it at a comfortable pace.”
“Thank you.”
Stepping onto the set, Kim Iwol took his mark. His tense posture visibly relaxed, his eyes hardened with a subtle, quiet intensity, and his entire presence transformed.
“Cut!” the director called out.
Kim Iwol blinked, pulling himself out of the scene. He held his breath as the director quietly reviewed the monitor before looking up with a satisfied smile. “That was great, Kim Iwol-ssi. Very natural.”
Kim Iwol slowly exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. “Should we run it again?”
“It's done, it's a good job, Kim Iwol-ssi!”
Kim Iwol looked up, stunned, to see Cheonghyeon standing near the doorway with a broad grin. Arrayed right behind him were the rest of the members—Seongbin, Kiyeon, Joowoo, and Choi Jeho.
Kim Iwol stood frozen, blinking in sheer disbelief. “What... what are you all doing here?”
Joowoo threw his hands in the air with a triumphant grin. “Surprise!”
Kim Iwol stared at them, completely bewildered. “You drove all the way out to the drama set?”
“Of course we did,” Cheonghyeon chimed in, smiling warmly. “We weren't going to miss your very first day of filming.”
“You could have just waited at the dorm!”
Kiyeon immediately stepped forward, his tone sharp and unyielding. “No.”
Kim Iwol let out a quiet sigh. “Why?”
“Because we wanted to be here for you,” Kiyeon answered matter-of-factly, as if no other explanation could possibly exist.
Kim Iwol stood on the pavement, watching them bicker with an enduring, affectionate warmth in his chest. Somewhere along the way, the burden had been shared, or perhaps they had always been reaching out to lift him up, he had simply been too stubborn to let them.
Kim Iwol looked at each of their familiar, beloved faces before saying softly, “Let’s go home.”
Seongbin offered a quiet, brilliant smile. “Yeah. Let’s go home.”
He was still learning how to live this new life, but his heart was beating strong and steady.
And this time, he fully intended to live it.