bestfiction Chapter 64: ✦ The Moment the Floor Gives Way ✦
Chapter 64: ✦ The Moment the Floor Gives Way ✦
The schedule change went through at 9:17 a.m.
Kang-Joon found out when his phone vibrated during makeup.
[Do-Hyun schedule adjusted. Reduced appearances. Limited exposure for the next two weeks.]
It should have been relief.
Instead, the room went quiet in a way Kang-Joon had learned to fear.
The stylist froze mid-adjustment.
The coordinator glanced up from her tablet.
Jae-hyun stopped scrolling.
"What does that mean?" Gun-woo asked.
No one answered.
Do-Hyun sat perfectly still.
He hadn’t checked his phone yet.
Kang-Joon watched him carefully, waiting for confusion, for questions.
Instead, Do-Hyun slowly looked up.
His gaze didn’t go to Kang-Joon.
It went to the staff.
"To clarify," Do-Hyun said calmly, "am I being pulled back?"
The coordinator forced a smile. "It’s temporary. Just until things settle."
"Because of the articles?"
"Because of timing."
Do-Hyun nodded once.
"I understand."
Kang-Joon’s chest tightened.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
---
The next article dropped an hour later.
[STEL-R MEMBER DO-HYUN STEPS BACK AMID CONTROVERSY—FANS DIVIDED]
The wording was clean.
The implication wasn’t.
Do-Hyun read it silently.
Then he handed his phone to Kang-Joon.
"This is your fault," he said.
Not accusing.
Not angry.
Just factual.
Kang-Joon opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
"I know you were trying to help," Do-Hyun continued. "But this is what happens when you interfere."
"That’s not—"
"I was managing," Do-Hyun said. "I could handle it."
"You were breaking yourself apart," Kang-Joon replied.
"That was working."
The words hit harder than any accusation could have.
---
Starline’s emergency meeting happened that afternoon.
This time, Do-Hyun was not invited.
That alone said everything.
Kang-Joon stood in the conference room while executives discussed optics, narratives, and acceptable losses.
"The group image comes first," one said.
"We can reintegrate him later," another added.
"If he stabilizes."
Kang-Joon felt something cold settle in his stomach.
"What does stabilization look like?" he asked.
Silence.
Then: "No incidents."
Kang-Joon left without bowing.
---
When he returned to the dorm, Do-Hyun was gone.
His shoes were missing.
His jacket too.
Panic hit fast and sharp.
Kang-Joon called him.
No answer.
He texted.
Nothing.
He checked locations they weren’t supposed to go to anymore.
The old practice building.
Empty.
The stairwell behind the broadcast station.
Locked.
Then he remembered.
The underground rehearsal room.
The one trainees used before *Road to Starlight*.
---
Do-Hyun sat alone in the dark.
The lights were off except for one overhead panel, flickering faintly.
He stood in front of the mirror.
There was no music.
He moved anyway.
Counting silently.
His steps were precise. Measured. Stripped of expression.
He didn’t smile.
He didn’t frown.
He simply executed.
Halfway through the routine, he stopped.
His chest tightened.
His vision blurred at the edges.
He pressed a hand against the mirror to steady himself.
> *You’re fine.*
He’d told himself that every time.
> *You’re useful.*
That too.
But standing there, alone, the words felt thin.
He slid down the mirror until he was sitting on the floor.
His hands shook.
> *If I disappear quietly, it’ll be easier.*
The thought arrived fully formed.
It didn’t scare him.
That was the frightening part.
---
Kang-Joon found him twenty minutes later.
The door was unlocked.
Do-Hyun didn’t look up when Kang-Joon entered.
"Go back," Do-Hyun said. "You shouldn’t be here."
Kang-Joon crossed the room.
"You ran."
"I stepped out."
"You vanished."
Do-Hyun laughed softly.
"That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?"
"No."
"You wanted me to rest," Do-Hyun continued. "To be quiet. To not cause trouble."
"That’s not rest," Kang-Joon said. "That’s removal."
Do-Hyun stood.
His movements were slow.
Deliberate.
"You don’t get to decide what keeps me safe," he said. "You already tried."
Kang-Joon reached for him.
Do-Hyun stepped back.
The distance between them stretched.
"I don’t need saving," Do-Hyun said. "I need to not exist wrong."
Kang-Joon felt the words settle like a verdict.
"You think this ends if you erase yourself," Kang-Joon said.
Do-Hyun met his gaze.
"I know it does."
---
The seizure happened without warning.
Do-Hyun’s knees buckled.
His body hit the floor hard.
Kang-Joon caught him too late.
"Do-Hyun!" Kang-Joon shouted, dropping beside him.
His body convulsed.
His breathing was shallow.
Kang-Joon’s hands shook as he dialed emergency services.
"Please," he said, voice breaking. "Please hurry."
The operator’s voice was calm.
Time wasn’t.
---
The hospital lights were too bright.
The hallway smelled like disinfectant.
A doctor spoke in careful terms.
Malnutrition. Exhaustion. Acute stress response.
"Was he eating?" the doctor asked.
Kang-Joon didn’t answer.
Because the truth sat heavy and unmoving.
---
Do-Hyun woke up alone.
The room was quiet.
The monitor beeped steadily.
For a moment, he didn’t remember where he was.
Then everything returned at once.
The articles.
The meeting.
Kang-Joon’s face.
He turned his head.
The chair beside the bed was empty.
Something inside him gave way.
---
Kang-Joon arrived ten minutes later.
He froze in the doorway.
Do-Hyun stared at the ceiling.
"I should have died," Do-Hyun said.
Kang-Joon’s breath caught.
"Don’t say that."
"If I had," Do-Hyun continued, "this would have stopped."
Kang-Joon stepped closer.
"No," he said firmly. "This wouldn’t end anything."
Do-Hyun finally looked at him.
His eyes were clear.
Too clear.
"I’ve been here before," Do-Hyun said.
The words landed softly.
But they shattered everything.
"What?" Kang-Joon whispered.
Do-Hyun’s gaze sharpened.
Then flickered.
He frowned.
"I mean—" He stopped. Pressed his hand to his head. "I don’t know."
The monitor spiked.
Do-Hyun’s breathing quickened.
"I keep waking up," he said. "Every time things go wrong."
Kang-Joon’s blood ran cold.
"What do you mean, waking up?"
Do-Hyun shook his head.
"I shouldn’t have said that."
The room lights flickered.
The air felt heavy.
Kang-Joon’s vision blurred.
A sound echoed—like something cracking open.
---
Pain hit without warning.
Kang-Joon collapsed.
His chest seized.
He hit the floor hard.
Voices shouted.
Feet rushed.
The world narrowed.
As his vision dimmed, a screen burned behind his eyes.
『LOOP DISCLOSURE CONDITION MET』
「SUBJECT: LEE KANG-JOON」
[YOU ARE WITHIN THE 97TH REGRESSION]
[LOOP OWNER: DO-HYUN**
[FAILURE CONFIRMED]
"W-what is happening?"
Lee Kang Joon’s eyes remained widened at the system messages filling his vision.