RAT Chapter 4 (Part 1)

4. I shot cupid

Watching the person you love die right before your eyes is horrifying. Even when it happens not once, but dozens of times, it still is.

No, saying “still” isn’t quite right. Because even after realizing—through countless repetitions—that the moment will eventually reset, death only became more unbearable each time.

It couldn’t have been any other way.

After all, that person is the protagonist of this world.

Even after his first death, time flowed equally for everyone else, and D.I.Y., the group that included Jin Yoorim, found a fair amount of success.

The phrase “an idol murdered by a stalker fan” was so shockingly sensational that dozens of articles came out every day, spreading the name of a once-unknown group.

Because the songs Park Yeoul had written were actually quite—no, very good.

And because twenty-one-year-old Park Yeoul, even in such a short time, had loved his fans so deeply that he left behind countless videos.

People began to love the already-dead Park Yeoul.

That cruel halo carried over to D.I.Y., who had lost their precious leader, and whether they wanted it or not, they became an idol group that everyone knew by name.

So, did that make it better? Of course not.

The moment their seven-year contract ended, Jin Yoorim quit the entertainment industry altogether.

Park Yeoul’s death, the way people claimed to “understand the pain” while using it as broadcast material, and even the accusations that they only became famous because of that death—

All of it was disgusting. Pathetic.

What kind of person was Park Yeoul, you ask?

Even in the clumsy videos he filmed on his phone, saying they might come in handy someday, his brilliance shone through completely.

If not for that, no one could have claimed to be a fan—claimed to love a man already dead, through nothing but those fragments of light.

Then what about the one who had watched that light for years, up close?

To Jin Yoorim, Park Yeoul was his first love.

And with that realization came the end of everything—because once someone is frozen in your memory at their most beautiful, no one can ever surpass them.

At least, that was how it was for Jin Yoorim.

So when he turned thirty, and on the tenth anniversary of Park Yeoul’s death, he slipped away to avoid Eden, who had shown up at the columbarium with cameras and staff in tow—only to be hit by a car before he could escape—

That death felt like destiny.

Until the moment he opened his eyes again, in the body of his thirteen-year-old self.

Thirteen-year-old—or rather, thirty-year-old—Jin Yoorim felt as if this return was a revelation from God.

This time, he could save Park Yeoul.

He would do it himself.

Terrified that any deviation might alter the future, he endured a life as similar as possible to the last one.

And when he turned seventeen, he finally met Park Yeoul again—

“Oh? That’s a new face, right? Don’t tell me Team Leader just sent you here without any explanation again?”

“…Ah.”

“Wow, seriously, our team leader… You’d think they’d learn after a few people run away. Oh, I’m Park Yeoul.”

He shone even brighter than in Yoorim’s memories.

Because of that, eighteen-year-old Jin Yoorim was completely overwhelmed by the living, breathing Park Yeoul—by the way he talked, the way he smiled—and couldn’t say a single word.

“When I first came here, Team Leader just threw me into the practice room without any explanation too. They said it was fine because everyone here’s nice, but that’s just their opinion, right? Still, once you really get to know everyone, they’re all good people. Me too, of course.”

Jin Yoorim thought he’d been given a chance—but he wasn’t sure how far that chance would go. So he decided not to take any reckless risks.

On the day nineteen-year-old Park Yeoul moved into the dorm to prepare for his official debut, his parents, who had gone on a trip, were killed in an accident.

Jin Yoorim, unable to even cry, held the dazed and broken Park Yeoul in his arms and whispered over and over.

“Hyung, I’ll be your family.”

“……”

“I’ll stay by your side.”

“……”

“So… it’s okay. You can cry.”

He wanted Park Yeoul to lean on him. But even then, Park Yeoul was still Park Yeoul.

Trying to overcome his grief and pain through the love of his fans, Park Yeoul eventually did just that.

Like in the previous life, he began composing and producing, and before long, he had pushed D.I.Y. up to the second tier.

“Jin Yoorim. What are you doing here?”

“……”

“If you’re going to sleep, go to your room.”

“Hyung, are you okay now?”

“Huh?”

“The… not sleeping thing.”

It had just been coincidence that Jin Yoorim found Park Yeoul wandering the living room late at night.

And what he heard, after waiting so long, wasn’t anything particularly comforting.

Park Yeoul said that no matter how hard he tried, there were still nights when he couldn’t fall asleep. Even when he thought he was fine—still.

To Jin Yoorim, the reason didn’t matter. What mattered was that Park Yeoul, who usually slept alone because of his mild obsessive habits, was now letting him stay by his side.

When Park Yeoul sighed softly and rested his head on Yoorim’s shoulder as they sat together on the dark living room couch—nothing else mattered.

Maybe if he’d said something different, Park Yeoul’s deep sorrow might never have happened.

Maybe that was why, after that night, Jin Yoorim developed the habit of sleeping on the couch.

And every time, Park Yeoul would wander out and quietly fall asleep beside him.

And every time that happened, Jin Yoorim never once fell asleep.

Not once.

“Ah… insomnia.”

“……”

“When it gets really bad, I take meds. Don’t tell the others, okay?”

One day, when Park Yeoul stopped wandering the living room altogether, he asked Jin Yoorim—who was pretending to be asleep on the couch—why he was sleeping there.

That was when Yoorim realized what he’d been suspecting all along.

Park Yeoul had come back.

And at that same moment, he understood something else.

He couldn’t not know.

The protagonist of this world wasn’t him. It was Park Yeoul.

The story of a boy who lost his family, endured grief and pain, overcame even death, and rose to success as an idol—

It was the perfect narrative.

If there was a problem, it was that Jin Yoorim didn’t care about becoming a successful idol anymore.

Fifteen years ago, when Park Yeoul died, the dream of being an idol had died with him.

The only reason Yoorim returned to the company was to confirm with his own eyes that Park Yeoul was alive.

In fact, he wanted D.I.Y.—the group that only succeeded because of Yeoul’s death—to fail as soon as possible.

What mattered was that Park Yeoul stayed alive and by his side.

If he could, he wanted to lock him away somewhere where no one else could reach him.

“Hyung, will you stay with me?”

“Out of nowhere?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Hey, no. Go lie down in your bed properly.”

Just like before, Park Yeoul was still Park Yeoul.

The returned Park Yeoul was stronger and colder than before—but still soft.

“…I can’t sleep.”

“…If you keep your eyes closed, it gets a little better.”

He was the one who said he took sleeping pills for insomnia, yet when a grown man barely a year younger than him complained about not being able to sleep, he still indulged him.

So it was only natural that second-round Jin Yoorim would fall in love again—with the Park Yeoul who had gone through countless rounds of return.

The returned Park Yeoul easily handled someone as uncooperative as Jin Yoorim when it came to success.

On broadcasts, he would pat his head, saying he looked pretty when he smiled, and even presented him with an incredible song, saying he’d written it just for him.

Jin Yoorim hated it—and yet, he didn’t completely hate it.

Because seeing Park Yeoul glowing again, receiving all the love he never got in the previous round, was beautiful to watch.

Around that time, when he was constantly torn between wanting to hide Park Yeoul away from everyone and wanting to show him off to the whole world—

“…Hyung?”

“…Step back!”

“…Hyung! Please…!”

“Call… the police!”

—An accident occurred during filming, while they were moving locations.

It wasn’t early morning, but around eleven. They said it was drunk driving.

A car speeding down a narrow alley pushed aside Jin Yoorim and Eden, then struck Park Yeoul, who couldn’t avoid it, and kept going for a long while before it finally stopped.

And just like that, Jin Yoorim lost Park Yeoul again—so easily, too easily.

Jin Yoorim volunteered to be the chief mourner for Park Yeoul, who had no family.

It was his second time, so he managed the role with more composure than before—but that was the only thing that wasn’t unbearable. Everything else was the worst.

The face he lifted to prepare for the burial was still flawless, but far too cold. His arms went weak several times, nearly dropping the body, and he had to grit his teeth just to keep from letting go.

While the D.I.Y. members took turns resting in short shifts over the three-day funeral, Jin Yoorim couldn’t sleep at all.

Every time exhaustion dragged him into unconsciousness, he would jolt awake at the faint feeling of someone’s hand pushing at his back.

And every time, the same thought came to him, and he couldn’t stop it.

If I had been standing closer to Eden that day in the alley… maybe hyung could’ve avoided it.

Everyone—including Eden himself—knew that Jin Yoorim despised him.

The company brushed it off as a rivalry between peers, but it was more than that.

In the previous life, no one was to blame for Park Yeoul’s death, but it was Eden who had gained the most success from it.

Maybe Eden just had enough star quality that he would have made it big on his own someday—but still.

Eden mentioned Park Yeoul on every broadcast—maybe because he didn’t want people to forget him.

Even so, no matter what reasons or excuses there were, Jin Yoorim couldn’t stand him.

To him, even saying the name “Park Yeoul” so casually was something unforgivable, something he could never understand.

That was why, in the previous life, every time Jin Yoorim and Eden met, they fought like madmen.

And even now, that hatred hadn’t faded one bit.

In fact, seeing Eden’s clueless face acting friendly around Park Yeoul only made him sicker.

As time went on, his resentment refused to die down. And Eden wasn’t the kind of person to quietly tolerate hostility without knowing why—so things between them only worsened endlessly.

Park Yeoul, constantly caught between them because he was the leader, eventually surrendered.

He said he’d given up on trying to make them get along—just please, at least don’t make it obvious on camera.

If I hadn’t hated Eden, if we had walked close together instead of apart, then maybe…

I can’t stop thinking that I ruined everything.

When Park Yeoul’s coffin was finally consumed by the fire, his body reduced to nothing but ashes, Jin Yoorim’s thoughts kept running, racing endlessly toward one conclusion.

Let’s start over.

After all, the protagonist of this world is Park Yeoul.

A world where the protagonist is dead has no meaning.

When the funeral that seemed endless finally ended and Jin Yoorim returned to the dorm, he decided to carry out the thought that had been growing inside him all along.

It wasn’t difficult.

He remembered every word Park Yeoul had ever said.

“When it gets really bad, I take meds. Don’t tell the others, okay?”

The moment he got back to the dorm, Jin Yoorim took his time, cleaning himself thoroughly.

When the other members finally collapsed into exhausted sleep, he searched through Park Yeoul’s desk and found, hidden deep inside, a small bottle of pills.

Maybe because the door had stayed shut all this time, Park Yeoul’s scent still lingered on the bed.

Jin Yoorim swallowed all the pills, a few at a time, then lay down on Park Yeoul’s bed and closed his eyes.

Believing that when he woke up again, this entire nightmare would finally be over.

Thirteen years old.

The third-round Jin Yoorim thought the moment he opened his eyes— I have to make sure I don’t ruin anything this time.

Even if it was a fresh start, he knew he wouldn’t be able to treat Eden and the others like nothing had happened.

After all, the last thought that crossed his mind before dying had been something like, If only it had been one of the others who died instead of hyung.

Unlike the second round, where he had endured everything with the single thought that he would be able to see his hyung again at seventeen, this third round—where he had decided not to join D.I.Y.—dragged on painfully slow.

Still, when Park Yeoul turned twenty, D.I.Y. would debut. And when that happened, he’d be able to see his face whenever he wanted.

As someone who had already lived through an idol’s life once, Jin Yoorim roughly understood how fans operated. He even saved up money for that very purpose.

Even the memories that brought more pain than joy turned out to be useful somehow. And so, Jin Yoorim waited desperately for D.I.Y.’s debut announcement.

But even long after the debut date he remembered had passed, there wasn’t a single mention anywhere of END Entertainment debuting a new boy group.

Growing restless, Jin Yoorim went to the company, hoping he might at least catch a glimpse of him from afar. That was when he ran into the casting team leader—the same man who had scouted him twice when he was seventeen.

“Oh…!”

“……”

He tensed, wondering if the man might recognize him. But instead, the moment their eyes met, the team leader nearly screamed and hurried toward him, thrusting out a business card.

“What’s your name? How old are you?”

“Ah… I’m sorry, but I—”

“Are you already with another company? Which one? As long as it’s not JM, that’s fine. They’re connected with us—wait, you are a trainee, right?”

“……”

“If I haven’t seen your face before, you’re probably not one of the public trainees… Oh, I’m Seo Donghoon from END’s Casting Team. Don’t worry, I’m not some weird guy.”

“Yes…”

“Uh… did that sound weird? I probably came off strange, huh?”

He apologized, saying he’d been out of sorts lately. His face looked quite different from what Yoorim remembered.

He’d always looked sharp and put-together, but now there was stubble on his chin and dark circles under his eyes.

“You must be really busy.”

“Not exactly, well… yeah.”

Seo Donghoon gave a stiff smile, as if the simple question was hard to answer. The sight filled Jin Yoorim with a sudden sense of dread.

So he forced a smile and asked again.

“Actually, I came to see someone.”

“Oh, really?”

“His name’s Park Yeoul. He’s a trainee here…”

If he was wrong about all this, if Seo Donghoon really did call out the practicing Park Yeoul, things could get a little awkward—but he could manage that.

He’d just say they went to the same school and claim to be a junior.

Even if it seemed strange that a junior who didn’t even have Yeoul’s number—or maybe didn’t even know his face—had come all the way to the company, he could pass it off as a fan visit.

And then Yeoul would scold him gently, saying he shouldn’t do things like this.

Jin Yoorim had seen that scene plenty of times during D.I.Y.’s previous life—Park Yeoul calling obsessive fans “not real fans” but never being able to say anything truly harsh.

He waited nervously for Seo Donghoon’s response.

But instead, his face drained of color, and he rushed out the door, pale and trembling.

“How do you know… Yeoul?”

“Ah, he’s my junior. I couldn’t reach him lately, so I just wanted to see him, even for a moment…”

“……”

“Did something… happen?”

“There’s been… a lot that’s been hard for him recently. Today was the funeral.”

He never expected something like this to happen.

He knew that after losing his parents, Yeoul had treated debuting with D.I.Y. as the only goal left in his life. But still—

Even if it wasn’t him, he thought maybe the others, or even just four of them, would debut eventually.

No… it wasn’t entirely unexpected.

The only reason Jin Yoorim had been placed in the debut lineup the moment he was scouted back then was because END didn’t have a suitable main vocalist at the time.

But still… I didn’t think you’d just die, hyung. You left me here again.

“…Then this time, I’ll just kill you myself.”

The fourth round.

That was the very first thought Jin Yoorim had when he opened his eyes at thirteen.

This time, he wouldn’t let Yeoul out of his sight for even a moment.

And if Yeoul still found a way to die anyway—then he’d kill him himself, and follow him.

When seventeen-year-old Jin Yoorim entered END Entertainment, Park Yeoul was already halfway confirmed as the next group’s leader.

It wasn’t official yet, but both the trainees and the company treated it as fact.

Park Yeoul wasn’t just talented in singing and dancing—he could compose music too, a perfectly well-rounded six-point trainee. But above all, his smile was extraordinary.

It wasn’t just about looks, though of course, Park Yeoul had the ideal idol face—absurdly handsome.

If it were only about appearance, Eden was the more handsome one, and Jin Yoorim himself was the prettier one.

Of course, tastes differed, but speaking purely by standard beauty metrics, that was how it was.

Even so, in the first and second rounds, D.I.Y. fans always said the same thing—they might have started out as fans of Jin Yoorim or Eden, but ended up fighting over Park Yeoul.

They called D.I.Y. a flop that couldn’t rise despite debuting under a major company, but said that if not for Park Yeoul, they’d have left long ago.

People who loved idols were drawn to radiance. And it was impossible not to fall for a smile like his—one that seemed certain of being loved.

And once they realized that smile wasn’t arrogance or blind confidence, but grounded in real skill, Park Yeoul’s smile became their pride.

Naturally, that didn’t apply only to the fans.

Trainees didn’t form loyalty to their company because of its vision or potential.

Most of them were under twenty, with life experience limited to school or after-class activities. For them, the bonds with the people who practiced beside them mattered more than the company itself.

That bond naturally included feelings toward someone better than them—someone they believed would definitely debut.

Admiration, jealousy, and even the desire to be that person’s closest one—all mixed together.

So, the moment he regressed again, Jin Yoorim headed straight for END. He had to become a trainee before Park Yeoul.

Even though he was still young and not fully grown, his face was the same, and his past experiences made passing the audition easy.

He joined END and began waiting, living a trainee’s life, until Park Yeoul arrived.

“I honestly find Jin Yoorim kind of creepy.”

“…Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, don’t you? I bet everyone thinks so.”

He had succeeded in being the first to take the seat beside Park Yeoul.

It was only natural that the other trainees would be jealous.

But hearing what Park Yeoul himself thought of that—that was something else entirely.

Jin Yoorim paused, hand on the practice room door, and stopped before walking in.

Maybe the people inside hadn’t realized the door was already half-open, because one of the trainees standing with his back to it glanced around and continued speaking in a low voice.

“Yeah, kind of, right? His attitude’s just… too different.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

The trainee who had spoken first nodded eagerly, even leaning toward Park Yeoul as if trying to involve him more in the conversation.

Who was that again—