Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The dorm didn’t feel like a dorm anymore.

It felt like a nest. A breath. A pause in a year that had moved too fast for them to remember what stillness tasted like.

For the first time in months, there was no camera in the corner. No makeup schedule. No stylists whispering updates through headsets.
Just eleven boys in sweatpants, hair messy, eyes soft.

The living room was littered with snack wrappers and fuzzy blankets. Someone had dragged all the mattresses out for a “group slumber party,” even though no one actually slept.

They were too wired.

Too alive.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

The television flickered with the glow of Seoul’s city countdown.

“Five minutes left!” Dongpyo called out, diving across the floor to grab the cider bottle he’d claimed for the toast.

Minhee and Junho were already wrestling over a bag of honey chips. Eunsang was taking blurry photos on disposable film. Yohan and Wooseok were practicing their “2020 aegyo” in the mirror, arguing over who looked more ridiculous.

Dohyon was curled up in the corner with his notebook open, pen in hand but not writing.

Seungwoo sat with his back against the couch, watching all of it—the chaos, the light, the laughter—with the quiet satisfaction of a leader whose heart had finally stopped aching.

Seungyoun wandered in from the kitchen with two mugs of tea.

“Just in time,” Seungwoo said, nudging him with his foot.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Seungyoun replied, voice raspy and warm.

They both looked at the TV.

The numbers began to flash.

“Ten… nine… eight…”

At “one,” they didn’t scream.

They didn’t cheer.

They just looked at each other, each face illuminated by the soft glow of the screen.

Then, Dongpyo clinked his soda can against Hyeongjun’s, and the rest followed.

Small grins. Hands reaching for hands. A circle of warmth stronger than any spotlight.

“We made it,” Minhee whispered.

“We’re still here,” Wooseok said.

“We’re X1,” Dohyon added.

And no one disagreed.

The next morning, the managers told them the news:

“You’ve earned a break. A real one. Two weeks off. Go home.”

It took a moment to register.

Then they burst into celebration.

Laughter. Cheers. A group hug that felt too tight and too long and too good to be true.

They scattered across the country within days, backpacks full of fan gifts and suitcases stuffed with borrowed clothes.

Seungwoo returned to Busan, to a house smaller than he remembered and a kitchen that smelled like seaweed soup and fried anchovies.

His mother hugged him like she wasn’t going to let go.

His father patted his back and said, “You got taller.”

He didn’t. But it still made him laugh.

His sister showed him clips of Eclipse on her phone, even though he’d lived it.

They ate late into the night. No fans. No cameras. Just family.

The next morning, his dog barked so loudly he nearly cried.

Hyeongjun went back to Tongyeong and found his cousins waiting at the station with hand-made banners.

“You’re our superstar!”

“Oppa, I told my friends you know Ateez!”

He spent the whole day playing games, watching cartoons, and retelling the Kingdom story for the fifth time while helping his aunt stir rice cake soup.

That night, when his mother tucked a blanket around his legs on the couch, he leaned into the feeling like a child again.

“You still sleep with your mouth open,” she teased.

“Some things don’t change,” he mumbled, already dozing.

Dongpyo returned home to warmth and noise and the constant sound of pots clanging in the kitchen.

His mother had cooked every one of his favourites, lined up like a buffet—kimchi pancakes, tteokbokki, spicy pork belly.

He filmed a mini vlog for the other members and narrated each bite like a food critic.

At night, he curled under thick quilts and looked out the window at the stars.

“I’m not the same as when I left,” he whispered.

“But I’m still me.”

Minhee shared a ride with a friend down to their hometown, nodding off with their heads against the window.

When he arrived, his families was already waiting, the small reunions feeling like fireworks.
Minhee’s older brother enveloping him in a long hug.

His mother made him promise not to lose weight again.
________________________________________

Not everyone left.

Seungyoun didn’t go home. His family apartment wasn’t far, and he wasn’t ready for quiet.

Instead, he spent his days sleeping in, watching anime, and biking through the Han River trails when the air was clear.

He visited his old studio and fell asleep on the couch mid-composition.

One afternoon, he met up with Changbin from Stray Kids. They ate ramen, played FIFA, and talked about things neither could say on camera.

“You’re glowing, hyung,” Changbin said between bites.

“You are too,” Seungyoun answered. “We all are. Even if we don’t always see it.”

Hangyul, Dohyon, and Yohan stayed close to Seoul, bouncing between small café meetups with trainee friends and home-cooked meals by old mentors.

Dohyon bought a new set of lyric notebooks.

Yohan finally slept in past 8 a.m.

They weren’t idle—but they weren’t working.

They were living.

And they realized, maybe for the first time in years, how much they’d missed it.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

The news played in the background of train stations and cafés.

Headlines about a virus. A lockdown in another country. Cancelled flights in China. New Year’s festivals postponed in Japan.

They didn’t think much of it at first.

No one did.

A shadow in the distance. Something far away.

They were too full. Too content. Too alive in the moment to consider what might come next.

But it was coming.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

On the last night of their break, they all messaged each other at once in the group chat.

A flood of photos came in—dishes, pets, siblings, hometown streets.

Hyeongjun sent a selfie with his grandma.

Dongpyo posted a blurry pic of him laughing over dumplings.

Seungwoo sent a sky photo captioned “See you tomorrow.”

And Seungyoun wrote only:

“Back to the fire.”

No one was ready.

But they were rested.

Reconnected.

And, for now—together again.

Chapter Text

“Even when the sky is clear, you can feel a storm coming. But sometimes, the light is too warm to notice.”

They returned to Seoul like spring sunlight—soft but brimming with life.

Rested. Recharged. Reunited.

After the whirlwind of Eclipse, award shows, and year-end performances, the dorm no longer felt like a storm shelter. It felt like home again. With the new year came new air. For the first time, X1 could look ahead without fearing what would be taken away.

Instead, they could dream of what they might build.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

The conference room was brighter than usual, sunlight filtering through the windows, and the whiteboard at the front filled with bullet points that buzzed with possibility.

No one slept through this one.

“We’re planning two albums this year. One mid-year, one winter.”

“We’re in talks for a tour—Asia-first, possibly global.”

“We’re working on a variety-style reality series. Think relaxation and chaos.”

“And we’re locking down a few brand endorsements.”

By the time the staff clicked through the last slide, the room was vibrating.

“Do we get solo shots for the next MV?” asked Eunsang

“A tour?” Wooseok blinked. “You mean we might actually see the fans this time?”

“Let’s go everywhere,” Yohan said immediately, eyes wide. “Like, now.”

“I want a firework entrance,” Dongpyo said immediately.

“You’d trip before the chorus,” Minhee muttered.

“I want a laser cage this time,” Seungyoun mumbled.

“You always want a laser cage,” Seungwoo shot back, grinning. “

New albums means more choreography,” Hangyul added, eyes already glinting.

Seungwoo turned toward the whiteboard, arms crossed. “Let’s make this count. Let’s make this ours.”

They all nodded—young, eager, exhausted, and ready to do it all over again.

They weren’t being reckless.

They just believed they could handle it now.

They knew how to work.

They knew how to trust each other.

They knew what they were capable of. They were no longer “the boys from Produce.” They were X1, and the world was watching.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

To make their plans public in a meaningful way, the agency suggested a special content project: a “2020 Time Capsule”—short solo videos filmed in a cozy, personal style, posted one per day in age order, leading up to a group message.

Each member was asked to share their goals, dreams, and a message to ONE IT and to their future selves.

It became more personal than anyone expected.

| Seungwoo |

He sat on the floor in a hoodie, soft lighting casting shadows on his cheeks. He spoke simply, calmly, eyes soft but grounded.

“This year, I want to give more than I take. I want to carry my team without losing myself. And I want to sing with a full crowd in front of me again. I miss that. We all do. We’re growing. I want us to reach new stages, new countries, and make new memories. I want us to stay whole”

He ended by bowing deeply, hands folded in his lap.

“Let’s walk this year together.”

#LeaderWoo trended again.

| Seungyoun |

He recorded in the studio, legs curled on the couch, strumming a soft melody, a new instrumental, dreamy, layered, nostalgic.

“This is how I want 2020 to feel. Honest. Like us. This year, I want to create more honestly. I want our music to feel like who we are off-stage. Messy. Alive. Real.”

Fans immediately demanded the full version.

| Wooseok |

Recorded on his bed, blanket half-draped over his shoulder, he smirked into the camera.

“I want to try a short drama. And eat really good food in five countries. And win at least one award without crying.”

He paused. “But mostly... I want us to stay eleven. I want us to stay.”

The fandom sobbed collectively.

| Yohan |

Bright-eyed and relaxed, he recorded next to a large plush toy.

“This year let’s meet properly. Fans in front of us. Singing together. You and us, not separated by screen.”

He waved with both hands. “I miss you.”

Fans posted thousands of replies with virtual hugs, promises of waiting, and videos of past fan chants that made the comment section sound like a memory.

| Hangyul |

Surprisingly introspective, he sat near a window.

“I didn’t expect to find family like this. This year, I want to protect that.”

His voice caught, and the camera cut right before he started crying. Fans never let him live it down—but they loved him more for it.

| Junho |

Quiet but sincere, he took a few tries to get through his message.

“I’m going to speak more this year. Sing more. Share more. I won’t stay in the background. Not anymore.”

That one line made his name trend for 48 hours.

| Dongpyo |

Of course, he cried halfway through.

“This is still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever been part of,” he whispered, wiping his cheeks with his sleeves.

“So ... let’s make this year a love letter. Let’s keep dancing even when we’re tired. Even when it’s hard. I don’t even care if we get first place again. I just want us to be happy. All of us. I want to stay with them. I want to stay yours.”

His words echoed long after the video ended. Fans responded with edits, handwritten replies, and a flood of pink hearts.

| Minhee |

He spoke more seriously than fans expected.

“I always feel like I’m behind. But I think this year... I want to believe I’m enough. For the group. For myself. feel braver. I want to become someone who can make others feel that, too.”

It was simple. And incredibly vulnerable.

The comments section was flooded with people telling him: you already do.

| Eunsang |

He framed his message around a letter to his past self.

“You thought you wouldn’t make it. You did. You thought you’d disappear. You didn’t. Now dream bigger.”

It was poetic, soft, and full of quiet strength.

| Hyeongjun |

He recorded with a pile of fan letters beside him.

“2020 is the year I want to dance better. Sing stronger. Make my family proud. And see our fans again—up close. I want to work harder than ever this year. For myself. For the people I miss. For the ones who stayed.”

He looked away at the end and whispered, “Please wait for us. We’re coming.”

| Dohyon |

The youngest. The one who wrapped it all up.

He rapped his message—slow and thoughtful, then added:

“Even if we can’t see you, we’re always performing like you’re watching. Because that’s what keeps us here.”

| Final Group Video |

“See You Soon” All eleven sat on the floor in a circle, pyjama pants and socks, surrounded by candles and soft lights.

They took turns saying one goal each, passing a small stuffed animal like a microphone.

“I want us to last.”

“I want to visit Europe.”

“I want to film something embarrassing together.”

“I want us to stay close—even off camera.”

By the end, they were teasing each other, yelling over each other, and laughing too loudly.

They answered bickering the staff questions

“Who’s going to cry first this year?”

“Who’s going to win a solo award?”

“Who’s going to snore during tour flights?”

But just before the camera cut, Seungwoo said:

“Whatever happens—we’ll remember this year.”

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

Behind the scenes, things were already moving.

“Red Echo” was chosen as the working title for their next mini album. The concept was darker, grittier—a stark contrast to the cosmic beauty of Eclipse. The early themes were survival, fighting for family, and seeking light in the darkness.

Practice began slowly: vocal lessons, dance demos, wardrobe meetings.

Seungyoun led demo writing with Dohyon, Yohan, and even Junho stepping into the studio more often.

Hangyul reprise his role on choreography with Hyeongjun and now Dongpyo by his side.

The inspiration was flowing, and Red Echo was coming into itself beautifully.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

The production meeting for their new variety show, titled X1 Getaway, turned into an all-out negotiation war.

The premise was simple: members would vote on episodes, challenges, and trip ideas in advance. But nothing with X1 was ever that simple. It immediately became war.

“Spa day!” Dongpyo declared, already filling out the form.

“Water park,” Hyeongjun countered.

“You sink in shallow water,” Minhee muttered.

“You’re just mad because I caught you snoring on camera last time!” retorted Hyeongjun.

“Escape room,” said Wooseok.

“I will escape your attitude,” Seungyoun replied without missing a beat.

Then came the bartering. Yohan offered to give up his pick in exchange for full MC privileges.

Junho tried to trade dishwashing duties for choosing snacks.

Hangyul attempted to bribe Seungwoo with foot massages if he’d vote for hiking.

Seungwoo pretended to write down “hiking” just to mess with him.

Seungyoun got halfway through organizing a “Team Chaos vs Team Logic” framework before giving up and writing “sleeping contest” in all caps on his ballot.

Eunsang, calm and smiling, slowly swapped everyone’s papers behind their backs while no one noticed.

By the end, nothing was settled.

But everyone was laughing.

And that was the point.

They would film next month.

They would begin album recording the month after.

The year stretched out in front of them, rich with promise.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

And yet...

In the far corners of rehearsal rooms, the headlines kept playing.

The news was starting to hum louder in the background.

“Unknown virus spreading.”

“Flights delayed in several countries.”

“Events cancelled in parts of Asia.”

It wasn’t real yet.

Not here.

But it was coming.

And just beyond the warmth of their laughter, the shadow had begun to move.

And though their calendars were full, a question began to form in the corners of their minds.

What happens if the world doesn’t wait for us?

Chapter Text

“If no one can cheer… then we’ll be the sound instead.”

It started slowly.

A tweet. A headline. A cancelled event in a country they were supposed to visit.

“Just a delay,” the staff said.

“We’ll reschedule.”

But then came the daily updates: numbers rising, borders closing, hospitals overcrowded.

The word “pandemic” finally appeared—and everything changed.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

The X1 dorm grew quiet. Not because of rest—but because of fear.

Masks were now required the moment they stepped outside. Every schedule was re-evaluated hourly. Staff came in gloves. Managers flinched when one of them coughed.

They stopped filming in public spaces.

Stopped practicing in with more than the minimum of staff.

They ate at separate times, seats staggered at the table.

They were asked not to leave the dorm unless absolutely necessary. 

It was like watching their world shrink in real time.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Seungwoo sat by the window most mornings now, staring at the now quieter street below. His phone buzzed every few minutes with updates from the agency—and then from his family.

His sister worked near a hospital.

His mom had a cold.

His voice when he spoke to her was low and calm, but afterward, he’d sit in the bathroom a little too long with the tap running just to breathe.

He was their leader.

But he was also a son.

And it was overwhelming.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Hyeongjun had stopped watching the news.

He couldn’t take the updates. Couldn’t take the silence from home.

His grandmother wasn’t picking up.

He messaged Woojin and Jungmo every few days—simple check-ins, pretending it was casual.

“Hey. Stay safe. Hope your schedules aren’t too crazy.”

He didn’t say: I’m scared for you. I’m scared for all of us.

Minhee noticed the tension first and started sleeping in the same room again. Just being near someone helped.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Even Dongpyo was quieter.

He still filmed behind-the-scenes vlogs for the fans, editing together short clips of practice, cooking, goofing off—but his smiles came slower.

“Should we even be doing this?” Junho asked once, during a quiet break in dance practice.

No one had an answer.

The joy that had lit the room just weeks ago was dimmed.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

A week later, the managers gathered the members in the dorm common room—everyone masked and spaced apart.

“We’ve spoken with the health authorities and the producers. The tour is officially postponed until further notice.”

“ The music show representation are still running but without any public, just bare minimum staff and idols.”

The words landed like concrete.

“However, we will proceed with preparations for the next album, ‘Red Echo.’ In fact… it’s more important now than ever.”

Yohan frowned. “People are losing jobs. Their families. Why are we pushing a comeback?”

The manager paused, then said gently, “Because your music is still needed. And because this is how we survive too.”

Then added, “We’re also adjusting the plans for X1 Getaway. It will be filmed in a secured indoor location, no travel, no crowds, but the variety format remains. It will be renamed something like X1 Homestay”

There were quiet nods. But no joy.

They weren’t against working.

They just didn’t know why anymore.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

That night, Seungyoun sat in the middle of the empty dance studio.

He was supposed to be polishing the final arrangement of “Silent Crowds.”

Instead, he just let the track loop. The echo of the instrumental bouncing off the walls like ghosts.

Unable to bear it any longer, he decided to go back to the dorm.

He didn’t expect the members to be waiting for him. They were speaking softly, the anxiety visible on every face.

“We’re burning out,” Seungwoo said, leaning in the doorway to the kitchen.

“I know,” Seungyoun replied. “But we can’t stop.”

“Why not?” questioned Minhee.

“You don’t think it’s wrong to keep performing?” Hyeongjun had asked.

Seungyoun didn’t speak for a long moment. 

“Because when I was seventeen and everything in my life felt impossible, music saved me. Music made sense when nothing else did.”

“Music doesn’t fix the world. But it lets people breathe inside it.”

“Right now, fans are scared. Lonely. They’re stuck at home, disconnected, and hurting. If we can give them ten minutes where they smile—ten minutes where they forget—that’s everything.”

His voice dropped softer.

“And maybe… “We give them what they can’t find alone.”

 maybe that includes us too.”

He turned, eyes fierce.

“We’re not just idols. We’re anchors. And if we can keep even one person afloat this year—then we have to.”

The members stared at him.

Then nodded, slowly.

“Then let’s give them something real.” Said decisively Seungwoo.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

The next morning, Seungwoo gathered the members.

“We’re still doing Red Echo,” he said. “We’re still filming the show. Not because the agency said so—because we chose to.”

There was silence at first.

Then Hangyul spoke: “We can’t change the world. But maybe we can help it breathe.”

Hyeongjun took his hand off his phone and nodded.

Dongpyo wiped his eyes.

And it was Junho, of all people, who spoke the solution.

“If we’re going to make music… let’s make something that doesn’t need a crowd.”

That’s when Seungyoun opened the file on his laptop titled “Silent Crowds.”

______________________________________________________________________________________________

And So, They Began

The song had been a fragmented draft. A haunting melody, ambient chords, the soft echo of footsteps recorded in a rehearsal room.

They turned it into something bigger.

A choral piece.

Not meant for solos or lines or rankings.

But for voices layered together—soft, full, human.

It started with Seungwoo, guiding the overall vocal flow.

Dohyon added a subtle spoken-word section.

Eunsang rewrote the second verse with Hyeongjun and Junho to reflect missing the fans.

Seungyoun built in harmonies anyone could hum—even alone in their bedroom.

“Even if you can’t scream, we’ll sing for you.”

They decided it would be the emotional centrepiece of Red Echo.

A moment of unity.

A song meant for silence.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

But even that didn’t feel like enough.

It was Dongpyo who said what they were all feeling.

“I want them to sing with us. Even if we can’t hear them.”

And so, “Hold My Hand” was born.

An entirely new track, written in two days.

Simple melody. Uplifting beat. A chorus made of only one message:

“Hold my hand / I’ll hold yours too / Even apart / I’m next to you / Keep holding on / You’re not alone”

They recorded the demo. Filmed the chorus in one take, no choreography—just all eleven of them sitting in a circle, swaying, arms linked.

They released it on YouTube for free, with a request to fans:

“Record yourself singing the chorus. Send it to us. Let’s sing together—even if we’re apart.”

Within 24 hours, over 50,000 videos were submitted.

A teacher singing from her empty classroom.

A nurse in full PPE humming in a hospital break room.

A little boy holding a plushie and trying to keep up.

A couple holding up a sign that read “This song made us believe again.”

Then came the idols.

Changbin. San. Beomgyu. Ryujin. Hyunjin.

Even Taemin posted a short video of himself singing the chorus, with the caption:

“From one artist to another. Thank you.”

By week’s end, the hashtag #HoldMyHandProject trended globally.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

The production team and the members themselves worked for days—editing, layering, matching pitch, translating harmonies.

The final version—“Hold My Hand: Voices Edition”—premiered on X1’s channel two weeks later.

A soft piano intro faded into a wave of voices—not just the members, but fans from over 50 countries.

Faces appeared. Subtitles in dozens of languages.

At the bridge, the video cut to Seungwoo alone, walking through an empty rehearsal space.

He stopped in front of the camera, reached forward—

And clasped hands with a fan’s hand shown in the split screen.

The music swelled.

And in the final chorus, all eleven stood in the centre of the screen, each backed by a wall of voices, as if the world had gathered behind them.

“We’re still with you,” the video caption read.

 
It was reposted by global news sites.

Used in PSAs.

Played in hospitals.

And when the members gathered in their dorm to watch the premiere in silence, it was Hyeongjun who spoke first:

“It’s not just a song anymore.”

Seungwoo, wiping his face, whispered:

“It’s a way through.”
 

The world had gone quiet.

But X1 had filled the silence with voices.

And they would not be forgotten.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

X1 Getaway began filming in March in a repurposed apartment. No travel. No staff without temperature checks. The “vacation” now looked more like a slice of dorm life—but with water guns, ridiculous costumes, and indoor camping.

And despite it all—they laughed.

Minhee threw a pillow at Dongpyo mid-interview. Hyeongjun cried laughing during a marshmallow-eating contest. Yohan fell asleep during a board game and snored through the next ten minutes of footage.

It wasn’t the show they planned.

It was better.

Because it was real.

And their fans needed real more than anything.

Chapter Text

“Some goodbyes arrive dressed as joy—and still manage to break your heart.” 

The studio became their sanctuary. 

The windows stayed closed. The news was muted. The disinfectant smell became background noise. And into that strange, suspended atmosphere, they poured themselves completely into what came next. 

With the world outside still sinking deeper into crisis, and every news report more dire than the last, X1 found refuge in the only thing they could control: the work. 

Red Echo wasn’t just a comeback now. 

It was purpose. A tether. A lifeline. 

_________________________________________________________________________

They practiced with masks until sweat made the fabric stick to their lips. 

Recorded vocals behind glass in soundproof booths, isolated like islands. 

Choreography was spaced out, shaped for minimal contact, yet still sharp enough to leave bruises. 

It wasn’t fun. 

It wasn’t easy. 

But it was everything they had. 

“We can’t see the fans,” Seungwoo said one night, towel around his neck, breath uneven, “so let’s give them something they can feel instead.” 

And the members—silent, tired, burning—nodded. 

They couldn’t dance in front of their fans. 

So they would dance for them. 

The once rowdy banter had softened, replaced by a quieter rhythm. But the determination hadn’t faded. 

If anything, it had crystallized. 

“We can’t be near them,” Seungwoo had said. “So we make sure they feel us.” 

And that had been enough. 

Until the news dropped. 

____________________________________________________________________

The notification hit like an unexpected gust of wind: 

[NEWS] STARSHIP To Debut 7-Member Boy Group “CRAVITY” in April — Includes Produce X 101 Jungmo and Wonjin 

The press photo was bright. Seven young trainees in matching black and silver. Jungmo’s smile—sharp and charismatic. Wonjin’s boyish grin—just as it had been in the dorms, in rehearsals, in late-night shared meals during training. 

For a second, the practice room froze. 

The buzz of conversation quieted. The instrumental loop halted mid-beat. 

Minhee’s phone vibrated. He looked at it once, then again. 

Hyeongjun didn’t look at his screen. He already knew. 

He’d been waiting for it—expecting it. And somehow, it still hurt more than he thought it would. 

They weren’t angry. They weren’t surprised. 

They were just... heartbroken. 

__________________________________________________________

That night, Minhee lay on the dorm floor, hoodie pulled over his head, pretending to scroll through his camera roll. 

Seungyoun and Hangyul were arguing in the kitchen over cup noodle ratios. 

Dongpyo was humming something faint under his breath. 

But to Minhee, the room was silent. 

He pulled up an old photo: Jungmo, Wonjin, Hyeongjun, and him, collapsed in the practice room after a full-day dance lesson. Sweaty. Laughing. Young. 

He tapped the screen to keep it from fading to black. 

“We used to talk every night,” he whispered. 

“We used to dream together.” 

No one responded. No one had to. The ache in the room was mutual. 

Wooseok came in quietly. Sitting by his side on the bed not speaking just here so he wouldn’t be alone. 

“He’ll be great,” Minhee said suddenly. “Jungmo. Onstage. He was always better than he let on.” 

Wooseok nodded, letting the silence carry the weight neither of them wanted to break. 

“It just… hurts, you know?” Minhee said after a while. “Knowing that chapters closed. That we’re no longer in the same story.” 

“Maybe not the same story,” Wooseok said, “but still part of each other’s.” 

Later, he messaged Jungmo a simple “Proud of you.” 

He watched the "read" mark appear, but no reply came for hours. 

Not because of malice. 

Because life had moved on. 

__________________________________________________________

Hyeongjun slipped onto the dorm’s balcony after dinner, arms hugging himself against the early spring chill.  

He didn’t cry. 

He wasn’t even sure what to feel. 

Not anger. Not jealousy. 

But something more painful. 

A quiet goodbye. A chapter closing without warning. 

It was too familiar now, this quiet loss of something once precious. 

He remembered the way Wonjin used to wake him up for practice. The way they’d split convenience store snacks and fight over who hit the high note better. 

Now, it had been days since they spoke. 

Weeks since they laughed. 

He didn’t even know what Wonjin’s schedule looked like anymore. 

“He’s still my best friend,” Hyeongjun murmured to the dark. “But what if we become strangers?” 

Seungwoo found him there a few minutes later. 

He didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned on the balcony railing beside him, eyes trained on the soft glow of the Seoul skyline. 

“They’ll debut soon,” Hyeongjun said, voice hoarse. 

“Yeah,” Seungwoo replied. 

“I’m proud. I really am.” 

A beat. 

“But it also feels like I lost something. Not all at once—just… slowly. Like I woke up and realized we weren’t close anymore. Like we’re already becoming strangers.” 

Seungwoo nodded slowly, letting the weight of the words settle. 

“When Byungchan stayed behind, I told myself we’d be fine. That VICTON would stay exactly the same. But things change when you live different lives.” 

He paused. 

“That doesn’t mean the love’s gone. Just… that it needs more effort to hold onto.” 

“And it won’t ever feel the same?” 

“You know what hurts?” Hyeongjun said, voice trembling. “I don’t know if he needs me anymore.” 

“You’ll always matter,” Seungwoo said. “Even if it looks different.” 

He glanced out over the city skyline, the lights soft and distant. 

“Some people stay in your life like gravity. Not always seen. But always there.” 

“You’ll find new ways to stay in each other’s orbit. But it takes both of you reaching out.” 

Hyeongjun looked down at his phone, thumb hovering over Wonjin’s contact. 

He didn’t send a message that night. 

But he saved the number again under a new nickname: 

“Still My Hyung.” 

And that act, small and quiet, felt like a beginning again. 

________________________________________________________

Seungwoo, in his own quiet way, understood better than anyone. 

He’d stopped holding onto the idea of going back to VICTON like nothing had changed. He no longer flinched when he saw their names trending. 

When VICTON’s March comeback “Howling” topped charts and filled feeds with praise, he watched the MV alone, replaying it like a proud older brother. 

“They’re doing it,” he whispered. “Just like we said they would.” 

For the first time, it didn’t feel like a loss. He felt proud and happy, finally.  

It felt like liberation. 

That night, he posted on Bubble: 

“VICTON’s Howling is beautiful. Always proud. Always family.” 

And the fans knew. 

_________________________________________________________

As the emotions quieted and the music rose again, Red Echo finally took shape. 

The title track was raw, loud, aching—like a warning bell in the night. 

This isn’t over. This is us, fighting the silence. 

Each B-side held a different reflection: 

“Silent Crowds” became a prayer in harmony. 

“Hold My Hand – Voices Version” was now immortalized as a digital single, re-uploaded with translations in 12 languages. 

Another track, “Collapse,” featured an emotional rap verse by Dohyon about fear and resilience.  

“Morning Light”, a hopeful ballad with layered harmonies and cords talking about life still beautiful and the promise that tomorrow would be better.  

Finally, “Red Cross” a furious anthem about going through hell to make the world better, a vibrant tribute to the health care workers on the frontline of the pandemic. 

The MV shoot was confirmed for early May—on a closed set, no extras, no crowd scenes. Their comeback date was officially announced: 

May 25th, 2020. 

And though they still couldn’t perform for a live audience, the anticipation felt like oxygen. 

“We’ve built something strong,” Seungyoun said during final mixing. “Not despite everything. Because of it.” 

They were tired. 

Still anxious. 

But ready. 

_________________________________________________________

That night, the group sat together for the first time in what felt like weeks, huddled on the dorm floor, legs tangled, backs against one another, letting their weight lean. 

They didn’t speak about the comeback. 

Or CRAVITY. 

Or the virus. 

They just existed, together, in the moment they had. 

And when Hyeongjun passed around his phone and pressed play on a voice memo labelled “Wonjin & Me — 2019 Practice,” it was Seungwoo who said: 

“Keep it. Not as something to go back to—but something that got you here.” 

Hyeongjun nodded. 

And in the hush that followed, they all knew: 

Some dreams change. 

Some friends drift. 

But this bond—this now—was worth holding onto with both hands

Chapter Text

“If no one claps, did the performance matter? Yes—if it still echoes in someone’s heart.”

The warehouse where they shot the “Red Echo” MV felt like a movie set. It was built in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Seoul, transformed into a ruined cityscape with splintered glass, dust-filtered lighting, and deep crimson lighting that soaked everything in hues of blood and fire.

It wasn’t beautiful.

It was brutal. Stark. Visceral.

“We’re not doing pretty,” Seungyoun had said in the concept meeting.

“We’re doing raw.”

The choreography was punishing—sharper than Flash, more aggressive than Eclipse, full of stutters and freezes that mirrored the song’s apocalyptic pulse.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

Seungyoun stood in the middle of the set, earpiece buzzing faintly as he surveyed the room.

“It should feel like the end of the world,” he muttered.

“Good thing it kind of does,” Wooseok added, half-joking, half-not.

The air inside the set felt dry, sterile. Every person wore a mask except when cameras rolled. The staff sanitized microphones and prop weapons between takes. The members were called in and out in staggered groups to reduce risk.

There were no makeup touch-ups between shots.

No snacks offered on standby.

No fans waiting outside.

But when the camera rolled…

They became flame.

They shot the scenes one after the other with some more solo or duo scene testing the group acting talent.

Hyeongjun running full speed through a collapsed corridor, costume shredded, smoke curling around his feet. He falls—intentionally—but the pain on his face doesn’t look acted.

Dohyon surrounded by mirrors cracked like spiderwebs. As he raps into the lens, a camera rotates behind him, catching the distorted reflections of his Seungyoun face, over and over, fractured and multiplied.

Dongpyo and Minhee back-to-back, rising with the beat into a desperate lift, only to collapse again, symbolizing the cycle of hope and burnout. When the director yelled “cut,” Dongpyo’s shoulders shook, the emotion far too close to home.

The highlight shot was the group formation under a collapsed steel scaffold, light breaking through from above like a divine wound. Hyeongjun and Dongpyo carried the emotional centre—moving like ghosts fighting gravity.

Dohyon’s verse—rapped standing alone on a cracked floor—was captured in a single take.

And when Seungwoo led the final chorus, half-screaming the last line into the silence—

“Even silence breaks, if we scream together.”

They hit the final pose—and for a heartbeat, no one moved.

Even the director forgot to yell cut.

Then came the exhale. The adrenaline. The quiet pride.

“We did that,” Seungwoo said hoarsely.

And no one disagreed.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

May 25th arrived with no crowd, no press line, no flowers waiting at the venue doors.

The comeback showcase was held in a cavernous music hall—1,200 seats, all empty.

The only light came from stage lamps and camera rigs. Not a single fanchant. Not a single scream.

“This is what singing into the void feels like,” Hangyul whispered backstage.

But when the livestream began, the comments exploded across the screens placed around the perimeter of the stage.

Hearts. Fire emojis. “WE’RE HERE.”

Over 3.2 million people tuned in live.

And suddenly, it wasn’t so empty anymore.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

On May 25, Red Echo dropped.

And the world… listened.

Within 24 hours, the Red Echo MV hit 14.3 million views.

By the end of week one, their 3rd mini album—titled Burning Dawn—surpassed 1.5 million physical sales.

Their first official Million Seller.

Their highest digital streaming numbers to date.

Their most acclaimed choreography yet.

Critics who once doubted their longevity now praised their maturity, their cohesion, and their artistic identity.

“X1 no longer sounds like a project group. They sound like artists with a story to tell,” one review read.

“In a year of despair, they gave us fire.”

Fans were sharing the MV, edits, reactions and emotions alike across the web :

• “Red Echo” feels like screaming from underwater. In the best way.”
• “I listened to ‘Silent Crowds’ alone at 3 a.m. and cried for 10 minutes.”
• “They didn’t just give us a comeback. They gave us a mirror.”
• “From Flash to Eclipse to this? X1 is defining 4th Gen.”
• “Burning Dawn is the album of the year. No debate.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Their return to weekly music shows was both triumphant and surreal.

Music shows had no crowds.

MC interactions were shortened.

Groups weren’t allowed to linger backstage together.

The green rooms were quiet. Masks muffled even the most joyful greetings.

But the fans still came—virtually.

Hundreds of thousands flooded the live comment streams.

Fan letters arrived daily sanitized, quarantined, but cherished.

Video edits of “Silent Crowds” trended in over 30 countries.

They won on every stage they appeared on. But each time, they bowed to a sea of empty seats.

The ending fairies posed to the sound of a pre-recorded cheer track.

The winners’ encore stages were now filled with echo and breath instead of noise and tears.

“Somehow it doesn’t feel real when it's like that” Junho said after one win.

“It’s real,” Eunsang replied. “Just… quiet.”

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Despite the rules, little sparks still flared in the silence. Even with tight restrictions, idols found ways to connect.

At one show, TXT stood across the hall, also masked and distanced.

Taehyun threw them a thumbs-up between takes. Beomgyu clapped loudly. Yohan shooted back, “Fighting!” across the room and got a heart pose from Soobin in response.

Hyeongjun passed Yeonjun a bag of sweets between dressing rooms, leaving a sticky note that said “Fighting, hyung!! ”

Stray Kids arrived a week after for God’s Menu promotions.

Dongpyo mimed a dance move at Hyunjin from across the hallway and received a full heart pose in return.

Wooseok fist-bumped Changbin when the cameras weren’t looking.

Later that day, while waiting in line for makeup rotation, Felix and Han from Stray Kids spotted Hyeongjun sitting cross-legged in the corner, scribbling in his choreography notebook.

“Hey,” Han said, crouching down beside him. “Searching for the next perfect dance sequence?”

“Still pretending I know what I’m doing,” Hyeongjun replied with a sheepish grin.

Felix sat down beside him, tossing a candy onto the page.

“That’s the trick,” Felix said. “Nobody really knows. We just sing loud enough to convince ourselves.”

They chatted quietly about fan edits, choreography pain, and how weird it felt to promote without handshakes or shared water bottles.

Before they left, Han handed Hyeongjun a tiny paper crane.

“For luck,” he said. “And silence.”

That night, Hyeongjun placed the crane next to his in-ears case.

“I’ll keep it safe,” he whispered.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

After another win, the members collapsed in the dorm, still in stage outfits, rice cake soup steaming in paper bowls, the trophy standing lonely between them.

“It’s strange, right?” Junho asked. “To win like this. Quietly.”

“No less real,” Eunsang said.

“But still… it's so quiet,” Dongpyo whispered.

“We broke every record we had,” Seungyoun murmured.

“But no fans. No screams,” Dohyon said.

“They were with us,” Seungwoo answered. “Every second.”

Silence.

Then Wooseok added:

“And when they come back… we’ll sing even louder.”

Outside, the night was cold.

But even in a world that wouldn’t let them hear the love, they had found a way to echo it back.

Chapter Text

“Sometimes, not being forgotten is enough to keep moving forward.”

CRAVITY debuted with “Break All the Rules.”

The MV dropped on a Wednesday morning, and by noon it had 5 million views. By nightfall, the hashtags #CRAVITY and #JungmoBabyFox trended in ten countries.

Even from inside the dorm, the success was palpable.

Jungmo looked self-assured. Charismatic.

Wonjin—pure joy and power, like always.

The choreography was tight. The vocal line surprisingly mature. The styling? Risky, but fresh.

The feedback was immediate.

“Fourth-gen contenders.”

“Starship’s next flagship.”

“That Jungmo-Wonjin chemistry hits.”

The X1 dorm was split between reactions.

Dongpyo cried. Obviously.

Wooseok clapped along to the final chorus.

Seungyoun stood beside the kitchen counter, nodding through the MV like a proud uncle.

And even Seungwoo—stoic, composed, always focused—smiled softly as the last shot faded.

“They made it,” he said. “Really made it.”

But for Minhee and Hyeongjun, it wasn’t so easy.

They sat on the couch shoulder to shoulder, watching silently.

And even though they had expected it, even though they had prepared themselves—

It wasn’t jealousy.

Just a hollow ache. The sound of a door closing. The echo of dreams once shared.

They were happy.

But it still hurt.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

They didn’t talk about it much in the days after the announcement.

It wasn’t bitterness.

Just something quieter. A sadness with no clear shape.

Minhee kept his headphones in longer during practice.

Hyeongjun stopped sending his usual heart emojis to the group chat.

Dongpyo noticed, of course.

One night, he cornered them in the dorm kitchen.

“Okay, no more mopey silence,” he announced. “Feelings. Now.”

They looked up, startled.

“It’s fine,” Minhee muttered.

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Hyeongjun echoed, too quickly.

“You’re lying,” said Dongpyo.

He sat between them, kicking his legs over Hyeongjun’s lap, resting his chin on Minhee’s shoulder.

“You love them. You miss them. You feel left behind.”

“It’s not that—” Minhee started, but Dongpyo cut him off.

“But they didn’t leave you behind. They did what you did. What we all did. They kept going.”

He leaned back and poked both their chests.

“I’ve seen people vanish,” Dongpyo added. “From stages. From friendships. This isn’t that. Not unless you let it be.”

Later that night, Seungyoun found the two younger boys sitting on the dorm balcony, knees pulled to their chests.

Seungyoun joined not long after, a protein bar in his mouth, flipping his phone in his hand.

“You know what makes friendship last?” he asked.

“What?” Minhee asked warily.

“Effort.”

He glanced between them.

“Jungmo and Wonjin cheered you on when they weren’t chosen. Right?”

Both boys nodded.

“Then it’s your turn now. You can be sad and proud at the same time.”

They didn’t cry.

But the silence that followed was softer.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

Two days later, CRAVITY’s Hideout epilogue film dropped.

It was bright and clean, filled with laughter and wide-eyed dreams. But then—

A soft piano track faded in.

Then came an hallway.

Two members walked through it—Serim and Wonjin—their voices hushed.

“It’s weird not having them here,” Wonjin said softly.

“They’re still with us,” Serim replied. “We just have to find them… wherever they are.”

The camera drifted.

On the wall behind them: two “Missing” posters, faintly drawn. The part with names was torn off, but the silhouettes?

Anyone who knew them would know.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

In the dorm, Hyeongjun dropped his phone.

Minhee covered his eyes.

Dongpyo, who had sat between them silently the whole time, reached out and held both their hands.

No words.

Just hands.

Just gravity.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

In the practice room, Seungwoo, Seungyoun, and Wooseok stood quietly, having watched the epilogue from a staff monitor.

None of them spoke first.

But they were all thinking the same thing.

“That wasn’t just a tribute,” Seungyoun said finally.
“It’s an opening.”
“Starship’s making space,” Wooseok added.
“For 2022,” Seungwoo confirmed, arms folded.

They said nothing to the younger members.

They didn’t need to.

The moment wasn’t about promises.

Hope was a delicate thing. Too delicate to burden with what-ifs.

This for then should remain about dignity. About holding up a light in a dark place and saying: You’re still here. You still matter.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

The next day, Minhee approached the filming set wearing a pin that read “CRAVITY.”

Hyeongjun brought Jungmo’s favourite snack to rehearsal and handed it to staff with a request to deliver it.

On their break, the two recorded a short video together, laughing and singing a CRAVITY chorus with off-key harmony, tagging it #ProudOfYou.

After rehearsal Minhee pulled up CRAVITY’s challenge for “Break All the Rules.”

“Hangyul, you’re doing it with me.”

“Why me?” Hangyul asked, but he was already standing.

They filmed it in the practice room into the dark of the night. Messy. Full of laughter. At one point, Hangyul forgot the final pose and just hugged Minhee.

They posted it with the caption:

“Proud of you, always 🖤 — your not-so-lost stars.”

Hyeongjun, inspired and nervous, practiced “Cloud 9” in his room for three hours.

When he was ready, he dragged Dongpyo and Eunsang in, blasting the track.

They filmed the challenge, ending in a group dab that would later go viral on TikTok.

Fans exploded.

“They’re still family.”

“X1 x CRAVITY = forever connection.”

“Jungmo and Wonjin better be crying right now.”

And maybe they were.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

When they returned to choreography, it was different.

Cleaner.

Sharper.

Brighter.

“I want to get sharper,” he said.

“I want to lead a stage I’d be proud for Jungmo to see.”

Hyeongjun joined a few minutes later, towel around his neck.

“Let’s burn this place down.”

Dongpyo walked in just in time to hear it.

“Save some matches for me.”

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

They didn’t look back after that.

Not because it stopped hurting.

But because the hurt had become something holy.

Something that propelled.

Because even if their friends had gone another path, the constellations still aligned.

And some stars?

Always find their way back.

Chapter Text

“We thought we could outrun it. But it was already at the door.”

Promotions for Burning Dawn were coming to a quiet end.

They’d weathered the isolation of fanless stages.

They’d broken records in silence.

They had shattered expectations.

They had danced through fire.

And they had held together, even without the roar of fans in front of them.

Their final music show encore felt strangely peaceful—no fan chants, no curtain call screams—just a soft wind in a cold studio, and eleven hands joined mid-bow.

“We did that,” Seungwoo had whispered.

“And we’ll do it again.”

But the world had at least one more curveball left.

And this time, they couldn’t dance through it.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

It began with Hangyul’s grandmother.

He got the news during a rehearsal debrief: she’d tested positive for COVID-19, and her symptoms were worsening. High fever. Breathing trouble. Hospitalized in Daegu.

He left the room in silence.

Minhee followed him. Then Yohan. Then Seungwoo, with a blanket and warm tea he never said aloud was from Seungyoun’s stash.

They tried to hold him upright with words—simple things.

“She’s strong.”

“She’s seen worse.”

“We’re here.”

But he didn’t say much for days. Just stared at his phone, waiting.

They’d been cautious. Safe. Careful. But it was here, now, pressing against the windows of their dorm.

The PCR tests came as routine. They’d become part of life—before and after any public schedule, any filming.

That day, they weren’t worried.

Until they were.

When the results returned, three names were quietly separated on the printed form.

Minhee.

Dongpyo.

Hyeongjun.

The three roommates.

All positive.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

The room turned to ice.

No one reacted at first.

Seungwoo stood frozen with the paper in his hands, rereading it as if it would change. He’d led the group through industry politics, overworked schedules, and emotional disorientation—but this was different.

This was real danger.

He left the room to call the agency CEO directly, then called his sister.

Later that night, he sat in the practice room alone for an hour, mask still on, eyes red, repeating to himself: “It’s okay. They’ll be okay. They’re strong.”

Seungyoun slammed his laptop shut mid-composition when the news reached him.

He paced the dorm kitchen in circles, fists clenched.

“It should’ve been me,” he muttered.

No one knew exactly why he said it. But no one challenged it either.

He was the one who always said “We’ll protect the young ones.”

Now the youngest were sick.

The members were sent into immediate solo quarantine, isolated in separate units within 24 hours.

They didn’t even have time to hug.

They packed bags in silence, handed off favourite snacks, wrote Post-Its on mirrors—“Stay hydrated,” “Don’t forget to stretch,” “Call me.”

And then, they were alone.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

Hyeongjun’s symptoms began two days in.

At first it was fatigue. Then the fever crept in—low but persistent. His voice felt raw. His limbs ached.

Hyeongjun slept 16 hours a day. Barely responded to messages. Missed two group calls in a row.

By day four, he couldn’t hold a phone call longer than ten minutes without coughing.

“I’m fine,” he typed in the group chat.

“You don’t sound fine,” Yohan replied.

“I’m fine,” he insisted again.

But he wasn’t.

And he was scared, of what it would mean, of the silence of his little room.

Minhee, still asymptomatic, reached out to Wonjin and Jungmo.

“He’s not good. I know he won’t say it. But he’s scared.”

The isolation felt worse than the illness.

“I don’t like quiet,” he texted the group.

“Then we’ll make noise,” replied Dongpyo.

Within a day, a text came from Jungmo:

“Jun-ah, you’re tougher than you think. Just rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And a video message from Wonjin, blinking back emotion:

“Don’t even think about fading. I’ve still got beef with you over that practice room bet, okay? We still have a thousand things to do. So fight. Please.”

That night, Hyeongjun clutched his phone like a lifeline, watching the same clip repeatedly.

He didn’t respond.

But the next day, he tried to sit up.

And by the end of the week, he started sending short texts again.

“Thank you.”

“Still here.”

“Still holding on.”

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

While Hyeongjun fought to breathe, Dongpyo made it his mission to help the group breathe emotionally.

From his own isolation room, he launched “Operation Distraction.”

He messaged Junho, Yohan, and Eunsang. "We can’t leave them like this. Let’s make something up."

Together, the four devised:

• Bi-weekly video calls—mandatory, themed. The first was “Ugliest Pyjamas.” The second, “Speak in Dialects Only.”
• Dorm Olympics: TikTok dance battles, push up and plank contest and cooking contest judged by fans.
• Long-distance pranks: With the help of ONE ITs, including sending Hangyul twenty identical pineapple plushies, flooding Seungyoun’s Instagram with stupid memes and sending him handmade socks with his own face printed on them.
• Fan-driven art chains: ONE ITs mailed in letters and challenges (“Make a mask fashion runway,” “Draw a group portrait using only vegetables”).
• Journaling challenges—everyone had to write three sentences about their day and decorate them with emojis.

He coordinated every detail, messaging staff for updates, checking on everyone one by one.

“I’m not doing anything heroic,” he told Junho on call.

“I just know what it feels like to be scared and alone. I won’t let them feel that.”

The first group call happened 3 days into quarantine.

Dongpyo appeared on camera wearing sunflower pyjama and a robe.

Junho held up a whiteboard that said “Welcome to Jail, Inmate #07.”

He played a lip-sync to “Red Echo” with sock puppets.

Minhee tried to smile.

Hyeongjun didn’t even turn on his mic. But he stayed the whole time.

“You’re not alone,” Seungwoo said quietly. “You never were.”

Fans joined the movement.

#CheerUpX1 trended globally for 10 days straight.

They created collage videos of favourite moments.

They submitted thousands of messages for the “Wall of Words” project: messages that were printed, laminated, and placed along the hallway the boys would walk when they returned to their dorm.

“We’ll wait.”

“Even if you’re silent, we’ll echo.”

“Come home soon.”

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

The isolation dragged.

Hyeongjun still battled fatigue.

Hangyul rarely left his room, praying for one more good update from the hospital.

Yohan fell into late-night baking competitions with himself.

Dohyon started composing lo-fi piano pieces he named after his members.

Eunsang began journaling his dreams and sharing cryptic snippets on Twitter.

Seungyoun wrote a song titled “Sixteen Walls”—one for each wall surrounding their isolation rooms. Then he rewrote it four times.

He didn’t let anyone hear it.

But he sent a voice memo to the group chat every night, always ending with the same phrase:

“We’re still together. Just… farther apart.”

The group had been apart for nearly a full month.

Some grew quieter. Some more introspective. Others, like Seungwoo, channelled it into planning, organizing new routines for when they could gather again.

But the ache never faded.

By mid-July, the clouds began to lift.

The news came on a grey Monday morning.

Minhee tested negative.

Dongpyo was cleared.

Hyeongjun’s fever finally broke and his appetite was slowly returning.

He was thinner. Slower. His smile came late. But it came.

And later that afternoon:

Hangyul’s grandmother: stable. Recovering. Breathing on her own.

When Seungwoo read the second update aloud on the group call, no one said anything.

Then Hangyul exhaled for the first time in three weeks, tears clinging to his lashes.

“She waited,” he said. “She really waited.”

 The eleven returned to dorms in phases.

Masks on. Distance respected. But the joy couldn’t be hidden.

Minhee grabbed Hyeongjun’s shoulders and nearly burst into tears.

Dongpyo pretended to bow solemnly and said, “Your Highness returns.”

Even Seungyoun, usually unshakable, whispered, “Thank you,” before walking away with too much emotion to speak.

And when Seungwoo called the group meeting that night, he didn’t talk about training plans or brand deals or comeback projections.

He just said:

“You stayed. All of you. That’s all that matters.”

They sat on the floor again.

Rice cakes in hand. TV off. Lights low.

Eleven boys.

Still here.

Still together.

And still echoing through the silence.

The world had cracked open once again.

But X1?

They had endured.

Not by running faster.

But by reaching out—across silence, across screens, across fear—and holding on.

Chapter Text

“You’re not broken for needing rest. You’re human for finally asking.”

The reunion after the COVID scare didn’t feel like victory.

It felt like relief.
Like exhaling after weeks of holding your breath.
Like making it out of the forest, even though your clothes are torn and your feet are blistered.

They didn’t talk much about it.
But it changed everything.

There were no speeches, no jokes shouted down dorm halls.

Just quiet gestures.

A shoulder leaned into. A bowl of soup passed without a word. A hand rested on a forearm during warm-ups, holding steady, saying “You’re here. You’re here. You’re still here.”

No one said it, but they all felt it:

They had almost lost one of their own.

And somehow, that had made the eleven of them more whole.

Minhee never let Hyeongjun walk anywhere alone that week.

Dongpyo flat-out refused to sleep alone.

He camped out on the floor between Minhee and Hyeongjun’s beds like a fierce little guardian fox. He’d fall asleep mid-sentence, one hand always touching someone else’s blanket.

“It’s not like I’m scared,” he mumbled one night. “I just… like being close.”

Junho, quiet and empathetic, joined a few nights later without fanfare, curling into an extra mattress and gently tucking an extra blanket over Hyeongjun, who never said no.

Seungwoo developed a new routine—never discussed.

Each night before bed, he walked room to room, peeking in.

He didn’t say anything. Just looked. Counted heads. Checked breathing. Let his shoulders drop slightly each time he saw a chest rise and fall.

Only then would he go to bed himself.

And Seungyoun, normally the spark, sat with Hangyul for long stretches without talking, just being, shoulder to shoulder, basking in the presence of his friend.

They didn’t speak about fear.

But they lived around it. Carefully. Kindly.

Like survivors.

Like brothers.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

In August, as the dorm laughter returned and appetite crept back in, the agency called a meeting.

“Let’s make it official,” the manager said. “A full-length album. October.”

The room buzzed instantly.

Seungyoun grinned.
Yohan shot finger guns.
Dohyon already had half a beat playing in his headphones.
Eunsang raised both eyebrows, then quietly opened his lyric notebook.

This was it. Their moment to go from phenomenon to permanence.

They dove in.

A whirlwind of demo submissions, recording schedules, choreography drafts, concept boards.

And as always, they gave everything.

Because that’s what they did.

Because it silenced the fears they could forget. 

They pushed forward.

Even if it meant dragging their exhaustion behind them like a second shadow.

But it all came a price.

It wasn’t one big collapse.

It was slow. Creeping. Quiet.

Seungyoun, ever the bright fuse, stopped smiling between rehearsals. He began staying in the studio overnight, “fixing chords,” though no one asked him to. Always chasing perfect. Never sleeping.

Dohyon became snappish. His lyrics turned self-critical. “Trash,” he muttered one day, crumpling page after page. “None of this says what I want to say.”

Hyeongjun began missing meals. When asked, he’d smile too brightly and say, “I’m fine, really!” His body was healing, but his spirit hadn’t caught up yet.

And Seungwoo?

He became too quiet.

He watched them all like a captain with a sinking ship and no life vests to offer.

He added more to his plate. More meetings. More calls. He answered staff emails at 2 a.m., thinking, If I stay ahead, I can protect them all.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

Wooseok noticed first.

He always did.

He saw it in the unfinished rice bowls. The heavier silences. The way Dongpyo didn’t joke around during breaks anymore.

He watched Seungwoo’s eyes flick constantly to his members, looking for signs of trouble and counting them endlessly to reassure himself.

He saw Dohyon throw out an entire verse he’d once loved.

He passed Hyeongjun in the hallway, crying without sound, pressing a cold bottle to his face like a dam.

And Junho—sensitive and observant—had started fidgeting again, constantly touching the chain on his wrist, a sign of rising anxiety.

So Wooseok spoke to Junho and Yohan.

They planned together. Quietly. Carefully.

“It’s not weakness to rest,” Yohan said.
“It’s the only way to keep going,” Wooseok agreed.

They stage the intervention with precision—and love.

They gathered the members after a dance rehearsal.

This time, no chairs. No whiteboard.

Just the floor, a Bluetooth speaker, and a shared silence.

Wooseok sat first.

He didn’t say much.

Just:

“We’re all doing too much.”

“And we’re not okay.”

“You’re allowed to say it’s too much.”

“We almost lost each other once. That’s enough.”

“We deserve to breathe.”

Then Junho stood up with tears in his eyes and said:

“I don’t want to be strong alone.”

Then it was Yohan's turn:

“I miss our laughs.”

One by one, the dam broke.

Seungyoun admitted he hated everything he’d written recently.

Hyeongjun whispered, “I’m scared I’m wasting my second chance.”

Minhee admitted he hadn’t been able to sleep without fear of nightmares since June.

Seungwoo, at last, said, “I don’t know how to lead if I’m broken too.”

No one offered solutions. They didn't have one. 

They just offered arms.

And held each other like boys too young for war who had walked through it anyway.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

The agency responded quickly—and kindly.

They arranged a three-day healing retreat in the countryside. No stylists. No schedules. No pressure.

Just a quiet, pine-covered garden, a traditional house with warm food, wide skies, and beds that didn’t have choreo waiting on the other side.

Just hammocks. Blank notebooks. Morning contemplation. Bonfires.

There were no full crews.

Each member was handed a small hand-held camera.

No tripods. No lights. No boom mics.

They were told: “Record what you want. Or don’t. This is for you.”

They woke to birds instead of alarms.

They cooked their own food—terribly, joyfully.

They filmed each other playing tag with pinecones and falling asleep in hammocks.

They told stories around the campfire.

Eunsang shared a poem he’d written after their COVID isolation.

Seungwoo talked about failure and guilt, and finally said, “I thought if I held everything together, no one would fall apart.” “But I forgot I’m part of ‘everyone’ too.”

Hyeongjun cried while roasting marshmallows and whispered, “I thought I’d be left behind again.”

Dongpyo replied simply: “You’re home.”

Dohyon played a melody on a tree stump with a metal cup and a stick. 

Seungyoun lay on the porch, finally asleep with his camera rolling, chest rising and falling in peace.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

The hand-held footage became a four-part series titled X1: Between the Notes.

There was no flashy editing.

Just warmth. Honesty. A reminder that idols breathe too.

In one clip, Seungwoo looked at the camera and said:

“I used to think being strong meant hiding my cracks.”

“But I’ve seen how light pours through them now.”

Fans responded with overwhelming love.

“This saved me this week.”
“You’re our comfort, but we want to be yours too.”
“Mental health matters. Thank you for saying it.”

Other idols commented support. Hashtags trended. Awareness bloomed.

And inside X1, the silence was finally filled—

Not with music.

But with truth.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

The eleven sat in a circle around the final bonfire.

No script.

No music.

Just crackling wood, stars above, and silence that didn’t hurt.

“We still have the album to make,” Junho said.

“And now,” Wooseok added, “we’re ready to make it whole.”

« But at our pace, no matter how long it takes » told Seungwoo

No one spoke after that.

But they didn’t need to.

The flames were answer enough.

Chapter Text

“The silence taught us to listen. Now we sing like we mean it.”

By September, the full album—now titled Afterlight—was fully underway. Unlike before, it wasn’t built in corners of the night by two exhausted producers. Now, everyone had a seat at the table.

Because now, the fear had changed.

Because if they wanted to succeed they needed to do it together. 

They weren’t scrambling to prove they deserved to be here.

Now, they were building something because they were here.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

Songwriting, once mostly the domain of Seungyoun and Dohyon, became a team effort.

Seungyoun, who had once tried to carry the weight of every song alone, now opened the floor without hesitation.

“Here’s the hook I built,” he’d say. “But let’s mess it up together.”

Eunsang started sending voice notes of melodies he dreamed up in the middle of the night.

Junho quietly wrote lyrics in the dorm kitchen, and to everyone’s surprise, his metaphor for grief—a paper crane soaked in rain—made it into a bridge.

Wooseok, while usually more focused on performance, helped shape vocal harmonies, his ears sharpened by months of live stages.

Seungyoun no longer carried the burden alone. He led sessions, yes, but smiled more. Slept more. Laughed while tossing out bad ideas.

“It’s not mine anymore,” he said one day, gesturing at the growing whiteboard of demo titles.

“It’s ours.”

Choreography, still led by Hyeongjun and Hangyul, also became collaborative.

It was also a domain that they finally conquered. They pushed back gently but firmly when styling proposals didn’t fit the concept and was impractical.

They rejected one choreography set entirely.

Yohan, once nervous about dance critiques, began chiming in with arm movement changes.

Dongpyo, with his stage flair, refined transitions for maximum emotional impact.

Even Seungwoo, normally the grounding presence, suggested ending one song formation with a ripple collapse, “like falling stars.”

They’d film trial versions and gather around the laptop, pointing, laughing, tweaking—not seeking perfection, but something that felt true.

And then came the concept.

Instead of a single proposal from management, they created a mood board together:

• Images of cracked mirrors reflecting firelight.
• Shadows over sunlit rooftops.
• Hands reaching for each other across glass.

The final concept?

Survival, seen through tenderness.

Not just fighting the dark but carrying light together.

The album wasn’t just being made for them.

It was being made by them, and it changed everything

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

The growth wasn’t just inside the dorms. Over the past year, their circle of support had grown too.

They also weren’t alone anymore.

Over the past year, they had quietly formed friendships with seniors and peers who respected their growth.

Taemin sent Dongpyo a voice memo complimenting his stage presence. It sends the young men into a frenzy.

Hyeongjun, in particular, had formed a close bond with Han. They texted often—not always about music. Sometimes about the fear of fading. Sometimes about not feeling enough.

“You don’t always have to be the smile,” Han said one night over voice message.

“People love the quiet fox too.

Minhee had grown close to Soobin from TXT through long late-night gaming sessions.

They talked through long Instagram voice notes—sharing leadership stories, practice frustrations, and occasionally random cat videos.

Soobin once sent him a voice recording of his own breath count before a live stage.

“It’s okay to be scared. I still am.”

Minhee saved it.

Jungmo and Wonjin cheered them on in private DMs with memes and gentle teasing.

And when a choreography coach from their Red Echo era asked why the vibe in the studio felt different, Wooseok simply said:

“We’re not scared anymore.”

Seungyoun, on the other hand, was often added to chaotic group chats. He had a late-night producers’ support circle with Bang Chan (Stray Kids), Hongjoong (ATEEZ), and Soyeon (G-idle).

They shared demo clips, meme-tier ideas, and ranted about vocal range demands and stage pressure.

“If we’re broken,” Hongjoong once wrote, “at least we break beautifully.”

These connections didn’t show up on camera.

But they were the scaffolding beneath the weight.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

August 27 arrived. One full year since X1’s debut.

The dorm was transformed—cheap fairy lights strung between mic stands, heart-shaped balloons taped to the wall, and a cake made by fans (and almost destroyed by Dongpyo before the stream even began).

They sat in soft-toned clothes, the room aglow with the warmth of 12 months of survival.

The 1st Anniversary VLive began with chaos—Dongpyo knocking over a mic stand, Dohyon throwing confetti too early, Yohan stealing the centre seat.

But soon, the chaos faded into something gentler.

They rewatched debut clips.

Seungwoo laughed at his nervous first speech.

Wooseok cried—just a little—watching the Flash MV.

Dongpyo made everyone recreate their original ending poses.

They told stories. The shared favourite memories. They reread parts of their debut letters.

Minhee and Hyeongjun broke into laughter when talking about their first ever rooming assignments. Yohan confessed he thought he’d faint the night the group was announced.

Dohyon thanked his members for never letting him feel like the youngest.

Eunsang said the silence after their debut was louder than anything—but now, it was full of love.

At the end of the stream, the screen flickered to black—

Then lit up with white text:

X1 1st Full Album — “AFTERLIGHT”

October 18, 2020

The fandom exploded.

#X1Afterlight trended in twenty countries.

Fans flooded the chat with hearts and sobbing emojis.

Fan accounts posted countdown edits before the stream even ended.

“A year ago, we were borrowed stars,” Seungyoun said. “Now we shine on our own.”

That night, after the stream ended, they stayed up late.

No filming.

No choreography.

Just eleven boys on the dorm floor, passing around leftover cake, watching stars from the balcony, laughing about old practice bloopers, and daring to believe:

This wasn’t the end of something.

It was the beginning of something brighter.

Chapter Text

“You can climb the mountain. But what happens when the peak is still quiet?”

October 18, 2020.

The moment Afterlight dropped, fans were in awe.

It was unlike anything they had released before: eleven tracks of grit and glow, built from the ashes of everything they had endured.

"Iron Will", the title track of Afterlight, was a radical shift—an anthem of resistance draped in rock guitar, crashing percussion, and layered synth textures. It was angry, yes, but also bright—a sound of survival, not just struggle.

From the first second, the MV screamed intention.

Set in a crumbling industrial cathedral, the opening shot showed the members scattered in separate rooms of ruin:

• Seungwoo sitting beneath broken banners, hands wrapped in white cloth.
• Dohyon and Seungyoun surrounded by sparks flying off broken machines.
• Dongpyo pushing open heavy stone doors with trembling hands.
• Hyeongjun, hair soaked in sweat, sprinting down corridors that led nowhere.

The colour palette was cold steel and smoke-grey, broken only by red-thread accents on their clothing—a direct callback to the Red Echo concept. Symbolically, they were carrying the echoes forward.

The choreography was intense, militaristic in form but fluid in emotion. There were moments of synchronized formation broken by sudden, individual movements—like each member fighting their own battle within a collective war.

The chorus was a rallying cry.

“We bend, not break / burn, not fade / iron willed, we rise.”

In the bridge, the eleven members stood in a line across a shattered marble floor, fists clenched, heads bowed.

“Burn my name into the dark / I’ll bleed light from every scar”

On the final chorus, glass began to crack in slow motion—dozens of dark, arched windows along the cathedral walls.

As the last beat hit, the MV reached its iconic final image:

The eleven stand at centre, battered but upright, lit from behind by shards of breaking sunlight.

The windows explode, not violently—but in a soft collapse, as if darkness itself were surrendering.

The light floods in—pure, golden, overwhelming.

The members are seen clearly for the first time.

Their wounds are visible—bruises, cuts, ash-stained hands.

But they are smiling.

Not performative smiles.

But real ones. Tired. Determined.

As if to say: We didn’t break. We didn’t vanish. We’re still here—and stronger.

"Iron Will" wasn’t just a comeback.

It was a mission statement.

A proof that even as the world questioned whether they could rise further—

They already had.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

Fans hailed it as a masterpiece.

But the industry?

The charts were strong—first place on physical sales, #2 on digital, nearly 1.8 million sold in three weeks.

Yet the buzz wasn’t quite the same as Red Echo.

It was better.

But not bigger.

A lingering whisper began:

“Is this their peak?”

“Can they grow more from here?”

“They’re stable—but are they still rising?”

It wasn’t doubt.

But it wasn’t praise, either.

This was a full album with eleven news songs and a multiples styles and styles.

Within the fandom, however, despite the critics, Afterlight took root like wildfire.

Every track felt like a piece of the boys themselves.

Especially the unit songs—the emotional core of the album:

The Rap Unit has the song “Low Sky” a poetic song by Dohyon, Seungyoun and Yohan.

It had a low-slung, aggressive beat with airy synths and sharp wordplay, lyrics full of frustration, resilience, and coded references to idol masks.

“I spit verse in silence, breathe fame in a cage.”
“We don’t fly high—we glide just above the pain.”

Fans praised it as “their most honest rap yet.”

For the Vocal Unit, Afterlight had “Candle Glass” sang and written by Seungwoo, Wooseok, Minhee and Junho. It was a stripped-down ballad. Raw vocals. No effects. Just harmony and acoustic strings.

“Even if I shatter, I’ll still shine in your room.”

The stage performance brought Wooseok to tears once.

Minhee admitted he cried recording it.

It trended on Twitter under #X1CandleGlass within hours.

Finally the Performance Unit Hangyul, Hyeongjun, Dongpyoand Eunsang of sang “Zero Hour”. 

Explosive. Powerful. Dark synths and choreography that looked like the members were breaking clocks, fighting time itself.

They used real sand and shattered glass in the stage version—earning both critical acclaim and concern from fans for their intensity.

“It’s our body talking,” Hangyul said.

“Because words wouldn’t be enough.”

The album as a whole was powerful and personal.

Some B-sides reflected their COVID isolation (“Still Room 9”, “Sixteen Walls”).

Others echoed the mental toll of fame (“Voiceless”, “Tin Halo”).

But it was “Afterlight”, the closer, that became the most cherished track.

Written by Seungyoun, finished by all of them. A soft, piano-led finale.

“Even the darkest moon leaves light behind.”

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

They were midway through Afterlight promotions—still filming encore stages in echoing studios, signing albums over livestreams, bowing to applause that existed only in memory—when the call came in.

Their agency gathered them in the meeting room.

“Mnet has invited X1 to participate in Kingdom: Legendary War.”

The room went silent.

“The Boyz, Stray Kids, and ATEEZ are already confirmed.”

“Two more groups are pending.”

“They want you.”

The reactions were instant—and layered.

Dongpyo’s eyes lit up.

Yohan immediately looked at Hangyul.

Seungwoo froze, lips pressed tight.

“Another survival show?” Minhee whispered.

“Another Mnet machine,” Wooseok said flatly.

Hyeongjun looked torn—excited at the idea of proving themselves, but also tired. Just tired.

And Seungyoun?

He was already calculating staging ideas in his head.

“It’s a battlefield,” he said. “But it’s a loud one. And sometimes, the loudest place is the best to speak.”

The agency left the choice up to them.

But the implication was clear:

“Say yes, and you’ll rise again.”

“Say no, and the world may move on.”

The eleven didn’t speak for a full minute.

Then Seungwoo finally said:

“If we go in, we go together.”

“All in,” Seungyoun replied.

“Let’s make it ours,” Hyeongjun added softly.

“And let’s survive it—together,” Dongpyo finished.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

They didn’t smile after that.

But they nodded.

Because if Flash was their arrival,

Red Echo their resistance,

and Afterlight their truth—

Then maybe Kingdom would be the world finally listening beyond the surface.

Chapter Text

“Applause doesn’t mean peace. And even the brightest stage can cast a long shadow.”

December arrived not with snow, but with schedules stacked like towers—practices layered over fittings, rehearsals pressed against interviews, and quiet moments reduced to shared glances in the hallway.

X1 was running on a razor-thin thread of exhaustion and momentum.

But year-end stages weren’t optional.

Award shows. Festivals. Tributes. Medleys. Dances. They were declarations.

Not just of artistry—but of survival.

And at the very centre of this season stood MAMA 2020, the stage where they would not only perform—but announce their next war.

________________________________________________________________________________________________

The stage for MAMA was the product of hours of debate, days of rehearsal and litter of blood, sweat and tears.

The opening image was spellbinding.

Eleven figures, cloaked in midnight-blue and silver-trimmed regalia, stood scattered across a massive set designed like a shattered cathedral consumed by frost. Their costumes were warrior-like—velvet armour, sweeping capes, metal inlays shining like shards of moonlight.

The intro was nearly cinematic: soft piano notes over the sound of wind howling.

A voiceover echoed:

“We fell once. We bled. But still, we rise—carrying the flame through the iron night.”

Then came the first crash of drums.

"Iron Will" began—not as a comeback track, but a battle hymn.

The choreography was redesigned for MAMA to resemble a war-dance:

• Members clashed with each other before joining hands.
• Dancers circled them as shadows, pulled away with each chorus burst.
• At the bridge, the members collapsed into a pile—only for Seungwoo to rise from the centre and sing the pivotal line:

“Even if I break, I burn.”

At the final chorus, LED projections showed glass windows exploding, and a flood of golden light washed the stage as the members formed a ring.

They stood bloody, smiling, light pouring through invisible wounds.

“Ironheart. Iron soul. We walk still.”

The screen faded to black.

Fans lost their minds.

________________________________________________________________________________________________

As the stage shifted into shadows, Stray Kids’ performance of “Victory Song” built toward its final crescendo.

The camera panned across the stage, following Hyunjin—firelight and embers still in the air.

Suddenly :

Juyeon  stepped out, eyes locked, movements sharp.
San  appeared on the opposite side, his body like lightning.
Hangyul entered last, rising through a smoke cloud.

At the centre: a silver crown atop a black stone pedestal.

The four circled it.

Then, the dance fight began.

A flurry of motion—grabs, drops, mirrored attacks—each vying for the crown with a mix of grace and fury.

It ended with them each placing a hand on the crown at the same time.

A beam of red light shot up.

The message was clear:

ATEEZ, Stray Kids, and now X1—were all ready to challenge The Boyz for the crown.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

After MAMA, across MMA, AAA, and SBS Gayo Daejeon, X1 left no stage untouched.

• They opened with a live-band version of “Red Echo”, the drums echoing like thunder.
  The stage was built like a cracked battlefield—embers underfoot, fog along the edges. The drums echoing like a heartbeat through a battlefield of light.
• At AAA, “Silent Crowd” was transformed into a haunting acapella ballad with strings and a choir. Each member stood alone in a spotlight until the final note, when they stepped forward and held hands.
• At SBS Gayo, they closed the night with “Afterlight”, dressed in all white against a digital galaxy backdrop. When the last line—“Even if I fade, I will leave you stars”—was sung by Eunsang, fans sobbed.

But it was the KBS Song Festival where they delivered their most heartfelt moment.

“Hold My Hand”—a song originally released during the peak of the pandemic—was performed as a multi-group tribute to resilience.

X1 was joined by fellow fourth-gen idols: TXT, ENHYPEN, CRAVITY, ATEEZ , TREASURE and MCND.

The chorus was sung in unison, arms linked, while videos submitted by fans played behind them: families watching together, nurses singing backstage, idols mouthing along in waiting rooms.

It was a moment of unity, of survival, of music as a balm.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

Their efforts for the years were rewarded by some trophies too, not as much as the sweep of the previous year, but still enough to mark their impact on the industry :

• Best Performance – AAA
• Best Album – Afterlight (MMA)
• A nomination sweep at MAMA, but only a single bonsang win.

They smiled. They bowed. They thanked their staff.

But in the corners of their minds, reality pressed in.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

Hyeongjun, in particular, began to notice things he hadn’t before.

The night after MAMA, Hyeongjun stared at his phone in bed.

He realized something.

He hadn’t seen Stray Kids all night, except for their performance.

So he called.

“Hyung… were you there the whole show? I wanted to talk to you but I couldn’t find you.”

There was a pause.

“No,” Han said quietly. “We came just long enough for Victory Song. Then we left.”

“Why?”

“We weren’t nominated in anything. Not even performance.”

“But—God’s Menu? Back Door? You blew up this year”

“Doesn’t matter if it’s not the narrative they want.”

There was a silence. Then Han added:

“We didn’t want to pretend. So we danced, and we left.”

Hyeongjun felt his stomach twist.

“Is it always like this?”

“Not always. But too often.”

“We’re all stories to them. We just have to make sure we don’t forget we’re real.”

Meanwhile, Wooseok, overhearing a conversation between staff, caught a name that hit too hard.

“Mingi’s still on hiatus,” someone said. “Anxiety’s bad.”

He asked later, quietly.

“Is he okay?” he murmured to a stylist who worked with both groups.

She nodded. “He’s recovering. But it’s real. This pressure… it breaks even the brightest ones.”

Later, Wooseok told Seungwoo and Seungyoun.

They all went quiet.

Because they all remembered the summer.

And how close they were to the abyss.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

The public response to X1’s Kingdom participation was immediate.

The fanbase? They were excited and ready.

“LET’S GOOOO!”

“The Big 4—this is going to be legendary.”

“This is the war of the 4th gen kings.”

“They’re gonna end us and I’m ready.”

But there also was criticism : 

“Aren’t they too big already?”

“Mnet will play favourites.”

“This will be rigged.”

“It’s not fair to the others.”

On forums, comparisons were rampant.

“X1 has almost 2 million sales. The Boyz and ATEEZ are still building.”

“But X1 didn’t get normal promotions. They need this to prove they’re not a fluke.”

“Will Mnet manipulate things again? Can anyone trust them?”

Some even blamed X1 for joining.

Others defended them.

“They need to show what they can do—not Mnet’s edit.”

“If anyone has something to prove, it’s X1.”

Even some ONE ITs were nervous.

“We just got them healthy again. Are we really doing another survival show? Didn’t they suffered enough during Produce X101?”

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

Back in the dorm, the eleven watched the Kingdom teaser replay from a laptop.

They sat quietly, none moving to turn it off.

The blue stage. The battle cries. The cheers.

And their name, in silver, at the end.

Seungwoo broke the silence:

“We’ve never asked for the easy road.”

Seungyoun added:

“So let’s make it worth the bruises.”

Yohan whispered, almost to himself:

“Let’s go to war. But on our own terms.”

The rest didn’t speak.

But in their silence, there was something steady.

Not fear.

Not pride.

But resolve.

Chapter Text

“Not all wars are about victory. Some are about reminding the world who you are.”

When the full lineup for Kingdom: Legendary War was announced, the X1 dorm was filled with both tension and awe.

The Boyz, ATEEZ, Stray Kids, X1, and now—BTOB and iKON.

Two of the most respected senior boy groups. Artists the X1 members had looked up to even before training began.

“I used to rap to iKON songs in my bedroom,” Dohyon whispered.

“Eunkwang-hyung’s vocals from BTOB... legendary,” Seungwoo added, reverently.

This was no survival show.

It was an honour arena.

_______________________________________________________________________________________

They called it Round Zero.

The start of Kingdom: Legendary War wasn’t a full battle—more a declaration. A single stage to say, “We’re here. We matter. Watch us.”

Each group would perform a solo dance  intro, and for X1, it was decided quickly:

“Hyeongjun,” Seungwoo said in the meeting room, “it should be you.”

Hyeongjun had blinked, eyes wide.

“Me?”

“You’re our flame,” Seungyoun said gently. “And you’ve earned this.”

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

The solo stage was filmed in the small stage with a old stone like background pierced in the centre by a stained glass window.

Hyeongjun wore pure white, a long draped tunic that swayed with every spin. Around him, the stage was lit in blood-red light, casting monstrous shadows across the floor.

The music was sparse—mostly ambient sound: wind, breath, a slow heartbeat.

He danced like he was breaking and rebuilding himself in real time—starting curled inward, then stretching wide, twisting as if trying to escape something unseen.

Each movement felt desperate, but deliberate. A call. A cry.

In the final moment, he fell to his knees, gasped for breath, then extended his hand to the heavens.

A pure white spotlight shone from the window above him, catching the dust in the air like stars.

When he returned backstage, his hands were trembling.

Dongpyo squeezed them without saying anything.

Minhee ruffled his hair.

Seungwoo gave him a nod that said more than any speech.

“You did what only you could do,” he said, proud.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

The filming of the first Kingdom episode was a surreal déjà vu.

A new set. New camera angles. A different MC.

But the same weight in the air.

The same thrill and weight of being judged again—not by ranking, but by impact.

They greeted their fellow groups one by one:

• The Boyz—senior with whom they crossed path from time to time. Familiar smiles, unspoken understanding.
• ATEEZ—charged energy, friends they are happy to fight alongside.
• Stray Kids—playful, watchful. Han gave Hyeongjun a subtle nod across the room.

And after they took places in their seats.

• BTOB – only four, two still serving in the military, warm and open, happy to discover new dongsaengs.
• IKON, relaxed, like only true veterans of survival shows can be.

Despite the competitive tension, it felt like a family reunion among survivors.

In between rehearsals, idols traded snacks, shared stories, passed muscle patches under the table.

BTOB did their best to relax their atmosphere, joking and teasing their junior. But the biggest laugh came when Minhyuk asked who was the youngest, smiling Dohyon raised his hand. Eunkwang choked in air when realising the rapper was 14 years younger than him to the joy of the younger ones in the room.

“We all know what this is,” Seungyoun whispered. “It’s not war. It’s… a dance of ghosts.”

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

When the MC, TVXQ ! announced the start of the first performance, they were on the edge of their seat.

Ateez was a masterclass in storytelling.

“San’s control is insane,” Dongpyo said, half-wincing in admiration.

“Hongjoong’s arrangement was wild,” Minhee added, head nodding.

When BTOB Performed, the were frozen in silence, rendered mute by the talent of their seniors.

“Vocals on another plane,” Wooseok whispered.

“That’s what presence feels like,” Junho added.

BTOB choose then. It was time to show the world a first taste of who they were.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

 X1 had to perform a 100-second piece that represented who they were.

The vote to decide the song was quick.

“Eclipse,” Wooseok said.

“But different,” Seungyoun added.

They spent the next four days reworking the arrangement into something orchestral, with soaring strings, layered harmonies, live piano, and a slow-burning build that ended in a bright major key.

It felt like an echo of the past—but reframed with hope.

Their costumes in midnight blue with silver accents was reminiscent of their MAMA stage.

Seungwoo led with calm power, his movements heavy with leadership.

Dongpyo and Yohan added subtle storytelling with expression and gaze.

Hyeongjun, now more confident than ever, took the centre break—sharp, flowing, his growth as a dancer evident in every beat.

The climax hit with the group forming a ring, Eunsang and Dongpyo rising in the centre, hands extended like a flame being passed forward. Their newly coloured hair, golden blonde for Eunsang and Bright red for Dongpyo adding to the flame effect.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

Their choice to go after them was Stray Kids. They had high expectation for their friends performance.

Stray Kids’ “Miroh” was met with grins and claps.

“They’re monsters,” Seungyoun said.

“Hyunjin’s intensity…” Hyeongjun trailed off, shaking his head in awe.

When The Boyz finished their stage, Seungwoo murmured:

“They move like one body. That’s years of grind.”

And when Ikon finished the round, they turn the silent studio into a concert hall with a swag and a charisma that few could match.

At the end of the day, they didn’t view the others as enemies.

Only as reminders of what artistry could be.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

When their own Eclipse performance aired, the dorm was silent until the final note played.

Then the phones buzzed.

“X1 just turned Eclipse into a confession.”

“That bridge harmony?? Vocals from heaven.”

“This is not a rookie group. This is a statement.”

Seungwoo didn’t cry.

But he sat very still, hands pressed together, like in prayer.

“We did it,” he said. “Not for points. For us.”

_______________________________________________________________________________________________

Between episodes, friendships deepened.

Hyeongjun spent late nights texting Han, talking about stage nerves and life.

Minhee and Seungmin exchanged jokes and serious talks—about needing to smile even when you're exhausted.

Dongpyo bonded with Sunwoo  over a shared love of old K-dramas.

Hangyul was adopted into the chaos that was San and Wooyoung’s backroom dance rehearsals.

Even the elders formed quiet camaraderie:

Seungwoo often stayed late, offering water and shoulder pats to junior idols.

Seungyoun, overwhelmed by creative demands, once disappeared for three hours—and returned with his voice hoarse from scream-singing in a sound booth.

Wooseok found him afterward.

“Don’t burn out, hyung.”

“I’ll be fine,” Seungyoun lied.

Wooseok just sat beside him, shoulder to shoulder, wordless. A promise of presence.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

The first official battle theme was “To the World.”

“This is about identity,” Seungyoun explained in the first concept meeting.

“About what we say to those just meeting us now.”

They didn’t want to perform a debut or a hit.

They wanted to craft a message.

They chose to remix “Flash” and “Red Echo” into a duality:

• “Flash” represented their beginnings—intense, clean, manufactured.
• “Red Echo” showed the storm—pain, pressure, raw energy.

But the version they built together wasn’t about past vs. present.

It was about searching for peace after both.

For Hyeongjun, the stage was more than choreography—it was his moment to anchor the group as main dancer. Each gesture was precise, soulful.

Seungwoo served as steady leader, fielding stylists, calming nerves, grounding the team.

Seungyoun, ever-creative, agonized lovingly over the mashup’s transitions—making sure each layer reflected X1’s identity.

They were the first group to take the stage.

The performance began in silence.

Eleven silhouettes behind shifting fabric screens.

The lights rose to a broken staircase stage, scattered with lanterns flickering on and off.

“Flash” began—slowed down, with orchestral strings and minimal percussion.

They danced in formation, but without touching—isolated in beauty, each movement a cry for unity.

Then came the break—"Red Echo" crashed in.

The lights turned crimson. The lanterns burst. Their bodies collided now—not violently, but protectively.

Eunsang and Hyeongjun, dressed in pale blue, danced in the centre.

Their movements were subtle, searching, soft.

They weren’t being guarded.

They were guiding.

The others surrounded them—not shielding them, but moving with them, being drawn to their light.

At the final moment, the stage dimmed to black, save for a single lantern in Eunsang’s hand.

Hyeongjun emerged from the stage drenched in sweat but smiling.

“I feel like I finally danced me,” he whispered.

Seungyoun, slumped in a hallway chair later, smiled weakly at Seungwoo.

“Burned through all my soul on that one.”

“You gave us more than enough,” Seungwoo said, kneeling beside him.

“My legs won’t stop shaking,” Junho admitted quietly.

“That’s good—it means something hit you,” Wooseok replied.

They were tired.

But they were alive in the way only battle-forged warriors could understand.

They sat down again to watch the others’ performances for Round 1.

The Boyz unveiled “No air” as a gothic romance of masks and shadows with a Game of Thrones theme .

IKON’s “Love Scenario and Killing Me” came with cheeky confidence and a powerful performance.

BTOB’s « Missing You » brought half of them to tears.

Stray Kids’ “Side Effects” was violent and brilliant.

ATEEZ chose “Wonderland” and made it feel like an epic journey

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

Late that night, the dorm was dark, quiet, but awake.

The eleven sat on the floor in silence.

Not because they were afraid.

But because something about being seen, fully, had changed them.

“If this is what it means to go to war,” Seungwoo said, “then I’m proud we’re fighting like this.”

“We’re not fighting,” Hyeongjun said, softly.

“We’re… showing.”

“Then let’s show them everything,” Seungyoun said.

And they would.

Chapter Text

“To take someone else’s story and sing it as your own—this is where respect becomes rebirth.”

The dorm was quieter than usual.

Outside, Seoul glimmered beneath a winter sky, but inside X1’s shared space, eleven young men sat wrapped in the dull afterglow of Round 1. They had ranked third.

Not a defeat.

But not a victory, either.

It was a reminder.

__________________________________________________________

The studio had never been this silent.

Not even during results announcements.

Now, the six groups stood across from each other—lined like the opening move of a chessboard, with the Kingdom production staff and cameras centred between them.

At the front stood Changmin, composed and calm, a notecard in hand.

“For Round 2,” he began, “each group will cover another’s iconic song. But this time… you will choose your opponent.”

A quiet shuffle ran down the line. Glances were exchanged, measured and unreadable.

“We’ll proceed in the order of Round 1’s rankings,” Changmin continued. “ATEEZ, you placed first so of course,  you choose first.”

Hongjoong looked forward with the grace of someone who had prepared for this moment.

He didn’t look at the other groups—he looked at his members. Quickly they gather and choose.

“We choose… iKON sunbaenim.”

Gasps. A few surprised laughs. ATEEZ bowing deeply toward their seniors.

Bobby grinned, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Guess we better bring the fire, huh?”

Next, Stray Kids.

Bang Chan turned forward, with a smile.

He was calm. Focused.

“We want a challenge… and a something different from what we sing usually.”

He looked over at BTOB, then turned toward The Boyz.

“Our choice is BTOB sunbaenim.”

Eunkwang smiled—tight-lipped, respectful. He and Changsub exchanged a look that said everything without words.

The kids wanted to sing. The elders were ready to teach.

That left The Boyz and X1, standing side-by-side, still waiting.

Changmin glanced between them, then gave a soft nod.

“As the remaining two, you’ll be assigned to each other.”

It wasn’t a surprise. But it still felt… significant.

Seungwoo turned to Sangyeon, offering a low bow.

Sangyeon returned it—both leaders understanding the sacred weight of handing over one’s own identity for reinvention.

“We’ll do your song justice,” Seungwoo said.

“And we’ll honour yours,” Sangyeon replied.

Behind them, the members exchanged soft smiles.

The war hadn’t ended.

But for a moment—it felt more like a relay.

One group passing the torch to another.

_____________________________________________

They were tasked with reinterpreting another group’s track—one that had made that group who they were. A piece of identity, now to be reborn through X1’s hands.

Their group?

The Boyz.

It brought smiles. Laughter. Respect.

“They’re performers,” Dongpyo said. “So let’s be storytellers.”

They chose “D.D.D”, one of The Boyz’s brighter, more vibrant songs but with an existing message of resilience.

But their version wouldn’t be sugar and light.

“We keep the colour,” Seungwoo proposed, “but let’s show what it means to fight for joy and to keep fighting again and again.”

Seungyoun looked across at him, then back to the group.

“Let’s turn ‘D.D.D’ into something wild,” he said. “Joy that costs something. Radiance that bleeds.”

__________________________________________

As soon as they left the studio Seungyoun was already back in the studio.

Pale light filtered across the mixing board, his fingers trembling as they hovered over another take of a string overlay that didn’t feel right.

Behind him, Wooseok and Hyeongjun stood in the doorway. Eunsang joined silently, Minhee trailing behind.

“Hyung,” Wooseok said softly, “can we help?”

Seungyoun didn’t turn.

“I’ve got it,” he muttered.

“No, you don’t,” Eunsang said, gently but firmly.

He finally looked up, and they saw it in his eyes—the rawness of fatigue. Not from work. From carrying it alone.

“Let us,” Minhee added. “Just this once. Let us make it with you, not behind you.”

There was a silence, taut and full.

Then Seungyoun exhaled. “Okay,” he said. “Then we do this as eleven.”

_______________________________________________

They broke into teams.

• Seungyoun and Dohyon would oversee the instrumental shift.
• Wooseok and Eunsang would help write the bridge and pre-chorus vocal harmonies.
• Minhee and Hyeongjun took point on performance direction.

Their version of “D.D.D” opened not with mumbai-ton rhythm-based pop, but with soft synth and echoes of laughter. It built slowly, layers folding in—strings, then bass, then the driving beat from the original track.

But it wasn’t sugar.

It was glow under pressure.

A song about holding onto celebration because it was hard.

________________________________________________

They watched the order flash onto the screen during rehearsals:

1. The Boyz – Covering Flash
2. X1 – D.D.D
3. iKON – Inception
4. ATEEZ – Rhythm Ta
5. BTOB – Back Door
6. Stray Kids – I’ll Be Your Man

No reactions. Just a deep breath shared across eleven lungs. They were among the first to perform, it was up to them to set the ton.

Backstage during filming, they sat side by side with their competitors, hearts drumming as the stages unfolded.

The Boyz' interpretation of Flash was sleek, angular—mirror-perfect. They twisted X1’s fire into a hypnotic rhythm, with a more Spanish feel. Seungwoo clapped for them, his hands proud even if his heart ached.

Then came X1’s turn.

The lights rose on a stage set in half-colour.

On the left there was bright tones and carnival lights.

On the right the screen light up in grayscale shadows, showing mirrors angled inward.

As “D.D.D” began, Dongpyo and Minhee led the first movement—tight, energetic, a burst of joy. But it already had a sinister undertone, a feeling of force emotion.

And in the second verse the tone shifted.

Colours dimmed. The fight became evident.

The choreography turned jagged, staggered.

Hyeongjun, front and centre, moved with practiced fluidity. His body told a story of someone running toward light—but being pulled back by unseen hands.

Eunsang broke free first. Then the others followed, until all eleven stood centre.

Together, they threw their arms upward. Not out of bliss.

Out of defiance.

Out of a decision: to dance in the light, to stay, even if it burns.

When the song was finished and they were all together backstage no words as they came off.

Just quiet tears.

Just hands on backs, arms around shoulders.

It had been their story.

In borrowed lyrics. In reworked melodies.

Their joy. Their pain. Their rebirth.

After them, iKON’s “Inception” stunned with emotion.

ATEEZ burned the stage with “Rhythm Ta” as if they were born for it.

BTOB turned “Back Door” into a fun vocal masterclass infused with rock and memories of concerts.

Stray Kids’ “I’ll Be Your Man” left even veteran staff in awe before the unexpected talent of the group.

After what seems hours later, the scores were announced.

1st – ATEEZ
2nd – X1
3rd – BTOB
4th – iKON
5th – The Boyz
6th – Stray Kids

They froze.

Stray Kids, last?

No one in the room moved.

Even Seungwoo looked shaken before he continued.

“Your artistry does not live in numbers,” he murmured to Bangchan who was seated to his left. “This is one part of your story.”

______________________________________

Changmin announced the theme for round 3 : No limit.

Then he explained the format : two parts.

First part  a collaboration three groups against the other three. And the competition ? Three stage : Vocal, Rap and Dance.

The possibility were endless and mouthwatering to Seungyoun, what he could do with BTOB voices or Stray Kids rapper. Whatever the combination it would be awesome, he had no doubt.

Second part, a no limit stage, whatever they wanted.

The younger members where already discussing ideas, so impossibles (« What if we did a big collaboration with Cravity and Up10tion ? ») and other interesting («  Maybe invite other produce winners ? »)

But now was time to determine the teams.

And the one doing it ?  ATEEZ, the temporary winners of round 2.

They stood tall, voices steady, after of a few seconds of discussions.

“We want work with Stray Kids and X1.”

Stunned silence.

Then smiles.

Then to nods.

Not rivals.

Brothers.

___________________________________________

That night, in the dorm, Seungyoun sat with his guitar in his lap, eyes closed.

Eunsang passed by, humming the chorus to “D.D.D.”

And outside, the first frost of winter formed on the window—quiet, but not cold.

They were changing.

Becoming something more than contestants.

More than idols.

Something close to artists in bloom.

And now with friends to create with them the possibilities were infinite.

Chapter Text

“To stand alone is courage. To stand together is freedom.”

They stood together in the rehearsal hall, hearts pounding as Changmin announced the Kingdom Round 3 details.

“For the first part of Round 3, you will compete in unit battles—rap, dance, and vocal.”

Some gulped, nerves crackling.

But when the unit names were called, the fear became something else.

Excitement.

Each team choose a name to represent themselves.

Mayday (X1, Stray Kids, Ateez)– A promise of unity if only for one day, but also the call of spring.
The One (BTOB, IKON, The Boyz)– Singular, powerful, united.

___________________________________________

Mayday’s Rap Unit was formed of Seungyoun, Yohan, Dohyon , Bangchan, Changbin, Han, Hongjoong.

The unit had met at the JYPE building. After a shared drink in the cafeteria laughing and chatting, it was time to start working.

When they first entered the studio, the energy was chaotic and bright—like a thunderstorm of laughter.

Seungyoun had his guitar, strumming random riffs, while Dohyon drummed on the table.

Bangchan showed a beat he was working on, Han and Changbin rapped bars back and forth, laughing as Han scribbled lyrics on a takeout napkin. Hongjoong layered in synths while Dohyon and Seungyoun argued about bass lines. Yohan paced, humming potential hooks.

“What if we don’t make it dark?” Seungyoun suggested suddenly.

Bangchan raised an eyebrow. “Not dark?”

“What if it’s messy, colourful, like us?”

“And what if we use the colours to talk about more than music ? We could talk about people, how we are you all different and that is a force not something wrong.” Added Hongjoong.

They all starred. Then grinned.

Their concept will be youthful rebellion, colour, and chaos.

“Let’s call it ‘Playing with Paint’,” Seungyoun grinned.

Han and Changbin threw lines back and forth, rapping about freedom and chaos, while Yohan and Dohyon added bright, catchy hooks.

Seungyoun’s verse was a thunderclap, while Hongjoong’s was smooth yet sharp, tying the chaos into poetry.

Recording felt like a party. They layered bright whistles, heavy bass, and hooky chants.

It wasn’t survival. It was art.

________________________________

The Dance Unit wad Hangyul, Dongpyo, Hyeongjun, Minhee, Lee Know, Felix, San, Yeosang, Wooyoung and Yunho.

They met in a mirrored studio, music blasting, sneakers squeaking.

They were a mess at first—ten strong dancers, each with their own style.

Felix’s bass-quiet energy, Wooyoung’s fire, San’s explosive power, Hyeongjun’s soft sharpness, Dongpyo’s clean lines.

Hangyul led warmups. Lee Know and San discussed formations. Felix and Wooyoung played with freestyle moves while Hyeongjun and Minhee practiced their lines.

“Let’s not outshine,” Hangyul said. “Let’s sync.”

They clashed, they laughed, they filmed themselves and rewatched until they were moving like a single breath.

Minhee, who had never been in the front before, found himself paired with Yeosang, who whispered:

“Smile when you dance. It makes it easier.”

And it did.

Dongpyo suggested:

“Let’s show a piece that shows joy, friendship, and strength in one breath.”

They choose EXO “Power” as they song and changed the choreography to suit them and what they wanted to do.

They added lift, duet, movement and transition where they were all linked to drive home their togetherness. They even added a few moves inspired by anime at the suggestion of the younger who found the music very opening like with the remix.

When they filmed their stage for Power, it wasn’t about competition.

It was celebration.

__________________________________________

Mayday’s Vocal Unit was composed of Seungwoo, Wooseok, Junho, Seungmin, I.N, Seonghwa, Jongho.

This unit met in a quiet practice room, the air hushed. Seungwoo took behind the piano and started playing.

They didn’t talk much.

They sang. They harmonized. They clicked from the very beginning.

Seungmin’s honey voice blended with I.N’s youthful brightness. Jongho’s powerful notes lifted the ceiling.

Junho found himself harmonizing with Seonghwa while Wooseok guided the timing.

Seungwoo, as the eldest, simply closed his eyes and let his voice float, setting a tone of quiet emotion.

For the song, they had a lot of proposition, each with his own music theme. They finally settled on a suggestion of I.N.

They chose a ballad and orchestral arrangement of the new Mamamoo’s song “Where are we now ?”.

________________________________________

Between practices, they shared snacks, laughter, and quiet conversations.

They ate together, laughing over chicken and tteokbokki, joking about missed notes and dance bloopers.

Hyeongjun and Han shared late-night ramen, talking about dreams.

Dongpyo and Seungmin shared playlists.

Minhee and Lee Know stretched together, discussing injuries and the best way to rest.

Seungwoo and Seonghwa exchanged quiet smiles, veterans understanding each other’s silences.

Seungyoun, Bangchan, and Hongjoong exchanged playful banter that always ended in hugs.

The stress of Kingdom faded. For a moment, they were just artists, friends, young men chasing a dream together.

No rivalry.

Just kinship.

________________________________________

When it as time to perform, the members of Mayfly where closer than ever and ready to take over the stage.

It was the Rap Unit that started the episode.

It was a cool and fun stage.

Neon paint exploded behind them on screens as they rapped.

Seungyoun’s verse was slick and magnetic, Han and Changbin’s tandem was fire.

Hongjoong’s rap was a beautifully crafted, Yohan’s hook lifted the energy, and Dohyon’s verse was sharp and fresh.

Bangchan closed with a verse that brought cheers from the staff.

They ended the stage covered in paint, laughing, the stage a riot of colours.

The One’s Rap Unit was formed by Bobby, Sunwoo and Minhyuk.

They created a stage called “Fire & Ice”, sleek and mature, a contrast to Mayday’s chaos.

Bobby launched an intense verse. Sunwoo’s tone added sharpness, Minhyuk’s presence grounded it.

Their stage was red and blue lights, fire visuals, and strong beats.

After, they bowed, sweat shining, pride in their eyes.

After it was the turn of the Dance Units.

Mayday’s performance was electrifying but so fun :

They began lying down, fingers tapping the floor like a heartbeat. The music built as each rose, one by one, syncing to the beat. Felix’s waves flowed into Dongpyo’s clean hits, Wooyoung and Yunho’s flips added fire.

Hyeongjun and San performed a mirror duet that drew gasps. The final formation: a pulsing ring, all ten moving like a single entity.

The One’s Dance Unit chose a jazz-fusion piece titled “Shadow Play”, focusing on smoothness and storytelling, led by The Boyz’s Q and BTOB’s Peniel.

It was elegant, like watching water move, graceful in a way that contrasted Mayday’s power.

And finally it was time for the vocalist to take the stage.

First this time was the One vocal unit. They chose a more rock arrangement of "Spark" by Taeyeon focusing on BTOB’s Eungkwang’s lead, harmonized by New  and iKON’s June, their stage a powerful contrast of grit and warmth.

Then Mayday performed "Where are we now". The stage was bathed in blue and white lights, the air hushed. They didn’t dance, they just sang leaving the voices as the centre of the stage. Each voice shone—Jongho’s belts, Wooseok’s depth, Seungmin’s warmth, Seonghwa’s clarity, Junho’s softness, I.N’s emotion, Seungwoo’s stability.

It was a moment that transcended competition.

“It was a moment out of time,” Minhyuk whispered.

It was. For three minutes, nothing else mattered.

______________________________________

The day after round 3 announcement, X1 gathered in a meeting room, all eleven lined along the glass wall, the city lights reflecting behind them.

For the second part of Round 3 we need something different, something that make you stand out.

« What about going back to our roots ? » suggested Seungwoo

« A stage with UP10tion and Victon ? » asked Eunsang

« I was more thinking of IZ*ONE or Wanna One and I.O.I even » answered the leader

« It would be a great idea » exclaimed Hyeongjun full of enthusiasm.

 “Then let’s do it. Round 3 part 2 will be a joint performance with IZ*ONE and former Wanna One and I.O.I members who wish to join.”

“I’ll see with the management if they can contact everyone.”

A hush fell.

It wasn’t just a stage.

It was a thank you to those who came before, to themselves, to the fans.

They had a concept, now they needed a song.

It was Dongpyo, Hyeongjun, and Eunsang who found the golden idea, while sitting cross-legged on the dorm floor and sharing snacks spread around them, eyes bright.

“Hyung,” Dongpyo said, looking up at Seungwoo in the nearby kitchen, “what if the joint stage was a mashup of the signal songs?”

“And we bring everyone together,” Hyeongjun added, “one by one, song by song?”

“And we end with ‘Hold My Hand’, so it’s not just about looking back, but forward,” Eunsang finished, voice soft but certain.

The room fell silent, Seungwoo’s lips curling into a smile.

“That’s… perfect.”

And so it began.

They met with IZ*ONE—Yujin, Wonyoung, and the others smiling with familiar warmth. Former Wanna One members like Jisung and Daehwi came by, hugging Seungwoo and Wooseok with quiet, teary smiles. A few I.O.I members sent messages of encouragement, some recording a short intro clip to play during the stage. Yeongjun and Somi showed up. Yeongjun hugged the Starship boys, telling them how proud she is of how far they’ve come since Produce.

“We Remember Where We Came From.” That was the message of the performance

“We are here, because they were.” Told Minhee in an interview

As they practiced, Seungwoo looked around at his members.

Hyeongjun dancing with Wonyoung. Dongpyo joking with Yujin. Seungyoun and Jihoon laughing over old stories.

A family—scattered, but still whole.

_________________________________________

The night before the stage, the members sat in the dorm, exhausted but fulfilled.

“No matter what happens,” Minhee said softly, “this was worth it.”

“Because we’re not alone,” Seungyoun added.

Seungwoo looked around at his members, a small smile on his face.

“Tomorrow, we remember where we came from.”

And they would.

Together.

Chapter Text

“We carry the flame because someone once carried it for us.”

They barely slept.

The rehearsal ended at midnight, but adrenaline hummed in every nerve. X1, IZ*ONE, Jihoon and Jisung from Wanna One, and a few I.O.I members who joined for the chorus gathered in a circle backstage.

“Tomorrow isn’t about proving we’re the best,” Seungwoo said, voice soft.

“It’s about remembering why we started.”

Dongpyo squeezed Wonyoung’s hand. Hyeongjun bumped shoulders with Jihoon, who ruffled his hair in return.

Outside, Seoul glowed under a thousand lights.

Inside, they were just trainees again—standing on the edge of something vast.

______________________________________________

The lights dimmed.

A hush fell over the studio and the online streamers worldwide.

The screen lit up with training room clips:

• I.O.I smiling in a small practice room.
• Daehwi and Jisung laughing during vocal warmups.
• IZ*ONE in pink shirts, cheering each other on.
• Seungwoo and the X1 members playing a game sat on the floor of a dance practice room, still sweating but smiling widely.

The fans watching knew these moments. They had lived them too.

Then, a single piano note echoed.

The stage opened in soft pink lights.

Somi and Nayoung from I.O.I stood with Dongpyo, Wonyoung, and Yujin from IZ*ONE, performing the iconic opening steps as confetti fluttered down.

Their smiles were bright, energy effervescent as they sang « Pick me »

As “Pick Me” faded, the lights shifted to a vibrant blue.

Jisung and Daehwi from Wanna One walked in from opposite sides, joining Jihoon, Wooseok, and Wooyoung. Minhee and Hyeongjun joined them, the choreography expanding as Nayana (It’s Me) started

Daehwi’s clear voice led the chorus while Jisung’s gentle harmonies layered underneath, the older members watching the younger with pride.

Purple lights took over as IZ*ONE’s Nekkoya melody kicked in.

Wonyoung and Yujin, joined by more IZ*ONE members, stepped forward, their vocals intertwining with Dongpyo and Eunsang, who slipped seamlessly into the dance formation.

The stage felt fuller, the energy building as each generation layered upon the last.

The beat shifted to the strong, familiar pulse of X1-MA.

The lights turned red and gold.

All idols—I.O.I, Wanna One, IZ*ONE, and X1—remained on stage, coming together for “X1-MA.”

Seungyoun, Dohyon, and Yohan led the chant, taking centre, Wooseok and Seungwoo’s vocals ringing clear as the chorus hit.

They moved in unison, dozens of trainees-turned-idols on a single stage, a sea of lightsticks waving in rhythm on the screens around them.

It was more than a song.

It was a promise.

The final note of “X1-MA” bled into soft guitar strums.

“Hold My Hand” began, the melody gentle, inviting.

Somi and Nayoung stood beside Dongpyo and Wonyoung, linking hands. Daehwi and Jisung stood between Seungwoo and Wooseok, voices blending as they sang the chorus.

The screen behind them showed fan videos from around the world, faces lit by phone screens and lightsticks, singing along.

As the final chorus swelled, all the idols lifted their hands together, joined across groups and generations.

“Hold my hand, even if the world is dark…”
“Hold my hand, we will walk until dawn…”

And as the lights flared white, for a moment, there were no groups.

Only a family born from pursuing the same dreams.

__________________________________________

After they came off stage, they watched from the wings, hands still clasped, hearts still pounding.

• iKON – “Classy Savage”: Playful energy, Bobby and DK grinning as they performed with easy charisma.
• BTOB – “Blue Moon”: A jazz-theatre masterpiece, Changsub and Eungkwang’s vocals painting the air.
• Stray Kids – “God’s DDU-DU DDU-DU”: Explosive, cinematic, Lee Know’s dance break and Changbin’s rap leaving the staff speechless.
• ATEEZ – “Answer: Ode to Joy”: Grand and powerful, San and Wooyoung commanding the stage with fire.
• The Boyz – “Monster”: Dark elegance, synchronized to perfection.

They cheered for each, pride and admiration mixing in their veins.

Changmin returned, the results in hand.

“The winner of Round 3 is…”

A pause. A breath.

“X1.”

Minhee screamed, hugging Dongpyo, who dissolved into tears. Seungyoun let out a laugh, pulling Wooseok into a hug while Hyeongjun pressed his hands to his face, shaking.

Seungwoo simply closed his eyes, tears slipping free, a soft, grateful smile on his lips.

They had done it.

Together.

____________________________________________

Later that night, they gathered in the studio, the trophy in the centre of the table.

The next stage was the final.

“We need a song,” Seungwoo said, voice steady, “that tells the world who we are.”

Seungyoun sat with his guitar, strumming softly, eyes distant.

“A song about hope,” Hyeongjun added.

“About fighting through the storm,” Wooseok said.

“About us,” Dongpyo whispered.

And once more,  it wasn’t just Seungyoun and Dohyon taking notes.

Minhee raised his hand shyly. “Can I help with lyrics?”

Eunsang nodded. “I have an idea for the melody.”

Wooseok and Seungwoo exchanged a look before sitting down.

“Let’s do this,” Seungwoo said, a rare, bright grin breaking across his face.

They spent hours together—Seungyoun layering guitar with Dohyon’s beats, Wooseok crafting pre-chorus lines, Minhee suggesting a bridge melody, Hyeongjun and Dongpyo harmonizing choruses, Eunsang finding the right key.

Even Seungwoo, tired but driven, scribbled lines and adjusted chords.

The studio was filled with laughter, tears, and raw voices.

And when they played back the first rough cut, the room fell silent, each member looking at each other, tears shimmering in the soft light.

“This is us,” Seungyoun whispered.

“This is our dawn,” Seungwoo added.

Outside, dawn was breaking.

They stepped onto the balcony, the cold air crisp, the city quiet.

“We’ll call it ‘Dawn Call,” Dohyon said softly.

And together, eleven young men stood, watching the sun rise, ready to tell the world their story—

One more time.

Chapter Text

“Victory is not a crown. It’s a sunrise.”

They stood in the darkened rehearsal hall, the instrumental of “Dawn Call” echoing off the walls.

Seungyoun adjusted his in-ear, guitar slung across his shoulder as he tested the opening riff. Hyeongjun stretched silently in the corner, eyes closed, finding calm in the hum of anticipation.

“This is it,” Seungwoo said softly, standing in the centre.

“Let’s make it ours,” Wooseok replied, placing a hand on his shoulder.

And they began, one last time, running the performance until their breath fogged in the cool air, until their hearts calmed into certainty.

They sat in the makeup room, the hum of hairdryers and soft chatter a fragile calm before the storm.

Hyeongjun bounced his knee, humming the bridge of Dawn Calls under his breath. Minhee glanced at him, smiling softly.

“We’re really here,” Dongpyo whispered.

Seungwoo stood, adjusting his mic pack, looking at each member in turn.

“No matter what happens today, this is ours.”

Seungyoun closed his eyes, nodding.

Outside, the crowd was gathering. Staff moved like currents around them, fixing lights, clearing cords.

The finale was about to begin.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

They watched from the wings as their friends poured everything onto the stage.

• iKON brought fire and humour, the crowd laughing and cheering with their carefree energy.
• BTOB made the air shimmer with their ballad, Changsub and Eungkwang’s harmonies making even staff cry quietly.
• ATEEZ delivered hype, their stage a roaring wave of movement and power.
• The Boyz performed with breathtaking synchronicity, their precision mesmerizing.
• Stray Kids set the stage ablaze with a fierce, cinematic performance, Felix’s deep voice rumbling, Han’s rap slicing through the heavy beats, Lee Kow’s dance break feeling like a storm in human form.

X1 clapped, whistled, cheered, hugged the members when they came off stage.

“No matter who wins,” Seungwoo whispered to Seungyoun, “this was worth it.”

________________________________________________________________________________________________

When they stepped onto the Kingdom finale stage, it was quiet.

Not silent—there was the buzz of equipment, the quiet hum of thousands watching live—but quiet in the way that everything else fell away.

The lights dimmed.

A single string note ringed out in the silence.

Junho’s soft, clear voice began, breaking the silence.

“When the night was long, we were waiting…”

A soft glow spread as Minhee and Eunsang stepped forward, harmonizing, their voices trembling with hope.

Behind them, the screens flickered to life—images of the universe slowly fading to that of the sea of lightsticks that had followed them since debut.

Hyeongjun, Dongpyo, and Hangyul led a choreography that felt like breathing—sharp yet gentle, mirroring the rise of the sun.

Dohyon’s rap layered in, gentle but urgent:

“Fear in the dark, but hope in our eyes…”

The chorus crashed in, Seungwoo and Wooseok’s voices joining, strong and warm, harmonies weaving together like threads of light.

Felix and San, watching from the wings, nodded, eyes bright.

Seungyoun’s soft guitar led into the bridge, Yohan’s warm tone layering, building, building—

“We are here, because we held on…”

Lights flickered from soft gold to bright white as Hangyul lifted Dongpyo in a slow, graceful lift, symbolizing hope carried upward.

And then silence.

A breath.

They sang together, eleven voices, no backing track, just raw harmony.

“Dawn calls, we rise…”

Lights rose, golden and white, as they lifted their hands, the camera capturing the tears, the smiles.

They stood, breathing hard, holding each other, as the final note faded.

And the fans, in the studio and across the world, erupted.

And they smiled, tears on some faces, laughter on others.

They had done it.

Together.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

They gathered on stage, all six groups, hands clasped.

Changmin stepped forward.

“The winner of Kingdom: Legendary War is…”

A pause.

“Stray Kids.”

Cheers. Gasps. Tears.

Han fell to his knees, Felix hugging him tight, Bangchan covering his face, overwhelmed.

X1 clapped, laughing, crying. Minhee hugged Dongpyo, who wiped his eyes. Seungwoo pulled Seungyoun into a hug, patting his back.

“They deserve this,” Seungyoun whispered.

“And we won too,” Seungwoo replied, “in our own way.”

And they meant it.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

Returning to the dorm, their bodies exhausted but their hearts content, they opened their phones.

The timeline was chaos.

#X1DeservedBetter #KingdomScam #StrayKidsUnfairWin

Tweets laced with anger and betrayal. Accusations hurled at Stray Kids, other groups, the staff.

Hurtful words. DMs. Fan wars igniting like wildfire.

The glow of victory and closure turned heavy.

Dongpyo sat on the floor, scrolling, his face pale.

“They’re attacking them… for us,” he whispered.

Hyeongjun clenched his jaw. Minhee shook his head in disbelief.

“This isn’t why we stood on that stage,” Wooseok said quietly.

Seungwoo looked around the room, at his members who were tired, proud, and devastated by what their success had turned into for others.

“We need to fix this,” Seungwoo said.

Seungwoo sat down with his phone, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

“Hyung, I’ll write it with you,” Seungyoun said, sitting beside him.

Together, with the input of every member, they crafted the message.

To our precious One It and everyone who has supported us,
We are deeply grateful for your endless love during Kingdom. Every cheer and message of support meant everything to us.
But please remember, Kingdom was not about defeating others. We have gained friends and unforgettable memories that are worth more than any trophy.
We are so proud of our friends, Stray Kids, and all the groups who shared the stage with us. They deserve your respect, your kindness, and your love.
Let’s show the world what it means to support each other with pride and positivity.
Let’s keep walking together, hand in hand.
We love you.
– X1

Seungwoo pressed “Post.”

And the weight in the room lifted, just a little.

The notifications exploded.

“Thank you for reminding us.”

“We will protect you, and them.”

“You’re right, X1. We are proud.”

Within hours, the trending hashtags shifted, messages of apology replacing anger.

The following morning, as they were getting ready for the day, a message came in.

Bangchan (Stray Kids):

“Hyung, we saw the post. Thank you. We were worried… Thank you for protecting us.”

Seungwoo smiled, showing the message to the others.

“That’s what matters,” Dongpyo whispered, eyes wet.

And as they turned off the lights, closed the door and stepped into the world , they knew—

They had not lost.

They had grown.

And they had protected what mattered.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Seungwoo looked around at his members, all of them breathing a little easier.

“We didn’t need a trophy to prove anything,” Wooseok said quietly.

“No,” Seungyoun agreed, “because we already won.”

Outside, dawn was breaking again, the sky painted in the soft promise of a new day.

And as they stood, stretching, smiling, they knew:

The real victory was in walking this road together.

Chapter Text

“We are the dawn breaking. We are the sun rising.”

The dorm was quiet the morning after Kingdom ended.

Quiet, but not heavy.

Dongpyo was sprawled on the couch, humming the chorus of Dawn Calls under his breath. Minhee scrolled through fancafe posts, smiling at fan edits from the finale.

Seungwoo stood by the window, sunlight on his face.

“We’ve come a long way,” he said.

“And we’re not done,” Seungyoun replied, leaning against the wall, guitar in hand.

___________________________________________________

It started in the conference room, the long table filled with X1’s eleven members, managers, and staff.

The air was different.

Lighter.

For once, Seungwoo noticed, there were no stiff suits, no dismissive smiles.

They sat, hearts pounding, as the director smiled.

“We’ve reviewed your achievements on Kingdom,” the agency director said, adjusting his glasses. “You have proven yourselves.”

A beat.

“This time, the comeback is yours. Full control. We will support your choices.”

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then, Seungyoun’s face broke into a grin so wide it crinkled his eyes. Seungwoo exhaled, pressing a hand to his chest.

“We won’t let you down,” Seungwoo promised, his voice calm but alive.

“We’re going to make this our best yet,” Seungyoun added, eyes shining.

_________________________________________________

They moved immediately, gathering in the practice room, whiteboard markers in hand.

“We have just one album this year,” Wooseok said, tapping the board. “Let’s make it a full album.”

“And it’s going to be huge,” Dohyon added, eyes gleaming.

Seungwoo stood, sipping coffee, watching the sky turn pink outside.

“Let’s do a rising sun concept,” he said suddenly.

“Sound wise, I want it to feel triumphant,” Seungyoun said, scribbling chords. “Kingdom taught us how to fight on stage, but this time, let’s show what it’s like to win with joy.”

“COVID is calming down, fans will be back,” Eunsang said softly, “Let’s give them something to celebrate with us.”

“ This comeback should feel like the moment the sun breaks the horizon.” Said Yohan

Then, Seungyoun grinned, nodding slowly.

“A powerful dawn,” he agreed. “Hope, but not quiet. Triumphant hope.”

“And let’s aim higher,” Hangyul added. “Let’s show we can challenge anyone, even the biggest names.”

They looked around the room.

Determination, hope, and fierce ambition reflected in every eye.

________________________________

The practice room became a command centre and once more the process wasn’t top down. It was all of them together as family.

Seungyoun led the music direction, pulling late nights, crafting melodies that rose like sunrise.

Dohyon and Wooseok layering beats that pulsed like a heartbeat.

Junho brought melody ideas, quietly humming in corners before dropping them into the DAW.

Eunsang, and Minhee recording demo vocals, their voices overlapping with warmth and youth.

Hyeongjun offered lyrics from personal notes, some scribbled in coffee shops, others in voice memos.

Dongpyo, Hangyul, and Yohan crafting harmonies that felt like wind in the morning.

Seungwoo oversaw everything, guiding the direction with a calm, open mind, ensuring the album felt unified.

The songs reflected everything they had lived:

• The euphoria of the Kingdom stage.
• The relief of seeing fans returning, lightsticks once more like constellations.
• The friendships found with ATEEZ, Stray Kids, BTOB, and The Boyz.
• The courage of fighting through fear, the joy of holding each other up.

The album became a single, powerful vision: an 11-track full album, the only release of the year, a sunrise in sound.

____________________________

It was no longer just Hyeongjun, Hangyul, and Dongpyo carrying the dance.

This time, everyone participated.

Yohan brought street-style grooves, adding playful breaks into the choreography.

Junho worked on transitional steps, making movements flow seamlessly.

Minhee focused on formations, his logical mind helping the group create patterns that would look striking from every angle.

Wooseok and Eunsang worked on emotive movements, ensuring the choreo reflected the lyrics.

Seungwoo and Hangyul designed the climax, a formation where the members formed a closed circle before stepping outward with raised hands—a symbol of hope, unity, and emergence.

The dance room was loud, filled with laughter and occasional playful bickering.

“Felix and Hyunjin would destroy this step,” Hyeongjun joked one evening, referencing the dance break.

“Then we just have to make it better than them,” Dongpyo replied with a grin.

And so they practiced, night after night, sweat dripping, music blasting, feet thudding in rhythm.

_______________________________________

The concept shoot reflected their vision:

Scenes of rooftops at sunrise, red, gold, and purple flooding the faces of the members.

Open fields with fog lifting as they danced in powerful silhouettes.

Studio shots with red and white lights, faces lifted, eyes steady.

Dongpyo ran around with a disposable camera, catching candid laughter between takes.

They weren’t boys waiting to prove themselves anymore.

They were X1—standing tall, sure of their place.

___________________________________

Even during preparation, they made time for life. They had learn to survive they needed to keep leaving. 

Hyeongjun invited Han and Felix over, and when they arrived, they found Wonjin and Jungmo already there with Minhee.

“This is Jungmo-hyung, and that’s Wonjin,” Hyeongjun introduced proudly.

Felix grinned, offering his hand. “Heard so much about you, mate.”

They spent hours laughing, eating delivery chicken, and playing games.

“Hyung, you’re terrible at this,” Felix teased as Jungmo lost at Kart Rider.

“We’ll stick to singing,” Jungmo replied, throwing his head back in laughter.

“I’m just glad we can do this,” Han said quietly, looking around at everyone.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Hyeongjun replied, smiling.

They took photos, vlogs, and videos for their memories, creating evidence that these friendships would outlast every stage

____________________________

As September neared, the album was nearly complete.

They stood in the recording studio, Seungyoun hitting “play” as the final mastered track reverberated around them.

Their voices.

Their words.

Their story.

“We made this,” Wooseok whispered, awed.

"Only us" echoed Seungyoun. 

“Together,” Seungwoo added.

They looked at each other—at the quiet pride in Junho’s eyes, at the confident grin on Hangyul’s face, at the determined fire in Dongpyo’s posture.

They had fought for this.

They had grown into it.

They were X1—not by accident, not by circumstance, but by choice.

And as they prepared to announce their comeback, they no longer wondered if they were enough.

They knew.

They stood taller than ever, ready to rise once more.

_______________________________

The final trailer was a minute of pure sunrise energy:

• Shots of the members silhouetted against dawn.
• A slow-motion moment of them raising their arms as the sun bursts behind them.
• The music—a single, rising synth layered with Seungyoun’s guitar—building, building, exploding with a final shot of Seungwoo turning to the camera, eyes blazing.

The screen cut to black.

“X1 – RISE. COMING SEPTEMBER.”

They watched the upload countdown together, huddled around Seungwoo’s laptop.

When the trailer dropped, the notifications exploded:

“THIS IS THE COMEBACK OF THE YEAR.”

“X1 LOOKS SO POWERFUL, THE CONCEPT IS PERFECT.”

“THE SUN IS RISING. WE ARE READY.”

Within an hour, #X1_RISE trended worldwide, alongside “THE DAWN IS HERE,” and “X1 IS THE STANDARD.”

Dongpyo burst into tears, laughing as Minhee hugged him.

They stood by the window as dawn approached, the sky brightening as the city woke.

Together, they felt it:

This comeback would be different.

They would rise, and this time, the world would rise with them.

Chapter Text

“We rose, and the world rose with us.”

The comeback was no longer just a comeback.

It was a declaration.

A full album—their only release of the year—crafted by their own hands, hearts, and sweat.

Eleven tracks, each carrying their growth, their fearlessness, their gratitude.

_____________________________________

A rock-infused anthem, Phoenix was not about simply surviving.

It was about rising, burning bright, and taking flight.

The MV opened on a dark city skyline, the members standing alone, wind and ash swirling around them.

• Seungwoo’s silhouette turned as the sun began to rise behind him.
• Hyeongjun leaped from a rooftop, landing as sparks trailed his steps.
• Seungyoun strummed a guitar on a rain-soaked street, sparks flying with every note.
• The camera cut to Dongpyo and Minhee, lifting their arms as dawn light exploded around them.
• The final scene: All eleven members, standing in a line on a rooftop, flames turning to glowing embers, the sun at its zenith behind them, their faces lifted in triumph.

Within 24 hours, Phoenix hit 18 million views, shattering their previous record.

Comments flooded in:

“THIS IS X1’S ERA.”
“THE KINGS OF GEN 4.”
“PHOENIX HAS RISEN.”

The song topped Melon, Genie, and Bugs, even charting on Billboard’s Hot 100 songs, marking their global presence.

On the first day, RISE sold 1.7 million albums.

Within the first week, it passed 2.5 million.

They were now in a realm occupied by only the biggest groups, the charts reflecting what they had felt in their bones since Kingdom:

X1 was not just here to participate. They were here to lead.

________________________________________

The stage for Phoenix was set with LED screens of a burning sunrise, flames licking across the floor panels.

• Hyeongjun’s dance break felt like the wind cutting through fire.
• Seungwoo and Wooseok’s high notes soared, matching the exploding lights.
• Dongpyo and Minhee’s final pose, hands raised toward the ceiling, embodied the essence of the song: rise, rise again.

The first Music Bank stage felt like a coronation.

Fans’ cheers, back in the studio, shook the walls. The lightsticks, like a sea of dawn, moved in unison as the instrumental swelled.

The title track, “Phoenix,” quickly claimed multiple music show wins, each trophy heavier with meaning : M Countdown, Music Core, Inkigayo.

Hyeongjun cried every time, Minhee laughing as he wiped his tears, Seungyoun eyes shimmering while Seungwoo held the mic to thank fans.

__________________________________________

The promoted B-side was One Flame, a performance-heavy, bass-driven track about unity, resilience, and brotherhood.

The chorus was a chant that filled concert halls:

“ONE FLAME! ONE FLAME!”

It became an anthem, fans screaming the chant with them, fists in the air, tears in their eyes.

The stage was minimalist, focusing on the choreography.

• Members formed a tight circle, moving outward with every chant of “ONE FLAME!”
• The lights pulsed with the bass, matching the stomping footwork.
• Fans’ chants filled the air, creating a call-and-response that made the studio shake.

Even staff commented it felt less like a stage, more like a revolution.

Unexpectedly, One Flame also won music shows.

The first win came during Music Core, Dongpyo dropping to his knees as fans chanted the song back to them.

The members linked arms, raising the trophy together, sweat dripping, hearts pounding.

“This isn’t just ours,” Wooseok said into the mic, voice thick. “It’s yours too.”

____________________________________

On the day of Inkigayo, while waiting backstage, a knock came at their door.

“Hey !” a familiar voice called out.

It was Daehwi.

Dongpyo’s eyes widened, and Hyeongjun ran to hug him, nearly knocking him over.

Daehwi grinned, ruffling Minhee’s hair.

“I was next door for recording and saw your rehearsal,” Daehwi said. “You guys… you’re amazing.”

He looked at Seungwoo, eyes sincere.

“Hyung, you’ve all made us so proud.”

Seungwoo blinked, fighting tears as Seungyoun clapped Daehwi’s shoulder.

“We learned from the best,” Seungyoun replied.

They took a quick photo together, Daehwi throwing up a peace sign.

“Show them who X1 is,” he said before leaving.

__________________________________

That night, they returned to the dorm with another trophy for Phoenix.

They placed it next to the One Flame trophy, the two shining side by side.

Minhee pulled out his phone, scrolling through fan cafe posts filled with love, fanart, and emotional letters.

“You are our dawn.”
“You helped us rise too.”

Dongpyo leaned on Hyeongjun’s shoulder, smiling with tears in his eyes.

“We really did it, didn’t we?” Dongpyo whispered.

“Yeah,” Hyeongjun replied softly, looking around at the people who had become his family.

Seungwoo turned to Seungyoun, who was wiping down his guitar.

“We’re not just idols anymore,” Seungwoo said.

“No,” Seungyoun agreed, smiling, “we’re X1.”

They stood together at the window, dawn just starting to bloom outside, knowing:

They had risen.

The world had risen with them.

And this was only the beginning.

“We are not afraid of tomorrow, because we built today together.”

Chapter Text

December days bled into each other under the glow of studio lights and the chill of Seoul’s winter air.

X1’s practice room was filled with music, footsteps, and soft laughter as the eleven members rehearsed for the upcoming end-of-year festivals.

Dongpyo was practicing a part of Phoenix, swirling his arms like flames, while Seungyoun and Wooseok debated which camera angles would highlight best the choreography during the One Flame stages.

Junho and Minhee worked on smoothing transitions while Hyeongjun ran formations with Hangyul and Yohan, ensuring every detail was precise.

They were ready to end the year standing tall, giving fans a show worthy of everything they had built together.

Eunsang leaned against the wall, watching the mirrors reflect eleven figures moving as one, before turning his gaze toward the soft winter light outside.

“It’s almost the end of the year,” he murmured.

“And the start of something else,” Wooseok replied, adjusting his in-ear.

_________________________________________________

The dorm was quiet that night, a soft winter wind brushing against the windows as frost crept along the edges of the glass.

They had just finished practicing for Gayo Daejeon, sweat drying on their necks as they sprawled around the living room, water bottles scattered, the glow of the city blinking softly outside.

It was Seungwoo who cleared his throat, setting down his water bottle.

“We need to talk.”

The air stilled.

Hyeongjun, curled next to Minhee, looked up. Dongpyo paused, blinking at him. Dohyon lowered the guitar he had been softly strumming.

“About March,” Seungwoo continued, voice calm but firm. “The end of the exclusivity.”

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Seungyoun exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s coming fast.”

“We’ve all thought about it,” Wooseok added quietly. “Even if we didn’t say it.”

Minhee was the first to speak, his voice small.

“I… I want to try songwriting more. Maybe a solo one day, or acting.”

Eunsang nodded, eyes thoughtful. “I think I’d like to try musicals. My hyung told me I’d suit it.”

“Variety shows,” Dongpyo said, trying to smile, “and dance. I want to show more of who I am.”

Dohyon’s fingers drummed on his knee. “Producing, definitely. Maybe collabs. Maybe even a mixtape.”

Junho shifted. “I don’t know yet. I want to keep singing, keep being with you guys, but… maybe I want to find what my colour is too.”

Hangyul looked up, determination in his gaze. “I want to dance on more stages. Any stage.”

Yohan tilted his head back. “I want to act again, if I can.”

When it was Seungwoo’s turn, his answer was full of hope « I just want to be able to go back with Victon, but a solo would be great also »

Wooseok echoed the sentiment, being a member of Up10tion, side by side with Jinhyuk, that was what he was waiting for.  

« I don’t know if it’s possible » started Hyeongjun with a trembling voice « But I wonder if we could join Cravity. I really want to dance with Wonjin again » He had tears in his eyes voicing his timid hope.  

They all spoke of dreams: variety, acting, songwriting, dance, solo music. Things they wanted to explore, colours they wanted to discover outside the comfortable warmth of eleven voices in one harmony.

But as the room grew quieter, the shadows of fear slipped in.

“What if our agencies don’t let us?” Minhee asked, eyes wide. “What if they want us back immediately?”

“What if we can’t control anything anymore?” Dohyon added, biting his lip.

“What if we’re not allowed to promote as X1 anymore?” Dongpyo whispered.

Silence.

“What if we lose this?” Hyeongjun finally said, voice cracking as he gestured to all of them, to the warm lights, the posters on the wall, the practice shoes by the door.

“What if this is the beginning of the end?”

Seungwoo stood, moving to the middle of the room.

“Look at me,” he said softly, waiting until ten pairs of eyes lifted to meet his.

“The agencies will have power again, yes. And there will be things we can’t control. But the X1 contract is still standing. We still have two more years.”

Wooseok moved to his side, nodding.

“Being away won’t tear us apart,” he said. “We’ve built something bigger than that.”

Seungyoun placed a hand on Minhee’s shoulder.

“We fought to be here. We fought to stay. And we will fight to keep this. We are X1. Nothing can change that.”

“But what if it’s not the same?” Dongpyo asked, tears brimming.

Seungwoo knelt in front of him.

“It won’t be the same. Things will change. But that doesn’t mean it will end.”

Seungyoun’s voice was soft but unshakable.

“We’ll be scattered sometimes, doing our own things. But when it’s time, we will come back together. For the music, for the stage, for our fans.”

“For us,” Wooseok finished.

The younger members looked at each other, the fear in their eyes softening, replaced by something steadier.

Dongpyo wiped his tears with the sleeve of his hoodie, managing a small smile. Hyeongjun let out a shaky breath and leaned into Minhee’s side.

“We have two years,” Dohyon repeated, as if reminding himself. “Two years to still be X1.”

“And when we’re apart,” Yohan added, “we’ll carry each other with us.”

“It’s not over,” Eunsang said.

“It’s just beginning,” Hangyul whispered.

Seungwoo stood, looking around at the faces he had come to love as family.

_______________________________________________

A few days later, the agency called them in.

The director smiled, a file in front of him.

“You’ve done incredibly this year. The numbers, the wins, the growth—unmatched.”

“Thank you,” Seungwoo said, bowing slightly, the members following.

“Now, we have an opportunity. A tour, starting early February.”

Silence.

Hyeongjun’s eyes widened. Dongpyo’s breath caught.

The members glanced at each other.

“What kind of tour?” Seungwoo asked.

"A World Tour if we can” the director confirmed, flipping open a proposal file, “covering North America, Europe, Southeast Asia, Japan, and Australia.”

He hesitated.

“An possibility is an Asia Tour that would be concentrated on the months of February and March. A World Tour would be… longer, complicated.”

A world tour—the dream they had held quietly since debut, the promise they had whispered to fans during Flash and Phoenix.

But Seungyoun spoke first:

“March… is the end of the exclusivity.”

The director nodded.

“We know. This would overlap with the non-exclusive period. We’d need cooperation from your home agencies.”

____________________________________________

Back at the dorm, the members sat in a circle, phones buzzing with news alerts about year-end stages. But the only thing of their mind was the agency proposition.  

“I want the world tour,” Hangyul said immediately.

“Same,” Hyeongjun said, remembering the Hold My Hand challenge videos, fans from France, Brazil, the Philippines, and Canada singing along, sending clips that had carried them during the darkest days of COVID.

“We’ve never toured,” Minhee said, frustration in his voice. “COVID took that away.”

“I want to see them,” Yohan whispered, clutching his phone where fans’ messages filled his notifications. “For real, not just on screens.”

“We owe them,” Dongpyo whispered, tears forming. “We owe it to the fans who waited.”

Junho nodded. “They waited for us. We should go to them.”

“But what if the agencies say no?” Eunsang asked.

“And what about the others?” Wooseok asked. “Victon, Up10tion, Cravity… they might need us too.”

Seungwoo looked down, torn, remembering the smiles of his Victon brothers when they won their first music show, and how he wasn’t there to share it.

“What if this is our last chance?” Hyeongjun asked, voice trembling. “To stand together before everything changes?”

Silence fell again.

“What do we want?” Seungyoun finally asked, looking around.

Seungwoo took a deep breath.

“Then we fight for it,” he said, his leader’s voice returning. “We show them why it matters.”

“Why we matter,” Seungyoun added.

____________________________________________

Between meetings, uncertainty, and whispered hopes, the members returned to rehearsal with even more fire.

They perfected the Phoenix stage for Gayo Daejeon, rehearsing the sunrise lighting that would close the year with the same dawn imagery that began it.

They reworked One Flame with new formations for MAMA, adding a final point move where they would join hands and lift them toward the lights.

They practiced until sweat dripped, until their lungs burned, until their hearts felt alive.

“We’ll meet them,” Seungwoo whispered during a water break, looking at his members. “No matter how far. No matter what happens next.”

And as the last practice of the year ended, they stood in the studio, dawn light beginning to creep through the frosted windows.

They were scared.

They were excited.

They were determined.

And as the first snow of the winter fell outside, they promised each other:

“We will stand together. We will rise, again.”

_____________________________________________

That night, Seungwoo stood by the window, watching snow continue to fall, the lights of Seoul blinking like quiet stars.

Seungyoun joined him, resting his chin on his folded arms.

“It’s complicated, hyung,” Seungyoun said.

“It is,” Seungwoo agreed, “but whatever happens, we can face it. Together.”

Behind them, the dorm was filled with soft laughter, Dongpyo dragging Minhee to practice a silly move, Dohyon playing guitar while Yohan hummed.

They were a family built from hardship, triumph, and shared dreams.

Whatever 2022 would bring—solo paths, returns to home groups, new beginnings—they would face it with heads held high.

But for now, they would fight for the chance to see their fans, to tour, to stand as X1 under real lights, hearing real cheers

Chapter Text

“The night before the storm, we chose to stand in the light we made together.”

December was a blur of lights, stages, and thunderous cheers as X1 stepped onto every major award show stage with heads held high.

At MAMA, they stood in formation on the  largest stage they had ever stood on.

The LED screens split open in a burst of gold and red as Phoenix’s electric guitar roared. Seungwoo and Wooseok’s vocals soared above the live band, the heavy bass pulsing through the stadium.

Dongpyo, Hangyul, and Hyeongjun led the choreography with sharp, flame-like movements, arms cutting through the smoke that rose around them, a visual of fire turning into sunrise.

At the bridge, Seungyoun lifted his guitar as sparks rained down, Yohan and Dohyon moving forward with synced steps, the stage a storm of light and sound.

As the final chorus hit, Minhee and Junho lifted their hands in the iconic dawn gesture, confetti exploding in a golden rain as the screen behind them read:

“RISE WITH US.”

The crowd’s screams shook the venue.

This night, they took home Best Performance for Phoenix.

As their name was called, Dongpyo burst into tears, burying his face into Minhee’s shoulder, while Eunsang held back a trembling smile.

Seungwoo accepted the trophy, bowing low, voice calm but emotional.

“Thank you for giving us the strength to rise again and again. This stage, this award… it’s for you.

And as the climax of the evening their effort were crowned by winning  Song of the Year once more for Phoenix.

Seungyoun took the mic this time, voice thick.

“We were scared when we chose this song, afraid it wouldn’t be enough. But you made it fly. Thank you for trusting us.”

At the Melon Music Awards, the One Flame performance was intimate but powerful.

A dark stage.

Eleven spotlights.

A single drumbeat as they stomped, the chant “ONE FLAME!” echoing with the crowd’s voices in a powerful call-and-response.

During the final chorus, they formed a tight circle, hands joined, lifting together as fire graphics enveloped the stage.

“One flame… one heart… together,” Wooseok spoke into the mic, voice shaking.

RISE was crowned Album of the Year, while One Flame received a Fan’s Choice Award, the chant of “ONE FLAME!” echoing throughout the arena as the members bowed with tears in their eyes.

Hangyul and Yohan linked arms, jumping slightly in shock, while Dohyon’s jaw dropped as the announcement echoed in the arena.

As they stood on stage, confetti falling, Minhee stepped forward, gripping the mic tightly.

“We are here because of you, and we will continue to stand, to rise, and to burn bright for you. Thank you for making this album your own.”

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At the SBS Gayo Daejeon, they prepared a special Phoenix x One Flame mashup, fireworks bursting as they stood together in bright red and gold costumes, silhouettes framed by a simulated sunrise on the massive LED screens.

At the KBS Song Festival, they joined hands with their friends:

• Dongpyo and Hyeongjun dancing alongside Itzy’s Yeji and Ryujin in a high-energy remix stage.
• Hangyul performing a sharp, charismatic duet with Stray Kids’ Hyunjin and Felix.
• Minhee and Junho singing a mellow winter ballad with Seungmin and I.N, their voices blending beautifully.

The real magic happened in the green rooms, away from the lights.

Daehwi popped by with Jisung, hugging Dongpyo tightly while joking, “Baby fox, you’ve grown up.”

Somi and Nayoung from I.O.I shared snacks with Minhee, laughing about old Mnet missions, while Eunbi from IZ*ONE hugged Eunsang tightly.

They all huddle together to take a series of photos that they would latter published with the tag #ProduceFamily.

“We’re all still here,” Somi said softly, “and that’s something to celebrate.”

Wonjin and Jungmo found Hyeongjun and Minhee, pulling them into a four-person hug that left Minhee sniffling.

“Next year, let’s find a way to stand on stage together,” Jungmo whispered, and Hyeongjun’s eyes shone with hope.

The green rooms were alive with laughter and shared stories, the exhaustion forgotten under the warmth of friendship and the glow of stage lights.

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The green room was alive with restless energy as idols milled around during the festival’s long rehearsal break.

Snacks littered the tables—half-eaten kimbap rolls, tangerine peels, water bottles with stickers peeling from overuse.

“Someone get a game going!” Han shouted, leaning back in his chair, bored and bright-eyed.

“I have mafia cards!” Dongpyo called out, rummaging through his backpack and pulling out a slightly battered deck.

“Yes!” Felix clapped, his grin wide. “We’re doing this.”

In minutes, Hyeongjun, Minhee, Dongpyo, Eunsang, Felix, Han, I.N, Wooyoung, San, Wonjin, Jungmo, Serim, Daehwi, Jisung, Sunoo, Heeseung, and Soobin were squeezed around a small table, legs tucked, excitement buzzing in the air.

Dongpyo took charge as the first narrator, his voice overly dramatic.

“Close your eyes, everyone. Mafia, wake up!”

Felix and Wooyoung couldn’t stop giggling, their shoulders shaking.

Han peeked one eye open and got caught by Sunoo, who shrieked, “YA! CHEATING!”

“Shhh!” Dongpyo hissed, trying not to laugh.

As the first “night” ended, accusations began flying.

“Minhee’s too quiet. He’s always quiet, but this is suspicious,” San declared.

“If I talk, you say I’m mafia. If I don’t, I’m mafia. What do you want from me?” Minhee protested, throwing his hands up.

“Definitely mafia behaviour,” Wooyoung added, winking.

Meanwhile, Hyeongjun narrowed his eyes at Daehwi, pointing dramatically.

“You, hyung. I saw your shoulders shaking. Mafia laugh.”

Daehwi threw his head back laughing, “Bro, that’s just my normal laugh!”

The door slid open, and Bang Chan peeked in, looking for Felix and Han.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, stepping in.

“Hyung, mafia! We need one more, sit, sit!” Felix pulled him in without hesitation.

Chan laughed, “Alright, just for a bit.”

He set his phone on the table, camera facing outward, not realizing it was recording.

The game continued, the room echoing with laughter.

Sunoo and Heeseung teamed up, insisting Serim was mafia, while Serim defended himself with exaggerated gestures.

Eunsang, trying to stay neutral, ended up being eliminated first, much to his dramatic dismay.

“I’m not mafia, I’m too pretty to be mafia!” he shouted, collapsing onto Dongpyo’s lap.

Han and Felix were caught whispering, leading to cries of, “Conspiring! Mafia!” from Wooyoung.

When Jungmo tried to defend Wonjin, Minhee shouted, “OBJECTION! Bestie alliance!”

In one round, Bang Chan was declared mafia purely because he was smiling too much.

“Hyung, you’re too nice. That’s sus,” Han said.

“What logic is that?!” Chan laughed, doubling over.

In the final round, it came down to Hyeongjun and San.

San narrowed his eyes, leaning forward. “It’s you.”

“It’s not!” Hyeongjun squeaked, clutching Dongpyo’s sleeve.

“Vote!” Wooyoung shouted, and hands went up.

Hyeongjun was voted out, dramatically collapsing across Minhee’s lap.

“I was innocent!” he wailed, before bursting into giggles.

The room exploded with laughter, everyone slapping the floor, leaning into each other, tears forming from how hard they were laughing.

After the game ended, Bang Chan glanced at his phone, eyes widening.

“Oh, it was recording,” he muttered.

Felix peered over, eyes lighting up. “Upload it.”

“Really?”

“Do it,” Han grinned.

Later that evening, Bang Chan posted the video with the caption:

“A break well spent. 4th gen chaos in one room.”

Within minutes, it was trending:

“THE MAJOR 4TH GEN MAFIA GAME.”
“Minhee being sassy, Chan being too nice, Felix and Han conspiring, Sunoo screaming, Dongpyo narrating—IT’S EVERYTHING.”
“This is the crossover we needed.”

Fans clipped individual moments:

• Dongpyo’s dramatic narration.
• Felix’s wheezing laugh.
• San accusing everyone.
• Hyeongjun’s “I was innocent!” collapse.

And under all the noise, comments flooded in:

“It’s so good to see them happy.”
“This is why I love K-pop, the friendships.”
“More of this energy in 2022, please.”

As they returned to their separate groups, stages, and cities, the laughter from that greenroom followed them.

They weren’t just rivals or idols on stages.

They were friends, family, a generation rising together.

And in the quiet moments before stepping onto the biggest stages of their lives, they found comfort in a silly mafia game, in the warmth of friendship, in the knowledge that no matter where they went next—

They were not alone.

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On December 31^st, after the final performance of Phoenix, as confetti was swept from the stage, they returned home.

“Hyung, come up,” Hyeongjun said, tugging at Hangyul’s sleeve.

They climbed the narrow stairs to the rooftop, bundled in jackets, breath fogging in the cold air.

Seoul’s skyline glowed beneath them, lights twinkling like quiet stars, as the clock neared midnight.

Dongpyo pressed his hands together, shivering.

“Is this… the last moment of this year?” he whispered.

“The last dawn,” Seungyoun said softly, “before the next.”

They stood in a circle, no cameras, no staff, just eleven boys who had become brothers.

They had won trophies, topped charts, and filled stages with light, but in this moment, the most precious thing was each other.

Dongpyo leaned into Seungwoo, eyes glistening.

“We really did it,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Seungwoo replied, “and we’ll do it again.”

Seungwoo pulled Dongpyo into a side hug, while Wooseok ruffled Junho’s hair.

Wooseok glanced at Hangyul and Seungyoun.

“Next year…”

“We face it together,” Seungyoun said, cutting in softly.

“Always,” Seungyoun confirmed.

As the countdown ended, they lifted their hands to the sky, shouting with the city, the lights painting them in red and gold.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

In that moment, they were not worried about contracts, stages, or what the future would bring.

They were X1.

They were family.

And as 2022 dawned, they knew that whatever storms were coming, they would face them—

Together.