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Cortis x illit

The Silent Storm of the Silver Moon

The atmosphere in the Eclipse dorm had shifted from its usual sugar-coated chaos to something clinical, heavy, and terrifyingly still. The air felt thick, like the moments right before a massive thunderstorm breaks over the Seoul skyline. In the center of the living room, Iroha sat on the edge of the velvet sofa, her 5’0” frame looking smaller than ever. Her head was bowed, her fingers twisting nervously in the hem of her oversized hoodie.

Standing before her were Martin and James. They weren't teasing her. They weren't offering her strawberry milk or checking if she was too cold. They stood with their arms crossed, their faces set in expressions of stern, paternal disappointment that made Iroha’s stomach do somersaults.

Behind them, near the kitchen island, Juhoon, Seonghyeon, and Keonho stood like silent sentinels. Even the prankster line was hushed, their usual mischievous energy replaced by a somber vigilance. The girls had been ushered into the back rooms by Yunah; this was a "family meeting" that the boys had insisted on handling themselves.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself, Iroha?" Martin asked. His voice wasn't loud, but it had a deep, resonant authority that vibrated through the floorboards.

Iroha swallowed hard, a single tear tracking down her cheek. "I... I just wanted to practice more. I didn't think it was a big deal."

"You didn't think it was a big deal?" James stepped forward, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and raw fear. "Iroha, you disabled your GPS tracker, lied to the security team, and snuck back into the HYBE building at two in the morning by yourself. You were found collapsed on the practice room floor at six AM because you forgot to eat or hydrate. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you on the streets alone at that hour?"

"I took a taxi!" she whispered, her voice trembling.

"That is not the point!" Martin’s voice rose slightly, and Iroha flinched. He immediately softened his tone, but the sternness remained. "The point is the deception. We have rules for a reason. We give you freedom, we give you affection, and we treat you like the heart of this group. But that heart needs to beat in a body that isn't being pushed to the point of total exhaustion behind our backs."

"I just wanted to be as good as you guys," Iroha sobbed, finally looking up. Her eyes were red and puffy. "Everyone talks about how I’m the 'precious maknae' and how you guys protect me. I felt like I was falling behind. I wanted to prove I could do the triple-spin perfectly without James-oppa holding my hand."

James’s expression softened for a fraction of a second, a flicker of heartbreak crossing his features, but he shook it off. He knew that if he folded now, she would never understand the gravity of her actions. "Being a professional means knowing your limits, Iroha. And being a member of this family means being honest with us. You broke our trust. You put yourself in danger."

Martin stepped closer, looming over her like a mountain. "We’ve babied you, Iroha. Maybe that’s our fault. Maybe we’ve been so busy making sure you’re happy that we forgot to make sure you’re disciplined. But that ends tonight."

Iroha looked at Juhoon, hoping for a sympathetic glance, but the silent visual simply looked away, his jaw tight. He had been the one to find her in the practice room, and the sight of her unconscious on the cold floor had shaken him to his core.

"For the next two weeks," Martin began, his voice official and final, "you are on a total lockdown. No solo activities. No cell phone after 8:00 PM; it will be handed to me every night. You will go to the company and back only in the van with James or myself. No exceptions."

"And," James added, his arms still crossed tightly, "you are banned from the practice rooms for the next three days. You will stay in this dorm, you will rest, and you will eat every meal under our supervision. If we see you so much as practicing a finger-tutting move in your bedroom, the two weeks will become four."

Iroha’s eyes went wide. "Three days without dancing? Oppa, please! The comeback is in a month!"

"The comeback won't happen if our center is in the hospital with exhaustion," Martin countered. "This isn't a negotiation, Iroha. This is a consequence. You lied to us, you bypassed security, and you risked your health. You’re lucky we aren't calling your parents to take you home for a month."

The mention of her parents made Iroha’s heart sink. She nodded slowly, her shoulders slumping. "I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry."

"Go to your room," James said, his voice quiet but firm. "Juhoon will bring you dinner in half an hour. You will eat it all, and then you will go straight to sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning about your new schedule."

Iroha stood up, feeling the weight of their disappointment like a physical lead cloak. She shuffled toward her room, the silence of the boys following her like a shadow. As soon as her door clicked shut, the tension in the living room broke, but not in a way that brought relief.

James collapsed into a chair, burying his face in his hands. "God, that was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Did you see her face? I feel like a monster."

"You aren't a monster, Hyung," Keonho said, walking over and placing a hand on James’s shoulder. "We were all terrified. When Juhoon called and said he couldn't wake her up... I’ve never felt so sick in my life."

Martin was staring at Iroha’s closed door, his expression unreadable. "We had to do it. She’s fourteen. She thinks she’s invincible because we make her feel that way. If we don't set boundaries now, she’s going to break herself trying to keep up with a standard she’s already surpassed."

"I'll take the tray in," Juhoon said, picking up the bowl of nutritious soup Minju had prepared. "I won't go easy on her, but... I’ll make sure she’s okay."

In her room, Iroha sat on her bed, staring at her reflection in the vanity mirror. She looked tired. There were dark circles under her eyes that no amount of aegyo could hide. For the first time, the "Five Giants" weren't her playmates or her shield; they were her guardians, and the weight of their authority was sobering.

Thirty minutes later, there was a sharp, rhythmic knock on her door. "Come in," she whispered.

Juhoon entered, carrying the tray. He set it down on her desk and pulled over her chair. He didn't offer a smile. He didn't ask if she wanted to play a game.

"Sit," he commanded softly.

Iroha obeyed, sitting down and picking up the spoon. The soup was warm and smelled of ginger and beef, but it felt like ash in her mouth. She took two bites and stopped.

"All of it, Iroha," Juhoon said, leaning against the wall. "James-hyung is checking the bowl when I come back out. If you don't finish it, he’s coming in here himself, and you know he won't be as quiet as I am."

"I'm not that hungry," she murmured.

"You haven't had a real meal in eighteen hours because you were too busy trying to perfect a dance break that was already perfect," Juhoon replied, his voice tinged with a rare edge of bitterness. "Eat. Now."

Iroha flinched at the tone and began to eat in earnest, the silence in the room heavy and suffocating. When she was halfway through, she looked up at him. "Are you guys ever going to forgive me?"

Juhoon looked at her then, his gaze softening just a fraction, but he didn't move from his spot. "We love you, Iroha. That’s why we’re angry. You didn't just hurt yourself; you hurt all of us. When we saw you on that floor... we didn't see an idol. We saw our little sister, and we thought we’d lost her."

Iroha choked back a sob, her eyes filling with tears again. "I didn't think about it like that."

"Start thinking about it," Juhoon said, taking the empty bowl. "Get into your pajamas. Martin-hyung is coming in five minutes for your phone."

The next three days were the longest of Iroha’s life. True to their word, the boys were a constant, rotating presence. If she wasn't in her room, she was in the living room under the watchful eye of whoever was "on duty."

On the second day, she tried to sneak a few stretches in the hallway, thinking Seonghyeon wouldn't notice while he was playing video games.

"Back to the sofa, Iroha," Seonghyeon said, not even looking up from the screen. "You have thirty minutes of 'rest time' left before your mandatory nap. Don't make me call James."

Iroha huffed and trudged back to the sofa. "You guys are being mean."

"We’re being parents," Seonghyeon corrected, his voice losing its usual joking lilt. "There’s a difference. Now, pick a book or watch a movie. No dancing."

By the third day, the isolation and the lack of physical outlet had made Iroha restless and irritable. When Martin came in to collect her phone at 8:00 PM, she didn't hand it over immediately.

"I’m talking to my mom," she snapped, clutching the phone to her chest. "Can’t I just have ten more minutes?"

Martin didn't argue. He didn't raise his voice. He simply held out his hand, his eyes fixed on hers with a steady, unbreakable resolve. "The rule is 8:00 PM, Iroha. We discussed this. Hand it over."

"You’re being unfair!" she cried, her frustration finally boiling over. "I apologized! I stayed home! Why are you still acting like I’m a criminal?"

"Because you haven't shown us that you’ve learned the lesson yet," Martin said calmly. "You’re still fighting the boundaries instead of understanding why they’re there. Phone. Now."

Iroha glared at him, the rebellious spark of a teenager flickering in her eyes. For a moment, she considered hiding the phone under her pillow. But then she saw the look in Martin’s eyes—it wasn't anger. It was a deep, weary patience. He looked like a father who had spent all night worrying and was now just trying to keep his child safe.

Her defiance evaporated. She placed the phone in his hand, her head dropping. "I’m sorry, Oppa."

Martin took the phone and, to her surprise, reached out and pulled her into a brief, one-armed hug. "I know you are. But being sorry isn't enough. You have to be better. For yourself, and for us. Sleep well."

On the fourth day, the "practice ban" was finally lifted. Iroha was allowed to accompany the group to the HYBE building, but only under the strict condition that she stayed with the group at all times.

As they entered the practice room, the familiar scent of floor wax and mirrors felt like a homecoming. Iroha immediately went to the center of the floor, her body aching to move. But before she could start the music, James walked over.

He didn't hand her the remote. Instead, he handed her a large bottle of water and a timer.

"We practice for forty-five minutes," James said, his voice returning to its professional choreographer tone, but with a new layer of authority. "Then, you sit for fifteen. You drink half that bottle. If I see you skipping a break, we go back to the dorm immediately. Am I clear?"

"Yes, James-oppa," Iroha said, her voice small but respectful.

"And Iroha?"

She looked up.

"I’m proud of you for how you handled the last few days," James said, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through. "It wasn't easy for us either. We hate seeing you sad. But we’d rather see you sad and safe than happy and in danger."

The rehearsal went smoothly. The boys still hovered—Martin checked her pulse during the breaks, and Keonho kept a constant supply of cooling towels ready—but the atmosphere had changed. The "babying" had been tempered with a mutual respect. Iroha understood now that their love wasn't just about cuddles and snacks; it was about the hard, uncomfortable work of keeping her grounded.

That evening, back at the dorm, the group gathered for dinner. The mood was lighter, the "lockdown" feeling having dissipated into a sense of renewed unity.

"I think we should have a movie night," Keonho suggested, mouth full of rice. "A real one. No horror movies, though. I think Iroha’s had enough stress for one week."

"I agree," Seonghyeon said, reaching over to ruffle Iroha’s hair. "How about a Disney movie? Something with a happy ending where no one sneaks out of the castle at night."

Iroha giggled, leaning her head against Seonghyeon’s shoulder. "I get it, I get it. I’m grounded from castles too."

"You’re grounded from everything except being our favorite maknae," Martin said, sitting at the head of the table. He looked at Iroha, his eyes warm but still vigilant. "And as long as you remember that, we’re all good."

"I remember," Iroha said softly.

As the night wound down, Iroha found herself sitting on the balcony with James, watching the city lights. The cool air was refreshing, a stark contrast to the stuffy practice room.

"Oppa?" she asked.

"Yeah, Roha?"

"Thank you," she said. "For... for being mean to me. I think I needed it."

James laughed, a soft, melodic sound. He reached out and pulled her into his side, his arm heavy and protective over her shoulders. "We weren't being mean, honey. We were being your brothers. And sometimes, brothers have to be the ones to tell you 'no' when the whole world is telling you 'yes.'"

"I know," she whispered. "I won't do it again. I promise."

"I know you won't," James said, kissing the top of her head. "Because if you do, Martin-hyung might actually start making you do chores, and we both know you’re terrible at laundry."

"Oppa!" she protested, hitting his arm playfully.

The laughter that followed was light and easy, the final remnants of the "Silent Storm" washing away. The Eclipse Project was more than just a collaboration now; it was a fortress. And inside that fortress, the smallest member was no longer just a miracle to be coddled—she was a sister to be raised, a talent to be nurtured, and a heart to be guarded with every ounce of strength the five giants possessed.

As Iroha eventually drifted off to sleep that night, her phone safely on Martin’s nightstand and her body well-rested, she felt a sense of security she had never known before. She didn't need to prove she was as good as them. She was one of them. And in the world of Eclipse, that was more than enough.