My Stars Say Your Name | WOOSAN

🎈

Nine years had passed since the tragedy of Jamsil Stadium, but the memory of that fateful night remained etched in the hearts and minds of everyone. Time had moved on, and so had people, yet the scars of loss were still visible, both emotionally and physically.

The once-vibrant stadium had been transformed into a solemn memorial site. Flowers, photographs, and messages of love and remembrance adorned the grounds. A towering monument stood at the center, inscribed with the names of those who had perished, a stark reminder of the lives lost and the collective grief endured.

Families had found ways to navigate through their grief, though the pain of loss never truly left. Some had channeled their sorrow into activism, working tirelessly to improve safety standards at public events, ensuring that such a catastrophe could never happen again. Others found solace in community, forming support groups where they could share their stories and find comfort in their shared experiences.

Physically, the country bore the marks of the tragedy. The infrastructure of emergency response had been overhauled, with advanced training programs and better equipment ensuring that the nation was better prepared for any future disasters. The skyline of the city had changed, with new buildings and public spaces dedicated to the memory of the victims.

Emotionally, the impact was profound. The nation had become more introspective, valuing life and cherishing moments of joy with a deeper appreciation. There was a collective sense of resilience and solidarity, born from shared suffering. People were kinder to each other, more patient and understanding, as if the tragedy had woven an unspoken bond among them.

In homes across the country, photographs of lost loved ones were given places of honor. Every year, on the anniversary of the tragedy, the nation paused to remember. Candlelight vigils were held, and the air was filled with the soft hum of whispered prayers and the gentle sobs of those still mourning.

One woman, who had lost her husband and daughter, found herself drawn to the memorial site each year. She would lay a bouquet of lilies at the foot of the monument, her eyes reflecting a deep, enduring sorrow. "They say time heals all wounds," she whispered to a fellow mourner. "But some wounds leave scars that never truly fade."

A young woman who's fiancé had passed away in that tragic incident nine years ago had come to visit the site. She placed flowers with tears in her eyes, " My love, we were supposed to be married, you promised me you'd marry me and stay with me. We'd grow old together but fate took you away. Pray for me, for I want to meet you in that beautiful heaven up there."

Children who had survived the disaster grew up with a heightened sense of fragility and strength. They carried the memories of their friends and family with them, living their lives with a quiet determination to honor those who were lost. One young man, now in his twenties, had become a firefighter, inspired by the bravery of the first responders that night. "I want to save lives," he said simply, his eyes holding the weight of his past.

The country had changed, shaped by the collective grief and the lessons learned from the tragedy. There was a newfound resilience, a strength that came from having faced the unthinkable and emerged, not unscathed, but still standing. The memory of Jamsil Stadium was a haunting reminder of loss, but also a testament to the enduring power of love and the human spirit's capacity to heal and rebuild.

In a quiet corner of one of the country's hospitals, life was about to change dramatically for one young man. For nine long years, he had lain in a coma, a silent witness to the passage of time. The room was filled with the soft hum of machines, the steady beeping of monitors a constant background to the lives of the doctors and nurses who had cared for him.

This young man, Wooyoung, had entered the hospital as a bright-eyed 15-year-old, full of excitement for a concert that ended in unimaginable tragedy. He had slept through the aftermath, through the grief and healing of a nation, and now, at 24 years old, he was about to wake up to a world he no longer recognized.