Why is everyone leaving their K-pop groups?
The K-pop industry ended 2025 with the news that Danielle would be leaving NewJeans and Ador after a year-long dispute between the group and Hybe’s sublabel. Fast forward to April 2026, and more members of globally recognized idol groups have been announcing their departures.
Mid-March saw Enhypen part ways with Heeseung, and Zerobaseone split in half as members Zhang Hao, Ricky, Kim Gyuvin, and Han Yujin left the group to prepare for a redebut under home agency YH Entertainment. And right at the start of this month, SM Entertainment announced that Mark Lee would no longer be part of NCT, NCT 127, and NCT Dream—as his contract with the label came to an end. Fellow NCT/WayV member Ten also recently announced that he will no longer renew his exclusive contract with SM Entertainment but will remain in his groups.
Speculations have also arisen that Katseye’s Manon would be leaving her group after Hybe and Geffen announced that she would be going on hiatus. It’s noted that the Swiss Ghanaian member did not perform with the global girl group for their Coachella set.
In an industry as dependent on the image of teamwork and completeness, a member leaving their group naturally causes a frenzy for all parties involved. And what makes this recent string of departures extra shocking is the way that all the aforementioned members have been foundational to their former groups’ skill levels, popularity, and overall identity.
That said, fans lament how the faces of their favorite groups have been leaving one by one—with the remaining members tasked with carrying the burden of filling very big shoes after their departure.
Signed, sealed, delivered
Not all departures are built equally—some cite differences in ambition, while others signal expected endings that are dreaded regardless. However, every idol departure has something to do with contracts, and contractual disputes have been especially rampant, causing additional anxiety among fans.
K-pop idol contracts are known to be notoriously long, initially lasting up to a decade until famed second-generation group TVXQ found themselves in lengthy legal battles to fight against K-pop’s “slave contracts.” While the standard contract has technically been shortened to seven years, Mark and Ten’s departures from SM Entertainment happened 10 years after their debuts in April 2016, raising questions on whether potential loopholes and workarounds still allow SM contracts to last longer than expected.
Further, even as K-pop contract lengths shortened, terms still heavily favor the companies, making it significantly difficult for idols to leave earlier than intended. The difficult and exploitative nature of K-pop contracts was put under a microscope at the height of NewJeans’ legal battle with Ador and Hybe, with a key ruling declaring that South Korean celebrities are not entitled to standard labor rights in their country.
The more artists attempt to fight against their contract’s terms, the likelier it is for them to be defamed and isolated by their company and fans alike. Speaking of NewJeans, for example, the quintet went from being one of the most beloved groups among domestic and international K-pop fans to being perceived as ungrateful and reckless for their legal battles.
Additionally, after Exo’s Chen, Baekhyun, and Xiumin left SM Entertainment due to contractual disputes over pay, the trio hasn’t been included in Exo’s group activities, dividing the fandom into two halves: those who understand their departure and those who deem them traitorous for leaving.
The end is a beginning, too
While K-pop idol departures are understandably dreaded, they mark the start of new beginnings for artists in more ways than one. Groups from survival shows often have temporary contracts, with activities lasting for two to three years instead of the standard seven to 10.
Once these initial groups disband or go their separate ways, an opportunity to make a new debut with a new group often arises.
Similarly, when the seven-year contract ends for most K-pop groups, idols can choose to tread their own paths through solo music, acting chops, or something in between. Former Enhypen member Heeseung, for example, left the group to pursue a solo career with the same agency as the (once) septet a year before the group’s contract was scheduled to end.
There’s also been a recent trend of K-pop idols leaving their original companies, but remaining in their groups to pave the way for more autonomy in their individual pursuits. From Shinee’s Taemin to Red Velvet’s Wendy and Yeri, many artists from SM Entertainment have been taking this path, but not all outcomes are equal. While it’s said that they’ll remain in their groups and have their personal schedules independently managed on paper, artists who leave the company experience difficulties in promoting with their original groups.
Then, there are the more ambiguous cases like that of Mark Lee’s, where the idol leaves both their group(s) and companies. Unsurprisingly, this comes across as the most anxiety-inducing of them all. When fans are used to a factory-like system that pumps out comebacks and content on a daily (sometimes almost hourly) basis, a true separation or departure is bound to feel disorienting at best.
It’s this uncertainty that’s spawned vulnerable sentiments and heartbreak from fans.
A one-liner in particular, while seemingly dramatic, stands out: How can you mourn someone who left to feel alive? Like many idols, Mark’s artistry and career development were heavily shaped and impacted by their long tenure in the K-pop industry. However, it is the same industry that has contributed to burnout and exhaustion: Mark was juggling two highly active groups on top of a solo career, leaving no room for actual breaks for the past decade.
It understandably feels unimaginable for a group’s pillar and key member to leave everything behind, but if these are the stakes, there’d be no other choice.
What fans can part with
The surge in K-pop group departures has revealed a lot about fandom culture and coping. From an outsider’s perspective, certain measures may look extreme and absurd: What kind of interest yields protest trucks, in-person demonstrations, large-scale hashtag campaigns, and almost eulogy-sounding posts anyway?
If anything, it’s particularly intriguing how these things emerge even as K-pop allegedly faces a decline.
In the eyes of a fan, though? All this is par for the course. When an industry relies on incentivizing parasocial relationships and banking on human nature and emotions, every molehill becomes a mountain. Arguably, what looks like molehills to some would even be mountains to others.
As with most things, it boils down to perspective. And a point of view worth taking would be this: What if we use fandom and its intensity to mimic the spectrum of feelings, under the impression that feeling so deeply about people who technically have nothing to do with us represents detachment? Is it better to feel and invest this much in matters separate from our real lives?
And when do the lines blur?
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