Chapter 16: Star
We sat in a circle around the keyword card with Black Label. Tough one. Won Ji-min had drawn a difficult card. I wasn't the only one feeling that anxious tension. Ray was trembling, poking at the keyword with her stubby, sausage-like fingers—the kind clenched into a baby's fist.
"This…… isn't talking about a twinkly little star floating in the sky, is it?"
Yeah, probably not. STAR = star = celebrity. They call top celebrities "top stars" for a reason—it's become the ultimate synonym for entertainers. You could say it's a safe, straightforward topic with plenty to say about it, but that's exactly why it's so damn hard. All the fresh lyrics have already been mined out through countless songs released before. Hell, "love" would've been better. Even among safe keywords, whether viewers can immerse themselves makes a huge difference. Plenty of people have experienced love, but how many have been idol trainees?
Our skill gaps were already exposed in the ranking evaluations. Viewers would've picked their favorites from the footage by now. We didn't have the overwhelming talent to steal votes from other groups, nor the time to build it. With our middling fandom and skills, we were screwed.
I turned my head. The VJs were already scurrying around like pros. The production team had tossed us these half-assed keywords on purpose. It wasn't just about who performed better on stage. They wanted a spectacle. "Message." This round, votes could swing big on empathy. Grasping at public attention, these desperate singers would bare their souls—what stories did they want to tell? The crew would craft narratives around that, handpicking singers to fit their tastes and assigning them growth arcs.
That was the shiny bullshit MC Joo Seong-hwan would spout. Truth was, this mission was all about slashing production costs. The singers would write their own lyrics, and partner composers like me would handle the music. No need to shell out for big-name outsiders. Snet handled distribution themselves, so if one of these broadcast tracks hit big, they'd push that singer nonstop. Best of both worlds—make money and crown a protagonist to carry the rest of the show.
Obvious as hell, like a pawn on a go board. But for us, who needed screen time to survive, there was no reason not to hop on.
Composing, lyric-writing—the workload was massive. These four days, edited down tight, were precious.
I tapped the keyword. "Let's decide on a direction first."
That was key—dreamy stars floating in the night sky, or the high life of a top celebrity?
"Uh……."
"Um……."
"I……."
Black Label hesitated in unison, faces screaming difficult. Awkward. Everyone glancing around.
"Don't stress."
I shattered the silence with nonsense. Cameras everywhere, no way to truly relax—but I said it anyway. We already had a brutal penalty hanging over us.
Let me think back. Supreme Beat Contest, this round. What stage caused the biggest stir?
I scanned the room, and one team caught my eye.
***
"Then, please draw the keyword for Opaz."
Joo Seong-hwan called out. Opaz member Ji-yoon plunged her hand into the black cloth-covered box, hole in the center. Capsules rattled like lottery balls.
Clack. Clack.
She lifted the first one she grabbed, eyed it, and set it down. Nah, bad vibe. Hand deep again, swirling around. Comparing capsules, she snatched one tight and cradled it like treasure as she stepped offstage.
On the way, she eyed Black Label, huddled around their keyword. STAR—no clear stage idea jumping out. Not just me; they looked stumped too.
Ji-yoon pouted as she returned. Her impatient Opaz members and composer "WASD" Hwang Jae-seong pressed her.
"What is it, unnie?"
"See it?"
Clutching the capsule like a sacred relic, Ji-yoon shook her head. Sat down, twisted it open with both hands. White paper curled inside, English word peeking from the back.
"Sex……?"
Hwang Jae-seong, sharp-eyed, guessed. Hot-tempered Seo-hee bounced in her seat, badgering her. Unlike Seo-hee, Ji-yoon calmly unrolled it: "SEXY."
Opaz's stage theme was set.
WASD, who usually fed beats to underground rappers, looked flustered. But Ji-yoon? Thrilled. Exposure was legal gold for idols—guaranteed buzz and attention. For a washed-up mid-tier girl group starved for eyes, it was perfect. Seniors had reverse-hit via viral YouTube vids blessed by the algorithm. In a hot show like Supreme Beat Contest, this could boil up massive traffic.
Problem: needed a track to nail the concept.
Ji-yoon leaned in. "Oppa, what do you think?"
Hwang Jae-seong ruffled his hair. "What're you gonna put in it?"
Concept was everything. It dictated outfits, bold lyrics, killer verse choreo.
'Need a concept that lets us go provocative.' Nail this stage, and Opaz names would flood communities.
Red lights blinked around Opaz. Provocative was risky—too far, and backlash kills before judging.
Ji-yoon stayed mum, playing cautious "concept idol."
Supreme Beat Contest sold hidden composer gems and buried singers' glow-ups. Packaging. League 1 was idol-packed; fan wars over pushing faves led PDs to cut idol screentime, boosting indies and solos. Black Label got lucky with camera love.
"That should've been us."
"Huh?"
Hwang Jae-seong misheard; Ji-yoon clarified. "I want 'sexy' to mean confident."
***
Our eyes met. Name again? Right, Opaz. Drew "sexy," went full provocative outfits and skin. They called it "bold confidence," but nah. To everyone else, it was just uncomfortable. Message clashed with the stage—chest-thrusting choreo and overkill exposure had even guy viewers sneaking peeks.
If buzz was the goal, Opaz nailed it. Communities exploded nonstop.
Eh. Strategy set for this round: if you can't beat 'em, ride the wave.
Contrast hits hardest. Pull off the opposite of brainless skin—pure allure.
For that…….
I glanced at Black Label, still undecided on the star's meaning. Time to steer.
Flipped open my laptop, started laying beats.
"Star……."
Kick first. Thump thump. Won Ji-min reacted.
"Wh-what? Oppa, already starting the track?"
"Yeah. Melody hit me."
Lie. Just throwing stuff in. Pressure of handling lyrics to choreo had Ray glued to my side, fleeing.
No need for you to do it all. Your edge over Won Ji-min and the rest? Choreo creation.
I pumped the beat to spark groove. Kick, snare—Ray shrugged her shoulders, vibe rising.
"Intro's fast from the jump."
"Yeah. About stars."
"Stars?"
"Yep."
Best at concepts and lyrics in Black Label? Won Ji-min. Need those locked for stage prep. Leader-like, she checked every member—we did too.
Won Ji-min grabbed paper and pen. "What kind of star?"
"Know why stars twinkle?"
"Uh……."
Black Label went quiet. Pausing to brainstorm plausible answers. Dumb ones could make them national fools in a flash.
Couldn't fill the gap myself. Dodged vaguely. "Dunno details, but hydrogen fusion explodes, lights 'em up."
Not twinkling for nothing—they're busting ass to shine.
"Then when fusion ends? They vanish?"
"Pretty much."
I eyed Won Ji-min scribbling. Due for a reaction.
"Busiest activity, finally shining bright for crowds—then the star fades."
"Uh……."
Her pen stopped. Stared straight at me.
"Hold up, oppa. What'd you just say?"
"Stars fade when everyone's watching."
Won Ji-min rewound with her pen. "No, before that."
"……Activity?"
She latched onto the word, scribbling a story brainlessly. Giggling to herself, she explained.
"Stars sometimes mean celebs, right?"
"Mm."
Ji-soo nodded, trying to follow—but too late.
"Not everyone, but celebs get called stars at their peak, yeah? Peak's the best, right?"
Won Ji-min shook her head. Not explaining—to herself.
"Nah. Means they've topped out. Time to decline."
She jabbed her scribbled pen at me. Drew a straight line on the notebook, slashed it mid-way.
Verse 1: path to becoming that twinkling star.
Verse 2: shining as one, now descending.
"Like the star oppa mentioned."