Kang Hyun-seok, 2 Stars
Act crazy, shout out the stars floating above their heads. Maybe that would shatter their dreams or make reality hit them hard.
"2 stars."
"What?"
Park Ha-ji. Even so, the score Kang Hyun-seok had given me was a measly 48 out of 100. Out of 5, I'd given him far stingier.
"2 stars? To me? You little shit. You've lost it completely. What the hell did you just say to me...?"
Kang Hyun-seok closed in on me step by step, clenching his fist tight.
What? Was he seriously about to hit me?
"Trainer Kang! We need to get the kids ready for rehearsal now!"
Kang Hyun-seok whipped around. He quickly lowered his raised fist and flashed a bright smile at the assistant director.
"Ah—right away."
Total faker. The face he turned back to me stripped away all pretense, twisting into a rotten grin.
"You, you little shit. We'll settle this later. I'll really crush you... "
Before I could hear his usual threat of snapping me in half, he turned and walked off. If the assistant director hadn't called out again, I might've taken a real hit right there.
The guy was the type to sneak in punches where the cameras couldn't see.
But like I said—we're done dealing with each other.
As Kang Hyun-seok followed the assistant director, he glanced back.
"Hey! Seo Hyun-woo, you punk! Get over here...!"
My feet froze, then I spun and bolted.
Huff... huff...
I caught my ragged breath and just kept running. He probably wouldn't chase this far.
The KBC Annex sign was now a faint shape in the distance.
I cut through Yeouido Park to a nearby convenience store and finally took a breather.
Instead of chugging water, I slapped my own cheek hard.
"Th-the stars are visible."
Get it together, Seo Hyun-woo.
The stars hovering over Kang Hyun-seok's head—like cartoon stars spinning from a hit. Maybe that's what they were.
A mental shock from regressing.
"No."
I'd regressed, so why wouldn't talent stars show up over people's heads? They could. Just like now.
I steadied my breathing with gulps of mineral water, the label wrapped around the PET bottle.
An idol girl group member beamed from a product ad on the label.
I blinked, drank enough water to snap out of my daze, and stared blankly at the bottle. The stars stayed visible.
"It's... real."
This power was the real deal.
I slowly screwed the cap back on and set my path.
Twenty-two-year-old Seo Hyun-woo had regressed, and now he could see singers' ratings right in front of him.
It felt like becoming a soccer coach.
From here on, he could scout hidden gems full of potential and mold them into superstars his way.
And weed out the bombs.
I looked down at my empty hands and clenched them into tight fists.
"And I know the future."
Nothing was impossible now.
Come to think of it, this 'Joo-hee' girl I was looking at—she was under Chairman Jung Pil-woon's agency, right?
"Jung Pil-woon..."
Should I thank him for killing me?
My clenched fist tightened further, trimmed nails digging into skin.
For now, the only thing I could do was...
"Nothing."
Thud.
I slumped onto the bench in front of the convenience store, sipping water slowly and staring ahead.
Right now, I couldn't do a damn thing.
I'd abandoned the idol path.
I could think of it as buying time by dropping out two years early from the program that would've flopped me anyway, but I'd lost the exposure that came with it.
Regret it? I shook my head.
Not one bit.
I glanced at my smartphone.
In this era, a composer had endless ways to build fame.
SoundCloud. YouTube. Web variety shows, broadcast survival programs.
It'd just take time.
Recognition? Piece of cake.
The real issue wasn't recognition.
"...It's money."
To take on Jung Pil-woon, I needed more than name value as a composer—I needed cash.
Even just to promote my tracks, I'd need to book rappers or vocalists for features. That meant production budgets.
Knowing the future didn't help if Bitcoin had already skyrocketed. No stock money either.
Not a dime to my name. Nothing to land a big blow on Jung Pil-woon right now...
My thoughts cut off as my phone rang.
I checked the caller.
"Haa."
Good. Not KBC production. Not Kang Hyun-seok.
Composer Bitboy, Kim Min-hyuk.
"Hello?"
—Hey, Seo Hyun-woo. Where are you?
"Uh... right now..."
I glanced around.
"Yeouido, but..."
Hard to pinpoint exactly. Tough spot to describe.
—Right now, you free? Lunch on me.
Yeah. Food first.
I stopped sniffing.
Damp underground hole of a studio. Bachelor stench mixed with fresh chicken delivery.
"Puhahaha!"
Kim Min-hyuk, chicken leg in hand, waved it at me while laughing his ass off.
"So you just bolted like that? From a survival show?"
"What was I supposed to do? Can't go back now."
"What now, then."
Kim Min-hyuk bit into a honey-glazed drumstick and grabbed a pickled radish.
"You, Seo Hyun-woo. A month ago, what'd you tell me? 'Survival shows are nothing, I'll take first and get a track from you.'"
Yeah. Didn't get first, but made debut lineup. Even snagged a track from Bitboy Kim Min-hyuk.
Ancient history now. Memories fuzzy.
I dredged up the hazy recollection.
One track stood out—killer good. Bitboy had sold to multiple girl groups. Made waves in production circles and idol scene. Our N.E.X.T. charted thanks to it.
One-day wonder. Hell, one day was lucky. Barely two hours on charts.
Then crashed out.
Learned then: good track alone doesn't cut it in this reckless industry.
Survival debut show wrapped three months later. Final top 10 dragged with live text voting, delaying filming. Pushed back debut by a year.
I scratched my cheek.
Yeah, Kim Min-hyuk who gave our debut track said it was from a long hiatus.
Why? In a cutthroat scene needing motors not oars, why the gap?
"Hyung."
"Huh?"
I eyed him over my beer.
"You okay?"
"Pfft."
Despite having plenty of beer, Kim Min-hyuk kindly splashed it in my face.
"Ah, sorry... you good?"
He yanked tissues and handed them over.
I wiped with tissue, then 99% disinfectant wipes for good measure.
"Sudden question like that? Startles me. Turns a healthy guy into a sick one."
"..."
So, no big issues?
"Y'know, the sick one's you, Seo Hyun-woo."
Kim Min-hyuk wiped his hands with a wet wipe.
"Your PD said you were fine, right?"
"Yeah. Just the PD? Wait for broadcast. All those girl fans loving me."
"True. Kid's sick for real."
This guy.
Lineup by public producer text votes. I barely scraped by.
"Hyung got any issues?"
"Issues? Work's the problem. Always."
Kim Min-hyuk, who always raved about booze, suddenly slumped with a gloomy face.
"That's the issue. Work piles up no matter what. Finish one, another agency calls. Fix that, mastering issues pop up."
He swept back his greasy hair, venting full throttle on a full stomach.
"Make the track, now I gotta master too? They got engineers. Fine, whatever—clients giving me gigs."
He wiped beer specks off his phone screen and tapped.
"What's money if I can't spend it? No time. Hey."
Some of us regressed and still got nowhere to crash.
Yeah, heard your epic bitching loud and clear.
Tested Kim Min-hyuk's state. TL;DR: zero problems.
So why the year-plus hiatus?
Hell, he'd need more hours locked in this basement cranking beats.
Ding-dong.
Kim Min-hyuk, done stripping the drumstick, tapped his phone.
"Ah, shit."
Short sigh. Email alert.
Kim Min-hyuk—no, Bitboy—swiveled his chair, jabbed enter with irritation.
Dim screen flared bright, sleep mode off.
Opened inbox. I peeked over his shoulder at the text.
Long-ass message. No way this was simple feedback.
"Wh-what is it."
Words from my mouth spilled from his as he scrolled down, then back up for a slow read.
"Hello. Bitboy, composer Kim Min-hyuk. Your track this time..."
Realizing I was peering, his mutter faded low.
"What, hyung? What'd they say?"
"...What now. Hyun-woo."
"Huh? Why?"
His mouse hand went limp, dropping to the desk below.
Not just the hand. Kim Min-hyuk slammed his head on the keyboard.
Then mumbled.
G&X Entertainment Legal Department
"They say I plagiarized?"