Laying the Trap for Bitboy

Bitboy—I've set the trap for Kim Min-hyuk. The problem is, for even this trap to pay off, I need to bulk up to a certain weight class myself.

I pulled up the Snet homepage and scanned the recruitment guidelines.

The heartfelt, desperate message faded away, replaced by two separate links.

Player.

The Supreme Beat Contest—or Cheonbidae for short—didn't care if you were an idol or solo act, dancer or ballad singer. To keep up appearances of a free-for-all stage brawl, they bluntly lumped everyone under the term Player.

Sure, it sounded slick on paper, but it was just 100% immersion gimmickry.

A game system borrowed to hype up "growth" narratives. Each round assigned levels, climbing higher as you progressed—of course, with matching item rewards doled out along the way.

"That production PD really has some twisted tastes."

I clicked into the Composer tab, filled out my details, and uploaded my screening track. Players needed a short stage video around three minutes, but composers just had to submit a track over a minute thirty to get accepted.

Back on the main page, the recruitment deadline stared me down.

Last day today, huh.

"Lucky break."

I'd bluffed about going idol, but my hard drive in this rundown studio apartment was stacked with beats I'd recorded. With applicants falling way short of expectations, competition wouldn't be fierce.

"Dodged the worst-case rejection."

Online submission done. I checked the notices.

"Those who pass the first document screening will enter a one-month group training camp."

I dragged the mouse, reading slowly. Smartphones confiscated outside set hours. Beyond that one-sided but obvious clause about no discussing broadcast content, nothing jumped out.

I snapped the laptop shut and sprawled out starfish-style on the floor.

"Now what."

If I passed docs, filming kicked off in a fortnight right after. Shorter timeline than expected.

So, I needed to stack variables. A week later.

I got the first-round pass text.

Black Label, under G&X Entertainment.

One of Korea's Big Four agencies—especially the idol powerhouse, where no one dared claim second place.

Four years post-debut, beyond rookie status. Their fandom should be ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠surging, but it was shrinking instead.

Most groups in this spot make one delusion: not getting proper agency push.

But not Black Label.

G&X, one of the Big Four. G&X, holders of the "girl group legacy" title.

Even they were openly treating Black Label like dead weight.

G&X had never botched like this before.

Lee Seong-jae, Black Label's manager, was drowning in worries.

He scrolled Snet on his smartphone, muttering.

"Supreme Beat Contest."

Even a giant like G&X had thrown in the towel outright, treated like trash by the broadcasters. No matter how much schmoozing, all they got back were canned replies about bundling other G&X idols.

"Seriously... is this the only way?"

On the rooftop, Lee Seong-jae lit a cigarette he rarely touched, sighing deeply.

"Fuck. How do I even say this."

Idols with zero bookings were still idols. Four years in, barely snagging one music show slot, overwhelmed by endless rookie greetings.

Telling those girls to go for the kill shot? Lee Seong-jae exhaled smoke and flicked ash.

"No way. Absolutely not."

He couldn't say it, but the blocked future loomed. Group disbandment was all he saw—no alternatives.

"Haa. What the hell do I do."

No casting calls rang; only his boss's nagging did.

Urgent.

Rookie development Team 1 leader Park Seong-ju checked his phone. Still no word from who should be calling.

"Why the fuck isn't this bastard picking up. Haa."

A rare long sigh escaped him. Clutching files, he finally dialed.

"Lee Seong-jae, you fucking asshole. Where the hell are you wandering…."

This promo bombed charts too. Break-even bullshit wasn't the issue now.

Black Label's survival was.

The guy who loved them most than anyone—radio silence in a crisis? Unthinkable.

"No way... this bastard isn't thinking something stupid, is he?"

Uncharacteristic dark thoughts bubbled up. Park Seong-ju scratched his head with the files, when an unwelcome voice hit.

"Uh~ Team 1 Leader. Long time no see. How've you been?"

Team leaders' meeting, even the exec joined. Rookie dev Team 3's Woo Won-seok sauntered by, smirking.

"Like I'd be fine, when some asshole's got me all twisted up."

"Twisted? Whoever overhears'll get offended. Wrong word—it's thanks to me."

"Dunno. Not worth that much respect. Dumbass, total lack of manners."

"Huh?"

Woo balked. Oh, another one. Dumb and rude as hell.

Face already twisting, thinking it was him. Fair enough, but no need to bare claws yet.

Park patted Woo's chest.

"Why the face? Thief jumping at his own shadow? Wasn't about you. Guess you see yourself as pretty dumb? Zero manners too."

"Hey."

"No need to snap. I meant our lovable junior—zero manners, charges blind, dumb as rocks—Manager Lee Seong-jae."

"...That's what I figured?"

"Obviously. Why would I piss off our Team 3 Leader?"

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Woo's solo delusion eased a bit.

"Your words got so many barbs, couldn't peel 'em off right. See ya in the meeting."

Woo dragged his lackey into the conference room.

Not a wizard seeing 1-2-3-372 futures, but this meeting's trajectory was already clear.

"Haa—."

Park Seong-ju scratched his head. Checked phone just in case. Still nothing.

Meeting soon. Exec's shoe clicks echoed from afar, countdown style.

"What're you doing, Park? Get in."

"Yeah, gotta."

Not even summer, but guts already stewing. Prediction spot-on.

Meeting started soon after. Team 3's Woo lobbed meaningfully at the exec.

"Exec, what do you think about Black Label?"

Fuck.

Lee Seong-jae boarded the elevator. Doors opened; his finger hovered over the button.

"Uh...."

Maybe it'd make a fine reinforcement for convincing Park Team Leader.

"Nah."

Waste of time. He shook his head, decisively hitting 3.

Rookie dev team. Faster to check how many planned debuts they had.

Doors parted; Lee strode quickly, hunting Park in the office.

"Where is he?"

"Where d'ya think, punk? Right behind ya."

Lee turned; Park, face etched with worry, grabbed his nape.

No long talk.

"Follow me, asshole."

Up to the roof barely after arriving. Perfect spot for secret talks.

Given the vibe, Lee tensed, asking cautiously.

"...What's up?"

"What's up my ass. I told ya to come quick, pick up. What the hell."

"Ah."

Lee finally checked his phone. 13 missed calls.

"Sorry. Had some thinking to do... missed it. My bad."

"Black Label?"

"Yeah."

"Damn, guess I gotta break the Black Label news. Hey, Lee Seong-jae."

"Yeah?"

"Got a smoke?"

Park, no smoker, asked for one. Lee got the gist.

Hand rummaging his bag for crumpled pack, mouth asked.

"...Pretty bad news, huh?"

"Understatement. They're disbanding Black Label."

"...."

Not unexpected. Not impossible.

Just thought they'd get one, maybe two more years.

Knew the endgame, figured time buffer.

Arrogance. Delusion. Sloth.

"...Why?"

"Why?"

Park inhaled deep, exhaled smoke, and said.

"Team 3's dropping a rookie girl group soon. Our Woo Team Leader's pulling strings—needs production budget."

"Why drag... "

"Why pull it forward enough to kill our team?"

Park flicked ash.

"We're not volunteers. Pure business machine. Lee Seong-jae, why so dense? Maintaining a girl group ain't cheap—you know that."

"...Too soon for disband now, right? Girls are just year four."

"Money-losers? Midsize agencies axe at two. Four years saves G&X face. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠*Cough cough.*"

Rare idiom slipped; Park hacked from unlit smoke.

"Not axing now. One year. Finale album. Launch it end of year, done."

"Awfully specific."

Lee looked up at Park.

"...Us."

Chewing on Park's earlier mutter.

"Who's 'us' besides you, Team Leader?"

Park tossed his butt, ground it under heel, clapped Lee's shoulder.