The Crushing Weight of Being a Male Idol
I needed to make money, but male idol. The sheer weight those words carried was beyond imagination.
In a world where women were tough and men fragile, where females held all the social status and overwhelming economic power, being a male idol was more than just a job.
A delicate, slender frame that stirred maternal instincts. An innocent smile that melted the coldest female hearts. Idols sang of love and gladly pried open women's wallets.
Fan cafes sprang up, and hundreds of millions of won flowed like water. It was truly a heavenly profession reserved for the chosen few.
At fifteen, I dreamed that dazzling dream too.
The only inheritance from my late parents: my petite build and pretty-boy looks. I staked everything on that and dove into the industry, but reality was brutal.
In this game, looks weren't talent. They were just the basic ticket to entry.
The idol world was where visual monsters gathered and competed until blood vessels burst.
To survive, I thrashed desperately. I cut sleep, starved myself. I sang until I tasted metallic blood in my throat, twisted my joints to perfect graceful lines in my dances.
Then, at twenty. Finally, in my grasp: the shining trophy of center in the debut lineup.
Dazzling spotlights, tens of thousands chanting my name. It was all within reach—
"...All just a pipe dream."
In the most hilariously timed twist, my past exploded. Instead of a glamorous stage, I got a moldy Basement Studio Apartment.
That day was a regular practice session. Debut right around the corner, sweating buckets with the members—
"Do Jun-hee. The CEO wants you. Now."
Manager Noona's face was twisted in disgust and contempt, like she was staring at trash. What's going on...? Suppressing a bad feeling, I entered the CEO's office.
Thwack. "Ugh..."
The door barely opened before a wad of papers smashed into my face.
"You filthy little shit...!"
Sharp edges scraped my cheek, but I barely felt the pain. My eyes locked on four glaring letters amid the scattered documents on the floor.
Compensated Dating
My heart plummeted to my toes. Cold sweat cascaded down my spine.
"You were whoring yourself out back then, right?" "Th-that... CEO, please let me explain..." "Did you or didn't you!!!"
Her thunderous roar made my shoulders tremble pathetically.
"A guy who can't even keep his dick in his pants, spreading his legs for compensated dating? Huh?!"
This wasn't a guess. It was a confident interrogation. In the end, my quivering lips parted in confession.
"...I had no choice. No parents, no way to eat... Trainee fees kept piling up. Out of everything I could do, that was the only way to touch big money."
I pleaded as pitifully as possible... "Just once..." infusing every ounce of misery.
"You know I worked ten times harder than the others. Please... give me one chance. If I stop here, I'll die..."
But in the CEO's eyes, I was just filthy disposable trash.
"Fuck!" Crash.
She flipped the entire desk. The deafening crash shattered my hopes too.
"Don't you know what compensated dating means for a male idol? This isn't just 'secondhand'! You're a whore, garbage! How dare you deceive fans?!"
Her dagger words stabbed my chest.
"You know the penalty fees, right? Cough up every penny of the training costs you devoured. And get the hell out! Don't you dare show your face in this industry again!"
Just like that, saddled with hundreds of millions in debt and branded a slut, I was expelled from showbiz.
Snap back to the present. In the dim room, I swallowed dryly.
I needed money now. If I didn't pay the penalty, I'd be dragged into an abyss deeper than this hellhole.
But what could I do? All I'd learned was singing, dancing, and coquettishly charming women— Wait.
...Coquettishly charming?
A thought flashed through my mind. My idol career was toast, but there were places for that talent.
*
"I-is this how it's done...?"
With no real skills for anything else, I'd chosen personal broadcasting. In other words, becoming a streamer. Not easy to succeed here either, but searches said pretty boys made decent cash just sitting there. For a fresh start, despite my empty pockets, I'd grabbed cheap lights, mic, and cam from the discount mart.
"Whew."
Setting it up, seeing my face on the monitor sparked hope. Sleek, dandy black hair. Piercing black eyes without lenses. Straight nose, ruby lips. Sharp, delicate jawline... Perfect visuals to trigger women's protective instincts, I was sure.
With this... I could earn. Commonplace in idols, but here— No. It'll definitely work!
While hunting platforms, my eyes caught it.
"Uh..."
Wasn't this bad? The green search site's front-page headlines.
"No way."
This was what they meant by not letting me set foot anywhere?!
"Fuck..."
This was basically telling me to drop dead... The photo was mosaiced, but pre-debut promo streams had aired a bit, and I'd gained some fans— anyone in the know would recognize my face.
Wear a mask at least.
Even for personal streams, with my face out there, caution was key. Avoid activity names hinting at my real one too. Plus—
Which platform?
Major ones had too many viewers; risk of exposure was high.
"This looks good."
Click. The site's name where my mouse landed: Kkamang TV.
Didn't know what it was, but the homepage oozed vibe with sexy-clad guys in sultry poses. Figured even idols dressed like that sometimes and brushed it off.
Opened my channel, set masked face as profile. Activity name: Hido, from slicing front and back of my name.
Prep done, time to go live. No big deal. Been on TV before. Still, nerves made my palms sweat.
"Hoo."
Quick deep breath—
Click. Hit broadcast.
*
Three days into streaming.
Ah, please... just stop...
The words flooding the monitor stabbed my eyes like jagged glass shards.
Is this what broadcasting is?
I should've clocked the shady vibe from "Kkamang TV." But what could I do? I'd already started...
I sat dumbly before the camera, black mask hiding half my face. Blond hair? Wait, no—my black hair gleamed under cheap lights, eyes above the mask trembling like a scared animal's.
Luckily, the mask kept them clueless I was the compensated-dating idol Do Jun-hee, but their reactions were light-years from the fan cheers I'd dreamed of.
Wow...
My trembling hand gripped the mouse tight. Cold sweat soaked my palm, wetting the pad.
This isn't right... Broadcasting wasn't supposed to be like this.
The streams I'd peeked at before starting were wholesome: sing a song, show a practiced dance, sprinkle shy aegyo, and donations poured in—a peaceful chat space.
But Kkamang TV viewers? Different breed. Vulgar words, blatant demands, attitudes from on high, looking down like total bosses.
"Um... Should I sing another song? Or talk about today's weather..."
My thin voice flowed through the mic. The chat exploded in mockery, like they'd been waiting.
Breath caught in my throat. Hot exhales trapped inside the mask wetted my lips. Three days' earnings? After fees, not even enough for a chicken—yet my soul was shredded and toyed with as the price.
This place... isn't for humans.
Instinct screamed it. This wasn't a normal platform but a swamp for women's illicit urges and dumps. Too murky for a fragile guy like me. Worst: every mask demand sent my heart crashing to my feet.
If greed blinded me and I unmasked, getting spotted from that article? This'd turn from mockery to literal hell.
"Sorry... That's it for today."
I slammed the end button like fleeing. Screen went black, reflecting my pathetic form.
"Fuck..."
Under the cheap lights, my forced getup looked revolting. I ripped off the mask.
"Haa, haa..."
No way. Can't do this. Penalty or not, I'll die first.
I flipped open the diary on the desk. Debt loomed endless; agency pressure calls daily. But those 30 minutes of hell terrified more than billions owed.
Find other work. No face needed, no knowing my past.
Trembling hands fired up my smartphone, scrolling job sites. Unloading gigs, restaurant dishwashing, convenience store night shifts... But my small frame and weak stamina limited options. In this world prizing pretty, fragile men, labor sites shunned me or sneered, "What can those delicate hands do?"
"Born a guy, of all things..." Annoying...
Face buried between knees, stewing in turmoil for who-knows-how-long.
Bzzz. "Hm?"
Phone on desk vibrated briefly, lighting up. Rubbing teary eyes, I checked: Kkamang TV app notification from my broadcast setup.
Who? Glanced at the preview snippet—
Guest? What the...? Message from a stranger. Fear and worry surged—
But maybe read it first...?