Self-Introduction Video Shoot (1)
A law student who had been diligently combing through social media and the bulletin boards idol obsessives used clenched a fist.
“I knew it…!”
The official site still hadn’t posted any participant information.
But already, scraps were leaking out here and there—one contestant had supposedly trained at this agency, another had come from that country, and so on.
Online, there were already old photos and videos of the more recognizable contestants, along with every sort of tantalizing rumor imaginable.
And yet this textbook-perfect humpback whale hadn’t even had his name mentioned.
On social media, the nameless man was being called things like “Tall Humpback Whale” and “Hot Humpback Whale.”
Right on the edge of becoming a full-fledged fan, the law student waited miserably for his contestant profile photo or self-introduction video to be released.
Or at least an online voting page…
Hunger gnawed at her as she kept rewatching the preview clips and performance MVs over and over—until finally…
Idol Travel voting page opened.
(Link)
Without warning, the voting page went live.
Huh? The first episode hasn’t even aired yet…?
Of course, this was exactly what she had wanted, but the timing was enough to throw her off. And then there was something even more bewildering waiting for her.
Wait, why are there no photos or names for the contestants?
Holy crap, it’s a blind vote.
That was right. The first vote was a full-on blind vote. They were meant to judge purely on skill, without knowing who anyone was.
The law student hurried into the link. On the screen, only two buttons appeared: Voice Vote and Dance Vote.
“What in the world is this….”
She clicked Voice Vote first, and number cards from 1 through 81 appeared.
When she clicked a number, the signal song sung by one of the 81 participants began to play.
Which one is the humpback whale?
Nervously, the law student listened to each one carefully, one by one.
But since the signal song didn’t reveal which part had been sung by which contestant, she had no way of knowing which voice belonged to the humpback whale.
In the end, she had no choice but to vote for the contestants who sounded the best.
Right. No matter how good-looking someone is, this is still a singer. The voice comes first.
Even as she steeled herself with that thought, she couldn’t help worrying that if the humpback whale fell too early, she’d be devastated.
By the time she reached contestant number 10, she still felt nothing in particular.
“The same song eighty-one times… sigh. How am I supposed to get through all this?”
At least, if one was bad, she could stop and move on to the next. That was something.
Then she let out a sigh and played number 11.
Oh, this voice…
Even though it was the chorus of the first verse, and everyone was singing together, one voice stood out with unusual clarity—solid, full, and resonant. Boyish, yet unmistakably masculine, it rang out cleanly and bright. It felt like pouring cool water down a throat parched and aching.
Number 11 is good. He sounds professional.
Since she could vote for seven people, she decided to keep him in mind.
Number 12, however, was a little disappointing. Maybe because number 11 had sounded so refreshing and stable, so wonderfully clear and strong, but number 12 came across as flat in comparison.
And then, the moment she played number 13…
“Huhhh?”
The bridge! It was the voice from that bridge part, wasn’t it?!
Her heart fluttered and began pounding hard. As fitting for such a bright, breezy song, the notes stretched out cleanly and powerfully, while that uniquely beautiful, dreamlike tone melted right into her eardrums.
After voting for the others who had sounded worth it, it was time for Dance Vote.
When she played number 1, the track came up, and soon a contestant with his face hidden by a circle bearing the program logo appeared.
Numbers 2, 3, and 4 were also fairly good dancers. Then number 5 appeared.
He’s really bad.
The law student judged mercilessly.
“Why is he dancing all floaty and squirmy like that?”
* * *
At the same time,
the humpback whale who had become a floaty, squirmy mess was getting ready to film his self-introduction video.
The 81 participants had been split by lots into groups of twenty or twenty-one and sent to different locations—the sheep farm, the Olle Trail, the folk village, and the tea fields—to film their self-introductions.
The day before, the production team had taken the contestants to the sheep farm and the Olle Trail, and earlier that afternoon they had finished filming at the tea fields as well.
And now, in the evening, they had brought the remaining twenty contestants to the folk village. Neoul was among them.
The staff handed out selfie cameras, along with entrance tickets and pocket money.
“Right now, Jeju Folk Village is running a summer ghost-event special. The tickets we just gave you let you into both the safe zone and the horror-experience zone.”
The PD’s voice sounded strangely excited as he explained.
“In the safe zone, you can sightsee, watch performances, or buy snacks at the night market. In the horror-experience zone, you can do courage training. You’re free to film your self-introduction video while doing whatever you’d like here.”
Just then, someone raised a hand to ask a question.
“Can we go around together in groups~?”
It was Ha On-ha, smiling, though he looked a little nervous.
Baek Yuri and Baek Gi-yeom, who had been sharing a room with Neoul, had gone to the Olle Trail; Woo Cheong and Kim Ji-rok, who had the eyebrow scratch, had gone to the sheep farm. That left Ha On-ha as the only contestant Neoul had really talked to here.
“Yes. You may go together. It’s fine if other people’s voices or faces end up in your self-introduction video.”
Ha On-ha visibly relaxed and let out a breath, patting his chest.
The contestants scattered in twos and threes. Some filmed their self-introductions against blooming hydrangeas, some under thatched houses, and some bought tangerine hats from the props shop and put them on before filming.
Gal Neoul stood there, staring blankly at a ten-thousand-won bill, the entrance ticket, and the selfie-cam lens the staff had turned on for him.
How far am I supposed to introduce myself?
Could I just say my name?
“Neoul~”
Ha On-ha called to the puzzled Neoul.
“It’s boring to film alone, so let’s go together.”
What about those other humans who seemed friendly—why me?
Neoul found it odd, but he nodded. Ha On-ha was the human who had claimed the signal-song center that Baek Yuri wanted. The way he held that selfie camera also looked oddly practiced.
To Neoul, Ha On-ha seemed like the sort of person who would succeed first at all the various missions they would face before debut.
Unlike Neoul, who still didn’t really understand what an idol was, Ha On-ha looked like someone who knew the idol world intimately and was already charging straight down that path.
He seemed like someone Neoul could learn from—watch how he introduced himself, then do something similar and appropriate.
As they entered the folk village, a second camera followed behind them. There would surely be things the selfie cam couldn’t capture, so this one was there to film the larger picture.
Though the camera operator kept a bit of distance, Ha On-ha seemed relieved now that their little group had grown by one more person.
Neoul, meanwhile, was too distracted by the strange sights inside the village to pay the camera any mind as he looked around with wide, wandering eyes.
“Oh~ There’s the night market over there. Want to eat something?”
Food?
Neoul’s eyes sparkled.
For a prince who had lived on shrimp, anchovies, plankton, and tiny fish, human food was a whole new world. Some of it was bland, but for the most part it was delicious, varied, and astonishing.
“Let’s pool our money and order twenty thousand won’s worth~”
“Very well.”
Neoul didn’t know exactly how much twenty thousand won was, but he understood perfectly well that it meant more food, and followed along with great satisfaction.
“Huh? Neoul~ why are you speaking so formally to me?”
“I am a prince of proper etiquette.”
“……?”
Ha On-ha, naturally, had no idea what Neoul meant and stared at him with round eyes. Then, thinking it must be some kind of concept, he laughed and played along.
“Really? A prince of which country?”
“I am the second prince from Dragon Palace.”
“I see. Then I’ll be king~ Dragon King! I’ll seize the power of the sea!”
“……!”
A human is aiming for my father’s position…?
Neoul was flustered.
“That will not be possible.”
“Why not~?”
“A human cannot become the Dragon King. Only when a sea serpent born from a dragon egg endures a thousand years of training and becomes a dragon may the throne be inherited—and even then, only if the seat is vacant.”
“Goodness~ You’re so firm, and so specific!”
Neoul was telling the truth and nothing but the truth, but Ha On-ha didn’t take him seriously at all. He simply thought they were tossing around light jokes in a free-flowing conversation.
“Then can I be a prince?”
“If you are adopted into the royal family, it is possible.”
“Then I’ll be a prince too~ Since we’re both princes, let’s talk casually!”
“……?”
Neoul lifted one brow, unable to understand human logic. It wasn’t as if you could just decide you wanted that and make it so, was it?
But the gist seemed to be that he should speak casually, so he decided to grant the request.
“Very well. I shall lower my speech.”
“Huh?”
Hm? This time it was Ha On-ha’s turn to go wide-eyed. He had naturally meant casual banter between peers of the same age.
But Neoul had grown up without any same-age friends or even peers, and so he had no idea how to treat people like that.
“Ha On-ha. Order some food. Nothing spicy.”
Neoul had now learned that the food that tortured one’s mouth hurt was called “spicy.”
Humans were truly strange. They tortured their mouths with spicy food, then tortured them again with spicy toothpaste, and then went and irritated their eyes with shampoo.
Do they enjoy pain?
Still, thanks to Ha On-ha ordering sweet-and-savory fried chicken bites and crispy scallion pancakes, he could enjoy snacks without self-inflicted torture this time.
Since Ha On-ha was barely eating and seemed half out of his mind, Neoul was able to eat to his heart’s content.
It would be nice if I could eat such delicious food with Father too.
Baek Yuri had said he would ask his family at home to send him some liver, but something had come up and it seemed he would have to wait a little longer.
Has Prince Rabbit’s family not been able to find Prince Rabbit’s liver? Did he hide it too well?
Besides, when would that blasted debut even happen?
The longer time dragged on, the more restless Neoul became.
After learning that Baek Yuri and Baek Gi-yeom were cousins, he had even considered taking Baek Gi-yeom’s liver instead. If both were rabbits, then it wouldn’t matter which one he took it from.
So he had asked Baek Gi-yeom whether he was a rabbit too, only to be told that he should call him a lion instead.
— What is a lion?
— Didn’t you ever go to the zoo when you were little?
When Neoul replied, as the Sea Witch had instructed him to do, that he had “only stayed at home because I was sick,” Baek Gi-yeom explained that lions were very scary, brave, and strong animals.
Neoul asked whether they were as scary as orcas or giant octopuses, and Baek Gi-yeom said he didn’t know, since he’d never seen an orca or a giant octopus fight a lion, but that lions were the kings of animals.
Neoul told him that Baek Gi-yeom didn’t seem scary at all, didn’t seem like much of a threat, and didn’t give off any kingly aura, so he didn’t look like a lion.
— Ugh. Neoul just hit me where it hurts.
Baek Gi-yeom clutched his own stomach as if he’d been struck, then left saying he’d come back much scarier and more valiant.
— Raccoon Brother just crushed Kiyomi Brother’s bones!
Woo Cheong had shouted, bouncing up and down.
— I didn’t hit him…!
— You did!
But Neoul had never laid a physical hand on Baek Gi-yeom, so he spent a long time feeling wronged after that.
So was Baek Gi-yeom a rabbit, or a lion, or what in the world was he?
In the end, Neoul never found out the answer to the question that had bothered him.
He fumbled with his chopsticks and tried to pick up a scallion pancake, dropping it three times before finally managing to get it into his mouth. Since he hadn’t realized that pancakes were meant to be torn apart and eaten piece by piece, trying to lift up the whole thing made it even harder.
Ha On-ha barely ate at all, only nibbling at a piece of fried chicken while staring off into space, then set down his wooden skewer.
“All right, now let’s go see some ghosts!”