Baby Dolphin
When Baek Yuri called out again, every syllable crisp and clear in his formidable voice, Producer Seok O-yeong checked the tablet PC once more and then looked back and forth between their faces.
Hm? Baek Yuri is a contestant I know, but there’s no one named Neoul in my memory. Was he one of the local picks?
In keeping with the program’s concept, the production team had filled the ranks of the sixty-five contestants with applicants who had submitted forms in advance and passed the preliminary round, while the remaining fifteen were selected on Jeju Island by casting ordinary people after arrival.
One of the great pleasures of a travel show, after all, was the chance encounter with new people.
So until the shoot before the first team mission, they planned to run the show flexibly and keep selecting anyone promising they happened to find.
It hadn’t been easy to gather ordinary people, but they had at least been told that fifteen had been chosen, and they’d brought them straight to this beach and thrown them into filming. Their applications would be filled out later, after the beach shoot ended and they arrived at the accommodations.
The general contestants hadn’t been asked to provide detailed profiles; they’d been chosen at random by face alone.
How old they were, whether they had jobs, whether they were students, whether they were enjoying summer vacation, whether they were locals to Jeju—none of it had mattered. The more varied the contestants were, the more interesting the picture would be.
And surely the fun of getting to know them would be captured clearly by the camera, too.
Producer Seok O-yeong had hoped the ordinary contestants would show a fresh kind of charm—bubbly or unpolished, unlike the trainees who had been trained from top to bottom.
I honestly wasn’t expecting much from their singing.
If they turned out well, that meant he’d uncovered a good talent. If they were terrible, he could still use them for laughs or as a spicy little scene. Either way, it didn’t matter.
Even if every ordinary contestant got eliminated, that would be fine. Their role was just to add seasoning—to make things fun and worth watching. He hadn’t expected much from their abilities to begin with.
The contestants themselves probably hadn’t been taking the casting all that seriously either. They’d just thought it looked interesting and agreed lightly, as an experience.
That alone would be enough to refresh the overly heated atmosphere of competition. But then…
They’re better than I expected.
He hadn’t imagined that a vocal talent would roll in among the additional picks.
I’ll have to check this one again later.
Producer Seok O-yeong typed both names into the tablet PC.
Baek Yuri, Neoul
First mission passed.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
The ten contestants selected as Signal Song center candidates got on the bus before the others.
They were given the privilege of heading to the accommodations first, where they could watch the Signal Song guide and choreography videos ahead of everyone else.
The remaining contestants would keep busking a little longer to secure screen time, then move all at once after the contestants who still hadn’t found partners had finally paired up.
Baek Yuri took off the rabbit ears, handed back his self-cam, and then took his suitcase from the staff member guarding the contestants’ luggage. He loaded it onto the bus.
Since they’d been gathered at the filming site immediately after arriving on Jeju Island, everyone had to keep track of their own belongings.
“Neoul-ssi, aren’t you taking your luggage?”
“My luggage?”
Neoul lifted the bag slung over his shoulder and showed it to him.
“My luggage is here.”
“That’s all you brought?”
“Yes.”
Baek Yuri was thrown off by the confident answer.
It wasn’t because the bag looked too small for someone coming to live in a shared dorm for nearly half a month. After all, they would be issued practice clothes at the accommodations, and aside from sleeping, they’d probably wear little else during filming.
The problem was that Neoul, drenched from head to toe, was dripping water even from his bag.
Baek Yuri opened his suitcase, pulled out a towel, and handed it to Neoul.
“If you’re getting on the bus... I think you should dry off first.”
Neoul took the towel and turned it over in his hands, fiddling with it. Its soft, fluffy texture was amusing.
“But where are your shoes? Did you perhaps lose them?”
Baek Yuri asked, looking at Neoul’s bare feet.
“Shoes?”
Neoul noticed that Baek Yuri kept staring at his feet and roughly guessed what shoes were. Baek Yuri was wearing white sneakers.
“I have no shoes.”
Neoul shook his head and wiggled his toes. In the land, did one truly have to wear such things?
“Hurry up and get on! We’re leaving!”
Just then, a staff member who had checked the time came over and rushed them.
Baek Yuri was about to climb on board when he stopped and caught the staff member by the sleeve.
“Excuse me, just a moment! Could I borrow a thermometer?”
“A thermometer? We don’t have one here, but there’ll be one prepared at the accommodations. Ask for it later.”
Ah, at the accommodations….
There were already eighty contestants, and the production staff was large too; surely they should always have a first-aid kit and basic medical supplies on hand, shouldn’t they?
“Then do you perhaps have any spare shoes or slippers?”
“Just a second.”
The staff member brought over a pair of green slippers. With slippers on, Neoul’s fashion became even stranger. Holding the towel, Neoul awkwardly rubbed at the moisture on his body, while his feet, trapped in the slippers, twitched.
Baek Yuri boarded the bus first. The eight people already seated inside burst into cheers when Baek Yuri and Neoul came in.
“Hello! Hello!”
“Wow, the center candidates are already all here!”
“We opened the bus windows and listened to you sing! You were amazing!”
There were cameras installed inside the bus too—one for every two people. Maybe that was why everyone was overdoing their reactions.
Baek Yuri smiled, greeted them in return, and then tried to hurry to a seat. But when he spotted Neoul climbing the steps using his arm strength rather than his legs, he went back and supported him.
“Sit here.”
Baek Yuri guided Neoul to the window seat of an empty spot with a camera mounted nearby, then sat down beside him.
He says he isn’t injured, so why can’t he walk properly? He was off-balance and fell earlier too... and he’s ice-cold... Did the shoes get swept away by the waves?
He began to suspect Neoul might be lying because he had to avoid going to the hospital and couldn’t afford to miss filming.
If he skipped the first shoot, he might be cut entirely from the very first episode... and he probably had the producer to worry about too.
If he’d dropped out, he wouldn’t even have been chosen as a Signal Song center candidate.
With the way people said managing one’s condition was part of one’s skill, he might have been afraid that if his illness were exposed, he’d be told to leave.
Baek Yuri understood that kind of desperation all too well.
Because he understood it better than anyone, he couldn’t bring himself to tell Neoul that health mattered more than filming or debuting.
But…
Illness and injury only became irreversible the longer they were left alone. Even if he had to give up this survival show and wait for another chance later, he should get proper treatment first.
After today’s shoot ends, I should urge him to go back to the hospital once more.
While Baek Yuri’s misunderstanding deepened, all the while unaware that he himself wasn’t even being treated like a human being, Neoul draped the towel around his neck and turned his head this way and that to look around the bus.
He found the cold wind blowing from the strange holes in the ceiling fascinating. The seats, arranged four to a row, were cramped enough that his shoulder kept bumping the person beside him.
The camera mounted on the seat in front looked similar to the one he’d seen on the beach, only a little smaller.
Neoul blinked slowly and stared at the lens with intense concentration.
On the square machine the Sea Witch had once dressed him up in fine clothes and shoved at him, there had been something similar embedded in it, though smaller in size and different in shape.
“Sea Witch. What on earth is that?”
“It’s a machine that stores memories you want to keep. This round part here is the machine’s eye.”
“Eye?”
“Mm-hm. Look here. The machine is looking at you and storing you in its memory.”
“Why?”
“Because you look funny, that’s why~”
Neoul recalled the Sea Witch’s words and tilted his head.
Is that thing staring because it finds me funny too...?
Whenever his father, the Dragon King, and the courtiers looked at him, they always praised him—“Handsome,” “Dignified,” “He looks truly noble if he’d only keep his mouth shut.”
Whether the Dragon Palace family had been dazzled blind, or whether they were simply flattering him with sweet lies, or whether the Sea Witch had been the one telling falsehoods—he couldn’t tell at all.
Don’t look at me only for being funny. Look at me fondly.
Neoul muttered that inwardly, smiled a little, and then turned his gaze out the window.
Just as the Sea Witch had said, everyone on land was dressed in clothes.
There were other animals among the humans too, and they had fluffy ears. Some had pointed ears; some had round ones.
Most of the humans and animals on the beach had dark hair, but a few were bright or vividly colored.
Neoul saw people who sang and danced and performed strange behaviors, as well as those who watched them.
He didn’t know why the stick people held up to their mouths had to be held there, though the large square machine beside it had startled him just moments ago.
There must be a person in there who is small in body but has a very loud voice.
Someone had been imitating Neoul’s voice through the holes pockmarked through it like basalt.
“Fasten your seat belts!”
With the driver’s voice, the bus pulled away.
As his body tilted backward, Neoul jolted and hurriedly grabbed the window and the back of the seat in front of him.
As the bus swayed and moved forward, the scenery outside the window shifted and kept changing.
Humans make things to travel, and even the sea becomes their own backyard. So on land, they make these too and ride them around.
What marvelous creatures.
But where are we going...?
When Baek Yuri, seated beside him, buckled his seat belt, Neoul watched him closely and copied the motion. With a click, the belt locked into place.
Neoul pressed both hands against the window and stuck to it, watching the scenery change moment by moment.
The land, utterly unlike the world beneath the sea, was truly another realm.
While Neoul was absorbed in the view outside, the bus quickly turned into a noisy place of camaraderie.
“I know Baek Yuri-sunbaenim!”
The one speaking to Baek Yuri was a human with bright blue hair. In his hands, he held a tiny bluebird figurine.
“Your debut song! Baek Yuri-sunbaenim from Clear! Right!”
“...! How do you know?”
“I loved the choreography, so I watched the dance video over and over!”
The blue-haired human answered in a flurry, while Baek Yuri stared wide-eyed.
Pure Lover Lover Lover
Be my love
Twilight with no shadow at all
On a road where no one else is
I want to walk with you, just the two of us
Yeeah~
With his waist pinned by the seat belt, the blue-haired human flapped his limbs and hummed while dancing.
He looked exactly like a baby dolphin entangled in a net, cheerful beyond reason and unaware of the danger.
“I memorized the whole choreography!”
Seeing him perform the complicated steps and then grin with a satisfied little “Heehee,” Baek Yuri looked deeply moved.
“Wow! Thank you for remembering me! I didn’t think anyone would know me, since Clear disbanded just six months after debut...!”
Halfway through, Baek Yuri suddenly seemed overwhelmed with emotion and swallowed hard, his mouth moving soundlessly. Then he cleared his throat and went on.
“We’re all contestants in this audition survival show together, so please just call me casually, not ‘sunbaenim.’”
“Yap! Yap! Yuri hyung!”
Neoul, who had been listening from the side, pricked up his ears.
An audition survival show?
A new word had appeared before “survival.” However, the meaning of audition had not been translated.
Perhaps it was a word that didn’t exist in Dragon Palace, or one that was difficult to translate.
I should remember it and ask later.
Anyway, judging by the atmosphere, the mission seemed to have been a success, so now all they needed to do was debut. Neoul hugged the bag containing Sangsangi and Byeoldtongi tightly and listened quietly to the conversation.
“I’ve watched a lot of Woo Cheong-ssi’s dance cover videos too. It’s so nice to meet you here.”
“Kyahk, you watched my videos?! That’s insanely cool! Hyung, just call me Cheong! Speak casually too!”
His hair was blue, and his name was “Cheong” too. It was an easy name to remember.
Woo Cheong squinted his eyes and laughed, his shoulders shaking. The double-folds of his eyelids weren’t the same size on both sides, and when he laughed, one eye narrowed more than the other.
Perhaps because he was so sociable, Woo Cheong also poured words at Neoul, who was seated next to Baek Yuri, like a waterfall.
“What’s your name, long-haired hyung? Am I right, hyung? I’m eighteen! Woo Cheong! Your humming earlier was seriously amazing and so cool! But how tall are you? You look totally like a basketball player!”
He spoke too fast, with too many sentences.
What’s basketball, now...?
Neoul understood only half of what Woo Cheong said and answered with a puzzled tilt of his head.
“My name is Neoul...”
“So you’re Hyung-ul!”
“No, not Ul—Neoul...”
“Ah, Neoul hyung! I thought your family name was Neo and your given name was one syllable like mine! I always think people have a separate surname and then their name is Woo Cheong. But hyung, are you over 190 centimeters?”
“It has been a long time since I measured my height, so I do not know.”
“Really? I’m 182.6 cm, but you look at least half a span taller than me! And, hyung, your long hair suits you so well! I want to try growing mine out too, but my mom says it won’t suit me and told me not to.”
“...?”
Neoul touched his own hair in confusion.
It wasn’t what he would call especially long—just long enough to cover his neck, a length that brushed his shoulders ever so slightly.
Can this really be called long? Shouldn’t it reach all the way to the waist like Father’s for it to count as long hair?
Come to think of it, there had been quite a few humans with long hair on the beach, but among the humans in the bus, the single rabbit, and the one mermaid, Neoul’s hair was the longest.
Most of the others had bangs trimmed to lengths that seemed as though they might poke their eyes or just barely touch their eyebrows. Baek Yuri and Woo Cheong’s hair was the kind that looked like it might stab their eyes.
Why do they go around poking their eyes like that? Isn’t it uncomfortable?
Neoul watched them with curious eyes.
Woo Cheong scrunched his face as though he were trying to expand the bridge of his nose and pull all his features toward the center.
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