Chapter 110: Video Conference
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 110: Video Conference
Mental Pillar Jeong Seong-bin
[I’m so sorry to bother everyone while you’re on vacation.]
[I heard Spark got an offer to appear on a survival program. The manager asked me to sneakily check how everyone feels about it.]
Below that was an emoticon of a cute character face-down on the floor, wailing.
Why is it that every company I work for insists on contacting me on my days off?
Is this just the industry standard? Our society is brutal.
Cute Pretty Visual Lee Cheong-hyeon
[What kind of program is it?]
Mental Pillar Jeong Seong-bin
[They say it’s a brand-new show!]
King Cute Kang Gi-yeon
[Is it only for groups that have already debuted?]
Mental Pillar Jeong Seong-bin
[Looks like it. I’ll organize the info I just got and post it. Hang on!]
In the meantime, the guys who had checked the messages first were already going back and forth. I have to respect their passion for work, at least.
A few minutes later, a long message arrived from Jeong Seong-bin.
Mental Pillar Jeong Seong-bin
[★ IMPORTANT ★
This is confidential, so absolutely do not share it externally!
Working Title: Idol Dynasty Annals
Planning Intent: A sanctuary-free survival project for K-idols who carry the legacy of the K-pop market.
Format: 6 boy groups compete through five stages, with the winner decided in the finale.
Note: They need a response as soon as possible due to the filming schedule (Please gather all opinions by this coming Wednesday).]
That was a clean summary. Recommending "The Leader’s Communication Method" to Department Head Nam—a book I desperately wanted him to read—had clearly paid off.
Now that I’d checked the notice, I was drying my hair with a towel when Lee Cheong-hyeon let out a groan.
“What’s wrong?”
“They said we need to decide quickly, but I’m worried about whether we can all get together in time. Kang Gyeon, Seong-bin Hyung, and I are heading back to Seoul tomorrow for school, but Je-ho Hyung and Ju-woo Hyung aren’t.”
“Do we really need to meet in person to talk?”
“Survival shows are a huge deal. I’ve heard there are often internal disagreements because they’re long-term projects with a competitive system.”
“Then we can just talk it out together.”
Despite my answer, Lee Cheong-hyeon’s expression didn’t look very relieved.
“Why? Do you not want to do it?”
“No, it’s not that.”
He hesitated for a moment before speaking with a serious face.
“Hyung, everyone’s on vacation. Do you really think we can make a quick decision just through text messages?”
“It’s pretty much impossible.”
“Thinking about that is already making my chest feel tight...”
Lee Cheong-hyeon started thumping his chest.
I watched him for a moment, then reopened my laptop, which I’d closed barely thirty minutes ago.
“Cheong-hyeon, what century is this?”
“The 21st century.”
“Exactly. So why should we be limited to text just because of physical distance?”
I left a short notice in the group chat.
Me
[Has everyone ever done a video conference before?]
[I’ll show you how, so everyone vote on what time works best for you first.
21:00–22:00
22:00–23:00]
Setting up remote meetings was something I was quite good at.
What kind of program was Idol Dynasty Annals?
Idol Dynasty Annals, or Awangsil for short, was, simply put, a typical survival program.
Launched during a time when survival shows were popping up like mushrooms after rain, Awangsil didn't get much of a reaction at first.
The title was heavy on concept, but the content was no different from any other survival show. Other programs usually had the advantage of being spin-offs of successful predecessors—either swapping the gender of the cast or adding a new season—which gave them a head start in viewership.
No one was interested in this run-of-the-mill competition show except for the so-called "ghosts of the idol scene."
That is, until all the other shows airing around the same time crashed and burned.
The reasons for their failure were varied.
One competition show got caught rigging the rankings.
The cast of another show caused a scandal during the broadcast period and withdrew as a group.
A dating rumor broke out between the MC and a contestant, where one side admitted it and the other denied it... and so on.
As the promising shows fell away, the only one left standing in the wasteland was Awangsil.
The production company, which had been worrying over Awangsil’s sluggish buzz, didn't miss the opportunity.
>> Did you see the benefits for the final winning group of Awangsil?
Winning prize: 100 million won
Comeback showcase support << This was the original announcement, but...
Winning prize increased to 300 million won
A custom pure gold royal seal made with the members' names
Confirmed appearance in Season 2 with added benefits
These were added.
+ Starting from Round 3, they’re providing stage production costs based on ranking.
└ They’ve definitely bet their lives on Awangsil.
They had declared a Season 2 before the first one even ended.
As one comment put it, with the third-quarter budget poured into the show, it was as if the entire universe was conspiring for Awangsil’s success.
As a result, Awangsil established itself as the representative boy group survival show for about two years. In fact, the groups that appeared on it became the most well-known among teams that debuted in the same year.
This was why Spark had to go on Awangsil.
By appearing on Awangsil, they could officially enter the competitive landscape with groups of their generation.
‘If we don’t do this, it’s unclear when we’ll ever achieve our final KPI.’
Pushing up Spark’s debut, filming self-produced content relentlessly, and appearing on variety shows that others avoided—it was all to get this offer from Awangsil.
I had prepared several contingencies in case the schedule for Awangsil and other programs changed because of the moved-up debut, but fortunately, the deviation was within the expected range. If I hadn't anticipated this, I would have been panicking over the fact that the cast lineup was finalized six months earlier than expected.
And they were worried about coordinating opinions with someone as serious about Awangsil as me?
Not a chance. I was going to get them all on that screen, front and center.
As the appointed time approached, I saw them joining the Zoom meeting room I’d set up one by one.
I was proud of them. I’d only sent a few lines of explanation via message, yet they managed to connect all on their own.
At this rate, they wouldn't even struggle on their first day if they joined a company that worked from home.
“Choi Je-ho, what’s with your background?”
While waiting for everyone to gather, I asked the guy who was currently sitting in Hawaii by himself.
『My sister told me to turn this on because my room is messy.』
“You should’ve cleaned your room since you went home.”
『But this is my sister’s room?』
“Ah, well, what happens to a room is up to the owner. Indeed.”
I could hear someone scolding Choi Je-ho from a distance. Je-ho wasn't backing down, but I told him to behave since he was crashing in his sister’s room.
After getting consent from the guys, who had all gathered right on time, I turned on the recording, and the discussion about appearing on Awangsil began in earnest.
The initial vote was 4 to 2 in favor. Park Ju-woo was against it, and Lee Cheong-hyeon expressed uncertainty.
Surprisingly, Kang Gi-yeon was the one who wanted to do it.
I thought it wouldn't be strange for him to feel burdened since it wasn't a one-off show, but he quite stoically said, “We can’t only do the things we want to do.”
18-year-old Kang Gi-yeon seemed a hundred times more mature than 29-year-old Kim I-wol, who was crying on the inside about not wanting to work.
“Listen, I want to respect all of your opinions.”
At my words, all their eyes turned toward their cameras.
“But this opportunity is too good to pass up.”
With that, I pulled up the PPT I’d rushed to make before the meeting and switched my camera to screen-sharing mode.
After about 40 minutes of listing 58,000 reasons why we had to go on Awangsil...
“How can we say no after seeing this?! Ugh, fine, I’m in.”
『...Me too.』
Lee Cheong-hyeon and Park Ju-woo readily changed their minds. I expressed my deep gratitude to them.
『So, what should we prepare now?』
In the midst of the heartwarming atmosphere, Kang Gi-yeon asked a very good question.
“Actually, there was something I wanted to say while I had the chance.”
『What is it?』
“How about you all start speaking informally to each other?”
Dismantling the honorifics within Spark had been my long-standing project since last year.
Because of the setting that I had already started speaking informally to the younger members, I’d had no peace of mind since I ended up speaking bluntly without much choice.
I couldn't even humble myself before the teachers who were dragging a "clumsy person" like me along; how arrogant must it sound to say "Thanks" instead of "Thank you" while I was the one learning?
While everyone using honorifics would be ideal, that was something that usually only worked in a corporate setting.
Given the nature of these guys, who were very respectful toward their elders, it was obvious that if Choi Je-ho or I used honorifics, the others would feel even more uncomfortable.
In that case, I concluded it was better for everyone to just speak informally as equals.
I’d actually asked Choi Je-ho about it before...
‘What do you think about the kids speaking informally to you?’
‘Yeah. You’ve been with them for years.’
‘I don’t really care.’
...That’s what he’d said.
“Once the program starts, we’ll have to handle everything from stage planning to practice in a short amount of time. We’ll be under much more pressure, both time-wise and mentally, than when we were preparing for our comeback. I don’t think an atmosphere where it’s hard to voice good opinions because you’re being overly polite or walking on eggshells around the older members helps the team.”
I could make this suggestion because I knew they weren't the type of people to forget basic respect just because they were told to speak informally.
Perhaps because it was completely unexpected, the faces on the monitor were all colored with bewilderment.
“Hyung, aren’t you going to regret this later when the younger ones start getting too cocky?”
“True. I’m not really worried about the others, but I am a bit concerned about you, Cheong-hyeon.”
Lee Cheong-hyeon burst out laughing at my remark.
“It’s not a requirement. Those who feel comfortable can do it, and those who need more time can keep doing what they’re doing. Just know that you don’t need to be excessively cautious when making suggestions or giving feedback.”
“Got it, I-wol!”
“See how Cheong-hyeon just dropped the honorifics? Everyone, try to be at least half as relaxed as him.”
As a result of authorizing the liberalization of informal speech, Park Ju-woo and Lee Cheong-hyeon decided to speak informally, while Jeong Seong-bin and Kang Gi-yeon stuck to honorifics. Honestly, they were like the "Steadfast Brothers."
I briefly imagined Jeong Seong-bin or Kang Gi-yeon saying, “Hyung, why aren’t you dancing properly?” A chuckle escaped me involuntarily.
Come to think of it, this wasn't the time to be laughing. I’d better brace myself.
The next day, Lee Cheong-hyeon and I returned to Seoul after our short trip.
Kang Gi-yeon had already arrived at the dorm.
‘Why are you here so early? Because of school tomorrow?’
‘That’s part of it.’
I thought he’d come to the dorm early because he had to go to school on Monday.
‘We decided to practice a few cover dances in preparation for Idol Dynasty Annals.’
‘We did.’
‘I talked to Je-ho Hyung separately, and he said it might take you some time to pick up the covers. So I decided to look over your choreography until Je-ho Hyung gets here.’
‘Right, because the team doesn’t need someone who can’t keep up.’
It turned out he’d come to take charge of the wild card, Kim I-wol. A dance line united by me—it was a beautiful sight that brought tears to my eyes.
I did my best during Kang Gi-yeon’s 1:1 lesson so that Choi Je-ho wouldn't have to rush back from Gwangju.
‘Hyung, didn’t you say the team doesn’t need someone who can’t keep up?’
‘Just leave me behind.’
However, me becoming a dancing machine was not meant to be.
The world is truly a harsh place. It keeps reminding me like this that I’m not a natural-born member of Spark.
Even though my dancing was a mess after that, I didn't completely neglect other things.
I practiced personal talents that every idol should have, and just as I was increasing my "idol power" by trimming and burning off fat...
“If you’re all ready, shall we begin the Spark interview?”
Faster than the arrival of early summer, the first meeting for Awangsil was upon us.