Chapter 135: Corporate Retaliation (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 135: Corporate Retaliation (1)
In the end, I never did figure out what the countdown was for, even on the day the numbers finally vanished.
Surely, nothing major will happen...
I kept the thought to myself as I dusted off the cushions for the production crew on the rooftop.
How many crises could possibly befall a rookie idol who had only just debuted? We’d already had our fair share of controversies, and the workload was as relentless now as it had been before the debut.
Wait. Doesn't that mean every day is a crisis for me? I’m suddenly feeling a wave of existential dread.
Just in case some disaster occurred—like me collapsing from a nosebleed mid-filming—I had been meticulously checking my cumulative fatigue levels since morning.
I even personally massaged the other guys' shoulders to check their conditions one by one. They all just looked incredibly burdened by my sudden affection; none of them seemed particularly ill.
I even hung around the office at the crack of dawn, wondering if something would blow up there, but there wasn't a single sign of trouble. Everything was, quite literally, business as usual.
If I’ve done my absolute best within my sphere of influence and nothing has turned up?
Then it’s no longer my responsibility. Whatever pops up and ruins things, at least I’ll have an excuse.
“Hyung, the directors will be here in ten minutes!”
Since I couldn't beat the system, I took it out on the cushions I was thumping until Kang Gi-yeon delivered the news.
Without any more time to fret over those mysterious numbers, I grabbed an armful of cushions and headed for the stairs.
I was the moderator for today’s meeting.
I really wanted to stop appearing on camera so much, but since my position was the "producing member," I was stuck with it. Next time I change jobs, I’m picking a role that doesn't even have the letter "P" in it.
Still, I had prepared quite diligently for today’s meeting.
The time had come to tie up all the narrative baits Spark had been dropping until now.
“Then, before we dive into the meeting for the final competition, let’s review our previous concepts.”
The image Spark had shown on Annals of the Idol Dynasty so far had followed the flow of history.
The fresh, green rookie idols of the Self-PR stage represented the founding of the Joseon Dynasty.
The sports matches of the 1st Competition alluded to the long-standing factional disputes in Joseon history, while the Milky Way stage of the 2nd Competition pointed to scientific and technological achievements, such as the Map of the Constellations.
So, what was left?
“Everyone, you all remember the name of our program, right?”
“Annals of the Idol Dynasty!”
“Correct. If Spark has been reenacting historical flows and events until now, it is now time to leave a record of them.”
I told them before—Spark would become the identity of this show.
As I flipped the PPT slide, illustrations of ancient historians—the Saguans—and photos of the Annals of the Joseon Dynasty appeared.
“As you all know, the Annals of the Joseon Dynasty are deeply significant as records that encompass a vast array of facts from that era. Therefore, for the final competition, we will take on the role of historians, delivering everything we’ve seen and learned on the Annals of the Idol Dynasty stage to the public without filter. Any objections?”
“None!”
“Sounds good.”
Everyone agreed readily. And why wouldn't they? We were only holding this meeting for the cameras; Spark had been building toward this concept from the very beginning.
Since this was an idea planned even before we started filming the show, it wasn't anything new to the members.
However, we still had to nail down the specifics. From this point on, the meeting continued with genuine intensity.
“We’re wearing Hanbok for the final competition, right? What style are we going for?”
“Instead of looking like full-on scholars, maybe something like Confucian student robes would be prettier...”
“Those are all great, but with Hanbok, the way the dance lines show up varies wildly depending on the design. I think we need to review that part in advance.”
As the leader, Jeong Seong-bin, pointed out the key discussion points, Park Ju-woo and Kang Gi-yeon offered their respective opinions.
“Well, we need to put a lot of effort into this final competition anyway, right?”
“...?”
“I didn't want to waste time on reference research, so I’ve already put together a general framework. If we can reach an agreement, let’s finalize it today and hand it over to the production team.”
I opened the shared sheet I had prepared in advance.
Usually, I’d share things via folders, but considering we were filming, I organized everything—outfits, props, lighting, media art, and so on—into separate tabs within a single file. Seeing this, one of the cameras turned its lens entirely toward the projector screen.
“We’ll decide on the color palette last after looking at the color sheet. I’m going to move through this quickly, so please make your decisions promptly.”
“Is there no second round of voting or anything?”
“Nope. Just pick what you like best the moment you see it. That means it’s a good enough choice to stand out even at a glance.”
At my words, Lee Cheong-hyeon shook his head in amazement.
Despite his comment about a second round of voting, the selection process went off without a hitch. In the past, they looked like they’d order five different dishes at a Chinese restaurant because they couldn't decide, but now they seemed to have developed an eye for weighing various factors and picking the best option.
How should I put it? It felt like watching well-trained juniors.
“Great job, everyone!”
“Thank you for your hard work!”
The meeting wrap-up was filmed along with the writers' farewells. My blood sugar was plummeting.
Is this really the daily life of an idol? It’s no different from my time at Hanpyeong Industry. Perhaps a highly advanced idol is indistinguishable from an office worker?
“Hyung, you look exhausted.”
“Really? Did it show while we were filming?”
“Not then, but it’s pretty obvious now that the cameras are off.”
Lee Cheong-hyeon said, pointing under his eyes. I’ll definitely need to get some under-eye filler once Annals of the Idol Dynasty is over.
I rubbed my eyes and replied.
“Maybe it’s because we had back-to-back meetings. My energy is drained.”
“The meetings aren't the problem; it’s because you don't sleep.”
Choi Je-ho chided me as he tucked his chair back into place.
Do you think I wanted to organize data after living in a dorm and practicing all day? I like taking long naps too, you know.
I felt a surge of sorrowful injustice, but I couldn't let it show. The production crew hadn't finished packing up yet.
I was holding the meeting room door open to make it easier for them to move when a writer approached me.
“Iwol, who comes up with your ideas?”
“All our members come up with them together!”
“No, I mean the main concepts. I was curious which department handles things like setting the narrative flow from the Self-PR stage onwards.”
“We really did plan it ourselves. The company mostly just checks for feasibility.”
“You guys planned it? Not the company?”
“Yes!”
The writer’s expression turned peculiar at my answer.
Does she... not believe me? Am I about to get Spark caught up in a 'concept-obsessed' controversy and get a 'devil's edit'?
Anxiety washed over me.
If it comes to this, I’ll have no choice but to hand over Spark’s weekly meeting minutes to prove our innocence...
“I see. We’ll probably be doing a Season 2, and I think the format needs to change quite a bit from this one.”
“Is that so?”
I feigned ignorance, but in a way, it was obvious. There’s a huge difference between a pilot program thrown together to jump on the survival show bandwagon and a program that has transitioned into a seasonal series. Something had to change.
“So, I was thinking of getting an introduction to some talent if UA had a separate variety writer or planning team... but I guess that’s not the case?”
“The planning team usually helps us a lot when we’re preparing for a comeback. We just told them we wanted to try doing the competitions on our own.”
It would have been much more reassuring if the accounting team had helped, but alas.
The writer, who had been sighing, suddenly snapped her head up. She looked around and then asked in a low voice.
“Oh, right. PD Yu Han-su is here, isn't he?”
“Yes, he is.”
“Is he not handling idol-related work at all anymore? He doesn't have any ongoing projects, does he? There are so many rumors flying around...”
I’d heard that rumors in the broadcasting industry travel fast, but it seemed the news of Yu Han-su being screwed had already spread beyond UA.
I’d noticed he hadn't been very visible at the company lately; I guess he was keeping a low profile because the word had spread so far and wide. Well, he should have known when to stop.
Judging by her tone, it doesn't sound like she wants to give him work... she’s probably just curious.
In my heart, I wanted to tell her that his workload wasn't the issue—he’d be lucky if the company didn't sue him.
But I couldn't do that. I was an idol, an adult, and a professional. It was enough that I’d made sure he was blacklisted in the industry.
“Ahaha... I’m not really sure.”
“Oh, never mind. I shouldn't have asked. It’s an awkward thing to answer, isn't it? Sorry.”
Fortunately, the writer was understanding. Seeing me smile awkwardly, she even added, “You really are such a good kid.”
She likely thought I was being considerate of Yu Han-su. Even though I was the one who had sent him to his doom.
“And your 2nd Competition stage? It’s a huge hit.”
“Really?”
“It’s going viral everywhere. Doesn't UA do separate monitoring?”
“Usually I do it, but I couldn't this time because it overlapped with the dorm filming.”
“The reaction is insane. The cinematography was so good that the thumbnails and fancams all came out beautifully.”
The praise poured in. I felt a bit embarrassed.
“That’s a relief. We all worked hard on it together.”
“Still, you’re the producing member, right? Everyone’s been saying how scary kids are these days. There’s a lot of praise for how much sense you young people have.”
“You flatter me. I still have a lot to learn.”
No matter how much I fly and crawl, could I ever match a seasoned professional? Besides, I had no desire to hog all the credit for the ideas.
I was about to see the writer off when I locked eyes with someone at the end of the hallway.
It was Yu Han-su, the very subject of our conversation.
Speak of the devil.
Judging by his position, it looked like he had been heading this way but stopped when he saw someone he knew or heard his name being mentioned.
Yu Han-su stood frozen in his tracks. He silently watched the writer and me.
“Iwol, what are you looking at?”
“Oh, I thought someone was passing by. I guess not!”
I urged the writer to head out. When I looked back, Yu Han-su had already vanished.
It took quite a while just to see the production crew off. Between the people and the equipment, it took half the day just for the Annals of the Idol Dynasty vehicles to clear out.
Once the filming team was safely on their way, the tension finally left my body.
I was stretching and about to head down to the practice room when I heard someone calling my name from a distance.
“Iwol!”
“Yes, Assistant Manager.”
It was an Assistant Manager from the General Affairs Team.
He wasn't someone who would usually have a reason to call for me, so I wondered what was up.
“By any chance, did you guys do any prop-making activities during the meeting today?”
“No. You mean the meeting the Annals of the Idol Dynasty team came to film?”
“Yeah, that one.”
Why the sudden question about prop-making?
Noticing my puzzled look, the Assistant Manager added more.
“It’s nothing major, but I went to the storage room because I needed to grab the toolbox, and a few pieces of equipment were missing.”
“We didn't use any, but if the filming team asked for them, a staff member might have lent them out. Should I ask around?”
“I don't know if we’ll be able to find them... For now, could you at least ask through Chan-yeong? If they’re gone, I’ll have to buy new ones.”
“Yes, I understand.”
The Assistant Manager left, saying he should check the meeting room one more time.