The Conditions for Becoming a Gentle Idol Leader

31

-Trying to look deadly when you’re not actually deadly is hard to watch.

-The lyrics are incomprehensible. I have no idea what they’re trying to say.

-The song is way too loud.

-Without any standout members, they’re all just so-so.

Seriously, those bastards were professionals at this kind of thing. They’d definitely have done a number on Eternal Seven too, no question. If Eternal Seven had been in first place, then the ones getting dragged would’ve been Eternal Seven, not The Road.

Wasn’t this less “most liked” and more “lowest ranked”? Just a minute ago they were all, “Aww, you guys are so good! You’re the best!” and then they’d whip out something like this.

From the question itself to the answers, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠everything was designed to make people feel bad. Obviously that had been the point.

The sound of the crowd, startled by what they were seeing on the screen, swelled into a larger murmur. The MC alone looked perfectly calm. No—Zero One didn’t even seem to care about the situation at all.

“How do you feel? Would you say The Road’s members seem to be right, too?”

“Our fans like us……”

“That’s right. As long as our fans like us, that’s all that matters.”

The member with red hair and a row of piercings muttered a small, dissatisfied protest, and the others tossed it back with playful teasing.

“Are you really all right?”

Then the MC managed, in his own special way, to ruin the atmosphere all over again. Damn it, for a second there, he’d had the exact same expression as Cheon Sa-yoon.

“Yes! We won’t be shaken by something like this!”

Sure enough, everyone had enough broadcast experience to avoid biting at such half-assed provocation and answered with spirited confidence.

After that, the MC kept alternating between thin praise and thinly veiled insults, completely ruining everyone’s mood. The remaining groups were visibly tense, wondering what kind of bullshit they’d hear when their turn came. If he’d already gone to the trouble of loosening everyone up, then immediately tightening the room back into a knot, Young-in felt like applauding the MC for it.

“Then next is third place! Let’s look at Zero One’s performance indicators.”

Damn it, here it comes. Before he knew it, it was Zero One’s turn. As soon as the MC called out, text appeared on the screen.

The remaining time had dropped to twenty-five minutes. That meant the two groups before them had used twenty and fifteen minutes, respectively. So now the four groups left, including Zero One, had to split the remaining twenty-five minutes between them. You sons of bitches. You give us so little time and then you’ll edit half of it out anyway, won’t you?

“Now then, Zero One. Looking at the objective indicators, how do you feel?”

Was it because they were in third place? This time he didn’t even bother with the brief self-introductions or praise he’d given first and second place; he went straight for the point.

How did he feel? What was there to feel. He just thought, Well, that’s how it is. If this kind of program kept dragging things in that way across so many different angles, it was more surprising that there weren’t any problems.

“I’m pleased that we ranked higher than expected.”

But Go Young-in was always someone who kept his inner and outer selves neatly separated. He couldn’t help it even if he didn’t want to. On top of that, because he was the leader, the MC had practically shoved the microphone into his hands.

For this program, Zero One’s role had been decided in advance: background noise. They were air. Outside of the stage, they were to exist like air, nothing more. So they should just keep humbling themselves. If they were so boring they got edited out entirely, that was even better.

“So does that mean you’re satisfied with your current ranking?”

“I don’t want to be fixated on rankings. No matter what place we’re in, I’ll do my best to create a stage we won’t be ashamed of.”

“That’s a good aspiration. But we can’t ignore the fact that performance is still an important metric. Please show the next screen.”

Seeing no real need to continue the topic, the MC pivoted away. Even then, he made sure not to let go of the rankings talk until the end.

The ranking table that had been displayed so far disappeared, and the same screen The Road had seen earlier appeared.

“How do you feel about the results, Zero One? Aren’t you dissatisfied?”

He was openly telling them to be dissatisfied, so what was there to say? For now, everyone either kept smiling or held on to calm expressions, and none of them looked particularly upset. No matter what they were feeling inside, that was how it appeared in the end.

Even the most worrying one, Pyo Jae-ho, wasn’t the type to say much unless it was a field he cared about or someone poked at him first. He wasn’t the sort to step forward on his own.

Looking at him so far, most of the time the only reason he’d ever opened his mouth was because the other person spoke first.

Music, too… Wasn’t Pyo Jae-ho basically just not reacting to criticism because the music they were insulting wasn’t even his?

As for Cheon Sa-yoon, if anything he’d say something nice; he still wasn’t the type to deliberately stir up trouble on broadcast. Lim Se-bin, Kyeon In-woo, too……

Lim Se-bin was the type who could talk well once he opened his mouth—the problem was that he never opened it in the first place.

“Then we’ll have to keep striving and show you a new side of us.”

Cheon Sa-yoon smiled gently, wearing a thoroughly good-natured face. Please let that striving be toward something good. Still, as expected from the guy who at least managed the most normal answer of the bunch, he responded without causing trouble.

After Zero One’s turn ended, the remaining groups went through similar treatment. There was truly no end to the things they said.

DTD’s songs and lyrics were childish and embarrassing every time, so they were lame.

XINX had dances that were technically difficult, but none of the members could pull them off properly.

Triple Shot’s songs were weighed down by too much synthetic noise, and for a group of singers, they couldn’t sing.

It felt like every single comment was guaranteed to hit something prideful or emotionally sensitive. He couldn’t tell whether this was a competition program or content for reading hate comments.

There probably weren’t only opinions like that, either; they’d clearly gone out of their way to pick the most infuriating ones.

While everyone else was being cursed at with statements that weren’t even really opinions, first-place Eternal Seven was the only group that heard nothing but praise. There wasn’t even a question like, “Why do you think they didn’t take first place?”

In other words, it was the same as saying that if you didn’t want to hear this kind of crap, then you should just get first place. It was a broadcast structured to favor first place heavily.

That, too, was the station’s intention.

If everyone got cursed at together, they might actually band together and turn it into a spirit-of-we’re-in-this-together kind of atmosphere. But if only one group escaped the abuse, then all the anger that should have gone toward the broadcaster alone would instead spill onto the one group that hadn’t been insulted. That was what they were aiming for.

Being first wasn’t necessarily a good thing. If a group was showered with benefits nobody had asked for simply because they were first, and then shown being compared against the others, fans of the lower-ranked groups couldn’t help feeling bad, even if they knew it wasn’t the first-place group’s fault.

That was why comparisons were terrifying. They quietly poked at pride and fed inferiority until it turned into a wound. It was even worse because the broadcast itself was actively encouraging that atmosphere.

It was impressive, in more than one sense, that they could keep taking these provocative topics and weather them without breaking.

And seeing how they were deliberately driving a wedge between the watching fans and the participating groups so they couldn’t even unite properly, he couldn’t help thinking this wasn’t the work of amateurs. Ruthless bastards.

In any case, this was a program specialized in making people feel like absolute shit on a psychological level.

On top of that, the last three groups barely had any time left, so the MC rushed them through with what wasn’t even really a proper interview.

It got so bad that by the time Triple Shot, the very last group, came up, there was almost no time left at all.

Most of Triple Shot’s members looked flustered and panicked.

With the time visibly ticking away, they couldn’t help growing frantic.

“No, wait! Don’t we get any time? Time?”

“At least do your individual introductions! You have to do that much, don’t you!”

“Why is the time like this? This is way too much.”

“Hey, hey—so what do we even say first?”

“What do you mean, what do we say? We said we’d do quick introductions one by one, didn’t we?”

Amid the noisy, scrambling members, Jeong Hae, the only one who’d stayed quiet, cut through the chaos and neatly took charge of the situation.

“Let’s just gather together and greet them all at once.”

“Ah, fine, let’s just do what Jeong Hae said.”

The member who had been pushing for individual introductions made a sour face at Jeong Hae’s words, then reluctantly agreed after another member urged him on.

“Fine, then… Hey, everyone get together. Ready? One, two!”

“Target on! Hello, we’re Triple Shot!”

Triple Shot, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠having somehow managed to scramble into position at the very last second, shouted their slogan and struck a pose.

-BEEP

That was because the ending tone rang the instant their greeting finished, and the countdown hit zero.

“All right. Time’s up! Unfortunately, that’s all for Triple Shot’s interview. Shall we move on to the next segment?”

The MC cut them off the moment the time expired and pushed the show forward without hesitation. Interview? What interview. He hadn’t even properly asked them anything.

Thanks to that, Triple Shot ended with nothing but a display board and no interview at all. There was definitely going to be a petition calling for this program’s cancellation.

“What kind of nonsense is this? That crossed the line.”

“Wow, that’s seriously too much.”

Those twisted expressions on a few of the members’ faces were probably being captured in close-up by the camera. Maybe they’d forgotten they were on broadcast, because their words were getting even sharper.

Jeong Hae was the only one among the visibly angry members wearing a bitter smile.

Rather than escalating it, he composed his expression and said a few words to the agitated members, settling things down. The others still looked dissatisfied, but they obediently quieted.

He thought Jeong Hae was the center and someone else was the leader, but maybe he’d been wrong? That blue-haired member who’d shouted that they should do individual introductions had probably been the leader.

Now that he looked at them properly, it seemed like Jeong Hae was the one doing most of the leader’s ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠work. Did he have that much presence in the group?

For a moment, his eyes met Jeong Hae’s again. No, maybe that guy was sensitive to people looking at him, too. Why did they keep making eye contact? Lim Se-bin’s words flashed through his head for a second. Honestly… he’d prefer not to be noticed. It wasn’t even for any particular reason, just… really, just……? He didn’t even have anything to say.

[Article 32: A perfect idol must be skilled at managing their expressions.]

I know I’m weird. I didn’t even show it on my face just now, so why are you doing this?

Watching Jeong Hae smiling as though he knew him while not actually knowing anything about him at all, Young-in felt a little guilty for some reason.

Jeong Hae hadn’t actually done anything wrong. And yet Young-in still couldn’t seem to think of him in a good light. If he could just remember what kind of relationship they’d had, maybe he’d feel a little less twisted inside.

Maybe he was just getting prickly because he knew something would happen on this program.

“We’ve finished introducing all the participant groups. Before we get into the first competition in earnest, we can’t skip the warm-up performance, can we?”

“How do you decide the order?”

“There isn’t a set order! Any team can come out before the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ten-second count ends! Of course, it’s not mandatory.”

The MC answered someone’s question and continued explaining.

“There will be a ninety-second performance by each group! This performance will also be ranked and scored, and the results will be reflected in the overall standings! In other words, if you do well here, it could naturally change the rankings.”

“What if nobody goes out?”

The same person who had just asked raised a hand again. Since they’d all prepared performances in advance, there was no way they’d skip it; it felt like a convenient way to stretch out the segment.

“Any team that doesn’t participate will receive a penalty score! Then I’ll begin the count.”

They weren’t even giving them time to catch their breath.

“Ten!”

As soon as the MC started counting, everyone in the studio began glancing around at one another.

First is probably better.

Normally, being first would feel burdensome, but this program was structured so that anything that happened first was advantageous. They weren’t just obsessing over first place for no reason; they’d even subtly assigned meaning to being the first one out. A bunch of concept-obsessed bastards.

The problem was that Go Young-in knew this, while the others still didn’t. As the competition progressed, they’d inevitably figure it out, but right now nothing had even started yet.

Trying to persuade the members was impossible with this little time. Of course, even if they’d been given twenty-four hours, there was no guarantee they would’ve listened.

But if he made the call on his own, he’d have to worry about the members’ unpredictable behavior and the status window.

If this had been the old me, I would’ve just let it go as it went.

“Five!”

Then, unexpectedly, Cheon Sa-yoon stood up and looked around at the members.

“The later you go, the more nervous you get, and that’s when you make mistakes. So let’s just go first.”

Cheon Sa-yoon smiled with softly narrowed eyes. As if he were nervous in the first place. He didn’t even look tense, so what mistake was he supposed to make? He was just being vague and slippery as usual. What did this guy want?

“Pardon?”

He drew out the last syllable as if he were asking sweetly, but why did it sound like the line that followed was automatically, “Just shut up and go along with it for now”? He seemed to be getting immune to that fake softness lately.

[Article 20: A kind idol leader gladly helps the members.]

It was what Young-in had wanted anyway, so he was already planning to agree. Even if that hadn’t been the case, he had to agree anyway just to stop silence, or Pyo Jae-ho’s “Why?” or “I don’t want to” from coming out.

Go Young-in slowly rose after Cheon Sa-yoon. With two of them standing, the MC took interest as well.

“Will Zero One go first?”

“Yes. If no one else does, we’ll go first.”

Only then did the other members begin rising as well, conscious of the cameras. Having people watching made things like this easier.