Conditions for Becoming a Kind Idol Leader - Episode 81

Year-end award ceremonies were exactly what they sounded like: events that handed out prizes at the end of the year.

Idols and singers, like every other entertainer, were graded every December on a hundred different things—who sold the most music, who stayed in the headlines, who landed the song of the year. For fans, it was practically a festival. Even if their favorites didn’t win anything, simply being able to watch stages and fresh content made the season worthwhile. Naturally, it was also the peak season for every kind of attention-seeking garbage post imaginable.

Awards shows came in all kinds, and the competition for a spot in the lineup was fierce.

Among idol fans, there were the so-called Five Major Awards Shows, and if Go Young-in judged Zero One’s current standing and this year’s results coldly and objectively, there was no way they could expect to make all five lineups.

Thanks to the broadcast, they’d managed to rake in phenomenal buzz this year, but it wasn’t the good kind of buzz—and if you couldn’t turn that kind of attention to your advantage, it was often worse than having none at all.

We didn’t even release an album after summer...

Sure, the survival show had brought in some new viewers, but if they didn’t keep promoting, there was a limit to how many of them they could convert into core fans.

That was why the next comeback mattered. This was the make-or-break moment—the one that decided whether the casual viewers who’d come sniffing around out of curiosity would stay, or leave just as quickly as they’d arrived.

Posts baiting people about whether Zero One would even be invited kept popping up every other day, but in the end, there was never any chance of them being shut out of the awards entirely.

As soon as December began, Zero One received an invitation to the first major idol awards show of the season: the Asian Dream Awards (ADA).

Unlike other ceremonies, ADA was known for handing out most of its prizes just for showing up.

Rather than a place people tore apart wondering what excuse the organizers would come up with to give out awards, it was closer to a festival—something you could enjoy lightly, without much pressure.

After the dry rehearsal and pre-recording were finished, the ceremony moved on from the red carpet entrance. Zero One’s stage was placed somewhere in the middle of the program, and since they didn’t have many songs to perform, it ended quickly.

The awards show was being streamed live across multiple platforms.

Once their stage was over, Zero One changed into new outfits and headed up to the singers’ seating area.

On the way there, while passing near the seating section, they exchanged casual greetings with fans. They couldn’t talk from a distance, but waving toward the area where the fan seats were gathered was easy enough.

When Go Young-in arrived at Zero One’s assigned seats, he loosened the buttons on his suit jacket and sat down. Looking around, he spotted a few familiar faces nearby. DTD was here too. It was the first time they’d met in person since the broadcast.

It looked like they’d seen Zero One coming in as well, because they were already looking this way. Go Young-in gave a light nod to the leader, Park Ha-un, and casually waved back at Na Woo-ri, who was flailing his arm around like a machine with no brakes.

That hyperactive bastard...

He’d thought he could ignore them and go straight to his seat, but Na Woo-ri came over and plopped himself down beside him like a nuisance that had decided to stay.

"Wow, hyung! It’s been forever! This is the first time I’ve seen you since our broadcast ended, right? You weren’t answering my messages, so rude! You weren’t ignoring me, were you?"

"I’m sorry. I’ve just been swamped."

"I thought maybe the Who’s the K cast found it awkward to see each other! So it’s okay if I keep contacting you, right? I was seriously shocked back then. You were nothing like the image I had of you. I figured you must’ve been super popular, of course."

Even with a half-baked excuse that barely counted as one, Na Woo-ri didn’t seem bothered. Without waiting for Go Young-in to say more, he kept talking on and on, and Go Young-in wasn’t in a position to interrupt him anyway.

He still had that maddening habit of saying things just awkwardly enough to make you wonder whether he realized how they sounded.

That’s exactly why I didn’t take it. Once the program was over, they probably wouldn’t have much reason to interact except at awards shows like this or music broadcasts. And even if they did cross paths, was there really any need to exchange numbers?

"Hyung, you’re okay, right? What happened after that? You handled it on your own, didn’t you? I mean, that was obvious."

Go Young-in kept his eyes on a different idol’s stage and answered only with the movement of his lips. "What are you talking about? Stop talking nonsense and cheer properly instead."

He wasn’t eager to give anyone a reason to catch him saying something he shouldn’t in a place where he didn’t know who might be watching. So he ignored Na Woo-ri chattering beside him and focused on the stage.

Just then, the highlight section of the performance was passing by.

─There’s no going back (so give up)

The thing already taken away from me

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

He didn’t recognize the group singing it, but the song itself felt strangely familiar. Was this a recent hit?

Before he realized it, Go Young-in had started paying close attention to the sound. The melody was built on a plain, solid money-code progression, and the chord movement and instrument arrangement felt almost comfortingly familiar.

Na Woo-ri, who had been babbling away in the row behind him, noticed that Go Young-in was studying the stage with unusual focus and quickly changed the subject.

"Oh, hyung. I’ve been talking this whole time... the seniors from Plaiz have a good song, right?"

"Yes. It’s well put together."

"It’s huge right now, you know! Pass Off!"

Listening to him, it seemed like one of those songs that had climbed high enough in the digital charts to start showing up all over the streets. So that was why it sounded familiar.

Maybe I heard it without realizing.

That would explain why it felt so familiar.

"They’ve really made a name for themselves with that one, haven’t they? It wasn’t a smash hit, but it still did well. The composer is a pretty famous guy too."

"A famous composer?"

Unlike before, more and more idols and singers were making their own songs, which meant fewer commissions were going out to composers. On top of that, with the number of publishing companies rising and foreign songs becoming easier to source, it was harder than ever for composers to make a name for themselves the way they used to.

"Hyung, you don’t know Composer Cha Sung-hwan?"

Instead of answering, Go Young-in shook his head, and Na Woo-ri launched into an explanation like a search engine reading out a result page.

"Wow... that’s wild. I guess you really can not know him. I mean, unless you’re someone like me with zero talent for composing, I figured you’d know him. You really don’t pay attention, huh? He’s one of the hottest up-and-coming composers right now! He’s been active for, what, five or six years?"

That was enough to be memorable, so his blank reaction felt a little odd. He had assumed he knew at least the names that mattered in the industry.

"At first he was apparently blasting out demos everywhere all at once, but after a certain point he started taking only a handful of commissions. Something like, if he does one song a year, that counts as a lot? I guess that means he’s made it now?"

There were too many parts of that story that didn’t make sense for it to simply mean he’d become successful. Recently, most productions were done as collaborations, and rather than direct commissions, songs were often made through competitions. No matter how famous a composer was, a setup like that would drag the success rate way down.

"Sounds like he keeps getting steady commissions."

"Right? A lot of people hate him for being cocky, but apparently there are even more people looking for him. Still, rumor has it..."

Na Woo-ri, who’d been chattering brightly, lowered his voice toward the end as if he were sharing some secret.

"Composer Cha Sung-hwan’s songs have a jinx attached to them."

A jinx. Apparently those kinds of stories were unavoidable no matter where you went.

The entertainment industry was full of superstitions, whether people admitted it or not. Maybe it was because luck mattered in a job like this, or maybe because so much money was on the line.

Under normal circumstances, he would’ve dismissed superstition and jinxes without a second thought, but with the status window hanging over him, he couldn’t laugh off irrational phenomena so easily. Damn...

"They say Composer Cha Sung-hwan’s nickname is the one-hit-wonder factory."

One-hit wonder was a term for singers who exploded with a single song and then vanished. On the surface, it sounded flattering, but if it really was a jinx...

"Once he gets a song accepted, it always climbs at least above average, but after that it just disappears."

Could that even happen? No matter how unlucky you were, that still sounded absurd. Damn it, so he could make songs but had the worst possible eye for raw talent?

"And on top of that, they say he never works with a group twice after doing one commission. That might be part of it too! It’s just rumor, but if you look at the songs he’s made so far, it’s not exactly unbelievable."

Na Woo-ri laughed and said that, even so, the man was still popular—which probably meant it was either all because of the songs themselves, or there were plenty of people desperate enough to line up for him anyway.

Listening to Na Woo-ri, Go Young-in found himself unable to avoid ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thinking about Zero One’s own comeback.

They had to start preparing for that now too... which meant they needed songs as well. Would they bring in material again this time? Or would they let the members participate like they did for the summer comeback?

Leaving all that aside, one of the biggest things bothering him was CEO Kwon Dae-do’s taste in music. There was no consistency to it at all.

He remembered that the first full-length album they’d released in the previous timeline had been made by choosing a few songs purchased from all over the place and mixing them to fit the trend.

Whatever happened, this comeback was clearly going to be a major turning point for Zero One as a group, more than for Go Young-in personally.

"Still, I guess your group isn’t desperate for it. You’ve got you and your maknae, right? We only have one leader hyung."

That was true. Pyo Jae-ho was there. And now that Pyo Jae-ho’s first plagiarism scandal had been erased, maybe he could even take part this time too... could he? What, exactly, was this timeline turning into?

"By the way, do you have any good composers around you guys? If you do, introduce them to us too."

Na Woo-ri tossed him a question that was no question at all to answer, then sat there looking perfectly carefree, as if he hadn’t just dropped a landmine in Go Young-in’s lap.