Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Nothing much happened at the broadcasting station, where I was practically dragged by the writer. It was just a light interview in front of a camera.
They didn't even ask me to dance, not even as a formality. Naturally, there was no advice about attending a dance academy, either.
It was clear evidence that the role they expected of me was firmly set.
Well, I didn't really care about that. The important thing was the fact that my name was on the participant list.
However, there was one unexpected factor.
The first filming date was much sooner than I had anticipated.
“…Ten days from now?”
“Yes. You’re the very last one to join, Moon-dae. Spots like this don’t open up often; you’re really lucky! We grabbed this spot for you because you seemed so promising.”
She was very good at sugarcoating the fact that I was a last-minute filler. Even in my slight fluster, I thought about it dryly.
Polishing one's words didn't cost anything, so she could afford to be as affable as she wanted.
Of course, once the lid was opened, if I turned out to be useless, she would flip her attitude as if she’d never been kind.
There are few industries where people are cut off as quickly as this one.
Besides, it wasn't a reasonable request to tell an ordinary person, without any guidance, to prepare for a shoot and an evaluation song all by himself in ten days.
She spoke as if it were perfectly normal, but if I were a participant with an agency, the company might have filed a formal protest.
They probably just wanted me to slap on a random instrumental track and get cursed at, regardless of the arrangement. If I wasn't even worth cursing at, I’d just be edited out completely.
But I had expected this much.
“…Yes. Thank you.”
I nodded, acting as if I hadn't noticed a thing, though I made sure to look a bit nervous about the looming shoot date.
A flash of satisfaction crossed the writer’s face.
“We’re the ones who are grateful! I’ll be in touch with the details.”
That was my cue to leave. I walked out of the station without a lingering thought and began planning the next ten days.
Since the preparation time was short, I would have to use a more extreme method than I had originally planned.
After those hectic ten days, the first day of filming finally arrived.
As is standard for survival programs, it began with individual evaluations of each participant.
The first screening.
Anyone who has watched even a single idol survival show could guess, but the impression formed here often lasts until the end of the program.
Therefore, for a participant with no particularly eye-catching qualities, being mediocre is the worst possible outcome.
It’s better to fail spectacularly and become a laughingstock; that way, depending on the editing, they can at least give you a "growth narrative" later.
But if you fail to show any distinct characteristics and get edited out entirely, there’s truly no hope.
Not that I was aiming to become the viewers' punching bag, of course.
“You remember your numbers, right? You’ll be called by number. When you’re guided, please enter through this hallway!”
The filming began with the contrived scene of participants walking through the set hallway one by one.
It was likely for the teaser, but they had already spent over two hours filming for a forty-second clip.
It made sense, considering there were seventy-seven participants.
They’re all just kids.
I glanced around at the faces scattered across the open set—calling it a waiting room would be an embarrassment—and felt a bit of my motivation drain away.
Status window and regression aside, the reality of trying to become an idol among these children finally started to feel embarrassing.
“Um, hello.”
One of the kids who had been going around talking to everyone approached me.
I couldn't tell if he was just genuinely excited or if he was trying to build connections early on.
The important thing was that he looked like a middle schooler.
To think I’m introducing myself to a middle schooler for the sake of social networking at my age…
“Did you apply by yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Wow, me too. Oh, how old are you…?”
“…I’m twenty.”
My mouth felt itchy lying about being nine years younger, but I felt surprisingly good.
“Do you have an agency?”
“No.”
“Ah, right! Usually, people on Aju-sa come on after leaving their agencies. I was wondering which one you were with before…”
“I never had one.”
“Oh… I see.”
The middle schooler’s interest vanished instantly.
He wrapped up the conversation half-heartedly and moved on to talk to someone else.
He was the type who would succeed, seeing as he already had a firm grasp on how society worked.
Of course, he’d have to hide that calculating attitude from the cameras, but that was his business.
Anyway. If even middle schoolers were like that, this was a cutthroat world.
For a moment, I wondered if I had made an absurd decision because I was caught up in an unrealistic situation. But the die was already cast.
“We’re moving to the set!”
The main filming had finally begun.
I followed the crowd of middle and high schoolers moving like a pack of meerkats.
I waited for my turn beside the main stage where the first evaluation was taking place.
My name was called somewhere around the early-middle of the pack.
“Participant Lee Se-jin B… is Rank 15! Please take your seat.”
“Thank you!”
One of the participants being evaluated bowed deeply at the MC’s words.
He was one of four participants from the same agency who were being judged together.
He was one of the better ones, but the production staff wasn't feeling particularly relieved.
It’s too extreme.
Ryu Seo-rin, a writer twirling her pen, frowned.
Season 3 had less investment than the previous seasons. It was only natural. It was a season barely restarted after the failure of Season 2.
The production team had prepared for the broadcast with gritted teeth, even attaching the ridiculous subtitle "Re-listing" to erase the shadow of Season 2.
However, even if they covered and hid things through connections and planning, there were areas where the cracks showed.
One of those was the talent pool.
Many of the adequately trained candidates had leaked to other audition programs.
To fill the seventy-seven spots, they had packed it with guys who looked decent on the outside, but the ratio of "empty shells" had increased.
If there were too many unskilled participants, there was a limit to how much fun they could create through editing.
In a Korean audition program, it was nearly impossible to hype up someone with no talent. If they messed up even slightly while trying to package a lack of skill, the backlash was immense.
It wouldn't be the kind of hate that brought buzz, but rather criticism centered around keywords like "boring" or "deceptive."
They had managed to fill the "First Tier" participants they’d earmarked for the debut group, but running a program without any dark horses beyond that was no easy task.
Like the guy coming out now.
The participant about to be evaluated was a total amateur they had thrown in just ten days before the first shoot.
They had picked him in a hurry after one of the original participants was kicked out for a DUI, so she didn't have high expectations.
What was his name again? He’ll say it when he comes out for the evaluation.
That participant had a decent voice and a good face, plus a backstory they could use if necessary.
Thanks to that, he had easily cleared her lowered standards during the rush.
But even with all those pros, he was ultimately just a step above the other fillers.
Well… he can be used as a comparison, at least.
The judges were also flipping through his documents, which had nothing special besides his family history, and were chatting with disinterested expressions.
So, she secretly thought to herself:
Yeah, you might as well be terrible. At least that’ll draw some attention.
It’s tiring when mediocre people keep appearing, but having a few who are exceptionally bad can add flavor to the show. Under the famous saying that even ridicule is a form of interest.
Since he was an ordinary person who had prepared a stage in just ten days by himself, there was a high probability he’d be laughably bad.
She glanced at the stage with a faint sense of anticipation.
“Next participant, please enter the stage!”
Just then, the ordinary participant was walking onto the stage.
Fortunately, he seemed to have visited a good salon; his face looked much better than before.
The problem was his subtle atmosphere, which seemed either bored or gloomy.
Last time, she thought it was because of his family history, but he was maintaining that attitude even in front of all these cameras?
In reality, it was because he had seen countless cameras while working as a proxy photographer, but the writer, who had no way of knowing that, found it strange.
…Is he the type who doesn't show nerves?
It didn't really matter. If he was bad, they could just frame him as being arrogant despite his lack of skill. The writer’s mind raced.
Meanwhile, Park Moon-dae, who had stepped onto the stage, was listening to the MC.
“Yes. Participant, please introduce yourself.”
“…My name is Park Moon-dae. I look forward to working with you.”
He bowed his head. At that, small snickers and scoffs came from the judges' table.
“Wait, is that it?”
A male judge holding a microphone asked with a laugh in his voice.
His tone carried a subtly negative nuance. He probably meant "Is that all you have to say?", but Park Moon-dae nodded seriously.
“Yes. I have no experience worth introducing.”
This time, a burst of laughter erupted from the judges.
“Wow, what a unique fellow!”
“This is fun~”
A few whispered to each other—making sure their microphones picked it up, of course.
“Ah, looking at the application here, there really is nothing.”
“You’re right.”
It was about time for someone to say, "Then why are you even here?"
But perhaps thinking it would be more impactful after the performance, the judges all suppressed their laughter to a reasonable degree.
And the writers thought: We might get some usable cuts out of this.
“Then, let’s see your stage.”
“Yes.”
With malicious curiosity directed at him, the participant took the microphone handed to him by a staff member.
Before long, the intro began to play.
And everyone was stunned.
He’s singing this song? Now?