Chapter 496
Chapter 496
Two weeks ago.
Just as Park Moon-dae had finished filming TeSTAR’s self-produced content.
Cheong-ryeo was in the middle of putting the final touches on his comeback preparations.
“The interview is next, right?”
“Yes!”
Preparations were proceeding smoothly.
The staff at LeTi moved as if ensuring every single one of Cheong-ryeo’s activities went off without a hitch was their highest virtue.
“They’ve been on standby for a while now. If we could move as quickly as possible…”
“Ah! Yes.”
This was because Cheong-ryeo was a celebrity with incredibly thorough self-management.
Even though he was the type to be professional, gentle, and entirely free of temperamental outbursts, it was also true that those around him never found him easy to approach.
‘Hmm.’
Cheong-ryeo was aware of this, but he didn’t bother changing his attitude to put people at ease.
‘People listen better to someone they find difficult than someone they find comfortable.’
It was a social grammar he had perfected through inductive statistics after countless attempts.
In any case, Cheong-ryeo wasn’t the type to feel comfort or a sense of belonging only by sharing his daily life.
At most, he occasionally felt like talking about his dog, Kong-i, but as long as he had someone to talk to, it didn't matter who it was.
After checking the time, Cheong-ryeo called that ‘someone.’
However, this time, he wasn't planning on sending a photo of Kong-i like the occasional texts he sent.
“…….”
After a short ring, the other person picked up.
“Did the filming for your self-produced content end well?”
—Yes, Sunbae-nim.
It was Park Moon-dae.
The interesting thing was that this junior made sure to use formal language as much as possible whenever they called or texted.
It wasn't as if they had never spoken informally over the phone before.
It was a habitual meticulousness.
‘I don’t dislike that about him.’
An attitude of never letting one's guard down would ensure he never got the short end of the stick anywhere.
Cheong-ryeo thought with a hint of amusement.
In other words, working with such a proven resource was a pleasure.
Soon, Park Moon-dae’s blunt words of congratulation were heard.
—Congratulations on your solo album comeback, Sunbae-nim.
“Thank you.”
Cheong-ryeo, who responded lightly to the sentiment he had already heard from countless people over the past few days, got straight to the point.
“The time to prepare for what we agreed on is approaching.”
—…….
“As I mentioned before, I’m not asking you to feature on a track in my album.”
—Yes.
Cheong-ryeo almost laughed unintentionally, remembering how flustered Park Moon-dae had been back then, but he continued without letting it show.
The method of featuring he had chosen.
“There’s a program I’m going on this time. Let’s do it together.”
—…!
“I think you’ll like it.”
Cheong-ryeo finished his calculations.
“The name of the program is…”
<Nice to Meet You!>
An MBS variety show that aired on Saturdays at 5:40 PM.
It was one of the few long-running competition programs on public broadcast where singers could appear.
Judging by the title alone, did it seem like a typical public broadcast program that introduced talented but unknown singers or masters active in genres other than K-pop?
‘Correct.’
That’s right. It was exactly the style public broadcast loved.
However, that was only half-correct.
‘They can’t get ratings doing just that.’
What do you have to do to sell a show?
The answer was simple.
‘Tie-in sales.’
In addition to artists from non-mainstream fields, famous established singers looking to promote their albums or concerts also appeared as cast members.
And by pairing two cast members together to perform, they could create a variety of scenes.
This was how the program had survived into its seventh season.
The recruitment lineup was still quite impressive, but since the main viewership had settled into the middle-aged and older demographic, it had a bit of an old-fashioned feel…
‘But this guy is appearing here?’
I glanced at Cheong-ryeo.
The program had too many cast members and was too cluttered for VTIC to appear on.
For someone with his level of fame, he should be getting his own special feature, yet he was just appearing normally?
‘Hmm.’
Of course, he must have an angle.
I recalled his answer to my blunt question of ‘Why did you choose this program?’
—Because there’s something I want to show.
Well, that’s why I was here today for a pre-meeting for the show.
For the record, the main PD here had pushed his way in during Season 3, and even though they were past Season 7, he hadn't handed the show over to a junior PD, nor had he produced any new programs, just sticking with this one…
After talking to him, I think I understood why.
“Oh, it’s so good to see you, Moon-dae-ssi. My niece is a fan, so please sign an album for her. Not a leftover one, a new one.”
“Of course.”
What a boomer.
I’d bet he wasn't doing this out of a sense of mission, but because he saw the cost-effectiveness and decided to squat here.
Still, it was amusing to realize once again that even after raising our value to the top as idols, the broadcast PD was still the one in power.
At least he wasn't being disrespectful, but his attitude toward VTIC, whose international recognition was on an insane level, was different again.
“And our Hallyu star, VTIC! It’s an honor to have you appear. I look forward to working with you.”
“Haha, the pleasure is mine. I look forward to it as well.”
‘I guess the answer really is the National Pride Meta.’
For this typical boomer-type elder, that was the best approach. I nodded inwardly while looking at the PD.
‘Just wait until my next album.’
I was already aiming for a lethal dose of national pride to hunt for that Cultural Merit Award.
Anyway, the fan who wanted an autograph was innocent. It was better than them barging into the waiting room using their family connection to the PD.
I carefully finished signing the extra albums I had brought just in case, and the PD quickly snatched them up before finally getting to the program talk.
“So, um, the two of you performing together… But how did you two become so close?”
“Ah, we did a variety show together when Moon-dae debuted. That program was also on MBS.”
“…Ah~ I remember! That’s right.”
‘He doesn't remember at all.’
He sure knows how to navigate social life.
I suppose that’s what it takes to be successful enough to sit on a hit public broadcast program for years.
“Anyway, our program is very, very happy to have the two of you.”
And as expected, instead of mentioning the specific variety show, the PD trailed off and smoothly brought up what he really wanted to say.
“But since you both have the same profession and similar images, eh? I’m worried it might be tricky to fit in that odoshi—you know, the climax—into the screen time. Will it be alright?”
Yeah. It’ll be fine.
Just… the moment two top-tier idols from different groups form a team, the buzz is already going to explode.
Climax, my foot.
‘He’s playing games.’
He means that if he’s going to have two famous idols, he’d rather split them into different episodes to spread them out and extend the ratings boost.
‘Yeah, no.’
And without me even having to speak, Cheong-ryeo, the party involved, answered immediately.
“Yes. You don’t have to worry about that part.”
“…Ah, okay.”
He seemed confident.
It was convenient that I didn't need to open my mouth. This was the perk of working with someone who had seniority.
“And I heard our manager already informed you in advance. This…”
“Ah, yes, yes.”
After that, there was no more useless baiting.
The meeting proceeded smoothly as we talked with the program writers and sub-PDs. I nodded, pretending to listen intently while thinking.
‘So, what kind of stage does this guy want to do using me?’
That question was soon answered.
Right after the meeting.
In a conference room at the LeTi building, twenty minutes away from the station.
“First, I’ll show you the music video.”
Cheong-ryeo, who turned on the projector, immediately began discussing the stage composition.
Normally, scenes of brainstorming the concept should be included in the program’s footage, but due to practice time constraints, those were often just reenactments.
‘It’s a scripted play.’
So I could understand that, but…
“It’s a rough cut, but it’s at a level where only the intro and credits are missing. There shouldn't be any problem for you to understand the album concept…”
“Wait a minute.”
The flow was a bit strange.
“Why your music video all of a sudden, instead of a stage outline?”
“Hmm?”
I was asking why he was sitting there bragging about his upcoming MV when he said the stage we were doing wasn't even a song from the album.
However, Cheong-ryeo replied nonchalantly with an expression that asked why I was asking such an obvious question.
“It’s a program stage for the purpose of album promotion, so naturally, I have to make people think of my title track as soon as they see it.”
“…….”
“Since this title track itself will be the base concept for our stage, watch it carefully and familiarize yourself with it now. I can’t send you the music video file before the release.”
Fine.
‘He’s sharp.’
I suppressed a sigh and tilted my head.
I wondered if I had agreed to cooperate with his stage without any complaints for nothing.
I had told him I would unilaterally follow the stage composition he created, as long as it didn't damage my image.
Well, if he had such a clear vision.
‘I hope I’m not just being used as a high-note shuttle.’
No, that might actually be better than doing a concept that doesn't suit me for no reason.
I clicked my tongue and stared at the MV playing on the screen.
A marble floor covered in ashes.
In the middle of that classical art gallery turned to ruins, there was a spot where paints were mixed as if they had exploded chaotically.
Lying alone on top of it was Cheong-ryeo.
[…….]
The contrasting images slowly passed by from an aerial perspective.
The sound of wind could be heard.
And then.
[The devil is in the details]
An ominous phrase appeared, and the song began shortly after.
[Ash]
The title track of Cheong-ryeo’s solo album.
—Oh maybe we’re just in pain
A medium-tempo track in a lingering minor key.
And a jazz-style accompaniment.
—Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
Inside the half-burnt ashes
The same Story
And love is dead
It threw out a very addictive chorus right from the intro.
And a humming that slowly lowered before going into the verse. Then, off-beat choreography.
The choreography performed on the ashes, dressed in a turtleneck and black slacks with bare feet, seemed to have a power of its own, making the camera pull and push, changing angles.
Perhaps because he, with his top-tier proportions and physique, had managed his body to the extreme, the minimalism was what impressed me the most.
‘Damn.’
He hasn't lost his touch.
I almost bit my tongue.
He had properly executed the difficult task of mixing impressive choreography with an easy-listening track that was good even if you just listened to the song.
Moreover.
This choreography.
‘It’s actually easy to just follow the movements, but it’s a dance where it’s hard to capture the vibe.’
It meant many people would try the challenge, and it would be easy for those evaluating to rank them.
I could already see it.
—This person is really similar to Cheong-ryeo, wow ㄷㄷ
└ Sir, please stop using part-timers.
└ ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ Burn.
—This person dances well too, but there are really few people who can bring out the vibe of the original song ㅋㅋ
—Why are there so many hate comments? It looks like they danced hard ㅠ
Challenge videos with comments and reactions like these would be pouring in.
‘It’s the optimal choice for a soloist confident in their dancing.’
If one could pull it off, it was the most ideal result.
TeSTAR would also have some members going to the military within a few years no matter how much they delayed it, and Cha Yu-jin and Ryu Cheong-woo would definitely have to do solos or units.
I felt a sense of rivalry, wondering if we could plan such a refined result.
“…….”
I kept my mouth shut and watched the music video to the end.
The background and costumes gradually became more lavish, only to end minimally with the ashes being captured again at the end; the pacing was incredible.
—And love is the end.
The screen ended abruptly with Cheong-ryeo standing on black water in a dark space.
And the man himself, Cheong-ryeo, spoke with the same smile only after the rough cut of the music video ended.
“Do you like it?”
He skipped the objective opinion and went straight to a subjective question.
‘He’s confident.’
Is that so?
I nodded readily.
“Yeah.”
“…….”
“It’s well-made.”
Why are you looking surprised?
‘I have to acknowledge what deserves acknowledgment.’
There was no point in having a pride battle when we had to work together anyway.
‘It’s not like our comeback periods overlap.’
However.
“It’ll be hard for me to bring out the feel of this choreography.”
“Hmm?”
“I’m telling you just in case, but you’d better not think about asking me to implement a similar choreography vibe in just two weeks.”
It was advice for the quality of the stage.
‘This is a level of completion that only someone with a dance grade of A or higher could barely manage.’
Furthermore, this program was one where established singers appeared.
It meant that a narrative where you just work hard and show growth, like in a debut survival show, would only be laughable.
If I were to do a choreography similar to this, I would also have to be good enough not to break his concept.
But realistically, the cost-effectiveness of that was poor.
‘Just use me as a high-note shuttle, you punk.’
However, Cheong-ryeo burst into laughter.
“Haha, I thought we agreed to let me do what I want for this stage, no?”
“…….”
Are you serious?
“I’m joking.”
He chuckled and tapped the table with his finger as if calculating.
“We have to do what each of us is good at… for our agreement to be worthwhile.”
Right.
“But you still have to do the basics.”
“…?”
Cheong-ryeo asked lightly.
“What’s the maximum number of hours you’ve practiced in a day?”
And then, a workload on the level of <Idol Inc.> dropped onto my head.