Mask Singer 5-Time King? (6)
Starting next January, men aged 23 to 30 will be required to donate sperm once every nine months under the new mandatory law. With the male population dropping below 10%, the UN has proposed mandatory sperm donation as a self-rescue measure to boost declining numbers. All UN member nations are obligated to comply...
"That actually passed."
Men were scarce, so a shrinking population was inevitable. Now the country was finally taking serious action, sensing the crisis.
'That means I'll have no choice but to donate sperm too...'
Come to think of it, I hadn't seriously pondered the issues plaguing this world hurtling toward extinction.
But things were different now.
'This is the world Taeyang will grow up in. I can't let it fall to ruin.'
Of course, that didn't mean I planned to go around impregnating random women. I still intended to build families only with women I could accept, within my limits.
Still, the emergence of this unexpected option was a win for me.
'Sperm donation is one method, after all. How did I never think of it before?'
Not that it didn't feel off-putting, of course.
"Isn't that kinda creepy?"
"Some stranger having your kid and raising it? Eww, gives me chills."
The members—no, the guys—were fiercely opposed, naturally. It was practically trampling men's rights into the dirt.
"What if some kid shows up out of nowhere claiming to be your child?"
"Whoa, that far?"
"Yeah. And then they demand you take responsibility."
"Holy crap, that's horrifying. Totally hate it!"
"They said they'd protect donors' personal info thoroughly, though?"
Nam Eungyu clicked his tongue at Kang Jun's naive comment.
"You believe that? They'll probably bribe someone to find out who donated what and pick accordingly for pregnancy."
"Eek! That's nightmare fuel."
It hit male idols especially hard. Considering the obsessive behavior of fans who went crazy for male idols, it seemed all too plausible.
Did lawmakers really not foresee the mountain of side effects this law would spawn?
"It's a UN mandate, so our country has no choice."
"Population really has tanked hard."
The news kept showing graphs of the last decade's drastic decline.
"Not like coins or something—how does it just plummet like that?"
"It's seriously bad."
"Never really thought deep about this issue before..."
"What if we end up with no people left and the world collapses?"
"Nah, no way."
*No way* is what kills people, kids. That's why the world's in this mess, and why I'm here.
The news had brought in an expert, laying out the gravity unfiltered for viewers—what a dire situation it was and what horrors awaited if it continued.
"The UN isn't stepping in for nothing. This is an emergency threatening humanity. Don't brush it off thinking it won't affect you. Movies love apocalypse tales—mostly natural disasters, viruses, nukes. But reality? It's plummeting birth rates and gender imbalance."
"Reality is scarier than fiction, indeed."
"Hilarious, right? The world ending over low birth rates? Get real! Some will say. Sadly, it's no joke. The world is marching toward doom. Less than 100 years left. You might not see it, but your kids will."
Chilling words from the expert. The anchor, who usually toned things down, looked gravely serious, nodding along.
'Government must be pulling media strings.'
"This can't be rejected for personal freedom. The law will cause side effects, sure. But for humanity's survival, we must sacrifice a little."
Women were split on the policy too. The expert spat fervor, justifying the law.
"Whoa! Miss a donation, and you lose all benefits."
"That's too harsh."
"Protest against the bill this Saturday. Other countries are already rioting."
Despite the severity, the discomfort wasn't tangible yet, so people cried for freedom. Or even if it hit home, men had no choice but to oppose.
"News isn't the priority now. We gotta snag that 4-crown!"
"4-crown over this?"
Ridiculous from the members.
"Poring over this won't change a thing."
We couldn't join protests anyway—public figures like us would get shredded online.
"So what matters now is the 4-crown!"
"Right!!"
"4-crown! 4-crown!"
"You said you'd show us today. Hurry up!!"
"To the company—go go go!"
They knew I'd declared I'd sing rock. Today was the day to unveil the Mask Singer song for staff and members.
Rock pop pushed aside by mainstream tastes. Fierce guitars, heart-pounding drums, bass thumping moods sky-high! Everyone's felt rock's thrill once.
I had too—that raw high note was pure fantasy.
'Should've tried it sooner. Singing well is such a rush now.'
Raw high notes. One coin-bought throat candy erased vocal worries.
Remixing a classic rock band's hit made it accessible to all ages.
At the company, staff had prepped—but too many showed up.
"Why so many? Whole dedicated team’s here."
"No one wants to miss hearing the King's song live."
"This is mini-concert territory."
"Haha! They're your fans, so cut 'em slack."
Fans of the white-haired prince on black horse. They'd join my fans post-reveal, but not yet.
'They fight tooth-and-nail he's no idol. Wonder how they'll react when they learn.'
This shoot: dance medley personal. Dance skills would silence idol claims.
'Will they buy idol or make excuses? Curious.'
The more they deny idol, the higher my value post-reveal.
Hence rock on stage 4. Keep the prince's mask tight.
Let them cling to "not an idol" till the end!
'Few idols rock.'
Genre-hopping's tough even for pros. I'm the outlier with items.
That's why staff ditched work to flock here.
'My bold rock claim must've intrigued 'em.'
Staff faces mixed worry over hype. I stood tall, mic-ready.
Remixed track plays. Legendary tune. Heads nod unconsciously to the timeless rhythm.
Refined rerecorded instruments merge with eternal beat.
Then my voice overlays.
？ ？ ？
Encores rained. Encore! Encore! Encore! Encore!
Waaaaaa!!!!!
Encore! Encore! Encore! Encore!
Clap clap clap clap clap!
Basking in cheers, I knew 4-crown was mine.
Challenger 'Rice Cake Tiger' clapped limply, defeated.
Full admission of loss. He shook his head.
"How do you beat that? Whew~ Total domination."
Rice Cake Tiger's quip—I bowed humbly. But under the mask, grin ear-to-ear.
No one to scold a masked smile. No desire to hide joy anyway.
'Thrilling.'
This is stage magic. Audience buzzed, but singer me soared too.
Thirst hit. Not water.
'Concert. I want a concert.'
One song felt too short. Craved pouring song and dance to synced crowds.
About five minutes later, cheers faded.
MC ascended post-excitement, mic to lips, pausing before soft words.
"What a stage. Audience still buzzing—this is the King's aura. King, come here. They're dying for you."
"Haha."
My voice helium-cute now.
"King! Overwhelming show—think 4-crown?"
"Gave it my all."
Everyone knew; no need false modesty.
"Ooooh! King claims 4-crown!!"
Waaaaaa~!!!!!
"Audience going wild. Last shoot had encores too. Panels? Thoughts?"
Comedian jumped in.
"No words needed. I'm a fan now. White-Haired Prince on Black Horse!! You're the true King!! Emperor Prince!!!"
Waaa!!!
"Calm down. Next?"
"Shocked at rock King. Genre transcendence sounds easy, isn't. But whoa. Maybe secret weapon?"
"Ah~ So King's true form: rockstar, hiding till now!"
"Yes! Real King's a rocker!!"
Composer/entertainment CEO chimed.
"Definitely band guy. Big name there."
"Ooh? Suspects?"
"Few candidates. One feels 100%."
"Ooooh!!!!"
"Sad such talent hides. Underground legend, probably. Looks young for skill—production scouted, maybe."
"Nah~ Newbie King? No way!"
"Too far."
"Yeah yeah."
Composer stood, hands up at backlash.
"Wait! Hear me. Mid-20s max. Voice screams young. Skill's monstrous, so disbelief. Unknown talent like that? Impossible."
"Hmm... Fair point."
4-crown challenger, identity still veiled. Rare to evade netizen detectives—must be rookie.
"Bold take: King's mid-20s or less! 100% sure! Others?"
"Mask Singer unearthed hidden gem."
"Concert? I'm there!"
MC smirked at clueless panels on my identity.
"So! We prepped. For you unsolved fans: King's personal!"
"Personal?!"
"Ooooh! Personals spill identities often!"
"What kind!!"
Variety reactions flew. MC announced.
"Dance medley!!"
* * *