25. Do You Want to Be Special? (3)

What's the most important thing for an idol survival show contestant?

Flawless vocal skills?

Dance moves so sharp they could slice through bone?

A silver tongue capable of spawning endless memes?

Or perhaps—

A squeaky-clean past with no scandals to slap fans in the back of the head?

A diligent attitude that won't land you on trending gossip sites?

A saintly personality that avoids the taboo of "persona marketing"?

There are probably countless answers to this question.

But here's mine:

'Positioning.'

In simpler terms, the battle for character.

Whether you're a producer crafting idols, a fan scouting for their next bias, or just a casual viewer tuning into this survival show—

'This is the role I'll take in the group, this is my charm, and this is the chemistry I'll bring with other members. This is what I'll show on stage.'

Making that appeal. In idol survival shows, this 'position battle' practically dictates everything. It's no exaggeration to say it's the foundation.

'And there's a perfect case study right in front of me.'

Seo Tae-hyun, who dominated the buzz in Boyhood Under Heaven but still lost the character battle.

So an idol's 'character' is crucial. You need to create a core image fans can latch onto, but you can't let yourself be trapped by it. You have to keep showing new, unexpected sides while still making people think, 'Yep, that's totally [Name].'

And right here, right now—

"Okay, should we pick a leader first?"

"......"

—this ragtag group was already at a disadvantage in that battle from the start.

"No one wants to volunteer?"

Gong Seok, the oldest among us, asked awkwardly, but everyone just exchanged glances, no one stepping forward. If this were the actual survival show, someone might've jumped at the leader role, but in this situation, it just felt like being stuck with the worst group project assignment.

'Besides... none of us are leader material to begin with.'

I pointed at the one who at least had some qualifications.

"Isn't Doha the best choice? He's from the special class."

Lee Doha, my same-age peer who'd already made a name for himself in the underground scene with his self-produced tracks. The only special class trainee in this mess—wouldn't it make sense for him to take the lead?

But the moment I said that, the other four's expressions turned... complicated. Even Doha himself.

"...What's with the mood?"

"Ah, well. You haven't been here long, Hajin, so you might not know."

The buildup already felt ominous. The other three glanced at Doha, lips twitching, while Doha himself wore an awkward, almost pained expression ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠before finally speaking.

"I can't dance."

"......"

"And I'm... not great at singing either."

"...But you're from the special class?"

"I scored well in producing and rap."

Ah.

In other words, a one-trick pony. Or, to put it another way, someone so good at that one thing he could ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bulldoze his way into the debut lineup.

But no amount of god-tier rapping in the monthly evaluation would magically elevate the rest ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of us, so leader was out of the question. Honestly, hearing that explained why this special-class golden boy was stuck in this dumpster-fire group to begin with.

"Our team is basically the leftovers from level classing..."

Every single one of us was... questionable.

That's why we'd been pushed aside. Too awkward to fit into groups with clear positioning—performance, vocals, whatever.

"......"

Silence followed. Except for Doha, whose thoughts were still unreadable, the others seemed to be fighting back rising anxiety.

A dark shadow loomed over the kids' faces. They were smiling, but it was the bitter, self-deprecating kind. The resigned smirk of losers already anticipating failure in this month's evaluation. A normal reaction, really. I get it.

"Hey."

"...?"

"I'll do it. Leader."

My life is riding on this monthly eval, kids.

"Y-You, hyung?"

"Hajin? You? Come on—"

"Anyone else wanna volunteer?"

My words made them all exchange surprised glances. Yeah, yeah. A one-month trainee taking charge of a crucial monthly eval? Shocking.

But think about it for a second.

Who's the next most skilled after Doha?

'I'm the guy who made it into two upper-level classes in just a month.'

And one person seemed to have known that from the start, raising his hand immediately.

"I'm in favor."

"......!"

Doha. The bear-like guy who'd been staring only at me since the leader discussion began.

The moment I volunteered, he nodded like he'd been waiting for it and threw his support behind me. With the trainee closest to debut on board, the others—egos already battered—started nodding along, exchanging glances.

"If Doha-hyung's okay with it..."

"W-Well. We'll help however we can."

"We're counting on you, Hajin-hyung."

"Yeah. Please take care of us."

And so, amid awkward congratulations, the leader was decided. Three weeks until the monthly evaluation.

I had to prepare a performance worthy of the top 10 with these guys.

And to do that, the first thing I needed was—

"Alright, should we discuss what we're doing next?"

"Ah, before that... I have something to say."

"Hm? Go ahead."

"About this month's evaluation... I'd like you to leave it entirely to me."

—to seize full control as the actual leader.

"What?"

"Not that I'll ignore all your input. Of course I'll consider everyone's opinions, but since you've made me leader... just trust me this once."

Trust your former group-project-carrying hyung just this once, kids. My life's on the line here.

"Hyung, what time are you heading home today?"

After the meeting, once his own group's session wrapped up, Seo Tae-hyun sidled up to me.

"Dunno."

Even if I finished my target practice, I'd barely make the last train. And for the monthly eval, I had a lot to analyze and reference. Once you make a promise, you've gotta follow through.

About 30 minutes earlier—

"You know I'm basically Miro's Zhuge Liang, right? (Super embarrassing to say out loud, so please don't react.)"

"...B-But still."

"I really want to prove I can do this. Let's be honest—everyone's feeling like crap right now, right? Like we're the leftover team."

"Hey, don't say that!"

"Am I wrong?"

Gong Seok bit his lip, flustered by my bluntness. I knew exactly how maddening it was to be a 23-year-old late-bloomer trainee stuck in this position. In my past life, I'd met hundreds of kids like this in the industry.

"Right now, too many cooks will just sink the ship. I might not make you Pirate King, but I'll get us riding the waves. Just trust me this once, hyung."

My confident voice and gaze made the three hesitate. And like that, I somehow wrung a promise out of the hopeless trio (no better name for them yet) and Doha.

Of course, I fully intended to take responsibility for my words.

Mentally listing today's tasks before giving up, I pointed at Joo Eun-chan trailing nervously behind Tae-hyun.

"Might be better to pull an all-nighter at the company and crash at his place."

"Right? Then let's do late-night practice and go together. I was planning to stay at Eun-chan's tonight anyway."

Tae-hyun nodded like he'd expected this and dramatically grabbed my arm. As if his past life of running from idolhood never happened, he'd reverted to his original practice-addict self.

"We gotta move before the others. Need to snag Practice Room A."

"What, you hiding money in there?"

"Don't people usually say it's 'honey'?"

"Money's more valuable than honey."

Tae-hyun made a face at that before shaking his head.

"The essential item is only in Room A."

"The one in C?"

"Jayden-hyung broke it yesterday."

"Why aren't you running? Speed is life."

Late-night practice without the essential item? Might as well commute without earbuds. Not strictly necessary, but unbearable without.

Moving like spies on a mission, Tae-hyun and I slipped out of the practice room. Eun-chan, who'd been following at a leisurely pace, gave up and turned back.

"Hello~."

"Hey, Tae-hyun. Hi, Hajin."

Entering the new development team office (where the staff were still not off work), we were greeted warmly.

"You two have been sticking together lately."

"Hajin-hyung really likes me."

"That's disgusting, dude."

While Tae-hyun—suddenly in full social mode—chatted with the staff, I added our names to the late-night practice sign-up sheet, including Eun-chan and Dan Ha-ru just in case. Only a few others were listed tonight.

[Jung Si-woo]

[Han Seong-woo]

[Lee Doha]

......

'Doha?'

Guess I'll run ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠into him again during practice.

Thinking it wouldn't hurt to finally talk to this enigma, I set the pen down.

"Ah, Tae-hyun, if you're done with the form, come here a sec."

"Me?"

"I'll head out first. See you!"

"Bye, Hajin! Good luck with the monthly eval!"

Leaving Tae-hyun behind, I stepped out alone, passing through the practice room hallway before turning toward the rooftop garden—empty thanks to the freezing weather.

'There's something I need to do right now.'

Making sure no one was around, I sat in a corner chair and opened the system window. After tweaking some functions and designs, it now looked like something straight out of a sci-fi movie.

'Kinda proud, actually.'

[System Alert: You're something else... (Impressive!)]

You changed the speech bubble, huh.

Ignoring the system's pointless commentary, I opened the cash window.

[System Alert: Current Cash Balance∥7,820C]

Thought I'd only scraped together pocket change, but pennies do add up. Time for a big spend.

'Some might say to save cautiously for an uncertain future...'

But that's for people with one life. For a Fixed Regressor who might live five (or more), tomorrow doesn't exist.

Today, I'm going all in.