The New King of the Stage
Han Mi-ran was the first to arrive, and the moment the office door to Team 1 swung open, she stepped inside.
“Welcome.”
Hwang Dong-jun, who had spotted her, rose quickly from the sofa and greeted her.
Looking exhausted, she lifted one hand in a halfhearted wave in his direction.
She crossed to the sofa opposite him and sank down with a heavy sigh.
“Haa... I’m dead.”
“You’ve been shooting back-to-back since yesterday. Must’ve been brutal on your body.”
“Tell me about it. A few years ago I could survive an all-nighter without breaking a sweat, but I guess I’m getting old.”
“It’s probably because of how emotionally draining those scenes are.”
Watching her knead her own shoulders, Hwang Dong-jun offered the guess gently.
Switching arms and pressing at her other shoulder, Han Mi-ran went on, “How’s Seo-jun’s schedule today?”
“I just dropped him off at home. He’s probably already in dreamland by now. Tomorrow, filming starts at dawn at MBS. They’re planning to shoot his performance scene during the live music broadcast.”
“Hah... What a killer schedule. To keep pushing through all that is impressive. And he doesn’t even flub a single take?”
“Right? Even I think it’s amazing.”
Praising his actor made the corners of Hwang Dong-jun’s mouth lift on their own.
“...Oh, but—”
Just as he was about to say something else, the office door suddenly opened again, and Ju Tae-hwan, the head of Team 1, walked in carrying a thick stack of papers.
“Oh, our Han Mi-ran’s here?”
“Mm. I came by to do a script reading, but I guess you’re busy?”
Han Mi-ran tilted her chin toward the documents in his hand.
“What’s all that? Did someone get a new script?”
“No, not that.”
With an embarrassed smile, Ju Tae-hwan set the papers down on the desk.
“It’s the proposal I sent up for approval. And the ad materials Seo-jun’s taking on this time.”
“Oh, right. You said he was filming an apartment commercial?”
When she turned her head, Hwang Dong-jun answered with a bright grin.
“Yes, the shoot starts soon.”
“Wow—Seo-jun’s practically a pillar of this company now, isn’t he? He’s going to feed the whole staff.”
As Han Mi-ran smiled with her eyes crinkling, Ju Tae-hwan shrugged.
“He’s still a long way from that.”
Hwang Dong-jun lifted one eyebrow.
“Why? Just look at what Seo-jun’s been doing lately and the answer’s obvious. Lee Hwa-young may be taking everything for now, but who knows how things’ll look later?”
By the time he was finished, Hwang Dong-jun’s face had gone red with enthusiasm.
Han Mi-ran watched him and smiled, nodding in agreement.
“Exactly. I really felt it again while filming with him this time. I kept thinking, ‘This kid’s going to become something huge.’ And I’m not the only one—my friend Ahn Hye-sook said the exact same thing before.”
“What do you mean?”
Hwang Dong-jun leaned forward to ask, and just then they heard movement at the door.
The door opened a sliver, and Ha Ju-young slipped in with a face full of smiles.
“You’re here too, noona? Are you doing a script reading?”
Before Han Mi-ran could respond, Ju Tae-hwan was already speaking, as though about to scold him.
“Why? You saw Hwa-young’s face the other day and now you’ve actually landed the role this time, haven’t you? You came to brag about it, didn’t you?”
“Ah~ That? Come on, it’s only natural. Not really something to brag about, is it?”
Looking both sheepish and proud, Ha Ju-young grinned.
Then he turned, scanning the office before settling his gaze on Hwang Dong-jun.
“I came by to see if Seo-jun was here, but he’s not?”
“He’s probably in dreamland right now. Tomorrow morning he’s shooting the live music-broadcast performance scene.”
“...Ah!”
“But why’re you looking for Seo-jun?”
When Hwang Dong-jun tilted his head, Ha Ju-young let a mischievous smile play at the corner of his mouth.
“...Well, Seo-jun said when I got a new script he’d hold a little ‘good-luck ritual’ for me.”
Han Mi-ran’s eyes sharpened and her brow knit at that.
“Oh? And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Ah, that?”
Ju Tae-hwan laughed and explained for him.
“Seo-jun was just teasing him. About Hwa-young.”
“...What?”
“I brought the drama script for Hwa-young this time. Looks like Seo-jun read it first and teased her a little, saying he’d make it a hit.”
“...That’s what it was?”
Han Mi-ran nodded, the corners of her mouth lifting.
“I thought he had no social skills at all. How did his personality change like that? He’s even joking around with Hwa-young, of all people—the one everyone else avoids?”
“And that’s not even all. This time, Hwa-young...”
Hwang Dong-jun was so busy lavishing praise on his actor that he almost let something unnecessary slip, but he quickly shut his mouth.
“What about Hwa-young? Why’d you stop talking halfway?”
“Yeah, now I’m curious too. What is it?”
Ha Ju-young circled around the sofa and sat down tightly beside Hwang Dong-jun, and Ju Tae-hwan immediately started in again, like a man exasperated beyond words.
“What are you so curious about now? If you’re done with whatever you came for, then go on and get out of here. Team 2’s leader is probably looking for you already.”
“Our office has a pretty cold vibe, you know.”
Seeing Ha Ju-young’s easy grin, Hwang Dong-jun hurriedly steered the conversation elsewhere.
“Ah, but you mentioned Ahn Hye-sook earlier, right? You two used to do script readings together all the time, didn’t you? These days it must be hard to get in touch.”
“Aigoo, Hye-sook’s place is basically a house of mourning right now.”
Han Mi-ran clicked her tongue and frowned.
“...Ah, because of that Kang Ho-jun incident, they got hit with a total bomb, right?”
“Who wouldn’t? He bragged so much about how big the project was, and then that bastard blew everything up in one shot. What did the investors do wrong? And the actors who got caught in it and ended up drenched in filth—what did they do wrong? They spent months working themselves to the bone, only to have it ruined overnight...”
As Han Mi-ran blew up in frustration, everyone else chimed in from the side.
“Seriously, the moment some people get a little attention, they catch some weird case of star disease and can’t tell shit from shinola.”
“That’s not star disease. The guy just had rotten character to begin with. Drunk driving and assault too? Wow.”
“Exactly. In that situation, how was I supposed to show up and hand Hye-sook a script? It made no sense.”
Han Mi-ran let out a bitter laugh, and Ha Ju-young, listening to her, nodded as well.
It was a little past five in the morning.
Before the sun had even risen, two girls sat side by side in the audience seats of MBS’s music hall.
They were fierce fans of BesTiz, one of the country’s top-tier boy groups.
Even after the group wrapped promotions with three consecutive first-place wins on music shows for “Don’t Talk,” their excitement hadn’t cooled at all.
They had come out here in the early dawn for one reason only.
It was because they’d heard that Ted and Jino, members of BesTiz, were taking the stage again.
According to the official fan café announcement, this performance wasn’t as BesTiz, but as the fictional five-member idol group that appeared in the miniseries.
The rehearsal viewing notice included this line:
In the drama, they’re still “failed idols,” so at first stay indifferent and only start reacting in the latter half.
In other words, they were supposed to set aside their real-world fandom for the moment and act as an audience inside the drama.
Even so, the audience seats were already full from dawn.
Half the seats were occupied by BesTiz fans, and the other half by fans of Slayers, the other group appearing in the same drama.
The contrasting colors of their cheering lightsticks made the air itself feel tense, though the tension was invisible.
One by one, the rehearsal numbers passed, and at last it was time for the five-member idol team from the drama, with the rather tacky name KoaPa, to go onstage.
As the quiet audience began to murmur, a staff member carrying a megaphone walked out from the far right of the stage.
The man, wearing a fluorescent vest, raised a hand to calm the crowd and said, “All right, one more reminder! When they first appear, only clap. No cheering!”
“And please, don’t pull out your lightsticks and wave them.”
“Do not shout the members’ names! You’ll ruin the shoot!”
“Only start reacting near the end of the song, and then give a big round of applause at the very end! Got it?”
As the man lowered the megaphone from his mouth,
“Yeeessssss...!!”
the fans’ reply shook the studio ceiling.
The staff member nodded and stepped back.
Then, from behind the stage, five men walked out toward center stage.
“Eeeeeek...!!”
Some of the audience, unable to hold back their excitement, shouted before they remembered the rule, and the man standing right in front of the stage quickly waved them down.
The five men held their opening pose onstage, motionless as they waited for the signal.
And at last, after a near-total hush settled over the hall, the thunderous beat of drums began to pour from the massive speakers and pound straight into the chest.
On the fourth floor of MBS.
Producer Yoon Mi-yeon of the variety show Pop! Research Lab was explaining the program to one of the guests.
“The host will ask you questions. But don’t worry—I’ll give you the script beforehand. Most of it will come from there. There may be an occasional unexpected question, but that’s just for fun. Nothing difficult, like current affairs or general knowledge. You really don’t need to be nervous.”
“Thank you. I was a little worried I might get asked something tricky.”
The corners of the man’s mouth lifted as if to say that was a relief.
“And if there’s anything that feels too burdensome for broadcast, please tell us after the recording. You can speak to me directly or through your manager. We’ll edit that out cleanly.”
“Yes. Ah, and one more thing...”
Clutching the materials Yoon PD had handed him, Shin Yeon-ho spoke again, as if he had just remembered something.
“Yes?”
“I’d like to avoid requests during the recording like, ‘Could you please sing just one verse for us~’.”
“Ah, of course. I’ll make sure to tell the host. No song requests.”
“Thank you.”
Watching Shin Yeon-ho bow his head, a smile spread across Yoon PD’s face.
But there was a trace of curiosity in her eyes.
“May I ask why? You were a national singer once, weren’t you? Even if it’s variety, it would be a great opportunity to appeal to the audience.”
“Ah, I’m trying to start over as an actor now, not as a singer. If I let the image of ‘former singer’ color things from the very first step, I’m afraid it’ll dull the sincerity of my work. I want to be recognized for acting alone. That’s why I said the same thing at the press conference.”
“Ah, I see. As expected of Shin Yeon-ho. Very thorough. Understood. Then I’ll see you at rehearsal.”
After they exchanged farewells, Shin Yeon-ho turned toward the door—
“Oh, right. What a coincidence.”
At Yoon PD’s voice from behind him, he looked back.
“You’ve switched from singer to actor, haven’t you? Well, there’s actually an actor playing a singer downstairs today.”
“...?”
“Han Seo-jun. He’s filming Possessed by a Trash Idol Friend in the music hall downstairs right now. He came in before dawn for rehearsal. They said the main shoot starts at two.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes. They said the rehearsal was insane too. Word spread that it looked ‘more like an idol stage than an idol stage,’ so a bunch of our staff went downstairs to watch.”
At that, Shin Yeon-ho gave a quiet nod.
Then he stepped outside and pressed the elevator button.
Not to the first-floor lobby.
Down to the basement.
Han Seo-jun—the man who had not only swept past the main vocalists of every major idol group, but had also taken the lead role in that drama for himself.
He had seen the audition footage, but Shin Yeon-ho still didn’t believe it.
He thought it wasn’t a matter of skill at all, but simply the result of his agency forcing him through on connections.
“More like an idol stage than an idol stage”?
Remembering Yoon PD’s words, his expression twisted.
When the elevator doors opened in the basement, the low vibration of bass and electronic sound leaked through faintly.
As he walked along the corridor leading to the hall, hurried footsteps suddenly sounded behind him.
Three staff members rushed past his side.
“Looks like it’s already started.”
Following after them, he kept walking, and the music spilling from the hall and the murmur of voices grew louder and louder.
Shin Yeon-ho took hold of the thick soundproof door handle and slowly pushed it open.
In an instant, the view before him burst into light.
Not only the audience seats but also the side aisles were packed with people shoulder to shoulder.
“All right, quiet down, please! We’re rolling now—just like rehearsal! When they first appear, what do you do?”
As the man with the megaphone shouted from the end of the stage,
“Just basic applauseooo!”
a cheerful roar broke out from the audience.
“Good, we’re going in soon!”
Part of the stage lighting shut off, and the air was swallowed by silence in an instant.
Then the five men walked out onto the stage.
As they struck their pose, the filming staff below the stage lifted a take board and shouted, “Camera ready... action!”
The lights flashed on.
Boom! Bang! Thud-thud-thud! Ta-da-da-dan! Bang-bang!
The explosive drum beat flooded the entire hall, and the center member who sprang forward sliced through the air with a sweep of his arms.
“.....!”
For a split second, Shin Yeon-ho forgot to breathe.