Choose Your Prince
“These days every last nobody thinks they can call themselves an idol.”
Office worker Park, a twenty-year veteran of idol fandom, had just finished skimming the debut stages of every group that had launched that month. She clicked her tongue in pure disappointment.
The number of idols debuting each year had ballooned beyond anything the old days could have imagined—and the dead weight had ballooned right along with it.
No, scratch that. At this rate it’s nothing but dead weight.
Back when she was still a clueless elementary-school kid, an Olympus Entertainment idol had been invited as a guest singer to the neighborhood festival. One look at that stage and she had fallen head over heels. From that day on she had cycled through “oppas” without ever stopping.
She would freely admit that the average skill level of idols had skyrocketed compared to the past. The problem was that fans’ eyes had sharpened in exact proportion. For a long stretch now she had failed to meet a single new oppa who could truly move her heart.
Out of pure habit she opened SNS. Right on cue, one of her former oppas—Lee Ga-won of Jupiter—had just posted something new.
A selfie that looked like it had been taken on set was followed by a captured group shot of the stage.
He mentioned he was going on some idol survival show as a trainer, didn’t he?
Shoving him into a format that had already been wrung dry of every last drop of novelty… Olympus must be losing its touch these days. Park shook her head even as she automatically saved Lee Ga-won’s photos.
She typed the program name she remembered into iTube. A brand-new video from N-net sat right at the top.
You can practically smell the money they poured into this.
The stage and the trainees’ outfits in the thumbnail looked expensive enough to make her curious. Deciding she might as well sample a little corporate capital, she hit play with a light heart.
Bright accompaniment swelled. A single spotlight cut through the darkened stage.
The trainee standing dead center lifted his head the instant the light hit him.
Oh. He’s got a face.
It was the kind of refined, actor-like beauty people usually sorted into the “visual” category. His blank expression melted into a smile the same moment the song began.
Choose your prince.
In the world you choose,
may I be waiting at the end.
She had heard only the first phrase and already her fan instincts were standing on end.
This one was going to work.
Park sat up straight from where she had been slouched against the backrest.
Then the entire set blazed to life. Nine trainees stood in a triangular formation, dancing, and the moment their faces filled the frame she clapped a hand over her mouth without thinking.
Holy shit, what is going on with these faces?!
The center trainee alone already looked more than capable of carrying a group’s visual line. She had been perfectly satisfied with him—until she saw the ones flying even higher.
Two absolute stunners burst out on either side of him, the kind of faces that could make even a blind man sit up and take notice.
One of them looked like he could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Jung Chan-yang—widely regarded as the best visual among every idol who had debuted in the last five years—and not lose an inch.
The other was a once-in-a-generation ice prince: cold, blunt, yet somehow the sort of man who would be warm only for his own woman. The ridiculous fantasy unspooled in her head with complete seriousness.
Hot-and-cold face combo is insane. Wait—is this even real?
Park felt a brief wave of dizziness.
The camera that had been locked on the three center trainees pulled back a little farther, and two more beautiful men popped into view on the flanks.
If all five of these guys end up in the same group, they’re rewriting Korean idol history.
Her chest swelled with premature excitement.
And every single one of them was dancing choreography that should have been impossible as if they were out for a post-dinner stroll.
As the stage shifted and the remaining trainees joined in, Park’s cheekbones climbed higher and higher with no regard for gravity.
It looked like the time had finally come to dig out the camera she had carefully stored in the dehumidifier.
At the exact same moment, a girl named Choi—soon to become a high-school senior once winter turned to spring—sat with both hands clasped, gazing at her monitor screen with religious reverence.
She vowed she would never forget this day for the rest of her life.
Because it was the day she first saw her future husband’s face.
She had been grinding through workbooks since morning, so she had ducked into iTube under the noble excuse of resting her brain for a minute. That was where she met him.
From the very first second his pale face appeared on camera, she knew he was different.
Choose me, princess.
In the world you chose,
I am waiting at the end.
When the coolly handsome boy called her “princess” and held out his hand, her breath locked solid in her throat.
And the final ending one-shot—where he bit his lip and smiled—was something else entirely.
Choi clenched her fists, certain she could smash the planet if she wanted to, and rewound that single scene about twenty times.
Once the thirst had been somewhat quenched, the profile talk in the comments caught her eye.
She immediately opened the Choose My Prince homepage and rapidly scanned the ninety-nine idols listed in name order.
There he is—Ha Ye-chan!
She had to scroll almost to the very bottom before she found the trainee she was looking for.
Oppa—no, husband—even had a perfect name.
Choi logged into the SNS she had sworn to quit for the entire exam period.
It’s still winter break, so it’s fine.
Armed with that mental victory, she stepped inside only to find the place already in chaos. Every acquaintance who loved picking favorites among idols was losing their minds.
The first broadcast hadn’t even aired yet—only a single stage and the profiles had dropped—and already people were busily arguing over dream debut-line combinations and which trainees they were pushing.
Choi quietly deleted the word “frozen” she had stuck in front of her nickname.
……It’s still winter break!
She made a promise she already knew she would break—that she would quit the second break ended—and posted her first new message in nearly a month.
“That ending was so embarrassing!”
Shim Sang-rok raised his voice—a rare occurrence—and buried his face in his knees. Ye-chan had thought the hair-sweep looked pretty striking on camera, but the man himself was clearly mortified; the tips of his ears had gone red.
He’ll get used to it once he does it a few more times.
“Sang-rok, you looked completely cool! What are you talking about?”
The GE staffer clapped Sang-rok on the shoulder, grin stretching from ear to ear.
“He’s right, hyung. You looked awesome.”
Beside them Beom Se-hyuk beamed and piled on.
When the staffer mentioned that the profiles had also gone up on the homepage, the three of them double-checked everything for mistakes, then decided to get back to practice.
“It would’ve been nice if Hwi-gyum were here too.”
Ye-chan didn’t bother answering Sang-rok’s muttered wish; he just hit play on the track.
After five straight days of sticking together from morning till night, Ye-chan had concluded that Shim Sang-rok was the real deal—inside and out the same person. The classic good-natured type who stuck his nose into everything and looked after everyone around him. Ye-chan had already decided he would be the fourth member of his group.
If Sang-rok really was that good a person, great. If the last five days had all been an act, even better.
Anyone who can still perform the image they want to project even when body and mind are completely wrecked from all-day practice is already a pro.
Ye-chan stepped into formation and checked Sang-rok’s face once through the mirror in front of them. Either way, he had already decided they would go together, so he wanted to keep Sang-rok from getting tangled up with Woo Hwi-gyum. But after Beom Se-hyuk, this guy whose meddling stretched across the entire Pacific looked like he was going to be a headache to keep in line. The road ahead did not look smooth.
The first online vote was scheduled to open at midnight, yet the three of them practiced so hard past dawn that they completely forgot the vote even existed.
The teasers and self-introduction videos that dropped one after another starting the next day got exactly one monitoring pass each. After that the three of them simply buried themselves in practice again.
“Is Ui-tak still stuck on Jeju? If he was in Seoul he could practice with us here.”
Two days before the live stage, Sang-rok asked after Jeong Ui-tak, the Rubel Entertainment trainee who shared a company with Beom Se-hyuk.
Beom Se-hyuk, sitting on the floor wiping sweat with a towel, tilted his head.
“Now that you mention it, what is Ui-tak even doing?”
Why are you asking us?
In the Choose My Prince 99 that Ye-chan remembered, Jeong Ui-tak had always ridden Beom Se-hyuk’s bus so hard that people cursed him for it. Ye-chan had assumed the two of them must be extremely close—yet reality was turning out different.
Did he only pretend to be close on camera because Beom Se-hyuk was doing well?
That hadn’t been the vibe during the recreation segment, but then again, judging a person from a few minutes of footage was never smart.
“The shoot’s the day after tomorrow. Wouldn’t it be better if he came up and practiced soon?”
Sang-rok’s voice was worried.
“Should I call him?”
Do we have to?
Ye-chan barely managed to swallow the words that tried to slip out.
Beom Se-hyuk hadn’t really been waiting for an answer from either of them; he dialed Jeong Ui-tak right away.
“Hello?”
A sunken voice came through the phone almost immediately.
“Ui-tak, what are you doing?”
“……Practicing.”
“On Jeju?”
“I’ve been in Seoul for four days already.”
Sudden resentment flooded the voice. The unexpected turn made Ye-chan look at Beom Se-hyuk with suspicion.
“Really?”
“I told you from the start, when I first went down to Jeju, that I’d come up the day the theme song dropped!”
“Uh…… did you? Then why didn’t you call? If you were in Seoul we could’ve practiced together.”
“You said practicing with your roommates at GE was fun. Didn’t that mean you were going to keep doing it there without me?”
This kid’s sulking.
Ye-chan glanced at Sang-rok. The older trainee looked thoroughly awkward, as if he were wondering whether he ought to leave the room right now.
The actual party involved, Beom Se-hyuk, remained completely unbothered.
“I just meant it was fun here…… If I’d known you were in Seoul I would’ve practiced with you.”
“……Really?”
“Of course. Why are you doubting me? We’re close, aren’t we?”
The fact that he could say something like that with a completely straight face and total sincerity was honestly impressive.
Jeong Ui-tak’s voice softened a little.
“Okay. Anyway, I’ve been practicing at Rubel.”
“Isn’t it hard doing it alone? Come over to GE and let’s do it together.”
“No. If I go, the hyungs there will feel uncomfortable too.”
The rejection came back sharp as a knife in 0.1 seconds.
Ye-chan was certain. That kid was one hundred percent socially awkward.
“It’s just Sang-rok hyung and Ye-chan here, and both of them are nice people, so it’s fine.”
“Nice people, so it’s fine.” Setting aside the terrible analysis for a moment, the tone was exactly like someone introducing a pair of puppies.
“I can’t trust what you say, hyung.”
“I’m serious. Sang-rok hyung was the one who said you should come first.”
“……Is that so? Still, freeloading at someone else’s company with people I barely know makes me uncomfortable. Hyung, you know you can’t just pass that line straight to Shim Sang-rok hyung, right?”
It wasn’t a matter of passing it on—the person in question was already listening live in real time.
Sang-rok’s expression grew even more complicated.
“Ui-tak, this is on speaker. Hyung heard everything.”
Beom Se-hyuk, who had never learned how to lie, simply confessed.
A short scream erupted from the other end of the phone.
After that, Jeong Ui-tak and Shim Sang-rok exchanged awkward greetings so stiff that Ye-chan felt like he was going to choke just watching.
“Se-hyuk hyung? Can you step outside and talk for a second?”
“Huh? Sure.”
The voice had dropped into a gloomy register that made it obvious a lecture was coming, yet Beom Se-hyuk remained pure and clueless. He told Ye-chan and Sang-rok to start practicing without him, then headed out of the practice room with the phone still to his ear.
“If coming here makes you uncomfortable, should I go to you instead? Want to practice just the two of us?”
“……No, I can do it alone.”
After a brief silence, Jeong Ui-tak’s voice came back with a different color from everything before.
Ye-chan stared for a moment at the door Beom Se-hyuk had closed behind him.
……That felt a little off.