The Final Teaser

The day before the first episode of Chumaf aired, the final third teaser dropped.

Crammed into the waiting room for the live recording of Encountdown, Ye-chan and the other trainees watched the newly uploaded teaser together. Naturally, every reaction was being captured on camera.

"Whoa, it's Ui-tak."

The moment Jeong Ui-tak's face flickered across the screen, Beom Se-hyuk planted both hands on the real Ui-tak's shoulders and shook him back and forth in delighted greeting.

"I'm getting dizzy!"

Ui-tak flailed like a paper doll, putting up a feeble resistance. Of course, that only made Se-hyuk shake him harder, grinning all the while.

"Ah, hyung, seriously!"

It was the same picture Ye-chan had seen during the first dorm stay — the loose-screwed older brother and the sharp little brother who was helplessly at his mercy. Laughter rippled through the trainees around them.

Ye-chan pretended to focus on the teaser while studying Ui-tak's face, who was sitting closer to the monitor than he was. Was I imagining it?

The last time he'd overheard Ui-tak's voice during that call with Se-hyuk, it had been strangely subdued. The sound had stuck under Ye-chan's skin ever since. He'd figured some unspoken grudge had settled in Ui-tak's heart — something oblivious Se-hyuk would never notice — but the two of them sitting right in front of him looked perfectly fine. They could just be putting on a front for the cameras… but if an eighteen-year-old can act that well, he's way too smooth. If that were the case, Ui-tak would be better off as an actor than an idol.

"Whoa, Taerang looks great!"

"Ki MC is so cool!"

What?

The trainees' cheers vaporized every serious thought Ye-chan had been nursing about how to sound out Ui-tak. His head snapped toward the screen so fast it nearly made a sound.

On the monitor set up in the corner of the waiting room, footage of the trainees playing recreation ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠games on the first day of dorm life was racing past. Why is this out already?

Ye-chan was stunned. Before the reset, this footage had never once been mentioned in a teaser — or even in the main broadcast. It had only been released as behind-the-scenes material near the end of the show. That was why, even after racking up an astonishing five-game winning streak with Woo Hwi-gyum, Ye-chan had only worried about being cut entirely. He'd never imagined the two of them would be stamped into viewers' minds as best friends.

Why on earth is this in the teaser… ah. Because I was too entertaining.

The moment his eyes met his own on the screen, Ye-chan understood. Before the reset, the recreation shoot had been the first filming of the first dorm stay — a roomful of stiff, nervous trainees who produced nothing worth using. This time was different. When Ye-chan threw himself into the mini-games with the deadly seriousness of a national athlete, the other trainees gradually synced up with him, until the gymnasium was roaring with a heat that rivaled the World Cup. And he and Hwi-gyum had posted a five-win streak on top of it. Of course the producers had ended up with footage too good not to use.

Watching himself on screen, dead serious, giving Hwi-gyum a piggyback ride, Ye-chan slapped his knee. I dug my own grave! Failing the quest might have been better.

Easy for you to say. Easy for you.

He'd barely started grumbling to himself when a hologram window he hadn't summoned popped up and ruined the mood. Even ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠if someone sent him back to the moment before the recreation started, Ye-chan knew he would only work harder — he would never abandon the quest.

Fine. It's not like I'll be tangled up with Hwi-gyum any further, so no point stressing over it.

Obviously, after that single joint practice session at GE, he and Hwi-gyum hadn't exchanged a single message. They were sharing a waiting room today, and earlier, during hair and makeup, they'd even sat side by side — yet the two of them hadn't made eye contact once.

"Chumaf team, get ready!"

At the staff member's shout, the trainees rose in perfect unison. With teams that had already finished pre-recording stationed ahead and behind them, Ye-chan had plenty of time to check his marks on stage. He curled his tingling fingertips into a tight fist.

Standing on a stage with the audience right in front of him sent a fierce emotion surging through him — something different from anything he'd felt so far. It had been less than a month since his final reset, so standing on a stage like this shouldn't have felt that long ago. And yet it felt impossibly distant, like something from a far-off past.

While Ye-chan was steadying that pleasant tension, the theme song of Choose My Prince 99 began pouring from the speakers. After endless practice, his body now responded automatically the moment he heard it. The darkened set blazed to life in an instant, and Ye-chan lifted his bowed head.

This was the moment to do what he did best.

Mr. Park, corporate slave, felt a rush of emotion so sharp his eyes burned.

Don't you dare cry! Are you going to miss even a tenth of a second of this historic stage?

Eyes bulging, Mr. Park stared down the faces of the trainees he'd already marked, devouring ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠every detail.

The live theme-song performance by the Chumaf contestants was a surprise stage that both the Chumaf and Encountdown sides had kept under wraps. But any fan who'd spent a reasonable amount of time stanning idols could have predicted today's stage without much trouble. Promoting an idol survival show that premiered on Friday by putting it on Thursday's Encountdown had long since become tradition.

Having failed to win a ticket through the lottery, Mr. Park had burned a precious vacation day and lined up for first-come, first-served entry since before dawn. At least it was a dead week with no top-tier idol performances — if it had been two weeks ago, he might have had to clock out of work straight to the front of the broadcasting station just to compete with the Lee:Spirit fans.

Hearing it live, though… the vocal power is insane.

Mr. Park shuddered at lyrics he still couldn't get used to no matter how many times he heard them, then marveled at the sound cutting clean through the AR track. In the stage videos, no single voice had been edited to stand out — but live, there were about three people whose singing ability was on another level entirely. It was a shame that no teaser had properly showcased the trainees' voices, leaving the owners of this ridiculous talent still unknown.

Please let them be my picks…

Overall, Mr. Park thought the stage was so unfinished that these trainees had no business standing on Encountdown with this level of polish. But the roughly one-minute opening performed by the nine S-Grade trainees was good enough to stand beside active idols without shame.

Mr. Park watched his picks one by one as they finished the final phrase with full force and stood catching their breath, shoulders heaving. He had a strong feeling that, for the first time in a long while, he was about to have a truly fun time stanning.

After the live stage, SNS and internet communities grew considerably noisy with talk about Chumaf 99. The reaction was far hotter than anything Ye-chan remembered.

Skimming the titles on the major community boards, Ye-chan thought, So it was four, not three. He'd caught three of them falling — apparently he'd missed the last one. He decided to check the replay before bed to identify the final crash victim, then switched over to SNS, where — setting aside the usual gushing stage posts — nearly everything was encouraging people to vote.

Whether from nerves or something else, far too many trainees outside the S-Grade ranks had been clumsy and stiff. Naturally, the cameras had lingered on center Shim Sang-rok — and as a result, Ye-chan and Beom Se-hyuk, flanking him on either side, had gotten plenty of face time as well. Thanks to that, the three of them were being mentioned even more than on the day the theme-song stage first dropped.

Meanwhile, Se-hyuk and I are just riding shotgun and soaking up the good reactions, while Sang-rok is quietly catching flak.

Jupiter fans who'd gotten a free sample of Lee Ga-won's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠moist-eyed gaze in the first teaser were still taking a favorable stance toward Sang-rok. No one was openly trash-talking him over screen time yet — but under the surface, discontented people were already murmuring. It was unfair. The real culprits were the other trainees who'd pulled moves the camera director couldn't even film, and Sang-rok was the one catching the blame.

Ye-chan set down his phone and squeezed his dry eyes shut. This isn't good.

Right now it was still just a small spark. But points accumulated like this from the very beginning would pile up and pile up until they snagged Sang-rok by the ankle — that much was obvious. He'd already decided to go the distance with Sang-rok, so cutting this off at the start was the right call. The problem was he had no idea where to even begin.

Until now, whenever a problem arose, Ye-chan had simply done whatever felt right, and if it failed, he reset. That had always been the most time-efficient approach. But with retries locked off, he could no longer move on impulse the way he used to.

First, he decided, he would check whether Sang-rok was even aware of the negative reactions circulating behind his back — then set a course from there. Right now… it's night. Crossing that line would be weird. I'll contact him tomorrow.

Confirming it was nearly midnight, Ye-chan rolled onto his side in bed. If I talk around it and it comes off like I'm digging at him, that's bad. But if I just dump it on a kid who has no idea and he finds out and tanks his condition, that's also a problem.

This, too, felt completely awkward. With the Lee:Spirit members, he'd communicated through so many resets that he could predict every reaction. Sang-rok was uncharted territory entirely.

What the hell is this lunatic.

Ye-chan rolled his eyes and glared at the choices. The countdown that usually appeared beneath them was nowhere to be seen. Is it telling me to think it over until the next time we meet, or what?

Ring ring.

At that exact moment, as if on cue, Shim Sang-rok's name lit up on his phone screen. Ye-chan's head whipped toward the hologram.

Only then did the countdown he'd thought had vanished spring into view. Watching the numbers tick down, Ye-chan clenched his teeth and hit the call button.

"Hyung."

With time running out, Ye-chan cut him off. His finger pressed the choice with calm precision.

"I want to debut with you, hyung — so, do you know about the internet reactions right now?"

"……"

Sang-rok fell silent on the other end of the line.

It was wordless confirmation.