The Debut Stage Might Vanish
The possibility that Jin Seryeon's debut stage might vanish wasn't just idle speculation.
In fact, KBC's legendary Gayo Top 100 had been canceled outright because of one insane incident pulled off by some lunatics.
Just eight years ago, when Namhun was active, music shows featured singers from all genres side by side.
Trot, rock, ballad, idol, dance, rap...
Even special stages from foreign artists like POP or J-POP.
That variety was what gave Gayo Top 100 its unrivaled status among the three major broadcasters' music programs.
But the moment they tried incorporating even Hongdae indie bands into the mix, disaster struck.
—Freedom!
Some crazy indie band, screaming for freedom live on air, had dropped their pants and exposed themselves.
The fallout changed every music show to delayed broadcasts, and innocent indie singers were banned from appearing altogether.
Gayo Top 100, as the main culprit, took responsibility and went off the air.
'Those maniacs who couldn't tell freedom from depravity.'
The memory was still vivid in Namhun's mind.
The sudden axing of Gayo Top 100 threw the music industry into chaos for a while.
Namhun's planned follow-up promotions for his first album got scrapped too.
Thinking back, that mess must have hit the company hard financially as well.
With that history, he couldn't help but worry.
'What the hell does Condition 0 even mean?'
Satoshi's expression reminded him of himself right after his parents' accident.
So he had to ask.
If something had happened.
"N-nani ka atta desu ka?"
As Namhun asked with a face full of concern,
the 23-year-old adult Satoshi started sobbing like a child.
How much time had passed?
Satoshi realized he was clinging to a total stranger, bawling his eyes out.
'What the hell am I doing? Satoshi. There's a limit to embarrassing yourself.'
But he couldn't stop the sobs.
In nearly two years in Korea, Namhun was the first Korean to speak to him in Japanese today.
Aside from the Korean tutor the company assigned.
—Nani ka atta desu ka?
Words carry power.
A stranger's worried question crumbled the emotional walls he'd built over two years in an instant.
Satoshi had always felt like an outsider in Korea.
His agency staff and even Centaurus members accommodated the foreign member,
but no one ever spoke to him in Japanese.
So he'd desperately studied Korean.
Namhun didn't know the full details, but he just held him gently, patting his back.
"Daijoubu desu kara, hanashite mitekudasai."
At the words to go ahead and talk since it was okay, Satoshi started spilling his pent-up stories in a jumble.
In Japanese.
'Huh?'
The rapid-fire local speech mixed with sobs was overwhelming.
Then Satoshi's belatedly arriving manager burst in, pointing accusingly.
"What the hell are you doing!"
To him, it looked like Namhun had beaten Satoshi down.
Raw Japanese born of surging emotion.
Namhun, in the middle of a super-advanced listening test, got pissed.
"Hyung, I can't understand him—block that asshole for me!"
"Asshole" didn't even cover it.
He couldn't catch every word, but Satoshi was clearly in mental meltdown.
How could a manager let his artist reach that state?
Namhun was an idol alum.
Satoshi was a junior, a decade younger anyway.
The anger in his voice reached the manager loud and clear.
'Holst Entertainment really works their kids hard.'
Unlike Namhun, Wonhyeong knew the current industry inside out and grasped the situation at a glance from Satoshi's face.
"Got it. Leave that guy to me."
The manager's face looked familiar.
"Hey, stop right there!"
The manager scowled at the advancing Wonhyeong.
"Who the hell are you? Get out of the way!"
Misreading the scene, he swung a fist.
'Can't just flatten him.'
Wonhyeong easily dodged and went for a clinch.
Holding the guy's torso tight, he whispered in his ear.
"Hey. You don't remember me?"
"...W-what?"
"You're the maknae of Hatist Crew, right?"
At "Hatist Crew," the manager froze and backed off.
He scrutinized Jo Wonhyeong's face, then stammered.
"Uh... C-Composer Jo Wonhyeong?"
Composer Jo Wonhyeong was a senior in the b-boy world, over ten years his elder.
When Wonhyeong led the biggest crew at the b-boy mecca Sun Night, this guy was the baby of newbie Hatist.
The age gap meant few face-to-face meetings, but the name stuck.
Jo Wonhyeong was a founding legend in Korean b-boying.
"Yeah, that's me. So shut up and stay quiet for a bit."
Wonhyeong glanced back and muttered softly.
"He can't rehearse like that anyway. Go buy time with the PD. Hmm. Twenty minutes should do. We'll calm Satoshi and send him over."
"...Twenty minutes?"
A tall order for a rookie group's manager.
"Can't stall? Your group's done. We got nothing to do with it."
Reality hit; the manager went pale as a sheet.
"Ah... Y-yes, sir. Please take care of him."
"Yeah, kid. Look after your artist better from now on. A manager who doesn't notice his charge like that?"
Truth was, he was just Satoshi's road manager since solo gigs started.
Satoshi never voiced complaints, so he felt wronged.
Still, as manager, failing to spot his artist's distress was on him.
He'd unwittingly pulled the trigger.
"S-sorry."
"Anyway, go. Don't wanna get chewed out by the PD? Sell it good."
"Y-yes, sir..."
Hearing that, the manager suddenly felt a chill down his spine.
'What the hell do I say to buy time?'
Still, better this than disaster.
No dummy, he sensed Satoshi had been on the verge of a major screw-up.
'If something blew up during the Special MC segment?'
Chilling thought.
All those ads Satoshi was shooting.
It was hard to follow Satoshi's rambling fully, but Namhun got the gist.
'Japanese kids are all the same in this way.'
Back in his competition days as a kid, international contests were routine.
Juniors had narrower fields than adults, so same faces every time.
Kids, though, bottled up gripes instead of speaking up.
Especially in foreign lands.
Only solved with guardian intervention, barely.
Frustrated, big bro Namhun approached the hesitant ones first to help.
Mostly small stuff.
Needing the bathroom, a drink...
Or instrument setup issues.
Many passive types were girls, but plenty of boys too.
The severe cases? Every damn one Japanese.
'Gotta speak up to be known.'
Cultural differences, sure, but to thrive in Korea, adapt yourself.
In the broadcast hallway, Namhun shared his old stories as advice for Satoshi.
"Satoshi. If you bottle it up without saying a word, no one knows. Better to vent—even yell—than let mental issues fester."
"...Wakarimasu. Ikari o kikasemasu."
"No, not like suddenly explode... Try talking first. Most things resolve with words. Korea's culture differs from Japan's."
From the story, Centaurus members just lacked experience with foreign members—didn't seem like bullying.
Idol world was cutthroat competition.
No mental slack, so they pushed each other.
"Centaurus debuted already, doing great. Talk it out now to last long-term."
Namhun eyed Satoshi, recalling Elixir days.
Back then, if they'd fought it out with the hyungs, maybe no disbandment.
"No. If members won't talk, fight. Fight it out. Better that."
Korean practice too.
"What the hell you telling the kid? Why fight?"
"Better to fight than disband."
"Wait, why bring that up now?"
Suddenly, innocent Wonhyeong and Namhun bickering had Satoshi chuckling.
"Kenka shinai de kudasai."
Seeing Satoshi laugh eased Namhun's worry.
Mood-Relieved Youth
50
'Condition 50? He's good now?'
Somehow, comforting Satoshi had him spilling his whole life story.
Satoshi bowed to him like he was a saint.
"...Senpai no kotoba, kokoro ni kizukemasu."
"Yeah, yeah."
As Satoshi smiled, Condition climbed fast.
70
'Who knew the ability worked like this.'
His hunch that the fantasy power would grow wasn't wrong.
They escorted Satoshi to rehearsal.
"From now on, senpai is my rorumoderu."
"Rorumoderu? Oh, role model. Making me your role model means you're doomed. Don't."
"Iie desu. Rorumoderu ni shimasu."
"...Do what you want."
No use arguing; Namhun gave up.
Meanwhile, Wonhyeong, back from checking rehearsal, tapped Namhun's shoulder.
"Seryeon's rehearsal's done already? They moved her stage up since no MC for interview."
"Oh, yeah? Let's hit the waiting room then."
80
Watching Satoshi's Condition improve steadily, Namhun figured all problems solved.
The moment they entered Jin Seryeon's waiting room, Namhun and Wonhyeong froze.
The room felt like a funeral parlor.
Jin Seryeon sat on the sofa, spaced out.
Kang Seongdae kept sighing heavily.
"Haa... What a mess."
The dancers prepping her debut stage huddled in a corner, faces grim as they talked.
"What's with the vibe?"
As flustered Wonhyeong asked, Kang Seongdae explained.
"Seryeon totally bombed rehearsal."
"What? Practice was fine, though?"
Jin Seryeon had opera training and been Crepas's main vocal—top-tier skills.
Saljjakhung! was a straightforward dance track, not tough for her.
"Not the singing..."
Kang Seongdae glanced at Seryeon and beckoned them.
'She's here, so talk outside.'