Chapter 47
The next morning.
The three trainees had gathered in the practice room, each holding a sheet of paper Se-rang had given them.
Maybe because there were no cameras this time, everyone was dressed more comfortably.
Seeing these tall, sturdy young men huddled together with nervous expressions was so ridiculous and sad that Se-rang clenched her teeth tightly.
“So? Did you find them?”
“Yes…!”
“Let me see.”
After reading through the questions each of them had written about themselves one by one, Se-rang grinned.
They really were smart kids.
To handle even such a difficult mission this well.
“You wrote these well.”
“!”
The three reacted differently to Se-rang’s single compliment. Yuhyun looked embarrassed, Dowon was smiling brightly like he could not hide his happiness, and Taeha awkwardly avoided her gaze.
But one thing was certain. All three of them were very happy.
“Now melt those questions into the stage.”
“…Uh.”
Apparently that was an entirely separate matter, because all three immediately started sweating nervously.
“It’s not difficult. Just think of it as applying the emotions those questions give you. How did you feel when you faced those questions about yourselves? Were you cheerful? Did confidence just burst out of you?”
The three shook their heads vigorously.
“Right? You probably felt self-loathing too, thinking, Why am I such an idiot? And because of that, didn’t you become even more desperate?”
“…That’s exactly how it felt.” Dowon nodded firmly.
“Exactly. That emotion. Stand there imagining you’re looking at the audience in front of you with those emotions. Even while feeling ashamed of those emotions, you have to think about conveying even that shame completely to the people watching.”
“…….”
“It’s difficult. But if you manage to do it.” Se-rang paused briefly. But it was not because she lacked confidence. It was because she was overflowing with certainty. “You’ll absolutely be able to move people’s hearts.”
“…Will that… really be enough?” Taeha asked in a rare uncertain voice.
That made sense. What Se-rang was saying completely overturned the values Taeha had held about performing on stage until now.
Until now, Jung Taeha thought all he needed was to sing well, dance well, show charisma appropriate for the stage, and be handsome.
He thought that was everything needed to draw people in on stage.
But what Se-rang was saying was far too abstract and difficult.
It felt like going into battle carrying entirely different weapons instead of the greatest weapons Taeha already possessed.
He had thought all he needed to do was sing well and dance accurately.
But apparently something beyond that was necessary.
To Taeha, it was difficult to believe. She was asking him to turn something without form into something real.
“There’s no way to know.”
“What? Then—”
“But I do know that without it, you’ll definitely fail.”
“!”
“An idol who steps onto the stage without carrying even that much inner conflict—what charm is there in that? If you don’t agonize over your own song to that extent, if you don’t interpret it to that extent, then how are you planning to express it? If all I wanted was perfectly accurate pitch and timing like a parrot, I’d just listen to AI songs instead. Why would I bother listening to your song, from you, an imperfect human being?” Se-rang asked Taeha in a calm but utterly certain voice. “You’ve never stanned anyone before, have you?”
(Translator’s Note: “Stanned” comes from the English slang term “stan,” meaning an extremely devoted fan. The word originated from Stan (2000) by Eminem, which depicted an obsessive fan. Over time, “stan” evolved in internet fandom culture to simply mean strongly supporting or admiring a celebrity, idol, or group.)
“What?”
“You only ever thought about wanting to become an idol. You’ve never genuinely loved or adored another idol yourself, have you?” Se-rang spoke as though the answer was obvious.
Taeha’s face turned red.
He really had never liked another idol that way before.
“…No.”
“Then how could you possibly perfectly understand the hearts of fans? You don’t know jack shit about the feelings of the people who’ll end up liking you. You only know a little about yourself. If fans simply wanted to like the most perfect being possible, they could just like AI. So why would they specifically want to like you?”
At Se-rang’s question, Taeha simply stood there blankly with a shocked expression.
“People like people because they’re people. And on stage, you have to completely show that you aren’t just one idol among hundreds, but a real, breathing human being. That’s the easiest way for you to persuade people.”
“…….”
“There are plenty of other teams full of kids who sing coolly and dance amazingly. You can choose your own way to beat them. The method I suggested is just one among countless possibilities.” After saying that, Se-rang stood up from her seat. “If you don’t like the method I suggested, it’s fine to follow your own convictions instead. I’m just the producer, after all. I’m not the one actually standing on the stage.”
“Hey, open your door already.”
Imduk felt irritation rise at the sound of knocking on her bedroom door.
Because the person knocking was her older sister.
“Ah, get lost.”
“What, did you hide a honey pot in there or something? Open up.”
“Ugh, why?!” Even while yelling that, Imduk eventually opened the door.
“Why do you keep acting up?”
“You’re watching Cast the Future, right? Let’s watch together.”
“Why together? Are you insane? Watch it yourself. You don’t even know Imperial well.”
“The kids said it’s fun. But I don’t really know idols, so explain things beside me.”
Was this one of those pure questions from a muggle toward an otaku or whatever?
(Translator’s Note: “Otaku” (オタク) — Japanese fandom term referring to someone with an intense obsession or deep enthusiasm for a particular hobby or interest, especially anime, manga, games, or idols. In Korean internet slang, it is often shortened to “덕후” (deokhu) and used similarly to mean a hardcore fan or nerd.)
Imduk grabbed the back of her neck as her blood pressure kept rising. “What am I, your maid?”
“You’re a ppasuni. You know all this stuff well.”
(Translator’s Note: Ppasuni (빠순이) — Korean slang term for an obsessive female fan, especially of idols or celebrities. Originally derogatory, though often used jokingly or self-referentially within fandom culture.)
Please stop the pure anti-fan discrimination…. Imduk cursed inwardly.
“No, everything’s already explained on the broadcast, so why do you need me? You can watch without explanations.”
“But you know who’s popular and how people are reacting and stuff.”
“…….”
“Isn’t that true? Then hurry up and drag your butt to the living room. Mom said she’s watching too.”
“Ah, seriously….”
Even while grumbling, Imduk eventually came out and sat on the living room sofa. Originally, she had planned to quietly watch through the OTT livestream in her room.
Though annoyed that her plans had been ruined, Imduk still thought it was not bad since it proved <Cast the Future> was getting reactions even from the general public.
By then, the commercials had apparently ended, and the broadcast was beginning.
In the opening, the MC was saying something about casting your future.
Episode two was starting now.
“Hey, who are you voting for this time?”
“How would I know after only episode one?” When her sister asked, Imduk answered with a sulky face.
“Aren’t you people supposed to know that kind of thing after only one episode?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“When you go on blind dates, don’t you still say you’re unsure even after seeing the guy three times? So how am I supposed to become a fan after only watching someone for one hour?”
“Ahh. Is that how it works?”
“Stop pissing me off.”
In truth, Imduk had been continuously searching Seo Dowon right up until a moment ago, but she still did not think she had fully become his fan yet.
She was just… in the stage of getting to know him a little better.
At that moment—
[Dowon: I really love our song. But it’s so difficult….]
Subtitle: Trainee Seo Dowon, said to practice every moment except sleeping
Subtitle: Still bad though
Seo Dowon appeared.
“Hey, that guy’s handsome.”
“…….”
I know. I knew before you did.
“But why’s he so bad? Didn’t Imperial originally only produce talented idols?”
“…….”
Once again thinking she should have watched alone, Imduk kept her mouth shut.
As Seo Dowon continued struggling on screen, Imduk became even quieter.
Her SNS timeline was probably already overflowing with sighs too.
With half pity and half irritation, Imduk stared at the TV screen.
“He’s the worst among the three. But that kid who looks like a delinquent is good.”
“Taeha.”
“Yeah. Taeha’s really good. And the pretty one beside him at least does his part too.”
“That’s Yuhyun.”
“How do you already remember all their names after only episode one?”
“…….”
Should I kill her? Imduk did not even bother responding.
Subtitle: But!
Subtitle: One month later, on the day of the interim evaluation…
Subtitle: A shocking twist is happening here?!
After that subtitle, close-up shots of shocked trainees from other teams appeared in rapid succession.
[Ideum: Wow, incredible.]
[Alex: I was seriously so shocked.]
[Makoto: These people are insane.]
Then the stunned faces of Eden and Seungha appeared, followed by Se-rang’s confident face.
“Oh. Looks like there’s some kind of twist?”
Even when her sister spoke, Imduk remained silent because she was too focused.
Subtitle: First, Producer Seungha’s team, currently receiving the greatest anticipation in the first competition!
Subtitle: Team <Victory River>’s interim evaluation begins.
Imduk watched Team <Victory River>’s stage with complete ease.
To begin with, nobody on SNS had worried about them at all. As expected from Seungha, who valued skill above everything as a skill-focused idol, she had gathered only outrageously talented members.
But something felt strange.
She could not pinpoint exactly what it was—
“Hey, this kinda sucks?”
It genuinely did suck.