The Perfect Month
It had been just over a month since I joined the debut team. If someone asked me how the past month had been, I’d probably answer, “It couldn’t possibly be better.” Whenever it was time to eat, a fantastic meal was already prepared. I didn’t have to worry about rent or anything like that; all I had to do was focus on practice. Of course, idol training wasn’t exactly light work, but for me, this level of training wasn’t much of a burden. In every sense, the Special Task Force training far exceeded what ordinary people could imagine, and I was a seasoned veteran who had served in that unit for a full ten years.
Above all, the simple fact that I no longer had to wake up in the middle of the night for emergency calls and brawl with those “fucking bastards” had dramatically improved my quality of life. Anyone who’s been through the military would understand exactly how I felt. The endless cycle of five-minute standby for unpredictable real combat that stretched across an entire lifetime—how utterly miserable that was. Just imagining it makes your stomach turn, doesn’t it? Then you’re normal. Even now, remembering those days still makes my insides churn and my head spin.
My physical condition had recovered quickly as well. Na Yeri’s biggest problem had always been nutritional imbalance, but after a month of regular routines, things had mostly stabilized. On top of that, my own physical training had refined my body’s capabilities, so I had long since surpassed the physical level from the time when anorexia had begun to set in. Now I was starting to look beyond that.
“Hello, everyone. I’m Cha Miju, the trainer who will be intensively managing you for the next month.”
In this regard, I had definitely benefited from the company. They had brought in a truly incredible expert. As I mentioned once before, my prime physique had never been ideal for an idol. After all, idols need to look good on camera, and too much muscle could actually be a detriment. I wasn’t some hulking brute, but given my line of work, I had built up quite a bit of muscle mass. While it might look decent in real life, by idol standards, it was definitely problematic.
Since I was now in a body that dreamed of becoming an idol, I couldn’t train without restraint for fear of ruining the desired silhouette. I couldn’t abandon my idol aspirations just to regain my old form. Yet strength is physically proportional to the cross-sectional area of muscle—that’s a basic law. To generate power efficiently, increasing muscle mass is common sense. From my perspective, the best I could do was build muscle as efficiently as possible without destroying the idol-friendly body shape.
But the freelance physical trainer the company had temporarily hired was a human who defied common sense. This trainer, who only worked with idols from major agencies and famous celebrities for exorbitant fees, possessed a strange superpower called “density control.” It allowed her to increase muscle density, creating a slim yet highly efficient physique. In truth, Cha Entertainment wasn’t at a level where they could easily recruit someone of Cha Miju’s caliber. While Cha Entertainment was a respectable mid-tier company, Cha Miju was the kind of heavyweight that even the big three had to draw a waiting ticket for.
The reason we were able to secure her was, of course, blood ties. As her name suggested, she was related to CEO Cha. It was yet another reminder that in this world, blood relations, regional ties, and school connections could get you just about anything. Of course, it wasn’t as if Trainer Cha Miju was taking a complete loss. Before she made a name for herself, the very first celebrity she had trained was Purple Swan. Thanks to Purple Swan’s success, she had quickly established herself in the industry. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.
Whether it was pure goodwill or because she had seen real potential in us, I wasn’t sure. But thanks to CEO Cha’s foresight, we had landed an outstanding trainer. Still, there was one thing I couldn’t forget: although Cha Miju was incredibly capable, her superpower didn’t solve everything for free. Adjusting muscle density came at a cost. The trainee had to digest an enormous amount of exercise in a short period to achieve proper “pumping” before the compression could be done efficiently.
That was why her training was notorious for its brutal intensity. Her students supposedly crawled around like half-corpses for an entire month. Idol trainees were already people who had grown numb to hard training, yet even they could barely endure her regimen. She was clearly no ordinary person.
What was interesting, however, was how the world evaluated Trainer Cha Miju. At first glance, her greatest strength seemed to be her superpower, but that wasn’t actually the case. Due to the nature of her ability, she had become an expert at forcing people to endure insane workout volumes in a short time. Most clients hired her more for her “exercise coercion method” than for the density control itself. The main feature was her ability to make the subject exercise no matter what; the density control was just a bonus.
I suspected Cha Entertainment had recruited her with a similar goal in mind. Rather than relying on density control, they probably wanted to solidify our physiques through high-intensity training before debut. And the first target of that plan was most likely me—Na Yeri. After all, I was the one who had frequently skipped physical training due to recent anorexia. The company had no choice but to pull out the big guns.
Looking at it this way, one might think attaching Trainer Cha Miju to someone whose body was already a wreck from anorexia was too harsh. But that wasn’t the case. Her exercise coercion method included a dietary regimen specifically designed to allow the body to endure high-intensity training. It was so ingeniously crafted that even someone in as poor condition as Na Yeri could somehow manage the workouts. Among entertainment industry insiders, there was even a half-joking rumor that if Trainer Cha Miju took on your grandmother, she could turn her into a bodybuilder.
Of course, that was said in jest, but after experiencing her training firsthand, I started to think it might actually be possible. Rapidly restoring someone in terrible physical condition while enabling them to handle extreme exercise volumes wasn’t something just anyone could do. The company’s goal was probably just to correct my figure and build up my stamina, but from my perspective, that “density control” was an absolute treasure. It was the only way I could raise my body to the level I wanted without unnecessary side effects.
So during the training period, I followed the diet perfectly and pushed my body like a madwoman to receive the density control. From what I was told, the effect was almost semi-permanent. Once it settled in, the muscle density wouldn’t revert unless I completely stopped working out. It was an opportunity I couldn’t afford to miss.
I threw myself into training for several days. Before long, I could feel myself changing day by day, which only made me focus even harder. When the promised month finally passed, I was able to achieve a reasonably satisfying result. It was still far from my prime, but I had recovered enough to at least show my face with confidence. If I’d had two more months, I probably could have regained most of my old form. That thought left me feeling a little regretful, but for now, I decided to be content with this much.
When I first started obsessing over the workouts, the staff had watched with pleased smiles. Lately, however, they had begun to worry, saying I was overdoing it. There had been one unexpected side benefit from this training. My cup size—my chest—had gone up a level.
My pride had always been slightly above the Korean average. Even after my body recovered and I grew older, that was about as far as it went. But after finishing this training and getting measured, my cup size had increased by one full level. Completely unexpected. My gaze unconsciously drifted toward the trainer. If there had been any variable, it could only have been her.
She zipped her lips shut and gave me a wink. She said I was the first student who had done far more than she had asked for, so she had shown a little extra generosity. I didn’t know the exact details, but it seemed there were more secrets hidden in her “density control” than we realized.
“Wait, if you have an ability like that, do you even need to work as a trainer? Wouldn’t this make way more money?”
It was a little strange, but not a bad thing. When it came to size, as long as it didn’t go overboard, bigger was better for one’s self-esteem. Even I thought the current size was perfect, so I felt like I had gained a lot from this training.
“I’ve worked with countless artists so far, but I’ve never had students like you. It’s a shame we probably won’t meet again.”
I wasn’t the only one who had received this training. The other members had each made time for sessions as well. The fact that the trainer was this satisfied meant they had all followed her instructions and done their part properly. I remembered the workout volume she demanded had been quite brutal. The fact that they had all kept up with it was honestly a little surprising. It meant these pretty girls had real grit.
“Well, considering their dance skills improved even during all that, they’re clearly not ordinary.”
Even while the high-intensity physical training was underway, vocal and dance training continued without pause. The members’ trainee careers were so short that they still had a long way to go. Yet their skills were improving visibly day by day. Watching them up close, I couldn’t help but think that talent really did exist in this world.
Because the members’ abilities were advancing by leaps and bounds, I found myself getting busier too. My thought had been that I should at least keep up with them as support, but at this rate, even that would soon become difficult. The only choice left was to set aside extra time for dance practice on my own.
The debut team dorm where I lived was only a few minutes away from the company. It was the perfect environment for late-night practice. Of course, there were set hours for using the company practice rooms, but that didn’t matter. If a debut team member wanted to practice a little more, stopping them would be the stranger thing to do.
So I stayed behind and kept practicing until the company doors were locked. My own skills had now reached a level that was at least passable.
“Looking at it this far, it really is good.”
Members who diligently improved their skills even while enduring brutal training. Up to this point, they were the picture of an ideal debut team.
But there was one fatal problem…
“Is this… really a team?”
During practice, not a single one of them spoke to anyone else.