The Path I Chose
When I think about it now, I was surprisingly serious about becoming an idol right after I first became Na Yeri. I mean, it makes sense. I got hit with a full-blown TS beam and ended up this pretty. With a face like this, it felt like something worth aiming for. Sure, the odds of making it big were slim, but if you did blow up, the rewards were massive. Plus, looking at Na Yeri’s situation—middle school dropout, only 120,000 won in the bank, and a sixth-year trainee—anyone could see that idol was pretty much the only viable option. My original life had been pretty messed up too, but even I had to admit it wasn’t this bad. At least I got to stay in a facility until I graduated high school. At that point, if Na Yeri hadn’t become an idol, the only thing left for her would’ve been using that beautiful face to make quick cash in one of those shady industries. And unlike me now, the original Na Yeri was a completely powerless superhuman with zero combat ability. When you have nothing, even a face like hers could become a poison. Especially in a world like this, where villains who use supernatural powers run wild.
“Of course, that doesn’t mean there weren’t other ways to live a normal life...”
Unlike Na Yeri, who had never thought about anything except being an idol trainee, I prided myself on having tasted enough of society to know better. In other words, I had the skills to survive without diving into those dirty lines of work. In my previous life, even under conditions similar to Na Yeri’s, I had somehow scraped by day after day. But because I had lived that life, I knew better than anyone how brutally hard it was. And I had zero desire to repeat that same painful process after reincarnating into another body.
“Honestly, I knew exactly how tough it would be, which is why I couldn’t choose it. Getting thrown into society with nothing is basically hell.”
Of course, that wasn’t the only reason I chose to become an idol. I genuinely believed I had a real shot at it. The idol industry in this world was still a red ocean, no question. But because of the “superhuman” filter, it was far more manageable than in my original life. For starters, the sheer number of trainees was completely different. If there were a million idol trainees in my old world, here there were only about forty to fifty thousand. And since the number in my original world wasn’t literally a million, the real figure here was probably even lower. Just looking at the numbers, the competition rate was overwhelmingly lower.
On top of that, I could make decent use of the six years of trainee experience that remained in Na Yeri’s body. It was basically muscle memory. In a world where most superhumans awakened their powers between fifteen and eighteen, awakening at the relatively early age of thirteen and then spending a full six years as a trainee was no small advantage. No matter which agency you looked at—big or small—it was hard to find a trainee who had trained longer than Na Yeri. Talent was still the biggest factor in this industry, so long training didn’t guarantee success, but you couldn’t completely ignore the foundation she had already built. After all, natural-born idols were incredibly rare.
Of course, idols in this world weren’t just people who danced and sang, but at the time I didn’t fully understand that yet, so my logic wasn’t entirely wrong. In any case, using the memories left in Na Yeri’s body, I was able to access some of her trainee-era skills, and I thought about becoming an idol quite seriously.
That’s why there was no way I would take lightly the Cha Entertainment debut team selection audition that could very well be the first step of my idol career.
“But I failed the debut team audition. Honestly, it was a bit of a shock.”
Yeah. That was the problem. I already had the experience of failing Cha Entertainment’s debut team selection in this body. The moment I reincarnated and learned the reality of my situation, I immediately realized how critical that debut team audition was. How could I not? I had no money and had to vacate the dorm immediately. The situation was so urgent that I didn’t even have time to process the whole TS thing. Worrying about my identity had been a luxury I couldn’t afford back then.
So I dug through Na Yeri’s memories as much as possible, recalled the stage she had prepared for the audition, and challenged the debut team based on that. From the moment I possessed her body to the audition itself, only three days had passed. There wasn’t much more I could do, so at the time, that was the best I could manage. I was also a little optimistic.
In the novel, Na Yeri only appeared in one scene. It was in the prologue. In the music show waiting room, for some reason she got into an argument with the female protagonist, and the furious heroine delivered a high kick to Na Yeri. The male protagonist then burst into the room and witnessed the scene, ending the prologue. It was an undeniably shocking start. What kind of idol would openly throw a high kick at someone in a broadcast waiting room? Even I was so stunned by that scene that I naturally kept reading to see what happened next. It had definitely hooked readers with pure shock value. The fact that I still remember it clearly after more than ten years shows just how impactful that scene was.
Or maybe it’s a little different now. The truly shocking thing was that I had reincarnated into that very novel. But that’s beside the point. The really important detail was that Na Yeri had met the female protagonist in a music show waiting room. It meant that Na Yeri had successfully debuted. So I had hoped that I could somehow get past the hurdle of the debut team selection, but the result was a total disaster. I failed the debut team audition spectacularly.
Only after failing did I realize my mistake. The prologue only told us that Na Yeri had debuted. It didn’t say which company or which group. On top of that, the timing of the prologue was often ambiguous. It could have been one year later or three years later. And if the prologue took place three or four years in the future, then maybe failing to make Cha Entertainment’s debut team was simply Na Yeri’s fate.
“Ha… back then…”
As I thought about that time, I suddenly remembered the moment during my final stage at Cha Entertainment—the audition—when I performed the solo dance I had prepared and received my evaluation. Cha Seongjin, the CEO who oversaw the debut team selection, only said one thing to me.
Yeah. “I’m sorry.” That was the last evaluation I ever heard from CEO Cha Seongjin. Honestly, he didn’t have to say it. There was no need for the head of an agency to apologize to a trainee who failed to make the debut team. Whether it was a lack of skill or a mismatch in concept, failing to join the debut team ultimately meant I wasn’t good enough. In the end, this was a business. And there’s nothing more ridiculous than looking for human decency in business.
But Cha Seongjin went out of his way to apologize to me—to Na Yeri, to be exact. The moment I heard that apology, I realized I hadn’t made the debut team, and my head spun. What was ridiculous was that even as my mind was racing, tears I couldn’t control were pouring endlessly from my eyes. It would be more accurate to say that it wasn’t me crying, but Na Yeri. At the time, I didn’t have the leisure to think deeply about Na Yeri’s tears or CEO Cha Seongjin’s apology, but now that I look back, it seems Cha Seongjin was someone special to Na Yeri.
Maybe it was only natural. CEO Cha Seongjin had shown quite a bit of goodwill toward Na Yeri, who had become a trainee at a very young age. Just look at the dorm I’m living in now. No matter how empty it was, he had let her stay there for years without any conditions. He would also occasionally stop by to check on her or give her allowance money. I suspect he felt some kind of sympathy for Na Yeri’s pitiful circumstances. What’s certain is that, for whatever reason, Cha Seongjin showed her far more interest than a typical agency CEO would show a trainee. Whether it was simple pity or an investment, I still don’t know. But to Na Yeri, it was the first time she had ever experienced adult warmth.
Na Yeri’s memories are quite faint in many places, so I can’t be sure, but it seems her time at the orphanage wasn’t exactly smooth sailing. The fact that she ran away from the orphanage at thirteen in the first place wasn’t normal. To someone like her, Cha Entertainment and CEO Cha Seongjin had shown a lot of consideration, and perhaps those accumulated kindnesses had created a special feeling inside her. Something like the family love she had never once experienced.
Incidentally, it was also CEO Cha Seongjin who introduced me to another mid-tier agency after I failed the debut team audition. The new company was one of the few honest and sensible places in an industry full of scammers. I didn’t receive as much consideration as I had at Cha Entertainment, but I was still able to continue my trainee life. Introducing departing trainees to other companies was something CEO Cha always did. But the fact that he carefully selected the best possible place for me was probably his final act of kindness.
“Looking back, I was pretty cold, wasn’t I? Of course, my life was so harsh that I didn’t even have the luxury to think about it, but I still should have repaid what I received...”
When I thought about it, I had received a lot from Cha Entertainment. CEO Cha Seongjin not only released me without any conditions after six years as a trainee, but he also introduced me to a new company. The Cha Entertainment staff, who knew about my difficult situation, had pooled together what little money they could to help with my living expenses when I left. Especially vocal trainer Min Yongsik. That guy was really something. While I (well, Na Yeri) was at the company, he acted like he couldn’t stand the sight of me, but the moment I failed the debut team and had to leave, he was the one who looked the most devastated. A bulldog making a sad face—now that was refreshing. He even added his own money and handed me an envelope with a decent amount inside. The fact that I, with only 120,000 won in my account, was able to rent even a shabby room was largely thanks to him. So… a tsundere? Something like that. At the time, it genuinely moved me.
The reason I still remembered Bulldog-ssam and could recognize him the moment I saw him was probably because of that memory.
“Cha Entertainment’s debut team is definitely tempting, but it doesn’t look easy...”
Just thinking about it now, everything that comes to mind is positive, so Cha Entertainment really is a good company. I’d like to stay if possible, but it doesn’t seem like it’ll be that simple. My current condition isn’t much better than when I first reincarnated. Sure, I trained for two more years after leaving Cha Entertainment. But that was so long ago. Honestly, I can’t even remember how I used to dance anymore.
“This is a real dilemma.”
This was something I needed to think about very seriously.