Spending Someone Else's Money Is Always Fun

Using someone else's money is always enjoyable. In my previous life, I entered the entertainment industry with the title of road manager. Thanks to that, I had to personally run around to most sites and push my way in. Even after rising from team leader to department head, I preferred seeing things with my own eyes, so whenever I had the time, I visited the sites myself. During that process, I had quite a few opportunities to meet various celebrities and idols in person and check their status windows. Yet over ten years, I only saw three people with S-rank vocal potential.

One was a male singer-songwriter widely regarded as Korea's best vocalist. Another was a female vocalist praised for treating singing not as mere song but as a new language. The last was an opera singer always listed among Koreans who shone on the world stage. Those who carve their names into the world with a single talent. Inevitable success that shines even in the harshest adversity. That was what S-rank potential signified.

But among idols, there was no one with such S-rank talent. Perhaps that was only natural. The talents required of an idol are multifaceted. First, appearance must be at least A-. That's the bare minimum people accept as an "idol look." Vocals, thanks to advances in mixing technology, can be covered with just C+. Of course, to recruit someone like that, you'd need to include at least one high-note shuttle in the team. Dance requires at least B or higher. With synchronized group choreography and flashy performances becoming the trend, you can't afford visible holes in dance.

These were the minimum conditions I had in mind. There were groups that debuted without meeting them. In an era where the trainee talent pool was shrinking, it wouldn't be easy for a new company to assemble members who checked every box. Not that there were no success stories among such groups. Some with unique concepts or those who miraculously went viral managed to chart. But none of their individual members achieved personal success. Even with a short-term miracle, if you want to leave your name with the public, you eventually have to meet the basic conditions.

On top of that, when you factor in talents like variety shows, rap, acting, and qualities like personality, willpower, past, charm, and appeal, the requirements for idols become even more extensive. Therefore, rather than scouting specialized talents, idols are closer to recruiting well-rounded all-rounders. It was only natural that I never saw S-rank potential in idols, including in my previous life. Expecting world-class talent from an all-rounder is an absurd hope.

That was why I couldn't hide my shock at the part-time worker's potential right in front of me. She exceeded my minimum conditions while possessing center-level looks and S-rank vocals. It was truly an absurd talent. If a god were to shape a creature with the purpose of making a singer, it might end up with this kind of potential. That was the vague impression I got.

"Sir! Are you feeling unwell? Should I call an ambulance?"

The part-time worker waved her hand in front of my face, worried as I stood there dazed, mouth agape, staring at the status window. I snapped back to my senses and spoke immediately.

"What's your name?"

"...My name? It's Yoo Gaeul!"

Gaeul answered without a hint of wariness. Before she could start chatting again, I got straight to the point.

"Have you ever thought about becoming an idol?"

"...Huh? An idol?"

I took out the business card Cheon A-ram had given me and handed it to Gaeul.

"I'm Seon Taeyang, team leader at Two Bear Entertainment."

The part-time worker examined the simple card, which only contained a name, title, phone number, and email, as if determined not to miss a single detail.

"You're a team leader at an agency?"

"It's probably a name you've never heard before. It's a new company that was just founded."

I gave the excuse that had started becoming standardized through my previous recruitment attempts.

"You might feel uneasy because it's new, but I can assure you our investment, facilities, and personnel are second to none."

Cheon A-ram seemed to be handling the investment and facilities well. We only had three people on staff, but we had the human perfectionist Cheon A-ram and me, a regressor. No other company could boast personnel like that. It wasn't an exaggeration—everything I said was true.

"I saw in you the talent to reach the top. I hope you'll join us at Two Bear Entertainment on the journey to becoming the best idol."

Yoo Gaeul listened quietly to my proposal. Then, shedding all the puppy-like friendliness she'd shown earlier, she spoke.

"Thank you so much for saying that! But it doesn't sound very convincing."

In the empty sundae-guk restaurant, with only the chef who seemed to be the owner watching with interest, Yoo Gaeul continued.

"The only times you've seen me, Team Leader, are the four times I've worked part-time here. And even then, it was just for a moment while taking your order."

"You're right about that, Gaeul."

"So what exactly did you see in me that made you tell me to become an idol? My face?"

She wasn't unaware of the value of her appearance. But she didn't seem particularly pleased by the high evaluation. I understood her a little.

"Is being an idol such a shallow field that you can reach the top just by being a little pretty?"

Calling Gaeul's looks "a little pretty" was a severe understatement.

"Your appearance is incredibly beautiful. I think you have the kind of charm that could be called everyone's first love. But that's not the only reason."

Still, complimenting her looks wasn't what I needed to talk about right now.

"You like singing, don't you?"

"...Yes?"

"Not just like it—you're overflowing with talent, enough to make most idols on TV seem amateurish."

Gaeul's mouth opened and closed. After muttering something unintelligible, she admitted it.

"...Is that the talent you sensed in me?"

"I sensed the talent. But I also sensed the time you've invested—the effort."

In her stats, the S-rank vocal potential was the most eye-catching. But her current A- level stat was also noteworthy. Raising a single grade—divided into -, 0, and +—might seem like a small numerical difference on the surface, but it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wasn't. It required the time and effort of blisters bursting, healing, bursting again, and eventually turning into calluses before B could become B+. Her current A- was proof of the time she had accumulated. The effort a non-professional like her had to put in to raise her skill that high couldn't be described with words like "workaholic." It required more than effort. She must truly love singing—for the immense effort needed to reach that level to feel like enjoyment.

"Does becoming a team leader at an agency let you know all that without even hearing someone sing?"

"Not just anyone can do it."

"...You're bragging, aren't you?"

"Please think of it as self-PR. I just want to make the best impression possible on you, Gaeul."

Gaeul gave a faint, ambiguous smile.

"...I understand that you're evaluating me higher than I thought. Thank you."

After bowing her head slightly, she spoke again.

"And I'm really sorry. I don't think I'll have time to be an idol."

Honestly, it was the answer I had expected. Still, I wanted to know the reason.

"Why is that?"

Gaeul pointed at herself in the apron.

"Seeing me working so many part-time jobs, you probably already guessed—I need money."

"If you become an idol, you could earn hundreds of times more than what you're making from part-time work right now."

At my words, Gaeul gave a weak smile.

"That's only if you succeed."

I spoke with certainty.

"If you become an idol at Two Bear Entertainment, you'll definitely succeed. That much is obvious, so I didn't bother mentioning it."

Gaeul stared at me blankly, as if looking at some strange creature. Then she covered her mouth and burst out laughing.

"Team Leader Seon, you're really something else. If we worked together like you said, I'd feel secure whether we failed or succeeded."

"Then..."

"Still, I don't think I can. I need money right now."

Gaeul wore a regretful expression, as if sorry she had to say this.

"I roughly know how the settlement system works. I heard you need to think in terms of at least ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠years before an idol gets proper income."

She was right. Even with SS, one of the so-called major agencies, if they achieve dramatic success, they might settle in a little over a year. But that was among the most optimistic cases. Most mid-sized companies usually start settling between three to five years. It wasn't because they failed or were malicious agencies. Recovering the invested costs and generating pure profit simply wasn't easy.

"That's correct. Even if you top the music charts with a massive hit, you should still think in yearly units at minimum."

"I can't wait that long."

"..."

"Thank you for the offer. But I'm planning to quit singing too. My life is too busy to worry about that as well."

"I suspect your interest and effort in singing go beyond the realm of a hobby. Are you really okay with that?"

"In the end, my feelings for singing were only that deep. ...Just enough to give up easily when life gets busy."

Gaeul spoke of giving up so casually. But the decision couldn't have been easy.

"So it would be better if you looked for someone else who has the time."

Gaeul's resolve seemed firm. Even so, I couldn't let it go and asked one more time.

"If you need money, how much do you need?"

She asked with a serious expression.

"How much money do you think it takes to raise a middle schooler who dreams of art?"

"...I don't have enough knowledge about art entrance exams to give a definite answer."

"I know. I've calculated it."

Yoo Gaeul held out both hands, then folded her fingers one by one as she spoke.

"Food, tuition, academy fees, materials, living expenses, applications, exams, hiring models, registration fees, and so on. Even if you subtract everything and use it efficiently while saving, it still comes to about 100 million won."

She nodded slightly.

"Yes. The money I need is 100 million won."

It was too large an amount to casually affirm. So I couldn't answer right away. Yoo Gaeul smiled gently, as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠if she had expected my silence.

"Do you have anything else to say, Team Leader Seon?"

It was a gentle dismissal, implying there was nothing more to discuss on this topic. But I still had something to say.

"Can I get two bowls of sundae-guk to go?"

Somehow I'd ended up trying to recruit her, but the reason I came here was to run an errand for sundae-guk. I hadn't forgotten my original purpose.

"Sundae-guk? ...Ah."

Gaeul's cheeks flushed red as she lowered her head.

"I'll make it right away, sir!"

Watching Yoo Gaeul dash off to the kitchen, I thought to myself that it was truly a shame, but I had to give up on this girl. I had some money saved from my military salary and part-time jobs like loading and unloading, but it wasn't enough. I cut off my lingering attachment. Just then, a quest window appeared.

No, they really just throw these out there. The wording was nice. How great would it be if I could recruit Yoo Gaeul without spending my own money? If it were possible, I'd want to do it too. The reward was good as well. Possibility Memory was a short-term future prediction that showed the most likely future among events that would occur in the near term. It couldn't show the distant future, but its high specificity made it extremely valuable. For me, who remembered all the major information through regression, it was a better reward than Future Fragment. Even I didn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠know what would happen in the immediate future.

But Cheon A-ram probably wouldn't pay. No sane president would invest 100 million won just to sign a single trainee. And Cheon A-ram was a sane president.

...Probably.