The Winner's Status Window

I woke from a nap on the bus and was taken straight to the dormitory auditorium. Dinner was waiting for us there—and when I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠looked closer, it was the same boxed lunch we'd gotten during the second audition. Sponsored meal, then.

"Han-hee hyung, here."

The moment Song A-seong spotted the stacked lunch boxes, he snagged one and held it out to me.

"Thanks."

A neatly packed box with grilled short rib patties. I took what I was given, and Han Min-hyeok beside us asked,

"A-seong, what about hyung?"

"Don't you have hands?"

"You used to trail after me going hyung-ah, hyung-ah, and now look how you treat me. Hyungnim is so hurt~."

"Shut up."

Even as he said it, he made sure Min-hyeok got a lunch too—spicy pork and chicken galbi, by the looks of it. I watched the cousins bicker in their usual affectionate way, then asked Song A-seong,

"A-seong-ssi, have you ever seen me before?"

There seemed to be plenty of options ready, and he'd picked my box without the slightest hesitation. It made me wonder if he already knew me.

"…! I'd, uh, prefer if you spoke casually with me. And, well…."

Even now, just as on the bus, Song A-seong was being conspicuously friendly for someone meeting a stranger for the first time.

I only started this game in January this year, so Song A-seong might have met the version of me from before that.

Judging by the remaining records, I doubted the old me had been particularly good at connecting with people—but you never knew. I was the one moving this body now, and everything about how I'd lived up to nineteen was pure guesswork. Maybe I could learn something about this body after all.

"You might not remember, but a long time ago…."

His eyes lit up at the word ago—and then a clear, measured voice cut in from behind us.

"Ah, found you. Hello."

I watched Song A-seong's mouth pout at having his words interrupted yet again—first on the bus, now here—before turning toward the voice.

It was somehow familiar. The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠long puffer coat from the first day.

"Huh? Wait, are you…."

"It's been a while, hasn't it? I had a feeling we'd run into each other again, and here we are. Did you make it home safely that night?"

An elegant, refined face filled my vision—handsome features with a polished air. A sky-blue sweatshirt marking him as a contestant, and three characters written on his sticker: Kwon Do-ha.

"Do-ha?"

Han Min-hyeok's eyes went round. Song A-seong looked puzzled by that reaction. He was only seventeen; he might not remember. The name had been famous about four years ago. Thanks to Min-hyeok, it finally clicked for me too.

"Who is that?"

"You don't remember the show we used to watch together when you were in elementary school? The national audition?"

"Elementary school? Oh—Great Journey?"

The winner of the national audition program Great Journey, famous for its slogan about crowning the greatest star in Korea regardless of age or gender: Do-ha. He'd taken the win at the young age of seventeen and become a sensation.

Including the years I'd returned from, he was nearly a decade in my past, so I hadn't placed him right away—but once the memory surfaced, I recognized him at once. I'd watched the show obsessively, after all.

Great Journey had been wildly popular back then. Not knowing it was practically grounds for being called a spy. Naturally, the fame Kwon Do-ha enjoyed while the program aired had been sky-high. Even at that age, he'd been known for vocal skill that could stand alongside established hit singers.

"Would it be all right if I joined you? I hope I'm not making things awkward."

"No, not at all."

Speaking in that fluid voice with a note of concern, Kwon Do-ha smiled brightly and sat down beside us as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I could feel the stares of the people who'd followed him pouring over us. Whether he noticed those sidelong glances or not, he opened his lunch box with complete composure.

I was wound tight. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined the person I'd helped that day was that Kwon Do-ha.

And now he was entering this program? As I remembered it, Kwon Do-ha had gone quiet for nearly a decade after winning Great Journey, with no real activity to speak of….

Did the existence of this program affect his return to the industry?

This world's Kwon Do-ha was walking a different path from the real one. Showing up on this show meant something. Was he planning a comeback as an idol?

"Is that really Kwon Do-ha?"

"Looks like it."

"Why is he even here? Someone like him could debut without a survival audition…."

"Shh, keep your voice down."

Whispers rose from every direction, and Han Min-hyeok spoke up as if to erase them.

"Speaking of which—would it be okay to ask how the two of you know each other? If that's all right?"

"Ah. He helped me out once before."

Kwon Do-ha nodded, and I started talking at a measured pace while demolishing my lunch, letting the conversation cover the noise around us.

"Come to think of it, I was so flustered I never introduced myself. Han Min-hyeok."

"Song A-seong."

"Nice to meet you. Han Min-hyeok-ssi, Song A-seong-ssi. Kwon Do-ha."

The way he offered a clean, polite handshake had a strangely businesslike quality. I'd thought he looked well-bred from the first time I saw him, and the more ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I watched, the more formal his manner seemed.

Is he really twenty-one?

The ease in the way he carried himself simply didn't look like twenty-one. He gave off an odd atmosphere you didn't see in ordinary people. As I studied him, still bothered by that lingering sense of déjà vu, I realized something.

His status window wasn't showing. And the moment I started wondering about that, our eyes met dead-on—and as if granting me permission to look, a status window appeared beside his smiling face.

"If you're curious about something, you're welcome to ask."

"…."

I had to manage my gaze carefully so I wouldn't stare into empty air, so I didn't catch every detail—but it was an extremely suspicious status window. Especially that last line: a U-grade trait.

U—Unique, Ultra, Unreal, whatever it was. A grade I'd never seen in the game, and this man had one too. I checked my own U-grade trait.

[I'm the Producer (U)].

If this U is connected to the game system…

After drawing that trait, I'd become able to see not only my own status window but other people's as well. It was fundamentally different from traits that simply boosted stats or stamina. A power that made this world even more like a game.

He might have some other ability of his own, the way I can see status windows.

I couldn't know exactly what it was, but I wasn't without hints.

"You're twenty-one, right?"

Seventeen at the win, four years since—under normal circumstances, twenty-one would be correct. But the age on Kwon Do-ha's status window was covered in question marks.

"You could say that."

I watched his meaningful expression carefully. The fact that he was so openly showing he had something to hide only sharpened my curiosity over suspicion.

"All right, everyone gather up! We start filming in five minutes!"

Before I knew it, the meal-and-rest period was over, and the call for contestants had everyone packing up their spots.

"You look like you have a lot of questions. Let's take it slow. We have plenty of time."

I nodded at the low, steady voice promising a next time. We'd be running into each other constantly during the dormitory stay anyway—no need to get impatient.

Still, I intended to keep him as close as I could and watch. I hadn't figured him out yet.

Keep your enemies closer.

I still couldn't say for certain whether he was enemy or ally, but being jerked around by information gaps was already more than enough from the system alone. I meant to dig as thoroughly as I could.

"Thank you for waiting, everyone! Welcome to the Idol Survival dorms! Starting now, we'll begin the entrance ceremony and athletic meet!"

And the moment the broadcast proper began, a notification window appeared. The system—which had been updating nonstop since the Guide Mission ended—had returned.

I couldn't suppress a bitter smile at a system that never forgot to threaten me. I'd thought the life-or-death stakes ended with the Guide Mission—and here they were again, bold as brass. One hundred days. A number that roughly lined up with the planned filming schedule for a fourteen-episode program.

So if I don't debut through this show, I die?

Once again I felt stranded somewhere between person and character. Whatever. How many Main Missions there were, what happened when I finished them all—it was all still a mystery, but for now I decided to keep moving forward.

That was the only option I had left.

"Congratulations to all of you who passed into Idol Survival! Unfortunately, we don't have time for leisurely introductions. Starting now, please form teams of five. You have exactly ten minutes."

"What?"

"Ten minutes?"

"Out of nowhere?"

Inside an auditorium packed with a hundred people. The filming had started so abruptly that no one had even formed proper lines, and for a moment everyone was simply stunned—then the MC's order to make teams of five sent people scattering in every direction.

"Shall the four of us stick together for now~?"

"Works for me."

"All right, then let's find one more."

Han Min-hyeok, Song A-seong, and Kwon Do-ha sorted things out in an instant and scanned the room. The team had come together as if it were obvious, and I had no complaints. Honestly, I didn't have the bandwidth to care. I was busy reviewing the newly unlocked systems.

Daily Missions, Achievements, Titles.

All three had existed in Idol Survival: The Beginning as well, but looking at them properly, there were differences. First, the Daily Mission.

Failing cut the Dance stat? A penalty that harsh for a mere Daily Mission made no sense.

In the game, of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠course, Daily Missions had never carried penalties. In a mobile game, daily tasks existed purely to help with growth.

And what's a Roulette Draw supposed to be?

I at least had no memory of a roulette in the Beginning version. It had to be a system newly introduced in Step-Up—and the design of slamming you with a brutal failure penalty while doling out the reward by chance was downright spiteful.

Compared to Beginning, Step-Up reeked of a money-hungry remake from top to bottom, and when I looked at the Achievements, it was a whole other level of absurd.

"Son of a—"

I barely swallowed the curse that nearly slipped out at the conditions. Ten million cumulative views? Ten million wasn't some stray dog's name—what kind of requirement was that?

Busking was street performance in the first place. Tying the achievement condition to video views was pure highway robbery. Even so, for all its shameless conditions, it was an achievement I wanted badly.

Step-Up titles carried far better effects than Beginning titles.

Even with the street-performance condition attached, all stats +1 was a broken title that effectively inflated total stats by three. Titles were the more the better. You could swap them depending on the situation.

I checked whether there were athletic meet titles, and sure enough, they existed.

Golden Badge, Silver Badge, Bronze Badge—plus Athletic Meet 1st Place Team, 2nd Place Team, 3rd Place Team. They carried stamina increases of 20%, 15%, and 10%, and athletic performance boosts of 50%, 25%, and 10%, respectively.

That's broken.

Stamina increases were obviously good, and an image of being good at sports would be useful in all kinds of ways later. The former looked like individual rewards, the latter team rewards—which meant that for the sake of the rewards alone, I needed to build the best team I possibly could.

I'm going for the Golden Badge and 1st Place Team.

Just getting the Golden Badge would let me practice twenty percent more. The title effects were serious enough to set my competitive fire blazing.