Attacking the Messenger

With that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠polished speech, Jang Seon-woo's live video ended. The view count and share numbers were enormous—clear proof of how much attention it had drawn.

We each went on scrolling through the posts flooding the boards. Lee Won-yeong. Bribing the judges. Fairness controversy. Vote manipulation. And the Lee Han-hee Gate.

It was obvious who the "certain person" Jang Seon-woo had been talking about the entire time was.

"Shouldn't we just sue them for all of this…?"

Han Min-hyeok muttered as he skimmed the board reactions. Whether because yesterday's live stream had drawn the aggro, posts were pouring in at a frantic pace, every one of them packed with inflammatory language.

"…"

Looking down at his phone, Han Sang-jin finally let out a sigh as if his head hurt. The situation was pretty hopeless.

"It's hard to know exactly what we even need to clarify."

Sorry for taking so much screen time? Sorry for receiving special treatment? But what special treatment, exactly? As Han Min-hyeok listed things off at random in answer to Han Sang-jin's question, he shook his head hard.

"The only evidence is that video from the very beginning. Everything else is just claims."

I was uncomfortable. That was the atmosphere. The other contestants must have felt the same.

All of it was just appeals to feelings and situations from back then—retroactive justifications. Fatigue lingered on Han Min-hyeok's face as he said so. Han Sang-jin looked no better.

"The evidence is definitely thin, but the problem is that there are people who want to believe it."

The boards were packed with people who just wanted to trash someone regardless of what the truth was. All the kindling stacked up until now had become a trail drawing every troll within range.

Once things got this tangled, whenever people showed even a hint of calming down, the shit-stirrers kept tossing more wood on the fire, and without any proper control the board ran wild. When people got tired of it and grew irritated, more abuse poured out.

If this was what Jang Seon-woo intended, the timing of the controversy was uncannily perfect. He'd successfully detonated all the stacked kindling and ballooned the whole thing in an instant.

"Jang Seon-woo is smarter than I thought."

Rather than direct evidence, Jang Seon-woo had brought circumstances. The moment the words "judging by the circumstances" got stuck onto the front of a post, every kind of wild imagination unfurled, and it became the reason every speculative theory could pour out unchecked.

"He just stuck whatever meat he wanted onto the bones and manufactured a context, and somehow it's become this much of a hot topic and controversy. I don't understand how the world ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠works."

Why do people jump on other people's business like this? Han Min-hyeok muttered, and Han Sang-jin answered.

"Because it's someone else's business."

There are plenty of people in the world who enjoy watching others fall, Han Sang-jin said, then got up from his seat.

Before we knew it, dawn had passed and morning arrived.

Sunday morning. After dressing my wound and coming downstairs, the cafeteria was noisier than usual—word had clearly spread.

The three of us moved quietly. We filled our plates roughly and sat down, and right behind us a discussion was going on. The topic was exactly what I'd expected.

"There's some of it I can kind of relate to."

An unfamiliar voice continued quickly.

"Screen time is decided by the production staff anyway, and they check the votes too. If the higher-ups have a contestant they want, they can push them as much as they want, right? Most survival shows are like that. They pick a winner and push them with screen time and narrative."

Someone speaking in an academic tone, saying it was just structural inevitability—that this was simply an extension of how survival shows work.

"That's different from a fixed outcome. This is about whether other people got a chance or not. If it was decided from the start, then we were basically just cast as extras from the beginning."

Someone saying it wasn't just normal survival-show physiology—it'd gone one step further.

"Even if it's rigged, if you have zero skill it shows, and if you have skill it won't. When someone good does well, how are people like us supposed to distinguish and prove anything?"

"We're extras either way. Just… like always, you just accept it."

Someone saying there was no point in them judging among themselves. Disillusionment was buried in the self-deprecating voice.

"But if you think about it common-sense-wise, if you've got the skill, why would you ask to be pushed? You'd do fine anyway."

"Then the reverse—if he'd do fine even without this program, why would he cling to it so desperately?"

Lee Han-hee would do fine even without this program. Other places would be trying to recruit him.

At the sudden mention of my name, Han Min-hyeok, chewing bread in front of me, furrowed his brow hard. Looking at him like this, he really did resemble Song A-seong.

"But Jang Seon-woo isn't exactly a trustworthy guy, is he?"

"Hyung, do you know that hyung?"

I focused on the name I heard from behind my head. Was there some kind of lead?

"Well, he had a tendency to think however suited him. And he has a loose mouth."

He couldn't put his phone down, someone said. He'd often duck into a corner during practice to mess with his smartphone, and someone else agreed.

"That hyung said if he ever quit being an idol, he'd do streaming."

"Playing to his specialty, huh."

With how many followers he'd gathered this time, maybe he'd open a channel soon, someone said. Beside me I heard a grinding sound. Looking over, Han Sang-jin was eating expressionlessly.

The vicious sound must have carried, because someone glanced back and met my eyes. They startled hard and flinched their shoulders. Leaving them behind, I looked forward again and bit into my sandwich. Dryness filled my mouth.

"There you are."

From the cafeteria entrance, Kwon Do-ha met my gaze and strode over. His expression was remarkably mild, as if he had neither the time nor the interest to pour into this whole series of events.

The practice room he'd come to because the main vocals had something to practice. Kwon Do-ha perched on the table and opened his mouth.

"Attacking the messenger is a classic tactic."

And precisely because it's classic, its effectiveness has been proven, Kwon Do-ha said, his face cold. Not just his face—his voice too.

"You seem familiar with it."

"Jang Seon-woo's personality is the type that likes to blow things up, so…"

His faintly smiling face looked thoroughly like a shadowy mastermind.

Helping included removing minor obstacles like this, he said. Kwon Do-ha looked perfectly calm, as if it were nothing major.

"I know the method, so Lee Han-hee, it would be better if you don't waste energy unnecessarily and focus on recovering."

About four days since I got hurt? The place that had been healing well got stepped on and bled again, but I was recovering reasonably. Leaving a wound that would heal on its own alone seemed less important than resolving the controversy, though.

I wasn't entirely without concerns either.

"Since we can't deny the message, won't it give the impression that we're attacking the messenger?"

Because attacking the messenger is such an ancient, classic tactic, people also know when it's used. If they reverse-engineer it and think it's because we can't deny the message…

To that doubt, Kwon Do-ha answered lightly.

"Explaining the message is the production staff's job."

Can we trust that? Reading my ambiguous expression, Kwon Do-ha continued calmly. His slightly lowered eyes looked as if he were lost in thought.

"We can't wipe everything clean one by one, and we don't need to."

There are roles people are assigned, and trying to snatch all of them and solve everything yourself is greed. Use what you can use appropriately, he said, and it carried the weight of experience. He almost seemed like someone slotting gears into place.

"Come to think of it, I think it said CEO."

When I first opened Kwon Do-ha's status window, I was sure I'd seen CEO in the title slot. Until now there had been so many other suspicious things about him that I'd put off asking, but maybe it was okay now?

"What kind of CEO do you mean?"

"Usually IT companies. App development and the like."

His voice was light as he said it without holding anything back.

"Usually?"

"As long as it can grow capital, I don't particularly care about the industry."

Somehow he was a negotiation genius, and among his traits there was something like businessman—so the observant attitude that had seemed so familiar was because he was an actual company president?

"Anyway, I don't step to the front and do anything myself, so you can just know that much."

He shrugged, saying that since he didn't actually have a role in how the company ran, he was just a figurehead CEO.

"Unbelievable."

"…"

"Did I say that out loud?"

I avoided Kwon Do-ha's narrowed gaze. But it was true he was unbelievable. A twenty-one-year-old company president with top-tier singing ability. His specs weren't just excessive—they were annoying.

Seeing the worn-out look in my eyes, Kwon Do-ha's lightly speaking voice gained an edge.

"There's no need to attach great meaning to money. No matter how much you pile up, if you go back it all disappears."

Looking at him again, he seemed like someone who only built things as needed—no sense of achievement, just a face that looked annoyed. For this person, was founding a company and securing funds just a repeating tutorial?

The weariness I felt anew made me a little solemn.

"Don't regret later that you should have saved up more."

The moment he heard it he seemed to understand the intent, and the little smirk that rose was unfamiliar. Between Han Sang-jin and Kwon Do-ha, people were showing faces I hadn't seen before today.

"I'll have to actively recruit talent."

"I thought you said you were a figurehead CEO."

"A figurehead CEO can still plant people."

As we traded jokes, a sudden question came to me.

"But if you knew about Jang Seon-woo, couldn't you have stopped things before they got this big?"

I asked Kwon Do-ha without particularly trying to hide anything, and he clicked his tongue.

"If something is going to blow up eventually, it's better for it to blow up when we can attack the messenger."

Better this way than for rigging suspicions to explode long after the program ends, he added, looking thoroughly sick of it.

When something draws attention like this and creates a clumsy controversy, it's actually something to be grateful for.

If it has to blow up once so it doesn't blow up again later over the same thing, then is this a vaccine? Double jeopardy?

His attitude that a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠controversy of this level was nothing much calmed my own heart as well. Thanks to that, we talked a few more minutes before I gradually put on some music. Whatever the outside situation, a contestant's duty was practice. I carefully followed along.

While singing, I brushed over the wound covered with a waterproof bandage and tilted my head. The sensation was alive.

The people whose names were still up on my Producer-exclusive quests were only Han Min-hyeok and Song A-seong, registered back in round three. Was it because I'd minimized intervention? After a long time, I could feel pain.

It had taken about five days for the sense that had disappeared to return.

"Pain plays a more important role than I thought."

"Right. People only come to their senses when they hurt."

I sat in a chair, gently rubbing the wound area that had tensed up from the throbbing sensation. Because it hurt, I became careful.

"As you can feel, hold off on learning choreography until that pain goes away."

"The midterm evaluation isn't far off…"

"You have plenty of Passes anyway."

The Passes said to be given to the top five in yesterday's live broadcast. One of those was mine, wasn't it? I nodded. Probably so.

"The only merit from the midterm evaluation is the Passes, and it's better to rest well and practice properly later than to push yourself just to get those."

I'd heard that at the midterm evaluation, the top three outstanding members of each team would receive Passes. Because of that, Alpha, Beta, Gamma—upper ranks and lower ranks alike—were all lighting their eyes and going hard for the midterm evaluation, but…

Well, he's not wrong.

Even if I got more Passes here, it wouldn't mean much. Kwon Do-ha shot me a glance.

"I'll say it again—we can't wipe everything clean one by one, and we don't need to."

It was a statement loaded with multiple meanings. Solving everything yourself would indeed be arrogance.

I nodded heavily.