Backstage (3)

Backstage had now aired three episodes, and the drama was deep into Seo Geonwoo's tailor-made rehabilitation program for the group.

"Starting today, this is your shared schedule."

The Icarus members turned pale at the jam-packed schedule sheet. They muttered a faint protest—how were they supposed to survive this?—only to be silenced by Seo Geonwoo's reply that he himself had lived like this ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for twenty straight years.

"You're wondering about the individual slots in between, right? First up—you. Lee Taein."

"······Yes?"

"You'll be taking acting lessons during this time."

"Excuse me?"

The real Lee Taein—the idol notorious for giving zero fan service as Icarus's cold-hearted member—was, in reality, a rookie idol whose love for his fans ran impossibly deep. Fans had actually adored him for the gap between his on-screen persona and his real-life self.

"If you can't do fan service, then learn to act it until it sticks. Next, Lim Doyun."

"······Yessir."

"I've enrolled you in a speech academy. Attend it faithfully. If you skip out, it gets reported straight to me."

"Wait—what? A speech academy? Isn't that the kind of thing little kids go to?"

"Plenty of adults attend them, actually. Besides, did you forget that your vocabulary is at a child's level?"

Seo Geonwoo had seen straight through Lim Doyun. The reason Doyun kept making verbal gaffes and laced his speech with an excessive amount of profanity was precisely that he couldn't organize his thoughts into coherent sentences.

"Same for you, Kim Yunjae. You'll be reinforcing your lacking dance skills. Live in the practice room from now on."

"······Ah, why, though?"

"Ah, why? Why? You think you're in any position to ask that? If you get photographed at another hunting bar, you're dead. You want to test whether I'm joking?"

Seo Geonwoo had deliberately split Lim Doyun and Kim Yunjae apart. Where there's one guy in a group obsessed with women, there's always a partner in crime—and Kim Yunjae had been sweet-talking Lim Doyun into joining his late-night escapades. The two needed to be separated.

These two, contributing nothing to the group and drawing no attention to themselves while only manufacturing one scandal after another, were by far the dead weight dragging everyone down.

"Cha Noah. I pulled you from your existing acting lessons. Start over with vocal training."

"······Tch."

"Remember this. Your contracts aren't up yet, and I'm the one holding them. Your old CEO was exactly the type to run a company into the ground—and it turns out he drafted your contracts meticulously tight when it came to anyone he thought he could push around."

And the idiot who signed that stupid contract is my own little brother.

The moment Seo Geonwoo's eyes met Seo Jihu's, a sigh escaped him. Seo Jihu's shoulders flinched.

"And now, everyone—hand over your phones."

"Why would you need those?"

"To enter my number. If I just tell you, you won't even bother saving it properly."

The Icarus members handed over their phones with sour expressions. Enter his number? Obviously a trap.

"These are confiscated."

"······WHAT?!"

Seo Geonwoo gestured to Secretary Yu, who began distributing flip phones of the kind high schoolers used to carry. The members, receiving them in a daze, protested. No way—confiscating a modern person's smartphone? Was this even legal?!

"From what I hear, other idol groups only get their phones back after winning first place on a music show. You lot have never even managed a single #1—why on earth are you walking around with these?"

"Well, that's······."

Seo Geonwoo looked at Lim Doyun and Kim Yunjae. Fine, to be generous about it—they were young men in their prime, at the age where girls would naturally catch their interest. As long as they didn't cause actual trouble, that is.

Then his gaze shifted to Lee Taein, Cha Noah, and Seo Jihu. Fine, once they'd actually debuted, it could turn out the job simply didn't suit them, and fan service didn't come naturally. Wanting to escape a group with no future as quickly as possible—well, that was shrewd thinking. Trying their hardest at one scheme after another······ yes. Fine, let's call it that.

But setting all that aside, their single biggest problem was······.

"So we're just supposed to carry these until our contracts end?"

"No? You win first place."

"What?"

Their problem was that rotten, hope-drained excuse for a mindset.

"What, you think you can't do it?"

But these weren't kids who would change just because they were told to. Seo Geonwoo found himself prowling the late-night streets to rein in the scattering members of Icarus.

"Found you······."

"Gah—!"

"I told you not to pull any stunts."

He had, in the end, caught Kim Yunjae and Lim Doyun out drinking.

And Cha Noah—who had slipped out mid-practice to take a meeting with a well-funded agency—received a phone call from Seo Geonwoo.

"Hello?"

(Your contact reached out to me first, so get your butt back to the dorm. Now.)

"Excuse me?"

(Did you think I wouldn't find out? We'll ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reschedule your little meeting after promotions end.)

Chills ran down Cha Noah's spine at that voice, and he had to pull the phone far away from his ear.

The Icarus members, who had mistaken being left to rot for freedom, were hardly about to sprout warm feelings for Seo Geonwoo as he tightened the screws around them.

'He seriously goes this far?'

'Ugh, such a hassle······.'

'What's any of this supposed to change?'

'I just want to go home and sleep.'

And Seo Jihu's grievances piled up in an entirely different sense.

'He was already good at everything anyway. Better to just leave him alone.'

'Then why won't he say anything to me?'

Seo Geonwoo had largely left his naturally talented younger brother untouched—but to Seo Jihu, it looked exactly like his brother simply didn't care about him at all.

And so the misunderstanding between the two brothers only deepened.

Thus Seo Geonwoo fought tooth and nail to drag Icarus back from the brink.

"Idols are ninety percent carried by their company, you know."

"Is that so?"

"Yes sir. Honestly, everything Icarus did before······ you could tell no money was spent on it. The kids were actually pretty talented, at least up through their debut?"

Taking the advice of Secretary Yu—self-proclaimed idol expert—he set a dozen backroom schemes in motion.

"Sir, I heard the music show has been rough on you lately······."

"Sorry? How did you······."

"If I take care of it for you, you'll put my boys on the show, right?"

He dug up a music show producer's weakness and reeled him in. He paid a famous composer above market rate for a song. He even laid a trap with a rival agency to delay the comeback of a front-runner for #1 so it wouldn't collide with Icarus's return.

And that wasn't all.

"I've found the employee who handles Chairman Seo's money laundering."

"Director, something about that side is off."

He had to dig up evidence of his father's tax evasion and embezzlement of company funds, plot the man's total collapse, and court the shareholders one by one to push through his dismissal. And then······.

"Boss! I really think our boys are about to make it big this time!"

Han Song-i, Icarus's manager, cheering them on like a ray of sunshine while clinging to a hope the group itself didn't possess—why did this woman keep grating on his nerves?

'Exhausting······.'

With nowhere else to rest, Seo Geonwoo was sprawled across the floor of Icarus's shabby old practice room when he cracked one eye open at the sound of someone entering.

Seo Jihu had clearly known his brother was here already, because he simply set a water bottle down beside him.

"······Drink."

"Right."

Seo Geonwoo took a sip of water and gave Seo Jihu a sideways glance. With friends that screwed up, no one could come away unaffected.

And yet Seo Jihu remained unchanged. He had faithfully seen the group's work through to the very end. The public had taken to calling him the "poverty-stench leader" and "a talent wasted on a sinking group."

'That's not why I sent you away—to suffer like this.'

Seo Jihu was the child of his father's mistress, born the same year as the legitimate son, and had grown up starved of love from the moment he entered the world—which was exactly why Seo Geonwoo had made sure money, at least, was never something he lacked.

He knew full well their mother hadn't squandered it, but this wasn't what he'd sent the money for.

What he couldn't stand was the sight of the boy toiling alone, dragging along members who gave him nothing back. Was this what you debuted for—to suffer like this? What were you even doing it for?

"Hey, you."

"Uh—yes?"

"Why on earth did you become an idol?"

The irritation lacing the question hit Seo Jihu like a blow. It hit Lee Junseo—the actor playing him—just as hard. Because that reproachful gaze looked hauntingly like the look Yoon Jay had flashed him on set, the one that had swept past him that day.

"Do you even know how I feel, hyung? Do you think I wanted this? Why is it only me you never pay attention to? If you hate me, then just say you hate me—or if you're going to be nice to me, why only halfway?"

"I really love this—who gave it to you?"

"Jay left it behind for you, actually."

"He did? Why?"

Lee Junseo remembered Yoon Jay, who had pointedly ignored him while quietly looking after him all the same. Then he remembered Seo Geonwoo, whipping the members into shape one moment and telling them the next: you're still this group's hope.

At that cry, tangled with so many complicated emotions, the director leaned forward off his chair, and the staff—who'd been counting the minutes until wrap—turned to stare at the actors.

Out of that callous, world-famous Yoon Jay came the sight of Seo Jihu straining with all his might toward a brother who'd only ever seemed willing to see the worst in him.

"I wanted to be loved too!"

Seo Jihu shouted, tears brimming in his eyes. Before him stood Seo Geonwoo, too busy managing the other members to give him a second glance—and Yoon Jay, who had patiently taught everyone else their craft. It stung. Why only me? I'm just as serious about acting as any of them.

"Dad treated me like I didn't exist and treasured only the child of the woman he cheated with! Mom fell into depression, and I couldn't say a word because I was terrified something would happen to her!"

A brief flashback flickered past.

These days she had recovered fully for her son's sake, but back then, their mother had been so swallowed by depression that she'd barely had room in her mind for Seo Jihu at all.

"This is Dad's company."

"Whoa!"

"It'll all be yours someday."

He had gone to his father's building on pure impulse—only to watch his father fawn affectionately over that boy, the same age as himself. Shriveled small by the sight, Seo Jihu had trudged home, desperately, achingly starved for warmth. And on the way, he had seen them: the fans waiting outside a venue for an idol concert.

"And while I was going through all that, you—! You weren't there either!"

"······."

"I just wanted to breathe for once! I needed someone—anyone—to like me!"

So he had dreamed of being an idol. It didn't matter if he never got famous. Even if it was only a handful of fans who could be counted on ten fingers—they liked him. That was all Seo Jihu had ever needed. He was a man starved of love down to the bone.

Seo Geonwoo stared, stunned, at the sight of Seo Jihu screaming his heart out, stamping his feet in desperation. Then he squeezed his eyes shut.

"······I'm sorry."

"For what!"

"For walking out and leaving you behind."

And for deliberately avoiding you, too. Yoon Jay let the thought slip through beneath the surface. Did it reach him? Tears came pouring down Seo Jihu's face.

"And what else?!"

Knowing full well he was being unreasonable, Seo Jihu kept pushing.

"······It wasn't that I was ignoring you. You were so good already that I was afraid if I stepped in, I'd only make things worse······."

"Again!"

Seo Jihu, who had been forced to grow up far too fast, was finally, at long last, letting out a child's petulant whine.

"Leaving you like that—I regretted it so ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠much. I never once came looking for you······."

"······."

"I'm sorry."

His voice wavered with apology. At the sight of such unmistakable sincerity, Seo Jihu wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

Seo Jihu—affection-starved and aching for warmth—was the kind of person whose heart melted at the first real apology. He felt embarrassed for having snapped, and just as embarrassed for forgiving so easily. Every bit of it showed on his face.

"Okay, cut!"

"Wooow!"

"Well, that's a first—no need for another take."

At the director's shout, some of the staff even broke into applause.

"Wow, Junseo. You were absolutely incredible."

"Your acting's improved so much, seriously."

The other actors playing Icarus's members came over, clapping him on the shoulder in congratulations. Only Lee Junseo stood there, bewildered.

'Wh-what?'

What had I done? Lee Junseo, experiencing total immersion for the first time in his life, was completely lost. And then Yoon Jay walked up to him—patting him on the shoulder, no less.

"You did really well."

"Sir?"

"I'm sorry for how I've been."

"Wait—WHAT?!"

Don't tell me everything he did to me until now······ it was all planned?!

"S-so then······ even the script reading, that was······."

"I'm truly sorry. It won't happen again."

"No, wait······!"

With Yoon Jay apologizing so profusely, it felt strange to push back. Lee Junseo whipped his head around toward Yoon Dojun.

"Yoon Dojun! You knew about this too, didn't you?!"

"I—I knew nothing, I swearrrr."

"Hey!"

As Yoon Jay bowed deep at the waist in apology and Lee Junseo fumed, the staff—who until now had quietly assumed Yoon Jay was hazing the rookie—finally understood: Yoon Jay had been cold to him on purpose, all along. All for this one unforgettable scene.

"Junseo. Don't be too angry—come on, let's take a look at that take together."

"Director······!"

"I told him to do it. Me."

"R-really?"

The director steered Lee Junseo toward the monitor, winking at Yoon Jay as he went.

Lee Junseo's performance just now had moved even the most jaded people on set. Of course, the director probably also intended to take some credit for having drawn it out of him.

'Everyone had written off idol dramas as beneath them, haven't they. Just like Icarus itself.'

It didn't matter. He'd gotten exactly the reaction he wanted. Yoon Jay swept his gaze across the flushed faces of the staff.

"T-take a good look."

Lee Junseo, sniffing hard, fixed his eyes on the monitor.

'Th-that's······ me? That's my acting?'

That wasn't Lee Junseo reading lines off a script and playing at being Seo Jihu. That was a human being, thrashing and struggling because he wanted to be loved. It was more vivid than anything he'd done before—a person who felt utterly, undeniably real.

"I—I did that?"

"Who else would have?"

"I······."

Lee Junseo stared blankly at the director, then at the rest of the staff. Then his eyes came to a stop on Yoon Jay.

Yoon Jay—the senior who had always kept him at arm's length—was smiling as he watched him.

The director ordered him to? No way. Lee Junseo was quick to read a room. The director had looked listless about Backstage from the very first pre-production meeting.

'That hyung set up every bit of it, didn't he.'

Would a scene like this even exist without him? But still······ Lee Junseo's chest tightened all over again. You could have warned me first. No—wait, if he'd warned me, it never would have come out like that. But STILL!

"This scene is going to light up the start of your career as an actor."

"He's right. The offers are going to come flooding in."

"Yeah, hyung. Just think of it as a hidden-camera prank. We've done this plenty of times before, remember?"

The director, the assistant director, and Yoon Dojun all scrambled to smooth things over—but Lee Junseo's feelings came surging up all over again.

"Hyung! Was ALL of it really acting?!"

"It was. Surprised you, huh? I really am sorry."

"Ha······ honestly······."

He bent forward at the waist, shoulders shaking.

'Was that too much?'

What do I do now? Yoon Jay reached out and patted his shoulder—and the sound of Lee Junseo's breathing turned distinctly ominous.

"You absolute······!"

"Oh no."

Yoon ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Jay spent a long, long while frantically consoling Lee Junseo, who had burst into a flood of tears.