Step or Be Stepped On (1)

It felt like someone had me by the hair and was dragging me along. That was how mindlessly the days were tearing past.

On the outside, the official poster shoot for Next K-Star, the teaser filming, and the profile videos were all happening at once. Everything Lemon Girls had already shot was being scrapped and swapped over to Neptune, and the schedule was so brutal that we and the production crew alike were half dead.

Inside the company it was meeting after meeting after meeting. From the PR team, who'd already had a look ahead, to Neptune's vocal trainers, choreographers, and stylists, I felt as if I'd spent days shut in rooms with half the staff. I gave up on learning anyone's name.

At lunch and again at dinner I trailed Kim Hyunjo to his outside meetings. The moment Neptune's spot on Next K-Star was locked and recording prep began, other places started nibbling, little by little. Lunch with some cable PD, dinner with a staffer from an event agency, drinks with reporters.

I was beginning to understand why managers nod off at the wheel and wreck their cars. This was not a schedule a human body could digest. I hadn't made it home yesterday either. A few days into the job ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and I was turning into the resident ghost of W&U. A movie I'd been counting down to had opened, and I didn't even have time to go see it.

How was that fair?

And yet they said this was still the easy part. Once the kids' schedules multiplied and we were crisscrossing event halls across the country and flying overseas, I'd look back and realize this had been the sweet life. That was Kim Hyunjo's version of comfort.

A man even a ghost wouldn't bother hauling off. And he called that reassurance.

If you're going to work me like this, at least pay hazard pay! I might actually die!

"Huk!"

I got so worked up I nearly swallowed my mouthwash. Had I already picked up some kind of anger disorder?

I spat into the sink and rinsed my mouth. I was dead tired. The face in the mirror had shrunk to half its size in a matter of days. I didn't care who did it—I wished someone would just hit me, so I could check into a hospital and sleep.

I was leaning on the sink, catching my breath, when voices drifted in from the bathroom entrance.

"How far are you planning to follow me? You coming into the bathroom too?"

"Hyung—ah, hyung!"

Two men walked in. One ordinary-looking, and the other—Sung Do-won, somehow still glowing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠under bathroom lights. The man who flinched at the sight of me turned back to him.

"Just look at the synopsis, hyung."

"Aigoo. Stop hounding me."

"I read it first, and the synopsis is seriously tight. Word's already out and people everywhere are circling it. If you pass, somebody's going to snatch it. The director says the second you okay it, he'll stamp seventy million won an episode."

"Even so, I'm done with dramas. They're hard on the body, and just when things are going well, something always goes sideways."

"They say this one's a hundred percent pre-produced. That's why they're bringing it to you. There's a location shoot in Switzerland, too. You said you wanted to travel there, hyung."

"Aigoo... Fine. Fine, so hand it over. I'll take a look."

I was jealous. That manager was the most enviable man alive.

"Hello."

Sung Do-won looked straight at me and greeted me. My hand clenched around the toothbrush.

"Yes, hello."

"You look tired. Take care of yourself."

"Ah... thank you."

A face like that, and a decent personality on top of it. He had everything. He had all of it.

I was still admiring him when his manager shot me a sour look. In the end I left the bathroom as if I'd been run out.

I'd wanted to look a little longer. No—maybe this was better. Stay any longer and I might have grabbed Sung Do-won and asked when he was planning to request me as his manager.

He'd said it himself. I wish you'd be my manager, Sunwoo-ssi.

Would I be stepping in for that manager, then, or coming in under him? I didn't care which. I just wanted that day to hurry up. It would come, wouldn't it? The vision had been clear enough: some major crisis that could wreck Sung Do-won's acting career, and me stepping in to help.

Sorry as it was to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠say about him, if it was a crisis he had to get through anyway, I wished it would arrive sooner. I'd throw my whole body into saving him. Please.

I'd thought seeing the future was a truly cheating ability—the answer key to life laid out in plain sight. Knowing only the answer, with none of the working, was maddening in its own way. Still, if I could just be sure I'd become Sung Do-won's manager before long, I could treat the present ordeal as a passing storm and endure it.

Back in the office, the traitor was already packed and laughing with the other staff.

"Oh, you're back?"

Don't smile, you bastard. My body was tired enough; every time I looked at him, my mind took damage too.

"We leave in five. First recording, so they want us there early to greet the crew."

"Where's the Chief?"

"Said he had a call. Went down ahead of us."

On the way to the elevator I glanced at the whiteboard on the wall—the schedule board that tracked every artist under W&U. Under today's date, someone had written:

Even so, writing that line had felt incredibly good.

We met Kim Hyunjo in the basement and took the van to Neptune's dorm. I drove. The job put me behind the wheel several times a day, and I couldn't leave all of it to the traitor, so I'd scraped together the nerve. Once my hands were actually on the wheel, it was manageable.

"Hello!"

"Yeah. Everybody dream something good last night?"

"We practiced all night!"

It was morning, and the Neptune members were still overflowing. They were trying to settle down, but the thrill of a first recording showed straight through, and it was cute. We'd been every bit as busy, and yet while I'd ended up looking like this, their faces had only gotten better. They were swallowing the schedule as it came, and the moment they heard the first mission was a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠song, they'd piled brutal vocal training on top of it. What was the secret? The power of being managed?

At the salon they were remade in broadcast makeup and hair, and we set off again for the studio. I drove and listened to the back seat, where Kim Hyunjo had the kids pinned and was drilling warnings into them.

"When they pull you for interviews, think before you answer. You don't have to rush. Take your time and pick your words. You've all watched the shows PD Go Joon-tae directed, right?"

"Obviously."

"They don't call it Devil's Editing for nothing. When PDs cut, they don't care what you meant, not even your intent. They only care about the text. Some of them ignore context completely and just hack lines apart and paste them together."

"We know. We made our own question sheets and kept drilling."

"Good. I'm not worried about Taehee, but Seoyoung and LJ slip when they get flustered, so watch yourselves, and don't get heated. And... Songha's the one I'm most worried about."

Kim Hyunjo shook his head. In the rearview mirror Lee Songha was only blinking, not buying it. I'd been around them a few days and even I could see what he was afraid of.

"Why me?"

"You don't show much feeling, and you're blunt, so you're easy to misread. Even just now—you're asking because you're curious, but drop that in at the wrong moment and it sounds bad."

"...Me?"

"What's the point of telling you. Your face does all the work, so keep your mouth shut and stick next to your unnies. I'll watch too, but the rest of you need to pay attention. In group interviews, cover for Songha so her turn never comes."

"Okay. Don't worry so much, oppa."

"Sunwoo, Geon-young. You two keep a close eye on them."

"Yes."

I wasn't the type who followed variety shows closely, so the research had startled me. The Devil's Editing people talked about in broadcasting these days had grown vastly nastier than anything I'd known. Provocative cuts and media spin, controversy inflated on purpose. It looked as if they'd decided to turn one cast member into a punching bag for the sake of buzz. Plenty of people had given tearful interviews insisting they were victims of it, and some celebrities had gone after PDs outright on social media.

That could not happen to Neptune.

The part about them getting torn apart online—had blocking the provocative articles been enough to get them past it, or was there something else waiting? I wished I could look ahead and pull even a hint, but my precognition was dead silent. It wasn't even playing hard to get. It was driving me up the wall.

Before long we reached the Next K-Star studio. In a space as wide as a concert hall, the crew bustled, setting up and checking cameras, lights, and audio gear. They'd called us early for the pre-interview, so the other idol teams weren't in yet.

We made the rounds greeting the staff and were led straight into the interview room. Two cameras and a lighting rig were already up, with a few shooters, PD Go Joon-tae, and one writer waiting. While the members had mics clipped to their clothes, we talked with the PD and the writer—or rather, Kim Hyunjo talked, and the rest of us stood beside him.

"PD, please go easy on them."

"Why does everyone say go easy the second I mention an interview? Stack my show against the other PDs' and it isn't even that provocative. It's a documentary. A documentary."

Sure it was.

That PD Go Joon-tae was talking nonsense proved itself at once. He settled them with harmless questions—how did it feel to be on K-Star, were they confident they'd score high, had they practiced a lot, which of the other seven teams did they see as a rival—and then abruptly held out a sheet of paper.

"How Neptune thinks the eight teams will finish. Team names in order, first to last, and the reasons."

"Whoa... we have to write the reasons too?"

"Keep it simple. It's anonymous, so don't worry. Just write."

"Is it actually anonymous? You're not going to announce it like 'Nep-something Team, something-tune Team,' right?"

"Hahaha. Your secret's safe. We'll read the content and leave the names off. For reference, of the seven teams ahead of you, five of them put Neptune in last place."

Lim Seoyoung, who'd been loosening the room with aegyo, went stiff. Taehee nudged her arm and she recovered at once, but the camera had surely caught it anyway.

"I'll read you a few."

"That's what they wrote. What do you think?"

I'd been braced for the kids to rattle. Fortunately their nerves held.

This time it wasn't Lim Seoyoung who answered. Leader Lee Taehee opened her mouth in a level voice.

"If the other teams see us that way, I don't think many viewers will be expecting much from us either. That's actually good. A story is more fun when there's a twist. The harder we work, the bigger the impact we can leave, so I think we've been handed an opportunity the other teams don't have."

She didn't talk much, so I hadn't known she was this good. She came off confident and easy without trying, and she looked trustworthy on camera. The generous type. I understood why Kim Hyunjo had said he wasn't worried about Lee Taehee.

Anonymous or not, the lines were harsher than I'd expected. Idols had images to protect, so I'd assumed their remarks would be softer than the people on ordinary audition shows or rapper survival programs. If this was the temperature already, the road ahead would not be gentle.

I glanced sideways. Kim Hyunjo's face wasn't good either.

"Jung Sunwoo."

"Yes?"

"Go to the bathroom for a minute."

What kind of bolt from nowhere was that?

"You want me to go to the bathroom?"

"Every time you go, something good happens. Twice already. Just in case, go before we start recording."

"...Are you serious?"

"We'll grasp at straws."

I was half shoved out of the interview room. Fine, he'd told me to go, so I was going—but honestly, I could not believe this.

I loitered at the bathroom entrance, pretending to be lost in thought, circling two or three times. Nothing happened. The precognition stayed quiet too.

Screw it.

Since I'd come all the way here, I took care of business, washed my hands, and headed back toward the interview room.

"Hey."

At first I didn't even realize it was meant for me. I stopped at the next words.

"Hey. Neptune manager!"

I turned. The big man from before—the Lemon Girls manager—was swaggering toward me. He'd been quiet for a few days and I'd forgotten him, but here he was.

"Came to see the face of the nobody girl group W&U shoved in, and the road manager turns out to be some guy who looks familiar, so I had to think a while. You're that bastard from back then, right?"

Coming all the way here just to pick a fight. Did this man have time to spare?

"You're the bastard who was staring outside the bathroom that day. Did you throw yourself at PD Go Joon-tae's feet and shove your kids in as the replacements? The article went up the very next day. Bet that night was real busy, huh? What kind of bastard has no professional ethics at all? Is that what they taught you at W&U?"

It had been a while since anyone picked a fight this openly, and it startled me. I looked around. Just him and me.

I wasn't confident in a fight. That didn't mean I was going to stand there and offer my cheek after being cursed out one-sided.

"I don't think that's something I should be getting cursed out for."

"What'd you say, you little shit?"

The Lemon Girls manager shoved my chest, once, twice.

"What did you just say? Say it again."

"I didn't bribe PD Go Joon-tae and lobby to put Neptune in instead of Lemon Girls. There was an opening and I took it. Thinking it over again, I still don't think it's something I should be cursed out for."

"What'd you say, you little shit?"

You told me to say it again, so I said it again, you bastard.

"Why are you taking it out on the wrong person?"

"Fuck. I was already pissed, and you're pissing me off worse. You want to get hit? Huh? You dying to get hit?"

The threat made him look even bigger. Thick forearms, a fist like a rock. If that landed, it would hurt like hell. Maybe... maybe I'd even end up in a hospital.

"Then hit me."

"What?"

"Hit me. I'll check in and give a reporter an interview."

I ought to call Reporter Park Woo-jung.

"What kind of crazy bastard is this?!"