Debut or Die!

Chapter 2

“Idol Inc.”

That was the name of the survival audition show that had gone viral around this time. This particular audition show recruited hundreds of idol trainees and then went on to disqualify them using a voting system. It became so popular that a great number of TV shows ended up copying its general format.

“Idol Inc.” was just one of many audition shows produced at this time, but the reason why this one in particular was such a huge hit was that it was much more brutally capitalist in its approach. Nowhere was this more obvious than if you examined the promotional slogan used in the first season.

“Invest in your idol’s future!”

This meant that your vote carried more weight depending on how much money you spent on “stocks.” And it turned out that season 3 of the show was set to air later this year.

For a variety of reasons, season 2 was a huge failure, so the producers decided to pretend like it never happened and came back with a new season, subtitled “Relisted.” Unsurprisingly, the general public regarded going forward with the third season as completely ridiculous and thought it doomed to failure. What did I think about it at the time? The answer is I hadn’t been thinking about it at all since I was too busy studying for the exam.

Contrary to everyone’s expectations, season 3 turned out to be an unprecedented hit. Even though there was tremendous controversy surrounding the show, as well as unending criticism, “Idol Inc.” created a huge buzz and secured top viewer ratings. In fact, the winning idol group charted on music charts with eighty thousand streams and sold over six hundred thousand copies of their album in just the first week. This was exactly why I wanted to compete on the show.

Today I was taking the first step toward that goal—getting a haircut.

“You’re all set! I didn’t cut too much off the sides, just like you requested.”

“Yes, thank you.”

My hairstyle finally suits my face, I thought to myself, examining my neatly trimmed hair in the mirror. Maybe it’s because I’d slept and eaten well for the past few days, but I looked less haggard and miserable than I had before. The combination of all these things meant I looked presentable even after cutting my thick bangs shorter to reveal my forehead.

To my great satisfaction, the lady who was getting her hair permed in the chair next to mine was showering me with compliments. “Oh, my! That haircut looks amazing on you! You look so charming now!”

I thanked her and went to the counter to pay using cash. When I checked Park Moondae’s bank account, I was happy to discover he had quite a lot of money. The account history told me that it was insurance money inherited from his parents, which is probably why he hadn’t used it. Honestly, I felt bad for using it myself.

When I receive my first paycheck, I’ll return the money I used and donate some to the child welfare agency. Still, I felt a little sad. I’d learned more about Park Moondae after obtaining a certified copy of his family registry and a new phone plan.

The original Moondae hadn’t taken his life on a whim, he’d moved out of his apartment and canceled his phone plan beforehand. It seemed as if he had barely received any of his housing deposit back because he hadn’t paid rent for several months. He’d died on his own birthday.

Moondae must have really wanted to put an end to everything. Not that I don’t understand how he felt, I felt the same way at one point. I hope you’re in a better place now. I paused and allowed myself a brief moment’s silence, remembering him. When the moment passed, I pushed the salon door open and stepped outside. It was close to noon, and I squinted my eyes against the bright sunlight.

There were still a lot of things that I wanted to get done today. First, I need to come up with a real plan. I already knew all of the show’s special missions, as well as the members who would successfully debut, and the theme song.

Of course, I didn’t remember all the minor details since I’d been busy preparing for the exam, but I had to work with what I had. This show was so influential that as long as you were able to pass the second stage, you were guaranteed to secure a contract with at least a small entertainment agency.

However, my plan had one huge problem—open recruitment for the new season had already ended. Luckily for me, I had a useful tidbit of information at my disposal and intended to use it to my advantage as best I could. My goal was to become a contestant on the show, even though it had already closed its open auditions within the past week. I also planned to be cast not at the broadcasting station, but at a noraebang in the same neighborhood.

***

“‘Idol Inc.’? Oh, you mean ‘Idol Incorporated.’ I heard one of the writers is a complete nutcase.”

That was the bullsh*t some guy in my photography club had loudly declared, snickering to himself during one of our after-parties. He had claimed to have heard it from a relative who worked at a broadcasting station. Personally, I wasn’t very fond of him since he was one of those guys who enjoyed gossiping and spreading rumors.

“Apparently, this crazy writer has been recruiting contestants from places like noraebangs. Where was it again…? You know, the neighborhood the broadcasting station’s located in. Oh yeah, Seong District. I heard she went around to the noraebangs in that area and recruited random people. And eventually, she was busted for it by the producer. I mean, that’s pretty ballsy of her, right? She’s a nobody but still caused all that trouble. Sounds like a complete psycho, huh?”

The guy had continued prattling away with entirely too much passion about how the show recruited contestants. It’s common for people to talk sh*t when they’re drunk, but he was the only person I’d ever known to incessantly talk about something so boring at a party with peers.

“Who the hell invited this asshole?”

“Let’s not invite him again.”

“I second that.”

It was pretty obvious to me that was what the club members had been thinking based on their sour expressions. It goes without saying that I believed none of his bullsh*t. I was just focused on enjoying the free booze. Yet surprisingly, someone chimed in to support his claims.

“Lee Goyoon was recruited that way.”

“Come again?”

Lee Goyoon was one of the most recognizable female idols to debut from the first season. She had gained huge popularity thanks to her innocent appearance, charming dialect, and cheerful, eccentric personality. The people around me had reacted enthusiastically to this new information.

“Wow, wasn’t she one of the contestants who actually debuted?”

“Yeah.”

“Whoa... How did you know that?”

The classmate who majored in media communications had replied calmly.

“That ‘psycho’ you were talking about earlier is my older sister.”

The guy who’d been gossiping suddenly stammered, as everyone glared scornfully at him.

“Oh, haha… That’s not what I meant…”

“You got something wrong, though. She wasn’t busted by the producer, he gave her a raise.”

The guy didn’t say a single word after that. Thanks to the classmate who had shut him down so soundly, everyone else was able to enjoy their alcohol in peace. I had sipped my drink, listening as she recounted her version of how the recruitment process worked. Her story was quite entertaining and so I’d remembered it after all these years.

Apparently, the production team was faced with a dilemma—they were unable to recruit enough contestants that fit the criteria of the show. Hence, a week after auditions had already closed, they searched the nearby noraebangs to fill their quota.

“Isn’t it better to find kids there though? I think they’d be easier to recruit,” One of the club members had said.

“Actually, I heard the noraebangs around the broadcasting studios are mostly filled with trainees who go there to practice. In any case, they were trying to recruit non-trainees because they needed someone fresh who didn’t give off the vibe that they’d already worked in the industry for a long time.”

In other words, what they needed wasn’t a contestant who was good enough to potentially debut, but an ordinary person who knew nothing and would therefore add some spice to the show. After all, these days agencies went to great lengths teaching their idol trainees to be careful what they said—it’d be unlikely that an experienced trainee would create any drama. This essentially meant that the non-trainee contestant the production team was looking for would be used as cannon fodder to make the show more entertaining.

That’s not important to me right now, though. What was important was there was a good chance the writer I’d heard about would use the same method she’d used previously to recruit for season 3. Since it worked the first time, it made sense she’d use the strategy again.

Plus, since the second had been a complete failure, the contestants willing to audition were likely of a much lower standard. The production team was probably feeling pretty desperate by now.

I had to think about this logically. Park Moondae was a little scrawny but was pretty good-looking, tall, and he sang well. So as long as I created an opportunity for the writer to see and hear me sing, there was a good chance she’d invite me to join as a contestant.

Besides… I have to level up. It was imperative that I raised my stats by completing the practice missions. I’d have to be exceptional in some way if I wanted the writer to consider me as a potential candidate.

Grabbing the mic, I chose a song and glanced at the door of the private room I was in—it was made of glass. The layout was probably designed to give off a bright, open feeling to attract customers in their teens or twenties. At the same time, it allowed people to peek in from the outside. That was exactly why I had chosen this particular noraebang.

I was waiting for the writer from the broadcasting studio. She was no doubt already up to her neck in preparations for the upcoming show and if she had to go out and recruit a non-trainee contestant, chances were she’d check out places that were near her workplace. Hence, this noraebang was the best choice.

Without hesitation, I threw ten songs into the queue, and after skipping the intro, I began singing.

***

[Mission accomplished! <10 attempts>]

Level 1 → 2

1 point acquired!

It didn’t take long for me to complete my first mission—sing ten songs. I had known I’d be able to finish it quickly since it was the easiest of the missions given to me. I used the points to level up my singing, just as I’d done before, changing my level from C+ to B-.

I wanted to test how the system worked again, so I sang the same song again and it seemed my abilities had improved. My vocal tone grew lusher and my voice became stronger. I guessed this was the level of improvement I could expect each time I moved up a grade. At this rate, I’d be able to enhance my stats crazy fast. But there was something else I had to focus on first.

“This is my business card.”

I didn’t expect her to take the bait so quickly. I thought I had started hanging around a little too early, but I’d unexpectedly hit the timing jackpot. I took the business card offered by the woman in glasses.

She looked exhausted, but she was clearly trying to project a cheerful image. No doubt she was trying to leave a good first impression, meaning I had probably successfully caught her attention. The business card held the name I’d been hoping to see.

[Ryu Seorin]

The classmate who had been majoring in media communications was “Ryu Seojin.” No matter how you look at it, they’re definitely siblings.

“Excuse me, what’s your name?” she asked.

“Park Moondae.”

“Your name is quite unique. I want you to consider what I’m about to say very carefully. I think you have what it takes to be a star. Our show is famous for scouting people who are celebrity material.”

“Thank you…” I didn’t want to overreact. If I was too enthusiastic, it might reveal that I’d intentionally aimed for this exact situation. I was sure she wanted to avoid recruiting anyone who knew what they were doing. Not that it really mattered in my case; if someone had received training it would come out in their initial screening.

My laid-back attitude seemed to work for me though because she quickly added, “Look, kid. You’re pretty good-looking and you sing well. I think you’ll do really well on our show. Hmm, would you like to come with me now and do a screen test?”

“I’m sorry?”

She seemed determined to go forward with casting me since she was now being so direct.

“Ah, that’s right. Why don’t you call your parents? Tell them that you’ve been scouted for a TV show. They’ll be so proud of you.”

“I don’t have any parents.”

As soon as I said that her eyes sparkled with renewed interest. She probably immediately saw the potential flavor my spicy backstory could bring to the show. I couldn’t deny that storytelling was an essential part of survival audition shows. In fact, using my family situation could work to my advantage since viewers would no doubt criticize the show for milking my sad history.

It’d be a waste not to use such a heart-wrenching story since there was nothing I could do to change the past anyway. It didn’t take the writer long to conceal those thoughts from her expression.

She spoke more gently and sympathetically, “Oh, my… I’m so sorry. That was very insensitive of me.”

“It’s fine.”

“I just wanted you to feel more comfortable about coming to the broadcasting station with me. It’s not every day an opportunity like this comes along.”

“Hmm…” Is it time to start giving in? I paused, pretending to hesitate, and then slowly nodded.

The woman beamed. “Oh, you made the right choice! The broadcasting station is right around the corner!”

Like that, I achieved my first goal. Things were proceeding much more smoothly than I had expected.