Chapter 119

Chapter 119

I had no idea what was going through that lunatic’s mind. Cheongryeo had uploaded a social media post to screw us over and now this only a few days later?

He’s calling me during work now? As it happened, I was in the middle of getting my makeup done for an item on our schedule later in the evening. I could see Raebin’s eyes go wide where he was having his hair dried next to me, having read the manager’s lips. It bothered me even more that the room was full of staff.

How do I know what this bastard is going to say?

The stylist who’d been working on my hair casually said, “It’s all right, you can take the call. I’m almost done here.” She seemed to think I was hesitating because I didn’t want to interrupt her work.

I just don’t want to take the call... I withheld a sigh and said to the manager, “Could you tell him I’ll call him back later?”

“Uh, he says you don’t have his number. He apparently changed it, so that’s why he called me. You don’t take calls from people you don’t know, Moondae.”

I had nothing to say to this. Cheongryeo could have just texted me, but he’d called the agency to get in contact with me. The reason was obvious.

He knows I blocked him. If he was willing to go this far, I couldn’t get out of it. It would look bad if I kept running the manager around in circles. I’d just get it over with quickly.

“All right, then.” I took the phone from him and put it to my ear. “Hello. This is Park Moondae.”

“Ah, there you are,” a playful voice came through the speaker. Did I really have to sit here and listen to him laughing at me?

“I heard you got a new number. I’ll be sure to save it.”

“Yes, you do that. And congratulations on the Rookie of the Year awards.”

I gripped my armrest harder. “The awards ceremonies aren’t done yet. Who knows what’s going to happen? If you’ll excuse me...”

I was about to hang up when Cheongryeo spoke again, unwilling to wait. “It seems basically decided, to me. Hmm. Aren’t you curious about what’s going to happen next?”

No, you son of a b*tch. I didn’t think there was any chance I’d get any proper information out of this bastard, even if I played along. How dare he try to play games after stabbing me in the back?

“Not really. In any case, I’ll save your new number. Good luck with the rest of the end-of-year promotions, Cheongryeo.” I was subtly telling him I wanted to hang up.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be, then...” He sounded a little troubled for some reason. “Hmm... I think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding here. I don’t randomly try to harm my juniors, you know. There are certain lines I don’t cross.”

Lines you don’t cross, my ass.

“I see. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I suppose we’ll meet again during the year-end ceremonies, so... Hmm, I guess I’ll explain myself then. It’s probably a little iffy to do so over the phone.”

“That sounds great. If you’ll excuse me, I have something I need to attend to.”

“All right,” Cheongryeo said playfully. “Don’t accidentally block me again.”

“Of course. Goodbye.”

I ended the call. I’d have indulged in some colorful language if I were at the dorm, but I was in a beauty salon. I returned the phone to the manager. “Here. Thank you.”

“All right! Oh, I’ll send his number to you.”

I said nothing, feeling bitter. He didn’t know what was going on, so I couldn’t hold his kindness against him. Withholding a sigh, I leaned back in my chair again and closed my eyes.

God, I’m sick of this. At first, I’d hoped to gain something from our interactions, but Cheongryeo was an utter troll. And the sudden change in tack only reinforced the impression I had that he was out of his mind. I couldn’t predict what he would do next.

Cutting ties is the only way. I’d do it quietly without causing any fuss. The future I knew of would be over in only two years, anyway. He would run out of information to milk me for and naturally return to keeping his distance.

I’d just have to avoid running into him until then. TeSTAR would likely be considered a top-tier group or close to it by the time our next album came out, and he wouldn’t be able to call on me so openly as he had moments ago if he valued his own reputation. Whether he was in his right mind was beside the point. He was obsessed with his career as an idol.

I just need to avoid building up any animosity that might result in us destroying each other. At first, I’d been so upset that I wanted to make him pay, but now that the drama had been handled, logic prevailed. It would simply be too risky for me if I attempted to go up against him.

I don’t have to risk my life just to kill a troll. It would be my strategy in the worst-case scenario, nothing more. Done with organizing my thoughts, I opened my eyes.

Raebin, who’d been watching me with excitement, asked, “About the program he uses for his arrangements...”

“It’s supposed to be a secret.”

“I see...”

I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’ll ever ask him that question. He looked disappointed, so I tossed him a glucose candy.

***

After a few more end-of-year events had passed, it came time for us to give another new performance. This time it was the KBC Song Festival. Only singers who’d made actual headway in the industry that year were invited, and we were given more substantial and longer screen time compared to the other public television channels.

However, there was a problem.

“There we are!” Eugene exclaimed.

“Oh, it’s that ad we shot! The AI one!”

“My god,” I said.

In between parts one and two of the show, we were confronted with the final product of the ad that had netted us 350 million won over three months. Onscreen, the TeSTAR members were sitting in a white living room, obviously a filming set, each holding a different prop.

Mine was a... lightstick–one that resembled a glowing magic wand at that. In my defense, I’d been given no choice in the matter. In any case, one of the great things about the AI assistant we were advertising was that it could be attached to just about anything since it was so small.

[“Connect it to the item that best represents you.”]

[“It’s your exclusive assistant who understands you best and it’ll play the songs you want.”]

The screen shifted to show an AI speaker shaped like a cartoon character. I thought its eyes looked a little sketchy. Onscreen, Eugene laughed and tapped the speaker.

[“I want to hear that song about a plane!”]

The speaker suddenly began to blast a low-quality version of a children’s song.

[“...?”]

Eugene looked briefly surprised, before Park Moondae appeared, calm. He waved the lightstick and laughed.

[“Curious, play ‘Airplane.’”]

TeSTAR’s “Airplane” began to play. The sound quality was now great. The members danced to the music.

[“The magical AI assistant…”]

[“of the Magical Boys!”]

The ad ended quite suddenly. Park Moondae, wearing dog ears, mimicked a dog and shouted the name of the assistant.

[“Curious! Woof woof!”]

The waiting room was instantly filled with laughter.

“Oh god! Hahaha!”

“Pfft.”

I could tell they were all relieved that I’d been the only one forced to act out such a scene. I tried not to sigh.

Chungwoo was the first to regain his composure. He cleared his throat, giving his condolences. “Ahem. I think it’s because you were first place on Idol Inc., Moondae. It’s so cool that you got more screen time than the rest of us, isn’t it?”

“O-of course!”

“Yes, yes! Chungwoo’s got it right.”

Yeah? I nodded along.

“Really? That must be it, I guess.”

“I know, right?” Chungwoo said.

“Sure. I can’t wait to see the other versions, too.”

“The other versions?”

Bae Sejin quietly informed the shocked members of the truth. “The script said there were seven versions of the ad...”

Watching TV would feel like a game of Russian roulette from now on. The members seemed to be thinking back to their own scripts and so grew a little tense all of a sudden.

They wouldn’t have time to worry about it for long, though. Our performance was set to air toward the end of the second part, and this one was important. It was our first end-of-year stage since SBC.

We need to lock down the good opinion of the general public while it’s still in our favor. If we looked clumsy in any way, people were sure to accuse us of not having what it took and say our special performance had just been a fluke.

We absolutely needed to kill it this time around. As a result, the members grew tense for a different reason soon enough. We came together for a group huddle right before we went up on stage.

“Let’s show ‘em, TeSTAR!”

“Let’s go!”

I thought it was a little lame, but what mattered was that it got everyone in the right mindset. We stood on the lift, rising up on stage.

The crowd roared, lights flickering in the audience seating sections. I still couldn’t believe that each light represented one person. Some of the lightsticks really stood out—the TeSTAR ones included, as one might expect. They were much brighter than the others.

It’s like holding a flashlight next to a firefly. In any case, it was a good thing they were so easily recognizable since we could bow and wave in their direction even if we couldn’t do anything else to acknowledge our fans. This was a live broadcast, after all.

As the intro segment came to an end, I walked forward, taking my position at the center. The prelude to an altered “Magical Boys” created specially for this stage began—played by a live orchestra.

I began the first part in time with the violins playing in front of the stage. “I met you today... and I’ve been thinking of you all day. My dreams are as blue as the sky.”

Elegant notes played by string and wind instruments filled the hall. Every part of our performance was completely live. That meant that we’d made the bold decision not to use a prerecorded music track at all, wanting to infuse our performance with the feeling unique to a live band.

It’s convenient that I’m at the start of this song. It would have been a disaster if the tune and the beat were off right from the beginning. The person least likely to make a mistake needed to set up the rest of the performance for success.

Following this, all the other members did a good job handling their assigned parts.

“Cast a spell—”

“Make a wish come true, true, true—”

The choreography had been altered to include a few modern dance moves. This gave the song more of an epic fantasy vibe than a dreamy one, new and charming in its own way. The outfits were so loose it was almost embarrassing, but people probably liked that about them.

Ahyeon’s on a roll. He was the best suited for the concept we were going for and he seemed even more enthused than usual. In the dance break accompanied by a violin solo and drums, his dancing was like art.

Then came the part where the song transitioned smoothly to the chorus.

Airplane

Screech!

Goddamn it, these earpieces. There was a screeching sound in my ear like fingernails over a chalkboard. The device that was meant to help us keep in time with the beat despite the cheering and echoing sounds was actually doing more to disrupt my concentration than anything else.

The screeching continued. The volume was too loud, but then sometimes dipped until it was so quiet the music was barely audible. Equipment this bad was a first for me.

It’s driving me nuts. Unable to stand it any longer, I yanked out the earpiece that was playing the accompaniment. A few of the other members were in the process of doing the same, which meant this was a production issue we were all experiencing.

This is supposed to be national television, isn’t it? Damn it!

Something even worse was yet to come, though. The earpiece that Bae Sejin had pulled out came free and slid to the stage floor during a dance move in which he leaned backward. Whoever had set up the device hadn’t been thorough enough.

I’ll kick it away during the next part. At that moment, however, Ahyeon spun and headed toward the center of the stage. He slipped on the cord and tipped forward, head first.

I grabbed onto the back of his shirt, and Chungwoo did the same on his other side. Our eyes met.

I’ll make sure he’s steady on his feet and then return to my place ASAP. There wasn’t much that could be done for it now. It had happened much too quickly, but I’d already planned my next move. I was about to pull when Ahyeon kicked out the foot that had been slipping, creating momentum.

Holding mine and Chungwoo’s arms where they were gripping onto his back, he straightened both legs and did a graceful backflip. He continued singing his part after executing a perfect landing.

“Go far, fly high, my heart is traveling afar. Go beyond the Milky Way and become a shining star.”

Despite my shock, muscle memory meant I was able to jump back into place just as we’d practiced, which was a relief. All of us smoothly returned to the correct formation as the last verse was about to begin.

Bae Sejin held his head microphone close as he sang, nothing showing in his face or voice. But I could see his fingers were trembling.

“Our hands touching, in a meeting sweet.”

The song ended as the seven of us stood in a circle, each stacking a hand on top of one another before raising them into the air. There was a brief silence, followed by screaming from the crowd. The on-air lamp switched off. Only after the lights had gone down did the members begin to show how worried they were.

Did we handle that correctly? We should see if the performance came out okay—but no, maybe I should check on Ahyeon first. What kind of lunatic turns a fall into a backflip with zero practice?

If he’d messed up, he could have smashed his head open. But the show was still going, and we couldn’t just stand around worrying. We quickly waved to our fans and headed backstage. There was no time for us to discuss what had happened—we were presented with the monitoring screen immediately.