Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Of course, the ability to draw people’s attention was an important skill in the entertainment industry, since the briefest moments on stage could often make or break someone’s career. I couldn’t help but feel like the trait itself, including its name and description, had attention-seeking vibes. It didn’t even have a concise description of the skill’s benefits, simply saying “a little more.”

“Why is the status window being so ambiguous about it?” I wondered. Is that why it’s a D grade trait?

The status window, however, did not miraculously produce more information in response to my grumbling. I was forced to just accept the details given to me. Fine. A special trait that attracts attention… What’s not to like about it? I just hope it helps me out with debuting.

My phone began vibrating as soon as I closed the status window. I checked the screen quickly, in case it was a message from the production team, but it was something else entirely—a text from someone that I didn’t want to speak to.

[Lee Sejin (Big): Yo, Moondae, aren’t you going to check the group chat?]

[Lee Sejin (Big): You’re so cool that I’m freezing over here, Moondae!]

I should have turned off the notifications for private messages as well, but I’d forgotten. In any case, I’d have to keep meeting the guy and he’d probably already seen that I read his message. I had no choice but to reply.

[Me: I don’t check my phone often. Sorry]

[Lee Sejin (Big): Hey man, no need to apologize. I’ll start feeling bad lol]

[Lee Sejin (Big): In any case, check the chat!]

Wondering if there was something important I’d missed, I opened the group chat, only to find over five hundred new messages from my teammates. Of course, I had no intention of reading all of them. I scrolled all the way to the bottom and read only the most recent messages in the conversation.

The members were exchanging screenshots of posts about our performance, made by members of the audience. They seemed to be exchanging compliments, quoting comments that praised one another’s good looks.

[Lee Sejin (Big): Come to think of it, Moondae gets more handsome every time I see him. Must be all the attention he’s getting lol]

[Lee Sejin (Big): Be a good bro and tell us what dermatologist you’ve been seeing]

I leveled up, you son of a b*tch. I couldn’t tell him that, of course, so I simply replied that I wasn’t seeing a dermatologist. What was wrong with this guy? I couldn’t believe he’d asked me to check the five-hundred-plus message chat just to ask me if I was getting beauty treatments. I suddenly felt exhausted.

My phone vibrated again.

[Seon Ahyeon: Moondae, are you well? Thanks for always being so nice, especially during the first team battle preparations. I’ll be sure to pay you back... (see more)]

A long-winded message had appeared in the group chat, which magically fell silent as nobody typed another word. I couldn’t completely ignore his message, so I sent a short response and shut off my phone’s data. When we met next, I’d be sure to tell him that I had no Wi-Fi in my room.

The production presentation, which was the next scheduled recording, was only five days away.

***

The production presentation was a promo event held prior to the first episode airing. Since there were seventy-seven contestants, there really wasn’t anything any of us had to do on our own. All we had to do was sing “Shining Star” once and pose for some photos. The latter part was of key importance, of course.

It had been proven in previous seasons that the pictures taken during this production presentation could have a huge impact on early voting. I was paid to take some photos at this event myself.

Being hired to take photos had been profitable since I didn’t have to worry about finding a buyer after the event. Regardless, as I stood in front of the crowd gathered at the production presentation, I thought, I know all these faces.

The people holding up their enormous cameras behind the reporters were familiar. I had probably sat next to most of them at one point, at some event or another. I resolved to keep a close eye on them. Almost a third of them were fancam sellers and the rest were mostly idol fans. They were probably here to keep an eye out for promising new idols and just have a good time.

None of them seemed to be focused on any one individual just yet. I could see the camera lenses drifting back and forth, as though they were trying to get three or four contestants in one frame so they could crop the images down later depending on which contestant’s photo they needed.

The crowd was bigger than I’d expected. The general consensus among the public seemed to be that the program would succeed only because of its infamy. Sadly, I can’t boost myself above a B ranking in physical attractiveness even if I use my remaining point.

Those with an A- rank or above in physical attractiveness would probably benefit the most from this particular event. I decided to just focus on performing “Shining Star” to the best of my ability so I could just get it over with and go home.

Of course, looks are what end up mattering the most… I felt another twinge of regret that I hadn’t focused on my appearance stats first.

“We’ll start once all the reporters have assembled!”

We stood ready in formation on the grass outside, just as we’d rehearsed earlier that morning, a staff member shouting at us to stand by. As we were stretching our legs someone turned and spoke to me.

“I saw your performance.”

“Huh?”

It was Cha Eugene, who was positioned in front of me at an angle. If I remember correctly, he was the contestant who would end up taking first place this season. He’s so weirdly blunt. I remembered that he’d been like this the last time we’d spoken, too. The conversation had taken place when we were filming “Shining Star.” Eugene had asked me out of nowhere if I was bad at dancing, and I’d told him to see for himself.

Was it possible he was trying to pick up that conversation where we’d left off? Any talk about performances between the contestants right now was likely to be regarding the first team battle. I had to admit I’d done well in the first round. But still, that didn’t change how out of the blue his comment was.

What was this, a shonen manga? Did he see me as a potential rival or something? I was further taken aback when he gave me a thumbs-up.

“You did great!” he said.

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Let’s be on the same team next time.”

“If it’s possible, that would be great.”

Regardless of what was going through this guy’s head, I had nothing to lose from being on a team with him. I agreed without a second thought. I didn’t really care that he was speaking so casually to me, either. Our conversation ended just as abruptly as it had begun.

“W-would you… like some?” Ahyeon suddenly asked, holding a packet of candy.

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Wow! Ahyeon, what about me?”

“Big Sejin feels craftier now that he’s not the team leader.”

“H-here,” Ahyeon said.

As I continued to stretch, I chewed on the handful of gummies that Ahyeon had handed me. The staff signaled us as I blocked out the chattering of all the gold members.

“Get ready!”

The intro we’d heard hundreds of times during the first week of filming played once more. This performance will be uploaded to WeTube so let’s just try not to make any mistakes.

***

The moment I left the stage after our successful performance of “Shining Star,” I heard someone shouting my name.

“Moondae!”

Did I hear that right? I turned around and realized one of the people holding a camera behind the press was shouting my name. It was a woman wearing a hoodie, who started snapping pictures as soon as I turned to look at her.

Wait, is she taking pictures of just me? I pointed at my face as if confirming I was really the one she wanted, and she shouted, “Moondae! Give me a heart!”

I’d never imagined the day when someone would say those words to me. An opportunity was an opportunity, however. I made a tiny heart with my thumb and pointer and held it up. It was slightly… embarrassing.

“Poke your cheek, too, please!”

Beside me, Ahyeon tried to sneak away quietly. He had been set upon by a bunch of cameramen even before the performance. I eyed him meaningfully. You do it, too. It would be less embarrassing if I wasn’t posing alone. Ahyeon seemed to understand and trudged over awkwardly. Big Sejin threw himself between us.

“What are you two doing? Oh, taking photos, I see!”

He posed like a natural. I didn’t appreciate having his arm around me, but I decided to just put up with it since there were cameras everywhere. We ended up taking a few pictures together, our arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders.

Ugh. So there are going to be pictures of the three of us before the first episode has even aired.

The bad feeling I’d had when we’d made the group chats returned. I didn’t like it, but it was already too late to go back after the team battle, so I decided not to go out of my way to avoid the guy. It seemed as if the woman had gotten a few good shots. She lowered the camera from her face.

Huh? She bought a few fancams from me once. There were quite a few fansite masters out there who purchased photos and videos of events they had no time to attend themselves, then uploaded them after a bit of editing as if they were their own. She was one of those individuals.

If I remember correctly, I asked for a higher price than she was offering since she was lowballing the market value. Then she got mad and accused me of having no conscience, just like all fancam sellers. At least I didn’t take pictures that invaded anyone’s privacy like airport photos.

When I had fancams I couldn’t sell, I’d often just upload them to fan communities or WeTube for free. Well, I suppose I don’t have anything to say in my defense. The agencies let fancam sellers be since they were basically free marketing, but it was true that we made money off of selling unauthorized photos.

I’d wondered if it was because of my past shady business that I’d ended up in this body, fated to die in a year unless I debuted. Perhaps the reason I was going through all of this was to experience living in an idol’s shoes—to understand what it was like to be filmed without permission.

“Park Moondae, you’re so cute!”

Wow, I’m going to struggle to get used to this. I recalled that the male idol she’d been following before had been caught drinking and driving near the end of last year. He had been a main vocalist...

She had probably decided to leave him behind and fangirl over Park Moondae now instead. Feeling rather strange about the whole thing, I waved at her. Any and all footage taken of the presentation was precious, so I hoped she’d get plenty of good shots.

And it’d be even better if you uploaded those photos before Friday. Friday was the day the first episode of “Relisted! Idol Incorporated” was set to air.

***

At TNET headquarters, the editing office located in a corner of the ninth floor was currently occupied by employees who’d worked through the night. Ryu Seorin, who had been responsible for casting Park Moondae, was one of them.

“Seorin, your eyes are red. Take a break and have some coffee.”

“I have no time. Just give me some coffee.”

This was her seventh cup that day alone. Everyone in the office had tired gaunt faces as they gulped down coffee like it was water. Her former superior sighed.

“The first episode’s edit is very important, I suppose.”

“Yes… It’ll set the direction for the entire rest of the show.”

Deciding what would be included and what would be cut was of the utmost importance.

“Everything has to have a story if it hopes to be compelling.”

“It has to be immersive even for viewers with very little expectations.”

Audition shows had to have a narrative to be interesting, and this narrative had to be presented in a way that was easy for the viewers of the show to consume if the show hoped to gain traction. This was the widely accepted opinion regarding reality TV.

“Right. That’s why we’ve started setting the stage in the very first episode, working toward some sort of climax in around the fourth episode.”

“Correct,” Seorin confirmed. “The episode should end with the results of the first team battle… That’s the beginning of the main story and the contestants each need to be telling their own story at the same time.”

Of course, neither writer Ryu Seorin nor her immediate superior had much say in the actual decision-making. What matters is what the main PD wants. She glanced briefly away from the video she was editing.

“Taking a break?”

“I thought I’d make a suggestion,” she replied.

“Oh, about the editing?”

“Yes.”

“That sounds fine. Jeong PD accepted the suggestions you made during Season 1, remember? About that amateur contestant—Lee Goyoon, wasn’t it? Maybe I should try making suggestions, too.” The man who’d used to be her immediate superior commented and Ryu Seorin scoffed to herself.

My timing was perfect. That’s why I was successful. She knew that there was a similar window of opportunity right now. When people were exhausted, they tended to drop their superior attitudes in favor of a more friendly camaraderie without even realizing they were doing it.

“We don’t have anyone we need to… push this time around. Not a bad time to make a suggestion.”

“Yes. All we need to worry about is viewer ratings.”

Because the previous season had crashed and burned, there had been no stipulations from any major agencies they needed to accommodate this time around. Given the situation, what would be the best way to present the contestants, and which ones would make the viewers feel a sense of satisfaction by the time the team battle was aired?

“It’s important to pick which contestants people are going to like, but they also need someone to hate. Why don’t you try suggesting something like that? You’re good at that sort of thing.” His playful words were charged with meaning.

Seorin shrugged. “The production team can’t manipulate that sort of thing. People will do what they want. They’ll like who they like and dislike who they dislike.”

“Hmm.” The man fell silent, unwilling to comment Seorin had rightly pointed out the production team’s limitations.

“All we do is help the viewers feel immersed,” she said.

“I suppose you’re right,” the man relented reluctantly.

She had a good sense for these things. He changed the subject, continuing to talk as if he knew what she was thinking. “So that’s why you chose the underdog edit this time, right? It takes a lot of effort from the editors to make that work.”

The underdog effect described the thrill the public felt when someone obviously at a disadvantage emerged as the unexpected victor. It was one of the most interesting narratives an audition show could hope to weave. Of course, for it to be compelling, there was a huge amount of attention to detail required from the editors. Everything had to be aligned perfectly from the get-go.

“You’re going to suggest focusing on them, aren’t you? I noticed you kept looking at their footage.”

“Well… It depends,” Seorin replied noncommittally. In truth, however, the answer was yes. No matter how I look at it… They’re the ones I need this time around. Seorin finally settled on a strategy as she recalled the video she’d just finished watching.

“I’ll be rooting for you!” the man said without an ounce of sincerity. She gave him an appropriately polite response and left him to approach the main PD.

“Uh, sir.”

She was pretty certain that the director was already thinking along the same lines as her.