Chapter 46

Chapter 46

Frankly, I doubted Eugene would do anything to ruin the mood necessarily, but when we got to the part in episode nine where his team began to fall apart, I knew we’d all end up sitting in grim silence. Was it really necessary to make things so uncomfortable?

I held my phone in my hand loosely, pondering. I was trying to think of a polite way to refuse him, but Big Sejin called out to me before I could settle on anything.

“What is it?”

“Oh. Raebin is asking if he can bring Cha Eugene.”

“Ah... Sounds okay to me,” Big Sejin grinned. “The production team won’t put his team on episode nine. They’ll only appear in the trailer for episode ten, I bet!”

Wow. I didn’t think of that. I also hadn’t expected Big Sejin to be so direct. He seemed to have thrown all caution to the wind and put all his trust in me after the school bullying incident, no longer mincing words nearly as much.

“We can get to know him better if he comes over, too! Oh, right. But we should ask the host first! What do you say, Ahyeon?”

“I-I’m fine with it!”

“All right!”

After giving his agreement, Ahyeon re-focused his attention on the board game’s rule book. I got the feeling his personality had changed a little, too. He wasn’t even friends with Eugene, but he didn’t seem at all leery about inviting him into his home.

“Well... if you say so,” I said. Reluctantly, I sent Raebin an affirmative reply.

***

Raebin and Eugene arrived after lunch.

“Hey there! Welcome!” Big Sejin cried eagerly.

Goldie #1, whom Big Sejin had thought to invite as well since we were having the other two over, had also rushed over and was sitting in the living room. While it was true that it would have been kind of strange to exclude Goldie #1, it was also weird to be watching the episode with Eugene.

“Hey, guys. Thanks for having me over.”

Surprisingly, Eugene bowed and held out a big plastic bag as soon as he arrived. It was filled with snacks.

“We ordered chicken, but we can order something else later if anyone wants more to eat,” Big Sejin said.

“All right,” Raebin said, nodding and sitting meekly in the corner. So he won’t be ordering anything extra.

Eugene, on the other hand, turned to me with wide, sparkling eyes. “Can we order pizza, then?”

“Of course!”

“Wow!”

That was all the encouragement he needed—Eugene immediately opened his food delivery app. I’d expected him to be a little morose, but it seemed his cheerful personality hadn’t taken a hit.

Raebin calmly exchanged greetings with everyone else in the living room.

“Did you guys get here this morning?”

“Yeah, I came in the morning, but Moondae was here already.”

“Huh?”

I didn’t necessarily want to hide what had happened, but it was a pain to explain it all. I couldn’t ignore Raebin’s questioning gaze, though, so I explained the incident at my studio apartment.

Ahyeon jumped in from time to time with additional details. The conversation went something like this:

“So when I got to the door, there was someone inside…”

“Yikes!”

“Th-there wasn’t just one person—t-there were three more than that!”

“Um... Yeah. So the police brought them into the station, which took some time.”

“T-the police officers s-seemed so unconcerned like it was nothing... I-it was bull.”

“It wasn’t right... Yeah.”

As the story unfolded and Ahyeon kept adding his two cents, it got blown more and more out of proportion like some kind of wild rumor on the internet. Our small audience was very immersed in the tale as a result.

“Wow. It was a good idea to come to Ahyeon’s. That’s scary.”

“Yeah. Hey... Someone knocked on my door once, but never like this. Now I’m worried. I live with my younger sibling...”

“Wait, someone came to where you live?”

“Yeah. I heard about it later. They rang the doorbell and camped outside… My family couldn’t leave the house.”

“Oh my god...”

The guys who lived in their own rented apartments or in the dorms provided by their agencies had similar stories, making for a pretty chilling story time prior to what would turn out to be a shocking Idol Inc. episode.

By the time we’d dug into the freshly delivered chicken, some of the other guys were even telling us about another contestant’s friend, who was an idol.

“...and when he went into his bathroom, the hidden camera detector started to beep like crazy...”

“That’s nuts.”

The pizza arrived and a rerun of episode eight of Idol Inc. began to play on TV prior to episode nine. We watched it, making casual comments here and there. By the time it was over, Eugene had managed to find his place in the group fairly well.

“Were you really not disappointed at all about ranking third?”

“I was, but it was fine.”

“You’re a cool guy,” Goldie #1 marveled.

“Hehe.”

I started to wonder how bad things had gotten on the Huskiez team to send such a chill dude crying to me.

Only after the whole box of chicken was empty did episode nine finally begin.

[Relisted! Idol Incorporated!]

The logo we were starting to grow sick of appeared on screen, the first segment of the episode was the talent show.

Most of the contestants who chose to participate were given fairly equal screen time.

Perhaps it was because the whole reason we’d even done the talent show was to take a breather, or perhaps they felt bad for dumping an improvised segment on us with no warning.

In any case, most of the participants got to appear in a short, humorous scene that conveyed their personality to the audience in some way. Big Sejin was the best at delivering these short, high-impact sound bites.

The problem was that I was depicted humorously... from beginning to end.

[※He dominates the stage...※]

[※Is Park Moondae a trot enthusiast?※]

Such were the captions during any part where I sang. Since they were so cheesy, it was clear the intention was to make viewers laugh, and that’s what they did.

“Ehehehe!”

“Pffft!”

“They made you look like a really nice guy, man. Congrats, Moondae!”

This last comment came from Big Sejin. I whacked him on the back of the head mid-sip of his soda.

“Gah!” he choked.

You should be able to take it if you can dole it out.

This wasn’t the end of Park Moondae’s screen time. Following my winning the kimchi fridge and everyone rushing over excitedly, the editors had inserted an interview to seal the deal, so to speak.

[※Q: Do you like trot?※]

[※Park Moondae: Yes.※]

In the cut, I gave the camera a thumbs-up after giving this short answer.

In reality, they asked me if I liked my team and that was my response. These idiots were taking more liberties with every passing day.

The captions read,

[※Trot lover Park Moondae! We hope the kimchi fridge makes you happy!※]

I still haven’t even got the fridge yet, you assholes. What was even more annoying to me was that I made no further appearances in episode nine.

They did me no favors in this one. If this had happened early on, I’d have been grateful for the positive edit, but not now. The final team battle was approaching, and the angle they’d taken regarding me wasn’t beneficial from my point of view. There were few things more lethal to a contestant during the final rounds of voting than being seen as not desperate enough.

And how Park Moondae had been portrayed so far on the show... Frankly, he looked anything but desperate. Simply put—I was being made to look more amusing than sincere.

This was part of the reason I’d worked a little harder than usual during the recent team battle. If this trend continued, however, I didn’t think the audience would think I was taking the competition seriously.

Maybe it can’t be helped. Frankly, I hadn’t joined this show with the mentality that I would debut no matter what. I’d never shown the editors any sincere emotion, so of course they hadn’t been able to portray me as desperate to win. I’d missed the window for that long ago. I had no tragic backstory that my fans could circulate among themselves, either.

It’s pretty funny if you think about it. Frankly, I was the most desperate of anyone here. I doubted any of the other contestants would die if they failed to debut.

Maybe I should brace myself for the worst-case scenario. I would accept my rank suddenly plummeting in the final episode with as much grace as I could. A fast debut was possible, no matter what company chose to sign me on after the show ended. I licked my lips. I was... disappointed.

If I’m going to work as an idol anyway, it would be best to be on the same team as people I’m comfortable with. Most of the people in this room would debut, I was fairly certain of that. The thought that I might not be among them made me feel an odd sense of loss.

Compared to when we’d first begun filming, I had changed a lot. I had no time to be sentimental, however. Shockingly, the production team decided to show the Huskiez team disaster toward the end of episode nine.

[※Choi Wongil: I mean, you can do this, right?※]

[※Lee Sejin: Just because I can doesn’t mean I want to.※]

[※Choi Wongil: You need to prove yourself. I mean, think about it...※]

[※Gi Jungkyun: Just listen to the guy. Why don’t you just try? You might regret it later otherwise.※]

[※Lee Sejin: Leave it alone, damn it...※]

His fearsome scowl filled the screen for several seconds.

Next came a scene showing the two of them glaring at each other, barking terse questions and answers as though things were about to devolve into a fistfight.

It was obvious the only thing holding them back was the cameras trained on them. Unfortunately, there was no one to mediate, since Ryu Chungwoo had gone to submit the team’s song selection to the production team.

[※Cha Eugene: … ※]

Eugene had tried to intervene, but he’d been ignored completely. His approach hadn’t been great considering the tense atmosphere, so it came as no surprise.

He stared at the screen mournfully, then bent over his cup, drinking his soda with an intensity it didn’t warrant. From my point of view, he’d successfully avoided attracting criticism, so things were going well for him. But he didn’t seem to share this sentiment.

[※Ryu Chungwoo: Guys... what’s going on?※]

Episode nine ended with a confused Chungwoo returning to his team and trying to understand how things had turned so sour, so quickly.

[※The team encounters a dangerous hurdle! Can they pull off their performance without problems?※]

“They sure did. Isn’t that right?” Big Sejin said to me with his usual uncanny timing, clearing the gloomy air that had begun to settle over the room.

“Yes, they did well,” I replied.

I wasn’t sure why he’d chosen to address me, but he responded obediently regardless.

Eugene finally looked up from his cup and smiled.

Why do I get the feeling he’s formed a habit of turning to sugar? Could it be my fault? I shoved the unpleasant thought from my mind.

An end-of-program commercial disguised to look like a mid-program advert was now playing on screen. A glance at the time told me that a short trailer or behind-the-scenes clip would be shown after and then the episode would come to an end.

“I guess they’re only showing the planning stage in this episode.”

“Yeah. We didn’t get much screen time.”

The Moon Rabbit team had only appeared briefly early on when the teams had been formed, and not much more after that.

Even if the production team had control over the order in which the teams would actually be shown, I’d expected that our performance would air toward the end of episode nine since we’d been the first team to perform. I hadn’t even suspected that we wouldn’t show up at all in the later parts of the episode.

Won’t not actually showing anything exciting for the entire episode negatively impact views? I wondered for a moment. The ad came to an end and Idol Incorporated resumed. The emcee appeared on screen.

“Uh-oh. That can’t be good.”

“You think so? Me too.”

The emcee only ever appeared alone to deliver bad news. Everyone tensed.

“That was Relisted! Idol Incorporated! Did you enjoy the show today?”

“Nope.”

“No.”

Weak denials came from around the room. It was a liberty we never got to take during the actual shoots.

“The announcement I have for you today... is regarding the stock status!”

“What?”

“Um, I didn’t think they’d just reveal everyone’s stocks so easily. I have a feeling they’ll only tell us a select few—”

“However, we’ll only be announcing the stocks that have experienced a decline! Let’s see which stocks the shareholders sold the most!”

“Oh, my god,” Raebin moaned, unsurprisingly.

Who the hell came up with this idea? Only announcing the falling stocks? I was familiar with most of the attention-grabbing tactics these shows tended to use and had believed that nothing could take me by surprise, for the most part.

I guess they got me this time. It was clear this was the reason they’d been brave enough to air an episode that included none of the performances.

“Now then, here are the rankings for the top-most declining stocks!”

With that, a list of rankings showing those who had been negatively impacted the most appeared on screen. The living room fell silent.