Chapter 48

Chapter 48

The Huskiez team, led by Ryu Chungwoo, began their practice session in a savage mood. This was owing to the seemingly endless conflict between the team members.

[※Choi Wongil: I didn’t think that he (Lee Sejin) would be so sensitive.※]

[※Gi Jungkyun: It makes me wonder if he just likes playing the victim.※]

[※Ryu Chungwoo: (Sighs)※]

The interviews cut together like this, accompanied by the background music, worked together to build quite an uncomfortable ambiance.

Since all the contestants were determined to win, their practice sessions were never canceled or skipped, but that didn’t mean they got in a lot of actual practice, either. The production team had chosen to focus on Cha Eugene’s growth, as he was excluded from all the conflict, rather than the members involved in the disagreement.

This was how Park Moondae made his appearance. If one had to put a label on his role, it would be that of a side character offering advice to aid in the protagonist’s personal growth.

[※Park Moondae: Is something bothering you?※]

Here, a few quick cuts of Moondae speaking with Eugene and handing him snacks flitted across the screen. He’d only given Eugene food as a quick way to deal with the situation, like a mother trying to get a baby to be quiet, but Eugene mentioned Moondae’s help in an interview. The end result was that those few scenes strung together came across as quite heartwarming.

- ??

- What the?

- Are they close?

Park Moondae’s fans were taken aback by this development since they’d never seen the two of them interacting.

He had been on the same team as Eugene in the second team battle and that had been a roaring success, but no personal friendship had ever been depicted between them. And why had Eugene turned to Moondae instead of Ryu Chungwoo, who had a proven track record as a good leader?

Their many questions were quickly forgotten, however, since such cute nuggets of fanservice were always welcome.

- He’s so good about giving away his snacks

- That’s Moon Puppy for you! He’s serious about his food

- Moon Puppy: unexpected healer role?

- How is it that a twenty-year-old idol (-to-be) reminds me so strongly of my grandma?

The episode depicted Eugene as intensely focused and passionate about the performance, in contrast to his usual easygoing attitude, leading to a successful showing at the team battle.

He might get some flak for taking up so much of his team’s segment, but he’d managed to leave a clear image in the viewers’ minds of personal growth and desperation. Of course, Moondae himself wasn’t pleased that Eugene had gotten the attention that he himself had desired, but his fans were happy that their bias had been portrayed as friendly and trustworthy.

Even casual viewers seemed to enjoy this portrayal of him.

- Park Moondae is more mature than I expected

- I guess there’s a reason he always gets along with his team members

└ You’re right. I got the impression he was really disrespectful at first. This is a surprise.

Since Eugene had been the one given all the screen time and Moondae had only appeared on the side, any criticism went Eugene’s way—meaning Park Moondae left a subtle but favorable impression on the viewers.

Because of this, his thoughts were in a jumble as he surfed the web the day after episode ten had aired. He had a lot to be happy about, but it also wasn’t exactly what he’d wanted.

It’s good that I’m continuing to make up for my initial bad impression, but as expected... I’m still not being depicted as a very passionate person.

He needed to be portrayed in the exact same way that Eugene had been in the most recent episode. The only remaining performance, however, was the finals, and the production team had no reason to give him a dramatic backstory at that point. He’d only been characterized as the funny guy so far, after all.

Should I just give up? Moondae clicked his tongue and considered the few remaining shoots ahead of him. Then he recalled what would happen at the very next one.

Wait... maybe I can use that? The editing was in the hands of the production team, of course, but he could still try to steer them in a certain direction.

He came to a decision. I’ve got nothing to lose from trying.

Moondae didn’t notice Ahyeon putting his phone down, about to ask if he wanted to order braised chicken. The other boy saw how lost in thought Moondae was and thought better of it.

***

“Wow. The weather’s getting really warm now,” Big Sejin muttered as he entered the set.

It was already nearing the end of April. They’d begun filming in winter, but time had passed so quickly.

I guess I’ve completely gotten used to all this, I thought, using Park Moondae’s body to change into my uniform. It no longer felt awkward to be him.

Big Sejin glanced over at me. “Hey, you seem taller.”

“What?”

“You must be working out. You seem more muscular, too.”

I realized that I’d grown a bit taller over the past few months and gained muscle as well, which meant Park Moondae’s physique was almost the same as my own, from my previous life.

“I’ve heard people can still grow past the age of twenty-one, but I’ve never seen it happen in person.”

“Neither have I.”

“Right. You must be feeling pretty good about it though, huh?” he said playfully.

I shrugged. I’m around 5’10” tall now. I’d measured my height a few days ago, I recalled as I sat in the waiting room. It felt strange that I knew all the faces around me so well now.

“Hey, Moondae!”

“Hello Moondae!”

If I return to my own body one day, it’ll be a big adjustment again. It was kind of mind-blowing. Nodding back lazily, I took out my phone, meaning to turn it off since I would have to turn it in soon. There was a new notification from an anonymous social media account I’d made to keep track of public opinion.

I touched it without thinking, which brought up a post that had just exceeded ten thousand shares.

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[The original artist of the trot song Moondae performed uploaded a post on social media LOL (link)]

========================

This sort of thing wasn’t unheard of, since with the overwhelming popularity of the show, celebrities who had nothing to do with it were mentioning the contestants in hopes of attracting attention from their fans.

I clicked the link and the preview showed a photo of a trot singer smiling into the camera and making a finger heart. In the background was a blurry TV screen showing Park Moondae performing the trot song.

========================

[Contestant Park Moondae from Idol Inc., you did a great job singing my song! I’m rooting for you :) I hope you debut!
#IdolInc #howaboutaduet #rockingtrot

========================

Wow. I guess it’s good that the original artist was satisfied with my cover. The interaction seemed to amuse the fans, too. I was scrolling through her photos when another of her posts flashed by, catching my attention. It was another huge photo.

Wait a second. I took that photo. A second look confirmed that it was indeed a photo I’d taken a few years back at an event.

Nobody had been willing to buy it, so I’d done the right thing by her fans and released it on a fan community site. The sunlight provided stunning lighting that made for some fantastic photos that day, so it wasn’t surprising that the artist had wanted to share it.

Something about it really bothered me, though. Turning off my phone, I realized what it was.

I don’t exist in this world, do I? I’d tried to track down my original self as soon as I’d woken up in Park Moondae’s body but hadn’t been able to find any information about me anywhere. But photos I’d taken were still somehow circulating on the internet?

That doesn’t make sense. I accessed WeTube and clicked the search bar, entering the name of the most famous fancam that I’d ever filmed.

[Legendary Youngrin fancam]

It was footage of the judge, Youngrin, singing passionately in the rain early in her career when she hadn’t yet been considered a star. The video had gone viral and been the boost she needed to really launch her career. I saw a familiar thumbnail appear at the very top of the search results.

There it is. The video was there, though the uploader wasn’t my original account, of course. I’d deleted the account I’d used to upload fancams that didn’t sell well after I’d begun studying for the civil service exam. In my current timeline, that would be roughly... last year.

A comment from the uploader had been pinned at the top of the comments section.

- I’m uploading this because the original got deleted. I’ll erase it if the owner of the original shows up again.

This all but confirmed my suspicions.

I no longer exist in this world, but my fancams and photos still do. I felt cold thinking about it and even more scary was that I’d now been cursed to die unless I managed to debut in a short period of time.

Am I really being punished for being a paparazzo? It had just been a playful thought before, but it didn’t seem so funny to me anymore.

What the hell is this? I thought to myself, summoning my status window, but I got no answer. I felt like an idiot. What was going on?

“Hey, what are you doing?” someone asked.

“Just a second. Thinking about something.”

I resolved to put aside my thoughts for the time being. Though I’d discovered an anomaly of some kind, I needed to concentrate on the filming now.

I’ll look into all of this afterward. With that, I turned in my phone to the staff. If I let my mind fixate on other things, people would only criticize me for losing focus. I needed to clear my mind. Thankfully, it wasn’t all that hard to accomplish that. The moment the recording began, the emcee started things off with a bang.

“Welcome, everyone, to the long-awaited third ranking announcement ceremony of Relisted! Idol Incorporated!”

The contestants responded with the well-practiced applause they’d been honing for months now.

“But before that, there is something we must do first. It’s time to test how serious you are about this show!”

This was the moment I’d been waiting for. I could guess what the emcee would say next.

He’ll suggest testing our dedication to the show with a casting call. Indeed, this show had a tradition designed to stimulate excitement at this late stage of the program—it was dubbed the Casting Calls. In a word, agencies that were in cahoots with Tnet, which was also moderately well-known, would try to recruit some of the contestants.

If any contestant chose to go with one of the agencies, they could do so on the condition that they stepped down from the competition. There was almost no reason, however, for any contestant who’d had success on the show so far to just suddenly quit.

The contestants were not idiots—they knew if they stuck with the show they could debut in a group that was guaranteed to be a hit. Why would they choose to go with some other middling agency?

This event was only meant to add tension to the show since it wasn’t likely that anyone with a good chance of debuting would choose to leave anyway.

But they can capitalize on the tension regardless. I would try to guide the conversation in such a way that showed just how serious Park Moondae was about this program.

Though it’s very likely anything I say or do will just be edited out… I heard someone gulp next to me. Most of the others seemed to have guessed what was coming as well, based on the emcee’s words. And anyone who had been in the middle or lower in the rankings last time they were announced would currently have a dilemma on their hands.

They would want to seize the chance to work with an agency since their likelihood of debuting through the show was slim. If anyone accused them of being cowards for wanting to tap out, they could always claim that the agency they’d chosen had been their dream workplace or something like that, promising not to disappoint their fans despite giving up on the show.

There are always contestants who chose to quit at this point in the program.

Around five people had defected last season, if I remembered correctly. Considering the show had ended abruptly almost immediately afterward, they had made a very good call. In the end, only those set to debut had been cheated of their reward.

The emcee stalled until the contestants were riled up and impatient to move on.

“Now then, I’ll announce what’s to come!”

The large screen in front of us turned on.

A list of agencies, maybe? As people around me whispered about casting calls and such, the emcee threw his arms open wide.

“It’s a personality test!”

“?!”

“This test will allow us to choose the perfect K-pop concept to suit each person!”

The gathered contestants exhaled, disappointed.

I could feel my expression going cold.

So it’s just filler content? It was possible the results of these tests would be used to select the next teams. One thing was certain—I’d been had.

Sh*t. The contestants followed the staff and were separated ten to each small room. It was nice I wouldn’t have to wait since I was part of the first group, but I was in a sour mood.

I shouldn’t have gotten so excited. The small room was a practice room big enough for one person, and there was a camera installed on a small two-person desk in the center.

It was obviously designed to film one person at a time, sitting with their back against the wall. Resisting the urge to sigh, I went and sat in front of the desk. A tablet PC had been set up on the desk, with a questionnaire already opened up on the screen. It was designed similarly to the types of quizzes trending on social media these days, which detracted considerably from its credibility.

I think they must have stolen this straight off the internet. Guessing they had hired a contractor to make it at the last minute, I began selecting my answers to each multiple-choice question.