Free Web Novel“Is there a problem?”
We all looked tense. The youngest’s eyes went wide, and he asked urgently, “Are we not going to appear? Is that it?”
“No, nothing like that.”
Assistant Manager Hong waved her hand.
“There’s no issue with your appearance. That’s all been finalized perfectly between our CP and theirs.”
“Oh, that’s a relief...”
“What I’m concerned about is the entertainment reporters. The articles they’ll publish, and the public reaction.”
We moved into a conference room and continued.
“Remember the special program for Chuseok, ‘Ju Se-han Special’? When they first announced you were appearing.”
“It’s still vivid in my mind.”
How could we forget? On that prime-time /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ special, obscure idols as guests drew torrents of hate comments. We hadn’t seen it ourselves, but our managers’ grim faces and the like and angry emoji counts on the articles told the story.
She managed a wry smile.
“It’s similar this time. The launch timing for ‘Challenge, Hit Song Discovery Unit’ is weekend prime time.”
“...”
“You may think it’s just a guest spot, but this is a really big deal. It’s a project PBS is pushing seriously.”
Apparently PBS, envious of rival TBC’s smash hit competition show ‘Pâtissier Korea,’ was ambitiously preparing this music competition.
I spoke for the group.
“We know this opportunity is important too.”
On ‘Challenge, Hit Song Discovery Unit,’ five acts will showcase their skills. It’s a contest, but unlike survival shows, there are no eliminations. Instead, like a season, these initial members will carry the show for nearly two months. In other words, for two months, our faces will appear every weekend on a public broadcaster PBS. A tremendous chance to make an impression even on those outside idol fandoms.
“That’s right, it’s huge. And not only for you, but for the network too. They’ll invest heavily in promotion. The volume of press coverage will rival that of a major drama.”
We foresaw where this was going and braced ourselves.
“There’ll be a ton of hate comments.”
“You must be prepared.”
Assistant Manager Hong’s face grew stern.
“Unfortunately, relative to your peers you’re still less famous. The other participants are well-known to the general public. There’ll be unfair comparisons.”
“We understand. We’ll endure it.”
My brothers nodded. The other contestants are figures the public recognizes instantly. We’re second-year idols known within the industry as this year’s rookies, but our general public awareness is still lacking. Coupled with preconceptions about idol talent... we knew exactly how that would play out.
“Before you record later this week, they’ll release a press kit including your names.”
She laid down the guidelines.
“We’ll avoid media interviews to prevent stirring up trouble, but if you see any reporters, be extremely cautious. One wrong word and your appearance could be jeopardized.”
She coached us on how to answer potential questions.
“We’ll watch our words.”
“And don’t read comments. Do you promise?”
“Yes, Assistant Manager.”
We nodded vigorously to reassure her anxious gaze.
“We really won’t read them. We didn’t read them back in the Ju Se-han special either.”
“Good. I just wanted to mention it. Now—”
She shifted topics, relieved. The rest involved promotion projects and external events. The gloom lifted as we dove into other matters.
“...Huh?”
We looked intrigued.
“About the emoji stickers?”
“Yes, fans call you the ‘Emoji Tycoon,’ especially you, Woo-joo, the emoji mogul.”
“I would’ve preferred a different title... it sounds sad.”
I half-laughed, and she showed messenger emojis on her phone: Scarlet members dancing with ‘Dancing~’ in lettering, a finger-pointing Daisy saying ‘Do you think money grows if you dig the ground!’
“Girl groups often release these. They animate when you tap them.”
“Oh.”
“So we want to make your own too... ahem.”
Our eyes narrowed, and she cleared her throat.
“We’re negotiating with the messenger service to bring fan joy. Though there’s one caveat.”
“...?”
“Their funniest memes belong eighty percent to Woo-joo.”
“Ah, uh...” freeweɓnovel.cøm
“We need to balance among members, so we’re adjusting proportions.”
Our members looked contrite.
“We’ll create more cringe history to help even things out.”
“We were too complacent.”
“We leaned too heavily on Woo-joo hyung. We should have created equally.”
She flushed and insisted that as entertainers they still needed image management. We decided to shoot the emojis in the studio soon.
“What else is there?”
“There’s the kids’ educational show ‘Sok Sok! History Explorers’ promo, the cat food commercial, especially the press conference for ‘Hit Song Discovery Unit’...”
Wait. I’d been so focused on the music show I hadn’t noticed something odd.
“Cat food commercial?”
“Yes.”
“Cat?”
“Yes.”
“Mewing, meow?”
She nodded.
“Yes, that cat food ad.”
“Why are they asking us to do that?”
“The client loved the video letter you made for ‘Idol Show,’ that cat video. They thought it was perfect.”
I closed my eyes with a resigned expression, already imagining how the ad would turn out.
A little later.
A large supermarket in Gunsan.
Rrrrt!
A cart made its way determinedly through the bustling crowd.
“...Oh my, so many people for groceries.”
Grandma Kim Deok-soon clicked her tongue. She’d stepped out for a quick shopping trip, but the store was packed. She dodged elbows as shoppers passed.
‘I can’t let it scratch.’
Not just because of the clothes Woo-joo bought her, she worried about scratching her expensive bracelet. A lavish piece from her grandson’s first paycheck.
‘What was I thinking wearing this... damn it.’
She’d brought it to feel fancy, but never expected weekdays to draw such crowds.
‘If this gets scratched...’
She broke out in a cold sweat at the thought. She knew she’d return to the dorm complaining tearfully, “I was so hurt, Grandma, so hurt—” as her grandkids nattered on admonitions.
A staff member selling fried patties called her over.
“Oh, Mrs. Kim. Long time no see. Have a taste.”
“Are sales good?”
“Not bad. Try one.”
She speared a greasy patty on a toothpick.
“How is it? Want to take some home?”
“Yes, it’s tasty. But it’s not my style. I like them a bit saltier.”
Her blunt reply made the staff laugh. Then they pointed at her sparkling bracelet.
“Oh my, look at that. Who bought it?”
“My grandson.”
“The one in Seoul?”
“Yes, he said he made some money and wanted to spoil me.”
“What a good grandson.”
The staff clapped, admiring. As Grandma Kim let a pleased smile bloom, she heard a question.
“But what does your grandson do in Seoul?”
“Ah, nothing much...”
Then Grandma Kim’s eyes suddenly froze. Her proud smile vanished.
“What on earth...”
She thought she must be mistaken at first. But with her 1.0 vision, there was no doubt: it was her grandson and his entourage on a nearby panel display.
Five young men posed on the standee. Her eyes went wide.
“Why are they here?”
She knew her grandson shot various ads—school uniforms, airline campaigns. Recently he’d sent her red ginseng with a NewBlack photo in hanbok and a ‘Happy New Year!’ banner. She wasn’t surprised to see his face on promotional materials.
But this corner was peculiar.
‘Cat food?’
There stood a panel by the pet food aisle entrance. In the center Woo-joo smiled and extended his hand in a familiar pose. A speech bubble read in bold font “Nabi, remember—Essential Light is the food.” His entourage smiled warmly behind him.
“...”
As Grandma Kim stared speechless, the staff member asked again,
“Mrs. Kim, I asked what your grandson does in Seoul?”
“...”
She could not utter a word.
The cat food commercial kicked off a whirlwind third week of January.
We held a meeting with the kids’ history program ‘Sok Sok! History Explorers,’ then signed appearance contracts.
The PD clasped our hands repeatedly.
“Let’s make this a wonderful collaboration.”
The writers and production team clearly adored us. They first beamed at our visuals, then gushed at the history tidbits Ri-hyuk and I shared, plus Ji-ho’s impromptu acting. They declared they’d never seen more perfect candidates and, within five minutes, clutched our hands.
We agreed to begin actual recording in early February, after studio setup and script prep.
My brothers and I were ecstatic. Though a children’s educational show didn’t feel quite like variety, it meant another regular gig for us.
“I love this.”
Jung-hyun said for an oddly wholesome reason.
“Think of how excited the young sprouts will be to learn that history is fun.”
“...”
“I get to nurture future historians with my own hands, hohoho...”
Though his words were wholesome, the main vocalist’s expression was perilously gleeful, like a character from a plague drama. I laughed and nodded.
“Jung-hyun.”
“Yes, hyung?”
“Lead the way.”
“...Why are you like this, let go of me!”
In any case, our days flew by in a blur.
On Thursday at Jamsil Indoor Stadium, we won Rookie of the Year. Four awards in total.
Articles poured forth.
Whether our publicity team engineered it or PBS timed it, the lineup reveal and our awards aligned perfectly.
Reactions to the new competition show were hotter than expected. Though people groaned “Another music variety?” they were won over by the star-studded lineup.
These were comments the publicity team showed us. Comments about us had been filtered out—probably because they were either absent or overwhelmingly negative. Objectively it was likely the latter.
I was curious, but I resisted. Because of what Seok-hwan hyung told me:
After hearing that, I decided not to look. I can’t change people’s minds or control them anyway. I’ll just let it go.
“All right, we’re here.”
Friday morning.
Shaking off the fatigue from last night’s awards show, we entered PBS Broadcasting Center in Yeouido.
Down a rough, aged corridor we arrived at a spacious conference room.
“So we’re first, huh?”
Before filming, the talent gathered to greet one another. Until now we’d only met the production team, never our fellow performers.
“I hope they’re all great people.”
“Yeah.”
As the youngest among the participants, I both anticipated and trembled at meeting senior singers.
We clustered in a corner, killing time chatting about dumplings, when—click—the door opened and we turned.
“Uhm hello...”
A woman peeked in cautiously. She had gentle features and slightly drooping eyes. Bundled in a thick down jacket, she reminded me of a tire-mannequin from a tire display.
Our eyes widened instantly.
“Ah!”
We leapt up.
“Hello, sunbaenim!”
“Ah, ye... hello.”
When she awkwardly greeted us, I spoke first.
“I heard from Sun So-won sunbaenim yesterday.”
“Oh, me too...”
She smiled faintly.
“So-won told me a lot about you.”
She brushed her hair back awkwardly.
It was Lisa. A former member of the now-disbanded girl group Sugarfish. If Sun So-won pursued singer-songwriter activities, Lisa thrived as a musical actress. After a break in Belgium, she’d returned recently and hit another peak with a hit musical. I’d read about her leading role success just yesterday.
I recalled So-won sunbaenim’s advice from the awards.
Though I’d heard that, it still felt unfamiliar. On TV and in clips she exuded confidence and belted powerful songs—her real personality felt the opposite.
Apparently So-won sunbaenim had spoken well of us, because Lisa quickly let down her guard. We fell into comfortable conversation.
“...Timid?”
“Yes.”
“So-won’s shy?”
“Yes. She’s so sweet to everyone.”
We laughed at her deadpan denial.
She let her eyes droop and said,
“She wears me out though.”
“...Excuse me?”
“I’m happily resting at home and she keeps dragging me shopping, insisting on park walks, packing weird lunchboxes for me. When I say I don’t want to go, she teases me for being a homebody.”
We stifled laughter.
“And these days she nags me daily to record a duet.”
I could picture her playful junior pestering the introverted senior. They really got along. Even her complaints dripped affection.
I spoke up.
“By the way, sunbaenim.”
“Hm?”
“One of our managers is your big fan.”
“Really?”
When So-won won her first solo chart-topper, someone wept with happiness: ‘My bias is Lisa, sob!’
I wondered how thrilled it would make a fan to meet her. But Manager Min-gi was nowhere to be found.
“Where’s Min-gi?”
I looked toward the staff side where Won-seok sat.
“Hyung, where’s Min-gi hyung?”
“He stepped out for some matter earlier.”
“That’s odd. Nothing scheduled today...”
He’d been trying to slip out awkwardly. Was he too shy to meet his bias?
I teased Lisa and asked permission before calling Min-gi via video. Soon Min-gi’s face appeared in the studio hallway.
“Hello?”
“Hyung, it’s me.”
“Ah, what’s up?”
I explained.
“We’re meeting Lisa sunbaenim right now. Could you at least say hi?”
“No!”
Assuming he was too embarrassed, we laughed and handed the phone to Lisa. She cleared her throat, shyly smoothed her hair, and as she prepared to greet her fan—
“...?”
Lisa stared blankly, flustered.
“LisaJoAh?”
“...?”
“Why are you there, LisaJoAh?”
In the silence on both sides, we burst into laughter.
