Debut or Die!

Chapter 6

I was tired and my eyes felt dry. The shameless producers had kept everyone on set until all seventy-seven contestants had finished performing on stage. Even during the break times in between auditions, the most we were allowed to do was go to the bathroom in groups. It was probably because it was difficult to manage dozens of feisty young adolescents, but I was running out of patience with the whole thing.

A mere glance at their status windows told me everything I needed to know about my competition, and every performance I’d witnessed so far had been pretty bland. I’d seen plenty of real idols performing on stage when I’d worked filming fancams—of course performances from trainees failed to impress me, though I had been surprised a couple of times.

I glanced up at the two people currently seated on the plush-looking sofa. They were the contestants who were currently ranked in first and second place. They both came from a well-known agency, were indisputably talented, and had the stats to reflect that. I knew that both of them had debuted successfully in my past life, and one of them had even finished in first place.

It would probably improve my chances of debuting if I sucked up to them, but the idea of participating in cringe-worthy adolescent back-scratching—more suited to someone ten years my junior—made my skin crawl. Let’s shelve that for later when the team battles start.

Thankfully, it seemed as if the shoot was slowly wrapping up.

“Contestant Ryu Chungwoo ranks… 9th place!”

He forced his way in at the top, I see. The final contestant had landed in the upper ranks, which were already packed. That pushes me down to… 22nd. Not bad. Not bad at all.

In fact, statistically speaking, I’d ended up ranking higher than at least seven contestants who possessed better stats than I did. I’d have to perform consistently well if I wanted to keep that I’d been overestimated on the down-low.

“Thank you,” said Chungwoo, a genial expression displayed on his face. The former member of the national archery team stepped down from the stage with a grin.

I’d heard he’d won a gold medal competing on an Olympics team, but that was the extent of my knowledge. He’d been one of the contestants who’d debuted on the winning team. Since he was an Olympic gold medalist, he would be exempt from his compulsory military service, which no doubt made him a more appealing candidate to agencies.

Wait a second. Will I have to serve my military service again? In my previous body, I’d received a Grade IV on my physical exam and been assigned to serve non-active duty at City Hall. The thought was scary and hadn’t occurred to me until now, but filming ended before panic could take root in my brain.

“And cut! Good work, everyone! Please move along, contestants!”

“All right!”

There was scattered applause and responses called from around the room. My head was spinning as I followed the staff out—I’d have to check whether Park Moondae had completed his physical exam yet.

“Before you board please take your ranking cards!”

The dormitories were only a ten-minute walk from the studio, newly built on the hilly land behind the broadcasting station after the breakaway success of season one. The production staff still insisted on driving us there, however, and the reason was simple: they wanted more footage. This was only made more obvious when they assigned us vehicles based on our ranks.

“Contestants 10th place and above! Please come this way!”

“Wow, is that a limo?”

“Holy cow, this is great!”

“No way.”

The top ten contestants all posed with their thumbs-up to the cameras as they entered the limousine, the lowest-ranked contestants visible in the background. Those ranked from fifty-first to seventy-seventh place have to make their way on foot. Although they tried to make the best of it, some even cracking jokes, I could see a few were fighting back tears. The cameras followed those individuals unrelentingly.

The cameramen seemed to have a razor-sharp instinct for sniffing out the misfortune that would flavor the show. If I was honest, it was kind of disgusting.

“Hey, this isn’t bad.”

A luxurious bus was waiting for those ranked eleventh to twenty-fifth place. Lee Sejin grinned as he boarded the bus first. Wanting to avoid having to sit next to him, I hung back a while before climbing on as well. Somebody followed right on my tail, hesitantly taking a seat beside me. I looked over to find Seon Ahyeon next to me.

Why are you sitting next to me? Not that it really mattered. He didn’t try to make conversation, and I appreciated the moment of quiet.

***

We arrived at the dormitories in no time at all. Just as it was in the previous season, we were assigned to different floors, again based on our rank. This pseudo-caste system would continue to be employed until the team missions began.

Eleventh to twenty-fifth places were assigned large rooms that housed five people each. We were split into groups in order of our ranking, so I was assigned a different room to Lee Sejin, who was in twentieth place. This was lucky for me.

“Damn, this is nice! I’m taking this bed!”

As soon as we entered the bedroom containing two bunk beds and a single, one of the other boys jumped on the single bed with a contrived-sounding cheerful shout. It seemed like he wanted to appear playful and happy on camera.

I chose one of the bottom bunks, then Seon Ahyeon rushed forward and tossed his luggage on the bed above mine. He stared at the floor, avoiding my eyes when I stared.

I feel like I suddenly have a second shadow…

He continued to follow closely behind me even after we were given sweatsuits to change into and told to assemble. It finally occurred to me that he probably found the bossy would-be celebs awkward to be around and preferred to stick to someone more ordinary and quiet like me.

I left him be since I could see no problem with letting him hang around for now. However, I decided I would keep my distance and make sure we didn’t end up on the same team—if someone took exception with him, his timid personality could end up causing problems for me.

“You will now begin your training for real! Welcome to the customized classes!” cried the emcee dramatically, introducing the system everyone was probably already familiar with. “Based on the judges’ evaluations, you’ve all been given a vocal and dance grade, correct?”

“Yes!”

“Each lesson is split into beginner’s, intermediate, and advanced levels. Based on your level, you will receive customized training designed to help you improve your skills.”

This system was no different from any other audition show. It was the next part that was the problem.

“In addition, you might be moved into a different class at any moment, without notice!” the emcee continued. “It all depends on how much effort and dedication you put in!”

For example, if someone soaked up knowledge like a sponge in the intermediate vocal class and suddenly improved by leaps and bounds, they would be moved to the advanced vocal class in their next session.

This also meant, of course, that someone could be sent to a lower class if they underperformed. This would go on for ten days, then we’d present the theme song as a solo performance and our final rankings would be decided. In other words, the producers would work these kids like dogs to ensure the show’s success.

“And these badges go to… Park Moondae!”

“Thank you.”

As expected, I received an advanced vocals badge and a beginner dance badge. I felt a bit silly with the shiny golden vocal badge and the dull bronze dance one pinned to my chest. They were so over the top that they verged on cheap. In addition, some contestants didn’t receive a badge at all. The internet graciously referred to these unfortunate souls as the trash grade.

“Those without badges… have not been assigned a grade yet,” the emcee said. “They’ll be joining the beginner’s classes, but will also have to receive special lessons at night, outside normal training hours.”

Frankly, if you were really determined, being in this position meant more time in front of the cameras and a more dramatic comeback storyline. I supposed it wouldn’t feel that way if you were actually counted among their ranks, though. A good example of this was the former child actor who stood a ways away from me, hands trembling.

I’d heard he’d been in a thriller movie that came out ten years ago, a mega-hit that was seen by ten million people. He’d explained during the auditions that unfortunate circumstances had put his acting career on hold.

He hadn’t been assigned a grade for dancing, and his vocals were beginner’s level at best. In his status window, I could see those same abilities were graded F and D respectively. He was probably hoping to get back into the acting game, rather than actually hoping to pursue a career as an idol. The thing that surprised me, though, was that his name was also Lee Sejin.

I hadn’t known that two people with the same name had appeared on the show, though it was obvious to me that the other Lee Sejin had been the one to debut. I didn’t think that this Lee Sejin was the winner and the reason was simple—he was no doubt being kept around to be cannon fodder, used to stir drama in the early episodes, then abandoned. His displeasure at the situation was evident, as he was unable to rein in his feelings. The director will like that.

After all the badges were handed out, a gigantic screen lit up.

“The song you will be practicing will now be revealed! For the next ten days, you will put forth your best effort to master this song, then perform it for the shareholders of “Idol Incorporated!”

This song was about to be played all over the country to the extent that everyone would become absolutely sick of it. I’d been avoiding all media while I prepared for the civil service exam, but even I knew the song well, right down to the chorus’ choreography. It wasn’t as easy as “POP☆CON,” but still easy enough to pick up quickly.

“The song for this season is called “Shining Star!”

An addictive beat suddenly began blasting from the speakers, accompanied by emotional, but ultimately cringy lyrics.

I’m standing on stage

And though you don’t know it yet

The STARLIGHT pulsing inside of me

Is about to fly to you like a turbojet

A dancer appeared on stage, demonstrating the accompanying dance moves. Groans and the odd moan broke out around the room, and I, too, realized what the problem was. The chorus’ relatively simple choreography was a red herring—it had intentionally been made simple in order to appeal to the general public, but the intro to the song was accompanied by a tangled mess of dance moves.

By the time the first verse was over, I’d already forgotten everything I’d just seen. The song dove into the chorus.

The one to shine on stage today is me!

Yes, your shining star I’ll be!

I’m waking up with a radiant gleam!

Watch me closely, as I bring them to their knees!

Even the seemingly easy chorus was accompanied by complicated footwork that would probably trip everyone up. I already knew what I had to do.

“Status window.”

I’ll just… have to forgo sleep.

“Activate ‘Sleep is for the Dead.’”

***

The calories. I should have taken calories into account. That is, I should have known from the start that I’d be burning through way more calories than usual by practicing all night without sleep. After my first sleepless night, I could feel grouchiness creeping up on me because I was so hungry.

“W-w-would you like to eat this?”

Seon Ahyeon had handed me a chocolate bar, and I’d conceded to having a short conversation with him out of sheer gratitude. We ended up deciding to drop formalities since he was the same age as “Park Moondae.” Speaking informally with a kid like him was a sharp reminder of just how young I now was.

From the second day, I made sure to eat three meals a day and drink as much as possible. The food was… fine, but I liked that we could eat as many portions as we wanted. After nine days had passed, I had the entire dance memorized from beginning to end. Being able to practice all night without any physical repercussions turned out to be really useful, and in addition, I’d gained a few levels.

[Name: Park Moondae (Ryu Gunwoo)]

Level: 7

Title: None

Singing: A-

Dancing: D

Physical attractiveness: C+

Charm: C

Traits: [Infinite potential, Sleep is for the Dead (D)]

Status abnormality: Debut or Die

Points Remaining: 3

Luckily, every one hundred or so attempts I received a reward, up to the five hundred attempts mark at least. But I held off allocating my points just yet. If I used them now, they wouldn’t have much impact.

That’s five people so far.

Five people had already been moved from the beginner’s dance class to the intermediate class. It wasn’t likely that anyone would dramatically improve after only a few days of training, so I could only assume that they’d botched their first screening and bounced back to their real level. Being included among them wouldn’t help me to stand out and it wasn’t the proper way to take advantage of moving up a level. I had to ensure everyone noticed I’d improved, for maximum dramatic effect.

There was already plenty of footage that could be used to serve that purpose since the choreographer had come down on me for my sub-par dancing.

“Again!”

“Your foot! Bend the left foot!”

“Did I tell you to swing your arm? Hold it straight up!”

The choreographer had exploded in thunderous rage on the very first day of class and verbally beaten all of us down to size, resulting in a dance practice that had only grown more depressing the longer it dragged on. As the class was drawing to a close, the choreographer had singled me out.

“Moondae.”

“Yes?”

“Keep this up, and you’ll fail the next evaluation.”

I was most definitely not the worst performer in the class. I was in the beginner’s class, after all, so I probably fell somewhere in the middle in terms of ability. My dancing was as good as could be expected given I was relatively fit and trying my best. However among the beginners, I had received the highest initial placement, and so there were certain expectations I had to meet relative to that.

Predictably, the choreographer delivered a near-identical line to one he had delivered the previous season.

“You know what I’m thinking? I’m wondering if I gave you the wrong ranking. It seems to me you didn’t deserve to place that high in the first place.”

He was right, of course. He probably knew he was right, too—he was just hassling me for the camera’s sake.

“Surely, you can do better? Get your act together.”

“I will.”

Unless a person was blessed with natural talent, it wasn’t reasonable to expect them to suddenly show huge improvement after only a few days of training. In my case, it was possible though, so I just nodded with a determined expression painted across my face. Pointless criticism and advice meant nothing to me in reality, but this time it was useful since the audience would naturally assume I was upset by it. I had to wring the situation for as much drama as possible, so I’d have to wait.

“Thank you for the lesson, sir!” the contestants cried, sweaty and out of breath.

“Don’t mention it. And Don’t give up,” the choreographer responded with an easy nod. He glanced at the cameramen and, after confirming the cameras had been turned off, left the room, fiddling with his phone.

The morning dance class had come to an end, and vocal classes would begin after lunch. We were given bulgogi and seaweed soup for lunch and I ate as much as my stomach could hold. After a quick shower, I made my way to the advanced vocal class alone. There was one thing I had to admit…

“Why don’t you show us how it’s done, Moondae?” the vocal coach asked.

I hadn’t put any effort at all into practicing my singing.