Debut or Die!

Chapter 10

They hadn’t mentioned the last season even once during filming so far. I hadn’t dreamed that they would drop this bomb now. The comments were inundated with question marks. Youngrin continued without so much as batting an eyelid.

“In order to prevent such a disaster from ever happening again, going forward the production team will leave all decisions to the shareholders!”

A row of powerful lights flared to life as Youngrin uttered each new sentence.

“The group composition? You decide!”

“The number of contestants in each group? You decide that too!”

“Are there contestants you want to see perform together? The choice is yours!”

“Or…”

The lights began to blink precariously.

“Is there a member in the group you want gone? Kick them out!”

- Has the production team gone insane?

I saw a comment that summed up the appropriate response to this perfectly. Youngrin wrapped up her speech, still wearing a grave expression as the lights flashed dramatically around her.

“The very existence of our company depends on you, our shareholders!”

“‘Idol Incorporated’ will be relisting… starting now!”

The camera angle changed, revealing shining lights rippling on a stage shaped like a star. Ten people were standing in the center of the stage with their backs to the camera—the platinum-grade contestants. The camera circled around them, moving up and down as it zoomed in. However, the stage was so large that by the end of the shot. The frame still captured all ten figures.

As soon as the camera stopped, the intro to the song began to play, and the contestants spun one by one to face the front, all movements diligently caught by the camera. The prize for earning a platinum grade was a solo shot at the beginning of the performance, but each person got less than a second on screen, bringing the worth of the reward into question.

They should have just picked one person like they did in the original season. A strange feeling washed over me as I saw my face appear for a split second on the screen. I’d been the one to perform but it still felt awkward seeing Park Moondae’s face instead of my own. Hmm. But maybe seeing a different person’s face will give me less second-hand embarrassment.

When the intro ended and the song began, the gold-grade contestants appeared around the platinum contestants. Through the magic of editing, the many times we’d filmed the song over and over had been cut together naturally.

By the time the pre-chorus began, the silver-grade contestants had smoothly appeared on both sides, followed by the bronze in the back as the chorus began. Then came the group chorus.

“Nice.”

It hadn’t come out half bad. Everyone looked like they were moving in perfect synchronization since any mistakes or clumsiness had been wondrously edited out. I could see some positive responses among the comments, though most people seemed confused that they were enjoying what they were seeing.

- Wait, why is the song actually good?

- It may be a sh*tshow, but the theme songs are always bangers.

- This song is so wasted on this show. They should have given it to an actual idol T_T

The commenters also missed no opportunity to pass judgment on the contestants whenever there was a closeup.

- Do you see the state of his skin? Man, that’s so awkward.

- He just accidentally hit himself. Hilarious. Anyone see it?

- Can’t expect talent from people so hideous LOL

ㄴ Please stop the generalizing, you’re hurting the ugly people in this thread T_T

ㄴ Sorry. Their dancing is okay, but they’re not handsome enough to pull it off

ㄴ Damn it, you son of a b*tch

ㄴ LMAO

Of course, the comments weren’t all bad.

- Wow, that one was really good-looking.

- Whoa, what is he doing on this show?

- How did they get that guy to agree to do this?

- If I was that good-looking, I wouldn’t be wasting my time on this stupid show.

This was how the people generally reacted to anyone with a B grade or higher in physical attractiveness. Whoa, that was a closeup of Seon Ahyeon just now. The camera seemed attracted to the most handsome competitors.

Wait a second… I watched the comments as close-ups were shown of the contestants. “Did I mess up?” It was bad news if there was too little buzz about me. Dancing and singing aside, maybe I should have worked my physical attractiveness up to an A first?

For those who were good-looking enough, a single close-up during the theme song performance was enough to spark interest. If I was able to attract a few curious fansite masters, they would go on to take photos of me during press conferences and the like, and they would then circulate on social media. I could have locked down an initial fanbase, attracted by my visuals, and I’d be safe from an early disqualification.

Since I had the status window, I could have slowly built up my skills later. I’d thought better of that strategy since this season was inevitably going to be a laughingstock at first and would only gain popularity at a later date, but I’d forgotten that people could take an interest in my looks if only to mock them.

Feeling an icy chill settling in the pit of my stomach, I turned back to the screen. The song had come to an end, finishing with several close-ups. The most eye-catching contestant in these final shots was the child actor Lee Sejin. The camera lingered on him for several seconds, making it obvious that the production team really wanted the rumor mill to focus on him.

Thinking about it, most of the members I remember successfully debuting, in the end, had been a B- or higher in physical attractiveness. It boded badly for me if the final edits were only focusing on the best-looking contestants. Park Moondae was far from ugly, but he wasn’t anything special, either.

Feeling my confidence slipping away, I decided I needed to reconsider my strategy, but movement on the tv caught my attention. It was a mid-program ad. I heard a familiar voice.

“‘Idol Incorporated,’ Relisted!”

The first ad is airing right now? It made sense that they’d had time to make it since it had been over a week since the first shoot. I focused on the tv, wondering if I could gather any hints about what direction they were going to take the show in.

“I hope there are lots of promising contestants.”

“I’m really looking forward to it.”

“Wait—beep—is on this season, too? The contestants will have their work cut out for them.”

The judges were laughing and conversing on the screen. The ad was already incorporating every possible cliche typical of a reality show trailer. There was a montage of contestants receiving positive feedback from the judges.

“Wow, what can I say? That was incredible.”

“You are truly gifted.”

“Whoa!”

“Where have you been all my life?”

A snippet of my evaluation also played. I breathed a sigh of relief, less concerned that I’d be edited out entirely. I’d been highly stressed since this was my first appearance to the public. Even if first impressions were the most important, there was usually plenty of leeway up until around episode four. I’d just have to keep calm and tweak my strategy.

In contrast to the inner peace I’d managed to reach, the judges were now berating someone on screen.

“That just now… that wasn’t even worthy of being called an actual performance.”

“You know you’re just making excuses, right”

“It’s as simple as this: you didn’t prepare enough.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself.”

There were several shots of contestants wearing stiff, grim expressions and biting their lips. Looking at the background, I knew that these clips were actually taken in the practice rooms and they were all actually just exhausted from practicing.

There was even a scene that had been edited in such a way that made it seem like something dramatic was going down, by beeping out key phrases and names.

“Beep—wait! Beep—stay where you are!”

[The contestant suddenly decides to leave.]

A close-up shot of a teary-eyed Lee Sejin, the child actor, appeared on the screen.

[What is the story behind his tears?]

The screen went dark, and the show’s logo faded in dramatically. A variation of the theme song played, and the logo suddenly vanished. The emcee’s voice could be heard.

“The new and improved “Relisted” season of Idol Incorporated! The first hurdle will be... a—beep—evaluation!”

“Oh god!”

The trailer came to an end with a clip of the contestants covering their mouths, expressions deeply shocked.

Glancing down, I found that the comments section was, understandably, on fire. That evening, every celebrity news site exploded with comments about the new season.

***

After I finished working out, I logged into the web portal site as I was heating up some dinner. The articles on the front page all had titles that went something like this:

[“Idol Incorporated” Offers Apology to “Shareholders” and Unveils New Variation on Formula: Male Idols]

[Idol Incorporated “Relisted!” Season Unveiled, “Shining Star” Shown for the First Time]

[“Please invest in us, shareholders!” The 77 Contestants From the New Season Show What They Can Do]

The titles themselves were pretty neutral, but the reactions to the articles were a good gauge of public opinion. The comment sections on most celebrity news sites had been disabled for a while now, so the only indication of how their readership was responding was through the use of emoticons.

The “Unbelievable” emoticon had garnered over twelve thousand clicks. It was clear people had clicked this since there was no “I’m Angry” emoticon, which meant the public was getting pretty worked up. Many people had written opinion pieces that were published through various news outlets as well.

[Why Idol Incorporated is Hiding a Vulgar Underbelly Behind a False Promise of Freedom.]

[Kids Have Become Stocks. “Buy me, please!”]

I clicked one of these.

[…this isn’t idol hopefuls just politely asking to be chosen anymore. The program demands that viewers buy stocks in their idols, meaning the contestants are no longer even being treated like human beings. The cruelty in leaving their fates to the public like this is…]

Hmm, I don’t need to read any more of that. Most posts I found across the various internet communities and on social media were negative.

- Those bastards just never change, do they?

- They were selling votes from the very first season, spinning all sorts of ludicrous sh*t like calling them “stocks.” And they’re back at it again. They really like profiting off these kids, huh? LOL

But the production team was probably on cloud nine right about now, since it wasn’t the contestants who were being criticized. The second season had failed because some of the most popular contestants had misbehaved—a fatal flaw in the way the show was set up. This season, the production team had purposefully highlighted the cruel nature of the program, overshadowing the unfortunate impression left by the previous season.

Survival programs were always tough, regardless of whether they were openly cruel or made an effort to hide it. Perhaps stirring up interest in this way would be better for the contestants as well, since—thanks to the increased media attention—posts like the following were beginning to appear.

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

A summary of the platinum grade in season 3 of Idol Inc.

I took some screenshots of the Music Bomb performance. I’m only making this post because I feel bad that actually good dancers are appearing on shows like this, so please refrain from leaving malicious comments.

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

Commenters usually only had a lot to say about the most good-looking of the contestants or those with big smiles on their faces, but some of them mentioned Park Moondae as well. It was deeply strange reading them. They mostly called me cute or pointed out that guys who looked like me were on trend these days.

- I re-watched the video because I found this Park Moondae guy cute, but he didn’t get much screen time T_T But if you watch the trailer, it seems he did well in the initial audition, so I’m thinking about watching the show.

I didn’t know how to feel about that. Never in my life had anyone expressed such an open interest in me. I’d wondered what it might feel like to be an idol when I was in college selling fancams, but it never ceased to amaze me how much time and money fans were willing to invest in people they had never even met.

Maybe that was just because both time and money had been hard to come by for most of my life. It was even harder to wrap my head around the idea that I was now the target of such attention, but I didn’t hate the feeling.

What should I do next time? Suddenly, I couldn’t sit still. After skimming through all of the comments, I thought about where I wanted to invest my points next. At that precise moment, a window appeared.

[The Beginning of Fame!]

1000 people have taken notice of you!

Pick your general trait ☜ Click!

So I get notifications about this sort of thing, too? I read the message with some surprise. The prompt to pick a trait felt familiar thanks to the message I’d gotten before when I’d been rewarded for performing on stage for the first time. I clicked it, and the same slot machine appeared. There were gray slots accompanied by the occasional copper ones, as before.

I hope I get a trait that boosts my physical attractiveness or charm this time. I was more excited than I had been the last time, waiting for the slot machine to stop spinning. As the images slowly slid to a stop, another pop-up message appeared.

[Jackpot!]

You won a hero trait!