Hearing the words coming out of Director Choi's mouth, Yeong-ho exaggeratedly widened his eyes as if he had heard something unthinkable. Or at least, he tried to widen them, but all that moved were his twitching eyebrows.
“What do you mean all of a sudden, Director?”
Instead of answering, Director Choi mentioned the name of another group currently soaring in stock value.
“You know DEAR 9, right, Yeong-ho?”
“The group created by a three-company collaboration?”
It was an audition program with the goal of creating an idol group through the joint production of three famous domestic entertainment agencies, with the judges seated from these agencies on a national TV show. The show boasted the names of the large agencies, which already had long lines of applicants for their internal auditions, stretched over several days.
Even if you didn’t make it through the audition, it was still a great opportunity to appear on national TV and perhaps leave a good impression on the judges from the three agencies. Naturally, applicants flooded in from all over the country, and as many applicants as there were, there was also an abundance of talent.
To find gems, of course, you need to dig in a gem mine, not a gravel field. But in this case, the gems were rolling in on their own. After picking the shiniest, most polished candidates that seemed like they would shine even more with a little refining, it was no surprise the group became popular.
Though there was plenty of criticism, even that criticism was seen as creating buzz in the industry. In the end, the show gathered numerous fans and recognition. The nine survivors from the survival show formed the project group ‘DEAR 9,’ set to promote for a limited two-year period. Though they were destined to return to their original agencies after the contract expired, for now, they were at the center of attention and climbing the charts of success.
However, from a long-term perspective, most industry insiders were skeptical. After the project’s activities concluded, only a few would survive in the spotlight. As for the rest, it was obvious they would return to lives not much different from before their TV appearance, once time passed.
Though the show advertised itself as having a grand prize as if it were a huge deal, Yeong-ho remained skeptical. Not that Director Choi cared about Yeong-ho’s thoughts at all, as he sternly continued.
“Yeah, we should send our kids to something like that.”
“What?”
Yeong-ho stared back at Director Choi in disbelief. Usually, this kind of reaction was usually done by Sol to the people in charge of managing the debut team. Sol, often spaced out, would usually respond with a delayed “What?” while rolling his eyes. Now, Yeong-ho looked exactly like that. Of course, their visual appearance was worlds apart, but still.
“OnMusicNet got inspired by DEAR 9 and is now going crazy trying to launch their own version of it.”
"Really?"
"What's with the 'really?' Yeong-ho, do you think we can keep up with the Big Three no matter how hard we try?"
"......"
At Director Choi's continued words, Yeong-ho scratched his head vigorously, his short hair sticking up like a kiwi's fuzz.
"They're saying they'll gather debut teams from small agencies, have them compete, and whoever wins will get their backing."
"What will they get?"
"They’ll get a showcase, priority on their programs, and even a reality show. In short, they'll handle all the promotions for them."
OnMusicNet? It was indeed the biggest music broadcasting station in Korea. It had contributed a lot to the popular music industry, but its recent actions hadn't been great. There were accusations of malicious editing and bias. Recently, there was even suspicion that they had rigged the scores in favor of a certain group on their own music program. Whether they supported you or not in the survival competition, just like Director Choi said, it would be a problem either way.
"Director Choi."
Yeong-ho pulled out a title he rarely used. The reason Yeong-ho even stepped into this company was entirely thanks to Choi Sung-hyo. Though they were senior and junior from the same high school and university, and fairly close outside of work, Yeong-ho hardly ever used that title at the office unless it was something significant. Taking a deep breath, Yeong-ho called Director Choi ‘Senior’ once again, signaling he was ready to talk candidly, without rank.
"I can't tell the kids. You should tell them yourself."
"Hey, Yeong-ho. Do you think I want to be in this situation?"
Hearing Yeong-ho’s words, Director Choi softened a bit and responded more amicably. His expression wasn’t bright either.
"What am I supposed to tell Tae-oh? You said the same thing when we started YouTube, that this time it was for real. Just yesterday, I told the kids that the response was really good and that it would happen soon."
As soon as Yeong-ho mentioned Tae-oh, he immediately thought of the other. Tae-oh was someone who, worried about being a burden to the members or receiving too much consideration, never showed how tough things were for him, but lately, it was clear he was struggling mentally.
It wasn't just Tae-oh. These were kids he'd seen since their awkward teenage years. It wasn’t just a business relationship, meeting at the company. Of course, there had been moments of disappointment and frustration, but at least Yeong-ho always tried to treat the members like his own younger brothers.
Just the other day, Director Choi was full of praise, saying the reactions to the YouTube videos and Sol were great, acting like he was about to do something big for them. After a late practice, when the kids looked exhausted, their shoulders slumped, he had wanted to encourage them, so he said this:
“Hang in there just a little longer, the company is praising you a lot. It’s coming soon, guys.”
That single, seemingly insignificant comment had them smiling, even though their faces were tired from exhaustion. He could still vividly see that. And now, out of the blue, a survival show?
“It’s not such a bad deal. Look, YouTube reactions are good, right? Once the show airs, popularity votes are a sure thing, don’t you think?”
“......”
“Honestly, we say we let the kids learn whatever they want, but there are limits, aren’t there? But if they go on that show, they could learn from some big names that are hard to get access to otherwise.”
When Yeong-ho didn’t answer and just stared at him with a sullen expression, Director Choi, maybe feeling a bit guilty, began to explain the benefits in great detail. The problem was, none of it seemed like a benefit to Yeong-ho.
“And, competing with kids from other companies will broaden their perspective. That’s how they’ll grow. OnMusicNet is still the top when it comes to the local scene. Their faces will be on TV, so this is a huge opportunity, Yeong-ho.”
Tae-oh and Ga-ram had already been through a lot with public auditions. Just a few months ago, Ga-ram had been harassed by that crazy stalker who wouldn’t leave him alone. Ji-ho had been another case, someone who was thoroughly used and discarded by the audition system. And Sol? He had only just started as a trainee. Yeong-ho felt uneasy about whether Sol could handle the stress of a survival audition program. Would Ga-ram have to go through that all over again?
Thinking about it again, this just wasn’t right. Yeong-ho shook his head and looked at Director Choi.
“Senior Choi. When was the last time you went downstairs to see the kids practice?”
“Well… when was it?”
In response to Yeong-ho’s question, Director Choi glanced at the calendar on his desk, trailing off. He only ever showed up around evaluation time. Recently, Yeong-ho hadn’t seen him downstairs at all.
“Whew… go take a look yourself. After that, you won’t be able to tell the kids to go on a survival show.”
It really was blood, sweat, and tears. Anyone who had witnessed their hard work wouldn’t be able to push these kids into a battleground they could easily avoid. YC wasn’t exactly a small agency. Though it was awkward to say it was a large one either, the key point was that the company wasn’t struggling so much that they couldn’t debut the kids they had.
“Why are you being so hostile, Yeong-ho? Maybe the kids would actually want to do it. Let’s at least ask them.”
"That's why I can't ask. You should ask him yourself, Senior Choi."
Director Choi tried to coax Yeong-ho. Honestly, Director Choi didn’t need to explain this much to Yeong-ho, but it was hard to scold someone close to him, so he was trying to soften his words. If the higher-ups give an order, you follow it. What kind of low-paid employee would dare complain? Knowing this, Yeong-ho was addressing him as 'Senior Choi' rather than 'Director Choi.' Despite Director Choi’s efforts, when Yeong-ho remained stubborn, he finally snapped.
"Hey! Kim Yeong-ho!"
"Senior, this is false hope. You're torturing the kids with their hopes on the line."
"When did I ever torture anyone?"
"And what if it doesn’t work out? Are you just going to throw them back down into the basement?"
"Why are you being so negative? You always brag about how well your kids are doing. If they're doing as well as you say, their results will be good, and you won’t have to worry about them getting eliminated, right?"
After several incidents, Yeong-ho had been stuck to Director Choi's side, flattering him, hoping to address how neglected the kids had been by the company. He had tirelessly told Director Choi how much the kids were practicing and how ready they were. Director Choi shot Yeong-ho a sharp look.
"Do you not trust your kids?"
"It’s not that I don’t trust them. I don’t trust the company."
He didn’t trust YC Entertainment, or more specifically, OnMusicNet. No matter how well the kids did, they couldn’t win against the corrupt connections in the system, and that’s what worried him.
"Hey, Kim Yeong-ho. This is where your paycheck comes from."
Director Choi tapped his finger quickly on the desk, resembling a typical boss exerting power. Yeong-ho, who had always been good-natured and smiled innocently, now had a stern look. His face, usually round and potato-like, hardened into a rough expression, like a tough guy who knew how to handle himself.
"Yes, I get paid, and my job is to take care of the kids you’re about to throw into the ring. And that’s what I’m doing right now."
With Yeong-ho's words, Director Choi sighed deeply and changed his approach.
"I’ll see what I can do. Let’s give it a shot, Yeong-ho. Honestly, I have no idea what the representative is thinking. But still, isn’t it better to try than to keep them locked away in the basement?"
The tone, once as firm as a strict boss, softened considerably, becoming friendlier—like an older neighborhood brother stuck in a tough spot—while he tried to comfort Yeong-ho.
"If the fans catch on to the situation, they’ll probably say things like, ‘When is YC coming out? Isn’t YC working?’ And that could get back to the boss, right?"
In the end, it was Yeong-ho who lowered his head. After all, the outcome had been determined from the start. When he ran into the representative outside the office, he already sensed it wasn’t going to be for something good. Yeong-ho roughly scratched at his coarse hair, reluctantly responding.
“…Damn it. Fine, I get it.”
In the end, it was also Yeong-ho’s job to break the tough news to the kids who were eagerly looking at him with shining eyes.
Reasons why I love this book: it's just too real to the characters. They are very well written and fleshed out. The director is a typical boss, he may be a good person deep down, but at the end of aday he runs the company. So he gotta do things to make profit for the company.
ReplyDeleteOn the other hand, manager yeong-ho , he's a very good person, and a good manager too. And actually cares about the kids, but his hands are tied behind his back. Why? Because in the end he is the employee of the company.