Chapter 14

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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 14
Chapter Title: Resignation Interview (2)
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What kind of person was Jeong Seongbin to Spark?

To that question, the four members of Spark had once answered with a single word.

“Our leader.”

Setting aside my frustration with these inarticulate kids, Jeong Seongbin was genuinely respected within the bleak group.

Even the fans, who gave the other members all sorts of crazy nicknames, would call him “Jeong Seongbin, our spiritual pillar.”

So what would happen if a person like that decided to run away?

What would happen? The debut, everything—it would all be over.

It would be no different from trying to sneak onto a bus full of furious passengers, only to watch the driver leap out the window right before your eyes.

‘What should I do? Should I take him to Starbucks and buy him a seven-dollar drink first?’

I lifted my head, trying to remember if there was a Starbucks nearby.

And only then did I realize it was completely dark out.

‘Right. We left at midnight.’

Shit.

I rummaged desperately through my dusty brain.

But no matter how hard I searched my memories, I couldn't find a single scene where Jeong Seongbin had said anything like, “As a trainee, I once wondered if this was the right path for me.”

Yet, Jeong Seongbin quickly returned to his usual self. It was as if he hadn't yet recognized the deep, true darkness within his own heart.

I couldn't let my guard down. People like him were the most dangerous.

They were the type to work overtime until yesterday, then show up the next bright, sunny morning with a smile and say, “Phew, I just can't do this anymore!” as they announce their resignation.

In a tone as casual as someone asking to grab a coffee.

As things stood, it was clear that within a month, at the latest, Jeong Seongbin would be struck by a sense of disillusionment and begin contemplating the meaning of life.

And two months after that, he would leave us.

At that point, it would be useless to cry, “What are you talking about all of a sudden? Things were good between us...!”

Because by then, the resignation simulation would have already run about 300 times in his head.

If I failed to prevent this disaster, UA would be left staring with the same baffled expression as a raccoon that just washed its cotton candy, faced with the one and only potential leader who suddenly decided to quit being an idol.

‘I have to crush any hint of doubt before it even starts.’

Did he think I'd let him escape alone, leaving four problem children behind? Absolutely not.

“Seongbin, you want to talk for a minute before we go in?”

I stopped Jeong Seongbin in front of the convenience store. I was determined to be so pathetically persistent that he'd regret it for the rest of his life if he quit now.

* * *

A few minutes later.

We were sitting side by side on the swings at a playground, each holding a warm red ginseng honey tea. For the record, Jeong Seongbin picked the drinks.

The biting wind cut through my coat.

“Sorry, I know it's cold.”

“It's okay.”

Despite my impromptu demand for a talk, Jeong Seongbin just smiled and said it was fine. Hah... must protect our leader at all costs.

“Something's been worrying you lately, hasn't it?”

As I carefully broached the subject, Jeong Seongbin looked over at me.

The look on his face clearly said, *How did you know?* I hate to break it to you, kid, but it was painfully obvious.

Jeong Seongbin, barely swinging, fidgeted with his feet a few times before speaking.

“It's just... thinking about the evaluation results coming out soon makes me feel a bit down.”

Then, he gave a bitter smile.

Objectively speaking, UA's evaluation method wasn't harsh.

However, considering that trainees were ranked each time along with their feedback, it was highly likely that Jeong Seongbin's worries were also about his rank.

Jeong Seongbin's next words weren't far from what I'd expected.

“It's not like there are many trainees at the company, but for a while now, the rankings have barely changed.”

This evaluation had been conducted in the order of Park Juwoo, Choi Jeho, Lee Cheonghyun, Jeong Seongbin, and Kang Giyeon.

And that order was based on the rankings from the last evaluation.

Considering Kang Giyeon always got poor results because he couldn't perform to his full potential, it meant that in terms of pure skill, Jeong Seongbin's rank was the lowest.

Even lower than Lee Cheonghyun, whose training period was much shorter than his.

‘Of course he'd be anxious.’

It was a common enough problem when you were surrounded by exceptionally talented people.

Since they inevitably took similar classes and invested similar amounts of time every day, and he himself had a diligent personality that never slacked off, the blow must have hit him even harder.

Personally, I believe that the grit to keep striving even next to geniuses is a talent in itself.

But saying that out loud was another matter entirely.

So, instead of speaking rashly, I decided to give Jeong Seongbin some time.

I've never seen an interview go well when management starts firing shots at the person who requested it.

“Drink your tea. It'll get cold.”

“...Okay.”

With a slightly dejected expression, Jeong Seongbin tore off the plastic wrap covering the bottle cap.

I fiddled with my bottle of red ginseng honey tea, thinking about what I could do right now.

There were roughly three viable options.

1. Trap him in a hell of compliments.

This involved mixing in some of the over-the-top phrases I'd used on the coffee truck banner to shower Jeong Seongbin with affection.

But coming from me, UA's most awkward employee, it was unlikely to be very effective.

Just like how I hadn't felt happy at all when Department Head Nam praised me for organizing the breakroom perfectly back in the day.

2. Present a positive outlook based on clear evidence.

Use the vast data I'd collected while organizing fan theories to objectively explain which specific skills were improving and what his future growth potential looked like based on that.

However, if Jeong Seongbin responded with, “How do you know I sang that song?” it would be an instant bad ending.

He'd most likely look at me with the contempt reserved for a creepy stalker. Even I would find it unsettling.

3. Just run my mouth.

Tell him I have the ability to see the future, that he'll definitely succeed, gain wealth and fame, and be able to sing all over the place until he's at least twenty-eight.

This option came with the fatal side effect of potentially getting a gentle recommendation to seek medical treatment if I slipped up.

‘How are none of these options usable?’

After getting a do-over in life, I thought my career at Hanpyeong Industries had become useless, but now I see that wasn't entirely wrong. It's hitting me again just how incompetent I am outside of an office.

None of the three scenarios promised a bright future, but I decided to steel myself.

His life was on the line, and for me, it was my sister's life and my own future.

“Seongbin. If you're not too cold, could I just say... about five sentences?”

“Yeah, hyung.”

I spoke as calmly as possible, trying not to sound like I was giving an exaggerated pep talk.

“I hope you won't be too discouraged just because the gap between you and the others isn't closing right away.”

Jeong Seongbin, who was about to drink his tea, reacted slightly. Sorry for bothering you while you're drinking.

“If you just keep doing what you've been doing, the day you get recognized will come. I'm serious.”

“You sound so sure of yourself, hyung.”

“Of course.”

I could see Jeong Seongbin, who had been smiling faintly like a deflating balloon, become flustered by my confident attitude.

*Kim Iwol, you can do this.*

*Your image is nothing compared to the idol scene's god-tier personality, Spark's flame, the drama OST killer.*

*For this young friend to overcome his growing pains—no. For my own future, free from Hanpyeong Industries, I'll just close my eyes and do it.*

I finally opened my mouth, which even the red ginseng honey tea hadn't managed to moisten.

“I... know... the future.”

It was a shocking true story worthy of the headline: *Kim Iwol, Age 29, Claims 'I Know the Future'... Sparks Controversy*.

A cold wind blew between Jeong Seongbin and me.

“...What?”

Damn it.

It was the most embarrassing moment of my life. Is this what they call secondhand embarrassment? Except I wasn't feeling it for someone else, I was the one causing it.

I fought back the burning sensation in my face and forced myself to continue.

“I saw a glimpse—no, it was shown to me.”

The word "saw" implied my own volition, so I quickly changed it.

“Even though this time feels long and hard for you now... in the not-so-distant future, you'll look back and realize you could be happy because of these moments.”

After hearing my words, Jeong Seongbin let a long moment pass in silence.

He was probably weighing whether I was a complete lunatic or just had a few screws loose.

Seizing the opportunity, I tried to salvage the conversation while pretending to be unfazed.

“If you don't believe me, fine.”

“No, it's not that. It's actually reassuring.”

“Let's try to keep a straight face when we lie.”

Fortunately, the tension in Jeong Seongbin's face had eased considerably. It seemed less like he'd been comforted and more like he'd found it so funny that his mood had lifted.

Still, a change of pace was a change of pace. I barely managed to suppress the ten million sighs of relief that threatened to escape me.

Steam was practically rising from my body, making me wonder if there had ever been such a hot winter.

The atmosphere on the way back to the dorm was no longer as heavy as it had been just a few minutes ago.

“So in the future you saw, what was I doing?”

Because Jeong Seongbin, now quite excited, started asking all sorts of questions.

Just a moment ago, his lies about being okay had lacked conviction, but now, his words were laced with playfulness.

If, at this point, I said...

‘Yes. You become the leader of a talented boy group, and after silently guiding your team through the harsh entertainment industry, you finally see the light. Although you do disband.’

...and Jeong Seongbin put too much faith in this folk superstition and started slacking off, it would be a disaster.

I racked my brain once more.

*Minimize the information, use a synonym, but a word that still conveys enough responsibility...*

“A... a chieftain?”

...Why do I even have a head on my shoulders?

It occurred to me that if my brain was this useless, I seriously needed to do some self-reflection.

“If I, *choke*... became the chieftain, wouldn't the group just fall apart?”

“Yeah, no. It'll fall apart without you.”

I wasn't sure what set him off, but in the end, Jeong Seongbin laughed so hard he had to cover his mouth to muffle the sound.

*Noona, are you watching?*

*Your little brother is living this pathetically.*

Jeong Seongbin's questions didn't stop until we reached the dorm.

To Jeong Seongbin, who was the very personification of diligence, this absurd story must have been quite refreshing.

Thanks to that, our conversation remained at this level the entire way back.

“You can't see the future whenever you want, right?”

“Right. I have a life to live, too.”

“If you think about something you want to see, does it just appear before your eyes?”

“It's like being possessed by a spirit, I guess. It doesn't happen often, just sometimes.”

I suddenly found myself having to offer a deep, heartfelt apology to all the shamans in the country.

And I vowed that after seeing this good, kind kid debut, I would go to Jirisan Mountain or somewhere to atone for my sins.

Whether it was laughter therapy or something else, by the time we returned to our room, Jeong Seongbin looked much more relieved.

Or maybe he'd just been so cornered that he hadn't even had the capacity for such idle thoughts.

Still, the fact that his expression had changed to one of 'I'll hold on for another day...!' was a remarkable achievement.

Thinking complacently that it had all worked out somehow, I was about to lie down to sleep when my vision blurred with light.

It was the system. I wasn't even surprised anymore.

But something was off. It was a different type of message than I'd seen before.

+

[SYSTEM] ‘Party B’ is hereby notified of the ‘Personnel Disadvantage Clause’.

▷ Violation of internal regulations

▷ Violation of confidentiality

▷ [Locked]

.

.

.

+

The words that appeared were clearly ominous.

With a sense of unease, I selected the ‘Violation of confidentiality’ item, which was blinking insistently. A long text appeared.

+

[SYSTEM] ‘Party B’ is hereby notified of ‘Violation of confidentiality’.

▷ All matters that may affect areas beyond Spark's successful activities and all direct information related to future events are considered confidential secrets requiring security.

▷ ‘Party B’ is responsible for maintaining confidentiality regarding the aforementioned matters.

▷ The severity of the punishment will be determined based on various factors, including the importance of the leaked secret and its potential to generate buzz, with penalties up to and including ‘death’.

+

Surely they weren't sending me a warning just for one cryptic, prophecy-style cheer like “Jeong Seongbin will become the chieftain!” Especially when the maximum penalty was death.

If I had known my life was on the line, I wouldn't have risked such a mortifying leak of heavenly secrets.

Unwilling to believe it, I read the memo again, word for word—a memo that had a knack for pissing me off even at three in the morning.

But rereading it changed nothing.

To think that now, I was forbidden from mentioning practically everything.

It was a truth impossible to accept without going insane.