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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: The Old-School System (3)
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Getting hazed by the Spark bastards, one after another, was an experience that nearly killed me.
First up were Choi Jeho and Kang Giyeon, the so-called incarnations of dance.
These guys seemed to view me as some sort of interesting alien lifeform.
They’d show a dance full of all sorts of flashy moves to a beginner like me, and then unleash their shocking teaching method of asking, “Got it?”
To show them that such a method was insufficient for teaching me, I did my best to move as stiffly as a board. Both of their faces went pale.
But what could I do? I’d been a bona fide office worker my whole life.
My mind was in such a mess that I nearly asked Choi Jeho, “Oh, Center Emperor Choi Jeho, am I moving correctly right now?”
After running a mental simulation of receiving a look full of contempt from him, I secretly started practicing calling him without the nickname, even in my head.
After the two stoic boys, the ones to go down next were Jeong Seongbin and Park Juwoo.
Unlike the previous artists, the two master vocalists tried to impart their knowledge in a more humane way to me, who was showcasing movements that seemed violently broken.
Unfortunately for them, my stamina was better than theirs, so they collapsed first.
Lee Cheonghyun, who had been watching the whole disaster, made eye contact with me and gave a thumbs-up.
“Hyung, you’re seriously amazing! Fighting!”
Then he even threw in a wink. His personality was perfectly optimized for being an idol.
Why couldn’t you have done that wink more often in your self-produced content? If you had, I could’ve made a compilation of your winks in a single day.
Thanks to my efforts, spurred on by Lee Cheonghyun’s sparkling encouragement, I was finally able to extend my arms straight out to the side while facing forward. It had taken a grand total of four hours.
I glanced to the side and saw Kang Giyeon clapping, his lips pressed into a tight line.
That was the exact expression I’d once made while watching the boss’s son who’d come to “help out” at my part-time job. This second life really isn’t easy.
At this point, I couldn’t help but wonder.
What on earth did the casting director see in me to cast me at UA?
I figured the Spark guys were just as curious as I was.
Wouldn’t it be suspicious if the kid who randomly joined as a trainee a few days ago couldn’t even control his own left and right feet?
They didn’t show it, but I could tell. One of my few talents is being able to read people.
But it couldn’t be helped. It was a tall order for an office worker whose entire life had been fiddling with spreadsheets to become a good dancer in a single day.
Especially when the so-called reward was a measly 20 experience points at a time.
I’d experienced a situation similar to this before.
I’m talking about… the time Department Head Nam handed me five years’ worth of unorganized documents and asked me to sort them by the end of the day.
When the situation seems unbelievable and there’s no clever solution in sight, no matter how hard you look, there’s only one thing to do.
And that is…
‘Simple repetition.’
I felt my eyes getting misty. It was as if the sweat I’d shed back then had synced with my eyes now.
Still, there was one definite improvement. At least Department Head Nam wasn’t here.
And if there were even people helping me, I should be grateful.
Even if they were the legion of enemies from my first life.
It didn’t seem right to not even try to learn after they’d put in the effort to teach me, so I used my anger as a driving force and threw myself into whatever they told me to do.
After all, if I thought of it as a 20% salary increase, that was a pretty significant raise. Mental victories really are all about perspective.
***
I don’t know how long I’d been moving in a trance.
I heard ragged breathing around me and looked over to see the Spark guys collapsing one by one in the corners of the practice room.
Weaklings. With that kind of stamina, they wouldn’t even be able to climb Mt. Bugak carrying the executives’ thermoses.
Taking advantage of the lull in instruction, I grabbed a water bottle and wet my throat.
That’s when it happened. The practice room door opened, and a somewhat familiar person walked in.
At the same time, the Spark guys, who had been sprawled out like office workers after a late night, shot to their feet.
Their disciplined posture was exactly like Spark in their early debut days. My stomach churned.
“You’re all working hard practicing, huh?”
“We’re fine!”
“Fine, sure. Iwol, this is the first time I’ve seen you since your casting. Did you get to know the other guys?”
His neat business casual attire, unlike that of a trainer, and his friendly tone.
And above all, that comment confirmed my suspicions.
So it’s you. The one who threw me into this pit of evil?
I wanted to grab him right then and there and ask what part of me screamed ‘idol material.’ Was there really that little talent in Hongdae that day?
“Yes, they’ve all been a great help.”
But I barely managed to hold it in, thanks to the patience I’d honed to its absolute limit.
“Hey, don’t be like that. We have high hopes for you too, Iwol!”
He should have seen the dead look in Spark’s eyes from earlier.
If he had, he wouldn’t have said something like that. Even I, who held nothing but ill will for Spark, was starting to feel sorry for them.
If my friend the System would just allow it, I was ready to write up a new resume and apply to be Spark’s new manager right now.
But the System gave no reply. Of course, it’s only quiet at times like these.
The sudden visitor said he was here to film a group choreography video of the five Spark members and took out his phone.
“Now that we have a new trainee, we need to re-evaluate the formation. Once you’ve learned the choreography, Iwol, we’ll film it again with you in it.”
When you don’t know how to do anything, you should at least answer promptly.
I first answered that I understood. Though I wasn’t sure if such a day would ever come.
While Spark prepared to film, I moved to the mirror on the opposite side and stood next to the staff member.
The scene that unfolded before my eyes shortly after was quite incredible.
The sight of the five trainees dancing in perfect sync was impressive even to my clueless eyes.
‘When I was making fan edits, I just thought that for guys my age, their joints were still holding up well.’
Seeing it up close, I understood for sure.
These bastards, at least when they’re doing their job, they’ve got power.
I guess public opinion was right—the reason this group could last for seven years despite having more controversies than company employees was because of their looks and skills.
For the first time, free from the duty of video editing, I fully appreciated their brilliant formations.
However, I didn’t look anywhere above their necks. Seeing their faces just made my anger surge.
For the record, the move that took me hours to learn and earned me one welfare point passed by in an instant.
It felt like… about 1.8 seconds?
‘To master one full song, I’ll probably have to grind for a solid two weeks.’
Though whether that grinding will produce that level of power is another question entirely.
It must have really been just a simple monitoring video, because filming was over in a single take.
“Iwol, what do you think?”
“Huh?”
“The guys. They’re good, right?”
What a difficult question.
The answer was already decided. The only thing I could say here was, “Yes, they’re freaking awesome.”
The problem was that no matter how much I praised them, coming from me, it was unlikely to mean anything to Spark.
“Yes, I think it’s incredible.”
I answered with as much soul and sincerity as I could muster, making sure not to cross the line into looking like I was trying to act smart.
Thanks to that, I was reminded of my early days right after joining Hanpyeong Industries.
Those days when I learned the ropes of office life by living on a diet of reading the room. Of course, I wasn’t nostalgic for them in the slightest.
Fortunately, my bland answer seemed to have left no impression.
It was thanks to the conversational skills I’d honed for 29 years, fueled by a lifelong desire to never stand out.
However, there was one thing that was bothering me. I hesitated for a moment before reluctantly speaking up.
“But…”
All eyes turned to me. Their gazes seemed to ask, ‘Is this clueless newbie really about to criticize this amazing dance?’
I took a deep breath and opened my mouth.
“Giyeon, are you sure you should be dancing?”
“Huh?”
“You looked like you were struggling a bit.”
A clumsy oaf who couldn’t even control his own body was now adding his two cents, and even Choi Jeho’s gaze was fixed on me. It was the kind of look I’d only ever seen in fansign fancams.
I didn’t want to say anything precisely because I was afraid I’d stand out.
To make an excuse, the situation was such that I couldn’t just keep my mouth shut and pretend not to notice.
I could ignore other things, but turning a blind eye to someone who looks like they’re in pain goes against common decency, doesn’t it?
I wasn’t sure when he was teaching me the choreography one-on-one, but seeing several people dance the same routine, I couldn’t miss it.
No one was telling him to rest, so I wondered if they just didn’t know.
It seems my guess was correct, as the gazes that had been on me immediately shifted to Kang Giyeon.
“Giyeon, are you hurt somewhere?”
“No, I’m not hurt.”
Kang Giyeon answered the staff member’s question with a face that looked no different than usual.
But he couldn’t fool my eyes.
That bastard was 100% lying.
Before I traveled back in time, Kang Giyeon had made that same face when he said, “We’ll continue to work hard in the future.”
Saying that at a New Year’s concert and then disbanding less than a year later? These shameless sons of bitches.
“Giyeon says he’s fine.”
“He doesn’t look fine. His left ankle.”
Feeling perverse, I pressed the issue with a look of utmost concern.
At that, Kang Giyeon’s expression turned strange. It seemed like I’d hit the nail on the head and landed a solid blow.
“Giyeon, is your ankle hurting?”
“Since when!”
The staff member and Lee Cheonghyun shouted at the same time. Kang Giyeon grew flustered.
“No, it’s not so bad that I need to go to the hospital…”
“What are you talking about, Giyeon? If you’re hurt, of course you should go to the hospital.”
Now even Jeong Seongbin chimed in. Unlike my feigned concern, he looked genuinely worried.
Now that I’d brought it out into the open, he and the people around him would take care of it.
My duty done, I turned my back on Kang Giyeon with a light heart.
Then, a scene suddenly came to mind.
It was the image of Kang Giyeon singing alone in a chair on the outdoor stage at Imjingak.
It was because of a chronic ankle injury that had developed from relentlessly practicing difficult choreography since his trainee days.
You could tell that period must have been bleak for Kang Giyeon just by looking at his lifeless face, visible even through the low-quality footage of an open radio show.
As an adult who knew the future, I thought I should help him out at least once as a matter of principle. So, I endured the trouble of speaking to Kang Giyeon once more.
“Make sure you go to the hospital.”
“Huh?”
“I had a friend who ignored an ankle injury and really suffered for it. It’s a real pain if it becomes a chronic problem.”
My conscience pricked me for exaggerating a mere classmate into a “friend.”
But seeing Kang Giyeon’s wavering gaze, it seemed my words had gotten through to him. I was relieved, thinking I could probably break that bastard’s stubbornness.
It’s not like it was for anything else; I was just trying to get a patient to the hospital. My old classmate would understand, right?
Thanks, friend. You just saved a future dance genius.
After that, well, it all wrapped up with the heartwarming conclusion of a manager showing up late after a phone call and taking Kang Giyeon to the hospital in a taxi.
As I saw Kang Giyeon off to the hospital, a quiet sense of reality hit me.
Half of me was thinking, ‘Why the hell did I worry about those bastards?’ The other half thought, ‘But I can’t just ignore someone who’s hurt.’ The two thoughts clashed fiercely in my mind.
If something like this happens again, I’ll have to make sure not to get involved.
Still, if I nudge them like this a few more times, I might get to see all five of them standing and dancing at Imjingak.
That is, if I don’t die from a stress-induced illness from being unable to control my surging anger first.
***
Despite the brief disruption, practice continued until 10 PM.
‘An episode from our trainee days?’
‘What was there… Was… there anything?’
‘I think we really just practiced… Sorry, Sparklers. We’re boring, aren’t we?’
When I was transcribing their live broadcasts, I’d think, ‘I have to make a ten-tweet summary thread before I can sleep, so just say *something*.’ But now I get it. If you do nothing but practice all day, you won’t have anything to talk about.
When the only things you do after eating are singing and dancing, how could there be any episodes?
Still, now they’ll at least have the story of how Lee Cheonghyun tried to give the ankle-injured Kang Giyeon a piggyback ride and they both fell over. It was a touching display of friendship.
My first practice session was certainly grueling. But it wasn’t so hard that I was ready to collapse.
Besides, if I just kept being clumsy, my debut would be out of the question. So, though it brought tears to my eyes, I decided to practice a bit more before leaving.
Thankfully, none of the members tried to stop me. My… dynamic movements must have been quite a shock to them, too.
In just three years after their debut, those guys were destined to become regulars on the rankings for Korea’s most talented idols.
In other words, it meant that for this group project, I was the only one who needed to do well.
For the first time in a group project, I felt like I was in charge of research instead of being the group leader.
This feeling of getting a free ride… It was full of guilt, but it was a novel experience.
I was confident in my ability to master a skill through constant repetition.
My ancestors didn’t bless me with any special talents, but they did give me a dogged persistence that keeps me from getting easily bored with most things.
Just repeating the basic moves a few times made two hours fly by, reminding me once again that a person’s nature doesn’t change easily.
‘Is it not going to give me experience points this time?’
I smacked my lips in disappointment.
Who knows? Maybe if I collect 1,000 points, it’ll give me a free ice cream or something.
As if reading my thoughts, the System reappeared after a good half a day.
This time, however, the source of the experience points was a little different.
+
[SYSTEM] ‘Hidden Task (First Overtime)’ has been completed.
▷ Reward: Experience (20)
▷ Accumulated Experience: 40
▷ Accumulated Points: 0
+
“Fuck…”
I don’t want to swear, but what can I do?
It’s a situation that’s impossible not to swear at.
