12. The Trainee Who Refuses to Debut (3)

Dan Haru, trainee in crisis, thought to himself:

'Life really is a live-fire exercise.'

Sure, it was a truth of life he'd felt many times over, but this time the situation was extra complicated. He was clamping down on his tears because crying here would mean truly losing, but a headache was still a headache.

'What do I do. I can't keep going like this.'

His stress was closing in on its limit. Rather than get his back broken as a shrimp caught between whales, at least being shark bait would feel less unfair.

"But do sharks even eat shrimp?"

Even mid-fury, floating question marks like that, Dan Haru had thought of the recently arrived Kang Hajin for reasons more logical than you'd think.

—If you ever have something you can't talk about anywhere else, tell me you want to hit the vending machine. I'll buy you a can of something.

He was a strange hyung. From the moment they'd met, for reasons he couldn't explain, there'd been no sense of distance with him. The hyung who, before Haru knew it, had him spilling everything from his hobbies to his current worries about practice. The center of the rumors that had had the whole company buzzing before he was even officially a trainee.

—Miro's Zhuge Liang.

—They say he's close with Upia's Seo Taeil.

—Apparently Team Lead Ji is looking after him personally.

—Word is his numbers are unreal — even Rene wanted him.

—Nope. Rich-family kid, that's why no one can touch him.

Which parts of this were true and which weren't, no one really knew. What was clear was that for someone who'd only just walked in, his standing was better than you'd expect.

New enough to have no stake in the existing web of interests, but with enough pull to be heard once he'd listened.

Once the math added up that far, Dan Haru took the next step without hesitation.

"……"

"……"

Which brought us to now. After his bold shout about the vending machine had cracked the practice room into an ocean of laughter, and a flustered Hajin had pulled Eunchan and Haru into an empty lounge.

What greeted them was something worse than silence — pure awkwardness.

It's chilly.

Zip it before I plant a dagger in your chest.

Hajin, who'd been keeping quiet and reading the room, shot a quick glare at the System, which was starting up its side commentary again.

"Hm. If there's nothing to say, should we head back?"

"Oh, um—, right!"

"Yeah."

"You said before — if I had something on my mind, to tell you!"

"Right, yeah. What's going on?"

Haru, having finally committed to his opening line, packed his small face with every ounce of grievance he could muster and appealed to Hajin.

"…The company keeps trying to debut us!"

'What are you talking about?'

The unexpected statement made me lose the thread for a second.

"So↗…"

I tried to keep my voice as steady as possible, but it cracked. Ah, my dignity.

"Ahem. Companies are, generally, trying to debut people, right? And you two came in trying to… debut too."

I did my best to play it cool, but it was clear from my voice that I genuinely wasn't following. Ah, kids these days are hard. What in god's name this 17-year-old Sparkles was thinking, I couldn't figure out.

"Th-that's true, but."

Sparkles's high-spirited voice softened. Ju Eunchan, sitting next to him, just watched me with an unreadable face. Wow, this 18-year-old Miro-face wasn't any easier to read.

"There's a plant in the debut lineup the Head of Department is pushing."

"A plant?"

"The reason he's trying to debut me and Haru together is to bury that plant."

"Why is it you two?"

The story had the whiff of a full-blown train wreck, and I found myself leaning forward. Ju Eunchan, in that impassive low voice, spoke calmly.

"Because I come from money."

"?"

What in the ever-loving hell were they talking about.

---

The story was this.

Miro's Head of Department Son Hyunggu, treated as a founding hero for his work debuting Upia, had lately grown anxious after missing out on a promotion thanks to weak results and a few incidents. That was why he'd started showing up frequently at the drinking parties of certain 'well-connected' people.

And it seemed one of those 'well-connected' gentlemen had a son who'd recently developed an interest in this whole idol thing.

"Everyone who knows knows. The Head of Department takes money to push kids."

Anyone paying attention could see the trainees getting opportunities they hadn't earned. But knowing didn't matter — in this every-man-for-himself, survival-of-the-fittest world, trainees sat at the very bottom of the food chain, with no way to voice complaints.

And the Head of Department's greed was getting more brazen by the day.

"Because of that plant or whatever, the special class got completely reshaped to the Head of Department's liking."

"Special class?"

"Class A. It's called Class A, but everyone treats it like the debut-group management track."

Hearing that reminded me of what Ji Suho had explained to me on my first day as a trainee.

—Every new trainee starts out in Class B. Miro runs monthly evaluations and a full quarterly evaluation, and only trainees who place in the top 7 in the quarterly evaluations get pulled into Class A for separate classes.

—Is it like a debut group?

—Not quite, but… there are a lot of perks and opportunities, and they're given more consideration when a debut group is being put together.

When I first heard it, I'd thought it was a pretty brutal way to raise teenagers, and left it at that. Once you'd stepped into this game you had to get used to it; if you gritted your teeth and cracked the top 7, that was that.

That's what I'd thought.

"At first it was just Seongwoo-hyung getting bumped. He was never really in the safe zone to begin with, so he couldn't say anything about it out loud. Then one day a kid from Class A got called into the Head of Department's office… and the next evaluation, he suddenly came in 11th. He'd always been 5th or 6th."

After that, one by one, the trainees in the special class who were on bad terms with the plant got cleaned out. Some got dropped to the general trainee track, and some walked out of the company on their own.

And here, an unexpected name came up.

"Minseok-hyung left the company that way too…"

"…Minseok? Rene's Cha Minseok?"

"You know Minseok-hyung?"

Ah. He hasn't debuted yet, has he.

I brushed it aside, mumbling something about having heard it in passing from Rene's Chief Jang, and steered the conversation on with the startled Sparkles and Miro-face.

"Anyway, so."

"……"

"The reason the Head of Department is trying to debut you, and the reason you don't want it? Because the plant thing is unfair?"

Frankly speaking, once you signed a 7-year contract these were people you were stuck in the same boat with, and if you closed your eyes to conscience for a second, a guy with connections might actually be a better bet than one without. Parents with enough pull to move a Head of Department might mean the company would pour even more investment in, and in an entertainment industry already crawling with harsh treatment, that could be a weapon that protected the group.

'Of course, if I were really twenty, I'd be swearing my head off at how unjust society is.'

But for that, I was too far gone — a 29 (+α) regressor who'd lived through the bitter version of reality four whole times.

Soon, Dan Haru — after mulling my words for a moment — spoke up.

"…For one, I just don't like the Head of Department."

"Spoken like a seventeen-year-old. Next."

"Even if we go along, we'd just be extras propping up that plant-hyung."

"That's capitalism for you, real garbage. Next."

"Honestly, I don't want to be on the Head of Department's line. The W hyungs got disbanded that way too."

By W, he meant Project W — a four-piece rock-band concept that had debuted with a lot behind it, then spectacularly self-destructed over a hand-syncing scandal at their own concert. So that had been the Head of Department's work.

"That one I can get behind. Next."

"Still not enough!?"

"You're asking me to take out a company head of department and a connected plant — I need a real knockout punch."

"But!"

"Honestly, if you shut your eyes and just debut, from there on it's every man for himself. You have to survive on your own. The public isn't stupid — they can tell who's talented and who isn't."

"……"

"Frankly, turning down a debut just because you don't like someone kind of sounds spoiled to me."

At my slightly cold words, Sparkles fell into a dejected silence. He looked exactly like a young rabbit caught out in the rain, and my mouth turned bitter, but I wasn't taking any of it back.

There were people who worked as hard as anyone and were as good as anyone and still never once got to set foot in a broadcasting station before they gave up on their dreams.

However many years someone had prepared, however desperately they wanted it — in an industry where debut, and success after debut, weren't guaranteed, a regular trainee who wasn't even in a debut group turning down a debut could look like an outright insult to someone.

'So that isn't enough to move me.'

Same for me. Having stepped onto this path to stop the regressions, I had to complete the quest, no matter what — and the quest was to build a 'successful debut group,' not a 'conscientious debut group.'

If the plant turned out to be a 'successful' groupmate in some sense, I had zero reason to remove him.

"I said it earlier. They're trying to pin the plant image on me."

Ju Eunchan, who'd been biting his lip with a hard face, spoke up. This kid's voice — I really couldn't get used to it.

"I'm the son of a rich family."

"Yeah, well. That much I envy. But you're still in Class B, not Class A."

"That's what I mean. This time on Upia's concert, I was the only one from Class B who got put on as a backup dancer. Head of Department's order. There were kids in Class A who didn't make it, and I was the only one who did."

Oh?

"They know I'm close with Haru and they're using it as leverage. Either I take the fall for the plant thing, or I re-sign the contract and at least get to debut. I already know you can't help, hyung. It's just, this situation is just—!"

Wait, what?

"Hold on, stop. Re-sign what? The contract?"

"Because we have to debut… we'd have to re-sign for a debut contract…"

"Why would you re-sign the contract? When you came to Miro you signed a trainee contract, right?"

At my words, both of their eyes went wide at the same time. Now that was something.

"I was wondering what 'a trainee refusing to debut' even meant. They told you to re-sign the contract — that's what's happening right now? And you two are refusing to sign that new contract."

"…Yes."

Beep-beep.

A radar went off in my head. Even without going to the trouble of making a 'bomb-detection' skill, this one you could feel by instinct.

'Bomb.'

Got you, you son of a bitch.

'Looks like the Head of Department is thinking about running his own side pocket.'

Trainee poaching, so to speak. In the tight, tight entertainment world it wasn't common, but you saw it now and then. Him going to those 'well-connected' folks' drinking parties so often was probably to line up investors for a company of his own.

"Hah. Now that's a different story."

"…You can help?"

Ju Eunchan, still half-doubting, looked at me and asked.

The face I'd first read as merely impassive looked different to me now. That wasn't impassive, wasn't composed — it was the face of someone who'd had it with the world. The look of resignation on an 18-year-old who had to swallow unfairness and injustice, feeling utter powerlessness for the first time.

And in the moment that face overlapped with Kang Hajin from some past life — I opened my mouth without another beat of hesitation.

"Approved."

"……!!"

Alright. Now how should I take this whole thing down?