Idol Hides His Military Service

“Please come out and enter in the order we call your names.”

At last, once all one hundred contestants had gathered in the waiting area, a young woman who looked like filming staff stepped forward and began explaining how things would proceed.

“First, once you enter, there will be a stage. Please pass the stage and take a seat in the rows located behind it.”

“How should we choose seats?”

When one of the contestants raised a hand and asked, the staffer answered immediately, as if she’d expected the question.

“You can sit freely in the order you go in.”

At the words that those who entered first could pick whatever seat they wanted, a subtle tension began to seep through the contestants.

I was no different.

‘I need to secure a corner that draws as little attention as possible...’

If I ended up in someplace like dead center of the very front row, that would be a real problem.

Back in the army, I once sat in the very front during the division commander’s indoctrination lecture and couldn’t withstand a two-hour moral attack, so I fell asleep.

The result was a one-on-one counseling session with the battalion commander: “Do you perhaps have complaints about military life?”

As a rule, when a group gathers, the best place is quietly in a corner, as if you’re there and not there.

“Okay then, we’ll start with trainee Park Jiyeon.”

Apparently the explanation was over; the staffer called the name of the first trainee to enter.

The called contestant, face tight with nerves, carefully walked toward the waiting room exit.

“Hello...”

“Ah, hello.”

While everyone’s attention was on the first entrant, someone spoke to me cautiously.

I hadn’t thought there was anyone who would act like they knew me, so I flinched without meaning to, but when I turned my head toward the voice, a contestant with a somewhat squirrel-like impression was standing there.

“I’m sorry... for suddenly talking to you...”

“No, well... it’s fine.”

In truth, it wasn’t fine.

But I couldn’t curtly answer “Right” to someone who’d approached me.

Besides, with both hands folded over her stomach, fidgeting and squirming, I couldn’t help softening a little.

She was short and delicate-looking, the kind that triggered a protective instinct.

“It’s just, everyone else has an agency... but yours says ‘unaffiliated trainee,’ so I wanted to talk. I... don’t have an agency either.”

Come to think of it, among the contestants I’d looked over so far, unaffiliated trainees were genuinely hard to find.

Famous or not, everyone had an agency written on their tag.

‘Kim Suyeon, number 42... unaffiliated trainee.’

When I checked the number tag of the contestant who’d spoken to me, it definitely said unaffiliated trainee.

“Are trainees without agencies rare?”

“Pardon...? I mean, of course, right?”

“Why?”

“There’s a limit to how much you can improve on your own... and more than anything, you can’t debut by yourself. Everyone tries to get into an agency somehow.”

Hearing it, that was true.

Even I, who don’t know much about idols, knew at least that you can’t do it alone.

“Then why don’t you have an agency?”

“Hm?”

“No! I mean... in your case, Sion, you’re so pretty... it wouldn’t be strange at all if you were in a big-name agency, but you’re unaffiliated...”

The squirrel—no, contestant number 42, Kim Suyeon—suddenly complimented me.

I don’t have much immunity to this kind of compliment, so I hesitated for a moment, feeling a slight cringe, wondering what to say.

‘Honestly, I’m not interested in idols! My only interest is Bitcoin, and I’m here because Aunt said she’d give me an allowance!’

Not something I could say, so while I was hesitating for a moment—

“I’m sorry! I’m sure you have your circumstances... I shouldn’t have asked something pointless...”

“That’s fine. Why are you unaffiliated?”

“Me?”

I nodded at her question.

To my eye, compared to other agency trainees, Kim Suyeon didn’t look lacking at all.

If anything, on looks alone, it was strange she didn’t have an agency.

“I... left the agency I was at.”

“Why?”

“I wasn’t picked for the debut team...”

She said her previous agency had finally formed a debut team, and since she didn’t make it, she left and was drifting when she happened to hear about Idol Ground 100 and decided to enter.

“So I was a little scared. If I take off the title of having an agency... it felt like nothing would be left for me...”

“Tsk tsk. You’re still young.”

“Sorry?”

“How old are you?”

“Me?”

“Who else is here?”

Looking flustered, Kim Suyeon fumbled and answered my sudden question.

“...Seventeen.”

“What, you’re two years younger than me. Then I’ll drop the formal speech.”

“Y-yes!”

“Hey, you’re only seventeen—what are you doing talking like there’s ‘nothing left’ already?”

It was ridiculous.

At seventeen, you’re still a bundle with the blood not dried on your head, aren’t you?

Even the kids who transferred in as fresh recruits to my unit were at least over twenty.

Hearing a kid who’s just seventeen talk like life is over, my Company Commander instinct to guide flared up without me meaning to.

“It’s because... you’re pretty, unni. I’ve been a trainee since fourteen, and my parents don’t say it, but I can tell they’re worried... school friends ask when I’m debuting...”

“Neither your parents nor your friends live your life for you.”

“...That’s just words. How can you not care at all?”

Sure enough, at that age, starting with your parents, the eyes of people around you are as bothersome as can be.

“I know someone who bombed the CSAT.”

“The CSAT?”

“Yeah. She did way worse than her usual grades.”

“And? What happened?”

“Her parents nagged, ‘See, why didn’t you study,’ and her teacher also had a word, saying her class attitude had always been a mess.”

After taking the college entrance exam in my previous life, I remembered the nagging from my parents and teacher.

Now it’s all memories, but back then it was really suffocating.

“At first she was going to repeat a year. But her parents and teacher kept chewing her out afterward without end, she said.”

“I guess they would...”

Suyeon nodded, like it was a scene she’d seen herself.

But what came next would be something she hadn’t expected at all.

“So pissed off, she said this.”

— I’m not repeating, so don’t raise your voice.

Suyeon’s eyes went round at my words.

It must have been a shocking story.

“Of course her parents and teacher got angry and told her to do whatever she wanted. In exchange, they said don’t even dream of any support—handle everything on your own.”

“Then... what do you do...?”

“So she went to the Korea Military Academy.”

“The Korea Military Academy?”

“Yeah. Tuition free, dorm free, and when you graduate, they officially employ you in the army.”

When my parents and teacher belatedly found out I’d really applied to the Korea Military Academy, they tried to stop me, saying cancel it even now, but I brushed it off and enrolled.

‘Thinking about it, if I’d listened to my parents back then... I wouldn’t have died getting hit by a bullet.’

But I don’t regret that choice.

“Anyway, the conclusion of this story is simple. Even if you ignore what others think and live the way you want, life runs surprisingly fine.”

“Really... will it?”

“Of course.”

I didn’t know how persuasive I’d been, but Suyeon’s expression seemed a little more at ease.

‘Feels like doing a new-recruit intake counseling.’

I guess I still haven’t completely broken the habits from my Company Commander days.

Still, rather than watch a kid who’s still young droop and look around anxiously, I figured it was better for me to be a little bothered.

“Next, contestant number 42, Kim Suyeon, please enter.”

“Yes!”

While I was talking with Suyeon, it had already become her turn to enter, it seemed.

As soon as her name was called, Suyeon raised her hand and headed for the exit.

“Sion unni! I’ll secure seats first! When you come in, let’s sit together!”

“Okay!”

Right before going out the door, Suyeon turned back and shouted brightly to me.

Such a commendable little squirrel.

Offering to go first and save seats—sure enough, Korea’s beautiful Confucian spirit still lives.

Even though we’d see each other again soon, I waved back to match Suyeon’s energetic wave, as if we were parting forever.

‘But why aren’t they calling me?’

After Suyeon went out, before I knew it only about half the waiting room was left.

If you go in too late, attention converges on you and it’s embarrassing, but from the mouth of the staff controlling the contestants there was still no sign of my number being called.

***

“PD, then you’re making the last contestant Ryu Ayeon after all, right?”

“Right. Who else is going to headline episode one if not her?”

Idol Ground 100’s main PD, Kim Miyoung.

At her words, the assistant director Park Hyeongsu nodded in agreement.

“In terms of buzz, Ryu Ayeon is overwhelming.”

In fact, a trainee at Ryu Ayeon’s level entering Idol Ground 100 was close to a miracle.

She was a “treasure” cherished even by TSP, the top entertainment agency in the country.

“Not just buzz. Her skill is already pro level.”

“She’ll probably take first without trouble, right?”

At Hyeongsu’s words, Miyoung tilted her head slightly.

“That you can’t know.”

“Pardon? Even though she’s top in looks, name recognition, and skill?”

“Idols are like that. Looks, skill—those are all important elements. But... they’re not enough.”

“Then... what else do you need?”

“If I knew that, would I be a PD? I’d have started an agency and be raising idols.”

“Ha, seriously... what kind of answer is that.”

While Hyeongsu let out a laugh of disbelief, Miyoung mulled the question.

To her eye, the people who succeed as idols have something that pulls you in as a person, a charm that can’t be explained in words—neither looks nor skill.

And in that moment, one person flashed through Miyoung’s mind.

‘...Sion?’

But—

‘That’s not charm!’

It was true Sion came to mind, but that kid didn’t have something that pulled you in; she had something that made you want to smack her upside the head.

There was something she’d once heard from her older sister, Sion’s mom, Sukja.

“If you lived with Sion, you’d kick her out in a week.”

She’d scoffed at the time.

She’d brushed it off, asking if she couldn’t even handle one niece.

But a little while ago, after Miyoung kept Sion—who’d been kicked {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} out of the house—for about a week, she came to agree one hundred percent.

‘She’s like a kid who researches how to get on people’s nerves...’

The niece who’d been lying on the sofa asleep when she left for work was still lying on the sofa when she came home.

The only difference was the chicken bones strewn across the table from the lunch she’d ordered with the allowance Miyoung had given her.

Of course, even that could have been brushed off with, “She’s just a slightly lazy, cute niece.”

‘Under the peach tree, they swore brotherhood~♬’

At bedtime, the resounding Chinese blaring through the living room.

When she went out to see what on earth it was, there was her niece Sion, watching a Chinese historical drama with tears streaming down.

And that wasn’t all.

When she didn’t see her in the living room and thought it strange, she’d find her in the room doing something game-like on Miyoung’s laptop,

“There! That one!! Kill it!!!”

muttering to herself while hammering the mouse and keyboard.

After that, Miyoung quietly decided to become a non-marrier.

In the past, when Sion was little, she’d found her niece so lovable and cute that she’d thought she wanted to get married and have a child like her sister.

Grown-up Sion was a non-marriage maker.

Miyoung shook her head to drive out thoughts of her niece.

It was time to focus again and check the footage of the contestants entering on the monitor.

‘I need some usable moments to come out here...’

Since these were scenes to use in the first episode to air, all she could do was hope someone among the contestants would make an impact.

Right now, at this moment, the only thing a PD could do was pray.