Idol Hides His Military Service

“Sion is my niece···.”

“No way, that sounded exactly the same!”

“Was that okay?”

“Sion! How did you copy the PD’s voice so perfectly?”

“That wasn’t an impression. It was a full replication.”

“Teach me too!”

Watching the lively commotion—like a small comedy skit unfolding in the practice room—Choi Sojin let out a laugh without realizing it.

‘What? It’s already four in the morning?’

If the clock hanging on the wall wasn’t broken, this was definitely a time when everyone should have been asleep.

“If you’re funny because of your nationality, then I can only be funny through bloodline.”

“Huh?”

“Never underestimate Korea again, Yuri!”

“I never did.”

“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Now that I think about it, Sion’s Japanese impressions are way too hardcore-nerd!”

“What?!”

Looking at Lee Sion charging straight at the Japanese trainee Yuri, while the girlish pop concept team members pretended to stop her but secretly landed a few playful punches of their own, it felt more like broad daylight than the middle of the night.

‘This is seriously cheating.’

—What is this··· is this really all the passion you’ve got? It’s so boring I might die.

Just what had Lee Sion eaten growing up to have stamina this insane? She had provoked the team through sheer practice volume, and the team members, fired up by her, were now throwing themselves right back into practice despite the late hour.

Considering that the atmosphere in the practice room had been downright cold just that morning, it was almost impossible to believe.

Still feeling dazed, barely understanding how something like this had happened, Sojin felt like Lee Sion herself was a violation of the rules.

‘That’s why teams with Lee Sion always do well. Not because of her popularity.’

Two days ago, during the very first practice for the Concept Evaluation, Sojin had been cursing the heavens.

—Main Vocal 1 will be Sion and Sojin.

Producer Park Taesu had assigned two people to each part.

The moment Sojin realized her opponent was Lee Sion, she hadn’t slept at all that night.

From the very first ranking announcement, Lee Sion had held an unshakable number one spot, showing shocking improvement every single time. Sojin had believed there was no way she could win.

At first, she’d been happy just to be on the same team as Lee Sion.

Everyone who had worked with Lee Sion—those people everyone jokingly called “the Sion clique”—had shown great sides of themselves on broadcast and impressive performances on stage, sending their popularity soaring.

Sojin had wondered if she, too, might gain popularity just by being on the same team as Lee Sion.

But fate had a cruel sense of humor.

The instant Sojin and Sion ended up on the same team, they were forced to compete for the same position.

The one ray of hope was that this time, it wasn’t the viewers selecting who stood on stage, but the producer.

Sojin trusted that Park Taesu, the producer for girlish pop, would choose whoever fit the stage best, regardless of popularity. With that belief, she threw herself entirely into mastering the part given to her, determined to beat Lee Sion and make it onto the stage.

That was why she deliberately avoided talking to Sion.

—Sojin, let’s practice together!

—Sorry, I haven’t finished analyzing my part yet. I want to practice alone right now.

Whenever Sion suggested practicing together or matching the team choreography, Sojin turned her down.

The thought terrified her—that Sion might improve even more, or that team practice might take time away from polishing her own part, causing her to lose the competition.

But then—

—What I know for sure is this: if we keep going like this, there’s no way this is what people expect from idols.

After hearing those words from Lee Sion a few hours ago, Sojin had been consumed with regret.

Sion had gathered the team members who were only focused on individual practice instead of team practice, and with a serious expression, pointed out the problem.

At first, the others had shot her irritated looks, thinking it was just clueless idealism from the first-place contestant.

—I know how important it is to make it onto the stage. But what we show here will stay with us for the rest of our lives. That’s why I want us to show the best stage possible. So that when I look back on it someday, I can smile while watching it.

After hearing that, no one could keep their head up.

Sojin included.

Only then did she realize that the fear she’d been feeling wasn’t just fear of losing.

What she hadn’t wanted to admit—even to herself—was that on stage, she’d been trying to show only ‘me,’ not ‘the team.’

The reason Sojin had wanted to become an idol had been simple: she wanted to stand on stage in front of many people.

Back in elementary school, during the sports festival talent show, she’d performed with her classmates.

The cheers from the crowd, watching their clumsy but hard-practiced performance, were what made her start dreaming of becoming an idol.

‘I want to debut. But··· I want to do it properly.’

She still wanted to win, to stand on stage, to be loved by viewers and make it into the debut lineup.

But if something mattered more than that, it was completing a great stage together with her teammates and showing it to people.

“Hey, Lee Sion! Stop messing around and get over here!”

“I’m not messing around!”

“Aren’t we going to run the song together?”

“Yuri··· you live thanks to Sojin.”

At Sojin’s call, Sion glared at Yuri for a moment, then finally walked over.

Sojin had already accepted she was past the point of stubborn isolation and decided to practice together with Sion.

Since they shared the same part, watching each other was the best practice possible.

Soon, Sion started singing first, with Sojin watching closely.

“Your emotional delivery has improved a lot.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. How did you do that?”

“Curious about the secret?”

“Yeah!”

“Then I guess I should start the story. Once, during the late Eastern Han period in China, there was a place called Zhuo County. And among the people living there was a young man named Liu Bei—”

“Hey! I asked you to teach me how to sing, why are you suddenly telling some weird historical story?”

“Just listen. This all helps—”

Ignoring Sojin completely, Sion stubbornly launched into a story about Liu Bei.

Watching her, Sojin felt utterly dumbfounded, but—

‘Well··· after everything today, maybe I can listen. Just a little.’

Of course, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t vent some irritation at the person who’d stolen her precious sleeping hours.

***

[Agbaek Episode 5 Preview]

「(Jang Junseok collapses, coughing up blood)

—Seo Ryujin is practically a murderer···.

(Sion’s voice is cut off by a beep and muted)

The shocking truth behind the incident on Idol Ground 100.

The third mission finally begins.

(Contestants stare in shock)

(Ryu Ayeon walks up onto the platform with a stiff expression, while the contestants watching widen their eyes in disbelief)

—Why did you choose this song? Don’t tell me you picked it just because there are fewer members and you wanted to stand out?

(Contestants in tears)

An accident caused by the contestants, after all?!

Idol Ground 100 Episode 5, tonight at 20:00!」

Bang!

“These crazy bastards!!! Who edits a preview like this?!”

Jinsoo exploded in rage.

Even after slamming his fist into the desk, his anger wouldn’t subside.

The newly uploaded preview for Idol Ground 100 Episode 5 was undeniably gripping.

But—

[Is this a drug or something? I know it’s evil editing stitched together, «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» so why am I this desperate to see it?]

[You lunatics, what even is the third mission, and why was Jang Junseok coughing up blood?]

[Is this for real? They didn’t explain a single thing.]

[At least tell us who ended up on the same teams!]

[How are we supposed to figure anything out with this kind of chopped preview?]

[Didn’t the PD change? Why does the preview editing feel exactly the same?!]

[Not “she,” it’s “he.”]

What infuriated everyone was that none of the key information had been revealed.

‘If I hadn’t gone to the recording, I’d be just as pissed.’

In that sense, Jinsoo was lucky.

Because he’d been to the pre-recorded broadcast last week, he already knew what kind of stages they’d performed and which contestants were on the same teams.

That probably made this preview even harder to endure, knowing more than most.

Thanks to that, the Idol Ground 100 community was now on fire.

[This mission is a positional battle.]

“I was there in person. It’s choosing either vocal or dance and performing on stage.”

↳No proof, though?

↳(On-site photo)

↳Holy hell, sir! What did Sion pick?

↳Vocal position.

↳That’s insane. Can you say which song?

↳Pink Spell.

↳You absolute bastard ···

People who were guessing based on the preview and those who had gone to the recording—and had stayed silent until just before broadcast—started posting all at once. Jinsoo could barely keep up reading.

How fun was it to look at a problem when you already knew the answer?

Right now, Jinsoo felt invincible.

It was like watching a blockbuster movie at the very first early-morning showing on opening day.

Even spoilers weren’t scary, and watching people confidently guess wrong was entertaining.

He even considered slipping what he knew into the board disguised as speculation, but that felt way too pathetic, so he barely restrained himself.

Ding.

A notification rang from the phone on his desk. Jinsoo picked it up and checked the message.

—Oppa, you’re watching the live broadcast tonight, right?

—Of course. You too, right?

—Yes! Until the broadcast starts, I’m going to spread voting links for Sion across communities and social media, so please help me, oppa!

—OK, send me the materials too!

—Thank you!

The sender was Jiyeon, whom he’d grown close to while cheering for Sion together at the last recording.

Since they shared fandom for Sion, they’d gotten close quickly, exchanged contact info afterward, and kept in touch ever since.

‘She’s really putting everything into this.’

Jinsoo was genuinely impressed by how passionately Jiyeon supported Sion.

Even now, she was sending carefully prepared promotional posts via chat, and their quality made it obvious she’d spent a lot of time on them.

‘Yeah. This is war.’

The real reason Jiyeon was this fired up was the voting system change.

「Starting from week 5, voting will be limited to three contestants per person, instead of seven.」

The sudden announcement shook every fandom.

[Got it? Starting now, kill each other.]

[Kim Miyoung, I oddly miss you today.]

[Do demons run this broadcast station?? I’ll pay, just give me back seven votes!]

[If they don’t roll this back, I’m filing a complaint under some law.]

People used to complain that voting for seven was annoying, then complained seven was too few—so when it dropped to three, panic was inevitable.

When it was seven, people voted for others they liked even if they weren’t their top choice.

‘With three, people will only vote for who they truly care about.’

Just being likable wasn’t going to cut it anymore.

That was probably why—

[Besides Sion, who should I pick? Too many of Sion’s close friends.]

[You don’t know the classic F-class trio? Lee Gahyeon, Kim Nayeon, Im Yunkyung.]

[You insane? You picked those three and dropped Sion? lol]

[Let’s go ’97 line!!! (Lee Sion, Seo Ryujin, Ryu Ayeon)]

[The roommate combo is crazy—Lee Sion, Kim Suyeon, Kim Nara, let’s go!]

[I wanted to vote for all five from Lucid Dive, so I went into my sleeping mom’s room and stole her phone.]

[Your mom will be proud.]

Even Sion’s own gallery was nonstop chaos.

And it wasn’t just Sion’s fandom.

All fanbases that had previously formed voting alliances were now splitting apart and aggressively promoting their own picks.

—Top fandoms already started fundraising for billboards. We’re starting too!

—I’ll post on the gallery. Jiyeon, you handle other communities and SNS.

—Yes! First place means nothing if you get complacent. You can get overtaken instantly!

Hearing that Sion’s rivals were already moving fast with outdoor ads, Jinsoo and Jiyeon went straight into combat mode.

Apparently, Jiyeon even tried to pressure her older brother—who was currently serving in the army—into convincing his whole unit to vote, and demanded his paycheck too.

—Please let that go···.

Knowing what military pay looked like, Jinsoo barely talked her out of that one.

—By the way, did these photos come from “Let’s Debut Sion”?

—Yes! They aren’t active in the café anymore, but they still send me unreleased photos sometimes!

Looking over the billboard mock-ups Jiyeon sent, Jinsoo realized all the photos were completely unreleased.

He couldn’t help but admire it.

‘That martyr really is something else.’

The user once known as “Let’s Debut Sion” on Sionism was now called a martyr.

After burning brightly by exposing how Sion’s screen time had been cut by the main PD, that user vanished from public café activity—but apparently stayed in quiet contact with Jiyeon.

Thanks to that, they’d secured high-quality photos for the billboard.

‘The photo quality is seriously insane.’

Replacing those photos would’ve been nearly impossible.

Once, Jinsoo thought all photos were basically the same, but the deeper he got into fandom, the more he felt those subtle differences—and the stronger his desire for an expensive camera grew.

After studying the mock-ups for a while, Jinsoo returned to his main battlefield—the overseas soccer board—and posted the fundraising announcement.

There was no way he was letting first place slip away to another contestant.