Idol Hides His Military Service

“No. There’s too much voice in it right now.”

“Pardon?”

“Pull the voice back a bit more and let more air in—that’ll make a more natural sound. Let’s do it again from the beginning.”

“...Yes.”

Following Park Taesu’s instruction, Lee Sion started singing again.

‘She’s actually satisfying to teach.’

The Lee Sion Park Taesu was coaching right now still lacked technical vocal skills.

For example, smoothly switching between chest voice and falsetto, or riding the beat not strictly on-tempo but stretching it slightly or tightening it up.

In the kinds of techniques seasoned vocalists usually show, there were still a lot of parts that felt lacking.

However, in this song—Starlight Umbrella—that didn’t become a weakness.

We promised under the starlight umbrella

That we’d meet again next season

Even when the rain falls, I’m not afraid

Because the sky is painted with you

Following Park Taesu’s guidance, Lee Sion sang with less tension in her throat than before, producing a fuller sound.

‘That’s it.’

This was the sound Park Taesu had wanted.

Starlight Umbrella valued honesty over technique.

And because it was a song where emotion came first, an unrefined vocal style like Lee Sion’s actually had its advantages.

“Sion, starting from ‘next season,’ you need to dial the emotional tone down just a bit.”

“Dial it down?”

“Not a sworn brotherhood scene—more like Zhuge Liang, right before he uses the fire attack at Red Cliffs. That level of anticipation. You get it?”

“...Input complete.”

At Park Taesu’s explanation, Lee Sion closed her eyes for a moment, looking as though she was thinking something through.

‘Got it!’

He’d only seen this twice, but Park Taesu had already nearly mastered how to operate Lee Sion. 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

‘When explaining, I have to use Three Kingdoms, Legend of Valley, or overseas soccer as examples.’

He immediately realized that professional terminology or intuition-based coaching was useless on Lee Sion.

—Sion, just now you were like a top laner who got fed and tried to solo-push on your own. That part needs a brief pause so the front and back can connect. Even Seiker slows the tempo on purpose to control the battlefield, right?

—Like Seiker?

—You know tiki-taka, right? You’re inheriting Main Vocal 2’s part, so you can’t change things too abruptly. In soccer, short passes connect more organically than long balls.

—Tiki-taka?

If people heard that Park Taesu reread Romance of the Three Kingdoms and watched Legend of Valley matches for several days just to teach Lee Sion, no one would believe it.

They’d ask if the TSP CEO really looked that idle.

But Park Taesu did it.

Partly because he didn’t have any pressing work assigned lately—but more than anything,

‘She’s tempting.’

That was the real reason.

When forming idol groups, the top priorities were usually visuals and skill.

With just those two, companies could handle the rest—good songs, choreography, image-making—to ensure success.

But lately, Park Taesu had started to doubt that approach.

‘Big agencies still have long-built fandoms, so the impact is smaller—but the public is getting tired.’

The Korean idol system that started with SY was undeniably an incredible model, capable of producing groups that met a high baseline of quality.

Even major agencies in the U.S., dubbed the world’s number one music market, couldn’t guarantee success for every artist they debuted—yet Korean agencies consistently did.

That was an astonishing achievement.

However, that method didn’t bring only positive results.

Because the system was so good, everyone started copying it.

From concepts, to training systems, to album composition—

Everyone used SY as the standard for debuting idol groups, and before long, people started saying all Korean idol groups felt the same.

Recently, that sentiment had grown even stronger, and the general public was becoming weary of idols altogether.

TSP, where Park Taesu served as CEO, at least maintained its individuality by having him produce directly, or in YH’s case, by debuting groups with styles intentionally contrasting SY.

But even TSP’s and YH’s styles were now being imitated, so the situation wasn’t fundamentally different.

‘We need star power.’

It wasn’t that machine-polished idol styles had no merit.

In a way, that was the essence of K-pop.

But building on that foundation, there needed to be something more.

And though he couldn’t put it into words, Park Taesu believed that something existed within Lee Sion.

“Okay. From now on, practice every day without forgetting that feeling. It’d be good if your emotional line doesn’t waver even while dancing.”

“Yes, sir.”

Seeing Lee Sion respond with a serious expression and a crisp salute only reinforced his certainty.

Even TSP artists who were already top idols tended to look tense in front of Park Taesu.

Lee Sion, on the other hand, showed not even a hint of nervousness.

“Tell the next person to come in.”

“Yes!”

Having finished her turn, Lee Sion left the recording booth humming cheerfully.

‘What on earth is that song?’

Thinking that the melody oddly sounded like something out of a historical drama, Park Taesu waited for the next participant.

***

“Alright, imagine this—you’re standing on stage now. What kind of choreography do you think the audience wants from you? Powerful? Groovy? No. The audience wants a feeling that matches the song.”

Hmm...

If there was something I realized today, it was that watching something on broadcast and seeing it in person were definitely different.

When Park Taesu taught on TV, it was undeniably entertaining.

But listening in person, it kind of felt like he leaned toward being a bit of an over-talker.

“Sion, your choreography right now is too sharp. On the other hand, Yuri, you’re doing well, but you’re so conscious of the song that it ends up feeling like it’s drooping, you know?”

“Yes!”

“Right!”

“So the two of you need to combine. This song needs a soft, gently swaying feel. You know what I mean?”

I nodded for now.

Thankfully, Yuri wasn’t clueless either and nodded quickly as well. Seeing that, Park Taesu smiled with satisfaction.

“Next, let’s gather the Sub Vocal members once more and recheck the parts.”

“Yes!”

After reviewing the choreography for a bit, Park Taesu gathered the Sub Vocal members again and headed toward the recording room.

Is this guy the devil of directing?

For a moment, I caught a glimpse of a familiar kind of madness in his eyes—one that reminded me suspiciously of my aunt.

“Sion-chan! Did you hear? They said you and I should combine!”

“Do we need to do a fusion or something?”

“Fusion?”

“What, you don’t know fusion? This—”

No way a Japanese person wouldn’t know fusion. I wondered if the term was different in Japan, so I demonstrated the fusion pose myself.

But—

“Sion-chan, what is that?”

“You don’t know Dragon Ball? Son Goku and—”

“I don’t know. Sion-chan, you look like an otaku!”

“You just insulted me, didn’t you?!”

“No! I complimented you!”

Kurosawa Yuri.

She was not an easy opponent.

From her skillful code-switching—speaking Korean fluently when it benefited her, then instantly switching to Japanese when it didn’t—

To using underhanded tricks without the slightest hesitation, unlike the other contestants—showing the true nature of a native Japanese schemer.

In particular, whenever I managed to get food from staff or from Seo Ryujin, she’d steal it in secret as if it were routine.

On top of that, she was incredibly good at pretending to be pitiful, softening people’s hearts and swindling them—a truly infuriating individual.

“That’s why Yuri’s nickname is Japanese Lee Sion. Il-Sion.”

“What?”

“What do you mean ‘what’? You two do the same stuff and act alike.”

While the Sub Vocal members went to the recording room, the Main Vocal members stayed behind in the practice room.

Along with Choi Sojin, who shared Main Vocal 1 with me, and Suyeon, who shared Main Vocal 2 with Yuri, Suyeon had jumped into my conversation with Yuri.

And the content was deeply offensive.

How could someone lump me—practically the embodiment of seriousness—with such a light, delinquent piece of work?

“This is racial discrimination!”

“Hey, I’m the one who should be mad!”

Even now, Yuri was getting angry at being called the same as me.

How could someone this shameless be compared to me? Suyeon clearly had terrible judgment—probably because she was young.

“Let’s match the choreography now.”

Ignoring my glare entirely, Suyeon suggested we practice choreography.

“Good timing. The two choreography creators are gathered here anyway.”

“Leave it to me! I’m good at dancing, so I can teach even scrubs like Sion-chan!”

“What?!”

“Why?”

My temples started throbbing.

I hadn’t expected another person besides Seo Ryujin to call me a scrub, so the damage felt doubled.

“Yuri, ‘scrub’ is a bad word. You shouldn’t use it.”

“Scrub is a bad word? Then—X-bap?”

“You insane—!”

Words that absolutely shouldn’t come out of an idol’s—no, a girl’s—mouth. I hurriedly covered Yuri’s mouth.

“This can’t air!”

I desperately told the staff filming the practice room that this absolutely couldn’t go on broadcast.

Fortunately, the staff seemed to agree and hurriedly nodded, signaling they’d edit it out.

“Where on earth did you learn to talk like that?”

“If you want good Korean, you learn it in games! Game people speak real Korean!”

It seemed Yuri had learned Korean through... illegal means.

I wasn’t the only one shocked—Suyeon and Sojin also grabbed Yuri and earnestly warned her again and again to please stick to standard language.

“No problem. Yuri is a genius, so standard language is perfect!”

Seeing Yuri look proud without the slightest awareness of what she’d done gave me an odd sense of déjà vu, and I reflexively flinched.

“Alright, then let’s start.”

With that, after the commotion settled and the four of us took formation, the music started.

The air of a cleared afternoon after the rain

Reminds me of the road I walked with you

‘No matter how many times I hear this, it doesn’t get old.’

As the melody of Starlight Umbrella, which I’d heard countless times over the past few days for practice, played, my body responded instinctively.

The first choreography involved lightly spinning once, hands clas­ped behind the back, and stepping forward with small hops.

‘Honestly, the difficulty seems easy.’

Compared to Lucid Dive or Bang! Bang! Love, the raw difficulty was definitely easier.

The choreography felt fluttery, for lack of a better word.

Rather than intense, it was light—and even while singing and dancing, my breathing didn’t get rushed.

Of course, the choreography wasn’t made easy for no reason.

“Sojin-chan, your vocals just wavered.”

“Got it. I’ll be careful.”

Unlike the Position Evaluation, we had to sing live this time, so Suyeon and Yuri had considered that when creating the choreography.

Thanks to that, when Park Taesu first saw our original choreography today, he even complimented it for matching the song well.

There was no need to revise the choreography anymore.

All that remained was to perfect it.

However—

“Sion-chan, in this part you need to be a bit more upbeat.”

“But earlier, the producer told me to relax my strength.”

“That was for the latter part.”

“The latter part?”

Since we hadn’t gone far, Yuri stopped the music and began explaining things to me step by step.

Separate from the fact that I was gradually getting the hang of vocals, I was still inexperienced with choreography, so Yuri seemed to be giving me individual coaching.

Normally she was insufferable—but skill-wise, she was worth acknowledging.

Slightly below Seo Ryujin, but still at least ‘Discount Ryujin’. Yuri’s advice was worth listening to.

“The first part of this song should feel like the fresh excitement of a girl falling into first love. So it needs a bit more confidence.”

“Mm... yeah, that definitely fits.”

“And then in the middle part, you feel the pain of failing at first love. So you need to relax again slightly and bring in a melancholy emotion.”

Listening to Yuri’s explanation, I realized what I’d overlooked.

‘I didn’t even notice how delicately the emotions keep changing within the song.’

It wasn’t just about vague excitement and freshness—I needed to change the flow of my choreography along with the song’s progression.

As Yuri said, Starlight Umbrella started with a confident feeling, softened into sadness, and then ended by speaking of hope in meeting again. Controlling that pacing was necessary.

“Sion-chan, try dancing alone once.”

“Okay!”

As I danced again to the restarted music, Yuri pointed out exactly where to loosen my strength, step by step.

“This song isn’t about connections or angles of movement. Even if you dance without singing, you need delicate motions that convey emotion.”

“How do you even do that?”

“You need to use things you’re not using at all right now—hand gestures, eyes, facial expressions.”

Hand gestures? Facial expressions?

Thinking about it, I really had only been following movements until now, without paying attention to expressions or hand motions.

“That’s true. When I look at you your expression always feels kind of sharp.”

Suyeon chimed in, agreeing with Yuri.

“Then how about changing your style?”

“My style?”

“You always just leave your hair down and don’t wear makeup. I get that you trust your face, but let’s try dressing things up a little.”

Even Choi Sojin was suggesting I try changing my style.

‘Hmm... I left it alone because it was annoying, but was this really the problem?’

They weren’t the first people to point this out to me.

—Please, Sion! Just go to the salon once with your mom!

Chairwoman Sukja’s lifelong wish was to go to a salon with me.

But I’d never once followed my mom there.

‘Ugh... if I go there, I’ll be stuck for at least three hours dealing with middle-aged women chattering nonstop. That’s impossible.’

In my past life, “hair care” meant walking into the nearest barbershop, saying “clean up the sides and back,” napping briefly, washing my hair, and leaving.

But women somehow had a million things to do at salons—time-consuming, and worst of all, the nonstop small talk while touching your hair made me give up long ago.

Makeup was the same.

—Sion! You barely need makeup! Your skin is good—there isn’t much to fix!

—Yeah, I’d rather sleep thirty minutes longer.

Back in school, friends tried everything to put makeup on me—but instead, I’d rather watch another episode of a drama or play one more round of Legend of Valley.

I always thought makeup time was a waste.

“Is it time to finally try?”

If someone asked what had been toughest since appearing on Idol Ground 100, it was getting makeup and hairstyling done before every broadcast stage.

You could just put clothes on, but somehow there were endless outfit changes for “stage costumes.” And the makeup was piled on thick because it had to look good on camera.

While other contestants asked for more, I’d always asked for the minimum and avoided it all.

“Leave it to us, Sio!”

Suyeon shouted confidently, with Yuri and Sojin looking excited beside her.

I felt uneasy—but I decided to go along with it.

After all, just the other day I’d lectured the team about not falling into individualism. If I half-assed my own stage just because it was annoying, that would be embarrassing.

And more importantly—

‘I can’t lose to traitors.’

To beat the traitors who abandoned me to follow Seo Ryujin and Ryu Ayeon, I needed to prepare the stage with everything I had.

It was time to bring out Lee Sion, Gear Second.