Trapped in the Idol Universe

“Boxing?”

“Looks like the evaluation category is boxing?”

“Ah... I’m a mental type, so close combat is weak for me.”

Wow. What’s up with my reading comprehension?

I was already confused enough, and hearing nonsense from beside me only made it harder to pull myself together.

But there was no time to zone out.

‘My plan’s gone off the rails.’

As planned, I’d intended to just hang on through the first ranking announcement, no matter what grade I got in the evaluation. If necessary, I’d lean on Yeonwoo and Taeeon.

But with the arrival of Shooting Star’s lightsticks, the difficulty shot up dramatically.

‘Damn it.’

Roy closed his eyes and sighed. He wasn’t confident he could even survive until the first ranking announcement, let alone make it to the final selection.

Before coming to the Wilderness, a nightmare from an idol survival show he'd once been on came flooding back. Manipulated rankings. Devil’s editing. Rigged votes.

‘Ah, I feel like I can’t breathe.’

Momentarily complaining of PTSD, Roy wondered what had caused his past failures.

‘Was it my looks? No.’

Even back then, he wasn’t ugly. After receiving that ambiguous C grade in the first evaluation, he even trended in search rankings for a moment.

‘Then was it skill?’

He was good enough to debut over long-term trainees at a major agency. Of course, his self-esteem was shot when he entered the program, so he couldn’t fully show his skills in the first evaluation. But as the broadcasts continued, he regained confidence and rose rapidly in both grade and rank.

‘But that all ended up being manipulated.’

The public’s picks were decided early in the program, and by the time he began to stand out, the narrative had already been set. So Roy concluded:

‘I lacked an early impact.’

Then and now, it wasn’t that his skill was insufficient. The issue was that he couldn’t fully demonstrate it—back then due to mental issues, now due to the resurrection penalty.

‘Looks like I’m bound to get a low grade in the first evaluation this life, too. I need drastic measures...’

Think about it. Unlike idol survival shows where you can train to unlock potential quickly, the 202 participants here already had official grades. And what those grades signified was one thing: the limit of their potential. No matter how hard a B-grade participant tried, they couldn’t become an A-grade unless something extraordinary happened. So barring any surprises, participants’ grades wouldn’t shift much.

‘But I’m different.’

Maybe I can completely flip the script after the first ranking announcement. A comeback narrative where I go from elimination candidate to winner in one fell swoop!

‘If I can just unlock my Skill Lock in time, aiming for the championship isn’t out of reach.’

To do that, even if I get an F in the first evaluation, I have to leave a strong impression. If I can’t show my skill right now, I’ll have to use other abilities.

✧

Evaluations proceeded in the order of participants’ name tags. Unfortunately, Roy, with the very last number, had to wait on standby for over sixteen hours.

‘...Should I just go home?’

Every filming set is grueling, but survival shows have the worst part: the murderous wait times. The staff who arrived long before the participants probably felt like they were in hell. But that was none of Roy’s concern. At least they could sneak breaks behind the camera; participants had to stay tense until filming ended.

At least I’m not alone in this.

‘Who knows how they’ll edit my footage?’

It’s not that he didn’t trust Junseo, but there was no reason to believe him either. Junseo was already a con artist who’d cheated Roy once. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. Guided by staff, Roy was separated from his hyungs, eyes blazing as he stared straight ahead.

Before he knew it, the giant auditorium’s screen lit up, showing Seohyeonwoo moving toward the evaluation arena.

‘That guy’s the ace of Pluton.’

After the Star Hero first preliminaries, rumors of the Three Great Guild masters’ members appearing had sparked controversy over fairness. Critics argued that members of a guild whose master sat on the judging panel shouldn’t compete. The producers countered with a statement: only newly registered Awakener entrants with less than two years’ tenure were eligible. They also revised the scoring: judge scores dropped from 60% to 30%, and public voting increased from 40% to 70%. Since the show wasn’t about finding the strongest Awakener, this was possible. In other words, if you won the public’s hearts, you could overturn the judges’ results.

The new criteria worked greatly in Roy’s favor.

‘Uhyanghyang!’

No matter how skilled an Awakener might be, there was nothing to fear. My entire life’s work has been commanding public attention.

Roy glared at Seohyeonwoo on screen as if daring him to try.

‘But why does this feel so familiar?’

Masked as he was, only his eyes were visible, °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° yet something about him was oddly familiar. Since the Shooting Star lightsticks had appeared, Roy found it hard to relax.

He craned his neck to get a better look at Seohyeonwoo’s face just as the evaluation began. True to his shadow-wielding style, he chose a dense, forested mountain terrain.

The evaluation criterion was simple: how many virtual blood fiends you could kill within the time limit. Participants could only hunt within the safe zone as long as its barrier remained intact; if a blood fiend touched the barrier, the evaluation ended.

[Ready]

The countdown appeared, signaling the five-minute limit.

[Start]

At the start tone, a blood fiend emerged from the underbrush. Summoning his shadow the instant he spotted the target, Seohyeonwoo approached and snuffed it out before it could strike. As time passed, the pace of fiend generation quickened, yet Seohyeonwoo calmly and steadily dispatched them all. Only when the five minutes fully elapsed did the evaluation conclude.

[Announcing grades now.]

[Participant Seohyeonwoo’s grade is A.]

‘As expected.’

Though a newcomer, he was an active guild member—and officially A-grade. His A ranking was all but guaranteed. I was especially surprised when his single shadow suddenly tripled and overwhelmed the fiends.

‘His skill control already seems beyond newcomer level.’

As a strong contender for victory, he deserved further watch.

Evaluations continued. Since those who excelled in the preliminaries had early numbers, Roy focused on observing them. Then the fifth turn arrived. On screen, Yeonwoo rose from his seat with a somewhat stiff expression.

‘He must be nervous.’

Yeonwoo’s official grade was C. Unless they themselves announced otherwise, an Awakener’s grade was private information—except for famous cases like Yeonwoo’s, where late bloomers were publicly revealed against their will by the cursed Awakening24 system. Hence, participants speculated how a C-grade had made it through the preliminaries in fifth place.

“Park Yeonwoo?”

“How did a C-grade even go fifth? I’m C too.”

“Maybe it’s different for element types?”

“My friend in District 10 said his skill control’s insane. They say the grade test was wrong.”

Roy pretended not to listen but eavesdropped on the group ahead—and couldn’t help but puff up with pride.

‘Ahem. My hyung really is something.’

Thinking back, Roy only knew his hyungs had passed the preliminaries, not how. He’d assumed it was a dramatic last-second pass—but no. Only upon arriving did he learn they’d done far better. Especially Yeonwoo’s fifth place was unimaginable. Considering Yeonwoo’s ability, the prelim task was probably the perfect environment.

“Hmm.”

Roy murmured and watched Yeonwoo on screen. Yeonwoo had chosen the sky terrain. Since the first four had picked mountain and sea—land and water—the sky was newly revealed. Given that mountain was land combat and sea was water combat, the sky likely meant aerial combat.

‘They say all difficulties are equal, but it must be psychologically unsettling.’

Moments later, Yeonwoo stood in the vast sky’s safe zone. It was the first reveal of the sky terrain: a floating island with a single great zelkova tree, roots exposed. In Yeonwoo’s hand appeared a golden bow.

“Kiya~ What a view.”

It really is a spectacle. It’s a gift from the gods.

Roy applauded and admired Yeonwoo’s face filling the screen—like watching a CG-laden music video.

‘If only he’d bleached his hair blonde and grown it out, it would’ve been even more epic.’

The styling was a bit disappointing, but that wasn’t the point now.

‘I wonder how many minutes he can hold out.’

As far as Roy knew, Yeonwoo’s bow could only fire two arrows maximum. Whether that was a grade limit or a mastery issue, he couldn’t produce more. Roy crossed his arms and watched the screen. Yeonwoo looked straight at the camera and briefly introduced himself.

“Hello. I’m Park Yeonwoo. Element: Light. Specialty: Archery. That’s all.”

A terse, quintessentially Yeonwoo introduction.

[Ready]

After finishing his introduction and taking a short breath, the ready signal appeared. Then a large countdown appeared in midair. On screen, Yeonwoo formed his first arrow.

[Start]

As soon as the five-second countdown ended, the start tone rang out. Blood fiends began to fall from the sky—virtual simulation made them descend attached to balloons at their waists, a comical sight.

“Puhat! What is that?”

Knowing his snark would sting, Roy couldn’t help laughing. Balancing with the mountain and sea terrains probably forced the producers into this.

While Roy erupted in laughter, two fiends had already spawned—then a third. One east, one west, one northeast. All three descended rapidly toward Yeonwoo’s safe zone. Yet for some reason, Yeonwoo didn’t even draw his bowstring.

‘What’s he thinking?’

Is he just planning to catch a breeze? Yeonwoo only gazed upward, showing no sign of action. Then, as the fourth fiend spawned, Yeonwoo suddenly started running toward the opposite side.

‘...Playing tag?’