He threw shit.
The moment he heard those words, Seon-ho was honestly angry.
Producer Nam Yunsoo didn’t seem to think much of Personal Color.
But since it was his comeback project after a long break, it seemed he couldn’t refuse the demands of his superior, the CP.
As a result, Seon-ho had ended up ruining Nam Yunsoo’s casting lineup.
He understood, but even so, it was hard not to feel bad.
However…
“I’m sorry.”
Seon-ho bowed his head.
At that, a flicker of surprise crossed Nam Yunsoo’s eyes.
And then Seon-ho looked up.
“But it’s not shit.”
No matter what, it wasn’t shit.
“What?”
“Personal Color is not shit.”
Yes, Personal Color had its issues.
But their sweat was real.
Just vocal training, solo choreography, and group choreography alone took up more than 24 hours a day—and on top of that, they were learning Chinese and Japanese for uncertain future use.
That wasn’t all.
To look even one millimeter slimmer on screen, dieting was their daily routine, and to avoid facial swelling, they fasted from the evening before any shoot.
And when their schedule piled up, the exhaustion went without saying.
That’s why he was angry.
Seon-ho’s eyes darkened.
“Personal Color is a team with real potential.”
“We’ll see. Potential that doesn’t bloom isn’t called potential,” Nam Yunsoo said coldly, exhaling another puff of smoke.
“Do you know why I’m saying this?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Because Personal Color will be eliminated in the first round anyway.”
Silence hung in the smoking room.
“Han Seon-ho.”
“Yes.”
“Manager Kim might’ve fallen for Director Yoo Ayeon’s charms, but I’m not so easy. Making a program is the job of the station and the producer. Who does a talent agency think it is, trying to butt in?”
Nam Yunsoo tried to read Seon-ho’s expression, but Seon-ho didn’t react in the slightest.
Only his eyes sank even deeper.
Another long silence followed.
Click! Click!
Nam Yunsoo lit a new cigarette after finishing one.
Then came the question he had been waiting for.
“Is there a way?”
“A way?”
“A way to get rid of the negative feelings you have toward Personal Color.”
“Hmph…”
Several smoke rings drifted into the air before Nam Yunsoo finally spoke.
“Blacklist. I heard they’re coming back to Korea soon?”
Blacklist.
Alongside All-In-One, led by Drake, they were one of the top idol groups dominating the Korean music industry.
Drake had a hugely successful solo career, but insiders rated Blacklist higher as a group than All-In-One.
In fact, when comparing group sales excluding individual profits, Blacklist brought in nearly twice as much.
“If Blacklist appears as mentors and judges for the team introduction mission, I’d say Personal Color could last at least until round three.”
What Nam Yunsoo really wanted was to bring Blacklist onto Idol War.
The bright morning turned cloudy by noon, and by the time Seon-ho left the station, a gentle rain was falling.
It was the first autumn rain since the summer monsoon ended.
Driving the van through the increasingly heavy drops, Seon-ho drifted into thought.
Blacklist, huh…
Nam Yunsoo probably knew full well how unlikely it was to secure Blacklist.
He was simply using Personal Color’s desperation.
Because he had nothing to lose either way.
If MOK managed to bring Blacklist for Personal Color, great.
If not, he’d just move forward with the original plan.
Screech, screech.
The wipers dragged across the windshield as Seon-ho tapped his fingers, lost in thought.
What should I do…
Telling Director Kwon Hosan to reach out to Blacklist wouldn’t be difficult.
It might even work.
But it wouldn’t be a good thing for Personal Color.
Controversy over forced pairing would flare up, and Blacklist’s rabid fandom would likely react negatively to Personal Color.
Besides, even if Blacklist appeared on Idol War, it wouldn’t fix Personal Color’s fundamental problems.
What Personal Color needed right now wasn’t backup.
What they needed was a process: the team called Personal Color doing their best and producing results.
That was the only way to restore the teamwork that had been broken by misunderstandings.
Bringing in Blacklist would only cheapen their effort.
That’s why Seon-ho was torn.
What should I do…
At that moment, a rustling sound was followed by a voice.
“…I’m scared.”
Having confirmed earlier that all the members were asleep, Seon-ho assumed it was just someone talking in their sleep.
But when he glanced at the rearview mirror, he locked eyes with An Jia.
“You’re not sleeping? You barely got any rest last night.”
“I woke up…”
An Jia stared at him through the mirror and said,
“Your expression was just really scary.”
“You can’t even see it that clearly from back there. Surprised you noticed.”
“What were you thinking about?”
“Rent and electric bills, maybe?”
Seon-ho had said it as a joke, but An Jia took it seriously.
“Are you behind on rent and bills?”
“Huh?”
“Do you want to borrow some money?”
“…Seriously?”
He asked, dumbfounded, and An Jia nodded calmly.
“Yes. I have money.”
She was 100% serious.
“…Your parents manage your income, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
“It’s okay. I don’t have much to spend on, so I’ve saved up my allowance.”
“How much are you willing to lend?”
“I have about 8 million won.”
When she even gave a specific figure, Seon-ho finally let out a low laugh.
He’d thought An Jia had a stoic personality, but now he realized it was more like cluelessness.
“I was joking about the bills. You’re taking it way too seriously—it’s making me embarrassed.”
“So you’re not behind?”
“Nope. Now go to sleep. You barely slept last night analysing the script. Aren’t you tired?”
“I am, but I don’t think I can sleep if you keep making that face.”
“What kind of face am I making?”
After a pause, An Jia said,
“You looked like Michael Corleone agonizing over his family.”
She seemed quite proud of the comparison.
But Seon-ho had no idea what she was talking about.
“Corle… who?”
“You haven’t seen The Godfather?”
“Nope.”
“How could you not?”
From her expression, it looked like he’d committed some terrible offense.
“Uh… I’ll make sure to watch it later. But is it a bad thing if I look like that guy when he’s agonizing?”
“Michael Corleone kills for his family after he’s done agonizing.”
“…”
“And then he becomes more and more ruthless, distances himself from his family, and ends up lonely. Even though it all started for the sake of family.”
She added,
“You look just like him right now.”
Seon-ho swallowed dryly a few times, then chuckled.
“That’s just a movie. Now stop talking or you’ll wake the others. Go to sleep.”
At his words, An Jia looked around, then sank back into her seat.
Soon after, her soft breathing joined the rest.
Seon-ho looked at his reflection in the rear-view mirror.
He hadn’t seen The Godfather, but he felt like he could guess what kind of expression Michael Corleone had made.
Seon-ho’s dilemma wasn’t because he didn’t have a solution.
He already had one in mind.
He was just struggling over whether to actually carry it out.
Because—
It was something he had learned in the orphanage.
After finishing their pre-show meeting and returning to the company, Personal Color jumped straight into choreography practice.
“Stretch those arms! If you build bad habits here, you’ll mess up on stage too!”
At the choreography trainer’s shout, the members of Personal Color sharpened their movements.
What they were rehearsing now was the “Cover Song Mission” stage for the second round of Idol War.
All teams participating in Idol War were required to prepare three missions:
- Preliminary Round: Team Introduction Mission
- First Round: Theme Selection Mission
- Second Round: Cover Song Mission
Shows like Tomorrow K-Star, which focused on singing, could go live on a weekly basis, but for idol groups where group choreography was crucial, preparing a stage in just one week was impossible.
The broadcast might show the singers drawing topics or cover songs and reacting emotionally to the results, but that was all for show.
In truth, the missions were already decided before recording began.
So even though they might not get to perform it, they were diligently practicing the cover song stage.
A stage they might not even get to show…
There were no eliminations in the preliminary round, but the first round involved cuts.
According to PD Nam Yunsoo, no matter how hard Personal Color practiced, they wouldn’t get to perform the cover song.
In fact, Seonho had already been warned by Director Yoo Ayeon that something like this could happen.
He had just pretended not to know in front of Nam Yunsoo to gauge the PD’s true intentions.
Right now, this was a crucial moment for every group participating in Idol War.
Dream Girls and Soul Mate needed to go beyond temporary fame and cement their place.
Black Label and Ladies Day needed to prevent fan departure due to member changes.
Jesco and A.S.A.P were returning to full group activities after solo promotions.
So the agencies were throwing everything into promotional pushes.
But Personal Color was an exception.
For them, Idol War was more like a bonus round.
It would be great if it worked out—but if not, that was fine too.
Because even MOK no longer had any expectations for Personal Color.
In truth, if it hadn’t been for An Jia’s forceful push, this mini-album wouldn’t have even been released.
The broadcasting station may hold power, but the PD also has some authority.
If a PD wanted to build a long career, they had to maintain good relations with agencies.
So eliminating a group their agency was backing in the very first round came with pressure. And there was no way Nam Yunsoo wasn’t aware of each team’s situation.
Seon-ho already knew that Personal Color was at the top of the list of likely eliminations.
Even so, Seon-ho still had hope.
Personal Color had at least reached the starting line.
Even if their position was disadvantageous compared to others, simply standing at the starting line was meaningful.
And above all, the broadcast station’s only true god was ratings.
If Personal Color helped the ratings, the production team would never dare eliminate them.
When Seon-ho explained his thoughts, Yoo Ayeon had asked him this:
“Everything you said is true. But the team has zero recognition after digging at the ground for three years, their teamwork is a mess, the agency’s interest is fading, and the only variety show they finally got on started off with them at a disadvantage. Can you really turn all that around by yourself?”
What did I say back then?
Seon-ho couldn’t quite remember how he answered Yoo Ayeon.
Probably something along the lines of I’ll do my best.
But at the time, he hadn’t realized just how firm PD Nam Yunsoo’s resolve was.
Nam Yunsoo seemed like someone with a lot of pride.
And someone like that wouldn’t easily go back on their word.
To break that pride, a decent stage wasn’t enough.
It had to be overwhelming—something truly exceptional and unique.
As Seon-ho sat in the practice room, deep in thought, he suddenly realized that he had stopped worrying.
Before he knew it, his gaze had been stolen by the long, fluid movements of someone dancing.
The one who’d captivated him was Baek Songyi, the leader of Personal Color.
She wasn’t particularly tall, but her arms and legs were unusually long and pale.
So even doing the same choreography as others, she somehow stood out more.
Normally, she gave off a bright, striking impression thanks to her big eyes and mouth, but when she danced with clenched teeth, the tension in her expression gave her a charming stubbornness.
He hadn’t noticed it before, but today, her wavy, auburn bob—styled without bangs—really suited her.
After watching Baek Songyi for a while, Seon-ho felt like his vision had widened.
He turned his eyes toward Woochan, dancing beside her.
Woochan was the oldest member of the group—and the same age as Seon-ho.
Maybe that was why Seon-ho sometimes found it awkward.
When talking to the whole team, he’d often catch himself mixing informal and formal speech because of Woochan.
Now that I think about it, couldn’t I just talk to Woochan informally too?
As he mulled that over, Seon-ho observed him closely.
Woochan had a look that balanced masculine charm and boyishness.
Normally, he gave off a manly vibe, but his tendency to flush more than others made him seem like a flushed boy after intense dancing.
But now Seon-ho realized that Woochan’s boyishness wasn’t just from his blush.
Sweat-drenched, his long lashes drooped naturally, giving his face a delicate quality.
He’s really good-looking.
Seon-ho disliked judging people by appearance.
Maybe that’s why he hadn’t noticed it until now—but seeing him now, Woochan was undeniably handsome.
Once he started focusing, Seon-ho began noticing traits in the other members that he’d previously overlooked.
After admiring their looks for a while, he began observing their dance styles.
To him, Baek Songyi was the best dancer overall, but the other members had their own strengths too.
Teiji was powerful, Riha had beautiful lines, and Woochan was precise.
An Jia didn’t have any standout traits, but she immersed herself so deeply in the performance that her passion naturally moved the audience.
Everyone had something special. And they were all putting in immense effort.
At that moment, Seon-ho felt ashamed of the worries that had consumed his thoughts.
The ones dancing on stage were Personal Color.
The ones singing on stage were also Personal Color.
So what was the point of worrying alone while excluding Personal Color?
He had secured a great stage for them through Idol War.
He had written Vivid with everything he had.
Now, what he needed to do was trust the artists.
“If you were asked that question again—‘Can you really turn all this around by yourself?’—what would your answer be?”
Now, he knew what to say.
“Excuse me, trainer. Do you mind if I borrow the space for a second?”
During break time, Seon-ho politely asked the choreographer to step aside, and they did so without protest.
With the room now theirs, Seon-ho connected his phone to the speaker.
Soon, music began to play.
It was Vivid, the song he’d finished last night.
It still needed some fine-tuning, but the melody and instrumentals were already perfect.
As soon as Vivid started, the members of Personal Color began bobbing their heads.
Just like before, it was clear they really liked the song.
“Why this song?” Baek Songyi asked as soon as it ended.
“What do you think of it?”
“I love it.”
Maybe feeling her answer wasn’t enough, she added:
“I mean it. It’s not just a compliment. I really like it. I wish we could start practicing with the lyrics already.”
Seon-ho planned to take the members sincere reaction and pass it on to the lyricist.
And through that song, he wanted them to sense each other’s true feelings.
He believed that if they practiced a stage hundreds of times together, there would come a moment where they’d feel each other’s hearts.
So if he was going to trust them, he would trust them completely.
“About the lyrics…”
As Hye-mi would put it, this was like stripping down to your underwear.
“I’m leaving them up to you.”
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