Star Maker Chapter 73

• Real-Time Search Rankings

1. High School in Melody
2. Hainmel ( Short for High School in Melody )
3. An Jia
4. Personal Color cameo
5. An Jia self-denial
6. Kang Mireu
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Right after the first episode of High School in Melody aired, Seon-ho checked the major portal site.

The real-time search rankings listed there brought a satisfied smile to his lips.

And that wasn’t all.

Average viewership rating – 14.6%.

Peak minute viewership rating – 19.2%.

These were the figures according to KBM’s own internal monitoring system.

It was a result that shattered the widespread belief that dramas like Hainmel might stir buzz online but flop offline.

And without a doubt, Idol War played a role in that.

Most of the Hainmel-related posts on social media said they started watching while waiting for the live broadcast of Idol War.

As soon as the drama ended, KBM’s PR team distributed the internally tallied ratings to reporters, who in turn wrote articles with all sorts of flashy phrases.

Meanwhile, Seon-ho and Kwon Hosan kept refreshing their pages over and over.

Monitoring was crucial in times like these.

If any nonsense related to Personal Color showed up in an article, it had to be shut down early.

— Personal Color, KBM’s Undisputed Cinderella?

Seon-ho clicked on an ambiguously titled article and let out a sigh of relief.

At first, it looked like it might be pushing the narrative that Personal Color owed its buzz to KBM, but once he read it, it said the opposite.

Rather than Personal Color benefiting from KBM, the article claimed KBM had gained from Personal Color’s popularity.

Seon-ho made a mental note of the reporter’s name, feeling thankful, and hit refresh again.

Despite watching for a while, he didn’t spot any articles that might cause trouble. Kwon Hosan seemed to be seeing the same.

‘High School in Melody…’

To be honest, Seon-ho had thought that even if Hainmel became a huge hit, he wouldn’t feel much about it.

Hainmel was different from Tomorrow K-Star or Idol War.

Those were projects he had personally built from the ground up. From preparing the music, stage, costumes—there wasn’t a single part of the competition he hadn’t been involved in.

He had even personally secured the casting for Idol War.

But Hainmel’s success was, in simple terms, a case of just tagging along. It was a project that had been cast before Seon-ho joined the company, and being a complete outsider to acting, he hadn’t really been of any help to Jia either.

Although he did produce the OST, the song “Even Though I Know It Won’t Work” hadn’t been used in episode 1. It was scheduled to be inserted starting from episode 2.

There had been internal discussions at KBM about how pre-releasing a competition song as an OST might cause fairness issues.

So Seon-ho had thought Hainmel had little to do with him. At most, he’d simply managed Jia’s filming schedule.

‘But still…’

Now that Hainmel had succeeded, he was genuinely happy. Just as happy as when Hye-mi’s Tomorrow K-Star or Personal Color’s Idol War had taken off.

And that was only natural.

To Seon-ho, singers weren’t just people who sang or earned money for him. They were people who helped spread the happiness he wanted to create to the public. If anything, the song was just a tool.

So it didn’t matter if that tool changed to acting or drama.

Behind Hainmel’s success were the countless hours spent dozing off with Jia in the van and studying the script together.

“Why are you smiling like that?”

Kwon Hosan, who’d been looking at his phone next to him, asked.

“What kind of expression do I have?”

“Hmm… pervy, maybe?”

“I just… like being a manager.”

There had been times in the past when he felt joy in being a manager too. But that joy hadn’t come from the job itself.

It had come from the satisfaction of being able to write better songs by observing every move of the singer he lived and worked with.

But today was different. It had nothing to do with music, and yet he found satisfaction in the job of being a manager itself.

Seon-ho slowly opened his mouth.

“The truth is, I was drawn to being a manager not because of any sense of accomplishment, but because it let me understand the singers better.”

“So you could give better material to Prefer?”

“Yes.”

“But not today?”

“No. That’s why I’m really happy.”

Kwon Hosan gave a small smile and said,

“I don’t know much about composing or anything, but once a manager is above team leader level, people start calling them PDs, right?”

“Right. They’re called entertainment planning PDs or artist management PDs.”

“And if you’re outsourced, you’re sometimes called a production PD.”

Even Team Leader Park Cha-myung had the title “PD” printed on his business card.

“Strictly speaking, the term ‘producer’ can be used in a lot of places—design, advertising, broadcasting…”

“Yeah. Team Leader Park said something similar before.”

“So what I’m trying to say is…”

Kwon Hosan thought for a moment before continuing.

“Isn’t it a question of whether you create something or not? If you just keep learning and observing people like you are now, you’ll remain a manager. But if you try to make something more, then you could become a producer.”

Kwon Hosan gave a embarrassed smile.

“Feels a little awkward for a senior who’s been completely outperformed to be saying this, though.”

“No, thank you for the advice.”

As Seon-ho listened, one person’s face popped into his mind.

Baek Minseong. The actor he had met on the Hainmel set.

Until recently, Seon-ho had been trying to suppress his interest in Baek Minseong. There were just too many realistic obstacles in the way.

But the obstacles he’d seen then were from the perspective of a songwriter and manager. Not from the standpoint of a “producer,”
someone who went beyond simply composing songs or taking care of artists.

‘What could I make with Baek Minseong?’

A number of plans came to mind. Some were feasible, others more like wild fantasies.

But one thing was certain—they all seemed like fun.

Just then, Kwon Hosan spoke to the deeply thoughtful Seon-ho.

“Oh, and by the way, I’m not saying you shouldn’t make songs with Prefer anymore. No matter how I look at it, Personal Color and Prefer are a match made in heaven.”

Seon-ho smiled and said,

“Sir.”

“What?”

“Do you know what the ‘bathhouse kid’ is?”

“Bathhouse kid? What’s that?”

Kwon Hosan tilted his head—then suddenly made an “ah” sound.

“Wait, are you talking about the old commercial? That CF?”

“Yeah. I think it was a commercial.”

“If it’s the bathhouse boy, then that was from the banana milk commercial… Baek… Baek Minhyung? Must’ve been him.”

“You mean Baek Minseong?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

Kwon Hosan began explaining about Baek Minseong.

Even though the first episode of Hainmel had ended, most of the staff were still at the barbecue restaurant.

It wasn’t just because they wanted to continue the get-together—it was because the main event hadn’t finished yet.

The Idol War was still on.

Hainmel and Idol War were closely connected shows.

Same KBM channel.

Same idol-centered theme.

Overlapping cast members.

Hainmel and Idol War could influence each other far more than one might expect—both positively and negatively.

And today, there was one more reason to stay tuned.

Even Though I Know It Won’t Work.

An Jia’s solo track, the OST of Hainmel, and now a competition piece on Idol War.

Its debut performance was happening on Idol War.

“Hope it goes well,” said writer Min Heeyoung, chewing on a piece of squid as she spoke to PD Wi Taewon.

Wi Taewon responded flatly, “It’ll go fine. I don’t know about PD Nam Yunsoo’s personality, but his skills are solid. The show seems to be doing well too.”

“Right, PD-nim, didn’t you say you’ve never actually watched Idol War?”

“I caught a rerun while flipping channels.”

“How was it?”

“It was… not bad.”

Min Heeyoung was sure PD Wi was being modest—she was certain he’d watched Idol War closely.

There was no way a perfectionist like him wouldn’t have monitored a connected show that could affect his own drama.

Especially with overlapping elements like the cameo appearance by Personal Color, the female lead An Jia, and the shared OST.

The only reason he sounded so indifferent was because he disliked Nam Yunsoo.

More precisely, it was because he had been disappointed in Nam Yunsoo, who used to be a close junior of his in college.

“They say PD Nam Yunsoo has changed a lot recently.”

“Hmm.”

“Well, this is just a rumor, but…”

Min Heeyoung looked around cautiously before leaning in and whispering.

“Apparently, the manager in charge of Dream Girls tried to bribe him with a large sum of money. But PD Nam Yunsoo got furious and flat-out refused.”

“Hmm, really?”

“Seems pretty certain. Someone said they saw him yelling in the parking lot.”

“Guess he’s finally developed a conscience.”

PD Wi cracked a pleased smile, and Min Heeyoung chuckled inwardly.

She was the type to believe that people never truly change—but seeing Nam Yunsoo made her think maybe that wasn’t entirely true.

“Oh, it’s starting.”

The TV screen lit up with the opening for Idol War.

The team eliminated in the “Song Switch” mission of Round 2 was Black Label.

And now, the team to be eliminated in Round 3 was…

—Ladies Day. You may now leave the stage.

The eliminated team was the girl group Ladies Day.

As soon as the results were announced, the staff packed into the restaurant all had something to say.

“Such a shame. I liked Ladies Day.”

“Well, it’s always tough for girl groups to beat boy groups in vote-based shows.”

“So now the only girl group left is Dream Girls? Personal Color is co-ed, so they don’t count.”

“Yeah. Dream Girls are hanging in there.”

“Judging by the scores, it was close.”

“They lost a lot of fans after switching members.”

Normally, survival competition shows dedicate a good chunk of time spotlighting eliminated teams.

Long, heartfelt interviews, tearful farewell scenes, reflective flashbacks—that was the standard.

But Idol War wasn’t like that.

PD Nam Yunsoo kept things short and fast-paced.

“Damn, he must be confident he can keep up this pacing.”

“What’s he gonna do when it’s down to just three teams?”

Ladies Day’s farewell segment was extremely brief.

It quickly transitioned to the next round—the “Unit Mission.”

Unit Mission.

Ten units formed by splitting each group into two teams compete against one another.

Since this setup allowed for strategic combinations, the Hainmel staff grew even more animated.

“Come on, it’s all about securing one solid win first.”

“Sure, in theory. But how can you be sure? What if ASAP and Jesco’s strongest units end up clashing head-to-head?”

“Well, then it’s just luck. But you can’t just split them up half-heartedly.”

Just then, a scruffy-faced FD with three years of experience chimed in.

“How about pulling the main vocals from each team and making them solo units? The rest could focus on synchronized, flashy performances.”

“No way. Solo units are a terrible idea. In idol shows, it’s all about visuals more than singing. A solo unit would get destroyed by a larger group.”

“Yeah… good point now that I think about it.”

The long strategizing from the viewers never ended.

Some even started betting on how the groups would divide their teams.

Of course, some industry folks already knew the unit lineups.

But none of them were tactless enough to spoil the suspense.

Soon, the official matchups were revealed on TV.

“What?!”

“No way!”

Matchups

• Jesco (A) vs. ASAP (B)
• Jesco (B) vs. Soulmate (A)
• ASAP (A) vs. Soulmate (B)
• Personal Color (A) vs. Dream Girls (A)
• Personal Color (B) vs. Dream Girls (B)

What shocked everyone was the Personal Color vs. Dream Girls matchups.

Both A and B units from each group would be competing—an all-out showdown between the two groups.

“Damn… who’s gonna win that?”

“Probably Personal Color, right?”

“But wait, doesn’t this mean Soulmate is screwed? Jesco and ASAP both have insane fandoms.”

“True, but Soulmate has been gaining attention lately too.”

“This is practically over already, isn’t it? Hey, Jia!”

The more impatient staff turned to Jia for answers.

But even Jia didn’t know the results.

Just like Idol War’s motto—“The viewers are the judges”—the outcome would be determined by live text and online voting during the broadcast.

Jia and Seon-ho only knew the results from the on-site audience voting.

Seon-ho suddenly recalled a past conversation with Nam Yunsoo.

“I’m just asking, hypothetically…”

“If Dream Girls and Personal Color went head-to-head, who do you think would win?”

Whether PD Nam Yunsoo had planned this matchup or had been hinting at the upcoming mission, Seon-ho still didn’t know.

But he leaned toward the latter.

When the matchups were drawn on site, the staff’s surprise looked too genuine to be faked.

“Come on, Jia. You were there—you must have a feel for how it went. With PerCol and Dream Girls having similar fanbases, the mood on site should’ve given something away, right?”

“Hmm… it’s a secret.”

“Aw, come on, just tell us!”

“Nope. The PD made me promise I’d keep it secret.”

When Jia remained tight-lipped, the staff gave up and launched into another heated discussion.

This time: which teams were likely to win how many matches?

But just then, the next big reveal hit the TV screen.

The unit lineups for each group.

And the reactions were…

“…Is this for real?”

Someone muttered, echoing what everyone else was thinking.

Personal Color (A)

• Baek Sonyi, Riha, Teiji, Woochan

Personal Color (B)

• An Jia

All eyes turned to Jia.

A moment later, the first stage of the Unit Mission—Jesco A Unit—began.