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     After two seasons with questionable ratings and shocking scandals, Idol Incorporated is back; this time with a fresh rebrand! The third season, now officially titled Relisted! Idol Incorporated, aims to restore the show’s credibility while delivering the high-stakes competition fans crave.

       For those unfamiliar, Idol Inc. first launched as a reality survival program designed to produce the next big K-pop sensation. Season 1 was a massive success, catapulting its winning girl group to stardom and solidifying the show as must-watch entertainment. Season 2, however, was a different story. With the ambitious goal of debuting a mixed-gender idol group, the season was abruptly canceled following a scandal involving two contestants: a secret pregnancy, a cheating controversy, and a behind-the-scenes romance gone terribly wrong! What was meant to be the ultimate co-ed experiment quickly became a PR nightmare, forcing producers to pull the plug before the final lineup could even be revealed.

       Now, the franchise is making a calculated comeback. Relisted! Idol Inc. has stripped away the co-ed concept and returned with an all-male competition, boasting talented trainees vying for a spot in the final lineup. With four rounds of grueling performances and eliminations, the pressure is on to prove not only their talent but also the show’s ability to regain the trust of its audience.

       Will Relisted! Idol Inc. reignite the magic of Season 1, or will the ghosts of Season 2 linger too long in the shadows? With its premiere just around the corner, one thing is certain: fans will be watching closely.

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Comments (32)

VTICfan (03/02/20xx • 2:15pm)
I don't know if I should get excited about this season....Season 1 was LEGENDARY, but Season 2....yeah, let’s not talk about that. Hoping for no more scandals!!
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Seo-yoooon (03/02/20xx • 2:22pm)
Bringing an all-male lineup feels like a safe move, but I kinda wanted another girl group season ToT
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ANONYMOUS (03/02/20xx • 2:37pm)
they really think we gon forget about Season 2??? that was a whole ass trainwreck-
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ExoLuv (03/02/20xx • 3:00pm)
Is anyone else worried that they’ll just rig the votes again? We all know these survival shows are never fair ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა…
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Nana (03/02/20xx • 3:12pm)
Secret pregnancy, cheating, and a failed romance? This is wilder than a makjang drama. No wonder they had to rebrand ㅋㅋㅋ
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Sarang4U (03/02/20xx • 3:47pm)
I hope they focus more on the trainees’ skills instead of manufacturing drama. Some of these guys have been training for YEARS!!!!!
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WhatIsLove (03/02/20xx • 4:01pm)
I just wanna know who the judges are >:( If they bring back that one judge from Season 2, I’M OUTTT
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JYP_Nation (03/02/20xx • 4:33pm)
Lets be real K-pop reality shows are 50% scripted but Ill still be watching lol
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Moondae exhaled sharply as he powered off his phone, the dim glow of the cracked screen vanishing into darkness.

He was alone in the cramped karaoke room, the muffled shouts of another group’s singing bleeding through the walls. The artificial scent of cheap air freshener mixed with the faint tang of sweat and soda, but he barely noticed.

“Status window,” he muttered.

A shimmer of light flickered in the air before him, and then, like a summoned ghost, the translucent gray screen materialized out of thin air. He dragged his gaze over the letters sprawled across it, his expression tightening.

Name: Park Moondae

VOCAL: A-

DANCE: --

VISUAL: C+

CHARISMA: --

SPECIALTY: Unlimited Potential

His vocal stats had finally edged up to an A. Not bad. Actually, under normal circumstances, that would be an incredible achievement; but he wasn’t under normal circumstances.

Moondae leaned back against the lumpy cushions of the karaoke booth, his fingers absently tracing the peeling leather upholstery.

The real problem laid in the undetermined stats: dancing and charisma. Those missing grades were in no way a good sign.

If he was going to survive, he couldn’t afford to have gaps in his abilities.

His gaze dropped lower, landing on the C+ rating for visuals. A wry chuckle slipped from his lips. Would his voice alone be enough to get him screen time? Enough to make him memorable?

Probably not.

Moondae groaned and ran a hand down his face. Maybe he should do something about his visuals, too. As a former (?) idol photographer, he knew better than anyone how far a pretty face could take someone in this industry. Even the most mediocre trainee could skate by if they had the right look. He didn't want to bank on that alone, but if it could be a stepping stone to survival, was it really a bad idea?

His dark eyes flickered back to the glowing status window, trailing over the cold, unyielding words stamped:

[Status Effect: Debut or Die]
If you do not debut as an idol within the designated time period, you will die.
Time Left: 356 days

Three hundred fifty-six days remaining.
Nearly a year's worth of time. It sounded like a lot, but Moondae knew better. A year could slip through his fingers in the blink of an eye.

He sighed, running his thumb idly along the side of the karaoke mic. The plastic felt slightly worn, the texture uneven from years of use.

The third season was set to air live later this month. His problem? Applications had closed last week.
Which was why he was here, alone in a dimly lit karaoke room, singing to an audience of none; chasing a rumor.

Word had it that casting crew members liked to scout trainees near karaoke lounges, keeping an eye out for undiscovered talent. It was a long shot. A desperate one, but if there was even the slightest chance it could get him in the door, he’d take it.
Because failure wasn’t an option. His life was on the line.

Moondae exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders back as he adjusted his grip on the microphone.

He scrolled through the song list on the small touchscreen, the purple glow reflecting off his fingers. Idol auditions usually favored songs that could showcase vocal technique and range; nothing too simple, but nothing too theatrical either.

After a few seconds of deliberation, he selected a well-known song with a gradual build-up. The kind of song that required control, emotion, and enough skill to stand out without feeling forced.

The instrumental kicked in, filling the tiny room with a soft piano melody. Moondae shut his eyes for a moment, letting himself sink into the rhythm. The first verse approached, and he inhaled, opening his mouth to sing.

His voice slipped into the melody effortlessly, quiet but steady, weaving through the lyrics with precision. The system had graded his vocals an A, but he wasn’t satisfied. Every note needed to be flawless. Every breath controlled. He wasn’t just here to practice, he was here to be noticed.

As the song progressed, he let himself push a little further. His voice grew richer, more resonant, filling the cramped karaoke room as he climbed toward the chorus. The air vibrated with the sound, the sheer clarity of it cutting through the muffled bass of distant music bleeding though.

The origina Parkl Moondae had the kind of voice that could make people stop and listen. It just needed to be trained.

Then—

A sharp knock at the door.

Moondae’s breath hitched mid-note, his body freezing for a split second before he caught himself. His voice faltered, the smooth flow of the song abruptly cut short.

Another knock. Louder this time, more insistent.

He didn't hesitate.

The whole reason he had come here was to be noticed. There was no point in freezing up now. Without missing a beat, he set the microphone down, crossed the small room, and pulled the door open in one swift motion.

His eyes landed on the person standing in the doorway: a woman, shorter than him with glasses and a messy ponytail.

“Hello,” he greeted, dipping his head slightly. His tone was polite but direct. Was she a casting member for Idol Inc?

The woman returned the nod, adjusting her glasses. “Yes, uh, hello... You have a beautiful voice.”

Moondae's expression remained neutral. Compliments were nice, but they were not what he needed. If she wasn’t a scout, this conversation was not going to lead anywhere useful.

“Thank you,” he said simply. “...I’m working on improving my range,” Moondae added a second later. He suddenly felt a need to talk to her.

“Improving your range?” The woman tilted her head, blinking as if she had not expected that response. “But your voice already sounds amazing.” She shifted on the balls of her feet, her curiosity evident. “Are you an idol trainee?”

He shook his head. “No, I’m not, but I want to be.” More like, he needed to be.

The woman’s brows lifted slightly, her interest clearly piqued. “You want to be?” she echoed.

Moondae nodded once. “Yes.” There was no hesitation. No unnecessary embellishments.

She hummed, glancing past him into the karaoke room, then back at him. “Have you auditioned anywhere yet?”

“Not yet.” A sharp truth, one he had no choice but to change. The clock was running.

The woman nodded slowly, adjusting her glasses. “I see… and you’re here alone?”

Moondae’s lips twitched slightly. “Yes. Is that a problem?” She had just looked inside his karaoke room not even a minute ago; why ask this question?

She let out a small chuckle. “Not at all. It’s just rare to see someone practicing this seriously by themselves.” She crossed her arms, her gaze assessing. “You have good vocal control. I wasn’t planning to stop, but your voice really caught my attention.” Moondae did not let himself react too much, but he held her gaze, expectant.

The woman seemed to consider something before finally extending a hand. “My name is Seo Hana. I work in entertainment scouting for TNET.”

His fingers twitched slightly at her words. This was it.

Moondae reached out, shaking her hand firmly. “Park Moondae.”

Hana smiled, tilting her head. “Tell me, Mr. Park, how do you feel about Idol Inc?”

The name sent a jolt through him, but he kept his expression neutral. Calm. Detached. Careful not to look too eager.

“I don’t know.” He responded, leaning slightly against the doorframe as if he weren’t clinging to her every word. “After the infamous second season of Idol Inc, it isn't exactly the best thing I want to be involved with.”

Hana pursed her lips, but there was a glint of something in her eyes. Amusement? It was hard to tell. “Who said anything about me recruiting you for the survival show? I just asked how you felt about it.” Moondae’s composure cracked. His fingers twitched, his spine going rigid before he could stop himself

She smiled at his reaction, crossing her arms. “What if I wanted to take you on as a personal idol project?”

His mind raced. This was not what he expected. That meant skipping the brutal competition of a survival show. His gaze flickered over her face, searching for signs of whether this was a bluff, a test, or a genuine offer.

“…And what would that entail?” he asked carefully.

Hana’s lips quirked, as if pleased by his cautious response. "Can I come in?” she asked instead, gesturing to his karaoke room.

Moondae moved to the side, allowing her entry. He followed behind her; both of them taking their seats across from one another.

Hana looked at him before beginning, “Although, I am affiliated with TNET, I don't want you in Idol Inc. I want you for my own, let's make that clear.” She sighed, “It would be a waste to place you in a survival show only to not debut.”

He did not respond immediately; letting her words settle. “So, what is it that you're offering me exactly?” he asked, keeping his tone measured.

“I'm offering you a chance to be a solo idol,” she responded simply.

Moondae held her gaze. He wasn’t naive, he knew better than to trust vague offers at face value.

“…How would this work?” he asked, indulging her regardless.

Hana’s smile widened. “First, I’d… well- TNET will need to be involved for a bit… Basically, I need to hear more from you. Training history, current skill level, what you’re willing to do to debut.”

Moondae exhaled slowly, crossing his arms. “No training history. I’ve never been a trainee.”

Hana blinked. “Never?”

“No company, no academy, nothing.”

She studied him for a moment, expression unreadable. “And yet, you sound like that.”

Moondae gave a small shrug. “I practiced.”

Hana let out a quiet laugh. “I see.” She paused, then tilted her head. “How serious are you about debuting?”

His fingers curled slightly at his sides. “…I’ll do whatever it takes.”

The woman held his gaze, searching for hesitation. Finding none, she nodded before handing him her card. His attention was immediately drawn to the TNET stamp in the upper corner.

How would this transaction even work? She wanted to take him in as a personal project, but she needed TNET to be involved? Who's resources would he be using? Was she even qualified to do something like this to begin with?

“You look like you have a lot of questions.”

“I do, this is an extremely messy transition. If you want this to be an independent project, why would TNET need to be involved?”

Hana folded her hands on the table, regarding him. “I never said it would be completely independent,” she admitted. “But it won’t be through Idol Inc., like I mentioned, f that's for sure."

Moondae’s fingers tapped against the edge of the table. “Explain further, please.”

Hana exhaled. “TNET owns Idol Inc., but it’s not their only project. They have subsidiary labels, independent ventures, and connections that extend beyond the survival show. If I pitch you as a solo act under a different branch, they might be willing to back it up; so long as they see potential returns.”

Moondae’s eyes flicked back to the business card, the TNET logo gleaming faintly. “And what if they don’t?”

“Then I have other routes,” Hana said, her voice even. “But TNET is the fastest, most direct option.”

So it wasn’t just her backing him; it was a gamble she was making with the company’s resources.

Moondae leaned back, exhaling slowly. “And what exactly do you gain from this?”

Hana smirked. “If you debut successfully, my name becomes the one that launched you. That means more influence, more credibility, and bigger projects down the line. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

He stared at her for a long moment. It made sense. It was an investment on her part, but he wasn’t some naive hopeful. If he accepted, he’d be putting himself at the mercy of her connections, her decisions. Yet, he didn’t have the luxury of playing it safe. Moondae set the card down and met her eyes. “What’s my next step?”

Hana grinned. “First, a private audition. Tomorrow. Think of it as a test run; TNET needs to approve of you.”

He nodded. “Where?”

She tapped the card. “Address is on the back. Be there at noon.” He picked up the card again, flipping it over. The address was printed clearly.
Hana stood, straightening her jacket. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Park.”

As the door shut behind her, Moondae muttered something. He glanced at the status window now faintly glowing in front of him.

[Three hundred fifty-six days remaining.]

He leaned back against the booth’s cushioned seat, staring at the ceiling. A private audition. Less than twenty-four hours from now.

The thought should have been exciting. Instead, a thread of unease curled in his chest. It wasn’t that he doubted himself—he’d been preparing for this, but the circumstances were unpredictable. Hana might be ambitious, but that did not mean her plan would automatically succeed.

And if it didn’t…
He exhaled sharply. No. That wasn’t an option. He would debut.

His grip on the card tightened.

There was no safety net. He needed to be careful on how he spent this year.

Moondae pushed himself off the seat, stretching his arms above his head. He’d been sitting here too long; his muscles were stiff.

He glanced at the mic resting on the table. The reason he came here in the first place.

He still had a few hours before the studio closed.

Might as well use them.

He picked up the mic again.

The next morning, Moondae woke up to the shrill blare of his alarm at exactly 5:30 a.m. His hand shot out from beneath the covers, blindly poking away at his phone until the sound mercifully cut off.
A groan left his lips as he buried his face into the pillow. Waking up this early should be criminal. No, scratch that; it was criminal.

For a few precious seconds, he laid there, eyes half-lidded as he debated whether he could afford to steal ten more minutes of sleep. Would it really make a difference? Maybe if he timed it just right, he could close his eyes and wake up feeling more refreshed instead of more exhausted. But deep down, he knew better. Ten minutes would turn into fifteen, then twenty, and then he’d be running late before he knew it.

With a sigh of resignation, Moondae peeled himself away from the bed, dragging himself upright. The cool air nipped at his skin, making him shiver. The temptation to crawl back under the blankets was strong, but he fought against it, forcing himself to his feet.

The apartment was small; nothing fancy, just a standard one-bedroom unit with barely enough space to hold the essentials. The walls were bare, save for a corkboard and clock.

He moved through his morning routine with quiet efficiency, the motions second nature by now.

A warm shower to chase away the last remnants of sleep. Brushing his teeth, washing his face. A light breakfast: just something quick and manageable with the limited groceries in his fridge.

It was the usual cycle, unremarkable and predictable.

By the time he found himself standing in front of the mirror, it was nearly eight. He stared at his reflection, eyes scanning over the faint shadows beneath them, the telltale sign of another night with little rest.

Did he look presentable?

The question lingered in his mind as he scrutinized himself. Objectively, he supposed he wasn’t unattractive. Park Moondae had good facial harmony, as some might say. His features were on the softer side, pretty even, but nothing about him screamed “idol.” He didn’t have that effortless glow, the kind that made people turn their heads. His plain clothing, his monotone expressions, his subdued presence; everything about him felt ordinary.

He scoffed at himself. What did he expect? That he’d suddenly wake up looking like a celebrity?
Still, this private audition mattered. He needed every possible advantage he could get.

Pulling out his phone, he checked the time.
“7:42,” he muttered.

A wave of doubt washed over him. What if Hana was having second thoughts? Sure, he had a decent voice, but that wasn’t enough. He couldn’t dance, his charisma was at an all-time low. Compared to the idols he used to photograph, he was nothing.

Moondae ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it out before grabbing his wallet. Maybe he wasn’t a natural-born star, but there had to be something he could do to improve his odds.

Makeup.

Male idols used it all the time. It wasn’t just for performances; even their casual airport photos had them looking flawless. If he wanted to look the part, then he had to start taking it seriously.

There was a drugstore nearby. The kind that sold everything from snacks and medicine to cosmetics and cleaning supplies. He could pick up a few basics there.

As he stepped outside, the crisp morning air greeted him. Pulling out his phone, he started typing.

Video's like:
“BEGINNER MAKEUP TUTORIAL”
“BEGINNER DOUYIN MAKEUP♡”
“ULTIMATE drugstore makeup tutorial for beginners | baddie on a budget”
“𐙚₊˚⊹ᡣ𐭩15min everyday makeup tutorial𐙚₊˚⊹ᡣ𐭩”
flooded his screen, overwhelming him with information. BB cream, CC cream, concealer, contour, highligher: There were so many things, and he had no idea where to start.

He clicked on a short video tutorial, watching as a beauty vlogger explained the basics. Hiding dark circles, evening out skin tone, adding a little color to avoid looking washed out. That seemed manageable.

By the time he reached the drugstore, he had at least some idea of what he needed. But the moment he stepped into the cosmetics aisle, his confidence wavered.

There were way too many options. Rows upon rows of bottles, tubes, and compacts, all neatly arranged with tiny labels boasting various benefits. Some were advertised as “hydrating,” others as “mattifying.” What did that even mean?

He reached for a tube of BB cream, flipping it over to check the price.

₩35,000.

His fingers twitched. That was more than he had expected for one product.

Blush, highlighter, mascara, eyebrow liner, eyeliner, eyeshadow palettes, lip tints; each discovery added to his growing realization. He didn’t have enough money for all of this.

Moondae exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. Okay. Priorities. He needed to cover his dark circles first. Maybe some BB cream or concealer. If he could manage that, it would be enough.

Probably.

Moondae sighed and put the BB cream back on the shelf, scanning the rows for something cheaper. There had to be a drugstore brand that didn’t cost so much.

His fingers trailed over the different labels with small descriptions underneath.

A smaller tube caught his eye: concealer, ₩12,000. That was a more reasonable price. He grabbed it and turned the packaging over, trying to determine if the shade would work for him. Did he need something lighter? Or a bit darker? The beauty tutorial hadn’t covered that in detail.

He flipped through a few more products, feeling a growing sense of confusion. He should have done more research...

A voice beside him broke his concentration. “Are you looking for something specific?”

Moondae turned his head. A store employee —probably a college student doing part-time work— stood beside him. She wore the standard uniform, a navy vest over a white blouse, and had a polite yet mildly curious expression.

“I, uh…” He hesitated. It felt a little embarrassing to admit that he did not have much of an idea as to what he was doing. “I need something to cover dark circles. And maybe something to make my skin look… better?”

The employee’s face brightened slightly. “Oh! You're going for natural look products?”

“…Mhm, sure,” he nodded.

She stepped past him to scan the shelves. “You’ll probably want a concealer close to your skin tone. If it’s too light, it’ll look obvious. And for a more even finish, BB cream would be good. But if you just need a quick fix, this one’s a better choice.” She grabbed a different tube of concealer, handing it to him. “It has good coverage, and it’s less drying than the one you were looking at.”

Moondae took the product, feeling a little relieved. “Thanks.”

“No problem! Oh, and if you want a bit of color, maybe a lip tint?” She gestured toward a display. “A lot of guys use sheer tints so they don’t look too pale under bright lights.”

Lip tint. Right. He’d seen idols wearing that before, especially in photoshoots; but would it look weird on him?
Before he could overthink it, he grabbed the cheapest option: a sheer, natural pink shade that didn’t look too obvious.

"That color would look amazing on you! And it's a good price for the quality," She praised with a smile.

Moondae felt like he could ask her for help. She was a genuinely kind person. "Is there anything you recommend? I'm new to this.."

The employee’s smile widened, her eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. “Oh! I would love to help you with your makeup journey! You're already pretty as is... if you want a more polished look, filling in your brows a little makes a big difference. Just a light touch to define them, nothing too dramatic.”

Brows? He hadn’t even considered that. Moondae picked up a small eyebrow pencil, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to try.

He eventually made it to the checkout with a lip tint, concealer, setting powder, an eyebrow pencil, primer, blush, moisturiser, and a sheer foundation that was difficult to color match. Too much went into decisions: price, brand, cool or warm tone...

He stepped out of the store with a bag of makeup essentials and a dent in his wallet. He needed a job...

-

Moondae rushed back to his apartment, shutting the door behind him. He tossed the plastic bag onto his small bathroom counter, pulling out his purchases one by one. The mirror reflected his face: tired, slightly pale, dark circles still prominent. Right. Time to fix that.

He pulled out his phone and propped it up against the sink, opening a basic tutorial he had bookmarked earlier. The thumbnail featured a well-groomed male beauty influencer, his skin practically glowing. Moondae exhaled. He didn’t need to look that perfect, just… less tired.

As the video started, he clipped his hair back with a few plastic clips he had found in a drawer. His dark bangs, usually hanging over his forehead, were now swept back, fully exposing his face. He wasn’t used to seeing this face like this.

The influencer began, “Alright, let’s get started! First things first, make sure your face is clean and moisturized. Hydration is key for smooth application.”

Moondae frowned. Would washing his face with cold water be enough? Probably not, but it would have to do.

He splashed some water onto his skin, patted it dry, then squeezed out some moisturizer. The influencer massaged it in with graceful, circular motions, and Moondae mimicked him as best he could. His skin instantly felt softer.

“Next up, primer. This is going to create a nice, even base for everything else. Just a small amount, like this.” He showed the camera the blob of product.

Moondae squeezed out a pea-sized amount and hesitantly spread it over his face, copying the influencer’s patting technique. His skin felt weirdly smooth now, almost too perfect. He frowned at his reflection for some reason, but the influencer was already moving on.

“Alright, now it's foundation time. If you want something natural, go for a sheer foundation or a skin tint. We’re not aiming for a mask, just evening things out.” The influencer spoke as he picked out a foundation from a group of seven.

Did people really need that much?

Moondae grabbed his own bottle. He squeezed a small amount onto the back of his palm before realizing the influencer was using a sponge. Right. He reached for one, dabbing the product onto his face, then blending in slow, careful motions.

He replayed this section twice, checking his technique. After a few tries, his complexion looked a little more even. "Not bad," he murmured to himself.

“Concealer~" The man sung, showing off the one he would be using. Moondae smiled, he was using the same one. "This is my secret weapon for dark circles and any little spots you want to hide. A little goes a long way, so don’t overdo it.”

They twisted the concealer cap off and dotted a small amount under their eyes at the same time.

Moondae glanced between his reflection and the tutorial before gently tapping the product in with his ring finger, just like the influencer demonstrated.

He paused, leaning in closer to the mirror. The difference was immediate: his eyes looked brighter, less exhausted.

“Looking good!" The influencer commented at the perfect moment, as if he could see Moondae. "Now, let’s lock that in place with a light dusting of setting powder. This keeps everything from slipping around and creasing!”

Moondae opened the compact and pressed the puff lightly onto his face, trying not to overdo it. The influencer dusted excess powder off with a brush, so Moondae did the same, though a little clumsily. He could already feel the makeup setting in place.

The video continued to play.

“Brows! Even if you’ve got full brows like me, filling in sparse areas makes a huge difference. I recommend a pencil a shade or two lighter than your eyebrows.”

Moondae picked up the eyebrow pencil; following the tutorial, he filled in a small gap near the arch.

He immediately winced.

Too dark.

He pressed too hard and rushed to grab a wipe, rubbing it off and trying again with lighter strokes. This time, it looked better; just a little more defined, not overwhelming.

“See the difference between the two colors?” The influencer spoke, grabbing Moondae's attention. “One is my hair shade and the other one is a lighter shade.” He pointed to the noticeably different brows. “See how one looks like I used a sharpie marker and the other looks.. well better?”

A laugh.

"Now for some color! Blush is what makes you look alive, just a light sweep on the apples of your cheeks. I like adding this after I set because my power slightly dims the intensity. So apologizes!! Also, I'm not big on bronzer, BUT I have a tutorial for that. I'll link it in the description!"

Moondae sighed. That would have been nice to know earlier.

Regardless, he picked up the blush. He’d seen videos of people overdoing it, so he tapped the brush cautiously, applying a tiny amount.

He stared at his reflection. Huh. That actually worked.

“Alright, moving onto lips! A sheer lip tint is great for a natural look—just a little color makes all the difference.”

Lip products make him the nervous; he carefully applied a thin layer, pressing his lips together like the influencer did.

His lips looked subtly more vibrant, not inundate. Okay, he liked that.

Moondae unclipped his hair, letting his bangs fall back into place. Staring at his reflection, he felt… surprised. He looked different. Not in a bad way. Just better. More presentable for the audition.

Makeup took longer than he expected. He could not wait for the day it became an effortless task...

Chapter Text

Inside the auditorium room, the atmosphere was an odd blend of tense expectation and sterile professionalism. A panel of three interviewers -two men and a woman- sat behind an absurdly long table; eyes tracking Moondae's every move, silent and scrutinizing.

To the side, Seo Hana stood poised, her posture effortlessly composed. She was dressed differently compared to yesterday, more formal.

“Mr. Park,” Seo greeted, stepping forward with an air of practiced ease. “We have been expecting you. Thank you for coming in.” It was almost odd seeing the young woman so composed.

Moondae inclined his head. “Thank you for giving me this opportunity,” he replied, bowing respectfully to each person in the room. Relieved he decided to show up earlier than supposed to.

“Wow, Ms. Seo, you have certainly outdone yourself this time! Where did you find this cutie?” The lone female interviewer spoke first, her voice playful yet laced with genuine intrigue.

Moondae recognized her immediately: Nari, a former girl group idol from a generation or two ago. He's taken some pictures of her before–the latest he can remember was at an event where her girl group reunited for an anniversary concert. Nari's group then got revived and her popularity rose again. Moondae needs to associate himself with her; she would make a good acquaintance in the future.

“I’m glad you think so,” Seo Hana replied, a slight smile tugging at her lips from recalling their first meeting, “I met him in-”

She barely finished her sentence before one of the two male interviewers, a rough-looking man with a perpetually unimpressed expression, cut in. “But, is he more than just a pretty face?”

“Yes, sir, I am,” Moondae answered for himself. His voice was steady, his eyes unwavering as they met the interviewer’s.

The other male interviewer, dressed in a sharp blue suit, chuckled lightly. “Not that it would be a major issue! With a face like his, it could take him far.”

The words were lighthearted, almost teasing, but they left Moondae feeling heavy.

“You’re right,” Nari agreed, a knowing, passive smile. She leaned forward a little, inspecting him. “Mr. Park, your makeup looks great. Did you do it yourself?”

Moondae nodded, and a flicker of satisfaction running through him; his efforts had been noticed.

She giggled. “I could tell. You should consider peach pink or bronze eyeshadow, it would-”

“Can we get this audition started?” The rougher interviewer interrupted, his tone edged with irritation. Moondae could already feel that this interviewer would be more difficult to win over. “We are not here to exchange beauty tips, Nari.”

The ex-idol frowned but didn’t seem the least bit fazed. Were they close?

The man in the blue suit cleared his throat. “Mr. Park, how would you like to begin your audition?”

“I want to hear him sing!” Nari declared enthusiastically.

Blue Suit caved in easily; yeah, the three of them had to be close some way or another. “We have been informed you have an impressive range. Could you demonstrate it for us?”

Without hesitation, shame forgotten, Moondae began to sing. The first song that came to his strategic mind was one of Nari’s. The moment his voice filled the room, he saw her initial enthusiasm shift to genuine surprise.

His voice glided effortlessly between octaves, his tone controlled yet expressive.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Seo Hana’s reaction: her composed expression faltering, eyebrows raised, lips slightly parted.

As he continued, the atmosphere in the room changed. Nari, who had just been surprised, overcame it and straightened in her seat. Blue Suit had been nodding along absentmindedly, his expression sharpening. Even the rougher interviewer, who had seemed entirely disinterested, now looked intrigued.

Then Moondae hit a high note.

Nari let out an unfiltered shriek, startling everyone else in the room. “Oh my god!” she blurted, practically bouncing in her seat.

But Moondae wasn’t done. He didn’t simply sing her song; he transformed it. His deeper register gave the airy, delicate melody a striking intensity, adding a weight it had not carried before. It was no longer just a cover; it was a reinterpretation.

Blue Suit looked absolutely enraptured, his hands clasped together as if he was witnessing something miraculous.

The rougher interviewer was watching with a different kind of interest: the calculating gaze of someone who saw numbers, potential, and an investment worth making.

When the final note faded into silence, the air in the room felt charged.

Then, Nari slammed her hands on the table. “I want him!”

The other interviewers blinked at her.

“My agency!” she clarified, her excitement palpable. She turned to Moondae, eyes practically glowing. “You have everything! Do you know how rare it is to hear a male vocalist take a female idol’s song and make it his own? I could make you a star!”

Blue Suit lightly chuckled. “Nari, you don’t even manage male idols.” Furthermore, her agency was tiny. Park Moondae was not even certain if it was still around in the future.

“But I will for him!” she shot back without hesitation.

The rougher interviewer then exhaled, rubbing his chin. “I have to admit… I see potential.” Moondae suspected that was the highest praise he would ever receive from the man.

And then Seo Hana, who had remained mostly silent until now, dropped the bombshell. “To make sure you are all aware, Mr. Park has zero formal training.”

Silence.

Nari’s jaw practically hit the floor. Blue Suit blinked in disbelief. The rougher interviewer let out a low, impressed whistle.

“No vocal coach?” Blue Suit asked, like he could not quite wrap his head around the thought of it.

“None.”

“No pre-debut training?” Nari pressed.

“Not a day.”

Blue Suit exhaled, leaning back in his chair. “That is… ridiculous. If he is already this good raw, imagine what he could do with actual –professional– training.”

Nari pointed dramatically at Moondae. “This is exactly why I want him!”

Then, as if sensing an opportunity to finally find a flaw, the rougher interviewer asked, “What about his dancing?”

Moondae’s stomach dropped.

Seo Hana hesitated, clearing her throat. “Well…” Her pause spoke volumes. Four pairs of eyes turned to Moondae expectantly.

He let out a small groan, fully aware that there was no point in pretending. “I, uh… I can’t dance.”

Nari blinked, momentarily stunned. “Like… not at all?”

“…Not at all.” Choreography was something he had tried to learn once, but the moves were too difficult to memorize, and his body just didn't move the way it needed to.

Blue Suit winced; the rougher interviewer let out a curt laugh, shaking his head with an almost pitying look.

“Well,” Nari began, quickly regaining her composure. “That’s something we can fix! Mr. Park here has raw talent.” Her tone was coaxing, like she could already see the potential oozing out of him, even in his weakness.

Seo jumped in, her voice firm and encouraging. “Mr. Park is willing to do whatever it takes to debut; learning to dance would not be an issue!”

The man in the blue suit straightened, his gaze sharpening. “He is willing to do whatever it takes?”

“Yes, sir,” Moondae answered with quiet determination.

The man smiled, as if everything had clicked into place. “Join Idol Incorporated, our survival show.” He specified it as if Moondae did not have a clue as to what Idol Inc. was. Everyone in Korea and their right mother knew that show after the infamous second season.

The two other interviewers paused, their expressions betraying their surprise.

“What?!” Nari shouted, her voice rising with disbelief. “Nope! No way! Mr. Park, come work for me instead!”

The rougher interviewer scoffed, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. “He’d be worse off with you. Your company doesn’t deal with male idols. Do you need to be reminded again?”

Seo Hana interjected, a mix of frustration and confusion in her voice. “But Mr. Jeon, why? I don’t understand.”

The blue-suited man, now finally revealed as Mr. Jeon, smiled, his eyes gleaming with something unnameable. “Think about it, Mr. Park would be perfect as the face of Idol Inc. The applications we have reviewed so far have been less than stellar. If I have one guaranteed star to focus on, maybe I can get the show’s ratings up.” So, this man was in charge of overseeing Idol Inc? Great.

The rougher interviewer sat up, nodding in agreement. “That’s right, we’ll exploit his pretty face…” He said almost comically.

Moondae flinched.

The mood in the room shifted dramatically. Gone were the laid-back, easygoing interviewers; Nari of all people had also fallen into utter silence.

He turned his gaze to Seo Hana.

“Mr. Jeon,” Seo said, her voice tight, “I promised Mr. Park a guaranteed debut.”

“And he will debut—under Idol Inc, that is.” Mr. Jeon’s voice was final, like a decision already made.

Moondae blinked, confused. “I don’t understand…” He spoke up, his voice unsteady. “How can I have a guaranteed debut if I’m going to be participating in a survival show?” He stressed the words “guaranteed” and “survival.”

“I’ll rig the final lineup.” Mr. Jeon stated as if it were nothing major with a smile.

“No! Absolutely not!” Seo Hana’s voice cracked, her anger rising. “Do you know what that would do to Mr. Park if word gets out? The public would tear him apart!”

“No word will get out,” Mr. Jeon countered, his tone cool and assured. “That I also guarantee.” His eyes swept over them, seeing their clear hesitation. Then, he pointed at the rougher interviewer. “Byung-chul has invested a lot of money into this season. He needs profit.” His finger shifted to Nari, who still sat silently, “And Nari put money in too. She will be a judge on the show. The more popular it gets, the more exposure she gains. This is her way back into relevance.”

A cold silence fell over the room, the severity of his words pressing down like a stone.

Seo Hana turned to look at Moondae, waiting for him to say something, anything, but he didn't. What could he say in this situation?

“Mr. Park wanted to debut as a solo idol-”

“And think of how hard that would be,” Byung-chul interrupted Seo, as expected. “Your connections are limited.” He turned to face Moondae directly. “Ms. Seo has never launched an idol before. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She doesn’t know how difficult it is.”

“We are professionals, Mr. Park,” Mr. Jeon added smoothly. “Trust us. Join Idol Inc.”

“If you feel so bad about the final lineup being rigged, we’ll do it in a more humane manner! We’ll invest millions in you!”

Moondae could feel the pressure closing in from all sides. He stole another glance at Seo Hana, hoping for reassurance, but nothing. Where was the confident, sharp-witted woman from yesterday? The one who had told him there were other paths besides TNET?

“What do you mean by ‘willing to invest millions’ in Mr. Park if he joins Idol Inc.?” Seo had decided to indulge them, and the three interviewers exchanged satisfied glances.

“This season, we are introducing a new voting system,” Mr. Jeon explained. “Viewers will be able to buy stocks of their favorite contestants. That, along with public votes, will determine the lineups.”

“We’ll put money into Mr. Park’s stocks,” Nari added eagerly. “All he has to do is keep growing, meeting expectations, and he’ll stay at the top.”

“And once he debuts, I can connect him and his group with sponsors,” Byung-chul said, his tone dripping with horribly contained greed. “We’ll have variety shows, endorsement deals, and events lined up. It’ll be massive.”

Seo’s expression darkened. “You’re all conveniently ignoring the fact that Mr. Park wants to debut as a solo artist!”

“A contract, then!” All three of them chimed in at once.

Moondae felt a headache coming on.

“He can leave the group after a year.”

The room stilled.

Moondae turned to Seo Hana, their eyes meeting in silent conversation.

“...Can we have some time to think this over?” Seo asked, her voice neutral, but Moondae could sense the tension beneath it.

Nari nodded. “How about you two step out, grab a bite to eat, and talk things over? In the meantime, we’ll take charge and draft a rough contract.”

Seo Hana exhaled slowly before nodding herself. “That would be appreciated.”

As soon as they stepped out of the audition room, the door clicking shut behind them, Seo let out a sigh. Her fingers pressed against her temple, walking a few paces ahead before turning around abruptly to face Moondae.

“This is bad,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. “This is really bad.”

Moondae had nothing to say to that. He knew the moment the conversation shifted and rigging was mentioned it was no longer a normal audition.

Seo Hana ran a hand through her hair, sighing again. “Let’s go somewhere quiet. We need to think.”

They ended up at a small café down the street, tucked into a corner booth. Seo ordered a coffee, but barely touched it. She plainly stared at the dark liquid as if it held the answer to all of their problems.

Moondae broke the silence first, after taking a sip of his macchiato. “Are you considering it?”

“I don't know… My main concern is them blacklisting you. They opened up about willing to rig the votes- The way I see it is you either debut on their terms or you don’t debut at all.” She slumped onto the booth's cushioned seating.

Moondae frowned. That was not good.

Seo sat up, having remembered she was in public, and stirred her coffee. The young woman was clearly evaluating everything.

Moondae thought about it too. If he refused, his path would be twice as difficult; maybe even impossible. But if he accepted, he would be stuck eating out of their hands.

“Do you think they will let me leave after a year?” he asked; finding that part the most attention and concern worthy.
A major company would be insane to let go of such a valuable asset.

Seo Hana’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Maybe… but only if the contract is airtight. No loopholes. Nothing left up to interpretation.”

“Then it wouldn’t be so bad, would it?” The real issue for him was not whether the contract was purely fair, it was debuting within the system's time frame.

Seo let out another sigh. “It could be bad. They only have a year to squeeze out all of your worth.” She held up one finger to emphasize her point. “Your schedule will be packed. You’ll have no time for yourself: no privacy, no friends, no family-”

“That would not be an issue,” Moondae cut in. “I don’t have any friends, and I am an orphan.”

Seo Hana froze. Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but nothing came out. Finally, she settled on a quiet, “Moondae-ssi I..” She swallowed, shaking her head. “It’s still going to be hard. I apologize for approaching you with such an unrealistic proposal.”

Moondae met her eyes. “I am no stranger to hard work.” A pause. “Do you think we should go ahead with this or not?” The casual ‘we’ in his sentence made something twist in Seo’s chest.

They were in this together.

She exhaled, steadying herself. “Moondae, I… I think you should. I don’t know you that well yet, but I can feel how much you deserve to debut.”

“Then it’s decided.”

As they walked back towards the meeting room, Seo Hana rolled her shoulders, steeling herself. She needed to be firm and stand for what would be best for Moondae, who followed beside her. Neither of them spoke, but there was an unspoken understanding between them.

The moment they stepped inside, the three interviewers looked expectant.

“Well?” Mr. Jeon prompted. “Have you come to an agreement?”

Seo took the lead. “We have given it serious thought.” Moondae pulled a chair out for her to sit before seating himself. “Mr. Park would like to proceed. May we take a look at your contact?”

Mr. Jeon’s smile widened. “Of course.” He slid a folder across the table.

Seo opened it and skimmed through the contents. Moondae leaned in slightly to scan the text alongside her.

The three interviews waited.

“There are several clauses we need to address before we can move forward.” Seo Hana began after some time had passed. “Let’s start with the term and the early exit clause. The contract commits Mr. Park to a strict twelve-month period, which he intends to honor completely.” She clarified as Moondae nodded in agreement. “However, the clause for early departure, should anything unforeseen occur, is troubling. The current penalty is set at five hundred million won.”

That figure is unreasonable.

Byung-chul waved a dismissive hand. “That clause is standard. We are investing heavily in Mr. Park’s development, and it protects our interests if he decides to cut the term short.”

“It’s standard for a reason, but it’s unacceptable if it fails to account for genuine force majeure events; like a verified injury. We insist on a provision that, if Moondae is medically certified as unable to perform, the penalty is either waived or significantly reduced to a capped amount of one hundred and fifty million won.”

“You propose that, in the event of an injury, the penalty be adjusted accordingly?” Mr. Jeon pitched in.

“Precisely,” Moondae said, his tone calm but resolute. “I am fully committed to the entire term, but life is unpredictable; if I am forced to quit due to an injury or similar circumstance, I should not be punished with an impossible debt.”

“Agreed.”

“Happy to hear that.” Seo grinned. “Moving on to the training clause.”

Moondae flipped to the relevant section. “The contract states that I must attend all scheduled dance, vocal, and fitness training sessions. However, it doesn’t specify the intensity or duration of these sessions. Without clear limits, there’s a risk of overworking me; ironically, possibly leading to the kind of injury we just discussed.”

Byung-chul’s tone grew defensive. “Training is essential for peak performance. You have to be prepared.”

“I am prepared to work hard,” Moondae responded, “but there must be a defined maximum for weekly training hours at least, and a guarantee of adequate rest periods would also be nice.”

Seo Hana interjected, “We need clear parameters: specific training hours per day and mandatory rest periods. Anything beyond that should require renegotiation.”

Jeon paused, then said, “We can draft an addendum that sets these limits. Anything else?”

Yes, there was; so much so that it took hours of arguing and going back and forth before a contract both parties were happy with was drafted. Factors like earnings & revenue distribution and rights to personal image were the most headache inducing to go over.

It was nearing evening now and Moondae heard the sweet words: “No other concerns at the moment,” come from Seo Hana's lips.

The relief things were over for today.

TNET’s legal team and Seo Hana spent the entire week meticulously crafting the final contract. In the meantime, Moondae relentlessly honed his singing and dancing skills. When the long-awaited day arrived, Moondae logged into the system, his eyes met the stark message on screen:

[Status Effect: Debut or Die]
If you do not debut as an idol within the designated time period, you will die.
Time Left: 348 days

He moved his gaze to the paper, staring at his signature printed on the contract.

Mr. Jeon’s smile beamed. “Welcome to TNET, Mr. Park. We look forward to working with you.”

Moondae bowed his head slightly. “Please take care of me.”

Before the formalities could settle, Nari sprang up from behind him, casually wrapping him in a one-armed hug. “No need to be so formal! We will be seeing a lot more of each other from now on.” With a playful grin, she pulled away. “By the way, do you have any social media accounts?”

Moondae shook his head. “Nothing at all.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Really? No old Naver, Twitter, or Instagram accounts?”

“I’m not on social media,” he replied.

“That’s… unusual these days,” Nari murmured, her tone shifting from playful to practical. “But it works in our favor. We don’t have to worry about any social media scandals or past controversies coming back to haunt us!”

“Why bring up social media?” Moondae asked, curiosity piqued.

Nari grinned. “The first step of our plan is to establish your presence on social media! Having pre-existing fans will be crucial when it comes to winning votes in Idol Inc.’

Seo Hana joined in. “Are you implying that you plan on turning Moondae into an influencer?”

“That is absolutely correct!” Nari said enthusiastically, bouncing on her heels. “Idol Inc. starts in about two months. It’ll be a lot of work, but I think we can get Moondae a solid platform by then.”

Moondae raised an eyebrow. “What kind of content would I be creating?”

“Well, we’ll start simple,” Nari said, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “Song covers! But there’s a twist: your face will be hidden throughout this! You’ll post covers of popular songs and put your own spin on them. Some days, you’ll post other short videos to reach a wider audience. You’ll keep up with trends on platforms like Rednote, TikTok, whatever’s buzzing. The main goal is to reach fans globally.” She paused, giving him a curious look. “So, uh… do you know any English?”

“A bit,” Moondae replied. He learned the basics back in highschool, and was reintroduced to it when he began studying to become a civil servant–it would stick out on his resume once he graduated and it came in handy when he was commissioned by foreigners for photos of their bias.

“That’s great!” Nari’s eyes shined, clearly pleased with his answer.

Seo Hana looked skeptical. “But won’t it be hard to gain traction in such a short period of time?” It was unrealistic.

Nari smirked, unfazed. “One of the covers will be from my former group. I’ll send it to an ex-member and ask her to share a post about it. That’ll help get some attention on Moondae and gain him followers. It’ll give him a boost!”

Moondae considered that. “And why should my face be hidden?” he asked, still uncertain.

Nari’s grin widened, a mischievous spark in her eyes. “You’ll promote that you’re doing a face reveal once you hit a certain number of followers. The mystery will get people curious about who’s behind that beautiful voice of yours. And when they find out it’s an even more beautiful face, you might just start trending!”

“Trending?” Seo Hana's eyebrows knitted together, clearly skeptical.

“We’ll light the spark if we need to,” Nari replied with a wink. “We’ve got spam accounts we can use to get things started.”

Moondae’s eyes switched between them, still trying to process it all. "Are you really betting on curiosity and mystery?"

“Curiosity and hype are everything, don't underestimate it. We’ll build the mystery until you have a loyal fanbase ready to vote for you in Idol Inc.”

Seo, though hesitant, gave a thoughtful nod. “I think it might just work…” This was Park Moondae they were talking about; despite being quiet, he had an undeniable charm.

And that was how Moondae found himself juggling multiple accounts across different social media platforms. With Nari’s guidance, he set up bios, usernames, and linked everything together, ensuring a seamless online presence.

“Remember, you’ll be doing live streams where you hang out with viewers and take song requests,” Nari reminded him.

“Understood,” Moondae replied.

“And each platform will have exclusive content, it'll motivate fans to follow you on different apps.”

“Understood.”

“Ah, and if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to contact me!”

“Understood.”

Nari narrowed her eyes. “…I don’t know if I’m actually getting through to you, kid.”

“I’m twenty-one. I am not a kid,” Moondae corrected. Technically, if he counted his past life, he was around the same age as Nari.

She huffed, waving him off. “You’re a baby in my eyes. I was twenty-one ages ago.”

“You haven’t even hit thirty,” Moondae deadpanned.

Nari groaned, throwing her hands up dramatically. “Park-hubaenim, you’re impossible to talk to. We’re going to need to fix that.”

Silence.

She turned to find Moondae staring at her, his expression unreadable.

“Oh- wait,” she hesitated. “Are you uncomfortable with the way I’m addressing you?”

Moondae quickly shook his head. It had just been a long time since anyone had referred to him as their hubae. “It’s alright with me… Can I call you Nari-seonbaenim?”

Nari recoiled instantly. “Absolutely not! No need for all that formality. You’ll make me feel ancient if you start adding honorifics like these to my name. Just call me Nari.”

“I can’t do that.”

She groaned again. “Then at least drop the ‘-nim’. Nari-seonbae, that’s the most I’ll accept.”

Moondae nodded reluctantly. “I can work with that.”

Nari sighed, shaking her head. “Park-hubaenim-”

“I would prefer it if you dropped the ‘-nim’ for me as well.”

She clicked her tongue, exasperated but amused. “Alright, alright. Park-hubae, happy now?”

Moondae simply nodded. “Much better, thank you.”

“As I was saying,” Nari continued, regaining her momentum, “feel free to reach out anytime. Starting a platform on social media can be confusing, so don’t hesitate to ask if you have questions! Every morning, we’ll send you a few tasks through email. Make sure to complete them by the end of the day.”

“Understood.”

Nari sighed. “Please, let’s not go back to this… You really are a man of few words.”

“Mhm.”

“...”

“...”

Nari blinked, then let out a defeated laugh. “Okay, I see how it is. Well, I’m gonna get going now. Have a good day!”

“Have a good day, Nari-seonbae.”

As Nari walked off, shaking her head with amusement, Moondae turned to Seo Hana. “I forgot to ask, are you getting credited for finding me?”

Seo let out a slow sigh. “It’s… complicated. For now, I’ll be working behind the scenes. But once you debut and eventually go solo —if you want— I’ll be your manager.”

Moondae studied her for a moment before offering a rare, genuine smile. “I would like that.”

Seo Hana blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before a small smile tugged at her lips. “Then it’s a deal.”

The next day marked the start of what Nari had called the “fun” part: the official launch of Moondae’s influencer career. He woke up as usual, stretching with a yawn, the sunlight creeping through his window.

The first thing he did, of course, was check his inbox. As expected, there was an email from Nari-seonbae.

     Good morning, Park-hubae!

I hope you're ready to dive in! Here are your tasks for today:

1. Set up your first social media post - Choose a song you like and do a short cover. Post it with a short caption introducing yourself!! (Remember, no face!!)
2. Familiarize yourself with the trends - Take some time to browse through TikTok, Rednote, and Instagram Reels. Pay attention to popular songs, challenges, and memes. We’ll work on adapting these into content later ^^
3. Engagement - Start following some key accounts in your genre and engage with them. There's no need for anything major yet. A like here, a comment there, would be enough :)
4. Set up a live stream for the end of the week- Don’t worry, I’ll guide you through it later, but we want to schedule it early. Aim for a casual session to interact with your soon to be growing fanbase.

Remember, the key here is consistency and engagement! You're building a fanbase from scratch, but don't worry, we’re in this together.

Again, if you have any questions, don't hesitate to reach out.

Let's get to work!

Best,
Nari-seonbae

---

The first task on Nari’s list seemed simple enough: post a short cover of a song you like. No face, just a caption. But Moondae sat cross-legged on his mattress, laptop humming quietly on the floor beside him, stumped.

His phone screen glared back at him, still on the app’s posting page. A black square filled the preview section, waiting for him to attach something.

He swiped through charts and playlists. Dozens of tracks blinked up at him–Too upbeat. Too theatrical.

He paused on a song on a playlist titled ‘for walks.’ It was a quiet acoustic ballad with an understated guitar line and lyrics that whispered more than they spoke. Not trendy. Not flashy. But he liked it.

And he liked that it sounded like it came from someone who had a message to say. It felt as if the singer was talking to him.

Moondae got out of bed. He set his phone up on the desk, angling it so that the camera couldn't see his face.

There was no fancy equipment to record with; he was using the microphone on his earbuds.

Praying for the best, he took a slow breath and hit record.

The first attempt was stiff.

The second attempt recorded a voice crack, and he quietly swore under his breath.

The third was softer. Less perfect. His voice trembled slightly in the beginning, but then steadied; gentle and low.

He played it back. Something about the unpolished edges gave it a charming feel.

Moondae saved the clip as it was: no filters, no visual effects, simply a static shot of his white-T and his voice.

Now came the part that somehow felt harder than singing: the caption. He typed a sentence. Deleted it. Typed another. Deleted again.

What was he supposed to say?
“Hi, I’m Park Moondae and I’m a reincarnated civil servant trying to become an idol.”

Yeah, no.

He tried again.

“No face. Just a voice.”
He stared at it. Let it sit. Then, slowly, he added beneath it: "Here’s a song that’s been echoing in my head lately. Hope it finds you when you need it.”

He hit the post button.

The app processed for a moment, then the video uploaded. He could only hope people wouldn't scroll past immediately. He wasn’t expecting hundreds of thousands of likes or comments or viral success, just a few curious glances–someone out there pausing their scrolling long enough to actually listen.

With a sigh, he tossed the phone to the side and leaned back, his eyes darting over to the clock.

He still needed to get ready for the rest of his day.

Chapter Text

Hours into his day, with all his tasks behind him, Moondae stared at the black case of his phone. It laid face-down on the smooth surface of his desk. He tapped his fingers lightly against the wood, counting each beat like a pulse.

A notification had buzzed a few minutes ago; and after a few more seconds of finger tapping, he finally brought himself to unlock the screen. It was a comment on his cover:
@Feekey: Love your voice! What song is it :)??

A simple message and it brought him odd warmth. Moondae paused, then tapped “Reply.”
@M0On.DA3: Thank you. The song is “Echoes in the Hall,” an indie ballad.

He stared at the screen for a moment longer, re-reading the comment. Then re-reading it again and again. The corners of his mouth twitched, not quite forming a smile, but tugged upward.

It was just one comment, a compliment and a question with a smiley emojicon.

With a quiet breath, Moondae set the phone down –this time screen-up– as if to welcome more comments, but the notification bar stayed empty; no new likes, no second comment, simply silence and the distant honk of a car passing by.

Trying to shake off the awkward stillness, he tapped open his analytics: 1 comment. 47 views. 3 likes.

Forty-seven views.

It didn’t sound like much in the world of viral fame, but then he imagined them –forty-seven real people– in his tiny apartment. The room would be packed wall to wall, barely enough space to breathe with ease. Some would be sitting on the floor, others squeezed into the corners, backs against chipped walls. It was a lot. A crowd. A roomful of strangers who had taken the time to hear him.

But the more he thought about it, the less it seemed to matter.

Forty-seven people wouldn’t be enough; not enough to launch a career, not enough to stop the clock that ticked to his death. Unless those forty-seven people were all wealthy philanthropists dying to invest in his future, but that was delusional. He knew better.

Moondae exhaled through his nose, the sound quiet but weary. He slumped deeper into his creaky chair, tilting back to watch the peeling paint on the ceiling.

Should he post another cover?
It was late though, and he had already done everything Nari-seonbae told him to do today.

Something inside him compelled him to film another session. This time choosing a song in a different genre; he needed to reach more viewers.

Moondae recorded a three minute-ish song in roughly forty five minutes. There were too many retakes; it was dumb, but he felt as if his tiny audience deserved the best.

Morning came with dance practice, and dance practice came with a diet. Moondae stared down at his modest breakfast: light Greek yogurt, a sprinkle of granola, and a single red apple. Not enough to thrive on, but plenty to avoid collapsing during warm‑ups.

Mr. Jeon, the man in the crisp blue suit from the audition, had spared no expense on hiring a dance instructor.

Moondae only knew her as instructor Kim, and she was sweet, professional, and far too enthusiastic for someone leading a 9 a.m. session. The kind of woman who probably drank protein shakes for fun and genuinely liked cardio.

“Move your hips, Park-ssi!” she called out, executing the step with polished ease. “Feel the rhythm! Loosen up!”

He bit back a sigh, sweat already beading at his brow as he tried to mimic her movements. He was stiff, he knew it. His body resisted the flow; mechanical where it should be fluid, delayed where it should be seamless.

“There we go, there we go!” she encouraged, clapping along. “Don’t forget the hand choreography!”

He adjusted, arms rising, wrists flicking with the practiced motions he'd barely memorized. Everything burned. Muscles he didn’t even know existed ached in protest. His breath came faster. He could already tell his shirt was clinging to his back.

He resisted the urge to groan. Maybe dying wouldn’t be so bad. At least the dead didn’t have to pop their hips or memorize eight-counts.

“Don’t move like this is killing you!” Instructor Kim barked, though her tone was still bright. “Look alive, Park-ssi! You’ve got this!”

To his own mild surprise, her relentless optimism actually did something. He tried again, adjusting his footing, letting the music sink in. By the fifth repetition, something clicked. His arms and legs weren’t perfect, but the rhythm started to feel more natural. He could feel the dance, not just copy it.

Progress.

By the end of the session, Moondae slumped down against the studio wall, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. His limbs buzzed with exhaustion, every inch of him drenched in sweat.

His instructor approached, offering a chilled bottle of water and a small towel. Gratefully, he accepted both.

“You did well today,” she said with a smile, hands on her hips. “You’re burning through your stamina too fast though… try to pace yourself a bit better, conserve energy whenever you can.”

Moondae nodded, humming in acknowledgment as he popped open the bottle and took a long drink. The cold water felt like salvation; refreshing enough to bring life back into his sore body.
He draped the cool, small, cotton towel over his nape and let out a sigh.

“I’ll give you a bit to catch your breath,” she said, already beginning to prop up her phone on a tripod. “Then we’ll start recording.”

Moondae perked up. “Recording?” he echoed, a bit thrown off.

The dance instructor nodded, “What you just danced was an original routine; choreographed by yours truly.” She gave a playful wink. “Mr. Jeon wants us to film a short clip for TikTok. It won’t take too long.”

Moondae blinked. “Is it going on my account?”

That profile was still a blank slate.
His full covers lived on YouTube, with clipped highlights sprinkled across Instagram. But Rednote, Naver, Twitter, and TikTok? Not a single post.

She shook her head. “Nah, it'll be on mine; but I’ll tag you! Mr. Jeon figured it’d do better there, since I already have a decent following.”

“Mm. Got it,” he murmured.

“Great!” She clapped her hands together. “Catch your breath while I grab my ring light.”

She disappeared out of the studio, and Moondae stayed seated, using the towel to wipe off his face as his breathing slowed.

A TikTok video.

He’d never really planned on starting with dance content. Not when his vocals were what he was banking on, but this was part of the package, wasn’t it? Sell the image. Build the audience.

He adjusted the hem of his shirt and exhaled through his nose.

The instructor returned shortly afterwards, lugging in her collapsible ring light. “Alright!” she chirped, as she began setting it up in the center of the room. “We’ll do a few takes. Don’t stress about getting it perfect on the first shot.”

Moondae stood, rolling his shoulders out as he walked back onto the practice floor. The mirrored walls caught his reflection: flushed face, slightly messy hair, shirt clinging from sweat. Not exactly his most heartthrob look.

“Let’s try it with the music first, just to refresh,” she suggested, cueing up the track on her phone. It was a fast beat, bouncy and bright.

They ran through the moves once more, her clapping along to the beat as she called out reminders. “Arms! Yes! Nice, don’t forget the footwork transition at the end!”

He nodded, keeping his breath steady, letting muscle memory take over.

“Great, let’s shoot,” she eventually said. “You ready?”

“Mhm.”

She tapped record and took her place next to him.

The music started, and they began. For the next thirty seconds, they danced like no one was watching; blatantly.

When the music cut off, he held the final pose: fingers flicked out, breath catching.

Instructor Kim cheered. “We did it! You have such a presence when you dance. You need to be less self-conscious!”

He stepped back, panting. “So, that was good enough?”

She was already reviewing the footage. “Honestly? Yeah! You nailed it on the third take. I’ll blur your face and post it by tonight.”

Moondae gave a faint nod. Another piece of himself, out there. A little uncomfortable. A little exciting.

“Cool,” he said, voice low. “Thanks.”

She smiled. “No problem, Park-ssi. You're off the hook for now.”

As she packed up, Moondae checked his phone again. The views had almost quadrupled, both covers reaching around two hundred views. There were also a few more comments, which were pleasant surprises.

@yeoniverse: ⁠LOVE your voice :3!!
@Zz_zelit: I hope you're spared from the toxicity when you become famous…
@kimm.na_: get a better miccc
@Mochi_TheCat: Two covers in one day? Thank you for feeding me ♡⁠(⁠˃͈⁠ ⁠દ⁠ ⁠˂͈⁠ ⁠༶⁠ ⁠)

Moondae smiled, soft and small; hearting each comment and taking his time to reply.

@M0On.DA3: @yeoniverse Thank you.
@M0On.DA3: @Zz_zelit I hope so too. Thank you for believing in me.
@M0On.DA3: @kimm.na_Soon I don't have money.
@M0On.DA3: @Mochi_TheCat Thank you for listening.

Back at his apartment, Moondae was already rinsing rice and slicing vegetables for dinner: spicy salmon nori wraps, simple and diet friendly.

His phone buzzed on the counter.

He wiped his hands on a towel before checking it. A TikTok notification. He’d been tagged.
The video was up.

For a moment, he just stared at the screen: a frozen frame of himself mid-step, next to his dance instructor, and face hidden behind a puppy sticker.

He forced himself back to the cutting board. Focus. Dinner first. Cook the salmon, roll the wraps, sprinkle the sesame seeds. He moved with quiet determination and let the internet do what it would.

Moondae took a bite of the wrap, free hand scrolling through the comments. There were quite a few already, more than he had expected. People commented anything and everything that came to mind. It was a bit weird.

“BARKINGGG”
“THE HIPS??? sir 😳???”
“Please please please please please”
“Marry me💍”

Strangers were thirsting over him, and they didn’t even know what he looked like.
Was the TikTok community always like this? He expected this from other platforms.

He chewed slower, a strange mix of amusement and unease settling in his gut.

Moondae refreshed the page. More likes. More comments. The dance instructor had tagged him in the caption and pinned his handle in the comments. His own profile was now flooded with new visitors. Too bad for them it was empty.

There was no cover posted that day, yesterday's double post compensated for it.

Subject: Quick Feedback + Reminder

     Good morning, Moondae-hubae :D!

Your platforms are doing so well! The team and I are really pleased with how you're growing; we’re seeing great engagement already. That said, we do have one note:

Start pumping out more content!
Right now, most of your profiles are still pretty empty3

Try recording a quick OOTD (that means “outfit of the day” if you didn’t know ^^), some behind-the-scenes clips from your recording sessions(bloopers), dance trends, book reviews, what you're eating for dinner–literally anything. Be creative! Fans want to get to know you!!

Also: Reminder, you’ve got your livestream on Friday!

(P.S. Don't stress too much about it, okay? You're doing great!!)

Cheering you on,
-Nari-seonbae

Moondae stared at the email, spoonful of oatmeal halfway to his mouth.

More content.

He had expected something like this but being told to film his meals or record an OOTD felt strange. And a little… invasive. Did people really care what shirt he was wearing or what he was eating?

Unfortunately, he knew the answer to that. He knew how odd fans could get.

He finished chewing slowly, eyes still fixed on the screen. After a moment, he clicked out of the email and opened his phone’s camera.

First attempt: peace sign in the corner of the frame, center focus on his bowl of oatmeal with the caption “OOTD = Oatmeal Of The Day”
He stared at the draft for a second before cringing. Yeah… no. That screamed millennial. He deleted the rough draft, but saved the picture of the oatmeal.

It might come in handy later; for Instagram, maybe. He could throw together one of those casual daily collages: first slide the oatmeal, second his outfit, third a shot of the sunset, and finally, a selfie with his face half-covered.

Finishing the last few bites of breakfast, he checked the time, grabbed his bag, and headed out for dance class.

On the subway, Moondae used the ride to reply to a few more comments. He scrolled through Rednote for a while, then hopped over to Instagram to hunt for post ideas, but that didn’t go so well. Everyone seemed obsessed with showing their face. He couldn’t do that; not yet.

So he switched tactics and opened Pinterest.

He typed “faceless poses” into the search bar and started scrolling.

Most of the examples were of women, but that didn’t bother him. A good pose was a good pose.

He created a private board, simply titled “poses,” and began pinning: shadows with smiley faces doodled on, shy girls covering their faces with their hands, people caught mid-step with their backs to the camera in aesthetic scenery, and mirror selfies where the phone hid their face: some basic, others with fingers contorted into odd positions to hold the phone up: the classic heart, another heart position, the Koreaboo hearts that required too much balancing for a phone, the ‘L’–inspired by the way an anime character held things, the “swag” pose, the bunny ears, and so on.

By the time the intercom crackled with the announcement for his stop, he had about forty pins saved to his board.

Moondae pocketed his phone as the train doors opened with a hiss.

The air outside was warmer than he expected, heavy with the scent of car exhaust and bungeoppang from a nearby vendor. He didn’t stop despite his craving; he was dieting and food before a dance session was not a good idea.

By the time he reached the dance studio, his legs ached slightly from yesterday’s session. He entered through the back to avoid the busier lobby and was met with the familiar thump of bass echoing through the walls.

Inside, the instructor was already stretching, her reflection sharp in the wall-length mirrors.

“Park-ssi!” she greeted, voice bright as always. “You’re early, good! That means we can go over yesterday’s routine one more time before I teach you the new one.”

Moondae offered a polite nod and moved to the corner to drop his bag. “Are we recording today too?”

“Mm-hmm,” she confirmed, hands on her hips. “It’s nothing major, just another TikTok. Mr. Jeon really liked how well it did. The views keep climbing. People like how awkward you are, they find it charming in a weird way.”

Moondae didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted.

He started his stretches in silence.

As the familiar beat from yesterday’s routine filled the room, he jumped into his warm-up, moving in sync with the music.

The music flowed through him, his body slowly loosening up with each move. Moondae's muscles began to relax, the stiffness from yesterday's practice fading as he worked through the familiar steps. His focus sharpened, and soon the awkwardness from the earlier comment had disappeared.

He was getting better; he could feel it. The rhythm was slowly becoming second nature, the movements more fluid.

Instructor Kim tapped her foot in time with the beat, a grin painted on her face. “You’re looking a lot smoother today, Park-ssi. Let me show you today's new choreography, alright?”

Moondae nodded.

The instructor pressed play on the speaker, and the new music blared to life.

His eyes tracked her movements. This choreography was... different. More sensual. The fluidity in her steps contrasted sharply with the sharp, angular moves from the previous routine. Her body swayed, the movements almost hypnotic; he was supposed to recreate this?
It made him feel a bit uncomfortable.

He felt the rhythm pulse through him.

The sensuality of the routine was foreign to him, and it left him feeling exposed. But the instructor seemed unbothered, her confidence clear in every movement.

Moondae took a deep breath, pushing past the discomfort.

Idols were expected to perform outside their comfort zones all the time. This was just part of the job.

"Watch how I carry myself in these next few steps," the instructor said, her voice lifting. “Notice how the music shifts and how my movements grow more confident to match it.”

Her expression shifted effortlessly with the beat as well; confident, playful, alluring. She moved with a grace that Moondae could only hope to emulate.

By the time the song faded out, a light sheen of sweat shimmered on her skin.

“Instructor Kim,” Moondae said quietly, his tone measured. “I… don’t think I’m comfortable with this dance.”

She blinked as if she hadn’t expected that to leave his lips; he had been comfortable with yesterday's hip movemenga. “Oh… really?” A nervous laugh escaped her. “Right, yeah- sorry, I probably should’ve asked first. The dance is a bit… bold, huh?”

Moondae didn’t respond, just offered a small nod.

Instructor Kim shifted on her feet, tucking a strand of hair that escaped her ponytail behind her ear. “Okay, um… no problem! How about this, why don’t you try filming a TikTok using yesterday’s choreography? Just by yourself. I’ll, uh, talk to Mr. Jeon in the meantime.”

“I can do that,” Moondae replied.

She let out a breath of relief. “Great! You, uh, remember how I set it up yesterday, right? Ring light, tripod, timer?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, cool. Just… take your time. I’ll be back soon.” She gave him a faint, apologetic smile and hurried out of the studio, already fumbling with her phone as the door clicked shut behind her.

The hallway was quiet, but she still lowered her voice as she tapped on Mr. Jeon’s contact and brought the phone up to her ear.

He picked up after a few rings, not immediately; he was a busy man.
“Yes?”

“Hi, Mr. Jeon! It’s dance instructor Kim. I just wanted to give a quick update on Park Moondae’s progress today. He’s doing really well, picking up the rhythm a lot faster, but, uh…” She trailed off, wincing.

“But?” Jeon’s voice sharpened.

She took a breath. “He, um, isn't very comfortable with the choreography we planned today. The one for the new TikTok routine.”

A pause.
Then: “Was not comfortable how?”

“I mean, the style- it’s a bit more… suggestive. You know, kind of sensual. And I think he’s just not ready to take that direction with his image yet? He said he’d prefer not to do it.”

“Make sure to send me the video as soon as he’s done. I’ll review it myself.” He hung up, completely ignoring her.

She lowered her phone, lips pressed in a thin line, staring at it before putting it in her pocket. She hesitated outside the door for a minute, then walked back into the studio.

Moondae was still adjusting the ring light; though the phone was already clipped in place. He glanced up momentarily when she entered.

Her smile was strained. “So... I talked to Mr. Jeon.”

He didn’t say anything, just stood straighter, ready to hear her words.

She sighed. “He, um… he really wants you to go through with this choreography.” She tried to laugh, but it fell flat. “You know how he is.”

Moondae’s gaze didn’t waver. “So I don’t have a say.”

She shifted her weight from foot to foot. “Look, I told him you were uncomfortable with it, but… he thinks this is necessary. It’s just one video.”

He didn’t respond right away.

“…Moondae?”

He finally nodded once, stiffly. “Okay.”
But his tone was flat, and the silence that fell afterward was heavy.

Instructor Kim looked at him, then down at her shoes. “I’ll… go queue up the music again.” This time, she couldn't meet his eyes.

The session dragged on, painfully slow, like holding a plank for a full minute. That kind of minute stretched, warped, refused to end.

Instructor Kim did her best to keep the mood up, tossing in encouragement here and there, but even she eventually quieted. By the end, both of them were sweating and winded.

Moondae grabbed his towel, dabbing his forehead as Kim mirrored him, patting her neck.

“Hey,” she called out gently, “do you want to grab lunch with me? Maybe something greasy and yummy! It'll be my treat!”

Moondae shook his head, setting the towel on the bench. “I’m on a diet.”

Kim blinked. “Oh… okay, what about a salad then? Still my treat.”

“I can’t. I have to record covers and film some content for my platforms.”

She tried again, a bit more brightly, “We could go somewhere nice then! I’ll even take pictures for your Instagram. Two birds, one stone?”

He gave a small sigh, not unkind. “I’m alright. People might think we’re on a date. I can’t risk that kind of misunderstanding.”

“But you’re not even that famous yet… Why would a stranger care enough to take a photo?” She paused, the weight of her words catching up to her. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be pushing. We barely know each other.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Just make sure you eat, okay?”

“I will.”

And with that, Moondae slung his bag over his shoulder and walked off, leaving behind the soft hum of the studio and the faint scent of sweat and floor polish.

Kim stood there a moment longer, watching the door he’d left through. Then she sighed and began to gather up the equipment.

[Status Effect: Debut or Die]
If you do not debut as an idol within the designated time period, you will die.
Time Left: 343 days

Friday night -live night- arrived faster than Moondae had expected. Nari had called earlier in the day to wish him luck and to throw in some last-minute advice—which he was thankful for.

He now sat in front of his phone, propped up on a makeshift tripod of stacked books, at the desk in the tiny bedroom. On his right was a water bottle. On his left, a package: a gift from Nari with a handwritten note in sparkly purple gel pen. He already knew what was inside: a new microphone.

Moondae adjusted the camera angle for what seemed the millionth time, delaying the inevitable. His subscriber and follower count wasn’t anything to write home about, and he wasn’t expecting a swarm of viewers.

He pressed the button to go live. For a second, the screen blinked white, then black, then back again as if the app itself wasn’t sure it wanted to cooperate. A little spinning circle appeared in the corner, endlessly looping, stalling for time.

Finally, the interface settled. A camera feed. His shirt in the rectangle of the screen, staring back at him.

At the top, a number.

Viewers: 0

He stared at it. It stared back. A reminder that it was just him and an empty room. Moondae swallowed once, throat dry. Cleared it anyway, as if to pretend he had something to say.

He waited. Adjusted his shoulders. Waited again. Still nothing.

Should he just sing? That's why he had pressed the button in the first place; but the thought of singing into silence made his stomach knot. Worse still, what if someone joined mid-verse—caught him hanging on the edge of a note like they had stumbled into a stranger’s private rehearsal? Wouldn’t that be humiliating in its own way?

His eyes flicked back to the screen.

Viewers: 1

His breath caught. Hope fluttered: small and nervous and mightly. He straightened up immediately, sitting proper, the way you’re supposed to when someone is watching.

Viewers: 0

Never mind; just like that, the moment was gone. Snuffed out before it could grow. He let out a long, deflating sigh.

As if mocking his disappointment, the number ticked up again.

Viewers: 1

This time though, text followed.

@S.ahy.eon: Hello

He froze for a beat before forcing a little wave at the camera.

“Hello,” Moondae greeted softly, his own voice strange in the hush of the broadcast.

Silence stretched again. It wasn’t the ordinary silence of an empty room like earlier, it was worse. It was the strained pause of knowing someone was there, watching, waiting, but saying nothing; causing uncomfort.

And then, at last, another message appeared.

@S.ahy.eon: What are you doing?

“I’m taking song requests,” Moondae said after a pause, eyes flicking down to the title of the stream just to check. “…Did I forget to name the live?”

@S.ahy.eon: Ah, no
@S.ahy.eon: I didn’t check that, sorry

One eyebrow arched on instinct. Not that the lone viewer could see him, but it felt right anyway. “If you’re really sorry,” he countered, voice light but edged with challenge, “request a song.”

@S.ahy.eon: Any song?

Moondae hummed, hoping the tiny condenser inside his phone picked it up.

@S.ahy.eon: Can you sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star?

Moondae blinked. Tilted his head in question. “…You want me to sing a lullaby?”

@S.ahy.eon: It’s night time, isn’t it

He stared at the screen, then gave a small, amused huff. It wasn’t a request he had expected

Moondae lifted his water bottle and took a measured sip, stalling for time. The cool liquid gave him an excuse to glance away from the camera, to think for just a second longer before committing himself to the ridiculous request. Finally, with a breath that almost sounded like resignation, he began:

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star…”

His voice was gentle, soothing still and almost faintly sarcastic–as if he was daring the lone viewer to request something even more ridiculous next.

“…How I wonder what you are…”

He carried the tune to its simple conclusion, letting the final notes fade out into the hum of his room. His eyes flickered toward the screen. The viewer count stubbornly held at one. No sudden shower of hearts. No playful emojis. Just the empty stillness of the chat window, a silent audience of exactly one.

Silence lingered. No reply, no reaction. The empty chatbox seemed almost accusatory in its quiet. Perhaps the poor viewer had actually nodded off. It was night, after all.

@yeoniverse: Encore (⁠ㆁ⁠ω⁠ㆁ⁠)??

“I’m not singing the alphabet song if that's what you want.”

@yeoniverse: I wasn’t gonna ask for that. I was thinking Baby Shark.

His posture slumped. “…You’re evil.”

@yeoniverse: (⁠◠⁠‿⁠・⁠)⁠—⁠☆

Moondae leaned back in his chair.
He straightened when he realized the viewer count had jumped. “Welcome,” he said quickly, trying to sound casual

The chat was picking up; slowly, but it was something. He took another sip of water

“Any other requests?” he asked.

@Moniii: Can you sing one of VTIC's songs?? 🙏🙏

Moondae blinked. “Uh… I’m not super familiar with their discography, but I’ll pull up some lyrics real quick.”

He thought it would be harmless.

It was not.

Singing one of VTIC’s songs was one of the biggest mistakes he has ever made. People, fans of VTIC, started piling in song after song. His viewer count jumped from single digits to triples. He started to miss @S.ahy.eon and his lullaby requests.

@byoviewer: 🔦🔦🔦🔦🔦🔦🔦🔦
@CITV: RAHHHH
@ayoaakii: ✨🔦VTIC✨🔦
@Mochi_TheCat: drink some water bbg :(
@Pockyyy: NEXT SONG NEXT SONG
@Takakitsune07: 🩷🔦🩷🔦🩷
@Sundayly: ✨🔦VTIC’S NEXT MEMBER????
@Triii: 🔦🔦🔦🔦
@Clamor: 🔦🔦🔦 x10000000000

Views opted to use the flashlight emoji because there wasn't a light stick emoji. At this point his live had become a VTIC concert; it had been raided.

@Moniii: MONDAYYY-NIM ANOTHER ONE ✨🔦💞
@yeoreumclouds: ONE MORE SONG🗣️‼️
@Takatakboki: @Moniii MONDAY-NIM, I'M CRYINGGG 😹
@yeoreumclouds: ONE MORE SONG
@yeoreumclouds: ONE MORE SONG
@Dangjin: One🔦more🔦one🔦more
@aaapastel: !!Don't forget to support him!!
@Juniper_4419: I CAME FROM TWITTER DON’T TELL ME I MISSED ITTTTT 😭😭😭😭
@babystark:💥🔦💥🔦
@SaltySummerChild: CHECK OUT HIS COVERS! PLEASE!

He finished the song with as much dignity as he could muster, voice cracking just slightly on the final note. His water bottle was nearly empty. His throat, bone dry. And he was halfway through what might’ve been their second album.

“Okay,” he said with a shaky laugh. “I, uh… really wasn’t expecting this… wait- someone came from Twitter?”

@seokbae04: ✨🔦NEXT SONGGGGG
@IhavehomeworkbutIstillhere: You're trendeding in the VTIC community
@Juniper_4419: someone posted a clip!!
@byoviewer: why's he trending tho :<
@Moniii: MOONDAE-NIM ANOTHER ONE ✨🔦💞
@cminic: (⁠ʃ⁠ƪ⁠＾⁠3⁠＾)💕
@Arkivve: @byoviewer Hes trending bc of the vibes + hes an amazing singer <3
@Takatakboki: @Moniii omg- you spelled his name correctly 🙀‼️
@vtic_luv: hydrate or the fandom will cry 🔦💧🔦

“…Oh,” he said weakly, picking up his water bottle. Any kind of exposure does him good; Mr Jeon and the team must be ecstatic right now. “So are we continuing our VTIC concert or should we change things up a bit?”

He took a small sip, swishing the last bit of lukewarm water in the bottle like it could somehow summon more.

The chat didn't miss a beat:

@mintbread: VTIC✨VTIC🌟VTIC💫
@Triii: YKNOW WHAT WE WANT‼️‼️‼️
@SnowLeopardLover: ANOTHER VTIC SOLO PLEASEEEE
@Kongi: ❤️
@Arkivve: okay but real talk can he debut already or???
@Nanaka1905: SWIRCH IT UP
@yeoniverse: I WANT VTIC COVERS NOW (⁠ノ⁠｀⁠⌒⁠´⁠)⁠ノ⁠┫⁠：⁠・⁠┻⁠┻

Moondae laughed under his breath, glancing at the number in the corner of the screen. Over a thousand viewers now. One thousand people, watching him.

“I don't know why I even bothered asking,” he muttered.

@lilstickz: AHHHH TY🫶
@yeoreumclouds: LEZ GOOO
@seokbae04: Imagine VTIC recruits him!!
@softbbyhyun: @M0On.DA3 what's your fandom name?

He raised an eyebrow. “Fandom name? Isn’t that a bit early-?”

@Moniii: WE’RE THE FLASHLIGHTS NOW ✨🔦❤️
@Clamor: FLASHLIGHTS??
@Takatakboki: STOP LMFAO NOT FLASHLIGHTS 😹

Moondae buried his face in his hands. “This got out of control so fast. Okay, Flashlighs, let the VTIC concert continue.”

Still, he couldn't stop the small smile tugging at his lips. The absurdity, the chaos, the warmth from complete strangers; it was dizzying, but not in a bad way.

Maybe he’d sing one more. Just one.

The chat erupted.

Moondae exhaled, shaking his head with a laugh as he queued up the next instrumental.

“If I lose my voice tomorrow, you’re all paying for my lozenges.”

The other half of the album leaned sadder, slower; songs filled with whispered regrets and aching melodies. The shift in tone was immediate. The chat, which had been screaming with lightsticks and caps lock, now fell into something ‘quieter.’

Moondae welcomed the change. His throat, scratchy and dry, appreciated the rest. He didn’t have to push or belt; just sing. Let the softness carry.

The live chat adjusted with him:

@Sleepinthru: the sad hours have officially begun ✨🔦😭
@Takatakboki: 😿😿😿😿😿
@Ceylinlin: I need a drink omg
@ValeSIJ: not me crying 🥀
@Arkivve: this one always hits different
@softbbyhyun: Moondae-nim… your voice is perfect for these kind of songs🩵🩵🩵
@Triii: meet me by the Han River in 10 🧍‍♀️
@Juniper_4419: 🔦💔I WASN’T READY FOR THIS SONG💔🔦
@lilstickz: I'm gonna sob… lemme light a candle or smth

Moondae glanced at the comments, his voice dipping into the bridge of the song. The sorrow was quiet, but it wasn’t lonely; there was something strangely comforting in this shared melancholy. Like strangers sitting in the same rainy bus stop.

He let the final note hang for a moment.

Then, with a breath: “You guys are gonna make me cry harder than this song ever could.” This live was going better than he could have imagined. Fans liked it when their idols shared their feelings right? He glanced at the chat.

@luvqwinter: 😭 STOP YOU’RE TOO CUTE 🎀
@whispersintgedawn: you cry, we cry, group cry 🔦🔦🔦
@Macha: This song doesn't fail to hyperventilate; I hate thinking about the future. It scares me…
@babystark: this is emotional support live now ^^<3
@Happycapibara: @Macha I'm sending you hugs 🫂💕
@cminic: who gave him the RIGHT to sound like this
@Mishell999: Moondae-nimmm, what do you want to do with your life???
@jinious: STAY BACK FUTURE🤺 LET ME BE YOUNG🤺

Moondae rubbed his eyes, half from exhaustion–the live was starting to run late.

@bbyjunplanet: yeuh what DO you wanna do with your life??
@chockymilk: he wants to sing obvi 🤦🏻‍♀️
@KiminiYenna: woah! such deep questions when were just getting to know the guy😭😭
@daisykko: OMG Q&A SESSION ALREADY (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)!!
@leafrabbit: what did you wanna be before singing, Moondae-nim..?

He blinked at the screen. “It's getting late, I think I should go to bed. We're doing lives every Friday. I have a cover coming out tomorrow, so stay tuned. Good night.”

Chapter Text

Moondae sat quietly, staring at the tweet that had sparked a ripple effect far larger than anticipated. It was strange how a single post, a single screenshot, could have such a big impact. This person, whoever they were, had no idea what they had just done for him. His very first livestream hadn’t been a failure. Thanks to them, it had become something worth remembering; a success.

He felt a twist of gratitude in his chest. He owed her more than just a ‘thank you.’ He owed the entire VTIC community, honestly.

They had shown up for him in a way he hadn't expected.

With a small exhale, he chewed at the inside of his cheek. Should he reach out to her directly? Send a message? Would that come across as too forward? Maybe even a little weird?

He tapped his fingers against the wooden desk, a light, thoughtful rhythm echoing into the stillness of his apartment. Eventually, he gathered the courage to open her profile.

His eyes scanned the header, the bio, the pinned posts, and then paused.

Her DMs were closed.

The quiet sting of disappointment was immediate, though he couldn’t blame her. Not everyone wanted strangers in their inboxes, no matter how grateful those strangers might be.

Still, he wanted to do something.

So, he decided to make his first post on Twitter.

With each ping of his notifications, Moondae took the time to respond. One by one. A like, a reply; all as thoughtful as he could get. These were the people who had supported him, who had taken time out of their day to watch him. The least he could do was make sure they knew how much that meant to him.

His phone rang and he ignored it; choosing to quickly finish off the reply he was working on.

On the very last ring, he picked up.

“Good morning, Park-hubae!” came Nari’s unmistakably bright voice, far too energetic for such an early hour. “I was starting to think you wouldn't answer!”

“Good morning, Nari-seonbae,” he replied softly, polite. “I apologize about the wait.”

“Its okay! I wanted to congratulate you over the phone for last night’s livestream,” she said without preamble, her words sweet and immediate. “You did so well!”

“Thank you,” he replied; modest, but the quiet pride curled at the corners of his mouth.

“And… did you enjoy it?” she asked, her tone a little teasing but curious. “Be honest.”

Leaning back slightly in his chair, he let the phone rest lightly against his ear. There was a pause. “…Yes,” he admitted. The word came out a little softer than he intended. “I did.”

“I’m relieved!” She sighed. “I’ll be honest with you, I was a little worried you wouldn’t. You’re so serious all the time–the textbook definition of introvert, really. I couldn't help but to think you would struggle interacting with your viewers.”

He almost huffed out a quiet laugh; almost embarrassed. “It’s easier when it's over the phone, interacting.”

She giggled, trying her best to lift the mood. “So, do I need to start looking into socialization classes for you?”

“I already took a Sociology class,” he replied, deadpan.

Sociology; as in the study of human interaction? A breath of genuine laughter escaped her. “You’re too cute, Moondae; I was joking.”

“Ah. Right.”

“Anyway, I saw that you thanked your viewers on Twitter; that was a good move on your part!”

He nodded reflexively, even though she couldn’t see. “Thank you. Also, there is something I wanted to ask you,” he suddenly brought up.

“Oh, serious voice. Let’s hear it.” Moondae heard her settle over the line.

“Am I still doing the cover? Of that song from your old group?” he asked, keeping his tone even. “You mentioned sending it to a former member so that it would help increase my exposure.”

There was a brief pause. When she spoke again, her voice had shifted, still warm, but more careful. “You’re still doing the cover, yes; but we’ve decided to push the timing back a bit,” she explained. “We had a 7AM meeting today. Jeon thinks it’s smarter to lean into your VTIC connection for now. To build that audience first and let the algorithm work in your favor.”

“I understand,” he said quietly.

“Byung-chul’s already looking into brand partnerships,” she added. “It’s nothing official yet, but he’s narrowing down companies that match your image. Sponsorships, promo items, things like that.”

“I see.”

“I figured I would give you a heads-up before Jeon ambushes you with a twelve-paragraph email,” she laughed lightly. “Brace yourself.”

“…Thank you for the warning, seonbae.”

They lingered a few moments longer over the phone, exchanging polite farewells and lighter conversation before the call finally ended.

As soon as the line disconnected, silence took over the room again.

Moondae glanced at his screen. The likes, the retweets, the replies–they were still coming in. Steady.

Eventually, he pushed back from the desk and stood. Morning had crept in fully, but he hadn’t eaten breakfast yet.

Drifting into the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and scanned its modest contents. Leftover rice. Two eggs. A half-used bottle of soy sauce. Simple ingredients, but enough. Gyeran Bap it was.

He lit the burner, watching the flame leap into place beneath the metal pan. The scent of sesame oil followed soon after, warm, strong, and nutty as it began to sizzle.

He cracked the eggs one by one, careful not to break the yolks, letting them slide smoothly into the pan. While they cooked, he served himself some leftover rice in a bowl, breaking it up gently with his chopsticks. It was a little dry from the fridge, but nothing a quick microwave with a wet napkin couldn’t fix.

Once the egg whites had firmed up enough, he flipped them carefully; so that there would be a quick sear on top to keep the centers in place.

He plated them over the rice after some time, added a splash of soy sauce, and found a tiny jar of sesame seeds in the back of the cupboard, sprinkling them on top.

He sat down at the small table and took a bite. The egg yolk had broken open and spilled into the rice, mixing with the soy sauce into something rich. It was good.
He ate slowly, his phone turned face-down beside him, unaware of the time.

By the time Moondae arrived at the practice studio, the city was more than awake. Noise buzzed outside: the chatter of pedestrians, the rumble of buses, but inside, the polished floors and mirrored walls kept the world at bay.

He bowed politely as he entered. “Instructor Kim.” Moondae set down his bag down and quickly switched into his practice shoes.

“You’re a bit later than usual,” Kim noted, glancing at the clock. “That’s new.” There was nothing rude about her words.

Moondae gave a sheepish nod. “I had a call with Nari-seonbae, breakfast ran a bit late today.” There was a need within him to explain his late arrival.

“Don’t worry about it! I'm happy you didn't rush over here without having breakfast,” Kim smiled gently, “I don't want you passing out in my studio!”

Moondae tugged tied the white laces of his shoes tight, and stood up. “Does the walk here suffice as my warmed up?” He questioned; hoping she would say “yes” and they would make up lost time.

Instructor Kim crossed her arms “The walk here from the station isn't enough. You actually need to stretch your muscles. I don't want you to be all cramping and sore.”

Moondae grimaced at the thought of a cramp. “I’ll get stretching then.”

Dance sessions had quietly carved out a bright spot in his schedule. He didn’t despise them. In fact, he found himself looking forward to them sometimes.
With each passing session, the improvements were undeniable: his movements flowed with more ease, his footwork hit cleaner marks, and his expression was pleasing while he moved.

Instructor Kim wasn’t just competent; she was attentive, great. She noticed things and she cared. She would ask him if he’d eaten, reminded him to rest, and her critiques evened out with encouraging compliments.

During their resting periods, she would fill the silence with light chatter: stories from her day, complaints about traffic, what her dog did on their walk that morning; giving him the space to simply breathe–she carried the conversations and didn't mind.

He appreciated it more than he said aloud. When he was flushed and sweat-soaked, his brain more static than thought, it was nice to just listen.

Dance sessions were good and so was social media.

His platforms were easier to manage now; he knew what to post and when.
A snapshot of the morning skyline paired with a greeting on his story; a new cover every three days; trending dances he could now pick up on his own; pictures of his outfit for the day, of his meals aesthetically plated, of stray cats he had stopped to pet, of blooming flowers, of himself in front of mirrors–face hidden by his hand or phone, of almost everything and anything he found he found a trace of beauty in.

His follower count was climbing, and he had a good amount of returning followers and subscribers; “Flashlights,” who weren't just another statistic.

His stats were rising as well; slowly, stubbornly, but surely. It wasn’t easy pushing them up a letter grade; the higher the tier, the steeper the climb. Like in a video game, each level demanded more XP than the last. Every inch of progress felt hard-earned.

Title: Signatory “Trainee”
Vocals: A
Dancing: C-
Visuals: B-
Charisma: C
Ability: No Limits
Alert: “Debut or Die”

He had transmigrated into Park Moondae's body fifty days ago. He had met Seo Hana nine days in and he had signed with TNET a day over a week later.

It was terrifying how fast time was passing.

[Status Effect: Debut or Die]
If you do not debut as an idol within the designated time period, you will die.
Time Left: 315 days

Moondae still had a few more days before Idol Inc. began and so many things were going to change so quickly.
Drawing in a slow, grounding breath, he exhaled and tapped the screen to start the live stream.

The numbers climbed immediately, a steady stream of usernames joining faster than he could process. Live streaming now was a different experience compared to his first time.

He lifted both hands and gave small waves. “Welcome, everyone.”

The comments flooded in.

@The_21st_Imaginary_Prosecution:: Q&Moondae! Your outfit looks good today!
@BonneyJewlery: HI MOONBABE<3
@Frania: HAPPY FRIDAY LIVE EVERYONEEEE✨🔦
@daisykko: Hiiiii (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)!!!!!!
@chockymilk: LOVE FROM THE PHILIPPINES 🇵🇭❤️
@CrowleyWhite: The best day of the week is hereeee🔦🔦
@ACuteReader: Hello^^
@softbbyhyun: 🩵🩵🩵
@vtic_luv: Heyyy!!!

“Happy Friday, everyone.” His continued greeting, hoping he didn't too dispassionate. He's gotten complaints from Mr. Jeon telling him he needed to sound more cheery.

He was ‘cheery,’ to his definition. He enjoyed live streaming.

Comments continued flying by.

“Um, I didn't really have anything planned for this live.” Moondae muttered, though he did: a short unboxing, some planned lines to say, and a tiny event, but nothing to do while he got to that.

Immediately the chat started sending in ideas:

@luvqwinter: Q&A SESSION👀??
@Triii: A game session with your viewers‼️‼️‼️
@Nanaka1905: READ TO US
@HarperPog: @Triii omg yesss- even watching him play would be fun!!
@a_bitter: mukbang stream!!!!!!
@tillramisu: Q&A If youre comfortable with it 💛!
@nnoodle: Have you eaten? you can do a cooking stream :D

“Ah,” Moondae paused, “I just remembered something, give me a second.” He left the phone, the camera pointing at a wall in his room.

@yeoreumclouds: We’ve been abandoned ☹️
@ACuteReader: How’s everyone doing^^??
@Takatakboki: Moondae come back, I have attachment issues 😿
@SunShine02: He left usss
@softbbyhyun: @ACuteReader I'm good, how are you🩵?
@ACuteReader: @softbbyhyun I'm good too, thanks for asking 🤍
@It_is_monday: MOONDAE COME BACKKK 🔦🔦
@BonneyJewlery: Lighting a candle so that my husband comes home safe 💔🕯️
@cminic: Moondaeee Moonpuppy hurry it up (•́⁠ ⁠ ⁠‿⁠ ⁠,⁠•̀)

As if their answers were answered, Moondae came back. He held up a sleek black box. “I figured this would be fun to unbox together.”

It was the package from Nari; the one she had gifted him for his first live stream. It was a microphone, he knew that by the note.

He took a quick peek at the chat before settling it on the desk.

“This,” he said, carefully lifting the lid, “is the Lewitt LCT 440 PURE.” Piece by piece, he pulled out the contents, laying them out like precious artifacts on the desk. “Some of you have been complaining about the audio lately, so here we are: …a new mic.”

He angled the camera toward the microphone head to show off its fine detailing.

“This costs nearly three-hundred-fifty thousand won,” he said, pausing. A wry smile tugged at his lips; though, of course, no one could see it. “And to think I once thought BB cream was expensive.”

A soft laugh escaped him. Then, dryly: “Don’t even think about leaving me now after all the investing that's been done.”

He gently set the mic down. “It comes with a shock mount and pop filter too. Which it better–at this price, it should come with emotional support and a lifetime warranty.”

@Akaise: not the emotional support mic >u<
@youvebeenjaced: 350k won?? bros rich
@mintymood: that mic looks sexier than my ex…
@danojae: install it already I wanna hear the ✨crisp✨ audioo

He busied himself with the assembly, the rustle of foam and the occasional click echoing through the old mic. “I’ll hook it up in a minute.”

A beat.

“If this thing doesn’t make me sound like an angel whispering in Dolby Atmos,” he whispered, “I’m sending it back.” 

Moondae fumbled slightly with the XLR cable. “Why are these always so stiff…” he muttered. A soft beep, a pause- Silence.
Then, finally, his voice came through again. Richer and clearer. “This is the new mic,” he said simply.

@KiminiYenna: AHHHHHHH
@NdyaN: THE QUALITYYY
@hobbsnobbler: ugh I can hear your soul
@yeonverse: wait why is this kinda intimate (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)
@Natao: 👁️🫦👁️
@BonneyJewlery: whisper to us 😈
@Marquzita: STOPPPP

He let the reactions scroll. “I’m glad you like it,” he said, calm as ever. “Now you’ll hear every time I breathe awkwardly mid-sentence.”

@pppocki: worth every won
@danojae: we’re locked in now. parasocial FULLY activated

Moondae sighed. “Regret is setting in. Can I downgrade my mic again?”

@yeoniverse: too late. you’re ours now
ψ(｀∇´)ψ

He leaned back in his chair. The faint creak echoed: studio quality now.
“Great,” he said. “Now every random sound in my room is premium content.”

@Koolaid144: creaky gamer chair era
@Macha: Boyfriend ASMR when (ᯣ.ᯣ)???

A comment caught Moondae’s eye. “‘Boyfriend ASMR?’"He spoke as he reached off-screen for his drink. A loud clunk echoed through the mic. “Apologizes, that was my elbow.”

@babystark: LMAO U OK?
@LoToKiko: the mic picked that up SO CLEAR
@BonneyJewlery: I volunteer to kiss it better 🙋‍♀️
@strawvebby: poor baby :(
@Mintymood: elbow reveal???
@onlysoanhour: song requests lives are going to be sm better<3

He took a sip of his water and sighed. The phone sid down, but he caught it before his face was shown.

“My heart almost just stopped,” Moondae spoke, hands still secured around the phone. It felt as if he had been dunked in a bath of cold water, his stomach had dropped. He needs to invest in a tripod.

@darcydae: 😨😨😨
@Takakitsune07: THAT WAS HELLA CLOSE (•⁠﹏•⁠;⁠)!!
@bbyjunplanet: I'M GOING BACK FRAME FOR FRAME
@The_21st_Imaginary_Prosecution: MY HEART DROPPED
@s_krane: that could've been bad…
@Takatakboki: 🙀My stomach almost fell out my ass
@DessertPudding: I think you used up all your luck for the year 😥😥
@MeowMeowMeowNya: I don't know if I should feel relieved for Moondae or disappointed that we didn't see his face…..
@lilstickz: SO close yet SO far 😞💔
@Miyuoe_12: When I tell you that I went COOOLLDD

“I think that might have been a sign to end the live,” Moondae joked; but his tone said otherwise and his viewers started to protest. “I was joking, calm down.”

His finger ran up the screen searching for specific chats. “I was hoping you would have decided what you wanted to do today, but all you did was chat and whine that I left you.”

@sadbean: As we should!!
@vtic_luv: Worst 3 minutes of my life when you left btw 💔
@Mishell999: you abandoned us 3
@kamennosugao: okay but like…what else were we supposed to do

“Game session and Q&A are the two options I’m seeing the most…” Moondae murmured, eyes darting across the flood of messages on his screen. “Alright, put a one in the chat for a game session, and a two for Q&A.”

@Frania: 1 game session plsss I need chaos
@MoondaeWife: 2!! Q&A session!!
@yeoniverse: 1!!!
@lilstickz: 2! 2! 2! 2!
@Miyuoe_12: Onee
@ZENOPI: 2
@Sagitter: 1111111
@lilkittyrawr: twoooo
@zoenothere: 2!!
@Jjellyfish_143: ONE 1
@vacancshore: 22
@jinious: 🗣️2‼️
@SaltySummerChild: 1!!! A game session is more fun!!! 1!!!
@taedae_core: ¡¡2!!

“I'm seeing a lot of twos in the chat, Q&A session it is.” He sat up straighter. “Please refrain from asking anything overly personal. I will not be answering questions that make me feel uncomfortable.”

His phone started to slide again, but he quickly adjusted it with a “I really need a real tripod.”

The questions were present in an instant. It felt as if some of some viewers already had them typed up and waiting in their notes app.

@leafrabbit: what did you wanna do before singing, Moondae-nim..?
@Mimi54316: Is there an idol you look up too?
@pppocki: WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE FOOD????
@Arkivve: Do you like puppies (´･ω･`)?
@whispersintgedawn: Do like that we're called Flashlights 🔦🧐❓
@Mishell999: Moondae-nimmm, what do you want to do with your life???
@WeissWinter: Favorite color 🤨?
@CITV: What's your favorite VTIC song??

“Wow, that's a lot of questions.” Moondae commented as he scanned over a few of them. “I don't have a favorite food,” he replied. He eats everything well without being picky; he couldn't afford to leave any food behind after his parents died. “Um… I do like puppies, yes.”

@Arkivve: Moonpuppy confirmed!!
@Clamor: How many octaves can you sing :p??
@SnowLeopardLover: He was probably the one who chose the puppy sticker to hide his face in Kim's TikToks!!!!!
@Catealou: What did you grab during your doljabi?
@Triii: I get more cat person vibes from him-
@Zizah: What’s your ring size???

“Uh, I can sing a total of three octaves. I grabbed a pencil during my doljabi. I think my ring size is a 17, on my left ring finger at least.”

@Mimi54316: QUICK WRITE THAT DOWN A 17✍️!!
@KiminiYenna: I GRABBED A PENCIL TOO
@Candi: PENCIL BUDDIES (⁠つ⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)⁠つ
@BonneyJewlery: Look at what I found in my back pocket 💍✨
@Frania: A future as a scholar!! Moondae-ssi, what did you want to be growing up?
@MoondaeWife: @BonneyJewelry GIRL. STEP BACK. HE’S TAKEN—BY ME. READ THE USER.
@softbbyhyun: 🩵🩵🩵
@mintbread: What’s your favorite song?

Moondae’s tone softened. “I didn't really know what I wanted to be when I grew up. My favorite song? I don't have one, but I really like listening to Nari's music. I was sad when her group disbanded.”

@IhavehomeworkbutIstillhere: Nari? WHO'S NARI??
@Sin_Near: idk, probably someone from an old generation😭??
@seokbae04: Nobody knows who she is, I'm an ajumma now👵🏻
@daisykko: NARI (⁠^⁠～⁠^⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ??
@MaruAmania: MOONDAES A FAN OF DEAR DAYS?
@ValeSIJ: low-key didn't expect that 😭 😭
@Sleepinthru: Dear Days?????
@chiye21: A part of me died when my girls disbanded 😔💔
@Aaren_05: DEAR DAYS MENTIONED AHHHHHHH ᕦ⁠(⁠ ⁠⊡⁠ ⁠益⁠ ⁠⊡⁠ ⁠)⁠ᕤ
@Juniper_4419: Me personally, Sohyun was my favorite of the 4
@Moniii: I'M LATE TO THE LIVE! WHAT'S GOING ON 😵‍💫?????????
@Wineyyii: @Moniii HI WELCOME GIRLY😭🫶 We're in the middle of a Q&A rn!!
@Happycapibara: Who’s Sohyun/Nari 😥??Help a girl out 😭!!
@castieIris: MOONPUPPY HOW OLD ARE YOU??
@Teawrites: The fact that so many people don't know who Nari OR Dear Days are makes me feel soooooo OLD…
@Chaiteaaa: Nari, Minji, Sohyun, and Euna formed Dear Days for those of you who don't know🥲

The chat was absolutely spiraling.

This was something that had been planned. Moondae was supposed to share about himself; Nari's group was supposed to be mentioned. He just hadn't expected such a reaction.

“I'm convinced a bunch of you guys are babies now. How don't you know who Dear Days were?” Moondae asked as new replies came in. The main being explanations of how ('I was six when they debuted okay😭!') and then a few agreeing with him ('exactly! D.D. are icons!!')

“No, this can't do. We need to play some of their music now.” It totally wasn't an excuse to stop the Q&A session early. “Let me turn on my speaker.”

Moondae reached for a tiny, Bluetooth speaker perched behind his phone.

And that’s when it happened.

His hand bumped against the makeshift tripod –a chaotic stack of three books– and his phone slipped. Not enough to fall flat so that the camera would give his viewers the sight of his ceiling but just enough to slide an inch without falling; the shift so drastic that it messed with the angle that hid his face.

For a horrifying moment, his face was no longer hidden.

Amber eyes froze. Moondae stared directly into the camera, wide-eyed.

@jinious: WAIT- IS THAT-??
@Miyuoe_12: 😧😨😰
@Frania: HE’S SO PRETTY WHAT
@SnowLeopardLover: I KNEW IT!! I KNEW HE WAS HOT!!
@BonneyJewelry: im shaking
@pppocki: I'M SCREAMING
@softbbyhyun: no way no way no way no way
@mallan: I SCREENCAPPED IT I’M SORRY

He had been exposed. Moondae moved quickly to end the live, not caring to say goodbye.

Trending For You:

1 • Entertainment • Moondae 
2 • Entertainment • FaceReveal 
3 • Politics • SNU 
4 • In Korea • Livestream 
5 • In Korea • Moonpuppy 

Kim Yeonjoo closed her laptop slowly, the screen fading to black as her heart sank. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled over, warm and quiet. Moondae had just announced a hiatus.

A break.

She stared blankly at the device, then reached for the nearest pillow and hugged it tightly, curling into herself on the bed like it could shield her from reality.

His tweet sounded calm; so calm that it only made it worse.

Her mind raced. Was he okay? What if this wasn’t just a break? What if he never came back?

A fresh wave of panic crashed into her chest. Her hands shot up to her mouth, and before she could stop herself, she was chewing at her thumbnail; biting away at the light pink polish she’d so carefully applied two days ago.

She was being ridiculous. Hysterical, even. Were tears really needed? This was not the end of the world. It was just another influencer taking a break.

It wasn’t like she had been there since the very beginning. It wasn't like she first found him on YouTube, by a post with less than a hundred views. It wasn't like she was there to see him slowly come out of his shell; shining his blunt, sweet personality. It wasn't like she watched this guy grow.

Except she had; little by little she watched as he grew to who he was today.
And now he was gone–temporarily?

The tears returned heavier this time. She buried her face in the pillow, as if that could muffle the ache curling in her chest.

Moondae didn't deserve this.

She knew how much he valued his privacy; she was taken aback when he decided to follow with the Q&A. In past streams, he would without fail look over questions; over anything personal.

Yes, he would respond sometimes, but never with more than a few guarded words:
“I don’t have a favorite.”
“I haven’t really thought about that yet.”
“Let me get back to you on that.”.”

Moondae must have said yes to the Q&A because he felt safe, comfortable with letting his Flashlights in. He had trusted them.

And now his face –his face!– was everywhere. Trending. Clipped. Frozen in screenshots and stitched into strangers’ and his very fans' reactions.

He must feel so exposed, betrayed. Naked.

Poor, sweet Moondae.

By the next morning, every one of Moondae’s accounts had the word “hiatus” stamped somewhere.

Flashlights created accounts to remind them how many days Moondae had been gone.
“Day 01 without Moondae.”
…
“Day 07, a whole week, without Moondae.”
…
“Day 10 without Moondae.”
…
“Day 14, two whole weeks, without Moondae.”
Whoever was running it never missed a day; they were dedicated.

Some people waited for a scandal to surface. For someone to come forward and say, “He hid his face because he bullied me.” For old photos to leak; maybe of him smoking, drinking, or doing drugs as a teenager. But there was nothing, absolutely nothing.

Instead, there were grainy posts claiming that he'd been spotted in public.
Sitting quietly on the subway.
Slipping into a dance studio.
Walking alone, head down, hoodie up.
Pictures upon pictures with captions and hundreds of likes.

It didn’t take long for people to realize that talking about him brought in clicks, and if there was one thing the internet loved, it was attention.

He gained followers. Subscriptions spiked. People were waiting for his hiatus to end.

Clips from old livestreams resurfaced; people thought he was charming.
The way he talked to his viewers with such sincerity. The way he greeted them with good morning every day with a story post. The way he shared pictures of his meals, reminding them to eat. The way he responded at hearted or liked every comment he received.

The situation stopped trending in Korea after a few days; people lost interest, as they always did.

Then came the pity posts. Edits with tearful captions and moody filters. “They don’t deserve you” scrawled across the screen, usually set to a melancholy Billie Eilish song.

Some edits were actually sincere though, clearly made by fans who genuinely missed him. Others… less so because again, people realized they could farm likes and sympathy just by posting about him. Moondae, the faceless star turned tragic figure, had become aesthetic.

Twitter was Twitter. People posting their every thought on the situation.

Some begged for his return like it was a national emergency.
Others mocked flashlights, claiming they were parasocial freaks who were overreacting.
Some claimed to miss him even though they’d clearly just discovered him a day ago.
And others insisted the hiatus was a stunt, a marketing scheme. That he was manipulating sympathy for clout.

It was chaos. A digital circus where Moondae was both the missing headliner and the freak show.

And in the middle of it all were the real fans. Just waiting. Silently counting the days. And hoping he was okay.

On day 21, it happened.

[Park Moondae • @M0On.DA3 has gone LIVE]

Chapter Text

👷‍♀️🚧🔨
Fic will be going under MAJOR reconstruction...

PLEASE IGNORE ANY FURTHER CHAPTER NOTIFICATIONS!! (I just wanted to give warning for those of you with subscriptions)