Work Text:
It’s after spending weeks in the karaoke rooms that he finally strikes gold.
Kim Soleum never considered himself somebody who would willingly spend any time in a karaoke room — even on the rare occasion his manager wanted to end the night drinking there, he would find himself ducking out with the smokers and a well-practiced excuse. But the status window, flashing a death sentence that’s now permanently etched into the back of his mind, was as good an excuse as any to turn over a new leaf.
Yes, it’s remarkable what people are capable of when their lives are on the line.
So he dutifully checks into the karaoke room daily, keeping a careful eye on both the status window and the door. It’s a stroke of luck that his coworkers were all deeply invested in Idol Inc., taking any chance they could during their breaks to gossip about it; even more so, that he remembers one talking about people looking for trainees in random karaoke rooms — since, and he remembers this part quite vividly, they were short on applicants and what better way to look for contestant fodder?
The thought of being contestant fodder doesn’t paint a pretty picture. And he can imagine it all too easily: a couple of seconds of screentime, some out of focus shoots, maybe a conversation between him and a popular trainee if he’s lucky.
What he needs is a lifeline.
So it’s easy enough to school his expression into one of shock at least, since he was planning to bait one of the lower-level employees into finding him here — not a big fish.
“I must apologize for the interruption,” the man says.
Even as somebody who followed Idol Inc. largely through word of mouth, he recognizes him; as a matter of fact, it’d be impossible not to, unless he was living under a rock. At this time, Braun is at the height of his career; a host whose beauty is on par with the idols he rubs shoulders with, with a personality that is almost hypnotizing, coaxing the stiffness out of every single one of his guests.
But the face certainly helped. Which reminds him, all too shamefully, of the low rank the system has bestowed on him for his own face: a pathetic C that he can’t even think of investing points in when his dance rank is even more pitiful.
Schooling his expression into one of indifference, he waves it off. “No, it’s okay. Are you looking for somebody?”
“Funny you say that,” Braun tells him, deciding to make himself comfortable as he sits down.
It feels eeringly similar to watching him on television. All practiced and smooth movements, patting the folds of his pants as he crosses his legs, looking up at him with an expectancy that gives way to a plethora of feelings he cannot name.
One is trepidation though — that’s easy enough to identify, as familiar as his own shadow.
“You see, I have been down on my luck lately. It’s more difficult than one can imagine to find a suitable… contestant — shall we say that? But it appears that my prayers have finally bore fruit, as the answer to all of my problems have finally come to me. A deux ex machina, if you will.” He, in his flowery and indirect way of talking, continues, “Are you interested in being a star?”
“What?”
It’s easy enough to fake shock. Kim Soleum was prepared to dance around the subject with a desperate underling before finally accepting the offer — not a direct proposal made by the face of the show himself, who seems to take the performance on stage everywhere he goes.
“Dear me, you look like a deer in headlights. I know this may be sudden, but the company I work for has been looking for talented contestants — such as yourself — to join our show. Unfortunately, it appears as if there’s been a drought of talent as of late so it’s been quite a struggle. But you — yes, you… I think you would be perfect. Do think it over.” The man hands him a business card with a flourish.
He pretends to mull it over, reading the business card as if he doesn’t recognize anything written on it. “I don’t follow.”
“I’m Braun, the host of an idol survival show. Idol inc. — perhaps you heard of it. Unfortunately, the first season has been plagued by… a few unfortunate incidents, so people are more reluctant than ever to participate.”
“Is that why you’re here?”
“Yes, I’m looking for that diamond in the rough, so to speak. It’s very fortunate I caught you here today.”
Even if he weren’t remotely interested in the prospect, Braun is every bit the persuasive salesmen his onscreen persona suggests. Kim Soleum always considered himself weak-willed, bending to the will of anxiety, fear, the unknown — he turns away, back to the flashing lights of lyrics still playing on the screen.
“I’m not sure if I’m cut out for the big screen,” he lies. A part of him is so baffled by this over-the-top reception — especially one done by somebody so prolific, who should have better things to do with his time than look for desperate contestants willing to act as fodder. And this reception, laying on the flattery so thick he feels slightly uncomfortable.
“No need for such humility. It’s unbecoming on a beautiful face.”
“Thank you…” he hesitates, not sure what to call him.
“Just Braun, please. And you are?”
“Kim Soleum.”
In truth, the environment itself doesn’t ease his nerves — even if he did prepare himself for this. The karaoke room is housed in a cheap building, claustrophobic and dark with the flickering neon lights that are struggling to stay on. A screen hangs lamely on the wall, the bright light reflecting off of the other man’s face, illuminating his already striking features. The juxtaposition is ridiculous: on a lesser man, the cheap atmosphere would drag his looks down — but on Braun, it just looks like a movie set.
“Well, you’re in luck. This show can make you a star.”
“Really?”
Maybe he’s laying on the naive, wannabe contestant act a bit too much. But the desperation isn’t entirely faked and Braun, who’s surely figuring out a character for him right now, doesn’t seem bothered by it.
“Of course. I’ll arrange an interview for you and let your talent do the rest.”
“My talent,” he repeats slowly. It’s a ridiculous thought. To him, Braun has been less of a human being and more of a character that existed solely through a screen. Thrown off by his presence — and not wholly due to his ethereal looks — he’s having so much trouble trying to imagine him extending a helping hand so quickly.
But the man seems entirely serious, with the wide smile he’s so well-known for, suggesting all of this without a second thought to some random man he’s come across in a karaoke bar. Kim Soleum isn’t sure the man himself is not that normal either, and his theatric way of speaking — what he previously thought was an act solely for television — implies a more eccentric personality.
Which is doable. Live and adapt. Get casted no matter what, debut, then investigate exactly what has rattled him so. The man could just be buttering him up for slaughter. It’s not as if celebrities are known for their sincerity — not when it involves a good show.
And Braun has displayed a callous side on television that has unnerved him slightly. He recalls one particular trivia show where the man would quiz a group of people — usually office workers — on a wide manner of subjects, usually those that were on the CSAT. A fun nod back to your high school days, as it was advertised.
That in itself was nothing special. And the show went on for a couple of seasons, as it was clearly popular and had a certain nostalgic feel to it that endeared people more to Braun, who was beginning to cement himself as a household staple.
But the questions on the show itself were… weird. Most seemed obvious, but were actually something else entirely if you thought about it; others bordered on macabre, but those were far less popular as he was sure the PD didn’t want the show to get disturbing. And the whole time Braun seemed to delight in the trepidation of the contestants, watching them wriggle and figure out the answer to a question that they couldn’t even understand.
He recognizes the same look now, watching the man watch him. It doesn’t seem to harbor any ill will exactly — but at the same time he’s sure the man would like to watch him struggle the same way those contestants did.
Fitting for the host on an idol reality show.
And he’s more reassured by that realization. Ulterior motives are far more familiar to him than this sudden display of good samaritanism. But being too dependent on somebody who could easily see him as fodder doesn’t appeal to him either. He can see how it looks: Parachute idols are now making their debut on television! Kim Soleum, former lowly office worker — now, nepo trainee — is soaring to new heights!
“I must be quite the singer if you’re guaranteeing my spot on the show so definitively.”
“Singer, yes, but your background… or lack of, if I’m being transparent, is also appealing. Wouldn’t it make the show more entertaining to have… a wildcard?” Braun says, finally settling on the word. “Fans are looking for somebody unpredictable. Who am I to deny my audience what they want?”
It’s a nice euphemism, he admits. For somebody with no company, previous experience, and being able to read the room in lieu of charisma.
“Is this because of last season?”
“Exactly. And I am loath to admit that. It was my one great failing, and one I seek to rectify through you.” He, in all his overly familiar celebrity glory, takes Kim Soleum’s hands as he says this.
It’s a bit disconcerting, the lack of physical distance between them when he’s sure they haven’t even met an hour ago, but he supposes celebrities have a skewed perception of personal space anyways. And he’s white, a part of his brain helpfully supplies, which means personal space is even more of a foreign concept to him.
But rationalizing it like that still doesn’t help settle his nerves. His hands stiffen in Braun’s grasp, who seems to notice immediately, attempting to soothe him by rubbing small circles. It’s just as practiced as his words, but no less comforting, and he finds himself relaxing into it slightly.
“But I wouldn’t want to demand too much from a promising young star such as yourself, so do let me know.”
The status window is far less empathetic, instead flashing the status abnormality at him in a way that’s almost taunting now: debut or die!
It’s a very easy choice to make. It makes it for him, and even if all Braun does is nudge him in the same direction, he’s reassured by the illusion of choice.
“Well, I’m grateful for the opportunity. Please take care of me.”
Not even his experience with job interviews in his past life could’ve prepared him for this. He’s used to unimpressed, half-awake interviewers that use the interview to droll on and on about their own work experience and how unprofessional working environments have gotten as of late, no doubt thanks to the younger generation.
The interviewer, one of the writers for the show, looks at him with undisguised skepticism as she overlooks the application sheet he filled out. Unimpressive, surely; he’s now grateful the photo studio decided to embellish his ID photo a little bit, seeing that the rest of his application is embarrassingly bare.
After a few questions and lukewarm answers that he doesn’t even believe, she turns off the camera and writes some notes down onto a pad before clearing her throat.
“So… you’re not affiliated with any company?”
“No.”
“And your past experience consists of… vocal practice? Do you have a teacher?” The interviewer enunciates every word out slowly, and Kim Soleum isn’t surprised to see the disbelief written all over her face.
“More independent study,” he admits.
“I see…” The look is the answer he needs. “And what is your relationship with Braun exactly? I see here that he recommended you for this interview.”
“He scouted me.”
Skepticism gives way to pity, and he can see her soften to him immediately. “Oh… very last minute too. Well, try to do your best for the show.”
He’s momentarily struck dumb by how short notice it all is, but there’s no use complaining about it to this writer who — no doubt — thinks of him as a sacrifice. He can see that her expectations are already staggeringly low, which was no doubt aided by the stark empty documents he barely managed to get together. “Thank you. Is there anything else I should know before the audition?”
“Prepare a song to sing and something to dance if you can. Don’t worry, they won’t have you do too much.”
“Ah…”
The implication is clear.
Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to lure such a big fish. But it’s better this than considering him a parachute hire.
Braun, he realizes, must make a habit of scouting poor suckers for the guillotine. It’d be easy enough with that face of his. But he should just be grateful that he managed to get a leg in the door — albeit, a leg already considered lame by the looks of the interviewer.
Kim Soleum had a coworker in his past life who was just as charismatic, manipulating his coworkers with ease, treating each as if they were the most special in the room. He supposes a trait coveted amongst salesmen would also be shared by hosts, who seek to captivate their entire audience. A host who was as charismatic off set as he was on, radiating a relaxed charm even more palpable in person. It’d be nice to have even a little bit of it rub off on him, as nothing sets him apart from the other trainees as of right now. (He doesn’t even want to consider his pathetic dancing skills, and he’s glad the interviewer was too distracted by the recommendation to interrogate him on that.)
Bad enough that Kim Soleum dances as stiffly as a middle-aged man with no experience outside of drunkenly wobbling outside of taxis. Even a little charisma would be able to distract from that — and he’s not sure a ‘beautiful face’ would help him in a room full of contestants that are no doubt millions of won in debt in search of an even more beautiful one.
On his way out of the building, he runs into the aforementioned man. It’s far too well-timed to be a coincidence, and before he can say anything, Braun says brightly, “I’m glad I caught you after your interview. Looks like it went well.”
“Did you hear anything?”
“No, but hearing nothing is sometimes for the better. Between us,” he starts, directing Kim Soleum away from the exit and to the parking lot, “it was a shoo-in. After a trainee got caught drunk driving, anybody with no background is worth their weight in gold now. Ah, this way — my car is here.”
“Should you be telling me that?”
“Well, you’ve just signed all of your contracts. I added a few clauses — just for you. Doesn’t that make you feel special? So if this information were to leak, it wouldn’t turn out good for you. Oh — and watch your step here. It’s a bit uneven.” He takes his arm when he says this, leading them to the side of the parking lot where the lights flicker and the road has gotten more uneven.
A few horror stories Kim Soleum used to read comes to mind. It doesn’t help his already shaken nerves, and he’s glad to be steadied because of it.
Figures that when he’s already faced with the looming threat of dying he could very well just die at the hands of a television host out of nowhere.
“I’m not sure if I’m reassured by that,” he confesses.
“Don’t be too nervous. I’m making quite a gamble taking you under my wing, so it’s in my best interest for you to also do well.” Braun tilts his head to the side. “Think of me as a fan. A well-meaning fan who just wants his bias to debut. What would you say then?”
“Thank you for your support. And…” he thinks for a second, struggling to recall the script idols always follow. “I will try to not disappoint you in the future.”
“Your fanservice could use some work,” Braun muses. “The ‘deer in headlights’ look wouldn’t work on most people.”
“I’ll take that into consideration.”
“Please. Not to get ahead of myself here, but I believe we will have a beautiful working relationship in the near future.”
The thought of having any future is a dream to him, so he nods in agreement. Maybe it’s fortunate that he can’t detect sarcasm; his endless optimism could become contagious, which is a far more appealing idea to Kim Soleum than anything else.
And Braun is perfectly comfortable talking for the entire car ride, not even wasting a second to breathe. It reminds Kim Soleum of old radio stations, where you’d let it play for hours on end just for background noise, occasionally tuning in for the interesting tidbit. Nothing important was really said — as far as he could tell — but he was soothed by their voices, how they made the most dull topics seem engaging with their melodramatic character.
He is just as comfortable driving, the picture of a luxury car advertisement. Kim Soleum is transfixed, watching him maneuver the stickshift. He doesn’t know anybody that drives a manual car under the age of fifty anymore, but Braun makes it look almost seductive, his fingers curling around the lever, just like the male lead from a vintage romance movie.
When they finally arrive at his building, the spell is broken. He opens his mouth to say thank you, realization finally hitting him that very moment.
“Did I tell you where I lived?”
“Oh.” Braun doesn’t even look sheepish, instead parking the car by the building before flashing him an award winning smile. “I did a background check. You do live here, right? I’d be terribly embarrassed if I got it wrong.”
“Is it normal for companies to conduct background checks?”
“Hmmm. To some degree.”
The ambiguity of the statement worries him, and he pauses. While it’s common knowledge that entertainment companies are shady, he didn’t expect them to be so blatant and casual about it. A bit of humility concerning their under-the-table dealings — that he could stomach. Evidence of a conscience even.
“Dear me, does that worry you?” He tilts Kim Soleum’s chin towards him, his pride giving way to concern. It’s far more gentle than how he handled the stickshift — more like a gentle nudge, his pointer finger caressing the line of his jaw.
“Well… it does make sense since you’re in such a sensitive position here,” he rationalizes. “But I’d like to know beforehand ahead of time.”
“I knew you would understand.” Braun ruffles his hair fondly. “Rest well before your audition.”
He’s not so dazzled by Braun that he can’t hear the alarms going off in his head. Still doesn’t stop him from accepting the affection — or from turning back to see the man still sitting in his car, waiting for him to go into his building. How pathetic to accept fondness, even from the hand of a man who doesn’t hide any malicious intentions.
It’s good that he has the system to blame any bad decision making on his part.
Which then proceeds to taunt him the entirety of the week, offering a countdown for his impending doom down to the very second. When he returns, it’s so early in the morning that the sun hasn’t quite risen yet; but that doesn’t deter the many contestants — seventy seven others, Kim Soleum recalls with sickening clarity — from looking their very best.
Very best but, he’s beginning to realize, many anxious and nervously pacing throughout the floor as they await their time to be called. It’s not unlike the waiting room outside a job interview, where you put a large group of desperate, ambitious graduates and pit them together to compare credentials while they wait for the moment of reckoning.
Kim Soleum has always stayed away from that. And now, where he’s sure all of their behavior is already being recorded, should be no different.
Which is fairly easy. Trainees have already grouped up according to their company, with a few independent ones scattered around, looking sick enough to vomit. He even recognizes a few, already named with dedicated fandoms that’ll carry them all the way to debut — a perk he tries to not think about.
And it’s not long before the numbers start being culled with names calling trainees to the stage. He’s glad to not be first, but watching the room be emptied isn’t reassuring either; to be one of the last, right when the judges begin to lose interest and think of having their lunch break, won’t work in his favor either.
While he’s waiting, a trainee with curly hair and a sweet face that Kim Soleum knows will tug at the heartstrings of potential fans everywhere, turns to him with a smile. “Hey, I’m Baek Saheon.”
“Kim Soleum.”
“I don’t recognize you. Are you a part of any company?”
“No, I’m here by myself.”
“That’s bold.”
Not sure how to word Braun’s recommendation, he decides to omit any mention of him entirely. The interviewer’s initial reaction told him all he needed to know; especially if he didn’t want to sow any animosity between him and others. But he could tell being independent seemed to be synonymous with contestant fodder, so he says, as casually as he can muster, “They reached out to me and I couldn’t say no.”
A week ago, which spoke more to their desperation than desire to have him specifically. He hasn’t quite deciphered Braun’s interest in him either, as there's been total silence on his end this past week since he drove him home. But it has the desired effect on Baek Saheon, who looks at him more carefully now.
He looks like he’s about to say something else, but just as he opens his mouth, Kim Soleum’s name is called and he rushes onto the stage.
It’s far more intimidating than watching any amount of television would allow him to believe. The fluorescent lights nearly blind him as he steps onto the stage, and he doesn’t even have a second to process what he’s seeing before the judges start speaking to him.
Three in a row, their piercing gazes mirroring each other; made even more intimidating by their already impressive careers. And behind them, an endless amount of rows providing seating to contestants in the typical hierarchical pattern he’s come to expect from these shows.
The one on the far left, Lee Jaeheon — whose name is expected to bring in a lot of viewership solely by association — a soloist who has dabbled in acting, a few action series here and there, but largely known for his striking good looks. Before, Kim Soleum could understand why he was so beloved solely due to those good looks; but in person, without the lens of a camera to soften his unnerving gaze, he’s far too intimidated to even consider them.
On the far right, Eun Haje, the main dancer of a girl group who’s been branching out as a choreographer on survival shows for the past couple of years. Her gaze is far less piercing in comparison, but he’s no less assured as he watches her read through his unimpressive documents and engage a few words with Lee Jaeheon.
And finally in the middle, the famous host of the show, Braun. His smile is bright enough to compensate for the other two solemn judges, but Kim Soleum is most perturbed by him of all. There’s nowhere to look but at him, and he’d like to formally apologize to the makeup artists that spent almost an hour patting sebum powder on him as he’s sure he’s just now sweat it all off.
It’s lucky he’s mastered a stone-faced expression. It was either that or his own anxiety, which is amplified by his newfound stage fright.
No better time than the present, they say.
He clears his throat, hoping that they are worn down by judging dozens of candidates before him. That their knives are now dulled, eager to pocket them and quickly rank the contestants rather than completely decimate them on camera.
“Welcome to Idol Inc. If you would be so kind as to introduce yourself,” Braun announces, ending his sentence on the sing-songy note he’s famous for. The microphone is hardly necessary; in fact, Kim Soleum considers it useless baggage as the man’s voice travels so well on its own already, demanding — pleased to just be heard.
“I’m Kim Soleum. Pleased to meet you all.”
His nerves have shot down any chance of him making a clever, snappy introduction. If only the stylists had enough foresight to give him a suit and a lanyard to complete the ensemble.
“Is there anything you’d like to add?” Eun Haje says, gesturing to the documents in her hand.
“I have my performance prepared, if that’s what you mean.”
“He wants his singing to speak for itself. Who are we to deny him that?” Braun points out.
It goes by fairly quickly. He keeps his gaze trained on the camera, hoping his expression betrays no hint of anxiety.
The song choice was difficult, as he didn’t want to sing anything too recent — any song too fresh in people’s minds would leave it ripe for judgement, and being recipient to less of that the better. So he plays it safe with an old favorite, a ballad that would hopefully set him apart from the majority of the contestants.
And by the looks of it, it’s a good choice. They all look decently impressed, but he chalks that up to his lackluster history not indicating any level of talent.
In a way, he’s glad the expectation is at zero. He’s reassured until Eun Haje says, “I think I speak for all of us when I say I’m curious as to whether your dancing is just as good as your singing.”
“Well…” he says sheepishly. “I think you’d agree with me when I say that I have a lot of room for improvement there.”
And the only choreography that comes to mind would impress nobody. He’s watched enough of ‘Tuesday’s Quiz Show’ in his past life to recall the dance number by memory; not to mention, one of his supervisors had a particular mean streak where he asked lowly employees to do the dance as punishment, reminiscent of the original show’s theme.
Kim Soleum is sure he can do it with his eyes closed at this point.
He starts with the original opening dance pose by giving himself bunny ears before managing a pitiful little spin. He even mirrors the expression of every contestant that was forced to do this before, which is admittedly not a difficult feat as he can sympathize with them now more than ever.
The judges recognize it immediately. Kim Soleum is grateful for Lee Jaeheon’s almost monk-like silence, but he can see him cover the lower half of his face with the documents in an attempt to save professional face. Eun Haje looks dumbstruck by the choice, but nonetheless entertained.
Which is a small blessing.
He can see how this would look like a cheap copout. It’s a fairly simple dance; largely known as a punishment dance for the humiliating aspect of it, and the memorable bunny ears that have become synonymous with being a loser in the game show.
Braun seems to take it in stride, clapping his hands to the beat, looking far more excited than Kim Soleum thought possible. Which could be due to the fact that he expresses emotions similar to a cartoon character, his mouth contorting into a smile that seems to take over the entirety of his face.
Thankfully the dance is short, so he doesn’t spend too much time prancing around like a bunny on stage. Once the music stops, he ends it with a small bow, clasping his hands together as he waits for their feedback.
“You must be a big fan of ‘Tuesday’s Quiz Show’,” Eun Haje comments, her tone full of mirth.
‘It’s the only dance I can do without looking like a complete fool’ isn’t as good as an answer, so he nods, hoping he looks like the embarrassed fan they expect him to be. “I used to watch it all the time.”
“Unfortunately, your dancing leaves a lot to be desired… your movements are uncoordinated, and you’re not in beat with the song. Jaheon-ssi?”
“Interesting song choice,” Lee Jaheon says with finality. Kim Soleum never expected him to be a talkative person in general, as he’s always played the strong and silent type when acting, but he seems to be using his words even more sparingly in real life.
He personally thinks he’s sold the act really well, expression and all. If only the status window gave him some leniency in the matter, he can see a prosperous future as a scream king instead of an idol.
“Well I, for one, think you did the dance perfectly! If only we could meet under different circumstances,” Braun expresses mournfully. “Maybe you should consider a future in ‘Tuesday’s Quiz Show’ after this.”
“I’d have to brush up on my dancing before then,” he says humbly. Absolutely not.
“It would be a pleasure to have you. Now please give us a moment to discuss.” Braun flashes him a wink before they all start to whisper amongst themselves.
A rank right in the middle would be perfect. Working his way up from the bottom would be a constant uphill battle, while there is too much room for error in the upper ranks. He looks up at the ceiling as if it will bestow a number upon him, nervously wrangling his hands together.
The status window answers his prayers instead, flashing a new pop-up at him.
[Successful performance!]
You deeply entertained your audience!
Click! to draw a new characteristic
Suspicious, but the ‘successful performance’ reassures him; and the chance to boost his chances in any way possible is one he can’t miss.
“Kim Soleum’s ranking is… 26th place! Please take your seat, dear contestant.”
“Thank you,” he says meekly as he rushes to his seat. The disparity between the upper and lower seats is grossly exaggerated, with the rock bottom contestants practically sitting on wooden chairs and the cream of the crop lounging on more elegantly engraved, comfortable seating.
But he redirects his attention back to the pop-up, tapping the screen as discreetly as possible before pretending to shake out his nerves.
[Characteristic: ‘Smiley Sticker (D)’ Acquired!]
If you can’t find fans, then make them yourself!
One-time use only. Lasts for 1 hour.
How… suspicious.
And deeply distasteful. Just what he’d expect from the system. But he can’t be too disgusted by it. Kim Soleum would like to think he has lines that he would never cross, but there’s nothing about toeing them — especially with his own life on the line.
He’s never considered himself having a personality fit for being an idol. While idols are meant to be charismatic and overflowing with life that draws people to them, he’s always considered his role to be more… background.
And having too many people’s eyes on him unnerves him anyways. It’s almost as bad as Braun, whose gaze is greedy and endless; he can’t imagine the man doing anything in moderation when even something as simple as sight turns into a whole event.
The more he thinks about it, the more tasteless the ‘smiley sticker’ sounds — even if he wasn’t looking at it from an ethical perspective. But, again, it is useful.
He’s so busy mulling over it he almost jumps when a contestant behind him taps his shoulder. “Kim Soleum, right?”
“Yes, nice to meet you. You are…?”
“Park Minseong. Looks like we’ll be finished soon.”
“How many are left?” At first he was blinded by the lights, but his senses must’ve dulled by now, because he’s sure he can even sleep with his eyes open here.
“Just a few.”
Baek Saheon is up right after him, his angelic smile magnified ten times over on the screens. He looks perfectly comfortable — do companies make trainees undergo training for that, or is he the exception? — on stage, and begins to engage in the most impressive skill in Kim Soleum’s eyes after a lifetime of working in corporate.
Ass-kissing.
Grade A ass-kissing, done so well that he can’t even hate him for it. He’s very subtle about it too, not the obvious type that waxes poetry about how so-and-so's music changed their life and if you would grant them a spot, it would be a dream come true.
Even his dancing is excellent.
Kim Soleum hopes they don’t play their two auditions in tandem. It would make him look even ridiculous, especially when compared to somebody that actually learnt how to dance; instead of a former office worker who did it grudgingly in the name of office politics.
Park Minseong seems to think so too, offering commentary throughout the entire audition.
“He used to be a trainee at my company, you know.”
“Really? What happened?”
“Er… nobody actually knows. But he’s pretty infamous for constantly changing companies. I don’t think he’s ever spent longer than a year at a singular company.”
“Must be talented if they keep taking him in,” he offers diplomatically. Like hell he will engage in trainee-related gossip with cameras all over — no matter how badly he wants to know. But he can fill in the dots well enough if he’s constantly pinballing between companies.
Either he has horrible luck, or just an incredibly, shitty personality that eclipses his talent after enough time. The latter will reveal itself eventually; Kim Soleum can imagine the headlines on his own, and shudders at the thought.
Perhaps it would be best to distance himself from him. Even if he does have bad luck, he doesn’t need anymore of that in his life right now.
“Poor guy.”
Baek Saheon, predictably, ranks higher than him — as do a few of the final contestants; consequently, he is moved a couple of ranks down. Park Minseong gives him a mournful wave as he makes the walk of shame down to rank 28.
When the auditions finally end, he almost passes out with relief. If he arches out his neck enough to see the bottom ranks, he can see a few contestants already moved to tears by the hopelessness of their situation.
If only he paid more attention to Idol Inc. in his past life; or at least asked his coworkers to fill him in, instead of eavesdropping whenever he heard the occasional, interesting tidbit. All he can do now is nod sympathetically, keeping a careful eye on the stage. There was something wrong with this season he’s struggling to remember, a mechanism that made it more cutthroat than most survival shows in typical Baekilmong Co. fashion.
And when Braun takes to the stage, facing the contestants with a benevolent smile that does little to reassure him, the nagging feeling that he should remember what it is tugs at him.
“My dear contestants! I’d like to thank every single one of you for putting yourself out there. Nothing makes me as happy as the chance to bear witness to flourishing talent. And I imagine it is the same for our dear viewers,” he continues, “who I’ve prepared another gift for. One that will allow the viewer to be an active participant. The viewer — your stockbrokers — will be your first priority, since they can either choose to invest in you, or dump your ‘stocks’, any step of the way. Please do not disappoint them or else, as businessmen say, your stocks will crash!”
It’s jarring how happily he says it. The sadistic concept is very up Baekilmong Co.’s alley, and he’s sure the overcorrection for the previous season that has now blown up in the faces of the contestants’ was Braun’s choice.
That’s what it was, what made even somebody that didn’t watch the show recognize it due to Baekilmong Co.’s trademark ruthlessness. He can already hear the contestants whispering furiously amongst themselves — a curse word here or there that will likely end up on camera — and it’s a struggle to keep his expression even, as if he just heard today’s news and not what was essentially a death sentence.
Ethical judgement be damned — the ‘Smiley Sticker’ is starting to look like a beautiful lifeline now. Maybe Baekilmong Co.’s talents would be better placed in horror movies instead of toying with the livelihoods of today’s youth to entertain a passing fancy.
And when the show decides their mode of transportation according to rank, that feeling of his is even more vindicated — surely people that work in television must be inspired by horror movies already, jotting notes the whole time to figure out how to best psychologically torture somebody.
But he can’t spare too much sympathy for them, because once they get to the dorms, he sees Baek Saheon already unpacking his things.
“Soleum-ssi! Would you like the top or bottom bunk?”
“Top, please,” he answers, momentarily flabbergasted.
This must’ve been orchestrated by the system in some way; that, or Baek Saheon’s luck must’ve rubbed off on him during the brief minute they spoke. He’d like to think he has a sixth sense for danger — cultivated after years of evading troublesome superiors — and the alarm has been going off nonstop since the conversation with Park Minseong.
“I heard that we’ll be grouped with our roommates for the first challenge,” Baek Saheon says, very casual-like. “What’s your rank again?”
“Twenty eight.”
Where the hell are their other roommates? Were all three of them lost all together, deciding to bond with each other instead of unpacking their luggage? If only he had such foresight.
“Whoever reached out to you must’ve been confident, huh.”
“Yes, I was worried it was a scam at first. But I guess there must’ve been an opening for me.”
“So you were a last-minute addition.”
Kim Soleum nods with confirmation. Their roommates must’ve ended up in a whole other building with how late they are — damn the bus driver and his excellent navigational skills.
“Who picked you?”
It will probably come out eventually. One of the first things people usually speculate about a celebrity is how they got scouted. Any caginess about the subject would just make him look more suspicious — no matter how badly he’d like to deny it. And he’s sure most employees involved in the show already know that Braun scouted him, so any lying would just give them the opportunity to make a fool out of him post-edit.
“The MC,” he answers carefully.
“The MC, Braun?”
“He’s very involved. I think he oversaw most of the contestant picks for the show,” he confesses. “I’m just lucky that he gave me this opportunity.”
It makes him sound more pitiful than he would like. He can already see Baek Saheon forming a new opinion of him, looking far less threatened by him than before. And the punishment dance must’ve helped, solidified his identity as a normal guy who happened to be here.
But he still has a wary look on his face — Kim Soleum can even detect some disbelief, his angelic smile contorting into a far more unpleasant expression that’s not fit for any camera.
“That’s true. I’ve never seen a fan as lucky as you.”
He seems to be saying it with gritted teeth, one hand still holding onto his suitcase; for stability, maybe as a security blanket, or just to hold himself back from whatever impulse that has driven him away from multiple companies.
If only he knew the type of fanservice Braun gave his fans.
“Are you also a fan?”
It’s kinda fascinating watching such visceral disgust play out on somebody’s face. His features that Kim Soleum previously considered angelic, now contort into one of barely concealed disgust, held together by the tight line of his lips. “… this is embarrassing to admit. I’m also a big fan of his.”
“Really.”
“Yes.” He looks like he’s swallowing cement as he says it. “I watch his show every week.”
“Me too. Hey,” he suggests offhandedly, “maybe we should take him up on that offer and go on the show together.”
“That trivia show where they make you do the dance?”
“Exactly. What do you think?”
The idea appeals to him just as much as it does to Baek Saheon, but it’s worth watching his internalized battle: to look good for the camera, but at the expense of having to swallow all of your disgust.
Idol Inc. > Episode Discussion > Lets review!! 1st ep came out
What do we think??
└ BMC scrapped the bottom of the barrel for some of these trainees
└└ what do u expect? Last season was a mess
└└└ still can’t be that hard to find at least 10 guys that are attractive
└ baek saheon’s dance routine was my favorite!
└└ i can’t wait to see him finally debut!!!
└└ does anybody know which company he’s under now?
└└└ does HE know?
└ Why is everybody even watching this? Are we all ignoring how shady BMC is??? What about that lawsuit last year??
└└ nobody cares
└└ what does baek saheon have to do with that
Idol Inc. > Contestant Discussion > lots of new faces
- Kim Soleum
Isn’t it embarrassing that some guy that’s not even a part of a company is a better singer than most of these trainees? Do companies just look at trainees’ faces nowadays??
└ I really liked his cover of ‘Socius’ but something about him is kinda weird
└└ the punishment dance was funny though ㅋㅋ I’ll invest in him just for that
└ Can anybody find any information about him online? He has 0 digital footprint
└└ no wonder they casted him
└└ If I were DI, I’d prioritize finding trainees with no digital footprint too. How many trainees had to quit because their private accounts got leaked?
└└ Did you check plastic surgery clinics? That usually works
└ you can tell barely nobody else sang a ballad because they can barely hit a note
└└ its been 1 ep. relax
└ him being a fan of braun is so cute lol did you see eun haje’s reaction?
└└ we almost lost him to tuesday’s quiz show
└└└ we will next week because he can’t dance to save his life…
Idol Inc. > Episode Discussion > what do we think about the voting system?
Isn’t it seriously so messed up?? BMC always comes up with the craziest shit for their survival shows.
└ that’s the only reason why everybody still watches their stuff
└ they want us to forgive them after last season ㅋㅋ at least nobody can get pregnant this time
└└ never speak too soon
└└ anything can happen on a BMC show
└ I still dont understand it??
└└ more money = more stocks to either kick out somebody u hate or make ur fav debut
└ We always blame BMC but doesn’t anybody else notice Braun is always the one MCing these shows?
└└ if you’re good looking you get away with anything
└└ I could’ve sworn he was named in the lawsuit too??
└└└ that was debunked ages ago
└ those bastards know everybody would watch anything they put out so they don’t care
Some time in, he thinks he’s finally gained some footing. Dance classes are humiliating — predictably but Eun Haje doesn’t seem to dislike him, which he would love to attribute to good old hard work; but is probably because she gets such a kick out of making fun of him. It’s only fitting that Baek Saheon excels at dance, instead devoting those hours sneaking suspicious glances at Kim Soleum and mumbling under his breath as if he’s chanting a spell to dispel him from the show.
Which he doesn’t understand, seeing that the show is intent on having the trainees awake at every possible hour. Fourteen hours of the day devoted solely to practice; another two devoted to ‘breaks’, meals, and one-on-one sessions. The rest of the day — eight hours — are technically ‘sleeping hours’, for legality purposes, although it’s heavily implied that they will get far more screentime and get ahead if they devote those eight hours to practice too.
It’s strangely reminiscent of his first part-time job in his previous life, where the manager encouraged people to clock in way before their shift and leave way after, suggesting that while they may not get paid more, he would consider promoting them to full-time.
So in a way, it’s impressive that Baek Saheon still has energy to spare just for him.
And it would’ve been fine and all on his own.
It has come to his attention that Baek Saheon’s sneaky glances have been interpreted as romantic — at least any level of interest not reciprocated on Kim Soleum’s part, because he’s too busy obsessing over the MC. (He has spent too much time scrolling through internet forums and joining every fanclub he can.)
That too would’ve been fine on its own.
If it weren’t for last week’s episode dramatically editing heart eyes over Baek Saheon as he watched Kim Soleum during practice.
He remembers that practice very vividly. He also remembers, which the editors have conveniently cut out, Baek Saheon’s dirty looks. Followed by a seemingly innocuous question about the whereabouts of Braun.
As if he knows. The man seems to lack any sense of permanence when not filming. And while he wouldn’t be surprised if the man put a GPS tracker on him, he can’t say that he has done the same.
So when he finally sees him — in between all of the practices, navigating survival show politics, and interpreting Baek Saheon’s stares — it comes completely out of nowhere. It’s not like his appearance is unwanted, exactly, but Kim Soleum is still surprised by the suddenness of it.
He stops in his tracks.
“I hope you’ve been doing well, my friend,” he remarks, his voice betraying not a hint of exhaustion despite the early hour. Even his suit is unaffected, perfectly ironed and tailored to his striking figure. The mirrored walls of the elevator work to his favor, highlighting his beauty from every angle.
“I hope the same for you,” he replies, his own a bit delayed as he steps inside. His voice never seems to work in tune with his thoughts, caught tangled up his throat — always a beat behind, distracted by the man in front of him. And his gaze, caught by how tightly the wingspan of the suit stretches over his shoulders.
A thought comes to mind, so helpfully supplied by the thousands of fans that were just as inspired by the man’s beauty: it’s good that nobody has to compete with Braun for anybody’s affection. And the rest follow, all as useless as the first, because there’s nothing Kim Soleum excels at if not entertaining useless thoughts.
Especially during inopportune times like right now, where Braun looks at him with an unreadable smile on his face.
“Should I be offended that you still look like a deer in headlights?”
“It’s just surprising to see you, that’s all.”
“Pleasant? Unwanted? I never want to be where I’m unwanted. Just let me know, and I will gladly step away.”
“It’s not that.” He struggles to pinpoint his feelings — it’s slipping away from him, only allowing him to gain clarity when he focuses on the man himself rather than the figure in the mirror, the vision blunted by the lack of his gaze. Usually, when he’s nervous, his mind sharpens as if hinting the desperation; but now, even that escapes him.
Eloquence has never been more difficult. Maybe it’s exhaustion, or those days spent trying to come up with increasingly digestible ways to feed ideas to uncooperative trainees and excuses to keep Baek Saheon off his back.
“I appreciate your help. You’ve gone above and beyond.”
“And yet I have done barely anything for you. I’m afraid your gratitude may be misplaced today.” Braun rests a hand on his shoulder, which he’s thankful for. It steadies him in the moment, and he unconsciously leans his cheek towards the warm touch. Always so receptive to the slightest of signs, Braun raises his hand to Kim Soleum’s cheek, cradling it with a tenderness that’s foreign to him. “But allow me to rise to the expectation, as you look dreadfully tired today. Best to not think about anything. Let me take care of it for you.”
“How?”
He’s curious. But instead of sounding inquisitive, his voice is hesitant. There’s an implication of something more there, something that makes his voice catch.
“However you’d like.” His voice drips with honey, continuing to dance around the implication.
The elevator comes to a grinding halt, and Kim Soleum stumbles into Braun’s arms in an awkward, clumsy fashion. He shuffles backwards reflexively, hitting his head against the elevator doors as his cheeks burn: both with embarrassment and at the sudden body contact between them.
“I’m sorry— are you okay?”
“Dear, you took quite a tumble there. Are you okay, my friend? I would hate for you to literally break a leg after all that hard work you went through.”
“Just surprised. Shouldn’t we call security?”
“No, the alarm should’ve gone off automatically. Be at ease. You always look so out of sorts whenever I see you, it worries me. Can’t I take care of that for you?”
It’s an innocent suggestion. By itself, the words are sweet and loving, implying nothing but care from one friend to another, but that does nothing to ease the feelings of disquietness. And it’s not at all alleviated by how Braun looks at him, his eyes a bottomless pit of greed that implies something else.
“It would be too much.”
“Nonsense. It would be nothing at all. Come.”
He complies as Braun wraps his arms around him, a bit more possessively than before, his fingers curling around his neck. He finds it a bit difficult to breathe like this, realizing that Braun’s fingers are pressing right against his carotid, sensitive to his pulse — even as it grows uneven and quick.
“A good star never shows that he’s nervous. But I suppose most fans wouldn’t be lucky enough to be this close to you.”
“Definitely not.” His throat feels dry now, but water is the last thing on his mind. Braun’s other hand holds onto his waist; an attempt to both steady him and keep him close, he guesses.
The sickness is the cure. He’s never fully understood what that meant until now, waiting with baited breath as Braun treats him as his personal doll, petting him with such care he can’t help but sink into it, reassured by his touch.
“What a privilege then. Nothing is more beautiful than a close friendship”
The elevator music continues playing as it whirs back into action and he jolts with shock.
“Ah, and that’s our cue. Do forgive me if I ruin your makeup,” Braun says, before cupping his chin and kissing him on both cheeks.
Hardly a kiss. His lips gingerly touch his skin, before he pats Kim Soleum on the shoulders with finality as the elevator doors finally open. The timing is shockingly convenient, but he’s so flushed by the sudden kiss — barely a kiss, basically a peck — that he doesn’t even consider it, walking back outside in a daze.
If he were to look at himself in the mirror right now, he knows his face would be red; it burns especially so where Braun’s mouth was, and he swallows thickly as he leaves for the morning performances.
While that did wake him up, he feels more off-kilter as ever, unsure of what to make of that. It’d be easy to logicize it to Braun’s career bleeding into his actual personality, blurring romantic feelings and a host’s naturally inviting personality. Any goodwill on his part can be easily mistaken as romantic by anybody, if the rumors floating around him have any solid basis.
A host’s bias towards a contestant, even in a professional capacity, is looked down upon. A host’s preference… leaning towards the more intimate would give rise to a scandal that would make the previous season look like child’s play. Not to mention the kiss, and he gingerly touches his cheeks — as if there would be any evidence of it, or if he could trace the outline of Braun’s lips solely through memory.
How silly.
He’s glad for the privacy of the elevator — nevermind the mirrored walls that capture every flattering angle of Braun in motion, as if just the one wasn’t enough to leave Kim Soleum slipping. Even Baek Saheon’s throwaway comments led contestants to asking him if he were sponsored, a parachute hire, or just really, stupidly lucky.
The host treating him like his personal plushie would give way to even more unsavory gossip, fueled by the imagination of jealous contestants and fans looking for any hint of dirty play. Even just imagining the consequence of that gives him a headache, but he's sure of one thing at least: it would make good television.
