I deliberately exaggerated my response to that unsettling look in his eyes. “My condition’s perfect. I could go ten hours straight without rest.” “Okay, I’ll tell Jiwon-hyung that.” I had to surrender the moment he shot back like that. Seeing that I still had the energy to joke around, Kang Ichae narrowed his eyes and smiled mischievously. “Geez, Hoyun-hyung. You always worry people , you know~.” I cursed inwardly, but it seemed like the health-obsessed rapper had eased up a little, so I tried to pull him aside for a quick private chat away from the maknae—when Jung Dajun suddenly latched onto him. “Hey Pretty Zombie Hyunghyung, you already started filming, right?” “Yeah, episodes one and two are already shot.” I clamped my mouth shut, trying to figure out what was going on since I didn’t have a clue, and as we shifted over to the practice room, Kang Ichae added, “The vibe among the trainees there is kinda... bad, right? How’s it these days?” “Same as ever. And maybe it’s because there are just so many survival shows these days, but the kids participating all kinda suck at the same level~.” Tʜe source of this ᴄontent ɪs n͟o͟v͟e͟l͟f͟i͟r͟e͟.net “What about the juniors from our agency??” “...They’re probably working... hard?” “You don’t give a damn!!” Oh, right. Kang Ichae said he was going to be a mentor on some survival show... didn’t he? “But at least our trainees seem decent, personality-wise. Honestly, I feel like I should tell them, ‘Your best shot at life is to get out of here as fast as possible.’” As Ichae muttered with a genuinely troubled expression, I tilted my head at the odd feeling creeping in. And then—slowly—it came back to me. Rising Rookies, a new idol survival show led by tvK. The only notable trait? It was less popular than Shining Star. Kang Ichae had made a fuss about how ridiculous it was for a second-year idol to be called a mentor, but being a hot idol who also composes and writes songs—and a survival show graduate himself—he’d been convinced it’d be helpful for the trainees. Apparently, they split the mentors into two teams: current idols with creative achievements and mid-tier veterans with deep experience in specific fields. In the end, they called them “mentors,” but it sounded more like glorified assistants. [Eh? Kang Ichae?? Hahaha ㅠㅠ Holy hell this casting is nuts ㅠㅠ] [Why not? Half the older idols can’t do shit anyway hahaha Ichae’s gonna be way better. His feature in Yeonhoo’s variety show was insane last time...] [Even if they made a “young mentors” group, isn’t he the absolute youngest?? Poor guy’s gonna have it rough.] I’d even seen online reactions wondering if Ichae was a weird pick given how stacked the rest of the mentor lineup was. ‘But why did I forget about that?’ Scratching the back of my head, I looked over at him again. Either way, his reputation would flip the moment the show aired. He might act indifferent, but when it came to work, he didn’t half-ass anything. “Don’t worry about the juniors. Worry about yourself.” “Obviously. I’m already busy enough with year-end stages and the comeback.” I flinched a little—maybe he was finally taking an interest in The Dawn’s success? Then Kang Ichae stretched and groaned like a kid. “Ugh~. So much to do. I wanna borrow Dajun’s legs.” “My legs? Would you be okay if I lent them, hyung? Wanna try??” The next album was being planned with the goal of strengthening The Dawn’s unique color while increasing mainstream appeal. If all went smoothly, we were aiming for a mid-year comeback. ‘In that sense, it’d be good if everyone boosted their name value on variety shows.’ So far, I was the only one getting steady appearances, but the others were nearing the time to grow their individual presence too. Ichae had the survival show mentor gig locked in, and if Dajun landed a hit on Please Take Care of Me, it’d be perfect. “Be careful around cameras.” “Ooh~ Are you worried about me?” Despite my deadpan nagging, Kang Ichae grinned and winked playfully. “Don’t forget to come cheer me on when I do my mentor stage~.” With a smirk, I followed the members into the practice room. Inside, Sung Jiwon and Kim Sunghyun were already drenched in sweat, practicing. Our eyes met, and Jiwon immediately sprang to his feet. “Ah! Hoyun, why are you here?” “I told you to rest! You were really sick yesterday.” “I’m fine. Let’s practice.” I tossed the sports bag slung over my shoulder into the corner and started stretching. Honestly, my condition had been swinging wildly. At night I felt like I was dying, but by morning, I felt just barely human. “You remind me of that meme, hyung. The one where the guy says, ‘I lost my appetite, I fainted, I’m throwing up... but I’m okay. It’s doable.’ That one!” Jung Dajun made a face and kept teasing. Sung Jiwon, watching silently, let out a long sigh and moved into formation. As my roommate, he knew my condition better than anyone and seemed a bit annoyed by my stubbornness. “Dan! Kung, dadadada....” About thirty minutes into practice, even just standing started to feel unbearable. The choreography was insanely hard, and my head kept pounding endlessly. I pressed down on my temples with both hands—and then, all of a sudden, my vision spun. I bumped into Jung Dajun while shifting positions. His shrill yelp rang out as our feet tangled and we both went down. “Shit, hyung, I’m sorry!!” He’d landed right on top of me, ramming his nose straight into my chest. Grabbing at his nose, he shot up. I didn’t say anything. I just patted his shoulder like, “Get up,” and panted heavily. “...Screw it, now that I’m down—damn, this is kinda comfy. Let’s rest.” “Please just rest normally for once. No one’s gonna stop you.” I ignored him and sprawled out flat, staring up at the ceiling. The members gathered around and started fanning me. “The choreo’s pretty hard, huh?” “It feels like the formation changes every five seconds.” “Can’t we just make it easier, please?” Sure, idol choreography was getting tougher these days—but couldn’t we dance something people could actually follow? Kim Sunghyun said he’d consider it, which basically meant: Denied. The members sat down with me, casually enjoying the short break, when Kang Ichae suddenly spoke while halfheartedly fanning me. “You know, I found out something shocking while mentoring. Hoyun-hyung isn’t actually a klutz.” “Hey, Jiwon. Did you just go ‘huh’?” I glared, and Sung Jiwon had the audacity to flash a bashful smile. Lately, that bastard seemed to be using smiles as a universal excuse for everything. “I used to think you were totally hopeless, but now that I’ve seen you dance, I’m pretty sure if you’d been on this show, you’d be in the top-level dance team.” “If you were on there with Jiwon-hyung, you would’ve run away crying already.” “Aha, come on. It’s not that bad....” When Jiwon laughed out loud at the joke, the rest of the members immediately deadpanned. “Hyung, that’s accurate.” “Sung Jiwon, that’s 100% accurate.” “You said you wanna practice more?” “—Jiwon-hyung is the most handsome man in the world and has the voice of an angel!!” Jung Dajun threw himself down in surrender, and Sung Jiwon responded with a benevolent expression. Anyway, from the sound of it, Kang Ichae had been pretty shocked seeing how the Rising Rookies trainees couldn’t even match half of The Dawn’s usual training load. To be fair, not just The Dawn—he was getting help from Joo Woosung and Chae Jungwoo, and their survival show rivals were Hi-Five. Of course, after staring up at the top all this time, seeing newborns barely taking their first steps must’ve felt like a massive gap. Not to mention, Kang Ichae’s ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) stats had always been way too high to call him a rookie in the first place. “So how are the kids doing?” Kang Ichae’s brow twitched before settling. “I’m embracing them with love.” And then he smiled like a sunflower. “Lies!! I heard you already made a few of them cry!!” “What do you mean, cry. Something got in their eyes, that’s all. That place is really dusty.” “He totally made them cry......” I’d bet my bank account on it—he made them cry. Well, of course. Those kids had barely any life experience. How were they supposed to deal with a sly fox like him? Even I get scared when that guy goes serious. ‘Anyway... I kinda wanna check Kang Ichae’s stats now.’ Still lying down, I tapped the floor lightly with my index finger. And the system window popped up—just like it used to, after a very long time. The standard of a genius!] That bastard hadn’t responded at all the past few days, not even when I called for him—but now he’d suddenly decided to make an appearance. Startled, I scanned through the stats and was hit with another wave of surprise at how much Kang Ichae’s abilities had grown, even though I’d left him to his own devices. “I’ll be outside for a bit.” I casually informed the other members, who had already shifted topics to dinner and whose turn it was to do the dishes, and stepped out of the practice room. That bastard had basically been living in the studio lately, and it seemed like every hour of effort he’d poured in had quietly converted into stat points. The moment I said it, my stat window popped up. ‘...Huh. That’s higher than I expected.’ Looking at the screen, stacked with neatly distributed A-ranks, I felt more bewildered than proud. Variety and acting had both gone up a notch. ‘I thought they’d be lower.’ There weren’t any S-ranks yet, let alone EX-ranks like Joo Woosung, but this wasn’t bad—I could be considered a model student at this rate. “How the hell did acting go up?” Stage facial expressions? I hadn’t done any acting, not even a trace of it, since Bring Me the Camera. If it was gonna go up, it should’ve happened then. The system window offered an immediate answer. [It’s gone up gradually thanks to all the bullshitting you do in everyday life!!] A disturbingly reasonable explanation. I accepted it in silence. I’d been nonstop grinding to push The Dawn upward, and somewhere along the way, a few people might’ve crumbled in the process. I crossed my arms and gave myself a proud pat on the shoulder. “I’ve been living a hardworking life.” [Wow, how are you this shameless?] I shoved aside the system window as it nagged me to stop looking before I developed a mirror addiction or full-on narcissism. Brushing my bangs back, I sighed. [Yeah, the system’s been unstable lately, but it’ll settle down soon. Finish the variety show well and get some rest! >_<] It spat out what it wanted and vanished. Not that it mattered—it probably would’ve run away anyway if I dragged it out. I mulled over the situation. Sudden error messages. The stat labeled with a question mark. Why did it bother to tell me to finish the variety show well? As I tried to puzzle out the meaning, I tilted my head from side to side with a slow crack and smirked. Honestly, working with Min Jiheon on this show was exhausting—but it wasn’t hard. “Dumbass worries too much.” I’m best at variety, after all. [Today is the first broadcast of “Please Take Care of Me”!!] The Noeuls were buzzing with excitement, though a hint of concern lingered. Seo Hoyun had looked noticeably unwell lately. [Seo Hoyun looks really sick these days ㅜㅜ Is he okay] [He doesn’t seem in good shape lately..] Of course, with popularity came the usual flood of snide remarks. [He always looks annoyed anyway so who could tell if he’s sick lolol If he doesn’t wanna do it, he should just say so instead of pretending to be buddy-buddy with Min Jiheon lolol] [“My baby looks sick? ㅜㅜ..” < give me a break, it’s just his usual shitty attitude lol] The Noeuls, now veterans of such nonsense, swiftly blocked, screenshot, and reported them. [You’re the one who sounds sick for typing out shit like that ㅜㅜ..] [You... what’s your deal?] [How are these people all copy-pasted from the same dumpster of a personality lol Oi oi... while you’re being , Hoyun-chan is out here living his best goddamn life~!*] [HAHAHAHAHAHAHA Guys, go touch some grass...] Even so, everyone gathered in front of their TVs right on time. The anxiety vanished in an instant. The moment the first episode of Please Take Care of Me aired, all the concern about Seo Hoyun’s condition evaporated like vapor. [Yoo Seo Hoyun is an actual fucking psycho LOOOOOLLLLLLLLL] Onscreen, Seo Hoyun was performing magnificently—with a completely calm face.