Assistant Manager Kim Hates Idols

“Who did you say you’re teamed up with?”

 

Back in the van, I asked again, still doubtful of what I’d just heard.

 

Choi Jeho replied indifferently,

 

“All Over sunbaenim.”

 

“You…”

 

Of all the groups, he ended up with the worst.

 

Since Berion was my partner, they were off the list.

 

That left four groups, so how did he manage to get stuck with All Over, of all people?

 

“What’s wrong with All Over sunbaenims? Are they close to Parthe sunbaenims?”

 

Lee Cheonghyeon, sitting in the front seat, turned around and asked.

 

But I couldn’t answer him. I couldn’t tell a high schooler, ‘Yeah, they’re going to jail in a few years, so I was trying to avoid them’.

 

As an adult, I wanted to show the budding sprout only a bright future and a hopeful world—but it was not easy.

 

‘At least it’s better than letting this budding sprout team up with All Over.’

 

Lee Cheonghyeon ended up in a team with Log. That group sent two members, and since Cheonghyeon was the youngest among them, it seemed they took good care of him.

 

‘If it’s a relationship that isn’t meant to be good anyway, maybe it’s better for the person with zero social skills to go.’

 

With that optimistic thought, I felt a bit more at ease. I decided to give Choi Jeho some words of encouragement.

 

“Feel free to cause a scene if you want. If you don’t like something, say it. Speak your mind. Just don’t use swear words. Got it?”

 

“Didn’t you tell me to erase the word ‘I don’t like it’ from my vocabulary?”

 

“Who said you could skip practice or act uncooperative? Do everything you’re supposed to, but also speak your mind.”

 

As soon as we arrived at the dorm, I split the production budget we received from the IDC in half and put the money into two envelopes.

 

I wrote Choi Jeho and Lee Cheonghyeon’s names on each envelope and handed them over. They looked at me with a face that clearly asked why I was giving them this.

 

“You need money to avoid being looked down on, no matter where you go. Each of you, take one.”

 

“What about you, hyung?”

 

“How much money could I possibly need for a vocal performance?”

 

“Still, this doesn’t feel right.”

 

Choi Jeho opened the envelope and stuck his fingers inside.

 

I grabbed his hand before he could pull out the bills.

 

“I’m not just giving this to you.”

 

“…….”

 

“Keep your head on straight and make sure the stage isn’t an embarrassment. What did I tell you to do when you receive money?”

 

“Deliver results that match what you received…”

 

Lee Cheonghyeon mumbled like a vending machine that had its button pressed.

 

Anyway, if you don’t get good airtime, forget the money—you won’t be leaving the underground practice room.

 

***

 

Neat semi-casual attire, check.

 

A backpack that stayed perfectly square even with a laptop and planner inside, check.

 

Two boxes of Vita 600, costing less than 30,000 won, check.

 

My preparations to visit Berion’s agency were flawless. It was my first field assignment, so I couldn’t help feeling nervous.

 

‘Iwol, what’s with the drinks?’

 

‘I heard it’s impolite to go to someone’s place empty-handed.’

 

‘Yeah, that’s true…’

 

Although a bit perplexed, the manager drove me to Berion’s agency.

 

After some discussion during the last shoot, we agreed to prepare for the third competition round at Berion’s agency, Greenline.

 

‘We could’ve come to UA instead’

 

‘Thanks, but we’ll decline. UA only has one large practice room.’

 

‘Ah, I see…’

 

And so it was decided. By now, Choi Jeho and Lee Cheonghyeon were probably relying on someone else’s agency too.

 

I gave one box of drinks to the security guard at the agency entrance. I mentioned that I’d be coming and going for a while and asked them to take good care of me.

 

There was a saying that ‘old is gold’, but Greenline seemed better than UA. UA’s security was—well, let’s just say it was a miracle we hadn’t been robbed yet.

 

Lost in thought, I followed the staff member’s guidance to the practice room, where the Berion members all got up as I entered.

 

“Hyung! Welcome!”

 

“Hn, this is a little bribe for your cooperation during the competition preparations.”

 

“You didn’t have to bring something like this!”

 

Berion greeted me boisterously. Thankfully, they didn’t give me the side-eye for trying to smooth things over with just a box of drinks.

 

“We each agreed to think of songs we’d like to try, right? What did you guys pick?”

 

At my question, the members of Berion shared their ideas one by one.

 

Unfortunately, none of them felt like the perfect fit. Judging by their reactions, they seemed to think the same, and an awkward silence followed.

 

“Before I tell you about the song I brought… I listened to the cover songs you guys uploaded on MiTube.”

 

“Whoa. You listened to all of them?”

 

Yeo Seongchan was greatly surprised.

 

There weren’t that many songs to begin with. Compared to the amount of Spark’s self-produced content, listening to those songs was nothing.

 

After asking them to point out any inaccuracies in my observations, I gave a brief summary of Berion’s vocal characteristics and preferences that I’d noted.

 

First, Cha Sehan, Berion’s main vocal.

 

Although Berion, being a modern group, didn’t have strictly defined positions, Cha Sehan was clearly the most skilled vocalist.

 

He had a wide vocal range, but the songs Berion had released so far didn’t really showcase his abilities, as their melodies tended to stay within the same range. Perhaps because of this, he tended to cover songs with dramatic progressions.

 

Next, Yeo Seongchan, who reminded me of someone particularly sociable.

 

His clear and powerful voice was his strength. His vocalization was solid, making him the most stable of the three. His style, however, felt slightly different from his personality.

 

He struggled with emotional ballads but excelled at belting out the kind of high notes that were popular in the heyday of K-pop.

 

Lastly, the leader, Moon Yeongyu, was the group’s technique specialist.

 

He was responsible for 80% of the ad-libs in Berion’s performances. While his vocal power wasn’t particularly strong, his ability to hit precise notes even in falsetto stood out.

 

Looking at it this way, the combination wasn’t bad… but Berion wasn’t a particularly outstanding vocal group.

 

This wasn’t unique to Berion. The idol scene as a whole was seeing fewer superhuman-level vocalists.

 

As agencies leaned more toward strong fandoms and easy-listening appeals to compensate for dwindling mainstream popularity, many agencies settled for mediocrity.

 

Thanks to this, Jeong Seongbin and Park Joowoo were seen as near-mythical ‘visual main vocals’ rarer than ginseng, and their skills were beyond reproach.

 

In any case, the bottom line was that we couldn’t expect the electrifying high notes that Spark was known for.

 

So, before heading to Greenline today, I racked my brain for the perfect solution. I’d never been more desperate for Jeong Seongbin’s help.

 

But in the end, I found it.

 

A secret weapon of a song that would allow Cha Sehan to show off his amazing high notes, Yeo Seongchan to flaunt his vocal power, and Moon Yeongyu to showcase in ad-libs.

 

“Hey, how about this song?”

 

I played the opening video of an old anime on my laptop.

 

***

 

“Then let’s divide the parts like this. I’d like to work on the harmonies as well. Is everyone free after this?”

 

Kim Iwol asked. There was an irresistible force in his gentle suggestion.

 

‘Is it because he’s older?’

 

Since most of Berion members were the same age, distinguishing by seniority was meaningless.

 

Moreover, it had been a while since Moon Yeongyu, the leader, had experienced being led by someone.

 

Moon Yeongyu vividly remembered the first time he saw Spark’s performance.

 

No, not just him—Berion as a whole could recall it clearly.

 

Compared to their peers who debuted around the same time, Spark displayed overwhelming skill.

 

They had it all: stunning visuals, outstanding physicality, and high-quality stages.

 

They must have put their everything into this. That was the impression their debut left.

 

No rookie performs their debut stage half-heartedly. But not every idol performs every stage as if their life depended on it.

 

While most rookies aim to give their best effort, Spark felt different.

 

A group that gave their all to create the best performance—Spark embodied that ideal.

 

There had been some noise during the early episodes of IDC, but even so, Moon Yeongyu had wanted to at least greet Spark.

 

Contrary to the controversy about their supposed rudeness towards other idols, everyone in Spark was kind.

 

It felt unfair that a group like that might be undervalued due to unfounded rumors.

 

But Moon Yeongyu’s worries were unfounded. Spark performed exceptionally well on every stage and never lost first place in the audience voting.

 

They made it impossible to look away from their performances, left you eagerly anticipating the broadcast days, and had you rewatching the stage videos once the show ended.

 

If it happened once or twice, it could be a coincidence, but Spark proved in the second competition that it was no fluke—it was pure skill. As proof of this, Moon Yeongyu himself was also waiting for the day Spark’s second performance would be broadcast.

 

At the same time, he couldn’t help but wonder.

 

What made Spark’s performances so special?

 

As the leader of his group, Moon Yeongyu had to consider these things.

 

They probably wouldn’t answer if he asked, but he hoped to at least learn by observing them during the show.

 

Then, by a stroke of luck, he got the chance to participate in the stage planning process with Kim Iwol, Spark’s producing member, right by his side.

 

On the first meeting day, Moon Yeongyu realized just how much the group had been operating on autopilot.

 

Most people choose songs they knew would allow them to shine

 

When given the opportunity to create a stage, they would suggest concepts they wanted to try and find common ground through adjustments.

 

But Kim Iwol was different.

 

He thoroughly assessed the capabilities of the people he worked with and tried his best to understand what kind of songs they wanted to sing.

 

Contrary to his cold, almost intimidating appearance, Kim Iwol’s demeanor was mild and composed.

 

Kim Iwol had a way of explaining their intentions clearly and gently persuading people.

 

When everyone talked about creating a great stage, Kim Iwol seemed like someone who already had the perfect stage fully visualized in their mind. 

 

This was evident in how, just by listening to him, you could imagine what the stage would look like.

 

‘Amazing.’

 

Moon Yeongyu admired him inwardly.  At the same time, he felt happy.

 

He had a feeling that this stage would be an opportunity for him and his colleagues to grow further.

 

However, the joy was short-lived.

 

“Then, shall we wrap up with the harmonies for now and call it a day?”

 

To meet Kim Iwol’s vision for the ideal stage, an overwhelming amount of intense practice awaited Moon Yeongyu.