Damn Idol - Chapter 15

Even Kim Seong-Woo, the guy who used to scoff at my song choices, came up to me.

 

“Whoa, bro. You killed it out there. I couldn’t have imagined you singing it like that.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Where’d you learn to create something like that?”

 

“Just some self-practicing.”

 

“Huh?”

 

He kept trying to act friendly and strike up a conversation, but sorry, you’re out.

 

After watching the pre-mission stages, I realized he lacked the unique characteristics.

 

If I were to be the one judging, I wouldn’t pick someone like him, no matter how skilled they are.

 

Anyway, the reason this person is talking to me is because his own stage was done.

 

Everyone else who was waiting for their turn was avoiding eye contact with me.

 

“……”

 

“……”

 

Well, I guess that’s one way to handle it.

 

There’s nothing that can be changed now, but at least they can switch up their mindset.

 

If I were the judge, from now on, I’d give more points for engagement than just skill.

 

Because a contestant who can erase my performance from their mind and focus on their own stage will have the right mentality.

 

As I mulled that over, the filming kicked back into gear.

 

“Next up, contestant number five, Lee Ye-On.”

 

Lee Ye-On.

 

I don’t know him from my previous life.

 

But I’ll remember him from now on.

 

He’s too good-looking.

 

To the point where I wondered, ‘How many albums could I have sold if I looked like that?’ when I saw him.

 

But his stage was just… okay.

 

You could tell he was putting in effort, but the talent? I don’t think so.

 

He gritted his teeth and danced, and his singing wasn’t bad, but his vocal color was just so-so.

 

Lee Ye-On’s got a rough vocal tone.

 

The one that’s a bad fit for a team.

 

If you wanna slot him in, he’s gotta be front and center, but he’s not quite there skill-wise.

 

Worst part? You can’t really fix that kind of vocal tone.

 

Some can be tweaked, but his? Nothing can be done.

 

But…

 

“Wow…”

 

“What the heck is that.”

 

With a face like his, does he really need to be a singer?

 

It’s not like he needs to sell albums because of the infinite regression.

 

“Thank you very much!”

 

Stages kept rolling after that.

 

I’m someone who’s dead set on finding top-notch talent, and I’ve put in the grind for a long time.

 

In the early days of the regression, I didn’t even think about scouting new talent.

 

I already knew who’d make it big in the future, so I figured I’d just ride their wave.

 

But reality didn’t quite line up like that.

 

Joined a band that was a smash hit in my previous life, but when I hopped on as lead vocalist, it tanked.

 

Even though I was way better than the original vocalist.

 

And that’s not all.

 

I know a vocalist who had struck double platinum (2 million sales) with their debut album, although he had had all sorts of tragedies. I brought him in. We only hit 800,000 copies.

 

And this was after I made sure he didn’t experience any kind of tragic circumstances.

 

Sure, his next album hit four million, but then he suddenly got hit with panic disorder and called it quits.

 

When I didn’t get involved, he was churning out steady hits, dropping 7 albums over 9 years.

 

After dealing with countless fiascos like that, I had no choice but to admit it.

 

You can’t just recruit future stars and expect the same results.

 

So, I dove headfirst into finding fresh talent and developed my own system.

 

Looking at today’s cast, though, there wasn’t anyone I’d want to team up with.

 

None of them met my standards.

 

Sure, some had charisma.

 

Like Go Tae-Hwan, first on the lineup.

 

Or On Sae-Miro, number six.

 

They’ve got charm, potential, and know how to immerse themselves.

 

Especially Go Tae-Hwan. He’s not a skilled dancer right now, but once he gets the hang of it, he’ll blow up all at once.

 

He might not realize it, but he’s got a killer sense of rhythm.

 

On Sae-Miro’s holding his own, too.

 

He’s hands-down the best vocalist out of ten contestants, except for me.

 

But I don’t want to team up with him.

 

If someone heard me say this, the folks might peg me as arrogant.

 

But hey, it is what it is.

 

Teammates aren’t just folks I hang out with. They are more like ride-or-die partners.

 

They’re someone who’s got to be all in with me on the batshit goal of selling 200 million physical albums.

 

They gotta have tremendous drive, be optimistic, and be top-notch talents.

 

Plus, they need to be honest and not easily swayed by temptation.

 

None of the <Coming Up Next> contestants fit the bill.

 

The chances are solid.

 

“……”

 

That lingering disappointment from the regression starts creeping in.

 

I think <Coming Up Next> is a good opportunity, and that hasn’t changed.

 

However, it doesn’t take long for my rational judgment to be drowned out by a crappy feeling.

 

Maybe all of this is pointless.

 

What good can come out of a rigged show where the outcomes are predetermined?

 

Maybe I should just join a big agency as a trainee and scout potential talent from there?

 

Or maybe…

 

Wouldn’t it be right to just bail on this damn idol competition?

 

Depression mingles with the swirling thoughts and surges in.

 

I try to shove it away with some rational thinking, but negative emotions don’t just up and leave.

 

And finally…

 

Disappointment comes.

 

Bwaaaang-!

 

It seemed like the sound of a car that I shouldn’t be able to hear was coming from somewhere.

 

I turn my head, surveying the surroundings – it’s still just the convention center.

 

But if I blinked…

 

It felt like I was at the crossroads.

 

***

 

When did I first realize the “regression rules”?

 

Oh, right.

 

I think it was at the afterparty hosted by Billboard magazine.

 

It must have been around the twelfth time.

 

Before that, I thought regression just happened naturally.

 

I thought that regression would be triggered if I judged that there was no possibility of selling 200 million copies.

 

That’s how it had always been until that 12th regression.

 

It was the same when I landed second place on <Stage Number Zero>.

 

When I realized no matter what I did, I was stuck with the image I had on SNZ.

 

When I figured there was no way I’d even come close to 200 million because of that image.

 

Bwaaaang-!

 

I found myself at the crossroads.

 

But now, I know that ain’t the case.

 

“Zion. Do you expect your third album to hit diamond (10 million copies)?”

 

A reporter’s question at the afterparty.

 

It was a trivial question.

 

Not laden with any malice like ‘you can’t do it,’ but rather pure curiosity.

 

Felt more like they were doing me a solid by setting up a good article.

 

But the second I heard that question, everything felt hollow.

 

It had taken so much time to adapt after leaving the familiarity of Korea for the States.

 

When I first chose to go to America in the 8th regression, I couldn’t even break out of the underground. It wasn’t until the 9th that I finally made it to the mainstream.

 

It took more time to crack the Billboard Hot 100, and scoring an Album 200 was no easy feat. 

 

From the 8th to the 13th.

 

I haven’t kept an exact count, but it was probably close to 60 years.

 

All those times finally came together, and I hit real success.

 

Topped Billboard Hot 100 and Album 200. I got treated like a superstar across America and did a world tour.

 

Back in Korea, my success made major headlines – I was a representative for all Asians.

 

An undisputed, flawless success that no one could critique.

 

But…

 

‘What’s it all mean?’

 

I still haven’t hit the diamond.

 

Feels like a massive win, but combined sales for my 1st and 2nd albums are only 8 million.

 

Will my third album hit diamond?

 

Even then, total sales would still be under 20 million.

 

How many more albums do I need to drop to hit 200 million?

 

10? 20?

 

How many years will it take?

 

Will I stay popular for that long?

 

Will the public still be interested in me?

 

“Why aren’t you saying anything? Are you not confident? Zion?”

 

I don’t remember what I said at that time.

 

But the answer didn’t matter.

 

My body was already moving, like I was being sucked into a black hole.

 

The surroundings distorted and rushed past me, the scenery blurring by.

 

The vibrant colors gradually accelerated into a burnt orange blur, eventually fading to white.

 

And…

 

Bwaaaang-!

 

I found myself at the crossroads.

 

That’s when I got it.

 

What my real regression rule is.

 

The moment I give up, I regress.

 

It wasn’t that I’d regress when I couldn’t hit 200 million copies.

 

I regress when I lose hope.

 

Giving up is a choice.

 

Even if you’ve got the goods, it’s over if you throw in the towel.

 

And giving up is subconscious.

 

Depression loves to cozy up to regressors stuck in a loop, and disappointment just amps it up.

 

Disappointment leads to despair, and despair leads to giving up.

 

That’s why I don’t remember my exact regression count.

 

There’ve been instances where I was going through customs upon arriving in the US, and the next thing I knew, I was at the crossroads.

 

Or when I was getting discharged with my uncle Hyun-Soo.

 

So…

 

This regression crap is pretty brutal.

 

***

 

“……Mr. Han.”

 

“……”

 

“Mr. Han Si-On!”

 

I blink.

 

The car sounds are gone, and people are staring at me.

 

Before I knew it, everyone except me had hit the convention hall stage.

 

“You doze off?”

 

“Sorry. I just felt a bit dizzy there for a second.”

 

“Do you have any chronic illnesses?”

 

“No. I’m good.”

 

“Please come up on stage.”

 

I hustled up there, but something felt off.

 

No matter how well I might have performed earlier, in this situation, I should be receiving some negative feedback.

 

Even if it’s not on camera,  the judges periodically need to show that aspect.

 

There’s no reason to shoot me now if it’s not that, but the main camera is following me.

 

Are they gathering clips for some evil editing scheme?

 

But I soon realized, that wasn’t it.

 

It was because of my parents.

 

At this point, I’m the poor kid with his parents fell into a vegetative state. It’s only been a month.

 

It means I’ve crafted a picture worth writing a hundred stories about.

 

Well, whatever.

 

It’s okay to feel sorry for me, and it’s okay to feel superior to me by looking at me and saying, ‘I’m happier than you.’

 

It’s no issue if you make fun of me for apparently having no parents, call me a “fashion orphan,” or if you spread slanderous rumors that I deliberately caused a traffic accident to secure my parents’ finances.

 

Whoever it is, whatever their intentions.

 

If you just buy my album.

 

If you can save me.

 

I don’t care.

 

At that moment, the judges who’d been spouting off nonsense started dishing out scores for the pre-mission.

 

“First place goes to Han Si-On, with a perfect score of 40 points.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

I nod, but honestly, I don’t think my stage deserved perfect scores by all the judges.

 

It’s just that audition shows love for the fresh faces and folks giving it their all.

 

“The second place is…”

 

The runner-up was announced to be On Sae-Miro.

 

It’s easy to remember because it’s a pure Hangul name.

 

The meaning is probably ‘unchanging state’.

 

Does it become Off Sae-Miro if he changes after debuting?

 

Hmm. I better not say that out loud.

 

It makes me sound old.

 

“The third place is…….”

 

The announcement of the top ten is over in a flash, and the rankings are displayed on the screen behind the stage.