A Blank Slate Regression For The Idol That Lost His Original Intention

After a surprisingly difficult guide recording session, I successfully played the two completed demos one after the other.

 

Since I couldn’t play the same song twice in the meeting, I had to choose one.

 

Resting my chin in my hand, I tapped my fingers on the desk in time with the beat.

 

While Hajun’s tone was definitely better, Jaehee’s singing ability was clearly superior. He wasn’t called the main vocalist from a major agency for nothing.

 

“I think Hajun’s version is better.”

 

“Really? I think Jaehee’s guide is better.”

 

The two of them displayed the virtue of modesty by praising each other’s recordings.

 

But no matter what they said, the decision-maker was me.

 

“Do we get to choose this too?”

 

“No, I’ve already decided.”

 

I responded immediately to Kim Dobin’s question and sent Hajun’s demo to my phone.

 

“Then why did you play both?”

 

“When did I say I played them for you? I just disconnected my headset because my ears hurt and played it out loud.”

 

Moreover, regardless of tone and singing ability, Jaehee’s pronunciation of “right night” was a mess. How could I use that?

 

Thanks to that, the chorus was automatically set in my mind as Hajun’s part.

 

For this promotion, I’ll make sure Jaehee never has to use English in his parts.

 

“But hyung, did you make this in just two days? By staying up all night?”

 

Dobin, who had started humming the chorus out of habit, suddenly asked.

 

I twitched my eyebrows, ready to snap at him for asking such a stupid question without thinking.

 

“Wow, that’s amazing! Producing such high-quality music in just two days…!”

 

“Is that even possible? Our hyung is a genius, a genius!”

 

Seeing Dobin looking up at me as if I were some musical prodigy like Mozart, and Jaehee clapping with bright eyes, I quietly swallowed my words and scratched my cheek.

 

Well, if they’re that impressed, I guess I’ll just roll with being a genius who produced a masterpiece in two days.

 

* * *

 

The demo was safely completed before the internal meeting for our next activity.

 

I drew a line through “Complete demo” written in my notebook. Then, I moved my gaze to the sentence below it.

 

“Have a serious talk with Kim Dobin.”

 

Reflecting on how REVE had been a flop for three years before I regressed, the rumor about Dobin having a sponsor didn’t make sense.

 

If he had accepted such an offer, REVE should have risen to fame due to him, not because of Seo Yehyun’s fancam.

 

But that’s assuming he accepted the offer. If Dobin had rejected the agency’s sponsorship proposal, the previous situation still made sense.

 

No matter how young Dobin is now, the world is full of crazy people who defy common sense.

 

Having been in the entertainment industry for seven years, I’ve heard my fair share of such dirty rumors.

 

“You probably have an idea why I called you here alone, right?”

 

At my sudden remark, Dobin’s eyes trembled slightly.

 

With the door locked, there was no worry about someone entering.

 

“Did it show?”

 

“You flinch every time that word comes up. Only an idiot—a complete moron—wouldn’t notice.”

 

[Profanity detected.]

 

[Initial Intention –4]

 

Seeing my Initial Intention drop by four points instantly made me sigh.

 

Trying to act like a proper leader is turning out to be quite the ordeal.

 

“Since when?”

 

“Since we started promoting <Come to My Universe>.”

 

It’s been a while.

 

But back then, I was too mentally overwhelmed by my sudden regression and too busy planning our escape from being a failing group to notice anything else.

 

So, it was only natural that I didn’t pick up on Kim Dobin’s changes sooner.

 

“You should have told me earlier. We could have handled it together.”

 

Dobin blinked at my words as I clicked my tongue.

 

“Handled it together…?”

 

“Yeah, together.”

 

Don’t you know that sharing your worries makes them lighter? His eyes trembled even more intensely, so I raised an eyebrow.

 

“Hyung, are you sure we’re not talking about different things?”

 

Frustrated by the desperate emotion in his eyes, I ran my hand irritably through my hair.

 

“What exactly are you talking about?”

 

“Can’t you say it first, hyung?”

 

Looking down at his hand clutching my arm with a mix of complicated emotions, I sighed deeply.

 

Obviously, you’re talking about the proposal you received…

 

“Spon-”

 

“Ahhh! Sorry, hyung, but I don’t think it’s that!”

 

Before I could finish, Dobin jumped up and ran to the door, covering his ears. Sorry? For what? Did he feel bad about burdening me with his troubles? My mind was in turmoil.

 

As he hastily unlocked the door and ran out, I called after him seriously.

 

“Let me know if you change your mind. I’ll support you.”

 

It’s not like I could go and confront the CEO, asking if he’d offered a sponsorship deal to a kid. Sigh… I guess I’ll just have to wait until he’s ready to talk.

 

* * *

 

Finally, the day of reckoning arrived.

 

After confirming the demo song was safely stored on my phone, I got up from the couch at the manager’s call.

 

“…Are you guys heading to war or something?”

 

Our manager asked hesitantly, seeing our grim expressions.

 

It might as well be war. The future of our group hinged on today’s internal meeting.

 

Whether we’d end up struggling as an unknown group for the next three years, or succeed and pave our way to the top tier, today would decide it.

 

“Manager hyung, have you heard the song the CEO got for us?”

 

The manager avoided eye contact with an awkward smile at Dobin’s innocent question.

 

“Guys, don’t… don’t get your hopes up too much…”

 

Trailing off with mumbled words, the members exchanged knowing looks.

 

No matter what trash song the CEO brought, we had a trump card: a song composed by the genius producer Yoon Eden, a song that had already been proven to succeed on the charts in my previous life.

 

So, we never had high expectations to begin with.

 

As we entered the small meeting room, we were greeted by the few employees of the agency and the CEO.

 

“Here you are, the proud faces of LnL!”

 

Of course, we are. REVE is the only artist under LnL. You’d think there were half a dozen more artists the way he talks.

 

I looked at the CEO’s kindly smiling face with mixed emotions.

 

He wasn’t as bad as those notorious entertainment company heads who embezzled funds and were rumored to physically abuse their idols… but his sense in the entertainment business was just…

 

I followed a breathing technique I learned from YouTube that was supposed to help calm the mind. I needed to keep my cool, as I had no idea how much my blood pressure would rise.

 

“Now that your debut promotion is over, it’s time to prepare for the next one, right?”

 

My heart was already pounding hard as I met the CEO’s trustworthy smile.

 

If you stick around LnL for seven years, you can predict exactly what frustrating situation will follow that smile.

 

“I’ve got some demo tracks here. There are about three potential title tracks. Since you’re the ones who’ll be performing, let’s listen to them together and choose the best one.”

 

Three tracks in such a short time? That composer probably dumped every unfinished piece he had, hoping one would stick.

 

“Before I play them for you, the staff already listened and said they’re all good. Haha.”

 

I clicked my tongue, seeing the staff awkwardly avoiding our eyes, clearly feeling guilty.

 

I get it. Social life is tough. But shouldn’t at least one of you have told the CEO the truth?

 

Proudly, the CEO plugged the USB into his laptop and started the first track.

 

‘Wow, someone actually got paid for this.’

 

It sounded like a two-minute draft stretched to 3 minutes and 1 second.

 

In this era, even garbage is bought and sold. Amazing, what a wonderful world.

 

Silently, I sent a note of admiration to the composer for truly realizing the creative economy.

 

Buying such trash and spending so much money on it deserved additional sarcastic praise for the CEO.

 

After enduring two tracks that were so incomprehensible and chaotic they induced headaches, the final song finally began to play.

 

At least this time, the familiar house-style melody struck a chord. It was the title track from our first mini-album before the regression.

 

Even back then, the first mini-album was considered by both members and fans as “the album that must not be named” and “that song.” It existed but didn’t at the same time.

 

And for good reason. Performing that song on stage sober was a kind of black mark in itself.

 

[My heart, tainted by darkness, is darkness. My wounded soul is a black soul.]

 

Listening to the slurred lyrics, presumably recorded by the composer himself, I pinched the bridge of my nose. It felt like I might lose my mind.

 

‘Did they really get a middle schooler to write these lyrics?’

 

The lyrics were atrocious, but the concept was something else entirely—space. The multiverse.

 

The memory of that song, with lyrics featuring blood flowers and black dragons, came rushing back vividly. The fear that the music video would be accused of plagiarizing Interstellar, and the painful choice of that song as the least terrible option among the three the CEO had shoved at us, all resurfaced.

 

It was like being told to choose between nuclear waste and food scraps at a buffet; you’d opt for the food scraps, right?

 

The CEO had clearly arranged this song last to benefit from the halo effect.

 

When the song ended, the CEO closed his laptop, rested his chin on his hand, and turned to us with a smile.

 

“So, how was it? Pretty good, right? Personally, I think the third one has potential as the title track. What do you think, our leader?”

 

“Since you’re asking for my opinion… If I have to give it, I think all three are terrible. The third one you’re pushing is the best of the trash.”

 

The CEO’s eyes widened at my blunt response.

 

In contrast, the faces of the staff and members lit up with a sense of relief, as if they had just downed a refreshing soda.

 

“I’d rather we buy the rights to <Minky Magic> and remake that. Even if it ruins our image, it would at least generate some buzz. As for these… well…”

 

I shook my head, referencing a famously comical and over-the-top song.

 

Seo Ye-hyun nudged my side, glaring at me as if I had lost my mind.

 

He must have visualized himself performing <Minky Magic> on stage.

 

I waved my hand to reassure him. Even our out-of-touch CEO wouldn’t take such a suggestion seriously, right?

 

But the CEO proved to be even more clueless and unpredictable than I had thought.

 

“<Minky Magic>… <Minky Magic>, huh… Not bad. Should we go with that for the third album?”

 

I’m going to lose it, seriously.

 

 

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