Chapter 5
“Hey, I have something to say.”
I started the conversation, thinking I wouldn’t be able to muster up the courage if not now—while we were sitting around the table for dinner.
My throat felt parched from how nervous I was.
I took a sip of water from the table and exhaled softly.
“What is it?”
When I didn’t speak right away, my sister asked in a blunt tone.
She seemed to be urging me to spit it out quickly.
“It’s called Red Cube. NTV is producing a survival show that gathers only former idols for a re-debut. I had a meeting about it today, and I agreed to participate. I’m sorry for deciding on my own without talking to you guys first.”
A heavy silence instantly fell over the dinner table.
The air grew so still that it felt suffocating.
I couldn’t even hear anyone breathing.
Because of that, I became acutely aware of how fast and loud my own heart was pounding.
It felt like Mom, Dad, and even my sister could hear it.
“I really want to try one last time. If I fail this time too, I’ll find a different path. I promise you—this is my final attempt. I know what reality looks like. Mom always tells me I’m still young and can try anything… but that doesn’t necessarily mean being an idol.”
My words started tumbling out faster, probably because of the rush of anxiety.
“Yoonseul.”
Dad interrupted me.
“Yes, Dad.”
“…Are you going to be okay?”
At that moment, I understood the meaning of the silence that had made me so anxious just a moment ago.
They weren’t angry or confused about my sudden decision—they were worried about me.
“Yes. I’m okay. I still really want to be an idol. I want to be on stage, I want to be loved.”
To be honest, GANGSTER-M wasn’t hated by everyone from the beginning.
There was a month-long window before the controversy surrounding our leader Soo-hyul’s school bullying came to light.
That one-month period was filled with happiness.
Back then, our songs played everywhere we went, and we received enthusiastic cheers on stage.
Maybe it’s those memories that are holding me back.
“If you’re that determined, then go for it.”
As soon as Dad gave his approval, Mom also chimed in.
“Yeah. Your dad’s right. You’re an adult now. It’s not like you’re doing anything bad, so what reason do we have to stop you?”
“If you’re going to do it, then do it right. Nothing more to say, right? I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”
Just like that, the atmosphere returned to normal.
“But if you make it into the top ranks, do you get to re-debut?” Mom asked cautiously while we continued eating.
“Yeah.”
“When does it start?”
“A month from now. So I need to start preparing my stage performance right away.”
“What kind of stage are you planning?”
My sister, who had been listening quietly, suddenly asked.
“I’m still deciding. I need to go through some videos tonight and pick something.”
“Take your time. You’re good at singing, remember? You even won the grand prize at that children’s song contest.”
She nodded toward the wall filled with certificates in the living room.
Whenever my sister or I won awards, our parents would proudly hang them up on that wall. It was their way of praising us.
Over time, those awards had piled up until the wall was full.
My sister’s awards were mostly for academics, while mine were all related to singing.
Ever since I was young, I loved to sing, so I had participated in children’s and youth music contests—and won many awards.
“You just had bad luck. So if things don’t go well this time either, think of it as bad luck and move on.”
It was an unexpectedly sincere piece of comfort coming from my sister.
“Being an idol isn’t just about talent. It’s not your skills that were lacking.”
Those words became a tremendous source of comfort and encouragement.
After dinner, I went to my room and started calmly reviewing the songs I used to practice.
Since I had to showcase all of my skills with just one song, choosing the right one was crucial.
But there’s an even bigger issue.
A practice room.
I needed to practice, but I didn’t have a space for it.
Living in an apartment, I couldn’t sing or dance freely at home.
Not having a practice room is a big problem. Should I go to a karaoke room or something? Practicing at home definitely has its limits.
Nothing’s really standing out to me.
Most of the songs I used to practice were popular choices among trainees—almost everyone had tried them at least once.
These kinds of songs didn’t make much of an impact and were easily compared to the original versions.
There was a high chance others would pick the same songs.
What song should I choose? Come to think of it, what did I sing for the Stunning audition again?
My trainee days had started not with LM, the agency I eventually debuted under, but with Stunning, a major company.
I had even made it into the debut lineup as the main vocalist, but they said I didn’t suit the group’s image and introduced me to LM.
Since it would’ve taken several years for Stunning to launch their next boy group, I thought transferring to LM was the best option at the time.
I should’ve just waited it out and gone with another agency.
If I had, I wouldn’t have ended up like this.
Even if the group had disbanded due to a lack of recognition, it would’ve been a more graceful farewell.
Maybe I wouldn’t be clinging to it like I am now.
Maybe I would’ve moved on, thinking I gave it my all.
Normally, idol contracts last 7 years. Even if I’d debuted at 19, things wouldn’t have ended until I was 26, barring any issues.
But thinking like that wouldn’t change anything now, so I shook my head and cleared those useless thoughts.
Instead of wasting time on regrets, I had to focus on picking the right song.
For some reason, and I was incredibly grateful, I’d come back to the past.
Because of that, I’d already changed my future once.
I didn’t have to join GANGSTER-M’s second generation, and I’d been given a chance to appear on Red Cube—a show so popular it was practically a national event.
This wasn’t the time to dwell on the past. It was time to work harder to change the future.
Wasn’t this the song I sang for my first audition?
Digging into my memory, I played the track.
― Oh you, who resemble the shimmering sea
It was an OST from a sports film, and the title was the same as my name: Yoonseul. That’s why I had chosen it.
I loved that song.
The lyrics, describing someone who sparkled like ripples under the sun or moonlight, really resonated with me.
― Let’s cross over the rolling waves
Maybe I should go with this one.
There was something meaningful about singing this song again in the competition.
The title matched my name, and it had been my first audition song.
Now I just need to pick a dance.
Honestly, dance was more of a challenge than singing.
What’s my strength?
I started thinking carefully to identify my strong points in dancing.
Ah, right. That one move. That would definitely stand out and show off my skills.
One month passed by in a flash.
With no practice room, I danced in the apartment’s parking lot and sang at karaoke rooms.
Thanks to that, I barely managed to prepare my stage performance.
Mom even took a day off work to drive me to the broadcasting station.
“Do your best.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
After getting out of the car, I took a deep breath and headed to the studio.
“Are you Seo Yoonseul? Please take your name tag and attach it to your chest.”
“Yes.”
As soon as I arrived, I received my name tag.
I pinned it on and followed the staff’s guidance, finding a long row of chairs lined up behind the stage.
There were too many participants to provide a proper waiting area, so this was their solution.
“Right here, please.”
“Okay.”
My seat was at the very end.
Of course I’m dead last.
It seemed like they had arranged it on purpose.
With the show being live, and public attention so high, they’ll probably only show me in the preview and cut me out of Episode 1. Maybe I’ll show up halfway through Episode 2.
I’d spent 8 years as a trainee and 6 years as an idol.
I’d been in this industry for over a decade.
There was no way I didn’t understand how variety shows were structured.
That so-called “devil’s edit”—I’ve been burned by it more than once.
Every now and then, especially around comeback season, reality shows would schedule shoots…
I’d go to set thinking I wouldn’t expect anything—just give a few good reactions and leave.
But I’d end up getting bombarded with rude questions.
And when I didn’t answer—
