Surviving in The Idol Game (7)
February 15th. The 17th day since receiving the second mission—and the day my mental state shattered like broken glass.
[Guide to Understanding the System – Step 2 Complete]
[Guide to Understanding the System – Step 3]
Preparing for Idol Debut: Reach Dance B0 by the 1st Evaluation of D-44
On Success: Proceed to Guide to Understanding the System – Step 4
On Failure: Life -1
The part that immediately caught my eye was this: “by the 1st Evaluation of .” I was left speechless by this new phrase added with the third mission.
I knew it was a survival show that gathered newly debuted idol groups and put them through various competitions to decide the next top idol group. So it made no sense that a regular person like me would be asked to appear on it.
But the facts were clear.
“So this means that it is a public audition program for regular people…”
It was still Idol Survival, but not Idol Survival: The Beginning. It sounded like a pun at first, but that’s what it turned out to be. The game system wasn’t based on The Beginning version—it was based on Idol Survival: Step Up. The difference between the old version and the new one.
“In the Beginning version, the story was about a trainee debuting and competing on . But in the Step Up version, regular people debut through .”
I’d played The Beginning version for over a year, but I’d barely touched Step Up before dying, so I didn’t know much about it. If I’d known this would happen, I wouldn’t have worried about spoilers and would’ve looked everything up.
“No wonder I started as a regular person, not a trainee…”
I couldn’t hold back the sigh rising from deep within.
“Something just didn’t add up.”
To complete the second guide mission, I’d been performing on university streets for 5–6 hours a day and actively using the [Grown on Love (R)] trait. During that time, I once received a business card from a casting manager of a mid-tier agency. I remembered how confidently they said their agency was the only one with a debut-ready boy group this year.
Later, I found out that—perhaps due to some industry agreement—most male idol groups scheduled to debut during the second half of this year had either been delayed or debuted early. Basically, almost all debuting groups were wiped out.
That was solid proof that the game wasn’t based on The Beginning, since the premise of that story had disappeared.
“There were some hints…”
When I drew the [Grown on Love (R)] trait, four puppies had appeared on the screen. Visually, it seemed like I’d drawn something good, but the trait turned out to be a random one, which confused me.
I guess that when the game transitioned from The Beginning to Step Up, the previously useless random traits had been overhauled. No wonder the trait showed progress indicators.
Drawing a random trait as my first one was actually lucky in this version, but I couldn’t just be happy about it.
“It means the strategy for Step Up is totally different from the one for The Beginning.”
Like they say, knowing something halfway can be more dangerous. Acting on incorrect information could lead to disaster. Which is exactly what was happening now.
“I thought I had about half a year left, but now it’s been moved up…”
I looked it up and found that the application deadline for the program was coming up. Out of curiosity, I checked the homepage and found my name and birthdate at the bottom of the list for Day 1. I tried applying just to be sure, but it said duplicate applications weren’t allowed.
“What is this, The Truman Show…?”
I didn’t have time to just sit there in shock. I looked up the evaluation criteria for —and the first round was based solely on dancing. That was a devastating blow for someone like me who had completely neglected dance.
The audition song would be revealed in March, which basically meant they didn’t intend to give participants much time to practice. If you can’t dance, go home—that’s how it read to me. With less time to prepare, everything would come down to foundational skill.
“No point in just memorizing one routine. You won’t get by unless your basics are solid.”
Realizing how ruthless this was, warning bells went off in my head. I was the exact type of contestant the system would filter out.
Even aside from stats, I literally couldn’t dance. I had zero experience. I was completely clueless.
“I thought I had more time…”
Relying on the Beginning version’s pacing, I’d assumed dance would be something to work on later. That overconfidence hit me hard now. But what could I say? An aspiring idol who couldn’t dance didn’t make sense to begin with.
“I’m screwed…”
It felt like I was standing at the gates of hell.
***
Were there always this many idol hopefuls in Korea?
March 31st, Day 1 of the public audition held in Seoul.
Seventeen-year-old Woo Cheonghee, now a high school student, felt overwhelmed before the auditions even began due to the sheer density of the crowd.
Every year, there were at least ten students in his class saying they wanted to be idols, but it never felt real. Seeing this many people gathered in one place, it finally hit him—so many people dream of becoming idols.
“Everyone’s so dressed up.”
With shiny accessories and hair dyed in every color, it really felt like an idol audition.
“I guess you have to stand out among all these people…”
He suddenly felt self-conscious about his natural black hair. He hadn’t thought this through—he should’ve at least dyed it.
Anyway, after getting up at dawn and arriving at the gym, he was assigned number 2345 and placed in Group 79. He was still trying to calm his nerves. They were only on Group 58 now.
“With three minutes per group…”
He had about an hour left.
He kept reviewing the choreography in his head, but his eyes naturally drifted toward the others and the big screen broadcasting the stage. Since everyone had to dance the same routine, watching others helped.
“Hmm… This group’s hard to read.”
Group 58 didn’t have anyone who particularly stood out, so he couldn’t guess who might get picked.
“Not that I’m qualified to judge, but honestly… I think I’m starting to see the difference.”
With 30 people per group, that meant he’d already seen about 1,700 people dance. After watching the official guide video over 100 times and seeing the same dance repeatedly, he couldn’t help but develop a sense for it.
Unless someone was really good, they all started to look the same.
The evaluators must’ve felt the same—no one from Group 58 was selected. All 30 were eliminated.
“Oof, harsh. Couldn’t they at least pick one? Isn’t the standard too high?”
“They picked two from the previous group. Probably aiming for exactly 100 today.”
“There are thousands of people here, and they’re picking only 100?”
“It’s not just today, though. Plus, they’re also holding auditions in Busan. Honestly, even 100 feels like a lot.”
“Ugh, what are you, already accepted? You sound so smug.”
“Yep. Sucks to be you, I guess.”
“Whatever, screw you.”
Out of about 3,000 people in this gym, only 100 would be chosen. 30 to 1 odds might not sound so bad, but Cheonghee was honestly not confident. Some people were insanely talented.
Like the person currently on screen.
“Wow, is he even human?”
“On a completely different level. I don’t even feel bad, it’s just awe.”
Gasps of amazement came from both the accepted and the waiting participants.
A sharp-looking man with a mischievous smile filled Camera 1’s frame. It hadn’t even been a minute, and he already got a solo shot!
“Could anyone beat him…?”
#1741. It was obvious he’d be picked from Group 59. He was not only handsome—his dancing was another level. The crowd around him reacted just as strongly.
“Why hasn’t he debuted already…?”
“He’s overshadowing everyone next to him.”
“Poor people in his group. They’re just background dancers now.”
“Welp. That’s it for them.”
Some people watching crumpled their number tags in despair. Even if they weren’t up against him now, they’d eventually have to compete with people like that.
With only one person chosen per group of 30, the pressure was immense. Some people seemed completely stressed out.
“God, this is gonna get recorded and ridiculed online. I’m done.”
They’d been warned that all 100 group performances would be recorded from the start, but only now did it really hit them.
It would be rough having footage showing that kind of overwhelming gap in skill.
“29 background dancers for 1 main star…”
The 59th group’s stage would probably haunt the rejected participants. Even with editing, being one of those extras would be heartbreaking.
Someone nearby muttered about how hopeless it all felt. A few people quietly slipped out. Even though Group 60 was now on stage, people were still talking about Group 59.
Apparently, #1741 had been part of a well-known dance crew before.
“So that’s why he’s so good…”
Even Cheonghee, who hadn’t felt complete despair, wore a gloomy expression. Just watching him dance was mesmerizing.
“Honestly, the balance was totally off…”
He thought he’d prepared a lot for this audition, but as time passed, his confidence kept plummeting. That’s how good you had to be to stand out, huh?
‘Was I just a frog in a well?’
With his turn, group 79, still about an hour away, he already felt like he’d lost. His spirit—was breaking!
“But still, I have to show what I’ve prepared…!”
Even though there were a lot of talented people—especially that contestant number 1741 with an overwhelming performance who really shook his confidence—it wasn’t a dream he could give up on so lightly.
Woo Cheonghee repeated his resolution to himself and started walking. His emotions had been going up and down so much that now he needed to use the bathroom. When he stepped outside, he saw a noisy crowd here and there.
‘Looks like a lot of them have friends here to cheer them on. Lucky them.’
His own friend was scheduled to audition on day four. he had asked him to come and watch, but his friend had coldly refused, saying it would be unfair to see how the audition works beforehand.
‘But everyone comes to watch anyway…’
Feeling a little lonely, he arrived at the bathroom—only to find an insanely long line.
“Wow, so many people.”
It looked endless, so he decided to walk around and find another one. There wasn’t just one bathroom, after all.
‘I’ve come to this school a few times to watch volleyball games.’
Recalling his past visits for school trips, he wandered further out in search of another restroom. That’s when he saw it.
Something white and long was lying across a bench. Like a giant caterpillar.
“Gahhh!”
Startled, he instinctively stepped back, tripped over his feet, and fell. His butt hit the ground hard, but he jumped up before he could even feel the pain.
The noisy sound of his fall echoed in the otherwise quiet area—where had all the people gone?
‘Ah, so embarrassing!’
As he was trying to endure the delayed pain, a voice called out.
“Hey, are you okay?”
“Huh? Oh, yes! I’m fine!”
He answered in a fluster and tried to leave, but someone gently grabbed his wrist.
“Just in case, take this.”
“Huh? Oh, thank you.”
As he instinctively thanked the person handing him a pain relief patch, Woo Cheonghee froze.
“Whoa, are you kidding me.”
“Excuse me?”
“Excuse me?”
Life is so unfair…
“Is that even a human face?”
“….”
“Did I just say that out loud?”
“…Yes…?”
“…I’m so sorry!”
Woo Cheonghee immediately bolted out of there. Even so, he couldn’t stop the admiration that kept spilling from his mouth. Holy crap. His face was literally glowing.
“This is crazy. Seriously.”
Before he knew it, he had completely forgotten about needing the bathroom and started heading back to the waiting room.
“I have to tell my friend later.”
Excited to brag about seeing a celebrity, his steps felt light. He even got a pain patch. So kind, too.
“But who was that?”
He wondered if he was a judge, but he hadn’t heard anything about celebrities attending the first audition round.
‘Whatever. I’ll look him up later!’
Without even realizing that his anxiety about the stage had completely vanished, Woo Cheonghee was busy going over that face in his head, trying not to forget it.
***
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