By the time I got home, it was already pitch-dark outside the window.
My body sagged after making it through an unfamiliar day. I kicked off my shoes without much care and dropped my bag onto the sofa.
“What, you're wearing makeup?”
My sister, who had been leaning against the sofa, jerked her head up.
“Yeah. We shot our profiles today.”
“Holy shit. I've never seen you put anything on your face before.”
Normally, she would have lectured me for coming home late, but today my made-up face seemed to surprise her more.
“Clean it off properly before bed. You'll break out.”
“Yeah. But can I wash this off with soap?”
“You think that'll work? Ha. How did a guy like you end up wanting to be an idol?”
Ah, I'd asked the wrong person.
And so began a twenty-minute lesson on cleansing.
“This is eye makeup remover, and this is cleansing oil. There's an order to it. An order.”
“Come on, why does washing my face need an order—”
“Shut up and just memorize it.”
In the end, I reached the point of gently rubbing with my pinkie finger.
‘……Being an idol really isn't easy.’
“No, if I wash my face like this, it'll be morning before I'm done.”
“You have no idea how unforgiving a TV camera is. If your skin breaks out, it won't matter how handsome you are.”
I was exhausted after merely washing my face.
I wanted to sprawl on my bed, but I had to pack for life in the dorm first.
Thanks to the little bits of preparation I'd done since regressing, it didn't take long.
‘Thank you, past Seong-woo.’
Finally, I packed the various cosmetics my sister had put together for me and threw myself onto the bed. At Yu Seong-a's insistence, I even had a thick layer of sleeping mask on my face.
My eyes were closing, but my mind was strangely clear.
The day's events passed before me like a panorama.
The makeover, wearing makeup for the first time, I-yul's new hair. The profile shoot, and even my face on camera.
“……Ha.”
A brief laugh escaped me.
Just then, a number flickered at the edge of my vision.
“SP…….”
The points had kept accumulating all day. That number had shot up especially sharply at the shoot.
But the problem was—
“What the hell am I supposed to use these for……?”
It was nice to see people's interest in real time, but points that did nothing except pile up were meaningless.
At that moment, the status window responded.
[S: SP stands for ‘Spotlight Point’.]
[S: Points generated by turning others' ‘interest’ into a resource.]
[S: Accumulated SP can be converted into items.]
It was brief, but it told me what I needed to know.
“Items?”
My sleepiness vanished at once.
No sooner had I spoken than a new window appeared.
[※Item creation available]
Blank fields appeared beneath it.
▶Item name: _______
▶Effect: _______
“Yes!”
I sat up immediately.
Survival show filming would begin in earnest tomorrow. This was an opportunity I couldn't afford to miss.
My thoughts raced.
‘First, what I need most is—’
I didn't even have to think about it.
“Dancing well.”
The status window turned red.
[※Creation failed – Conditions not met]
I frowned.
“What? What's wrong with that? Then how about Choreography Master?”
The red warning appeared again.
[※Creation failed – Conditions not met]
[S: An item's effect must be clear from its name alone.]
One condition had been added.
“Copy Kang I-yul's dance skills.”
[※Creation failed – Conditions not met]
[S: Only items the user absolutely needs can be created.]
And there was another.
“What? I need all of these right now.”
[S: …….]
“Ruler of the Camera.”
Failure.
“Born-to-Be Idol.”
Failure.
I came up with name after name, fighting through the unbearable embarrassment, but none of them worked.
Fortunately or unfortunately, there didn't seem to be a limit on failed attempts. I went on to rack up dozens more.
“……Are you kidding me?”
I was already dead tired, and being rejected over and over made irritation rise in me. I lay back down on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
“What do you want from me?”
The status window didn't respond again. Apparently, I had to find the answer myself.
My thoughts grew hazier, and my eyelids grew heavier.
“Ha. This is a lot trickier than I thought.”
The SP number was still blinking faintly.
These points were clearly mine, yet I couldn't use them—
‘This is frustrating.’
I tried a few more times, but in the end I couldn't fight off sleep.
……I'll think about it tomorrow.
I passed out right there.
***
An odd tension hung over the practice room from early morning.
The first things I saw when I opened the door were the cameras mounted all around it.
Beside the door, above the mirror, in every corner: black lenses watched us like surveillance eyes.
“……Wow.”
Someone drew a quiet breath.
People fussed with their hair, straightened their posture, and stole glances at the mirror. Everyone was conscious of the first shoot in their own way.
Now it was really beginning.
This was the moment we became ‘contestants’ instead of trainees.
The door opened, and the production staff came in first. Microphones, lights, camera positions. With efficient hands, they put the set in order.
And finally—
“Is everything ready?”
A tall man walked to the center of the practice room, his voice bright.
“No way.”
“Holy shit.”
“Is this for real?”
The trainees sprang to their feet almost as one. Half of it was reflex.
“It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Kang Se-jun, and I'll be hosting Boys Code.”
He looked around at us with an easy smile. The trainees, though, were anything but at ease.
Kang Se-jun was the leader of the five-member boy group ‘Nexty’ and an active idol who had recently wrapped up a successful solo run. Even after more than ten years since his debut, he remained at the top of his field.
At the unexpected arrival of such a huge star, everyone forgot about the cameras and stared at him. Their faces mixed nerves with excitement.
‘No wonder they're surprised.’
He was the one who had driven the early buzz around Boys Code. He'd supposedly appeared out of loyalty to CEO Song In-hyeok, and had made a flawless debut as an MC through the show as well.
‘He'd also been the star of a song I'd written.’
It felt strange. Here I was, facing the same person again under circumstances entirely different from those before my regression.
“At last, it's our first shoot.”
Kang Se-jun lightly raised his cue card.
“Are you all excited?”
Awkward laughter broke out here and there.
Kang Se-jun nodded as if he understood, then continued.
“What's the first thing the public will see from you?”
Answers came from all sides.
“Our profile photos?”
“Wouldn't it be the interviews?”
“Our first performance?”
Once enough answers had come in, Kang Se-jun shook his head.
“No.”
A brief silence fell. With the tension building, he spoke.
“It's the signal song.”
That one phrase changed the mood completely.
The signal song: the face of the survival show and the trainees' first performance for the public.
At Kang Se-jun's gesture, a screen descended at the front of the practice room.
Thump, thump. Letters appeared on the screen over a low, pounding beat.
『BOYS CODE — SIGNAL SONG』
The trainees' eyes shone in the mirror. Of course they were excited. This was their first chance to make an impression on the public.
But I knew. That excitement wouldn't last long.
[Boy's Code (Prod. Lowkey)]
-A hip-hop EDM signal song about the boys' journey to crack the unknown code called debut.
The brief song description vanished, and the sound hit us at once.
[Boom!]
Exclamations erupted all around the room from the very start.
“Wow…….”
“This is insane…….”
Sirens, footsteps, rhythms meshing like machinery.
It had an intensity that seized your ears.
[In this space where we crash-landed
Before our eyes
An unknown system
Warning
Tell me how to escape]
The melody was simple but addictive. I nearly found myself humming along.
Most idol survival shows had bright, refreshing signal songs. That was the easiest way to bring out the freshness unique to trainees.
‘An easy win.’
But Nix Entertainment had given it some thought.
To set itself apart from the flood of idol survival shows, it had chosen intensity instead of a bright, refreshing sound. Lowkey, too, was a producer known for powerful boy group songs.
When the song was released, reactions were sharply divided.
Some called it fresh; others called it all too familiar.
It was fresh for a trainee survival show, but typical of a boy group's concept.
There was one thing everyone agreed on, though.
The song was really good.
[Keep on moving
Never stop
Break it
The only code
That will open this door
Boy's code]
That was the killing part, beloved for its high notes that gave a sense of liberation.
“Incredible…….”
“I'm going to sing this?”
But their awe was short-lived.
“How am I supposed to sing this?”
“We're screwed…….”
Reality soon caught up with them.
‘They shouldn't be scared already—’
The song ended with a wistful piano melody. They would probably get close-ups of us one by one during this part. It was the stretch where we had to put our lives on the line to show ourselves off.
Only three minutes. Yet it left a powerful first impression.
“Next, we'll show you the choreography video.”
[Choreography: Euphoria]
That pairing alone showed how much Nix was staking on this survival show. At the time, Euphoria was such a successful choreography team that nearly every routine they put out spawned a popular challenge.
It was a miraculous signal song, made by the two new CEOs pulling every connection they had.
“Euphoria? The choreography team Jacob is in?”
“That's incredible…….”
“How did they pull this off?”
Expectations rose even higher.
“……What?”
“Wh-why is there so much of it?”
But those expectations shattered after just ten seconds.
“Ah, wait a second.”
The choreography was packed so densely that there wasn't a single second of rest.
In fact, none of the individual moves were difficult. The problem was that even the tiniest subdivisions of the beat were filled.
In short, it was choreography that could kill you.
“The beat's really fast.”
“Wow…… This won't be easy.”
Even in the video, we could hear the dancers breathing hard. In the silence, someone muttered,
“……Are we supposed to dance ourselves to death?”
Exactly.
Kang Se-jun glanced around at the trainees' stunned faces and gave a light clap.
“The song's great, isn't it?”
“Yes!”
Then came the finishing blow.
“You have just three days.”
“Three days from now, we'll go straight into filming the signal song.”
“Holy sh…….”
After that groan from a trainee who had desperately swallowed his curse, silence held for about five seconds.
I watched them quietly.
To be inside a scene I'd only ever watched on television.
‘Seriously…….’
It felt far stranger than I'd imagined.