Not to Me, But to the Fans chapter 3

We were all sprawled on the floor of the practice room, exhausted from dance practice. Yoonbin checked his phone, then got up to receive something at the door.

“Pizza?”

James shot up, recognizing the smell without even seeing it. The other exhausted members slowly got up as well. Yoonbin laid the pizza out on the floor of the practice room.

“Remember, this is the last pizza we’re eating before debut, since we need to watch our weight.”

“Okay~”

Eunhan, not really listening, skillfully drizzled hot sauce in two circles over the pizza. James cursed at him in two languages.

“Fucking so spicy, you bastard.”

“Wow, I’ve never seen James hyung so angry.”

“Sorry, hyung! I’ll eat the toppings then!”

“Eunhan, that means James-hyung only gets the crust.”

Even as they bickered, they started eating. As we filled our empty stomachs, Jemin, dipping his pizza in garlic sauce, suddenly looked worried.

“Do you think we’ll flop if we debut with this song?”

At Jemin’s words, the song we had been practicing earlier seemed to echo in our ears.

Even the title was “Immortality.”

“I’m scared it might be our first and last chance….”

“But the top idols in Korea, PPP, have a terrible song, and they have a lot of fans!”

Eunhan tried to sound optimistic with his bright tone.

“PPP is PPP.”

An outdated hook song, coupled with auto-tuned vocals to cover up weak singing skills. Popular but heavily criticized idols.

Despite their lack of talent, they remained number one—likely because they were from a major agency. The thought made Jemin think of Q2P’s office.

“When you’re famous, you can get applause for even the worst moves, but if you’re not famous, doing something bad is just a misdemeanor.”

Jemin unconsciously nodded at Woohyung’s words.

When he thought about it, PPP might have even topped all the charts across different categories, not just in the idol world, if their songs had been better.

After all, there’s no limit to popularity. Maybe it was the quality of their songs that held the group back from reaching their full potential.

Of course, this wasn’t a concern for groups that didn’t even have a chance to be held back.

“What can we do? We just have to work harder and pray that the next album is somewhat decent.”

“If you’re not a rookie from a big agency, you usually have to do whatever it takes to grab the public’s attention in the early stages, right?”

Hearing Eunhan’s words, Jemin wondered, “Is that why the CEO made such a risky move?”

It made sense, even just looking at last week’s music show.

Watching groups desperately trying to stand out with their outlandish concepts made Jemin resolve that he would never make such a pitiful debut.

But a sense of anxiety was creeping up on him.

“No matter how bad the song is, if the choreography and concept are good, it might be able to cover it up a bit, don’t you think?”

That was true. They could focus more on performance rather than the song itself.

However, there was one assumption they hadn’t considered at the time—that their group might not only have a bad song but also bad choreography and a bad concept.

“Is it too hard? Want to try it again?”

At this point, Jemin wondered if it was less about the size of the agency and more about the CEO’s peculiar taste.

When the choreography was revealed, they were excited, but it was hard to tell whether it was ahead of its time by decades or completely outdated.

It didn’t even seem like it belonged in the idol genre. It wasn’t easy to believe they’d paid for such choreography; it looked more like a ritual dance or something from a cult.

“Do you think they actually paid for this choreography?”

Eunhan whispered in Jemin’s ear. Jemin, with a blank stare, watched the choreographer’s demonstration.

Maybe they were just trying to offload an unpopular routine they couldn’t sell elsewhere.

If the choreographer looked this bad doing it, how much worse would they look trying it?

“Sigh…”

As the debut date approached, instead of excitement, Jemin felt his worries grow.

His family had boasted to their relatives that he’d made the final debut lineup, and his grandmother’s village had even thrown a party in his honor.

But Jemin closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the pressure of their attention and the underwhelming song and choreography.

“Yoo Jemin, are you not paying attention to the lesson?”

“Oh, sorry.”

But he had to debut. Where else would he debut if not here?

He wasn’t going to be a solo or ballad singer.

Objectively speaking, Jemin didn’t have the exceptional vocal talent needed to make it on his voice alone.

“How am I going to face this?”

Being embarrassed in front of his family was one thing.

He could brush it off by saying, “All songs are like this these days.”

His grandparents would be proud just to see their grandson on TV.

The real problem was his old classmates who barely remembered him.

Even if they hadn’t seen him in years, once they saw his face on TV, they’d definitely say, “Hey! Isn’t that Yoo Jemin?”

He could handle them saying, “So, he finally debuted as an idol.”

But he dreaded hearing, “Did he debut just for that?”

“Stop complaining and think about how to salvage this.”

Woohyung said as he passed by Jemin, who was dancing with a look of utter despair.

‘As if I don’t know that.’

Jemin found Woohyung’s obvious advice irritating, especially when he talked down to him despite repeated hints to stop.

Woohyung was always polite to James, who was a foreigner, but not to him. It felt like a blatant challenge.

Besides, Jemin had never told Woohyung he could speak informally to him.

“At this rate, our team will disband with rumors of discord before we even release a second album.”

Jemin muttered as he practiced the octopus-like dance moves again.

The agency didn’t provide a separate dance instructor for their lessons.

Woohyung, a fellow member, would learn the choreography first and then teach the others.

Once Woohyung’s lessons started, they didn’t end easily.

“Again.”

The look in Woohyung’s eyes, which Jemin caught in the mirror, seemed like he was ready to devour someone.

“Again?”

Eunhan asked, gasping for breath as he drank water.

“Someone made a mistake.”

Feeling guilty for making a mistake and prolonging the practice time, Jemin noticed Woohyung’s words were aimed at making him feel exactly that.

‘It’s not even cool, just ridiculously difficult.’

Jemin didn’t think he was a bad dancer. But the choreography was so bizarre that it didn’t stick to his body.

The other members had already mastered the moves faster than Jemin.

‘If he’s like this, there’s no reason I was added last.’

Woohyung wasn’t pleased with Jemin, who kept making mistakes in what he considered an easy routine.

He had expected something special from Jemin, who was placed directly into the debut lineup without a monthly evaluation, but so far, Jemin didn’t feel like a wild card.

He seemed more like a filler, added just to make the group’s number odd. Yoonbin noticed the tension between Woohyung and Jemin and tried to diffuse it.

“Look at Eunhan’s face. If we keep going, he’s going to collapse. Let’s call it a day.”

“Yes, please.”

“Woohyung, at this rate, our five-member group will turn into a trio. Eunhan and I will be dead.”

As the other members unanimously demanded to stop, Woohyung closed his eyes in frustration.

“Fine.”

“I kind of expected this.”

They were on set to shoot the concept photos along with the music video. Given the unusual song and choreography, Jemin had anticipated that the concept wouldn’t be ordinary either.

He thought he was mentally prepared, but even expectations have their limits.

The CEO’s taste, always pushing beyond those limits, and the small number of staff who didn’t stop him formed a crazy team.

That was Q2P.

“Am I doing a deer antler concept?”

Jemin asked in a trembling voice as staff members attached twigs to his head.

“You’re probably a deer.”

“But why on earth would an idol wear deer antlers…?”

“Would you rather wear a turtle shell like Yoonbin?”

Woohyung sneered, and Jemin glared at him.

He wasn’t even talking to him, but did Woohyung really need to pick a fight and argue with everything he said?

“That guy always gets the cool stuff.”

Jemin looked at Woohyung, who was dressed in an Oriental-style silk robe. Judging by the feathers attached to the hem, it seemed like a crane or peacock concept.

What kind of concept included a turtle, deer, and peacock in the same group?

Eunhan had almost cried earlier because of his green makeup. Jemin couldn’t even tell what James was supposed to be.

“Don’t tell me… is this the concept?”

Yoonbin muttered with a serious expression as he adjusted his turtle shell.

“Why? Do you have any idea what it is?”

“Well, you can ignore one or two, but with a turtle, crane, deer, and bamboo… this is…”

“The Ten Symbols of Longevity.”

At Woohyung’s casual remark, Jemin felt like he’d been hit on the back of the head with a hammer. The Ten Symbols of Longevity? The ones drawn on his grandmother’s folding screen?

“No way, what kind of idol group debuts with a Ten Symbols of Longevity concept?”

“And we’re not even a ten-member group.”

“I thought the song title being ‘Ten Symbols of Longevity’ was crazy, but are they really making the concept out of it?”

“Maybe the CEO just really wants to live a long life.”

“He’d live long anyway with all the bad things we say about him behind his back, so why bother?”

The members clutched their heads in frustration. And there were only five of us, while the Ten Symbols of Longevity were, well, ten.

They’d have to change into something else after this shoot, and who knew what bizarre roles they’d have next.

‘Can we even debut like this…?’

Song, choreography, concept.

There wasn’t a single good point.

Jemin wondered if they would even be able to attract a fandom with a debut like this.