My previous life existed solely to accommodate someone else.
“Shall we have loach soup for lunch today? If anyone can’t eat it, take this chance to try it.”
“Assistant Manager Kim, hold on. Let’s give me a ride and go.”
“Assistant Manager Kim, please set up a meeting with the department head.”
No matter where I was or what I did, there was no room for my will.
For years, my duty was to handle the tasks I was given without rubbing anyone the wrong way.
And now I’m supposed to make small talk begging people to look at me?
“Assistant Manager Kim, do you even know how busy director-level people are? Why on earth should I be listening to you during my precious time?”
Whenever I tried to do something, Deputy Director Nam’s voice rose up vividly. My chest tightened.
And yet, I still have to do self-PR. That’s the rule.
My self-PR score was already falling. The moment had come when I couldn’t just leave it be.
I sighed. With mixed feelings, I grabbed the bass I hadn’t touched in a while and played it endlessly day and night.
Should I at least play something I learned in the band club? What if they ask how I came to know this song. ...Should I play the school anthem from high school? Would that be too boring?
After thinking for a long time, I reached a conclusion: all this time I’d really been playing the bass without a single thought in my head.
Is it even okay for a person to have this little self? I feel sick with self-contempt.
What exactly is the appeal of the human being Kim Iwol that I can pitch to others?
No, did I even have any appeal to begin with? When I don’t have a single friend?
The more I thought, the more I felt in my bones that I’d been living wrong.
Maybe that’s why the system sent me back to the past. To tell me to live properly this time.
If I’m not exceptional, I should at least have something distinctive, but unfortunately the bass isn’t exactly an eye-catching instrument.
I can play fast runs, but I doubt fans would love that all that much.
To everyone who likes Kim Iwol, I’m truly sorry. The talentless idol is crying...
I was clutching my about-to-explode head when Kang Giyeon knocked on the practice room door. The manager was calling.
“Solo variety?”
The moment Choi Jeho and I walked into the meeting room, the manager, already excited, poured out a stream of words.
In short, our group had received an offer for a solo variety show. It seemed like a chain reaction from Do Life that aired recently.
“It’s a Mytube-based variety show, so the shoot time isn’t long like last time and the intensity is way lower. And you know young people watch Mytube more than TV these days, right? For us, it’s a much better opportunity!”
All true. And they weren’t even specifying guests—what freedom.
This was the kind of offer you accept unconditionally, no hemming and hawing.
...If only it weren’t a drinking show.
No wonder they called only me and Choi Jeho.
We’re the only two who can drink, so they wouldn’t have needed to designate guests on their end.
Right now I needed content to get my name out there; a solo variety was a shower of blessing.
But the main topic being alcohol bothered me.
Moderate drinking and a relaxed vibe? Great.
It’s great, but...
First, I wondered if it was okay for the first solo variety we bring out as a group—where a majority of members are minors—to be a drinking show.
And it didn’t seem great for an idol with many young fans to chug like crazy.
Spark did get a good reaction when alcohol came up, though.
I still can’t forget how the community went up in flames when Spark first mentioned a team dinner on radio. That’s when I first learned how many different ways there are to express affection in Korean.
Still, how can I refuse when they’re offering a chance. I’ll just make sure not to actively encourage drinking.
So then the only question is who’s going.
I glanced to the side. Choi Jeho couldn’t quite hide his discomfort.
I’d expected it the moment I heard “drinking show.”
That guy looks like he’s built to drink in pairs, and yet he doesn’t drink. I can only guess it’s because of his father, who was said to drink a lot.
Either way, there’s only one choice.
I sighed inwardly at the thought of sullying my newly purified liver again.
But it can’t be helped.
Since I decided to support, I’ll do my best.
“Are you a good drinker?”
After I volunteered to appear, Choi Jeho asked as we left the meeting room.
“More or less. Why?”
I threw the question back, but he didn’t answer.
I swear, that attitude... I should slather him head to toe in soothing gel and leave him to sit for five minutes.
It depends on the company, but at Hanpyeong Industries there was only one answer you gave when asked about your capacity.
Whether you drank well or not, you always had to say, “I’m not much of a drinker.”
Hanpyeong Industries would either openly pressure you to drink or snipe at you. Underneath it was the thought, Let’s see how long you keep refusing.
“Assistant Manager Kim, we’re going to a second round, right? For the second round, find a place with, you know, the good stuff.”
“I’m not going home tonight! Our department is staying out to the end! Got it?”
“Assistant Manager Kim’s glass is empty? You’re already putting it down when your superior is here? I didn’t take you for someone with that many tricks.”
I’ve heard forced drinking counts as workplace harassment, but people at Hanpyeong Industries always acted like they were outside the law.
And there were so many drinking occasions. Because HR belonged to the Management Support Division, there were team dinners, division dinners, dinners with the executives—endless places to go.
How many bottles did I pour down like that? If alcohol hadn’t agreed with me, my liver would’ve been smashed to bits already.
It’s a relief my capacity held up.
What I got from years at Hanpyeong Industries was nothing but rage at the world, the skill of letting words in one ear and out the other, and the TMI that I’m not bad at drinking.
If that’s all I got, what can I do. I’ll at least put it to good use.
“Don’t worry.”
At my words, walking beside me, Choi Jeho turned toward me.
“I won’t be making any drunken mistakes.”
I finished and even gave him a reassuring smile, but he just pulled a sour face and went back to the practice room.
The variety show “Drinking People” filmed in a studio designed like a street stall.
Until I set foot here, I received the full weight of UA’s concern.
“Iwol, don’t get complacent and keep drinking just because you don’t feel drunk.”
“Keep getting up saying you’re going to the restroom. That way you can tell whether you’re dizzy or not.”
“It’s better to get ‘why did you come if you can’t drink’ than to get drunk and make a scene. Got it?”
Usually they trust me to a fault, but at times like this I’m treated like a kid. Compared to Hanpyeong Industries, though, I’m living large.
Following the program’s rules, I called from outside the door, “Are you open today?” and from inside came the reply, “Yes, come on in!”
When I stepped into the studio, the MC of Drinking People greeted me.
“Oh, what’s this. Another handsome male guest? ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) Didn’t I say I wouldn’t have any more pretty-boy guests? If we do this, I’m going to get compared from the thumbnail on.”
“Come on, Sunbaenim. Please accept me just this once!”
“Oh? Look at this one. He’s already checking his rivals?”
As a comedian specialized in talk shows, the MC scratched away the awkwardness that can arise between people meeting for the first time. I slipped right through that gap and played it off with ease.
“I’ve wanted to come on Drinking People so badly. If you let me on just this once, I’ll consider a wish fulfilled and do my very best.”
“Hey now, how hard are you planning to go? Let’s sit and talk first! Our camera directors are screaming for you to sit!”
I laughed sheepishly, dipped my head slightly to the camera directors, and started to sit—when I spotted a familiar face among them.
“Huh?”
“Right, Mr. Iwol. There’s someone here who already knows you!”
At the MC’s words, the director who’d met my eyes gave a small nod.
It was none other than the director I’d met on the set of Jang Junhu’s music video.
“Director Han, right? Long time no see!”
“Wow, Mr. Iwol’s got a good memory! Director, didn’t you say it was about half a year ago you met him?”
“I met him before I debuted. I never imagined we’d meet again like this...!”
I’d heard that a writer who does dramas sometimes does variety, and a film director might shoot a documentary, but I didn’t expect to see an example in person.
“Hey, don’t go off into your own little world without me. I’ll sulk.”
The MC tossed the line with practiced ease and laughed.
The world is small, but I didn’t think it was this small.
I laughed along with the MC and resolved to clamp down even harder on Spark’s mouths once we got back to the dorm.
Drinking People had a fairly set routine.
First, the guest introduces themselves and talks briefly about what they’ve been up to.
Then the MC brings up a few items they’ve researched in advance and chats while sharing an aperitif.
Next, the guest orders their favorite snack, and the writers bring out snacks prepared in advance.
That’s when talk usually turns to drinking preferences, capacity, habits—alcohol-related stories.
Up through the “what I’ve been up to,” everything flowed very smoothly.
It’s not like an idol has anything to talk about besides a comeback anyway.
“But Mr. Iwol, how did you end up as Spark’s gentleman hooligan?”
“That’s slander. I’ll be holding a hearing soon to get to the bottom of this.”
“The nickname is so contradictory it shocked me. You don’t look that way, so I wondered if your real personality was no joke.”
“As if!”
There was one slightly flustering tidbit. I’m worried I’ll end up with a nickname like “Strongest Hooligan Kim Iwol.” When I get back, I won’t let Kang Giyeon off the hook.
I almost sprayed my drink, but I handled it like a proper idol, and the snacks came out.
If I exaggerate only a little, I probably spent the most time during prep choosing the snacks.
The reason is simple: I’d rarely chosen snacks according to my own will.
I always ate the pork skin Deputy Director Nam wanted, or whatever the seniors from my department or club picked. Like those insanely expensive rolled omelets.
Ah, when I drank with my sister, we’d sometimes buy a bag of gummy candy. She’s my sister, but her taste is really something.
I wasn’t someone who drank alone often either, so picking snacks wasn’t easy.
Making up something random and faking it on air felt too disrespectful to the fans who listen intently to every word I say.
And after all that struggle, what I chose was this.
