Survival programs have a powerful presence on the idol scene.
The moment a promising show appears, all the buzz belongs to the survival program.
Established idols fret to keep fans from leaking things; existing fans watch their timelines fill with program discourse; the contestants enter a fierce game of reading the room, trying any way they can to land a knockout moment.
For the broadcaster’s massive ad revenue, the people involved spend feelings, time, and even money, repeating attack or defense until the show ends.
Of course, in its early days IAD didn’t have that kind of influence. Even so, viewers suffered every day.
≫ Why did I walk into this mud pit
Got dragged in by my ankle just to see something good, damn
Even I, who had never watched a survival show, knew well that viewers held hostage by their faves shed tears of blood.
I booked a UA conference room for the day vacation ended.
Then I shoved all the Spark brats into the room.
“I know it’s shameless to say this after I argued we should go on it, but we have to get our reasons for applying straight—together with mine.”
To lock in the attitude with which the team called Spark would approach IAD.
Fans try to see their idol kindly no matter what they do.
Even if there’s a pitch slip on stage, they worry it might be a bad condition, and when the choreography is intense they praise it as cool while fretting about the idol’s joints.
But if my idol steps into a competitive format, the story changes.
Your head knows our kid is a hard worker who practices diligently, but your heart gets uneasy. Somehow it feels like he’ll slip a note at a critical moment again.
In an era where knife-like group dance is essential, you get nervous even if the choreo isn’t perfectly in sync.
It starts to feel like that passage will be clipped to play at 0.5x with a caption like “Actual level of XXX once praised as a group-dance idol.”
Anxious, wishing them to do well, praying you won’t have to hear “a mistake is also part of your skill,” you can’t watch the steady stream of stages with an easy mind.
And I have no intention of putting Sparklers through that.
I’m already grateful they accept me into Spark; I can’t pile on more suffering.
“Reason for applying: to stand on more stages. Goal: make every stage fun.”
“Isn’t that obvious?” Lee Cheonghyeon asked back.
“Before answering, I want to ask everyone. What do you think a fun stage is?”
They each gave an answer.
Flashy performance, singing a good song, a twist, perfection.
Last, after hearing them one by one, Jeong Seongbin said,
“A stage done well, maybe?”
“Knew it. Seongbin really gets fandom.”
A stage you can take anywhere without shame.
A stage anyone would have to acknowledge.
A stage you can watch with no anxiety, just trusting and enjoying it comfortably.
“Remember DoLife? Even now in our country, doing it well leads straight to enjoyment.”
And we plan to make every stage fun.
Sensing what would come next, the kids swallowed.
“Let’s make stages that, if we take first, no one can dispute it—and if we don’t, people find it odd.”
“...”
“Whoever we face, let’s do it with the resolve to win. And enjoy it.”
Thus Spark’s concept—decided very unilaterally—was “enjoy-gamers who do whatever they want without watching others, but have the skill so no one can really complain.”
By hopping on at the last minute of IAD casting, Spark became IAD’s youngest group. We were brand-new rookies, barely three months post-debut.
“Spark is the youngest group on our program—how does that feel?”
Maybe that’s why so many pre-meeting interview questions were about years in the industry.
Aren’t you burdened being the youngest, do you have any senior groups you’re close to, and so on.
Not that it mattered; the biggest gap upward was just one year.
We hadn’t ignored this point when we decided to go on the show.
Except for Jeong Seongbin and Lee Cheonghyeon, their sociability bottoms out. They won’t go around doing things to get cursed at, but they aren’t the type to act all sweet either.
Even so, thanks to the smiling lessons drilled since trainee days, the proper posture of an idol was etched in their bones.
Even now, they were carrying on cheery interviews with the staff.
That’s enough.
Unless they find someone they genuinely want to be friends with, I have no thought of telling them to turn on sociability just because they’re on the same program.
Relationships matter inside your own group; they don’t actually boost scores.
“We don’t yet know which seniors we’ll be with, but we plan to enjoy it!”
Jeong Seongbin answered.
For the record, that was a lie.
I’d already shared with the members, as far as I remembered, who seemed likely to appear. Thanks to that, we even had to practice acting surprised when we heard we were the youngest.
First, among the six groups, the one that would be the undisputed core cast this season: Parte.
An eight-member performance group that debuted last year.
“Let’s avoid getting entangled with Parte if we can.”
“Huh?”
“Let’s steer clear.”
At my notice, the members were flustered.
“Why that reaction?”
“Doesn’t that clash with you saying we should aim for first, hyung?”
I kindly explained to the now notably combative Lee Cheonghyeon.
“I’m not saying avoid them because we’ll suffer by comparison.”
“Then?”
“I’m saying avoid them because nothing good comes from getting entangled with them.”
No sooner had I finished than Park Juu looked away. Guess running along the Han River had revived memories of Song Minil’s cursing medley.
Even aside from the Song Minil thing, Parte had as much controversy as Spark used to. Even I, who know little of idol affairs beyond Spark, could think of a few big incidents if I dug.
Dating with a sasaeng, two-timing, tax evasion, attitude controversies...
Nothing more to say. For Parte, nothing is allowed but the most objective evaluation. Period.
Next in promise after Parte was Allover.
They showed good chemistry with Parte and were the group that benefited most after Parte on IAD.
I didn’t remember this team at all, so I searched again. And I saw a face that made me wonder how I’d forgotten.
One of them went to prison.
For a second I almost mixed up IAD as the program that got hot from scandals. So for this team too, nothing but objective evaluation would be allowed.
Conversely, there were groups that brought nothing to mind. For those we stopped at sharing only the group names.
“And Log sunbae, Sticky sunbae, and Verion sunbae will be on it. We’ll be the youngest.”
“Hyung, how do you even know this...?”
“Meticulous analysis.”
They didn’t seem completely convinced, but whatever.
“What rank is Spark aiming for?”
“They say dream big, so shall we make it first?”
Then Lee Cheonghyeon smiled as if it were nothing.
Jeong Seongbin and Park Juu beamed as well. I could see cold sweat down their backs, but I’ll give points for not showing it on their faces. I hope they keep this attitude up through the final broadcast.
After the pre-meeting, we gathered again in UA’s conference room.
It was to prepare our self-PR stage that would run on IAD’s first recording day.
As the host and concept proposer, I took the lead, having been the one who actively wanted IAD. Thanks to that, I sacrificed my whole first vacation and made nothing but PPTs.
“Cheonghyeon, is the record button on?”
“Yeah. Start when you’re ready!”
He flashed me an OK.
Once ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) it was his turn to do minutes, he’d gone and paid for an app, saying he’d use an AI captioning feature to generate transcripts.
He said he’d fill any gaps himself, so I told him to do as he liked.
Anyway, what matters isn’t digitizing Lee Cheonghyeon, so moving on.
“Then, on May XX, we’ll begin the concept meeting for IAD’s self-PR stage. Everyone checked the agenda I shared ahead of time, right?”
“Yes, I compiled the opinions the members posted and put a new summary in the group chat.”
Jeong Seongbin pulled the message-window opinions and put them up on the monitor. At the same time, sitting by the door, Kang Giyeon turned off the room lights.
“Half the opinions were to use Spark’s native ‘youth’ concept, half said we need an image refresh. Are your posted opinions still valid as-is?”
“Yeah.”
“Yep.”
They nodded.
The screen was filled with claims they’d sent right up to the deadline.
I told Jeong Seongbin good job, then scanned the monitor again.
Jeho
Summary: wants a new concept
Reason: keeping the same image won’t stick in people’s minds
Seongbin
Summary: wants to keep our existing concept
Reason: given the nature of a self-PR stage, showing the team’s color is right
Juu
Summary: wants to keep our existing concept
Reason: the current members and current concept suit each other
Cheonghyeon
Summary: wants a new concept
Reason: given the nature of a survival program, a strong first impression is necessary / overly similar concepts can feel dull / since many shows give “for the fans” as a theme for at least one mission, the youth concept is better suited for a fan-tribute stage
Giyeon
Summary: wants to keep our existing concept
Reason: there’s a reason fans like the current concept → likely little public resistance
They even attached grounds. Excellent.
As for Lee Cheonghyeon... I may have raised a tiger cub.
“To me, you all sound reasonable. So I want to propose a plan that combines as much of this as possible.”
I advanced the PPT.
Up popped the grand theme for this stage: “A rookie idol’s slapdash entry into a survival.”
