The position stages wrapped up to great applause.
Even the friendly hellos with Verion on our way back were nice.
But then—what the heck. We return to the waiting room and Park Juu won’t meet my eyes.
"Hyung."
"Yeah?"
"I’m really disappointed..."
At last, Park Juu hit me with an outrageous line.
So my vocals still didn’t pass muster with the world’s greatest bel canto master, Professor Park Juu?
If teaming up with a lame sub-vocal like me is that awful, you want to switch to a five-member setup starting now...?
"How could you sing a New World track and not include me?"
"Huh?"
"You asked me to do a band with you... I like that song too..."
Right. I forgot. The guy’s a rock maniac.
But I object—unfair! This song was just a band song, it wasn’t even that heavy on rock.
Still, I didn’t rush to make excuses.
Because Park Juu honestly looked heartbroken...
"If we just convince Jeho hyung, we could make it a six-member band..."
"What about the others?"
"I already asked. Everyone said they’d do it..."
So our team’s main vocal was conducting shady diplomacy under the table. Shocking.
More than that—you were planning to persuade Choi Jeho too? I applaud your nerve.
With Park Juu wearing a face like melted marshmallow, I broke into a cold sweat trying to soothe him.
A guy like Lee Cheonghyeon melts the second you go, "Cheonghyeon! Your talent shines as bright as your face!" But this one never quite unclenches, so it wasn’t easy. Ah, my lot in life.
Luckily, Han Gaun from Parte unleashed a monster high note, and Park Juu’s attention drifted away for a moment.
"Gaun sunbae is an incredible singer."
Jeong Seongbin marveled beside us.
Up to now he’d been buried among the Parte boys so you couldn’t quite tell, but Han Gaun is absolutely a main vocal—hand-picked by a major label.
Give someone like that a talent-show stage and of course he’s thrilled. Like a fish thrown back into water.
The audience seemed to think the same; Han Gaun’s team took first in the vocal position battle. Verion and I placed second.
Choi Jeho’s unit placed third among the dance units. The guy himself just looked happy the round was over.
And Lee Cheonghyeon..."
"Thanks for believing in me, my members!"
...took first by an overwhelming margin.
You’re working hard to cover for your lame older brothers. Keep working hard.
To mark the end of Round 3, our "Royal Family" decided we’d watch this week’s live broadcast of Royal Secretariat.
I wanted to tell them to use the time to practice, but it was Lee Cheonghyeon—the guy who just grabbed first—so I couldn’t brush him off.
Besides, it happened to be the episode with Spark’s Round 2 stage.
So we huddled together in the practice room, opened a laptop on the chairs, and squeezed in.
"...If we’re doing this, wouldn’t it be better to go to the dorm and watch on TV?"
"We’re going to practice right after anyway."
"Then we’ll just come back. The dorm’s close."
"I’d rather work overtime than walk the commute twice."
I gave Choi Jeho, who doesn’t know the misery of clocking out and then returning to the office, a proper scolding.
"Gasp, only five minutes left!"
"Don’t worry. Even after it starts, it’ll be like seven minutes of commercials."
I calmed Lee Cheonghyeon and focused on the live chat on the spare phone.
Compared to when we monitored Episode 1, the speed of new messages was on a whole other level.
"Hyung, I’ve got Zero Cola and an electrolyte drink. What do you want?"
"Me? Water."
"Lukewarm?"
"That’d be nice."
A moment later, just as Kang Giyeon brought over lukewarm water, the broadcast began.
Clips of other groups’ meetings and stages alternated ahead of us.
As we watched, Spark faces gradually turned... complicated.
"...Hyung."
Park Juu, sipping lukewarm milk right beside me, called out.
"What?"
"Doesn’t it feel like our team is going to look really weird...?"
"It’s not ‘feel like.’ I’ll bet our shared-drive password that we’re going to look really weird."
"Hey, how can you bet something that important so casually?"
When are we taking UA’s mandatory compliance training? I should get Choi Jeho into the cyber security course when enrollment opens.
"For starters, the fact we even have a shared-drive password means our team is already wrong."
Muttered Kang Giyeon from across the room. Fuck, you’re getting added to cyber security training too.
I was just about to message our manager to add Spark to the training list when Log, the fifth act, finished their stage.
≫ Please show Log lots of love ♥
≫ You guys did so well ㅠㅠㅠ
≫ How long has the broadcast been on?
≫ Overall stage quality seems higher than in Round 1
The chat window was joyfully alive.
At this rate the ratings will be decent. The production team must be glowing.
"It’s just us left now, right?"
"Yeah. But the timing’s awkward, so we’ll probably come after the ads."
Jeong Seongbin checked the time and answered.
This is when you want the edit point to cut somewhere fun—like right before the stage starts, or into an interview aimed at the rival team.
But ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) it’ll probably cut to ads right before our boring idea meeting. Everyone will switch channels before the commercials end.
Grumbling in my head, I chugged from my mug.
But when has life ever gone the way people want?
"The agenda today, as we shared beforehand, is ‘item planning for the Royal Family’s Round 2 performance.’ You all saw the notice, right?"
Right after a neat shot of well-dressed Jeong Seongbin starting the meeting—an utterly ordinary scene—the caption "Writers whispering" popped up over a cut of the writers murmuring.
≫ ?
≫ Manager?
≫ What’s an agenda?
The chat window was riddled with question marks. I glanced over; Jeong Seongbin, enlightened beyond earthly concerns, was upending an electrolyte drink down his throat.
Before we could process the situation, the screen jumped to commercials.
It was an ad with MC Hellas Yur, in a luxe gray-toned studio, seated in a very expensive-looking single chair, wearing a stylish headset.
"The best way to listen to good music—Halenka."
MYTH must have deep pockets. That spot can’t be cheap.
"Did Spark start doing commercials by year three?"
Choi Jeho or Lee Cheonghyeon occasionally landed solo ads, but group ads came much later. For half of those first three years, we weren’t even active.
But now we’re at least steadily working, so it wouldn’t be strange if offers came soon.
So now I have to think about ad work too? My head hurt.
I know most would say, "For a rookie idol to get an ad—be grateful if it comes!"
But that only applies when the incoming ads are normal.
"Are female fans going to buy a two-hundred-thousand-won electric shaver that doesn’t even come with a photocard...?"
Never mind whether it suits Spark; you should be promoting something a fan would want to buy while thinking of my idol. This company has zero basic consideration for fans.
Look at Yur. Great ad visuals, sells a headset fans of a singer would actually use, runs an audio-gear commercial during a music program. Three points locked in perfectly.
If an ad comes in while I’m with Spark, I will axe every crap offer. For the first time in a while, a sense of mission boiled up.
While I was reviewing the past, present, and future of Spark’s ad history, the commercials ended. The screen cut back to UA’s conference room.
And then came every caption under the sun.
An idol strangely well-versed in meeting culture; rising tension; fierce back-and-forth; is this an idea meeting or an office drama...?
Every time a member spoke, supportive subtitles kept popping up. Even so, the chat was a cauldron of chaos.
≫ You guys are Korean like me, right?
Because I can’t understand a word you’re saying
≫ Is Spark filming a skit all by themselves?
≫ lolololololol
≫ Why does it feel like I clocked out but didn’t clock out
≫ I guess I was dating Park Juu in a couple diary
≫ This is a bit much;; it’s too far
≫ The team leader’s schedule is brutal
≫ Others learn foreign languages; these legends learn business-speak
≫ I wanted to watch an office drama, not actually work in an office with you
People who laughed nonstop, people suddenly condemned to suffer after hours, and people saying the "pre-arranged" bits were way too much split about 2:6:2 and reacted fiercely.
Ah, and there were posts mentioning me here and there.
≫ Not just anyone gets into S University
≫ Team vibe looks good, not like there’s military-style discipline
≫ Iwol, it’s not too late—go to college, you can be an elite
≫ Talent stolen by corporate
They weren’t so much talking about the human Kim Iwol as fixating on "that weird kid who got into S University, then didn’t go and became an idol"... but whatever, it all goes into my self-PR score. I’ll take it gladly.
One thing puzzled me, though.
"How else are you supposed to run a meeting if not like that?"
"What were Parte and Log doing in their meeting-room scenes, hyung?"
"I was watching the chat."
At my answer, Lee Cheonghyeon sighed. You can tell from their stages they can’t plan; why would I watch that?
"Fine. I’ll catch it on replay later."
"I wouldn’t. If you watch that, your blood pressure will spike."
"Kang Giyeon’s right. Hyung, just keep living like this."
"So you’ve both completely given up on me?"
Even then, Kang Giyeon and Lee Cheonghyeon didn’t retract their statements.
Baek Haewon’s SNS was on fire with bizarre idol-watching takes.
≫ The captions lmao
The production team absolutely did not meddle in Spark’s meeting lmaooo
└ Our kids are pro office workers? What do you mean
└ Even if it were a skit, you could call it insanely polished lol
└ They were more "serious" than anyone
≫ If it’s come to this, let’s do an office reality spin-off
Everyone under Manager Jeong, gather!!!
└ But not our team—make it the team next door
└ Please... don’t let them come to our department...
An office spin-off? Our kids in suits?
The mere thought set Baek Haewon’s heart ablaze.
"I believe in you, UA...!"
Hanging a ray of hope on UA—who, at least so far, had never disappointed with concept—Baek Haewon fixed her gaze on Spark as they stepped onto the stage.
