Handling the A to Z of content myself left little room for unexpected issues.
I stripped out anything the members were likely to mess up, and I avoided topics similar to content that had gotten poor reactions before. I’d already drilled them on keeping their mouths shut and correcting their attitude, so there was no reason to be nervous about the actual broadcast.
The flip side: shooting content someone else planned felt like riding a roller coaster in the dark. Not knowing what would pop out had my mouth going bone-dry.
‘I told you to show me the rundown in advance!’
I was boiling. You watching this, UA? This is what happens when you call it “welfare” and then abandon your office workers.
Thanks to your overprotection, I am now anxious out of my mind.
The small mercy was that, overall, the topics were light. It seemed aimed at fans worn out by the run of scandals and accidents.
Time flew while we chattered about things like Spark’s picks for the Royal Secretariat best stages, the Pororo spoon-set incident, and showing off our handmade “I.Am.Best” slogans.
“Sparklers are asking if we’re watching soccer today?”
Kang Giyeon read the chat. The window was really carpeted with soccer talk. Idol livestreams are something else. I can’t keep up with the flow.
“Obviously we should! On that note, Seongbin, please lift lights-out just for tonight.”
“Then what’s the point of rules, Cheonghyeon.”
“So you’re not watching? It’s Korea vs Japan.”
“National-issue exceptions exist.”
And you’re impressive too. You pivot topics like it’s nothing.
Compared to the old days when a single prompt turned you to stone, this was a giant leap. I don’t know why, of all times, you want to watch an old match instead of a live one at this moment, though.
“What about you guys?”
Lee Cheonghyeon turned his body and asked. The surprising part was that even Choi Jeho said okay.
Did these kids always like soccer this much? Enough to watch as a group?
I also caught a few big matches here and there, but I’d never seen the Spark brats like this.
‘Well, yeah, a Korea–Japan match around this time was huge.’
Even if you lost the other games, the national mood was that you had to beat Japan—and the sight of our “weaker” side pulling a dramatic comeback used to pump endorphins through my body after work when I was dead on my feet.
While I was lost in nostalgia, Lee Cheonghyeon yanked me back to reality by the hair.
“Iwol, you’re watching too, right? Spark in the living room, all hands. We’re summoning our souls.”
“I actually already watched it, but... sure, let’s do it.”
They weren’t going to let me work anyway, and I’d slept so much I wasn’t sleepy.
A masterpiece never gets old; one or two more rewatchings wouldn’t bore me.
I answered readily, but the reaction that came back was off.
“You already watched it?”
Lee Cheonghyeon asked again with a subtle look.
“Yeah.”
“The Asian Games Korea–Japan match?”
“Are you confusing it with another game?”
Even Kang Giyeon piled on, tugging at the loose thread of my words.
From the corner, I heard Park Juu whisper softly, “Hyung, your head...”
A hush fell like a bucket of cold water.
‘Was I talking about a different match than they were?’
At this rate I was about to tank the livestream mood, so I rushed to verify.
“You’re talking about the Korea–Japan match from 20XX, right?”
“Right.”
“We won 3–2 and it made headlines. Didn’t you watch live? It aired at dawn, so maybe you missed it.”
I said that much and snuck a glance at the chat.
I just hoped there wasn’t anything like “buzzkill” or “Kim Iwol, focus,” but the window was lighting up—with something else.
≫ ?
≫ ?
≫ Iwol, what are you confusing it with lol
≫ ??
≫ Did Korea vs Japan already happen and we’re the only ones left out?
Spark and I stared at each other in silence.
Suddenly, it hit me.
“Right now is...”
The words popped out before I could finish them.
Catching it, Park Juu murmured in a voice gone dewy, “It’s 20XX, hyung.”
I’m screwed.
I’d been so focused on steering the conversation that I completely forgot to police my mouth. Fuck, modern humanity can’t even multitask.
And of all times, this was when people said Korea’s offense was weak.
No one could blithely declare “Obviously Korea will win!” so my bold claim had just pulled aggro across the map.
≫ ????
≫ If we really win 3–2 after this, that’ll be insane
≫ Wait is my idol a regression idol???
≫ Human fortune-teller octopus
≫ Nah we’re totally winning because Iwol said so
As the chat whooshed by, the words “is my idol a regression idol?” stood out like they’d been typed in 44-point font.
▷ Any matters that could affect areas outside Spark’s successful activities, and any direct information related to future points in time, are considered confidential requiring security.
▷ “Party B” is responsible for maintaining confidentiality regarding the above matters...
.
.
.
Who on earth remembers exactly what happened in which year as they live? I even rolled back nine years! Mixing things up can happen!
While I was racking my brain over how to fix this, my eyes met Jeong Seongbin’s down by my feet. His pupils wobbled.
But the kid stayed calm.
“That, right? The Seodongyo method.”
He was a little clunky, but he did his best to act nonchalant.
“What’s that...?”
“Talking about something that hasn’t happened yet as if it already happened. People use it hoping saying it over and over will make it come true.”
I nodded desperately and backed his play. What a good kid. So my earlier babble about seeing the future pays off here.
“Right. As in, we want Korea to win.”
“If that’s it, make it like eight to two!”
Then Lee Cheonghyeon started blasting out rumors that Korea would win nineteen to one.
The chat was about to glide into a neat Seodongyo wrap-up when the system made a dazzling entrance.
▶ Thanks to Deputy Kim, this company outing is totally ruined.
You’re not trying to make Korea lose because of me, right?
And you’re not thinking I could still live in this land as a K-idol after that, right?
I could practically see the system sneering in those letters. My mind went blank white.
In the end, as a penalty, I got a massive nosebleed after the livestream while I watched Korea’s miraculous equalizer and comeback win.
When Jeong Seongbin suggested I at least get an MRI, I begged him to trust me—“It’s, uh... like new recruit syndrome”—and managed to avoid another hospital trip.
That night, “Live with your mouth shut” got added to my diary fifty more times.
Starting with Jeong Seongbin’s appearance on “I.Am.Best,” Spark’s members headed out one by one to shoot the variety shows they’d been assigned.
From Royal Secretariat folk games on, the only thing Choi Jeho did was eat on camera...
『Wow, Jeho, you really eat well.』
『You can eat like this and still keep your weight?』
『I don’t usually eat like this. My member and my PT trainer keep me on a diet.』
...On a foodie tour show, he demolished four servings of shabu-shabu by himself, stirred in knife-cut noodles with gusto, and scraped up the crispy rice from the fried rice at the end.
As if that wasn’t enough, lining up with kids at an ice cream tub one by one had the panel in stitches.
『Jeho looks so charismatic, but what he does ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ is just like my eldest son.』
『Really?』
『Yeah. Be honest. You’ve still got room, right?』
『...Yes.』
Apparently they liked it, because the people around him kept handing him more.
No one nagging you and you let the reins go, huh? No wonder you came back and spent forever on the “Stairway to Heaven.”
Still, that was cute compared to Choi Jeho.
Our quiet house cat—the one I never expected—went and smashed the whole stovetop.
On a program that tests how much patience a person can show under extreme conditions, Kang Giyeon went through every kind of hardship.
The spicy jjamppong challenge that YouTubers all try at least once was the easy part.
Waiting for him was gosam tea as a palate cleanser.
『Ugh... I mean, shouldn’t you give people something drinkable?』
『They say it’s good for you. Just grit your teeth and drink.』
『You can say that because you’re not the one drinking it!』
While the panel hooted and hollered from all sides, Kang Giyeon only knit his brows a touch and downed it clean in one shot, so decisively there was no room to argue.
『...Can I have traditional sweets with this?』
『Eat, hurry up and eat!』
『Okay, the gosam tea mission—only Giyeon succeeds!』
After that, Kang Giyeon beat the acupressure-mat jump rope and the steam room to take the crown as Endurance King in episode twenty-one.
We’d been told to do nothing, so I hadn’t even done any advance research on the program—and it turned out to be that brutal? I shouldn’t have sent the youngest.
“The next schedule is a self-content shoot, right?”
“Yeah. A rare group schedule.”
Jeong Seongbin checked his notebook. Despite seeing each other every day at the dorm, the words “group schedule” put a full-blown smile on Park Juu’s face.
“Anyone hear what we’re doing today? No one told me anything.”
Everyone shook their heads at my question.
“We didn’t hear either.”
“You’re not all plotting something without me, right?”
“For real. That’s why it’s not even on our shared calendar.”
I checked, and just like Lee Cheonghyeon said, the calendar slot was empty.
“If it’s this mysterious, it’s definitely Do.Life.”
“Anybody know what Do.Life did recently?”
“They did a wild-ginseng hunter special. I checked.”
At my words, Kang Giyeon scrubbed his face with both hands. Apparently still reeling from the unrelenting difficulty.
There was good news, though.
“Looks like it’s not our turn on Do.Life this time. There’s a spoiler out for Actor Maehee!”
“Thank goodness...!”
“Then today really is a self-content shoot. So what’s the item?”
“Whatever it is—as long as it’s not Do.Life.”
With solemn hearts, we each sucked down a red ginseng stick before leaving the dorm.
But thirty minutes later, where we arrived wasn’t a steep mountain or a café in a busy district.
“Hello, nice to meet you!”
A woman with a bright smile and a high-toned greeting—pure professional spirit.
And behind her, a rainbow-colored sign.
“Flora Daycare.”
That’s right.
Our workplace for today was a daycare overflowing with dreams and hope.
