Assistant Manager Kim Hates Idols

▶ A sit-down? Assistant Manager Kim, do we really have to do that now?

Instead of handing me sensible KPIs, this system had at least been delivering the necessary prep steps in the form of "work tasks."

Which meant you could interpret it as: while the system might help me achieve my KPIs, it wasn’t going to harm me.

And it was doing all that borrowed through Hanpyeong Industries and Deputy Manager Nam’s framework? With rules quite similar to labor law?

Then I had no choice but to make demands of this so-called "A party."

"Give me a school uniform."

▶ Assistant Manager Kim, do you really need that to work? Have you thought hard enough about whether there’s a better way?

If it’s a company, it should at least provide the minimum support so a worker can do their job.

Besides, I’m asking back the luggage the system unilaterally swept away; for an unreasonable being that can bump up human stats with a snap to say it can’t give me one shabby uniform? No way.

Maybe they didn’t foresee this situation when they drafted the contract as the A party, but since I’m living as the B party anyway, I’ll claim the worker’s rights.

When the system didn’t react, I muttered at it hard in my head.

"I really tried to do idol work with my whole heart, but the system won’t help me... I was even going to swallow the shame of wearing a school uniform at thirty... what a shame..."

The system stayed stubbornly silent — until my inner grumbling got to "If that’s your work ethic, you don’t deserve a paycheck either, you ****," and then it changed its stance.

▶ I’ll give you a list of supplies, pick from within it. Assistant Manager Kim really needs to learn there’s no company that takes care of you this much, tch.

a. Stiff new uniform

A crisp, perfectly creased uniform fresh from the shop. Clean. Name tag not included.

b. Your uniform

Your own uniform with the worn-in feel of three years of wear. Realistic. Name tag included.

▶ Choose which to purchase and report back. Oh, and you won’t use it for anything personal outside of work, right?

Considering we’d show it to fans, the new uniform would look better.

But for realism, when those handsome punks were even bringing their own uniforms, being the only one in a freshly crisp uniform felt off.

After thinking with my eyes closed, I chose my uniform. I comforted myself that I hadn’t done much to dirty my uniform back in school anyway.

Annoying habits aside, the system was astonishingly omnipotent.

So capable that by the time I got back to the dorm, there was already fabric of that familiar nonwoven garment-bag material in my suitcase. It was practically a magic system.

I cracked the suitcase halfway open while Choi Jeho went to wash and Lee Cheonghyeon went to study composition, and checked the state of the uniform.

A deep green outer piece wrapped a stark white shirt.

Under that I could see pants with a fine red grid of thin stripes.

"Fantastic colors."

It was every bit the uniform worthy of its honorable nickname, "walking scallion kimchi."

Just picturing myself dancing among pastel-tone school-uniform boys in this spicy getup made me want to cry. It’s all because the scallion kimchi is too fiery.

As expected, the uniform was neat. No stains or anything. Except...

"Kim Han?"

There was a stranger’s name attached on the chest of the outer garment. Excuse me, wasn’t this "your uniform"?

I wasn’t even sure there’d been a kid named Kim Han at my school. Back in school, I didn’t have friends.

Anyway, since we’d already agreed that Park Juu would go with a plain knit vest and a name tag, I could quietly swap in my tag and reattach it.

Up to this point, I had zero interest in who Kim Han was.

The identity of that faceless classmate, Kim Han, was revealed faster than I expected.

"Wow. If we’d actually run into each other at school, I don’t think we could’ve been friends."

"Why, Cheonghyeon? We even did group projects together."

At my line, Lee Cheonghyeon burst out laughing. His laughter was full of mockery.

This little ****. Who ironed your uniform at dawn?

The current arts high kids didn’t have much to prep. Their uniforms were pretty and clean to begin with.

The problem was the non–high schoolers and the general-education high grads.

Park Juu was done with just reattaching a name tag, but unexpectedly the side that seemed over once a package arrived — Choi Jeho — squeaked hard.

I sent him to his room to try the uniform on, and he came back out in his original pajamas in five minutes.

"What are you doing? I told you to put it on and come out."

"It doesn’t fit."

"Then at least try the pants."

"They’re short. They were already short when I graduated."

While everyone else was studying, Spark’s genius center had been building his body. His uniform pants were now capris.

In the end, Choi Jeho had to buy new pants and a shirt in similar colors.

And as for Lee Cheonghyeon and me...

"Cheonghyeon, does your school allow uniform tailoring?"

"Not a chance. First I’ll take mine in, and after promotions, just in case, I’ll probably have to wear the one I inherited back when I was a freshman."

"Got it. We’ll have to take a lot in this time."

"Hyung, I don’t think you’re in any position to talk."

We had to watch stylists tear into and redo our uniforms right in front of us. Back in school the most I’d done was extend a hem, and this is how you tailor a uniform, huh.

While that silent battle unfolded on one side, Lee Cheonghyeon came over and said:

"Since it’s the last show, it feels kind of weird."

"Yeah. It’s a shame."

Jeong Seongbin nodded along.

Compared with Spark’s previous debut schedule, Spark now was handling a lot of activities.

Given that, there had to be difficulties, yet to say that... admirable passion.

Looking at these kids who were nothing short of praiseworthy, I said:

"What’s there to be sad about. As soon as promotions end we’re going straight into meetings for personal self-content and live streams."

"Personal self-content?"

Feigning nonchalance, not-Kang-Giyeon asked, a bit sour.

"Yeah. During the promo period we move mostly as a group, so we have to post lots of personal crumbs during the break."

"Hyung, what you watched every night — was that {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} reference checking?"

"No, the stuff at night was MV and stage reaction monitoring. I’m dumb; I can’t do two things at once."

I said no, but I was a little surprised that Lee Cheonghyeon naturally used "reference," such a thoroughly office-worker expression. Did he catch it from me?

"...Hyung, I feel like you only ever think about work."

Park Juu muttered beside me. I almost answered that I wished UA would at least pay us an allowance for that much, then held back.

"Hey, cut the chatter. It’s almost our turn."

"Yes!"

At Choi Jeho’s guidance, the members answered loudly.

We started walking to move behind the stage, and Jeong Seongbin came up and called me in a small voice.

"Hyung."

"Yeah. What is it?"

"We’ll finish the last stage well too, right?"

A bit of worry, and a wish that despite that we’d finish well.

And past that complex emotion, a glimpse of the confidence lying at the base.

"Yeah. I’ll do my best and not mess up."

So the only thing I could say was just about that much.

"Wow, you still watch idol shows at your age?"

"So what. Quit picking fights and go play the game you love, and get lost."

In a normal living room, a loving sibling conversation took place.

Waiting for Spark’s turn on the music show were Baek Haewon, and Baek Haewon’s older brother Baek Haein — who had come out to get ice (Haewon could never understand why this guy munched ice every day).

"Haewon, you’re a high-schooler now, time to stop watching this stuff and study, no? When are you graduating from being a parasite?"

"Mm, shut up."

Without even looking at him, Baek Haewon answered like a machine.

As far as Haewon knew, the number of days that man studied during his three years of high school could be counted on one hand.

"Hey, is 'Lorale' on today too?"

"Ugh, get lost already! If you talk when Spark’s on later, you’re dead!"

When wire-taut Haewon radiated killing intent, Haein shook his head like what is wrong with this kid.

Haein couldn’t understand his sister forcing herself to sit through even the long commercials while trudging toward their turn. If it was a performance video, couldn’t she just watch on MeTube?

"What’s so great about idols."

Haein shrugged. Just then, Haewon fired a supersonic.

"Aaagh! Seongbin’s light-purple uniform is insane! That XX styling is killer!"

The sofa cushion in Haewon’s hands crumpled like a wet paper cup. Haein was a little scared of his sister.

Haewon’s gush didn’t stop there.

"Who arranged these parts, seriously... This is the mark of a god of openings..."

"Juu’s name tag being white is too cute... XX at this level, isn’t it a crime? Ah, my forehead’s going to crack."

"Choi Jeho, that son of a ****, that fox, that ****."

Haewon was ready to shower every guy who appeared on screen with praise until her mouth went dry.

They were all handsome, sure, but did she need to like them that much?

Just as the puzzled Haein was about to leave the room, Haewon grabbed him.

"Hey, isn’t that your uniform?"

"What?"

At Haewon’s words, Haein looked at the TV.

"Huh?"

Sure enough, there it was on screen — the dreariest uniform of their alma mater, plain as day.