iter, the rookie group from a major agency that had “benchmarked” TeSTAR, rode their buzz upward and then methodically rolled out their marketing.
From that point, the next moves were predictable.
“If I were them... first I’d refine the stage.”
They’d ignited interest; now they needed to feed in image-building content.
└ “No way, amazing.”
└ “Are you an apologist for failure? So sad.”
└ “That shows how terrified they are.”
Bit by bit, people pieced together just how formidable iter’s dedicated team was, and the meticulous process behind assembling that one group.
Without the personal human-interest stories a survival show grants—no broadcastable backstories—they doubled down on pure marketability.
“Luxury-brand image, huh.”
A single group curated by a powerhouse’s capital and manpower. The premium, state-of-the-art aura clearly sold.
They stirred plenty of ire among fans of other lower-tier rookie groups—but iter even weaponized the hatred, highlighting brutal insults to earn sympathy.
└ “It’s because of assholes like you.”
It was chaos—but they didn’t care if a few hated them. Their differentiation strategy was working.
“...It only worked because they made a solid album.”
They’d absorbed a variety of references. A rookie group whose song, choreography, and MV all aligned shot up on the strength of capital and a major label’s backing.
[Go, gogogo, yes, Go!]
Their TikTok choreography-challenge concept was spot-on.
iter’s custom filter crudely redrew the boss monster from the MV in crayon style. The gesture mimicking firing at that monster, timed perfectly, caught on among teens on TikTok.
Excitement, mockery, resentment, fondness... iter had become the hottest topic in the idol world.
Granted, the idol scene—especially male idols—has distanced from general audiences as they target overseas markets...
“But even a storm in a teacup works.”
With their setup complete, they now had the perfect pitch:
[WonderHall’s monster rookies. Their shooting challenge is hot, OneTube views exploding.]
They’d locked in key keywords. Once they appeared on variety shows, everyone would know exactly why they were there and how to frame them.
Public exposure began.
[Today’s guests... oh my goodness!]
[I thought they’d be boss-slayers, but they’re shooting our hearts? Please welcome WonderHall’s rookie group, iter!]
[Waaaah!]
“Huh... we’re on DingDongDaeng Karaoke.”
“Ooooh.”
“We stamped the deal months ago, yet here we are~”
They popped up on a few top variety shows, including the one hosted by TiHolic, showing glimpses of rookie earnestness.
Not too many—just four high-tier appearances, carefully chosen. Their slightly awkward but polite rookie demeanor wasn’t explosively entertaining, but... the image stuck.
“Major agency, successful debut!”
As iter seeped into public awareness, they were simply seen as “the new concept idols.”
“Oh, TiHolic juniors? I’ve heard their name.”
“They do weird concepts too, like most idols these days. But they’re trending, I guess.”
It was a clever in-and-out positioning move.
“.....”
I scanned press releases about iter’s debut PR campaign and reached a conclusion: they’d successfully solidified the field.
“Next they’ll push this success overseas and siphon up the global K-POP fandom.”
That was the textbook next step. Their meticulous game plan, built on TeSTAR’s blueprint, was executed cleanly. And they chose the moment when TeSTAR was at its weakest.
Meanwhile, we—the ones who’d been blindsided—...
“It’s time to wrap up activities.”
“Yes.”
I gave no comment. We were simply finishing our planned group promotions over these last three weeks.
Why? Because it was impossible to fit more group activities purely to counter that rookie group. We’d already squeezed in as much as we could.
Really though—
“Responding would be stupid.”
We had to ignore them. Any reaction would only feed their buzz.
As long as they remained the challengers, rookies, underdogs... the narrative favored them. TeSTAR showing any gesture only helped them frame the story.
“Probably that’s exactly what they wanted.”
They must have figured we’d be a new label, artists with clout who might act rashly. Or perhaps they hoped TeSTAR would post some cryptic statement.
Because we kept quiet, the story ended as “iter’s debut campaign was a success.” And that was the right call.
Of course, damn...
“I wasn’t exactly calm either.”
Yesterday Keun Sejin went to boxing instead of Pilates—maybe he wanted to punch something more satisfying than a sandbag.
“In any case...”
So for now, TeSTAR stuck to our original individual activity plans.
For example, the members on variety series:
“Um, Ah hyun is still out fishing, right?”
“Yes...!”
By the way, Seon Ah hyun had boldly signed up for a fishing-boat survival program—quite a wild concept, almost “Survive with limited gear” style.
“Isn’t it hard?”
“Everyone’s been so kind... I’m learning a lot...!”
“Hmm. Good.”
Ah hyun’s high stamina and lack of fear seemed to suit him unexpectedly well. He even caught bugs bare-handed and dove fully clothed without batting an eye, impressing middle-aged viewers.
└ “After three episodes I’ll correct that—it’s not stoic, it’s a steel-mentality madness.”
His hidden-route game-character unpredictability drew light fans too. A full day at sea without a change of expression made him seem like a drama hero.
“No seasickness?”
Then again, someone who practiced spinning moves in midair daily through middle and high school probably wouldn’t get seasick.
In short, apart from the rookie group drama, TeSTAR’s personal activities were going well.
“Oh, Sejin hyung has drama filming this afternoon!”
“Oh!”
“Good luck...!”
“...Thanks.”
Bae Sejin had begun official filming. Cha Yoo jin, the first to finish personal-schedule shoots, hovered by Bae Sejin with a script in hand.
“Hyung, do you like filming?”
“It’s... fine.”
“Is your role fun? What kind of person are you playing?”
“Uh... the protagonist’s friend.”
Bae Sejin pulled the script closer and answered tersely. As if he worried Yoo jin might rip the pages.
“There are all kinds of friends! I think the best friend roles are meaty, otherwise they’re minor, or the worst friend.”
“...Neither. But in a short time, we form a deep bond.”
He skirted the question with effort—understandable, since the next day’s meeting revealed:
He puffed his chest, then stiffened at the next question.
So we left him be. Bae Sejin resumed a serious face and cautiously elaborated:
“And although it’s a supporting role, there’s a memorable scene—in more ways than one. It’s pretty good.”
“Umm.”
“...It’s the moment that triggers the protagonist’s awakening—that kind of thing!”
From my skim of the original webtoon, a few roles came to mind—but they all die mid-season. No wonder the NDA.
“So that’s why he’s so keen on secrecy.”
“OK. If you like it, then I’m fine.”
“Great!”
Yoo jin shrugged, and Bae Sejin quickly closed the script and turned away.
“But more importantly... are we just going to let those rookies keep copying us?!”
“Um......”
He clearly tried to steer away, but I pressed on.
“For now, we’re staying silent because that’s what they want.”
“I know that, but we can’t stay like this forever.”
“Hyung...”
“Yeah, I agree with you too!”
“...!”
Bae Sejin turned in surprise as Keun Sejin, fresh from his shower, perched on the table.
“When they see their buzz dropping next comeback, they’ll latch onto us again—maybe even overlap schedules on purpose.”
Bae Sejin frowned, but Keun Sejin grinned.
“C’mon—they’re not fooling us. We just need to get ready from now.”
Then he looked at me:
“Right, Mundae?”
Exactly. I stared at my phone:
Spacer. Just like last time we queued up Mirinae against Youngrin’s rookie, we’d deliberately bulked up Spacer to link them with iter.
“Time to position them.”
I reviewed Hee seung’s profile and made a rapid decision. I’d meet him anyway—TeSTAR finally had real results for the company.
[“TeSTAR(★★★★★) album: ” released!]
Album Rating: S
Digital Rank: #3 (daily peak)
Physical Sales: 1,823,281 copies
Total Revenue: tallying
So far that’s domestic only, but the real milestone was this popup:
[Company Grade (D+) → Company Grade (B-)]
Promotion success!
On top ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) of new rewards and perks, the most vital thing was this:
[Mission Accomplished!]
Mission: Achieve B- grade
– “■■■ Fragment” now retrievable
It’s done.
The system fragment—the one that caused the building collapse and swapped me and Keundal’s bodies with its “Mission Failed”—can now be reclaimed from them.
Before “Mission Failed” even popped up.
