Even when I was weighed down by misunderstandings with my parents, that guy had a knack for disarming anyone who approached him.
Back then, I thought of him as a friendly puppy, wagging his tail at everyone.
That was exactly the vibe he gave off.
Perhaps it was only natural for things to change.
He’d grown older, and seven years in the cutthroat entertainment industry—hardly a walk in the park—had left their mark.
My head understood this, but my heart wasn’t quite on board.
And yet, here I was, feeling ashamed and pathetic for harboring these emotions now.
Hating Seo Eun-jae with every fiber of my being wasn’t something I wanted to dwell on anymore.
Whether he knew my inner turmoil or not, Seo Eun-jae still claimed the seat next to me on the express bus back to the dorms for the on-site ranking announcement.
He chattered away in a soft voice, tossing out random remarks, then leaned his head on my shoulder and drifted off.
When I glanced at him, a faint smile curved his lips.
He seemed pretty content with the moment.
‘Just stay quiet for now,’ I vowed to myself.
The on-site rankings for the second team evaluation turned out as I remembered, thankfully.
Seo Eun-jae had chosen a different project this time, and I worried that my joining his team might throw things off.
But his fandom was too solid for that to matter.
In truth, the idol group Dreamer was YM’s attempt to shift their fanbase to a new generation.
They’d planned to launch another idol group—one they’d been preparing for years—to inherit the existing fandom.
Dreamer was meant to be a bridge, given just enough unique flair to stand out without too much investment.
The problem was, Dreamer became too successful.
Add to that the fact that the long-planned idol group fell apart.
I don’t know the exact internal politics—having left YM, I’m an outsider now—but the group I knew of never debuted.
After Dreamer disbanded, a new female idol group debuted, followed a few years later by a nine-member male group.
The group I’d been aware of was supposed to have five members.
It’s still hard to believe, but I was slated to be part of that carefully crafted idol group.
That’s why I debuted first in a project group.
YM mentioned it in passing, and when I said I was leaving, they didn’t try to stop me or bring it up, so I assumed it wasn’t true.
But after hearing the inside story from Seo Eun-jae, it seems it was real.
Why else would they bother tormenting me for so long, especially when I hadn’t even officially debuted?
No one would go to such lengths out of mere spite.
‘…Or maybe they would.’
Regardless, despite the unexpected variables, the outcome didn’t change.
I wasn’t sure how Seo Eun-jae’s performance would be received, but in my eyes, he’d done far better than before.
And so, the day of the first ranking announcement arrived.
***
The first ranking ceremony wasn’t held at the filming location on the outskirts of Seoul where our dorms were.
Instead, it took place at the TVS headquarters in Sangam-dong—the same place as the initial evaluation.
The interior of the set had changed, though.
The mentor seats were gone.
In their place were rows of chairs labeled with rankings, facing a pyramid of wide, silver-glimmering seats marked with large numbers.
At the very top sat the solitary first-place chair.
That spot belonged to Seo Eun-jae today.
Where would my seat be?
My heart pounded so fiercely it felt like my head was ringing.
I licked my dry lips and settled into the waiting area chair marked with my current rank.
‘Quest’
[Main Quest | 2. Place in the Top 20 at the First Ranking Announcement]
[Reach the top 20 at the first ranking announcement. Additional rewards will be granted if you place in the top 10.]
[(Place in the top 20 at the first ranking announcement: 0/1)]
[Deadline: Until the first ranking announcement]
[Reward: 500 coins / Additional Reward: ???]
[Penalty: Elimination from the revival project and death]
A notification popped up above the quest window.
Thanks to Seo Eun-jae, we’d taken first in the second team evaluation, fulfilling the conditions for the additional reward.
‘I hope it’s something useful…’
But I’d only get it if I made the top 20 today.
I kept glancing at the quest window, pretending to stare straight ahead, but the unease gnawing at me wouldn’t fade.
Staring at it didn’t magically solve anything, yet I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
If I didn’t focus on something, the trembling and anxiety would swallow me whole.
‘Maybe I should’ve taken a calming pill.’
I’d worked hard.
That much I could say with certainty.
But effort didn’t guarantee results.
Sometimes, hard work betrays you.
Or maybe…
‘Maybe thinking I worked hard enough is just self-delusion.’
If I kept getting bad results despite my efforts, I’d start doubting whether I’d truly done enough.
Winning people’s hearts had no set formula, no clear answer.
How many had voted for me?
I rubbed my cold hands together and stood up.
“I-I’ll be right back. Just heading to the restroom.”
I couldn’t take it anymore.
I needed that calming pill.
Seo Eun-jae and Hang-yeol half-stood as if to follow, but I shook my head.
Forcing strength into my trembling legs, I hurried away.
In the restroom, I locked myself in a stall.
My shaking hands fumbled a few times before I managed to secure the door.
‘Inhale. Exhale.’
I breathed deeply, but my heart refused to slow its frantic pace.
Finally, half-crouching, I pulled a calming pill from my inventory and swallowed it.
The bitter taste spread to the root of my tongue, and the trembling stopped.
My heartbeat returned to normal.
But I needed to check the status window to be sure the effect had taken hold.
[ The calming pill’s effect has temporarily removed your debuff. Remaining time: 26 minutes, 50 seconds]
[ Repeated use has built tolerance, reducing the effect’s duration.]
I nearly cursed out loud.
The effect already lasted only 30 minutes, and I’d been debating whether to take another to extend it.
I hadn’t worried about stacking effects, and now this?
‘Tolerance reducing the duration?’
It’d be better if I were just sick.
I’d made plenty of these crude calming pills, but they were still far from ideal.
‘I can’t use the premium pill from the special mission—it’s for the third evaluation.’
Unlike the main quest, special mission rewards were given immediately.
The premium pill lasted two hours.
‘No, it’s fine. Even if today’s filming ends early, it won’t be done in two hours.’
Now wasn’t the time for the premium pill.
I rubbed my dry face and left the stall.
After washing my hands thoroughly, I headed into the hallway—and locked eyes with someone leaning against the opposite wall.
‘Kwon Ha-bin?’
Why was he here?
Like during the stage greeting, the timing of our encounter felt too convenient.
It could’ve been a coincidence—he might’ve just looked up at a sound—but it felt like he’d been waiting for me.
Maybe it was because of what happened before I died, or maybe I was just being paranoid, but it left a bad taste in my mouth.
I gave a quick nod and passed him.
Thankfully, he didn’t try to talk.
‘It’s a filming site. He’s probably just being cautious.’
But that caution made me more uneasy.
Unlike some hotheads who’d snap no matter the setting, he wasn’t like that.
‘There seem to be more people than usual.’
It wasn’t my imagination.
As someone prone to panic in crowded places, I was hyper-aware of strangers.
Contestants went straight to the set upon arriving and didn’t leave unless necessary, so I wouldn’t have noticed otherwise.
I slowed my steps, scanning the area.
Unfamiliar faces.
No one held lighting or cameras, and they weren’t in casual clothes—most wore suits, some exchanging greetings.
‘Agency staff?’
Some looked awkward in their suits, likely field managers.
I’d heard agencies could attend ranking announcements since elimination was on the line.
It made sense—someone had to look after their actors’ mental state.
The production team wouldn’t bother.
‘Then the manager from BlueNight must be here.’
I just hoped it wasn’t the manager for Actor Team 2.
Unfortunately, Kwon Ha-bin was in my team.
Maybe he was out here to meet the manager briefly.
He was alone when we crossed paths, but I couldn’t rule it out.
‘Maybe I’m overthinking him.’
Either way, nothing good came from lingering.
I lowered my head and hurried back.
As I sat down, the main MC, Seol-ha, was reviewing the cue sheet, signaling filming was about to start.
My throat felt tight.
Hang-yeol poked my side.
“You okay, brother?” he whispered.
I forced a smile to reassure him, gripping his hand briefly before letting go.
His hand was as cold as mine.
He gave an awkward, lopsided grin, embarrassed I’d noticed.
‘He’s not great at hiding his feelings.’
“It’ll be a good result today,” I said.
“Haha, I hope so.”
His voice lacked conviction, his expression clouded.
It was unlike him.
Hang-yeol was always confident, on or off stage.
He’d started at B-rank, maintained a decent ranking, and earned praise in both mentor evaluations.
Yet here he was, uncertain.
I couldn’t blame him—this place was full of uncertainties.
“Don’t worry.”
I patted his shoulder as the signal for filming sounded.
The buzz in the studio quieted.
I met Hang-yeol’s eyes, nodded once, and turned to the MC stand.