I worried that my impatience to quickly resolve my trauma might hinder my focus during practice, but those fears proved unfounded.
As I worked in sync with Seo Eun-jae and Hang-yeol, I found myself naturally immersed in the performance, my anxieties melting away.
“Anyway! And you, you little punk, even if it’s just temporary, when you step into our office, I’m your boss! Watch your tone, got it?”
“It’s all good, Attorney. Since our office is so small, I handle HR and recruitment too.”
“Oh, come on! Whose side are you on, Sir?!”
The playful banter sparked laughter from the other participants watching our rehearsal.
Caught off guard by their amusement, a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth—until, without warning, a status window popped up in my vision.
[Name: Kim Jae-ha]
[Level: 24]
[Status: Debuff (???)]
[Appearance: A+]
[Diction: B]
[Action: C (B)]
[Reaction: (B)]
[Expression: C (B)]
[Appeal: D (A)]
[Stats are currently reduced due to a debuff.]
[A temporary debuff immunity effect has been applied to certain stats.]
‘Only my Reaction stat has returned to normal…?’
A brief message window appeared above it.
[^^]
‘This damned god.’
So that’s it—just this tiny hint?
I didn’t expect our great patron deity to spoon-feed me help, not really.
But they knew what I was wrestling with yesterday, didn’t they?
Staying silent all this time and now pulling this—it’s infuriating.
From what I’d pieced together, my patron god couldn’t read my thoughts directly, but they were definitely watching my every move.
Even when I had Loki turned off, they’d sent messages, which meant they weren’t relying on some transcendent camera like Loki to observe me.
They had their own way of keeping tabs.
Fine, I get it—our patron god is deeply invested in me, aware of my struggles and my current situation.
But what I don’t get is what they want from me.
As I’d initially suspected, this revival project was a kind of entertainment program for the gods, a game.
My patron god was merely a temporary owner of an amusing toy—me.
From watching other participants’ videos, I’d noticed two main ways owners played with their toys: either tormenting them by cornering them or coddling them like pets.
But “Butterfly’s Wingbeat” took an ambiguous middle path.
‘They don’t deliberately put me in tough spots, but they seem to enjoy watching me squirm. Then they slip in a bit of help, ever so subtly.’
Of course, they never miss a chance to tease me while they’re at it.
[God “Butterfly’s Wingbeat” clears their throat and puffs out their chest!]
Now they’re even fishing for gratitude.
A wry chuckle escaped my lips.
“Brother? What are you staring at?”
Hang-yeol’s voice snapped me back to reality.
“Huh? Oh, nothing. Just lost in thought for a second…”
I was about to apologize for breaking the flow and suggest we resume practice when my eyes met Seo Eun-jae’s.
He flashed a gentle smile, but for a fleeting moment, there was something peculiar in his gaze.
Honestly, it was the first time I’d seen him look at me like that.
I couldn’t quite decipher it.
‘Something about it feels… off.’
Every now and then, Seo Eun-jae gave me this sense of unease, a vague discomfort that crept up on me.
But it was just a feeling, nothing concrete.
‘What’s causing it? I can’t even begin to guess.’
What else could I do but let it slide?
“Alright, participants! Please gather around!”
A staff member’s voice rang out, startling me.
I hadn’t even noticed them appear.
The participants shuffled toward the front of the meeting room, lining up as directed by the staff.
‘What’s going on?’
I didn’t recall any special events during the second evaluation prep, so this sudden shift made my mouth go dry.
I watched the staff’s movements anxiously.
Moments later, a karaoke machine appeared at the entrance of the room.
“What? Out of nowhere?”
I nearly let out a sigh of relief amid the surprised murmurs of the other participants.
Swallowing it down, I feigned a shocked expression to blend in.
‘So this is when they filmed that behind-the-scenes talent show.’
Two staff members grunted as they dragged the karaoke machine to the front, connecting it to a TV.
An assistant MC, who seemed to have materialized out of thin air, stepped onto the stage.
“Hello, everyone! It’s been a while!”
“Hello!!”
The enthusiastic greeting was met with a beaming smile from the assistant MC.
“You’re probably wondering what’s going on, right? Well, to give our hardworking participants a break from practice and evaluations, we’ve prepared a little talent show!”
“Oh… oh?”
Having been seasoned by variety shows, the participants quickly caught on.
Some faces screamed ‘Just let us rest!’ or ‘A talent show, seriously?’, but no one voiced their complaints outright.
Their attempts at fake enthusiasm resulted in a bizarre mix of half-hearted cheers.
The assistant MC, undeterred, pressed on.
“Of course! A plain talent show would be boring, so we’ve prepared quizzes and prizes!”
Right on cue, a staff member wheeled in a table covered with a cloth.
The assistant MC whipped it off, revealing the prizes to a chorus of excited cheers.
[5th: Snack set.]
[4th: 100,000 Won delivery app voucher.]
[3rd: 200,000 Won fine dining voucher.]
[2nd: SS Hotel stay voucher.]
[1st: Drum washing machine.]
‘…A drum washing machine?’
My mind flashed to the old top-loader in my apartment.
It’d be a lie to say I wasn’t tempted, but the prize felt oddly out of place.
“Karaoke backing track quiz! We’ll play the instrumental, and you guess the song title and artist in that order. After answering correctly, you’ll need to sing or dance to the song! You can answer multiple times, and rankings will be based on who gets the most correct!”
“Sounds doable!”
“I took dance lessons at my agency!”
“I’m no good at dancing, but I trained in singing.”
These days, even actors take basic dance or vocal lessons.
You can’t avoid variety shows entirely, and while old-school TV programs forced you to perform, modern web shows demand you step up voluntarily to survive.
‘Rising actors sometimes even host music shows.’
As everyone buzzed with excitement, I let the tension drain from my body.
Singing or dancing in front of a crowd?
Not my thing.
‘I’ll just sit back and enjoy the show.’
“Let the karaoke backing track quiz battle begin!”
The assistant MC gave the signal, and the music started.
The TV was connected but powered off, so we couldn’t see what song was playing.
“Boom, boom, boom!”
A heavy, infectious beat hit my ears.
‘It’s K-TOP’s “Only One.” ‘
K-TOP, a group that debuted with ambitions to be the top of K-pop but disbanded after their second album.
Known for their quirky, so-called “cringe” songs, they’d recently seen a resurgence as a “hidden gem” track.
Not long after I recognized it, several hands shot up.
The assistant MC pointed to the first one.
“Only One, K-TOP!”
‘Didn’t they say the song title first, then the artist?’
The assistant MC flashed a sly smile before shouting cheerfully, “CCH!”
“What?!”
“Wait, no! I got it right! Or, uh, what’s my name again?”
“Jin-wook! I got it right! I raised my hand first!”
“Oh, the order…!”
The participant who’d messed up the order slumped in defeat, while the others waved their hands eagerly, like hyenas circling prey.
“K-TOP! Only One!”
“Correct!”
“Woooh!”
*What a mess.*
***
“Now, we’re nearing the end of the backing track quiz! Next up, in my personal opinion, is the toughest question yet!”
The assistant MC signaled, and a new song began.
A melancholic string melody filled the room.
“What’s this?”
“I’ve never heard this one before.”
As most participants looked puzzled, I buried my face in my hands to hide my frozen expression.
‘J-Will’s “Fate That Can’t Be.”‘
It was the song I’d performed at my YM audition, the one that earned me first place in the monthly evaluation.
“Wow, really? No one knows this one? It’s a bit old, but it’s a classic! If you’re a ballad fan, you might recognize it.”
“An old song?”
“I love ballads, but I seriously don’t know this one…”
Fair enough.
It was from the early ’90s.
I only knew it because my mother used to play it all the time.
‘Damn it, why this song of all things?’
A bad feeling churned in my gut.
My hands, slick with sweat, clenched into fists.
Even when I had to sing a musical number for a special mission, I hadn’t felt this rattled.
Was it because of the crowd?
I had a sudden, irrational fear that the assistant MC would call me out to sing.
It felt like being back at YM, during those monthly evaluations.
A trainer would point at me, and I’d stand to sing.
Faceless figures surrounded me, their glowing eyes piercing through me, brimming with sharp malice.
‘Get it together.’
I bit the inside of my cheek, the pain grounding me slightly.
This wasn’t YM.
I was in the middle of a competition, and unless I raised my hand, no one would force me to sing.
“Oh, yes! Participant Kim Jae-ha!”
“…What?’
Why was the MC calling my name?
“Oh, sorry! It looked like Jae-ha knew the answer but was hesitating…”
The hand raised on my behalf belonged to Lee Min-seok, sitting beside me.
‘When did he even get there?’
I could’ve sworn Seo Eun-jae was on my right and another team’s participant was on my left.
“Brother? Do you know this one?”
Hang-yeol, sitting behind me, piped up.
Instead of answering, I fixed my gaze on Min-seok, whose eyes trembled as he subtly looked away.
“Participant Kim Jae-ha?”
I needed to say I didn’t know that Min-seok had misunderstood.
But my mouth wouldn’t move.
‘They’re all staring at me…’
I knew their faces and names, but my mind went blank.
Their features blurred, leaving only their eyes—sharp, vivid, and piercing.
A familiar memory surged up.
19, spring.
A vacant lot behind the broadcasting station.
After finishing a music show pre-recording, I’d stepped out to use the restroom.
When I returned, the waiting room was empty.
I grabbed a passing staff member, who told me my manager and group members had left earlier.
Hoping against hope, I checked the parking lot, but the van was gone.
My phone had been taken for “management” purposes, so I couldn’t contact anyone.
As I scanned my surroundings anxiously, a group approached, surrounding me.
They were fans I’d seen at public broadcasts and fan signings.