Chapter 122: You’ve Grown Well

Tipple’s Sung Jihoo-sunbaenim.

Even when I caught a glimpse of him in the waiting room, I was nervous, but facing him one-on-one like this made me feel like I was going crazy.

A cold yet mysteriously atmospheric face.

Wasn’t he someone who was truly born to be a celebrity?

Sung Jihoo had his own dazzling aura that made him feel like someone beyond the ordinary.

Who would have thought such presence could even be felt in a Chinese restaurant?

I felt respect, but at the same time, I couldn’t help but feel intimidated.

Now that was a first-tier idol.

I opened and closed my lips for a while before cautiously speaking.

“Uh… uh… Sunbaenim.”

“Yes?”

“It’s an honor… to meet you like this.”

“The honor is mine as well.”

Sung Jihoo bowed his head politely and swallowed dryly.

The words I had barely managed to get out stopped there.

Was he… shy?

I knew he was less talkative compared to his teammate Choi Yeonwoo, but now that I saw him, it seemed he might be a little shy too.

Clatter—

Just then, a Chinese restaurant staff member came in holding plates in both hands.

At the same time, Sung Jihoo’s expression brightened.

“Ah, the shrimp toast goes over here. Yes, put the jjamppong over there.”

I guess the awkwardness was mutual.

Sung Jihoo kept his gaze fixed solely on the shrimp toast the staff was handing over, doing his best to avoid my eyes.

“……”

I, on my end, tried to gauge the atmosphere while searching my brain for a decent conversation topic.

What should I say?

I’d already used the “it’s an honor” line… should I say I enjoy Tipple’s songs?

Should I say I’m a fan?

But that might be too much pressure.

“If you need anything else, feel free to order more~.”

“Yes, thank you.”

Screech—

Once the staff left, even the little bits of conversation we had died away.

The room was now in complete silence.

At that moment, unable to stand the suffocating quiet any longer, Sung Jihoo spoke first.

“I enjoyed watching Human Theater.”

“Ah, thank yo—…”

I nodded and instinctively gave my thanks, but then I froze.

No way.

Idol Human Theater?

Clink—

The hand holding my spoon lost all strength and dropped it onto the table.

“Pardon?”

Human Theater?

When I asked again in a flustered voice, Sung Jihoo nodded calmly.

“Yes, I really enjoyed it. I watched it with my members.”

“W-with your members…?”

“Yeonwoo especially liked it.”

Why… why did you watch that, Sunbaenim…

My mind suddenly went blank.

Wait a second.

What scenes aired in that episode again?

I think I… did something really… weird.

‘Squeak squeak.’

Ah, crap.

I hadn’t even taken a single bite yet, but my appetite was already gone.

Don’t tell me… did I cry?

“Then… then, did you by any chance also see me crying…?”

“You mean… the hamster?”

“Y-yes…”

I cried. I really cried.

A headache pounded through my skull and I was at a loss for words.

Is this real life?

Was it okay for my first impression to my role model to be like this?

I began to seriously worry that he might remember me as some lunatic.

It’s not like I was that genuinely into the hamster.

It was just part of the idol business, you know.

“Uh, Sunbaenim.”

I hurried to start explaining myself.

“T-the thing is, about that…”

“It’s okay. I’m the rabbit in our team, after all…”

“Sorry?”

The moment those words left his mouth, Sung Jihoo’s lips closed again.

It seemed like something he’d said to comfort me, but realized a beat too late how it sounded.

A toming out, huh…

The air instantly grew awkward again.

“Ah, I see.”

“Ahem.”

Sung Jihoo cleared his throat and picked up a crispy shrimp toast with his chopsticks.

It looked like he wanted to shove something in his mouth out of regret for what he’d just said.

Trying to smooth things over, he added awkwardly,

“You know, there’s a certain understanding between fellow small animals.”

“Ah, ah, of course. Definitely.”

Honestly, for a rabbit, he looked a bit too cold… but if he said so himself, who was I to disagree.

I stared up at him blankly and nodded.

Maybe it was just my imagination.

But it felt like he was a mix between Kang Siwoo and Ha Junseo.

His appearance had a cold impression, but within it, there was Kang Siwoo’s calmness and Ha Junseo’s quirkiness blended together in a curious balance.

While I was trying to figure out Sung Jihoo’s character in such a short time—

Slurp—

After taking a light sip of jjamppong broth, Sung Jihoo spoke again.

“I wanted to meet you in person.”

“Ah, same here.”

From what I knew, Sung Jihoo wasn’t the type to go around befriending juniors.

He didn’t seem to have many particularly close celebrity friends, and from the brief conversation we’d had, he didn’t give off the impression of being someone with a wide social circle.

That’s why this was unexpected.

Aside from being in the same company, we didn’t have much of a connection.

So why was he going out of his way to take care of me like this?

As if reading my thoughts, Sung Jihoo spoke.

“Since we’re both main dancer positions, and also in the same company family.”

“Yes, yes.”

“It reminds me of when I debuted.”

I had never even imagined Sung Jihoo’s debut days.

In my memory, even eight years later—just like now—he was always a professional.

Sung Jihoo gave a small smile and added,

“Honestly, I think we shouldn’t forget our original mindset, but sometimes we do. For some reason, seeing juniors again after a while brought it back to me. The jjamppong will get cold—go ahead and eat.”

I nodded and picked up my chopsticks.

Since I had just been sitting there listening absentmindedly ever since the food arrived, it had cooled down a bit.

Slurp—

I lifted a bite of jjamppong noodles and was about to put it in my mouth when Sung Jihoo’s gaze landed squarely on me.

“But… why are your hands shaking like that?”

“M-my hands?”

Tremble tremble.

Before I’d even realized it, my hands were trembling like an aspen leaf.

I thought I wouldn’t be nervous, but making eye contact was killing me.

I averted my eyes from his direct gaze and blurted out anything.

“I have a bit of a tremor. It’s not usually this bad…”

Tremble tremble tremble.

“It’s a bit bad.”

“Ahaha.”

“I-it’s fine.”

If I’d known it would be like this, I should’ve somehow dragged Seo Ian-hyung along so it could be a four-person conversation.

That would’ve been less nerve-wracking than one-on-one.

I managed to get the bite of noodles down despite my trembling.

Maybe it was because it was a high-end Chinese restaurant, but it tasted good.

Not that I could tell if it was going into my mouth or my nose.

Sung Jihoo glanced at me devouring my food, then picked up another piece of shrimp toast.

“Oh, you can eat while listening, but I’m going to be in a Chuseok pilot program this time.”

“A Chuseok pilot?”

“It’s called Dance in the Night, a program where you dance as a duo. SBC is doing it as a Chuseok special.”

A first-tier idol appearing in a Chuseok pilot program—

It was surprising enough to make my eyes widen.

“You go on pilot programs too?”

“Yes, it looked fun.”

I stared at Sung Jihoo with round eyes.

He smiled faintly and shrugged.

“You might not feel it yet since you’re still a rookie, but as the years stack up, I sometimes want to do solo activities.”

Perhaps worried I might misunderstand, Sung Jihoo quickly added,

“Oh, we sometimes fight among members, but we haven’t cut ties. We get along fine.”

“Yes, you seem to have a good relationship.”

“Anyway, Yeonwoo wants to release a solo album, so he’s planning one for the end of the year. Another hyung is trying acting. Some members are preparing for musicals. But… I’m not talented in those areas.”

If it’s him, a solo album should be possible.

That wasn’t my fan bias talking—objectively, with Sung Jihoo’s stage presence, he could easily succeed solo.

He just seemed to feel burdened by the idea.

As soon as he started talking about his main job, his expression turned serious.

“I personally have a lot I want to show fans through dance.”

That passion for dance was so very Sung Jihoo—he wouldn’t lose to anyone in that regard.

Even after all those years, staying that consistent wasn’t easy.

So that’s why he was joining the Chuseok pilot program.

It seemed like his personal influence had more to do with it than the company’s decision.

If a first-tier idol offered to boost viewership, the broadcasters had no reason to say no.

Sung Jihoo smiled and added,

“They call it a survival, but it’ll pretty much have a fun, everyone-enjoying-themselves atmosphere. Think of it as creating one nice stage for Chuseok and calling it a day.”

“Oh, that sounds great.”

Having a variety program like that in the middle of a dry survival format wasn’t bad.

Sung Jihoo’s voice brightened slightly.

“I think it’ll be fun and a good experience.”

“I think so too.”

“I personally know the PD, so it’s trustworthy… Even though I’ll have to carve time out of my schedule, I think it’s worth doing.”

“……”

“And, you know… to build recognition with older viewers?”

But why was he telling me this?

Just as I was realizing something was off, Sung Jihoo’s direct gaze met mine.

“Want to go with me?”

…Excuse me?

Boy’s Dream filming set.

Cha Seongbin leaned back in a plush chair in front of the practice room mirror.

Before, he’d always stood in a crowd with other trainees, taking lessons as one of them.

But this was his first time sitting here in a trainer’s position.

It felt oddly new.

Choi Myunghwan, the choreographer, grinned at him.

“What, enjoying yourself?”

“A little. This is fun in its own way.”

“Hey, you think it’s just fun? Do you know how much flak you get if you can’t handle this seat~?”

“Haha, true.”

“Don’t you remember? During Starf episode 3, I said your dancing was at an amateur level, and my lifespan shortened by like three years.”

Because he’d targeted the popular member Cha Seongbin, Choi Myunghwan said he’d gotten more hate than he could ever get in a lifetime. Seongbin clasped his hands together with a sly smile.

“Ah, I’m really sorry for that~. But thanks to you, my dancing improved a lot.”

“You know, you’d better treat me well.”

“Of course.”

The joking stopped there.

“Ah, it’s starting.”

“Let’s do our best, Seongbin.”

As soon as the red light on the camera came on, Cha Seongbin’s face returned to seriousness as if nothing had happened.

Clang—

As soon as the practice room door opened, the Spacewalk team and the trainees from the opposing team came pouring in together.

The youngest staff member’s cheerful voice rang out loudly.

“Yes, we’ll begin filming now!”

Among them, there were some faces Cha Seongbin recognized.

The trainees covering the opposing team’s song settled down in a corner.

Seongbin glanced briefly at Jang Juwon’s face among them, then quickly turned his gaze away.

He didn’t want to show any reaction in front of the camera, and right now, his focus needed to be on the Spacewalk team.

He wasn’t here to hang out—he was here to give feedback.

Seongbin slowly turned his head and scanned the members of the Spacewalk team.

Familiar faces included Ray from The Core, Lee Junhyeok from Starf, and Lee Dokyung. Quite a few.

All assigned to the same group, huh.

Looking down at the lyrics sheet, Seongbin spoke in a deliberately casual tone.

“So the parts are divided like this.”

“Yes.”

If he reacted noticeably here, it would put him in an awkward position.

The only fortunate thing—probably thanks to Do Seohan’s “consideration” (?)—was that there was no ridiculous scripted conversation like, It’s been a while, how have you been?

Naturally, there would be no editing point leading in that direction either.

It really seemed like he intended to keep to the original promise of cutting his own screen time rather than creating controversy.

Thanks, Seohan-hyung~.

Finishing his silent thanks, Seongbin pointed at the lyrics sheet.

“You’ve probably noticed the biggest change from the original direction—after the verse, the rap lyrics have been completely redone.”

“Yes, I noticed!”

“We’ve altered the rap section quite a lot so it doesn’t resemble the original vibe. Also, we’ve inserted an a cappella sound at the beginning. I thought it might give the stage more synergy, so I tried adding it. What did you think?”

“I think so too!”

Ray from The Core answered diligently.

He was known to be close with Do Seohan, and it was easy to see why—he seemed like the kind of person that even the selective youngest member would choose to spend time with.

Just a few months ago, Ray from The Core had been in a senior position to him.

Now, meeting again as a trainee, he could easily have felt self-conscious, but unlike a certain someone, he didn’t show it at all.

That “certain someone” being Lee Junhyeok.

Turning to him, Seongbin spoke.

“Mr. Lee Junhyeok, your part is the intro sub-vocal, right?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Of all things, it was Do Seohan’s part.

A definite self-consciousness trigger.

It was a little questionable whether he could manage his facial expressions throughout this mission.

Either way, his job was to create the best stage possible, and whatever chaos might come from Junhyeok’s personality wasn’t his problem.

Just do the work and go.

Seongbin smiled slightly and tilted his head.

“Want to try singing it?”

.

.

.

“Yes, I’ve heard enough.”

They really were a skilled team—the overall balance was good.

Junhyeok and Lee Dokyung had personality issues, not skill issues. The same went for Ray, who showed clear veteran-level ability.

At this rate, the stage would turn out fine. Seongbin smiled with satisfaction and nodded.

“That was good.”

But if there was one person who felt lacking…

Flipping through the pages to check the parts, he carefully spoke.

“Mr. Lee Jaewon?”

“Yes.”

In the middle of the Spacewalk team stood a trainee with a particularly youthful face, who looked up with wide eyes.

Just as he was about to answer, Choi Myunghwan, sitting next to him, jumped in first.

“Wow, you look young—how old are you?”

“I’m seventeen.”

“Seventeen… wow… Kids are so young these days, right?”

“Yeah.”

Seventeen-year-old Lee Jaewon.

It seemed he had just completed the midterm evaluation for the Sub Rapper 1 position.

He’s good for his age.

Only for his age, though. Looking around at the team members, Seongbin asked,

“Then who’s Sub Rapper 2?”

“That’s me.”

“Mr. Choi Hyungseok?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Hmm. Definitely a bit lacking.

Even though Jaewon was good, his rap style was on the harder side, so it didn’t really fit Sub Rapper 1, which had relatively more singing rap.

“Personally, I think Mr. Lee Jaewon would fit better as Rapper 2. Can you try the first line?”

“Oh, sure.”

Jaewon immediately rapped a short snippet of the Sub Rapper 2 part.

“Mmm~.”

Seongbin liked it. It seemed like this part would showcase his skills better.

Pointing at the part sheet, he said,

“I think this part suits you more.”

“But, you see…”

“Yes, go ahead.”

“I like my current part. I just want to do it.”

It seemed his suggestion had rubbed the kid the wrong way.

Jaewon glanced at Choi Hyungseok and frowned.

“Hyung, isn’t Sub Rapper 1 kind of hard for you?”

“Uh…”

“Well, we decided by vote, so I think I should do Sub Rapper 1…”

“Uh, Jaewon.”

Ray, who seemed to be the leader, stepped in to mediate.

“Actually, we didn’t decide after hearing each other out, so let’s reconsider the part distribution.”

“Huh? All of a sudden?”

At the sudden “huh” from the youngest, Ray’s gaze wavered.

Seongbin froze in surprise.

You’re being that honest on a survival show?

Straight as bamboo, Jaewon spoke with perfect posture.

“I appreciate the advice, but I want to keep my part.”

“Ah…”

…Suit yourself.

Seongbin kept his expression in check and gave a gentle smile.

“Sure, I’m just giving my opinion. Talk it over with your teammates.”

Choi Myunghwan’s eyes, now cold, met his.

His earlier interest in the kid’s age was clearly gone.

Yeah, that one’s hopeless.

Probably what he wanted to say.

Sure enough, maybe because of his age, he was just too honest—honest enough to show his feelings plainly on a survival show.

Wait a second.

Seventeen, was it?

That explained it.

That’s just how you are at that age.

Seongbin nodded absentmindedly—then suddenly froze.

Seventeen… why did that feel so familiar?

No way.

Do Seohan from the Starf days?

Just a year ago, the youngest Seohan had been seventeen.

He was really seventeen?

He hadn’t acted his age, so he hadn’t realized it, but he was actually way younger than he thought.

And yet, that kid had never once caused trouble on the survival show.

Even in the first evaluation, he’d managed to rein in the disaster that was Lee Junhyeok as the leader.

Seongbin suddenly realized an incredible fact.

“Wow.”

No wonder Do Seohan had grown up so well.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep