Chapter 5: The Loser's Comeback (5)

　　"No," I replied, shaking my head. "It’s better to get an F rank than to be accused of receiving special treatment. For today, I’ll just focus on saving face. I can always redeem myself later."

　　Since our survival didn’t hinge entirely on this initial level test, bombing the first performance wasn’t a death sentence. In fact, from an editorial standpoint, it might actually work in my favor. A trainee who starts off as a total disaster but shows explosive growth—wasn’t that exactly the kind of underdog narrative reality TV audiences ate up?

　　Of course, the distribution of screen time was entirely up to the head producer. There was an equally high chance that instead of an inspiring growth arc, I’d just get entirely edited out.

　　"True. You’ll do fine," Hayoung said. "I mean, for starters, you’re hot."

　　"Huh?"

　　"You said you pulled an all-nighter, so how do you not even have a single dark circle under your eyes? It’s seriously unfair."

　　Hayoung grumbled playfully.

　　Come to think of it, he had always harbored a secret insecurity about his ‘plain’ face. During our past life on the show, he’d seriously debated getting plastic surgery, convinced his lack of screen time was due to his indistinct features.

　　"You’re good-looking too, you know," I told him.

　　"Aw, come on. Empty flattery won’t work on me." He didn’t believe me, but I knew what he looked like post-debut.

　　Singer-songwriter YK. No one rocked messy, bleached hair and feverish, flushed-red blush better than him. The media literally dubbed him the "Epitome of Decadent Beauty."

　　The impact Hayoung made after debuting with a total rebrand was massive. He had even managed to hold his own and thrive as a solo artist while P.KISS was busy dominating the entire music industry.

　　"I’m serious," I insisted. "You should try bleaching your hair later. I think it would suit you perfectly." Despite my sincerity, Hayoung just laughed and brushed the compliment aside.

　　Even if I grabbed him by the shoulders and shouted, You’re going to become a massive star, he wouldn’t believe me right now. I decided to drop it for the time being. There would be plenty of time to give him styling advice later.

　　A little while later, Jaejun arrived with a guy who looked like a manager, and we piled into the car, heading straight for the salon.

　　"Exposing your forehead really brings out your features. Your brows are arched so sharply, and you’re incredibly handsome."

　　I’d lost count of how many times I’d been complimented on my face today. I twiddled my thumbs, laughing it off awkwardly, which only made the hairstylist smile more softly.

　　No matter how long I stared at the mirror, Kanghyun’s reflection felt entirely foreign. Bare-faced, he bore a passing resemblance to my old self, Park Seowoon, so the dissonance hadn’t been too jarring. But fully styled, the stranger staring back at me was intensely intimidating.

　　He looked sharp, edgy, and lethal, a vibe I had never once attempted in my past life. The slicked-back hair, the silver hoops dangling from my ears, the tailored jacket worn with nothing underneath, the complex harness-like belts, the heavy combat boots… every single piece of this wardrobe made me feel painfully self-conscious.

　　"Isn’t it a bit… much?" I asked.

　　"Are you kidding? You look amazing."

　　Maybe I just wasn’t cut out to be a celebrity. Being brazen and confident in your own skin was a prerequisite for this job, and I was failing miserably.

　　As I sighed, doing my best to mentally accept my new look, a tall figure walked past in the reflection behind me.

　　"Huh?"

　　Even though it was only a fleeting glimpse, I recognized him instantly. Then again, I couldn’t have failed to recognize him if I tried. Both his height and his face were absolutely perfect. He was a presence that naturally commanded attention, even in a room full of exceptional trainees.

　　"Whoa, that guy who just walked past… that was Sung Yijun, right?" Hayoung whispered.

　　Sung Yijun. The absolute ace and undisputed ‘center’ of P.KISS. A contestant whose skills and star power were so flawlessly dominant that he never once dropped from the number-one rank, from the premiere of Pick Your Fantasy all the way to the finale.

　　The media had practically run out of nicknames for him. The Legendary Trainee. The God-Sent Idol. The Ultimate Facecard. Hearing titles like that made it easy to roll your eyes at the sheer exaggeration of it all, until you saw him in person. The moment people laid eyes on Sung Yijun, the mockery stopped. He was just that breathtaking.

　　Dance, vocals, visuals—he was a triple threat without a single flaw. And worse, his personality was just as perfect. Despite facing constant sabotage and petty jealousy from rival trainees, he never once lost his smile. He was so unfailingly sweet and gracious to everyone that it almost made you wonder if he was a pushover.

　　"It’s crazy. He’s so fucking handsome," Hayoung muttered.

　　"Right?" Jaejun agreed. "I’ve only seen photos of him, I didn’t think he’d actually look like that in real life."

　　Was it any wonder his looks were legendary even among rival agencies?

　　"I heard he was the trainee DGN cherished the most," Hayoung gossiped. "They say he was originally prepping to debut as a soloist."

　　"But he isn’t with them anymore," Jaejun noted. "Didn’t he sign with Miracle?"

　　"You didn’t know? Miracle Entertainment was founded by the department head who recently left DGN."

　　"Really? So he poached him." The two of them continued chattering, feeding off each other’s excitement.

　　"Anyway, the guy’s gorgeous."

　　"If he’s really that good, does he even need to come on a survival show? His debut is pretty much guaranteed as it is."

　　"It’s probably to build hype," Hayoung reasoned. "Rumor has it the Pick-Fan head producer personally marched into Miracle and begged them to let Yijun do the show."

　　As Hayoung giggled over the gossip, Jaejun let out a scoff of disbelief. "Still, to be that insanely good-looking and not win first place? That’d be pretty embarrassing."

　　"True. Having expectations set that high must be a nightmare of pressure. It’s like you have nowhere to go but downhill."

　　"If he even frowns for half a second, they’ll instantly evil-edit him. The producers thrive on that kind of drama."

　　They weren’t wrong. The head producer of Pick Your Fantasy was infamous for deceptive editing. Several scenes in past seasons had sparked massive controversies over manipulated narratives. For a hyped-up prodigy like Yijun to walk right into a shark tank like that… he was undoubtedly the ultimate prey.

　　Yet, despite the producers’ most predatory intentions, Yijun had never once fallen victim to their evil editing. Perhaps it was simply because even his blank expressions radiated a gentle warmth. With absolutely zero angles to exploit for drama, the editors ultimately had no choice but to broadcast his true, angelic nature exactly as it was.

　　"I honestly wouldn’t mind getting evil-edited if it meant I actually got some screen time," Hayoung sighed.

　　"Are you crazy? What if you get caught in the crossfire?" Jaejun retorted. "One wrong move and you’re branded the villain for the rest of your life."

　　Even as their topic shifted and the idle chatter faded into background noise, my thoughts remained anchored to Sung Yijun.

　　His calm, melodic voice. His glowing, flawless skin. The way his hair fluttered softly in the breeze. The clean, subtle scent of cotton that always seemed to linger on him, and the delicate sweep of his eyelashes every time he blinked.

　　In my previous life, Yijun had abruptly announced a hiatus shortly after P.KISS disbanded. I found out later that he’d fallen into a deep slump, disillusioned by an entertainment industry that was far uglier than he’d ever imagined.

　　Despite receiving countless lucrative offers, he stayed entirely out of the public eye. And then, completely out of the blue, he sought me out. For vocal training.

　　Having reconnected as teacher and student, we quickly grew close. Yijun never acted entitled or put on airs the way other celebrities did; he was always affectionate and thoughtful, quietly looking out for me. And in return, I felt inexplicably comfortable and at peace whenever I was by his side.

　　Even on days when he didn’t have lessons, we would meet up to catch a movie or check out a popular restaurant. Sometimes we visited art museums or amusement parks—though the one time we braved a theme park, he was recognized within the hour, and we had to flee before the swarming crowds could swallow us whole.

　　"When your lease ends, do you want to move in with me? I’m good at housework."

　　He liked me a lot. I knew he was kind to everyone, but the affection he showed me felt distinctly different. Perhaps it was just because I was easy company. Or maybe he simply appreciated that I wasn’t another exhausting sycophant from the industry, but rather an outsider who stood safely removed from that dark world.

　　I liked him, too. But unlike him, my feelings ran far deeper than simple friendship.

　　"You know I like you, right?"

　　Yeah. I know. But the truth is, I like you more…

　　Convinced my feelings had to remain a deeply guarded secret, I spent all my energy burying them. But looking back, I felt a sharp pang of regret. Had I known I would die so suddenly and pointlessly, I wondered if I should have just confessed my feelings to him. Just once.

　　Of course, I knew there was no use dwelling on my past relationship with him. The memories we’d built together were erased. To the Sung Yijun standing in that salon, I was nothing more than a stranger he had yet to meet.

　　"Kanghyun. Hey, Kanghyun."

　　Hayoung’s voice pulled me out of my sentimental reverie. Since my makeup was done and I was just sitting there staring blankly into the mirror, I figured I must have looked a little unsettling to the guy sitting next to me.

　　"What are you thinking so deeply about?" he asked.

　　"Nothing. Just a little nervous, that’s all."

　　"I brought some herbal calming pills. Do you want one?"

　　"I’m fine. It’s not that bad," I reassured him.

　　Believing it was better to maintain a healthy edge of tension before the shoot, I politely declined. Hayoung looked a little disappointed, but he didn’t push the issue any further.

　　"I’m going to take two more pills later. I can’t feel the effects yet."

　　"Are you sure it’s safe to take that many?"

　　"I don’t know, but it beats doing nothing. At this rate, my voice is going to shake like a leaf when I sing."

　　"Hey, you’re going to do great," I said.

　　Kim Hayoung was born for the stage, so seeing someone with his natural talent whining like this was actually pretty cute. I didn’t let it show, though, and just gave him a reassuring pat on the back. My comfort must have eased his nerves a bit, because he spoke up again.

　　"Seeing Sung Yijun earlier just made me even more nervous. How am I supposed to compete against a guy like that? Can I even win? I can’t get it out of my head."

　　"So what if you lose to him? They’re picking nine people for the final lineup anyway."

　　"Still. If I’m competing, I want to win."

　　Nice. That relentless competitive spirit was exactly what had driven him to improve this much.

　　"I mean, I definitely can’t beat him on looks. I’ll just have to hold my own with pure skill."

　　"I told you, you’re a good-looking guy. Have a little confidence."

　　"Easy for you to say, but there’s no way I can compete with that. I’d just get compared to him and look like a total troll. Ugh, please, I just hope I don’t end up seated next to him."

　　Proving just how desperate he was, Hayoung prayed the entire ride to the set, begging not to be seated next to Sung Yijun. Fortunately, God must have taken pity on him, because his wish was ultimately granted.