Chapter 22.1
It’s really strange.
The guys I planned to get rid of are dropping out on their own. It was really suspicious.
On top of that, even the guys I planned to bring in were willingly walking through the door. I barely did anything, yet the world seemed to be aligning perfectly for me.
Iâve often seen my plans go sideways for absurd reasons, but things going smoothly without any effort on my part is so rare that it makes me anxious.
âThis is Eui Jae, whoâll be working together with us at R&M from now on. You guys know Heaven Souls, right? Heâs already debuted once, so treat him like your idol sunbae and be good to him.â
When Myeong In Woo left and Hwang Eui Jae arrived, it felt like luck had landed in my lap without lifting a fingerâwhoever pulled the strings didn’t matter to me.
When I discreetly asked Assistant Manager Min Ji An, she told me clearly that the staff had tried their hardest to stop In Woo, but he insisted on leaving on his own. Though there was plenty to doubt, I didn’t feel the need yet to dig into what exactly Cheon Tae Rim had done.
But just one week later, Shin Ji Oh sprawled out on the practice room floor, declaring that heâd quit being a trainee. Even without concrete evidence, I became convinced Tae Rim had a hand in Ji Ohâs sudden breakdown.
Cheon Tae Rim got along relatively fine with Myeong In Woo, but had an openly bad relationship with Shin Ji Oh. They hadn’t disliked each other from the beginningâthings soured specifically because of me. To be precise, their relationship completely went downhill after Tae Rim suddenly snapped at Ji Oh.
Kim Sung Hoon, demoted to B-Class because he let Ji Oh into the A-Class practice room, also began quietly avoiding Ji Oh after that day. People whoâd studied well were clearly built differently. Seeing him swiftly cut off his closest friend as soon as he sensed trouble was truly impressive.
Even without Tae Rim or Sung Hoon around, Ji Oh wasnât completely isolated; he still had followers in B-Class where heâd once acted like their boss. The younger trainees whoâd served as his lackeys didnât dare openly exclude their twenty-two-year-old hyung.
But it seemed the presence of his former underlings wasnât enough to soothe his bruised pride. Twenty-two was still young enough to be overwhelmed by oneâs emotions, so eventually, Shin Ji Oh exploded on his own.
The sound of Ji Ohâs loud sobbing drifted out from the B-Class practice room. Other trainees whoâd been kicked out stood awkwardly in the hallway, mixed with curious A-Class trainees, myself included.
Wherever the light was brightest, darkness was deepest. Onstage, idols shone brighter than anyone else, yet offstage, mentally exhausted kids struggled pathetically to stay afloat.
Even if you chose this path willingly, trainee life was never easy. Just when debut seemed within reach, opportunities slipped away, while time passed irresponsibly. Anxiety grew with age, and talented younger rivals kept appearing endlessly, as if churned out from a factory.
If I’d been a trainee longer, Iâd probably have an even worse personality now. How could anyone stay sane when minors or barely twenty-year-olds were put through mental torture day after day?
Through the slightly open door, I heard Shin Ji Oh sobbing something to a staff member. The staff gently rubbed his back, trying to calm him, but Ji Oh kept crying.
âDo I⊠even have⊠any⊠hope⊠leftâŠ?â
That was all I could overhear. Due to his red-dyed hair, Ji Ohâs tears looked almost like blood. It made watching him even more uncomfortable.
To put it bluntly, Shin Ji Oh didnât have the talent to debut. Even if he tried again elsewhere, he probably wouldnât make it.
He mightâve gotten lucky entering R&M, but even in my past life, Ji Oh never debuted. By the time Reverbâs successor group, Third Day, debuted, he was too oldâand nowhere near skilled enoughâto be considered.
In fact, Ji Oh wasn’t particularly passionate either. On the surface, he seemed more desperate than anyone else, yet he spent more time stirring trouble among trainees than practicing. Had he practiced more instead, his circumstances mightâve changed.
If heâd at least had good looks or an elite university background like Kim Sung Hoon, things couldâve been differentâbut he’d long since fallen behind in this brutally competitive environment. It was probably why he acted like a boss among trainees, leveraging his seniority and age. Without that, he had no way to prove himself.
Even knowing heâd tried to exclude me, seeing him cry didnât feel good at all. Talent was cruel that way. Those who wanted success desperately usually weren’t born gifted. Or perhaps they became desperate precisely because they had nothing special.
Mixed among the B-Class trainees, I discreetly glanced at Cheon Tae Rim, standing expressionlessly nearby. If Shin Ji Ohâs mental had broken so spectacularly, it was surely because Tae Rim had laid careful groundwork.
Considering how he treated Go Ha Ram, I couldn’t quite imagine how Cheon Tae Rim had broken Shin Ji Ohâs spirit. But my instincts spoke loud and clear: Shin Ji Oh was eighty percent at fault for his own breakdown, with Cheon Tae Rim responsible for the other twenty.
When our eyes met, Tae Rimâs expressionless face hardened instantly, and he quickly turned away. Seeing Myeong In Woo leave, followed by Shin Ji Oh voluntarily exiting R&M, made me nervous.
Because no matter how I thought about it, the next person on Tae Rimâs hit list had to be me.
