"Director Min Joo gyeong, who’d called me out, asked if I’d ever done presentations as a student."

"Presentations?"

"Yeah. Have you ever done them?"

Of course—until I was sick of it.

A simple report-style presentation was something I could smile through for four hours straight.

But the me I am now shouldn’t be able to do that.

On the surface, the me I am now is just a fresh-faced twenty-year-old who never joined Hanpyeong Industries to run PTs or did presentations at university.

I hesitated like I was troubled and answered,

"Not especially."

"Figures. Earlier, I showed the proposal you gave me to the CEO right away since he’d stopped by the Management Division."

The speed of submitting a draft for approval was faster than KTX.

UA’s CEO reads documents this fast, so what was Deputy Manager Nam so busy with that he couldn’t even accept my vacation request? My blood boiled.

But Director Min had no sin. I swallowed my wrath and did my best to smile hard.

Not knowing any of this, Director Min continued.

"Then the CEO said he wants to hear you present it yourself."

"Me, personally?"

"Mm. How about it? If you try it, it might be a surprisingly good experience."

I’d done PT a hundred times, and not once was it a good experience.

For me, PT is nothing but a collaboration between stress and nausea.

Still, if you’re given a chance, you take it.

For me right now, even having the luxury to mull it over is too much.

"Yes, I’ll do ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) it. Thank you."

"No need to thank me. All you have to do is explain what you envisioned, so you don’t need to lock down every detail, and a PPT... would be nice, but it’s not required. I’m thinking of scheduling the meeting for sometime next week—is that okay?"

"It’s fine."

I’d already collected references while drafting the concept.

Now that the content was organized, making visual materials was nothing.

Once I got the email address to send the file ahead and even the NS program account, everything was settled.

There was one week until PT. I had to settle it within that time.

And my specialty is all-nighters.

I started racking my brain for how to grind my hours down to produce the best possible materials.

"No matter what happens, avoid the Frozen Lawn Fairy Grave."

I steeled my resolve. My shoulders felt heavy.

My “avoid the lawn fairies” project started that very night.

Lee Cheonghyeon asked me a question.

"That’s all good, but shouldn’t you at least sleep while you’re doing it?"

He’d just finished composing and could’ve taken a few days off, but Lee Cheonghyeon kept pacing through the living room.

"At twenty, you’re at the age where you can pull an all-nighter and chew rocks."

"What is this hyung even saying. You really don’t sleep enough!"

If you were about to turn into a gang of frozen lawn ghosts, would you be able to sleep?

If I die of stress, fine, but I don’t want to freeze solid and ascend.

"Where did you learn to make stuff like this?"

He shot a random question.

This, while he himself clacked away on a composition program that makes you dizzy just looking at it.

I didn’t have time, so I couldn’t take my eyes off the monitor, but I did my best to give a kindly answer.

"You can do anything if you live long enough."

"Wow."

To be precise, you just need to be the bus driver for group projects for four years... but kids don’t need to know that.

A few days later, the day of reckoning dawned.

At UA’s conference room, I ended up giving what might be something like the four hundred fiftieth PT of my life.

No one here would be expecting much of me anyway, so the burden was light.

The trap was that contrary to what I’d heard beforehand, people from every department had filed in.

Still, since it was at the “item sharing” level, the superficial, skimming PT finished in twenty minutes.

Once the presentation was over, out of habit, I prepared to counter the snark.

But no one said, “You think we made time to hear this kind of crap?”

Instead, the CEO threw a counterproposal at me.

"Iwol."

"Yes."

"I’ll give you the proposal template—want to fill it out properly once?"

Excuse me?

For a brief moment, I doubted whether these listeners had actually heard the presentation.

On the premise that they had, the lack of questions about the content meant there weren’t particular problem points.

Which meant that, to them, my idea looked realistically commercializable enough.

"Yes, understood."

A decision with not a single swear word.

A conference room where voices didn’t get raised!

To someone tempered at Hanpyeong Industries, the flow was suspicious.

Still, I seemed to have succeeded at leaving the impression of “this is doable.”

It was a pretty solid outcome.

"Can everyone stay a moment?"

As Kim Iwol left the conference room, the CEO called back the attendees.

The CEO’s tone was animated. The room’s mood was the same.

Fair enough.

From the moment she first saw him, Min Joo gyeong had expected it to a degree.

That he was quite unusual compared to his peers.

She hadn’t expected him to have talent on the PT side as well, though.

She’d only gotten to sit in on the planning meeting because she’d passed along the proposal she’d received from Kim Iwol, but it turned out to be a surprising experience.

"How did you find it? I thought it was good."

The CEO asked about Kim Iwol’s PT.

"Honestly... I thought it was good."

"Same here. I worried it might be trite, but hearing it, it was better than I expected."

Staff flipping through the proposal answered.

The concept Kim Iwol presented was the straightest “youth.”

In the MV he envisioned, Spark opens on a scene where, thanks to their rough vibe and looks, they’re easily mistaken for delinquents.

Compared to the pure winter boys the company had been preparing, it was a bold concept.

And uniforms and youth, of all things.

These elements anyone can easily think of could, if mishandled, feel “cliché.”

All the more so because just last week a major rookie group had been unveiled with a mythological worldbuilding concept.

Considering recent market currents, you couldn’t ignore the intensity of the concept.

But Kim Iwol’s choice was the most “Spark-like.”

And at the same time, it had originality. Thanks to a very small twist at the end.

There was no reason for the company to pass on the choice that best showed the team.

Everyone agreed it was an item that considered not just visuals but their disposition, public image, and more.

"Just from the proposal it’s good, but the presentation was top-notch too. Is he really twenty?"

"Then he graduated high school this year? That’s crazy."

"At that age, kids with that much grit and quick thinking are rare. Which is why—"

Closing the proposal he’d been examining, the CEO said,

"What do you think about developing him on the producing track?"

From here, the Artist Management Team couldn’t help but get involved.

Once she’d taken stock of the situation, Min Joo gyeong hurriedly messaged her team lead and opened her planner with an excited face.

After the proposal presentation, I was back from the conference room and well into practice when the system popped.

 [SYSTEM] ‘Hidden Task’ has been completed.

▷ Details: Be recognized as a producing member

▷ Reward: EXP (5)

▷ Total EXP: 70

▷ Total Points: 0

 So everyone else stayed.

Must’ve been a very fun meeting without me.

With this, Spark had satisfied all the conditions needed to ascend to self-producing idols.

I’d go in as a producing member, Lee Cheonghyeon would compose, and Choi Jeho and Kang Giyeon would do choreography—a perfect structure.

With the lineup this complete, from the company’s perspective there was no way not to aim for self-producing idols.

"So much for lateraling into management."

At this point, I figured I should think about retirement prep in case I quit after debut.

My career had already turned to water, and now it was thinning into mist.

Or I could think about what certifications to get.

If possible, I’d rather study something productive. Like coding, or coding, or, say, coding.

"Then will the title track go to Cheonghyeon’s song?"

To begin with, all we had for concept was the image of winter boys; there weren’t particular items beyond that.

UA hadn’t even discussed getting a song for Spark.

So unless the CEO or someone on the Planning Team got a lightning-strike inspiration, there was a high chance the title would be Lee Cheonghyeon’s song with my concept attached.

All the more so because the song turned out good by anyone’s ears.

If so, then to market our self-producing stat, they’d make Lee Cheonghyeon’s song the title.

Sure enough, before long the manager...

"Says you guys might debut with Cheonghyeon’s track?"

...passed along that line.

It wasn’t definitive, but with just that, the four punks of Spark seemed to find some motivation.

Wait.

Four?

We were one head short.

I immediately turned my head to check around. One small head was nowhere to be seen.

"Cheonghyeon’s not here yet?"

"No."

"Why? He always shows up on the dot."

"Not sure. I didn’t hear he’d be late today."

Kang Giyeon answered. Lee Cheonghyeon didn’t have a phone either, so there wasn’t a proper way to reach him.

Bad feeling.

As a sommelier of reading the room, raised on scraps at Hanpyeong Industries, I guarantee it: I didn’t have a good feeling.

"He’s not the type to skip practice. He’ll be here soon."

"I think so too, but..."

Choi Jeho said it in his usual offhand way.

But I think I’ve seen the deep darkness in your insides a bit too much, lately.

If something happens, how am I supposed to sit on my hands through the anxiety?

Still, since I’d heard that back when they were trainees Lee Cheonghyeon basically played mood-maker, I decided to trust the old stories.

It could always be some ridiculous mistake like leaving his bag in the classroom.

I spun the happy-circuit as hard as I could.

If you wish hard enough, it will...

 [SYSTEM] ‘New Task’ has been assigned.

▷ Details: Secure the title track

▷ Reward: EXP (10)

 And what’s that supposed to be?

Secure the title track? At this rate the title will auto-select itself.

"Am I supposed to pre-buy the rights from Cheonghyeon or something? How mercenary."

I hadn’t fully grasped all the issues around song rights yet, but...

My unease grew and grew. I had the distinct feeling two hardship flags had been stuck in my back.

"Um... hyung."

Sorry, Juu. Could you not call me right now?

It’s just that I’m surrounded by bad omens on all sides.

"Cheonghyeon’s seemed a bit thoughtful lately—do you think something happened..."

"..."

Damn it.

Where the hell did this punk run off to.