My mind cleared momentarily at the sound of the alarm, but soon, a unique kind of headache set in. It felt like someone was drilling an ice fishing hole on top of my frozen-solid head. My stomach churned so badly that something hot and spicy seemed to shimmer before my eyes.

“The broth they give for free at the nearby snack bar is really delicious.”

Once my thoughts reached that point, I realized the identity of this unfamiliar pain. This was the first hangover of my life.

Now I finally understood why Assistant Manager Hwang always groaned the day after company dinners. My head felt like it was about to split open, and the ceiling was spinning. Assistant Manager, I’m sorry for not truly empathizing with you all those times...

I was rummaging through my phone contacts to find the snack bar’s number when my bedroom door opened.

“Hyung, are you up?”

“No, can’t get up.”

“What?”

“I’m being punished for my reckless, excessive drinking.”

Belatedly understanding my words, Jeong Seongbin hurriedly brought a hangover relief drink. From today on, I decided to call this drink the elixir of life.

“You should eat something. Do you want rice?”

“I’m good. If I eat now, I’ll immediately create a dark history.”

“Is it that bad?”

Why? Do you find me pathetic, too? I have nothing to say to that, though.

“Juu boiled bean sprout soup... is it hard to eat that? Should I order something else?”

“What did you say?”

“After seeing you drink yesterday, Juu ordered ingredients. He said he had to make you hangover soup.”

“I’ll eat.”

Clutching my aching stomach, I got up. When I went into the living room, the smell of bean sprout soup filled the air.

“Did you sleep well...? Want some rice?”

“I don’t need rice, just give me some soup, please.”

Park Juu served me a big bowl of hot bean sprout soup, despite the alcohol smell still wafting off me. Just one sip, and it felt like a lump of fire dropped inside me as the alcohol drained away.

“How is it...?”

“I feel saved.”

It was the best thing I’d ever tasted. Overnight, the master of soup dishes in my heart changed from the snack bar owner to Park Juu.

While I was out of it for the past few days, there was considerable progress on the drama side.

The biggest change was that the title had been decided!

“Exclusive Report?”

“That’s what they’re calling it.”

It sounded like a title that wouldn’t even show up properly in searches. Did drama titles not have to consider searchability or optimization?

Idols had to fight tooth and nail just to survive on portal sites with their group names and stage names. We’d been fighting cars for two years now.

“They said they’ll decide the shooting start date soon.”

“I wish it was before the IAD meetings start. It won’t be easy, right?”

“I told them we want the schedule as soon as possible.”

“Thank you.”

For a project that had difficulty casting, it wrapped up luxuriously. I heard that an actor who had a connection with the PD accepted after much deliberation.

Once a famous name joined, inquiries about appearances flooded in, and the production company ended up holding the upper hand.

Because so many people already knew each other, the script readings were warm and friendly every day. It was a complete 180 from the icy atmosphere during In My Office. Once again, I realized how many variables there were in the world.

Next, we discussed the screen time—since my character died in the middle, a process of reviewing exactly how many episodes I would appear in was necessary—and character settings.

“I heard you mentioned the scar during the audition?”

“Yes. I was worried it might be an issue.”

“About that, they asked if it would be okay with you to go without tattoos or CG work. They said they’re currently finalizing the scripts for the later parts.”

Leaving out dragon tattoos is one thing, but skipping retouching work too?

“Even though the scar will show as is?”

“Looking at the later scripts, they must have judged that it suits better.”

The manager checked my opinion again. I was fine with whatever.

“Oh right, and about the assignment you submitted last time.”

“The questionnaire?”

“Yeah. The writer liked it. They said they loved it so much and asked me to tell you.”

When I went for the audition, I received one more assignment. It was to write an answer to the question, “How would Cheon Yoonsung respond if faced with such a situation?” It felt like a situational interview, so I wrote whatever came to mind, and it seemed to have influenced the final acceptance.

“I was worried, so that’s a relief.”

“You’re good at everything. What is there to worry about? That wraps up the drama stuff. If anything else comes up, I’ll let you know right away.”

Thus, one schedule was wrapped up. The next meeting awaited me.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“No, we were just organizing what we have so far too!”

When I entered the conference room, Jeong Seongbin welcomed me with a smile. We could’ve asked the dedicated team for ideas, but since we’d be going on a survival stage decided by fan votes, we felt there was no fun in just doing what others told us to, so the members took the lead in meetings at least for IAD.

Honestly, this should’ve wrapped up earlier... but because I’d been out of it, everything got delayed. As an apology, I treated the guys to a meal recently.

“How far have you gotten?”

“Except for the self-PR stage, we’ve roughly discussed everything. We also made response plans one by one in case the rules change.”

“Must have been hard work.”

None of the ideas were bad. Seeing “Juu 1st priority!!!” written in the position competition slot, it seemed everyone had quite a hard time soothing the main vocalist.

“Didn’t you have anything you wanted to do for the self-PR stage?”

“It feels difficult since it’s basically the first impression. And we’re worried about the order...”

Jeong Seongbin trailed off. Even if we wanted to try something new, if a group that was hurriedly inserted was placed in an ambiguous order, the chances of standing out in a bad way increased. He seemed worried about this point.

“Just do something traditional. Put forward the key member of IAD.”

“Key member?”

Kang Giyeon asked.

“We have one in our team. A member who is a filial son to IAD, fits perfectly with the program, and is suitable for the intro.”

“Did we have someone like that......?”

Kang Giyeon asked back as if talking to himself. I said to him.

“Giyeon, you learned Korean dance, right?”

Kang Giyeon’s eyes grew wide.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to make me do it?”

“If not you, who else?”

Kang Giyeon seemed to have forgotten how to close his mouth. Lee Cheonghyeon gently closed his friend’s mouth with both hands.

Kang Giyeon didn’t really welcome becoming the main pillar of the self-PR stage. His reason was that there must be someone more suitable than him.

“Jeho hyung is the center.”

“Choi Jeho’s features lack oriental beauty. You could say he just came back from catching salmon in Russia yesterday and everyone would believe it.”

“Because you say that, Jeho hyung keeps looking like a brown bear!”

Lee Cheonghyeon protested, but I didn’t listen.

“It’s been a few years since I did dance......”

“You really think you’re someone who’d completely forget just because you stopped for a few years?”

“I’m not exactly a buzzworthy member.”

“Out of all the IAD clips, the only ones steadily gaining views are the random play dance videos. People who watched once come back, and people who saw short clips go looking for the full version. Individually, you’re the most talked-about.”

After an intense back-and-forth, Kang Giyeon declared defeat. “Korean Dance” was written in the keyword column of the shared sheet labeled “Self-PR Stage.”

It’d been a while since we last met the IAD production team. When we took profile photos for broadcast, only a few writers were there—but this time, everyone was present, from the PD to the head writer and cinematographers.

“Ah, Spark.......”

The PD offered a handshake with an awkward face.

“Have you all been well?”

“Yes!”

Everyone here knew it. Spark couldn’t possibly have been doing well because of you guys.

Still, it was generous of the production team to show up like this. In relationships with celebrities, broadcasters always held the upper hand.

There was a reason why, even after decades in the idol industry, agencies would boycott other agencies but never broadcasters.

“For entertainers who need to get on air, losing one of the few available markets is a huge blow.”

For people in that position to even pretend to be apologetic said a lot. It meant they owed Spark enough to lower themselves when they didn’t have to.

Thanks to that, we were able to avoid provocative questions even in the pre-interview. If it were before, they would have asked questions like “Who is the group you think you can beat?” to create drama.

“What is different from Season 1?”

“In a way, Spark could be considered seniors in terms of IAD participation experience. Could you give a piece of advice to groups appearing on IAD for the first time?”

“Deciding to appear must not have been easy......”

They tried to elicit somewhat substantial answers. It was an approach not typical of broadcasters who usually stayed silent even when viewer boards were on fire.

Except for the assassin-like questions in the middle. Are we in a position to advise anyone? When we’re the youngest group again this time? Did we even have a say in deciding whether to appear?

I smiled, but inside I was boiling. I vowed that if they used us to prop up another cast member like Parte again this time, I wouldn’t stay still.

“I get why they’re acting like this, though.”

If Exclusive Report had strong casting thanks to the influence of its director, then IAD was the exact opposite.

If other survival programs hadn’t self-destructed, this sloppy concept would’ve been buried. Agencies that knew how poorly it was planned—pitting low-profile rookies against each other out of fear of backlash—weren’t eager to send their idols.

Spark jumped in because there was something to gain in Season 1, but other ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) groups wouldn’t want to take on such demerits. So they probably opened the voting booth again with easy rookies.

So the talent pool for Season 2 became wider. They kept insisting on “removing rank”, yet once again, they used that excuse to gather groups with wildly different years of experience. Whether it was stripping rank and only matching rookies, or this—it was hard to say which was more unimpressive.

Long-debuted but virtually unknown groups, teams that returned with new lineups after scandals or internal conflict, rookies from major agencies, rising digital chart powerhouses—all of them ended up together for these reasons.

“What kind of image do you want to show in Season 2 of Idol Annals of the Dynasty?”

What did Spark decide to do in this jungle?

“Our goal is to give the fans as much joy as possible.”

Because that was the best we could do for our fans.

We’d have fun, do everything we wanted, and show them ourselves enjoying it, then become the biases whom I wouldn’t be ashamed to present anywhere.