Chapter 10: Accidentally Maxed Out Sexy

I sat on an empty bench in front of the dorm and took out my phone to launch Please Take Care of My Idol again.

I wanted to use the items I bought earlier—especially that gray heron or whatever it was called.

I was dying to know what kind of hidden stat it would give.

When I tapped the book-shaped icon, the items I owned appeared one after another as images: two potions and two feathers.

I tapped the silver-colored potion at the far end, and a message window popped up.

[Silver Nightingale Potion]
[A potion infused with the magic of a mysterious silver nightingale.

Increases Vocal Points by 50.]
[Use / Do Not Use]

When I selected Use, a small character that looked like me appeared on-screen, gulping down the silver potion.

A message window rose above it.

[You used the Silver Nightingale Potion.]
[Vocal 234 → 284 (+50)]

I used the Black Swan Potion the same way, and my Dance Points increased to 247.

The feathers, unlike the potions, displayed an option asking if I wanted to equip them.

When I chose yes, the character appeared again, performing an animation of putting on a feather-shaped accessory.

Then the stat increase message appeared.

[You equipped the Rainbow Peacock Feather.]
[Charm 155 → 205 (+50)]

[You equipped the Ashen Flamingo Feather.]
[Hidden Stat “Sexy” has been unlocked.]
[Sexy 277 → 302 (+25)]

Damn…

The hidden stat I’d unlocked was Sexy.

Seriously—what the hell was I supposed to do with Sexy?

I’d given up the acting potion for this, and all I got was sexy points?

My lingering regret over the blue potion didn’t just drip, it overflowed as I glared at my phone screen.

…Huh?

Something was off.

Even after grinding nonstop for two months, my Vocal and Dance stats were only at 284 and 247 points.

But Sexy was sitting at 302?

And Vocal had been good enough to earn praise during today’s agency evaluation.

So how could Sexy—something I didn’t have even a microscopic trace of in real life—be higher than my Vocal stat?

I mulled it over for a moment, then reached a very simple conclusion.

It must be a bug.

No—it was definitely a bug.

***

By the time I headed to the auditorium for roll call, staff were already assigning positions by grade.

When I made my way to the group of C-grade participants, Chan Han-ul came running toward me.

Despite his big frame, the way he acted and made expressions was like some small animal, and seeing him in the yellow training suit made him look like a chick.

Actually, now that I thought about it, all his nonstop chirping sounded chick-like too.

I was in the middle of that useless train of thought when Son Chae-i and the dance trainers stepped up onto the stage at the front of the auditorium.

“Everyone, did you enjoy dinner and get some good rest?”

Her question stirred the room, and noisy replies rose from everywhere, echoing across the space.

“Alright, settle down.”

Smiling lightly, Son Chae-i waved the cue card in her hand, purposely fluttering it so all the trainees could see.

“Everyone, the grades you received from the agency evaluation are only temporary.

Starting now, a brand-new grade evaluation will begin.”

The reactions from the contestants were all over the place.

Some had eyes blazing with determination, clearly intent on rising to a higher grade; some let out weary sighs, already feeling the pressure.

Others, conscious of the cameras set up around the hall, awkwardly clenched their fists and shouted, “Fighting!”

“The new grade evaluation will be done through an individual performance of the signal song.

You all remember Season 1’s signal song, ‘Raise Me’, right?”

A chorus of “Yes!” erupted.

Someone unconsciously started humming the familiar tune; that one voice quickly spread, growing until the entire hall echoed with a full group sing-along.

A few trainees even started dancing along to it.

Watching the growing excitement, Son Chae-i raised both hands and signaled for everyone to calm down.

“Hey, hey—everyone, settle down.

Oh boy, this won’t do.

We need to announce our own song already.”

No sooner had she finished speaking than the large screen on the back wall lit up.

The My Idol, Please Season 2 logo flashed by, followed by the text: “Grade Re-Evaluation – Signal Song Reveal.”

“All right, everyone!

From this moment, we will reveal the Season 2 signal song and choreography!”

As Son Chae-i stepped down from the stage, the dance trainers and what looked like the backup dancers came up.

The screen displayed the title ‘Me and Me’, and music began to play.

The dancers on stage immediately launched into the choreography.

…But seriously, a song title called ‘Me and Me’?

Whoever made this game clearly gave their sense of copyright to the neighbor’s dog—and judging from this, their creativity might’ve gone with it.

Honestly, if they were going to copy something, they might as well have copied the melody too.

If it were the same song that played on endless repeat at the café where I worked part-time, I’d at least save some time learning it.

But no—other than the vaguely similar title, the melody and lyrics were completely different.

Seeing how every little thing in this game keeps misfiring like this, I couldn’t help wondering if the game just didn’t want me to become an idol.

After showing the choreography once, the dance trainer began breaking it down move by move.

Thankfully, the routine was mostly made of simple motions, so it didn’t feel too hard.

Of course, that was only because we were learning it slowly; once we picked up the tempo to match the music, I’d probably start flailing again.

But for now, it wasn’t bad at all.

The dancers who’d demonstrated earlier moved between the trainees, helping anyone who fell behind.

A few of them watched me for a moment before quietly walking away—and that alone was enough to tell me I was keeping up decently.

Since it was getting late, we only learned up to the first verse, then spent some time reviewing what we’d practiced.

The first verse of “Me and Me” played on an endless loop so we could rehearse with the music, and they also handed out lyric sheets for us to memorize both the song and the words.

After an hour of practice, they said they’d check how much each grade level had learned.

The production team’s intentions were obvious.

They wanted to highlight how excellent the A- and B-grade trainees were by contrasting them with the disastrous C–F-grade ones.

In Season 1 of My Idol, Please, the final lineup had mostly come from A and B grades.

From the show’s perspective, it made sense—they’d prefer pushing contestants who actually seemed debut-ready.

So it wasn’t strange if the editing leaned toward showcasing the A and B trainees as much as possible.

And this time, too, Yoon Jiheon and the KSTAZ trainees—basically guaranteed final members unless something exploded—were all given A grades.

Maybe the show was planning to emphasize their superiority even more harshly by making the rest of us look pathetic in comparison.

Either way, all I could do was practice as hard as I could.

Even if I inevitably got compared as part of a grade group, I had to avoid showing a disastrous performance that would get me compared individually, one-on-one, in the worst way possible.

Maybe it was thanks to my high Intelligence stat, but the choreography—every move, every sequence—was perfectly etched into my brain.

Recalling the points the trainer emphasized, I tried dancing the whole routine from start to finish, though at a slower speed.

I definitely knew what each move was supposed to be, yet my arms refused to bend the way I wanted, my legs didn’t spread as wide as they should, and even at a slow tempo the transitions between moves weren’t smooth at all.

I frowned at the list of problems piling up, and just then, Cha Han-ul—who’d been practicing beside me—stared with his mouth hanging open and pointed straight at me.

“Hyung, did you just dance the whole thing without messing up once?”

My body wasn’t cooperating, so some moves probably didn’t look correct, but as Han-ul said, I hadn’t actually done any of the wrong steps.

I thought it wasn’t that impressive since I’d done it at half speed, and simply nodded with an indifferent expression.

“You memorized all that after watching it once?”

Try studying like a maniac for ten straight years and maxing out your Intelligence stat.

Though well… that’s only possible because this is a game.

Since I obviously couldn’t say that, I gave him a toned-down explanation—that I just had good short-term memory.

“Whoa!

Then hyung, can you teach me the next move after this one?”

He scratched his cheek awkwardly as I demonstrated the move that followed the one he’d been doing.

All I was doing was showing him what the next motion looked like, but the fact that I was teaching someone how to dance felt incredibly embarrassing.

Unfortunately, the embarrassment didn’t stop there.

Other C-grade contestants who’d been watching us started approaching one by one to ask about certain moves.

Since the moves they asked about were mostly consecutive, I ended up demonstrating several steps in a row—
and the trainees gathered around me let out quiet little “oooh” sounds of admiration.

Which, of course, only made everything even more embarrassing.

“Jaeseo-hyung, didn’t you say you’ve never even trained as a trainee before?

Even if you’ve got a good memory, how can someone who’s never danced be this good?

Is this what a genius looks like?”

Cha Han-ul fussed beside me, practically making a scene, and the nearby B- and D-grade trainees started sneaking glances in my direction.

I could only hang my head lower and lower—like some celebrity being summoned by the police after causing a scandal—until my face was completely out of sight.