Chapter 12: A Target on My Back

“How about… Kwon-yi hyung doing it?”
“I think Kwon-yi hyung fits perfectly too.”

The two baby-faced trainees had recommended the same person—the contestant who had first brought up the question.

A name tag reading Lee Kwon was attached to his chest.

From what I’d overheard, he was the center and main dancer of the three-member boy group JUKE, who had debuted two years ago.

“Me?

I’m not sure if I’ll do well, but since you recommended me, I’ll give it a try.

Okay, put me down as a candidate for now.

Anyone else?”

But judging from how stiff and unnatural their back-and-forth was, they must have coordinated this in advance.

If he got picked as leader, he’d have a higher chance of screen time, and being shown in a “leader” role would leave a solid impression on viewers—so it looked like they’d gotten greedy.

The problem was that their acting was painfully obvious.

So that’s what bad acting looks like.

The importance of the Acting stat hit me like a truck, and I was reminded of the “Aqua Parrot’s Elixir” I couldn’t buy yesterday.

I really should’ve bought that…

As I sat there mourning the 50 Acting Stat Points that had evaporated before my eyes, Chae Han-ul, who’d been sitting beside me, shot his hand straight up.

“I’d like to recommend trainee Shim Jaeseo!”

Startled by his sudden declaration, I snapped my head toward him, and he grinned at me with his dimples popping out, as if asking, I did good, right?

“No, thank you.

I won’t be doing it.”

The words had barely left my mouth when an indignant “Why not!?” burst out.

Now that I had developed ambitions for idol life—and for this program—every second of screen time was precious.

But taking on a role I wasn’t confident in, just to fight for footage, would definitely backfire.

“How am I supposed to be a leader when I can’t even sing or dance properly?”
“Being a leader isn’t just about skills!

And you’re not bad at it!

You taught all of us the choreography yesterday!”

Chae Han-ul practically puffed up in indignation, looking to the other trainees for support.

The trainees who’d received my… unofficial help yesterday all nodded along.

Why were they doing this as a group?

If they were grateful for yesterday, the best way to help me would’ve been to stay quiet.

“That was just showing you the moves, not teaching you how to dance.

Anyway, I’m not capable of being a leader.

Sorry.”

I stated my refusal firmly.

Han-ul gazed at me with a wounded expression.

I had no idea why he was so set on this—me becoming leader wouldn’t bring him any benefit.

“…Uh, then we won’t be putting trainee Shim Jaeseo on the candidate list.

Correct?”

I nodded at Lee Kwon’s question.

Maybe he’d sensed danger when Han-ul suddenly praised me and the others started agreeing, because the stiff expression glued to his face finally relaxed.

He was so bad at controlling his expressions that I couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for him.

I made a mental note—once this training camp shoot ended, I had to take acting classes no matter what.

After the C-rank leader was confirmed as Lee Kwon, the staff gave no further instructions, so everyone started reviewing the choreography on their own.

Then, with a loud sound and a sudden click, the door swung open.

One of the dance trainers, Kwak Jinwoong, stepped inside.

“Hey, guys!

Hello!”
“Hello!”
“You’re my first class today.

I’ve been looking forward to this—confident you’ll do well, right?”

No one answered easily, but Lee Kwon alone confidently said he could do well.

Seeing the leader badge pinned to his chest, Kwak Jinwoong gave him a thumbs-up, saying he liked a leader with spirit.

“Alright then, should we start by looking at what you learned yesterday?”

He said they would begin with the leader, pointing at Lee Kwon and the four trainees to his right, grouping the five of them together.

The selected trainees stood at the front while the rest shifted to the side and sat against the wall.

Once everyone settled, Kwak Jinwoong signaled to the staff, and the music began to play.

“Hmm….”

As the five of them started dancing, the smile on Kwak Jinwoong’s face slowly faded.

His expression tightened, his brows furrowing here and there, and once the chorus began, he lifted his arms in an X, signaling them to stop both the music and the dance.

Then he turned to the PD and asked if this was really the C-rank group.

When the PD confirmed it was, Kwak Jinwoong pressed his lips together as if choosing his words—and ultimately chose not to speak.

“…Let’s just see the next five.”

His unusual reaction made the dancers retreat awkwardly while the five seated in front stepped forward.

Perhaps because of the trainer’s hardened expression, the trainees made mistake after mistake, and this time the music was cut even before the chorus hit.

The trainer scrunched up his face harshly and let out a deep sigh, freezing the atmosphere in the room solid.

“Next five.”

Now it was my turn—me, Chae Han-ul, and some of the trainees who practiced together yesterday.

We lined up in front of Kwak Jinwoong, and “Me and Me” began to play.

As I moved my body in sync with the choreography I’d memorized, something felt strangely off—in a good way.

Yes, part of it was from memory.

But more than that, it felt like my body was moving on its own, without passing through my brain at all.

A strange sensation, as if the stored input values were being printed out exactly as written.

At that moment, a thought struck me.

When I moved from My Idol to Please Take Care of My Idol, all the stats unrelated to idol work had disappeared—but the Intelligence stat had remained.

What if the Intelligence stat acted as a kind of buff, helping me acquire skills needed as an idol?

And what if it even influenced how quickly my body absorbed and internalized choreography?

I wasn’t completely certain, but the pieces clicked together perfectly in my mind.

Thinking back, the speed at which my stats were growing here was far faster than in My Idol.

I’d written the Intelligence stat off as useless—but maybe it was actually the most important one.

And after finishing the choreography up to the first verse, my awareness of my Stamina stat changed too.

While the other trainees were all catching their breath, I was the only one standing there without even feeling winded.

That had to be because of my high Stamina stat.

So this was a much more efficient stat build than I thought, wasn’t it?

Surrounded by trainees bent over, hands on knees, struggling to recover from the burst of intense moves in the chorus, I stood alone—upright, perfectly fine.

In the mirror, I could see the stunned expressions of the others fixed on me.

“You practiced well.”

At his first compliment, the four others snapped back to attention, and we all bowed our heads, thanking him.

“You five don’t need to relearn the first verse.

Just clean up the details.”

The faces of the ten trainees who had gone before us instantly turned pale. “You don’t need to relearn it” must have sounded to them like “Those ten need to relearn it from the beginning.”

Kwak Jinwoong swept his now-softened gaze over the five of us, then his eyes settled on me.

“Jaeseo, aren’t you tired?”

For a moment, I wondered if I should at least pretend to be out of breath, but I gave up quickly.

If I wanted to act tired, I should’ve done it earlier.

Standing perfectly fine one second and suddenly panting the next would only make me look like a lunatic.

Besides, with my low acting stat, pulling off a natural “tired” act was bound to fail anyway.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you really don’t look tired at all.”

For a second I thought he might be being sarcastic, but there was nothing negative about Gwak Jin-woong’s expression.

If anything, he looked intrigued—almost fascinated.

“The choreography for the chorus is pretty fast, but you danced through it with such a calm face that it surprised me too.

And your moves were all spot-on.

For a moment I thought I was watching an AI dance.”

He added that he meant it in a good way and laughed heartily, and the tension in the training room finally eased.

Through the mirror, I even saw the participants waiting for their turn letting out relieved sighs.

…Except for Lee Kwon at the very end, staring at me with a stiff, frozen expression.

Thankfully, the full dance training began with the loosened atmosphere intact, and we went back to learning the choreography from the first verse.

Maybe he really meant the compliment earlier, because Gwak Jin-woong kept an eye on my movements throughout the session.

Thanks to that, I managed to fix several clunky parts that hadn’t been moving the way I wanted, enough to make them look reasonably decent.

We trained until noon, then went downstairs for lunch.

The cafeteria staff I’d gotten acquainted with the day before seemed to remember my face—they gave me generous portions of rice, soup, and side dishes.

I thanked each of them sincerely, then sat down at an empty spot.

Soon, Cha Han-ul and the other C-rank trainees I’d practiced with settled into the seats around me, all giving me enthusiastic thumbs-up.

“Wow… I’m so tired I don’t even have the strength to lift my spoon, but you’re something else.”

“For real.

Just like Instructor Jinwoong said, Jaeseo-hyung looked totally like an AI.

You were the only one still standing fine at the end.”

I brushed it off by saying it was all thanks to the power of food, then shoveled more rice into my mouth.

Saying you’re too tired to eat is nonsense—if you don’t have food, that’s one thing, but having food and not eating?

That makes no sense at all.

Besides, our next class wasn’t dance but vocal training.

Eating a lot wouldn’t make my stomach tighten or anything, so there was no reason to hold back.

After getting another helping of food, I brushed my teeth and returned to the training room.

I took out the lyric sheet I’d carefully folded away since yesterday and headed toward a quiet corner.

But just as I stepped forward, my leg snagged on a foot that suddenly jutted out from somewhere.

Thankfully, it only made me stumble a little rather than fall flat on my face, but I heard a faint tsk from behind me.

I turned to look at the owner of the outstretched foot—
and of course, it was Lee Kwon.

“Oh, sorry.

Didn’t know you were walking by.”