Chapter 24: The Day Luck Answered

With his Luck stat now increased, maybe—if things went just right—a perfect score of 100 was possible.

Shim Eun-chan didn’t hesitate for even a second before springing to his feet.

“Let’s back Min-yu hyung up.”

“Let’s go.”

At Eun-chan’s sudden suggestion, everyone jumped up without a second thought.
Thankfully, it was a song they’d covered during event tours before, so the choreography was already familiar.

“Oh? What’s this? Are you here to cheer on your leader…?!”

“I like that! Such an active attitude!”

The MC responded brightly and loudly.

Jung Min-yu looked startled as the members rushed out to stand behind him, but his eyes curved into a grateful smile.

–From the place where we stand together, just the two of us–

As Min-yu began singing, his voice rang out powerfully.
Whether it was the effect of the rank-up or not, his voice was louder and more resonant than Eun-chan remembered.

His vibrato and emotional delivery were outstanding.
Because it was a dance song, it could’ve passed by unnoticed—but that very fact made it stand out even more.

It felt like CPR being administered to an atmosphere that had been dying after that out-of-nowhere rock ballad.

The rising high notes in the highlight section were usually a range Min-yu struggled with.

At Min-yu’s subtle glance, Do Jun-seo stepped right beside him and angled his microphone toward the center.
It seemed he planned to sing together with the main vocalist.

–Leave the days we’ve passed behind as memories–

The pitch steadily climbed.
Do Jun-seo and Jung Min-yu kept stealing quick glances at each other, gradually matching their tones.

–Beat it! The dream we forgot—let’s walk that path together!–

Their cleanly soaring high notes echoed through the arena.

Both Min-yu and Jun-seo looked surprised, but neither stopped singing.
Jun-seo’s husky voice was already well-known, but Min-yu’s clear, crystalline tone showed a completely opposite charm.

Min-yu’s voice, handling the high notes without strain, was genuinely pleasant to listen to.
So this is what A+ vocal ability feels like.

Dancing behind Min-yu, Eun-chan couldn’t suppress the smile rising to his face.

At that moment, a loud cheer erupted—it was Choi Won-min from Max Upfin.
As Won-min hyped them up, the cheers from Max Upfin’s fan section followed suit.

Making eye contact with Eun-chan, Choi Won-min raised both thumbs in encouragement.

The song ended, and it was time for the score.

–100 points! That’s amazing!–

Eun-chan stared at the number on the small screen with wide eyes.

It was 100 points.
Jung Min-yu clearly hadn’t expected it either, his eyes widening as he turned to look at the members.

The reaction must’ve been incredible, because the camera that had been filming from afar moved in close.

This was prime solo-shot material.

The members crowded together, threw their arms around each other’s shoulders, and began spinning in a circle.
It felt a little over-the-top for a karaoke machine’s 100 points, but some exaggeration was necessary if it was going to make the broadcast.
The other idols seemed to understand that too, breaking into applause and cheers.
After spinning enough to be usable on air, B the 1 came to a stop and finished by clapping together.

The reward was one solo filming opportunity.

Considering how many idol teams were participating in the recording, it was an incredibly generous perk.

What’s more, the atmosphere on-site was great.
Fans often operated under a strong “our idol is the best” mindset, but there were always a few with honest ears.
Eun-chan clearly saw people murmuring after hearing Min-yu sing live.

“Hyung! That was insane! Did you get Idol Olympics luck or something? That was no joke.”

“I don’t know. Maybe I got energy from the PamPams?”

Unlike Moon Se-byeol, who couldn’t hide his excitement, Ryu Seo-oh said nothing and simply gave Min-yu a thumbs-up.

As members, they could all feel it clearly—Jung Min-yu’s singing had undeniably improved.

And the other fans in the audience would think the same: Was there always someone this good at singing?
If that curiosity led them to look him up and become fans, even better—but even if not, grabbing their attention alone was already a success.

Min-yu himself chalked it up to good luck, but it wasn’t just a feeling.
It was obvious that he was benefiting from the temporary rise in Shim Eun-chan’s Luck, due to their connection.

Otherwise, there was no way such a perfectly suited situation—one that showcased his newly rank-upgraded vocal stat—would appear so conveniently right after a mission success.

Praying that this lucky streak would continue, Eun-chan returned to his seat.

The individual event Eun-chan participated in was the 60-meter sprint.
He hadn’t been able to prepare much due to drama filming, but he still had to grit his teeth and run.

Fortunately, he was confident in his running ability.

All the athletes lined up at the starting line.
The venue fell silent.
At the sound of the starting signal, they took off.

The lack of proper sleep up until now caught up with him a bit, but he still managed to place second in his heat.
With four heats of six runners each, rankings were determined in descending order, and only the top six advanced to the finals.
Shim Eun-chan qualified for the final in fourth place.

Even after making it to the finals with such difficulty, it wasn’t unusual to not even have your name called, let alone get a proper camera shot.
Still, as long as he wasn’t eliminated in the preliminaries, the chance of a one-shot wasn’t zero.

All he could do was give everything for that single opportunity.

“Attention.”

Bang!

The starting sound rang out.

Eun-chan reacted quickly and burst forward, but a few runners had already taken off faster than him.
He clenched his teeth and sprinted, then suddenly realized he was the only one still running as he crossed the finish line.

Thud.

He barely managed to stop after colliding with the padded wall set up at the end.
Turning around, he saw everyone still standing near the starting line.

Something was wrong.

“Ah… what was that? It looks like one of the devices didn’t work properly?”

“Yes, that’s correct. This is very rare, but it happened here. Ah—Shim Eun-chan ran all the way to the end without realizing the race had been stopped. That’s unfortunate. He ran really well.”

A collective groan came from the MC booth.

From what he could tell, the timing device had malfunctioned.

The result was a re-run.

“Disbelief” didn’t even begin to cover how he felt.
Panting heavily, Eun-chan dragged himself back to the starting line.
If they said to run again, he had to run.
In this condition, it didn’t seem likely he’d get a good result.
Running at full speed once and then racing skilled competitors again was close to impossible.

“Attention.”

Eun-chan fixed his posture, staring straight at the finish line.

Bang!

The race started once more.

The result was sixth place.

Shim Eun-chan came in last.

He couldn’t say he was fiercely competitive, but it still felt painfully wasteful.
A deep sense of regret settled in—if only the race had proceeded properly.
As he returned, gasping for breath, wondering if throwing his body forward at the end might’ve changed things, Do Jun-seo came over and rubbed his shoulder.

“Hey, good work. That was rough, huh. There should be a short break—go sit over there and rest.”

“Yeah… I should.”

Rather than clumsy consolation, being treated like it was nothing felt more comforting.
Eun-chan nodded and moved away.

From a distance, it probably looked like some kind of Power Rangers gathering—blue, red, and all sorts of colors mixed together.

He sat on a flimsy chair without a backrest, a little away from the group, trying to rest when a man dressed entirely in black approached.
It was Hyun Woo-young.

Since Woo-young was tall, if he’d been wearing his black padded jacket, he might’ve looked like a moving shadow—but thankfully, he’d taken it off, so he didn’t seem quite that massive.
He was dressed in washed jeans and a plain sweatshirt, but his good proportions made him stand out regardless.

He was wearing a staff lanyard, but Eun-chan wondered if he’d still been photographed while moving around.

As Eun-chan blankly looked up at the approaching Woo-young, he only snapped out of it when Woo-young held out a drink.

“That was close.”

Eun-chan came back to his senses and took the drink.

“Why do you try so hard…?”

Eun-chan looked at Woo-young.
It didn’t feel like he was picking a fight—he genuinely seemed curious.
And even if it had been meant provocatively, Eun-chan didn’t feel particularly irritated right now.
It was strange, and he couldn’t explain it, but that was how it was.

He’d heard that idols who didn’t actually compete sometimes couldn’t understand this feeling, even if they attended the event.
Personal tendencies played a role, but it was the kind of thing you couldn’t truly explain without experiencing it yourself.
And Woo-young hadn’t even competed—he was an outsider—so it made even more sense.

From the sidelines, it might’ve looked like Eun-chan was taking something insignificant way too seriously.
Taking a sip of his drink, Eun-chan spoke.

“You’re supposed to try hard. There are PamPams who came all the way here to see us—we can’t just half-ass it.”

It might’ve sounded like something said just to look good, but Eun-chan meant it.

They weren’t close personally, yet fans came to these recordings—almost like being confined—sitting for over ten hours just because they liked them.
Applying in advance, adjusting their schedules, and showing up on-site according to the announced timetable was already something to be deeply grateful for.