Chapter 77: More Than Just One Problem

But later I realized the problem wasn’t just Park Seo-hu.

On the way to the filming studio, we came in two cars.

In mine were Kwak Jun-sung, Park Seo-hu, Seo Jun-jae, and Yeo Hyun-tae.

Until Jun-sung told me, Seo-hu and I hadn’t even known anything had happened.

Jun-jae and Hyun-tae might have known, but even if a scandal had broken, they weren’t the type to sink into gloom.

So, until we were just among ourselves, Park Seo-hu was the only one overly bothered by the Muk Sahyeon issue.

Soon after, the second car carrying the rest of the members arrived.

The moment I saw them come in, I thought, oh no.

Not only Chae Han-ul, whom Jun-sung had worried about, but also Lee Woo-rim, Lee Chan-seo, and even Yoon Ji‑heon—though he tried to hide it—all wore anxious faces.

The exposé post Jun‑sung had shown me had no evidence, and parts of it even seemed far‑fetched.

Yet so many people were buying into it, simply because Muk Sahyeon had once been questioned by the police?

“I’m worried about the hyungs.”

Lee Chan‑seo, who had finished his shoot and sat beside Woo‑rim, naturally joined the conversation.

“Ji‑heon hyung, Seo‑hu hyung.

And Han‑ul, too.”

“…Why Ji‑heon hyung?”

Woo‑rim, who had been lying face down exhaling deep sighs, lifted his head slightly and asked.

The only names mentioned in this affair were Park Seo‑hu, Chae Han‑ul, and me, so Yoon Ji‑heon’s name popping up out of nowhere must have piqued the ever‑curious Woo‑rim.

“Well… he’s been through similar things before.

He might have some kind of trauma.”

Still face down, Woo‑rim stared at Chan‑seo for a moment, then let out another long sigh.

“Don’t listen to him, Jae‑seo hyung.

He’s just a Yoon Ji‑heon fanboy.”

“Lee Woo‑rim!”

Chan‑seo’s face flared with embarrassment as he raised his voice.

Seeing that, Woo‑rim giggled, looking a bit better, and sat up straight.

“We’re debuting together, you can’t hide it forever.

Quit being so shy, you fanboy.”

At Woo‑rim’s words, Chan‑seo’s face hardened like never before.

At first glance he looked angry at being teased, but knowing his personality and what Woo‑rim had just said, it was surely embarrassment.

“So Chan‑seo was a Ji‑heon hyung fan.”

Woo‑rim nodded in his place and began reciting the history of Chan‑seo’s Yoon Ji‑heon fandom.

In short: four years ago, a middle‑schooler named Lee Chan‑seo, obsessed with hip‑hop and going through a chuunibyou phase, happened to see BURST’s debut stage, fell for idols, and almost cured his chuunibyou—only for the group to disband due to events we all know, which made his chuunibyou even worse.

“That’s why Chan‑seo joined ND, because he was a BURST fanboy.

Well, by now he must be completely disillusioned.”

Then, pretending to ask, “Who’s your ultimate bias?”

Woo‑rim made a fist and held it in front of Chan‑seo’s mouth.

Chan‑seo obediently muttered Yoon Ji‑heon’s name.

…That Chan‑seo, who meekly obeyed even Woo‑rim—a friend one year younger—had gone through an intense chuunibyou phase was hard to imagine.

“But why didn’t you ever tell Ji‑heon hyung?”

“I meant to at first, but I missed the timing, and now…”

Woo‑rim’s gaze trailed off, and following it—

“What were you talking about?”

Yoon Ji‑heon had finished his shoot and was walking toward us.

With his back to Ji‑heon, Chan‑seo flinched at the sudden voice, then straightened up with a tense face.

Even now, nearly four months of camp together hadn’t changed that, and I realized he must have hidden it remarkably well during the ‘July Snow’ days.

“Ah!”

The sound I made made Ji‑heon, Chan‑seo, and Woo‑rim all turn to me at once.

I shook my head, saying it was nothing, and fell into the thought that had just occurred to me.

So on the first day of recording Please Take Care of My Idol, the A.C.E junior sitting to my right who praised Yoon Ji‑heon and criticized A.C.E had been Lee Chan‑seo.

It was all because he was a fan of Ji‑heon.

Now, looking back, the situation felt both cute and funny.

As Yoon Ji‑heon pulled out the chair to his right and sat down, Chan‑seo, tense, leaned left.

Watching him, I turned my head toward Woo‑rim, who was also staring at Chan‑seo with playful eyes.

“Sim Jae‑seo!”

From inside the studio, my name was called.

It seemed to be my turn to shoot.

As I stood up, I sent Woo‑rim a subtle glance; he smiled, eyes curving, and nodded slightly.

…It was a strange moment: I had become the person replacing Ha Jin‑woo’s role for Woo‑rim.

***

“Turn your head a little to the right.

Let’s try a natural smile.”

Not long after my name was called, my profile photo shoot began.

The concept was my favorite: “plain.”

Described as “a slightly more polished ID photo look,” the shoot only required a blank expression and a little smile, so it wasn’t too hard.

It did demand constant effort—turning my head a bit, adding hand poses—but thanks to having stood on stage several times and steadily raising my acting stat, it wasn’t as painful as before.

Not that I was good at it, though.

When the shoot finished, the K‑Dream Entertainment staff who had been monitoring with me let out low sighs several times while looking at my pictures, so I was starting to get the hint.

At least there were a few shots that even I thought looked okay, so that was a relief.

“You worked hard.”

After my turn was completely over, I bowed to every visible film crew member in turn.

I had been thoroughly taught by Yoon Ji‑heon, and seeing my own photos that had drawn everyone’s sighs, I genuinely felt grateful for the hard work of all the staff here.

After giving a bow full of thanks and respect, as I was about to head back to the waiting area, a K‑Dream employee stopped me.

“Jae‑seo‑ssi, take some selcas in your current outfit, please, using Jun‑sung‑ssi’s phone.”

I nodded, went out to the waiting area, and looked for Kwak Jun‑sung.

Jun‑sung had been busily taking selcas himself.

He handed me his phone, I opened the camera app, and raised my arm.

Click.

After taking one picture, I went into the gallery to check the result and involuntarily gasped.

Above my freshly taken photo, hundreds of other photos were already stacked.

I scrolled through the various poses Jun‑sung had tried, then came back down to mine.

And for the first time in a while, a certain word came to mind.

Squid.

Having heard so many good things here and there during Please Take Care of My Idol, my self‑awareness had grown, and the photo I’d just taken seemed so ugly that I was shocked.

“…Maybe I’m just ugly to begin with?”

As I stared at the photo and muttered, a voice came from behind: “What is?”

Startled, I turned my head.

Seo Jun‑jae was standing behind me, looking down.

“Ah, they told you to take selcas.”

His gaze went to the phone in my hand, and he smiled, as if already understanding.

“Let me see.”

At his words, I clutched the phone with both hands and shook my head.

“No way.”

Seeing Jun‑jae’s face—the “official face genius” of Please Take Care of My Idol—right in front of me, I shook my head even harder.

I had never been one to care about looks, but after just a few months as a survival show participant, I was surprised at how much I’d changed.

“But when the next person’s turn comes, everyone will see it anyway?”

Of course I’d delete it before that.

Seeming to read my mind, Jun‑jae raised one eyebrow.

After a brief silence, he smiled, curving his eyes more brightly than usual.

“Isn’t it better to show me and let me help than to delete it and struggle on your own?”

As he spoke, he subtly nodded toward the studio, as if to say there wasn’t much time left until the next shoot.

After a moment’s hesitation, I finally nodded.

I raised the phone and showed him the photo I’d just taken.

Without a change in expression, he said,

“It’s cute.

Why?”

…This?

Was Jun‑jae teasing me, or was he so smitten he couldn’t see straight?

If not that, could it be… was this how I actually looked?

“Jae‑seo, don’t think about it.

Come here.”

He pulled me over to the glass wall at the far end of the studio.

He made me raise my hand with the phone, then pressed close to my face and moved the phone himself.

…My face in the screen looked much better than before, but with Jun‑jae’s face right next to it, I still looked like a squid.

“Seo Jun‑jae, move away.”

I pushed him out of the frame and pressed the shutter a few times.

Looking at the gallery, the faces in the side‑by‑side photos seemed so different I wondered if they were the same person.

At least that meant my real face couldn’t be that bad.

Relieved, I deleted the very first picture.

Since the other members had taken dozens of shots each, leaving only three of mine felt wrong, so I asked Jun‑jae for help.

I finally added ten more, making thirteen in total.

When Park Seo‑hu came over and took the phone, I quickly scrolled through them one last time.

None of them looked like a squid anymore, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Sim Jae‑seo.”

Suddenly my name was called.

I turned toward the voice, and click.

In Jun‑jae’s outstretched hand, his phone screen showed me making a dumb face.

“What?”

…Hadn’t I just given the phone to Park Seo‑hu?

“It’s my phone.

I’m going to use it as my wallpaper.”

He kindly held the photo right in front of me.

In the roughly taken picture, a perfect‑looking Seo Jun‑jae stood beside me, more pathetic than ever.

…This time I looked like a baby squid at best.

I quickly reached out to snatch the phone—

“Jun‑jae hyung, you’re taking too long!”

Just then, a call came for him, and he turned away, foiling my attempt.

His phone slid into his pocket.

I stared wistfully at that pocket as he walked toward the studio.

He suddenly stopped, turned his head, and looked at me.

“Seriously, you’re cute.”

With those absurd words, he turned away without hesitation.

I stood there, a dumb look on my face just like the one on his phone, until he disappeared inside.