God Idol Project: Hope [GIPH]

Chapter 7: God Idol Project

The lawyer handed me hyung's will. Inside the envelope, alongside the handwritten will, was a short letter addressed to me.

[My friend Iwon, I don't have much time, so I'll keep this short. You're the only one who knows about my death, so I'm leaving my assets to you. It was all meant to be donated to society anyway. I hope you can use it for the music we love. Please take care of the things in the studio. Also, Iwon, I hope you won't be too burdened by this. I don't want our memories to cause you pain. This is my last request.]

So that's why he called the lawyer in a hurry. In the time he should've been saying goodbye... He was such a fool.

I left all the legal procedures to my parents. As for the studio, I took it upon myself to clear everything out. I brought all the instruments and belongings that hyung had touched back home, leaving nothing behind.

Though my room was now packed with instruments and boxes, my heart felt utterly empty. A wave of emptiness swept over me like a tidal wave.

I didn't speak a word for a week.

The shadow of Hyun-oh hyung's death haunted me. I found myself thinking of him during class, while eating, in every moment. And then, I'd be hit with the reality that I would never see him again.

My parents, who had been quietly observing, grew more worried as they noticed my strange behavior.

They were anxious, wondering if I was unwell or needed help.

"I'm fine."

No, maybe I'm not fine after all.

"...Iwon! Your voice!"

My mom and dad, realizing my voice had completely changed, immediately took me to the hospital. They didn't take me to our usual hospital out of concern.

The unfamiliar doctor diagnosed my vocal cords as healthy and strong, expressing confusion as to why we were even there.

It was the same at every other hospital. While it was hard to believe, all the doctors said my vocal cords were perfectly normal. Slowly, my parents began to accept this as reality.

A miracle. They started to believe in those two words. They were so overwhelmed with happiness that they couldn't stop crying with joy.

Even though I didn't show much excitement, they assumed it was because I hadn't fully come to terms with it. They thought that, after a day or two, I would return to my usual self, accept hyung's death, and enjoy the miracle that had happened to me.

But to me, the change in my voice wasn't a 'miracle.' It was a constant reminder of hyung's death.

Because of that, I hesitated to even speak. Rather than talking more, I spoke less, which only deepened my parents' worries.

"I think it's such a beautiful voice. Is it just unfamiliar to you?"

Who wouldn't find Hyun-oh hyung's voice beautiful?

"It's too beautiful, and that's why it makes me sad. Every time I speak, I'm reminded of hyung."

"Hyun-oh?"

"This voice... I think it's hyung's voice."

My parents looked at me, bewildered.

Of course, who could believe something so surreal? I'd be lucky if they didn't think I'd lost my mind. I understood that.

"Iwon-ah. Hyun-oh's voice might be similar, but don't you think it's a bit of a stretch?"

"Why do you think that? It's just a coincidence that these things happened around the same time."

My parents tried to convince me that it was all just a coincidence.

But even after comparing my singing voice with hyung's, could they still be sure it was a mere coincidence?

I pulled out my phone and played a video. It was a video we had taken during our music trip, where hyung sang the song I had gifted him, "By Any Name."

When the video ended, I slowly opened my mouth and sang the same song.

After I finished, I said, "Since I sang in front of hyung's tree, my voice has changed."

"...It's hard to believe it's just a coincidence. It really sounds like the same person."

"And you both know. I've never sung before. Not once. Yet, I'm doing something I've never done before as if it's second nature—just like hyung."

It wouldn't be strange if I were tone-deaf, but I could control the pitch, rhythm, and volume effortlessly. I could even ad-lib with ease.

"...Mom can't just dismiss this as some unexplainable phenomenon. We live in a world where vocal cords that were deemed incurable can be healed overnight. If this miracle came from Hyun-oh..."

My mother, who had already witnessed one miracle, seemed torn between scientific reasoning and her personal experiences.

Whether they believed me or not didn't really matter. I just didn't want to lie to them.

That's when Dad, as if remembering something, let out a soft exclamation.

"Hyun-oh's wish came true."

"Hyung's wish?"

"Iwon-ah, you were outside the room when Hyun-oh was writing his will, so you didn't hear this. But he said he didn't just want to give you his money. He wanted to give you his voice. Even though he knew it wasn't possible, that's what he wished for."

Even until the end, all he could wish for was something like that. He couldn't even wish for something for himself...

"So, Iwon-ah, instead of being sad, how about you change the way you think? Hyun-oh gave our son a gift."

"If you think of it as Hyun-oh's voice, how about singing with it? That way, it's like you're singing together."

If I sang, hyung's voice would resonate.

Even if people didn't know it was his voice, they could hear and remember it. His music could be loved by others.

Hyun-oh hyung once said that if he could be reborn, he'd want to be an idol again. I wanted to fulfill his dream, not just to the level he desired, but even beyond that.

If I became the best idol with his voice, wouldn't hyung be happy? Wouldn't it be like we were achieving it together?

"Dad, Mom, I'm going to become an idol."

To my surprise, my sudden declaration didn't seem to shock them.

In fact, they seemed supportive.

"I always thought you'd make a great idol, son. I don't know about dancing, but you've got rhythm and athleticism, so you'll pick it up. And with your looks and voice, you'll outshine anyone. I meet idols sometimes at work, and honestly, I always thought you looked better than them."

That was my hedgehog mother's take.

"I'm just happy our son has found a dream," Dad said. "You ended up at an arts school, but I could tell you weren't really interested in becoming a professional violinist. I was worried since you didn't seem to show much interest in anything else either. You never even wrote down a real career goal, right? Just wrote 'musician' because you had to. But Dad knew."

Dad was just happy I had found a dream.

"So, what's the first step to becoming an idol? Do you need to become a trainee? Take auditions?"

"Usually, you participate in auditions, and if you pass, you become a trainee. But sometimes, you get scouted, and they'll invite you to audition after."

"Have you ever been scouted? With a face like yours?"

"I've gotten some suspicious business cards, but was that scouting?"

I'd torn up the cards and run away, thinking they were up to no good.

The fact that they tried to assure me they weren't shady only made them seem more suspicious. The way they begged me to call them made it all the more dubious.

Maybe I should have kept the cards, just in case.

"Of course. Any casting director worth their salt would have spotted you. Your dad got a fair few business cards when he was in his prime too, you know?"

"That was when I was young. Let's not talk about it. It's embarrassing."

"Okay. So, Iwon-ah, what's your next step? I don't know much about this field, so I'll need to do some research."

"Just let me know if you need support, son," Dad added.

With my parents being so enthusiastic, I felt even more determined to become an idol.

"I've learned a lot from hyung. It's like he was preparing me for this all along, explaining things like a lecture. My weakest area is dancing, so I'll start working on that and building up my stamina. I'll probably need to audition a few times, so I'm going to aim for every audition I can."

"Then I'll have to be your temporary manager for a while," Dad said. "Between working out, dancing, and going to auditions, it's going to be tough."

I immediately registered at a gym. Having never seriously exercised before, I had to rely on professional help.

I started with light morning runs and personal training sessions in the afternoon. It was painful—so painful that I wondered if my trainer was torturing me. He said that watching me push through reminded him of his early days, which made him feel motivated again.

Is that a good thing? He encouraged me, saying I'd eventually enjoy it, but that sounded like a lie.

Because I'd been playing the violin for so long, my posture was slightly off, so I was also recommended to try Pilates. I was fairly flexible, so Pilates was surprisingly easier for me.

Stamina and strength were my biggest challenges, but since I was young, I improved quickly. This was going to be a long-term commitment.

As for dancing, I practiced by watching stage performances and mimicking the moves.

I brought a large mirror into my violin practice room and checked my movements while dancing, but I wasn't satisfied with my progress.

It would have been best to prepare thoroughly beforehand, but I decided that passing an audition quickly and getting professional lessons as a trainee would be more effective.

And singing...

It was as if I had gone through vocal training just for this moment.

In those sessions, I'd learned how to sing comfortably, what kind of vocal techniques suited me, how to control dynamics, and how to end phrases smoothly. It felt like hyung had condensed a vocal training course just for me.

I kept finding new reasons to thank him.

Still, singing felt unfamiliar, and my posture and expressions felt awkward. I had never even been to a karaoke room, so I couldn't help but feel out of place.

So, I suggested to my parents that we go to a karaoke room together. To my surprise, they were as excited as kids going on a field trip and rushed straight there.

That night, I discovered how much fun my parents could be. Why hadn't they become entertainers? They certainly had the talent.

My dream was to become an idol. To be precise, my dream didn't stop at debuting as an idol. My goal was to climb to the highest level an idol could reach.

I wanted to become a star so undeniable that no one could challenge it.

I named this goal the God Idol Project.

To achieve it, I had to become the most perfect idol. However, no amount of personal effort could guarantee success. There were many factors that had to align.

First, I had to find the right agency.

Hyun-oh hyung had told me about the various entertainment agencies, casually criticizing the one he had been with.

It deserved the criticism. If hyung had a problem with it, that was all I needed to know.

He had also taught me how to differentiate between good and bad agencies for trainees.

He warned me about which places would make me suffer, and if he had to go back to being a trainee, which agency he would choose instead. He shared firsthand stories from people in the industry.

According to him, if an agency hands you a "slave contract," you should walk away immediately unless you want to be scammed or exploited.

He also said that small agencies were risky. If the company is too small, it means they're financially unstable and can't provide proper support. Worse, they could go bankrupt.

The risk doesn't end before debut. Even after debut, there's danger.

Even mid-sized agencies could face challenges if they're inexperienced with idols. Success wouldn't be easy without experience. There's a reason people value industry know-how.

There were many factors to consider, and everyone had different priorities.

Some agencies were good at managing the media, while others specialized in producing music or invested heavily in their artists. Some had exceptional instructors.

I had to think carefully and choose an agency that matched my goals.

If the agency had debuted idols before, I also had to consider how recently they debuted their last group.

Debuting a new idol group takes all of the company's resources. They need time to recover before they can debut another. So if I joined an agency with a newly debuted group, my trainee period would likely be extended.

Of course, there were exceptions, but this was generally how it worked.

Now that I'd set my sights on becoming a god idol, I couldn't just gamble blindly.

So, the agency I needed was:

​•​At least mid-sized
​•​Experienced in debuting idols
​•​Financially stable
​•​Not currently promoting a newly debuted group
​•​Willing to invest in their trainees
​•​Skilled at media management and production
​•​Creative and strategic in their planning

Is there even an agency that meets all these criteria? Getting into an agency with most of these qualities would be hard enough.

I had to prioritize. Size, finances, experience, and investment seemed to be the most critical factors.

The rest, like media management and lessons, could be outsourced if needed.

Though I wanted to debut quickly, realistically, as a beginner, I needed time to hone my skills. I could afford to wait a bit.

The first audition for an agency that met my criteria was in two weeks.

I gave myself two weeks to practice intensively.

On my way to personal training after school, Dad called. I think he was still amazed at how my voice sounded over the phone.

He reminded me to go home and eat dinner after my workout and practice after.

I knew he was worried about me overexerting myself, but it was a little much.

As I ended the call and entered the gym, someone approached me.

"Excuse me, student. Can you give me a call here?"

A young woman slipped me a business card with a forced smile.

There was something suspicious about this...

Déjà vu hit me. Could this be another street casting?

"Aren't you interested in becoming an entertainer? You've got the perfect look for our company."

The business card only had a name, phone number, and email address.

"...Which agency is this?"

"I'll tell you if you call."

There was still a chance this was a scam.

Some shady companies target aspiring celebrities, promising the world before taking all their money.

Still, should I at least check it out?

"Please make sure to call!"

After discussing it with my parents, I decided to reach out.

To my surprise, the contact information led to POT Entertainment, one of the top three agencies. I couldn't believe such a big agency cast people this way.

They said I still had to audition formally, so I scheduled a time and visited the POT Entertainment building.

It was a private audition, just me.

When I entered the audition room and started singing in front of the judges, including the company's CEO, I could see the hunger in their eyes.

After dancing and explaining that I attended an arts high school and could play several instruments, the CEO shouted that I was accepted.

I was in shock.

Is this real? Are auditions usually this easy?

The woman who scouted me whispered that I was practically guaranteed to pass even before the audition started.

If I wasn't fit to be an idol, they would have trained me for acting instead.

POT Entertainment managed not only idols but also a large roster of actors, so transitioning would have been easy.

It was a large, financially stable company with several successful idol groups. They were known for pushing hard after debut.

When they asked me to bring my guardians to sign the contract, I started having doubts.

Why do I feel uneasy?

Could it be because their boy group debuted less than six months ago?

I wasn't sure. But the other conditions were so good that I couldn't just walk away.

There were trainees who would've given anything to pass an audition at POT. Was I being too picky?

As I walked toward the subway station, far from the company building, I stopped by a convenience store. That's where I found out why I felt uneasy.

"Man, it pisses me off seeing those kids getting all the easy work. Do they really reject us just for being younger? What do those guys have that we don't? Debut should be based on talent."

"Relax, in a few years, it'll be our turn."

"Right? We have to play along for now, even if it sucks."

Three boys who looked like middle schoolers were laughing obnoxiously.

"Who's the idiot who's going to pass this audition?"

"Who cares? It's not like they matter. We'll deal with them when we need to."

"Exactly, exactly."

If I joined POT Entertainment, there was a chance I'd have to work with trash like them.

I realized it too late.

POT only checked basic information and talent. They didn't ask a single question about character.

I had completely overlooked the importance of who I'd be working with and had only focused on what the company could do for me.

It was a mistake I couldn't defend.