Assistant Manager Kim Hates Idols

“Everyone ready? Starting the recording!”

 

Lee Cheonghyeon said as he operated his laptop.

 

Then, Jeong Seongbin, sitting at the head of the table, opened his mouth.

 

“Today’s agenda, as shared beforehand, is ‘Item Planning for the Idol Dynasty Chronicle 2nd Competition.’  Everyone checked the notice, right?”

 

“Yes.”

 

The writers momentarily doubted their ears.

 

Agenda? Had there ever been an idol who used that term for discussion topics?

 

For a moment, they felt like they had entered a project meeting, not a filming set.

 

Even the PPT projected on the screen, with its stark white background and concisely written points, felt too much like a real work meeting.

 

“To purchase props, we’ll need to submit requests in advance, so we should finalize our item choices today. Hyung, when’s the deadline for those forms?”

 

“If we mark it as urgent, it’ll probably be approved right away, but it’s safer to submit it within this week.”

 

“Should we submit it the same way we did for the self-PR stage props? If we can just copy and paste the content, I can do it.”

 

Following Jeong Seongbin and Kim Iwol’s smooth discussion of the approval process, Kang Kiyeon raised his hand and spoke. Then he scribbled something in a black journal.

 

Only then did the production crew notice the journals that each member was holding.

 

The journals, varying in shape and color, bore visible signs of wear and tear. What they assumed were props for aesthetics were, surprisingly, being used in earnest.

 

“So, the final candidates are Challenger and Celestial Scientist, right?”

 

“Yes. Both items fit the song well, so I think we should choose the one that aligns better with our concept.”

 

Listening to the conversation between Choi Jeho and Jeong Seongbin, Kim Iwol jumped in.

 

“Hold on. Before discussing the concept, let’s check the key selling points first. Seongbin, did you summarize the ideas we received during brainstorming?”

 

“Yes, I’ll put it up now.”

 

Jeong Seongbin fiddled with the mouse a few times, and a new screen appeared on the projector.

 

The visuals were clear and well-organized, with photos illustrating each concept and concise descriptions that made it easy to grasp the ideas at a glance.

 

After that, the members began to express their opinions on the two items.

 

“The keyword Challenger might risk feeling too bland… It’s similar to the theme of ‘Dreaming of Victory’ from the first round.”

 

“Hyung has a point, but crafting a narrative where the six of us join forces to take on a clearly defined rival could bring a fresh twist, don’t you think?”

 

“In that case, I think prioritizing the overall concept is crucial. We’re aiming to create something fun and aspirational, right?”

 

As Park Joowoo and Kang Giyeon exchanged their opinions, Jeong Seongbin refocused the discussion on their primary values.

 

“I understand Scientist, but what kind of scientist are we talking about specifically? There are mad scientists and nerdy research fanatics, you know.”

 

“Hmm, let’s definitely nail this part down. The arrangement’s tone can vary drastically depending on the reference.”

 

“Considering the theme we want to convey, I think a calm, intellectual vibe fits best. I’ll work on refining this part.”

 

Choi Jeho and Lee Cheonghyeon pointed out the shortcomings, and Kim Iwol suggested alternatives.

 

The exchange of opinions flowed without interruption. This kind of conversation wouldn’t be possible if they weren’t used to it.

 

It was also amazing that everyone was focused on the fast-paced conversation, and Kim Iwol was even checking whether the alignment was going well in the midst of it.

 

While Team 2 sat there feeling like they were eavesdropping on another department’s meeting, Spark’s meeting had already moved to the schedule confirmation stage.

 

“Joowoo, can you compile today’s meeting notes?”

 

At Kim Iwol’s question, Park Joowoo opened the monthly calendar section of his journal.

 

Then he tapped the paper with the tip of his pen.

 

“We’re proceeding without any schedule adjustments, right…? I’ll leave the choreography deadline blank and send it out. Cheonghyeon, the rearrangement needs to be done before then, is that possible?”

 

“Yeah. I’ll convert the recording file to text and send it to you later. Iwol hyung, when can you finalize the reference materials?”

 

“I’ll do it ASAP. Should I CC the A&R team when sharing the progress?”

 

“No. Just forward the final confirmed version.”

 

The division of roles continued from Park Joowoo to Lee Cheonghyeon to Kim Iwol. The conclusion of the meeting was perfect.

 

“They’re good at their jobs…”

 

Someone from Team 2 muttered. No one refuted that statement.

 

* * *

 

The filming of the meeting wrapped up smoothly.

 

While the production crew was packing up their equipment and I was putting the hidden branded products back in their original places, a writer approached me.

 

“Iwol, are you doing okay these days?”

 

“Me?”

 

“Spark, I mean. These days, there’s… a lot of talk, you know. About IDC.”

 

Although their preliminary research might have been lacking, they seemed to be consistently monitoring the show. It was evident from the sudden additional shoots and their grasp of the audience’s feedback.

 

Of course, a production team would naturally care about viewer’s reactions, but this reaction was more like…

 

‘They probably feel guilty about the malicious editing.’

 

I didn’t mind either way. It was true that the current editing was more provocative than the original IDC, but at least the editing so far had been relatively tame compared to other survival programs.

 

At least it wasn’t at the level of fabricating drama by slapping ‘bleep’ effects over harmless comments to stir controversy. I wouldn’t have joined this program if I hadn’t anticipated this much.

 

“I’m fine.”

 

I said with a bright smile.

 

I almost added, ‘Thank you for your concern’, but held back. Humility was a virtue in Korean society, but being overly agreeable would just make you an easy target.

 

“I didn’t expect this much buzz so early on, though.”

 

“Neither did we. It’s strange how much chatter this season has generated.”

 

That caught my attention.

 

I, too, had noticed that there were too many posts excessively criticizing Spark over trivial matters.

 

I tried not to pay too much attention, thinking it might be confirmation bias.

 

But even someone more experienced than me felt the same way.

 

This might make it difficult to view the emergence of nitpicky posts as a natural phenomenon.

 

“Is that so?”

 

“Yeah. Usually—can I say this?—someone needs to have both fans and haters to generate buzz, right? But we don’t have anyone like that on our show yet. So, the current reaction is a bit unexpected.”

 

In an age where a single controversy could shake an entire program, today’s variety shows tend to screen everything they could about cast members beforehand—like running background checks, so to speak.

 

They seemed surprised that things got noisy so quickly, despite filtering the cast this way and selecting rookies with relatively clean histories.

 

“Don’t tell anyone I said this, okay?”

 

“Yes, don’t worry.”

 

Was it the system or a person that created this situation?

 

I hoped it was the system. That way, the chaos could be fixed with a few absurd but manageable tweaks, instead of turning into something worse.

 

* * *

 

“Seongbin, what do you think of this design?”

 

“It’s pretty! Are we all going to wear them?”

 

“No way. Do you know the meaning of the flower language of uninspired, copy-and-paste coordination?”

 

“There’s a flower language for that?”

 

“Of course. It means ‘carelessness’. Remember that.”

 

I added two antique-looking eyeglass frames, which had passed Jeong Seongbin’s aesthetic judgment, to the shopping cart. Judging by their style, they seemed fancy enough to be called antique spectacles.

 

“Hyung, you’ve selected two. You need to cancel one.”

 

“No, I need to buy two. I have to try cutting one in half to see if a monocle look works, and if it doesn’t work, we need the intact one.”

 

“Is that okay? Last time, you said we didn’t have the budget…”

 

“My part-time job pay just came in, so it’s fine.”

 

When I mentioned looking for part-time work, our manager had hooked me up with a temp gig doing office support for UA. 

 

Since then, I’d been helping with organizing raw data and updating the HR system whenever I had time. And two days ago, the much-needed paycheck arrived.

 

I had seriously debated whether I’d have to sell stocks again or just dress everyone in rags and be done with it, so the timing was perfect.

 

As I sighed in relief, Jeong Seongbin practically jumped out of his seat.

 

“Hyung, you’re using your own money?!”

 

“Yeah. I’ve saved enough from the self-PR so far, but who knows what might come up for the final. Better to save wherever we can now.”

 

“But this isn’t right. I’ll talk to the company right now…”

 

“It’s money I earned from organizing files at UA anyway. If you think about it, it’s technically still company money.”

 

He said he would talk to the company, but Jeong Seongbin himself probably knew. It’d be nearly impossible to squeeze more funds out of the company.

 

Especially with this stage requiring a lot of help from the production team, it was better to keep our mouths shut as much as possible about other expenses.

 

“I’ll buy the cheapest ones that don’t look cheap, so don’t feel so bad about it. Speaking of which, what do you think about these suspenders?”

 

“They’re cute. You said you’d coordinate them with shirts, right?”

 

“Yeah. You all have white shirts, right?”

 

“Some members might not.”

 

“What? They claim to be functioning members of society, and they don’t even own a white shirt?”

 

Unbelievable. That meant I’d have to buy shirts too.

 

I  groaned and started searching men’s shopping sites.

 

As I was about to change the ‘most popular’ filter” sort button to ‘lowest filter’, Jeong Seongbin grabbed my wrist.

 

“Hyung, wait.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“I think I can get the shirts.”

 

Jeong Seongbin said resolutely. I was almost moved by the image of a dependable leader, but I couldn’t bring myself to do something as unscrupulous as emptying a high school student’s wallet.

 

“Shirts aren’t expensive. They’re basic items, so anyone can wear them once they’re bought…”

 

“That’s not it. There’s someone in my family who’s obsessed with buying clothes. He probably has dozens of shirts like this lying around.”

 

“Don’t tell me, it’s Mr. Jeong Seongjun?”

 

At the mention of his younger brother, the one who once made the torn dumplings, Jeong Seongbin chuckled. It was a laugh filled with unspoken stories.

 

“If he’s that into clothes, don’t force it. Plus, everyone’s body types are different, so we’ll probably have to buy a few anyway.”

 

“Don’t worry about that. He’s not picky about fit. He’ll probably have almost everything.”

 

“Mr. Jeong Seongjun must be a fashionista, huh.”

 

“He has tons of clothes he’s never even worn… And he wears my clothes a lot, too. He even put a hole in one of them recently.”

 

“Ah, those pants with the ripped ankles? That was Mr. Jeong Sungjoon’s doing?”

 

No wonder. I couldn’t imagine a neat kid like Jeong Seongbin showing up with ventilation holes in his ankles.

 

“Start practice tomorrow without me. I’ll raid his closet.”

 

Jeong Seongbin said something menacing with a bright smile. It seemed he was planning to take revenge for his pants.