Assistant Manager Kim Hates Idols

Min Jukyung, who called me over, asked if I had ever given a presentation during my school days.

 

“A presentation?”

 

“Yeah. Have you ever done one before?”

 

Of course, I’d done it to death.

 

I  could easily give a simple report presentation for four hours straight with a smile.

 

But I shouldn’t be able to do that now.

 

The current me, on the surface, was just a fresh 20-year-old who didn’t have the experience of presenting at Hanpyeong Industry or giving presentations in college.

 

I hesitated, pretending to be unsure, before answering.

 

“Not particularly, no.”

 

“That makes sense. Earlier, I showed the proposal you gave me to the CEO when he stopped by the management office.”

 

The speed at which things moved up the chain was faster than the KTX train.

 

Even the CEO of UA reviewed the document this quickly, so what was Manager Nam so busy with that he couldn’t even process a simple leave request? I felt a surge of frustration.

 

But Min Jukyung wasn’t to blame. I swallowed my anger and forced a smile.

 

Not noticing my internal struggle, Min Jukyung continued.

 

“The CEO said he’d like to hear you explain it in person.”

 

“Me, personally?”

 

“Yes. What do you think? It might turn out to be a good experience.”

 

I’d given presentations a hundred times, but not once had it been a good experience.

 

To me, presentations were nothing more than a collaboration of stress and nausea.

 

Still, if an opportunity was given to me, I should take it.

 

Right now, even worrying was a luxury I couldn’t afford.

 

“Yes, I’ll do it. Thank you.”

 

“No need to thank me. You just need to explain what you’ve envisioned, so you don’t need to decide on all the details. As for PPT… it would be good to have one, but it’s fine if you don’t. We’re planning to schedule the meeting for next week, is that okay?”

 

“That’s fine.”

 

I had already gathered references while working on the concept.

 

With the content organized, creating visual materials wouldn’t be a problem.

 

Once I received the email address where I needed to send the file and the NS program account, all tasks were completed.

 

There was only one week left until the presentation. I had to settle it within that time.

 

And my specialty was pulling all-nighters.

 

I started to rack my brain on how I could utilize my time to create the best materials.

 

‘No matter what, I will avoid the frozen grass fairy graveyard.’

 

I steeled my resolve. My shoulders felt heavy.

 

* * *

 

My ‘avoid the grass fairy’ project started that very night.

 

Lee Cheonghyeon asked me a question.

 

“That’s great and all, but shouldn’t you sleep while you’re doing this?”

 

He should have been resting for a few days now that he had finished composing, and yet Lee Cheonghyeon was still pacing around the living room.

 

“At twenty, you’re at an age where you can pull all-nighters and chew rocks.”

 

“What are you saying, hyung? You don’t sleep enough as it is!”

 

If you were about to become a group of frozen grass spirits, would you be able to sleep?

 

I might die of pent-up frustration, but I certainly didn’t want to ascend to the afterlife by freezing to death.

 

“Where did you learn to make things like this?”

 

 Lee Cheonghyeon threw out an unexpected question.

 

This coming from someone who effortlessly operated a complicated music composition program that made my head spin just looking at it.

 

Though I couldn’t take my eyes off the monitor due to lack of time, I tried my best to give a kind answer.

 

“If you live long enough, you can do anything.”

 

“Wow, amazing.”

 

More accurately, you just needed to be the bus driver for group projects for four years… but the kids didn’t need to know that.

 

A few days later, the day of the showdown arrived.

 

I found myself giving what felt like the 450th presentation of my life in the UA conference room.

 

No one here had high expectations of me, so there was less pressure.

 

The catch was that, contrary to what I had been told beforehand, representatives from every department were present.

 

Still, since it was just a presentation to share ideas, I managed to wrap it up in about 20 minutes with a surface-level overview.

 

After the presentation ended, I instinctively prepared myself for some sarcastic remarks.

 

However, no one said something like, ‘Did you think we cleared our schedules to listen to this nonsense?’

 

Instead, the CEO made a counterproposal to me.

 

“Iwol.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I’ll give you the project proposal format. Would you like to try writing it up properly?”

 

Pardon?

 

For a moment, I wondered if these listeners had actually paid attention to the presentation.

 

Assuming they had, the lack of questions about the content meant they found no particular problem.

 

This implied that, even from their perspective, my ideas were realistically feasible enough to be commercialized.

 

“Yes, I understand.”

 

A decision-making process without a single curse word.

 

A meeting room where no one raised their voice!

 

For someone like me, who was trained at Hanpyeong Industry, this was a puzzling turn of events.

 

Still, I think I succeeded in giving the impression that ‘it’s worth a try.’

 

It was a pretty good result.

 

* * *

 

“Can everyone stay for a moment?”

 

As soon as Kim Iwol left the conference room, the CEO called back the meeting attendees.

 

The CEO sounded excited. The atmosphere in the room was similar.

 

‘That’s understandable.’

 

Min Jukyung had expected this to some extent from the moment he first saw Kim Iwol.

 

That he was quite unique compared to his peers.

 

‘I didn’t expect him to have a talent for presentations, though.’

 

He had attended the planning meeting simply because he was the one who passed on the proposal from Kim Iwol, but it turned out to be a surprising experience.

 

“What did you think? I thought it was pretty good.”

 

The CEO asked, referring to Kim Iwol’s presentation.

 

“To be honest… It was good.”

 

“Me too. I was worried that it might be cliche, but it was better than I thought.”

 

The employees, flipping through the proposal, agreed.

 

 The concept Kim Iwol presented was the classic ‘youth’.

 

The Spark he envisioned in the music video started with a scene that could easily be misunderstood as a gangster situation due to its rough atmosphere and visuals.

 

Compared to the pure and innocent winter boy concept the company had been preparing, it was a bold direction.

 

On top of that, school uniforms and youth.

 

These elements that anyone could easily think of could have felt ‘cliche’.

 

Especially since a major new group had just debuted last week with a mythology-based concept.

 

Considering the recent market trends, it was hard to ignore the need for a strong concept

 

However, Kim Iwol’s choice was the most ‘Spark-like.’

 

At the same time, it also had an element of originality. Thanks to a small twist at the end.

 

The company wouldn’t refuse a choice that could best showcase the team.

 

Everyone agreed that the idea considered not just the visuals but also the team’s characteristics and public image.

 

“The proposal alone was good, but the presentation was top-notch. Is he really only twenty?”

 

“So he graduated high school this year? That’s incredible.”

 

“It’s rare to see someone that age with such guts and brains. So I was thinking.”

 

The CEO said, closing the proposal he had been examining.

 

“What do you think about grooming him for producing?”

 

At this point, the artist management team couldn’t help but get involved.

 

Min Jukyung, having grasped the situation, hurriedly sent a message to his team leader and opened his planner with an excited face.

 

* * *

 

After the presentation, I returned to practice when a system notification popped up.

 

+

 

[SYSTEM] ‘Hidden Task’ completed.

 

▷ Content: Gain recognition as a producing member

 

▷ Reward: Exp (5)

 

▷ Total exp: 70

 

▷ Total point: 0

 

+

 

The employees had been told to stay behind.

 

It seemed they had a really fun meeting without me.

 

With this, Spark met all the conditions necessary to become a self-produced idol group.

 

With me as a producing member, Lee Cheonghyeon composing, and Choi Jeho and Kang Kiyeon handling the choreography, a perfect structure was in place.

 

With such a complete setup, the company couldn’t help but aim for a self-produced idol group.

 

‘It looks like switching to a manager role is even more out of the question now.’

 

At this point, I should start thinking about how to prepare for my retirement after leaving the group post-debut.

 

My career, which had already turned to water, was now becoming as hazy as mist.

 

Maybe I should consider getting some certifications while I was at it.

 

It would be good to study something productive. For example, coding, or coding, or perhaps coding.

 

‘So, does this mean Cheonghyeon’s song will be chosen as the title track?’

 

Originally, the concept was just the image of a winter boy, without any specific ideas attached.

 

UA hadn’t even discussed getting songs for Spark.

 

So unless the CEO or someone from the planning team got a sudden flash of inspiration, there was a high chance that Lee Cheonghyeon’s song, which I attached a concept to, would be chosen.

 

‘Especially since the song turned out pretty well..’

 

In that case, the company would likely push Cheonghyeon’s song as the title track to market our self-production abilities.

 

Sure enough, soon the manager came over…

 

‘I heard you might debut with Cheonghyeon’s song?’

 

…and said that.

 

…Although it wasn’t confirmed, the four Spark members seemed to be motivated just by hearing those words.

 

Wait.

 

Four?

 

There was one missing.

 

I immediately turned my head to check the surroundings. One small head was missing.

 

“Hasn’t Lee Cheonghyeon arrived yet?”

 

“No.”

 

“Why? He always comes right on time.”

 

“I don’t know. He didn’t mention he’d be late today.”

 

Kang Kiyeon responded. Since Cheonghyeon didn’t have a phone, there was no way to contact him.

 

He was tough, but.

 

As a seasoned ssommelier who grew up surviving on scraps at Hanpyeong Industry, I could guarantee you, this didn’t feel right.

 

“He’s not the type to skip practice. He’ll probably be here soon.”

 

“I think so too, but…”

 

Choi Jeho replied nonchalantly, as usual.

 

But I’ve seen the deep darkness within you guys recently.

 

How can I not be anxious if something happens?

 

Still, I decided to trust the stories about how Lee Cheonghyeon was generally the mood-maker during trainee days.

 

Maybe he made the ridiculous mistake of leaving his bag in the classroom or something.

 

I tried hard to think positively.

 

If you wish hard enough, it might come true…

 

+

 

[SYSTEM] ‘New task’ has been assigned.

 

▷ Content: Secure the debut song

 

▷ Reward: Exp (10)

 

+

 

What now?

 

Secure the debut song? With the way things going, the debut song should be decided automatically.

 

‘Are you telling me to buy the rights from Cheonghyeon in advance? How greedy.’

 

I still hadn’t fully grasped the issues related to song rights yet…

 

The feeling of unease grew stronger. Somehow, it felt like two disaster flags had been planted in my back.

 

“Um… hyung.”

 

I’m sorry, Joowoo. Could you not call me right now?

 

It’s just that I have a bad feeling about everything around me right now.

 

“Cheonghyeon has seemed lost in thought lately. Do you think something might be wrong…”

 

“…”

 

Damn it.

 

Where the hell did that son a bi*ch run off to?