Chapter 8: Barging into Stardom

*

The next day, I barged straight into an agency.

I went to the headquarters of RCS, one of Korea’s top four entertainment agencies, without a plan.

Naturally, I got stopped at the security gate, but that wasn’t a problem.

If it’s just a machine, that’s one thing, but with a human guarding it, I can get through easily. Even with a machine, I’d find another way.

“I have an appointment with the CEO.”

“Alright, I’ll pass it along. Your name?”

“You’d know me by my face, not my name.”

A conversation like that would normally get you kicked out as a lunatic.

But my face is trustworthiness itself, so the security guard was naturally convinced.

Three minutes later, I was sitting on a guest sofa in the CEO’s office.

“Strange. I don’t recall making an appointment with a pretty lady like you.”

CEO Ryu Cheon-seong was a man in his late 40s, dressed in odd fashion instead of a suit, with an aura that felt both heavy and light—definitely not ordinary.

Was it the vibe of a successful person?

It was lucky to meet him right away. A CEO of a major agency like this must be insanely busy, always on the move.

If he wasn’t here, I’d have settled for some other higher-up or manager, so it wouldn’t have been a big deal.

But negotiating with the top dog is faster and better.

Meeting some mid-level person and climbing the chain of command would be such a hassle.

“That’s because the appointment thing was a lie.”

I answered shamelessly.

“Why the lie? Am I just too charming? Want to marry me?”

CEO Ryu, a lifelong bachelor in his late 40s, was a workaholic who’d produced several globally famous K-pop idols. His comment felt less like flirting and more like a way to lighten the mood.

Or maybe it was an act to gauge my intentions.

“Make me debut.”

“Do you know how many idol wannabes there are in Korea? Hundreds of thousands. Auditions have at least a thousand-to-one competition rate, sometimes ten thousand-to-one. And you think you can just waltz in with a pretty face? You think being an idol is a joke?”

He looked angry, but it was clearly an act.

I was certain he’d give a positive response.

“That said, your face is just too perfect. Don’t tell me you’re not wearing makeup—that’d be unfairly absurd.”

Even Ryu Cheon-seong, who’d worked with countless celebrities and raised numerous girl groups, couldn’t hide his awe at my face. It went beyond admiration to reverence.

It’s only natural.

This isn’t a human’s appearance.

It’s inhuman.

A Gumiho, a monster that enchants and devours through beauty.

An iconic appearance worthy of worship.

If I said I’m the most beautiful in the world, most people who saw me would agree.

Except for a few with very peculiar tastes.

“Why aim for idol instead of actress?”

Because I need to be on stage to absorb vitality.

What’s the point of appearing on a movie screen?

I couldn’t explain that, so I dodged.

“I love dancing.”

“Can you show me your dance now?”

I stood and moved to an open space in the room.

An a cappella dance could easily get awkward, but I didn’t bother with music.

I was confident I could nail it.

My appearance is a cheat code, but I’m even more confident in my physical control.

Rhythm, timing—I honed those thousands of times in battle.

I performed a dazzling, sexy dance with perfect timing, no music needed.

A one-on-one audition with the CEO.

This dance would show him exactly what kind of idol I want to be.

“Wow.”

Ryu Cheon-seong is especially passionate about dance. He was a dancer in his youth, then a dance-pop singer, before becoming a CEO. Even now, he occasionally dances. Though his CEO work overshadows it, he hasn’t retired as a performer.

He could release an album tomorrow and perform on stage without it seeming odd.

“You dance better than me. That stings.”

I didn’t respond.

“Mechanically, that is.”

What? Criticism? I didn’t expect my dance to be critiqued.

I can pick up marinated quail eggs or tofu with chopsticks without crushing or dropping them—that’s how precise my control is.

No human could beat me in sports.

Billiards, golf, soccer—name it, I’d win if I competed.

It’s like a human running among ants. I wouldn’t bother, though.

And he’s criticizing my dance? Is he jealous?

“It’s technically perfect, but there’s no you in it. Those copied moves lack emotion. No, it’s like you’re resisting them. This is a seductive dance, but you’re begging not to be seen as provocative. That’s weird. Why?”

‘Pretty sharp insight. Is he a master of dance?’

‘He’s unmatched in dance, that’s for sure.’

They say mastery in any field looks impressive at its peak.

Even Blackie, once a demon lord, acknowledged Ryu Cheon-seong.

I was shocked too.

He really read the emotions in my dance?

He’s right—I don’t like men ogling me lustfully.

With a male mind, how could I?

I’m only doing this to survive.

If I don’t, I’d have to physically eat people.

“You’re mistaken.”

No need to reveal my inner thoughts.

Deny it, and what’s he gonna do?

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“I don’t work with people who aren’t sincere, no matter how talented.”

Ryu Cheon-seong suddenly rejected me firmly.

I get his logic, but isn’t that just his personal preference?

“I’ll succeed no matter what. This face, this skill—my singing, which you haven’t heard, is just as good as my dancing. And still?”

“I can tell from your tone you’ve got world-class potential. But I still don’t work with insincere people.”

“What about the shareholders? Letting go of talent like me would be a huge loss for the company. Is it right to let your personal beliefs cost the company? If word gets out about this meeting after I succeed, won’t your reputation for judgment take a hit?”

“I don’t care. I don’t work with insincere people. Ever.”

“You’ll regret that choice.”

You can’t force someone who doesn’t want to.

I turned to leave the office.

Ryu Cheon-seong didn’t stop me.

“…”

RCS is just one of the top four agencies.

Another one would welcome me with open arms.

But why am I so pissed off?

‘Because you’re competitive.’

‘Shut up. Why do you keep reading my mind and making a fuss?’

Our soul-bound connection is great in split-second combat situations, but having someone peek into my thoughts in everyday life is both good and annoying.

What’s good about it?

Having someone who understands me without me saying a word.

‘That’s a bit embarrassing for me too.’

Anyway, as Blackie pointed out, I’m not mad at Ryu Cheon-seong.

I’m mad at myself.

I’m an invasive species.

An unfortunate meteor crashing into the entertainment industry.

If I take the stage, countless people will go wild for me, fall for me.

Those people might’ve been fans of someone else if I didn’t debut.

Everything in the world is survival of the fittest, a fight for a limited pie. Popular idols rise by stealing opportunities from others.

The number of people, the amount of attention—it’s not infinite. It’s limited capital.

And I’m trying to monopolize it with a half-hearted attitude.

I say it’s for survival, but I’m approaching it with a reluctant, “I don’t want to do this” mindset.

As Ryu Cheon-seong said, hundreds of thousands in Korea alone dream of this, aim for it, desperately want it.

And I’m acting like it’s nothing, like I don’t need it.

‘Should I do it with sincerity?’

‘That’s more like you.’

But sincerely seducing men? That’s too embarrassing.

With a life spent more as a man, that’s too high a hurdle!

But getting brushed off by Ryu Cheon-seong and running away with a compromise? I hate that.

I could succeed at another agency, prove his preferences didn’t matter, that I succeeded without sincerity.

But fooling myself with a mental victory feels like losing and running away!

I turned back to Ryu Cheon-seong.

“Then I’ll do it with sincerity, alright?”

“If you’re sincere, I’d welcome you. You’re clearly a raw gem.”

“Fine, I’ll show you my sincerity.”

And so, I became an RCS trainee.

With a condition to debut within three months.