Chapter 13
Carried and Raised Failing Idol
‘Oh man, what do I even do with this little bean-sized punk?’
Ruha’s tightly shut eyes trembled.
“Ruha~ today, your hyung is gonna—”
“Pfft, pfft-pfft, bukchit bukchit phakchichich drdrdrdrt!”
He’d only had a few glasses of soju, but Kang Ian was already behaving like a drunk maniac, making all sorts of noises beside him.
He was spitting everywhere, pretending to beatbox.
Then, imitating random lines from whatever video he’d seen, making Ruha’s face scrunch tighter and tighter.
His patience was wearing thin.
Just as his small hand reached for the back scratcher behind him—
“Hey! Get it together!”
Perfect timing — Choi Eunbi intervened.
She grabbed Kang Ian by the shoulders and shook him awake.
“Come on, noona! You’ve gotta have at least one party trick these days! Once our group RE:VIVAL blows up, we’ll be doing variety shows, right? I’m just—hic—getting ready ahead of time~!”
Kang Ian grinned goofily and brushed off her hand.
“Oh, or how about this one? ‘You go, Hawaii!’”
“Don’t start with that Hawaii nonsense!”
“Then how about—?”
“Hey!”
He shook his body again, about to beatbox, and spilled soda everywhere.
Thanks to that, Ruha, who was stuck in the middle, felt his pants get soaked.
‘I’m exhausted. I just want to go home and watch Do-Re-Mi.’
He didn’t even have the energy to curse. Only long, weary sighs escaped his small lips.
“Good grief, I can’t live like this! Boss!”
Choi Eunbi rushed to the counter to grab some wet wipes.
‘What now?’
Without anyone noticing when he came in, Cha Eungyeol silently started wiping Ruha’s pants. But then his hand began to wander… inward.
“Hey! Watch your hands, mister—!”
Ruha smacked his hand away. Eungyeol’s ears turned bright red.
Everyone’s gaze turned to Ruha.
“Why does he always act like such an adult? Is he trying to grow up too fast?”
“Ruha~ enjoy it while you can!”
“So cute!”
“Hahaha!”
Unlike Ruha, who was drowning in self-loathing, the others were laughing happily.
‘Ha… life.’
He couldn’t handle the stress anymore.
With a little “hup!” Ruha jumped down from the chair, scratching his back with his back scratcher as he stomped out of the restaurant.
Outside, Yoon Taejin was already there, smoking in the dark.
The light spilling from the restaurant cast shadows across his face.
“You okay? You look… upset.”
He had a lot to say, but he didn’t.
Ruha glared sharply at him and swallowed his words.
He wanted to yell at him to explain today’s disastrous performance, but his body and mind were far too tired.
“I’m tired… really tired.”
With a sigh, Ruha held up his index and middle finger.
“Oh, right.”
Taejin slipped a small straw-shaped junk candy between them.
“…This flavor’s not right.”
“Ah, they said they ran out of cola flavor.”
“Yeah?”
Ruha frowned and sucked on the straw.
Slurp.
The sour-sweet sugar sludge was pulled into his mouth.
* * *
“Yaaawn.”
Yoon Taejin let out a long, jaw-cracking yawn.
Beep—
The clock on the wall now read 1 a.m.
After the company dinner, he had been on his way home — until Ruha suddenly shouted in his sleep, woke up, and insisted they go straight to the office.
While Ruha scribbled furiously, Taejin just stared blankly at the clock, waiting.
“…Can’t we talk about this tomorrow?”
Unable to take the silence any longer, Taejin broke it.
“Tomorrow? Are you kidding me? We’ve got to start preparing for the next competition right away. There’s no time to waste!”
Ruha gave him an incredulous look.
“You’ve given up already? Just going with the flow now?”
“No, it’s not that…”
Taejin leaned back in his chair and yawned again.
“I should’ve known better than to trust you, hyung.”
Ruha shook his head.
“When I think about it as my group, it hits different. It’s not the same as just writing a song and handing it over.”
Taejin muttered weakly.
“Ugh.”
Ruha shot him a glare.
‘Is this guy clueless or just plain stupid…?’
Producing an idol group cost billions of won. At this rate, they might not even break even before their contract expired.
And after today’s performance, Ruha was certain—
‘They’re doomed.’
If only Taejin went down, that’d be one thing. But what about the staff? The members’ youth and dreams?
He wasn’t usually the type to care deeply about others, but living with them had made him… strangely attached.
“Okay.”
Thud.
After scribbling for a while, Ruha tossed the paper at Taejin.
“What’s this? You’re done?”
Rubbing his sleepy eyes, Taejin picked it up eagerly.
“…This is—”
His brow twitched.
“A profile sheet?”
It was the members’ profiles — but something was different.
“Are you serious?”
“The first step is a position change. Lumis is going to be reborn.”
“What? No way! What about the members’ opinions?”
“Quiet!”
Smack!
Ruha slammed his back scratcher on the desk. Taejin flinched.
Ever since he’d shrunk into a kid’s body, his violent tendencies seemed to have intensified — like a small animal puffing itself up to survive.
Taejin sighed and glanced back down at the paper.
“Do we really have to go this far?”
“Lumis started off wrong. We’re restarting from zero.”
The new positions were as follows:
Baek Doha
Main Vocal → Main Dancer, Lead Vocal
Cha Eungyeol
Main Dancer, Sub Vocal → Main Vocal, Sub Dancer
Ryu Sian
Sub Rapper → Sub Vocal, Sub Rapper
Kang Ian
Sub Vocal, Sub Dancer → Main Rapper
Ha Jinwoo
Sub Rapper, Sub Dancer → same, plus Producing role added
“…Are you sure about this?”
Taejin’s voice was full of doubt.
He didn’t doubt Jindo-hyun’s talent — but ever since he turned into a child, he hadn’t exactly been normal.
(Singing along to the Do-Re-Mi Fairy theme song with joy, acting cute to the staff… that sort of thing.)
“Don’t want to do it? Then just let the group flop.”
Ruha’s voice was cold.
“Wow, harsh. But… why?”
“Hyung, I spend more than half the week with these kids. I can tell what’s wrong.”
“Still… you do realize what it means to change the main vocal, right?”
“Are you joking?”
Ruha’s glare said it all.
Changing the main vocal wasn’t just a small shift — it affected part distribution, choreography, and even the group’s overall musical identity.
It was essentially a declaration to overhaul Lumis’s sound entirely.
“I don’t think this is right!”
After some hesitation, Taejin waved his hands, objecting.
He wasn’t as famous as Jindo-hyun, but he was still a respected producer. He didn’t want to ruin a group he’d poured his heart into.
“Doha wasn’t made leader and main vocal just because he’s the oldest. He ranked #1 in the internal vocal evaluations. Eungyeol was #2.”
Baek Doha had earned his spot through hard work and skill.
“Hmm…”
Ruha smacked his lips and stared at him.
“Have you actually listened to Doha sing?”
“Of course! I wrote most of Lumis’s songs!”
“That’s why they flopped.”
“Huh?”
“I mean… how’d he sound to you?”
“What do you mean? He’s good.”
“Yeah, he is good. Nice low tone, hits high notes cleanly.”
Ruha tapped his shoulder with the back scratcher.
“You know that — so why?”
Taejin frowned in confusion.
“That’s all he’s got.”
“…What?”
“Doha’s vocal cords are naturally thick. His tone’s nice, but there’s a limit to how long he can sustain high notes. When his condition’s off, it gets way worse — especially live.”
“Hey, everyone’s condition fluctuates…”
Wait.
Taejin’s mind replayed scenes from Doha’s recordings — the subtle pitch wobbles, the way he struggled with high notes once the mic was on.
He’d thought Doha was just being a perfectionist. But now, looking back, maybe not.
It hadn’t been a problem as a trainee, but after debut, as his parts grew, his limits became clearer.
And the effects were already visible.
Though still minor, online chatter had started questioning Doha’s live singing.
Some performances were flawless, others shockingly unstable.
It wasn’t lack of skill — it was inconsistency.
But the public doesn’t care about that.
Especially since Lumis had been branded “the visual genius group,” fueling bias that they relied on looks over talent.
“Hyung, times have changed.”
Ruha’s calm voice pulled Taejin back from his thoughts.
“For idols now, live performance is mandatory. It’s not like before, singing one or two songs and calling it a day. They have to perform multiple songs back-to-back, ten or twenty a night for concerts. What about overseas tours? Jet lag, exhaustion. You gonna blame it on ‘bad condition’ every time?”
“….”
Taejin had no rebuttal. He could already picture Doha struggling mid-concert, voice cracking.
“Doha’s tone is great — but he’d be better as lead vocal, setting the mood rather than carrying the song.”
Ruha’s logic made everything click.
Doha’s strength was clear: unique tone, wide range.
But being main vocal wasn’t just about that — it was about consistency.
If he couldn’t sustain it, that talent was wasted.
Ruha’s plan — to let Doha color the song while someone else anchored it — made sense.
Tap tap.
Ruha lightly tapped the desk with his back scratcher.
“Next.”
The small five-year-old’s voice filled the office —
but his eyes, sharp and analytical, were anything but a child’s.
