Chapter 17
The Failed Idol I Raised on My Back
“Ugh, ptooey! Ptooey!”
Luha scrubbed his lips furiously, yanking out one wet wipe after another.
The nightmare from earlier — Han Jinseo’s kiss on Han Jinseo’s cheek, by Han Jinseo, for Han Jinseo — was still vividly burned into his memory.
A mountain of used wipes had already piled up on the table.
“Wait… you didn’t change positions because of that, did you?”
“Urgh, blegh—!”
He even started gagging, glaring at Yoon Taejin with teary eyes.
“What? Is there a problem?”
“Well… not exactly a problem, but…”
Yoon Taejin scratched the back of his neck and looked down again at the paper in his hand.
<Position Battle>
Vocal, rap, dance.
A competition where contestants showcased their skills, charm, presence, and character through individual performances — this was the theme of the second round.
When Luha, after returning from the recording of RE:VIVAL Episode 1, suddenly insisted on changing positions, Taejin had assumed he meant for the next album.
But when he realized Luha wanted to change positions starting from the next round, which was right around the corner, worry crept in.
It was because of RE:VIVAL’s unusual competition format.
Round 1 – No eliminations
Round 2 – No eliminations
Round 3 – 1 team eliminated (5 teams remain)
Round 4 – 1 team eliminated (4 teams remain)
Round 5 – 1 team eliminated (3 teams remain)
Final Round – Final winner decided
So yes, there would be no eliminations yet, up until the upcoming second round.
Sounded fine, right?
That’s the trap.
Even if no one was eliminated this time, the ranking from this round would determine the stage order for Round 3.
And while it’s not a strict rule, everyone knows — performing later in the lineup is an advantage.
Meaning: they needed a good result this round to secure a favorable order next time, and survive.
This “Position Battle” wasn’t just a showcase of skill — it was the prelude to survival.
‘There’s no way he doesn’t know that…’
Yoon Taejin tilted his head, puzzled.
“Don’t trust me?”
Luha tossed aside the wet wipe he’d been using to scrub his mouth.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just…”
He was worried.
Main vocal, lead vocal, sub vocal, main dancer, sub rapper, producer, and so on — the titles and positions varied widely.
Sure, positions could be flexible depending on concept, stage, or unit activity. But usually, they gave plenty of prep time.
Lumis was in their third year since debut.
They were a failed idol group — no individual schedules, just group activities.
They’d practiced their fixed roles tirelessly after debut.
And now, suddenly, they were supposed to take on new positions?
And not even as a team — as individuals?
“I don’t mean me. I mean Lumis.”
“…What? No way! Our boys are amazing!”
Yoon Taejin’s voice came out firm.
It wasn’t just his personal bias — objectively, Lumis was talented.
In skill, visuals, and charm alike.
The timing just hadn’t been right.
He only resented the world for not recognizing that.
“Then trust them.”
Luha’s blunt voice yanked Taejin out of his thoughts.
“You’re the one who picked them. If you’re that confident, then believe in them.
If even you don’t believe, how will the audience or the judges ever give them a chance?”
“….”
Yoon Taejin bit his lip.
He wasn’t wrong.
If he didn’t believe in them, who would?
Yes — they could do this. They would do this.
‘Of course they’ll do great! They’re my boys!’
A faint smirk appeared on Luha’s lips.
“Okay then. I’ll take that as a yes.”
Luha grunted as he climbed down from the chair.
His small feet thudded softly against the floor.
“Wait, what? Where are you going?”
“To the practice room. Gotta whip the kids into shape. No time to waste.”
He pulled out the back-scratcher slung across his shoulder, gave it a few taps, and marched out of the office.
“Tch.”
Watching that small but determined back, Taejin chuckled.
That stubborn expression, that curt tone — it reminded him of his old mentor, the man who’d once guided him into this world.
Despite being a five-year-old who spent all day obsessed with “Piano Fairy Doremi”, Luha always carried a strange sense of reliability.
There was a weight, a firmness behind that tiny frame.
For a moment, Jin Dohyun’s silhouette overlapped with Luha’s.
When all the cameras were gone, only the Lumis members remained in the practice room.
Baek Doha lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling with a flushed face.
Moments ago, the room had been filled with chaos —
Our Baby Maknae’s production team, RE:VIVAL’s crew, and Luha, who had barked (literally) and fainted upon seeing Han Jinseo.
Thinking back on everyone, Baek Doha clenched his fist.
This time felt different.
No — this time, it would be different.
‘…Can we really pull it off?’
The joy faded as anxiety crept in.
Since debut, Lumis had achieved little to no success.
Their confidence had long since shattered.
It was only natural they’d feel this way.
If things continued like this, and their contract expired, Lumis might disband.
They had to make this opportunity count — they needed to make Lumis known, and reach the break-even point fast.
Counting from their trainee days, if they fulfilled their seven-year contract, it would be ten years total.
Ten long years.
If it all ended like this… there’d be nothing left.
He knew CEO Yoon Taejin wasn’t the type to easily abandon people.
But in the end… this was business.
“…No.”
Baek Doha shut his eyes tight, suppressing the emotion.
He was the leader.
He had to hold it together, especially now.
“Brr-brrk, tss-tss — puhah!”
He opened his eyes at the sound of beatboxing — Kang Ian, training hard to perfect his variety-show persona.
Doha turned his head and looked around the room.
Ryu Sian, Kang Ian, Ha Jinwoo, and Cha Eungyeol — each was quietly working hard in his own way.
‘Right. No more negative thoughts.’
Bang!
“It’s out!”
Cha Eungyeol, who was normally the calmest of them all, burst through the door in excitement.
“The RE:VIVAL teaser just dropped!”
“What? Seriously!?”
The four scattered members all snapped their heads toward him.
In seconds, five heads were huddled around one screen.
Then — ten eyes widened.
“Whoa, that’s insane!”
“It’s really us, right? We’re actually on RE:VIVAL, right?”
The teaser was short — just the title “REVIVAL” and the first broadcast date.
No cast list, no judges, no details.
But that was more than enough to send the boys into a frenzy.
Bang!
The door swung open again.
Five heads turned in unison.
“Attention!”
It was Luha.
“For the second stage — Position Battle — positions are confirmed!”
He raised his back-scratcher high into the air.
Despite being only five, there was something oddly commanding about him.
“Wait… are we really doing it like this?”
Ha Jinwoo couldn’t hold back any longer.
He’d heard rumors of a position change, but he hadn’t expected it to happen this fast.
And then, Luha announced the Position Battle lineup:
Vocal – Cha Eungyeol
Dance – Baek Doha
Rap – Kang Ian (produced by Ha Jinwoo)
“Why? Got a problem?”
Luha’s lips drooped and his chin jutted out as he spoke.
“N-no… just surprised…”
None of them argued — or rather, they couldn’t.
At some point, Luha’s words had become commands, and they’d naturally begun to obey.
“Then what about me…?”
Ryu Sian cautiously raised his hand.
“…You’re in charge of cheering.”
“…?”
The members all turned toward Ryu Sian.
Would he be disappointed? Hurt?
But instead, he grinned brightly.
“Got it! I’ll be the cheer captain!”
Was it optimism, or just simplicity?
“Alright, then let’s pick songs.”
Luha clapped his hands once.
“Doha hyung will handle his own stuff — talk to the planning team and build your stage.
Eungyeol hyung, pick your song and report to me.”
“…?”
The members’ eyes filled with confusion — why report to him?
But before they could question further, Luha pulled out his back-scratcher.
Everyone flinched and instinctively stepped back.
“Hey, hey! You two, follow me.”
The tip of the back-scratcher pointed at Kang Ian and Ha Jinwoo in turn.
“?”
“…?”
The two exchanged puzzled looks.
“Sigh… raising kids really isn’t easy.”
Five-year-old actual child Luha tapped his shoulder with the back-scratcher as he walked ahead.
“What… what is he even saying right now?”
“I have no idea.”
The three of them stopped in front of Jin Dohyun’s studio inside Clef Entertainment’s building.
At Luha’s chin gesture, Ha Jinwoo opened the door and turned on the light.
He and Luha set up seats by the table — Luha even had a small folding chair just for him.
While the two were used to this, Kang Ian still looked nervous.
“Are you sure we can just walk in like this…?”
It was Jin Dohyun’s private studio.
Rumors had been flying lately about his disappearance.
If they used his space without permission, they could get into serious trouble.
“Luha said it’s fine.”
“Huh? Doesn’t that make it worse?”
What authority did this tiny brat even have?
Kang Ian’s suspicious stare was met with Ha Jinwoo’s reassurance.
“The CEO said we could use it too!”
“But if the PD ever finds out…”
He imagined that day — the producer’s chilling smile, the demonic voice telling them to “focus on variety shows instead.”
“Quit whining and sit down.”
Luha scolded, and Kang Ian scratched his head, taking a seat on the other side.
“Ungh!”
Luha climbed up onto his little chair and looked up at Ha Jinwoo.
“You brought them, right?”
“I did, but…”
Ha Jinwoo sighed.
“What’s going on?” Kang Ian asked, puzzled.
“Well…”
A few days ago, Luha had told Jinwoo to bring every track he’d ever made — they’d be needed soon.
It had sounded like good news — that his music might finally be used somewhere.
But if that “somewhere” was the survival stage Position Battle…
That was a whole different story.
“We don’t have time. Hurry.”
Luha urged.
“Ah, o-okay…”
Jinwoo pulled out his external drive and plugged it into the computer.
Dozens of project files appeared on the screen.
“Listen up. We’re composing the Position Battle song right here, right now.”
“What? Wait! We’re not getting a track from the CEO or A&R team?”
“Of course not!”
For once, Kang Ian’s usual playful expression hardened.
“So… you mean I have to rap over a song Jinwoo made?”
“Yep.”
“Ah…”
Kang Ian’s lips trembled.
