The program blatantly showed them, on only their second day in the Greenhouse, what reality was. The line distribution was bound to be unfair.
"Are we to decide the parts by ourselves?" Xavi asked, his foreign accent heavy, worry flickering in his eyes.
Nobody answered.
Then, the MC—still nowhere in sight—spoke through the speakers in a nearly mechanical tone:
"A friendly reminder, dear Greenhouse Inhabitants. The judges and producers will score the inhabitants at the end of the performance. If the average is between 86 and 90, one person will be sent to Barren Land. If between 81 and 85, two people. If between 76 and 80, three. If between 71 and 75, four. And if the average is 70 and below… six people will be sent to the Barren Land."
The contestants' faces soured immediately. The first mission provided them with nothing to base their preparation on—no criteria, no rubric, and no clear standards. It was impossible to guess how the producers would judge them.
There were no staff or facilitators to guide them, either. Minutes passed, but the MC's voice did not return. Not even a proper goodbye. If not for the Nova Corporation logo on the official poster, Jun would have honestly wondered if the program team had simply lacked the budget to hire an actual emcee and program writer.
Back in his previous life, it was Sujin who broke the long silence by suggesting everyone take a quick break.
Now, it was still Sujin who made the same suggestion.
But this time, barely anyone responded. The others were too disoriented—or too absorbed in their own thoughts.
Jun, who had finally accepted that he had regressed, let out a long sigh as he scanned their faces.
...This can't go on.
He raised a hand. "Everyone, I have something to say."
As a veteran idol, it felt wrong to simply leave things as they were. He was never the silent type anyway, and his conscience would eat him alive if he allowed them all to stumble blindly.
All eyes turned toward him. Jun pressed his hand down over the brim of his cap, hiding his hair as he studied his peers. Once again, he was forced to admit that he had gone back to the past.
All of the Inhabitants were younger—not just in appearance but in maturity and wisdom. Meanwhile, he was an abomination: a teenage boy's body carrying a twenty-one-year-old soul.
He met Juwon's gaze and gave a wry smile.
"We all heard the rules for the mission. We only have seven days—not just to learn the song, but to master the performance itself. We'll also have to decide on staging, props, costumes… everything. Right now, the most important thing is deciding the direction we want to take."
Those who had been ready to leave their seats sat back down. The atmosphere shifted into meeting mode; nobody wanted to miss the discussion.
Min ran his hand through his short, curly hair. "I think we should do things step by step. It's a new song, so first we should familiarize ourselves with the melody and the choreography."
Jun nodded. "I agree. But before that, we need to distribute the parts and choose a leader."
Technically, Min was the leader of ETM. But the true decision-maker in that group had always been Sujin. Even now, Sujin was the most well-known among the participants, and everyone here knew it. Naturally, Jun's eyes went to him.
Sujin blinked. "I wanted to bring up parts distribution after the break. But doing it now should be fine."
Jun sighed inwardly. Wishful thinking. Seven days is too short—every second counts. Last time, that break wasted too much time.
It sank in again: most of them were just teenagers. And if even he, with two lives' worth of experience, couldn't guarantee he'd always stay mature… how could he expect more from them?
Jun suggested, "How about we play the song a few times, then decide on parts?"
No one objected, so they did just that.
While listening to the familiar tune, Jun remembered exactly what had happened last time.
Because of this song, he had been sent to the Barren Land. He had failed to get a good part, forced to settle for a one-liner. Ironically, the behind-the-scenes footage from that mission had catapulted him to fame.
The reason? Embarrassing.
Fans remembered him for raising his hand eight times during part distribution. He failed to win any of the first seven parts, only to end up with the weakest line. Later, he had admitted in an interview that it was one of his most humiliating memories. But viewers had loved it. They said it showed his persistence—that he didn't give up even after repeated rejection.
Jun exhaled slowly. If I want to debut again—re-debut—and regain my place, I'll need to win the audience's votes. Their love. But… do I have to go through the same process all over again?
He folded his arms, hiding the awkward smile tugging at his lips.
The room buzzed with practice. Dressed in simple shirts, pants, and rubber shoes, the contestants hummed and rapped along while holding their tablets. Only one song played through the speakers, but voices echoed it here and there, broken and uneven.
"Whoa."
Juwon's exclamation drew Jun's attention. Neo was dancing the chorus with near-perfect precision.
The others noticed too. Just like in Jun's previous life, Neo revealed his frightening talent—memorizing the choreography faster than anyone else.
On the other side, Sujin widened his eyes at Neo's display, then immediately refocused, his voice carrying high notes so clean that even more heads turned.
"Ah, everyone is so talented," Xavi murmured.
Jun silently agreed, his chest tightening with regret. So many of these boys had bright futures, even those who would never debut alongside him.
After three run-throughs, everyone gathered in a circle on the floor.
"Hey, which part do you want?" Juwon whispered to him.
"Any from one to seven," Jun muttered—the same answer as last time. Back then, he had accepted the consequences. But this time, as a contestant, he couldn't afford to throw away screen time. He had already decided not to repeat the infamous "raising my hand eight times" incident.
"How should we proceed?" Sujin asked him directly.
Jun answered without thinking. "Start from Part One. Whoever wants it will raise their hand and sing. Once all candidates are done, the rest will vote."
That was how it had gone before. The thought of "before" made his chest heavy again. Previous life. Last time. Why does it sound like I really died?
He bit back another sigh. Stop it, Jun. Get yourself together. You're in a survival show again. Don't look weird on camera.
He raised his head and addressed the group firmly:
"Before we begin, I want to remind everyone: let's vote based strictly on ability. Think, 'I'll vote for this person because they'll make the part stronger. If the part is strong, our team score will be higher, and more of us will stay in the Greenhouse.' Remember yesterday? None of us wants more of our friends sent to the Barren Land."
The memory of voting off five people on the first day still lingered. Too many had voted based on friendship or familiarity instead of skill.
But this time, Juwon and the others nodded in agreement, easing Jun's chest a little.
He raised his hand. "Alright then. Let's start. Who wants Part One?"
Ten hands shot up.
Not a single one looked Jun's way. All eyes turned instead to Sujin—the acknowledged best trainee, the "vocal monster," the lead among leads.
"I'll start," Sujin said.
He pulled off his beanie, tapped his tablet, and let the chorus loop once. Then his mouth opened.
'Ooooh, be my friend, walk with me, let's all run to reach our dreams—'
The high notes rang out, clear and effortless.
Jun clenched his jaw. Back then, he had struggled with this part, his technique underdeveloped.
Right now… am I good enough? My skills improved over time, but my vocal cords… are they really as strong as their future selves?
He listened without betraying a hint of emotion.
One by one, other trainees followed after Sujin, taking their turns.
Finally, Juwon nudged him with an elbow. "Jun. Your turn."
"…Right."
He was the only one left.
Jun slapped his cheeks lightly, tugged off his cap, and rose to his feet. Twelve pairs of eyes locked on him.
He exhaled deeply. It'll be embarrassing if I fail. But I was a pro once. I can't back down now.
I'll do it.