The timing of the Best of Idols survival show broadcast was not exactly ideal. Another idol survival show had just concluded, and the country was still reacting negatively because of the rigging scandal.
"Another survival show?"
"Uh-uh. The name is so ambitious, but how can we guarantee it'll be a fair show?" Thousands upon thousands of netizens sneered when the teasers for BOI first aired.
The nation had not yet recovered from the previous show. Everyone carried deep distrust toward producers of the same kind of programs.
When the promotional pictures of contestants—chosen through a closed audition—were posted, reactions didn't change. Only one new sentiment was added.
"Look at these handsome boys. Their visuals are top-notch. But damn, KNET will definitely evil-edit and ruin some of these cuties' lives."
A woman clicked her tongue when one article about Best of Idols appeared on her feed. She skimmed the text with a bored look on her face.
Jo Ha-rin and her close friend and colleague, Park Young-soon, sat by the window in a café across from their workplace. The empty street outside and the lack of a sea of people crossing the wide road or strolling the pedestrian lanes was something they saw every day now. The pandemic had scared many into hiding at home.
"It airs tonight, right?" asked her friend. The two worked from home too, but today they decided to meet after being cooped up in their rooms for too long.
Ha-rin nodded as she brought the cup of coffee to her lips. After a sip, she replied, "Nova backs the program. Some trainees are from Nova as well."
"Oh, so they're loaded. No wonder they snagged a prime-time slot from KNET."
"Nova is one of the Big Four, you know. Only these companies would dare take on the challenge of producing this kind of show now."
The two chatted casually about things anyone with internet access could easily search and cross-check. Then they scrolled down Ha-rin's phone screen to check the profile pictures uploaded days ago on KNET's voting site.
"Look at this one. If you dressed him in historical princely attire, he'd totally look like royalty."
Naturally, the profile that got this reaction was Juwon's.
"The rest aren't bad either. I especially like this guy's eyes."
"Oh, Jun?" Park Young-soon blinked, then narrowed her eyes. "Looks like mixed-blood."
"His skin's even whiter and clearer than yours. At a glance, you can tell he's from a wealthy family. I like his eyes and jawline," Ha-rin said with a shrug.
"I'm not fond of this kid's hairstyle." Young-soon's remark earned a short chuckle from the woman across from her.
"At least you agree this Jun is the next most handsome after the prince-looking guy."
They continued to chat about the trainees and eventually decided to wait for the first episode's broadcast. They left the café—one of the rare shops open in the area—with masks on. Afterwards, they headed home, agreeing to watch and chat about the show later.
Hours passed. In Ha-rin's room, the flat-screen TV was on, KNET's logo glowing in the upper-left corner.
The evening broadcast schedule flashed, and the woman—just out of the bathroom with a towel on her head—raised her brows.
"Hmm. So it's a three-hour broadcast right off the bat. The pandemic's done us dirty."
She sighed, blaming the pandemic for halting so many drama productions, forcing TV stations to stuff their schedules with in-house documentaries, variety shows, and survival shows.
When KNET finally began airing Best of Idols' pilot, Ha-rin stayed mostly to appreciate the new handsome faces. The first half was okay-ish at best. Yes, the format was different, and the tension was good. But the trainees' performances weren't outstanding. Only two or three had decent stages.
"Haaah. Really? That stage earned eleven votes?"
Through her phone's speaker, her friend's voice rang. "It's because the voting's left to the trainees. Those who performed first were lucky. The others had no idea how to judge their peers yet. There are twenty trainees and a quota of twelve, so later, when slots got fewer, they became stricter."
Ha-rin walked to her small fridge, grabbed a can of coke, and sat cross-legged on her bed. "In my opinion, though, the last performer—who only got eleven votes out of twenty-four—did better than the second performer, who got twenty-three."
"Yeah. It's obvious. But what can we do? The trainees are definitely on edge."
"Their judgment's been subjective from the start. It only got worse toward the end."
Ha-rin frowned. She didn't like the format.
Like Park Young-soon said, out of 24, only 12 tickets to the so-called Greenhouse existed. To qualify, each trainee had to get 12 votes from their fellows. Seventeen passed. Those 17 entered the luxurious Greenhouse, while the rest were led to the Barren Lands. Right after a quick tour, a voting session determined which five would be cut immediately, because only 12 could stay.
"Uhhh. One and a half hours for this?" Young-soon's face on the phone screen looked impatient.
"I feel bad for the five. They saw heaven before being sent to purgatory. But what now?"
The two were about to turn off the TV when the signal song finally played.
Because the haunting melody of the chorus lingered, they reluctantly kept watching.
The next scenes showed the Inhabitants and the Barren Landers tackling the mission. The two became intrigued enough to forget their earlier plan of switching the channel.
"Oh. So the Inhabitants held an impromptu contest to split the parts. Quick and efficient."
Not much of this section was cut, so they finally saw the contestants' skills in earnest.
What started as boredom shifted into interest, until they looked addicted—invested.
"Sujin. I'll remember this kid."
"Neo's a dance god's mortal incarnation! I'm certain of it!"
"Ahhh, really, Juwon is like a prince. His voice is as pretty as his face."
For quite a while, only Young-soon spoke, showing fondness for many trainees—yet always circling back to praise Juwon.
Meanwhile, the silent Ha-rin had just finished her drink. She was also watching diligently; like her friend, she focused on one person.
What's with him?
Every time that boy appeared, her eyes automatically followed.
I think I've found my bias.
When Jun's version of Part 1 played, Ha-rin snapped. She told her friend to shut up and ended the video call so she could watch in peace.
OMG. Is he for real? Memorizing everything in such a short time? Or is this edited? This must be edited, right?
The subtitles said otherwise.
[Inhabitant Jun, who even surprised the staff?!][He executed all the moves perfectly without singing off-key or forgetting the lyrics.]
The reactions of the other Greenhouse Inhabitants appeared after every iconic or surprising move.
So Ha-rin had no choice but to believe.
OMG. Who cares if Young-soon's Juwon is a prince? My Jun is an idol god! A real deity!
The song was hauntingly beautiful. And Jun danced and sang it perfectly. Simply put, he gave it the justice it deserved.
Ha-rin couldn't remember how long she screamed in excitement. But when she finally came to her senses—right as the episode ended—she poured out all her analyzing and writing skills.
She looked possessed as she typed furiously on her laptop.
Five minutes after the broadcast, a brief analysis of BOI episode one was up. Following that was an extremely detailed post about Jun's handsomeness, leadership, talent, and skill.
The same person had written both, uploading them on different platforms. But the difference in effort was obvious. While the BOI review was short, Jun's analysis was long, typo-free, and filled with photos.
Because it was one of the first posts, it attracted countless views from fans thirsty for updates. Content creators saw it, and one even made a video version that went viral on Wetube and Toktok.
In less than a day, Jun went from an unknown trainee to one of the top three picks on Best of Idols. For the first time in this timeline, hundreds of thousands remembered his existence.